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-v  &    ! 

*  <3 

MINOR  POEMS  „;,.;"— 


MICHAEL  DRAYTON 


CHOSEN  AND  EDITED  BY 

CYRIL  BRETT 


OXFORD 

AT  THE   CLARENDON   PRESS 
1907 


^*   igjs)  '3 

-  -5;,-- 

f  .Ml  ttt  i  CO. 


Henry  Frowde,  M.A. 

Publisher  to  the  University  of  Oxford 

London,  Edinburgh,  New  York 

and  Toronto 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE       ......       iv 

INTRODUCTION v 

SONNETS  (155)4)  •         •         •         •         •         •         •         •         * 

SONNETS  (i^5>) .2.8 

SONNETS  (i6"oi) .         .       41 

SONNETS  (160*5).        ...»•••      47 

SONNETS  (1619) •         •       T1 

ODES  (1615?)       ....  •       tf 

ODES  (1606) •       8? 

ELEGIES  (162.7)  •         •         •         •         •         •         •         .88 

NIMPHIDIA  (1^2,7) •  I24 

THE  QUEST  OF  CYNTHIA    ...  .     144 

THE  SHEPHEARDS  SIR  EN  A     .   '  .        •  •     i?1 

THE  MUSES  ELIZIUM  (1630)         .  .         .161 

SONGS  FROM  THE  SHEPHERD'S  GARLAND  (15-93)  .  .  131 
SONGS  FROM  THE  SHEPHERD'S  GARLAND  (1605)  .  .  14° 
SONGS  FROM  THE  SHEPHERD'S  GARLAND  (1606)  .  .  241 

APPENDIX 

NOTES  .  ...... 


£•!    ' 


DM 


CHRONOLOGICAL  TABLE   OF   DRAYTON'S 
LIFE   AND   WORKS 

1/63     Dray  ton  born  at  Hartshill,  Warwickshire. 

i  J7Z  ?     Drayton  a  page  in  the  house  of  Sir  Henry  Goodere,  at  Polesworth. 

c.  1 574     Anne  Goodere  born  ? 

Feb.  1/91     Drayton  in  London.     Harmony  of  Omrch. 

1 593     Idea,  the  Shepherd's  Garland.     Legend  of  Peirs  Gaveston. 

i  J94-     Ideas  Mirrour.     Matilda.     Lucy  Harrington  becomes  Countess  of  Bedford. 

ij9j     Sir  Henry  Goodere  the  elder  dies.     Endimion   and  Phosbe,  dedicated   to 

Lucy  Bedford. 

i  J9/-6"     Anne  Goodere  married  to  Sir  Henry  Rainsford. 
1^96     Mortimeriados.     Legends  of  Robert ,  Matilda,  and  Gaveston. 
1/97     England's  Heroical  Epistles. 
1/98     Drayton  already  at  work  on  the  Polyolbion. 
if  99     Epistles  and  Idea  sonnets,  new  edition.     (Date  of  Portrait  of  Drayton  in 

National  Portrait  Gallery.) 
I^OO     Sir  John  Oldcastle. 
i 6oi     New  edition  of  Epistles  and  Idea. 
1603     Drayton  made  an  Esquire  of  the  Bath,  to  Sir  Walter  Aston.     To  the 

Maiestie  offing  James.      Barons*  Wars. 

1 604.      The  Owle.      A  Pean  Triumphall.     Moyses  in  a  Map  of  his  Miracles. 
160;     First  collected  edition  of  Poems.     Another  edition  of  Idea  and  Epistles. 

1606  Poemes  Lyrick^and  Pastorall.     Odes.     Eglogs.      The  Man  in  th;  Moone. 

1607  Legend  of  Great  Cromwell. 

1608  Reprint  of  Collected  Poems. 

1609  Another  edition  of  Cromwell. 

1610  Reprint  of  Collected  Poems. 

1613     Reprint  of  Collected  Poems.     First  Part  of  Polyolblm. 

1618  Two  Elegies  in  FitlGeoffrey's  Satyrs  and  Epigrames. 

1619  Collected  Folio  edition  of  Poems. 

16-2.0     Second  edition  of  Elegies,  and  reprint  of  1619  Poems. 
Polyolhion  complete. 
Battle  of  jtgincourt,  Njmph-dia,  &c. 

1630  Muses  ElizJum.     Noah's  Floud.      Moses  his   Birth  and  Miracles.     David  and 

Golial}. 

1631  Second  edition  of  1617  folio.      Drayton  dies  towards  the  end  of  the 

year. 

1636  Posthumous  poem  appeared  in  jtnnalia  Dubrensia. 

1637  Poems. 


INTRODUCTION 

MICHAEL  DRAYTON  was  born  in  1 5 63, at  Hartshill,near  Atherstone, 
in  Warwickshire,  where  a  cottage,  said  to  have  been  his,  is  still 
shown.  He  early  became  a  page  to  Sir  Henry  Goodere,  at  Poles- 
worth  Hall :  his  own  words  give  the  best  picture  of  his  early  years 
here.1  His  education  would  seem  to  have  been  good,  but  ordinary  3 
and  it  is  very  doubtful  if  he  ever  went  to  a  university.3  Besides 
the  authors  mentioned  in  the  Epistle  to  Henry  Reynolds,  he  was 
certainly  familiar  with  Ovid  and  Horace,  and  possibly  with  Catullus: 
while  there  seems  no  reason  to  doubt  that  he  read  Greek,  though 
it  is  quite  true  that  his  references  to  Greek  authors  do  not  prove 
any  first-hand  acquaintance.  He  understood  French,  and  read 
Rabelais  and  the  French  sonneteers,  and  he  seems  to  have  been 
acquainted  with  Italian.3  His  knowledge  of  English  literature  was 
wide,  and  his  judgement  good  :  but  his  chief  bent  lay  towards  the 
history,  legendary  and  otherwise,  of  his  native  country,  and  his  vast 
stores  of  learning  on  this  subject  bore  fruit  in  the  Polyolbion. 

While  still  at  Polesworth,  Drayton  fell  in  love  with  his  patron's 
younger  daughter,  Anne  j 4  and,  though  she  married,  in  1*96, 
Sir  Henry  Rainsford  of  Clifford,  Drayton  continued  his  devotion  to 
her  for  many  years,  and  also  became  an  intimate  friend  of  her 
husband's,  writing  a  sincere  elegy  on  his  death.5  About  February, 

1  Cf.  Elegy  viij,  To  Henery  Reynolds,  Esquire,  p.  108. 

2  Sir   Aston  Cokayne,  in  16/8,  says  chat  he  went   to  Oxford,  while  Fleay 
asserts,  without  authority,  that  his  university  was  probably  Cambridge. 

3  Cf.  the  motto  of  Ideas   Mtnour,  the  allusions   to  Jriosto  in  the  Nymphidt'a, 
p.   1*9-,    and  above  all,  the  Heroical  Epistles ;   Dedic.  of  Ep.  of  D.  of  Sxffoll^to 

6).  Margaret:  *  Sweet  is  the  French  Tongue,  more  sweec  the  Italian,  but  most  sweet 
are  they  both,  if  spoken  by  your  admired  self.'  Cf.  Surrej  to  Geraldme,  11.  j  sqq., 
with  Drayton's  note. 

4  Cf.  Sonnet  xij  (ed.  1602.),  p.  4Z,  *  'Tis  nine  years  now  since  first  I  lost  my 
wit.'     (This  sonnet  may,  of  course,  occur  in  the  supposed  1600  ed.,  which  would 
fix  an  earlier  date  for  Drayton's  beginning  of  love.) 

5  Elegy  ix,  p.  113. 
t 


Introduction 

Dray  ton  paid  a  visit  to  London,  and  published  his  first  work, 
the  Harmony  of  the  Church,  a  series  of  paraphrases  from  the  Old 
Testament,  in  fourteen-syllabled  verse  of  no  particular  vigour  or 
grace.  This  book  was  immediately  suppressed  by  order  of  Arch 
bishop  Whitgift,  possibly  because  it  was  supposed  to  savour  of 
Puritanism.1  The  author,  however,  published  another  edition  in 
itf  jo  5  indeed,  he  seems  to  have  had  a  fondness  for  this  style  of  work; 
for  in  1604  he  published  a  dull  poem,  Afoyses  in  a  Map  of  his  Miracle r, 
re-issued  in  1630  as  Moses  his  Birth  and  Miracles.  Accompanying 
this  piece,  in  1630,  were  two  other  c  Divine  poems  ' :  Noah's  Floud, 
and  David  and  Goliath.  Noah's  Floud  is,  in  part,  one  of  Drayton's 
happiest  attempts  at  the  catalogue  style  of  bestiary ;  and  Mr. 
Elton  finds  in  it  some  foreshadowing  of  the  manner  of  Paradise  Lost. 
But,  as  a  whole,  Drayton's  attempts  in  this  direction  deserve  the 
oblivion  into  which  they,  in  common  with  the  similar  productions  of 
other  authors,  have  fallen.  In  the  dedication  and  preface  to  the 
Harmony  of  the  Church  are  some  of  the  few  traces  of  Euphuism  shown 
in  Drayton's  work  $  passages  in  the  Heroical Epistles  also  occur  to  the 
mind.2  He  was  always  averse  to  affectation,  literary  or  otherwise, 
and  in  Elegy  viij  deliberately  condemns  Lyly's  fantastic  style. 

Probably  before  Drayton  went  up  to  London,  Sir  Henry  Goodere 
saw  that  he  would  stand  in  need  of  a  patron  more  powerful  than  the 
master  of  Polesworth,  and  introduced  him  to  the  Earl  and  Countess 
of  Bedford.  Those  who  believe  3  Drayton  to  have  been  a  Pope  in 
petty  spite,  identify  the  c  Idea '  of  his  earlier  poems  with  Lucy, 
Countess  of  Bedford  ;  though  they  are  forced  to  acknowledge  as 
self-evident  that  the  c  Idea '  of  his  later  work  is  Anne,  Lady 
Rainsford.  They  then  proceed  to  say  that  Drayton,  after  consistently 
honouring  the  Countess  in  his  verse  for  twelve  years,  abruptly 

1  Cf.  Morley's  ed.  of  Barons'  Wars,  &c.  (1887),  p.  6. 

2  Cf.  £.  H.  £/>,  « Mat.  to  K.  J.,'  100  sqq.,  &c. 

8  Professor  Courthope  and  others.  There  was  some  excuse  for  blunders  before 
the  publication  of  Professor  Elton's  book  j  and  they  have  been  made  easier  by  an 
unfortunate  misprint.  Professor  Courthope  twice  misprints  the  first  line  of  the 
Love-Parting  Sonnet,  as  '  Since  there 's  no  help,  come  let  us  rise  and  part ',  and, 
so  printed,  the  line  supports  better  the  theory  that  the  poem  refers  to  a  patroness 
and  not  to  a  mistress.  Cf.  Courthope,  Hist.  Eng.  Poetry,  iii.  pp.  4.0  and  43. 


Introduction  vii 

transferred  his  allegiance,  not  forgetting  to  heap  foul  abuse  on  his 
former  patroness,  out  of  pique  at  some  temporary  withdrawal  of 
favour.  Not  only  is  this  directly  contrary  to  all  we  know  and 
can  infer  of  Drayton's  character,  but  Mr.  Elton  has  decisively 
disproved  it  by  a  summary  of  bibliographical  and  other  evidence. 
Into  the  question  it  is  here  unnecessary  to  enter,  and  it  has  been 
mentioned  only  because  it  alone,  of  the  many  Drayton-controversies, 
has  cast  any  slur  on  the  poet's  reputation. 

In  1593,  Drayton  published  idea,  the  Shepherds  Garland,  in  nine 
Eclogues;  in  1606  he  added  a  tenth,  the  best  of  all,  to  the  new 
edition,    and    rearranged    the    order,    so    that    the    new    eclogue 
became    the    ninth.      In    these    Pastorals,    while    following    the 
Shefherds  Calendar  in  many  ways,  he  already  displays  something  of  the 
sturdy  independence  which   characterized   him   through  life, 
abandons  Spenser's  quasi-rustic  dialect,  and,  while  keeping  to  most 
of  the  pastoral  conventions,  such  as  the  singing-match  and  threnody, 
he  contrives  to  introduce  something  of  a  more  natural  and  homely 
strain.      He  keeps   the   political   allusions,  notably  in  the  Eclogue 
containing  the   song  in  praise  of  Seta,  who  is,  of  course,  Queen 
Elizabeth.     But  an  over-bold  remark  in  the  last  line  of  that  song 
was   struck  out  in   1606-,  and  the  new   eclogue   has  no    political 
reference.     He  is  not  ashamed  to  allude  directly  to  Spenser ;  and 
indeed  his  direct  debts  are  limited  to  a  few  scattered  phrases,  as  in 
the  Ballad  of  Dowsabel.     Almost  to  the  end  of  his  literary  career, 
Drayton  mentions  Spenser  with  reverence  and  praise.1 

It  is  in  the  songs  interspersed  in  the  Eclogues  that  Drayton's  best 

work  at  this  time  is  to  be  found :   already  his  metrical  versatility  is 

discernible  ;  for  though  he  doubtless  remembered  the  many  varieties 

of  metre  employed  by  Spenser  in  the  Calendar,  his  verses  already 

bear  a  stamp  of  their  own,     The  long  but  impetuous  lines,  such  as 

<  Trim  up  her  golden  tresses  with  Apollo's  sacred  tree ',  afford  a 

striking  contrast  to  the  archaic  romance-metre,  derived  from  Sir 

Thopas  and  its  fellows,  which  appears  in  Dowsabel,  and  it  again  to  the 

melancholy,   murmuring  cadences  of  the  lament  for   Elphin.      It 

i  Cf.  E.  and  Phoebe,  sub  fin.  j  Shep.  Sir.  14.5-8  ;  £/>.  fy.  Reyn.  79  sqq. 


viii  Introduction 

must,  however,  be  confessed  that  certain  of  the  songs  in  the  1*93 
edition  were  full  of  recondite  conceits  and  laboured  antitheses,  and 
were  rightly  struck  out,  to  be  replaced  by  lovelier  poems,  in  the 
edition  of  1606.  The  song  to  Beta  was  printed  in  England*  Helicon, 
16005  here,  for  the  first  time,  appeared  the  song  of  Dead  Love, 
and  for  the  only  time,  Rowlands  Madrigal.  In  these  songs,  Drayton 
offends  least  in  grammar,  always  a  weak  point  with  him  5  in  the  body 
of  the  Eclogues,  in  the  earlier  Sonnets,  in  the  Odes,  occur  the  most 
extraordinary  and  perplexing  inversions.  Quite  the  most  striking 
feature  of  the  Eclogues,  especially  in  their  later  form,  is  their  bold 
attempt  at  greater  realism.,  at  a  breaking-away  from  the  conventional 
images  and  scenery. 

Having  paid  his  tribute  to  one  poetic  fashion,  Drayton  in  1794  fell 
in  with  the  prevailing  craze  for  sonneteering,  and  published  ideas 
Mirroury  a  series  of  fifty-one  c  amours '  or  sonnets,  with  two  prefatory 
poems,  one  by  Drayton  and  one  by  an  unknown,  signing  himself  Gorbo 
ilfidele.  The  title  of  these  poems  Drayton  possibly  borrowed  from 
the  French  sonneteer,  de  Pontoux  :  in  their  style  much  recollection  of 
Sidney,  Constable,  and  Daniel  is  traceable.  They  are  ostensibly 
addressed  to  his  mistress,  and  some  of  them  are  genuine  in  feeling ; 
but  many  are  merely  imitative  exercises  in  conceit  ;  some,  apparently, 
trials  in  metre.  These  amours  were  again  printed,  with  the  title  of 
'sonnets',  in  //99,1  1600,  1602,  1603,  l6oj,  1608,  1610,  1613, 
76/9,  and  1^31,  during  the  poet's  lifetime.  It  is  needless  here  to 
discuss  whether  Drayton  were  the  c rival  poet*  to  Shakespeare,  whether 
these  sonnets  were  really  addressed  to  a  man,  or  merely  to  the 
ideal  Platonic  beauty  j  for  those  who  are  interested  in  these  points, 
I  subjoin  references  to  the  sonnets  which  touch  upon  them.2  From 
the  prentice-work  evident  in  many  of  the  .Amours,  it  would  seem 
that  certain  of  them  are  among  Drayton's  earliest  poems ;  but  others 
show  a  craftsman  not  meanly  advanced  in  his  art.  Nevertheless, 
with  few  exceptions,  this  first  'bundle  of  sonnets'  consists  rather  of 
trials  of  skill,  bubbles  of  the  mind  j  most  of  his  sonnets  which 

1  Those  reprints  which  were  really  new  editions  are  in  italics. 

2  1/94,  ed.,  Pref.  Son.  and  nos.  12.,  18,  2.8  ;  1/99  ed.,  nos.  3,  31,46;  1602. 
ed.,  iz,  17,  31 ;  and  i6oj  ed.,  47. 


Introduction  ix 

strike  the  reader  as  touched  or  penetrated  with  genuine  passion 
belong  to  the  editions  from  1^99  onwards;  implying  that  his  love 
for  Anne  Goodere,  if  at  all  represented  in  these  poems,  grew  with  his 
years,  for  the  c  love-parting '  is  first  found  in  the  edition  of  1619. 
But  for  us  the  question  should  not  be,  are  these  sonnets  genuine 
representations  of  the  personal  feeling  of  the  poet  ?  but  rather,  how  far 
do  they  arouse  or  echo  in  us  as  individuals  the  universal  passion?  There 
are  at  least  some  of  Drayton's  sonnets  which  possess  a  direct.,  instant, 
and  universal  appeal,  by  reason  of  their  simple  force  and  straightfor 
ward  ring  ;  and  not  in  virtue  of  any  subtle  charm  of  sound  and  rhythm, 
or  overmastering  splendour  of  diction  or  thought.  Ornament  vanishes, 
and  soberness  and  simplicity  increase,  as  we  proceed  in  the  editions  of 
the  sonnets.  Drayton's  chief  attempt  in  the  jewelled  or  ornamental 
style  appeared  in  I  59?,  with  the  title  of  Endimion  and  Phoebe, andwas^'m  a. 
sense,  an  imitation  of  Marlowe's  Hero  and  Leander.  Hero  and  Leander  is, 
as  Swinburne  says,  a  shrine  of  Parian  marble,  illumined  from  within 
by  a  clear  flame  of  passion;  while  Endimion  and  Phoebe  is  rather  a 
curiously  wrought  tapestry,  such  as  that  in  Mortimer's  Tower,  woven 
in  splendid  and  harmonious  colours,  wherein,  however,  the  figures 
attain  no  clearness  or  subtlety  of  outline,  and  move  in  semi- 
conventional  scenery.  It  is,  none  the  less,  graceful  and  impressive, 
and  of  a  like  musical  fluency  with  other  poems  of  its  class,  such 
as  J^enus  and  ^4donis}  or  Salmacis  and  Hermapbroditus.  Parts  of  it  were 
re-set  and  spoilt  in  a  1606  publication  of  Drayton's,  called  The  Alan 
in  the  Moone. 

In  1^93  and  1^94  Drayton  also  published  his  earliest  pieces  on 
the  mediaeval  theme  of  the  c  Falls  of  the  Illustrious ' ;  they  were 
Peirs  Gaveston  and  Matilda  the  faire  and  chaste  daughter  of  the  Lord 
Robert  Firewater.  Here  Drayton  followed  in  the  track  of  Boccaccio, 
Lydgate,  and  the  Aiirrour  for  Magistrates^  walking  in  the  way  which 
Chaucer  had  derided  in  his  Monies  Tale :  and  with  only  too  great 
fidelity  does  Drayton  adapt  himself  to  the  dullnesses  of  his  model : 
fine  rhetoric  is  not  altogether  wanting,  and  there  is,  of  course, 
the  consciousness  that  these  subjects  deal  with  the  history  of  his 
beloved  country,  but  neither  these,  nor  Robert)  Dul^  of  Normandy 
(1596),  nor  Great  Cromwell^  Earl  of  Essex  (1607  and  1609),  nor 


x  Introduction 

the  Miseries  of  Alar  gar  et  (162,7)  can  escape  the  charge  of  tecliousness.1 
England's  Fferoical  Epistles  were  first  published  in  1^97,  and  other 
editions,  of  1598,  15993  and  1602,  contain  new  epistles.  These 
are  Dray  ton's  first  attempt  to  strike  out  a  new  and  original  vein  of 
English  poetry :  they  are  a  series  of  letters,  modelled  on  Ovid's 
fieroides*  addressed  by  various  pairs  of  lovers,  famous  in  English 
history,  to  each  other,  and  arranged  in  chronological  order,  from 
Henry  II  and  Rosamond  to  Lady  Jane  Grey  and  Lord  Guilford 
Dudley.  They  are,  in  a  sense,  the  most  important  of  Drayton's 
writings,  and  they  have  certainly  been  the  most  popular,  up  to  the 
early  nineteenth  century.  In  these  poems  Drayton  foreshadowed, 
and  probably  inspired,  the  smooth  style  of  Fairfax,  Waller,  and 
Dryden.  The  metre,  the  grammar,  and  the  thought,  are  all  perfectly 
easy  to  follow,  even  though  he  employs  many  of  the  Ovidian  c  turns ' 
and  £  clenches '.  A  certain  attempt  at  realization  of  the  different 
characters  is  observable,  but  the  poems  are  fine  rhetorical  exercises 
rather  than  realizations  of  the  dramatic  and  passionate  possibilities  of 
their  themes.  In  1596,  Drayton,  as  we  have  seen,  published  the 
Mortimeriados,  a  kind  of  epic,  with  Mortimer  as  its  hero,  of  the  wars 
between  King  Edward  II  and  the  Barons.3  It  was  written  in  the  seven- 
line  stanza  of  Chaucer's  Troilus  and  Cressida  and  Spenser's  Hymns.  On 
its  republication  in  1603,  with  the  title  of  the  Barons'  Wars^  the  metre 
was  changed  to  ottava  rima,  and  Drayton  showed,  in  an  excellent 
preface,  that  he  fully  appreciated  the  principles  and  the  subtleties  of 
the  metrical  art.  While  possessing  many  fine  passages,  the  Barons3 

1  Meres  thought  otherwise.     Cf.  Palladis  Tamia  (1598),  r  As  Accius,  M.  Atilius, 
and  Miiithus  were  called  Trxgediografhi,  because  they  writ  tragedies :  so  may  wee 
truly  terme   Michael   Drayton   Tragaedicgraphus  for  his  passionate  penning  the 
downfals  of  valiant  Robert  of  Normandy,  chast  Matilda,  and  great  Gaueston.' 
Cf.  Barnefield,  Poems:  in  diners  humors  (ed.  Arber,  p.  119),  'And  Drayton,  whose 
wel-written  Tragedies,  |  And  Sweete  Epistles,  soare  thy  fame  to  skies.  |  Thy 
learned   name  is   equall  with  the  rest;  |  Whose  stately  Numbers  are   so  well 
addrest.' 

2  Cf.  Meres,  Palladis  Tamia  (1598),  'Michael  Drayton  doth  imitate  Quid  in  his 
England's  Heroical  Epistles* 

3  Cf.   id.,  ibid.,  'As  Lucan  hath  mournefully   depainted  the   ciuil   wars    of 
Pompey  and  Csesar :    so  hath  Daniel  the  ciuili  wars  of  Yorke  and  Lancaster, 
and  Drayton  the  civill  wars  of  Edward  the  second  and  the  Barons.' 


Introduction  xi 

WAYS  is  somewhat  dull,  lacking  much  of  the  poetry  of  the  older 
version ;  and  does  not  escape  from  Drayton's  own  criticism  of 
Daniel's  Chronicle  Poems  :  c  too  much  historian  in  verse,  .  .  .  His 
rhymes  were  smooth,  his  metres  well  did  close.  But  yet  his  manner 
better  fitted  prose  V  The  description  of  Mortimer's  Tower  in  the 
sixth  book  recalls  the  ornate  style  of  Endimion  and  Phoebe,  while 
the  fifth  book,  describing  the  miseries  of  King  Edward,  is  the  most 
moving  and  dramatic.  But  there  is  a  general  lifelessness  and  lack 
of  movement  for  which  these  purple  passages  barely  atone.  The 
cause  of  the  production  of  so  many  chronicle  poems  about  this  time 
has  been  supposed 2  to  be  the  desire  of  showing  the  horrors  of  civil 
war,  at  a  time  when  the  queen  was  growing  old,  and  no  successor 
had,  as  it  seemed,  been  accepted.  Also  they  were  a  kind  of 
parallel  to  the  Chronicle  Play  5  and  Drayton,  in  any  case 
even  if  we  grant  him  to  have  been  influenced  by  the  example  of 
Daniel,  never  needed  much  incentive  to  treat  a  national  theme. 

About  this  time,  we  find  Drayton  writing  for  the  stage.  It  seems 
unnecessary  here  to  discuss  whether  the  writing  of  plays  is  evidence 
of  Drayton's  poverty,  or  his  versatility ; 3  but  the  fact  remains  that 
he  had  a  hand  in  the  production  of  about  twenty.  Of  these,  the  only 
one  which  certainly  survives  is  The  first  pan  of  the  true  and  honorable 
historic,  of  the  life  of  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  the  good  Lord  Cobham,  &c.  It 
is  practically  impossible  to  distinguish  Drayton's  share  in  this  curious 
play,  and  it  does  not,  therefore,  materially  assist  the  elucidation 
of  the  question  whether  he  had  any  dramatic  feeling  or  skill. 
It  can  be  safely  affirmed  that  the  dramatic  instinct  was  not  upper 
most  in  his  mind  j  he  was  a  Seneca  rather  than  a  Euripides  :  but 
to  deny  him  all  dramatic  idea,  as  does  Dr.  Whitaker,  is  too  severe. 
There  is  decided,  if  slender,  dramatic  skill  and  feeling  in  certain  of 
the  Nymphals.  Drayton's  persons  are  usually,  it  must  be  said, 
rather  figures  in  a  tableau,  or  series  of  tableaux ;  but  in  the  second 
and  seventh  Nymphals,  and  occasionally  in  the  tenth,  there  is  real 

1  Cf.  Elegy  viij.  ia6-8. 

3  Cf.  Morley's  ed.}  Barons'  Wars,  &c.,  1887,  pp.  6-7. 

3  Cf.  Elton,  pp.  83-93,  and  Whitaker,  M.  Drayton  as  a  Dramatist  (Public.  Mod. 
Lang.  Assoc.  of  America,  vol.  xviij.  3). 


Xli 


Introduction 


dramatic  movement.  Closely  connected  with  this  question  is  the 
consideration  of  humour,  which  is  wrongly  denied  to  Dray  ton. 
Humour  is  observable  first,  perhaps,  in  the  Orvle  (1604)  5  then  in  the 
Ode  to  his  Rival  (1619)  ;  and  later  in  the  NymphidiOy  Shefhcards  Sirena, 
and  Muses  Elysium.  The  second  Nymphal  shows  us  the  quiet  laughter, 
the  humorous  twinkle,  with  which  Drayton  writes  at  times.  The 
subject  is  an  dywv  or  contest  between  two  shepherds  for  the 
affections  of  a  nymph  called  Lirope  :  Lalus  is  a  vale-bred  swain, 
of  refined  and  elegant  manners,  skilled,  nevertheless,  in  all  manly 
sports  and  exercises  3  Cleon^  no  less  a  master  in  physical  prowess, 
was  nurtured  by  a  hind  in  the  mountains;  the  contrast  between 
their  manners  is  admirably  sustained :  Cleon  is  rough,  inclined 
to  be  rude  and  scoffing,  totally  without  tact,  even  where  his  mistress 
is  concerned.  Lalus  remembers  her  upbringing  and  her  tastes ; 
he  makes  no  unnecessary  or  ostentatious  display  of  wealth ;  his 
gifts  are  simple  and  charming,  while  Cleon's  are  so  grotesquely 
unsuited  to  a  swain,  that  it  is  tempting  to  suppose  that  Drayton 
was  quietly  satirizing  Marlowe's  Passionate  Shepherd.  Lirope  listens 
gravely  to  the  swains  in  turn,  and  makes  demure  but  provoking 
answers,  raising  each  to  the  height  of  hope,  and  then  casting  them 
both  down  into  the  depths  of  despair;  finally  she  refuses  both,  yet 
without  altogether  killing  hope.  Her  first  answer  is  a  good  specimen 
of  her  banter  and  of  Drayton's  humour.1 

On  the  accession  of  James  I,  Drayton  hastened  to  greet  the 
King  with  a  somewhat  laboured  song  To  the  Maiestie  of  J^ing  James ; 
but  this  poem  was  apparently  considered  to  be  premature  :  he  cried 
Vruat  %v,  without  having  said,  Mortua  est  eheu  P^gina^  and  accordingly 
he  suffered  the  penalty  of  his  'forward  pen',2  and  was  severely 
neglected  by  King  and  Court.  Throughout  James's  reign  a  darker 
and  more  satirical  mood  possesses  Drayton,  intruding  at  times  even  into 
his  strenuous  recreation-ground,  the  Pofyolbion,  and  manifesting  itself 
more  directly  in  his  satires,  the  0^/0(1604),  the  Moon-Calf e  (162,7), 
the  Man  in  the  Moone  (1606),  and  his  verse-letters  and  elegies; 
while  his  disappointment  with  the  times,  the  country,  and  the  King, 

1  Cf.  M.  ij.  12.7  sqq.,  p.  172.. 
3  Cf.  Elegy  ij.  10. 


Introduction  xm 

flashes  out  occasionally  even  in  the  Odes,  and  is  heard  in  his  last 
publication,  the  Muses  Eli-yum  (1630).  To  counterbalance  the 
disappointment  in  his  hopes  from  the  King,  Drayton  found  a  new 
and  life-long  friend  in  Walter  Aston,  of  Tixall,  in  Staffordshire ; 
this  gentleman  was  created  Knight  of  the  Bath  by  James,  and  made 
Drayton  one  of  his  esquires.  By  Aston's  c  continual  bounty '  the 
poet  was  able  to  devote  himself  almost  entirely  to  more  congenial 
literary  work;  for,  while  Meres  speaks  of  the  Polyolbion  in  1598,* 
and  we  may  easily  see  that  Drayton  had  the  idea  of  that  work 
at  least  as  early  as  i?9432  yet  he  cannot  have  been  able  to  give 
much  time  to  it  till  now.  Nevertheless,  the  c  declining  and  corrupt 
times '  worked  on  Drayton's  mind  and  grieved  and  darkened  his 
soul,  for  we  must  remember  that  he  was  perfectly  prosperous  then 
and  was  not  therefore  incited  to  satire  by  bodily  want  or  distress. 

In  1604  he  published  the  Oiv/e,  a  mild  satire,  under  the  form 
of  a  moral  fable  of  government,  reminding  the  reader  a  little  of  the 
Parlement  of  Foules.  The  Man  in  the  Moone  (1606)  is  partly  a 
recension  of  Endimion  and  Phoebe,  but  is  a  heterogeneous  mass  of 
weakly  satire,  of  no  particular  merit.  The  Moon-Calfe  (1627)  is 
Drayton's  most  savage  and  misanthropic  excursion  into  the  region 
of  Satire  5  in  which,  though  occasionally  nobly  ironic,  he  is  more 
usually  coarse  and  blustering,  in  the  style  of  Marston.3  In  160$ 
Drayton  brought  out  his  first c  collected  poems',  from  which  the  Eclogues 
and  the  Otvle  are  omitted ;  and  in  1606  he  published  his  Poemes  Lyrick^ 
and  Pastoral!,  Odes,  Eglogs,  The  Man  in  the  Moone.  Of  these  the  Eglogs 
are  a  recension  of  the  Shepherd's  Garland  of  1593  :  we  have  already 
spoken  of  The  Man  in  the  Moone.  The  Odes  are  by  far  the  most 
important  and  striking  feature  of  the  book.  In  the  preface,  Drayton 
professes  to  be  following  Pindar,  Anacreon,  and  Horace,  though,  as 
he  modestly  implies,  at  a  great  distance.  Under  the  title  of  Odes  he 

1  Cf.  Palladis  Tam:'a:  'Michael  Drayton  is  now  in  penning,  in  English  verse, 
a  Poem  called  Poly-olbion,  Geographicall  &  Hydrographicall  of  all  the  forests, 
woods,  mountaines,  fountaines,  riuers,  lakes,  flouds,  bathes,  &  springs  that  be 
in  England.' 

2  Cf.  jimours  (1594),  xx  and  xxiv. 

*  Cf.  Sonnet  vj  (1619  edition);  which  is  a  dignified  summary  of  much  that 
he  says  more  coarsely  in  the  Moone-Ca/fe. 


XIV 


Introduction 


includes  a  variety  of  subjects,  and  a  variety  of  metres  $  ranging  from 
an  Ode  to  his  Harp  or  to  his  Criticks,  to  a  Ballad  of  ^gincourt,  or  a  poem 
on  the  Rose  compared  with  his  Mistress.  In  the  edition  of  1619 
appeared  several  more  Odes,  including  some  of  the  best  5  while 
many  of  the  others  underwent  careful  revision,  notably  the  Ballad. 
c  Sing  wee  the  Rose,'  perhaps  because  of  its  unintelligibility,  and  the 
Ode  to  his  friend  John  Savage,  perhaps  because  too  closely  imitated 
from  Horace,  were  omitted.  Drayton  was  not  the  first  to  use  the 
term  Ode  for  a  lyrical  poem,  in  English  :  Soothernin  1 584,  and  Daniel 
in  1*92  had  preceded  him ;  but  he  was  the  first  to  give  the  name 
popularity  in  England,  and  to  lift  the  kind  as  Ronsard  had  lifted  it  in 
France  ;  and  till  the  time  of  Cowper  no  other  English  poet  showed 
mastery  of  the  short,  staccato  measure  of  the  Anacreontic  as 
distinct  from  the  Pindaric  Ode.  In  the  Odes  Drayton  shows  to  the 
fullest  extent  his  metrical  versatility  :  he  touches  the  Skeltonic  metre, 
the  long  ten-syllabled  line  of  the  Sacrifice  to  Apollo ;  and  ascends 
from  the  smooth  and  melodious  rhythms  of  the  New  Tear  through 
the  inspiring  harp-tones  of  the  Virginian  Voyage  to  the  clangour  and 
swing  of  the  Ballad  of  ^dgincourt.  His  grammar  is  possibly  more 
distorted  here  than  anywhere,  but,  as  Mr.  Elton  says,  c  these  are  the 
obstacles  of  any  poet  who  uses  measures  of  four  or  six  syllables.' 
His  tone  throughout  is  rather  that  of  the  harp,  as  played,  perhaps, 
in  Polesworth  Hall,  than  that  of  any  other  instrument  j  but  in  1619 
Drayton  has  taken  to  him  the  lute  of  Carew  and  his  compeers.  In 
1619  the  style  is  lighter,  the  fancy  gayer,  more  exquisite,  more 
recondite.  Most  of  his  few  metaphysical  conceits  are  to  be  found 
in  these  later  Odes,  as  in  the  Heart,  the  Valentine,  and  the  Crier. 
In  the  comparison  of  the  two  editions  the  nobler,  if  more  strained, 
tone  of  the  earlier  is  obvious  j  it  is  still  Elizabethan,  in  its  nobility 
of  ideal  and  purpose,  in  its  enthusiasm,  in  its  belief  and  confidence 
in  England  and  her  men  j  and  this  even  though  we  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  Jacobean  woe  in  the  Ode  to  John  Savage:  the  1619  Odes  are 
of  a  different  world  j  their  spirit  is  lighter,  more  insouciant  in 
appearance,  though  perhaps  studiedly  so ;  the  rhythms  are  more 
fantastic,  with  less  of  strength  and  firmness,  though  with  more  of 
grace  and  superficial  beauty ;  even  the  veiy  textual  alterations,  while 


Introduction 


XV 


usually  increasing  the  grace  and  the  music  of  the  lines,  remind  the 
reader  that  something  of  the  old  spontaneity  and  freshness  is  gone. 

In  1607  and  16093  Dray  ton  published  two  editions  of  the  last  and 
weakest  of  his  mediaeval  poems — the  Legend  of  Great  Cromrvell$  and 
for  the  next  few  years  he  produced  nothing  new,  only  attending  to 
the  publication  of  certain  reprints  and  new  editions.  During  this 
time,  however,  he  was  working  steadily  at  the  Polyolbion,  helped  by 
the  patronage  of  Aston  and  of  Prince  Henry.  In  1612-133  Drayton 
burst  upon  an  indifferent  world  with  the  first  part  of  the  great  poem, 
containing  eighteen  songs  ;  the  title-page  will  give  the  best  idea  of 
the  contents  and  plan  of  the  book :  c  Poly-Olbion  or  a  Choro- 
graphicall  Description  of  the  Tracts,  Riuers,  Mountaines,  Forests, 
and  other  Parts  of  this  renowned  Isle  of  Great  Britaine,  With 
intermixture  of  the  most  Remarquable  Stories^  Antiquities,  Wonders, 
Rarityes,  Pleasures,  and  Commodities  of  the  same  :  Digested  in  a 
Poem  by  Michael  Drayton,  Esq.  With  a  Table  added,  for  direction 
to  those  occurrences  of  Story  and  Antiquities,  whereunto  the  Course 
of  the  Volume  easily  leades  not.'  &c.  On  this  work  Drayton  had 
been  engaged  for  nearly  the  whole  of  his  poetical  career.  The 
learning  and  research  displayed  in  the  poem  are  extraordinary, 
almost  equalling  the  erudition  of  Selden  in  his  Annotations  to  each 
Song.  The  first  part  was,  for  various  reasons,  a  drug  in  the  market, 
and  Drayton  found  great  difficulty  in  securing  a  publisher  for  the 
second  part.  But  during  the  years  from  1613  to  1622,  he 
became  acquainted  with  Drummond  of  Hawthornden  through  a 
common  friend,  Sir  William  Alexander  of  Menstry,  afterwards  Earl 
of  Stirling.  In  161 8,  Drayton  starts  a  correspondence  ;  and  towards 
the  end  of  the  year  mentions  that  he  is  corresponding  also  with 
Andro  Hart,  bookseller,  of  Edinburgh.  The  subject  of  his  letter  was 
probably  the  publication  of  the  Second  Part;  which  Drayton 
alludes  to  in  a  letter  of  1619  thus:  CI  have  done  twelve  books 
more,  that  is  from  the  eighteenth  book,  which  was  Kent,  if  you 
note  it;  all  the  East  part  and  North  to  the  river  Tweed;  but  it 
lies  by  me;  for  the  booksellers  and  I  are  in  terms;  they  are  a 
company  of  base  knaves,  whom  I  both  scorn  and  kick  at.'  Finally, 
in  1622,  Drayton  got  Marriott,  Grismand,  and  Dewe,  of  London,  to 


Introduction 

take  the  work,  and  it  was  published  with  a  dedication  to  Prince 
Charles,  who,  after  his  brother's  death,  had  given  Drayton  patronage, 
Drayton's  preface  to  the  Second  Part  is  well  worth  quoting : 

c  To  any  that  will  read  it.  When  I  first  undertook  this  Poem,  or, 
as  some  veiy  skilful  in  this  kind  have  pleased  to  term  it,  this 
Herculean  labour,  I  was  by  some  virtuous  friends  persuaded,  that  I 
should  receive  much  comfort  and  encouragement  therein;  and  for 
these  reasons;  First,  that  it  was  a  new,  clear,  way,  never  before 
gone  by  any ;  then,  that  it  contained  all  the  Delicacies,  Delights, 
and  Rarities  of  this  renowned  Isle,  interwoven  with  the  Histories  of 
the  Britons,  Saxons,  Normans,  and  th£  later  English :  And  further 
that  there  is  scarcely  any  of  the  Nobility  or  Gentry  of  this  land,  but 
that  he  is  in  some  way  or  other  by  his  Blood  interested  therein. 
But  it  hath  fallen  out  otherwise  ;  for  instead  of  that  comfoit,  which 
my  noble  friends  (from  the  freedom  of  their  spirits)  proposed  as  my 
due,  I  have  met  with  barbarous  ignorance^  and  base  detraction; 
such  a  cloud  hath  the  Devil  drawn  over  the  world's  judgment,  whose 
opinion  is  in  few  years  fallen  so  far  below  all  ballatry,  that  the 
lethargy  is  incurable  :  nay,  some  of  the  Stationers,  that  had  the 
selling  of  the  First  Part  of  this  Poem,  because  it  went  not  so  fast 
away  in  the  sale,  as  some  of  their  beastly  and  abominable  trash, 
(a  shame  both  to  our  language  and  nation)  have  either  despitefully 
left  out,  or  at  least  carelessly  neglected  the  Epistles  to  the  Readers, 
and  so  have  cozened  the  buyers  with  unperfected  books ;  which 
these  that  have  undertaken  the  Second  Part,  have  been  forced  to 
amend  in  the  First,  for  the  small  number  that  are  yet  remaining 
in  their  hands.  And  some  of  our  outlandish,  unnatural,  English, 
(I  know  not  how  otherwise  to  express  them)  stick  not  to  say  that 
there  is  nothing  in  this  Island  worth  studying  for,  and  take  a  great 
pride  to  be  ignorant  in  any  thing  thereof;  for  these,  since  they 
delight  in  their  folly,  I  wish  it  may  be  hereditary  from  them  to 
their  posterity,  that  their  children  may  be  begg'd  for  fools  to  the 
fifth  generation,  until  it  may  be  beyond  the  memory  of  man  to 
know  that  there  was  ever  other  of  their  families :  neither  can  this 
deter  me  from  going  on  with  Scotland,  if  means  and  time  do  not 
hinder  me,  to  perform  as  much  as  I  have  promised  in  my  First  Song : 


Introduction 

Till  through  the  sleepy  main,  to  Thufy  I  have  gone. 
And  seen  the  Frozen  Isles,  the  cold  DeucaHdon, 
Amongst  whose  iron  Rocks,  grim  Saturn  yet  remains 
Bound  in  those  gloomy  caves  with  adamantine  chains. 

And  as  for  those  cattle  whereof  I  spake  before,  Odi  frofanum 
et  arceoy  of  which  I  account  them,  be  they  never  so  great,  and  so  I 
leave  them.  To  my  friends,  and  the  lovers  of  my  labours,  I  wish 
all  happiness.  Michael  Dray  ten* 

The  Polyolbion  as  a  whole  is  easy  and  pleasant  to  read  5  and 
though  in  some  parts  it  savours  too  much  of  a  mere  catalogue,  yet  it 
has  many  things  truly  poetical.  The  best  books  are  perhaps 
the  xiij,  xiv,  and  xv,  where  he  is  on  his  own  ground,  and  there 
fore  naturally  at  his  best.  It  is  interesting  to  notice  how  much 
attention  and  space  he  devotes  to  Wales.  He  describes  not 
only  the  c  wonders '  but  also  the  fauna  and  flora  of  each  district  5 
and  of  the  two  it  would  seem  that  the  flowers  interested  him  more. 
Though  he  was  a  keen  observer  of  country  sights  and  sounds  (a 
fact  sufficiently  attested  by  the  Nymphidia  and  the  Nympbals),  it 
is  evident  that  his  interest  in  most  things  except  flowers  was  rather 
momentary  or  conventional  than  continuous  and  heart-felt ;  but  of 
the  flowers  he  loves  to  talk,  whether  he  weaves  us  a  garland  for  the 
Thame's  wedding,  or  gives  us  the  contents  of  a  maund  of  simples  $ 
and  his  love,  if  somewhat  homely  and  unimaginative,  is  apparent 
enough.  But  the  main  inspiration,  as  it  is  the  main  theme,  of  the 
Polyolbion  is  the  glory  and  might  and  wealth,  past,  present,  and 
future,  of  England,  her  possessions  and  her  folk.  Through  all  this 
glory,  however,  we  catch  the  tone  of  Elizabethan  sorrow  over  the 
c  Ruines  of  Time '  j  grief  that  all  these  mighty  men  and  their 
works  will  perish  and  be  forgotten,  unless  the  poet  makes  them  live 
for  ever  on  the  lips  of  men.  Drayton's  own  voluminousness  has 
defeated  his  purpose,  and  sunk  his  poem  by  its  own  bulk.  Though 
it  is  difficult  to  go  so  far  as  Mr.  Bullen,  and  say  that  the  only  thing 
better  than  a  stroll  in  the  Polyolbion  is  one  in  a  Sussex  lane,  it  is  still 
harder  to  agree  with  Canon  Beeching,  that c  there  are  few  beauties  on 
the  road  ',  the  beauties  are  many,  though  of  a  quietly  rural  type,  and 
the  road,  if  long  and  winding,  is  of  good  surface,  while  its  cranks 


xviii  Introduction 

constitute  much  of  its  charm.  It  is  doubtless,  from  the  outside,  an 
appalling  poem  in  these  days  of  epitomes  and  monographs,  but  it 
certainly  deserves  to  be  rescued  from  oblivion  and  read. 

In  1618  Dray  ton  contributed  two  Elegies  to  Henry  FitzGeofFrey's 
Satyrs  and  Efigrames.  These  were  on  the  Lady  Penelope  Clifton, 
and  on  c  the  death  of  the  three  sonnes  of  the  Lord  Sheffield,  drowned 
neere  where  Trent  falleth  into  Humber'.  Neither  is  remarkable 
save  for  far-fetched  conceits  ;  they  were  reprinted  in  1610,  and 
again,  with  many  others,  in  the  volume  of  1617.  In  1619  Drayton 
issued  a  folio  collected  edition  of  his  works,  and  reprinted  it  in  1620. 
In  1627  followed  a  folio  of  wholly  fresh  matter,  including  the 
Battaile  of  ^Igincourt ;  the  Miseries  of  Queene  Margarite,  Nimpbidia, 
guest  of  Cinthia3  Shepheards  Sirena3  Moone-Calfe^  and  Elegies  'vpon  sundry 
occasions.  The  Battaile  of  u4gincourt  is  a  somewhat  otiose  expansion, 
with  purple  patches,  of  the  Ballad',  it  is,  nevertheless,  Drayton's  best 
lengthy  piece  on  a  historical  theme.  Of  the  Miseries  of  gueene 
Margarite  and  of  the  Moone-Calfe  we  have  already  spoken.  The  most 
notable  piece  in  the  book  is  the  Nimpkidia.  This  poem  of  the 
Court  of  Fairy  has  c invention,  grace,  and  humour',  as  Canon 
Beeching  has  said.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  exactly  when 
it  was  composed  and  committed  to  paper,  for  it  is  thought  that  the 
three  fairy  poems  in  Herrick's  Ffesperides  were  written  about  \6i6. 
In  any  case,  Drayton's  poem  touches  very  little,  and  chiefly  in  the 
beginning,  on  the  subject  of  any  one  of  Herrick's  three  pieces.  The 
style,  execution,  and  impression  left  on  the  reader  are  quite  different ; 
even  as  they  are  totally  unlike  those  of  the  Midsummer  Nighr '*  Dream. 
Herrick's  pieces  are  extraordinary  combinations  of  the  idea  of  c  King 
of  Shadows  ',  with  a  reality  fantastically  sober  :  the  poems  are  steeped 
in  moonlight.  In  Drayton  all  is  clear  day,  or  the  most  unromantic 
of  nights  ;  though  everything  is  charming,  there  is  no  attempt  at 
idealization,  little  of  the  higher  faculty  of  imagination ;  but  great 
realism,  and  much  play  of  fancy.  Herrick's  verses  were  written  by 
Cobweb  and  Moth  together,  Drayton's  by  Puck.  Granting,  however, 
the  initial  deficiency  in  subtlety  of  charm,  the  whole  poem  is  inimit 
ably  graceful  and  piquant.  The  gay  humour,  the  demure  horror  of 
the  witchcraft,  the  terrible  seriousness  of  the  battle,  wonderfully 


Introduction 

realize  the  mock-heroic  gigantesque;    and  while  there  is  not   the 
minute      accuracy     of     Gulliver     in    Lilliput,    Drayton    did    not 
write  for  a  sceptical  or  too-prying  audience  j  quite  half"  his  readers 
believed  more  or  less  in  fairies.     In  the  metre  of  the  poem  Drayton 
again  echoes  that  of  the  older  romances,  as  he  did  in  Dowsabel.     In 
the  Quest  of  Cinthia,  while  ostensibly  we  come  to  the  real  world 
of  mortals,  we  are  really  in  a  non-existent  land  of  pastoral  con 
vention,  in  the  most  pseudo-Arcadian  atmosphere  in  which  Drayton 
ever  worked.      The  metre  and  the  language  are,  however,  charm 
ingly  managed.     The  Shepheards  Sirena  is  a  poem,  apparently,  c  where 
more  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear,'  as  so  often  in  pastoral  poetry1  ; 
it  is  difficult  to  see  exactly  what  is  meant ;  but  the  Jacobean  strain 
of  doubt  and  fear  is  there,  and  the  poem  would  seem  to  have  been 
written   some   time  earlier   than    1627.       The   Elegies    comprise    a 
great  variety  of  styles   and  themes ;   some    are   really  threnodies, 
some   verse-letters.,  some  laments  over  the  evil  times,  and  one  a 
summary  of  Drayton's  literary  opinions.     He  employs  the  couplet  in 
his  Elegies  with  a  masterly  hand,  often  with  a  deliberately  rugged 
effect,  as  in  his   broader    Marstonic   satire    addressed  to  William 
Browne  5  while  the  line  of  greater  smoothness  but  equal  strength  is 
to  be  seen  in  the  letters  to  Sandys  and  Jeffreys.    He  is  fantastic  and 
conceited  in  most  of  the  threnodies ;  but,  as  is  natural,  that  on  his 
old  friend,  Sir  Henry  Rainsford,  is  least  artificial  and  fullest  of  true 
feeling.     The  epistle  to  ffenery  Reynolds.     Of  Poets  and  Poesie  shows 
Drayton  as  a  sane  and  sagacious  critic,  ready  to  see  the  good,  but 
keen  to  discern  the  weakness  also  j  perhaps  the  clearest  evidence  of 
his  critical  skill  is  the  way  in  which  nearly  all  of  his  judgements  on 
his  contemporaries  coincide  with  the  received  modern  opinions. 

In  his  later  years  Drayton  enjoyed  the  patronage  of  the  third 
Earl  and  Countess  of  Dorset}  and  in  1630  he  published  his  last 
volume,  the  Musts  Eli^um,  of  which  he  dedicated  the  pastoral  part 
to  the  Earl,  and  the  three  divine  poems  at  the  end  to  the  Countess. 
The  Muses  Eli-^ium  proper  consists  of  Ten  Pastorals  or  Nymphals, 
prefaced  by  a  Description  of  Eli-yum.  The  three  divine  poems 

1  Cf.  Morley's  ed.  Barons'  Wars,  &c.,  p.  8. 

b^ 


XX 


Introduction 


have  been  mentioned  before,  and  were  Noah's  Floud,  Afoses  his  Birth 
and  Miracles,  and  David  and  Goliah.  The  Nymphals  are  the  crown 
and  summary  of  much  of  the  best  in  Drayton's  work.  Here  he 
departed  from  the  conventional  type  of  pastoral,  even  more  than  in 
the  Shepherd's  Garland ;  but  to  say  that  he  sang  of  English  rustic  life 
would  hardly  be  true  :  the  sixth  Nymphal,  allowing  for  a  few  pardon 
able  exaggerations  by  the  competitors,  is  almost  all  English,  if  we 
except  the  names  5  so  is  the  tenth  with  the  same  exception ;  the  first 
and  fourth  might  take  place  anywhere,  but  are  not  likely  in  any 
country  j  the  second  is  more  conventional ;  the  fifth  is  almost,  but 
not  quite,  English  5  the  third,  seventh,  and  ninth  are  avowedly  class 
ical  in  theme  5  while  the  eighth  is  a  more  delicate  and  subtle  fairy 
poem  than  the  Nymphidia.  The  fourth  and  tenth  Nymphals  are  also 
touched  with  the  sadder,  almost  satiric  vein  5  the  former  inveighing 
against  the  English  imitation  of  foreigners  and  love  of  extravagance 
in  dress ;  while  the  tenth  complains  of  the  improvident  and  wasteful 
felling  of  trees  in  the  English  forests.  This  last  Nymphal,  though 
designedly  an  epilogue,  is  probably  rather  a  warning  than  a  despair 
ing  lament,  even  though  we  conceive  the  old  satyr  to  be  Drayton 
himself.  As  a  whole  the  Nymphals  show  Drayton  at  his  happiest 
and  lightest  in  style  and  metre  ;  at  his  moments  of  greatest  serenity 
and  even  gaiety  5  an  atmosphere  of  sunshine  seems  to  envelope  them 
all,  though  the  sun  sink  behind  a  cloud  in  the  last.  His  music  now 
is  that  of  a  rippling  stream,  whereas  in  his  earlier  days  he  spoke 
weightier  and  more  sonorous  words,  with  a  mouth  of  gold.1 

To  estimate  the  poetical  faculty  of  Drayton  is  a  somewhat 
perplexing  task ;  for,  while  rarely  subtle,  or  rising  to  empyrean 
heights,  he  wrote  in  such  varied  styles,  on  such  various  themes,  that 
the  task,  at  first,  seems  that  of  criticizing  many  poets,  not  one. 
But  through  all  his  work  runs  the  same  eminently  English  spirit,  the 

1  Charles  FirzGeoffrey,  Drakg  (1/96),  'golden -mouthed  Drayton  musical.' 
Guilpin,  Skfaletieia  (1598),  'Drayton's  condemned  of  some  for  imitation,  But 
others  say,  'tis  the  best  poet's  fashion  .  .  .  Drayton  's  justly  surnam'd  golden- 
mouth'd.'  Meres,  Palladis  Tamia  (1^98), '  In  Charles  Fitz-Jefferies  Drakg  Drayton 
is  termed  "  golden-mouth'd "  for  the  purity  and  pretiousnesse  of  his  stile  and 
phrase.' 


Introduction 

same  honesty  and  clearness  of  idea,  the  same  stolidity  of  purpose,  and 
not  infrequently  of  execution  also  j  the  same  enthusiasm  characterizes 
all  his  earlier,  and  much  of  his  later  work  $  the  enthusiasm  especially 
characteristic  of  Elizabethan  England,  and  shown  by  Drayton  in  his 
passion  for  England  and  the  English,  in  his  triumphant  joy  in  their 
splendid  past,  and  his  certainty  of  their  future  glory.  As  a  poet,  he 
lacked  imagination  and  fine  fury}  he  supplied  their  place  by  the 
airiest  and  clearest  of  fancies,  by  the  strenuous  labour  of  a  great 
brain  illumined  by  the  steady  flame  of  love  for  his  country  and  for 
his  lady.  Mr.  Courthopehas  said  that  he  lacked  loftiness  and  resolution 
of  artistic  purpose ;  without  these,  we  ask,  how  could  a  man,  not 
lavishly  dowered  with  poetry  in  his  soul,  have  achieved  so  much 
of  it  ?  It  was  his  very  fixity  and  loftiness  of  purpose,  his  English 
stubbornness  and  doggedness  of  resolution  that  enabled  him  to 
surmount  so  many  obstacles  of  style  and  metre,  of  subject  and 
thought.  His  two  purposes,  of  glorifying  his  mistress  and  his  friends, 
and  of  sounding  England's*  glories  past  and  future,  while  insisting  on 
the  dangers  of  a  present  decadence,  never  flagged  or  failed.  All  his 
poetry  up  to  1617  has  this  object  directly  or  secondarily  j  and  much 
after  this  date.  Of  the  more  abstract  and  universal  aspects  of  his 
art  he  had  not  much  conception ;  but  he  caught  eagerly  at  the 
fashionable  belief  in  the  eternizing  power  of  poetry  j  and  had  it 
not  been  that,  where  his  patriotism  was  uppermost,  he  was 
deficient  in  humour  and  sense  of  proportion,  he  would  have  succeeded 
better :  as  it  is,  his  more  directly  patriotic  pieces  are  usually  the 
dullest  or  longest  of  his  works.  He  requires,  like  all  other  poets, 
the  impulse  of  an  absolutely  personal  and  individual  feeling,  a 
moment  of  more  intimate  sympathy,  to  rouse  him  to  his  heights 
of  song.  Thus  the  Ballad  of  ^tgincourt  is  on  the  very  theme  of 
all  patriotic  themes  that  most  attracted  him  5  Virginian  and  other 
Voyages  lay  very  close  to  his  heart ;  and  in  certain  sonnets  to 
his  lady  lies  his  only  imperishable  work.  Of  sheer  melody 
and  power  of  song  he  had  little,  apart  from  his  themes  :  he  could 
not  have  sat  down  and  written  a  few  lark's  or  nightingale's  notes  about 
nothing  as  some  of  his  contemporaries  were  able  to  do :  he  required 
the  stimulus  of  a  subject,  and  if  he  were  really  moved  thereby 


XX11 


Introduction 


he  beat  the  music  out.      Only  in  one  or  two  of  the  later  Odes,  and 
in  the  volumes  of  1617  and  1630,  does  his  music  ever  seem  to  flow 
from  him  naturally.     Akin  to  this  quality  of  broad  and  extensive 
workmanship,  to  this  faculty  of  taking  a  subject  and  then  writing, 
with  all  thought  concentrated  on  it,  rather  than  on  the  method  of 
writing   about  it,  is   his   strange    lack  of  what   are   usually  called 
c  quotations '.      For  this  is  not  only  due  to  the  fact  that  he  is  little 
known  $  there  are,  besides,  so  few  detached  remarks  or  aphorisms  that 
are  separately  quotable  ;  so  few  examples  of  that  curiosa  fclicitas  of 
diction  :  lines  like  these. 

Thy  Bowe,  halfe  broke,  is  peec'd  with  old  desire  ; 
Her  Bowe  is  beauty  with  ten  thousand  strings.  .  .  . 

are  rare  enough.  Drayton,  in  fact,  comes  as  near  controverting 
the  statement  Poeta  narcitur,  non  fit,  as  any  one  in  English  literature: 
by  diligent  toil  and  earnest  desire  he  won  a  place  for  himself  in  the 
second  rank  of  English  poets  :  through  love  he  once  set  foot  in  the 
circle  of  the  mightiest.  Sincere  he  was  always,  simple  often,  sensuous 
rarely.  His  great  industry,  his  careful  study,  and  his  great  receptivity 
are  shown  in  the  unusual  spectacle  of  a  man  who  has  sung  well  in 
the  language  of  his  youth,  suddenly  learning,  in  his  age,  the  tongue 
spoken  by  the  younger  generation,  and  reproducing  it  with  individu 
ality  and  sureness  of  touch.  It  is  in  rhetoric,  splendid  or  rugged, 
in  argument,  in  plain  statement  or  description,  in  the  outline 
sketch  of  a  picture,  that  Drayton  excels ;  magic  of  atmosphere  and 
colouring  are  rarely  present.  Stolidity  is,  perhaps,  his  besetting 
sin ;  yet  it  is  the  sign  of  a  slow,  not  a  dull,  intellect ;  an  intellect, 
like  his  heart,  which  never  let  slip  what  it  had  once  taken  to  itself. 

As  a  man  Drayton  would  seem  to  have  been  an  excellent  type  of 
the  sturdy,  clear-headed,  but  yet  romantic  and  enthusiastic  English 
man  ;  gifted  with  much  natural  ability,  sedulously  increased  by  study; 
quietly  humorous,  self- restrained  j  and  if  temporarily  soured  by 
disappointment  and  the  disjointed  times,  yet  emerging  at  last  into  a 
greater  serenity,  a  more  unadulterated  gaiety  than  had  ever  before 
characterized  him.  It  is  possible,  but  from  his  clear  and  sane 
balance  of  mind  improbable,  that  many  of  his  light  later  poems  are 


Introduction 


XXlll 


due    to   deliberate    self-blinding   and   self-deception,  a   walking   in 
enchanted  lands  of  the  mind. 

Of  Drayton's  three  known  portraits  the  earliest  shows  him  at  the 
age  of  thirty-six,  and  is  now  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery.  A  look 
of  quiet,  speculative  melancholy  seems  to  pervade  it ;  there  is,  as  yet, 
no  inoroseness,  no  evidence  of  severe  conflict  with  the  world,  no 
shadow  of  stress  or  of  doubt.  The  second  and  best-known  portrait 
shows  us  Drayton  at  the  age  of  fifty,  and  was  engraved  by  Hole,  as 
a  frontispiece  to  the  poems  of  1619.  Here  a  notable  change  has  come 
over  the  face ;  the  mouth  is  hardened,  and  depressed  at  the  corners 
through  disappointment  and  disillusionment ;  the  eyes  are  full  of 
a  pathos  increased  by  the  puzzled  and  perturbed  uplift  of  the  brows. 
Yet  a  stubbornness  and  tenacity  of  purpose  invests  the  features  and 
reminds  us  that  Drayton  is  of  the  old  and  sound  Elizabethan  stock, 
con  evil  days  though  fallen.'  Let  it  be  remembered,  that  he  was  in 
1613,  when  the  portrait  was  taken,  in  more  or  less  prosperous  circum 
stances  $  it  was  the  sad  degeneracy,  the  meanness  and  feebleness  of 
the  generation  around  him,  that  chiefly  depressed  and  embittered 
him.  The  final  portrait,  now  in  the  Dulwich  Gallery,  represents  the 
poet  as  a  man  of  sixty-five  j  and  is  quite  in  keeping  with  the  sunnier 
and  calmer  tone  of  his  later  poetry.  It  is  the  face  of  one  who  has 
not  emerged  unscathed  from  the  world's  conflict,  but  has  attained 
to  a  certain  calm,  a  measure  of  tranquillity,  a  portion  of  content, 
who  has  learnt  the  lesson  that  there  is  a  soul  of  goodness  in  things 
evil.  The  Hole  portrait  shows  him  with  long  hair,  small  cgoatee ' 
beard,  and  aquiline  nose  drawn  up  at  the  nostrils  :  while  the  National 
portrait  shows  a  type  of  nose  and  beard  intermediate  between  the 
Hole  and  the  Dulwich  pictures  :  the  general  contour  of  the  face, 
though  the  forehead  is  broad  enough,  is  long  and  oval.  Drayton 
seems  to  have  been  tall  and  thin,  and  to  have  been  very  susceptible 
of  cold,  and  therefore  to  have  hated  Winter  and  the  North.1  He 
is  said  to  have  shared  in  the  supper  which  caused  Shakespeare's 
death ;  but  his  own  verses  2  breathe  the  spirit  of  Milton's  sonnet 
to  Cyriack  Skinner,  rather  than  that  of  a  devotee  of  Bacchus. 

1  Cf.  £.  H.  £.,  pp.  90,  99  (ed.  1737) ;  Elegy  i  j  and  Ode  written  in  the 

2  Elegy  viij,  ad  init. 


Introduction 

He  died  in  16313  possibly  on  December  13,  and  was  buried 
under  the  North  wall  of  Westminster  Abbey.  Meres's1  opinion  of  his 
character  during  his  early  life  is  as  follows  :  c  As  Aulus  Persius  Flaccus 
is  reported  among  al  writers  to  be  of  an  honest  life  and  vpright 
conuersation :  so  Michael  Drayton,  quern  totics  honoris  et  amoris  causa, 
nom'moj  among  schollers,  souldiours,  Poets,  and  all  sorts  of  people  is 
helde  for  a  man  of  uertuous  disposition,  honest  conversation,  and 
well  gouerned  cariage  j  which  is  almost  miraculous  among  good  wits 
in  these  declining  and  corrupt  times,  when  there  is  nothing  but 
rogery  in  villanous  man,  and  when  cheating  and  craftines  is  counted 
the  cleanest  wit,  and  soundest  wisedome.'2  Fuller  also,  in  a  similar 
strain,  says,  c  He  was  a  pious  poet,  his  conscience  having  the 
command  of  his  fancy,  very  temperate  in  his  life,  slow  of  speech,  and 
inoffensive  in  company/ 

In  conclusion  I  have  to  thank  Mr.  H.  M.  Sanders,  of  Pembroke 
College,  Oxford,  for  help  and  advice,  and  Professor  Raleigh  and 
Mr.  R.  W.  Chapman  for  help  and  criticism  while  the  volume  was 
in  the  press.  Above  all,  I  am  at  eveiy  turn  indebted  to  Professor 
Elton's  invaluable  Michael  Draytonf  without  which  the  work  of  any 
student  of  Drayton  would  be  rendered,  if  not  impossible,  at  least 
infinitely  harder. 

CYRIL  BRETT. 

ALTON,  STAFFORDSHIRE. 

1  Palladis  Tamia  (1598). 

3  Cf.  Returne from  Parnassus,  i.  2.  (1600),  ed.  Arb.  p.  1 1. 

3  Michael  Drayton.  A  Critical  Study.  Oliver  Elton,  M.A.  London :  A.  Constable 
&  Co., 


SONNETS 

[from  the  Edition  of 

To  the  deere  Chyld  of  the  Muses,  and 

his  euer  kind  Mecaenas,  Ma.  Anthony 

Cooke,  Esquire 

VOVCHSAFE  to  grace  these  rude  vnpolish'd  rymes, 
Which  long  (dear  friend)  haue  slept  in  sable  night, 
And,  come  abroad  now  in  these  glorious  tymes, 
Can  hardly  brook  the  purenes  of  the  light. 
But  still  you  see  their  desteny  is  such, 
That  in  the  world  theyr  fortune  they  must  try, 
Perhaps  they  better  shall  abide  the  tuch, 
Wearing  your  name,  theyr  gracious  liuery. 
Yet  these  mine  owne  :  I  wrong  not  other  men, 
Nor  trafique  further  then  thys  happy  Clyme, 
Nor  filch  from  Fortes,  nor  from  Petrarchs  pen, 
A  fault  too  common  in  this  latter  time. 
Diuine  Syr  Phillip,  I  auouch  thy  writ, 
I  am  no  Pickpurse  of  anothers  wit. 
Yours  deuoted, 

M.  DRAYTON. 


Sonnets  1594 


Amour  i 

READE  heere  (sweet  Mayd)  the  story  of  my  wo, 
The  drery  abstracts  of  my  endles  cares, 
With  my  Hues  sorow  enterlyned  so ; 
Smok'd  with  my  sighes,  and  blotted  with  my  teares  : 
The  sad  memorials  of  my  miseries, 
Pend  in  the  griefe  of  myne  afflicted  ghost ; 
My  liues  complaint  in  doleful  Elegies, 
With  so  pure  loue  as  tyme  could  neuer  boast. 
Receaue  the  incense  which  I  offer  heere, 
By  my  strong  fayth  ascending  to  thy  fame, 
My  zeale,  my  hope,  my  vowes,  my  praise,  my  prayer, 
My  soules  oblation  to  thy  sacred  name  : 

Which  name  my  Muse  to  highest  heauen  shal  raise 
By  chast  desire,  true  loue,  and  vertues  praise. 


Amour  2 

MY  fayre,  if  thou  wilt  register  my  loue, 
More  then  worlds  volumes  shall  thereof  arise; 
Preserue  my  teares,  and  thou  thy  selfe  shalt  proue 
A  second  flood  downe  rayning  from  mine  eyes. 
Note  but  my  sighes,  and  thine  eyes  shal  behold 
The  Sun-beames  smothered  with  immortall  smoke ; 
And  if  by  thee,  my  prayers  may  be  enrold, 
They  heauen  and  earth  to  pitty  shall  prouoke. 
Looke  thou  into  my  breast,  and  thou  shalt  see 
Chaste  holy  vowes  for  my  soules  sacrifice : 
That  soule  (sweet  Maide)  which  so  hath  honoured  thee, 
Erecting  Trophies  to  thy  sacred  eyes ; 

Those  eyes  to  my  heart  shining  euer  bright, 
When  darknes  hath  obscur'd  each  other  light. 


Ideas  Mirrour 


Amour  3 

MY  thoughts  bred  vp  with  Eagle-birds  of  loue, 
And,  for  their  vertues  I  desiered  to  know, 
Vpon  the  nest  I  set  them  forth,  to  proue 
If  they  were  of  the  Eagles  kinde  or  no  : 
But  they  no  sooner  saw  my  Sunne  appeare, 
But  on  her  rayes  with  gazing  eyes  they  stood  ; 
Which  proou'd  my  birds  delighted  in  the  ayre, 
And  that  they  came  of  this  rare  kinglie  brood. 
But  now  their  plumes,  full  sumd  with  sweet  desire, 
To  shew  their  kinde  began  to  clime  the  skies  : 
Doe  what  I  could  my  Eaglets  would  aspire, 
Straight  mounting  vp  to  thy  celestiall  eyes. 

And  thus  (my  faire)  my  thoughts  away  be  flowne, 
And  from  my  breast  into  thine  eyes  be  gone. 


Amour  4 

MY  faire,  had  I  not  erst  adorned  my  Lute 
With  those  sweet  strings  stolne  from  thy  golden  hayre, 
Vnto  the  world  had  all  my  ioyes  been  mute, 
Nor  had  I  learn'd  to  descant  on  my  faire. 
Had  not  mine  eye  scene  thy  Celestiall  eye, 
Nor  my  hart  knowne  the  power  of  thy  name, 
My  soule  had  ne'er  felt  thy  Diuinitie, 
Nor  my  Muse  been  the  trumpet  of  thy  fame. 
But  thy  diuine  perfections,  by  their  skill. 
This  miracle  on  my  poore  Muse  haue  tried, 
And,  by  inspiring,  glorifide  my  quill, 
And  in  my  verse  thy  selfe  art  deified  : 

Thus  from  thy  selfe  the  cause  is  thus  deriued, 
That  by  thy  fame  all  fame  shall  be  suruiued. 


B  ^ 


Sonnets  1594 


Amour  5- 

SINCE  holy  Vestall  lawes  haue  been  neglected. 
The  Gods  pure  fire  hath  been  extinguisht  quite ; 
No  Virgin  once  attending  on  that  light. 
Nor  yet  those  heauenly  secrets  once  respected  ; 
Till  thou  alone,  to  pay  the  heauens  their  dutie 
Within  the  Temple  of  thy  sacred  name, 
With  thine  eyes  kindling  that  Celestial!  flame, 
By  those  reflecting  Sun-beames  of  thy  beaut ie. 
Here  Chastity  that  Vestall  most  diuine, 
Attends  that  Lampe  with  eye  which  neuer  sleepeth  ; 
The  volumes  of  Religions  lawes  shee  keepeth, 
Making  thy  breast  that  sacred  r cliques  shryne, 
Where  blessed  Angels,  singing  day  and  night, 
Praise  him  which  made  that  fire,  which  lends  that  light. 


Amour  6 

IN  one  whole  world  is  but  one  Phoenix  found, 
A  Phoenix  thou,  this  Phoenix  then  alone  : 
By  thy  rare  plume  thy  kind  is  easly  knowne, 
With  heauenly  colours  dide,  with  natures  wonder  cround. 
Heape  thine  own  vertues,  seasoned  by  their  sunne, 
On  heauenly  top  of  thy  diuine  desire ; 
Then  with  thy  beautie  set  the  same  on  fire, 
So  by  thy  death  thy  life  shall  be  begunne. 
Thy  selfe,  thus  burned  in  this  sacred  flame, 
With  thine  owne  sweetnes  al  the  heauens  perfuming, 
And  stil  increasing  as  thou  art  consuming, 
Shalt  spring  againe  from  th*  ashes  of  thy  fame ; 
And  mounting  vp  shalt  to  the  heauens  ascend  : 
So  maist  thou  liue,  past  world,  past  fame,  past  end. 


Ideas  Mirrour 


Amour  7 

STAY,  stay,  sweet  Time  •  behold,  or  ere  thou  passe 
From  world  to  world,  thou  long  hast  sought  to  see, 
That  wonder  now  wherein  all  wonders  be, 
Where  heauen  beholds  her  in  a  mortall  glasse. 
Nay,  looke  thee,  Time,  in  this  Celesteall  glasse, 
And  thy  youth  past  in  this  faire  mirror  see : 
Behold  worlds  Beautie  in  her  infancie, 
What  shee  was  then,  and  thou,  or  ere  shee  was. 
Now  passe  on,  Time  :  to  after-worlds  tell  this, 
Tell  truelie,  Time,  what  in  thy  time  hath  beene, 
That  they  may  tel  more  worlds  what  Time  hath  seene, 
And  heauen  may  ioy  to  think  on  past  worlds  blisse. 
Heere  make  a  Period,  Time,  and  saie  for  mee, 
She  was  the  like  that  neuer  was,  nor  neuer  more  shalbe. 


Amour  8 

VNTO  the  World,  to  Learning,  and  to 'Heauen, 
Three  nines  there  are,  to  euerie  one  a  nine  • 

One  number  of  the  earth,  the  other  both  diuine, 

One  wonder  woman  now  makes  three  od  numbers  euen. 

Nine  orders,  first,  of  Angels  be  in  heauen ; 

Nine  Muses  doe  with  learning  still  frequent : 

These  with  the  Gods  are  euer  resident. 

Nine  worthy  men  vnto  the  world  were  giuen. 

My  Worthie  one  to  these  nine  Worthies  addeth, 

And  my  faire  Muse  one  Muse  vnto  the  nine  • 

And  my  good  Angell,  in  my  soule  diuine, 

With  one  more  order  these  nine  orders  gladdeth. 
My  Muse,  my  Worthy,  and  my  Angell,  then, 
Makes  euery  one  of  these  three  nines  a  ten. 


Sonnets  1594 


Amour  9 

BEAVTY  sometime,  in  all  her  glory  crowned, 
Passing  by  that  cleere  fountain  of  thine  eye, 
Her  sun-shine  face  there  chaunsing  to  espy, 
Forgot  herselfe,  and  thought  she  had  been  drowned. 
And  thus,  whilst  Beautie  on  her  beauty  gazed, 
Who  then,  yet  liuing,  deemd  she  had  been  dying, 
And  yet  in  death  some  hope  of  life  espying, 
At  her  owne  rare  perfections  so  amazed ; 
Twixt  ioy  and  griefe,  yet  with  a  smyling  frowning, 
The  glorious  sun-beames  of  her  eyes  bright  shining, 
And  shee,  in  her  owne  destiny  diuining, 
Threw  in  herselfe,  to  saue  herselfe  by  drowning ; 
The  Well  of  Nectar,  pau'd  with  pearle  and  gold, 
Where  shee  remaines  for  all  eyes  to  behold. 


Amour  10 

OFT  taking  pen  in  hand,  with  words  to  cast  my  woes, 
Beginning  to  account  the  sum  of  all  my  cares, 
I  well  perceiue  my  griefe  innumerable  growes, 
And  still  in  reckonings  rise  more  millions  of  dispayres. 
And  thus,  deuiding  of  my  fatall  howres. 
The  payments  of  my  loue  I  read,  and  reading  crosse, 
And  in  substracting  set  my  sweets  vnto  my  sowres ; 
Th'  average  of  my  ioyes  directs  me  to  my  losse. 
And  thus  mine  eyes,  a  debtor  to  thine  eye, 
Who  by  extortion  gaineth  all  theyr  lookes, 
My  hart  hath  payd  such  grieuous  vsury, 
That  all  her  wealth  lyes  in  thy  Beauties  bookes ; 
And  all  is  thine  which  hath  been  due  to  mee, 
And  I  a  Banckrupt,  quite  vndone  by  thee. 


Ideas  Mirrour 


Amour  1 1 

THINE  eyes  taught  mee  the  Alphabet  of loue, 
To  con  my  Cros-rowe  ere  I  learn'd  to  spell  $ 
For  I  was  apt,  a  scholler  like  to  proue, 
Gaue  mee  sweet  lookes  when  as  I  learned  well. 
Vowes  were  my  vowels,  when  I  then  begun 
At  my  first  Lesson  in  thy  sacred  name : 
My  consonants  the  next  when  I  had  done, 
Words  consonant,  and  sounding  to  thy  fame. 
My  liquids  then  were  liquid  christall  teares, 
My  cares  my  mutes,  so  mute  to  craue  reliefe; 
My  dolefull  Dypthongs  were  my  Hues  dispaires, 
Redoubling  sighes  the  accents  of  my  griefe : 

My  loues  Schoole-mistris  now  hath  taught  me  so, 

That  I  can  read  a  story  of  my  woe. 


Amour  12, 

SOME  Atheist  or  vile  Infidell  in  loue, 
When  I  doe  speake  of  thy  diuinitie, 
May  blaspheme  thus,  and  say  I  flatter  thee, 
And  onely  write  my  skill  in  verse  to  proue. 
See  myracles,  ye  vnbeleeuing !  see 
A  dumbe-born  Muse  made  to  expresse  the  mind, 
A  cripple  hand  to  write,  yet  lame  by  kind, 
One  by  thy  name,  the  other  touching  thee. 
Blind  were  mine  eyes,  till  they  were  scene  of  thine, 
And  mine  eares  deafe  by  thy  fame  healed  be; 
My  vices  curM  by  vertues  sprung  from  thee, 
My  hopes  reuiu'd,  which  long  in  graue  had  lyne : 

All  vncleane  thoughts,  foule  spirits,  cast  out  in  rnee 
By  thy  great  power,  and  by  strong  fayth  in  thee. 


8  Sonnets  1594 


Amour  13 

LEERE  Ankor,  on  whose  sillier-sanded  shore 
My  soule-shrinde  Saint,  my  faire  Idea,  lyes; 
O  blessed  Brooke !  whose  milk-white  Swans  adore 
The  christall  streame  refined  by  her  eyes : 
Where  sweet  Myrh-breathing  Zephyre  in  the  spring 
Gently  distils  his  Nectar-dropping  showers ; 
Where  Nightingales  in  Arden  sit  and  sing 
Amongst  those  dainty  dew-empearled  flowers. 
Say  thus,  fayre  Brooke,  when  thou  shalt  see  thy  Queene : 
Loe !  heere  thy  Shepheard  spent  his  wandring  yeeres, 
And  in  these  shades  (deer  Nimphe)  he  oft  hath  been, 
And  heere  to  thee  he  sacrifiz'd  his  teares. 
Fayre  Arden^  thou  my  Tempe  art  alone, 
And  thou,  sweet  Ankor,  art  my  Helicon. 


Amour  14 

TOOKING  into  the  glasse  of  my  youths  miseries, 
I   >  I  see  the  vgly  face  of  my  deformed  cares, 
With  withered  browes,  all  wrinckled  with  dispaires, 
That  for  my  mis-spent  youth  the  tears  fel  from  my  eyes. 
Then,  in  these  teares,  the  mirror  of  these  eyes, 
Thy  fayrest  youth  and  Beautie  doe  I  see 
Imprinted  in  my  teares  by  looking  still  on  thee : 
Thus  midst  a  thousand  woes  ten  thousand  ioyes  arise. 
Yet  in  those  ioyes,  the  shad<jwes  of  my  good, 
In  this  fayre  limned  ground  as  white  as  snow, 
Paynted  the  blackest  Image  of  my  woe, 
With  murthering  hands  imbru'd  in  mine  own  blood  : 
And  in  this  Image  his  darke  clowdy  eyes, 
My  life,  my  youth,  my  loue,  I  heere  Anotamize. 


N 


Ideas  Mirrour  9 

Amour  i? 

OW,  Loue,  if  thou  wilt  proue  a  Conqueror, 

Subdue  thys  Tyrant  euer  martyring  mee; 
And  but  appoint  me  for  her  Tormentor, 
Then  for  a  Monarch  will  I  honour  thee. 
My  hart  shall  be  the  prison  for  my  fayre  ; 
He  fetter  her  in  chaines  of  purest  loue, 
My  sighs  shall  stop  the  passage  of  the  ayre  : 
This  punishment  the  pittilesse  may  moue. 
With  teares  out  of  the  Channels  of  mine  eyes 
She'st  quench  her  thirst  as  duly  as  they  fall : 
Kinde  words  vnkindest  meate  I  can  deuise, 
My  sweet,  my  faire,  my  good,  my  best  of  all. 
He  binde  her  then  with  my  torne-tressed  haire, 
And  racke  her  with  a  thousand  holy  wishes ; 
Then,  on  a  place  prepared  for  her  there, 
lie  execute  her  with  a  thousand  kisses. 
Thus  will  I  crucifie,  my  cruell  shee ; 
Thus  He  plague  her  which  hath  so  plagued  mee. 

Amour  16 

T  TERTVES  Idea  in  virginitie, 
V  By  inspiration,  came  conceau'd  with  thought : 

The  time  is  come  deliuered  she  must  be, 

Where  first  my  loue  into  the  world  was  brought. 

Vnhappy  borne,  of  all  vnhappy  day ! 

So  luckles  was  my  Babes  nativity, 

Saturne  chiefe  Lord  of  the  Ascendant  lay, 

The  wandring  Moone  in  earths  triplicitie. 

Now,  or  by  chaunce  or  heauens  hie  prouidence, 

His  Mother  died,  and  by  her  Legacie 

(Fearing  the  stars  presaging  influence) 

Bequeath'd  his  wardship  to  my  soueraignes  eye  • 

Where  hunger-stamen,  wanting  lookes  to  Hue, 

Still  empty  gorg'd,  with  cares  consumption  pynde, 

Salt  luke-warm  teares  shee  for  his  drink  did  giue,  ^ 

And  euer-more  with  sighes  he  supt  and  dynde  :  .^, 

And  thus  (poore  Orphan)  lying  in  distresse 
Cryes  in  his  pangs,  God  helpe  the  motherlesse. 


io  Sonnets  1594 


Amour  17 

IF  euer  wonder  could  report  a  wonder, 
Or  tongue  of  wonder  worth  could  tell  a  wonder  thought, 
Or  euer  ioy  expresse  what  perfect  ioy  hath  taught. 
Then  wonder,  tongue,  then  ioy,  might  wel  report  a  wonder. 
Could  all  conceite  conclude,  which  past  conceit  admireth, 
Or  could  mine  eye  but  ayme  her  obiects  past  perfection, 
My  words  might  imitate  my  deerest  thoughts  direction, 
And  my  soule  then  obtaine  which  so  my  soule  desireth. 
Were  not  Inuention  stauld,  treading  Inuentions  maze, 
Or  my  swift-winged  Muse  tyred  by  too  hie  flying  $ 
Did  not  perfection  still  on  her  perfection  gaze, 
Whilst  Loue  (my  Phoenix  bird)  in  her  owne  flame  is  dying, 
Inuention  and  my  Muse,  perfection  and  her  loue, 
Should  teach  the  world  to  know  the  wonder  that  I  proue. 


Amour  18 

SOME,  when  in  ryme  they  of  their  Loues  doe  tell, 
With  flames  and  lightning  their  exordiums  paynt : 
Some  inuocate  the  Gods,  some  spirits  of  Hell, 
And  heauen,  and  earth  doe  with  their  woes  acquaint. 
Elizia  is  too  hie  a  seate  for  mee : 
I  wyll  not  come  in  Sttxe  or  Phleglton  $ 
The  Muses  nice,  the  Furies  cruell  be, 
I  lyke  not  Umbo^  nor  blacke  Acheron^ 
Spightful  Erinnif  frights  mee  with  her  lookes, 
My  manhood  dares  not  with  fbule  Ate  mell : 
I  quake  to  looke  on  Hecats  charming  bookes, 
I  styll  feare  bugbeares  in  Af  olios  cell. 

J  passe  not  for  Minerua  nor  Astr<ea. 

But  euer  call  vpon  diuine  Idea. 


Ideas  Mirrour  n 


Amour  19 

IF  those  ten  Regions,  registred  by  Fame, 
By  theyr  ten  Sibils  haue  the  world  controld, 
Who  prophecied  of  Christ  or  ere  he  came, 
And  of  his  blessed  birth  before  fore-told  ; 
That  man-god  now,  of  whom  they  did  diuine, 
This  earth  of  those  sweet  Prophets  hath  bereft, 
And  since  the  world  to  iudgement  doth  declyne, 
Instead  of  ten,  one  Sibil  to  vs  left. 
Thys  pure  Idea,  vertues  right  Idea, 
Shee  of  whom  Merlin  long  tyme  did  fore-tell, 
Excelling  her  of  Delphos  or  Cum<ea9 
Whose  lyfe  doth  saue  a  thousand  soules  from  hell : 
That  life  (I  meane)  which  doth  Religion  teach, 
And  by  example  true  repentance  preach. 


Amour  20 

READING  sometyme,  my  sorrowes  to  beguile, 
I  find  old  Poets  hylls  and  floods  admire : 

One,  he  doth  wonder  monster-breeding  Nyle, 

Another  meruailes  Sulphure  Aetnas  fire. 

Now  broad-brymd  Indus ,  then  of  Pmdus  height, 

Pelion  and  Ossa,  frosty  Caucase  old, 

The  Delian  Cynthus^  then  Olympus  weight, 

Slow  Arrer^  franticke  Gallus,  Cydnus  cold. 

Some  Ganges^  Isfer,  and  of  Tagut  tell, 

Some  whir-poole  P0,  and  sly  ding  Hypasts  • 

Some  old  Pernassus  where  the  Muses  dwell, 

Some  Helycon,  and  some  faire  Simois  : 

A,  fboles !  thinke  I,  had  you  Idea  scene, 

Poore  Brookes  and  Banks  had  no  such  wonders  beene. 


ix  Sonnets  is  9 4 


Amour  21 

T    ETTERS  and  lynes,  we  see,  are  soone  defaced, 
I  4  Mettles  doe  waste  and  fret  with  cankers  rust ; 
The  Diamond  shall  once  consume  to  dust, 
And  freshest  colours  with  foule  staines  disgraced. 
Paper  and  yncke  can  paynt  but  naked  words, 
To  write  with  blood  of  force  offends  the  sight, 
And  if  with  teares,  I  find  them  all  too  light  • 
And  sighes  and  signes  a  silly  hope  affoords. 
O,  sweetest  shadow !  how  thou  seru'st  my  turne, 
Which  still  shalt  be  as  long  as  there  is  Sunne, 
Nor  whilst  the  world  is  neuer  shall  be  done, 
Whilst  Moone  shall  shyne  by  night,  or  any  fire  shall  burne 
That  euery  thing  whence  shadow  doth  proceede, 
May  in  his  shadow  my  Loues  story  reade. 


Amour  22 

MY  hart,  imprisoned  in  a  hopeless  He, 
Peopled  with  Armies  of  pale  iealous  eyes, 
The  shores  beset  with  thousand  secret  spyes, 
Must  passe  by  ayre,  or  else  dye  in  exile. 
He  framd  him  wings  with  feathers  of  his  thought, 
Which  by  theyr  nature  learned  to  mount  the  skye  ; 
And  with  the  same  he  practised  to  flye, 
Till  he  himself  thys  Eagles  art  had  taught. 
Thus  soring  still,  not  looking  once  below, 
So  neere  thyne  eyes  celesteall  sunne  aspyred, 
That  with  the  rayes  his  wafting  pyneons  fired  : 
Thus  was  the  wanton  cause  of  his  owne  woe. 

Downe  fell  he,  in  thy  Beauties  Ocean  drenched, 
Yet  there  he  burnes  in  fire  thats  neuer  quenched. 


Ideas  Mtrrour  13 


Amour  23 

WONDER  of  Heauen,  glasse  of  diuinitie, 
Rare  beautie,  Natures  ioy,  perfections  Mother, 
The  worke  of  that  vnited  Trinitie, 
Wherein  each  fayrest  part  excelleth  other  ! 
Loues  Mithridate,  the  purest  of  perfection, 
Celestiall  Image,  Load-stone  of  desire, 
The  soules  delight,  the  sences  true  direction, 
Sunne  of  the  world,  thou  hart  reuyuing  fire  ! 
Why  should'st  thou  place  thy  Trophies  in  those  eyes, 
Which  scorne  the  honor  that  is  done  to  thee, 
Or  make  my  pen  her  name  immortalize, 
Who  in  her  pride  sdaynes  once  to  look  on  me  ? 
It  is  thy  heauen  within  her  face  to  dwell, 
And  in  thy  heauen,  there  onely,  is  my  hell. 


Amour  24 

OVR  floods-Queene,  Thames,  for  shyps  and  Swans  is 
crowned, 

And  stately  Seuerne  for  her  shores  is  praised, 
The  christall  Trent  for  Foords  and  fishe  renowned, 
And  Auons  fame  to  Albyons  Cliues  is  raysed. 
Car  legion  Chester  vaunts  her  holy  Dee, 
Torke  many  wonders  of  her  Ouse  can  tell, 
The  Peake  her  Doue,  whose  bancks  so  fertill  bee, 
And  Kent  will  say  her  Mediuay  doth  excell. 
Cotswoold  commends  her  Isis  and  her  Tame, 
Our  Northern  borders  boast  of  Tweeds  faire  flood  ; 
Our  Westerne  parts  extoll  theyr  Wilys  fame, 
And  old  Legea  brags  of  Danish  blood  : 

Ardens  sweet  Ankor,  let  thy  glory  be 

That  fayre  Idea  shee  doth  Hue  by  thee. 


'Sonnets  is 94 


Amour  25- 

THE  glorious  sunne  went  blushing  to  his  bed, 
When  my  soules  sunne,  from  her  fayre  Cabynet, 
Her  golden  beames  had  now  discouered, 
Lightning  the  world,  eclipsed  by  his  set. 
Some  muz'd  to  see  the  earth  enuy  the  ayre, 
Which  from  her  lyps  exhald  refined  sweet, 
A  world  to  see,  yet  how  he  ioyd  to  heare 
The  dainty  grasse  make  musicke  with  her  feete. 
But  my  most  meruaile  was  when  from  the  skyes, 
So  Comet-like,  each  starre  aduanc'd  her  lyght, 
As  though  the  heauen  had  now  awak'd  her  eyes, 
And  summond  Angels  to  this  blessed  sight. 

No  clowde  was  scene,  but  christalline  the  ayre, 
Laughing  for  ioy  vpon  my  louely  fayre. 


Amour  26 

CVP1D,  dumbe-Idoll;  peeuish  Saint  of  loue, 
No  more  shalt  thou  nor  Saint  nor  Idoll  be ; 
N  o  God  art  thou,  a  Goddesse  shee  doth  proue, 
Of  all  thine  honour  shee  hath  robbed  thee. 
Thy  Bowe,  halfe  broke,  is  peec'd  with  old  desire  • 
Her  Bowe  is  beauty  with  ten  thousand  strings 
Of  purest  gold,  tempred  with  vertues  fire, 
The  least  able  to  kyll  an  hoste  of  Kings. 
Thy  shafts  be  spent,  and  shee  (to  warre  appointed) 
Hydes  in  those  christall  quiuers  of  her  eyes 
More  Arrowes,  with  hart-piercing  mettel  poynted, 
Then  there  be  Starr es  at  midnight  in  the  skyes. 
With  these  she  steales  mens  harts  for  her  reliefe, 
Yet  happy  he  thats  robd  of  such  a  thiefe ! 


Ideas  Mirrour  15- 


Amour  27 

MY  Loue  makes  hote  the  fire  whose  heat  is  spent, 
The  water  moisture  from  my  teares  deriueth, 
And  my  strong  sighes  the  ayres  weake  force  reuiueth : 
Thus  loue,  tears,  sighes,  maintaine  each  one  his  element. 
The  fire,  vnto  my  loue,  compare  a  painted  fire, 
The  water,  to  my  teares  as  drops  to  Oceans  be, 
The  ayre,  vnto  my  sighes  as  Eagle  to  the  flie, 
The  passions  of  dispaire  but  ioyes  to  my  desire. 
Onely  my  loue  is  in  the  fire  ingraued, 
Onely  my  teares  by  Oceans  may  be  gessed, 
Onely  my  sighes  are  by  the  ayre  expressed ; 
Yet  fire,  water,  ayre,  of  nature  not  depriued. 

Whilst  fire,  water,  ayre,  twixt  heauen  and  earth  shal  be, 
My  loue,  my  teares,  my  sighes,  extinguisht  cannot  be. 


Amour  28 

SOME  wits  there  be  which  lyke  my  method  well, 
And  say  my  verse  runnes  in  a  lofty  vayne  ; 

Some  say,  I  haue  a  passing  pleasing  strain e, 

Some  say  that  in  my  humour  I  excell. 

Some  who  reach  not  the  height  of  my  conceite, 

They  say,  (as  Poets  doe)  I  vse  to  fayne, 

And  in  bare  words  paynt  out  my  passions  payne  : 

Thus  sundry  men  their  sundry  minds  repeate. 

I  passe  not  I  how  men  affected  be, 

Nor  who  commend,  or  discommend  my  verse ; 

It  pleaseth  me  if  I  my  plaints  rehearse, 

And  in  my  lynes  if  shee  my  loue  may  see. 
I  proue  my  verse  autentique  still  in  thys, 
Who  writes  my  Mistres  praise  can  neuer  write  amisse. 


16  Sonnets 


Amour  29 

OEYES  !  behold  your  happy  Hesperus, 
That  luckie  Load-starre  of  eternall  light, 
Left  as  that  sunne  alone  to  comfort  vs, 
When  our  worlds  sunne  is  vanisht  out  of  sight. 
O  starre  of  starres !  fayre  Planet  mildly  moouing, 
O  Lampe  of  vertue !  sun-bright,  euer  shyning, 
O  mine  eyes  Comet !  so  admyr'd  by  louing, 
O  cleerest  day-starre  !  neuer  more  declyning. 
O  our  worlds  wonder !  crowne  of  heauen  aboue, 
Thrice  happy  be  those  eyes  which  may  behold  thee ! 
Lou'd  more  then  life,  yet  onely  art  his  loue 
Whose  glorious  hand  immortal  hath  enrold  thee ! 
O  blessed  fayre  !  now  vaile  those  heauenly  eyes. 
That  I  may  blesse  mee  at  thy  sweet  arise. 


Amour  30 

THREE  sorts  of  serpents  doe  resemble  thee ; 
That  daungerous  eye-killing  Cockatrice, 
Th'  inchaunting  Syren,  which  doth  so  entice, 
The  weeping  Crocodile  •  these  vile  pernicious  three. 
The  Basiliske  his  nature  takes  from  thee, 
Who  for  my  life  in  secret  wait  do'st  lye, 
And  to  my  heart  send'st  poyson  from  thine  eye : 
Thus  do  I  feele  the  paine,  the  cause  yet  cannot  see. 
Faire-mayd  no  more,  but  Mayr-maid  be  thy  name, 
Who  with  thy  sweet  aluring  harmony 
Hast  playd  the  thiefe,  and  stolne  my  hart  from  me, 
And,  like  a  Tyrant,  mak'st  my  griefe  thy  game. 
The  Crocodile,  who,  when  thou  hast  me  slaine, 
Lament'st  my  death  with  teares  of  thy  disdaine. 


Ideas  Mirrour  17 


Amour  31 

SITTING  alone,  loue  bids  me  goe  and  write ; 
Reason  plucks  backe,  commaunding  me  to  stay, 
Boasting  that  shee  doth  still  direct  the  way, 
Els  senceles  loue  could  neuer  once  indite. 
Loue,  growing  angry,  vexed  at  the  spleene, 
And  scorning  Reasons  maymed  Argument, 
Straight  taxeth  Reason,  wanting  to  invent 
Where  shee  with  Loue  conuersing  hath  not  beene. 
Reason,  reproched  with  this  coy  disdaine, 
Dispighteth  Loue,  and  laugheth  at  her  folly, 
And  Loue,  contemning  Reasons  reason  wholy, 
Thought  her  in  weight  too  light  by  many  a  graine. 
Reason,  put  back,  doth  out  of  sight  remoue, 
And  Loue  alone  finds  reason  in  my  loue. 


Amour  32 

teares,  which  quench  my  hope,  still  kindle  my 
desire, 

Those  sighes,  which  coole  my  hart,  are  coles  vnto  my  loue, 
Disdayne,  Ice  to  my  life,  is  to  my  soule  a  fire  : 
With  teares,  sighes,  and  disdaine,  this  contrary  I  proue. 
Quenchles  desire  makes  hope  burne,  dryes  my  teares, 
Loue  heats  my  hart,  my  hart-heat  my  sighes  warmeth ; 
With  my  soules  fire  my  life  disdaine  out-weares. 
Desire,  my  loue,  my  soule,  my  hope,  hart,  and  life  charmeth. 
My  hope  becomes  a  friend  to  my  desire, 
My  hart  imbraceth  Loue,  Loue  doth  imbrace  my  hart  • 
My  life  a  Phoenix  is  in  my  soules  fire, 
From  thence  (they  vow)  they  neuer  will  depart. 

Desire,  my  loue,  my  soule,  my  hope,  my  hart,  my  life, 

kWith  teares,  sighes,  and  disdaine,  shall  haue  immortal 
strife. 


i8  Sonnets  1594 


Amour  33 

WHILST  thus  mine  eyes  doe  surfet  with  delight, 
My  wofull  hart,  imprisond  in  my  breast, 

Wishing  to  be  trans-formd  into  my  sight, 

To  looke  on  her  by  whom  mine  eyes  are  blest ; 

But  whilst  mine  eyes  thus  greedily  doe  gaze, 

Behold !  their  obiects  ouer-soone  depart, 

And  treading  in  this  neuer-ending  maze, 

Wish  now  to  be  trans-formd  into  my  hart : 

My  hart,  surcharg'd  with  thoughts,  sighes  in  abundance  raise, 

My  eyes,  made  dim  with  lookes,  poure  down  a  flood  of  tears  ; 

And  whilst  my  hart  and  eye  enuy  each  others  praise, 

My  dying  Jookes  and  thoughts  are  peiz'd  in  equall  feares  : 
And  thus,  whilst  sighes  and  teares  together  doe  contende, 
Each  one  of  these  doth  ayde  vnto  the  other  lende. 


Amour  34 

MY  fayre,  looke  from  those  turrets  of  thine  eyes, 
Into  the  Ocean  of  a  troubled  minde, 
Where  my  poor  soule,  the  Barke  of  sorrow,  lyes, 
Left  to  the  mercy  of  the  waues  and  winde. 
See  where  she  flotes,  laden  with  purest  loue, 
Which  those  fayre  Hands  of  thy  lookes  afFoord, 
Desiring  yet  a  thousand  deaths  to  proue, 
Then  so  to  cast  her  Ballase  ouerboard. 
See  how  her  sayles  be  rent,  her  tacklings  worne, 
Her  Cable  broke,  her  surest  Anchor  lost : 
Her  Marryners  doe  leaue  her  all  forlorn e, 
Yet  how  shee  bends  towards  that  blessed  Coast ! 

Loe !  where  she  drownes  in  stormes  of  thy  displeasure, 
Whose  worthy  prize  should  haue  enricht  thy  treasure. 


Ideas  Mtrrour  19 


Amour  35- 

SEE,  chaste  Diana,  where  my  harmles  hart, 
Rouz'd  from  my  breast,  his  sure  and  safest  layre, 
Nor  chaste  by  hound,  nor  forc'd  by  Hunters  arte, 
Yet  see  how  right  he  comes  vnto  my  fayre. 
See  how  my  Deere  comes  to  thy  Beauties  stand, 
And  there  stands  gazing  on  those  darting  eyes, 
Whilst  from  theyr  rayes,  by  Cupids  skilfull  hand, 
Into  his  hart  the  piercing  Arrow  flyes. 
See  how  he  lookes  vpon  his  bleeding  wound, 
Whilst  thus  he  panteth  for  his  latest  breath, 
And,  looking  on  thee,  falls  vpon  the  ground, 
Smyling,  as  though  he  gloried  in  his  death. 

And  wallowing  in  his  blood,  some  lyfe  yet  laft ; 

His  stone-cold  lips  doth  kisse  the  blessed  shaft. 


Amour  $6 

SWEETE,  sleepe  so  arm'd  with  Beauties  arrowes  darting, 
Sleepe  in  thy  Beauty,  Beauty  in  sleepe  appeareth ; 
Sleepe  lightning  Beauty,  Beauty  sleepes,  darknes  cleereth, 
Sleepes  wonder  Beauty,  wonders  to  worlds  imparting. 
Sleep  watching  Beauty,  Beauty  waking,  sleepe  guarding 
Beauty  in  sleepe,  sleepe  in  Beauty  charmed, 
Sleepes  aged  coldnes  with  Beauties  fire  warmed, 
Sleepe  with  delight,  Beauty  with  loue  rewarding. 
Sleepe  and  Beauty,  with  equall  forces  stryuing, 
Beauty  her  strength  vnto  sleepes  weaknes  lending, 
Sleepe  with  Beauty,  Beauty  with  sleepe  contending, 
Yet  others  force  the  others  force  reuiuing, 

And  others  foe  the  others  foe  imbrace. 

Myne  eyes  beheld  thys  conflict  in  thy  face. 


c  ^ 


Sonnets  1594 


Amour  37 

I  EVER  loue  where  neuer  hope  appeares, 
Yet  hope  drawes  on  my  neuer-hoping  care, 
And  my  Hues  hope  would  die  but  for  dyspaire ; 
My  neuer  certaine  ioy  breeds  euer-certaine  feares. 
Vncertaine  dread  gyues  wings  vnto  my  hope, 
Yet  my  hopes  wings  are  loden  so  with  feare, 
As  they  cannot  ascend  to  my  hopes  spheare, 
Yet  feare  gyues  them  more  then  a  heauenly  scope. 
Yet  this  large  roome  is  bounded  with  dyspaire, 
So  my  loue  is  still  fettered  with  vaine  hope, 
And  lyberty  depriues  him  of  hys  scope, 
And  thus  am  I  imprisond  in  the  ayre : 

Then,  sweet  Dispaire,  awhile  hold  vp  thy  head, 
Or  all  my  hope  for  sorrow  will  be  dead. 


Amour  38 

IF  chaste  and  pure  deuotion  of  my  youth, 
Or  glorie  of  my  Aprill-springing  yeeres, 
Vnfained  loue  in  naked  simple  truth, 
A  thousand  vowes,  a  thousand  sighes  and  teares ; 
Or  if  a  world  of  faithful  seruice  done, 
Words,  thoughts,  and  deeds  deuoted  to  her  honor, 
Or  eyes  that  haue  beheld  her  as  theyr  sunne, 
With  admiration  euer  looking  on  her : 
A  lyfe  that  neuer  ioyd  but  in  her  loue, 
A  soule  that  euer  hath  ador'd  her  name, 
A  fayth  that  time  nor  fortune  could  not  moue, 
A  Muse  that  vnto  heauen  hath  raised  her  fame. 
Though  these,  nor  these  deserue  to  be  imbraced, 
Yet,  faire  vnkinde,  too  good  to  be  disgraced. 


Ideas  Mlrrour  xr 


Amour  39 

DIE,  die,  my  soule,  and  neuer  taste  of  ioy, 
If  sighes,  nor teares,  nor  vowes,  nor  prayers  can  moue ; 

If  fayth  and  zeale  be  but  esteemd  a  toy, 

And  kindnes  be  vnkindnes  in  my  loue. 

Then,  with  vnkindnes,  Loue,  reuenge  thy  wrong : 

O  sweet'st  reuenge  that  ere  the  heauens  gaue ! 

And  with  the  swan  record  thy  dying  song, 

And  praise  her  still  to  thy  vntimely  graue. 

So  in  loues  death  shall  loues  perfection  proue 

That  loue  diuine  which  I  haue  borne  to  you, 

By  doome  concealed  to  the  heauens  aboue, 

That  yet  the  world  vnworthy  neuer  knew ; 
Whose  pure  Idea  neuer  tongue  exprest : 
I  feele,  you  know,  the  heauens  can  tell  the  rest. 


Amour  40 

OTHO V  vnkindest  fayre !  most  fayrest  shee, 
,  In  thine  eyes  tryumph  murthering  my  poore  hart, 
Now  doe  I  sweare  by  heauens,  before  we  part, 
My  halfe-slaine  hart  shall  take  reuenge  on  thee. 
Thy  mother  dyd  her  lyfe  to  death  resigne, 
And  thou  an  Angell  art,  and  from  aboue  ; 
Thy  father  was  a  man,  that  will  I  proue, 
Yet  thou  a  Goddesse  art,  and  so  diuine. 
And  thus,  if  thou  be  not  of  humaine  kinde, 
A  Bastard  on  both  sides  needes  must  thou  be; 
Our  Lawes  allow  no  land  to  basterdy  : 
By  natures  Lawes  we  thee  a  bastard  finde. 

Then  hence  to  heauen,  vnkind,  for  thy  childs  part : 
Goe  bastard  goe,  for  sure  of  thence  thou  art. 


^^  Sonnets  1594 


Amour  41 

RARE  of-spring  of  my  thoughts,  my  dearest  Loue, 
Begot  by  fancy  on  sweet  hope  exhortiue, 
In  whom  all  purenes  with  perfection  stroue, 
Hurt  in  the  Embryon  makes  my  ioyes  abhortiue. 
And  you,  my  sighes,  Symtomas  of  my  woe. 
The  dolefull  Anthems  of  my  endelesse  care, 
Lyke  idle  Ecchoes  euer  answering ;  so, 
The  mournfull  accents  of  my  loues  dispayre. 
And  thou,  Conceite,  the  shadow  of  my  blisse, 
Declyning  with  the  setting  of  my  sunne, 
Springing  with  that,  and  fading  straight  with  this, 
Now  hast  thou  end,  and  now  thou  wast  begun  : 

Now  was  thy  pryme,  and  loe !  is  now  thy  waine ; 

Now  wast  thou  borne,  now  in  thy  cradle  slayne. 


Amour  42 

PL  ACT)  in  the  forlorne  hope  of  all  dispayre 
Against  the  Forte  where  Beauties  Army  lies, 
Assayld  with  death,  yet  armed  with  gastly  feare, 
Loe !  thus  my  loue,  my  lyfe,  my  fortune  tryes. 
Wounded  with  Arrowes  from  thy  lightning  eyes, 
My  tongue  in  payne  my  harts  counsels  bewraying, 
My  rebell  thought  for  me  in  Ambushe  lyes, 
To  my  lyues  foe  her  Chieftaine  still  betraying. 
Record  my  loue  in  Ocean  waues  (vnkind) 
Cast  my  desarts  into  the  open  ayre, 
Commit  my  words  vnto  the  fleeting  wind, 
Cancell  my  name,  and  blot  it  with  dispayre  • 
So  shall  I  bee  as  I  had  neuer  beene, 
Nor  my  disgraces  to  the  world  be  scene. 


Ideas  Mirrour 


Amour  43 

WHY  doe  I  speake  of  ioy,  or  write  of  loue, 
When  my  hart  is  the  very  Den  of  horror, 
And  in  my  soule  the  paynes  of  hell  I  proue, 
With  all  his  torments  and  infernall  terror  ? 
Myne  eyes  want  teares  thus  to  bewayle  my  woe, 
My  brayne  is  dry  with  weeping  all  too  long ; 
My  sighes  be  spent  with  griefe  and  sighing  so, 
And  I  want  words  for  to  expresse  my  wrong. 
But  still,  distracted  in  loues  lunacy. 
And  Bedlam  like  thus  rauing  in  my  griefe, 
Now  rayle  vpon  her  hayre,  now  on  her  eye, 
Now  call  her  Goddesse,  then  I  call  her  thiefe  $ 
Now  I  deny  her,  then  I  doe  confesse  her, 
Now  I  doe  curse  her,  then  againe  I  blesse  her. 


Amour  44 

MY  hart  the  Anuile  where  my  thoughts  doe  beate, 
My  words  the  hammers  fashioning  my  desire, 
My  breast  the  forge,  including  all  the  heate, 
Loue  is  the  fuell  which  maintaines  the  fire : 
My  sighes  the  bellowes  which  the  flame  increaseth, 
Filling  mine  eares  with  noise  and  nightly  groning, 
Toyling  with  paine  my  labour  neuer  ceaseth, 
In  greeuous  passions  my  woes  styll  bemoning. 
Myne  eyes  with  teares  against  the  fire  stryuing, 
With  scorching  gleed  my  hart  to  cynders  turneth ; 
But  with  those  drops  the  coles  againe  reuyuing, 
Still  more  and  more  vnto  my  torment  burneth. 
With  Sisiphus  thus  doe  I  role  the  stone, 
And  turne  the  wheele  with  damned  Ixion. 


Sonnets  1594 


Amour  45- 

BLACKE  pytchy  Night,  companyon  of  my  woe, 
The  lime  of  care,  the  Nurse  of  drery  sorrow, 
Why  lengthnest  thou  thy  darkest  howres  so, 
Still  to  prolong  my  long  tyme  lookt-for  morrow  ? 
Thou  Sable  shadow,  Image  of  dispayre, 
Portraite  of  hell,  the  ayres  black  mourning  weed, 
Recorder  of  reuenge,  remembrancer  of  care, 
The  shadow  and  the  vaile  of  euery  sinfull  deed. 
Death  like  to  thee,  so  lyue  thou  still  in  death, 
The  graue  of  ioy,  prison  of  dayes  delight. 
Let  heauens  withdraw  their  sweet  Ambrozian  breath, 
Nor  Moone  nor  stars  lend  thee  their  shining  light ; 
For  thou  alone  renew'st  that  olde  desire, 
Which  still  torments  me  in  dayes  burning  fire. 


Amour  46 

SWEETE  secrecie,  what  tongue  can  tell  thy  worth  ? 
What  mortall  pen  sufficiently  can  prayse  thee  ? 
What  curious  Pensill  serues  to  lim  thee  forth  ? 
What  Muse  hath  power  aboue  thy  height  to  raise  thee  ? 
Strong  locke  of  kindnesse,  Closet  of  loues  store, 
Harts  Methridate,  the  soules  preseruatiue ; 
O  vertue !  which  all  vertues  doe  adore, 
Cheefe  good,  from  whom  all  good  things  wee  deriue. 
O  rare  effect !  true  bond  of  friendships  measure, 
Conceite  of  Angels,  which  all  wisdom  teachest  • 
O,  richest  Casket  of  all  heauenly  treasure, 
In  secret  silence  which  such  wonders  preachest. 

O  purest  mirror!  wherein  men  may  see 

The  liuely  Image  of  Diuinitie. 


Ideas  Mirrour 


Amour  47 

THE  golden  Sunne  vpon  his  fiery  wheeles 
The  horned  Ram  doth  in  his  course  awake, 
And  of  iust  length  our  night  and  day  doth  make, 
Flinging  the  Fishes  backward  with  his  heeles  : 
Then  to  the  Tropicke  takes  his  full  Careere, 
Trotting  his  sun-steeds  till  the  Palfrays  sweat, 
Bayting  the  Lyon  in  his  furious  heat, 
Till  Virgins  smyles  doe  sound  his  sweet  reteere. 
But  my  faire  Planet,  who  directs  me  still, 
Vnkindly  such  distemperature  doth  bring, 
Makes  Summer  Winter,  Autumne  in  the  Spring, 
Crossing  sweet  nature  by  vnruly  will. 

Such  is  the  sunne  who  guides  my  youthfull  season, 
Whose  thwarting  course  depriues  the  world  of  reason. 


Amour  48 

WHO  list  to  praise  the  dayes  delicious  lyght, 
Let  him  compare  it  to  her  heauenly  eye, 
The  sun-beames  to  the  lustre  of  her  sight ; 
So  may  the  learned  like  the  similie. 
The  mornings  Crimson  to  her  lyps  alike, 
The  sweet  of  'Eden  to  her  breathes  perfume, 
The  fayre  Elizia  to  her  fayrer  cheeke, 
Vnto  her  veynes  the  onely  Phoenix  plume. 
The  Angels  tresses  to  her  tressed  hayre, 
The  Galixia  to  her  more  then  white. 
Pray  sing  the  fay  rest,  compare  it  to  my  faire, 
Still  naming  her  in  naming  all  delight. 

So  may  he  grace  all  these  in  her  alone, 

Superlatiue  in  all  comparison. 


D 


^6  Sonnets  1594 


Amour  49 

DEFINE  my  loue,  and  tell  the  ioyes  of  heauen, 
Expresse  my  woes,  and  shew  the  paynes  of  hell  • 
Declare  what  fate  vnlucky  starres  haue  giuen, 
And  aske  a  world  vpon  my  life  to  dwell. 
Make  knowne  that  fayth  vnkindnes  could  not  moue; 
Compare  my  worth  with  others  base  desert : 
Let  vertue  be  the  tuch-stone  of  my  loue, 
So  may  the  heauens  reade  wonders  in  my  hart. 
Behold  the  Clowdes  which  haue  eclips'd  my  sunne3 
And  view  the  crosses  which  my  course  doth  let  • 
Tell  mee,  if  euer  since  the  world  begunne, 
So  faire  a  Morning  had  so  foule  a  set  ? 

And,  by  all  meanes,  let  black  vnkindnes  proue 
The  patience  of  so  rare,  diuine  a  loue. 


Amour  y o 

WHEN  I  first  ended,  then  I  first  began  ; 
The  more  I  trauell,  further  from  my  rest ; 

Where  most  I  lost,  there  most  of  all  I  wan ; 

Pyned  with  hunger,  rysing  from  a  feast. 

Mee  thinks  I  flee,  yet  want  I  legs  to  goe, 

Wise  in  conceite,  in  acte  a  very  sot  j 

Rauisht  with  ioy  amidst  a  hell  of  woe, 

What  most  I  seeme,  that  surest  I  am  not. 

I  build  my  hopes  a  world  aboue  the  skye, 

Yet  with  a  Mole  I  creepe  into  the  earth : 

In  plenty  am  I  staru'd  with  penury, 

And  yet  I  serfet  in  the  greatest  dearth. 

I  haue,  I  want,  dispayre,  and  yet  desire, 

Burn'd  in  a  Sea  of  Ice,  and  drown'd  amidst  a  fire, 


Ideas  Mirrour 


Amour  5-1 

GOE  you,  my  lynes,  Embassadours  of  loue, 
With  my  harts  tribute  to  her  conquering  eyes, 
From  whence,  if  you  one  tear  of  pitty  moue 
For  all  my  woes,  that  onely  shall  suffise. 
When  you  Mmerua  in  the  sunne  behold. 
At  her  perfections  stand  you  then  and  gaze, 
Where  in  the  compasse  of  a  Marygold, 
Meridiams  sits  within  a  maze. 
And  let  Inuention  of  her  beauty  vaunt 
When  Dorus  sings  his  sweet  Pamelas  loue, 
And  tell  the  Gods,  Mars  is  predominant, 
Seated  with  Sol,  and  weares  Mineruas  gloue : 
And  tell  the  world,  that  in  the  world  there  is 
A  heauen  on  earth,  on  earth  no  heauen  but  this. 


FINIS. 


i8  Sonnets  1599 


[from  the  Edition 

Sonet  i 

THE  worlds  faire  Rose,  and  Henries  frosty  fire, 
lohns  tyrannic  ;  and  chast  Matildas  wrong, 
Th'inraged  Queene,  and  furious  Mortimer, 
The  scourge  of  Fraunce,  and  his  chast  loue  I  song  ; 
Deposed  Richard,  Isabell  exil'd, 
The  gallant  Tudor,  and  fayre  Katherme, 
Duke  Humfrey,  and  old  Cobhams  haplesse  child, 
Couragious  Pole,  and  that  braue  spiritfull  Queene  • 
Edward,  and  that  delicious  London  Dame, 
Brandon,  and  that  rich  dowager  of  Fraunce, 
Surrey,  with  his  fayre  paragon  of  fame, 
Dudleys  mishap,  and  vertuous  Grays  mischance  ; 
Their  seuerall  loues  since  I  before  haue  showne, 
Now  giue  me  leaue  at  last  to  sing  mine  owne. 


Sonet  2 

To  the  Deader  of  bis  Poems 

INTO  these  loues  who  but  for  passion  lookes, 
At  this  first  sight,  here  let  him  lay  them  by, 
And  seeke  elsewhere  in  turning  other  bookes, 
Which  better  may  his  labour  satisfie. 
No  far-fetch'd  sigh  shall  euer  wound  my  brest, 
Loue  from  mine  eye,  a  teare  shall  neuer  wring, 
Nor  in  ah-mees  my  whyning  Sonets  drest, 
(A  Libertine)  fantasticklie  I  sing ; 
My  verse  is  the  true  image  of  my  mind, 
Euer  in  motion,  still  desiring  change, 
To  choyce  of  all  varietie  inclin'd, 
And  in  all  humors  sportiuely  I  range ;; 

My  actiue  Muse  is  of  the  worlds  right  straine, 
That  cannot  long  one  fashion  entertaine. 


Idea  19 


Sonet  3 

MANY  there  be  excelling  in  this  kind. 
Whose  well  trick'd  rimes  with  all  inuention  swell, 

Let  each  commend  as  best  shall  like  his  minde, 

Some  Sidney,  Constable,  some  Darnell. 

That  thus  theyr  names  familiarly  I  sing, 

Let  none  think  them  disparaged  to  be, 

Poore  men  with  reuerence  may  speake  of  a  King, 

And  so  may  these  be  spoken  of  by  mee ; 

My  wanton  verse  nere  keepes  one  certaine  stay, 

But  now,  at  hand;  then,  seekes  inuention  far, 

And  with  each  little  motion  runnes  astray, 

Wilde,  madding,  iocond,  and  irreguler  ; 

Like  me  that  lust,  my  honest  merry  rimes, 
Nor  care  for  Criticke,  nor  regard  the  times. 


Sonet  y 

MY  hart  was  slaine,  and  none  but  you  and  I, 
Who  should  I  thinke  the  murder  should  commit  ? 
Since  but  your  selfe,  there  was  no  creature  by 
But  onely  I,  guiltlesse  of  murth'ring  it. 
It  slew  it  selfe  -y  the  verdict  on  the  view 
Doe  quit  the  dead  and  me  not  accessarie ; 
Well,  well,  I  feare  it  will  be  prou'd  by  you, 
The  euidence  so  great  a  proofe  doth  carry. 
But  O,  see,  see,  we  need  enquire  no  further, 
Vpon  your  lips  the  scarlet  drops  are  found, 
And  in  your  eye,  the  boy  that  did  the  murther, 
Your  cheekes  yet  pale  since  first  they  gaue  the  wound. 
By  this,  I  see,  how  euer  things  be  past, 
Yet  heauen  will  still  haue  murther  out  at  last. 


30  Sonnets  1599 


Sonet  8 

NOTHING  but  no  and  I,  and  I  and  no, 
How  falls  it  out  so  strangely  you  reply  ? 
I  tell  yee  (Faire)  He  not  be  aunswered  so, 
With  this  affirming  no,  denying  I, 
I  say  I  loue,  you  slightly  aunswer  1  ? 
I  say  you  loue,  you  pule  me  out  a  no; 
I  say  I  die,  you  eccho  me  with  I, 
Saue  me  I  cry,  you  sigh  me  out  a  no : 
Must  woe  and  I,  haue  naught  but  no  and  I  ? 
No,  I  am  I,  If  I  no  more  can  haue, 
Aunswer  no  more,  with  silence  make  reply, 
And  let  me  take  my  selfe  what  I  doe  craue ; 
Let  no  and  I,  with  I  and  you  be  so, 
Then  aunswer  no,  and  I,  and  I,  and  no. 


Sonet  9 

LOVE  once  would  daunce  within  my  Mistres  eye, 
And  wanting  musique  fitting  for  the  place, 
Swore  that  I  should  the  Instrument  supply, 
And  sodainly  presents  me  with  her  face : 
Straightwayes  my  pulse  playes  liuely  in  my  vaines, 
My  panting  breath  doth  keepe  a  meaner  time, 
My  quau'ring  artiers  be  the  Tenours  straynes, 
My  trembling  sinewes  serue  the  Counterchime, 
My  hollow  sighs  the  deepest  base  doe  beare, 
True  diapazon  in  distincted  sound : 
My  panting  hart  the  treble  makes  the  ayre, 
And  descants  finely  on  the  musiques  ground ; 

Thus  like  a  Lute  or  Violl  did  I  lye, 

Whilst  the  proud  slaue  daunc'd  galliards  in  her  eye. 


Idea  31 


Sonet  10 

LOVE  in  an  humor  played  the  prodigall, 
And  bids  my  sences  to  a  solemne  feast, 
Yet  more  to  grace  the  company  withall, 
Inuites  my  heart  to  be  the  chiefest  guest ; 
No  other  drinke  would  serue  this  gluttons  turne, 
But  precious  teares  distilling  from  mine  eyne, 
Which  with  my  sighs  this  Epicure  doth  burne, 
Quaffing  carouses  in  this  costly  wine, 
Where,  in  his  cups  or^come  with  foule  excesse, 
Begins  to  play  a  swaggering  Ruffins  part, 
And  at  the  banquet,  in  his  drunkennes, 
Slew  my  deare  friend,  his  kind  and  truest  hart ; 
A  gentle  warning,  friends,  thus  may  you  see 
What  'tis  to  keepe  a  drunkard  company. 


Sonet  ii 

To  the  Moone 

PHOEBE  looke  downe,  and  here  behold  in  mee, 
The  elements  within  thy  sphere  inclosed, 
How  kindly  Nature  plac'd  them  vnder  thee, 
And  in  my  world,  see  how  they  are  disposed  j 
My  hope  is  earth,  the  lowest,  cold  and  dry, 
The  grosser  mother  of  deepe  melancholic, 
Water  my  teares,  coold  with  humidity, 
Wan,  flegmatick,  inclind  by  nature  wholie ; 
My  sighs,  the  ayre,  hote,  moyst,  ascending  hier, 
Subtile  of  sanguine,  dy'de  in  my  harts  dolor, 
My  thoughts,  they  be  the  element  of  fire, 
Hote,  dry,  and  piercing,  still  inclind  to  choller, 
Thine  eye  the  Orbe  vnto  all  these,1  from  whence, 
Proceeds  th'  effects  of  powerfull  influence. 


Sonnets  1599 


Sonet  12 

TO  nothing  fitter  can  I  thee  compare. 
Then  to  the  sonne  of  some  rich  penyfather, 
Who  hauing  now  brought  on  his  end  with  care, 
Leaues  to  his  son  all  he  had  heap'd  together  • 
This  newe  rich  nouice,  lauish  of  his  chest, 
To  one  man  giues,  and  on  another  spends, 
Then  here  he  ryots,  yet  amongst  the  rest, 
Haps  to  lend  some  to  one  true  honest  friend. 
Thy  gifts  thou  in  obscuritie  doost  wast, 
False  friends  thy  kindnes,  borne  but  to  deceiue  thee, 
Thy  loue,  that  is  on  the  vnworthy  plac'd, 
Time  hath  thy  beauty,  which  with  age  will  leaue  thee 
Onely  that  little  which  to  me  was  lent, 
I  giue  thee  back,  when  all  the  rest  is  spent. 


Sonet  13 

YOV  not  alone,  when  you  are  still  alone, 
O  God  from  you  that  I  could  priuate  be, 
Since  you  one  were,  I  neuer  since  was  one, 
Since  you  in  me,  my  selfe  since  out  of  me 
Transported  from  my  selfe  into  your  beeing 
Though  either  distant,  present  yet  to  eyther, 
Senceles  with  too  much  ioy,  each  other  seeing, 
And  onely  absent  when  we  are  together. 
Giue  me  my  selfe,  and  take  your  selfe  againe, 
Deuise  some  means  but  how  I  may  forsake  you, 
So  much  is  mine  that  doth  with  you  remaine, 
That  taking  what  is  mine,  with  me  I  take  you, 
You  doe  bewitch  me,  O  that  I  could  flie 
From  my  selfe  you,  or  from  your  owne  selfe  I. 


Idea  33 


Sonet  14 

To  the  Soule 

THAT  learned  Father  which  so  firmly  proues 
The  soule  of  man  immortall  and  diuine, 
And  doth  the  seuerall  offices  define, 
Anima.    Giues  her  that  name  as  shee  the  body  moues, 
Amor.   Then  is  she  loue  imbracing  Charitie, 
Animus.   Mouing  a  will  in  vs,  it  is  the  mind, 
Mens.   Retayning  knowledge,  still  the  same  in  kind ; 
Memoria.    As  intelectuall  it  is  the  memorie, 
Ratio.   In  iudging,  Reason  onely  is  her  name, 
Sensus.   In  speedy  apprehension  it  is  sence, 
Conscientia.   In  right  or  wrong,  they  call  her  conscience. 
Spmtus.   The  spirit,  when  it  to  Godward  doth  inflame. 
These  of  the  soule  the  seuerall  functions  bee, 
Which  my  hart  lightned  by  thy  loue  doth  see. 


Sonet  21 

YOV  cannot  loue  my  pretty  hart,  and  why  ? 
There  was  a  time,  you  told  me  that  you  would, 
But  now  againe  you  will  the  same  deny, 
If  it  might  please  you,  would  to  God  you  could ; 
What  will  you  hate  ?  nay,  that  you  will  not  neither, 
Nor  loue,  nor  hate,  how  then  ?  what  will  you  do, 
What  will  you  keepe  a  meane  then  betwixt  eyther? 
Or  will  you  loue  me,  and  yet  hate  me  to  ? 
Yet  serues  not  this,  what  next,  what  other  shift? 
You  will,  and  will  not,  what  a  coyle  is  heere, 
I  see  your  craft,  now  I  perceaue  your  drift, 
And  all  this  while,  I  was  mistaken  there. 

Your  loue  and  hate  is  this,  I  now  doe  proue  you. 
You  loue  in  hate,  by  hate  to  make  me  loue  you. 


Sonnets   1599 


Sonet  22 

4N  euill  spirit  your  beauty  haunts  me  still, 
Where-with  (alas)  I  haue  been  long  possest, 
ch  ceaseth  not  to  tempt  me  vnto  ill, 
Nor  giues  me  once  but  one  pore  minutes  rest. 
In  me  it  speakes,  whether  I  sleepe  or  wake, 
A  nd  when  by  meanes  to  driue  it  out  I  try, 
With  greater  torments  then  it  me  doth  take, 
And  tortures  me  in  most  extreamity. 
Before  my  face,  it  layes  all  my  dispaires, 
And  hasts  me  on  vnto  a  suddaine  death; 
Now  tempting  me,  to  drown  my  selfe  in  teares, 
And  then  in  sighing  to  giue  vp  my  breath  : 
Thus  am  I  still  prouok'd  to  euery  euill, 
By  this  good  wicked  spirit,  sweet  Angel  deuill, 


Sonet  23 

To  the  Spbeares 

THOV  which  do'st  guide  this  little  world  of  loue, 
Thy  planets  mansions  heere  thou  mayst  behold, 
My  brow  the  spheare  where  Saturne  still  doth  moue, 
Wrinkled  with  cares :  and  withered,  dry,  and  cold  ; 
Mine  eyes  the  Orbe  where  luplter  doth  trace, 
Which  gently  smile  because  they  looke  on  thee, 
Mars  in  my  swarty  visage  takes  his  place, 
Made  leane  with  loue,  where  furious  conflicts  bee. 
Sol  in  my  breast  with  his  hote  scorching  flame, 
And  in  my  hart  alone  doth  Venus  raigne : 
Mercury  my  hands  the  Organs  of  thy  fame, 
And  Luna  glides  in  my  fantastick  braine ; 

The  starry  heauen  thy  prayse  by  me  exprest, 
Thou  the  first  moouer,  guiding  all  the  rest. 


Idea  35- 


Sonet  24 

LOVE  banish'd  heauen,  in  earth  was  held  in  scorne, 
Wandring  abroad  in  neede  and  beggery, 
And  wanting  friends  though  of  a  Goddesse  borne, 
Yet  crau'd  the  almes  of  such  as  passed  by. 
I  like  a  man,  deuout  and  charitable; 
Clothed  the  naked,  lodg'd  this  wandring  guest, 
With  sighs  and  teares  still  furnishing  his  table, 
With  what  might  make  the  miserable  blest  • 
But  this  vngratefull  for  my  good  desart, 
Entic'd  my  thoughts  against  me  to  conspire, 
Who  gaue  consent  to  steale  away  my  hart, 
And  set  my  breast  his  lodging  on  a  fire : 

Well,  well,  my  friends,  when  beggers  grow  thus  bold, 
No  meruaile  then  though  charity  grow  cold. 


Sonet  2y 

OWHY  should  nature  nigardly  restraine, 
The  Sotherne  Nations  relish  not  our  tongue, 
Else  should  my  lines  glide  on  the  waues  of  Rhene, 
And  crowne  the  Pirens  with  my  liuing  song  • 
But  bounded  thus  to  Scotland  get  you  forth  : 
Thence  take  you  wing  vnto  the  Orcades, 
There  let  my  verse  get  glory  in  the  North, 
Making  my  sighs  to  thawe  the  frozen  seas, 
And  let  the  Bards  within  the  Irish  He, 
To  whom  my  Muse  with  fiery  wings  shall  passe, 
Call  backe  the  stifheckd  rebels  from  exile, 
And  molifie  the  slaughtering  Galliglasse : 

And  when  my  flowing  numbers  they  rehearse, 
Let  Wolues  and  Bears  be  charmed  with  my  verse. 


D  ^ 


3  6  Sonnets  1599 


Sonet  27 

I  GAVE  my  faith  to  Loue,  Loue  his  to  mee, 
That  hee  and  I,  sworne  brothers  should  remaine, 
Thus  fayth  receiu'd,  fayth  giuen  back  againe, 
Who  would  imagine  bond  more  sure  could  be  ? 
Loue  flies  to  her,  yet  holds  he  my  fayth  taken, 
Thus  from  my  vertue  raiseth  my  offence, 
Making  me  guilty  by  mine  innocence ; 
And  surer  bond  by  beeing  so  forsaken, 
He  makes  her  aske  what  I  before  had  vow'd, 
Giuing  her  that,  which  he  had  giuen  me, 
I  bound  by  him,  and  he  by  her  made  free, 
Who  euer  so  hard  breach  of  fayth  alow'd  ? 

Speake  you  that  should  of  right  and  wrong  discusse, 
Was  right  ere  wrong'd,  or  wrong  ere  righted  thus  ? 


Sonet  29 

To  the  Sences 

WHEN  conquering  loue  did  first  my  hart  assaile, 
Vnto  mine  ayde  I  summond  euery  sence, 
Doubting  if  that  proude  tyrant  should  preuaile, 
My  hart  should  suffer  for  mine  eyes  offence  • 
But  he  with  beauty,  first  corrupted  sight, 
My  hearing  bryb'd  with  her  tongues  harmony, 
My  taste,  by  her  sweet  lips  drawne  with  delight, 
My  smelling  wonne  with  her  breaths  spicerie ; 
But  when  my  touching  came  to  play  his  part, 
(The  King  of  sences,  greater  than  the  rest) 
That  yeelds  loue  vp  the  keyes  vnto  my  hart, 
And  tells  the  other  how  they  should  be  blest  $ 
And  thus  by  those  of  whom  I  hop'd  for  ayde, 
To  cruell  Loue  my  soule  was  first  betrayd. 


Idea  37 

Sonet  30 

To  the  Vestalls 

THOSE  Priests,  which  first  the  Vestall  fire  begun, 
Which  might  be  borrowed  from  no  earthly  flame, 
Deuisd  a  vessell  to  receiue  the  sunne, 
Beeing  stedfastly  opposed  to  the  same ; 
Where  with  sweet  wood  laid  curiously  by  Art, 
Whereon  the  sunne  might  by  reflection  beate, 
Receiuing  strength  from  euery  secret  part, 
The  fuell  kindled  with  celestiall  heate. 
Thy  blessed  eyes,  the  sunne  which  lights  this  fire, 
My  holy  thoughts,  they  be  the  Vestall  flame, 
The  precious  odors  be  my  chast  desire, 
My  breast  the  fuell  which  includes  the  same ; 
Thou  art  my  Vesta,  thou  my  Goddesse  art, 
Thy  hollowed  Temple,  onely  is  my  hart. 


Sonet  31 

ME  thinks  I  see  some  crooked  Mimick  ieere 
And  taxe  my  Muse  with  this  fantastick  grace, 
Turning  my  papers,  asks  what  haue  we  heere  ? 
Making  withall,  some  filthy  anticke  face ; 
I  feare  no  censure,  nor  what  thou  canst  say, 
Nor  shall  my  spirit  one  iote  of  vigor  lose, 
Think'st  thou  my  wit  shall  keepe  the  pack-horse  way, 
That  euery  dudgen  low  inuention  goes  ? 
Since  Sonnets  thus  in  bundles  are  imprest, 
And  euery  drudge  doth  dull  our  satiate  eare, 
Think'st  thou  my  loue,  shall  in  those  rags  be  drest 
That  euery  dowdie,  euery  trull  doth  weare  ? 
Vnto  my  pitch  no  common  iudgement  flies, 
I  scorne  all  earthlie  dung-bred  scarabies. 


5  8  Sonnets  1599 


Sonet  34 

To  Admiration 

MARVAILE  not  Loue,  though  I  thy  power  admire, 
Rauish'd  a  world  beyond  the  farthest  thought, 

That  knowing  more  then  euer  hath  beene  taught, 

That  I  am  onely  staru'd  in  my  desire ; 

Maruaile  not  Loue,  though  I  thy  power  admire, 

Ayming  at  things  exceeding  all  perfection, 

To  wisedoms  selfe,  to  minister  direction, 

That  I  am  onely  staru'd  in  my  desire  • 

Maruaile  not  Loue,  though  I  thy  power  admire, 

Though  my  conceite  I  farther  seeme  to  bend, 

Then  possibly  inuention  can  extend, 

And  yet  am  onely  staruM  in  my  desire ; 

If  thou  wilt  wonder,  heers  the  wonder  loue, 
That  this  to  mee  doth  yet  no  wonder  proue. 


Sonet  43 

WHILST  thus  my  pen  striues  to  eternize  thee, 
Age  rules  my  lines  with  wrincles  in  my  face, 
Where  in  the  Map  of  all  my  misery, 
Is  modeld  out  the  world  of  my  disgrace, 
Whilst  in  despight  of  tyrannizing  times, 
Medea  like  I  make  thee  young  againe, 
Proudly  thou  scorn'st  my  world-outwearing  rimes, 
And  murther'st  vertue  with  thy  coy  disdaine  $ 
And  though  in  youth,  my  youth  vntimely  perrish, 
To  keepe  thee  from  obliuion  and  the  graue, 
Ensuing  ages  yet  my  rimes  shall  cherrish, 
Where  I  entomb'd,  my  better  part  shall  saue ; 
And  though  this  earthly  body  fade  and  die, 
My  name  shall  mount  vpon  eternitie. 


Idea  39 


Sonet  44 

MVSES  which  sadly  sit  about  my  chayre, 
Drownd  in  the  teares  extorted  by  my  lines, 
With  heauy  sighs  whilst  thus  I  breake  the  ayre, 
Paynting  my  passions  in  these  sad  dissignes, 
Since  she  disdaines  to  blesse  my  happy  verse. 
The  strong  built  Trophies  to  her  liuing  fame, 
Euer  hence-forth  my  bosome  be  your  hearse, 
Wherein  the  world  shal  now  entombe  her  name, 
Enclose  my  musick  you  poor  sencelesse  walls, 
Sith  she  is  deafe  and  will  not  heare  my  mones, 
Soften  your  selues  with  euery  teare  that  falls, 
Whilst  I  like  Orpheus  sing  to  trees  and  stones : 

Which  with  my  plaints  seeme  yet  with  pitty  moued, 
Kinder  then  she  who  I  so  long  haue  loued. 


Sonet  45 

THOV  leaden  braine,  which  censur'st  what  I  write, 
And  say^st  my  lines  be  dull  and  doe  not  moue, 
1  meruaile  not  thou  feelst  not  my  delight, 
Which  neuer  felt  my  fiery  tuch  of  loue. 
But  thou  whose  pen  hath  like  a  Pack-horse  seru'd, 
Whose  stomack  vnto  gaule  hath  turn'd  thy  foode, 
Whose  sences  like  poore  prisoners  hunger-staru'd, 
Whose  griefe  hath  parch'd  thy  body,  dry'd  thy  blood. 
Thou  which  hast  scorned  life,  and  hated  death, 
And  in  a  moment  mad,  sober,  glad,  and  sorry, 
Thou  which  hast  band  thy  thoughts  and  curst  thy  breath, 
With  thousand  plagues  more  then  in  purgatory. 
Thou  thus  whose  spirit  Loue  in  his  fire  refines, 
Come  thou  and  reade,  admire,  applaud  my  lines. 


4-O  Sonnets  i599 


Sonet  jj* 

TRVCE  gentle  loue,  a  parly  now  I  craue, 
Me  thinks,  'tis  long  since  first  these  wars  begun. 
Nor  thou  nor  I,  the  better  yet  can  haue : 
Bad  is  the  match  where  neither  party  wone. 
1  offer  free  conditions  of  faire  peace, 
My  hart  for  hostage,  that  it  shall  remaine, 
Discharge  our  forces  heere,  let  malice  cease, 
So  for  my  pledge,  thou  giue  me  pledge  againe. 
Or  if  nothing  but  death  will  serue  thy  turne, 
Still  thirsting  for  subuersion  of  my  state ; 
Doe  what  thou  canst,  raze,  massacre,  and  burne, 
Let  the  world  see  the  vtmost  of  thy  hate : 
I  send  defiance,  since  if  ouerthrowne, 
Thou  vanquishing,  the  conquest  is  mine  owne. 


Sonet  56 

A  Consonet 

EYES  with  your  teares,  blind  if  you  bee, 
Why  haue  these  teares  such  eyes  to  see, 
Poore  eyes,  if  yours  teares  cannot  moue, 
My  teares,  eyes,  then  must  mone  my  loue, 
Then  eyes,  since  you  haue  lost  your  sight, 
Weepe  still,  and  teares  shall  lend  you  light, 
Till  both  desolu'd,  and  both  want  might. 
No,  no,  cleere  eyes,  you  are  not  blind, 
But  in  my  teares  discerne  my  mind : 
Teares  be  the  language  which  you  speake, 
Which  my  hart  wanting,  yet  must  breake ; 
My  tongue  must  cease  to  tell  my  wrongs, 
And  make  my  sighs  to  get  them  tongs, 
Yet  more  then  this  to  her  belongs. 


G 


Idea  41 

Sonet  f  7 

To  Lucie  Countesse  of  Bedford 

>REAT  Lady,  essence  of  my  chiefest  good, 
Of  the  most  pure  and  finest  tempred  spirit, 
Adorn'd  with  gifts,  enobled  by  thy  blood, 
Which  by  discent  true  vertue  do'st  inherit : 
That  vertue  which  no  fortune  can  depriue, 
Which  thou  by  birth  tak'st  from  thy  gracious  mother, 
Whose  royall  minds  with  equall  motion  striue, 
Which  most  in  honour  shall  excell  the  other ; 
Vnto  thy  fame  my  Muse  herself  shall  taske, 
Which  rain'st  vpon  me  thy  sweet  golden  showers, 
And  but  thy  selfe,  no  subiect  will  I  aske, 
Vpon  whose  praise  my  soule  shall  spend  her  powers. 
Sweet  Lady  yet,  grace  this  poore  Muse  of  mine, 
Whose  faith,  whose  zeale,  whose  life,  whose  all  is  thine. 


Sonet  5-8 

To  the  Lady  Anne  Harington 

MADAM,  my  words  cannot  expresse  my  mind, 
My  zealous  kindnes  to  make  knowne  to  you, 
When  your  desarts  all  seuerally  I  find ; 
In  this  attempt  of  me  doe  claim  their  due, 
Your  gracious  kindnes  that  doth  claime  my  hart ; 
Your  bounty  bids  my  hand  to  make  it  knowne, 
Of  me  your  vertues  each  doe  claime  a  part, 
And  leaue  me  thus  the  least  part  of  mine  owne. 
What  should  commend  your  modesty  and  wit, 
Is  by  your  wit  and  modesty  commended 

And  standeth  dumbe,  in  much  admiring  it,  ^vv; 

And  where  it  should  begin,  it  there  is  ended;  ^r   . 

Returning  this  your  prayses  onely  due,  <$; 

And  to  your  selfe  say  you  are  onely  you.  £, 

C* 

C 'j\ t i ;« » ' *-' 
pft" 


4-x  Sonnets  1602 


[from  the  Edition 
Sonnet  12 

To  Lunacie 

AS  other  men,  so  I  my  selfe  doe  muse, 
Why  in  this  sort  I  wrest  Inuention  so, 
And  why  these  giddy  metaphors  I  vse, 
Leaning  the  path  the  greater  part  doe  goe ; 
I  will  resolue  you ;  I  am  lunaticke, 
And  euer  this  in  mad  men  you  shall  finde, 
What  they  last  thought  on  when  the  braine  grew  sick, 
In  most  distraction  keepe  that  still  in  minde. 
Thus  talking  idely  in  this  bedlam  fit, 
Reason  and  I,  (you  must  conceiue)  are  twaine, 
'Tis  nine  yeeres,  now,  since  first  I  lost  my  wit 
Beare  with  me,  then,  though  troubled  be  my  braine ; 
With  diet  and  correction,  men  distraught, 
(Not  too  farre  past)  may  to  their  wits  be  brought. 


Sonnet  17 

IF  hee  from  heauen  that  filch' d  that  liuing  fire, 
Condemned  by  loue  to  endlesse  torment  be, 
I  greatly  meruaile  how  you  still  goe  free, 
That  farre  beyond  Promethius  did  aspire  ? 
The  fire  he  stole,  although  of  heauenly  kinde, 
Which  from  aboue  he  craftily  did  take, 
Of  liueles  clods  vs  liuing  men  to  make, 
Againe  bestow'd  in  temper  of  the  mind. 
But  you  broke  in  to  heauens  immortall  store, 
Where  vertue,  honour,  wit,  and  beautie  lay, 
Which  taking  thence,  you  haue  escap'd  away, 
Yet  stand  as  free  as  ere  you  did  before. 
But  old  Promethius  punish' d  for  his  rape, 
Thus  poore  theeues  suffer,  when  the  greater  scape, 


Idea 


Sonnet  25- 

To  Folly 

WITH  fooles  and  children  good  discretion  beares, 
Then  honest  people  beare  with  Loue  and  me, 
Nor  older  yet,  nor  wiser  made  by  yeeres, 
Amongst  the  rest  of  fooles  and  children  be  ; 
Loues  still  a  Baby,  playes  with  gaudes  and  toyes, 
And  like  a  wanton  sports  with  euery  feather, 
And  Idiots  still  are  running  after  boyes, 
Then  fooles  and  children  fitt'st  to  goe  together  ; 
He  still  as  young  as  when  he  first  was  borne, 
No  wiser  I,  then  when  as  young  as  he, 
You  that  behold  vs,  laugh  vs  not  to  scorne, 
Giue  Nature  thanks,  you  are  not  such  as  we  ; 
Yet  fooles  and  children  sometimes  tell  in  play, 
Some  wise  in  showe,  more  fooles  in  deede,  then  they. 


Sonnet  27 

IHEARE  some  say,  this  man  is  not  in  loue, 
Who,  can  he  Joue?  a  likely  thing  they  say : 
Reade  but  his  verse,  and  it  will  easily  proue ; 
O  iudge  not  rashly  (gentle  Sir)  I  pray, 
Because  I  loosely  tryfle  in  this  sort, 
As  one  that  faine  his  sorrowes  would  beguile  : 
You  now  suppose  me,  all  this  time  in  sport, 
And  please  your  selfe  with  this  conceit  the  while. 
You  shallow  censures ;  sometime  see  you  not 
In  greatest  perills  some  men  pleasant  be, 
Where  fame  by  death  is  onely  to  be  got, 
They  resolute,  so  stands  the  case  with  me ; 
Where  other  men,  in  depth  of  passion  cry, 
I  laugh  at  fortune,  as  in  iest  to  die. 


44-  Sonnets  1602 


Sonnet  31 

TO  such  as  say  thy  loue  I  ouer-prize, 
And  doe  not  sticke  to  terme  my  praises  folly. 
Against  these  folkes  that  think  them  selues  so  wise, 
I  thus  appose  my  force  of  reason  wholly, 
Though  I  giue  more,  then  well  affords  my  state, 
In  which  expense  the  most  suppose  me  vaine, 
Would  yeeld  them  nothing  at  the  easiest  rate, 
Yet  at  this  price,  returnes  me  treble  gaine. 
They  value  not,  vnskilfull  how  to  vse, 
And  I  giue  much,  because  I  gaine  thereby, 
I  that  thus  take,  or  they  that  thus  refuse, 
Whether  are  these  deceaued  then,  or  I  ? 
In  euery  thing  I  hold  this  maxim  still, 
The  circumstance  doth  make  it  good  or  ill. 


Sonnet  41 

DEARE,  why  should  you  commaund  me  to  my  rest 
When  now  the  night  doth  summon  all  to  sleepe? 
Me  thinks  this  time  becommeth  louers  best, 
Night  was  ordained  together  friends  to  keepe. 
How  happy  are  all  other  liuing  things, 
Which  though  the  day  disioyne  by  seuerall  flight, 
The  quiet  euening  yet  together  brings, 
And  each  returnes  vnto  his  loue  at  night. 
O  thou  that  art  so  curteous  vnto  all, 
Why  shouldst  thou  Night  abuse  me  onely  thus, 
That  euery  creature  to  his  kinde  doost  call, 
And  yet  tis  thou  doost  onely  seuer  vs. 
Well  could  I  wish  it  would  be  euer  day, 
If  when  night  comes  you  bid  me  goe  away. 


Idea  45- 


Sonnet  y8 

To  Prouerbe 

AS  Loue  and  I,  late  harbour'd  in  one  Inne, 
With  Prouerbs  thus  each  other  intertable  $ 
In  loue  there  is  no  lacke^  thus  I  beginne  ? 
Faire  'words  makes  fooles^  replieth  he  agalne  ? 
That  spares  to  speak  ey  doth  spare  to  speed  (tjuoth  1) 
As  'well  (saith  he}  too  forward  as  too  slow. 
Fortune  assists  the  boldest ,  I  replte  ? 
A  hasty  man  (quoth  he}  nere  wanted  woe. 
Labour  is  light,  where  loue  (quoth  I)  doth  pay^ 
(Saith  he)  light  burthens  heauy^  iffarre  borne  ? 
(jtyoth  7)  the  maine  lost^  cast  the  by  away : 
Tou  haue  spunne  a  fair e  thred^  he  replies  in  scorne. 
And  hailing  thus  a  while  each  other  thwarted, 
Fooles  as  we  met,  so  fboles  againe  we  parted. 


Sonnet  63 
To  the  high  and  mighty  Prince ,  jfamesj  Kjng  of  Scots 

NOT  thy  graue  Counsells,  nor  thy  Subiects  loue, 
Nor  all  that  famous  Scottish  royaltie, 
Or  what  thy  soueraigne  greatnes  may  approue, 
Others  in  vaine  doe  but  historifie, 
When  thine  owne  glorie  from  thy  selfe  doth  spring, 
As  though  thou  did'st,  all  meaner  prayses  scorne : 
Of  Kings  a  Poet,  and  the  Poets  King, 
They  Princes,  but  thou  Prophets  do'st  adorne; 
Whilst  others  by  their  Empires  are  renown'd, 
Thou  do'st  enrich  thy  Scotland  with  renowne, 
And  Kings  can  but  with  Diadems  be  crown'd, 
But  with  thy  Laurell,  thou  doo'st  crowne  thy  Crowne ; 
That  they  whose  pens,  euen  life  to  Kings  doe  giue, 
In  thee  a  King,  shall  seeke  them  selues  to  Hue. 


4-6 


Sonnets  1602 


Sonnet  66 

To  the  Lady  L.  S. 

BRIGHT  starre  of  Beauty,  on  whose  eyelids  sit, 
A  thousand  Nimph-like  and  enamoured  Graces, 
The  Goddesses  of  memory  and  wit, 
Which  in  due  order  take  their  seuerall  places, 
In  whose  deare  bosome,  sweet  delicious  loue, 
Layes  downe  his  quiuer,  that  he  once  did  beare, 
Since  he  that  blessed  Paradice  did  proue, 
Forsooke  his  mothers  lap  to  sport  him  there. 
Let  others  striue  to  entertaine  with  words, 
My  soule  is  of  another  temper  made ; 
I  hold  it  vile  that  vulgar  wit  affords, 
Deuouring  time  my  faith,  shall  not  inuade  : 
Still  let  my  praise  be  honoured  thus  by  you, 
Be  you  most  worthy,  whilst  I  be  most  true. 


Idea  47 

[from  the  Edition  of  1605] 
Sonnet  43 

H  Y  should  your  faire  eyes  with  such  soueraine  grace, 
Dispearse  their  raies  on  euery  vulgar  spirit, 

Whilst  I  in  darknes  in  the  selfesame  place, 

Get  not  one  glance  to  recompence  my  merit : 

So  doth  the  plow-man  gaze  the  wandring  starre, 

And  onely  rests  contented  with  the  light, 

That  neuer  learnd  what  constellations  are, 

Beyond  the  bent  of  his  vnknowing  sight. 

O  why  should  beautie  (custome  to  obey) 

To  their  grosse  sence  applie  her  selfe  so  ill  ? 

Would  God  I  were  as  ignorant  as  they 

When  I  am  made  vnhappy  by  my  skill  • 

Onely  compeld  on  this  poore  good  to  boast, 
Heauens  are  not  kind  to  them  that  know  them  most. 


Sonnet  46 

PLAIN-PATH'D  Experience  the  vnlearneds  guide, 
Her  simple  followers  euidently  shewes, 

Sometime  what  schoolemen  scarcely  can  decide, 

Nor  yet  wise  Reason  absolutely  knowes  : 

In  making  triall  of  a  murther  wrought, 

If  the  vile  actor  of  the  heinous  deede, 

Neere  the  dead  bodie  happily  be  brought, 

Oft  hath  been  prou'd  the  breathlesse  coarse  will  bleed ; 

She  comming  neere  that  my  poore  hart  hath  slaine, 

Long  since  departed,  (to  the  world  no  more) 

The  auncient  wounds  no  longer  can  containe, 

But  fell  to  bleeding  as  they  did  before  : 

But  what  of  this  ?  should  she  to  death  be  led, 
It  furthers  iustice,  but  helpes  not  the  dead. 


48  Sonnets  1605 


Sonnet  47 

IN  pride  of  wit,  when  high  desire  of  fame 
Gaue  life  and  courage  to  my  labouring  pen, 
And  first  the  sound  and  vertue  of  my  name, 
Won  grace  and  credit  in  the  eares  of  men  : 
With  those  the  thronged  Theaters  that  presse, 
1  in  the  circuite  for  the  Lawrell  stroue, 
Where  the  full  praise  I  freely  must  confesse, 
In  heate  of  blood  a  modest  minde  might  moue : 
With  showts  and  claps  at  euerie  little  pawse, 
When  the  prowd  round  on  euerie  side  hath  rung, 
Sadly  I  sit  vnmou'd  with  the  applawse, 
As  though  to  me  it  nothing  did  belong : 
No  publique  glorie  vainely  I  pursue, 
The  praise  I  striue,  is  to  eternize  you. 


Sonnet  5-0 

AS  in  some  Countries  far  remote  from  hence, 
The  wretched  creature  destined  to  die, 
Hauing  the  iudgement  due  to  his  offence, 
By  Surgeons  begg'd,  their  Art  on  him  to  trie : 
Which  on  the  liuing  worke  without  remorce, 
First  make  incision  on  each  maistring  vaine, 
Then  stanch  the  bleeding,  then  transperce  the  coarse, 
And  with  their  balmes  recure  the  wounds  againe, 
Then  poison  and  with  Phisicke  him  restore, 
Not  that  they  feare  the  hopelesse  man  to  kill, 
But  their  experience  to  encrease  the  more ; 
Euen  so  my  Mistresse  works  vpon  my  ill, 
By  curing  me,  and  killing  me  each  howre, 
Onely  to  shew  her  beauties  soueraigne  powre. 


Idea  49 


Sonnet  yi 

CALLING  to  minde  since  first  my  loue  begunne, 
Th'  incertaine  times  oft  varying  in  their  course, 
How  things  still  vnexpectedly  haue  runne, 
As  please  the  fates,  by  their  resistlesse  force : 
Lastly,  mine  eyes  amazedly  haue  scene, 
Essex  great  fall,  Tyrone  his  peace  to  gaine, 
The  quiet  end  of  that  long-liuing  Queene, 
This  Kings  faire  entrance,  and  our  peace  with  Spaine, 
We  and  the  Dutch  at  length  our  selues  to  seuer. 
Thus  the  world  doth,  and  euermore  shall  reele, 
Yet  to  my  goddesse  am  I  constant  euer ; 
How  ere  blind  fortune  turne  her  giddy  wheele : 

Though  heauen  and  earth  proue  both  to  mee  vntrue, 

Yet  am  I  still  inuiolate  to  you. 


Sonnet  5-7 

YOV  best  discern'd  of  my  interior  eies, 
And  yet  your  graces  outwardly  diuine, 
Whose  deare  remembrance  in  my  bosome  lies, 
Too  riche  a  r clique  for  so  poore  a  shrine : 
You  in  whome  Nature  chose  herselfe  to  view, 
When  she  her  owne  perfection  would  admire, 
Bestowing  all  her  excellence  on  you ; 
At  whose  pure  eies  Loue  lights  his  halowed  fire, 
Euen  as  a  man  that  in  some  traunce  hath  scene, 
More  than  his  wondring  vttrance  can  vnfolde, 
That  rapt  in  spirite  in  better  worlds  hath  beene, 
So  must  your  praise  distractedly  be  tolde ; 

Most  of  all  short,  when  I  should  shew  you  most, 

In  your  perfections  altogether  lost. 


5-0  Sonnets  1605 


Sonnet  y  8 

IN  former  times,  such  as  had  store  of  coyne, 
In  warres  at  home,  or  when  for  conquests  bound, 
For  feare  that  some  their  treasures  should  purloyne, 
Gaue  it  to  keepe  to  spirites  within  the  ground ; 
And  to  attend  it,  them  so  strongly  tide, 
Till  they  return'd,  home  when  they  neuer  came, 
Such  as  by  art  to  get  the  same  haue  tride, 
From  the  strong  spirits  by  no  means  get  the  same, 
Neerer  you  come,  that  further  flies  away, 
Striuing  to  holde  it  strongly  in  the  deepe  : 
Euen  as  this  spirit,  so  she  alone  doth  play, 
With  those  rich  Beauties  heauen  giues  her  to  keepe 
Pitty  so  left,  to  coldenes  of  her  blood, 
Not  to  auaile  her,  nor  do  others  good. 


To  Sir  Walter  Astm^  I(night  of  the  honourable 

order  of  the  Bath,  and  my  most 

worthy  Patron 

I  WILL  not  striue  m*  inuention  to  inforce, 
With  needlesse  words  your  eyes  to  entertaine, 
T'  obserue  the  for  mall  ordinarie  course 
That  euerie  one  so  vulgarly  doth  faine  : 
Our  interchanged  and  deliberate  choise, 
Is  with  more  firme  and  true  election  sorted, 
Then  stands  in  censure  of  the  common  voice. 
That  with  light  humor  fondly  is  transported : 
Nor  take  I  patterne  of  another's  praise, 
Then  what  my  pen  may  constantly  avow. 
Nor  walke  more  publique  nor  obscurer  waies 
Then  vertue  bids,  and  iudgement  will  allow ; 
So  shall  my  loue,  and  best  endeuours  serue  you, 
And  still  shall  studie,  still  so  to  deserue  you. 

Micbaell  Drayton. 


Idea  5-1 

[from  the  Edition  of  i 


LIKE  an  aduenturous  Sea-farer  am  I, 
Who  hath  some  long  and  dangerous  Voyage  beene, 
And  calFd  to  tell  of  his  Discouerie, 
How  farre  he  sayl'd,  what  Countries  he  had  scene, 
Proceeding  from  the  Port  whence  he  put  forth, 
Shewes  by  his  Compasse,  how  his  Course  he  steer'd, 
When  East,  when  West,  when  South,  and  when  by  North, 
As  how  the  Pole  to  eu'ry  place  was  rear'd, 
What  Capes  he  doubled,  of  what  Continent, 
The  Gulphes  and  Straits,  that  strangely  he  had  past, 
Where  most  becalm'd,  wherewith  foule  Weather  spent, 
And  on  what  Rocks  in  perill  to  be  cast? 
Thus  in  my  Loue,  Time  calls  me  to  relate 
My  tedious  Trauels,  and  oft-varying  Fate. 


HOW  many  paltry,  foolish,  painted  things, 
That  now  in  Coaches  trouble  eu'ry  Street, 
Shall  be  forgotten,  whom  no  Poet  sings, 
Ere  they  be  well  wrap'd  in  their  winding  Sheet  ? 
V/here  I  to  thee  Eternitie  shall  giue, 
When  nothing  else  remayneth  of  these  dayes, 
And  Queenes  hereafter  shall  be  glad  to  Hue 
Vpon  the  Almes  of  thy  superfluous  prayse ; 
Virgins  and  Matrons  reading  these  my  Rimes, 
Shall  be  so  much  delighted  with  thy  story, 
That  they  shall  grieve,  they  liu'd  not  in  these 
To  haue  scene  thee,  their  Sexes  onely  glory  : 
So  shalt  thou  flye  aboue  the  vulgar  Throng, 
Still  to  suruiue  in  my  immortall  Song. 


E  i. 


Sonnets  i6ig 


8 

'S  nothing  grieues  me,  but  that  Age  should  haste, 
That  in  my  dayes  I  may  not  see  thee  old, 
That  where  those  two  cleare  sparkling  Eyes  are  plac'd, 
Onely  two  Loope-holes,  then  I  might  behold. 
That  louely,  arched,  yuorie,  pollish'd  Brow, 
Defac'd  with  Wrinkles,  that  I  might  but  see  • 
Thy  daintie  Hayre,  so  curl'd,  and  crisped  now, 
Like  grizzled  Mosse  vpon  some  aged  Tree ; 
Thy  Cheeke,  now  flush  with  Roses,  sunke,  and  leane, 
Thy  Lips,  with  age,  as  any  Wafer  thinne, 
Thy  Pearly  teeth  out  of  thy  head  so  cleane, 
That  when  thou  feed'st,  thy  Nose  shall  touch  thy  Chinne : 

These  Lines  that  now  thou  scorn'st,  which  should  delight 
thee, 

Then  would  I  make  thee  read,  but  to  despight  thee. 


His  tymedie  for  Loue 

SINCE  to  obtaine  thee,  nothing  me  will  sted, 
I  haue  a  Med'cine  that  shall  cure  my  Loue, 
The  powder  of  her  Heart  dry'd,  when  she  is  dead, 
That  Gold  nor  Honour  ne'r  had  power  to  moue ; 
Mix'd  with  her  Teares,  that  ne'r  her  true-Loue  crost, 
Nor  at  Fifteene  ne'r  long'd  to  be  a  Bride, 
BoyPd  with  her  Sighes,  in  giuing  vp  the  Ghost, 
That  for  her  late  deceased  Husband  dy'd ; 
Into  the  same  then  let  a  Woman  breathe, 
That  being  chid,  did  neuer  word  replie, 
With  one  thrice-marry'd's  Pray'rs,  that  did  bequeath 
A  Legacie  to  stale  Virginitie. 

If  this  Receit  haue  not  the  pow'r  to  winne  me, 
Little  He  say,  but  thinke  the  Deuill  's  in  me. 


Idea 


21 

A     WITLESSE  Gallant,  a  young  Wench  that  woo'd, 
^/^(Yet  his  dull  Spirit  her  not  one  iot  could  moue) 
Intreated  me,  as  e'r  I  wish'd  his  good, 
To  write  him  but  one  Sonnet  to  his  Loue  : 
When  I,  as  fast  as  e'r  my  Penne  could  trot, 
Powr'd  out  what  first  from  quicke  Inuention  came  • 
Nor  neuer  stood  one  word  thereof  to  blot, 
Much  like  his  Wit,  that  was  to  vse  the  same : 
But  with  my  Verses  he  his  Mistres  wonne, 
Who  doted  on  the  Dolt  beyond  all  measure. 
But  soe,  for  you  to  Heau'n  for  Phraze  I  runne, 
And  ransacke  all  APOLLO'S  golden  Treasure ; 
Yet  by  my  Troth,  this  Foole  his  Loue  obtaines, 
And  I  lose  you,  for  all  my  Wit  and  Paines. 


27 

IS  not  Loue  here,  as  'tis  in  other  Clymes, 
And  dirFreth  it,  as  doe  the  seu'rall  Nations  ? 
Or  hath  it  lost  the  Vertue,  with  the  Times, 
Or  in  this  land  alt'reth  with  the  Fashions  ? 
Or  haue  our  Passions  lesser  pow'r  then  theirs, 
Who  had  lesse  Art  them  liuely  to  expresse  ? 
Is  Nature  growne  lesse  pow'rfull  in  their  Heires, 
Or  in  our  Fathers  did  the  more  transgresse  ? 
I  am  sure  my  Sighes  come  from  a  Heart  as  true, 
As  any  Mans,  that  Memory  can  boast, 
And  my  Respects  and  Seruices  to  you 
Equall  with  his,  that  loues  his  Mistris  most : 
Or  Nature  must  be  partiall  in  my  Cause, 
Or  onely  you  doe  violate  her  Lawes. 


5*4  Sonnets 


Cupid  coniured 

THOV  purblind  Boy,  since  thou  hast  been  so  slacke 
To  wound  her  Heart,  whose  Eyes  haue  wounded  me, 

And  sufFred  her  to  glory  in  my  Wracke, 

Thus  to  my  aid,  I  lastly  coniure  thee ; 

By  Hellish  Styx  (by  which  the  THUND'RER  sweares) 

By  thy  faire  Mothers  vnauoided  Power, 

By  HECAT'S  Names,  by  PROSERPINE'S  sad  Teares, 

When  she  was  rapt  to  the  infernall  Bower, 

By  thine  own  loued  PSYCHES,  by  the  Fires 

Spent  on  thine  Altars,  flaming  vp  to  Heau'n  ; 

By  all  the  Louers  Sighes,  Vowes,  and  Desires, 

By  all  the  Wounds  that  euer  thou  hast  giu'n  • 
1  coniure  thee  by  all  that  I  haue  nam'd, 
To  make  her  loue,  or  CVPID  be  thou  damn'd. 


48 

CVPID,  I  hate  thee,  which  Pde  haue  thee  know, 
A  naked  Starueling  euer  may'st  thou  be, 
Poore  Rogue,  goe  pawne  thy  Fascia  and  thy  Bow, 
For  some  few  Ragges,  wherewith  to  couer  thee  j 
Or  if  thou'lt  not,  thy  Archerie  forbeare, 
To  some  base  Rustick  doe  thy  selfe  preferre, 
And  when  Corne  's  sowne,  or  growne  into  the  Eare, 
Practise  thy  Quiuer,  and  turne  Crow-keeper  • 
Or  being  Blind  (as  fittest  for  the  Trade) 
Goe  hyre  thy  selfe  some  bungling  Harpers  Boy ; 
They  that  are  blind,  are  Minstrels  often  made, 
So  may'st  thou  Hue,  to  thy  faire  Mothers  loy : 
That  whilst  with  MARS  she  holdeth  her  old  way, 
Thou,  her  Blind  Sonne,  may'st  sit  by  them,  and  play, 


Idea 


WHAT  dost  thou  meane  to  Cheate  me  of  my  Heart, 
To  take  all  Mine,  and  giue  me  none  againe  ? 
Or  haue  thine  Eyes  such  Magike,  or  that  Art, 
That  what  They  get,  They  euer  doe  retaine  ? 
Play  not  the  Tyrant,  but  take  some  Remorse, 
Rebate  thy  Spleene,  if  but  for  Pitties  sake ; 
Or  Cruell,  if  thou  can'st  not-  let  vs  scorse, 
And  for  one  Piece  of  Thine,  my  whole  heart  take. 
But  what  of  Pitty  doe  I  speake  to  Thee, 
Whose  Brest  is  proofe  against  Complaint  or  Prayer  ? 
Or  can  I  thinke  what  my  Reward  shall  be 
From  that  proud  Beauty,  which  was  my  betrayer  ? 

What  talke  I  of  a  Heart,  when  thou  hast  none  ? 

Or  if  thou  hast,  it  is  a  flinty  one. 


SINCE  there 's  no  helpe,  Come  let  vs  kisse  and  part, 
Nay,  I  haue  done :  You  get  no  more  of  Me, 
And  I  am  glad,  yea  glad  withall  my  heart, 
That  thus  so  cleanly,  I  my  Selfe  can  free, 
Shake  hands  for  euer,  Cancell  all  our  Vowes, 
And  when  we  meet  at  any  time  againe, 
Be  it  not  scene  in  either  of  our  Browes, 
That  We  one  iot  of  former  Loue  reteyne; 
Now  at  the  last  gaspe  of  Loues  latest  Breath, 
When  his  Pulse  fayling,  Passion  speechlesse  lies, 
When  Faith  is  kneeling  by  his  bed  of  Death, 
And  Innocence  is  closing  vp  his  Eyes, 

Now  if  thou  would'st,  when  all  haue  giuen  him  ouer, 
From  Death  to  Life,  thou  might'st  him  yet  recouer. 


ODES 


Pyreneus, 
King  of  Phocis, 
attempting  to 
ratiish  the  MMSCS. 


[from  the  Edition 


To  HlMSELFE  AND  THE  HARPE 

A  ND  why  not  I,  as  hee 
£\jrhzt  's  greatest,  if  as  free, 

(In  sundry  strains  that  striue, 
Since  there  so  many  be) 

TV  old  Lyrtck  kind  reuiue  ? 

I  will,  yea,  and  I  may  ; 
Who  shall  oppose  my  way  ? 

For  what  is  he  alone, 
That  of  himselfe  can  say, 

Hee  's  Heire  of  Helicon  ? 

APOLLO,  and  the  Nine, 
Forbid  no  Man  their  Shrine, 

That  commeth  with  hands  pure  ; 
Else  be  they  so  diuine, 

They  will  not  him  indure. 

For  they  be  such  coy  Things, 
That  they  care  not  for  Kings, 

And  dare  let  them  know  it  ; 
Nor  may  he  touch  their  Springs, 

That  is  not  borne  a  Poet. 

The  Vhocean  it  did  proue, 
Whom  when  foule  Lust  did  moue, 

Those  Mayds  vnchast  to  make, 
Fell,  as  with  them  he  stroue, 

His  Neck  and  iustly  brake. 


10 


To  Himself  e  and  the  Harpe      57 

That  instrument  ne'r  heard, 
Strooke  by  the  skilfull  Bard, 

It  strongly  to  awake ; 
But  it  th'  infernalls  skard, 

And  made  Olympus  quake.  30 

As  those  Prophetike  strings 
Whose  sounds  with  fiery  Wings, 

Draue  Fiends  from  their  abode, 
Touch'd  by  the  best  of  Kings, 

That  sang  the  holy  Ode. 

So  his,  which  Women  slue, 
And  it  int'  Hebrus  threw, 

Such  sounds  yet  forth  it  sent, 
The  Bankes  to  weepe  that  drue, 

As  downe  the  streame  it  went. 

That  by  the  Tortoyse  shell, 
To  MAYAS  Sonne  it  fell, 

The  most  thereof  not  doubt 
But  sure  some  Power  did  dwell, 

In  Him  who  found  it  out. 

The  Wildest  of  the  field, 

And  Ayre,  with  Riuers  t'yeeld, 

Which  mou'd-  that  sturdy  Glebes, 
And  massie  Oakes  could  weeld, 

To  rayse  the  pyles  of  Thebes. 

And  diuersly  though  Strung, 
So  anciently  We  sung, 

To  it,  that  Now  scarce  knowne, 
If  first  it  did  belong 

To  Greece ,  or  if  our  Owne. 

The  Druydes  imbrew'd, 
With  Gore,  on  Altars  rude 

With  Sacrifices  crown'd, 
In  hollow  Woods  bedew'd, 

Ador'd  the  Trembling  sound. 


Sam.  lib.  i. 
cap.  1 6. 


Orpheus  the 
Thracian  Poet. 
Caput,  Hebre, 
lyramque  Ex- 
cipis.  &c.  Quid, 
lib.  ii.  Mecam. 


Mercury  »*»- 
uentor  of  the 
Harpe,  as 
Ho  race  Ode  i  o. 
lib.  i.  curutq; 
lyr&  parent?. 


Thebes  fayned 


5-0 


The  ancient 
British  Priests 
so  called  of 
their  abode  in 
woods. 

60 


5-8 


Pindar  Prince 
of  the  Greeke 
ly  ricks,  of  whom 
Horace : 
Pindarum 
quisquis 
studec,  &c. 
Ode  a.  lib.  4.. 

Horace  first  of 
the  Romans  in 
that  kind. 


Odes  i6ig 

Though  wee  be  All  to  seeke, 
Of  PINDAR  that  Great  Greeke, 

To  Finger  it  aright, 
The  Soule  with  power  to  strike, 

His  hand  retayn'd  such  Might. 

Or  him  that  'Rome  did  grace 
Whose  Ayres  we  all  imbrace, 

That  scarcely  found  his  Peere, 
Nor  giueth  PHCEBVS  place, 

For  Strokes  diuinely  cleere. 

The  Irish  I  admire, 
The  Irish  Harpe.     And  still  cleaue  to  that  Lyre, 

As  our  Musike's  Mother, 
And  thinke,  till  I  expire, 

APOLLO  's  such  another. 

As  Britons,  that  so  long 
Haue  held  this  Antike  Song, 

And  let  all  our  Carpers 
Forbeare  their  fame  to  wrong, 

Th'  are  right  skilfull  Harpers. 


Southerne,  an 
English  Lymk. 


old  English 


Southerne^  I  long  thee  spare, 
Yet  wish  thee  well  to  fare, 

Who  me  pleased'st  greatly, 
As  first,  therefore  more  rare, 

Handling  thy  Harpe  neatly. 

To  those  that  with  despight 
Shall  terme  these  Numbers  slight, 

Tell  them  their  Judgement's  blind, 
Much  erring  from  the  right, 

It  is  a  Noble  kind. 

Nor  is  't  the  Verse  doth  make, 
That  giueth,  or  doth  take, 

'Tis  possible  to  clyme, 
To  kindle,  or  to  slake, 

Although  in  SKELTON^s  Ryme. 


To  THE  NEW  YEERE 


RCH  Statue,  double-faced, 
With  Marble  Temples  graced, 
To  rayse  thy  God-head  hyer, 
In  flames  where  Altars  shining, 
Before  thy  Priests  diuining, 
Doe  odorous  Fumes  expire. 

Great  IANVS,  I  thy  pleasure, 
With  all  the  Thespian  treasure, 

Doe  seriously  pursue  ; 

To  th'  passed  yeere  returning,  10 

As  though  the  old  adiourning, 

Yet  bringing  in  the  new. 

Thy  ancient  Vigils  yeerely, 
I  haue  obserued  cleerely, 

Thy  Feasts  yet  smoaking  bee  • 
Since  all  thy  store  abroad  is, 
Giue  something  to  my  Goddesse, 

As  hath  been  vs'd  by  thee. 

Giue  her  th'  Eoan  brightnesse, 

Wing'd  with  that  subtill  lightnesse,  20 

That  doth  trans-pierce  the  Ayre  ; 
The  Roses  of  the  Morning 
The  rising  Heau'n  adorning, 

To  mesh  with  flames  of  Hayre. 

Those  ceaselesse  Sounds,  aboue  all, 
Made  by  those  Orbes  that  moue  all, 

And  euer  swelling  there, 
Wrap'd  vp  in  Numbers  flowing, 
Them  actually  bestowing, 

For  Jewels  at  her  Eare.  30 

O  Rapture  great  and  holy, 
Doe  thou  transport  me  wholly, 

So  well  her  forme  to  vary, 
That  I  aloft  may  beare  her, 
Whereas  I  will  insphere  her, 

In  Regions  high  and  starry. 


6o  Odes  i6ig 


And  in  my  choise  Composures, 
The  soft  and  easie  Closures, 

So  amorously  shall  meet  j 

That  euery  liuely  Ceasure  40 

Shall  tread  a  perfect  Measure 

Set  on  so  equall  feet. 

That  Spray  to  fame  so  fertle, 
The  Louer-crowning  Mirtle, 

In  Wreaths  of  mixed  Bowes, 
Within  whose  shades  are  dwelling 
Those  Beauties  most  excelling, 

Inthron'd  vpon  her  Browes. 

Those  Paralels  so  euen, 

Drawne  on  the  face  of  Heauen,  yo 

That  curious  Art  supposes, 
Direct  those  Gems,  whose  cleerenesse 
Farre  off  amaze  by  neerenesse, 

Each  Globe  such  fire  incloses. 

Her  Bosome  full  of  Blisses, 
By  Nature  made  for  Kisses, 

So  pure  and  wond'rous  cleere, 
Whereas  a  thousand  Graces 
Behold  their  louely  Faces, 

As  they  are  bathing  there.  60 

O,  thou  selfe-little  blindnesse, 
The  kindnesse  of  vnkindnesse, 

Yet  one  of  those  diuine  ; 
Thy  Brands  to  me  were  leuer, 
Thy  Fascia,  and  thy  Quiuer, 

And  thou  this  Qjuill  of  mine. 

This  Heart  so  freshly  bleeding, 
Vpon  it  owne  selfe  feeding, 

Whose  woundes  still  dropping  be  j 
O  Loue,  thy  selfe  confounding,  70 

Her  coldnesse  so  abounding, 

And  yet  such  heat  in  me. 


To  the  New  Teere  61 

Yet  if  I  be  inspired, 

He  leaue  thee  so  admired, 

To  all  that  shall  succeed. 
That  were  they  more  then  many, 
'Mongst  all,  there  is  not  any, 

That  Time  so  oft  shall  read. 

Nor  Adamant  ingraued, 

That  hath  been  choisely  'st  saued,  80 

IDEA'S  Name  out-weares ; 
So  large  a  Dower  as  this  is, 
The  greatest  often  misses, 

The  Diadem  that  beares. 


To  His  VALENTINE 

MVSE,  bid  the  Morne  awake, 
Sad  Winter  now  declines, 
Each  Bird  doth  chuse  a  Make, 

This  day 's  Saint  VALENTINE'S  ; 
For  that  good  Bishop's  sake 
Get  vp,  and  let  vs  see, 
What  Beautie  it  shall  bee, 
That  Fortune  vs  assignes. 

But  lo,  in  happy  How'r, 

The  place  wherein  she  lyes,  10 

In  yonder  climbing  Tow'r, 

Gilt  by  the  glitt'ring  Rise ; 
O  IOVE!  that  in  a  Show'r, 
As  once  that  Thund'rer  did, 
When  he  in  drops  lay  hid, 

That  I  could  her  surprize. 

Her  Canopie  He  draw, 

With  spangled  Plumes  bedight,  ^>.    ^ 

No  Mortal!  euer  saw  fr;-V.  ~~—?  T^ 

So  rauishing  a  sight ;  ^   fe^r^     * 


Odes  1619 

That  it  the  Gods  might  awe, 
And  powerfully  trans-pierce 
The  Globie  Vniuerse, 
Out-shooting  eu'ry  Light. 

My  Lips  He  softly  lay 

Vpon  her  heau'nry  Cheeke, 
Dy'd  like  the  dawning  Day, 

As  polish'd  luorie  sleeke : 
And  in  her  Eare  He  say ; 
O,  thou  bright  Morning-Starre,  30 

'Tis  I  that  come  so  farre, 

My  Valentine  to  seeke. 

Each  little  Bird,  this  Tyde, 

Doth  chuse  her  loued  Pheere, 
Which  constantly  abide 

In  Wedlock  all  the  yeere, 
As  Nature  is  their  Guide : 
So  may  we  two  be  true, 
This  yeere,  nor  change  for  new, 

As  Turtles  coupled  were.  40 

The  Sparrow,  Swan,  the  Doue, 

Though  VENVS  Birds  they  be, 
Yet  are  they  not  for  Loue 

So  absolute  as  we  : 
For  Reason  vs  doth  moue  j 
They  but  by  billing  woo : 
Then  try  what  we  can  doo, 

To  whom  each  sense  is  free. 

Which  we  haue  more  then  they, 

By  liuelyer  Organs  sway'd,  70 

Our  Appetite  each  way 

More  by  our  Sense  obay'd  : 
Our  Passions  to  display, 
This  Season  vs  doth  fit ; 
Then  let  vs  follow  it, 

As  Nature  vs  doth  lead. 


To  his  Valentine  63 

One  Kisse  in  two  let 's  breake, 

Confounded  with  the  touch, 
But  halfe  words  let  vs  speake, 

Our  Lip's  imploy'd  so  much ,  60 

Vntill  we  both  grow  weake, 
With  sweetnesse  of  thy  breath ; 
O  smother  me  to  death : 

Long  let  our  loyes  be  such. 

Let's  laugh  at  them  that  chuse 

Their  Valentines  by  lot, 
To  weare  their  Names  that  vse, 

Whom  idly  they  haue  got : 
Such  poore  choise  we  refuse, 
Saint  VALENTINE  befriend ;  70 

We  thus  this  Morne  may  spend, 

Else  Muse,  awake  her  not. 


THE  HEART 

IF  thus  we  needs  must  goe, 
What  shall  our  one  Heart  doe, 
This  One  made  of  our  Two? 

Madame,  two  Hearts  we  brake, 
And  from  them  both  did  take 
The  best,  one  Heart  to  make. 

Halfe  this  is  of  your  Heart, 
Mine  in  the  other  part, 
loynM  by  our  equall  Art. 

Were  it  cymented,  or  sowne,  10 

By  Shreds  or  Pieces  knowne, 
We  each  might  find  our  owne. 

But  'tis  dissolu'd,  and  fix'd, 
And  with  such  cunning  mix'd, 
No  difPrence  that  betwixt. 


Odes  1619 

But  how  shall  we  agree, 
By  whom  it  kept  shall  be. 
Whether  by  you,  or  me  ? 

It  cannot  two  Brests  fill, 

One  must  be  heartlesse  still,  10 

Vntill  the  other  will. 

It  came  to  me  one  day, 
When  I  wiird  it  to  say, 
With  whether  it  would  stay  ? 

It  told  me,  in  your  Brest, 
Where  it  might  hope  to  rest : 
For  if  it  were  my  Ghest, 

For  certainety  it  knew, 
That  1  would  still  anew 
Be  sending  it  to  you.  30 

Neuer,  I  thinke,  had  two 
Such  worke,  so  much  to  doo, 
A  Vnitie  to  woo. 

Yours  was  so  cold  and  chaste, 
Whilst  mine  with  zeale  did  waste, 
Like  Fire  with  Water  plac'd. 

How  did  my  Heart  intreat, 
How  pant,  how  did  it  beat, 
Till  it  could  giue  yours  heat ! 

Till  to  that  temper  brought,  4.0 

Through  our  perfection  wrought, 
That  blessing  eythers  Thought. 

In  such  a  Height  it  lyes, 

From  this  base  Worlds  dull  Eyes, 

That  Heauen  it  not  enuyes. 

All  that  this  Earth  can  show, 
Our  Heart  shall  not  once  know, 
For  it  too  vile  and  low. 


THE  SACRIFICE  To  APOLLO 

PRIESTS  of  APOLLO,  sacred  be  the  Roome, 

For  this  learn'd  Meeting :  Let  no  barbarous  Groome, 

How  braue  soe'r  he  bee. 

Attempt  to  enter ; 

But  of  the  Muses  free, 

None  here  may  venter ; 
This  for  the  Delphian  Prophets  is  prepar'd : 
The  prophane  Vulgar  are  from  hence  debar'd. 

And  since  the  Feast  so  happily  begins, 

Call  vp  those  faire  Nine,  with  their  Violins  •  10 

They  are  begot  by  IOVE, 

Then  let  vs  place  them, 

Where  no  Clowne  in  may  shoue, 

That  may  disgrace  them : 
But  let  them  neere  to  young  APOLLO  sit; 
So  shall  his  Foot-pace  ouer-flow  with  Wit. 

Where  be  the  Graces,  where  be  those  fayre  Three  ? 
In  any  hand  they  may  not  absent  bee : 

They  to  the  Gods  are  deare, 

And  they  can  humbly  10 

Teach  vs,  our  Selues  to  beare, 

And  doe  things  comely  : 

They,  and  the  Muses,  rise  both  from  one  Stem, 
They  grace  the  Muses,  and  the  Muses  them. 

Bring  forth  your  Flaggons  (fill'd  with  sparkling  Wine) 
Whereon  swolne  BACCHVS,  crowned  with  a  Vine, 

Is  grauen,  and  fill  out, 

It  well  bestowing, 

To  eu'ry  Man  about, 

In  Goblets  flowing  :  30 

Let  not  a  Man  drinke,  but  in  Draughts  profound ; 
To  our  God  PHCEBVS  let  the  Health  goe  Round. 


66  Odes  1619 

Let  your  lests  flye  at  large ;  yet  therewithall 
See  they  be  Salt,  but  yet  not  mix'd  with  Gall : 

Not  tending  to  disgrace. 

But  fay  rely  giuen, 

Becomming  well  the  place, 

Modest,  and  euen ; 

That  they  with  tickling  Pleasure  may  prouoke 
Laughter  in  him,  on  whom  the  lest  is  broke.  40 

Or  if  the  deeds  of  HEROES  ye  rehearse, 
Let  them  be  sung  in  so  well-ord'red  Verse, 

That  each  word  haue  his  weight, 

Yet  runne  with  pleasure ; 

Holding  one  stately  height, 

In  so  braue  measure, 

That  they  may  make  the  stiiFest  Storme  seeme  weake, 
And  dampe  IOVES  Thunder,  when  it  lowd'st  doth  speake. 

And  .if  yee  list  to  exercise  your  Vayne, 

Or  in  the  Sock,  or  in  the  Buskin'd  Strayne,  50 

Let  Art  and  Nature  goe 

One  with  the  other  • 

Yet  so,  that  Art  may  show 

Nature  her  Mother  • 

The  thick-brayn'd  Audience  liuely  to  awake. 
Till  with  shrill  Claps  the  Theater  doe  shake. 

Sing  Hymnes  to  BACCHVS  then,  with  hands  vprear'd, 
Offer  to  IOVE,  who  most  is  to  be  fear'd  • 

From  him  the  Muse  we  haue, 

From  him  proceedeth  60 

More  then  we  dare  to  craue ; 

'Tis  he  that  feedeth 

Them,  whom  the  World  would  starue ;  then  let  the  Lyre 
Sound,  whilst  his  Altars  endlesse  flames  expire. 


To  CVPID 

MAYDENS,  why  spare  ye  ? 
Or  whether  not  dare  ye 

Correct  the  blind  Shooter? 
Because  wanton  VENVS, 
So  oft  that  doth  paine  vs, 

Is  her  Sonnes  Tutor. 

Now  in  the  Spring, 
He  proueth  his  Wing, 

The  Field  is  his  Bower, 

And  as  the  small  Bee,  10 

About  flyeth  hee, 

From  Flower  to  Flower. 

And  wantonly  roues, 
Abroad  in  the  Groues, 

And  in  the  Ayre  houers, 
Which  when  it  him  deweth, 
His  Fethers  he  meweth, 

In  sighes  of  true  Louers. 

And  since  doom'd  by  Fate, 

(That  well  knew  his  Hate)  ao 

That  Hee  should  be  blinde  ; 
For  very  despite, 
Our  Eyes  be  his  White, 

So  wayward  his  kinde. 

If  his  Shafts  loosing, 
(111  his  Mark  choosing) 

Or  his  Bow  broken ; 
The  Moane  VENVS  maketh. 
And  care  that  she  taketh, 

Cannot  be  spoken.  30 

To  VULCAN  commending 
Her  loue,  and  straight  sending 
Her  Doues  and  her  Sparrowes, 
F  z 


(58  Odes  1619 

With  Kisses  vnto  him, 
And  all  but  to  woo  him, 
To  make  her  Sonne  Arrowes. 

Telling  what  he  hath  done, 

(Sayth  she,  Right  mine  owne  Sonne) 

In  her  Armes  she  him  closes, 
Sweetes  on  him  fans,  4.0 

Layd  in  Downe  of  her  Swans, 

His  Sheets,  Leaues  of  Roses. 

And  feeds  him  with  Kisses ; 
Which  oft  when  he  misses, 

He  euer  is  froward : 
The  Mothers  o'r-ioying, 
Makes  by  much  coying, 

The  Child  so  vntoward. 

Yet  in  a  fine  Net, 

That  a  Spider  set,  5-0 

The  Maydens  had  caught  him ; 
Had  she  not  beene  neere  him, 
And  chanced  to  heare  him, 

More  good  they  had  taught  him. 


AN  AMOVRET  ANACREONTICK 

MOST  good,  most  faire, 

Or  Thing  as  rare, 

To  call  you 's  lost  • 

For  all  the  cost 

Words  can  bestow. 

So  poorely  show 

Vpon  your  prayse, 

That  all  the  wayes 

Sense  hath,  come  short  : 

Whereby  Report  10 

Falls  them  vnder ; 

That  when  Wonder 

More  hath  seyzed, 

Yet  not  pleased, 


An  ^mouret  Anacreontick     69 

That  it  in  kinde 

Nothing  can  finde, 

You  to  expresse : 

Neuerthelesse, 

As  by  Globes  small. 

This  Mightie  ALL  10 

Is  shewed,  though  farre 

From  Life,  each  Starre 

A  World  being : 

So  wee  seeing 

You,  like  as  that, 

Onely  trust  what 

Art  doth  vs  teach- 

And  when  I  reach 

At  Morall  Things, 

And  that  my  Strings  30 

Grauely  should  strike, 

Straight  some  mislike 

Blotteth  mine  ODE. 

As  with  the  Loade, 

The  Steele  we  touch, 

Forced  ne'r  so  much, 

Yet  still  remoues 

To  that  it  loues, 

Till  there  it  stayes ; 

So  to  your  prayse  40 

I  turne  euer, 

And  though  neuer 

From  you  mouing, 

Happie  so  louing. 


LOVES  CONQVEST 

WER'T  granted  me  to  choose, 
How  I  would  end  my  dayes ; 

Since  I  this  life  must  loose, 
It  should  be  in  Your  praise ; 
For  there  is  no  Bayes 

Can  be  set  aboue  you. 


70  Odes  1619 

S'  impossibly  I  loue  You, 
And  for  you  sit  so  hie, 

Whence  none  may  remoue  You 
In  my  cleere  Poesie,  10 

That  I  oft  deny 

You  so  ample  Merit. 

The  freedome  of  my  Spirit 
Maintayning  (still)  my  Cause, 

Your  Sex  not  to  inherit, 
Vrging  the  Sali^ue  Lawes ; 
But  your  Vertue  drawes 

From  me  euery  due. 

Thus  still  You  me  pursue, 
That  no  where  I  can  dwell,  10 

By  Feare  made  iust  to  You, 
Who  naturally  rebell, 
Of  You  that  excell 

That  should  I  still  Endyte, 

Yet  will  You  want  some  Ryte. 
That  lost  in  your  high  praise 

I  wander  to  and  fro, 
As  seeing  sundry  Waies  : 
Yet  which  the  right  not  know 

To  get  out  of  this  Maze.  30 

To  THE  VIRGINIAN  VOYAGE 

You  braue  Heroique  minds, 
Worthy  your  Countries  Name ; 

That  Honour  still  pursue, 

Goe,  and  subdue, 
Whilst  loyt'ring  Hinds 
Lurke  here  at  home,  with  shame. 

Brians,  you  stay  too  long, 
Quickly  aboard  bestow  you, 

And  with  a  merry  Gale 

Swell  your  stretch'd  Sayle,  10 

With  Vowes  as  strong, 
As  the  Winds  that  blow  you. 


To  the  Virginian  Voyage        71 

Your  Course  securely  steere, 
West  and  by  South  forth  keepe, 

Rocks,  Lee-shores,  nor  Sholes, 

When  EOLVS  scowles, 
You  need  not  feare, 
So  absolute  the  Deepe. 

And  cheerefully  at  Sea, 

Successe  you  still  intice,  10 

To  get  the  Pearle  and  Gold, 

And  ours  to  hold, 
VIRGINIA, 
Earth's  onely  Paradise. 

Where  Nature  hath  in  store 
Fowle,  Venison,  and  Fish, 

And  the  Fruitfull'st  Soyle, 

Without  your  Toyle, 
Three  Haruests  more, 
All  greater  then  your  Wish.  30 

And  the  ambitious  Vine 
Crownes  with  his  purple  Masse, 

The  cedar  reaching  hie 

To  kisse  the  Sky 
The  Cypresse,  Pine 
And  vse-full  Sassafras. 

To  whome,  the  golden  Age 
Still  Natures  lawes  doth  giue, 

No  other  Cares  that  tend, 

But  Them  to  defend  40 

From  Winters  rage, 
That  long  there  doth  not  Hue. 

When  as  the  Lushious  smell 
Of  that  delicious  Land, 

Aboue  the  Seas  that  flowes, 

The  cleere  Wind  throwes, 
Your  Hearts  to  swell 
Approaching  the  deare  Strande. 


7X  Odes 

In  kenning  of  the  Shore 

(Thanks  to  God  first  giuen,)  yo 

O  you  the  happy'st  men. 

Be  Frolike  then. 
Let  Cannons  roare, 
Frighting  the  wide  Heauen. 

And  in  Regions  farre 

Such  Heroes  bring  yee  foorth, 

As  those  from  whom  We  came, 

And  plant  Our  name, 
Vnder  that  Starre 
Not  knowne  vnto  our  North.  60 

And  as  there  Plenty  growes 
Of  Lawrell  euery  where, 

APOLLO'S  Sacred  tree, 

You  may  it  see, 
A  Poets  Browes 

To  crowne,  that  may  sing  there. 
Thy  Voyages  attend, 
Industrious  HACKLVIT, 

Whose  Reading  shall  inflame 

Men  to  seeke  Fame,  70 

And  much  commend 
To  after-Times  thy  Wit. 

AN  ODE  WRITTEN  IN  THE  PEAKE 

THIS  while  we  are  abroad, 

Shall  we  not  touch  our  Lyre  ? 
Shall  we  not  sing  an  ODE  ? 

Shall  that  holy  Fire, 
In  vs  that  strongly  glow'd, 

In  this  cold  Ay  re  expire  ? 

Long  since  the  Summer  layd 

Her  lustie  Brau'rie  downe, 
The  Autumne  halfe  is  way'd, 

And  BOREAS  'gins  to  frowne,  10 

Since  now  I  did  behold 

Great  BRVTES  first  builded  Towne. 


An  Ode  written  in  the  Teake    73 

Though  in  the  vtmost  Peake, 

A  while  we  doe  remaine, 
Amongst  the  Mountaines  bleake 

Expos'd  to  Sleet  and  Raine, 
No  Sport  our  Houres  shall  breake, 

To  exercise  our  Vaine. 

What  though  bright  PHOEBVS  Beames 

Refresh  the  Southern e  Ground,  10 

And  though  the  Princely  Thames 
With  beautious  Nymphs  abound. 

And  by  old  Camber's  Streames 
Be  many  Wonders  found ; 

Yet  many  Riuers  cleare 

Here  glide  in  Siluer  Swathes, 
And  what  of  all  most  deare, 

Buckston's  delicious  Bathes, 
Strong  Ale  and  Noble  Cheare, 

T3  asswage  breeme  Winters  scathes.  30 

Those  grim  and  horrid  Caues, 
Whose  Lookes  affright  the  day, 

Wherein  nice  Nature  saues, 
What  she  would  not  bewray, 

Our  better  leasure  craues, 
And  doth  inuite  our  Lay. 

In  places  farre  or  neere, 

Or  famous,  or  obscure, 
Where  wholesome  is  the  Ayre, 

Or  where  the  most  impure,  40 

All  times,  and  euery-where, 

The  Muse  is  still  in  vre. 

His  DEFENCE  AGAINST  THE  IDLE  CRITICK 

THE  Ryme  nor  marres,  nor  makes, 
Nor  addeth  it,  nor  takes, 

From  that  which  we  propose  j 
Things  imaginarie 
Doe  so  strangely  varie, 

That  quickly  we  them  lose. 


74-  Odes  1619 


And  what's  quickly  begot, 
As  soone  againe  is  not, 

This  doe  I  truely  know : 

Yea,  and  what's  borne  with  paine,  10 

That  Sense  doth  long'st  retaine, 

Gone  with  a  greater  Flow. 

Yet  this  Critick  so  sterne, 
But  whom,  none  must  discerne, 

Nor  perfectly  haue  seeing, 
Strangely  layes  about  him, 
As  nothing  without  him 

Were  worthy  of  being. 

That  I  my  selfe  betray 

To  that  most  publique  way,  10 

Where  the  Worlds  old  Bawd, 
Custome,  that  doth  humor, 
And  by  idle  rumor, 

Her  Dotages  applaud. 

That  whilst  he  still  prefers 
Those  that  be  wholly  hers, 

Madnesse  and  Ignorance, 
I  creepe  behind  the  Time, 
From  spertling  with  their  Crime, 

And  glad  too  with  my  Chance-  30 

O  wretched  World  the  while, 
When  the  euill  most  vile, 

Beareth  the  fayrest  face, 
And  inconstant  lightnesse, 
With  a  scornefull  slightnesse, 

The  best  Things  doth  disgrace. 

Whilst  this  strange  knowing  Beast, 
Man,  of  himselfe  the  least, 

His  Enuie  declaring, 

Makes  Vertue  to  descend,  40 

Her  title  to  defend, 

Against  him,  much  preparing. 


His  Defence  against  the  Idle  Critick  75* 

Yet  these  me  not  delude, 
Nor  from  my  place  extrude. 

By  their  resolued  Hate ; 
Their  vilenesse  that  doe  know ; 
Which  to  my  selfe  I  show, 

To  keepe  aboue  my  Fate. 

To  HIS  RlVALL 

HER  lou'd  I  most, 

By  thee  that's  lost, 
Though  she  were  wonne  with  leasure  ; 

She  was  my  gaine, 

But  to  my  paine, 
Thou  spoyl'st  me  of  my  Treasure. 

The  Ship  full  fraught 

With  Gold,  farre  sought, 
Though  ne'r  so  wisely  helmed, 

May  suffer  wracke  10 

In  sayling  backe, 
By  Tempest  ouer-whelmed. 

But  shee,  good  Sir, 

Did  not  preferre 
You,  for  that  I  was  ranging ; 

But  for  that  shee 

Found  faith  in  mee, 
And  she  lou'd  to  be  changing. 

Therefore  boast  not 

Your  happy  Lot,  ^o 

Be  silent  now  you  haue  her ; 

The  time  I  knew 

She  slighted  you, 
When  I  was  in  her  fauour. 

None  stands  so  fast, 

But  may  be  cast 
By  Fortune,  and  disgraced : 

Once  did  I  weare 

Her  Garter  there, 
Where  you  her  Gloue  haue  placed.  30 


76  Odes  i6ig 


I  had  the  Vow 

That  thou  hast  now. 
And  Glances  to  discouer 

Her  Loue  to  mee, 

And  she  to  thee 
Reades  but  old  Lessons  ouer. 

She  hath  no  Smile 

That  can  beguile, 
But  as  my  Thought  I  know  it  • 

Yea,  to  a  Hayre,  40 

Both  when  and  where, 
And  how  she  will  bestow  it. 

What  now  is  thine, 

Was  onely  mine, 
And  first  to  me  was  giuen  $ 

Thou  laugh'st  at  mee, 

1  laugh  at  thee, 
And  thus  we  two  are  euen. 

But  lie  not  mourne, 

But  stay  my  Turne,  ?o 

The  Wind  may  come  about,  Sir, 

And  once  againe 

May  bring  me  in, 
And  help  to  beare  you  out,  Sir. 


A  SKELTONIAD 

THE  Muse  should  be  sprightly, 

Yet  not  handling  lightly 

Things  graue  •  as  much  loath, 

Things  that  be  slight,  to  cloath 

Curiously :  To  retayne 

The  Comelinesse  in  meane, 

Is  true  Knowledge  and  Wit. 

Not  me  fbrc'd  Rage  doth  fit, 

That  I  thereto  should  lacke 

Tabacco,  or  need  Sacke,  10 


A  Skeltoniad  77 

Which  to  the  colder  Braine 

Is  the  true  Hyppocrene ; 

Nor  did  I  euer  care 

For  great  Fooles,  nor  them  spare. 

Vertue,  though  neglected, 

Is  not  so  detected, 

As  vilely  to  descend 

To  low  Basenesse  their  end ; 

Neyther  each  ryming  Slaue 

Deserues  the  Name  to  haue  20 

Of  Poet :  so  the  Rabble 

Of  Fooles,  for  the  Table, 

That  haue  their  lests  by  Heart, 

As  an  Actor  his  Part, 

Might  assume  them  Chayres 

Amongst  the  Muses  Heyres. 

Parnassus  is  not  dome 

By  euery  such  Mome ; 

Vp  whose  steep  side  who  swerues, 

It  behoues  t'  haue  strong  Nerues  :  30 

My  Resolution  such, 

How  well,  and  not  how  much 

To  write,  thus  doe  I  fare, 

Like  some  few  good  that  care 

(The  euill  sort  among) 

How  well  to  Hue,  and  not  how  long. 

THE  CRYER 

GOOD  Folke,  for  Gold  or  Hyre, 
But  helpe  me  to  a  Cryer; 
For  my  poore  Heart  is  runne  astray 
After  two  Eyes,  that  passed  this  way. 

O  yes,  O  yes,  O  yes, 

If  there  be  any  Man, 

In  Towne  or  Countrey,  can 

Bring  me  my  Heart  againe, 

He  please  him  for  his  paine ; 
And  by  these  Marks  I  will  you  show,  10 

That  onely  I  this  Heart  doe  owe. 


78  Odes  1619 

It  is  a  wounded  Heart, 

Wherein  yet  sticks  the  Dart, 
Eu'ry  piece  sore  hurt  throughout  it, 
Faith,  and  Troth,  writ  round  about  it : 
It  was  a  tame  Heart,  and  a  deare, 

And  neuer  vs'd  to  roame ; 
But  hauing  got  this  Haunt,  I  feare 

'Twill  hardly  stay  at  home. 
For  Gods  sake,  walking  by  the  way,  20 

If  you  my  Heart  doe  see, 
Either  impound  it  for  a  Stray, 

Or  send  it  backe  to  me. 


To  His  COY  LOVE 
A  CANZONET 

I  PRAY  thee  leaue,  loue  me  no  more, 

Call  home  the  Heart  you  gaue  me, 
I  but  in  vaine  that  Saint  adore, 

That  can,  but  will  not  saue  me : 
These  poo  re  halfe  Kisses  kill  me  quite ; 

Was  euer  man  thus  serued  ? 
Amidst  an  Ocean  of  Delight, 

For  Pleasure  to  be  sterued. 

Shew  me  no  more  those  Snowie  Brests, 

With  Azure  Riuerets  branched,  10 

Where  whilst  mine  Eye  with  Plentie  feasts, 

Yet  is  my  Thirst  not  stanched. 
O  TANTALVS,  thy  Paines  n'er  tell, 

By  me  thou  art  preuented  ; 
'Tis  nothing  to  be  plagu'd  in  Hell, 

But  thus  in  Heauen  tormented. 

Clip  me  no  more  in  those  deare  Armes, 

Nor  thy  Life's  Comfort  call  me ; 
O,  these  are  but  too  pow'rfull  Charmes, 

And  doe  but  more  inthrall  me.  10 


To  his  Coy  Love 


79 


But  see,  how  patient  I  am  growne, 
In  all  this  coyle  about  thee ; 

Come  nice  thing,  let  my  Heart  alone, 
I  cannot  liue  without  thee. 


A  HYMNE  To  His  LADIES  BIRTH-PLACE 

COVENTRY,  that  do'st  adorne 
The  Countrey  wherein  I  was  borne, 
Yet  therein  lyes  not  thy  prayse 
Why  I  should  crowne  thy  Towers  with  Bayes  : 
'Tis  not  thy  Wall,  me  to  thee  weds 
Thy  Ports,  nor  thy  proud  Pyrameds, 
Nor  thy  Trophies  of  the  Bore, 
But  that  Shee  which  I  adore, 
Which  scarce  Goodnesse  selfe  can  payre, 
First  their  breathing  blest  thy  Ayre ; 
IDEA,  in  which  Name  I  hide 
Her,  in  my  heart  Deifi'd, 
For  what  good,  Man's  mind  can  see, 
Onely  her  IDEAS  be; 
She,  in  whom  the  Vertues  came 
In  Woman s  shape,  and  tooke  her  Name, 
She  so  farre  past  Imitation, 
As  but  Nature  our  Creation 
Could  not  alter,  she  had  aymed, 
More  then  Woman  to  haue  framed : 
She,  whose  truely  written  Story, 
To  thy  poore  Name  shall  adde  more  glory, 
Then  if  it  should  haue  beene  thy  Chance, 
T*  haue  bred  our  Kings  that  Conquer'd  France. 
Had  She  beene  borne  the  former  Age, 
That  house  had  beene  a  Pilgrimage, 
And  reputed  more  Diuine, 
Then  Walsmgham  or  BECKETS  Shrine. 

That  Princesse,  to  whom  thou  do'st  owe 
Thy  Freedome,  whose  Cleere  blushing  snow, 
The  enuious  Sunne  saw,  when  as  she 
Naked  rode  to  make  Thee  free, 


Couentry  finely 
walled. 

The  Shoulder- 
bone  of  a,  bore  of 
mighty  bigneste, 


.10 


Jwo  famous 
Pilgrimages,  the 
one  in  Norfolk, 
the  other  in 
Kent. 

3°    Godiua,  Duke 
Leofricks  wifet 
who  obtained  the 


Freedoms  of  the 
cityy  of  her 
husband,  by  riding 
thorow  it  naked. 

ghteene  Eliza 
beth. 


*A  noted  Streets 
in  Couentry. 

Hit  yiistresse 
birth-day. 


8o  Odes  1619 

Was  but  her  Type,  as  to  foretell, 

Thou  shoulcTst  bring  forth  one,  should  excell 

Her  Bounty,  by  whom  thou  should'st  haue 

More  Honour,  then  she  Freedome  gaue ; 

And  that  great  Queene,  which  but  of  late 

Rul'd  this  Land  in  Peace  and  State, 

Had  not  beene,  but  Heauen  had  sworne, 

A  Maide  should  raigne,  when  she  was  borne.          40 

Of  thy  Streets,  which  thou  hold'st  best, 
And  most  frequent  of  the  rest, 
Happy  Mich-Parke  eu'ry  yeere, 
On  the  fourth  of  August  there, 
Let  thy  Maides  from  FLORA'S  bowers, 
With  their  Choyce  and  daintiest  flowers 
Decke  Thee  vp,  and  from  their  store, 
With  braue  Garlands  crowne  that  dore. 
The  old  Man  passing  by  that  way, 
To  his  Sonne  in  time  shall  say,  50 

There  was  that  Lady  borne,  which  long 
To  after- Ages  shall  be  sung ; 
Who  vnawares  being  passed  by, 
Back  to  that  House  shall  cast  his  Eye, 
Speaking  my  Verses  as  he  goes, 
And  with  a  Sigh  shut  eu'ry  Close. 

Deare  Citie,  trauelling  by  thee, 
When  thy  rising  Spyres  I  see, 
Destined  her  place  of  Birth ; 

Yet  me  thinkes  the  very  Earth  60 

Hallowed  is,  so  farre  as  I 
Can  thee  possibly  descry : 
Then  thou  dwelling  in  this  place, 
Hearing  some  rude  Hinde  disgrace 
Thy  Citie  with  some  scuruy  thing, 
Which  some  Jester  forth  did  bring, 
Speake  these  Lines  where  thou  do'st  come, 
And  strike  the  Slaue  for  euer  dumbe. 


8i 

To  THE  CAMBRO-BRITANS 
and  their  Harpe,  his  Ballad  of  AGINCOVRT 

FAIRE  stood  the  Wind  for  France, 
When  we  our  Sayles  aduance, 
Nor  now  to  proue  our  chance. 

Longer  will  tarry ; 
But  putting  to  the  Mayne, 
At  Kaux,  the  Mouth  of  Sene, 
With  all  his  Martiall  Trayne, 

Landed  King  HARRY. 

And  taking  many  a  Fort, 

Furnish'd  in  Warlike  sort,  10 

Marcheth  tow'rds  ^gincourt, 

In  happy  howre ; 
Skirmishing  day  by  day. 
With  those  that  stop'd  his  way, 
Where  the  French  Gen'rall  lay, 

With  all  his  Power. 

Which  in  his  Right  of  Pride, 
King  HENRY  to  deride, 
His  Ransome  to  prouide 

To  the  King  sending.  20 

Which  he  neglects  the  while, 
As  from  a  Nation  vile, 
Yet  with  an  angry  smile, 

Their  fall  portending. 

And  turning  to  his  Men, 
Quoth  our  braue  HENRY  then, 
Though  they  to  one  be  ten, 

Be  not  amazed. 
Yet  haue  we  well  begunne, 
Battels  so  brauely  wonne,  30 

Haue  euer  to  the  Sonne, 

By  Fame  beene  raysed. 


Odes 

And,  for  my  Selfe  (quoth  he), 
This  my  full  rest  shall  be, 
England  ne'r  mourne  for  Me, 

Nor  more  esteeme  me. 
Victor  I  will  remaine, 
Or  on  this  Earth  lie  slaine, 
Neuer  shall  Shee  sustaine, 

Losse  to  redeeme  me.  40 

Potters  and  Cressy  tell, 

When  most  their  Pride  did  swell, 

Vnder  our  Swords  they  fell, 

No  lesse  our  skill  is, 
Than  when  our  Grandsire  Great, 
Clayming  the  Regall  Seate, 
By  many  a  Warlike  feate, 

Lop'd  the  French  Lillies. 

The  Duke  of  Torke  so  dread, 

The  eager  Vaward  led ;  50 

With  the  maine,  HENRY  sped, 

Among'st  his  Hench-men. 
EXCESTER  had  the  Rere, 
A  Brauer  man  not  there, 
O  Lord,  how  hot  they  were, 

On  the  false  French-men  ! 

They  now  to  fight  are  gone, 

Armour  on  Armour  shone, 

Drum  me  now  to  Drumme  did  grone, 

To  heare,  was  wonder  •  60 

That  with  the  Cryes  they  make, 
The  very  Earth  did  shake, 
Trumpet  to  Trumpet  spake, 

Thunder  to  Thunder. 

Well  it  thine  Age  became, 
O  Noble  ERPINGHAM, 
Which  didst  the  Signall  ayme, 
To  our  hid  Forces  $ 


Ballad  of  Agtncourt  8  3 

When  from  a  Medow  by, 

Like  a  Storme  suddenly,  70 

The  English  Archery 

Stuck  the  French  Horses, 

With  Spanish  Ewgh  so  strong, 
Arrowes  a  Cloth-yard  Jong, 
That  like  to  Serpents  stung, 

Piercing  the  Weather ; 
None  from  his  fellow  starts, 
But  playing  Manly  parts, 
And  like  true  English  hearts, 

Stuck  close  together.  80 

When  downe  their  Bowes  they  threw, 
And  forth  their  Bilbo wes  drew, 
And  on  the  French  they  flew, 

Not  one  was  tardie ; 
Armes  were  from  shoulders  sent, 
Scalpes  to  the  Teeth  were  rent, 
Downe  the  French  Pesants  went, 

Our  Men  were  hardie. 

This  while  our  Noble  King, 

His  broad  Sword  brandishing,  90 

Downe  the  French  Hoast  did  ding, 

As  to  o'r-whelme  it ; 
And  many  a  deepe  Wound  lent, 
His  Armes  with  Bloud  besprent, 
And  many  a  cruell  Dent 

Bruised  his  Helmet. 

GLOSTER,  that  Duke  so  good, 
Next  of  the  Royall  Blood, 
For  famous  England  stood, 

With  his  braue  Brother ;  100 

CLARENCE,  in  Steele  so  bright, 
Though  but  a  Maiden  Knight, 
Yet  in  that  furious  Fight, 

Scarce  such  another. 


Odes  1619 

WARWICK  in  Bloud  did  wade, 
OXFORD  the  Foe  inuade, 
And  cruell  slaughter  made, 

Still  as  they  ran  vp ; 
SVFFOLKE  his  Axe  did  ply, 
BEAVMONT  and  WILLOVGHBY 
Bare  them  right  doughtily, 

FERRERS  and  FANHOPE. 

Vpon  Saint  CRISPIN'S  day 
Fought  was  this  Noble  Fray, 
Which  Fame  did  not  delay, 

To  England  to  carry  • 
O,  when  shall  English  Men 
With  such  Acts  fill  a  Pen, 
Or  England  breed  againe, 

Such  a  King  HARRY? 


8? 

[from  the  Edition  of  i<5o6] 
Ode  4 

To  my  worthy  fr end,  Master  John  Sauage  of  the  Inner  Temple 

VPPON  this  sinfull  earth 
If  man  can  happy  be, 
And  higher  then  his  birth, 
(Frend)  take  him  thus  from  me. 

Whome  promise  not  deceiues 
Ttiat  he  the  breach  should  rue, 
Nor  constant  reason  leaues 
Opinion  to  pursue. 

To  rayse  his  mean  estate 

That  sooths  no  wanton's  sinne,  10 

Doth  that  preferment  hate 

That  virtue  doth  not  winne. 

Nor  brauery  doth  admire, 
Nor  doth  more  loue  professe 
To  that  he  doth  desire, 
Then  that  he  doth  possesse. 

Loose  humor  nor  to  please, 

That  neither  spares  nor  spends, 

But  by  discretion  weyes 

What  is  to  needfull  ends.  10 

To  him  deseruing  not 
Not  yeelding,  nor  doth  hould 
What  is  not  his,  doing  what 
He  ought  not  what  he  could. 

Whome  the  base  tyrants  will 
Soe  much  could  neuer  awe 
As  him  for  good  or  ill 
From  honesty  to  drawe. 


86  Odes  1606 


Whose  constancy  doth  rise 

'Boue  vndeserued  spight  30 

Whose  valewr's  to  despise 

That  most  doth  him  delight. 

That  earely  Jeaue  doth  take 

Of  th*  world  though  to  his  payne 

For  virtues  onely  sake 

And  not  till  need  constrayne. 

Noe  man  can  be  so  free 

Though  in  imperiall  seate 

Nor  Eminent  as  he 

That  deemeth  nothing  greate.  40 


Ode  8 

SINGE  wee  the  Rose 

Then  which  no  flower  there  growes 

Is  sweeter : 

And  aptly  her  compare 
With  what  in  that  is  rare 

A  parallel  none  meeter. 

Or  made  poses, 
Of  this  that  incloses 

Suche  blisses, 

That  naturally  flusheth  10 

As  she  blusheth 

When  she  is  robd  of  kisses, 

Or  if  strew'd 

When  with  the  morning  dew'd 

Or  stilling, 

Or  howe  to  sense  expos'd 
All  which  in  her  inclos'd, 

Ech  place  with  sweetnes  filling. 

That  most  renown'd 

By  Nature  richly  crownd  ao 

With  yellow, 


Odes  1606  87 

Of  that  delitious  layre 
And  as  pure,  her  hayre 

Vnto  the  same  the  fellowe, 

Fearing  of  harme 

Nature  that  flower  doth  arme 

From  danger, 

The  touch  giues  her  offence 
But  with  reuerence 

Vnto  her  selfe  a  stranger.  30 

That  redde,  or  white, 
Or  mixt,  the  sence  delyte 

Behoulding, 
In  her  complexion 
All  which  perfection 

Such  harmony  infouldinge. 

That  deuyded 

Ere  it  was  descided 

Which  most  pure, 

Began  the  greeuous  war  40 

Of  Tork  and  Lancaster , 

That  did  many  yeeres  indure. 

Conflicts  as  greate 

As  were  in  all  that  heate 

I  sustaine: 

By  her,  as  many  harts 
As  men  on  either  parts 

That  with  her  eies  hath  slaine. 

The  Primrose  flower 

The  first  of  Flora's  bower  fo 

Is  placed, 

Soo  is  shee  first  as  best 
Though  excellent  the  rest, 

All  gracing,  by  none  graced. 


^L    viL    viL    vi^     vi^     *4t 

ELEGIES  VPON  SVNDRY 
OCCASIONS 

[from  the  Edition  of  i6i"]\ 
Of  his  Ladies  not  Comming  to  London 

THAT  ten-yeares-trauell'd  Greeke  returned  from  Sea 
Ne'r  ioyd  so  much  to  see  his  Ithaca, 
As  I  should  you,  who  are  alone  to  me, 
More  then  wide  Greece  could  to  that  wanderer  be. 
The  winter  windes  still  Easterly  doe  keepe, 
And  with  keene  Frosts  haue  chained  vp  the  deepe, 
The  Sunne's  to  vs  a  niggard  of  his  Rayes, 
But  reuelleth  with  our  Antipodes  • 
And  seldome  to  vs  when  he  shewes  his  head, 
Muffled  in  vapours,  he  straight  hies  to  bed.  10 

In  those  bleake  mountaines  can  you  Hue  where  snowe 
Maketh  the  vales  vp  to  the  hilles  to  growe ; 
Whereas  mens  breathes  doe  instantly  congeale, 
And  attom'd  mists  turne  instantly  to  hayle; 
Belike  you  thinke,  from  this  more  temperate  cost, 
My  sighes  may  haue  the  power  to  thawe  the  frost, 
Which  I  from  hence  should  swiftly  send  you  thither, 
Yet  not  so  swift,  as  you  come  slowly  hither. 
How  many  a  time,  hath  ~Phebe  from  her  wayne, 
With  Pkcebus  fires  filled  vp  her  homes  againe ;  20 

Shee  through  her  Orbe,  still  on  her  course  doth  range, 
But  you  keep  yours  still,  nor  for  me  will  change. 
The  Sunne  that  mounted  the  sterne  Lions  back, 
Shall  with  the  Fishes  shortly  diue  the  Brack, 
But  still  you  keepe  your  station^  which  confines 
You,  nor  regard  him  trauelling  the  signes. 
Those  ships  which  when  you  went,  put  out  to  Sea, 
Both  to  our  Greenland^  and 


Of  his  Ladies  not  Camming,  &c.    89 

Are  now  return'd,  and  Custom'd  haue  their  fraught, 

Yet  you  arriue  not,  nor  returne  me  ought.  30 

The  Thames  was  not  so  frozen  yet  this  yeare, 
As  is  my  bosome,  with  the  chilly  feare 
Of  your  not  comming,  which  on  me  doth  light, 
As  on  those  Climes,  where  halfe  the  world  is  night. 

Of  euery  tedious  houre  you  haue  made  two, 
All  this  long  Winter  here,  by  missing  you  : 
Minutes  are  months,  and  when  the  houre  is  past, 
A  yeare  is  ended  since  the  Clocke  strooke  last, 
When  your  Remembrance  puts  me  on  the  Racke, 
And  I  should  Swound  to  see  an  Almanacke^  4.0 

To  reade  what  silent  weekes  away  are  slid, 
Since  the  dire  Fates  you  from  my  sight  haue  hid. 

I  hate  him  who  the  first  Deuisor  was 
Of  this  same  foolish  thing,  the  Hower-glasse, 
And  of  the  Watch,  whose  dribbling  sands  and  Wheel  e, 
With  their  slow  stroakes,  make  mee  too  much  to  feele 
Your  slackenesse  hither,  O  how  I  doe  ban, 
Him  that  these  Dialls  against  walles  began, 
Whose  Snayly  motion  of  the  moouing  hand, 
(Although  it  goe)  yet  seeme  to  me  to  stand  ^  5-0 

As  though  at  Adam  it  had  first  set  out, 
And  had  been  stealing  all  this  while  about, 
And  when  it  backe  to  the  first  point  should  come, 
It  shall  be  then  iust  at  the  generall  Doome. 

The  Seas  into  themselues  retract  their  flowes, 
The  changing  Winde  from  euery  quarter  blowes, 
Declining  Winter  in  the  Spring  doth  call, 
The  Starrs  rise  to  vs,  as  from  vs  they  fall  ; 
Those  Birdes  we  see,  that  leaue  vs  in  the  Prime, 
Againe  in  Autumne  re-salute  our  Clime.  6b 

Sure,  either  Nature  you  from  kinde  hath  made, 
Or  you  delight  else  to  be  Retrograde. 

But  I  perceiue  by  your  attractiue  powers, 
Like  an  Inchantresse  you  haue  charm*  d  the  howers 
Into  short  minutes,  and  haue  drawne  them  back, 
So  that  of  vs  at  London^  you  doe  lack 
Almost  a  yeare,  the  Spring  is  scarce  begonne 
There  where  you  liue,  and  Autumne  almost  done. 

' 


'3 


(.-  )  n  I  H  »  »  u 

Fir  i» 


90    Elegies  vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

With  vs  more  Eastward,  surely  you  deuise, 
By  your  strong  Magicke,  that  the  Sunne  shall  rise 
Where  now  it  setts,  and  that  in  some  few  yeares 
You'l  alter  quite  the  Motion  of  the  Spheares. 

Yes,  and  you  meane,  I  shall  complaine  my  loue 
To  grauell'd  Walkes,  or  to  a  stupid  Groue, 
Now  your  companions ;  and  that  you  the  while 
(As  you  are  cruell)  will  sit  by  and  smile, 
To  make  me  write  to  these,  while  Passers  by, 
Sleightly  looke  in  your  louely  face,  where  I 
See  Beauties  heauen,  whilst  silly  blockheads,  they 
Like  laden  Asses,  plod  vpon  their  way, 
And  wonder  not,  as  you  should  point  a  Clowne 
Vp  to  the  Guards,  or  Ariadnes  Crowne ; 
Of  Constellations,  and  his  dulnesse  tell. 
Hee'd  thinke  your  words  were  certainly  a  Spell ; 
Or  him  some  piece  from  Creet9  or  Marcus  show, 
In  all  his  life  which  till  that  time  ne'r  saw 
Painting :  except  in  Alehouse  or  old  Hall 
Done  by  some  Druzzler,  of  the  Prodigall. 

Nay  doe,  stay  still,  whilst  time  away  shall  steale 
Your  youth,  and  beautie,  and  your  selfe  conceale 
From  me  I  pray  you,  you  haue  now  inur'd 
Me  to  your  absence,  and  I  haue  endur'd 
Your  want  this  long,  whilst  I  haue  starued  bine 
For  your  short  Letters,  as  you  helde  it  sinne 
To  write  to  me,  that  to  appease  my  woe, 
I  reade  ore  those,  you  writ  a  yeare  agoe, 
Which  are  to  me,  as  though  they  had  bin  made, 
Long  time  before  the  first  Olympiad. 

For  thankes  and  curt'sies  sell  your  presence  then 
To  tatling  Women,  and  to  things  like  men, 
And  be  more  foolish  then  the  Indians  are 
For  Bells,  for  Kniues,  for  Glasses,  and  such  ware, 
That  sell  their  Pearle  and  Gold,  but  here  I  stay, 
So  I  would  not  haue  you  but  come  away. 


91 

To  Master  GEORGE  SANDYS 

Treasurer  for  the  English    Colony  in  VIRGINIA 

FRIEND,  if  you  thinke  my  Papers  may  supplie 
You,  with  some  strange  omitted  Noueltie, 
Which  others  Letters  yet  haue  left  vntould, 
You  take  me  off,  before  I  can  take  hould 
Of  you  at  all ;  I  put  not  thus  to  Sea, 
For  two  monthes  Voyage  to  Virginia, 
With  newes  which  now,  a  little  something  here, 
But  will  be  nothing  ere  it  can  come  there. 
I  feare,  as  I  doe  Stabbing ;  this  word,  State, 
I  dare  not  speake  of  the  Palatinate,  10 

Although  some  men  make  it  their  hourely  theame, 
And  talke  what  *s  done  in  Austria,  and  in  Eeame, 
I  may  not  so ;  what  Spinola  intends, 
Nor  with  his  Dutch,  which  way  Prince  Maurice  bends  ; 
To  other  men,  although  these  things  be  free, 
Yet  (GEORGE)  they  must  be  misteries  to  mee. 

I  scarce  dare  praise  a  vertuous  friend  that 's  dead, 
Lest  for  my  lines  he  should  be  censured  $ 
It  was  my  hap  before  all  other  men 
To  suffer  shipwrack  by  my  forward  pen  :  ao 

When  King  IAMES  entred  ;  at  which  ioyfull  time 
I  taught  his  title  to  this  He  in  rime  : 
And  to  my  part  did  all  the  Muses  win, 
With  high-pitch  P<eans  to  applaud  him  in  : 
When  cowardise  had  tyed  vp  euery  tongue, 
And  all  stood  silent,  yet  for  him  I  sung ; 
And  when  before  by  danger  I  was  dar'd, 
I  kicked  her  from  me3  nor  a  iot  I  spar'd. 
Yet  had  not  my  cleere  spirit  in  Fortunes  scorne, 
Me  aboue  earth  and  her  afflictions  borne ;  30 

He  next  my  God  on  whom  I  built  my  trust, 
Had  left  me  troden  lower  then  the  dust : 
But  let  this  passe  ;  in  the  extreamest  ill, 
Apollo's  brood  must  be  couragious  still, 
Let  Pies,  and  Dawes,  sit  dumb  before  their  death, 
Onely  the  Swan  sings  at  the  parting  breath. 


Elegies  <vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

And  (worthy  GEORGE)  by  industry  and  vse, 

Let's  see  what  lines  Virginia  will  produce ; 

Goe  on  with  OVID.,  as  you  haue  begunne, 

With  the  first  fiue  Bookes ;  let  your  numbers  run        40 

Glib  as  the  former,  so  shall  it  Hue  long, 

And  doe  much  honour  to  the  'English  tongue : 

Intice  the  Muses  thither  to  repaire, 

Intreat  them  gently,  trayne  them  to  that  ayre, 

For  they  from  hence  may  thither  hap  to  fly, 

T'wards  the  sad  time  which  but  to  fast  doth  hie, 

For  Poesie  is  follow'd  with  such  spight, 

By  groueling  drones  that  neuer  raught  her  height, 

That  she  must  hence,  she  may  no  longer  staye : 

The  driery  fates  prefixed  haue  the  day,  50 

Of  her  departure,  which  is  now  come  on, 

And  they  command  her  straight  wayes  to  be  gon  • 

That  bestiall  heard  so  hotly  her  pursue, 

And  to  her  succour,  there  be  very  few, 

Nay  none  at  all,  her  wrongs  that  will  redresse, 

But  she  must  wander  in  the  wildernesse, 

Like  to  the  woman,  which  that  holy  IOHN 

Beheld  in  Pathmos  in  his  vision. 

As  th'  English  now,  so  did  the  stiff-neckt  leiues, 
Their  noble  Prophets  vtterly  refuse,  60 

And  of  these  men  such  poore  opinions  had, 
They  counted  Esay  and  Ezechiel  mad ; 
When  leremy  his  Lamentations  writ, 
They  thought  the  Wizard  quite  out  of  his  wit, 
Such  sots  they  were,  as  worthily  to  ly, 
Lock't  in  the  chaines  of  their  captiuity, 
Knowledge  hath  still  her  Eddy  in  her  Flow, 
So  it  hath  beene,  and  it  will  still  be  so. 

That  famous  Greece  where  learning  flourisht  most, 
Hath  of  her  muses  long  since  left  to  boast,  70 

Th'  vnlettered  Turke,  and  rude  Barbarian  trades, 
Where  HOMER  sang  his  lofty  Iliads  $ 
And  this  vaste  volume  of  the  world  hath  taught, 
Much  may  to  passe  in  little  time  be  brought. 

As  if  to  Symptoms  we  may  credit  giue, 
This  very  time,  wherein  we  two  now  liue, 


To  Master  George  Sandys       93 

Shall  in  the  compasse,  wound  the  Muses  more, 

Then  all  the  old  English  ignorance  before  • 

Base  Balatry  is  so  belou'd  and  sought, 

And  those  braue  numbers  are  put  by  for  naught,          80 

Which  rarely  read,  were  able  to  awake, 

Bodyes  from  graues,  and  to  the  ground  to  shake 

The  wandring  clouds,  and  to  our  men  at  armes, 

'Gainst  pikes  and  muskets  were  most  powerfull  charmes. 

That,  but  I  know,  insuing  ages  shall, 

Raise  her  againe,  who  now  is  in  her  fall  • 

And  out  of  dust  reduce  our  scattered  rimes, 

Th'  reiected  iewels  of  these  slothfull  times, 

Who  with  the  Muses  would  misspend  an  hower, 

But  let  blind  Gothish  Barbarisme  deuoure  90 

These  feuerous  Dogdays,  blest  by  no  record, 

But  to  be  euerlastingly  abhord. 

If  you  vouchsafe  rescription,  stufre  your  quill 
With  naturall  bountyes,  and  impart  your  skill, 
In  the  description  of  the  place,  that  I, 
May  become  learned  in  the  soyle  thereby ; 
Of  noble  Wyats  health,  and  let  me  heare, 
The  Gouernour ;  and  how  our  people  there, 
Increase  and  labour,  what  supplyes  are  sent, 
Which  I  confesse  shall  giue  me  much  content  •  100 

But  you  may  saue  your  labour  if  you  please, 
To  write  to  me  ought  of  your  Sauages. 
As  sauage  slaues  be  in  great  Britaine  here, 
As  any  one  that  you  can  shew  me  there 
And  though  for  this,  He  say  I  doe  not  thirst, 
Yet  I  should  like  it  well  to  be  the  first, 
Whose  numbers  hence  into  Virgma  flew, 
So  (noble  Saudis)  for  this  time  adue. 

To  my  noble  friend  Master  WILLIAM  BROWNE, 
of  the  euill  time 

DEARE  friend,  be  silent  and  with  patience  see, 
What  this  mad  times  Catastrophe  will  be  • 
The  worlds  first  Wisemen  certainly  mistooke 


Elegies  <vpon  Sundry  Occasions 


Themselues,  and  spoke  things  quite  beside  the  booke, 
And  that  which  they  haue  of  said  of  God,  vntrue, 
Or  else  expect  strange  iudgement  to  insue. 

This  Isle  is  a  meere  Bedlam,  and  therein, 
We  all  lye  railing,  mad  in  euery  sinne, 
And  him  the  wisest  most  men  use  to  call, 
Who  doth  (alone)  the  maddest  thing  of  all;  10 

He  whom  the  master  of  all  wisedome  found  , 
For  a  marckt  foole,  and  so  did  him  propound, 
The  time  we  Hue  in,  to  that  passe  is  brought, 
That  only  he  a  Censor  now  is  thought; 
And  that  base  villaine,  (not  an  age  yet  gone,) 
Which  a  good  man  would  not  haue  look'd  vpon  ; 
Now  like  a  God,  with  diuine  worship  followed, 
And  all  his  actions  are  accounted  hollow'd. 

This  world  of  ours,  thus  runneth  vpon  wheeles, 
Set  on  the  head,  bolt  vpright  with  her  heeles  ;  ao 

Which  makes  me  thinke  of  what  the  Ethmcks  told 
Th'  opinion,  the  Pythagorists  vphold, 

Wander  from        That  the  immortall  soule  doth  transmigrate  ; 

body  to  body.        Then  I  suppose  by  the  strong  power  of  fate, 

And  since  that  time  now  many  a  lingering  yeare, 

Through  fools,  and  beasts,  and  lunatiques  haue  past, 

Are  heere  imbodyed  in  this  age  at  last, 

And  though  so  long  we  from  that  time  be  gone, 

Yet  taste  we  still  of  that  confusion. 

For  certainely  there  's  scarse  one  found  that  now,  30 

Knowes  what  t'  approoue,  or  what  to  disallow, 

All  arsey  varsey,  nothing  is  it's  own  e, 

But  to  our  prouerbe,  all  turnd  vpside  downe  ; 

To  doe  in  time,  is  to  doe  out  of  season, 

And  that  speeds  best,  thats  done  the  farthest  from  reason, 

Hee  's  highest  that  's  low'st,  hee  's  surest  in  that  's  out, 

He  hits  the  next  way  that  goes  farth'st  about, 

He  getteth  vp  vnlike  to  rise  at  all, 

He  slips  to  ground  as  much  vnlike  to  fall  ; 

Which  doth  inforce  me  partly  to  prefer,  40 

The  opinion  of  that  mad  Philosopher, 

Who  taught,  that  those  all-framing  powers  aboue, 

(As  'tis  suppos'd)  made  man  not  out  of  loue 


To  Master  William  Browne     95- 

To  him  at  all,  but  only  as  a  thing, 

To  make  them  sport  with,  which  they  vse  to  bring 

As  men  doe  munkeys,  puppets,  and  such  tooles 

Of  laughter  :  so  men  are  but  the  Gods  fooles. 

Such  are  by  titles  lifted  to  the  sky, 

As  wherefore  no  man  knowes,  God  scarcely  why  • 

The  vertuous  man  depressed  like  a  stone,  5-0 

For  that  dull  Sot  to  raise  himselfe  vpon ; 

He  who  ne're  thing  yet  worthy  man  durst  doe, 

Neuer  durst  looke  vpon  his  countrey's  foe, 

Nor  durst  attempt  that  action  which  might  get 

Him  fame  with  men  :  or  higher  might  him  set 

Then  the  base  begger  (rightly  if  compar'd ;) 

This  Drone  yet  neuer  braue  attempt  that  dar*d, 

Yet  dares  be  knighted,  and  from  thence  dares  grow 

To  any  title  Empire  can  bestow ; 

For  this  beleeue,  that  Impudence  is  now  6b 

A  Cardinall  vertue,  and  men  it  allow 

Reuerence,  nay  more,  men  study  and  inuent 

New  wayes,  nay,  glory  to  be  impudent. 

Into  the  clouds  the  Deuill  lately  got, 
And  by  the  moisture  doubting  much  the  rot, 
A  medicine  tooke  to  make  him  purge  and  cast  j 
Which  in  short  time  began  to  worke  so  fast, 
That  he  fell  too  't,  and  from  his  backeside  flew, 
A  rout  of  rascall  a  rude  ribauld  crew 
Of  base  Plebeians,  which  no  sooner  light,  70 

Vpon  the  earth,  but  with  a  suddaine  flight, 
They  spread  this  He,  and  as  Deucalion  once 
Ouer  his  shoulder  backe,  by  throwing  stones 
They  became  men,  euen  so  these  beasts  became, 
Owners  of  titles  from  an  obscure  name. 

He  that  by  riot,  of  a  mighty  rent, 
Hath  his  late  goodly  Patrimony  spent, 
And  into  base  and  wilfull  beggery  run 
This  man  as  he  some  glorious  acte  had  done, 
With  some  great  pension,  or  rich  guift  releeu'd,  80 

When  he  that  hath  by  industry  atchieu'd 
Some  noble  thing,  contemned  and  disgrac'd, 
In  the  fbrlorne  hope  of  the  times  is  plac'd, 


9  6    Elegies  vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

As  though  that  God  had  carelessely  left  all 

That  being  hath  on  this  terrestriall  ball, 

To  fortunes  guiding,  nor  would  haue  to  doe 

With  man,  nor  aught  that  doth  belong  him  to, 

Or  at  the  least  God  hauing  giuen  more 

Power  to  the  Deuill,  then  he  did  of  yore, 

Ouer  this  world  :  the  feind  as  he  doth  hate  90 

The  vertuous  man  $  maligning  his  estate, 

All  noble  things,  and  would  haue  by  his  will, 

To  be  damn'd  with  him,  vsing  all  his  skill, 

By  his  blacke  hellish  ministers  to  vexe 

All  worthy  men,  and  strangely  to  perplexe 

Their  constancie,  there  by  them  so  to  fright, 

That  they  should  yeeld  them  wholely  to  his  might. 

But  of  these  things  I  vainely  doe  but  tell. 

Where  hell  is  heauen,  and  heau'n  is  now  turn'd  hell ; 

Where  that  which  lately  blasphemy  hath  bin,  100 

Now  godlinesse,  much  lesse  accounted  sin ; 

And  a  long  while  I  greatly  meruaiPd  why 

Buffoons  and  Bawdes  should  hourely  multiply, 

Till  that  of  late  I  construed  it  that  they 

To  present  thrift  had  got  the  perfect  way, 

When  I  concluded  by  their  odious  crimes, 

It  was  for  vs  no  thriuing  in  these  times. 

As  men  oft  laugh  at  little  Babes,  when  they 
Hap  to  behold  some  strange  thing  in  their  play, 
To  see  them  on  the  suddaine  strucken  sad,  no 

As  in  their  fancie  some  strange  formes  they  had, 
Which  they  by  pointing  with  their  ringers  showe, 
Angry  at  our  capacities  so  slowe, 
That  by  their  countenance  we  no  sooner  learne 
To  see  the  wonder  which  they  so  discerne : 
So  the  celestiall  powers  doe  sit  and  smile 
At  innocent  and  vertuous  men  the  while, 
They  stand  amazed  at  the  world  ore-gone, 
So  farre  beyond  imagination, 
With  slauish  basenesse,  that  the  silent  sit 
Pointing  like  children  in  describing  it. 

Then  noble  friend  the  next  way  to  controule 
These  worldly  crosses,  is  to  arme  thy  soule 


To  Master  William  Browne     97 

With  constant  patience  :  and  with  thoughts  as  high 

As  these  be  lowe,  and  poore,  winged  to  flye 

To  that  exalted  stand,  whether  yet  they 

Are  got  with  paine,  that  sit  out  of  the  way 

Of  this  ignoble  age,  which  raiseth  none 

But  such  as  thinke  their  black  damnation 

To  be  a  trifle;  such,  so  ill,  that  when  130 

They  are  aduanc'd,  those  few  poore  honest  men 

That  yet  are  liuing,  into  search  doe  runne 

To  finde  what  mischiefe  they  haue  lately  done, 

Which  so  preferres  them ;  say  thou  he  doth  rise, 

That  maketh  vertue  his  chiefe  exercise. 

And  in  this  base  world  come  what  euer  shall, 

Hees  worth  lamenting,  that  for  her  doth  fall. 


Vpon  the  three  Sonnes  of  the  Lord  SHEFFIELD, 
drowned  in 


LIGHT  Sonnets  hence,  and  to  loose  Louers  flie, 
And  mournfull  Maydens  sing  an  Elegie 
On  those  three  SHEFFIELDS,  ouer-whelm'd  with  waues, 
Whose  losse  the  teares  of  all  the  Muses  craues  ; 
A  thing  so  full  of  pitty  as  this  was, 
Me  thinkes  for  nothing  should  not  slightly  passe. 
Treble  this  losse  was,  why  should  it  not  borrowe, 
Through  this  lies  treble  parts,  a  treble  sorrowe  : 
But  Fate  did  this,  to  let  the  world  to  knowe, 
That  sorrowes  which  from  common  causes  growe,         10 
Are  not  worth  mourning  for,  the  losse  to  beare, 
But  of  one  onely  sonne,  's  not  worth  one  teare. 
Some  tender-hearted  man,  as  I,  may  spend 
Some  drops  (perhaps)  for  a  deceased  friend. 
Some  men  (perhaps)  their  Wifes  late  death  may  rue  j 
Or  Wifes  their  Husbands,  but  such  be  but  fewe. 
Cares  that  haue  vs'd  the  hearts  of  men  to  tuch 
So  oft,  and  deepely,  will  not  now  be  such  ; 
Who'll  care  for  loss  of  maintenance,  or  place, 
Fame,  liberty,  or  of  the  Princes  grace  ;  20 

AYTON  H 


98     Elegies  <vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

Or  sutes  in  law,  by  base  corruption  crost, 

When  he  shall  finde,  that  this  which  he  hath  lost, 

Alas,  is  nothing  to  his,  which  did  lose. 

Three  sonnes  at  once  so  excellent  as  those  : 

Nay,  it  is  feard  that  this  in  time  may  breed 

Hard  hearts  in  men  to  their  owne  naturall  seed ; 

That  in  respect  of  this  great  losse  of  theirs, 

Men  will  scarce  mourne  the  death  of  their  owne  heires. 

Through  all  this  He  their  losse  so  publique  is, 
That  euery  man  doth  take  them  to  be  his,  30 

And  as  a  plague  which  had  beginning  there, 
So  catching  is,  and  raighing  euery  where, 
That  those  the  farthest  off  as  much  doe  rue  them, 
As  those  the  most  familiarly  that  knew  them  ; 
Children  with  this  disaster  are  wext  sage, 
And  like  to  men  that  strucken  are  in  age  ; 
Talke  what  it  is,  three  children  at  one  time 
Thus  to  haue  drown'd,  and  in  their  very  prime  • 
Yea,  and  doe  learne  to  act  the  same  so  well, 
That  then  olde  folke;  they  better  can  it  tell.  40 

Inuention,  oft  that  Passion  vs'd  to  faine, 
In  sorrowes  of  themselves  but  slight,  and  meane, 
To  make  them  seeme  great,  here  it  shall  not  need, 
For  that  this  Subiect  doth  so  farre  exceed 
All  forc'd  Expression,  that  what  Poesie  shall 
Happily  thinke  to  grace  it  selfe  with  all, 
Falls  so  belowe  it,  that  it  rather  borrowes 
Grace  from  their  griefe,  then  addeth  to  their  sorrowes, 
For  sad  mischance  thus  in  the  losse  of  three, 
To  shewe  it  selfe  the  vtmost  it  could  bee  :  50 

Exacting  also  by  the  selfe  same  lawe, 
The  vtmost  teares  that  sorrowe  had  to  drawe 
All  future  times  hath  vtterly  preuented 
Of  a  more  losse,  or  more  to  be  lamented. 

Whilst  in  faire  youth  they  liuely  flourished  here, 
To  their  kinde  Parents  they  were  onely  deere : 
But  being  dead,  now  euery  one  doth  take 
Them  for  their  owne,  and  doe  like  sorrowe  make : 
As  for  their  owne  begot,  as  they  pretended 
Hope  in  the  issue,  which  should  haue  discended          (To 


The  Sonnes  of  Lord  Sheffield    99 

From  them  againe  ;  nor  here  doth  end  our  sorrow, 
But  those  of  vs,  that  shall  be  borne  to  morrowe 
Still  shall  lament  them,  and  when  time  shall  count, 
To  what  vast  number  passed  yeares  shall  mount, 
They  from  their  death  shall  duly  reckon  so, 
As  from  the  Deluge,  former  vs'd  to  doe. 
O  cruell  Humber  guilty  of  their  gore, 
I  now  beleeue  more  then  I  did  before 
The  Brittish  Story,  whence  thy  name  begun 
Of  Kingly  Humber,  an  inuading  Huny  70 

By  thee  deuoured,  for't  is  likely  thou 
With  blood  wert  Christned,  bloud-thirsty  till  now. 
The  Oitse,  the  Done,  and  thou  farre  clearer  Trent, 
To  drowne  the  SHEFFIELDS  as  you  gaue  consent, 
Shall  curse  the  time,  that  ere  you  were  infus'd, 
Which  haue  your  waters  basely  thus  abus'd. 
The  groueling  Boore  yee  hinder  not  to  goe, 
And  at  his  pleasure  Ferry  to  and  fro. 
The  very  best  part  of  whose  soule,  and  bloud, 
Compared  with  theirs,  is  viler  then  your  mud.  80 

But  wherefore  paper,  doe  1  idely  spend, 
On  those  deafe  waters  to  so  little  end, 
And  vp  to  starry  heauen  doe  I  not  looke, 
In  which,  as  in  an  euerlasting  booke, 
Our  ends  are  written ;  O  let  times  rehearse 
Their  fatall  losse,  in  their  sad  Aniuerse. 


To  the  noble  Lady,  the  Lady  I.  S.  of  worldly 
crosses 

MADAME,  to  shew  the  smoothnesse  of  my  vaine, 
Neither  that  I  would  haue  you  entertaine 
The  time  in  reading  me,  which  you  would  spend 
In  faire  discourse  with  some  knowne  honest  friend, 
I  write  not  to  you.     Nay,  and  which  is  more, 
My  powerfull  verses  striue  not  to  restore, 
What  time  and  sicknesse  haue  in  you  impair'd, 
To  other  ends  my  Elegie  is  squar'd. 
H  z 


ioo     Elegies  vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

Your  beauty,  sweetnesse,  and  your  gracefull  parts 
That  haue  drawne  many  eyes,  wonne  many  hearts,      10 
Of  me  get  little,  I  am  so  much  man, 
That  let  them  doe  their  vtmost  that  they  can, 
I  will  resist  their  forces :  and  they  be 
Though  great  to  others,  yet  not  so  to  me. 
The  first  time  I  beheld  you,  I  then  sawe 
That  (in  it  selfe)  which  had  the  power  to  drawe 
My  stayd  affection,  and  thought  to  allowe 
You  some  deale  of  my  heart  •  but  you  have  now 
Got  farre  into  it,  and  you  haue  the  skill 
(For  ought  I  see)  to  winne  vpon  me  still.  20 

When  I  doe  thinke  how  brauely  you  haue  borne 
Your  many  crosses,  as  in  Fortunes  scorne, 
And  how  neglectfull  you  have  seem'd  to  be, 
Of  that  which  hath  seem'd  terrible  to  me, 
I  thought  you  stupid,  nor  that  you  had  felt 
Those  griefes  which  (often)  I  haue  scene  to  melt 
Another  woman  into  sighes  and  teares, 
A  thing  but  seldome  in  your  sexe  and  yea  res, 
But  when  in  you  I  haue  perceiu'd  agen, 
(Noted  by  me,  more  then  by  other  men)  30 

How  feeling  and  how  sensible  you  are 
Of  your  friends  sorrowes,  and  with  how  much  care 
You  seeke  to  cure  them,  then  my  selfe  I  blame, 
That  I  your  patience  should  so  much  misname, 
Which  to  my  vnderstanding  maketh  knowne 
Who  feeles  anothers  griefe,  can  feele  their  owne. 
When  straight  me  thinkes,  I  heare  your  patience  say, 
Are  you  the  man  that  studied  Seneca : 
f  limes  most  learned  letters ;  and  must  1 
Read  you  a  Lecture  in  Philosophic,  40 

T'auoid  the  afflictions  that  haue  vs'd  to  reach  you  ; 
Pie  learne  you  more,  Sir,  then  your  bookes  can  teach  you. 

Of  all  your  sex,  yet  neuer  did  I  knowe, 
Any  that  yet  so  actually  could  showe 
Such  rules  for  patience,  such  an  easie  way, 
That  who  so  sees  it,  shall  be  forc'd  to  say, 
Loe  what  before  seem'd  hard  to  be  discerned, 
Is  of  this  Lady,  in  an  instant  learn'd. 


To  the  Lady  I.  S.  101 

It  is  heauens  will  that  you  should  wronged  be 

By  the  malicious,  that  the  world  might  see  yo 

Your  Doue-like  meekenesse ;  for  had  the  base  scumme, 

The  spawne  of  Fiends,  beene  in  your  slander  dumbe, 

Your  vertue  then  had  perish'd,  neuer  priz'd, 

For  that  the  same  you  had  not  exercised  • 

And  you  had  lost  the  Crowne  you  haue,  and  glory, 

Nor  had  you  beene  the  subiect  of  my  Story. 

Whilst  they  feele  Hell,  being  damned  in  their  hate, 

Their  thoughts  like  Deuils  them  excruciate, 

Which  by  your  noble  suff rings  doe  torment 

Them  with  new  paines,  and  giues  you  this  content     6b 

To  see  your  soule  an  Innocent,  hath  suffred, 

And  vp  to  heauen  before  your  eyes  be  offred  : 

Your  like  we  in  a  burning  Glasse  may  see, 

When  the  Sunnes  rayes  therein  contracted  be 

Bent  on  some  obiect,  which  is  purely  white, 

We  finde  that  colour  doth  dispierce  the  light, 

And  stands  vntainted  :  but  if  it  hath  got 

Some  little  sully ;  or  the  least  small  spot, 

Then  it  soon  fiers  it  j  so  you  still  remaine 

Free,  because  in  you  they  can  finde  no  staine.  70 

God  doth  not  loue  them  least,  on  whom  he  layes 
The  great'st  afflictions ;  but  that  he  will  praise 
Himselfe  most  in  them,  and  will  make  them  fit, 
Near'st  to  himselfe  who  is  the  Lambe  to  sit : 
For  by  that  touch,  like  perfect  gold  he  tries  them, 
Who  are  not  his,  vntill  the  world  denies  them. 
And  your  example  may  work  such  effect, 
That  it  may  be  the  beginning  of  a  Sect 
Of  patient  women  ;  and  that  many  a  day 
All  Husbands  may  for  you  their  Founder  pray.  So 

Nor  is  to  me  your  innocence  the  lesse, 
In  that  I  see  you  striue  not  to  suppresse 
Their  barbarous  malice ;  but  your  noble  heart 
Prepared  to  act  so  difficult  a  part, 
With  vnremoued  constancie  is  still 
The  same  it  was,  that  of  your  proper  ill, 
The  effect  proceeds  from  your  owne  selfe  the  cause, 
Like  some  iust  Prince,  who  to  establish  lawes, 


iox    Elegies  <vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

Suffers  the  breach  at  his  best  lou'd  to  strike, 

To  learne  the  vulgar  to  endure  the  like.  90 

You  are  a  Martir  thus,  nor  can  you  be 

Lesse  to  the  world  so  valued  by  me : 

If  as  you  haue  begun,  you  still  perseuer 

Be  euer  good,  that  I  may  loue  you  euer. 


An  Elegie  vpon  the  death  of  the  Lady 
PENELOPE  CLIFTON 

MVST  I  needes  write,  who's  hee  that  can  refuse, 
He  wants  a  minde,  for  her  that  hath  no  Muse, 
The  thought  of  her  doth  heau'nly  rage  inspire, 
Next  powerfull,  to  those  clou  en  tongues  of  fire. 

Since  I  knew  ought  time  neuer  did  allowe 
Me  stufFe  fit  for  an  Elegie,  till  now ; 
When  France  and  England's  HENRIES  dy'd,  my  quill, 
Why,  I  know  not,  but  it  that  time  lay  still. 
'Tis  more  then  greatnesse  that  my  spirit  must  raise, 
To  obserue  custome  I  vse  not  to  praise  •  10 

Nor  the  least  thought  of  mine  yet  ere  depended, 
On  any  one  from  whom  she  was  descended  ; 
That  for  their  fauour  I  this  way  should  wooe, 
As  some  poor  wretched  things  (perhaps)  may  doe  j 
I  gaine  the  end,  whereat  I  onely  ayme, 
If  by  my  freedome,  I  may  giue  her  fame. 

Walking  then  forth  being  newly  vp  from  bed, 
O  Sir  (quoth  one)  the  Lady  CLIFTON'S  dead. 
When,  but  that  reason  my  sterne  rage  withstood, 
My  hand  had  sure  beene  guilty  of  his  blood.  ^o 

If  shee  be  so,  must  thy  rude  tongue  confesse  it 
(Quoth  I)  and  com'st  so  coldly  to  expresse  it. 
Thou  shouldst  haue  giuen  a  shreeke,  to  make  me  feare  thee ; 
That  might  haue  slaine  what  euer  had  beene  neere  thee. 
Thou  shouldst  haue  com'n  like  Time  with  thy  scalpe  bare, 
And  in  thy  hands  thou  shouldst  haue  brought  thy  haire, 
Casting  vpon  me  such  a  dreadfull  looke, 
As  scene  a  spirit,  or  th'adst  beene  thunder-strooke, 


Death  of  Lady  Tenelope  Clifton     103 

And  gazing  on  me  so  a  little  space, 

Thou  shouldst  haue  shot  thine  eye  balls  in  my  face,    30 

Then  falling  at  my  feet,  thou  shouldst  haue  said, 

0  she  is  gone,  and  Nature  with  her  dead. 
With  this  ill  newes  amaz'd  by  chance  I  past, 

By  that  neere  Groue,  whereas  both  first  and  last, 

1  saw  her,  not  three  moneths  before  shee  di'd. 
When  (though  full  Summer  gan  to  vaiie  her  pride, 
And  that  I  sawe  men  leade  home  ripened  Corne, 
Besides  adiuVd  me  well,)  I  durst  haue  sworne 
The  lingring  yeare,  the  Autumne  had  adiourn'd, 

And  the  fresh  Spring  had  beene  againe  return'd,         4.0 

Her  delicacie,  louelinesse,  and  grace, 

With  such  a  Summer  brauery  deckt  the  place : 

But  now  alas,  it  lookt  forlorne  and  dead  j 

And  where  she  stood,  the  fading  leaues  were  shed, 

Presenting  onely  sorrowe  to  my  sight, 

O  God  (thought  I)  this  is  her  Embleme  right. 

And  sure  I  thinke  it  cannot  but  be  thought, 

That  I  to  her  by  prouidence  was  brought. 

For  that  the  Fates  fore-dooming,  shee  should  die, 

Shewed  me  this  wondrous  Master  peece,  that  I  yo 

Should  sing  her  Funerall,  that  the  world  should  know  it, 

That  heauen  did  thinke  her  worthy  of  a  Poet ; 

My  hand  is  fatall,  nor  doth  fortune  doubt, 

For  what  it  writes,  not  fire  shall  ere  race  out. 

A  thousand  silken  Puppets  should  haue  died, 

And  in  their  fulsome  Coffins  putrified, 

Ere  in  my  lines,  you  of  their  names  should  heare 

To  tell  the  world  that  such  there  euer  were, 

Whose  memory  shall  from  the  earth  decay, 

Before  those  Rags  be  worne  they  gaue  away  :  6b 

Had  I  her  god-like  features  neuer  seene, 

Poore  slight  Report  had  tolde  me  she  had  beene 

A  hansome  Lady,  comely,  very  well, 

And  so  might  I  haue  died  an  Infidell, 

As  many  doe  which  neuer  did  her  see, 

Or  cannot  credit,  what  she  was,  by  mee. 

Nature,  her  selfe,  that  before  Art  prefers 
To  goe  beyond  all  our  Cosmographers, 


Elegies  vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

By  Charts  and  Maps  exactly  that  haue  showne, 

All  of  this  earth  that  euer  can  be  knowne,  70 

For  that  she  would  beyond  them  all  descrie 

What  Art  could  not  by  any  mortall  eye ; 

A  Map  of  heauen  in  her  rare  features  drue, 

And  that  she  did  so  liuely  and  so  true. 

That  any  soule  but  seeing  it  might  sweare 

That  all  was  perfect  heauenly  that  was  there. 

If  euer  any  Painter  were  so  blest, 

To  drawe  that  face,  which  so  much  heau'n  exprest, 

If  in  his  best  of  skill  he  did  her  right, 

I  wish  it  neuer  may  come  in  my  sight,  80 

I  greatly  doubt  my  faith  (weake  man)  lest  I 

Should  to  that  face  commit  Idolatry. 

Death  might  haue  tyth'd  her  sex,  but  for  this  one, 
Nay,  haue  ta'n  halfe  to  haue  let  her  alone ; 
Such  as  their  wrinkled  temples  to  supply, 
Cyment  them  vp  with  sluttish  Mercury, 
Such  as  vndrest  were  able  to  affright, 
A  valiant  man  approching  him  by  night ; 
Death  might  haue  taken  such,  her  end  deferd, 
Vntill  the  time  she  had  beene  climaterd ;  90 

When  she  would  haue  bin  at  threescore  yeares  and  three, 
Such  as  our  best  at  three  and  twenty  be, 
With  enuie  then,  he  might  haue  ouerthrowne  her, 
When  age  nor  time  had  power  to  ceaze  vpon  her. 

But  when  the  vnpittying  Fates  her  end  decreed, 
They  to  the  same  did  instantly  proceed, 
For  well  they  knew  (if  she  had  languished  so) 
As  those  which  hence  by  naturall  causes  goe, 
So  many  prayers,  and  teares  for  her  had  spoken, 
As  certainly  their  Iron  lawes  had  broken,  100 

And  had  wak'd  heau'n,  who  clearely  would  haue  show'd 
That  change  of  Kingdomes  to  her  death  it  ow'd ; 
And  that  the  world  still  of  her  end  might  thinke, 
It  would  haue  let  some  Neighbouring  mountaine  sinke. 
Or  the  vast  Sea  it  in  on  vs  to  cast, 
As  Seuerne  did  about  some  fiue  yeares  past : 
Or  some  sterne  Comet  his  curld  top  to  reare, 
Whose  length  should  measure  halfe  our  Hemisphere. 


Death  of  Lady  Tenelope  Clifton     105* 


Holding  this  height,  to  say  some  will  not  sticke, 
That  now  I  raue,  and  am  growne  lunatique  : 
You  of  what  sexe  so  ere  you  be,  you  lye, 
'Tis  thou  thy  selfe  is  lunatique,  not  I. 
I  charge  you  in  her  name  that  now  is  gone. 
That  may  coniure  you,  if  you  be  not  stone. 
That  you  no  harsh,  nor  shallow  rimes  decline, 
Vpon  that  day  wherein  you  shall  read  mine. 
Such  as  indeed  are  falsely  termed  verse, 
And  will  but  sit  like  mothes  vpon  her  herse ; 
Nor  that  no  child,  nor  chambermaide,  nor  page, 
Disturbe  the  Rome,  the  whilst  my  sacred  rage, 
In  reading  is ;  but  whilst  you  heare  it  read, 
Suppose,  before  you,  that  you  see  her  dead, 
The  walls  about  you  hung  with  mournfull  blacke, 
And  nothing  of  her  funerall  to  lacke, 
And  when  this  period  giues  you  leaue  to  pause, 
Cast  vp  your  eyes,  and  sigh  for  my  applause. 


no 


110 


Vpon  the  noble  Lady  ASTONS  departure  for 
Spaine 

I  Many  a  time  haue  greatly  marueiPd,  why 
Men  say,  their  friends  depart  when  as  they  die, 
How  well  that  word,  a  dying,  doth  expresse, 
I  did  not  know  (I  freely  must  confesse,) 
Till  her  departure  :  for  whose  missed  sight, 
I  am  enforced  this  Elegy  to  write : 
But  since  resistlesse  fate  will  haue  it  so, 
That  she  from  hence  must  to  Iberia  goe, 
And  my  weak  wishes  can  her  not  detaine, 
I  will  of  heauen  in  policy  complaine, 
That  it  so  long  her  trauell  should  adiourne, 
Hoping  thereby  to  hasten  her  returne. 

Can  those  of  Norway  for  their  wage  procure, 
By  their  blacke  spells  a  winde  that  shall  endure 
Till  frorri  aboard  the  wished  land  men  see, 
And  fetch  the  harbour,  where  they  long  to  be, 


10 


The  witches  of 
the  Northerly 
legions  sell 
wmdes  to 
passengers. 


The  nearest 
Harbour  of 

Sfaine. 


An  He  for  the 
abundance  of 
wine  supposed 
to  be  the 
habitation  of 
Bachus. 


2O 


io6    Elegies  vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

Can  they  by  charmes  doe  this  and  cannot  I 

Who  am  the  Priest  of  Phtebus,  and  so  hie, 

Sit  in  his  fauour,  winne  the  Poets  god, 

To  send  swift  Hermes  with  his  snaky  rod, 

To  Molus  Caue,  commanding  him  with  care, 

His  prosperous  winds,  that  he  for  her  prepare, 

And  from  that  howre,  wherein  shee  takes  the  seas, 

Nature  bring  on  the  quiet  Halclon  dayes, 

And  in  that  hower  that  bird  begin  her  nest, 

Nay  at  that  very  instant,  that  long  rest 

May  seize  on  Neptune^  who  may  still  repose, 

And  let  that  bird  nere  till  that  hower  disclose, 

Wherein  she  landeth,  and  for  all  that  space 

Be  not  a  wrinkle  scene  on  Thetis  face,  3  o 

Onely  so  much  breath  with  a  gentle  gale, 

As  by  the  easy  swelling  of  her  saile, 

May  at  ^Sebastians  safely  set  her  downe 

Where,  with  her  goodnes  she  may  blesse  the  towne. 

If  heauen  in  iustice  would  haue  plagu'd  by  thee 
Some  Pirate,  and  grimme  Neptune  thou  should'st  be 
His  Executioner,  or  what  is  his  worse, 
The  gripple  Merchant,  borne  to  be  the  curse 
Of  this  braue  Hand  •  let  them  for  her  sake, 
Who  to  thy  safeguard  doth  her  selfe  betake,  40 

Escape  vndrown'd,  vnwrackt,  nay  rather  let 
Them  be  at  ease  in  some  safe  harbour  set, 
Where  with  much  profit  they  may  vent  their  wealth 
That  they  haue  got  by  villany  and  stealth, 
Rather  great  Neptune^  then  when  thou  dost  raue, 
Thou  once  shouldst  wet  her  saile  but  with  a  waue. 

Or  if  some  proling  Rouer  shall  but  dare, 
To  seize  the  ship  wherein  she  is  to  fare, 
Let  the  fell  fishes  of  the  Maine  appeare. 
And  tell  those  Sea-thiefes,  that  once  such  they  were    yo 
As  they  are  now,  till  they  assaid  to  rape 
Grape-crowned  Bacchus  in  a  striplings  shape, 
That  came  aboard  them,  and  would  faine  haue  saild, 
To  vine-spread  *Naxus.>  but  that  him  they  faild, 
Which  he  perceiuing,  them  so  monstrous  made, 
And  warnd  them  how  they  passengers  inuade. 


Lady  Astons  departure  for  Spaine   107 

Ye  South  and  Westerne  winds  now  cease  to  blow 
Autumne  is  come,  there  be  no  flowers  to  grow, 
Yea  from  that  place  respire,  to  which  she  goes, 
And  to  her  sailes  should  show  your  selfe  but  foes,        60 
But  Boreas  and  yee  Esterne  windes  arise, 
To  send  her  soon  to  Spame,  but  be  precise, 
That  in  your  aide  you  seeme  not  still  so  sterne, 
As  we  a  summer  should  no  more  discerne, 
For  till  that  here  againe,  I  may  her  see, 
It  will  be  winter  all  the  yeare  with  mee. 

Ye  swanne-begotten  louely  brother-stars, 
So  oft  auspicious  to  poore  Mariners, 
Ye  twin-bred  lights  of  louely  Leda's  brood, 
loues  egge-borne  issue  smile  vpon  the  flood,  70 

And  in  your  mild'st  aspect  doe  ye  appeare 
To  be  her  warrant  from  all  future  feare. 
And  if  thou  ship  that  bear'st  her,  doe  proue  good, 
May  neuer  time  by  wormes,  consume  thy  wood 
Nor  rust  thy  iron,  may  thy  tacklings  last, 
Till  they  for  reliques  be  in  temples  plac't ; 
Maist  thou  be  ranged  with  that  mighty  Arke, 
Wherein  iust  Noah  did  all  the  world  imbarque, 
With  that  which  after  Troyes  so  famous  wracke, 
From  ten  yeares  trauell  brought  Vllsses  backe,  80 

That  Argo  which  to  Colchos  went  from  Greece^ 
And  in  her  botome  brought  the  goulden  fleece 
Vnder  braue  lason ;  or  that  same  of  Drake, 
Wherein  he  did  his  famous  voyage  make 
About  the  world  ;  or  Caiidishes  that  went 
As  far  as  his,  about  the  Continent. 

And  yee  milde  winds  that  now  I  doe  implore, 
Not  once  to  raise  the  least  sand  on  the  shore, 
Nor  once  on  forfait  of  your  selues  respire  : 
When  once  the  time  is  come  of  her  retire,  90 

If  then  it  please  you,  but  to  doe  your  due, 
What  for  these  windes  I  did,  He  doe  for  you ; 
He  wooe  you  then,  and  if  that  not  suffice, 
My  pen  shall  prooue  you  to  haue  dietyes, 
He  sing  your  loues  in  verses  that  shall  flow, 
And  tell  the  storyes  of  your  weale  and  woe, 


Castor  and  Polox 
begot  by  loue 
on  Leda,  in  the 
forme  of  a 
Swanne.     A 
constellation 
ominous  co 
Mariners. 


io8     Elegies  vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

He  prooue  what  profit  to  the  earth  you  bring, 

And  how  t'is  you  that  welcome  in  the  spring ; 

lie  raise  vp  altars  to  you,  as  to  show, 

The  time  shall  be  kept  holy,  when  you  blow.  100 

O  blessed  winds  !   your  will  that  it  may  be, 

To  send  health  to  her,  and  her  home  to  me. 


To  my  most  dearely-loued  friend 
HENERY  REYNOLDS  Esquire,  of  Poets  &  Poesie 

My  dearely  loued  friend  how  oft  haue  we, 
In  winter  evenings  (meaning  to  be  free,) 
To  some  well-chosen  place  vs'd  to  retire  • 
And  there  with  moderate  meate,  and  wine,  and  fire, 
Haue  past  the  howres  contentedly  with  chat, 
Now  talk  of  this,  and  then  discours'd  of  that, 
Spoke  our  owne  verses  'twixt  our  selves,  if  not 
Other  mens  lines,  which  we  by  chance  had  got, 
Or  some  Stage  pieces  famous  long  before, 
Of  which  your  happy  memory  had  store-  10 

And  I  remember  you  much  pleased  were, 
Of  those  who  liued  long  agoe  to  heare, 
As  well  as  of  those,  of  these  latter  times, 
Who  have  inricht  our  language  with  their  rimes, 
And  in  succession,  how  still  vp  they  grew, 
Which  is  the  subiect,  that  I  now  pursue  • 
For  from  my  cradle,  (you  must  know  that)  I, 
Was  still  inclined  to  noble  Poesie, 
And  when  that  once  Puerile  $  I  had  read, 
And  newly  had  my  Cato  construed,  2,0 

In  my  small  selfe  I  greatly  marueil'd  then, 
Amonst  all  other,  what  strange  kinde  of  men 
These  Poets  were ;  And  pleased  with  the  name, 
To  my  milde  Tutor  merrily  I  came, 
(For  I  was  then  a  proper  goodly  page, 
Much  like  a  Pigmy,  scarse  ten  yeares  of  age) 
Clasping  my  slender  armes  about  his  thigh. 
O  my  deare  master !  cannot  you  (quoth  I) 


To  Henery  Reynolds          109 

Make  me  a  Poet,  doe  it  if  you  can, 

And  you  shall  see,  He  quickly  bee  a  man,  30 

Who  me  thus  answered  smiling,  boy  quoth  he, 

If  you'le  not  play  the  wag,  but  1  may  see 

You  ply  your  learning,  1  will  shortly  read 

Some  Poets  to  you ;  Phoebus  be  my  speed, 

Too't  hard  went  I,  when  shortly  he  began, 

And  first  read  to  me  honest  Mantuan, 

Then  Virgils  Eglogues,  being  entred  thus, 

Me  thought  I  straight  had  mounted  Pegasus, 

And  in  his  full  Careere  could  make  him  stop, 

And  bound  vpon  Parnassus'  by-clift  top.  40 

I  scornd  your  ballet  then  though  it  were  done 

And  had  for  Finis,  William  Elderton. 

But  soft,  in  sporting  with  this  childish  iest, 

I  from  my  subiect  haue  too  Jong  digrest, 

Then  to  the  matter  that  we  tooke  in  hand, 

loue  and  Apollo  for  the  Muses  stand. 

Then  noble  Chaucer,  in  those  former  times, 
The  first  inrich'd  our  English  with  his  rimes, 
And  was  the  first  of  ours,  that  euer  brake, 
Into  the  Muses  treasure,  and  first  spake  50 

In  weighty  numbers,  deluing  in  the  Mine 
Of  perfect  knowledge,  which  he  could  refine, 
And  coyne  for  currant,  and  as  much  as  then 
The  English  language  could  expresse  to  men, 
He  made  it  doe ;  and  by  his  wondrous  skill, 
Gaue  vs  much  light  from  his  abundant  quill. 

And  honest  Go<wer,  who  in  respect  of  him, 
Had  only  sipt  at  Aganippas  brimme, 
And  though  in  yeares  this  last  was  him  before, 
Yet  fell  he  far  short  of  the  others  store.  do 

When  after  those,  foure  ages  very  neare, 
They  with  the  Muses  which  conuersed,  were 
That  Princely  Surrey,  early  in  the  time 
Of  the  Eight  Henry,  who  was  then  the  prime 
Of  Englands  noble  youth  •  with  him  there  came 
Wyat  •  with  reuerence  whom  we  still  doe  name 
Amongst  our  Poets,  Brian  had  a  share 
With  the  two  former,  which  accompted  are 


no    Elegies  <vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

That  times  best  makers,  and  the  authors  were 

Of  those  small  poems,  which  the  title  beare,  70 

Of  songs  and  sonnets,  wherein  oft  they  hit 

On  many  dainty  passages  of  wit. 

Gascome  and  Churchyard  after  them  againe 
In  the  beginning  of  'Eliza's  raine, 
Accoumpted  were  great  Meterers  many  a  day, 
But  not  inspired  with  braue  fier,  had  they 
Liu'd  but  a  little  longer,  they  had  scene, 
Their  works  before  them  to  have  buried  beene. 

Graue  morrall  Spencer  after  these  came  on 
Then  whom  I  am  perswaded  there  was  none  80 

Since  the  blind  Bard  his  Iliads  vp  did  make, 
Fitter  a  taske  like  that  to  vndertake, 
To  set  downe  boldly,  brauely  to  inuent, 
In  all  high  knowledge,  surely  excellent. 

The  noble  Sidney  with  this  last  arose, 
That  Heroe  for  numbers,  and  for  Prose. 
That  throughly  pac'd  our  language  as  to  show, 
The  plenteous  English  hand  in  hand  might  goe 
With  Greek  or  Latine^  and  did  first  reduce 
Our  tongue  from  Lillies  writing  then  in  vse  ;  90 

Talking  of  Stones,  Stars,  Plants,  of  fishes,  Flyes, 
Playing  with  words,  and  idle  Similies, 
As  th'  English,  Apes  and  very  Zanies  be, 
Of  euery  thing,  that  they  doe  heare  and  see, 
So  imitating  his  ridiculous  tricks, 
They  spake  and  writ,  all  like  meere  lunatiques. 

Then  Warner  though  his  lines  were  not  so  trim'd, 
Nor  yet  his  Poem  so  exactly  lim'd 
And  neatly  ioynted,  but  the  Criticke  may 
Easily  reprooue  him,  yet  thus  let  me  say  •  100 

For  my  old  friend,  some  passages  there  be 
In  him,  which  I  protest  haue  taken  me, 
With  almost  wonder,  so  fine,  cleere,  and  new 
As  yet  they  haue  bin  equalled  by  few. 

Neat  Marloiu  bathed  in  the  Thespian  springs 
Had  in  him  those  braue  translunary  things, 
That  the  first  Poets  had,  his  raptures  were, 
All  ayre,  and  fire,  which  made  his  verses  cleere, 


To  Henery  Reynolds  in 

For  that  fine  madnes  still  he  did  retaine, 

Which  rightly  should  possesse  a  Poets  braine.  no 

And  surely  Nashe,  though  he  a  Proser  were 
A  branch  of  Lawrell  yet  deserues  to  beare, 
Sharply  Satmck  was  he,  and  that  way 
He  went,  since  that  his  being,  to  this  day 
Few  haue  attempted,  and  I  surely  thinke 
Those  wordes  shall  hardly  be  set  downe  with  inke  • 
Shall  scorch  and  blast,  so  as  his  could,  where  he, 
Would  inflict  vengeance,  and  be  it  said  of  thee, 
Shakespeare,  thou  hadst  as  smooth  a  Comicke  vaine, 
Fitting  the  socke,  and  in  thy  naturall  braine,  1 20 

As  strong  conception,  and  as  Cleere  a  rage, 
As  any  one  that  trafiqu'd  with  the  stage. 

Amongst  these  Samuel  Daniel,  whom  if  I 
May  spake  of,  but  to  sensure  doe  denie, 
Onely  haue  heard  some  wisemen  him  rehearse, 
To  be  too  much  Historian  in  verse ; 
His  rimes  were  smooth,  his  meeters  well  did  close 
But  yet  his  maner  better  fitted  prose : 
Next  these,  learnM  Johnson,  in  this  List  I  bring, 
Who  had  drunke  deepe  of  the  'Pierian  spring,  130 

Whose  knowledge  did  him  worthily  prefer, 
And  long  was  Lord  here  of  the  Theater, 
Who  in  opinion  made  our  learn'st  to  sticke, 
Whether  in  Poems  rightly  dramatique, 
Strong  Seneca  or  flautus,  he  or  they, 
Should  beare  the  Buskin,  or  the  Socke  away. 
Others  againe  here  liued  in  my  dayes, 
That  haue  of  vs  deserued  no  lesse  praise 
For  their  translations,  then  the  daintiest  wit 
That  on  'Parnassus  thinks,  he  highst  doth  sit,  140 

And  for  a  chaire  may  mongst  the  Muses  call, 
As  the  most  curious  maker  of  them  all ; 
As  reuerent  Chapman,  who  hath  brought  to  vs, 
Musaus,  Homer,  and  Hesiodus 
Out  of  the  Greeke;  and  by  his  skill  hath  reard 
Them  to  that  height,  and  to  our  tongue  endear'd, 
That  were  those  Poets  at  this  day  aliue, 
To  see  their  bookes  thus  with  vs  to  suruiue, 


nx    Elegies  vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

They  would  think,  hauing  neglected  them  so  long, 
They  had  bin  written  in  the  English  tongue. 

And  Siluester  who  from  the  French  more  weake, 
Made  Bart  as  of  his  sixe  dayes  labour  speake 
In  naturall  English ,  who,  had  he  there  stayd, 
He  had  done  well,  and  neuer  had  bewraid 
His  owne  inuention,  to  haue  bin  so  poore 
Who  still  wrote  lesse,  in  striuing  to  write  more. 

Then  dainty  Sands  that  hath  to  English  done, 
Smooth  sliding  Quid,  and  hath  made  him  run 
With  so  much  sweetnesse  and  vnusuall  grace, 
As  though  the  neatnesse  of  the  English  pace,  160 

Should  tell  the  letting  Lattine  that  it  came 
But  slowly  after,  as  though  stiff  and  lame. 

So  Scotland  sent  vs  hither,  for  our  owne 
That  man,  whose  name  I  euer  would  haue  knowne, 
To  stand  by  mine,  that  most  ingenious  knight, 
My  Alexander^  to  whom  in  his  right, 
I  want  extreamely,  yet  in  speaking  thus 
I  doe  but  shew  the  loue,  that  was  twixt  vs, 
And  not  his  numbers  which  were  braue  and  hie, 
So  like  his  mind,  was  his  clear  Poesie,  170 

And  my  deare  Drummond  to  whom  much  I  owe 
For  his  much  loue,  and  proud  I  was  to  know, 
His  poesie,  for  which  two  worthy  men, 
I  Menstry  still  shall  loue,  and  Hauthorne-den. 
Then  the  two  "Be amounts  and  my  "Browne  arose, 
My  deare  companions  whom  I  freely  chose 
My  bosome  friends  •  and  in  their  seuerall  wayes, 
Rightly  borne  Poets,  and  in  these  last  dayes, 
Men  of  much  note,  and  no  lesse  nobler  parts, 
Such  as  haue  freely  tould  to  me  their  hearts,  1 80 

As  I  have  mine  to  them ;  but  if  you  shall 
Say  in  your  knowledge,  that  these  be  not  all 
Haue  writ  in  numbers,  be  informed  that  I 
Only  my  selfe,  to  these  few  men  doe  tye, 
Whose  works  oft  printed,  set  on  euery  post, 
To  publique  censure  subiect  haue  bin  most  • 
For  such  whose  poems,  be  they  nere  so  rare, 
In  priuate  chambers,  that  incloistered  are, 


To  Henery  Reynolds  113 

And  by  transcription  daintyly  must  goe ; 

As  though  the  world  vnworthy  were  to  know,  190 

Their  rich  composures,  let  those  men  that  keepe 

These  wonderous  reliques  in  their  iudgement  deepe  j 

And  cry  them  vp  so,  let  such  Peeces  bee 

Spoke  of  by  those  that  shall  come  after  me, 

I  passe  not  for  them  :  nor  doe  meane  to  run, 

In  quest  of  these,  that  them  applause  haue  wonne, 

Vpon  our  Stages  in  these  latter  dayes, 

That  are  so  many,  let  them  haue  their  bayes 

That  doe  deserue  it ;  let  those  wits  that  haunt 

Those  publique  circuits,  let  them  freely  chaunt  100 

Their  fine  Composures,  and  their  praise  pursue 

And  so  my  deare  friend,  for  this  time  adue. 


Vpon  the  death  of  his  incomparable  friend 
Sir  HENRY  RAYNSFORD  of  CLIFFORD 

COULD  there  be  words  found  to  expresse  my  Josse, 
There  were  some  hope,  that  this  my  heauy  crosse 
Might  be  sustained,  and  that  wretched  I 
Might  once  finde  comfort :  but  to  haue  him  die 
Past  all  degrees  that  was  so  deare  to  me ; 
As  but  comparing  him  with  others,  hee 
Was  such  a  thing,  as  if  some  Power  should  say 
Pie  take  Man  on  me,  to  shew  men  the  way 
What  a  friend  should  be.     But  words  come  so  short 
Of  him,  that  when  1  thus  would  him  report,  10 

I  am  vndone,  and  hauing  nought  to  say, 
Mad  at  my  selfe,  I  throwe  my  penne  away, 
And  beate  my  breast,  that  there  should  be  a  woe 
So  high,  that  words  cannot  attaine  thereto. 
T'is  strange  that  I  from  my  abundant  breast, 
Who  others  sorrowes  haue  so  well  exprest : 
Yet  I  by  this  in  little  time  am  growne 
So  poore,  that  I  want  to  expresse  mine  owne. 
I  thinke  the  Fates  perceiuing  me  to  beare 
My  worldly  crosses  without  wit  or  feare :  2.0 


Elegies  <vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

Nay,  with  what  scorne  I  euer  haue  derided. 
Those  plagues  that  for  me  they  haue  oft  prouided, 
Drew  them  to  counsaile ;  nay,  conspired  rather, 
And  in  this  businesse  laid  their  heads  together 
To  finde  some  one  plague,  that  might  me  subuert, 
And  at  an  instant  breake  my  stubborne  heart  ; 
They  did  indeede,  and  onely  to  this  end 
They  tooke  from  me  this  more  then  man,  or  friend. 

Hard-hearted  Fates,  your  worst  thus  haue  you  done, 
Then  let  vs  see  what  lastly  you  haue  wonne  30 

By  this  your  rigour,  in  a  course  so  strict. 
Why  see,  I  beare  all  that  you  can  inflict : 
And  hee  from  heauen  your  poore  reuenge  to  view  j 
Laments  my  losse  of  him,  but  laughes  at  you, 
Whilst  I  against  you  execrations  breath; 
Thus  are  you  scorn3 d  aboue,  and  curst  beneath. 

Me  thinks  that  man  (vnhappy  though  he  be) 
Is  now  thrice  happy  in  respect  of  me, 
Who  hath  no  friend ;  for  that  in  hauing  none 
He  is  not  stirr'd  as  I  am,  to  bemone  4.0 

My  miserable  losse,  who  but  in  vaine, 
May  euer  looke  to  find  the  like  againe. 
This  more  then  mine  own  selfe  ;  that  who  had  scene 
His  care  of  me  where  euer  I  had  beene, 
And  had  not  knowne  his  actiue  spirit  before, 
Vpon  some  braue  thing  working  euermore  : 
He  would  haue  sworne  that  to  no  other  end 
He  had  been  borne  :  but  onely  for  my  friend. 
I  had  been  happy  if  nice  Nature  had 
(Since  now  my  lucke  falls  out  to  be  so  bad)  5-0 

Made  me  vnperfect,  either  of  so  soft 
And  yeelding  temper,  that  lamenting  oft, 
I  into  teares  my  mournefull  selfe  might  melt; 
Or  else  so  dull,  my  losse  not  to  haue  felt. 
I  haue  by  my  too  deare  experience  bought, 
That  fooles  and  mad  men,  whom  I  euer  thought 
The  most  vnhappy,  are  in  deede  not  so  : 
And  therefore  I  lesse  pittie  can  bestowe 
(Since  that  my  sence,  my  sorrowe  so  can  sound) 
On  those  in  Bedlam  that  are  bound,  60 


The  death  of  Sir  H.  Raynsford    115- 

And  scarce  feele  scourging ;  and  when  as  I  meete 

A  fbole  by  Children  followed  in  the  Street e, 

Thinke  I  (poor  wretch)  thou  from  my  griefe  art  free, 

Nor  couldst  thou  feele  it,  should  it  light  on  thee  • 

But  that  I  am  a  Christian,  and  am  taught 

By  him  who  with  his  precious  bloud  me  bought. 

Meekly  like  him  my  crosses  to  endure, 

Else  would  they  please  me  well,  that  for  their  cure, 

When  as  they  feele  their  conscience  doth  them  brand, 

Vpon  themselues  dare  lay  a  violent  hand  $  70 

Not  suffering  Fortune  with  her  murdering  knife, 

Stand  like  a  Surgeon  working  on  the  life, 

Desecting  this  part,  that  ioynt  ofF  to  cut, 

Shewing  that  Artire,  ripping  then  that  gut, 

Whilst  the  dull  beastly  World  with  her  squint  eye, 

Is  to  behold  the  strange  Anatomic. 

1  am  persuaded  that  those  which  we  read 
To  be  man-haters,  were  not  so  indeed, 
The  Athenian  Timon,  and  beside  him  more 
Of  which  the  Latines,  as  the  Greekes  haue  store ;  80 

Nor  not  did  they  all  humane  manners  hate, 
Nor  yet  maligne  mans  dignity  and  state. 
But  finding  our  fraile  life  how  euery  day, 
It  like  a  bubble  vanisheth  away : 
For  this  condition  did  mankinde  detest, 
Farre  more  incertaine  then  that  of  the  beast. 

Sure  heauen  doth  hate  this  world  and  deadly  too, 
Else  as  it  hath  done  it  would  neuer  doe, 
For  if  it  did  not,  it  would  ne're  permit 
A  man  of  so  much  vertue,  knowledge,  wit,  90 

Of  naturall  goodnesse,  supernaturall  grace, 
Whose  courses  when  considerately  I  trace 
Into  their  ends,  and  diligently  looke. 
They  serue  me  for  Oeconomike  booke. 
By  which  this  rough  world  I  not  oaely  stemme, 
In  goodnesse  but  grow  learn'd  by  reading  them. 

O  pardon  me,  it  my  much  sorrow  is, 
Which  makes  me  vse  this  long  Parenthesis  • 
Had  heauen  this  world  not  hated  as  I  say, 
In  height  of  life  it  had  not,  tane  away  100 


n6    Elegies  vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

A  spirit  so  braue,  so  actiue,  and  so  free. 

That  such  a  one  who  would  not  wish  to  bee. 

Rather  then  weare  a  Crowne,  by  Armes  though  got, 

So  fast  a  friend,  so  true  a  Patriot. 

In  things  concerning  both  the  worlds  so  wise, 

Besides  so  liberall  of  his  faculties. 

That  where  he  would  his  industrie  bestowe, 

He  would  haue  done,  e're  one  could  think  to  doe. 

No  more  talke  of  the  working  of  the  Starres, 

For  plenty,  scarcenesse,  or  for  peace,  or  Warres :       no 

They  are  impostures,  therefore  get  you  hence 

With  all  your  Planets,  and  their  influence. 

No  more  doe  I  care  into  them  to  looke, 

Then  in  some  idle  Chiromantick  booke, 

Shewing  the  line  of  life,  and  Venus  mount. 

Nor  yet  no  more  would  I  of  them  account, 

Then  what  that  tells  me,  since  what  that  so  ere 

Might  promise  man  long  life  :  of  care  and  feare, 

By  nature  freed,  a  conscience  cleare,  and  quiet, 

His  health,  his  constitution,  and  his  diet ;  110 

Counting  a  hundred,  fourscore  at  the  least, 

Propt  vp  by  prayers,  yet  more  to  be  encreast, 

All  these  should  faile,  and  in  his  fiftieth  yeare 

He  should  expire,  henceforth  let  none  be  deare, 

To  me  at  all,  lest  for  my  haplesse  sake, 

Before  their  time  heauen  from  the  world  them  take, 

And  leaue  me  wretched  to  lament  their  ends 

As  I  doe  his,  who  was  a  thousand  friends. 

Vpon  the  death  of  the  Lady  OLIVE  STANHOPE 

CANST  thou  depart  and  be  forgotten  so, 
STANHOPE  thou  canst  not,  no  deare  STANHOPE,  no : 
But  in  despight  of  death  the  world  shall  see, 
That  Muse  which  so  much  graced  was  by  thee 
Can  black  Obliuion  vtterly  out-braue, 
And  set  thee  vp  aboue  thy  silent  Graue. 
I  meruail'd  much  the  Derbian  Nimphes  were  dumbe, 
Or  of  those  Muses,  what  should  be  become, 
That  of  all  those,  the  mountaines  there  among, 


The  death  of  Lady  Olive  Stanhope    117 

Not  one  this  while  thy  Epicedium  sung;  10 

But  so  it  is,  when  they  of  thee  were  reft, 

They  all  those  hills,  and  all  those  Riuers  left. 

And  sullen  growne,  their  former  seates  remoue, 

Both  from  cleare  Darwin,  and  from  siluer  Douey 

And  for  thy  losse,  they  greeued  are  so  sore, 

That  they  haue  vow'd  they  will  come  there  no  more ; 

But  leaue  thy  losse  to  me,  that  I  should  rue  thee, 

Vnhappy  man,  and  yet  I  neuer  knew  thee  : 

Me  thou  didst  loue  vnseene,  so  did  I  thee, 

It  was  our  spirits  that  lou'd  then  and  not  wee ;  ^o 

Therefore  without  profanenesse  I  may  call 

The  loue  betwixt  vs,  loue  spirituall : 

But  that  which  thou  affectedst  was  so  true, 

As  that  thereby  thee  perfectly  I  knew ; 

And  now  that  spirit,  which  thou  so  lou'dst,  still  mine, 

Shall  offer  this  a  Sacrifice  to  thine, 

And  reare  this  Trophe,  which  for  thee  shall  last, 

When  this  most  beastly  Iron  age  is  past ; 

I  am  perswaded,  whilst  we  two  haue  slept, 

Our  soules  haue  met,  and  to  each  other  wept,  30 

That  destenie  so  strongly  should  forbid, 

Our  bodies  to  conuerse  as  oft  they  did : 

For  certainly  refined  spirits  doe  know, 

As  doe  the  Angels,  and  doe  here  belowe 

Take  the  fruition  of  that  endlesse  blisse, 

As  those  aboue  doe,  and  what  each  one  is. 

They  see  diuinely,  and  as  those  there  doe, 

They  know  each  others  wills,  so  soules  can  too. 

About  that  dismall  time,  thy  spirit  hence  flew, 
Mine  much  was  troubled,  but  why,  I  not  knew,  4.0 

In  dull  and  sleepy  sounds,  it  often  left  me, 
As  of  it  selfe  it  ment  to  haue  bereft  me, 
I  asked  it  what  the  cause  was,  of  such  woe, 
Or  what  it  might  be,  that  might  vexe  it  so, 
But  it  was  deafe,  nor  my  demand  would  here, 
But  when  that  ill  newes  came,  to  touch  mine  eare, 
I  straightwayes  found  this  watchfull  sperit  of  mine, 
Troubled  had  bin  to  take  it  leaue  of  thine, 
For  when  fate  found,  what  nature  late  had  done, 


n8     Elegies  vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

How  much  from  heauen,  she  for  the  earth  had  won      5-0 

By  thy  deare  birth ;  said,  that  it  could  not  be 

In  so  yong  yeares,  what  it  perceiu'd  in  thee, 

But  nature  sure,  had  fram'd  thee  long  before  • 

And  as  Rich  Misers  of  their  mighty  store, 

Keepe  the  most  precious  longst,  so  from  times  past, 

She  onely  had  reserued  thee  till  the  last ; 

So  did  thy  wisedome,  not  thy  youth  behold. 

And  tooke  thee  hence,  in  thinking  thou  wast  old. 

Thy  shape  and  beauty  often  haue  to  me 

Bin  highly  praysed,  which  I  thought  might  be,  60 

Truely  reported,  for  a  spirit  so  braue, 

Which  heauen  to  thee  so  bountifully  gaue ; 

Nature  could  not  in  recompence  againe, 

In  some  rich  lodging  but  to  entertaine. 

Let  not  the  world  report  then,  that  the  Peake, 

Is  but  a  rude  place  only  vast  and  bleake ; 

And  nothing  hath  to  boast  of  but  her  Lead, 

When  she  can  say  that  happily  she  bred 

Thee,  and  when  she  shall  of  her  wonders  tell 

Wherein  she  doth  all  other  Tracts  excell,  .      70 

Let  her  account  thee  greatst,  and  still  to  time 

Of  all  the  rest,  accord  thee  for  the  prime. 

To  Master  WILLIAM  JEFFREYS, 

Chaplaine  to  the  Lord  Ambassador  in  Spalne 

MY  noble  friend,  you  challenge  me  to  write 
To  you  in  verse,  and  often  you  recite, 
My  promise  to  you,  and  to  send  you  newes ; 
As  'tis  a  thing  I  very  seldome  vse, 
And  I  must  write  of  State,  if  to  Madrid^ 
A  thing  our  Proclamations  here  forbid, 
And  that  word  State  such  Latitude  doth  beare, 
As  it  may  make  me  very  well  to  feare 
To  write,  nay  speake  at  all,  these  let  you  know 
Your  power  on  me,  yet  not  that  I  will  showe  10 

The  loue  I  beare  you,  in  that  lofty  height, 
So  cleere  expression,  or  such  words  of  weight. 


To  Master  William  Jeffreys    119 

As  into  Spanish  if  they  were  translated, 
Might  make  the  Poets  of  that  Realme  amated ; 
Yet  these  my  least  were,  but  that  you  extort 
These  numbers  from  me,  when  I  should  report 
In  home-spunne  prose,  in  good  plaine  honest  words 
The  newes  our  wofull  England  vs  affords. 

The  Muses  here  sit  sad,  and  mute  the  while 
A  sort  of  swine  vnseasonably  defile  20 

Those  sacred  springs,  which  from  the  by-clift  hill 
Dropt  their  pure  Nectar  into  euery  quill ; 
In  this  with  State,  1  hope  I  doe  not  deale, 
This  onely  tends  the  Muses  common-weale. 

What  canst  thou  hope,  or  looke  for  from  his  pen, 
Who  Hues  with  beasts,  though  in  the  shapes  of  men, 
And  what  a  poore  few  are  we  honest  still, 
And  dare  to  be  so,  when  all  the  world  is  ill. 

I  finde  this  age  of  our  markt  with  this  Fate, 
That  honest  men  are  still  precipitate  30 

Vnder  base  villaines,  which  till  th3  earth  can  vent 
This  her  last  brood,  and  wholly  hath  them  spent, 
Shall  be  so,  then  in  reuolution  shall 
Vertue  againe  arise  by  vices  fall ; 
But  that  shall  I  not  see,  neither  will  I 
Maintaine  this,  as  one  doth  a  Prophesie, 
That  our  King  lames  to  Rome  shall  surely  goe, 
And  from  his  chaire  the  Pope  shall  ouerthrow. 
But  O  this  world  is  so  giuen  vp  to  hell, 
That  as  the  old  Giants,  which  did  once  rebell,  4.0 

Against  the  Gods,  so  this  now-liuing  race 
Dare  sin,  yet  stand,  and  leere  heauen  in  the  face. 

But  soft  my  Muse,  and  make  a  little  stay, 
Surely  thou  art  not  rightly  in  thy  way, 
To  my  good  leffrayes  was  not  I  about 
To  write,  and  see,  I  suddainely  am  out, 
This  is  pure  Satire,  that  thou  speak'st,  and  I 
Was  first  in  hand  to  write  an  Elegie. 
To  tell  my  countreys  shame  I  not  delight. 
But  doe  bemoane  't  I  am  no  Democrite :  5-0 

O  God,  though  Vertue  mightily  doe  grieue 
For  all  this  world,  yet  will  I  not  beleeue 


no     Elegies  vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

But  that  shees  faire  and  louely,  and  that  she 

So  to  the  period  of  the  world  shall  be ; 

Else  had  she  beene  forsaken  (sure)  of  all. 

For  that  so  many  sundry  mischiefes  fall 

Vpon  her  dayly,  and  so  many  take 

Armes  vp  against  her,  as  it  well  might  make 

Her  to  forsake  her  nature,  and  behind, 

To  leaue  no  step  for  future  time  to  find,  60 

As  she  had  neuer  beene,  for  he  that  now 

Can  doe  her  most  disgrace,  him  they  alow 

The  times  chiefe  Champion,  and  he  is  the  man, 

The  prize,  and  Palme  that  absolutely  wanne, 

For  where  Kings  Clossets  her  free  seat  hath  bin 

She  neere  the  Lodge,  not  suffered  is  to  Inne, 

For  ignorance  against  her  stands  in  state, 

Like  some  great  porter  at  a  Pallace  gate- 

So  dull  and  barbarous  lately  are  we  growne, 

And  there  are  some  this  slauery  that  haue  sowne,         70 

That  for  mans  knowledge  it  enough  doth  make, 

If  he  can  learne,  to  read  an  Almanacke  • 

By  whom  that  trash  of  Amadis  de  Gaule, 

Is  held  an  author  most  authenticall, 

And  things  we  haue  like  Noblemen  that  be 

In  little  time,  which  I  haue  hope  to  see 

Vpon  their  foot-clothes,  as  the  streets  they  ride 

To  haue  their  hornebookes  at  their  girdles  ti'd. 

But  all  their  superfluity  of  spite 

On  vertues  hand-maid  Poesy  doth  light,  80 

And  to  extirpe  her  all  their  plots  they  lay, 

But  to  her  ruine  they  shall  misse  the  way, 

For  his  alone  the  Monuments  of  wit, 

Aboue  the  rage  of  Tyrants  that  doe  sit, 

And  from  their  strength,  not  one  himselfe  can  saue, 

But  they  shall  tryumph  o'r  his  hated  graue. 

In  my  conceipt,  friend,  thou  didst  neuer  see 
A  righter  Madman  then  thou  hast  of  me, 
For  now  as  Elegtack  I  bewaile 

These  poor  base  times ;  then  suddainely  I  raile  90 

And  am  Satirick,  not  that  I  infbrce 
My  selfe  to  be  so,  but  euen  as  remorse, 


To  Master  William  Jeffreys 

Or  hate,  in  the  proud  fulnesse  of  their  hight 
Master  my  fancy,  iust  so  doe  I  write. 

But  gentle  friend  as  soone  shall  I  behold 
That  stone  of  which  so  many  haue  vs  tould, 
(Yet  neuer  any  to  this  day  could  make) 
The  great  Elixar  or  to  vndertake 
The  Rose-crosse  knowledge  which  is  much  like  that 
A  Tarrying-iron  for  fooles  to  labour  at,  100 

As  euer  after  I  may  hope  to  see, 
(A  plague  vpon  this  beastly  world  for  me,) 
Wit  so  respected  as  it  was  of  yore  ; 
And  if  hereafter  any  it  restore, 
It  must  be  those  that  yet  for  many  a  yeare, 
Shall  be  vnborne  that  must  inhabit  here, 
And  such  in  vertue  as  shall  be  ashamed 
Almost  to  heare  their  ignorant  Grandsires  nam'd, 
With  whom  so  many  noble  spirits  then  liu'd, 
That  were  by  them  of  all  reward  depriu'd.  no 

My  noble  friend,  I  would  I  might  haue  quit 
This  age  of  these,  and  that  I  might  haue  writ, 
Before  all  other,  how  much  the  braue  pen, 
Had  here  bin  honoured  of  the  'English  men  ; 
Goodnesse  and  knowledge,  held  by  them  in  prise, 
How  hatefull  to  them  Ignorance  and  vice ; 
But  it  falls  out  the  contrary  is  true, 
And  so  my  leffreyes  for  this  time  adue. 

Vpon  the  death  of  Mistris  ELIANOR  FALLOWFIELD 

ACCURSED  Death,  what  neede  was  there  at  all 
Of  thee,  or  who  to  councell  thee  did  call ; 
The  subiect  whereupon  these  lines  I  spend 
For  thee  was  most  vnfit,  her  timelesse  end 
Too  soone  thou  wroughtst,  too  neere  her  thou  didst  stand  • 
Thou  shouldst  haue  lent  thy  leane  and  meager  hand 
To  those  who  oft  the  help  thereof  beseech, 
And  can  be  cured  by  no  other  Leech. 

In  this  wide  world  how  many  thousands  be, 
That  hauing  past  fburescore,  doe  call  for  thee.  10 


ixx     Elegies  vpon  Sundry  Occasions 

The  wretched  debtor  in  the  layle  that  lies, 

Yet  cannot  this  his  Creditor  suffice 

Doth  woe  thee  oft  with  many  a  sigh  and  teare, 

Yet  thou  art  coy,  and  him  thou  wilt  not  heare. 

The  Captiue  slaue  that  tuggeth  at  the  Oares, 

And  vnderneath  the  Bulls  tough  sinewes  rores, 

Begs  at  thy  hand,  in  lieu  of  all  his  paines, 

That  thou  wouldst  but  release  him  of  his  chaines ; 

Yet  thou  a  niggard  listenest  not  thereto. 

With  one  short  gaspe  which  thou  mightst  easily  do,     20 

But  thou  couldst  come  to  her  ere  there  was  neede, 

And  euen  at  once  destroy  both  flower  and  seede. 

But  cruell  Death  if  thou  so  barbarous  be, 
To  those  so  goodly,  and  so  young  as  shee  • 
That  in  their  teeming  thou  wilt  shew  thy  spight ; 
Either  from  marriage  thou  wilt  Maides  affright, 
Or  in  their  wedlock,  Widowes  Hues  to  chuse 
Their  Husbands  bed,  and  vtterly  refuse, 
Fearing  conception ;  so  shalt  thou  thereby 
Extirpate  mankinde  by  thy  cruelty.  30 

If  after  direfull  Tragedy  thou  thirst. 
Extinguish  Himens  Torches  at  the  first ; 
Build  Funerall  pyles,  and  the  sad  pauement  strewe, 
With  mournful!  Cypresse,  and  the  pale-leau'd  Yewe. 
Away  with  Roses,  Myrtle,  and  with  Bayes ; 
Ensignes  of  mirth,  and  iollity,  as  these  • 
Neuer  at  Nuptials  vsed  be  againe, 
But  from  the  Church  the  new  Bride  entertaine 
With  weeping  Nenias,  euer  and  among, 
As  at  departings  be  sad  Requiems  song.  4.0 

Lucina  by  th'  olde  Poets  that  wert  sayd, 
Women  in  Childe-birth  euermore  to  ayde, 
Because  thine  Altars,  long  haue  layne  neglected  : 
Nor  as  they  should,  thy  holy  fiers  reflected 
Vpon  thy  Temples,  therefore  thou  doest  flye, 
And  wilt  not  helpe  them  in  necessitie. 

Thinking  vpon  thee,  I  doe  often  muse, 
Whether  for  thy  deare  sake  I  should  accuse 
Nature  or  Fortune,  Fortune  then  I  blame, 
And  doe  impute  it  as  her  greatest  shame,  70 


The  death  of  Mrs.  E.  Fallow  field    113 

To  hast  thy  timelesse  end,  and  soone  agen 
I  vexe  at  Nature,  nay  I  curse  her  then. 
That  at  the  time  of  need  she  was  no  stronger, 
That  we  by  her  might  haue  enioy'd  thee  longer. 

But  whilst  of  these  I  with  my  selfe  debate, 
I  call  to  minde  how  flinty-hearted  Fate 
Seaseth  the  olde,  the  young,  the  faire,  the  foule, 
No  thing  on  earth  can  Destinie  controule  : 
But  yet  that  Fate  which  hath  of  life  bereft  thee, 
Still  to  eternall  memory  hath  left  thee,  6b 

Which  thou  enioy'st  by  the  deserued  breath, 
That  many  a  great  one  hath  not  after  death. 


NIMPHIDIA 

THE   COVRT   OF   FAYRIE 


OLDE  CHAVCER  doth  of  Topas  tell, 
Mad  RABLAIS  of  Pantagruell, 
A  latter  third  of  Doiusabell, 

With  such  poore  trifles  playing : 
Others  the  like  haue  laboured  at 
Some  of  this  thing,  and  some  of  that. 
And  many  of  they  know  not  what, 

But  that  they  must  be  saying. 

Another  sort  there  bee,  that  will 
Be  talking  of  the  Fayries  still, 
Nor  neuer  can  they  have  their  fill, 

As  they  were  wedded  to  them  j 
No  Tales  of  them  their  thirst  can  slake, 
So  much  delight  therein  they  take, 
And  some  strange  thing  they  faine  would  make, 

Knew  they  the  way  to  doe  them. 

Then  since  no  Muse  hath  bin  so  bold, 
Or  of  the  Later,  or  the  ould, 
Those  Eluish  secrets  to  vnfold, 

Which  lye  from  others  reading, 
My  actiue  Muse  to  light  shall  bring, 
The  court  of  that  proud  Fayry  King, 
And  tell  there,  of  the  Reuelling, 

loue  prosper  my  proceeding. 

And  thou  NIMPHIDIA  gentle  Fay, 

Which  meeting  me  vpon  the  way, 

These  secrets  didst  to  me  bewray, 

Which  now  I  am  in  telling  : 


10 


The  Court  of  Fayrie 


My  pretty  light  fantastick  mayde, 
I  here  inuoke  thee  to*  my  ayde,  30 

That  I  may  speake  what  thou  hast  sayd, 
In  numbers  smoothly  swelling. 

This  Pallace  standeth  in  the  Ayre, 
By  Nigromancie  placed  there, 
That  it  no  Tempests  needs  to  feare, 

Which  way  so  ere  it  blow  it. 
And  somewhat  Southward  toward  the  Noone, 
Whence  lyes  a  way  vp  to  the  Moone, 
And  thence  the  Fayrie  can  as  soone 

Passe  to  the  earth  below  it.  40 

The  Walls  of  Spiders  legs  are  made, 
Well  mortized  and  finely  layd, 
He  was  the  master  of  his  Trade 

It  curiously  that  builded  : 
The  Windowes  of  the  eyes  of  Cats, 
And  for  the  Roofe,  instead  of  Slats, 
Is  couer'd  with  the  skinns  of  Batts, 

With  Mooneshine  that  are  guilded. 

Hence  Qberon  him  sport  to  make, 

(Their  rest  when  weary  mortalls  take)  50 

And  none  but  onely  Fayries  wake, 

Desendeth  for  his  pleasure. 
And  Mab  his  meerry  Queene  by  night 
Bestrids  young  Folks  that  lye  vpright, 
(In  elder  Times  the  Mare  that  hight) 

Which  plagues  them  out  of  measure. 

Hence  Shaddowes,  seeming  Idle  shapes, 

Of  little  frisking  Elues  and  Apes, 

To  Earth  doe  make  their  wanton  skapes, 

As  hope  of  pastime  hasts  them  :  60 

Which  maydes  think  on  the  Hearth  they  see, 
When  Fyers  well  nere  consumed  be, 
Their  daunsing  Hayes  by  two  and  three, 

lust  as  their  Fancy  casts  them. 


Nimphidia 


These  make  our  GirJes  their  sluttery  rue, 
By  pinching  them  both  blacke  and  blew, 
And  put  a  penny  in  their  shue, 

The  house  for  cleanely  sweeping  : 
And  in  their  courses  make  that  Round, 
In  Meadowes,  and  in  Marshes  found,  70 

Of  them  so  call'd  the  Fayrie  ground, 

Of  which  they  haue  the  keeping. 

Thus  when  a  Childe  haps  to  be  gott, 
Which  after  prooues  an  Ideott, 
When  Folke  perceiue  it  thriueth  not, 

The  fault  therein  to  smother  : 
Some  silly  doting  brainlesse  Calfe, 
That  vnderstands  things  by  the  halfe, 
Say  that  the  Fayrie  left  this  Aulfe, 

And  tooke  away  the  other.  go 

But  listen  and  I  shall  you  tell, 
A  chance  in  Fayrie  that  befell, 
Which  certainly  may  please  some  well  ; 

In  Loue  and  Armes  delighting  : 
Of  Qberon  that  lealous  grewe, 
Of  one  of  his  owne  Fayrie  crue, 
Too  well  (he  fear'd)  his  Queene  that  knew, 

His  loue  but  ill  requiting. 


was  this  Fayrie  knight, 
One  wondrous  gratious  in  the  sight 
Of  faire  Queene  Mab^  which  day  and  night, 

He  amorously  obserued  ; 
Which  made  king  Qberon  suspect, 
His  Seruice  tooke  too  good  effect, 
His  saucinesse,  and  often  checkt, 

And  could  have  wisht  him  starued. 


gladly  would  commend, 
Some  token  to  queene  Mab  to  send, 
If  Sea,  or  Land,  him  ought  could  lend, 

Were  worthy  of  her  wearing  :  100 


The  Court  of  Fayrie          1x7 

At  length  this  Louer  doth  deuise, 
A  Bracelett  made  of  Emmotts  eyes, 
A  thing  he  thought  that  shee  would  prize, 
No  whitt  her  state  impayring. 

And  to  the  Queene  a  Letter  writes. 
Which  he  most  curiously  endites, 
Coniuring  her  by  all  the  rites 

Of  loue,  she  would  be  pleased, 
To  meete  him  her  true  Seruant,  where 
They  might  without  suspect  or  feare,  no 

Themselues  to  one  another  cleare, 

And  haue  their  poore  hearts  eased. 

At  mid-night  the  appointed  hower, 
And  for  the  Queene  a  fitting  bower, 
(Quoth  he)  is  that  faire  Cowslip  flower, 

On  Hipcut  hill  that  groweth, 
In  all  your  Trayne  there's  not  a  Fay, 
That  euer  went  to  gather  May, 
But  she  hath  made  it  in  her  way, 

The  tallest  there  that  groweth.  120 

When  by  Tom  Thum  a  Fayrie  Page, 
He  sent  it,  and  doth  him  engage, 
By  promise  of  a  mighty  wage, 

It  secretly  to  carrie  : 

Which  done,  the  Queene  her  maydes  doth  call, 
And  bids  them  to  be  ready  all, 
She  would  goe  see  her  Summer  Hall, 

She  could  no  longer  tarrie. 

Her  Chariot  ready  straight  is  made, 

Each  thing  therein  is  fitting  layde,  130 

That  she  by  nothing  might  be  stayde, 

For  naught  must  be  her  letting, 
Foure  nimble  Gnats  the  Horses  were, 
Their  Harnasses  of  Gossamere, 
Flye  Cranion  her  Chariottere, 

Vpon  the  Coach-box  getting. 


Nimphidia 


Her  Chariot  of  a  Snayles  fine  shell, 

Which  for  the  colours  did  excell : 

The  faire  Queene  Mab^  becomming  well, 

So  liuely  was  the  limming :  140 

The  seate  the  soft  wooll  of  the  Bee  ; 
The  couer,  (gallantly  to  see) 
The  wing  of  a  pyde  Butterflee, 

I  trowe  t'was  simple  trimming. 

The  wheeles  compos'd  of  Crickets  bones., 
And  daintily  made  for  the  nonce, 
For  feare  of  ratling  on  the  stones, 

With  Thistle-downe  they  shod  it ; 
For  all  her  Maydens  much  did  feare, 
If  Qberon  had  chanc'd  to  heare,  1 5-0 

That  Mab  his  Queene  should  haue  bin  there, 

He  would  not  haue  aboad  it. 

She  mounts  her  Chariot  with  a  trice, 
Nor  would  she  stay  for  no  advice, 
Vntill  her  Maydes  that  were  so  nice, 

To  wayte  on  her  were  fitted, 
But  ranne  her  selfe  away  alone ; 
Which  when  they  heard  there  was  not  one, 
But  hasted  after  to  be  gone, 

As  she  had  beene  diswitted.  i<fo 

Hop,  and  Mop,  and  Drop  so  cleare, 
Pip,  and  Tripy  and  Skip  that  were, 
To  Mab  their  Soueraigne  euer  deare  : 

Her  speciall  Maydes  of  Honour ; 
Fib,  and  Tib,  and  Pinch,  and  P/#, 
Tidy  and  §iutck,  and  I///,  and  I/», 
Tit,  and  Nit,  and  Wap,  and  Wm^ 

The  Trayne  that  wayte  vpon  her. 

Vpon  a  Grashopper  they  got, 

And  what  with  Amble,  and  with  Trot,  170 

For  hedge  nor  ditch  they  spared  not, 
But  after  her  they  hie  them. 


The  Court  of  Fayrie          119 

A  Cobweb  ouer  them  they  throw, 
To  shield  the  winde  if  it  should  blowe, 
Themselues  they  wisely  could  bestowe, 
Lest  any  should  espie  them. 

But  let  vs  leaue  Queene  Mah  a  while. 
Through  many  a  gate,  o'r  many  a  stile, 
That  now  had  gotten  by  this  wile. 

Her  deare  Pigiuiggin  kissing,  180 

And  tell  how  Qberon  doth  fare, 
Who  grew  as  mad  as  any  Hare, 
When  he  had  sought  each  place  with  care, 

And  found  his  Queene  was  missing, 

By  grisly  Pluto  he  doth  sweare. 

He  rent  his  cloths,  and  tore  his  haire, 

And  as  he  runneth,  here  and  there, 

An  Acorne  cup  he  greeteth ; 
Which  soone  he  taketh  by  the  stalke 
About  his  head  he  lets  it  walke,  190 

Nor  doth  he  any  creature  balke, 

But  lays  on  all  he  meeteth. 

The  Thuskan  Poet  doth  aduance, 
The  franticke  Paladine  of  France, 
And  those  more  ancient  doe  inhaunce, 

Alcldes  in  his  fury. 
And  others  At  ax  Telamon, 
But  to  this  time  there  hath  bin  non, 
So  Bedlam  as  our  Qberon^ 

Of  which  I  dare  assure  you.  2.00 

And  first  encountring  with  a  waspe, 
He  in  his  armes  the  Fly  doth  claspe 
As  though  his  breath  he  forth  would  grasp?, 

Him  for  Pigwiggen  taking  : 
Where  is  my  wife  thou  Rogue,  quoth  he, 
Pigwiggen,  she  is  come  to  thee, 
Restore  her,  or  thou  dy'st  by  me, 

Whereat  the  poore  waspe  quaking, 


i  go  Nimphidia 


Cryes,  Qberon^  great  Fayrie  King, 

Content  thee  I  am  no  such  thing,  no 

I  am  a  Waspe  behold  my  sting, 

At  which  the  Fayrie  started  : 
When  soone  away  the  Waspe  doth  goe, 
Poore  wretch  was  neuer  frighted  so, 
He  thought  his  wings  were  much  to  slow, 

O'rioyd,  they  so  were  parted. 

He  next  vpon  a  Glow-worme  light, 
(You  must  suppose  it  now  was  night), 
Which  for  her  hinder  part  was  bright, 

He  tooke  to  be  a  Deuill.  no 

And  furiously  doth  her  assaile 
For  carrying  fier  in  her  taile 
He  thrasht  her  rough  coat  with  his  flayle, 

The  mad  King  fear'd  no  euill. 

O  quoth  the  Glfrworme  hold  thy  hand, 
Thou  puisant  King  of  Fayrie  land, 
Thy  mighty  stroaks  who  may  withstand, 

Hould,  or  of  life  despaire  I : 
Together  then  her  selfe  doth  roule, 
And  tumbling  downe  into  a  hole,  a  30 

She  seem'd  as  black  as  any  Cole, 

Which  vext  away  the  Fayrie. 

From  thence  he  ran  into  a  Hiue, 

Amongst  the  Bees  he  lettetb  driue 

And  downe  their  Coombes  begins  to  riue, 

All  likely  to  haue  spoyled  : 
Which  with  their  Waxe  his  face  besmeard, 
And  with  their  Honey  daub'd  his  Beard 
It  would  haue  made  a  man  afeard, 

To  see  how  he  was  moyled.  240 

A  new  Aduenture  him  betides, 
He  mett  an  Ant,  which  he  bestrides, 
And  post  thereon  away  he  rides, 
Which  with  his  haste  doth  stumble ; 


The  Court  of  Fayrie          131 

And  came  full  ouer  on  her  snowte, 
Her  heels  so  threw  the  dirt  about, 
For  she  by  no  meanes  could  get  out, 
But  ouer  him  doth  tumble. 

And  being  in  this  piteous  case, 
And  all  be-slurried  head  and  face, 
On  runs  he  in  this  Wild-goose  chase 

As  here,  and  there,  he  rambles 
Halfe  blinde,  against  a  molehill  hit, 
And  for  a  Mountaine  taking  it, 
For  all  he  was  out  of  his  wit, 

Yet  to  the  top  he  scrambles. 

And  being  gotten  to  the  top, 

Yet  there  himself e  he  could  not  stop, 

But  downe  on  th'  other  side  doth  chop, 

And  to  the  foot  came  rumbling  :  ^6o 

So  that  the  Grubs  therein  that  bred, 
Hearing  such  turmoyle  ouer  head, 
Thought  surely  they  had  all  bin  dead, 

So  fearefull  was  the  lumbling. 

And  falling  downe  into  a  Lake, 
Which  htm  vp  to  the  neck  doth  take, 
His  fury  somewhat  it  doth  slake, 

He  calleth  for  a  Ferry ; 
Where  you  may  some  recouery  note, 
What  was  his  Club  he  made  his  Boate,  170 

And  in  his  Oaken  Cup  doth  float, 

As  safe  as  in  a  Wherry. 

Men  talke  of  the  Aduentures  strange, 
Of  Don  §lutshotty  and  of  their  change 
Through  which  he  Armed  oft  did  range, 

Of  Sancha  Panchas  trauell : 
But  should  a  man  tell  euery  thing, 
Done  by  this  franticke  Fayrie  king. 
And  them  in  lofty  numbers  sing 

It  well  his  wits  might  graueli  180 

K  2, 


Nimphidia 


Scarse  set  on  shore,  but  therewithal!, 
He  meeteth  Pucke,  which  most  men  call 
Hobgoblin,  and  on  him  doth  fall, 

With  words  from  frenzy  spoken ; 
Hoh,  hoh,  quoth  Hob,  God  saue  thy  grace, 
Who  drest  thee  in  this  pitteous  case, 
He  thus  that  spoild  my  soueraignes  face, 

I  would  his  necke  were  broken. 

This  Puck  seemes  but  a  dreaming  dolt, 

Still  walking  like  a  ragged  Colt,  190 

And  oft  out  of  a  Bush  doth  bolt, 

Of  purpose  to  deceiue  vs. 
And  leading  vs  makes  vs  to  stray, 
Long  Winters  nights  out  of  the  way, 
And  when  we  stick  in  mire  and  clay, 

Hob  doth  with  laughter  leaue  vs. 

Deare  Puck  (quoth  he)  my  wife  is  gone 
As  ere  thou  lou'st  King  Oberon, 
Let  euery  thing  but  this  alone 

With  vengeance,  and  pursue  her ;  300 

Bring  her  to  me  aliue  or  dead, 
Or  that  vilde  thief,  Pigiuiggms  head, 
That  villaine  hath  defil'd  my  bed 

He  to  this  folly  drew  her. 

Quoth  Puck,  My  Liege  He  neuer  lin, 
But  I  will  thorough  thicke  and  thinne, 
Vntill  at  length  I  bring  her  in, 

My  dearest  Lord  nere  doubt  it : 
Thorough  Brake,  thorough  Brier, 
Thorough  Muck,  thorough  Mier,  310 

Thorough  Water,  thorough  Fier, 

And  thus  goes  Puck  about  it. 

This  thing  NIMPHIDIA  ouer  hard 
That  on  this  mad  King  had  a  guard 
Not  doubting  of  a  great  reward, 
For  first  this  businesse  broching  • 


The  Court  of  Fayrie          133 

And  through  the  ayre  away  doth  goe 
Swift  as  an  Arrow  from  the  Bo  we, 
To  let  her  Soueraigne  Mab  to  know, 

What  perill  was  approaching.  510 

The  Queene  bound  with  Loues  powerfulst  charme 

Sate  with  Pigwiggen  arme  in  arme, 

Her  Merry  Maydes  that  thought  no  harme, 

About  the  roome  were  skipping : 
A  Humble-Bee  their  Minstrell,  playde 
Vpon  his  Hoboy ;  eu'ry  Mayde 
Fit  for  this  Reuells  was  arayde, 

The  Hornepype  neatly  tripping. 

In  comes  Nimphtdia^  and  doth  erie, 

My  Soueraigne  for  your  safety  file,  330 

For  there  is  danger  but  too  nie, 

I  posted  to  forewarne  you : 
The  King  hath  sent  Hobgoblin  out, 
To  seeke  you  all  the  Fields  about, 
And  of  your  safety  you  may  doubt, 

If  he  but  once  discerne  you. 

When  like  an  vprore  in  a  Towne, 
Before  them  euery  thing  went  downe, 
Some  tore  a  Ruffe,  and  some  a  Gowne, 

Gainst  one  another  iustling  :  340 

They  flewe  about  like  Ghaffe  i*  th  winde, 
For  hast  some  left  their  Maskes  behinde ; 
Some  could  not  stay  their  Gloues  to  finde, 

There  neuer  was  such  bustling. 

Forth  ranne  they  by  a  secret  way, 
Into  a  brake  that  neere  them  lay ; 
Yet  much  they  doubted  there  to  stay, 

Lest  Hob  should  hap  to  find  them  : 
He  had  a  sharpe  and  piercing  sight, 
All  one  to  him  the  day  and  night,  370 

And  therefore  were  resolu'd  by  flight., 

To  leave  this  place  behind  them. 


Nimphidia 


At  length  one  chancM  to  find  a  Nut, 
In  th5  end  of  which  a  hole  was  cut, 
Which  lay  vpon  a  Hazell  roote, 

There  scatt'red  by  a  Squirill : 
Which  out  the  kernell  gotten  had ; 
When  quoth  this  Fay.  deare  Queene  be  glad, 
Let  Qberm  be  ne'r  so  mad, 

He  set  you  safe  from  perill.  360 

Come  all  into  this  Nut  (quoth  she) 
Come  closely  in  be  ruFa  by  me, 
Each  one  may  here  a  chuser  be, 

For  roome  yee  need  not  wrastle : 
Nor  neede  yee  be  together  heapt ; 
So  one  by  one  therein  they  crept, 
And  lying  downe  they  soundly  slept, 

And  safe  as  in  a  Castle. 

Nimphidia  that  this  while  doth  watch, 

Perceiu'd  if  Puck  the  Queene  should  catch  3  70 

That  he  should  be  her  ouer-match, 

Of  which  she  well  bethought  her ; 
Found  it  must  be  some  powerfull  Charme, 
The  Queene  against  him  that  must  arme, 
Or  surely  he  would  doe  her  harme, 

For  throughly  he  had  sought  her. 

And  listning  if  she  ought  could  heare, 
That  her  might  hinder,  or  might  feare : 
But  finding  still  the  coast  was  cleare, 

Nor  creature  had  discride  her ;  3  80 

Each  circumstance  and  hauing  scand, 
She  came  thereby  to  vnderstand, 
Puck  would  be  with  them  out  of  hand 

When  to  her  Charmes  she  hide  her : 

And  first  her  Feme  seede  doth  bestowe, 
The  kernell  of  the  Missletowe : 
And  here  and  there  as  Puck  should  goe, 
With  terrour  to  affright  him  : 


The  Court  of  Fayrie         135- 

She  Night-shade  strawes  to  work  him  ill, 
Therewith  her  Veruayne  and  her  Dill,  390 

That  hindreth  Witches  of  their  will, 
Of  purpose  to  dispight  him. 

Then  sprinkles  she  the  iuice  of  Rue, 
That  groweth  vnderneath  the  Yeu  : 
With  nine  drops  of  the  midnight  dewe, 

From  Lunarie  distilling  : 
The  Molewarps  braine  mixt  therewithal  1  ; 
And  with  the  same  the  Pismyres  gall, 
For  she  in  nothing  short  would  fall  $ 

The  Fayrie  was  so  willing.  4.00 

Then  thrice  vnder  a  Bryer  doth  creepe, 
Which  at  both  ends  was  rooted  deepe, 
And  ouer  it  three  times  shee  leepe  j 

Her  Magicke  much  auayling  : 
Then  on  Proserfyna  doth  call, 
And  so  vpon  her  spell  doth  fall, 
Which  here  to  you  repeate  I  shall, 

Not  in  one  tittle  fayling. 

By  the  croking  of  the  Frogge  ; 

By  the  howling  of  the  Dogge  •  410 

By  the  crying  of  the  Hogge, 

Against  the  storme  arising  ; 
By  the  Euening  Curphewe  bell; 
By  the  dolefull  dying  knell, 
O  let  this  my  direfull  Spell, 
9  hinder  thy  surprising. 


By  the  Mandrakes  dreadfull  groanes  ; 
By  the  Lubricans  sad  moans  ; 
By  the  noyse  of  dead  mens  bones, 

In  Charnell  houses  ratling  :  410 

By  the  hissing  of  the  Snake, 
Tlie  rustling  of  the  fire-Drake, 
I  charge  thee  thou  this  place  forsake, 

Nor  of  Queene  Mab  be  pratling. 


Nimphidia 


By  the  Whirlwindes  hollow  sound, 
By  the  Thunders  dreadfull  stound, 
Yells  of  Spirits  vnder  ground, 

I  chardge  thee  not  to  feare  vs : 
By  the  Shreech-owles  dismall  note, 
By  the  Blacke  Night-Rauens  throate,  430 

I  charge  thee  Hob  to  teare  thy  Coate 

With  thornes  if  thou  come  neere  vs, 

Her  Spell  thus  spoke  she  stept  aside, 
And  in  a  Chincke  her  selfe  doth  hide, 
To  see  there  of  what  would  betyde, 

For  shee  doth  onely  minde  him : 
When  presently  shee  Puck  espies, 
And  well  she  ma-rkt  his  gloating  eyes, 
How  vnder  euery  leafe  he  spies, 

In  seeking  still  to  finde  them.  440 

But  once  the  Circle  got  within, 

The  Charmes  to  worke  doe  straight  begin, 

And  he  was  caught  as  in  a  Gin  • 

For  as  he  thus  was  busie, 
A  paine  he  in  his  Head-peece  feeles, 
Against  a  stubbed  Tree  he  reeles, 
And  vp  went  poore  Hobgoblins  heeles, 

Alas  his  braine  was  dizzie. 

At  length  vpon  his  feete  he  gets, 

Hobgoblin  fumes,  Hobgoblin  frets,  450 

And  as  againe  he  forward  sets, 

And  through  the  Bushes  scrambles  $ 
A  Stump  doth  trip  him  in  his  pace, 
Down  comes  poore  Hob  vpon  his  face, 
And  lamentably  tore  his  case, 

Amongst  the  Bryers  and  Brambles. 

A  plague  vpon  Queene  Maby  quoth  hee, 
And  all  her  Maydes  where  ere  they  be, 
I  thinke  the  Deuill  guided  me, 

To  seeke  her  so  prouoked.  460 


The  Court  of  Fayrie          137 

Where  stumbling  at  a  piece  of  Wood, 
He  fell  into  a  dich  of  mudd, 
Where  to  the  very  Chin  he  stood, 
In  danger  to  be  choked. 

Now  worse  than  e're  he  was  before : 
Poore  Puck  doth  yell,  poore  Puck  doth  rore ; 
That  wak'd  Queene  Mab  who  doubted  sore 

Some  Treason  had  been  wrought  her : 
Vntill  Nimphidia  told  the  Queene 
What  she  had  done,  what  she  had  scene,  470 

Who  then  had  well-neere  crack'd  her  spleene 

With  very  extreame  laughter. 

But  leaue  we  Hob  to  clamber  out : 
Queene  Mab  and  all  her  Fayrie  rout, 
And  come  againe  to  haue  about 

With  Oberon  yet  madding  : 
And  with  Ptgwiggen  now  distrought, 
Who  much  was  troubled  in  his  thought, 
That  he  so  long  the  Queene  had  sought, 

And  through  the  Fields  was  gadding.  480 

And  as  he  runnes  he  still  doth  crie, 

King  Qberon  I  thee  defie, 

And  dare  thee  here  in  Armes  to  trie, 

For  my  deare  Ladies  honour : 
For  that  she  is  a  Queene  right  good, 
In  whose  defence  He  shed  my  blood, 
And  that  thou  in  this  iealous  mood 

Hast  lay'd  this  slander  on  her. 

And  quickly  Armes  him  for  the  Field, 

A  little  Cockle-shell  his  Shield,  490 

Which  he  could  very  brauely  wield  : 

Yet  could  it  not  be  pierced  : 
His  Speare  a  Bent  both  stirTe  and  strong, 
And  well-neere  of  two  Inches  long ;  <  Sj 

The  Pyle  was  of  a  Horse-flyes  tongue, 

Whose  sharpnesse  nought  reuersed.  ^ 


138  Nimphidia 


And   puts  him  on  a  coate  of  Male, 

Which  was  of  a  Fishes  scale, 

That  when  his  Foe  should  him  assaile, 

No  poynt  should  be  preuayling :  500 

His  Rapier  was  a  Hornets  sting, 
It  was  a  very  dangerous  thing : 
For  if  he  chanc'd  to  hurt  the  King, 

It  would  be  long  in  healing. 

His  Helmet  was  a  Bettles  head, 
Most  horrible  and  full  of  dread, 
That  able  was  to  strike  one  dead, 

Yet  did  it  well  become  him : 
And  for  a  plume,  a  horses  hayre, 
Which  being  tossed  with  the  ayre,  510 

Had  force  to  strike  his  Foe  with  feare, 

And  turne  his  weapon  from  him. 

Himselfe  he  on  an  Earewig  set, 
Yet  scarce  he  on  his  back  could  get, 
So  oft  and  high  he  did  coruet, 

Ere  he  himselfe  could  settle : 
He  made  him  turne,  and  stop,  and  bound, 
To  gallop,  and  to  trot  the  Round, 
He  scarce  could  stand  on  any  ground, 

He  was  so  full  of  mettle. 

When  soone  he  met  with  Tomalin, 
One  that  a  valiant  Knight  had  bin, 
And  to  King  Qheron  of  kin  ; 

Quoth  he  thou  manly  Fayrie : 
Tell  OBeron  I  come  prepar'd. 
Then  bid  him  stand  vpon  his  Guard  ; 
This  hand  his  basenesse  shall  reward, 

Let  him  be  ne'r  so  wary. 

Say  to  him  thus,  that  I  defie, 
His  slanders,  and  his  infamie, 
And  as  a  mortall  enemie, 
Doe  publickly  proclaime  him : 


The  Court  of  Fayrie          139 

Withall,  that  if  I  had  mine  owne, 
He  should  not  weare  the  Fayrie  Crowne, 
But  with  a  vengeance  should  come  downe  : 
Nor  we  a  King  should  name  him. 

This  Tomalm  could  not  abide, 
To  heare  his  Soueraigne  vilefide : 
But  to  the  Fayrie  Court  him  hide  ; 

Full  furiously  he  posted, 
With  eu'ry  thing  Pigwiggen  sayd  : 
How  title  to  the  Crowne  he  layd, 
And  in  what  Armes  he  was  aray'd, 

As  how  himselfe  he  boasted. 

Twixt  head  and  foot,  from  point  to  point, 

He  told  th'arming  of  each  ioint, 

In  every  piece,  how  neate,  and  quaint, 

For  Tomalm  could  doe  it : 
How  fayre  he  sat,  how  sure  he  rid, 
As  of  the  courser  he  bestrid, 
How  Mannag'd,  and  how  well  he  did  ; 

The  King  which  listened  to  it, 

Quoth  he,  goe  Tomalm  with  speede, 
Prouide  me  Armes,  prouide  my  Steed, 
And  euery  thing  that  I  shall  neede, 

By  thee  I  will  be  guided  ; 
To  strait  account,  call  thou  thy  witt, 
See  there  be  wanting  not  a  whitt, 
In  euery  thing  see  thou  me  fitt, 

Just  as  my  foes  prouided. 

Soone  flewe  this  newes  through  Fayrie  land 
Which  gaue  Queene  Mab  to  vnderstand, 
The  combate  that  was  then  in  hand, 

Betwixt  those  men  so  mighty  : 
Which  greatly  she  began  to  rew, 
Perceuing  that  all  Fayrie  knew, 
The  first  occasion  from  her  grew, 

Of  these  affaires  so  weighty. 


140  Nimphidia 


Wherefore  attended  with  her  maides, 

Through  fogs,  and  mists,  and  dampes  she  wades,   570 

To  Proserpine  the  Queen e  of  shades 

To  treat,  that  it  would  please  her, 
The  cause  into  her  hands  to  take, 
For  ancient  loue  and  friendships  sake, 
And  soone  therof  an  end  to  make, 

Which  of  much  care  would  ease  her* 

A  While,  there  let  we  Mai  alone, 
And  come  we  to  King  Oberon, 
Who  arm'd  to  meete  his  foe  is  gone, 

For  Proud  Pigwiggen  crying  :  580 

Who  sought  the  Fayrie  King  as  fast, 
And  had  so  well  his  iourneyes  cast, 
That  he  arriued  at  the  last, 

His  puisant  foe  espying  r 

Stout  TomaUn  came  with  the  King, 
Tom  Tkum  doth  on  Pigwtggen  bring, 
That  perfect  were  in  euery  thing, 

To  single  fights  belonging  : 
And  therefore  they  themselues  ingage, 
To  see  them  exercise  their  rage^  5-90 

With  faire  and  comely  equipage,. 

Not  one  the  other  wronging. 

So  like  in  armes,  these  champions  were, 

As  they  had  bin,  a  very  paire, 

So  that  a  man  would  almost  sweare, 

That  either,  had  bin  either ; 
Their  furious  steedes  began  to  naye 
That  they  were  heard  a  mighty  way, 
Their  staues  vpon  their  rests  they  lay  9 

Yet  e'r  they  flew  together,  600 

Their  Seconds  minister  an  oath, 
Which  was  indifferent  to  them  both, 
That  on  their  Knightly  faith,  and  troth, 
No  magicke  them  supplyed  $ 


The  Court  of  Fayrie 

And  sought  them  that  they  had  no  charmes, 
Wherewith  to  worke  each  others  harmes, 
But  came  with  simple  open  armes, 
To  haue  their  causes  tryed. 

Together  furiously  they  ran, 

That  to  the  ground  came  horse  and  man,  610 

The  blood  out  of  their  Helmets  span, 

So  sharpe  were  their  incounters  • 
And  though  they  to  the  earth  were  throwne, 
Yet  quickly  they  regained  their  owne, 
Such  nimblenesse  was  neuer  showne, 

They  were  two  Gallant  Mounters. 

When  in  a  second  Course  againe, 

They  forward  came  with  might  and  mayne, 

Yet  which  had  better  of  the  twaine, 

The  Seconds  could  not  iudge  yet ;  6^o 

Their  shields  were  into  pieces  cleft, 
Their  helmets  from  their  heads  were  reft, 
And  to  defend  them  nothing  left, 

These  Champions  would  not  budge  yet. 

Away  from  them  their  Staues  they  threw, 
Their  cruell  Swords  they  quickly  drew, 
And  freshly  they  the  fight  renew  5 

They  euery  stroke  redoubled  : 
Which  made  Proserpina  take  heed, 
And  make  to  them  the  greater  speed,  630 

For  fear  lest  they  too  much  should  bleed, 

Which  wondrously  her  troubled. 

When  to  th'  infernall  Stix  she  goes, 

She  takes  the  Fogs  from  thence  that  rose, 

And  in  a  Bagge  doth  them  enclose  ; 

When  well  she  had  them  blended  : 
She  hyes  her  then  to  Lethe  spring, 
A  Bottell  and  thereof  doth  bring. 
Wherewith  she  meant  to  worke  the  thing, 

Which  onely  she  intended. 


Nimphidia 


Now  Proserpine  with  Mab  is  gone 
Vnto  the  place  where  Qberon 
And  proud  Pigwiggen,  one  to  one, 

Both  to  be  slaine  were  likely  : 
And  there  themselues  they  closely  hide, 
Because  they  would  not  be  espide  ; 
For  Proserpine  meant  to  decide 

The  matter  very  quickly. 

And  suddainly  vntyes  the  Poke, 
Which  out  of  it  sent  such  a  smoke, 
As  ready  was  them  all  to  choke, 

So  greeuous  was  the  pother  ; 
So  that  the  Knights  each  other  lost, 
And  stood  as  still  as  any  post, 
Tom  Thum^  nor  Tomalin  could  boast 

Themselues  of  any  other. 

But  when  the  mist  gan  somewhat  cease, 

Proserpina  commanded  peace  : 

And  that  a  while  they  should  release, 

Each  other  of  their  perill  :  660 

Which  here  (quoth  she)  I  doe  proclaimc 
To  all  in  dreadfull  Plutos  name, 
That  as  yee  will  eschewe  his  blame, 

You  let  me  heare  the  quarrel!, 

But  here  your  selues  you  must  engage, 
Somewhat  to  coole  your  spleenish  rage  : 
Your  greeuous  thirst  and  to  asswage, 

That  first  you  drinke  this  liquor  : 
Which  shall  your  vnderstanding  cleare, 
As  plainely  shall  to  you  appeare  ;  670 

Those  things  from  me  that  you  shall  heare, 

Concerning  much  the  quicker. 

This  Lethe  water  you  must  knowe, 
The  memory  destroyeth  so, 
That  of  our  weale,  or  of  our  woe, 
It  all  remembrance  blotted  j 


The  Court  of  Fayrie         143 

Of  it  nor  can  you  euer  thinke  : 

For  they  no  sooner  tooke  this  drinke, 

But  nought  into  their  braines  could  sinke, 

Of  what  had  them  besotted.  680 

King  Oberon  forgotten  had, 
That  he  for  iealousie  ranne  mad  : 
But  of  his  Queene  was  wondrous  glad, 

And  ask'd  how  they  came  thither  : 
Pig<wtggen  likewise  doth  forget, 
That  he  Queene  Mab  had  euer  met ; 
Or  that  they  were  so  hard  beset, 

When  they  were  found  together. 

Nor  neither  of  them  both  had  thought, 

That  e'r  they  had  each  other  sought ;  690 

Much  lesse  that  they  a  Combat  fought, 

But  such  a  dreame  were  lothing  : 
Tom  Thum  had  got  a  little  sup, 
And  Tomalm  scarce  kist  the  Cup, 
Yet  had  their  braines  so  sure  lockt  vp, 

That  they  remembred  nothing. 

Queene  Mak  and  her  light  Maydes  the  while, 
Amongst  themselues  doe  closely  smile, 
To  see  the  King  caught  with  this  wile, 

With  one  another  iesting :  700 

And  to  the  Fayrie  Court  they  went, 
With  mickle  ioy  and  merriment, 
Which  thing  was  done  with  good  intent, 

And  thus  I  left  them  feasting. 


FINIS. 


THE  QVEST  OF  CYNTHIA 

WHAT  time  the  groues  were  clad  in  greene, 

The  Fields  drest  all  in  flowers, 
And  that  the  sleeke-hayred  Nimphs  were  scene, 

To  seeke  them  Summer  Bowers. 

Forth  rou'd  I  by  the  sliding  Rills, 

To  finde  where  CYNTHIA  sat, 
Whose  name  so  often  from  the  hills, 

The  Ecchos  wondred  at. 

When  me  vpon  my  Quest  to  bring, 

That  pleasure  might  excel!,  10 

The  Birds  stroue  which  should  sweetliest  sing, 

The  Flowers  which  sweet'st  should  smell. 

Long  wand' ring  in  the  Woods  (said  I) 

Oh  whether's  CYNTHIA  gone  ? 
When  soone  the  Eccho  doth  reply, 

To  my  last  word,  goe  on. 

At  length  vpon  a  lofty  Fine, 

It  was  my  chance  to  finde, 
Where  that  deare  name  most  due  to  her, 

Was  caru'd  vpon  the  rynde.  ^o 

Which  whilst  with  wonder  I  beheld, 

The  Bees  their  hony  brought, 
And  vp  the  carued  letters  fild, 

As  they  with  gould  were  wrought. 

And  neere  that  trees  more  spacious  roote, 

Then  looking  on  the  ground, 
The  shape  of  her  most  dainty  foot, 

Imprinted  there  I  found. 

Which  stuck  there  like  a  curious  scale, 

As  though  it  should  forbid  30 

Vs,  wretched  mortalls,  to  reueale, 

What  vnder  it  was  hid. 


The  Quest  of  Cynthia         145- 

Besides  the  flowers  which  it  had  presM3 

Apeared  to  my  vew, 
More  fresh  and  Jouely  than  the  rest, 

That  in  the  meadowes  grew  : 

The  cleere  drops  in  the  steps  that  stood, 

Of  that  dilicious  Girle, 
The  Nimphes  amongst  their  dainty  food, 

Drunke  for  dissolued  pearle.  4.0 

The  yeilding  sand,  where  she  had  troad, 

Vntutcht  yet  with  the  winde, 
By  the  faire  posture  plainely  show'd, 

Where  I  might  Cynthia  finde. 

When  on  vpon  my  waylesse  walke, 

As  my  desires  me  draw, 
I  like  a  madman  fell  to  talke, 

With  euery  thing  I  saw  : 

I  ask'd  some  Lillyes  why  so  white, 

They  from  their  fellowes  were  ;  50 

Who  answered  me,  that  Cynthia's  sight, 

Had  made  them  looke  so  cleare  : 

I  ask'd  a  nodding  Violet  why, 

It  sadly  hung  the  head, 
It  told  me  Cynthia  late  past  by, 

Too  soone  from  it  that  fled  : 

A  bed  of  Roses  saw  I  there, 

Bewitching  with  their  grace  : 
Besides  so  wondrous  sweete  they  were, 

That  they  perfum'd  the  place,  6b 

I  of  a  Shrube  of  those  enquired, 

From  others  of  that  kind, 
Who  with  such  virtue  them  enspir'd, 

It  answer'd  (to  my  minde). 

As  the  base  Hemblocke  were  we  such, 

The  poysned'st  weed  that  growes, 
Till  Cynthia  by  her  god-like  tuch, 

Transform'd  vs  to  the  Rose  : 


14-6         The  ^esf  of  Cynthia 


Since  when  those  Frosts  that  winter  brings 

Which  candy  euery  greene,  70 

Renew  vs  Jike  the  Teeming  Springs, 
And  we  thus  Fresh  are  scene. 

At  length  I  on  a  Fountaine  light, 

Whose  brim  with  Pincks  was  platted  ; 

The  Banck  with  Daffadillies  dight, 
With  grasse  like  Sleaue  was  matted, 

When  I  demanded  of  that  Well, 

What  power  frequented  there  • 
Desiring,  it  would  please  to  tell 

What  name  it  vsde  to  beare.  80 

It  tolde  me  it  was  Cynthias  owne, 

Within  whose  cheer efull  brimmes, 
That  curious  Nimph  had  oft  beene  knowne 

To  bath  her  snowy  Limmes. 

Since  when  that  Water  had  the  power, 

Lost  May  den-heads  to  restore, 
And  make  one  Twenty:  in  an  howre, 

Of  Esons  age  before. 

And  told  me  that  the  bottome  cleere, 

Now  layd  with  many  a  fett  90 

Of  seed-pearle,  ere  shee  bath'd  her  there  : 

Was  knowne  as  blacke  as  Jet, 

As  when  she  from  the  water  came, 

Where  first  she  touch'd  the  molde, 
In  balls  the  people  made  the  same 

For  Pomander,  and  solde. 

When  chance  me  to  an  Arbour  led, 

Whereas  I  might  behold  : 
Two  blest  Elizeums  in  one  sted, 

The  lesse  the  great  enfold.  100 

The  place  which  she  had  chosen  out, 

Her  selfe  in  to  repose ; 
Had  they  com'n  downe,  the  gods  no  doubt 

The  very  same  had  chose. 


The  Qupst  of  Cynthia         14,7 

The  wealthy  Spring  yet  neuer  bore 

That  sweet,  nor  dainty  flower 
That  damask'd  not,  the  chequer'd  flore 

Of  CYNTHIAS  Summer  Bower. 

The  Birch,  the  Mirtle,  and  the  Bay, 

Like  Friends  did  all  embrace ;  no 

And  their  large  branches  did  display, 

To  Canapy  the  place. 

Where  she  like  VENVS  doth  appeare, 

Vpon  a  Rosie  bed  ; 
As  Lillyes  the  soft  pillowes  weare, 

Whereon  she  layd  her  head. 

Heau'n  on  her  shape  such  cost  bestow'd. 

And  with  such  bounties  blest : 
No  lim  of  hers  but  might  haue  made 

A  Goddesse  at  the  least.  no 

The  Flyes  by  chance  mesht  in  her  hayre, 

By  the  bright  Radience  throwne 
From  her  cleare  eyes,  rich  Jewels  weare, 

They  so  like  Diamonds  shone. 

The  meanest  weede  the  soyle  there  bare, 

Her  breath  did  so  refine, 
That  it  with  Woodbynd  durst  compare, 

And  beard  the  Eglantine. 

The  dewe  which  on  the  tender  grasse, 

The  Euening  had  distill'd,  130 

To  pure  Rose-water  turned  was, 

The  shades  with  sweets  that  fill'd. 

The  windes  were  husht,  no  leafe  so  small 

At  all  was  scene  to  stirre  : 
Whilst  tuning  to  the  waters  fall, 

The  small  Birds  sang  to  her. 

Where  she  too  quickly  me  espies, 

When  I  might  plainely  see, 
A  thousand  Cupids  from  her  eyes 

Shoote  all  at  once  at  me.  140 

L  a 


14-8         The  Qupst  of  Cynthia 

Into  these  secret  shades  (quoth  she) 

How  dar'st  thou  be  so  bold 
To  enter,  consecrate  to  me, 

Or  touch  this  hallowed  mold. 

Those  words  (quoth  she)  I  can  pronounce, 

Which  to  that  shape  can  bring 
Thee,  which  the  Hunter  had  who  once 

Sawe  Dian  in  the  Spring. 

Bright  Nimph  againe  t  thus  replie, 

This  cannot  me  affright :  15-0 

I  had  rather  in  thy  presence  die, 

Then  Hue  out  of  thy  sight. 

I  first  vpon  the  Mountaines  hie, 

Built  Altars  to  thy  name  ; 
And  grau'd  it  on  the  Rocks  thereby, 

To  propogate  thy  fame. 

I  taught  the  Shepheards  on  the  Downes, 

Of  thee  to  frame  their  Layes  : 
TVas  I  that  fili'd  the  neighbouring  Townes, 

With  Ditties  of  thy  praise.  160 

Thy  colours  I  deuis'd  with  care, 

Which  were  vnknowne  before  : 
Which  since  that,  in  their  braded  hayre 

The  Nimphes  and  Siluans  wore. 

Transforme  me  to  what  shape  you  can, 

I  passe  not  what  it  be  : 
Yea  what  most  hatefull  is  to  man, 

So  I  may  follow  thee. 

Which  when  she  heard  full  pearly  floods, 

I  in  her  eyes  might  view :  170 

(Quoth  she)  most  welcome  to  these  Woods, 
Too  meane  for  one  so  true. 

Here  from  the  hatefull  world  we'll  Hue, 

A  den  of  mere  dispight : 
To  Ideots  only  that  doth  giue, 

Which  be  her  sole  delight. 


The  Qupst  of  Cynthia         149 

To  people  the  infernall  pit. 

That  more  and  more  doth  striue ; 
Where  only  villany  is  wit, 

And  Diuels  only  thriue.  1 80 

Whose  vilenesse  vs  shall  neuer  awe : 

But  here  our  sports  shall  be  : 
Such  as  the  golden  world  first  sawe, 

Most  innocent  and  free. 

Of  Simples  in  these  Groups  that  growe, 

Wee'll  learne  the  perfect  skill ; 
The  nature  of  each  Herbe  to  knowe 

Which  cures,  and  which  can  kill. 

The  waxen  Pallace  of  the  Bee, 

We  seeking  will  surprise  190 

The  curious  workmanship  to  see, 

Of  her  full  laden  thighes. 

Wee'll  suck  the  sweets  out  of  the  Combe, 

And  make  the  gods  repine  : 
As  they  doe  feast  in  loues  great  roome, 

To  see  with  what  we  dine. 

Yet  when  there  haps  a  honey  fall, 

Wee'll  lick  the  sirupt  leaues  : 
And  tell  the  Bees  that  their's  is  gall, 

To  this  vpon  the  Greaues.  2,00 

The  nimble  Squirrell  noting  here, 

Her  mossy  Dray  that  makes, 
And  laugh  to  see  the  lusty  Deere 

Come  bounding  ore  the  brakes. 

The  Spiders  Webb  to  watch  weele  stand, 

And  when  it  takes  the  Bee, 
Weele  helpe  out  of  the  Tyrants  hand, 

The  Innocent  to  free. 

Sometime  weele  angle  at  the  Brooke, 

The  freckled  Trout  to  take, 
With  silken  Wormcs,  and  bayte  the  hooke, 

Which  him  our  prey  shall  make. 


15*0          The  Qupst  of  Cynthia 

Of  medling  with  such  subtile  tooles, 

Such  dangers  that  enclose. 
The  Morrall  is  that  painted  Fooles, 

Are  caught  with  silken  showes. 

And  when  the  Moone  doth  once  appeare, 

Weele  trace  the  lower  grounds, 
When  Fayries  in  their  Ringlets  there 

Do  daunce  their  nightly  rounds.  ^^o 

And  haue  a  Flocke  of  Turtle  Doues, 

A  guard  on  vs  to  keepe, 
A  witnesse  of  our  honest  loues, 

To  watch  vs  till,  we  sleepe. 

Which  spoke  I  felt  such  holy  fires 

To  ouerspred  my  breast, 
As  lent  life  to  my  Chast  desires 

And  gaue  me  endlesse  rest. 

By  Cynthia  thus  doe  I  subsist, 

On  earth  Heauens  onely  pride,  130 

Let  her  be  mine,  and  let  who  list, 

Take  all  the  world  beside. 


FINIS, 


THE  SHEPHEARDS  SIRENA 


DORILVS  in  sorrowes  deepe, 

Autumne  waxing  olde  and  chill, 

As  he  sate  his  Flocks  to  keepe 

Vnderneath  an  easie  hill  : 

Chanc'd  to  cast  his  eye  aside 

On  those  fields,  where  he  had  scene, 

Bright  SIRENA  Natures  pride. 

Sporting  on  the  pleasant  greene  : 

To  whose  walkes  the  Shepheards  oft, 

Came  her  god-like  foote  to  finde,  10 

And  in  places  that  were  soft, 

Kist  the  print  there  left  behinde ; 

Where  the  path  which  she  had  troad, 

Hath  thereby  more  glory  gayn'd, 

Then  in  heau'n  that  milky  rode, 

Which  with  Nectar  Hebe  stayn'd : 

But  bleake  Winters  boystrous  blasts, 

Now  their  fading  pleasures  chid, 

And  so  filPd  them  with  his  wastes, 

That  from  sight  her  steps  were  hid.  ^o 

Silly  Shepheard  sad  the  while, 

For  his  sweet  SIRENA  gone, 

All  his  pleasures  in  exile  : 

Layd  on  the  colde  earth  alone. 

Whilst  his  gamesome  cut-tayld  Curre, 

With  his  mirthlesse  Master  playes, 

Striuing  htm  with  sport  to  stirre, 

As  in  his  more  youthfull  dayes, 

DORILVS  his  Dogge  doth  chide, 

Layes  his  well-tun'd  Bagpype  by,  30 

And  his  Sheep-hooke  casts  aside, 

There  (quoth  he)  together  lye. 


The  Shepheards  Sirena 

When  a  Letter  forth  he  tooke, 

Which  to  him  SIRENA  writ, 

With  a  deadly  down-cast  Icoke, 

And  thus  fell  to  reading  it. 

DORILVS  my  deare  (quoth  she) 

Kinde  Companion  of  my  woe, 

Though  we  thus  diuided  be, 

Death  cannot  diuorce  vs  so :  4.0 

Thou  whose  bosome  hath  beene  still, 

Th*  onely  Closet  of  my  care, 

And  in  all  my  good  and  ill, 

Euer  had  thy  equall  share  : 

Might  I  winne  thee  from  thy  Fold, 

Thou  shouldst  come  to  visite  me, 

But  the  Winter  is  so  cold, 

That  I  feare  to  hazard  thee : 

The  wilde  waters  are  waxt  hie, 

So  they  are  both  deafe  and  dumbe,  50 

Lou'd  they  thee  so  well  as  I, 

They  would  ebbe  when  thou  shouldst  come  ; 

Then  my  coate  with  light  should  shine, 

Purer  then  the  Vestall  fire : 

Nothing  here  but  should  be  thine, 

That  thy  heart  can  well  desire  : 

Where  at  large  we  will  relate, 

From  what  cause  our  friendship  grewe, 

And  in  that  the  varying  Fate, 

Since  we  first  each  other  knewe :  60 

Of  my  heauie  passed  plight, 

As  of  many  a  future  feare, 

Which  except  the  silent  night, 

None  but  onely  thou  shalt  heare  ; 

My  sad  hurt  it  shall  releeue, 

When  my  thoughts  I  shall  disclose, 

For  thou  canst  not  chuse  but  greeue, 

When  I  shall  recount  my  woes ; 

There  is  nothing  to  that  friend, 

To  whose  close  vncranied  brest,  70 

We  our  secret  thoughts  may  send, 

And  there  safely  let  it  rest : 


The  Shepheards  Sirena        15-3 

And  thy  faithfull  counsell  may, 

My  distressed  case  assist, 

Sad  affliction  else  may  sway 

Me  a  woman  as  it  list : 

Hither  I  would  haue  thee  haste. 

Yet  would  gladly  haue  thee  stay, 

When  those  dangers  I  forecast, 

That  may  meet  thee  by  the  way,  80 

Doe  as  thou  shalt  thinke  it  best, 

Let  thy  knowledge  be  thy  guide, 

Liue  thou  in  my  constant  breast, 

Whatsoeuer  shall  betide. 

He  her  Letter  hauing  red, 

Puts  it  in  his  Scrip  againe, 

Looking  like  a  man  halre  dead, 

By  her  kindenesse  strangely  slaine ; 

And  as  one  who  inly  knew, 

Her  distressed  present  state,  90 

And  to  her  had  still  been  true, 

Thus  doth  with  himselfe  debate. 

I  will  not  thy  face  admire, 

Admirable  though  it  bee, 

Nor  thine  eyes  whose  subtile  fire 

So  much  wonder  winne  in  me  : 

But  my  maruell  shall  be  now, 

(And  of  long  it  hath  bene  so) 

Of  all  Woman  kind  that  thou 

Wert  ordain'd  to  taste  of  woe  ;  100 

To  a  Beauty  so  diuine, 

Paradise  in  little  done, 

0  that  Fortune  should  assigne, 

Ought  but  what  thou  well  mightst  shun, 

But  my  counsailes  such  must  bee, 

(Though  as  yet  I  them  conceale) 

By  their  deadly  wound  in  me, 

They  thy  hurt  must  onely  heale, 

Could  I  giue  what  thou  do'st  craue 

To  that  passe  thy  state  is  growae,  no 

1  thereby  thy  life  may  saue, 

But  am  sure  to  loose  mine  ownc, 


The  Shepheards  Sirena 

To  that  ioy  thou  do'st  conceiue, 

Through  my  heart,  the  way  doth  lye, 

Which  in  two  for  thee  must  claue 

Least  that  thou  shouldst  goe  awry. 

Thus  my  death  must  be  a  toy, 

Which  my  pensiue  breast  must  couer ; 

Thy  beloued  to  enioy, 

Must  be  taught  thee  by  thy  Louer.  no 

Hard  the  Choise  I  haue  to  chuse, 

To  my  selfe  if  friend  I  be, 

I  must  my  SIRENA  loose, 

If  not  so,  shee  looseth  me. 

Thus  whilst  he  doth  cast  about, 

What  therein  were  best  to  doe, 

Nor  could  yet  resolue  the  doubt, 

Whether  he  should  stay  or  goe : 

In  those  Feilds  not  farre  away, 

There  was  many  a  frolike  Swaine,  130 

In  fresh  Russets  day  by  day, 

That  kept  Reuells  on  the  Plaine. 

Nimble  TOM,  sirnam'd  the  Tup9 

For  his  Pipe  without  a  Peere, 

And  could  tickle  Trenchmore  vp, 

As  tVould  ioy  your  heart  to  heare. 

RALPH  as  much  renowned  for  skill, 

That  the  Taker  touch'd  so  well ; 

For  his  Gitterny  little  GILL, 

That  all  other  did  excell.  140 

ROCK  and  ROLLO  euery  way, 

Who  still  led  the  Rusticke  Ging, 

And  could  troule  a  Roundelay, 

That  would  make  the  Feilds  to  ring, 

COLLIN  on  his  Shalme  so  cleare, 

Many  a  high-pitcht  Note  that  had, 

And  could  make  the  Eechos  nere 

Shout  as  they  were  wexen  mad. 

Many  a  lusty  Swaine  beside, 

That  for  nought  but  pleasure  car'd,  1 50 

Hauing  DORILVS  espy'd, 

And  with  him  knew  how  it  far'd. 


The  Shepheards  Sirena 

Thought  from  him  they  would  remoue, 

This  strong  melancholy  fitt, 

Or  so,  should  it  not  behoue, 

Quite  to  put  him  out  of 's  witt ; 

Hauing  learnt  a  Song,  which  he 

Sometime  to  Sirena  sent, 

Full  of  lollity  and  glee, 

When  the  Nimph  liu'd  neere  to  Trent  160 

They  behinde  him  softly  gott, 

Lying  on  the  earth  along, 

And  when  he  suspected  not, 

Thus  the  louiall  Shepheards  song. 


Neare  to  the  Siluer  Trent, 

Sirena  dwelleth : 
Shee  to  whom  Nature  lent 

All  that  excelleth : 
By  which  the  Musts  late, 

And  the  neate  Graces,  170 

Haue  for  their  greater  state 

Taken  their  places : 
Twisting  an  Anadem, 

Wherewith  to  Crowne  her, 
As  it  belong'd  to  them 

Most  to  renowne  her. 
Cho.  On  thy  Bancke, 

In  a  Rancke, 
Let  the  Sivanes  sing  her, 

And  'with  their  Mustek,  1 80 

Along  let  them  bring  her. 

Tagus  and  Pactolus 

Are  to  thee  Debter, 
Nor  for  their  gould  to  vs 

Are  they  the  better  : 
Henceforth  of  all  the  rest, 

Be  thou  the  Riuer, 
Which  as  the  daintiest, 

Puts  them  downe  euer, 


The  Shepheards  Sirena 

For  as  my  precious  one.  i^o 

O'r  thee  doth  trauell, 
She  to  Pearl  Parragon 
Turneth  thy  grauell.. 
Cho.  On  thy  Bancke, 

In  a  Rancke^ 
Let  thy  S<wanns  sing  her. 

And  with  their  Musicke, 
Along  let  them  bring  her. 

Our  mournefull  Philomell, 

That  rarest  Tuner,  100 

Henceforth  in  Aperill 

Shall  wake  the  sooner, 
And  to  her  shall  complaine 

From  the  thicke  Couer, 
Redoubling  euery  straine 

Ouer  and  ouer : 
For  when  my  Loue  too  long 

Her  Chamber  keepeth  $ 
As  though  it  suffered  wrong, 

The  Morning  weepeth.  ^  i  o 

Cho.  On  thy  Banckey 

In  a  Rancke^ 
Let  thy  Swanes  sing  her^ 

And  with  their  Musick^ 
Along  let  them  bring  her. 

Oft  have  I  seene  the  Sjtmne 

To  doe  her  honour. 
Fix  himselfe  at  his  noone, 

To  look  vpon  her, 
And  hath  guilt  euery  Groue,  110 

Euery  Hill  neare  her, 
With  his  flames  from  aboue, 

Striuing  to  cheere  her, 
And  when  shee  from  his  sight 

Hath  her  selfe  turned, 
He  as  it  had  beene  night, 

In  Cloudes  hath  mourned. 


The  Shepheards  Siren  a        15-7 

Cho.  On  thy  Bancke, 

In  a  Ranche, 
Let  thy  S<wanns  sing  her,  130 

And  'with  their  Musicke, 
Along  let  them  bring  her. 

The  Verdant  Meades  are  scene, 

When  she  doth  view  them, 
In  fresh  and  gallant  Greene, 

Straight  to  renewe  them, 
And  euery  little  Grasse 

Broad  it  selfe  spreadeth, 
Proud  that  this  bonny  Lasse 

Vpon  ittreadeth:  H° 

Nor  flower  is  so  sweete 

In  this  large  Cincture 
But  it  upon  her  feete 

Leaueth  some  Tincture. 
Cho.  On  rthy  Bancke, 

In  a  Rancke, 
Let  thy  S'wanes  sing  her, 

And  >with  thy  Mustek, 
Along  let  them  bring  her. 

The  Fishes  in  the  Flood, 

When  she  doth  Angle, 
For  the  Hooke  striue  a  good 

Them  to  intangle ; 
And  leaping  on  the  Land 

From  the  cleare  water, 
Their  Scales  vpon  the  sand, 

Lauishly  scatter ; 
Therewith  to  paue  the  mould 

Whereon  she  passes, 
So  her  selfe  to  behold, 

As  in  her  glasses. 
Cho.  On  thy  Bancke, 

In  a  Ranke, 
Let  thy  Siuanns  sing  her, 

And  'with  their  Muslcke, 
Along  let  them  bring  her. 


1 5*8         The  Shepheards  Sirena 

When  shee  lookes  out  by  night, 

The  Starres  stand  gazing, 
Like  Commets  to  our  sight 

Fearefully  blazing,  a 70 

As  wondring  at  her  eyes 

With  their  much  brightnesse, 
Which  to  amaze  the  skies, 

Dimming  their  lightnesse, 
The  raging  Tempests  are  Calme, 

When  shee  speaketh, 
Such  most  delightsome  balme 

From  her  lips  breaketh. 
Cho.  On  thy  Banke, 

In  a  Rancke,  &C.  180 

In  all  our  Brittany, 

Ther  's  not  a  fayrer, 
Nor  can  you  fitt  any  : 

Should  you  compare  her. 
Angels  her  eye-lids  keepe 

All  harts  surprizing, 
Which  looke  whilst  she  doth  sleepe 

Like  the  Sunnes  rising  : 
She  alone  of  her  kinde 

Knoweth  true  measure  190 

And  her  vnmatched  mind 

Is  Heauens  treasure : 
Cho.  On  thy  Bancke, 

In  a  Rancke^ 
Let  thy  S'wanes  sing  her^ 

And  'with  their  Mustek, 
Along  let  them  bring  her. 

Fayre  Doue  and  Darwine  cleere 

boast  yee  your  beauties, 
To  Trent  your  Mistres  here  300 

Yet  pay  your  duties, 
My  Loue  was  higher  borne 

Towards  the  full  Fountaines, 
Yet  she  doth  Moorland  scorne, 

And  the  Peake  Mountaines  ; 


The  She ph cards  Sirena        15-9 

Nor  would  she  none  should  dreame, 

Where  she  abideth, 
Humble  as  is  the  streiame, 

Which  by  her  slydeth, 
Cho.  On  thy  Bancke,  310 

In  a  Rancke^ 
Let  thy  Sivannes  sing  her ', 

And  'with  their  Musicke^ 
Along  let  them  bring  her. 

Yet  my  poore  Rusticke  Muse, 

Nothing  can  moue  her, 
Nor  the  means  I  can  vse, 

Though  her  true  Louer  : 
Many  a  long  Winters  night, 

Haue  I  wak'd  for  her,  310 

Yet  this  my  piteous  plight. 

Nothing  can  stirre  her. 
All  thy  Sands  siluer  Trent 

Downe  to  the  Humber, 
The  sighes  I  haue  spent 

Neuer  can  number. 
Cho.  On  thy  Banke 

In  a  Ranke^ 
Let  thy  Swans  sing  her 

And  with  their  Musi  eke  330 

Along  let  them  bring  her. 

Taken  with  this  suddaine  Song^ 
Least  for  mirth  when  he  doth  look 
His  sad  heart  more  deeply  stong, 
Then  the  former  care  he  tooke. 
At  their  laughter  and  amaz'd, 
For  a  while  he  sat  aghast 
But  a  little  hauing  gaz'd, 
Thus  he  them  bespake  at  last. 
Is  this  time  for  mirth  (quoth  he)  340 

To  a  man  with  griefe  opprest, 
Sinrull  wretches  as  you  be, 
May  the  sorrowes  in  my  breast, 


i6o        The  Shepheards  Sir  en  a 

Light  vpon  you  one  by  one, 
And  as  now  you  mocke  my  woe, 
When  your  mirth  is  turn'd  to  moane^ 
May  your  like  then  serue  you  so. 

When  one  Swaine  among  the  rest 
Thus  him  merrily  bespake, 

Get  thee  vp  thou  arrant  beast  370 

Fits  this  season  loue  to  make  ? 
Take  thy  Sheephooke  in  thy  hand, 
Clap  thy  Curre  and  set  him  on. 
For  our  fields  'tis  time  to  stand, 
Or  they  quickly  will  be  gon. 
Rougish  Swinheards  that  repine 
At  our  Flocks,  like  beastly  Clownes, 
Sweare  that  they  will  bring  their  Swine, 
And  will  wroote  vp  alLour  Downes : 
They  their  Holly  whips  haue  brac'd,  360 

And  tough  Hazell  goades  haue  gott ; 
Soundly  they  your  sides  will  baste, 
If  their  courage  faile  them  not. 
Of  their  purpose  if  they  speed, 
Then  your  Bagpypes  you  may  burne, 
It  is  neither  Droane  nor  Reed 
Shepheard,  that  will  serue  your  turne  : 
Angry  OLCON  sets  them  on, 
And  against  vs  part  doth  take 
Euer  since  he  was  out-gone,  370 

Offring  Rymes  with  us  to  make. 
Yet  if  so  our  Sheepe-hookes  hold, 
Dearely  shall  our  Downes  be  bought, 
For  it  neuer  shall  be  told, 
We  our  Sheep-walkes  sold  for  naught. 
And  we  here  haue  got  vs  Dogges, 
Best  of  all  the  Westerne  breed, 
Which  though  Whelps  shall  lug  their  Hogges, 
Till  they  make  their  eares  to  bleed  : 
Therefore  Shepheard  come  away.  380 

When  as  DORILVS  arose, 
Whistles  Cut-tayle  from  his  play, 
And  along  with  them  he  goes. 
FINIS. 


THE  MVSES  ELIZIVM 

The  Description  of  Elizium 

A  PARADICE  on  earth  is  found, 

Though  farre  from  vulgar  sight, 
Which  with  those  pleasures  doth  abound 

That  it  Elizium  hight. 

Where,  in  Delights  that  neuer  fade, 

The  Muses  lulled  be, 
And  sit  at  pleasure  in  the  shade 

Of  many  a  stately  tree, 

Which  no  rough  Tempest  makes  to  reele 

Nor  their  straight  bodies  bowes,  10 

Their  lofty  tops  doe  neuer  feele 
The  weight  of  winters  snowes  ,• 

In  Groues  that  euermore  are  greene, 

No  falling  leafe  is  there, 
But  Philomel  (of  birds  the  Queene) 

In  Musicke  spends  the  yeare. 

The  Merle  vpon  her  mertle  Perch, 

There  to  the  Mavis  sings, 
Who  from  the  top  of  some  curld  Berch 

Those  notes  redoubled  rings  j  2,0 

There  Daysyes  damaske  euery  place 

Nor  once  their  beauties  lose, 
That  when  proud  Phcebus  hides  his  face 

Themselues  they  scorne  to  close. 

The  Pansy  and  the  Violet  here, 

As  seeming  to  descend, 
Both  from  one  Root,  a  very  payre, 

For  sweetnesse  yet  contend, 

M 


Muses  Elizium 

And  pointing  to  a  Pinke  to  tell 

Which  beares  it,  it  is  loath,  30 

To  iudge  it ;  but  replyes  for  smell 

That  it  excels  them  both. 

Wherewith  displeasde  they  hang  their  heads 

So  angry  soone  they  grow 
And  from  their  odoriferous  beds 

Their  sweets  at  it  they  throw. 

The  winter  here  a  Summer  is, 

No  waste  is  made  by  time, 
Nor  doth  the  Autumne  euer  misse 

The  blossomes  of  the  Prime.  4.0 

The  flower  that  luly  forth  doth  bring 

In  Aprill  here  is  scene, 
The  Primrose  that  puts  on  the  Spring 

In  luly  decks  each  Greene. 

The  sweets  for  soueraignty  contend 

And  so  abundant  be, 
That  to  the  very  Earth  they  lend 

And  Barke  of  euery  Tree : 

Rills  rising  out  of  euery  Banck, 

In  wild  Meanders  strayne,  ?o 

And  playing  many  a  wanton  pranck 

Vpon  the  speckled  plaine, 

In  Gambols  and  lascivious  Gyres 

Their  time  they  still  bestow 
Nor  to  their  Fountaines  none  retyres, 

Nor  on  their  course  will  goe. 

Those  Brooks  with  Lillies  brauely  deckt, 

So  proud  and  wanton  made, 
That  they  their  courses  quite  neglect : 

And  seeme  as  though  they  stayde,  60 

Faire  Flora  in  her  state  to  viewe 

Which  through  those  Lillies  looks, 
Or  as  those  Lillies  leand  to  shew 

Their  beauties  to  the  brooks. 


The  description  of  Elizium     163 

That  Fhabus  in  his  lofty  race, 

Oft  layes  aside  his  beames 
And  comes  to  coole  his  glowing  face 

In  these  delicious  streames  • 

Oft  spreading  Vines  clime  vp  the  Cleeues, 

Whose  ripned  clusters  there,  70 

Their  liquid  purple  drop,  which  driues 
A  Vintage  through  the  yeere. 

Those  Cleeues  whose  craggy  sides  are  clad 

With  Trees  of  sundry  sutes, 
Which  make  continuall  summer  glad, 

Euen  bending  with  their  fruits, 

Some  ripening,  ready  some  to  fall, 

Some  blossom'd,  some  to  bloome, 
Like  gorgeous  hangings  on  the  wall 

Of  some  rich  princely  Roome :  80 

Pomegranates,  Lymons^  Cytrons^  so 

Their  laded  branches  bow, 
Their  leaues  in  number  that  outgoe 

Nor  roomth  will  them  alow. 

There  in  perpetuall  Summers  shade, 

Afolloes  Prophets  sit, 
Among  the  flowres  that  neuer  fade, 

But  flowrish  like  their  wit ; 

To  whom  the  Nimphes  vpon  their  Lyres, 
Tune  many  a  curious  lay,  90 

And  with  their  most  melodious  Quires 
Make  short  the  longest  day. 

The  thrice  three  Virgins  heauenly  Cleere, 

Their  trembling  Timbrels  sound, 
Whilst  the  three  comely  Graces  there 

Dance  many  a  dainty  Round, 

Decay  nor  Age  there  nothing  knowes, 

There  is  continuall  Youth, 
As  Time  on  plant  or  creatures  growes, 

So  still  their  strength  renewth.  100 

M  a 


Muses  Elizium 

The  Poets  Paradice  this  is, 

To  which  but  few  can  come ; 
The  Muses  onely  bower  of  blisse 

Their  Deare  Elizium. 

Here  happy  soules,  (their  blessed  bowers, 

Free  from  the  rude  resort 
Of  beastly  people)  spend  the  houres, 

In  harmelesse  mirth  and  sport, 

Then  on  to  the  Elizian  plaines 

Apollo  doth  invite  you  Iio 

Where  he  prouides  with  pastorall  straines, 

In  Nimphals  to  delight  you. 


The  first  Nimphall 
RODOPE  and  DORIDA. 

This  Nimphall  of  delights  doth  treat 9 
Choice  beauties^  and  proportions  neat. 
Of 'curious  shapes,  and  dainty  features 
Describd  in  two  most  perfect  creatures. 

WHEN  Phcel>us  with  a  face  of  mirth, 

Had  flong  abroad  his  beames, 

To  blanch  the  bosome  of  the  earth, 

And  glaze  the  gliding  streames. 

Within  a  goodly  Mertle  groue, 

Vpon  that  hallowed  day 

The  Nimphes  to  the  bright  Queene  of  loue 

Their  vowes  were  vsde  to  pay. 

Faire  Rodope  and  Dorida 

Met  in  those  sacred  shades,  lo 

Then  whom  the  Sunne  in  all  his  way, 

Nere  saw  two  daintier  Maids. 

And  through  the  thickets  thrild  his  fires, 

Supposing  to  haue  scene 

The  soueraigne  Goddesse  of  desires, 

Or  loves  Emperious  Queene : 


The  first  Nimphatt          16? 

Both  of  so  wondrous  beauties  were, 

In  shape  both  so  excell, 

That  to  be  paraleld  elsewhere, 

No  fudging  eye  could  tell.  10 

And  their  affections  so  surpasse, 

As  well  it  might  be  deemd, 

That  th'  one  of  them  the  other  was, 

And  but  themselues  they  seem'd. 

And  whilst  the  Nimphes  that  neare  this  place, 

Disposed  were  to  play 

At  Barly-breake  and  Prison-base, 

Doe  passe  the  time  away : 

This  peerlesse  payre  together  set, 

The  other  at  their  sport,  30 

None  neare  their  free  discourse  to  let, 

Each  other  thus  they  court, 

Dorida.  My  sweet,  my  soueraigne  Rodope, 
My  deare  delight,  my  loue, 
That  Locke  of  hayre  thou  sentst  to  me, 
I  to  this  Bracelet  woue ; 
Which  brighter  euery  day  doth  grow 
The  longer  it  is  worne, 
As  its  delicious  fellowes  doe, 
Thy  Temples  that  adorne.  40 

Rodope.  Nay  had  I  thine  my  Dorida, 
I  would  them  so  bestow, 
As  that  the  winde  vpon  my  way, 
Might  backward  make  them  flow, 
So  should  it  in  its  greatst  excesse 
Turne  to  becalmed  ayre, 
And  quite  forget  all  boistrousnesse 
To  play  with  euery  hayre. 

Dorida.  To  me  like  thine  had  nature  giuen, 
A  Brow,  so  Archt,  so  cleere,  f  o 

A  Front,  wherein  so  much  of  heauen 
Doth  to  each  eye  appeare, 
The  world  should  see,  I  would  strike  dead 
The  Milky  Way  that's  now, 


166  Muses  Elizium 

And  say  that  Nectar  Hebe  shed 
Fell  all  vpon  my  Brow. 

Rodope.  O  had  I  eyes  like  Doridaesy 
I  would  Indian t  the  day 
And  make  the  Sunne  to  stand  at  gaze, 
Till  he  forget  his  way :  60 

And  cause  his  Sister  Queene  of  Streames, 
When  so  I  list  by  night ; 
By  her  much  blushing  at  my  Beames 
T*  eclipse  her  borrowed  light. 

Dorida.  Had  I  a  Cheeke  like  Rodopes, 
In  midst  of  which  doth  stand, 
A  Groue  of  Roses,  such  as  these, 
In  such  a  snowy  land : 
I  would  then  make  the  Lilly  which  we  now 
So  much  for  whitenesse  name,  70 

As  drooping  downe  the  head  to  bow, 
And  die  for  very  shame. 

Rodope.  Had  I  a  bosome  like  to  thine, 
When  I  it  pleas'd  to  show, 
T'  what  part  o'  th*  Skie  I  would  incline 
I  would  make  th'  Etheriall  bowe, 
My  swannish  breast  brancht  all  with  blew, 
In  brauery  like  the  spring : 
In  Winter  to  the  general!  view 
Full  Summer  forth  should  bring.  80 

Dorida.  Had  I  a  body  like  my  deare, 
Were  I  so  straight  so  tall, 
O,  if  so  broad  my  shoulders  were, 
Had  I  a  waste  so  small  • 
I  would  challenge  the  proud  Queene  of  loue 
To  veeld  to  me  for  shape, 
And  I  should  feare  that  Mars  or  love 
Would  venter  for  my  rape. 

Rodope.  Had  I  a  hand  like  thee  my  Gerle, 
(This  hand  O  let  me  kisse)  po 

These  Ivory  Arrowes  pyl'd  with  pearle, 
Had  I  a  hand  like  this ; 


The  first  Nimphall  167 

I  would  not  doubt  at  all  to  make, 
Each  finger  of  my  hand 
To  taske  swift  Mercury  to  take 
With  his  inchanting  wand. 

Dorida.  Had  I  a  Theigh  like  Rodopes ; 
Which  twas  my  chance  to  viewe, 
When  lying  on  yon  banck  at  ease, 
The  wind  thy  skirt  vp  blew,  100 

I  would  say  it  were  a,  columne  wrought 
To  some  intent  Diuine, 
And  for  our  chaste  Diana  sought, 
A  pillar  for  her  shryne. 

Rodope.  Had  I  a  Leg  but  like  to  thine 
That  were  so  neat,  so  cleane, 
A  swelling  Calfe,  a  Small  so  fine, 
An  Ankle,  round  and  leane, 
I  would  tell  nature  she  doth  misse 
Her  old  skill;  and  maintaine,  no 

She  shewd  her  master  peece  in  this, 
Not  to  be  done  againe. 

Dorlda.  Had  I  that  Foot  hid  in  those  shoos, 
(Proportion'd  to  my  height) 
Short  Heele,  thin  Instep,  euen  Toes, 
A  Sole  so  wondrous  straight, 
The  Forresters  and  Nimphes  at  this 
Amazed  all  should  stand, 
And  kneeling  downe,  should  meekely  kisse 
The  Print  left  in  the  sand.  no 

BY  this  the  Nimphes  came  from  their  sport, 

All  pleased  wondrous  well, 

And  to  these  Maydens  make  report 

What  lately  them  befell : 

One  said  the  dainty  Lelipa 

Did  all  the  rest  out-goe, 

Another  would  a  wager  lay 

She  would  outstrip  a  Roe ; 

Sayes  one,  how  like  you  Florimel 

There  is  your  dainty  face  :  Ijo 


Muses  Elizium 

A  fourth  replide,  she  lik't  that  well, 

Yet  better  lik't  her  grace. 

She's  counted,  I  confesse,  quoth  she, 

To  be  our  onely  Pearle, 

Yet  haue  I  heard  her  oft  to  be 

A  melancholy  Gerle. 

Another  said  she  quite  mistoke, 

That  onely  was  her  art, 

When  melancholly  had  her  looke 

Then  mirth  was  in  her  heart ;  14.0 

And  hath  she  then  that  pretty  trick 

Another  doth  reply, 

I  thought  no  Nimph  could  haue  bin  sick 

Of  that  disease  but  I ; 

I  know  you  can  dissemble  well 

Quoth  one  to  giue  you  due, 

But  here  be  some  (who  He  not  tell) 

Can  do't  as  well  as  you, 

Who  thus  replies,  I  know  that  too, 

We  haue  it  from  our  Mother,  150 

Yet  there  be  some  this  thing  can  doe 

More  cunningly  then  other : 

If  Maydens  but  dissemble  can 

Their  sorrow  and  ther  ioy, 

Their  pore  dissimulation  than, 

Is  but  a  very  toy. 


The  second  Nimphall 
LALVS,  CLEON,  and  LIROPE. 

The  Muse  new  Courtship  doth  deuisey 
By  Natures  strange  Varieties^ 
Whose  Rariettes  she  here  relates, 
A.nd  gues  you  Pastor  all  Delicates. 

Lalus  a  lolly  youthfull  Lad, 
With  Cleon,  no  lesse  crown'd 
With  vertues ;  both  their  beings  had 
On  the  Elizian  ground. 


The  second  Nimphall         169 

Both  hauing  parts  so  excellent, 

That  it  a  question  was, 

Which  should  be  the  most  eminent, 

Or  did  in  ought  surpasse  : 

This  Cleon  was  a  Mountaineer, 

And  of  the  wilder  kinde,  10 

And  from  his  birth  had  many  a  yeere 

Bin  nurst  vp  by  a  Hinde. 

And  as  the  sequell  well  did  show, 

It  very  well  might  be  ; 

For  neuer  Hart,  nor  Hare,  nor  Roe, 

Were  halfe  so  swift  as  he. 

But  Lalus  in  the  Vale  was  bred, 

Amongst  the  Sheepe  and  Neate, 

And  by  these  Nimphes  there  choicly  fed, 

With  Hony,  Milke,  and  Wheate  •  10 

Of  Stature  goodly,  faire  of  speech, 

And  of  behauiour  mylde, 

Like  those  there  in  the  Valley  rich, 

That  bred  him  of  a  chyld. 

Of  Falconry  they  had  the  skill, 

Their  Halkes  to  feed  and  flye, 

No  better  Hunters  ere  dome  Hill, 

Nor  hollowed  to  a  Cry  : 

In  Dingles  deepe,  and  Mountains  hore, 

Oft  with  the  bearded  Speare  30 

They  cumbated  the  tusky  Boare, 

And  slew  the  angry  Beare. 

In  Musicke  they  were  wondrous  quaint, 

Fine  Aers  they  could  deuise  ; 

They  very  curiously  could  Paint, 

And  neatly  Poetize  • 

That  wagers  many  time  were  laid 

On  Questions  that  arose, 

Which  song  the  witty  Lalus  made, 

Which  Cleon  should  compose.  40 

The  stately  Steed  they  managed  well, 

Of  Fence  the  art  they  knew, 

For  Dansing  they  did  all  excell 

The  Gerles  that  to  them  drew; 


170  Muses  Elizium 

To  throw  the  Sledge,  to  pitch  the  Barre, 
To  wrestle  and  to  Run, 
They  all  the  Youth  exceld  so  farre, 
That  still  the  Prize  they  wonne. 
These  sprightly  Gallants  lou'd  a  Lasse, 
Cald  JJrope  the  bright^  70 

In  the  whole  world  there  scarcely  was 
So  delicate  a  Wight, 
There  was  no  Beauty  so  diuine 
That  euer  Nimph  did  grace, 
But  it  beyond  it  selfe  did  shine 
In  her  more  heuenly  face  : 

,      What  forme  she  pleasd  each  thing  would  take 
That  ere  she  did  behold, 
Of  Pebbles  she  could  Diamonds  make, 
Grosse  Iron  turne  to  Gold :  60 

Such  power  there  with  her  presence  came 
Sterne  Tempests  she  alayd, 
The  cruell  Tiger  she  could  tame, 
She  raging  Torrents  staid, 
She  chid,  she  cherisht,  she  gaue  life, 
Againe  she  made  to  dye, 
She  raisd  a  warre,  apeasd  a  Strife, 
With  turning  of  her  eye. 
Some  said  a  God  did  her  beget, 

But  much  deceiu'd  were  they,  70 

Her  Father  was  a  Riuelet, 
Her  Mother  was  a  Fay. 
Her  Lineaments  so  fine  that  were, 
She  from  the  Fayrie  tooke, 
Her  Beauties  and  Complection  cleere, 
By  nature  from  the  Brooke. 
These  Ryualls  wayttng  for  the  houre 
(The  weather  calme  and  faire) 
When  as  she  vs'd  to  leaue  her  Bower 
To  take  the  pleasant  ayre  80 

Acosting  her  ;  their  complement 
To  her  their  Goddesse  done  • 
By  gifts  they  tempt  her  to  consent, 
When  Lalus  thus  begun. 


The  second  Nimphall         171 

La/us.    Sweet  Lirope  I  haue  a  Lambe 
Newly  wayned  from  the  Damme, 

Of  the  right  kinde,  it  is  *notted,  *  without 

Naturally  with  purple  spotted,  hernts- 

Into  laughter  it  will  put  you, 

To  see  how  prettily  'twill  But  you  ;  90 

When  on  sporting  it  is  set, 
It  will  beate  you  a  Corvet, 
And  at  euery  nimble  bound 
Turne  it  selfe  aboue  the  ground  ; 
When  tis  hungry  it  will  bleate, 
From  your  hand  to  haue  its  meate, 
And  when  it  hath  fully  fed, 
It  will  fetch  lumpes  aboue  your  head, 
As  innocently  to  expresse 

Its  silly  sheepish  thankfullnesse,  100 

When  you  bid  it,  it  will  play, 
Be  it  either  night  or  day, 
This  Urope  I  haue  for  thee, 
So  thou  alone  wilt  Hue  with  me. 

Clean.    From  him  O  turne  thine  eare  away, 
And  heare  me  my  lou'd  Lirope, 
I  haue  a  Kid  as  white  as  milke, 
His  skin  as  soft  as  Naples  silke, 
His  homes  in  length  are  wondrous  euen, 
And  curiously  by  nature  writhen ;  no 

It  is  of  th'  Arcadian  kinde, 
Ther's  not  the  like  twixt  either  Inde  • 
If  you  walke,  'twill  walke  you  by, 
If  you  sit  downe,  it  downe  will  lye, 
It  with  gesture  will  you  wooe, 
And  counterfeit  those  things  you  doe  $ 
Ore  each  Hillock  it  will  vault, 
And  nimbly  doe  the  Summer-sault, 
Upon  the  hinder  Legs  'twill  goe, 
And  follow  you  a  furlong  so, 
And  if  by  chance  a  Tune  you  roate, 
'Twill  foote  it  finely  to  your  note, 
Seeke  the  worlde  and  you  may  misse 


Muses  Elizium 

To  finde  out  such  a  thing  as  this ; 

This  my  loue  I  haue  for  thee 

So  thou'lt  leaue  him  and  goe  with  me. 

JJrope.    Beleeue  me  Youths  your  gifts  are  rare, 
And  you  offer  wondrous  faire ; 
JLalus  for  Lambe,  Cleon  for  Kyd, 
'Tis  hard  to  iudge  which  most  doth  bid,  130 

And  haue  you  two  such  things  in  store, 
And  I  n'er  knew  of  them  before  ? 
Well  yet  I  dare  a  Wager  lay 
That  Brag  my  little  Dog  shall  play, 
As  dainty  tricks  when  I  shall  bid, 
As  Lalus  Lambe,  or  Cleans  Kid. 
But  t'  may  fall  out  that  I  may  neede  them 
Till  when  yee  may  doe  well  to  feed  them ; 
Your  Goate  and  Mutton  pretty  be 
But  Youths  these  are  noe  bayts  for  me,  140 

Alasse  good  men,  in  vaine  ye  wooe, 
'Tis  not  your  Lambe  nor  Kid  will  doe. 

Lalus.     I  haue  two  Sparrowes  white  as  Snow, 
Whose  pretty  eyes  like  sparkes  doe  show ; 
In  her  Bosome  Venus  hatcht  them 
Where  her  little  Cupid  watcht  them, 
Till  they  too  fledge  their  Nests  forsooke 
Themselues  and  to  the  Fields  betooke, 
Where  by  chance  a  Fowler  caught  them 
Of  whom  I  full  dearely  bought  them ; 
*  The  redde  fruit     They'll  fetch  you  Conseruc  from  the  *Hip, 

^nc*  *ay  ^  s°ftty on  y°ur  kip* 

Through  their  nibling  bills  they'll  Chirup 

And  fluttering  feed  you  with  the  Sirup, 

And  if  thence  you  put  them  by 

They  to  your  white  necke  will  flye, 

And  if  you  expulse  them  there 

They'll  hang  vpon  your  braded  Hayre  $ 

You  so  long  shall  see  them  prattle 

Till  at  length  they'll  fall  to  battle,  160 

And  when  they  haue  fought  their  fill, 

You  will  smile  to  see  them  bill 


The  second  Nimphall         173 

These  birds  my  Lirope's  shall  be 

So  thou'lt  leaue  him  and  goe  with  me. 

Cleon.  His  Sparrowes  are  not  worth  a  rush 
Fie  finde  as  good  in  euery  bush, 
Of  Doues  I  haue  a  dainty  paire 
Which  when  you  please  to  take  the  Air, 
About  your  head  shall  gently  houer 
You  Cleere  browe  from  the  Sunne  to  couer,  170 

And  with  their  nimble  wings  shall  fan  you, 
That  neither  Cold  nor  Heate  shall  tan  you, 
And  like  Vmbrellas  with  their  feathers 
Sheeld  you  in  all  sorts  of  weathers  : 
They  be  most  dainty  Coloured  things, 
They  haue  Damask  backs  and  Chequerd  wings, 
Their  neckes  more  Various  Cullours  showe 
Then  there  be  mixed  in  the  Bowe  j 
Venus  saw  the  lesser  Doue 

And  therewith  was  farre  in  Loue,  180 

Offering  for't  her  goulden  Ball 
For  her  Sonne  to  play  withall ; 
These  my  Uropes  shall  be 
So  shee'll  leaue  him  and  goe  with  me. 

Lirope.  Then  for  Sparrowes,  and  for  Doues 
I  am  fitted  twixt  my  Loues, 
But  Lalusy  I  take  no  delight 
In  Sparowes,  for  they'll  scratch  and  bite 
And  though  ioynd,  they  are  euer  wooing 
Alwayes  billing,  if  not  doeing,  190 

Twixt  Venus  breasts  if  they  haue  lyen 
I  much  feare  they'll  infect  myne  • 
Cleon  your  Doues  are  very  dainty, 
Tame  Pidgeons  else  you  know  are  plenty, 
These  may  winne  some  of  your  Marrowes 
I  am  not  caught  with  Doues,  nor  Sparrowes, 
I  thanke  ye  kindly  for  your  Coste, 
Yet  your  labour  is  but  loste. 

La/uf.  With  full-leau'd  Lillies  I  will  stick 
Thy  braded  hayre  all  o'r  so  thick, 


174  Muses  Elizium 


That  from  it  a  Light  shall  throw 

Like  the  Sunnes  vpon  the  Snow. 

Thy  Mantle  shall  be  Violet  Leaues, 

With  the  fin'st  the  Silkeworme  weaues 

As  finely  wouen  ;  whose  rich  smell 

The  Ayre  about  thee  so  shall  swell 

That  it  shall  haue  no  power  to  mooue. 

A  Ruffe  of  Pinkes  thy  Robe  aboue 

About  thy  necke  so  neatly  set 

That  Art  it  cannot  counterfet,  no 

Which  still  shall  looke  so  Fresh  and  new, 

As  if  vpon  their  Roots  they  grew : 

And  for  thy  head  He  haue  a  Tyer 

Of  netting,  made  of  Strawbery  wyer, 

And  in  each  knot  that  doth  compose 

A  Mesh,  shall  stick  a  halfe  blowne  Rose, 

Red,  damaske,  white,  in  order  set 

About  the  sides,  shall  run  a  Fret 

Of  Primroses,  the  Tyer  throughout 

With  Thrift  and  Dayses  frindgd  about ;  zio 

All  this  fa  ire  Nimph  He  doe  for  thee, 

So  thou'lt  leaue  him  and  goe  with  me. 

Cleon.  These  be  but  weeds  and  Trash  he  brings, 
lie  giue  thee  solid,  costly  things, 
His  will  wither  and  be  gone 
Before  thou  well  canst  put  them  on ; 
With  Currall  I  will  haue  thee  Crown'd, 
Whose  Branches  intricatly  wound 
Shall  girt  thy  Temples  euery  way ; 
And  on  the  top  of  euery  Spray  130 

Shall  stick  a  Pearle  orient  and  great, 
Which  so  the  wandring  Birds  shall  cheat, 
That  some  shall  stoope  to  looke  for  Cheries, 
As  other  for  tralucent  Berries. 
And  wondering,  caught  e'r  they  be  ware 
In  the  curld  Tramels  of  thy  hayre : 
And  for  thy  necke  a  Christall  Chaine 
Whose  lincks  shapt  like  to  drops  of  Rain e, 
Vpon  thy  panting  Breast  depending, 


The  second  Nimphall         175* 

Shall  seeme  as  they  were  still  descending,  i<j.o 

And  as  thy  breath  doth  come  and  goe, 

So  seeming  still  to  ebbe  and  flow  : 

With  Amber  Bracelets  cut  like  Bees, 

Whose  strange  transparancy  who  sees, 

With  Silke  small  as  the  Spiders  Twist 

Doubled  so  oft  about  thy  Wrist, 

Would  surely  thinke  aliue  they  were, 

From  Lillies  gathering  hony  there. 

Thy  Buskins  Ivory,  caru'd  like  Shels 

Of  Scallope,  which  as  little  Bels  150 

Made  hollow,  with  the  Ayre  shall  Chime, 

And  to  thy  steps  shall  keepe  the  time  : 

Leaue  Lalus,  Lirope  for  me 

And  these  shall  thy  rich  dowry  be. 

Lirope.  Lalus  for  Flowers.  Cleon  for  lemmes, 
For  Garlands  and  for  Diadems, 
I  shall  be  sped,  why  this  is  braue, 
What  Nimph  can  choicer  Presents  haue, 
With  dressing,  brading,  frowncing,  flowring, 
All  your  Jewels  on  me  powring,  160 

In  this  brauery  being  drest, 
To  the  ground  I  shall  be  prest, 
That  I  doubt  the  Nimphes  will  feare  me, 
Nor  will  venture  to  come  neare  me  j 
Neuer  Lady  of  the  May, 
To  this  houre  was  halfe  so  gay ; 
All  in  flowers,  all  so  sweet, 
From  the  Crowne,  beneath  the  Feet, 
Amber,  Currall,  Ivory,  Pearle, 
If  this  cannot  win  a  Gerle, 
Ther's  nothing  can,  and  this  ye  wooe  me, 
Giue  me  your  hands  and  trust  ye  to  me, 
(Tet  to  tell  ye  I  am  loth) 
That  Pie  haue  neither  of  you  both  ; 

Lalus.  When  thou  shalt  please  to  stem  the  flood, 
(As  thou  art  of  the  watry  brood) 
rle  haue  twelve  Swannes  more  white  than  Snow, 


Muses  Elizium 

Yokd  for  the  purpose  two  and  two, 

To  drawe  thy  Barge  wrought  of  fine  Reed 

So  well  that  it  nought  else  shall  need,  180 

The  Traces  by  which  they  shall  hayle 

Thy  Barge  •  shall  be  the  winding  trayle 

Of  woodbynd;  whose  braue  Tasseld  Flowers 

(The  Sweetnesse  of  the  Woodnimphs  Bowres) 

Shall  be  the  Trappings  to  adorne, 

The  Swannes,  by  which  thy  Barge  is  borne, 

Of  flowred  Flags  Tie  rob  the  banke 

Of  water-Cans  and  King-cups  ranck 

To  be  the  Couering  of  thy  Boate, 

And  on  the  Streame  as  thou  do'st  FJoate,  190 

The  Naiades  that  haunt  the  deepe, 

Themselues  about  thy  Barge  shall  keepe, 

Recording  most  delightfull  Layes, 

By  Sea  Gods  written  in  thy  prayse. 

And  in  what  place  thou  hapst  to  land, 

There  the  gentle  Siluery  sand, 

Shall  soften,  curled  with  the  Aier 

As  sensible  of  thy  repayre : 

This  my  deare  loue  Fie  doe  for  thee, 

So  Thou'lt  leaue  him  and  goe  with  me :  300 

Clem.  Tush  Nimphe  his  Swannes  will  prove  but  Geese, 
His  Barge  drinke  water  like  a  Fleece ; 
A  Boat  is  base,  Pie  thee  prouide, 
A  Chariot,  wherein  loue  may  ride; 
In  which  when  brauely  thou  art  borne, 
Thou  shalt  looke  like  the  gloryous  morne 
Vshering  the  Sunne,  and  such  a  one 
As  to  this  day  was  neuer  none, 
Of  the  Rarest  Indian  Gummes, 

More  pretious  then  your  Balsamummes  310 

Which  I  by  Art  haue  made  so  hard, 
That  they  with  Tooles  may  well  be  Caru'd 
To  make  a  Coach  of :  which  shall  be 
Materyalls  of  this  one  for  thee, 
And  of  thy  Chariot  each  small  peece 
Shall  inlayd  be  with  Amber  Greece, 


The  second  Nimphall         177 

And  guilded  with  the  Yellow  ore 

Produc'd  from  Tagus  wealthy  shore ; 

In  which  along  the  pleasant  Lawne, 

With  twelue  white  Stags  thou  shalt  be  drawne,  310 

Whose  brancht  palmes  of  a  stately  height. 

With  seuerall  nosegayes  shall  be  dight  j 

And  as  thou  ryd'st,  thy  Coach  about, 

For  thy  strong  guard  shall  runne  a  Rout, 

Of  Estriges ;  whose  Curled  plumes, 

Sen'sd  with  thy  Chariots  rich  perfumes, 

The  scent  into  the  Aier  shall  throw ; 

Whose  naked  Thyes  shall  grace  the  show ; 

Whilst  the  Woodnimphs  and  those  bred 

Vpon  the  mountayns,  o'r  thy  head  330 

Shall  beare  a  Canopy  of  flowers, 

Tinseld  with  drops  of  Aprill  showers, 

Which  shall  make  more  glorious  showes 

Then  spangles,  or  your  siluer  Oas  • 

This  bright  nimph  Tie  doe  for  thee 

So  thou'lt  leaue  him  and  goe  with  me. 

Lirope.  Vie  and  reuie,  like  Chapmen  profer'd, 
Would't  be  receaued  what  you  haue  offered  j 
Ye  greater  honour  cannot  doe  me, 

If  not  building  Altars  to  me :  340 

Both  by  Water  and  by  Land, 
Bardge  and  Chariot  at  command ; 
Swans  vpon  the  Streame  to  rawe  me, 
Stags  vpon  the  Land  to  drawe  me, 
In  all  this  Pompe  should  I  be  scene, 
What  a  pore  thing  were  a  Qiieene  : 
All  delights  in  such  excesse, 
As  but  yee,  who  can  expresse : 
Thus  mounted  should  the  Nimphes  me  see, 
All  the  troope  would  follow  me, 
Thinking  by  this  state  that  I 
Would  asume  a  Deitie. 
There  be  some  in  loue  haue  bin, 
And  I  may  commit  that  sinne, 
And  if  e'r  I  be  in  loue, 

iRAVTON  N 


178  Muses  Ellzium 

With  one  of  you  I  feare  twill  proue, 
But  with  which  I  cannot  tell, 
So  my  gallant  Youths  farewell. 


The  third  Nimphall 

DORON.  DORILVS. 

NAIIS.  CLOE. 

CLORIS.  MERTILLA. 

CLAIA.  FLORIMEL. 

With  Nimphes  and  Forresters. 

Poetick  Raptures,  sacred  fires, 
With  which  Apollo  his  inspires, 
This  Nimphall  glues  you  >  and  'withall 
Qbserues  the  Muses  Festival!. 

Amongst  th'  Elizians  many  mirthfull  Feasts, 

At  which  the  Muses  are  the  certaine  guests, 

Th'  obserue  one  Day  with  most  Emperiall  state, 

To  wise  Apollo  which  they  dedicate. 

The  Poets  God  •  and  to  his  Alters  bring 

Th'  enamePd  Brauery  of  the  beauteous  spring, 

And  strew  their  Bowers  with  euery  precious  sweet, 

Which  still  wax  fresh,  most  trod  on  with  their  feet ; 

With  most  choice  flowers  each  Nimph  doth  brade  her  hayre, 

And  not  the  mean'st  but  bauldrick  wise  doth  weare  10 

Some  goodly  Garland,  and  the  most  renown'd 

With  curious  Roseat  Anadems  are  crown'd. 

These  being  come  into  the  place  where  they 

Yearely  obserue  the  Orgies  to  that  day, 

The  Muses  from  their  Heliconian  spring 

Their  brimfull  Mazers  to  the  feasting  bring : 

When  with  deepe  Draughts  out  of  those  plenteous  Bowles, 

The  iocond  Youth  haue  swild  their  thirsty  soules, 

They  fall  enraged  with  a  sacred  heat, 

And  when  their  braines  doe  once  begin  to  sweat  20 

They  into  braue  and  Stately  numbers  breake, 

And  not  a  word  that  any  one  doth  speake 


The  third  Nimphall          179 

But  tis  Prophetick,  and  so  strangely  farre 

In  their  high  fury  they  transported  are, 

As  there 's  not  one,  on  any  thing  can  straine, 

But  by  another  answred  is  againe 

In  the  same  Rapture,  which  all  sit  to  heare ; 

When  as  two  Youths  that  soundly  liquord  were, 

Dorilus  and  Dorony  two  as  noble  swayns 

As  euer  kept  on  the  Elizian  playns,  30 

First  by  their  signes  attention  hauing  woonne, 

Thus  they  the  Reuels  frolikly  begunne. 

Doron.     Come  Dorilus,  let  vs  he  bravey 
In  lofty  numbers  let  its  raue^ 
With  Hymes  I  will  inrich  thee. 

Dorilus.     Content  say  I,  then  bid  the  base^ 
Our  wits  shall  runne  the  Wlldgoosechase^ 
Spurre  <vp^  or  I  'will  swlch  thee. 

Doron.     The  Sunne  out  of  the  East  doth  peepe, 
And  now  the  day  begins  to  creepe,  40 

Vpon  the  'world  at  leasure. 

Dorilus.     The  Ayre  enamored  of  the  Greaues^ 
The  West  wlnde  stroaks  the  velvit  leaues 
And  kisses  them  at  pleasure. 

Doron.     The  spinners  webs  twixt  spray  and  spray. 
The  top  of  euery  bush  make  gayy 
By  filmy  coards  there  dangling. 

Dorilus.     For  noiu  the  last  dayes  euenlng  deiv 
Euen  to  the  full  it  selfe  doth  sheiv. 
Each  bough  with  Pearle  bespangling.  50 

Doron.     O  Boy  how  thy  abundant  'valne 
Euen  like  a  "Flood  breaks  from  thy  bralne^ 
Nor  can  thy  Muse  be  gaged. 

Dorilus.     Why  nature  forth  did  neuer  bring 
A  man  that  like  to  me  can  slng^ 
If  once  I  be  enraged. 

Doron.     Why  Dorilus  I  In  my  skill 
Can  make  the  swiftest  Streame  stand  stlll^ 
Nay  beare  back  to  his  springing. 
N  i 


180  Muses  Elizium 

Dorilus.     And  I  Into  a  Trance  most  deepe  do 

Can  cast  the  Birds  that  they  shall  sleeve 
When  fain'st  they  would  be  singing. 

Doron.     Why  Dorilus  tkou  mak'st  me  mad, 
And  now  my  wits  begin  to  gad, 
But  sure  I  know  not  whither. 

Dorilus.     O  Doron  let  me  hug  thee  then, 
There  neuer  was  two  madder  men, 
Then  let  vs  on  together. 

Doron.     Hermes  the  winged  Horse  bestrid^ 
And  thorow  thick  and  thin  he  rid,  70 

Andfloundred  throw  the  fount  aine. 

Dorilus.     He  spurd  the  Tit  vntill  he  bled, 
So  that  at  last  he  ran  his  head 
Against  the  forked  Mount  aine, 

Doron.     How  sayst  thou,  but  pyde  Iris  got 
Into  great  lunos  Chariot, 
I  spake  with  one  that  saw  her. 

Dorilus.     And  there  the  pert  and  sawcy  E/fey 
Behau'd  her  as  twere  luno's  selfe, 
And  made  the  Peacocks  draw  her.  80 

Doron.     lie  borrow  Phoebus^ry  lades, 
With  which  about  the  world  he  trades, 
And  put  them  in  my  Plow. 

Dorilus.     O  thou  most  perfect  frantique  man, 
Tet  let  thy  rage  be  what  it  can, 
He  be  as  mad  as  thou. 

Doron.     He  to  great  love,  hap  good,  hap  ill, 
Though  he  with  Thunder  threat  to  kill, 
And  beg  of  him  a  boone. 

Dorilus.     To  swerue  <vp  one  of  Cynthias  beames,     90 
And  there  to  bath  thee  in  the  streames. 
Discouerd  in  the  Moone. 


The  third  Nimphall  181 

Doron.     Come  frolick  Touth  and  follow  me^ 
JMy  fr  antique  boy^  and  lie  show  thee 
The  Countrey  of  the  Fayries. 

Dorilus.     The  fleshy  Mandrake  taker  ft  doth  grow 
In  noons  hade  of  the  Mlstletow^ 
And  where  the  "Phoenix  Aryes. 

Doron.     Nay  more^  the  Swallowes  winter  bed^ 
The  Caverns  where  the  Winds  are  bred^  100 

Since  thus  thcu  talkst  of  showing. 

Dorilus.     And  to  those  Indraughts  lie  thee 
That  wondrous  and  eternall  spring 
Whence  th'  Ocean  hath  its  flowing. 


Doron.    We'll  downe  to  the  darke  bouse  o 
Where  snoring  Morpheus  doth  keeps  ^ 
And  wake  the  drowsy  Groome. 

Dorilus.     Downe  shall  the  Dores  and  Wlndowes  goey 
The  Stooles  vpon  the  Floare  will  throw  ^ 
And  roare  about  the  Roome.  no 

The  Muses  here  commanded  them  to  stay, 

Commending  much  the  caridge  of  their  Lay 

As  greatly  pleasd  at  this  their  madding  Bout, 

To  heare  how  brauely  they  had  borne  it  out 

From  first  to  the  last,  of  which  they  were  right  glad, 

By  this  they  found  that  Helicon  still  had 

That  vertue  it  did  anciently  retaine 

When  Orpheus  Lynus  and  th'  Ascrean  Swaine 

Tooke  lusty  Rowses,  which  hath  made  their  Rimes, 

To  last  so  Jong  to  all  succeeding  times.  1  10 

And  now  amongst  this  beauteous  Beauie  here, 

Two  wanton  Nimphes,  though  dainty  ones  they  were, 

Naijs  and  Cloe  in  their  female  fits 

Longing  to  show  the  sharpnesse  of  their  wits, 

Of  the  nine  Sisters  speciall  leaue  doe  craue 

That  the  next  Bout  they  two  might  freely  haue, 

Who  hauing  got  the  suffrages  of  all, 

Thus  to  their  Rimeing  instantly  they  fall. 


Muses  Elizium 

Naijs.     Amongst  you  all  let  11$  see 
Who  1st  opposes  mee^  130 

Come  on  the  proudest  she 
To  answere  my  ditty  e. 

Cloe.     Why  Naijs,  that  am  J5 
Who  dares  thy  pride  defie. 
And  that  we  soone  shall  try 
Though  thou  he  witty* 

Naijs.     Cloe  I  scorne  my  Rime 
Should  obserue  feet  or  tlme^ 
Now  I  fall ^  then  I  clime ^ 
Where  lyst  I  dare  not.  14.0 

Cloe.     Glue  thy  Invention 
And  let  herflert  andfllng^ 
Till  dotane  the  Rocks  she 
For  that  I  care  not. 

Naijs.     This  presence  delights  me^ 
My  free  dome  Inultes  me^ 
The  Season  excytes  me^ 
In  Ttime  to  he  merry. 

Cloe.     And  I  beyond  measure^ 
Am  raulsht  <wlth  pleasure^ 
To  answer  each  Ceasure^ 
Untlll  thou  heist  weary. 

Naijs.      "Behold  the  Rosye  Dawne, 
Rises  In  Tlnslld  Lawne^ 
And  smiling  se ernes  to  fawne^ 
Vpon  the  mount alnes. 

Cloe.     Awaked  from  her  Dreames, 
Shooting  foorth  goulden  "Beames 
Danslng  vfon  the  Streames 
Courting  the  Fount  alnes. 

Naijs.     These  more  then  sweet  Showrets, 
Intlce  <vp  these  Flowrets^ 
To  trim  up  our  Bowretsy 
Perfuming  our  Coats. 


The  third  Nimphall          183 

Cloe.     Whilst  the  Birds  tilling 
Each  one  'with  his  Dilling 
The  thickets  still  filling 
With  Amorous  Noets. 

Naijs.      The  Bees  vp  in  hony  rould, 
More  then  their  thighes  can  hould,  1 70 

Lapt  in  their  liquid  gould, 
Their  Treasure  vs  fringing. 

Cloe.     To  these  Ril/ets  purling 
Vpon  the  stones  Curling, 
And  oft  about  'wherling, 
Dance  toward  their  springing. 

Naijs.     The  Wood-Nimphes  sit  singing, 
Each  Groue  with  notes  ringing 
Whilst  fresh  Ver  is  flinging 
Her  "Bounties  abroad.  1 80 

Cloe.     So  much  as  the  Turtle, 
Upon  the  low  Mertle, 
To  the  meads  fertle, 
Her  cares  doth  vnload. 

Naijs.     Nay  'tis  a  wor/d  to  see, 
In  euery  bush  and  Tree, 
The  Birds  'with  mirth  and  glee, 
Woo*d  as  they  ivoe. 

Cloe.     The  Robin  and  the  Wren, 
Euery  Cocke  'with  his  Hen,  1 90 

Why  should  not  'we  and  men, 
Doe  as  they  doe. 

Naijs.     The  Faires  are  hopping, 
The  small  Flo'wers  cropping, 
And  'with  de*w  dropping, 
Skip  thoro'w  the  Greaues. 

Cloe.     At  Barly-breake  they  play 
Merrily  all  the  day, 
At  night  themselues  they  lay 
ypon  the  soft  leaues.  100 


184  Muses  Elizium 

Naijs.     The  gentle  winds  sally , 
Vpon  euery  Valley, 
And  many  times  dally 
And  wantonly  sport. 

Cloe.     About  the  fields  tracing, 
Each  other  In  chasing, 
And  often  imbracing, 
In  amorous  sort. 

Naijs.     And  Eccho  oft  doth  tell 

Wondrous  things  from  her  Cell,  aio 

As  her  what  chance  befell, 
Learning  to  prattle. 

Cloe.     And  now  she  sits  and  mocks 
The  Shepherds  and  their  flocks, 
And  the  Heards  from  the  Rocks 
Keeping  their  Cattle. 

When  to  these  Maids  the  Muses  silence  cry, 

For  'twas  the  opinion  of  the  Company, 

That  were  not  these  two  taken  of,  that  they 

Would  in  their  Conflict  wholly  spend  the  day.  120 

When  as  the  Turne  to  Florimel  next  came, 

A  Nimph  for  Beauty  of  especiall  name, 

Yet  was  she  not  so  lolly  as  the  rest : 

And  though  she  were  by  her  companions  prest, 

Yet  she  by  no  intreaty  would  be  wrought 

To  sing,  as  by  th'  Elizian  Lawes  she  ought : 

When  two  bright  Nimphes  that  her  companions  were, 

And  of  all  other  onely  held  her  deare, 

Mild  Cloris  and  Mertllla,  with  faire  speech 

Their  most  beloued  Florimel  beseech,  130 

T'obserue  the  Muses,  and  the  more  to  wooe  her, 

They  take  their  turnes,  and  thus  they  sing  vnto  her. 

Cloris.     Sing,  Florimel,  O  sing,  and  wee 
Our  whole  'wealth  will  glue  to  thee, 
We'll  rob  the  brim  of  euery  Fount alne, 
Strip  the  sweets  from  euery  Mount aine, 
We  'will  sweepe  the  curled  valleys, 
Brush  the  bancks  that  mound  our  allyes, 


The  third  Nimphall          185- 

We  will  muster  natures  dainties 

When  she  wallowes  in  her  plenty es,  24.0 

The  lushyous  smell  of  euery  flower 

New  washt  by  an  Apr  ill  shower^ 

The  Mistresse  of  her  store  we^ll  make  thee 

That  she  for  her  selfe  shall  take  thee } 

Can  there  be  a  dainty  thing, 

That's  not  thine  if  thou  wilt  sing. 

MertilJa.     When  the  dew  in  May  distil  let h, 
And  the  Earths  rich  bos ome  flleth, 
And  with  dearie  embrouds  each  Meadow, 
We  will  make  them  like  a  widow ,  ayo 

And  in  all  their  "Beauties  dresse  thee, 
And  of  all  their  spoiles  possesse  thee, 
With  all  the  bounties  Zephyr e  brings, 
breathing  on  the  yearely  springs, 
The  gaudy  bloomes  of  euery  Tree 
In  their  most  beauty  when  they  be, 
What  is  here  that  may  delight  thee, 
Or  to  pleasure  may  excite  thee, 
Can  there  be  a  dainty  thing 
That's  not  thine  if  thou  wilt  sing.  160 

But  Florimel  still  sullenly  replyes 

I  will  not  sing  at  all,  let  that  suffice  : 

When  as  a  Nimph  one  of  the  merry  ging 

Seeing  she  no  way  could  be  wonne  to  sing ; 

Come,  come,  quoth  she,  ye  vtterly  vndoe  her 

With  your  intreaties,  and  your  reuerence  to  her ; 

For  praise  nor  prayers,  she  careth  not  a  pin  • 

They  that  our  froward  Florimel  would  winne, 

Must  worke  another  way,  let  me  come  to  her, 

Either  He  make  her  sing,  or  He  vndoe  her.  170 


Claia.     Florimel  I  thus  coniure 

Since  their  gifts  cannot  alure  thee ;  .  3 4.  * 
By  stampt  Garlick,  that  doth  stink 

Worse  then  common  Sewer,  or  Sink,  c,      i<                "J 

By  Henbane,  Dogs  bane,  Woo  If s  bane,  sweet  r^'     >i&:^     'n 

^j  ^rwy  Clownes  or  Carriers  feet.,  /  « 

J                                            J  v.>ll/a4iu 


i8<5  Muses  Elizium 

By  stinging  Nettles,  pricking  Teasels 

Ray  sing  blisters  like  the  measels, 

By  the  rough  Burt>reeding  docks, 

Rancker  then  the  oldest  Fox,  180 

By  filthy  Hemblock,  poysning  more 

Then  any  vlcer  or  old  sore, 

By  the  Cockle  In  the  corne, 

That  smels  farre  worse  then  doth  burnt  home, 

By  Hempe  In  water  that  hath  layne, 

By  whose  stench  the  Fish  are  slayne, 

By  Toadflax  which  your  Nose  may  tast, 

If  you  haue  a  mlnde  to  cast. 

May  all  filthy  stinking  Weeds 

That  e'r  bore  leafe,  or  e*r  had  seeds,  apo 

Florimel  be  giuen  to  thee, 

If  thou'lt  not  sing  as  well  as  wee. 

At  which  the  Nimphs  to  open  laughter  fell, 
Amongst  the  rest  the  beauteous  Florimel, 
(Pleasd  with  the  spell  from  Claia  that  came, 
A  mirthfull  Gerle  and  giuen  to  sport  and  game) 
As  gamesome  growes  as  any  of  them  all, 
And  to  this  ditty  instantly  doth  fall. 

Florimel.     How  in  my  thoughts  should  I  contriue 
The  Image  I  am  framing,  300 

Which  is  so  farre  superlatlue, 
As  tis  beyond  all  naming  ; 
I  would  loue  of  my  counsell  make, 
And  haue  his  Judgement  in  it, 
But  that  I  doubt  he  would  mistake 
How  rightly  to  begn  It, 
It  must  be  bullded  In  the  Ayre, 
And  tis  my  thoughts  must  doo  it, 
And  onely  they  must  be  the  stayre 

From  earth  to  mount  me  to  it,  5 IO 

For  of  my  Sex  I  frame  my  Lay, 
Each  houre,  our  selues  forsaking, 
How  should  I  thenfinde  out  the  way 
To  this  my  undertaking, 


The  third  Nimphall          187 


Wken  our  weake  Fancies  working 

Yet  changing  euery  minnity 

Will  shew  that  it  requires  some  skill^ 

Such  difficulty's  in  it. 

We  would  t  kings  y  yet  we  know  not  whaty 

And  let  our  will  he  granted^  %  10 

Tef  instantly  we  finde  in  that 

Something  vnthought  of  wanted: 

Our  ioyes  and  hopes  such  shadowes  arey 

As  with  our  motions  varry^ 

Which  when  we  oft  haue  fetcht  from  farrey 

With  vs  they  neuer  tarry  : 

Some  worldly  crosse  doth  still  attend^ 

What  long  we  haue  in  spinning^ 

Ande'r  we  fully  get  the  end 

We  lose  of  our  beginning.  330 

Our  pollicies  so  peevish  arey 

That  with  themselues  they  wrangle^ 

And  many  times  become  the  snare 

That  soonest  <vs  intangle  y 

For  that  the  Loue  we  beare  our  Friends 

Though  nere  so  strongly  grounded  ^ 

Hath  in  It  certaine  oblique  ends 

If  to  the  bottome  sounded: 

Our  owne  well  wishing  making  ity 

A  pardonable  Treason-^  34.0 

For  that  is  deriud  from  witt^ 

And  'vnderpropt  with  reason. 

For  our  Deare  selues  beloued  sake 

(Euen  in  the  depth  of  passion) 

Our  Center  though  our  selues  we  makey 

Tet  is  not  that  our  station  ; 

For  whilst  our  Erowes  ambitious  be 

And  youth  at  hand  awayts  vsy 

It  is  a  pretty  thing  to  see 

How  finely  Beautie  cheats  Vf9 

And  whilst  with  tyme  we  tryfling  stand 

To  practise  Antique  graces 

Age  with  a  pale  and  withered  hand 

Drawes  Fur  owes  in  our  faces. 


i88  Muses  Elizium 

When  they  which  so  desirous  were  before 

To  hear  her  sing ;  desirous  are  far  more 

To  haue  her  cease -,  and  call  to  haue  her  stayd 

For  she  to  much  alredy  had  bewray'd. 

And  as  the  thrice  three  Sisters  thus  had  grac'd 

Their  Celebration,  and  themselues  had  plac'd  360 

Vpon  a  Violet  banck,  in  order  all 

Where  they  at  will  might  view  the  Festifall 

The  Nimphs  and  all  the  lusty  youth  that  were 

At  this  braue  Nimphall,  by  them  honored  there, 

To  Gratifie  the  heauenly  Gerles  againe 

Lastly  prepare  in  state  to  entertaine 

Those  sacred  Sisters,  fairely  and  confer, 

On  each  of  them,  their  prayse  particular 

And  thus  the  Nimphes  to  the  nine  Muses  sung. 

When  as  the  Youth  and  Forresters  among  370 

That  well  prepared  for  this  businesse  were, 

Become  the  Chorus,  and  thus  sung  they  there. 

Nimphes.     Clio  then  first  of  those  Celettiall  nine 
That  daily  offer  to  the  sacred  shryne, 
Of 'wise  Apollo  ;  Queene  of 'Stories, 
Thou  that  vindicat'st  the  glories 
Of  passed  ages,  and  renewst 
Their  acts  which  euery  day  thou  'viewst, 
And  from  a  lethargy  dost  keepe 
Old  nodding  time,  else  prone  to  sleepe.  380 

Chorus.     Clio  O  craue  0/*Phcebus  to  inspire 
Vs,for  his  Altars  with  his  holiest  f  re, 
And  let  his  glorious  euer-shining  Rayes 
Giue  life  and  growth  to  our  Elizian  Bayes. 

Nimphes.    Melpomine  thou  melancholly  Maid 
Next,  to  wise  Phoebus  we  inuoke  thy  ayd, 
In  Buskins  that  dost  stride  the  Stage, 
And  in  thy  deepe  distracted  rage, 
In  blood-shed  that  dost  take  delight, 

Thy  obiect  the  most  fearfull  sight,  390 

That  louest  the  sighes,  the  shreekes,  and  sounds 
Of  horrors,  that  arise  from  wounds. 


The  third  Nimphall          189 

Chorus.     Sad  Muse,  O  craue  of  Phoebus  to  inspire 
Vs  for  his  Altars,  with  his  holiest  f re, 
And  let  his  glorious  euer-shining  Rayes 
Glue  life  and  growth  to  our  Elizian  Bayes. 

Nimphes.     Comtek  Thalia  then  we  come  to  thee^ 
Thou  mirthfuU  May  den,  onely  that  In  glee 
And  loues  deceits ,  thy  pleasure  tak'st, 

Of  which  thy  'varying  Scene  that  mak'st  400 

And  In  thy  nimble  Sock  do'st  stirre 
Loude  laughter  through  the  Theater, 
That  with  the  Peasant  mak'st  the  sport, 
As  well  as  with  the  better  sort. 

Chorus.     Thalia  craue  of  Phoebus  to  inspire 
Vs  for  his  Alters  with  his  holyest  fier  ,• 
And  let  his  glorious  euer-shining  Rayes 
Glue  life,  and  growth  to  our  Elizian  B ayes. 

Nimphes.     Euterpe  next  to  thee  we  will  proceed, 
That  first  soundest  out  the  Muslck  on  the  Reed,  410 

With  breath  and  fingers  gluing  life, 
To  the  shrill  Cornet  and  the  Fyfe. 
Teaching  euery  stop  and  kaye, 
To  those  <vpon  the  Pipe  that  playe, 
Those  which  Wind-Instruments  we  call 
Or  soft,  or  lowd,  or  greate,  or  small, 

Chorus.     Euterpe  aske  o^Phebus  to  Inspire, 
Vs  for  his  Alters  with  his  holyest  fire 
And  let  his  glorious  euer-shining  Rayes 
Glue  life  and  growth  to  our  Elizian  Bayes.  410 

Nimphes.     Terpsichore  that  of  the  Lute  and  Lyre, 
And  Instruments  that  sound  with  Cords  and  wycre, 
That  art  the  Mistres,  to  commaund 
The  touch  of  the  most  Curious  hand, 
When  euery  Quauer  doth  Imbrace 
His  like  in  a  true  Diapase, 
And  euery  string  his  sound  doth  fill 
Toucht  with  the  Finger  or  the  Quill. 

Chorus.     Terpsichore,  craue  Phebus  to  Inspire 
Vs  for  his  Alters  with  his  holyest  fier  430 


190  Muses  Elizium 


And  let  his  glorious  euer-shlnlng  Rayes 
Glue  life  and  growth  to  our  Elizian  Bayes. 

Nimphes.     Then  Erato  wise  muse  on  thee  we  call, 
In  Lynes  to  vs  that  do'st  demonstrate  all, 
Which  neatly,  with  thy  staff e  and  Bowe, 
Do'st  measure,  and  proportion  showe  • 
Motion  and  Gesture  that  dost  teach 
That  every  height  and  depth  canst  reach, 
And  do'st  demonstrate  by  thy  Art 
What  nature  else  'would  not  Impart.  440 

Chorus.     Deare  Erato  craue  Phebus  to  Inspire 
Vs  for  his  Alters  'with  his  holy  est  fire, 
And  let  his  glorious  euer-shlnlng  Rayes, 
Glue  life  and  growth  to  our  Elizian  Bayes. 

Nimphes.  To  thee  then  hraue  Caliope  we  come 
Thou  that  maintain' st,  the  Trumpet^  and  the  Drum  • 
The  neighing  Steed  that  louest  to  heare^ 
Clashing  of  Armes  doth  please  thine  eare^ 
In  lofty  Lines  that  do'st  rehearse 

Things  'worthy  of  a  thundrlng  verse ^  450 

And  at  no  tyme  are  heard  to  stralne^ 
On  ought  that  suits  a  Common  <vayne. 

Chorus.     Caliope,  craue  Phebus  to  inspire, 
Vs  for  his  Alters  'with  his  holyest  fer, 
And  let  his  glorious  euer-shlnlng  Rayes, 
Glue  life  and  growth  to  our  Elizian  Bayes. 

Nimphes.   Then  Polyhymnia  most  delicious  Mayd, 
In  Rhetoricks  Flowers  that  art  arayd^ 
In  Tropes  and  "Figures ,  richly  drest^ 

The  Fyled  Phrase  that  louest  best,  4.60 

That  art  all  ^Elocution,  and 
The  first  that  gau'st  to  understand 
The  force  of 'wordes  In  order  placd 
And  with  a  sweet  delluery  graced. 

Chorus.  Sweet  Muse  per s wade  our  Phoebus  to  Inspire 
Vs  for  his  Altars,  with  his  holiest  fire, 
And  let  his  glorious  euer  shining  Rayes 
Glue  life  and  growth  to  our  Elizian  Bayes. 


The  third  Nimphall          191 

Nimphes.  Lofty  Vrania  then  we  call  to  thee. 
To  whom  the  He au ens  for  euer  opened  be^  4.70 

Thou  th*  Asterismes  by  name  dost  call^ 
And  shewst  when  they  doe  rise  and  fall 
Each  Planets  force 3  and  dost  diuine 
His  working^  seated  in  his  Stgne, 
And  hoia  the  starry  Frame  still  roules 
Betwixt  the  fixed  stedfast  Poles. 

Chorus.  Vrania  aske  of  Phoebus  to  inspire 
Vs  for  his  Altars  with  his  holiest  fire ', 
And  let  his  glorious  euer-shining  Rayes 
Give  life  and  growth  to  our  Elizian  Bayes.  480 


The  fourth  Nimphall 

CLORIS  and  MERTILLA. 

Chaste  Cloris  doth  disclose  the  shames 
Of  the  Felici  an  fr  antique 
Mertilla  striues  t3  apease  her 
To  golden  wishes  then  they  goe. 

Mertilla.  Why  how  now  Cloris,  what,  thy  head 
Bound  with  forsaken  Willow  ? 
Is  the  cold  ground  become  thy  bed  ? 
The  grasse  become  thy  Pillow  ? 
O  let  not  those  life-lightning  eyes 
In  this  sad  vayle  be  shrowded, 
Which  into  mourning  puts  the  Skyes, 
To  see  them  ouer-clowded. 

Cloris.  O  my  Mertilla  doe  not  praise 
These  Lampes  so  dimly  burning,  I  o 

Such  sad  and  sullen  lights  as  these 
Were  onely  made  for  mourning : 
Their  obiects  are  the  barren  Rocks 
With  aged  Mosse  o'r  shaded  ; 
Now  whilst  the  Spring  layes  forth  her  Locks 
With  blossomes  brauely  braded. 


Muses  Elizium 

Mertilla.  O  Claris,  Can  there  be  a  Spring, 
O  my  deare  Nimph,  there  may  not, 
Wanting  thine  eyes  it  forth  to  bring, 
Without  which  Nature  cannot :  zo 

Say  what  it  is  that  troubleth  thee 
Encreast  by  thy  concealing, 
Speake ;  sorrowes  many  times  we  see 
Are  lesned  by  reuealing. 

Claris.  Being  of  late  too  vainely  bent 
And  but  at  too  much  leasure ; 
Not  with  our  Groves  and  Downes  content, 
But  surfetting  in  pleasure ; 
Felicia's  Fields  I  would  goe  see, 
Where  fame  to  me  reported,  30 

The  choyce  Nimphes  of  the  world  to  be 
From  meaner  beauties  sorted ; 
Hoping  that  I  from  them  might  draw 
Some  graces  to  delight  me, 
But  there  such  monstrous  shapes  I  saw, 
That  to  this  houre  affright  me. 
Throw  the  thick  Hayre,  that  thatch'd  their  Browes, 
Their  eyes  vpon  me  stared, 
Like  to  those  raging  fr antique  Froes 
For  Bacchus  Feasts  prepared  :  40 

Their  Bodies,  although  straight  by  kinde, 
Yet  they  so  monstrous  make  them, 
That  for  huge  Bags  blowne  vp  with  wind, 
You  very  well  may  take  them. 
Their  Bowels  in  their  Elbowes  are, 
Whereon  depend  their  Panches, 
And  their  deformed  Armes  by  farre 
Made  larger  than  their  Hanchcs  : 
For  their  behauiour  and  their  grace, 
Which  likewise  should  haue  priz'd  them,  50 

Their  manners  were  as  beastly  base 
As  th'  rags  that  so  disguisd  them ; 
All  Anticks,  all  so  impudent, 
So  fashon'd  out  of  fashion, 
As  blacke  Cocytus  vp  had  sent 


The  fourth  Nimphall         193 

Her  Fry  into  this  nation, 

Whose  monstrousnesse  doth  so  perplex, 

Of  Reason  and  depriues  me, 

That  for  their  sakes  I  loath  my  sex, 

Which  to  this  sadnesse  driues  me.  60 

Mertilla.  O  my  deare  Claris  be  not  sad, 
Nor  with  these  Furies  danted, 
But  let  these  female  fboles  be  mad, 
With  Hellish  pride  inchanted ; 
Let  not  thy  noble  thoughts  descend 
So  low  as  their  affections  • 
Whom  neither  counsell  can  amend, 
Nor  yet  the  Gods  corrections : 
Such  mad  folks  ne'r  let  vs  bemoane, 
But  rather  scorne  their  folly,  70 

And  since  we  two  are  here  alone, 
To  banish  melancholly, 
Leaue  we  this  lowly  creeping  vayne 
Not  worthy  admiration, 
And  in  a  braue  and  lofty  strayne, 
Lets  exercise  our  passion, 
With  wishes  of  each  others  good, 
From  our  abundant  treasures, 
And  in  this  iocund  sprightly  mood : 
Thus  alter  we  our  measures.  80 

Mertilla.  O  I  could  wish  this  place  were  strewd  with  Roses, 
And  that  this  Banck  were  thickly  thrumd  with  Grasse 
As  soft  as  Sleaue,  or  Sarcenet  euer  was, 
Whereon  my  CMs  her  sweet  selfe  reposes. 

Claris.  O  that  these  Dewes  Rosewater  were  for  thee, 
These  Mists  Perfumes  that  hang  vpon  these  thicks, 
And  that  the  Winds  were  all  Aromaticks, 
Which,  if  my  wish  could  make  them,  they  should  bee. 

Mertilla.  O  that  my  Bottle  one  whole  Diamond  were, 
So  fild  with  Nectar  that  a  Flye  might  sup,  90 

And  at  one  draught  that  thou  mightst  drinke  it  vp, 
Yet  a  Carouse  not  good  enough  I  feare. 


194-  Muses  Elizium 

Claris.  That  all  the  Pearle,  the  Seas,  or  Indias  haue 
Were  well  dissolu'd,  and  thereof  made  a  Lake, 
Thou  there  in  bathing,  and  I  by  to  take 
Pleasure  to  see  thee  cleerer  than  the  Waue. 

Mertilla.  O  that  the  Homes  of  all  the  Heards  we  see. 
Were  of  fine  gold,  or  else  that  euery  home 
Were  like  to  that  one  of  the  Vnicorne, 
And  of  all  these,  not  one  but  were  thy  Fee.  100 

Claris.  O  that  their  Hooues  were  luory,  or  some  thing, 
Then  the  purest  luory  farre  more  Christalline, 
Fild  with  the  food  wherewith  the  Gods  doe  dine, 
To  keepe  thy  Youth  in  a  continuall  Spring. 

Mertilla.  O  that  the  sweets  of  all  the  Flowers  that  grow, 
The  labouring  ayre  would  gather  into  one, 
In  Gardens,  Fields,  nor  Meadowes  leauing  none, 
And  all  their  Sweetnesse  vpon  thee  would  throw, 

Claris.  Nay  that  those  sweet  harmonious  straines  we  heare, 
Amongst  the  liuely  Birds  melodious  Layes,  no 

As  they  recording  sit  vpon  the  Sprayes, 
Were  houering  still  for  Musick  at  thine  eare. 

Mertilla.  O  that  thy  name  were  caru'd  on  euery  Tree, 
That  as  these  plants  still  great,  and  greater  grow, 
Thy  name  deare  Nimph  might  be  enlarged  so, 
That  euery  Groue  and  Coppis  might  speake  thee. 

Claris.  Nay  would  thy  name  vpon  their  Rynds  were  set, 
And  by  the  Nimphes  so  oft  and  lowdly  spoken, 
As  that  the  Ecchoes  to  that  language  broken 
Thy  happy  name  might  hourely  counterfet.  no 

Mertilla.  O  let  the  Spring  still  put  sterne  winter  by, 
And  in  rich  Damaske  let  her  Reuell  still, 
As  it  should  doe  if  I  might  haue  my  will, 
That  thou  mightst  still  walke  on  her  Tapistry ; 
And  thus  since  Fate  no  longer  time  alowes 
Vnder  this  broad  and  shady  Sicamore, 
Where  now  we  sit,  as  we  haue  oft  before  • 
Those  yet  vnborne  shall  offer  vp  their  Vowes. 


197 

The  fift  Nimphall 
CLAIA,  LELIPA,  CLARINAX  a  Hermit 

Of  Garlands,  Anadems,  and  Wreathes^ 
This  Nimphall  nought  but  sweetnesse  breathes^ 
Presents  you  with  delicious  Posies y. 
And  with  powerful!  Simples  closes. 

Claia.  SEE  where  old  Clarlnax  is  set, 
His  sundry  Simples  sorting, 
From  whose  experience  we  may  get 
What  worthy  is  reporting. 
Then  Lelipa  let  vs  draw  neere, 
Whilst  he  his  weedes  is  weathering, 
I  see  some  powerfull  Simples  there 
That  he  hath  late  bin  gathering. 
Hail  gentle  Hermit,  love  thee  speed, 
And  haue  thee  in  his  keeping,  10 

And  euer  helpe  thee  at  thy  need, 
Be  thou  awake  or  sleeping. 

Clarlnax.  Ye  payre  of  most  Celestiall  lights, 
O  Beauties  three  times  burnisht, 
Who  could  expect  such  heauenly  wights 
With  Angels  features  furnisht ; 
What  God  doth  guide  you  to  this  place, 
To  blesse  my  homely  Bower  ? 
It  cannot  be  but  this  high  grace 
Proceeds  from  some  high  power ;  ao 

The  houres  like  hand-maids  still  attend, 
Disposed  at  your  pleasure, 
Ordayned  to  noe  other  end 
But  to  awaite  your  leasure ; 
The  Deawes  drawne  vp  into  the  Aer, 
And  by  your  breathes  perfumed, 
Jn  little  Clouds  doe  houer  there 
As  loath  to  be  consumed : 
The  Aer  moues  not  but  as  you  please, 
So  much  sweet  Nimphes  it  owes  you,  30 

o  ^ 


Muses  Elizium 

The  winds  doe  cast  them  to  their  ease, 
And  amorously  inclose  you. 

Leltpa.  Be  not  too  lauish  of  thy  praise, 
Thou  good  Elizian  Hermit, 
Lest  some  to  heare  such  words  as  these, 
Perhaps  may  flattery  tearme  it  • 
But  of  your  Simples  something  say, 
Which  may  discourse  afFoord  vs, 
We  know  your  knowledge  lyes  that  way, 
With  subiects  you  haue  stor'd  vs.  40 

data.  We  know  for  Physick  yours  you  get, 
Which  thus  you  heere  are  sorting, 
And  vpon  garlands  we  are  set, 
With  Wreathes  and  Posyes  sporting : 

Leltya.  The  Chaplet  and  the  Anadem, 
The  curled  Tresses  crowning, 
We  looser  Nimphes  delight  in  them, 
Not  in  your  Wreathes  renowning. 

Clartnax.  The  Garland  long  agoe  was  worne, 
As  Time  pleased  to  bestow  it,  jo 

The  Lawrell  onely  to  adorne 
The  Conquerer  and  the  Poet. 
The  Palme  his  due,  who  vncontrould, 
On  danger  looking  grauely, 
When  Fate  had  done  the  worst  it  could, 
Who  bore  his  Fortunes  brauely. 
Most  worthy  of  the  Oken  Wreath 
The  Ancients  him  esteemed, 
Who  in  a  Battle  had  from  death 

Some  man  of  worth  redeemed.  60 

About  his  temples  Grasse  they  tye, 
Himselfe  that  so  behaued 
In  some  strong  Seedge  by  th'  Enemy, 
A  City  that  hath  saued. 
A  Wreath  of  Vervaine  Herhauts  weare, 
Amongst  our  Garlands  named, 
Being  sent  that  dreadfull  newes  to  beare, 
OfFensiue  warre  proclaimed. 


Thefift  Nimphall  197 

The  Signe  of  Peace  who  first  displayes, 

The  Oliue  Wreath  possesses :  70 

The  Louer  with  the  Myrtle  Sprayes 

Adornes  his  crisped  Tresses. 

In  Loue  the  sad  forsaken  wight 

The  Willow  Garland  weareth  : 

The  Funerall  man  befitting  night, 

The  balefull  Cipresse  beareth. 

To  Pan  we  dedicate  the  Pine, 

Whose  Slips  the  Shepherd  graceth : 

Againe  the  Ivie  and  the  Vine 

On  his,  swolne  Bacchus  placeth.  80 

data.  The  Boughes  and  Sprayes,  of  which  you  tell, 
By  you  are  rightly  named. 
But  we  with  those  of  pretious  smell 
And  colours  are  enflamed ; 
The  noble  Ancients  to  excite 
Men  to  doe  things  worth  crowning, 
Not  vnperformed  left  a  Rite, 
To  heighten  their  renowning : 
But  they  that  those  rewards  deuis'd, 
And  those  braue  wights  that  wore  them  90 

By  these  base  times,  though  poorely  priz'd, 
Yet  Hermit  we  adore  them. 
The  store  of  euery  fruitfull  Field 
We  Nimphes  at  will  possessing, 
From  that  variety  they  yeeld 
Get  flowers  for  euery  dressing : 
Of  which  a  Garland  He  compose, 
Then  busily  attend  me. 
These  flowers  I  for  that  purpose  chose, 
But  where  I  misse  amend  me.  100 

Clarinax.  Well  Claia  on  with  your  intent, 
Lets  see  how  you  will  weaue  it, 
Which  done,  here  for  a  monument 
I  hope  with  me,  you'll  leaue  it. 

Claia.  Here  Damaske  Roses,  white  and  red, 
Out  of  my  lap  first  take  I, 


198  Muses  Elizium 

Which  still  shall  runne  along  the  thred, 

My  chiefest  Flower  this  make  I : 

Amongst  these  Roses  in  a  row, 

Next  place  I  Pinks  in  plenty,  no 

These  double  Daysyes  then  for  show, 

And  will  not  this  be  dainty. 

The  pretty  Pansy  then  He  tye 

Like  Stones  some  Chaine  inchasing, 

And  next  to  them  their  neere  Alye, 

The  purple  Violet  placing. 

The  curious  choyce,  Clove  luly-flower, 

Whose  kinds  hight  the  Carnation 

For  sweetnesse  of  most  soueraine  power 

Shall  helpe  my  Wreath  to  fashion.  no 

Whose  sundry  cullers  of  one  kinde 

First  from  one  Root  derived, 

Them  in  their  seuerall  sutes  lie  binde, 

My  Garland  so  contriued ; 

A  course  of  Cowslips  then  I'll  stick, 

And  here  and  there  though  sparely 

The  pleasant  Primrose  downe  He  prick 

Like  Pearles,  which  will  show  rarely : 

Then  with  these  Marygolds  He  make 

My  Garland  somewhat  swelling,  130 

These  Hony suckles  then  He  take, 

Whose  sweets  shall  helpe  their  smelling : 

The  Lilly  and  the  Flower  delice, 

For  colour  much  contenting, 

For  that,  I  them  doe  only  prize, 

They  are  but  pore  in  senting : 

The  DafFadill  most  dainty  is 

To  match  with  these  in  meetnesse; 

The  Columbyne  compared  to  this, 

All  much  alike  for  sweetnesse.  140 

These  in  their  natures  onely  are 

Fit  to  embosse  the  border, 

Therefore  lie  take  especiall  care 

To  place  them  in  their  order : 

Sweet- Williams,  Campions,  Sops-in-Wine 

One  by  another  neatly : 


The  fift  Nimphall  199 

Thus  haue  I  made  this  Wreath  of  mine. 
And  finished  it  featly. 

Lelipa.  Your  Garland  thus  you  finisht  haue. 
Then  as  we  haue  attended 
Your  leasure,  likewise  let  me  craue 
1  may  the  like  be  friended. 
Those  gaudy  garish  Flowers  you  chuse, 
In  which  our  Nimphes  are  flaunting, 
Which  they  at  Feasts  and  Brydals  vse, 
The  sight  and  smell  inchanting : 
A  Chaplet  me  of  Hearbs  He  make 
Then  which  though  yours  be  brauer, 
Yet  this  of  myne  Tie  vndertake 
Shall  not  be  short  in  fauour.  160 

With  Basill  then  I  will  begin, 
Whose  scent  is  wondrous  pleasing, 
This  Eglantine  Tie  next  put  in, 
The  sense  with  sweetnes  seasing. 
Then  in  my  Lauender  Fie  lay, 
Muscado  put  among  it, 
And  here  and  there  a  leafe  of  Bay, 
Which  still  shall  runne  along  it. 
Germander,  Marieram,  and  Tyme 
Which  vsed  are  for  strewing,  170 

With  Hisop  as  an  hearbe  most  pryme 
Here  in  my  wreath  bestowing. 
Then  Balme  and  Mynt  helps  to  make  vp 
My  Chaplet,  and  for  Tryall, 
Costmary  that  so  likes  the  Cup, 
And  next  it  Penieryall 
Then  Burnet  shall  beare  vp  with  this 
Whose  leafe  I  greatly  fansy, 
Some  Camomile  doth  not  amisse, 
With  Sauory  and  some  Tansy,  180 

Then  heere  and  there  Tie  put  a  sprig 
Of  Rosemary  into  it 
Thus  not  too  little  or  too  big 
Tis  done  if  I  can  doe  it. 

Clarinax.  data  your  Garland  is  most  gaye, 


^oo  Muses  Elizium 

Compos'd  of  curious  Flowers, 

And  so  most  louely  Leltpa, 

This  Chaplet  is  of  yours, 

In  goodly  Gardens  yours  you  get 

Where  you  your  laps  haue  laded ; 

My  symples  are  by  Nature  set, 

In  Groues  and  Fields  vntraded. 

Your  Flowers  most  curiously  you  twyne, 

Each  one  his  place  supplying. 

But  these  rough  harsher  Hearbs  of  mine, 

About  me  rudely  lying, 

Of  which  some  dwarfish  Weeds  there  be, 

Some  of  a  larger  stature, 

Some  by  experience  as  we  see, 

Whose  names  expresse  their  nature,  zoo 

Heere  is  my  Moly  of  much  fame, 

In  Magicks  often  vsed, 

Mugwort  and  Night-shade  for  the  same 

But  not  by  me  abused  • 

Here  Henbane,  Popy,  Hemblock  here, 

Procuring  Deadly  sleeping, 

Which  I  doe  minister  with  Feare, 

Not  fit  for  each  mans  keeping. 

Heere  holy  Veruayne,  and  heere  Dill, 

Against  witchcraft  much  auailing.  aio 

Here  Horhound  gainst  the  Mad  dogs  ill 

By  biting,  neuer  failing. 

Here  Mandrake  that  procureth  loue, 

In  poysning  philters  mixed. 

And  makes  the  Barren  fruitfull  proue, 

The  Root  about  them  fixed. 

Inchaunting  Lunary  here  lyes 

In  Sorceries  excelling, 

And  this  is  Dictam,  which  we  prize 

Shot  shafts  and  Darts  expelling,  210 

Here  Saxifrage  against  the  stone 

That  PowerfSl  is  approued, 

Here  Dodder  by  whose  helpe  alone, 

Ould  Agues  are  remoued 

Here  Mercury,  here  Helibore, 


Thefift  Kimfoall  xci 

Ould  Vlcers  mundifying, 

And  Shepheards-Purse  the  Flux  most  sore, 

That  helpes  by  the  applying ; 

Here  wholsome  Plantane,  that  the  payne 

Of  Eyes  and  Eares  appeases ; 

Here  cooling  Sorrell  that  againe 

We  vse  in  hot  diseases : 

The  medcinable  Mallow  here, 

Asswaging  sudaine  Tumors, 

The  iagged  Polypodium  there, 

To  purge  ould  rotten  humors, 

Next  these  here  Egremony  is, 

That  helpes  the  Serpents  byting, 

The  blessed  Betony  by  this. 

Whose  cures  deseruen  writing : 

This  All-heale,  and  so  nam'd  of  right, 

New  wounds  so  quickly  healing, 

A  thousand  more  I  could  recyte, 

Most  worthy  of  Reuealing, 

But  that  I  hindred  am  by  Fate, 

And  busnesse  doth  preuent  me, 

To  cure  a  mad  man,  which  of  late 

Is  from  Felicia  sent  me. 

Claia.  Nay  then  thou  hast  inough  to  doe, 
We  pity  thy  enduring,  150 

For  they  are  there  infected  soe, 
That  they  are  past  thy  curing. 


The  sixt  Nimphall 
SILVIVS,  HALCIVS,  MELANTHVS. 

A  Woodman^  Fisher ',  and  a  Sitiaine 

This  Nimphall  through  with  mirth  maintaine. 
Whose  pleadings  so  the  Nimphes  doe  please y 

That  presently  they  giue  them  Bayes* 

Cleere  had  the  day  bin  from  the  dawne, 
All  chequerd  was  the  Skye, 


^o^  Muses  Elizium 

Thin  Clouds  like  Scarfs  of  Cobweb  Lawne 

Vayld  Heauen's  most  glorious  eye. 

The  Winde  had  no  more  strength  then  this, 

That  leasurely  it  blew, 

To  make  one  leafe  the  next  to  kisse, 

That  closly  by  it  grew. 

The  Rils  that  on  the  Pebbles  playd, 

Might  now  be  heard  at  will;  10 

This  world  they  onely  Musick  made, 

Else  euerything  was  still. 

The  Flowers  like  braue  embraudred  Gerles, 

Lookt  as  they  much  desired, 

To  see  whose  head  with  orient  Pearles, 

Most  curiously  was  tyred  ; 

And  to  it  selfe  the  subtle  Ayre, 

Such  souerainty  assumes, 

That  it  receiu'd  too  large  a  share 

From  natures  rich  perfumes.  ao 

When  the  Elizian  Youth  were  met, 

That  were  of  most  account, 

And  to  disport  themselues  were  set 

Vpon  an  easy  Mount : 

Neare  which,  of  stately  Firre  and  Pine 

There  grew  abundant  store, 

The  Tree  that  weepeth  Turpentine, 

And  shady  Sicamore. 

Amongst  this  merry  youthfull  trayne 

A  Forrester  they  had,  30 

A  Fisher,  and  a  Shepheards  swayne 

A  liuely  Countrey  Lad  : 

Betwixt  which  three  a  question  grew, 

Who  should  the  worthiest  be, 

Which  violently  they  pursue, 

Nor  stickled  would  they  be. 

That  it  the  Company  doth  please 

This  ciuill  strife  to  stay, 

Freely  to  heare  what  each  of  these 

For  his  braue  selfe  could  say  :  40 

When  first  this  Forrester  (of  all) 

That  Silvius  had  to  name, 


The  sixt  NimpJoall  103 


To  whom  the  Lot  being  cast  doth  fall, 
Doth  thus  begin  the  Game. 


.  For  my  profession  then,  and  for  the  life  I  lead, 
All  others  to  excell,  thus  for  my  selfe  I  plead  ; 
I  am  the  Prince  of  sports,  the  Forrest  is  my  Fee, 
He's  not  vpon  the  Earth  for  pleasure  Hues  like  me  ; 
The  Morne  no  sooner  puts  her  rosye  Mantle  on, 
But  from  my  quyet  Lodge  I  instantly  am  gone,  yo 

When  the  melodious  Birds  from  euery  Bush  and  Bryer, 
Of  the  wilde  spacious  Wasts,  make  a  continuall  quire  ; 
The  motlied  Meadowes  then,  new  vernisht  with  the  Sunne 
Shute  vp  their  spicy  sweets  vpon  the  winds  that  runne, 
In  easly  ambling  Gales,  and  softly  seeme  to  pace, 
That  it  the  longer  might  their  lushiousnesse  imbrace  : 
I  am  clad  in  youthfull  Greene,  I  other  colour,  scorne, 
My  silken  Bauldrick  beares  my  Beugle,  or  my  Home, 
Which  setting  to  my  Lips,  I  winde  so  lowd  and  shrill, 
As    makes    the   Ecchoes  showte  from   euery   neighbouring 
Hill  :  60 

My  Doghooke  at  my  Belt,  to  which  my  Lyam's  tyde, 
My  Sheafe  of  Arrowes  by,  my  Woodknife  at  my  Syde, 
My  Crosse-bow  in  my  Hand,  my  Gaffle  or  my  Rack 
To  bend  it  when  I  please,  or  it  I  list  to  slack, 
My  Hound  then  in  my  Lyam,  I  by  the  Woodmans  art 
Forecast,  where  I  may  lodge  the  goodly  Hie-palm'd  Hart, 
To  viewe  the  grazing  H  cards,  so  sundry  times  I  vse, 
Where  by  the  loftiest  Head  I  know  my  Deare  to  chuse,   . 
And  to  vnheard  him  then,  I  gallop  o'r  the  ground 
Vpon  my  wel-breath'd  Nag,  to  cheere  my  earning  Hound.  70 
Sometime  I  pitch  my  Toyles  the  Deare  aliue  to  take, 
Sometime  I  like  the  Cry,  the  deep-mouth'd  Kennell  make, 
Then  vnderneath  my  Horse,  I  staulke  my  game  to  strike, 
And  with  a  single  Dog  to  hunt  him  hurt,  I  like. 
The  Siluians  are  to  me  true  subiects,  I  their  King, 
The  stately  Hart,  his  Hind  doth  to  my  presence  bring, 
The  Buck  his  loued  Doe,  the  Roe  his  tripping  Mate, 
Before  me  to  my  Bower,  whereas  I  sit  in  State. 
The  Dryads,  Hamadryads,  the  Satyres  and  the  Fawnes 
Oft  play  at  Hyde  and  Seeke  before  me  on  the  Lawnes,        80 


Muses  Elizium 

The  frisking  Fayry  oft  when  horned  Cinthia  shines 

Before  me  as  I  walke  dance  wanton  Matachynes, 

The  numerous  feathered  flocks  that  the  wild  Forrests  haunt 

Their  Siluan  songs  to  me,  in  cheerefull  dittyes  chaunte, 

The  Shades  like  ample  Sheelds,  defend  me  from  the  Sunne, 

Through  which  me  to  refresh  the  gentle  Riuelets  runne, 

No  little  bubling  Brook  from  any  Spring  that  falls 

But  on  the  Pebbles  playes  me  pretty  Madrigals. 

I'  th'  morne  I  clime  the  Hills,  where  wholsome  winds  do 

blow, 

At  Noone-tyde  to  the  Vales,  and  shady  Groues  below,       90 
Towards  Euening  I  againe  the  Chrystall  Floods  frequent, 
In  pleasure  thus  my  life  continually  is  spent. 
As  Princes  and  great  Lords  haue  Pallaces,  so  I 
Haue  in  the  Forrests  here,  my  Hall  and  Gallery 
The  tall  and  stately  Woods,  which  vnderneath  are  Plaine, 
The  Groues  my  Gardens  are,  the  Heath  and  Downes  againe 
My  wide  and  spacious  walkes,  then  say  all  what  ye  can, 
The  Forrester  is  still  your  only  gallant  man. 

He  of  his  speech  scarce  made  an  end, 

But  him  they  load  with  prayse,  100 

The  Nimphes  most  highly  him  commend, 

And  vow  to  giue  him  Bayes  : 

He's  now  cryde  vp  of  euery  one, 

And  who  but  onely  he, 

The  Forrester's  the  man  alone, 

The  worthyest  of  the  three. 

When  some  then  th'  other  farre  more  stayd, 

Wil'd  them  a  while  to  pause, 

For  there  was  more  yet  to  be  sayd, 

That  might  deserve  applause,  no 

When  Halcius  his  turne  next  plyes, 

And  silence  hauing  wonne, 

Roome  for  the  fisher  man  he  cryes, 

And  thus  his  Plea  begunne. 

Halcius.  No  Forrester,  it  so  must  not  be  borne  away, 
But  heare  what  for  himselfe  the  Fisher  first  can  say, 
The  Chrystall  current  Streames  continually  I  keepe, 
Where  euery  Pearle-pau'd  Foard,  and  euery  Blew-eyd  deepe 


The  sixt  Nimphall          105- 

With  me  familiar  are  ;  when  in  my  Boate  being  set, 

My  Oare  I  take  in  hand,  my  Angle  and  my  Net  iao 

About  me  ;  like  a  Prince  my  selfe  in  state  I  steer, 

Now  vp,  now  downe  the  Streame,  now  am  I  here,  now  ther, 

The  Pilot  and  the  Fraught  my  selfe  ;  and  at  my  ease 

Can  land  me  where  I  list,  or  in  what  place  I  please, 

The  Siluer-scaled  Sholes,  about  me  in  the  Streames, 

As  thick  as  ye  discerne  the  Atoms  in  the  Beames, 

Neare  to  the  shady  Banck  where  slender  Sallowes  grow, 

And  Willows  their  shag'd  tops  downe  t'wards  the  waters  bow 

I  shove  in  with  my  Boat  to  sheeld  me  from  the  heat, 

Where  chusing  from  my  Bag,  some  prou'd  especiall  bayt,  130 

The  goodly  well  growne  Trout  I  with  my  Angle  strike, 

And  with  my  bearded  Wyer  I  take  the  rauenous  Pike, 

Of  whom  when  I  haue  hould,  he  seldome  breakes  away 

Though  at  my  Lynes  full  length,  soe  long  I  let  him  play 

Till  by  my  hand  I  finde  he  well-nere  wearyed  be, 

When  softly  by  degrees  I  drawe  him  vp  to  me. 

The  lusty  Samon  to,  I  oft  with  Angling  take, 

Which  me  aboue  the  rest  most  Lordly  sport  doth  make, 

Who  feeling  he  is  caught,  such  Frisks  and  bounds  doth  fetch, 

And  by  his  very  strength  my  Line  soe  farre  doth  stretch,  140 

As  draws  my  floating  Corcke  downe  to  the  very  ground, 

And  wresting  at  my  Rod,  doth  make  my  Boat  turne  round. 

I  neuer  idle  am,  some  tyme  I  bayt  my  Weeks, 

With  which  by  night  I  take  the  dainty  siluer  Eeles, 

And  with  my  Draughtnet  then,  I  sweepe  the  streaming  Flood, 

And  to  my  Tramell  next,  and  Cast-net  from  the  Mud, 

I  beate  the  Scaly  brood,  noe  hower  I  idely  spend, 

But  wearied  with  my  worke  I  bring  the  day  to  end : 

The  Naijdes  and  Nymphes  that  in  the  Riuers  keepe, 

Which  take  into  their  care,  the  store  of  euery  deepe, 

Amongst  the  Flowery  flags,  the  Bullrushes  and  Reed, 

That  of  the  Spawne  haue  charge  (abundantly  to  breed) 

Well  mounted  vpon  Swans,  their  naked  bodys  lend 

To  my  discerning  eye,  and  on  my  Boate  attend, 

And  dance  vpon  the  Waues,  before  me  (for  my  sake) 

To  th'  Musick  the  soft  wynd  vpon  the  Reeds  doth  make: 

And  for  my  pleasure  more,  the  rougher  Gods  of  Seas 

From  Neptune's  Court  send  in  the  blew  Neriades, 


^o6  Muses  Elizium 

Which  from  his  bracky  Realme  vpon  the  Billowes  ride 

And  beare  the  Riuers  backe  with  euery  streaming  Tyde,  160 

Those  Billowes  gainst  my  Boate,  borne  with  delightfull  Gales, 

Oft  seeming  as  I  rowe  to  tell  me  pretty  tales, 

Whilst  Ropes  of  liquid  Pearle  still  load  my  laboring  Oares, 

As  streacht  vpon  the  Streame  they  stryke  me  to  the  Shores  : 

The  silent  medowes  seeme  delighted  with  my  Layes, 

As  sitting  in  my  Boate  I  sing  my  Lasses  praise. 

Then  let  them  that  like,  the  Forrester  vp  cry, 

Your  noble  Fisher  is  your  only  man  say  I. 

This  speech  of  Halcius  turn'd  the  Tyde, 

And  brought  it  so  about,  1 70 

That  all  vpon  the  Fisher  cryde, 

That  he  would  beare  it  out ; 

Him  for  the  speech  he  made,  to  clap 

Who  lent  him  not  a  hand, 

And  said  t'would  be  the  Waters  hap, 

Quite  to  put  downe  the  Land. 

This  while  Melanthus  silent  sits, 

(For  so  the  Shepheard  hight) 

And  hauing  heard  these  dainty  wits, 

Each  pleading  for  his  right ;  180 

To  heare  them  honor'd  in  this  wise, 

His  patience  doth  prouoke, 

When  for  a  Shepheard  roome  he  cryes, 

And  for  himselfe  thus  spoke. 

Melanthus.  Well  Fisher  you  haue  done,  and  Forrester  for 

you 

Your  Tale  is  neatly  tould,  s'are  both's  to  giue  you  due, 
And  now  my  turne  comes  next,  then  heare  a  Shepherd  speak  : 
My  watchfulnesse  and  care  giues  day  scarce  leaue  to  break, 
But  to  the  Fields  I  haste,  my  folded  flock  to  see, 
Where  when  I  finde,  nor  Woolfe,  nor  Fox,  hath  iniur'd  me, 
I  to  my  Bottle  straight,  and  soundly  baste  my  Throat,       191 
Which  done,  some  Country  Song  or  Roundelay  1  roate 
So  merrily ;  that  to  the  musick  that  I  make, 
I  Force  the  Larke  to  sing  ere  she  be  well  awake  ; 
Then  Baull  my  cut-tayld  Curre  and  I  begin  to  play, 
He  o'r  my  Shephooke  leapes,  now  th'one,  now  th'other  way, 


The  sixt  Nimphall          107 

Then  on  his  hinder  feet  he  doth  himselfe  aduance, 
I  tune,  and  to  my  note,  my  liuely  Dog  doth  dance, 
Then  whistle  in  my  Fist,  my  fellow  Swaynes  to  call, 
Downe  goe  our  Hooks  and  Scrips,  and  we  to  Nine-holes 
fall,  200 

At  Dust-point,  or  at  Quoyts,  else  are  we  at  it  hard, 
All  false  and  cheating  Games,  we  Shepheards  are  debard  ; 
Suruaying  of  my  sheepe  if  Ewe  or  Wether  looke 
As  though  it  were  amisse,  or  with  my  Curre,  or  Crooke 
I  take  it,  and  when  once  I  finde  what  it  doth  ayle, 
It  hardly  hath  that  hurt,  but  that  my  skill  can  heale ; 
And  when  my  carefull  eye,  I  cast  vpon  my  sheepe 
I  sort  them  in  my  Pens,  and  sorted  soe  I  keepe  : 
Those  that  are  bigst  of  Boane,  I  still  reserue  for  breed, 
My  Cullings  I  put  off,  or  for  the  Chapman  feed.  210 

When  the  Euening  doth  approach  I  to  my  Bagpipe  take, 
And  to  my  Grazing  flocks  such  Musick  then  I  make, 
That  they  forbeare  to  feed ;  then  me  a  King  you  see, 
I  playing  goe  before,  my  Subiects  followe  me, 
My  Bell-weather  most  braue,  before  the  rest  doth  stalke, 
The  Father  of  the  flocke,  and  after  him  doth  walke 
My  writhen-headed  Ram,  with  Posyes  crowned  in  pride 
Fast  to  his  crooked  homes  with  Rybands  neatly  ty'd 
And  at  our  Shepheards  Board  that's  cut  out  of  the  ground, 
My  fellow  Swaynes  and  I  together  at  it  round,  220 

With  Greencheese,  clouted  Cream,  with  Flawns,  and  Cus 
tards,  stord, 

Whig,  Sider,  and  with  Whey,  I  domineer  a  Lord, 
When  shering  time  is  come  I  to  the  Riuer  driue, 
My  goodly  well-fleec'd  Flocks  :  (by  pleasure  thus  I  thriue) 
Which  being  washt  at  will ;  vpon  the  shering  day, 
My  wooll  I  foorth  in  Loaks,  fit  for  the  wynder  lay, 
Which  vpon  lusty  heapes  into  my  Coate  I  heaue, 
That  in  the  Handling  feeles  as  soft  as  any  Sleaue, 
When  euery  Ewe  two  Lambes,  that  yeaned  hath  that  yeare, 
About  her  new  shorne  neck  a  Chaplet  then  doth  weare ;  230 
My  Tarboxe,  and  my  Scrip,  my  Bagpipe,  at  my  back, 
My  Sheephooke  in  my  hand,  what  can  I  say  I  lacke ; 
He  that  a  Scepter  swayd,  a  sheephooke  in  his  hand, 
Hath  not  disdaind  to  haue,  for  Shepheards  then  I  stand  ; 


io8  Muses  Elizium 

Then  Forester  and  you  my  Fisher  cease  your  strife 
I  say  your  Shepheard  leads  your  onely  merry  life. 

They  had  not  cryd  the  Forester, 

And  Fisher  vp  before, 

So  much  :  but  now  the  Nimphes  preferre, 

The  Shephard  ten  tymes  more,  24.0 

And  all  the  Ging  goes  on  his  side, 

Their  Minion  him  they  make, 

To  him  themselues  they  all  apply'd, 

And  all  his  partie  take ; 

Till  some  in  their  discretion  cast, 

Since  first  the  strife  begunne, 

In  all  that  from  them  there  had  past 

None  absolutly  wonne ; 

That  equall  honour  they  should  share  • 

And  their  deserts  to  showe,  150 

For  each  a  Garland  they  prepare, 

Which  they  on  them  bestowe, 

Of  all  the  choisest  flowers  that  weare, 

Which  purposly  they  gather, 

With  which  they  Crowne  them,  parting  there, 

As  they  came  first  together. 


The  seuenth  Nimphall 

FLORIMEL,  LELIPA,  NAIJS,  CODRVS  a  Feriman. 

The  Nimphes,  the  Queene  of  loue  pur  sue  ^ 
Which  oft  doth  hide  her  from  their  view : 
But  lastly  from  thy  Elizian  Nation^ 
She  bantsht  is  by  Proclamation. 

Florimel.  Deare  Lelipa,  where  hast  thou  bin  so  long, 
Was't  not  enough  for  thee  to  doe  me  wrong  ; 
To  rob  me  of  thy  selfe,  but  with  more  spight 
To  take  my  Naijt  from  me,  my  delight  ? 
Yee  lazie  Girles,  your  heads  where  haue  ye  layd, 
Whil'st  Venus  here  her  anticke  prankes  hath  playd  ? 


The  seuenth  Nimphall       109 

Lelipa.     Nay  Florimel^  we  should  of  you  enquire, 
The  onely  May  den,  whom  we  all  admire 
For  Beauty,  Wit,  and  Chastity,  that  you 
Amongst  the  rest  of  all  our  Virgin  crue,  10 

In  quest  of  her,  that  you  so  slacke  should  be, 
And  leaue  the  charge  to  Naijs  and  to  me. 

Florimel.  Y'are  much  mistaken  Lelipa,  'twas  I, 
Of  all  the  Nimphes,  that  first  did  her  descry, 
At  our  great  Hunting,  when  as  in  the  Chase 
Amongst  the  rest,  me  thought  I  saw  one  face 
So  exceeding  faire,  and  curious,  yet  vnknowne 
That  I  that  face  not  possibly  could  owne. 
And  in  the  course,  so  Goddesse  like  a  gate, 
Each  step  so  full  of  maiesty  and  state ;  10 

That  with  my  selfe,  I  thus  resolu'd  that  she 
Lesse  then  a  Goddesse  (surely)  could  not  be  : 
Thus  as  Malta,  stedfastly  I  ey'd, 
A  little  Nimphe  that  kept  close  by  her  side 
I  noted,  as  vnknowne  as  was  the  other, 
Which  Cupid  was  disguis'd  so  by  his  mother. 
The  little  purblinde  Rogue,  if  you  had  scene, 
You  would  haue  thought  he  verily  had  beene 
One  of  Diana's  Votaries  so  clad, 

He  euery  thing  so  like  a  Huntresse  had  :  30 

And  she  had  put  false  eyes  into  his  head, 
That  very  well  he  might  vs  all  haue  sped. 
And  still  they  kept  together  in  the  Reare, 
But  as  the  Boy  should  haue  shot  at  the  Deare, 
He  shot  amongst  the  Nimphes,  which  when  I  saw, 
Closer  vp  to  them  I  began  to  draw  $ 
And  fell  to  hearken,  when  they  naught  suspecting, 
Because  I  seem'd  them  vtterly  neglecting, 
I  heard  her  say,  my  little  Cupid  too't, 
Now  Boy  or  neuer,  at  the  Beuie  shoot,  40 

Haue  at  them  Venus^  quoth  the  Boy  anon, 
Fie  pierce  the  proud'st,  had  she  a  heart  of  stone : 
With  that  I  cryde  out,  Treason,  Treason,  when 
The  Nimphes  that  were  before,  turning  a  gen 
To  vnderstand  the  meaning  of  this  cry, 


xio  Muses  Elizium 

They  out  of  sight  were  vanish't  presently. 
Thus  but  for  me,  the  Mother  and  the  Sonne, 
Here  in  Elizium,  had  vs  all  vndone. 

Naijs.  Beleeue  me,  gentle  Maide,  'twas  very  well, 
But  now  heare  me  my  beauteous  Florimel,  5:0 

Great  Mars  his  Lemman  being  cryde  out  here, 
She  to  Felicia  goes,  still  to  be  neare 
Th'  Elizian  Nimphes,  for  at  vs  is  her  ayme, 
The  fond  Felicians  are  her  common  game. 
I  vpon  pleasure  idly  wandring  thither, 
Something  worth  laughter  from  those  fooles  to  gather, 
Found  her,  who  thus  had  lately  beene  surpriz'd, 
Fearing  the  like,  had  her  faire  selfe  disguised 
Like  an  old  Witch,  and  gaue  out  to  haue  skill 
In  telling  Fortunes  either  good  or  ill ;  60 

And  that  more  nearly  she  with  them  might  close, 
She  cut  the  Cornes,  of  dainty  Ladies  Toes : 
She  gaue  them  Phisicke,  either  to  coole  or  mooue  them, 
And  powders  too  to  make  their  sweet  Hearts  loue  them  : 
And  her  sonne  Cupid^  as  her  Zany  went, 
Carrying  her  boxes,  whom  she  often  sent 
To  know  of  her  faire  Patients  how  they  slept. 
By  which  meanes  she,  and  the  blinde  Archer  crept 
Into  their  fauours,  who  would  often  Toy, 
And  tooke  delight  in  sporting  with  the  Boy ;  70 

Which  many  times  amongst  his  waggish  tricks, 
These  wanton  Wenches  in  the  bosome  prickes ; 
That  they  before  which  had  some  franticke  fits, 
Were  by  his  Witchcraft  quite  out  of  their  wits. 
Watching  this  Wisard,  my  minde  gaue  me  still 
She  some  Impostor  was,  and  that  this  skill 
Was  counterfeit,  and  had  some  other  end. 
For  which  discouery,  as  I  did  attend, 
Her  wrinckled  vizard  being  very  thin, 
My  piercing  eye  perceiu'd  her  cleerer  skin  80 

Through  the  thicke  Riuels  perfectly  to  shine  ; 
When  I  perceiu'd  a  beauty  so  diuine, 
As  that  so  clouded,  I  began  to  pry 
A  little  nearer,  when  I  chanc't  to  spye 


The  seuenth  Nimphall        xn 

That  pretty  Mole  vpon  her  Cheeke,  which  when 

I  saw ;  suruaying  euery  part  agen, 

Vpon  her  left  hand,  I  perceiu'd  the  skarre 

Which  she  receiued  in  the  Troian  warre ; 

Which  when  I  found,  I  could  not  chuse  but  smile. 

She,  who  againe  had  noted  me  the  while,  90 

And,  by  my  carriage,  found  I  had  descry'd  her, 

Slipt  out  of  sight,  and  presently  doth  hide  her. 

Leltpa.  Nay  then  my  dainty  Girles,  I  make  no  doubt 
But  I  my  selfe  as  strangely  found  her  out 
As  either  of  you  both ;  in  Field  and  Towne, 
When  like  a  Pedlar  she  went  vp  and  downe  : 
For  she  had  got  a  pretty  handsome  Packe, 
Which  she  had  fardled  neatly  at  her  backe  : 
And  opening  it,  she  had  the  perfect  cry, 
Come  my  faire  Girles,  let's  see,  what  will  you  buy.        100 
Here  be  fine  night  Maskes,  plastred  well  within, 
To  supple  wrinckles,  and  to  smooth  the  skin  : 
Heer's  Christall,  Corall,  Bugle,  let,  in  Beads, 
Cornelian  Bracelets  for  my  dainty  Maids : 
Then  Periwigs  and  Searcloth-Gloues  doth  show, 
To  make  their  hands  as  white  as  Swan  or  Snow  : 
Then  takes  she  forth  a  curious  gilded  boxe, 
Which  was  not  opened  but  by  double  locks  j 
Takes  them  aside,  and  doth  a  Paper  spred, 
In  which  was  painting  both  for  white  and  red  :  no 

And  next  a  piece  of  Silke,  wherein  there  lyes 
For  the  decay'd,  false  Breasts,  false  Teeth,  false  Eyes 
And  all  the  while  sheets  opening  of  her  Packe, 
Cupid  with's  wings  bound  close  downe  to  his  backe  : 
Playing  the  Tumbler  on  a  Table  gets, 
And  shewes  the  Ladies  many  pretty  feats. 
I  seeing  behinde  him  that  he  had  such  things, 
For  well  I  knew  no  boy  but  he  had  wings, 
I  view'd  his  Mothers  beauty,  which  to  me 
Lesse  then  a  Goddesse  said,  she  could  not  be  :  no 

With  that  quoth  I  to  her,  this  other  day, 
As  you  doe  now,  so  one  that  came  this  way, 
Shew'd  me  a  neate  piece,  with  the  needle  wrought, 

p  ^ 


nx  Muses  Elizium 

How  Mars  and  Venus  were  together  caught 

By  pplt-fbot  Vulcan  in  an  Iron  net ; 

It  grieu'd  me  after  that  I  cha/nc't  to  let, 

It  to  goe  from  me  :  whereat  waxing  red. 

Into  her  Hamper  she  hung  downe  her  head, 

As  she  had  stoup't  some  noueltie  to  seeke, 

But  'twas  indeed  to  hide  her  blushing  Cbeeke  :  130 

When  she  her  Trinkets  trusseth  vp  anon, 

E'r  we  were  'ware,  and  instantly  was  gone. 

FlorimeL  But  hearke  you  Nimphes,  amongst  our  idle  prate, 
Tis  current  newes  through  the  Elizian  State, 
That  Venus  and  her  Sonne  were  lately  scene 
Here  in  Elizium,  whence  they  oft  haue  beene 
Banisht  by  our  Edict,  and  yet  still  merry, 
Were  here  in  publique  row'd  o'r  at  the  Ferry, 
Where  as  'tis  said,  the  Ferryman  and  she 
Had  much  discourse,  she  was  so  full  of  glee,  14.0 

Codrus  much  wondring  at  the  blind  Boyes  Bow. 

Naijs.  And  what  it  was,  that  easly  you  may  know, 
Codrus  himselfe  comes  rowing  here  at  hand. 

Lelipa.  Codrus  Come  hither,  let  your  Whirry  stand, 
I  hope  vpon  you,  ye  will  take  no  state 
Because  two  Gods  haue  grac't  your  Boat  of  late  ; 
Good  Ferry-man  I  pray  thee  let  vs  heare 
What  talke  ye  had,  aboard  thee  whilst  they  were. 

Codrus.  Why  thus  faire  Nimphes. 

As  I  a  Fare  had  lately  past,  150 

And  thought  that  side  to  ply, 
I  heard  one  as  it  were  in  haste ; 
A  Boate,  a  Boate,  to  cry, 
Which  as  I  was  aboute  to  bring, 
And  came  to  view  my  Fraught, 
Thought  I  •  what  more  then  heauenly  thing, 
Hath  fortune  hither  brought. 
She  seeing  mine  eyes  still  on  her  were, 
Soone,  smilingly,  quoth  she  j 
Sirra,  Jooke  to  your  Roother  there, 
Why  lookst  thou  thus  at  me  ? 


The  seuenth  Nimphall        113 

And  nimbly  stept  into  my  Boat, 

With  her  a  little  Lad 

Naked  and  blind,  yet  did  I  note, 

That  Bow  and  Shafts  he  had, 

And  two  Wings  to  his  Shoulders  fixt, 

Which  stood  like  little  Sayles, 

With  farre  more  various  colours  mixt, 

Then  be  your  Peacocks  Tayles  ; 

I  seeing  this  little  dapper  Elfe,  1 70 

Such  Armes  as  these  to  beare, 

Quoth  I  thus  softly  to  my  selfe, 

What  strange  thing  haue  we  here, 

I  neuer  saw  the  like  thought  I  : 

Tis  more  then  strange  to  me, 

To  haue  a  child  haue  wings  to  fly, 

And  yet  want  eyes  to  see ; 

Sure  this  is  some  deuised  toy, 

Or  it  transformed  hath  bin, 

For  such  a  thing,  halfe  Bird,  halfe  Boy,  180 

I  thinke  was  neuer  scene  ; 

And  in  my  Boat  I  turnd  about, 

And  wistly  viewd  the  Lad, 

And  cleerely  saw  his  eyes  were  out, 

Though  Bow  and  Shafts  he  had. 

As  wistly  she  did  me  behold, 

How  likst  thou  him,  quoth  she, 

Why  well,  quoth  I ;  and  better  should, 

Had  he  but  eyes  to  see. 

How  sayst  thou  honest  friend,  quoth  she,  i^o 

Wilt  thou  a  Prentice  take, 

I  thinke  in  time,  though  blind  he  be, 

A  Ferry-man  hee'll  make ; 

To  guide  my  passage  Boat  quoth  I, 

His  fine  hands  were  not  made, 

He  hath  beene  bred  too  wantonly 

To  vndertake  my  trade ; 

Why  helpe  him  to  a  Master  then, 

Quoth  she,  such  Youths  be  scant, 

It  cannot  be  but  there  be  men  aoo 

That  such  a  Boy  do  want. 


xi4<  Muses  Elizium 


Quoth  I,  when  you  your  best  haue  done. 

No  better  way  you'll  finde, 

Then  to  a  Harper  binde  your  Sonne, 

Since  most  of  them  are  bJind. 

The  louely  Mother  and  the  Boy, 

Laught  heartily  thereat, 

As  at  some  nimble  iest  or  toy, 

To  heare  my  homely  Chat. 

Quoth  I,  I  pray  you  let  me  know,  no 

Came  he  thus  first  to  light, 

Or  by  some  sicknesse,  hurt,  or  blow, 

Depryued  of  his  sight ; 

Nay  sure,  quoth  she,  he  thus  was  borne, 

Tis  strange  borne  blind,  quoth  I, 

I  feare  you  put  this  as  a  scorne 

On  my  simplicity ; 

Quoth  she,  thus  blind  I  did  him  beare, 

Quoth  I,  iPt  be  no  lye, 

Then  he 's  the  first  blind  man  He  sweare,  ^^o 

Ere  practisd  Archery, 

A  man,  quoth  she,  nay  there  you  misse, 

He 's  still  a  Boy  as  now, 

Nor  to  be  elder  then  he  is, 

The  Gods  will  him  alow  ; 

To  be  no  elder  then  he  is, 

Then  sure  he  is  some  sprite 

I  straight  replide,  againe  at  this, 

The  Goddesse  laught  out  right ; 

It  is  a  mystery  to  me,  130 

An  Archer  and  yet  blinde ; 

Quoth  I  againe,  how  can  it  be, 

That  he  his  marke  should  finde ; 

The  Gods,  quoth  she,  whose  will  it  was 

That  he  should  want  his  sight, 

That  he  in  something  should  surpasse, 

To  recompence  their  spight, 

Gaue  him  this  gift,  though  at  his  Game 

He  still  shot  in  the  darke, 

That  he  should  haue  so  certaine  ayme,  14.0 

As  not  to  misse  his  marke. 


The  seuenth  Nimphall 

By  this  time  we  were  come  a  shore, 
When  me  my  Fare  she  payd, 
But  not  a  word  she  vttered  more, 
Nor  had  I  her  bewrayd, 
Of  Venus  nor  of  Cupid  I 
Before  did  neuer  heare, 
But  that  Fisher  comming  by 
Then,  told  me  who  they  were. 

Florimel.  Well :  against  them  then  proceed         25-0 
As  before  we  haue  decreed, 
That  the  Goddesse  and  her  Child, 
Be  for  euer  hence  exild, 
Which  Lelipa  you  shall  proclaime 
In  our  wise  Apollo" s  name. 

Lelipa.  To  all  th'  Elizian  Nimphish  Nation, 
Thus  we  make  our  Proclamation, 
Against  Venus  and  her  Sonne 
For  the  mischeefe  they  haue  done, 
After  the  next  last  of  May,  160 

The  fixt  and  peremtory  day, 
If  she  or  Cupid  shall  be  found 
Vpon  our  Elizian  ground, 
Our  Edict,  meere  Rogues  shall  make  them, 
And  as  such,  who  ere  shall  take  them, 
Them  shall  into  prison  put, 
Cupids  wings  shall  then  be  cut, 
His  Bow  broken,  and  his  Arrowes 
Giuen  to  Boyes  to  shoot  at  Sparrowes, 
And  this  Vagabund  be  sent, 
Hauing  had  due  punishment 
To  mount  Cytheron^  which  first  fed  him ; 
Where  his  wanton  Mother  bred  him, 
And  there  out  of  her  protection 
Dayly  to  receiue  correction ; 
Then  her  Pasport  shall  be  made, 
And  to  Cyprus  Isle  conuayd, 
And  at  Paphos  in  her  Shryne, 
Where  she  hath  been  held  diuine, 


Muses  Elizium 

For  her  offences  found  contrite, 
There  to  Hue  an  Anchorite. 


The  eight  Nimphall 

MERTILLA,  CLAIA,  CLORIS. 


A  Nimph  is  marryed  to  a 

Great  preparations  for  the 

All  Rites  of  Nuptials  they  recite  you 

To  the  Erydall  and  inuite  you. 

Mertilla.  But  will  our  Tita  wed  this  Fay  ? 
Claia.  Yea,  and  to  morrow  is  the  day. 

Mertilla.  But  why  should  she  bestow  her  selfe 
Vpon  this  dwarfish  Fayry  Elfe  ? 

Claia.  Why  by  her  smalnesse  you  may  finde, 
That  she  is  of  the  Fayry  kinde, 
And  therefore  apt  to  cruise  her  make 
Whence  she  did  her  begining  take  : 
Besides  he  's  deft  and  wondrous  Ayrye, 
And  of  the  noblest  of  the  Fayry,  10 

Chiefe  of  the  Crickets  of  much  fame, 
In  Fayry  a  most  ancient  name. 
But  to  be  briefe,  'tis  cleerely  done, 
The  pretty  wench  is  woo'd  and  wonne. 

Cloris.  If  this  be  so,  let  vs  prouide 
The  Ornaments  to  fit  our  Bryde. 
For  they  knowing  she  doth  come 
From  vs  in  Elizium^ 

Queen  e  Mab  will  looke  she  should  be  drest 
In  those  attyres  we  thinke  our  best,  10 

Therefore  some  curious  things  lets  giue  her, 
E'r  to  her  Spouse  we  her  deliuer. 

Mertilla.  lie  haue  a  lewell  for  her  eare, 
(Which  for  my  sake  He  haue  her  weare) 
JT  shall  be  a  Dewdrop,  and  therein 
Of  Cupids  I  will  haue  a  twinne, 


The  eight  Nimphall          117 

Which  strugling,  with  their  wings  shall  break 

The  Bubble,  out  of  which  shall  leak, 

So  sweet  a  liquor  as  shall  moue 

Each  thing  that  smels,  to  be  in  loue.  30 

C/aia.  Beleeue  me  Gerle,  this  will  be  fine, 
And  to  this  Pendant,  then  take  mine; 
A  Cup  in  fashion  of  a  Fly, 
Of  the  Linxes  piercing  eye, 
Wherein  there  sticks  a  Sunny  Ray 
Shot  in  through  the  cleerest  day, 
Whose  brightnesse  Venus  selfe  did  moue, 
Therein  to  put  her  drinke  of  Loue, 
Which  for  more  strength  she  did  distill, 
The  Limbeck  was  a  Pkcenix  quill,  40 

At  this  Cups  delicious  brink e, 
A  Fly  approching  but  to  drinke, 
Like  Amber  or  some  precious  Gumme 
It  transparant  doth  become. 

Claris.  For  Jewels  for  her  eares  she's  sped, 
But  for  a  dressing  for  her  head 
I  thinke  for  her  I  haue  a  Tyer, 
That  all  Fayryes  shall  admyre, 
The  yellowes  in  the  full-blowne  Rose, 
Which  in  the  top  it  doth  inclose  ?o 

Like  drops  of  gold  Oare  shall  be  hung ; 
Vpon  her  Tresses,  and  among 
Those  scattered  seeds  (the  eye  to  please) 
The  wings  of  the  Cantharides  : 
With  some  o'  th'  Raine-bow  that  doth  raile 
Those  Moons  in,  in  the  Peacocks  taile : 
Whose  dainty  colours  being  mixt 
With  th'  other  beauties,  and  so  fixt, 
Her  louely  Tresses  shall  appeare, 
As  though  vpon  a  flame  they  were.  6b 

And  to  be  sure  she  shall  be  gay, 
We'll  take  those  feathers  from  the  lay  • 
About  her  eyes  in  Circlets  set, 
To  be  our  Tita's  Coronet. 


xi8  Muses  Elizium 

MertUla.  Then  dainty  Girles  I  make  no  doubt, 
But  we  shall  neatly  send  her  out : 
But  let's  amongst  our  selues  agree, 
Of  what  her  wedding  Gowne  shall  be. 

data.  Of  Pansie,  Pincke,  and  Primrose  leaues, 
Most  curiously  laid  on  in  Threaues :  70 

And  all  embroydery  to  supply, 
Powthred  with  flowers  of  Rosemary : 
A  trayle  about  the  skirt  shall  runne, 
The  Silkewormes  finest,  newly  spunne  ; 
And  euery  Seame  the  Nimphs  shall  sew 
With  th'  smallest  of  the  Spinners  Clue : 
And  hauing  done  their  worke,  againe 
These  to  the  Church  shall  beare  her  Traine : 
Which  for  our  Tit  a  we  will  make 
Of  the  cast  slough  of  a  Snake,  80 

Which  quiuering  as  the  winde  doth  blow, 
The  Sunne  shall  it  like  Tinsell  shew. 

Claris.  And  being  led  to  meet  her  mate, 
To  make  sure  that  she  want  no  state, 
Moones  from  the  Peacockes  tayle  wee'll  shred, 
With  feathers  from  the  Pheasants  head : 
Mix'd  with  the  plume  of  (so  high  price,) 
The  precious  bird  of  Paradice. 
Which  to  make  vp,  our  Nimphes  shall  ply 
Into  a  curious  Canopy.  90 

Borne  o're  her  head  (by  our  enquiry) 
By  Elfes,  the  fittest  of  the  Faery. 

Mertllla.  But  all  this  while  we  haue  forgot 
Her  Buskins,  neighbours,  haue  we  not  ? 

data.  We  had,  for  those  Tie  fit  her  now, 
They  shall  be  of  the  Lady-Cow: 
The  dainty  shell  vpon  her  backe 
Of  Crimson  strew'd  with  spots  of  blacke  j 
Which  as  she  holds  a  stately  pace, 
Her  Leg  will  wonderfully  grace.  100 

doris.  But  then  for  musicke  of  the  best, 
This  must  be  thought  on  for  the  Feast. 


The  eight  Nimphall 


Mertilla.  The  Nightingale  of  birds  most  choyce, 
To  doe  her  best  shall  straine  her  voyce  • 
And  to  this  bird  to  make  a  Set, 
The  Mauis,  Merle,  and  Robinet ; 
The  Larke,  the  Lennet,  and  the  Thrush, 
That  make  a  Quier  of  euery  Bush. 
But  for  still  musicke,  we  will  keepe 
The  Wren,  and  Titmouse,  which  to  sleepe  no 

Shall  sing  the  Bride,  when  shee's  alone 
The  rest  into  their  chambers  gone. 
And  like  those  vpon  Ropes  that  walke 
On  Gossimer,  from  staulke  to  staulke, 
The  tripping  Fayry  tricks  shall  play 
The  euening  of  the  wedding  day. 

Claia.  But  for  the  Bride-bed,  what  were  fit, 
That  hath  not  beene  talk'd  of  yet. 

Cloris.  Of  leaues  of  Roses  white  and  red, 
Shall  be  the  Couering  of  her  bed  :  iao 

The  Curtaines,  Valence,  Tester,  all, 
Shall  be  the  flower  Imperiall, 
And  for  the  Fringe,  it  all  along 
With  azure  Harebels  shall  be  hung : 
Of  Lillies  shall  the  Pillowes  be, 
With  downe  stuft  of  the  Butterflee. 

Mertilla.  Thus  farre  we  handsomely  haue  gone, 
Now  for  our  Prothalamion 
Or  Marriage  song  of  all  the  rest, 
A  thing  that  much  must  grace  our  feast.  130 

Let  vs  practise  then  to  sing  it, 
Ere  we  before  th'  assembly  bring  it : 
We  in  Dialogues  must  doe  it, 
The  my  dainty  Girles  set  to  it. 

Claia.   This  day  must  Tit  a  marry  ed  hey 
Come  Nimphs  this  nuptiall  let  <vs  see. 

Mertilla.  But  is  it  certaine  that  ye  say, 
Will  she  <wed  the  Noble  Faye  ? 

Cloris.  Sprinckle  the  dainty  flowers  with  dewes, 
Such  as  the  Gods  at  Banquets  <vse :  140 


^^o  Muses  Elizium 

Let  Hearts  and  Weeds  turne  all  to  Roses, 
And  make  proud  the  posts  with  posies : 
Shute  your  sweets  Into  the  ayre, 
Charge  the  morning  to  be  fayre. 

Claia.        )  For  our  Tita  is  this  day, 
Mertilla.    j  To  he  married  to  a  Faye. 

Claia.  By  'whom  then  shall  our  Bride  be  led 
To  the  Temple  to  be  wed. 

Mertilla.  Qnely  by  your  selfe  and  I, 
Who  that  roomth  should  else  supply  ? 

Cloris.  Come  bright  Glrles,  come  altogether, 
And  bring  all  your  off  rings  hither, 
Te  most  braue  and  Buxome  Beuye, 
All  your  goodly  graces  Leuye^ 
Come  In  Malestle  and  state 
Our  Brydall  here  to  celebrate. 

Mertilla.   )  For  our  Tita  is  this  day, 
Claia.         j  Married  to  a  noble  Faye. 

Claia.  Whose  lot  wilt  be  the  way  to  strow 
On  which  to  Church  our  Bride  must  goe?  1 60 

Mertilla.  That  I  think  asfifst  of  all, 
To  lluely  Lelipa  will  fall. 

Cloris.  Summon  all  the  sweets  that  are, 
To  this  nuptiall  to  repayre  ,• 
Till  'with  their  throngs  themselues  they  smother, 
Strongly  styfling  one  another  j 
And  at  last  they  all  consume, 
And  'vanish  In  one  rich  perfume. 

Mertilla.   \  For  our  Tita  is  this  day, 

Claia.         j  Married  to  a  noble  Faye.  1 70 

Mertilla.  By  whom  must  Tita  married  be, 
'Tisfit  we  all  to  that  should  see? 

Claia.  The  Priest  he  purposely  doth  come, 
Th'  Arch  Flamyne  of  Elizium. 


The  eight  Nimphall          ^^I 

Cloris.     With  Tapers  let  the  Temples  shine, 
Sing  to  Himen,  Hymnes  diuine : 
Load  the  Altars  till  there  rise 
Clouds  from  the  burnt  sacrifice  -y 
With  your  Sensors  fling  aloof e 
Their  smels,  till  they  ascend  the  Roofe.  1 80 

Mertilla.    )  For  our  Tita  is  this  day, 
Claia.         j  Married  to  a  noble  Fay. 

Mertilla.     But  comming  backe  when  she  is  wed, 
Who  breakes  the  Cake  aboue  her  head, 

Claia.     That  shall  Mertilla,  for  shee's  tallest, 
And  our  Tita  is  the  smallest. 

Cloris.  Violins,  strike  vp  aloud, 
Ply  the  Gitterne,  scowre  the  Crowd, 
Let  the  nimble  hand  belabour 

The  whistling  Pipe,  and  drumbling  Taber :  190 

To  the  full  the  Bagpipe  racke, 
Till  the  swelling  leather  cracke. 

Mertilla.    )  For  our  Tita  is  this  day, 
Claia.         j  Married  to  a  noble  Fay. 

Claia.     But  when  to  dyne  she  takes  her  seate 
What  shall  be  our  Tita's  me  ate  ? 

Mertilla.     The  Gods  this  Feast,  as  to  begin, 
Haue  sent  of  their  Ambrosia  in. 

Cloris.     Then  serue  we  <vp  the  strawes  rich  berry, 
The  Re  spas,  and  Elizian  Cherry  :  2.00 

The  virgin  honey  from  the  flowers 
In  Hibla,  wrought  in  Flora's  bowers : 
Full  Bowles  of  Nectar,  and  no  Girle 
Carouse  but  in  dissolued  Pearle. 

Mertilla.    \  For  our  Tita  is  this  day, 
Claia.        j  Married  to  a  noble  Fay. 

Claia.     But  when  night  comes,  and  she  must  goe 
To  Bed,  deare  Nimphes  what  must  we  doe  ? 


^^^  Muses  Elizium 

Mertilla.     In  the  Posset  must  be  h -ought , 
And  Poynts  be  from  the  "Bride groome  caught. 

Cloris.     In  Maskes,  in  Dances,  and  delight^ 
And  reare  Banquets  spend  the  night : 
Then  about  the  Roome  <we  ramble, 
Scatter  Nuts,  and  for  them  scramble: 
Ouer  Stooles,  and  Tables  tumble, 
Neuer  thinke  of  noyse  nor  rumble. 

Mertilla.    \  For  our  Tit  a  is  this  day, 
Claia.         J  Married  to  a  noble  Fay. 


The  ninth  Nimphall 

MVSES  and  NIMPHS. 

The  Muses  spend  their  lofty  layes, 
ypon  Apollo  and  his  prayse  ; 
The  Nimphs  'with  Gems  his  Alter  build, 
This  Nimphall  Is  'with  Phoebus//;/. 

A  TEMPLE  of  exceeding  state. 

The  Nimphes  and  Muses  rearing, 

Which  they  to  Phvbus  dedicate, 

Elizium  euer  cheering  : 

These  Muses,  and  those  Nimphes  contend 

This  Phane  to  Phoebus  offring, 

Which  side  the  other  should  transcend, 

These  praise,  those  prizes  proffering, 

And  at  this  long  appointed  day, 

Each  one  their  largesse  bringing,  10 

Those  nine  faire  Sisters  led  the  way 

Thus  to  Apollo  singing. 

The  Muses.     Thou  youth  full  God  that  gvid'st  the 
The  Muses  thus  implore  thee^ 
"By  all  those  Names ,  due  to  thy  power s^ 
By  'which  iue  still  adore  thee. 
Sol,  Tytan,  Delius,  Cynthius,  styles 
Much  reuerence  that  haue  iuonne  thee 


The  ninth  Nimphall         1x3 

Deriu'd  from  Mount aines  as  from  lies 

Where  worship  first  'was  done  thee.  10 

Rich  Delos  brought  thee  forth  dlulne, 

Thy  Mother  thither  driuen, 

At  Delphos  thy  most  sacred  shrine, 

Thy  Oracles  •were  gluen. 

In  thy  swift  course  from  East  to  West, 

They  minutes  mlsse  to  finde  thee, 

That  bear'st  the  morning  on  thy  breast, 

And  leanest  the  night  behinde  thee. 

Vp  to  Olimpus  top  so  steepe, 

Thy  startling  Coursers  currying  ,•  30 

Thence  downe  to  Neptunes  vasty  deepe, 

Thy  flaming  Charriot  hurrying. 

Eos,  Ethon,  Phlegon,  Pirois,  proudy  The  horses 

Their  llehtnlnr  Maynes  aduancine :  drawing  the 

-r.          /•/-//*    J  11  Chariot  of  the 

Br e at htng  forth  fire  on  euery  cloud  Sunne. 

Vpon  their  lourney  prancing. 

Whose  sparkling  hoofes,  'with  gold  for  speed 

Are  shod,  to  scape  all  dangers, 

Where  they  'vpon  Ambrosia  feed, 

In  their  celestiall  Mangers.  4.0 

Bright  Colatina,  that  of  klls  The  moun- 

Is  Goddesse,  and  hath  keeping  Sfarf  ^Ae 

Her  Nlmphes,  the  cleere  Oreades  wils  Sunn^ft^fs 

T° attend  thee  from  thy  sleeping.  rising. 

Great  *Demogorgonfee/es  thy  might,  *  Supposed  the 

His  Mynes  about  him  heating  :  God  of  earth- 

Who  through  his  bosome  dart'st  thy  light, 

Within  the  Ce?iter  sweating. 

If  thou  but  touch  thy  golden  Lyre, 

Thou  Minos  mou'st  to  heare  thee  :  50  One  of  the 

The  Rockesfeele  In  themselues  afire,  Iudges  of  hel1- 

And  rise  <vp  to  come  neere  thee. 

'Tis  thou  that  Physicke  didst  deuise 

Hearbs  by  their  natures  calling: 

Of 'which  some  opening  at  thy  Rise, 

And  closing  at  thy  falling. 

Fayre  Hyacinth  thy  most  lou'd  Lad, 

That  'with  the  sledge  thou  sluest ; 


Muses  Elizium 

Hath  in  a  flower  the  life  he  had, 

Whose  root  thou  still  renewest,  6b 

Thy  Daphne  thy  beloued  Tree, 

That  scornes  thy  "Fathers  Thunder, 

And  thy  deare  Clitia  yet  we  see. 

Not  time  from  thee  can  sunder  ,• 

from  thy  bright  Bo<w  that  Arrow  flew 

(Snatcht  from  thy  golden  Quitter) 

Which  that  fell  Serpent  Python  slew, 

Renowning  thee  for  euer. 

The  Actian  and  the  Pythian  Games 

Deu'ned  were  to  praise  thee,  70 

With  all  th9  Apolinary  names 

That  th*  Ancients  thought  could  raise  thee. 

A  Shryne  'vpon  this  Mountaine  hie, 

To  thee  we'll  haue  erected, 

Which  thou  the  God  ofPoesie 

Must  care  to  haue  protected : 

With  thy  lou'd  Cinthus  that  shall  share, 

With  all  his  shady  Bowers, 

Nor  Licia's  Cragus  shall  compare 

With  this,  for  thee,  of  ours.  80 

Thus  hauing  sung,  the  Nimphish  Crue 

Thrust  in  amongst  them  thronging. 

Desiring  they  might  haue  the  due 

That  was  to  them  belonging. 

Quoth  they,  ye  Muses  as  djuine, 

Are  in  his  glories  graced, 

But  it  is  we  must  build  the  Shryne 

Wherein  they  must  be  placed ; 

Which  of  those  precious  Gemmes  we'll  make 

That  Nature  can  affoord  vs,  90 

Which  from  that  plenty  we  will  take, 

Wherewith  we  here  have  stored  vs : 

O  glorious  Phcebus  most  diuine, 

Thine  Altars  then  we  hallow. 

And  with  those  stones  we  build  a  Shryne 

To  thee  our  wise  Apollo. 


The  ninth  Nimphall 

The  Nimphes.  No  Gem,  from  Rocke,  Seas,  running  streames, 
(Their  numbers  let  vs  muster) 
But  hath  from  thy  most  power  full  beames 
The  Vertue  and  the  'Lustre  ;  loo 

The  Diamond,  the  King  ofGemmes, 
The  first  is  to  be  placed, 
That  glory  is  of  Diadems , 
Them  gracing,  by  them  graced: 
In  whom  thy  power  the  most  is  seene, 
The  raging  fire  refelling: 
The  Emerauld  then,  most  deepely  greene, 
For  beauty  most  excelling, 
Resisting  poyson  often  prou'd 

"By  those  about  that  beare  it.  1 10 

The  cheerfull  Ruby  then,  much  loud, 
That  doth  reuiue  the  spirit, 
Whose  kinde  to  large  extensure  growne 
The  colour  so  enflamed^ 
Is  that  admired  mighty  stone 
The  Carbunckle  thafs  named^ 
Which  from  it  such  a  flaming  light 
And  radiency  eiecteth^ 
That  in  the  very  darkest  of  night 

The  eye  to  it  directeth.  1 10 

The  yellow  lacynth^  strengthening  Sense, 
Of  which  who  hath  the  keeping^ 
No  Thunder  hurts  nor  Pestilence^ 
And  much  prouoketh  sleeping : 
The  Chrisolite^  that  doth  resist 
Thirst^  prouedy  neuer  failing^ 
The  purple  colored  Amatist^ 
*  Gainst  strength  of  wine  prevailing'. 
The  verdant  gay  greene  Smaragdus^ 
Most  soueraine  ouer  passion :  150 

The  Sardonix  approu'd  by  <vs 
To  master  Incantation. 
Then  that  celestiall  colored  stone 
The  Saphyre,  heauenly  wholly^ 
Which  worne^  there  wearinesse  is  none, 
And  cureth  melancholly : 


^^6  Muses  Elizium 

The  Lazu/us,  'whose  pleasant  blew 

With  golden  vaines  is  graced} 

The  laspis,  of  so  'various  hew, 

Amongst  our  other  placed  •  14.0 

The  Onix  from  the  indents  brought, 

Of  wondrous  Estimation, 

Shall  in  amongst  the  rest  be  wrought 

Our  sacred  Shryne  to  fashion  $ 

The  Topas,  we3/!  stick  here  and  there, 

And  sea-greene  colored  Berill, 

And  Turkesse,  which  who  haps  to  beare 

Is  often  kept  from  peri II, 

To  Selenite,  of  Cynthia's  light, 

So  nam'd,  with  her  still  ranging,  1 5:0 

Which  as  she  wanes  or  waxeth  bright 

Its  colours  so  are  changing. 

With  Opalls,  more  then  any  one, 

We'll  deck  thine  Altar  fuller, 

For  that  of  euery  precious  stone, 

It  doth  retaine  some  colour ; 

With  bunches  of  Pear le  Paragon 

Thine  Altars  underpropping, 

Whose  base  is  the  Cornelian, 

Strong  bleeding  often  stopping:  160 

With  th*  Agot,  very  oft  that  is 

Cut  strangely  in  the  Quarry, 

As  Nature  ment  to  show  in  this, 

How  she  her  selfe  can  varry  : 

With  worlds  of  Gems  from  Mines  and  Seas 

Elizium  well  might  store  vs  : 

But  we  content  our  selues  with  these 

That  readiest  lye  before  <vs : 

And  thus  O  Phoebus  most  diuine 

Thine  Altars  still  we  hallow,  170 

And  to  thy  Godhead  reare  this  Shryne 

Our  onely  wise  Apollo. 


The  tenth  Nimphall 

NAIIS,  CLAIA,  CORBILVS,  SATYRE. 

A  Satyre  on  Eliz.ium  lights. 
Whose  vgfy  shape  the  Nimphes  affrights, 
Tet  luhen  they  heare  his  lust  complaint, 
They  make  htm  an  Elizian  Saint. 
Corbilus. 

What ;  breathles  Nimphs  ?  bright  Virgins  let  me  know 

What  suddaine  cause  constraines  ye  to  this  haste  ? 

What  haue  ye  scene  that  should  affright  ye  so? 

What  might  it  be  from  which  ye  flye  so  fast  ? 

1  see  your  faces  full  of  pallid  feare, 

As  though  some  perill  followed  on  your  flight ; 

Take  breath  a  while,  and  quickly  let  me  heare 

Into  what  danger  ye  haue  lately  light. 

Naijs.  Neuer  were  poore  distressed  Gerles  so  glad, 
As  when  kinde,  loued  Corbllus  we  saw,  10 

When  our  much  haste  vs  so  much  weakned  had, 
That  scarcely  we  our  wearied  breathes  could  draw, 
In  this  next  Groue  vnder  an  aged  Tree, 
So  fell  a  monster  lying  there  we  found, 
As  till  this  day,  our  eyes  did  neuer  see, 
Nor  euer  came  on  the  Elizian  ground. 
Halfe  man,  halfe  Goate,  he  seem'd  to  vs  in  show, 
His  vpper  parts  our  humane  shape  doth  beare, 
But  he's  a  very  perfect  Goat  below, 
His  crooked  Cambrils  armM  with  hoofe  and  hayre.  20 

Claia.  Through  his  leane  Chops  a  chattering  he  doth  make 
Which  stirres  his  staring  beastly  driueld  Beard, 
And  his  sharpe  homes  he  seem'd  at  vs  to  shake, 
Canst  thou  then  blame  vs  though  we  are  afeard. 

Corbllus.  Surely  it  seemes  some  Satyre  this  should  be, 
Come  and  goe  back  and  guide  me  to  the  place, 
Be  not  airraid,  ye  are  safe  enough  with  me, 
Silly  and  harmlesse  be  their  Siluan  Race. 

Claia.  How  Corbllus ;  a  Satyre  doe  you  say  ? 
How  should  he  ouer  high  Parnassus  hit  ?  30 


Muses  Eliztum 

Since  to  these  fields  there's  none  can  finde  the  way, 
But  onely  those  the  Muses  will  permit. 

Corbllus.  'Tis  true ;  but  oft,  the  sacred  Sisters  grace 
The  silly  Satyre,  by  whose  plainnesse,  they 
Are  taught  the  worlds  enormities  to  trace, 
By  beastly  mens  abhominable  way  • 
Besyde  he  may  be  banisht  his  owne  home 
By  this  base  time,  or  be  so  much  distrest, 
That  he  the  craggy  by-clift  Hill  hath  clome 
To  finde  out  these  more  pleasant  Fields  of  rest.  40 

Naijs.  Yonder  he  sits,  and  seemes  himselfe  to  bow 
At  our  approach,  what  doth  our  presence  awe  him  ? 
Me  thinks  he  seemes  not  halfe  so  vgly  now, 
As  at  the  first,  when  I  and  Claia  saw  him. 

Corbilus.  'Tis  an  old  Satyre,  Nimph,  I  now  discerne, 
Sadly  he  sits,  as  he  were  sick  or  lame, 
His  lookes  would  say,  that  we  may  easly  learne 
HOWJ  and  from  whence,  he  to  Eliztum  came. 
Satyre,  these  Fields,  how  cam'st  thou  first  to  finde  ? 
What  Fate  first  show'd  thee  this  most  happy  store  ?  50 

When  neuer  any  of  thy  Siluan  kinde 
Set  foot  on  the  Elizian  earth  before  ? 

Satyre.  O  neuer  aske,  how  I  came  to  this  place, 
What  cannot  strong  necessity  finde  out  ? 
Rather  bemoane  my  miserable  case, 
Constrain'd  to  wander  this  wide  world  about : 
With  wild  Silvanus  and  his  woody  crue, 
In  Forrests  I,  at  liberty  and  free, 
Liu'd  in  such  pleasure  as  the  world  ne'r  knew, 
Nor  any  rightly  can  conceiue  but  we.  60 

This  iocond  life  we  many  a  day  enioy'd, 
Till  this  last  age,  those  beastly  men  forth  brought, 
That  all  those  great  and  goodly  Woods  destroy'd. 
Whose  growth  their  Grandsyres,  with  such  sufferance  sought, 
That  faire  Felicia  which  was  but  of  late, 
Earth's  Paradice,  that  neuer  had  her  Peere, 
Stands  now  in  that  most  lamentable  state, 
That  not  a  Siluan  will  inhabit  there ; 


The  tenth  Nimphall 

Where  in  the  soft  and  most  delicious  shade, 

In  heat  of  Summer  we  were  wont  to  play,  70 

When  the  long  day  too  short  for  vs  we  made, 

The  slyding  houres  so  slyly  stole  away ; 

By  Cynthia's  light,  and  on  the  pleasant  Lawne, 

The  wanton  Fayry  we  were  wont  to  chase, 

Which  to  the  nimble  clouen-footed  Fawne, 

Vpon  the  plaine  durst  boldly  bid  the  base. 

The  sportiue  Nimphes,  with  shouts  and  laughter  shooke 

The  Hils  and  Valley es  in  their  wanton  play, 

Waking  the  Ecchoes,  their  last  words  that  tooke, 

Till  at  the  last,  they  lowder  were  then  they.  80 

The  lofty  hie  Wood,  and  the  lower  spring, 

Sheltring  the  Deare,  in  many  a  suddaine  shower  • 

Where  Quires  of  Birds,  oft  wonted  were  to  sing, 

The  flaming  Furnace  wholly  doth  deuoure ; 

Once  faire  Felicia,  but  now  quite  defac'd, 

Those  Braueries  gone  wherein  she  did  abound, 

With  dainty  Groues,  when  she  was  highly  grac'd 

With  goodly  Oake,  Ashe,  Elme,  and  Beeches  croun'd : 

But  that  from  heauen  their  iudgement  blinded  is, 

In  humane  Reason  it  could  neuer  be,  90 

But  that  they  might  haue  cleerly  scene  by  this, 

Those  plagues  their  next  posterity  shall  see. 

The  little  Infant  on  the  mothers  Lap 

For  want  of  fire  shall  be  so  sore  distrest, 

That  whilst  it  drawes  the  Janke  and  empty  Pap. 

The  tender  lips  shall  freese  vnto  the  breast ; 

The  quaking  Cattle  which  their  Warmstall  want, 

And  with  bleake  winters  Northerne  winde  opprest, 

Their  Browse  and  Stouer  waxing  thin  and  scant, 

The  hungry  Groues  shall  with  their  Caryon  feast.  100 

Men  wanting  Timber  wherewith  they  should  build, 

And  not  a  Forrest  in  Felicia  found, 

Shall  be  enforc'd  vpon  the  open  Field, 

To  dig  them  caues  for  houses  in  the  ground : 

The  Land  thus  rob'd,  of  all  her  rich  Attyre, 

Naked  and  bare  her  selfe  to  heauen  doth  show, 

Begging  from  thence  that  love  would  dart  his  fire 

Vpon  those  wretches  that  disrob'd  her  so  j 


Muses  Ellzium 

This  beastly  Brood  by  no  meanes  may  abide 

The  name  of  their  braue  Ancestors  to  heare,  1 10 

By  whom  their  sordid  slauery  is  descry'd, 

So  vnlike  them  as  though  not  theirs  they  were, 

Nor  yet  they  sense,  nor  vnderstanding  haue, 

Of  those  braue  Muses  that  their  Country  song. 

But  with  false  Lips  ignobly  doe  depraue 

The  right  and  honour  that  to  them  belong ; 

This  cruell  kinde  thus  Viper-like  deuoure 

That  fruitfull  soyle  which  them  too  fully  fed  j 

The  earth  doth  curse  the  Age,  and  euery  houre 

Againe,  that  it  these  viprous  monsters  bred.  1 20 

I  seeing  the  plagues  that  shortly  are  to  come 

Vpon  this  people  cleerely  them  fbrsooke : 

And  thus  am  light  into  Elizium, 

To  whose  straite  search  I  wholly  me  betooke. 

Naljs.  Poore  silly  creature,  come  along  with  vs, 
Thou  shalt  be  free  of  the  Elizian  fields  : 
Be  not  dismaid,  nor  inly  grieued  thus. 
This  place  content  in  all  abundance  yeelds. 
We  to  the  cheerefull  presence  will  thee  bring, 
Of  loues  deare  Daughters,  where  in  shades  they  sit,  130 

Where  thou  shalt  heare  those  sacred  Sisters  sing, 
Most  heauenly  Hymnes,  the  strength  and  life  of  wit : 

data.  Where  to  the  Delphian  God  vpon  their  Lyres 
His  Priests  seeme  rauisht  in  his  height  of  praise  : 
Whilst  he  is  crowning  his  harmonious  Quiers 
With  circling  Garlands  of  immortall  Bayes. 

Corbilus.  Here  liue  in  blisse,  till  thou  shalt  see  those  slaues, 
Who  thus  set  vertue  and  desert  at  nought : 
Some  sacrificed  vpon  their  Grandsires  graues, 
And  some  like  beasts  in  markets  sold  and  bought.  14.0 

Of  fooles  and  madmen  leaue  thou  then  the  care, 
That  haue  no  vnderstanding  of  their  state  : 
For  whom  high  heauen  doth  so  iust  plagues  prepare, 
That  they  to  pitty  shall  conuert  thy  hate. 
And  to  Elizium  be  thou  welcome  then, 
Vntill  those  base  Felicians  thou  shalt  heare, 
By  that  vile  nation  captiued  againe, 
That  many  a  glorious  age  their  captiues  were. 


SONGS  FROM  THE 
SHEPHERD'S  GARLAND' 

[From  the  Edition  of  1.5^03] 

The  Gods  delight,  the  heauens  hie  spectacle, 
Earths  greatest  glory,  worlds  rarest  miracle. 

Fortunes  fay'rst  mistresse,  vertues  surest  guide, 
Loues  Gouernesse,  and  natures  chiefest  pride. 

Delights  owne  darling,  honours  cheefe  defence, 
Chastities  choyce,  and  wisdomes  quintessence. 

Conceipts  sole  Riches,  thoughts  only  treasure, 
Desires  true  hope,  loyes  sweetest  pleasure. 

Mercies  due  merite,  valeurs  iust  reward, 

Times  fayrest  fruite,  fames  strongest  guarde.  10 

Yea  she  alone,  next  that  eternall  he, 
The  expresse  Image  of  eternitie. 

From  Eclogue  ij 

Tell  me  fayre  flocke,  (if  so  you  can  conceaue) 
The  sodaine  cause  of  my  night-sunnes  eclipse, 
If  this  be  wrought  me  my  light  to  bereaue, 
By  Magick  spels,  from  some  inchanting  lips 
Or  vgly  Saturne  from  his  combust  sent, 
This  fatall  presage  of  deaths  dreryment. 

Oh  cleerest  day-starre,  honored  of  mine  eyes, 

Yet  sdaynst  mine  eyes  should  gaze  vpon  thy  light, 

Bright  morning  sunne,  who  with  thy  sweet  arise, 

Expell'st  the  clouds  of  my  harts  lowring  night,  10 

Goddes  reiecting  sweetest  sacrifice, 

Of  mine  eyes  teares  ay  offered  to  thine  eyes. 


Songs  from  Q  Shepherds  Garland* 

May  purest  heauens  scorne  my  soules  pure  desires  ? 

Or  holy  shrines  hate  Pilgrims  orizons  ? 

May  sacred  temples  gaynsay  sacred  prayers  ? 

Or  Saints  refuse  the  poores  deuotions  ? 

Then  Orphane  thoughts  with  sorrow  be  you  waind, 

When  loues  Religion  shalbe  thus  prophayn'd. 

Yet  needes  the  earth  must  droope  with  visage  sad, 

When  siluer  dewes  been  turn'd  to  bitter  stormes,  10 

The  Cheerful  Welkin^  once  in  sables  clad, 

Her  frownes  foretell  poore  humaine  creatures  harmes. 

And  yet  for  all  to  make  amends  for  this, 

The  clouds  sheed  teares,  and  weepen  at  my  misse. 

From  Eclogue  iij 

O  thou  fayre  siluer  Thames :  O  cleerest  chrystall  flood, 
"Beta  alone  the  Phenix  is,  of  all  thy  watery  brood, 
The  Queene  of  Virgins  onely  she : 
And  thou  the  Queene  of  floods  shalt  be  : 
Let  all  thy  Nymphes  be  ioyfull  then  to  see  this  happy  day, 
Thy  Beta  now  alone  shalbe  the  subiect  of  my  laye. 

With  daintie  and  delightsome  straines  of  sweetest  virelayes  : 
Come  louely  shepheards  sit  we  down  and  chant  our  Betas 
prayse : 

And  let  vs  sing  so  rare  a  verse, 
Our  Betas  prayses  to  rehearse,  10 

That  little  Birds  shall  silent  be,  to  heare  poore  shepheards  sing, 
And  riuers  backward  bend  their  course,  and  flow  vnto  the 
spring. 

Range  all  thy  swannes  faire  Thames  together  on  a  rancke, 
And  place  them  duely  one  by  one,  vpon  thy  stately  banck, 

Then  set  together  all  agood, 

Recording  to  the  siluer  flood, 

And  craue  the  tunefull  Nightingale  to  helpe  you  with  her  lay, 
The  Osel  and  the  Throstlecocke,  chiefe  musicke  of  our  maye. 

O  !  see  what  troups  of  Nimphs  been  sporting  on  the  strands, 

And  they  been  blessed  Nimphs  of  peace,  with  Oliues  in  their 

hands.  ao 


From  Eclogue  iij 


How  meryly  the  Muses  sing, 

That  all  the  flowry  Medowes  ring, 
And  Seta  sits  vpon  the  banck,  in  purple  and  in  pall, 
And  she  the  Queene  of  Muses  is,  and  weares  the  Corinall. 

Trim  vp  her  Golden  tresses  with  Apollos  sacred  tree, 
O  happy  sight  vnto  all  those  that  loue  and  honor  thee, 

The  Blessed  Angels  haue  prepared, 

A  glorious  Crowne  for  thy  reward, 
Not  such  a  golden  Crowne  as  haughty  Casar  weares, 
But  such  a  glittering  starry  Crowne  as  Ariadne  beares.        30 

Make  her  a  goodly  Chapilet  of  azur'd  Colombine, 

And  wreath  about  her  Coronet  with  sweetest  Eglentine  : 

Bedeck  our  Beta  all  with  Lillies, 

And  the  dayntie  Daffadillies, 
With   Roses   damask,   white,    and   red,   and  fairest  flower 

delice, 
With  Cowslips  of  Jerusalem,  and  cloues  of  Paradice. 

O  thou  fayre  torch  of  heauen,  the  days  most  dearest  light, 
And  thou  bright  shyning  Cmthya^  the  glory  of  the  night  : 

You  starres  the  eyes  of  heauen, 

And  thou  the  glyding  leuen,  40 

And  thou  O  gorgeous  Iris  with  all  strange  Colours  dyd, 
When  she  streams  foorth  her  rayes,  then  dasht  is  all  your 
pride. 

See  how  the  day  stands  still,  admiring  of  her  face, 

And  time  loe  stretcheth  foorth  her  armes,  thy  Beta  to  imbrace, 

The  Syrens  sing  sweete  layes, 

The  Trytons  sound  her  prayse, 

Goe  passe  on  Thames  and  hie  thee  fast  vnto  the  Ocean  sea, 
And  let  thy  billowes  there  proclaime  thy  Betas  holy-day. 

And  water  thou  the  blessed  roote  of  that  greene  Oliue  tree, 
With  whose  sweete  shadow,  al  thy  bancks  with  peace  pre 
sented  be,  50 

Lawrell  for  Poets  and  Conquerours, 
And  mirtle  for  Loues  Paramours  : 

That  fame  may  be  thy  fruit,  the  boughes  preseru'd  by  peace, 
And  let  the  mournful  Cipres  die,  now  stormes  and  tempest 
cease. 


Songs  from  'Shepherd's  Garland' 

Wee'l  straw  the  shore  with  pearle  where  "Beta  walks  alone, 
And  we  wil  paue  her  princely  Bower  with  richest   Indian 
stone, 

Perfume  the  ayre  and  make  it  sweete, 

For  such  a  Goddesse  it  is  meete, 

For  if  her  eyes  for  purity  contend  with  Titans  light,  59 

No  maruaile  then  although  they  so  doe  dazell  humaine  sight. 

Sound  out  your  trumpets  then,  from  London's  stately  towres, 
To  beate  the  stormie  windes  a  back  and  calme  the  raging 
showres, 

Set  too  the  Cornet  and  the  flute. 

The  Orpharyon  and  the  Lute, 

And  tune  the  Taber  and  the  Pipe,  to  the  sweet  violons, 
And  moue  the  thunder  in  the  ayre,  with  lowdest  Clarions. 

Beta  long  may  thine  Altars  smoke,  with  yeerely  sacrifice, 
And  long  thy  sacred  Temples  may  their  Saboths  solemnize, 
Thy  shepheards  watch  by  day  and  night, 
Thy  Mayds  attend  the  holy  light,  70 

And  thy  large  empyre  stretch  her  armes  from  east  vnto  the 

west, 

And  thou  vnder  thy  feet  mayst  tread,  that  foule  seuen-headed 
beast. 

From  Eclogue  iv 

Melpomine  put  on  thy  mourning  Gaberdine, 
And  set  thy  song  vnto  the  dolefull  Base, 
And  with  thy  sable  vayle  shadow  thy  face, 

with  weeping  verse, 

attend  his  hearse, 
Whose  blessed  soule  the  heauens  doe  now  enshrine. 

Come  Nymphs  and  with  your  Rebecks  ring  his  knell, 
Warble  forth  your  wamenting  harmony, 
And  at  his  drery  fatall  obsequie, 

with  Cypres  bowes,  10 

maske  your  fayre  Browes, 
And  beat  your  breasts  to  chyme  his  burying  peak. 


From  Eclogue  iv 


Thy  birth-day  was  to  all  our  ioye,  the  euen, 
And  on  thy  death  this  dolefull  song  we  sing, 
Sweet  Child  of  Pan,  and  the  Castallan  spring, 

vnto  our  endless  mone, 

from  vs  why  art  thou  gone, 
To  fill  vp  that  sweete  Angels  quier  in  heauen. 

O  whylome  thou  thy  lasses  dearest  loue, 

When  with  greene  Lawrell  she  hath  crowned  thee,       ^o 

Immortal  mirror  of  all  Poesie  : 

the  Muses  treasure, 

the  Graces  pleasure, 
Reigning  with  Angels  now  in  heauen  aboue. 

Our  mirth  is  now  depriu'd  of  all  her  glory, 
Our  Taburins  in  dolefull  dumps  are  drownd. 
Our  viols  want  their  sweet  and  pleasing  sound, 

our  melodic  is  mar'd 

and  we  of  ioyes  debard, 
O  wicked  world  so  mutable  and  transitory.  30 

O  dismall  day,  bereauer  of  delight, 

O  stormy  winter,  sourse  of  all  our  sorrow, 

O  most  vntimely  and  eclipsed  morrow, 

to  rob  us  quite, 

of  all  delight, 
Darkening  that  starre  which  euer  shone  so  bright. 

Oh  Elph'm,  Elphin,  Though  thou  hence  be  gone, 
In  spight  of  death  yet  shalt  thou  liue  for  aye, 
Thy  Poesie  is  garlanded  with  Baye  : 

and  still  shalt  blaze  40 

thy  lasting  prayse  : 
Whose  losse  poore  shepherds  euer  shall  bemone. 

Come  Girles,  and  with  Carnations  decke  his  graue, 

With  damaske  Roses  and  the  hyacynt  : 

Come  with  sweete  Williams,  Marioram  and  Mynt, 

with  precious  Balmes, 

with  hymnes  and  psalmes, 
This  funerall  deserues  no  lesse  at  all  to  haue. 


236   Songs  from  *  Shepherd's  Garland' 

But  see  where  Elphin  sits  in  fayre  Elizia, 

Feeding  his  flocke  on  yonder  heauenly  playne,  50 

Come  and  behold,  you  louely  shepheards  swayne, 

piping  his  fill 

on  yonder  hill, 
Tasting  sweete  Nectar,  and  Ambrosia. 


From  Eclogue  vij 

BorrilL 

Oh  spightfull  wayward  wretched  loue, 

Woe  to  Venus  which  did  nurse  thee, 

Heauens  and  earth  thy  plagues  doe  proue, 

Gods  and  men  haue  cause  to  curse  thee. 

Thoughts  griefe,  hearts  woe, 

Hopes  paine,  bodies  languish, 

Enuies  rage,  sleepes  foe, 

Fancies  fraud,  soules  anguish, 

Desires  dread,  mindes  madnes, 

Secrets  bewrayer,  natures  error,  10 

Sights  deceit,  sullens  sadnes, 

Speeches  expence,  Cupids  terror, 

Malcontents  melancholly, 

Liues  slaughter,  deaths  nurse, 

Cares  slaue,  dotard's  folly, 

Fortunes  bayte,  world's  curse, 

Lookes  theft,  eyes  blindnes, 

Selfes  will,  tongues  treason, 

Paynes  pleasure,  wrongs  kindnes, 

Furies  frensie,  follies  reason  :  20 

With  cursing  thee  as  I  began, 

Neither  God,  neither  man, 

Neither  Fayrie,  neither  Feend. 

Batte. 

Loue  is  the  heauens  fayre  aspect, 

loue  is  the  glorie  of  the  earth, 
Loue  only  doth  our  Hues  direct, 

loue  is  our  guyder  from  our  birth, 


From  Eclogue  vij 

Loue  taught  my  thoughts  at  first  to  flie, 
loue  taught  mine  eyes  the  way  to  loue, 

Loue  raysed  my  conceit  so  hie,  30 

loue  framd  my  hand  his  arte  to  proue. 

Loue  taught  my  Muse  her  perfect  skill, 

loue  gaue  me  first  to  Poesie : 
Loue  is  the  Soueraigne  of  my  will, 

loue  bound  me  first  to  loyalty. 

Loue  was  the  first  that  fram'd  my  speech, 
loue  was  the  first  that  gaue  me  grace  : 

Loue  is  my  life  and  fortunes  leech, 
loue  made  the  vertuous  giue  me  place. 

Loue  is  the  end  of  my  desire,  40 

loue  is  the  loadstarre  of  my  loue, 
Loue  makes  my  selfe,  my  selfe  admire, 

loue  seated  my  delights  aboue. 

Loue  placed  honor  in  my  brest, 

loue  made  me  learnings  fauoret, 
Loue  made  me  liked  of  the  best, 

loue  first  my  minde  on  virtue  set. 

Loue  is  my  life,  life  is  my  loue, 

loue  is  my  whole  felicity, 
Loue  is  my  sweete,  sweete  is  my  loue,  50 

I  am  in  Joue,  and  loue  in  mee. 


From  Eclogue  viij 

Farre  in  the  countrey  of  Ardett 
There  wond  a  knight  hight  Cassemen, 

as  bolde  as  Isenbras  : 
Fell  was  he  and  eger  bent, 
In  battell  and  in  Tournament, 

as  was  the  good  sir  Topas. 
He  had  as  antique  stories  tell, 
A  daughter  cleaped  Do<wsa6el/y 

a  may  den  fay  re  and  free  : 


Songs  from  'Shepherd's  Garland'' 

And  for  she  was  her  fathers  heire,  10 

Full  well  she  was  ycond  the  leyre, 

of  mickle  curtesie. 

The  silke  wel  couth  she  twist  and  twine, 
And  make  the  fine  Marchpine, 

and  with  the  needle  werke, 
And  she  couth  helpe  the  priest  to  say 
His  Mattens  on  a  holyday, 

and  sing  a  Psalme  in  Kirke. 
She  ware  a  frocke  of  frolicke  greene, 
Might  well  beseeme  a  mayden  Queene,  10 

which  seemly  was  to  see. 
A  hood  to  that  so  neat  and  fine, 
In  colour  like  the  colombine, 

ywrought  full  featously. 
Her  feature  all  as  fresh  aboue, 
As  is  the  grasse  that  grows  by  Doue, 

as  lyth  as  lasse  of  Kent : 
Her  skin  as  soft  as  Lemster  wooll, 
As  white  as  snow  on  peakish  hull, 

or  Swanne  that  swims  in  Trent.  30 

This  mayden  in  a  morne  betime, 
Went  forth  when  May  was  in  her  prime, 

to  get  sweet  Cetywall, 
The  hony-suckle,  the  Harlocke, 
The  Lilly  and  the  Lady-smocke, 

to  decke  her  summer  hall. 
Thus  as  she  wandred  here  and  there, 
Ypicking  of  the  bloomed  Breere, 

she  chanced  to  espie 

A  shepheard  sitting  on  a  bancke,  40 

Like  Chanteclere  he  crowed  crancke, 

and  pip'd  with  merrie  glee  : 
He  leard  his  sheepe  as  he  him  list, 
When  he  would  whistle  in  his  fist, 

to  feede  about  him  round  : 
Whilst  he  full  many  a  caroll  sung, 
Vntill  the  fields  and  medowes  rung, 

and  that  the  woods  did  sound  : 
In  fauour  this  same  shepheards  swayne, 


From  Eclogue  viij 

Was  like  the  bedlam  Tamburlayne^  jo 

which  helde  prowd  Kings  in  awe  : 
But  meeke  he  was  as  Lamb  mought  be, 
Ylike  that  gentle  Abel  he, 

whom  his  lewd  brother  slaw. 
This  shepheard  ware  a  sheepe  gray  cloke, 
Which  was  of  the  finest  loke, 

that  could  be  cut  with  sheere, 
His  mittens  were  of  Bauzens  skinne, 
His  cockers  were  of  Cordiwin 

his  hood  of  Meniueere.  60 

His  aule  and  lingell  in  a  thong, 
His  tar-boxe  on  his  broad  belt  hong, 

his  breech  of  Coyntrie  blew : 
Full  crispe  and  curled  were  his  lockes, 
His  browes  as  white  as  Albion  rockes, 

so  like  a  louer  true. 
And  pyping  still  he  spent  the  day, 
So  mery  as  the  Popingay  : 

which  liked  Dowsabell^ 

That  would  she  ought  or  would  she  nought,          70 
This  lad  would  neuer  from  her  thought : 

she  in  loue-longing  fell, 
At  length  she  tucked  vp  her  frocke, 
White  as  the  Lilly  was  her  smocke, 

she  drew  the  shepheard  nie, 
But  then  the  shepheard  pyp'd  a  good, 
That  all  his  sheepe  forsooke  their  foode, 

to  heare  his  melodic. 
Thy  sheepe  quoth  she  cannot  be  leane, 
That  haue  a  iolly  shepheards  swayne,  80 

the  which  can  pipe  so  well. 
Yea  but  (sayth  he)  their  shepheard  may, 
Jf  pyping  thus  he  pine  away, 

in  loue  of  Do<wsat>ell. 
Of  loue  fond  boy  take  thou  no  keepe, 
Quoth  she,  looke  well  vnto  thy  sheepe, 

lest  they  should  hap  to  stray. 
Quoth  he,  so  had  I  done  full  well, 
Had  I  not  scene  fayre 


Songs  from  'Shepherd's  Garland* 

come  forth  to  gather  Maye.  90 

With  that  she  gan  to  vaile  her  head, 
Her  cheekes  were  like  the  Roses  red, 

but  not  a  word  she  sayd. 
With  that  the  shepheard  gan  to  frowne, 
He  threw  his  pretie  pypes  adowne, 

and  on  the  ground  him  layd. 
Sayth  she,  I  may  not  stay  till  night, 
And  leaue  my  summer  hall  vndight, 

and  all  for  long  of  thee. 

My  Coate  sayth  he,  nor  yet  my  foulde,  100 

Shall  neither  sheepe  nor  shepheard  hould, 

except  thou  fauour  me. 
Sayth  she  yet  leuer  I  were  dead, 
Then  I  should  lose  my  maydenhead, 

and  all  for  loue  of  men  : 
Sayth  he  yet  are  you  too  vnkind, 
If  in  your  heart  you  cannot  finde, 

to  loue  vs  now  and  then  : 
And  J  to  thee  will  be  as  kinde, 
As  Colin  was  to  Rosalinda,  1 10 

of  curtesie  the  flower  ; 
Then  will  I  be  as  true  quoth  she, 
As  euer  mayden  yet  might  be, 

vnto  her  Paramour : 

With  that  she  bent  her  snowe-white  knee, 
Downe  by  the  shepheard  kneeled  shee, 

and  him  she  sweetely  kist. 
With  that  the  shepheard  whoop  Jd  for  ioy, 
Quoth  he,  therms  neuer  shepheards  boy, 

that  euer  was  so  blist.  110 

[From  the  Edition  of  i  <5o^] 

From  Eclogue  ij 

Then  this  great  Vniuerse  no  lesse, 
Can  serue  her  prayses  to  expresse  : 
Betwixt  her  eies  the  poles  of  Loue, 
The  host  of  heauenly  beautyes  moue, 


From  Eclogue  ij 


Depainted  in  their  proper  stories, 

As  well  the  fixd  as  wandring  glories, 

Which  from  their  proper  orbes  not  goe, 

Whether  they  gyre  swift  or  slowe  : 

Where  from  their  lips,  when  she  doth  speake, 

The  musick  of  those  sphears  do  breake,  10 

Which  their  harmonious  motion  breedeth  : 

From  whose  cheerfull  breath  proceedeth  : 

That  balmy  sweetnes  that  giues  birth 

To  euery  ofspring  of  the  earth. 

Her  shape  and  cariage  of  which  frame 

In  forme  how  well  shee  beares  the  same, 

Is  that  proportion  heauens  best  treasure, 

Whereby  it  doth  all  poyze  and  measure, 

So  that  alone  her  happy  sight 

Conteynes  perfection  and  delight.  *o 

From  Eclogue  ij 

VPPON  a  bank  with  roses  set  about, 

Where  pretty  turtles  ioyning  bil  to  bill, 

And  gentle  springs  steale  softly  murmuring  out 

Washing  the  foote  of  pleasures  sacred  hill  : 

There  little  loue  sore  wounded  lyes, 

His  bowe  and  arowes  broken, 

Bedewd  with  teares  from  Venus  eyes 

Oh  greeuous  to  be  spoken. 

Beare  him  my  hart  slaine  with  her  scornefull  eye 

Where  sticks  the  arrowe  that  poore  hart  did  kill,      10 

With  whose  sharp  pile  request  him  ere  he  die, 

About  the  same  to  write  his  latest  will, 

And  bid  him  send  it  backe  to  mee, 

At  instant  of  his  dying, 

That  cruell  cruell  shee  may  see 

My  faith  and  her  denying. 

His  chappell  be  a  mournefull  Cypresse  Shade, 

And  for  a  chauntry  Philomels  sweet  lay, 

Where  prayers  shall  continually  be  made 

By  pilgrim  louers  passing  by  that  way.  ao 

ON  R 


Songs  from  'Shepherd's  Garland'' 

With  Nymphes  and  shepheards  yearly  moane 
His  timeles  death  beweeping, 
In  telling  that  my  hart  alone 
Hath  his  last  will  in  keeping* 

[From  the  Edition  of  itfotf] 
From  Eclogue  vij 

Now  fye  vpon  thee  wayward  loue, 

Woe  to  Venus  which  did  nurse  thee, 

Heauen  and  earth  thy  plagues  doe  proue, 

Gods  and  men  haue  cause  to  curse  thee. 

What  art  thou  but  th*  extreamst  madnesse, 

Natures  first  and  only  error 

That  consum'st  our  daies  in  sadnesse, 

By  the  minds  Continuall  terror  : 

Walking  in  Cymerian  blindnesse, 

In  thy  courses  voy'd  of  reason.  10 

Sharp  reproofe  thy  only  kindnesse, 

In  thy  trust  the  highest  treason  ? 

Both  the  Nymph  and  ruder  swaine, 

Vexing  with  continuall  anguish, 

Which  dost  make  the  ould  complaine 

And  the  young  to  pyne  and  languishe, 

Who  thee  keepes  his  care  doth  nurse, 

That  seducest  all  to  folly, 

Blessing,  bitterly  doest  curse, 

Tending  to  destruction  wholly:  ^o 

Thus  of  thee  as  I  began, 

So  againe  I  make  an  end, 

Neither  god  neither  man, 

Neither  faiery,  neither  feend. 

BATTE. 

What  is  Loue  but  the  desire 

Of  the  thing  that  fancy  pleaseth  ? 

A  holy  and  resist lesse  fier, 

Weake  and  strong  alike  that  ceaseth, 

Which  not  heauen  hath  power  to  let, 


From  Eclogue  <vij  14,3 

Nor  wise  nature  cannot  smother,  30 

Whereby  Phoebus  doth  begette 

On  the  vniuersall  mother. 

That  the  euerlasting  Chaine, 

Which  together  al  things  tied, 

And  vnmooued  them  retayne 

And  by  which  they  shall  abide  : 

That  concent  we  cleerely  find, 

All  things  doth  together  drawe, 

And  so  strong  in  euery  kinde, 

Subiects  them  to  natures  law.  40 

Whose  hie  virtue  number  teaches 

In  which  euery  thing  dooth  mooue, 

From  the  lowest  depth  that  reaches 

To  the  height  of  heauen  aboue  : 

Harmony  that  wisely  found, 

When  the  cunning  hand  doth  strike 

Whereas  euery  amorous  sound, 

Sweetly  marryes  with  his  like. 

The  tender  cattell  scarcely  take 

From  their  damm's  the  feelds  to  proue,  50 

But  ech  seeketh  out  a  make, 

Nothing  liues  that  doth  not  loue  : 

Not  soe  much  as  but  the  plant 

As  nature  euery  thing  doth  payre, 

By  it  if  the  male  it  want 

Doth  dislike  and  will  not  beare  : 

Nothing  then  is  like  to  loue 

In  the  which  all  creatures  be. 

From  it  nere  let  me  remooue 

Nor  let  it  remooue  from  me.  60 


From  Eclogue  ix 

BATTE. 

GORBO,  as  thou  cam'st  this  waye 

By  yonder  little  hill, 

Or  as  thou  through  the  fields  didst  straye 

Sawst  thou  my  Daffadtll? 


X4-4-    Songs  from  'Shepherds  Garland^ 

Shee's  in  a  frock  of  Lincolne  greene 
The  colour  maides  delight 
And  neuer  hath  her  beauty  seen 
But  through  a  vale  of  white. 

Then  Roses  richer  to  behold 

That  trim  vp  louers  bowers,  10 

The  Pansy  and  the  Marigould 

Tho  Phoebus  Paramours. 

Gorbo.    Thou  well  describ'st  the  DafFadill 
It  is  not  full  an  hower 
Since  by  the  spring  neare  yonder  hill 
I  saw  that  louely  flower. 

Batte.     Yet  my  faire  flower  thou  didst  not  meet, 
Nor  news  of  her  didst  bring, 
And  yet  my  DafFadill  more  sweete, 
Then  that  by  yonder  spring.  *o 

Gcrbo.    I  saw  a  shepheard  that  doth  keepe 
In  yonder  field  of  Lillies, 
Was  making  (as  he  fed  his  sheepe) 
A  wreathe  of  Daffodillies. 

Batte.     Yet  Gorbo  thou  delud'st  me  stil 
My  flower  thou  didst  not  see, 
For  know  my  pretie  Dajfadtll 
Is  worne  of  none  but  me. 

To  shew  it  selfe  but  neare  her  seate, 

No  Lilly  is  so  bould,  30 

Except  to  shade  her  from  the  heate, 

Or  keepe  her  from  the  colde  : 

Gorbo.    Through  yonder  vale  as  I  did  passe, 
Descending  from  the  hill, 
I  met  a  smerking  bony  lasse, 
They  call  her  Daffadilli 

Whose  presence  as  along  she  went, 

The  prety  flowers  did  greet, 

As  though  their  heads  they  downward  bent, 

With  homage  to  her  feete.  40 


From  Eclogue  tx 

And  all  the  shepheards  that  were  nie, 
From  toppe  of  euery  hill, 
Vnto  the  vallies  lowe  did  crie, 
There  goes  sweet  Daffadill. 

Gorbo.    I  gentle  shepheard,  now  with  ioy 
Thou  all  my  flockes  dost  fill, 
That's  she  alone  kind  shepheards  boy, 
Let  vs  to  Daffadill. 


From  Eclogue  ix 

Motto.    Tell  me  thou  skilfull  shepheards  swayne, 

Who's  yonder  in  the  vally  set  ? 
Perkin.   O  it  is  she  whose  sweets  do  stayne, 

The  Lilly,  Rose,  or  violet. 

Motto.    Why  doth  the  Sunne  against  his  kind, 

Stay  his  bright  Chariot  in  the  skies, 
Perkin.   He  pawseth  almost  stroken  blind, 

With  gazing  on  her  heauenly  eies  : 

Motto.    Why  doe  thy  flocks  forbeare  their  foode, 

Which  somtyme  was  their  chiefe  delight,  10 

Perkin.    Because  they  neede  no  other  good, 
That  Hue  in  presence  of  her  sight : 

Motto.    How  com  those  flowers  to  florish  still, 

Not  withering  with  sharpe  winters  breath  ? 

Perkin.   She  hath  robd  nature  of  her  skill, 

And  comforts  all  things  with  her  breath  : 

Motto.    Why  slide  these  brookes  so  slow  away, 

As  swift  as  the  wild  Roe  that  were, 
Perkin.   O  muse  not  shepheard  that  they  stay, 

When  they  her  heauenly  voice  do  heare.  10 

Motto.    From  whence  com  all  these  goodly  swayns 

And  louely  nimphs  attirM  in  greene, 
Perkin.   From  gathering  garlands  on  the  playnes, 

To  crowne  thy  Siluia  shepheards  queen. 


Songs  from  'Shepherd's  Garland' 

Motto.    The  sun  that  lights  this  world  below, 

Flocks,  Brooks  and  flowers,  can  witnesse  bear, 

Perkln.  These  shepheards,  and  these  nymphs  do  know, 
Thy  Sylula  is  as  chast,  as  fayre. 

From  Eclogue  ix 

Rowland.  Of  her  pure  eyes  (that  now  is  seen) 

Chorus.      Help  vs  to  sing  that  be  her  faithful  swains 

Row:          O  she  alone  the  shepheards  Queen, 

Choi  Her  Flocke  that  leades, 

The  goddesse  of  these  medes, 
These  mountaines  and  these  plaines. 


Those  eyes  of  hers  that  are  more  cleere, 
Cho:          Then  silly  shepheards  can  in  song  expresse, 
Row:          Then  be  his  beams  that  rule  the  yeare, 
Cho:          Fy  on  that  prayse,  10 

In  striuing  things  to  rayse  : 

That  doth  but  make  them  lesse. 

Row:          That  doe  the  flowery  spring  prolong, 
Cho:  So  much  the  earth  doth  in  her  presence  ioy, 

Row:          And  keeps  the  plenteous  summer  young  : 
Cho:  And  doth  asswage 

The  wrathfull  winters  rage 

That  would  our  flocks  destroy. 

Row:          loue  saw  her  brest  that  naked  lay, 

Cho:  A  sight  alone  was  fit  for  loue  to  see  :  ^o 

Row:          And  swore  it  was  the  milkie  way, 

Cho:  Of  all  most  pure, 

The  path  (we  vs  assure) 

Vnto  loues  court  to  be. 

Row:         He  saw  her  tresses  hanging  downe. 

Cho:          That  too  and  fro  were  mooued  with  the  ay  re, 

Row:          And  sayd  that  Ariadnes  crowne, 

Cho:          With  those  compared  : 

The  gods  should  not  regard 

Nor  'Berenices  hayre.  30 


From  Eclogue  tx 


247 


Row:          When  she  hath  watch'd  my  flockes  by  night, 
Cho:          O  happie  were  the  flockes  that  she  did  keepe  : 
Row:          They  neuer  needed  Cynthia? s  light, 
Cho:          That  soone  gaue  place, 

Amazed  with  her  grace, 

That  did  attend  thy  sheepe. 

Row.          Aboue  where  heauens  hie  glories  are, 
Cho:          When  as  she  shall  be  placed  in  the  skies, 
Row:         She  shall  be  calld  the  shepheards  starre, 
Choi          And  euermore, 

We  shepheards  will  adore, 

Her  setting  and  her  rise. 


40 


APPENDIX 

IN  this  Appendix,  I  have  collected  certain  fugitive  pieces  of 
Drayton's ;  chiefly  commendatory  verses  prefixed  to  various  friends' 
books.  The  first  song  is  from  England's  Helicon,  and  is,  I  think,  too 
pretty  to  be  lost.  Three  of  the  commendatory  poems  are  in  sonnet- 
form,  and  their  inclusion  brings  us  nearer  the  whole  number  published 
by  Drayton  5  of  which  there  are  doubtless  a  few  still  lacking.  But 
I  have  tried  to  make  the  collection  of  sonnets  as  complete  as 
possible. 

From  England?*  Helicon  (itfoo)  p.  97. 

Rowlands  MadrigalU 

Faire  Loue  rest  thee  heere, 
Neuer  yet  was  morne  so  cleere, 
Sweete  be  not  vnkinde, 
Let  me  thy  fauour  finde, 
Or  else  for  loue  I  die. 

Harke  this  pretty  bubling  spring, 
How  it  makes  the  Meadowes  ring, 
Loue  now  stand  my  friend, 
Heere  let  all  sorrow  end, 

And  I  will  honour  thee.  10 

See  where  little  Cupid  lyes, 
Looking  babies  in  her  eyes. 
Cupid  helpe  me  now, 
Lend  to  me  thy  bowe, 

To  wound  her  that  wounded  me. 

Heere  is  none  to  see  or  tell, 
All  our  flocks  are  feeding  by, 
This  Banke  with  Roses  spred, 
Oh  it  is  a  dainty  bed, 

Fit  for  my  Loue  and  me.  2,0 

Harke  the  birds  in  yonder  Groaue, 
How  they  chaunt  vnto  my  Loue, 
Loue  be  kind  to  me, 
As  I  haue  beene  to  thee, 

For  thou  hast  wonne  my  hart. 


Appendix 


Calme  windes  blow  you  faire, 
Rock  her  thou  gentle  ayre, 
O  the  morne  is  noone, 
The  euening  comes  too  soone, 

To  part  my  Loue  and  me.  30 

The  Roses  and  thy  lips  doo  meete, 
Oh  that  life  were  halfe  so  sweete, 
Who  would  respect  his  breath, 
That  might  die  such  a  death, 
Oh  that  life  thus  might  die. 

All  the  bushes  that  be  neere, 
With  sweet  Nightingales  beset, 
Hush  sweete  and  be  still, 
Let  them  sing  their  fill, 

There's  none  our  ioyes  to  let.  40 

Sunne  why  doo'st  thou  eoe  so  fast  ? 
Oh  why  doo'st  thou  make  such  hast  ? 
It  is  too  early  yet, 
So  soone  from  ioyes  to  flit 

Why  art  thou  so  vnkind  ? 

See  my  little  Lambkins  runne, 
Looke  on  them  till  I  haue  done, 
Hast  not  on  the  night, 
To  rob  me  of  her  light, 

That  liue  but  by  her  eyes.  jo 

Alas,  sweete  Loue,  we  must  depart, 
Harke,  my  dogge  begins  to  barke, 
Some  bodie's  comming  neere, 
They  shall  not  find  vs  heere, 
For  feare  of  being  chid. 

Take  my  Garland  and  my  Gloue, 

Weare  it  for  my  sake  my  Loue, 

To  morrow  on  the  greene, 

Thou  shalt  be  our  Sheepheards  Queene, 

Crowned  with  Roses  gay.  60 

Mich.  Drayton. 
FINIS. 


From  T.  Morley's  First  Book  of  Ballets  (15-  95-). 

Mr.  M.  D.  to  the  Author. 

Such  was  old  Orpheus  cunning. 

That  sencelesse  things  drew  neere  him, 

And  heards  of  beasts  to  heare  him. 

The  stock,  the  stone,  the  Oxe,  the  Asse  came  running, 

MORLEY  !  but  this  enchaunting 

To  thee,  to  be  the  Musick-God  is  wanting. 

And  yet  thou  needst  not  feare  him ; 

Draw  thou  the  Shepherds  still  and  Bonny  lasses, 

And  enuie  him  not  stocks,  stones,  Oxen,  Asses. 


Prefixed  to  Christopher  Middleton's  Legend  of 
Humphrey  Duke  of  Gloucester  (idoo). 

To  his  friend,  Master  Chr.  M.  his  Booke. 

Like  as  a  man,  on  some  aduenture  bound 
His  honest  friendes,  their  kindnes  to  eocpresse, 
T'incourage  him  of  whome  the  maine  is  own'd  ^ 
Some  venture  more,  and  some  aduenture  lesse, 
That  if  the  voyage  (happily)  be  good  : 
They  his  good  fortune  freely  may  pertake  ; 
If  otherwise  it  perrish  in  the  flood, 
Yet  like  good  friends  theirs  perished  for  his  sake. 
On  thy  returne  I  put  this  little  forth, 
My  chaunce  with  thine  indifferently  to  proue, 
Which  though  (I  know)  not  fitting  with  thy  worth, 
Accept  it  yet  since  it  proceedes  from  loue  5 
And  if  thy  fortune  prosper,  I  may  see 
I  haue  some  share,  though  most  returne  to  thee. 

Mk\).  Drayton. 


Appendix 

Prefixed  to  John  Davies  of  Hereford  ; 
Holy  T(oode  (1609). 

To  M.  IOHN  DAVIES,  my  good  friend. 

Such  men  as  hold  intelligence  with  Letters, 

^Lnd  in  that  nice  and  Narrow  way  of  Verse, 

Jls  oft  they  lend,  so  oft  they  must  be  Debters, 

if  with  the  Muses  they  will  haue  commerce: 

Seldome  at  Stawles,  me,  this  way  men  rehearse, 

To  mine  Inferiours,  nor  ijnto  my  Betters  : 

f/e  stales  his  Lines  that  so  doeth  them  disperse; 

I  am  so  free,  I  loue  not  Golden-fetters. 

^nd  many  Lines  fore  Writers,  be  but  Setters 

To  them  which  cheatewith  Papers  j  which  doth  fierse, 

Our  Credits:  when  we  shew  our  selues  ^betters: 

To  those  that  wrong  our  knowledge  :  we  rehearse 

Often  (my  good  lohn  j  and  I  loue)  thy  Letters  j 
Which  lend  me  Credit,  as  I  lend  my  Verse. 

Michael  Drayton. 


Prefixed  to  Sir  David  Murray's  Sophonisba,  &c. 
(irfn). 

To  my  kjnde  friend  Da  :  Murray. 

In  new  attire  (and  put  most  neatly  on) 

Thou  Murray  mak'st  thy  passionate  Queene  apeare, 

As  when  she  sat  on  the  Numidian  throne, 

Deck'd  with  those  Gems  that  most  refulgent  were. 

So  thy  stronge  muse  her  maker  like  repaires, 

That  from  the  ruins  of  her  wasted  vrne, 

Into  a  body  of  delicious  ayres  : 

Againe  her  spirit  doth  transmigrated  turne, 

That  scortching  soile  which  thy  great  subiect  bore, 

Bred  those  that  coldly  but  exprest  her  merit, 

But  breathing  now  vpon  our  colder  shore, 

Here  shee  hath  found  a  noble  fiery  spirit, 

Both  there,  and  here,  so  fortunate  for  Fame, 
That  what  she  was,  she's  euery  where  the  same. 

M.  DRAYTON. 


Appendix 


Among  the  Panegyrical  Verses  before  Coryat's 
Crudities  (itfn). 

Incipit  Michael  Dray  ton. 
A  briefe  Prologue  to  the  verses  following. 

Deare  Tom,  thy  booke  was  like  to  come  to  light, 
Ere  I  could  gaine  but  one  halfe  howre  to  write  3 
They  go  before  whose  wits  are  at  their  noones, 
I  come  after  bringing  Salt  and  Sfoones. 


Many  there  be  that  write  before  thy  Booke, 

For  whom  (except  here)  who  could  euer  looke  ? 

Thrice  happy  are  all  wee  that  had  the  Grace 

To  haue  our  names  set  in  this  liuing  place. 

Most  worthy  man,  with  thee  it  is  euen  thus, 

As  men  take  Dottrels,  so  hast  thou  ta'n  vs. 

Which  as  a  man  his  arme  or  leg  doth  set, 

So  this  fond  Bird  will  likewise  counterfeit  : 

Thou  art  the  Fowler,  and  doest  shew  vs  shapes 

And  we  are  all  thy  Zanies,  thy  true  ^tfes.  \  o 

I  saw  this  age  (from  what  it  was  at  first) 

Swolne,  ana  so  bigge,  that  it  was  like  to  burst, 

Growne  so  prodigious,  so  quite  out  of  fashion, 

That  who  will  thriue,  must  hazard  his  damnation  : 

Sweating  in  panges,  sent  such  a  horrid  mist, 

As  to  dim  heauen  :  I  looked  for  Antichrist 

Or  some  new  set  of  Diuels  to  sway  hell, 

Worser  then  those,  that  in  the  Chaos  fell  : 

Wondring  what  fruit  it  to  the  world  would  bring, 

At  length  it  brought  forth  this  :  O  most  strange  thing  ;     10 

And  with  sore  throwes,  for  that  the  greatest  head 

Euer  is  hard'st  to  be  deliuered. 

By  thee  wise  Coryate  we  are  taught  to  know, 

Great,  with  great  men  which  is  the  way  to  grow. 

For  in  a  new  straine  thou  com'st  finely  in, 

Making  thy  selfe  like  those  thou  mean'st  to  winne  : 

Greatnesse  to  me  seem'd  euer  full  of  feare, 

Which  thou  found'st  false  at  thy  arriuing  there, 


Of  the  Bermudas,  the  example  such. 

Where  not  a  ship  vntill  this  time  durst  touch  j  30 

Kep't  as  suppos'd  by  hels  infernall  dogs. 

Our  Fleet  found  their  most  honest  wyld  courteous  hogs. 

Liue  vertuous  Coryate,  and  for  euer  be 

Lik'd  of  such  wise  men,  as  are  most  like  thee. 

Explicit  Michael  Drayton. 


Prefixed  to  William  Browne's  Britannia's 
Pastorals 


To  his  Friend  the  AvTHOR. 

Driue  forth  thy  Flocke,  young  Pastor,  to  that  Plaine, 

Where  our  old  Shepheards  wont  their  flocks  to  feed  ; 

To  those  cleare  walkes,  where  many  a  skilfull  Swaine 

To'ards  the  calme  eu'ning,  tun'd  his  pleasant  Reede, 

Those,  to  the  Muses  once  so  sacred,  Downes, 

As  no  rude  foote  might  there  presume  to  stand  : 

(Now  made  the  way  of  the  vnworthiest  Clownes, 

Dig'd  and  plow'd  vp  with  each  vnhallowed  hand) 

If  possible  thou  canst,  redeeme  those  places, 

Where,  by  the  brim  of  many  a  siluer  Spring,  10 

The  learned  Maydens,  and  delightfull  Graces 

Often  haue  sate  to  heare  our  Shepheards  sing  : 

Where  on  those  Pines  the  neighb'ring  Groues  among, 

(Now  vtterly  neglected  in  these  dayes) 

Our  Garlands,  Pipes,  and  Cornamutes  were  hong 

The  monuments  of  our  deserued  praise. 

So  may  thy  Sheepe  like,  so  thy  Lambes  increase, 

And  from  the  Wolfe  feede  euer  safe  and  free  ! 

So  maist  thou  thriue,  among  the  learned  pi-ease, 

As  thou  young  Shepheard  art  belou'd  of  mee  !  20 


Prefixed  to  Chapman's  Translation  of 
Hesiod's  Georgics  (1618). 

To  my  worthy  friend  Mr.  George.  Chapman, 
and  his  translated  Hesiod. 

Chapman  s  We  finde  by  thy  past-prized  fraught. 
What  wealth  thou  dost  vpon  this  Land  conferre  $ 
Th'olde  Grecian  Prophets  hither  that  hast  brought, 
Of  their  full  words  the  true  interpreter : 
And  by  thy  trauell,  strongly  hast  exprest 
The  large  dimensions  of  the  English  tongue ; 
Deliuenng  them  so  well,  the  first  and  best. 
That  to  the  world  in  Numbers  euer  sung. 
Thou  hast  vnlock'd  the  treasury,  wherein 
All  Art,  and  knowledge  haue  so  long  been  hidden :  I  o 

Which,  till  the  gracefull  Muses  did  begin 
Here  to  inhabite,  was  to  vs  forbidden. 

In  blest  Eli-zrvm  (in  a  place  most  fit) 
Vnder  that  tree  due  to  the  Delphian  God, 
Mus&us,  and  that  Iliad  Singer  sit, 
And  neare  to  them  that  noble  ffesiod, 
Smoothing  their  rugged  foreheads  ;  and  do  smile, 
After  so  many  hundred  yeares  to  see 
Their  Poems  read  in  this  farre  westerne  He, 
Translated  from  their  ancient  Greeke,  by  thee ;  20 

Each  his  good  Genius  whispering  in  his  eare, 
That  with  so  lucky,  and  auspicious  fate 
Did  still  attend  them,  whilst  they  liuing  were, 
And  gaue  their  Verses  such  a  lasting  date. 
Where  slightly  passing  by  the  Thespian  spring, 
Many  long  after  did  but  onely  sup  5 
Nature,  then  fruitfull,  forth  these  men  did  bring, 
To  fetch  deep  Rowses  from  loues  plentious  cup. 

In  thy  free  labours  (friend)  then  rest  content, 
Feare  not  Detraction,  neither  fawne  on  Praise:  30 

When  idle  Censure  all  her  force  hath  spent, 
J\noT»ledge  can  crowne  her  self  with  her  owne  Baies. 
Their  Lines,  that  haue  so  many  liues  outworne, 
Cleerely  expounded  shall  base  Enuy  scorne. 

Michael  Drayton. 


Appendix 

Prefixed  to  Book  ij.  of  Primaleon,  &c. 
Translated  by  Anthony  Munday  (1619) 


OF  THE 

and  Translation. 

if  in  opinion  of  iudiclall  wit^ 
Primaleons  sweet  Inuention  well  deserue  : 
Then  be  (no  lesse)  which  hath  translated  it, 

doth  his  sensey  his  forme,  his  phrase,  observe. 
in  true  method  of  his  home-borne  stile, 
(Following  the  fashion  of  a  French  conceate) 
Hath  brought  him  heere  into  this  famous  lie, 
Where  but  a  stranger  ;  now  hath  made  his  seate. 
He  Hues  a  Prince,  and  camming  in  this  sort, 
Shall  to  his  Countrey  of  your  fame  re  fort. 

M.  D. 


From  Annalia  Dubrensia  (id $6). 

TO  MY  NOBLE  Friend  Mr.  ROBERT  DOVER,  on  his  braue  annuall 
Assemblies  vpon  Cotswold. 

DOVER,  to  doe  thee  Right,  who  will  not  striae, 

That  dost  in  these  dull  yron  Times  reuiue 

The  golden  Ages  glories  ;  which  poore  Wee 

Had  not  so  much  as  dream't  on  but  for  Thee  ? 

As  those  braue  Grecians  in  their  happy  dayes, 

On  Mount  Olympus  to  their  Hercules 

Ordain'd  their  games  Olimpick,  and  so  nam'd 

Of  that  great  Mountaine  ;  for  those  pastimes  fam'd  : 

Where  then  their  able  Youth,  Leapt,  Wrestled,  Ran, 

Threw  the  arm'd  Dait ;  and  honour'd  was  the  Man  10 

That  was  the  Victor ;  In  the  Circute  there 

The  nimble  Rider,  and  skill'd  Chariotere 

Stroue  for  the  Garland ;  In  those  noble  Times 

There  to  their  Harpes  the  Poets  sang  their  Rimes  ; 

That  whilst  Greece  flourisht,  and  was  onely  then 

Nurse  of  all  Arts,  and  of  all  famous  men : 

Numbring  their  yeers,  still  their  accounts  they  made, 

Either  from  this  or  that  Olimpiade. 


So  Douer,  from  these  Games,  by  thee  begun, 

Wee'l  reckon  Ours,  as  time  away  doth  run.  20 

Wee'l  haue  thy  Statue  in  some  Rocke  cut  out, 

With  braue  Inscriptions  garnished  about ; 

And  vnder  written,  Loey  this  was  the  man, 

DOVER,  that  first  these  noble  Sports  began. 

Ladds  of  the  Hills,  and  Lasses  of  the  Vale, 

In  many  a  song,  and  many  a  merry  Tale 

Shall  mention  Thee  ;  and  hauing  leaue  to  play, 

Vnto  thy  name  shall  make  a  Holy  day. 

The  Cotswold  Shepheards  as  their  flockes  they  keepe, 

To  put  ofFlazie  drowsinesse  and  sleepe,  50 

Shall  sit  to  tell,  and  heare  thy  Story  tould, 

That  night  shall  come  ere  they  their  flocks  can  fbuld. 

Afichaell  Drayton. 


NOTES 

THESE  notes  are  not  intended  to  supply  materials  for  the 
criticism  of  the  text.  So  freely,  indeed,  did  Drayton  alter  his 
poems  for  a  fresh  edition,  that  the  ordinary  machinery  of  an 
apparatus  criticus  would  be  overtasked  if  the  attempt  were  made. 
All  that  has  been  undertaken  here  is  to  provide  the  requisite 
information  in  places  where  the  text  followed  seemed  open  to 
suspicion. 

It  may  be  added  that  the  punctuation  of  the  originals  has  in 
general  been  preserved  $  in  a  few  flagrant  instances,  where  the  text 
as  it  stood  was  misleading,  it  has  been  modified.  Such  changes  are 
not  noted  here. 

2,  i,  1.  14     vertues]  vertuous  1619 

?,  3,  1.  i      loue]  loue  1^99,  1602,  160$ 

1.  3      them  forth,]  them,  forth  1^99.     But  the  1619  -version 
supports  the  reading  in  the  text. 
?;  8,  1.  8     men]  ones  1^99  :  women  1619 

1.  9     to  i?99,  1619:  of  1594 
63  9,  1.  ii     in]  on  1602 

10,  1.  12      her]  his  1602  :  their  1619 

8,  14,  1.  14      anatomize  1^99.     But  there  is  ground  for  believing  that 
anotamize  represents  a  current  pronunciation. 

9,  if,  1.  10     She'st]  ?  She'll 

10,  17,  1.  9     Were]  Where  1594 

1 8,  1.  5     Elizia]  Elizium  1599 
n,  20,  1.  10      whir-poole]  whirl-pool e  1602 
1.  12      Helycon]  Helicon  1602 

14,  26,  1.  ?     Thy  i? 99  etc.:  The  1^94 

15,  27,  1.  4     Thus]  This  1^94 

1.  1 2      depriued]  ?  depraued 
1 8,  33, 1.  3     Wishing]  Wisheth  15:99 


Notes 


10,  37, 
28,  i,  1. 


31,  10, 


37,  30, 


13      And  others]  And  cithers 
4     euer-certaine]  neuer-certaine 


4     song]  sung  1613 


12 


44,3^ 


bids]  bad  1619 

my  .  .  .  his]  his  ...  my  1619 

14     hollowed]   halowed    160?  :    hallow'd    1619.      But 
cf.  94,  1.  1 8. 

38,  43,  1.  3     Where  in  1602,  160?  :   Where,  in  1619  :  Wherein 

*199 

39,  44,  I.  4     Paynting]  Panting  1608 

Wherein  1602,  i6of,  1619:   Where  in  1^99 
forces  heere,]  forces,  here  1619 
j63  heading     A  Consonet]  A  Cansonet  1602 

41,  57,1-  13      yet]  then  1595 

42,  17,  11.  4,  13      Promethius]  Prometheus  itfo? 

Who  can  he  loue?  1608  :  Who?  can  he  louer    1619 

They  resolute,]  They  resolute?   1608,  1619 
appose]  oppose  1608,  1619 
They  1619  :  The  lo'oi,  1605,  1608 
a  1619:  and  itfof,  1608 
to  1608  :   omitted  In  i6of 
soe]  ?  loe 

Troth]  Froth  1619 
scowles]  scoulds  1606 
whome  1606:  whose  1619 
rage  1606:  age  1619 
he  1619  :  shee  1606 
some  few  1606  :  some,  few  1619 
their]  ?  there. 

Stuck]    The  emendation  Struck  is  tempting  (the  form  is 
somewhat   uncommon    but  not  unparalleled}  5    especially  in    view   of 
1.  80. 
94,  1.  1 8     hollow'd]  cf.  37,  30,  1.  14 

the]  no  doubt  a  printer's  error  for  they 
be  lowe]  belowe  1627 
whether]  whethet  1627 


1.  8 
1-  7 


43,  27,  1.  2 

12 

4 
9 
47,' 


n 
13 


71,1.  16 

37 
41 

74,  ' 


77 


34 
10 

72 


96,  1.  I  20 

97,  1.  12? 
97,  1.  126 


Notes  15-9 


983 1.  37     it]  omitted  in  1617 

JOT,  1.  6z  be]  ?been 

1043  1.  88  him]  ?  them 

1.  94  ceaze  1610  :  lease  1617 

io6}  1.  37  his]  omitted  in  1631 

1.  $6  warnd]  warne  1617 
lioa  1.  105      Neat]  Next  conj.  Seeching 
118,  beading     Chaplaine]  Chapliane 

1203  1.  8 1  extirpe  1631  :  extipe  1627 

1463  1.  90  fett]  sett  and  frett  have  been  conjectured. 

153,  1.  91  debate]  delate  1627 

1 54,  1.  n^     claue]  ?  cleaue 

i  563  1.  220     euery]  euer  1627 
174,  1.  225     wither]  whither  1630 

177,  1.  343      rawe]  taw  *748 

192,  1.  1 8  there]  they  1630 

232^  1.  12  vnto]  vp  to  1619 

233,  1.  53  fame]  faire  1606 

234,  1.  66  moue]  mock  1606 
2383  1.  25  feature]  features  1619 
240,  1.  99  long]  loue  1606 

242,  Ed.  ij,  1.  21     moane  1600  :   moans  1605 

243, 1.  55  But  it  if  the  Male  doth  want  1619 

244,  1.  37  along  she  went  1619  :  she  went  along  1606 

245,  1.  43  lowe]  loud  1600,  1619 
247,  1.  37  glories  1619  :  glorious  1606 


ERRATA 

Page  94,  1.  5     for  of  said  read  said 
33      173,  1.  170     for  you  read  your 


Oxford 

Printed  at  the  Clarendon  Press 
By  Horace  Hart,  M.A. 
Printer  to  the  University 


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2256  Minor  poems  of  Michael 

B?  Drayton