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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by 


in the Clerk's Office of the District Covtrt of the District of Massachusetts 







l/omphiiiits -^ 

Tlie Ruiiies of Time " 

The Teares of the Muses -41 

Virgils Gnat 'jT 

ProsopopoiH: or Jlother Hubberds Tale 95 

Ruinesof Rome: by Bellay 149 

.Muiopotmos: or the Fate of the Butterflie 109 

Visions of the Worlds Vanitie 191 

The Visions of lielhiy l''*^ 

The Visions of Petrarch "-"" 

Daphnaida -H 

Amoretti -"'^ 

Epithalamion '-"-^ 

Prothalamion ^^^ 

Fowre Hj-mnee ^^^ 

F,pigi-ams ^^^ 

The Shepheardys Calender ■'•~'' 

Colin Clouts come Home againe ■i93 

Astrophel ^'^'^ 


I. Variations from the Original Editions 581 

r I. Two Letters from Spen.^er to Harvey S'^^S 

UI. Index uf Proper Names ^'''' 





By ED. SP. 





1. The Ruines of Time. 

2. The Teares of the Muses. 

3. Virgils Gnat. 

4. Prosopopoia, or Mother Hubberds Tale. 

5. The Ruines of Rome : by Bellay. 

6. IMuiopotmos, or Tlie Tale of the Butterflie. 

7. Visions of the Worlds Vanitie. 

8. Bellayes Visions. 

9. Petrarches Visions. 


Since my late setting foorth of the Faerie Queene, 
finding that it hath found a favourable passage 
amongst you, I have sithence endevoured by all 
good raeanes, (for the better encrease and accom- 
plishment of your delights,) to get into my handes 
such sraale poemes of the same Authors as I heard 
were disperst abroad in sundrie hands, and not easie 
to bee come by by himselfe ; some of them having 
bene diverslie imbeziled and purloyned from him, 
since his departure over sea. Of the which I have 
by good meanes gathered togeather these fewe par- 
cels present, whicli I have caused to bee imprinted 
altogeather, for that they al seeme to containe like 
matter of argument in them, being all complaints 
and meditations of the worlds vanitie, verie grave 
and profitable. To which effect I understand that 
he besides wrote sundrie otliers, namelie : Ecclesi 
astes and Canticum Canticorum ti-anslated, A Senightu 
Slumber, The Hell of Lovers, his Purgatorie, being 
■aU dedicated to ladies, so as it may seeme he ment 


them all to one volume : besides some other pam- 
phlets looselie scattered abroad ; as The Dying Pel- 
lican, The Howers of the Lord, The Sacrifice of a 
Sinner, The Seven Psalmes, &c., which, when I can 
either by himselfe or otherwise attaine too, I meane 
Ukewise for your favour sake to set foorth. In the 
meane time, praying you gentlie to accept of these, 
and graciouslie to entertaine the new Poet,^ I take 

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





Most honourable and bountifuU Ladie, there bee 
long sithens deepe sowed in my brest the seede o^ 
most entire love and humble affection unto that most 
brave knight, your noble brother deceased : which, 
taking roote, began in his life time somewhat to bud 
forth, and to shew themselves to him, as then in the 
weakenes of their first spring ; and would in their 
riper strength (had it pleased High God till then to 
drawe out his dales) spired forth fruit of more per- 
fection. But since God hath disdeigned the world 
of that most noble spirit which was the hope of all 
learned men, and the patron of my young Muses, to- 
geather with him both their hope of anie further fruit 
was cut off, and also the tender delight of those their 
first blossoms nipped and quite dead. Yet, sithens 
my late cumming into England, some frends of mine, 
which might much prevaile with me, and indeede 
commaund me, knowing with howe straight bandes of 
duetie I was tied to him, as also bound unto tliat 
noble house, of which the chiefe hope then rested in 
him, have sought to revive them by upbraiding me, 
for that I have not shewed anie thankefuU remem- 


brance towards him or any of them, but suffer their 
names to sleep in silence and forgetf ulnesse. Whome 
chieflie to satisfie, or els to avoide that fowle blot of 
unthankefulnesse, I have conceived this small Poeme, 
intituled by a generall name of "^Llie Worlds Ruines; yet 
speciallie intended to the renowming of that noble race 
from which both you and he sprong, and to the eter- 
nizing of some of the chiefe of them late deceased. 
The which I dedicate unto your La. as whome it most 
speciallie concerneth, and to whome I acknowledge 
my selfe bounden by manie singular favours and gi-eat 
graces. I pray for your honourable happinesse, and 
BO humblie kisse your handes. 

Your Ladiships ever 

humblie at commaund, 

E. S. 


It chaunced me on ^ day beside the shore 

Of silver streaming Thamesis to bee, 

Nigh where the goodly Verlame stood of yore, 

Of which there now remaines no memorie, 

Nor anie little nioniment to see, » 

By which the travailer that fares that way 

This once was she may warned be to say. 

There on the other side, I did behold 

A Woman sitting sorrowfullie wailing, 

Rending her yeolow locks, like wyrie golde w 

About her shoulders careleslie downe trailing, 

And streames of teares from her faire eyes forth 

railing ^ : 
In her ris^ht hand a broken rod she held, 
Which towards heaven shee seemd on high to weld. 

1 On, one. ^ Railing, flowing. 

Ver. 3. — Verlame.'] Venilam, or Verulamium, was a British 
and Roman town, near tlie present cit\' of St. All)ati's in Hert- 
fordshire. Some remains of its walls are still perceptible. H. 


Whether she were one of that rivers nyraphes, is 
Which did the losse of sdnie dere Love lament, 
I doubt ; or one of those three fatall impes 
Which draw the dayes of men forth in extent ; 
Or th' auncient genius of that citie brent * ; 
But, seeing her so piteouslie perplexed, ?o 

I, to her calling, askt what her so vexed- 

" Ah ! what delight," quoth she, " in earthlie thing, 

Or comfort can I, wretched creature, have? 

Whose happines the heavens envying. 

From highest staire to lowest step me drave, 25 

And have in mine owne bowels made my grave, 

That of all nations now I am forlorne,^ 

The worlds sad spectacle, and Fortunes scorne." 

Much was I mooved at her piteous plaint, 

And felt my heart nigh riven in my brest ao 

With tender ruth to see her sore constraint ; 

That, shedding teares, a while I still did rest, 

And after did her name of her request. 

" Name have I none," quoth she, " nor anie being. 

Bereft of both by Fates uniust decreeing. 35 

" I was that citie which the garland wore 

Of Britaines pride, delivered unto me 

By Romane victors which it wonne of yore ; 

Though nought at all but mines now I bee, 

And lye in mine owne ashes, as ye see, to 

Verlame I was ; what bootes it that I was, 

Sith now I am but weedes and wastfuU gras ? 


I Brent, burnt. 2 Forlome, forsaken. 


** vaine worlds glorie, and un^tedfast state 

Of all that lives on face of sinfull earth ! 

Which, from their first untill their utmost date, 4&. 

Tast no one hower of happines or merth ; 

But like as at the ingate ^ of their berth 

They crying creep out of their mothers woomb, 

So wailing backe go to their wofull toomb. 

" Why then dooth flesh, a bubble-glas of breath, so 

Hunt after honour and advauncement vaine, 

And reare a trophee for devouring death 

With so great labour and long-lasting paine. 

As if his daies for ever should remaine ? 

Sith all that in this world is great or gaie 55 

Doth as a vapour vanish and decaie. 

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

" Wliat nowe is of th' Assyrian Lyonesse, 

Of whorae no footing now on earth appeares ? es 

1 Ingate, entrance, beginning. ^ Meare, boundary. 

Ver. 64.— Th' Assyian Lyonesse.] These types of nations are 
taken from the seventh chapter of the book of Daniel. H. 


Wliat of the Persian Beares outragiousnesse, 
Whose memorie is quite worne out with yeares ? 
Who of the Grecian Libbard ^ now ought heares, 
That over-ran tlie East with greedie powre, 
And left his whelps their kingdoraes to devoure ? 70 

" And where is that same great seven-headded beast, 

Tiiat made all nations vassals of her pride, 

To fall before her feete at her beheast, 

And in the necke of all the world did ride ? 74 

Where doth she all that wondrous welth nowe hid'C ? 

With her own weight downe pressed now shee 

And by her heaps her hugenesse testifies. 

" Rome, thy mine I lament and rue, 

And in thy fall my fatall overthrowe, 

That wdiilom was, whilst heavens with equall vewe 

Deignd to behold me and their gifts bestowe, si 

The picture of thy pride in pompous shew : 

And of the whole world as thou wast the empresse. 

So I of this small Northerne world was princesse. 

" To tell the beawtie of my buildings fayre, ss 

Adornd with purest golde and precious stone. 

To tell my riches and endowments rare. 

That by my foes are now all spent and gone. 

To tell my foi'ces, matchable to none, 

Were but lost labour that few would beleeve, po 

And with rehearsing would me more agreeve. 

^ Libbard, leopard. 


" High towers, faire temples, goodly theaters, 
Strong walls, rich porches, princelie pallaces, 
Large streetes, brave houses, sacred sepiilchers, 
Sure gates, sweete gardens, stately galleries 95 

Wrought with faire pillours and fine imageries, — 
All those, O pitie ! now are turnd to dust. 
And overgrowen with blacke oblivions rust. 

" Theretoo, for warlike power and peoples store 

In Britannie was none to match with mee, lou 

That manie often did able full sore : 

Ne Troynovant,^ though elder sister shee, 

With my great forces might compared bee ; 

That stout Pendragon to his perill felt, 

Who in a siege seaven yeres about me dwelt. los 

" But long ere this, Bunduca, Britonnesse, 

Her mightie hoast against my bulwarkes brought ; 

Bunduca ! that victorious conqueresse. 

That, lifting up her brave heroick thought 

Bove woraens weaknes, with the Romanes fought, 110 

Fought, and in field against them thrice prevailed : 

Yet was she foyld, when as she me assailed. 

" And though at last by force I conquered were 

Of bardie Saxons, and became their thrall, 

Yet was I with much bloodshed bought full deere, uii 

A nd prizde with slaughter of their generall, 

The moniment of whose sad funerall, 

For wonder of the world, long in me lasted, 

But now to nought, through spoyle of time, is wasted 

1 Trojfnovant, London 


" Wasted it is, as if it never were ; lao 

And all the rest that me so honord made, 

And of the world admired ev'rie where, 

Is turnd to smoake that doth to nothing fade ; 

And of that brightnes now appeares no shade, 

But greislie shades, such as doo haunt in hell 125 

With fearful! fiends that in deep darknes dwell. 

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

" And where the christall Thamis wont to slide 

In silver channell downe along the lee, 135 

About whose flowrie bankes on either side 

A thousand nymphes, with rairthfuU iollitee. 

Were wont to play, from all annoyance free. 

There now no rivers course is to be seene, 

But moorish fennes, and marshes ever greene. uo 

" Seemes that that gentle river, for great griefe 

Of my mishaps which oft I to him plained. 

Or for to shunne the horrible mischiefe 

With which he saw my cruell foes me pained. 

And his pure streames with guiltles blood oft stained, 

From my unhappie neighborhood farre fled, uo 

\nd his sweete waters awav with him Ipd. 


•' There also where the winged ships were scene 

In h'qiiid waves to cut their fomie waie, 

And thousand fishers numbred to have been, iso 

In that wide lake looking for jjlenteous praie 

Of fish, which they witli baits usde to betraie, 

Is now no lake, nor anie fishers store. 

Nor ever ship shall saile there anie more. 

" They all are gone, and all with them is gone ! its 

Ne ought to me remaines, but to lament 

My long decay, which no man els doth mone, 

And mourne my fall with dolefull dreriment: 

Yet it is comfort in great languishment. 

To be bemoned with compassion kinde, lao 

And mitigates the anguish of the minde. 

" But me no man bewaileth, but in game 

Ne sheddeth teares from lamentable eie ; 

Nor anie lives that mentioneth my name 

To be remembred of posteritie, 165 

Save one, that maugre Fortunes iniurie. 

And Times decay, and Envies cruell tort,* 

Hath writ my record in true-seeming sort. 

•' Cambden ! the nourice ^ of antiquitie, 

And lanterne unto late succeding age no 

To see the light of simple veritie 

Huried in mines, through the great outrage 

Of her owne people led with warlike rage, 

Cambden ! though Time all moiiiments obscure, 

Vet thy iust lal)ours ever shall endure. ns 

1 Tort, wrong. 2 y^ourUe, nurse. 

VOL. v 2 


"But whie, unhappie wiglit! doo I tliiis crie, , 

Aiid grieve that my remembrance quite is raced ^ 

Gut of the knowledge of posteritie, 

And all my antique moniments defaced ? 

Sith I doo dailie see things highest placed, iso 

So soone as Fates their vitall tlired have shorne, 

Forgotten quite as they were never borne 

" It is not long, since these two eyes beheld 

A mightie Prince,^ of most renowmed race, 

Whom England high in count of honour held, ise 

And greatest ones did sue to giiine his grace ; 

Of greatest ones he, greatest in his place. 

Sate in the bosom of his Soveraine, 

And Right and Loyall^ did his word maintaine. 

" I saw him die, I saw him die as one i9o 

Of the meane people, and brought foorth on beare ; 

I saw him die, and no man left to mone 

His doleful! fate that late him loved deare ; 

Scarse anie left to close his eylids neare ; 

Scarse anie left upon his lips to laie 195 

The sacred sod, or requiem to saie. 

1 Raced, razed. 8 Leicester's motto. 

2 I. e. the Karl of Leicester. 

Ver. 190. — I saw him die.] Leicester died at Cornburv Lodge, 
in Oxfordshire. Mr. Collier rightly remarks that these words are 
not to be taken literally, and that Verulam witnessed Leicester's 
death only in the sense in which the expression might be em- 
ployed of all England. C. 


" trustlesse state of miserable men, 
That builde your blis on hope of eartlily thing, 
And vainly thinke your selves halfe happie then, 
When painted faces with smooth flattering 200 

Doo fawne on you, and your wide praises sing ; 
And, when the courting masker louteth* lowe. 
Him true in heart and trustie to you trow ! 

" All is but fained, and with oaker - dide. 

That everie shower will wash and wipe away ; aoa 

k\\ thinfjs doo chanjie that under heaven abide, 

And after death all friendship doth decaie. 

Therefore, what ever man beai'st worldlie sway, 

Living, on God and on thy selfe relie ; 

For, when thou diest, all shall with thee die. 210 

" He now is dead, and all is with him dead. 

Save what in heavens storehouse lie uplaid : 

His hope is faild, and come to passe his dread. 

And evill men (now dead) his deeds upbraid: 

Spite bites the dead, that living never baid. aia 

He now is gone, the whiles the foxe is crept 

Into the hole the which the badger swept. 

" He now is dead, and all his glorie gone, 

And all his greatnes vapoured to nought. 

That as a glasse upon the water shone, Hf. 

Which vanisht quite- so soone as it was sought. 

His name is worne alreadie out of thought, 

Ne anie poet seekes him to revive ; 

Vet manie poets honourd him alive. 

1 Lmtttth, boweth. ^ Oaker, oclire. oaint. 


" Ne doth his Colin, cai-eles.^e Colin Cloute, 225 

Care now his idle bagpipe up to raise, 

Ne tell his sorrow to the listning rout 

Of shepherd groonies, which wont his songs to pi'aise: 

Praise who so list, yet I will him dispraise, 

Untill he quite ^ him of this guiltie blame. 230 

Wake, shepheards boy, at length awake for shame! 

" And who so els did goodnes by him gaine. 
And who so els his bounteous minde did trie,^ 
Whether he shepheard be, or shei)heards swaine, 
(For manie did, which doo it now denie,) 235 

Awake, and to his song a part applie : 
And I, the whilest you mourne for his decease. 
Will with my mourning plaints your plaint in- 

" He dyde, and after him his brother dyde, 

His brother prince, his brother noble peere, 240 

That whilste he lived was of none envyde. 

And dead is now, as living, counted deare ; 

Deare unto all that true affection beare. 

But unto thee most deai-e, O dearest Dame, 

His noble spouse and paragon of fame. 345 

1 Qtn'le, acquit. 2 Trie, experience. 

Ver. 225. — Colin Cloute.] Spenser himself, who had been be- 
frieniled by Leicester. H. 

Ver. 23i.i. — //is bi-oiher.] Ambrose Dudley, Earl of War- 

Ver. 2t-'.. — His noble spouse.] Anne, the eldest daughter of 
tVancis Kusscll, Earl of Bedford. 


" fie, whilest he lived, hnipie \v;is througli thee, 

And, being dead, is happie now much more ; 

Living, that hncked cliaunst with thee to bee, 

And dead, because him dead thou dost adore 

As Hving, and thy lost deare love deplore. aao 

So whilst that thou, faire flower of chastitie, 

Dost live, by thee thy lord shall never die. 

" Thy lord shall never die, the whiles this verse 

Shall live, and surely it shall live for ever : 

For ever it shall live, and shall rehearse ass 

His worthie praise, and vertues dying never, 

Though death his soule doo frop his bodie sever: 

And thou thy selfe herein shalt also live ; 

Such grace the heavens doo to my verses give. 

" Ne shall his sister, ne thy father, die ; SOO 

Thy father, that good earle of rare renowne, 

And noble patrone of weake povertie ; 

Whose great good deeds, in countrey and in towne, 

Have purchast him in heaven an happie crowne : 

Where he now liveth in eternall blis, S66 

And left his sonne t' ensue those steps of his 

" He, noble bud, his grandsires livelie hayre. 
Under the shadow of thy countenaunce 

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

Ver. 261. — That good eark, &c.] This Earl of Bedford died in 
1585. — Todd. 

Ver. 267. —/7e, noble bud, &c.] Edward Russell, grandson of 
Francis Karl of Bedford, succeeded in the earldom, bis fatlicr 
Francis, ha\ing been slain by the Scots. — Oi.nvs. 



Now ginnes to shoote up fast, and flourish fayre 
In learned artes, and goodlie governaunce, aro 

That him to highest honour shall advaunce. 
Brave impe^ of Bedford, grow apace in hountie, 
And count of wisedome more than of thy countie ! 

" Ne may I let thy husbands sister die, 

That goodly ladie, sith she eke did spring 275 

Out of this stocke and famous familie 

Whose praises I to future age doo sing ; 

And foorth out of her happie womb did bring 

The sacred brood of learning and all honour : 

In whom the heavens powrde all their gifts upon her. 

" Most gentle spirite breathed from above, asi 

Out of the bosome of the Makers blis, 

In whom all bountie and all vertuous love 

Appeared in their native propertis, 

And did enrich that noble breast of his asfr 

With treasure passing all this worldes worth, 

Worthie of heaven it selfe, which brought it forth : 

" His blessed spirite, full of power divine 

And influence of all celestiall grace, 

Loathing this sinfuU earth and earthlie slime, 290 

Fled backe too soone unto his native place ; 

Too soone for all that did his love embrace, 

1 Impe, gi'aft, scion. 

Ver. 275. — Thit goodly ladle, &c.] Lady Mary Sidney, mother 
of Sir I^hilip Sidney and tlie Countess of Pembroke. 
Ver. 281. — Most gentle spirite.] Sir Philip Sidney. 


Too soone for all tins wietclied world, whom he 
Eobd of all right and true nobilitie. 

" Yet, ere his happie soule to heaven went 295 

Out of this fleshlie goale, he did devise 

Unto his heavenlie Maker to present 

His bodie, as a spotles sacrifise, 

And chose that guiltie hands of enemies 

Should powre forth th' offring of his guiltles blood: 

So life exchanging for his countries good. 301 

" noble spirite, live there ever blessed, 

The worlds late wonder, and the heavens new ioy ; 

Live ever there, and leave me here distressed 

With mortall cares and cumbrous worlds anoy ! 30s 

But, where thou dost that happines enioy, 

Bid me, bid me quicklie come to thee, 

That happie there I male thee alwaies see ! 

" Yet, whilest the Fates aifoord me vitall breath, 

I will it spend in speaking of thy praise, 310 

And sin": to thee, untill that timelie death 

By heavens doome doo ende my earthlie dales : 

Thereto doo thou my humble spirite raise, 

And into me that sacred bi-eath inspire, 

Which thou there breathest perfect and entire. sis 

•' Then will I sing ; but who can better sing 
Than thine owne sister, peerles ladie bright, 

Ver. 317. — Thine (none sister, &c.] The Countess of Pem- 
broke, to whom this poem is dedicated. "Tlie Dolelur. l,ay of 
Clorinda " (Vol. IV. i>- i'-i^) appears to have been written by her. 


Which to thee sings with deep harts sorrowing, 

Sorrowing tempered with deare delight, 

That her to heare I feele my feeble spright 320 

Robbed of sense, and ravished with ioy ; 

sad ioy, made of mourning and anoy ! 

" Yet will I sing ; but who can better sing 
Than thou thyselfe thine owne selfes valiance, 
That, whilest thou livedst, madest the forrests ring, 323 
And fields resownd, and flockes to leap and daunce, 
And shepheards leave their lambs unto mischaunce. 
To runne thy shrill Arcadian pipe to heare : 
O bappie were those dayes, thrice happie were ! 

*' But now more happie thou, and wretched wee, 330 

Which want the wonted sweetnes of thy voice, 

Whiles thou now in Elisian fields so free, 

With Orpheus, and with Linus, and the choice 

Of all that ever did in rimes reioyce, 

Conversest, and doost heare their heavenlie layes, 335 

And they heare thine, and thine doo better praise. 

" So there thou livest, singing evermore, 

And here thou livest, being ever song 

Of us, which living loved thee afore. 

And now thee worship mongst that blessed throng 340 

Of heavenlie poets and heroes strong. 

So thou both here and there immortall art. 

And everie where through excellent desart. 

"But such as neither of themselves can sing, 

Xor yet are sung of others for reward, 345 


Die in obscure oblivion, as the thing 

Which never was ; ne ever with regard 

Their names shall of the later age be heard, 

But shall in rustle darknes ever lie, 

Unles they mentiond be with infamie. 3»o 

" What booteth it to have been rich alive? 

What to be great ? what to be gracious ? 

When after death no token doth survive 

Of former being m this mortall hous, 

But sleepes in dust dead and inglorious, 36s 

Like beast, whose breath but in his nostrels is, 

And hath no hope of happinesse or blis. 

" How manie great ones may remembred be, 

Which in their dales most famouslie did Horish, 

Of whome no word we heare, nor signe now see, 360 

But as things wipt out with a sponge to perishe, 

Because they living cared not to cherishe 

No gentle wits, through pride or covetize, 

Which might their names for ever memorize ! 

" Provide therefore, ye Princes, whilst ye live, 365 

That of the Muses ye may friended bee, 

Which unto men eternitie do give ; 

For they be daughters of Dame Meniorie 

And love, the father of Eternitie, 

And do those men in golden thrones repose, 370 

Whose merits they to glorifie do chose. 

'' The seven-fold yron gates of grislie Hell, 
And horrid house of sad Proserpina, 


They able are with power of raightie spell 

To breake, and thence the soules to bring awaie 375 

Out of dread darkenesse to eternall day, 

And them immortall make which els would die 

In Ibule forgetfulnesse, and nameles lie 

" So whilome raised they the puissant brood 

Of golden-girt Alcmena, for great m^rite, aso 

Out of the dust to which the Oetasan wood 

Had him consum'd, and spent his vitall spirite, 

To highest heaven, where now he doth inherite 

All happinesse in Hebes silver bowre. 

Chosen to be her dearest paramoure. aea 

" So raisde they eke faire Ledaes w^arlick twinnes, 

And interchanged life unto them lent. 

That, when th' one dies, th' other then beginnes 

To shew in heaven his brightnes orient ; 

And they, for pittie of the sad wayment,^ 880 

Which Orpheus for Eurydice did make. 

Her back againe to life sent for his sake. 


" So happie are they, and so fortunate, 

Whom the Pierian sacred sisters love, 

That freed from bands of impacable^ fate, 39s 

And power of death, they live for aye above, 

Where mortall wreakes their blis may not remove ; 

But with the gods, for former vertues meede, 

On nectar and ambrosia do feede. 

WaymerU, lament. 2 Impacable, unnppeasable. 


■' For deeds doe die, how ever noblie donne, 400 

And thoughts of men do as themselves decay ; 

But wise wordes taught in numbers for to runne, 

Recorded by the Muses, live for ay ; 

Ne may with storming showers be washt away, 

Ne bitter-breathing windes with harmfuU blast, 4o« 

Nor age, nor en vie, shall them ever wast. 

" In vaine doo earthly princes then, in vaine, 

Seeke with pyraraides to heaven aspired, 

Or huge colosses built with costlie paine, 

Or brasen pillours never to be fired, 410 

Or shrines made of the mettall most desired, 

To make their memories for ever live : 

For how can mortall immortalitie give ? 

" Such one Mausolus made, the worlds great won- 
But now no remnant doth thereof remaine : iu 

Such one Marcellus, but was torne with thunder : 
Such one Lisippus, but is worne with raine : 
Such one King Edmond, but was rent for gaine. 
All such vaine moniments of earthlie masse, 
Devour'd of Time, in time to nought doo passe. 430 

" But Fame with golden wings aloft doth flie. 

Above the reach of ruinous decay. 

And with brave plumes doth beate the azure skie, 

Admir'd of base-borne men from farre away : 

Then who so will with vertuous deeds assay 48fl 

To mount to heaven, on Pegasus must ride. 

And with sweete Poets verse be glorifide. 


** For not to have been dipt in Lethe lake, 

Could save the sonne of Thetis from to die ; 

But that blinde bard did him immortall make 4S0 

With verses dipt in deaw of Castalie : 

Which made the Easterne conquerour to crie, 

fortunate yong man ! whose vertue found 

So brave a trompe thy noble acts to sound. 

" Therefore in this halfe happie I doo read * 43S 

Good Melibae, that hath a poet got 

To sing his living praises being dead, 

Deserving never here to be forgot, 

In spight of envie, that his deeds would spot : 

Since whose decease, learning lies unregarded, 440 

And men of armes doo wander unrewarded. 

" Those two be those two great calamities. 

That long agoe did grieve the noble spright 

Of Salomon with great indignities. 

Who whilome was alive the wisest wight: 44fi 

But now his wisedome is disprooved quite. 

For he that now welds ^ all things at his will 

Scorns th' one and th' other in his deeper skill. 

" O griefe of griefes ! gall of all good heartes ! 
To see that vertue should dispised bee 450 

Of him that first was raisde for vertuous parts, 

1 Read, consider. 2 Welds, wields. 

Ver. 436. — Good Mellbae.] Sir Francis Walsingham, who died 
April 6, 1590. Tiie poet is Thomas Watson. — Oldys. 
Ver. 447-455. --These lines are aimed at Burghley, who was 


And now, broad spreading like an aged tree, 

Lets none shoot up that nigh him phmted bee. 

let the man of whom the Muse is scorned. 

Nor alive nor dead, be of the Muse adorned ! 465, 

" vile worlds trust ! that with such vaine illusion 

Hath so wise men bewitcht and overkest,^ 

That they see not the way of their confusion : 

O vainesse to be added to the rest 

That do my soule with inward griefe infest ! 4C0 

Let them behold the piteous fall of raee. 

And in my case their owne ensaraple see. 

" And who so els that sits in highest seate 

Of this worlds glorie, worshipped of all, 

Ne feareth change of time, nor fortunes threate, 465. 

Let him behold the hori'or of my fall, 

And his owne end unto remembrance call ; 

That of like ruine he may warned bee. 

And in himselfe be moov'd to pittie mee." 

Thus having ended all her piteous plaint, 470 

With dolefull shrikes shee vanished away, 

That I, through inward sorrowe wexen faint, 

And all astonis"hed with deepe dismay 

For her departure, had no word to say ; 

But sate long time in sencelesse sad affright, 476 

Looking still, if I might of her have sight. 

1 Overkest, overcast. 

said to have opposed the Queen's intended bounty to tlie po- 
et. C. 

30 Tiiic KuiNES OF timp:. 

Which when I missed, having looked long, 

My thought returned greeved home againe. 

Renewing her complaint with passion strong, 

For ruth of that same womans piteous paine ; 480 

Whose wordes recording in my troubled braine, 

I felt such anguish wound my feeble heart, 

That frosen horror ran through everie part. 

So inlie greeving in my groning brest, 

And deepelie muzing at her doubtfull speach, 486 

Whose meaning much I labored foorth to wreste, 

Being above my slender reasons reach, 

At length, by demonstration me to teach. 

Before mine eies strange sights presented were, 

Like tragicke pageants seeming to appears. 49) 

I SAW an Lnage, all of massie gold, 
Placed on high upon an altare faire, 
That all which did the same from farre beholde 
Might worship it, and fall on lowest staire. 
Not that great idoll might with this compaire, 49s 

* These allegorical representations of the vanity of exalted posi- 
tion, stately buildings, earthly pleasures, bodily strength, and works 
of beauty and magnificence, admit of an easy application to the 
splendid career of the Earl of Leicester, — his favor and influence 
with the Queen, his enlargement of Kenilworth, his princely style 
of living, and particularly (iv.) his military command in the Low 
Countries. The sixth ol' these "tragick pageants" strongly con- 
firms this interpretation. The two bears are Robert and Ambrose 
Dudley. While Leicester was lieutenant in the Netherlands, he 
was in the habit of using the Warwick crest (a bear and rasr^ed 
staff) instead of his own. Naunton, in his Fragmenta Regalia, calls 
liin\ Ui-s<i Majoi: C. < 


To which th' Assyrian tyrant would have made 
The holie brethren falslie to have praid. 

But th' altare on the which this image staid 

Was (0 great pitie !) built of brickie ^ clay, 

That shortly the foundation decaid, soo 

With showres of heaven and tempests worne away ; 

Then downe it fell, and low in ashes lay, 

Scorned of everie one which by it went ; 

That I, it seing, dearelie did lament. 


Next unto this a statelie Towre appeared, sos 

Built all of richest stone that might bee found. 
And nigh unto the heavens in height upreared, 
But placed on a plot of sandie ground : 
Not that great towre which is so much renownd 
For tongues confusion in Holie Writ, 510 

King Ninus worke, might be compar'd to it. 

But, vaine labours of terrestriall wit. 

That buildes so sti'onglie on so frayle a soyle, 

As with each storme does fall away and flit, 

And gives the fruit of all your travailes toyle sis 

To be the pray of Tyme, and Fortunes spoyle, 

I saw this towre fall sodainlie to dust. 

That nigh with griefe thereof my heart was brust. 

1 Brichle, brittle. 

Ver. 497. — The holie hi-ethren, &c.] Shadrach, Meshaoh, and 
Abednego. Daniel, ch. iii. C. 



Then did I see a pleasant Paradize, 

Full of sweete flowres and daintiest delights, sao 

Such as on earth man could not more devize, 

With pleasures choyce to feed his cheereful sprights : 

Not that which Merlin by his magicke slights 

Made for the gentle Squire, to entertaine 

His fayre Belphoebe, could this gardine staine. 625 

But O short pleasure bought with lasting paine ! 

Why will hereafter anie flesh delight 

In earthlie blis, and ioy in pleasures vaine ? 

Since that I sawe this gardine wasted quite, 

That where it was scarce seemed anie sight ; 530 

That I, which once that beautie did beholde. 

Could not from teares my melting eyes with-holde 


Soone after this a Giaunt came in place. 

Of wondrous power, and of exceeding stature, 

That none durst vewe the horror of his face ; 336 

Yet was he milde of speach, and meeke of nature. 

Not he which in despight of his Creatour 

With railing tearmes defied the lewish hoast, 

Might with this mightie one in hugenes boast ; 

For from the one he could to th' other coast sio 

Stretch his strong thighes, and th' ocean overstride. 

And reatch his hand into his enemies hoast. 

But see the end of pompe and fleshlie pride ! 

One of his feete unwares from him did slide, 

That downe hee fell into the deepe abisse, 645 

Where drownd with him is all his earthlie blissc 



Then did I see a Bridge, made all of golde, 

Over the sea from one to other side, 

Withouten prop or pillour it t' upholde, 

But like the coloured rainbowe arched wide : eso 

Not that great arche which Traian edifide, 

To be a wonder to all age ensuing, 

Was matchable to this in equall vewing. 

But ah ! what bootes it to see earthlie thing 

In glorie or in greatnes to excell, sm 

Sith time doth greatest things to ruine bring ? 

This goodlie bridge, one foote not fastned well, 

Gan faile, and all the rest downe shortlie fell, 

Ne of so brave a building ought remained, 

That griefe thereof my spirite greatly pained. 660 


I saw two Beares, as white as anie milke, 

Lying together in a mightie cave, 

Of milde aspect, and haire as soft as silke, 

That salvage nature seemed not to have, 

Nor after greedie spoyle of blood to crave : 686 

Two fairer beasts might not elswhere be found. 

Although the compast^ world were sought around. 

But what can long abide above this ground 

In state of blis, or stedfast happinesse ? 

The cave in which these beares lay sleeping sound 

Was but earth, and with her owne weightinesse e7i 

1 Compost, rounded. 

VOL. V. 3 


Upon them fell, and did unwares oppresse : 
That, for great sorrow of their sudden fate, 
Henceforth ull worlds felicitie I hate. 

% Much was I troubled in my lieavie spright, ir.i 
At sight of these sad spectacles forepast, 
That all my senses were bereaved quight, 
And I in rainde remained sore agast, 
Distraught twixt feare and pitie ; when at last 
1 heard a voyce which loudly to me called, 68o 

That with the suddein shrill I was appalled. 

" Behold," said it, " and by ensample see, 

That all is vanitie and griefe of minde, 

Ne other comfort in this world can be, 

But hope of heaven, and heart to God inclinde ; S86 

For all the rest must needs be left behinde." 

With that it bad me to the other side 

To cast mine eye, where other sights I spide. 


Upon that famous rivers further shore,* 

There stood a snowie Swan, of heavenly hiew 690 

Ver. 582 -586. — A paraphrase of Sir Pliilip's last words to his 
brother. " Above all, (govern your will and afTection by tlie will 
and word of your Creator, in me beholdini:; the end of this world 
with all her vanities." This is pointed out by Zoucli, Life of Sid- 
ney, p. 263. C. 

* This second series of pn£:;eants is applicable exclusively to Sir 
J hilip Sidney. The meaninp; of the third and fourth is hard to 
make out; but the third seems to have reference to the collection 


A.iid gentle kinde as ever fowle afore ; 

A fairer one in all the goodlie criew 

Of white Strimonian brood might no man view: 

There he most sweetlj^ sung the prophecie 

Of his owne death in dolefull elegie. SM 

At last, when all his mourning melodie 

He ended had, that both the shores resounded, 

Fe«elins the fit that him forewarnd to die, 

"With loftie flight above the earth he bounded, 

And out of sight to highest heaven mounted, eoo 

Where now he is become an heavenly signe ; 

There now the ioy is his, here sorrow mine. 


Whilest thus I looked, loe ! adowne the lee^ 
I sawe an Harpe, stroong all with silver twyne, 
And made of golde and costlie y vorie, 6<» 

Swimming, that whilonie seemed to have been 
The harpe on which Dan Orpheus was seene 
Wylde beasts and forrests after him to lead, 
But was th' harpe of Philisides^ now dead. 

' Lee, surface of the stream. 2 pidU-sid-es, Sir Philip Sidney. 

of the scattered sheets of the Arcadia, and the publication of this 
work by the Countess of Pembroke, after it had been condemned 
to desti-uction by the author. The fourth may indeed signify 
nothing more than Lady Sidney's bereavement by her husband's 
death ; but this interpretation seems too literal for a professed 
allegory. The sixth obviously alludes to the splendid obsequies 
to Sidney, performed at the Queen's expense, and to the compe- 
tition of" the States of Holland for the honor of burying his 
ijody C. 


At length out of the river it was reard, 
And borne above the cloudes to be divin'd, 
VVhilst all the way most heavenly noyse was heard 
Of the strings, stirred with the warbling wind, 
That wrought both ioy and sorrow in my mind : 
So now in heaven a signe it doth appeare, eis 

The Harpe well knowne beside the Northern Beare. 

III. ^ 

Soone after this I saw on th' other side 

A curious Coifer made of heben^ wood, 

That in it did most precious treasure hide, 

Exceeding all this baser worldes good : 62(i 

Yet tiirough the overflowing of the flood 

It almost drowned was and done to nought, 

That sight thereof much griev'd my pensive thought. 

At length, when most in perill it was brought. 

Two angels, downe descending with swift flight, U36 

Out of the swelling streame it lightly caught, 

And twixt their blessed amies it carried quight 

Above the reach of anie livins; sisrht : 

So now it is transform'd into that starre. 

In which all heavenly treasures locked are. « 


Looking aside I saw a stately Bed, 
Adorned all with costly cloth of gold, 
That might for anie princes couche be red,* 
And deckt with daintie flowres, as if it shold 

1 Jleben, ebony. 2 Jigj^ taken- 


Be tor some bride, her ioyous night to hold : ssc 

Therein a goodly virgine sleeping lay ; 
A fairer wight saw never summers day. 

I heard a voyce that called farre away, 

And her awaking bad her quickly dight, 

For lo ! her bridegrome was in readie ray 040 

To come to her, and seeke her loves delight : 

With that she started up with cherefuU sight. 

When suddeinly both bed and all was gone, 

And I in languor left thei*e all alone. 

Still as I gazed, I beheld where stood 944 

A Knight all arm'd, upon a winged steed. 

The same that was bred of Medusaes blood. 

On which Dan Perseus, borne of heavenly seed. 

The faire Andromeda from perill freed : 

Full mortally this knight ywounded was, 6w 

That strearaes of blood foorth flowed on the gras. 

Yet was he deckt (small ioy to him, alas !) 

With manie garlands for his victories, 

A.nd with rich spoyles, which late he did purchas 

Throun^h brave atcheivements from his enemies : 655 

Fainting at last througli long infirmities. 

He smote his steed, that straight to heaven him bore, 

And left me here his losse for to deplore. 


Lastly, I saw an Arke of purest golde 

Upon a brazen pillour standing hie, «i" 


Which th' ashes seem'd of some great prince to hold, 
Enclosde therein for endles memorie 
Of him whom ail the world did glorifie : 
Seemed the heavens with the earth did disagree, 
Whether should of those ashes keeper bee. e^e 

At last me seem'd wing-footed Mercurie, 

From heaven descending to appease their strife, 

The arke did beare with him above the skie, 

And to those ashes gave a second life, 

To live in heaven, where happines is rife : 670 

At which the earth did grieve exceedingly, 

And I for dole was almost like to die. 

]J Envoy. * 

Immortall spirite of Pliilisides, 

Which now art made the heavens ornament, 

That whilome wast the worldes chiefst riches, «76 

Give leave to him that lov'de thee to lament 

His losse by lacke of thee to heaven hent,^ 

And with last duties of this broken verse, 

Broken witli sighes, to decke thy sable herse ! 

And ye, faire Ladie ! th' honor of your daies oac 

And glorie of the world, your high thoughts seorne. 

1 //en/, taken away. 

* U Envoy was a sort of postscript sent unth poetical composi- 
tions, atnl scrviiic; either to recoinmpnil them to the attention o( 
Bome ps-rticuhir person, or to enforce what we call the moral of 
them. — Tykwiiitt. 


Vouchsafe this moniment of his last praiso 

With some few silver dropping teares t' adorne ; 

And as ye be of heavenlie ofF-spring borne, 

So unto heaven let your high minde aspire, ess 

And loath this drosse of sinfuU worlds desire 



By ED. SP. 






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

Your La : humbly ever. 

Ed. Sp. 

 Laiy Strange waf; Alice Spencer, sixth daughter of Sir John 
Spenrer of Althorpe. C. 


Rehearse to me, ye sacred Sisters nine, 

The golden brood of great Apolloes wit, 

Those piteous plaints and sorowfull sad tine 

Which late ye powred forth as ye did sit 

Besid^ the silver springs of Helicone, 5 

Making your musick of hart-breaking mone ! 

For since the time that Phoebus foolish sonne, 

Ythundered, through loves avengefull wrath, 

For traversinsr the charret of the Sunne 

Beyond the compasse of his pointed path, lo 

Of you, liis mournfull sisters, was lamented, 

Such mournfull tunes were never since invented. 

Nor since that faire Calliope did lose 

Her loved twinnes, the dearlings of her ioy, 

Her Palici, whom her unkindly foes, la 

Ver. 15. — Palici.'] The Palici were children of .In])itei ana 
Thalia, not Calliope. IT. 


The Fatall Sisters, did for spight destroy, 
Whom all the Muses did bewaile long space, 
Was ever heard such wayling in this place. 

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

The trembling streames which wont in chanels 
cleare ss 

To romble gently downe with murmur soft. 
And were by them right tunefuU taught to beare 
A bases part amongst their consorts oft ; 
Now forst to overflowe with brackish teares, 
With troublous noyse did dull their daintie eares. so 

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

Like heavily lamenting from them went. 

And all that els was wont to worke delight 

Through the divine infusion of their skill. 

And all that els seerad faire and fresh in sight, 

So made by nature for to serve their will, 40 

Was turned now to dismall heavinesse, 

Was turned now to dreadfull uglinesse. 


Ay me ! what thing on earth, that all thing breeds, 

Might be the cause of so impatient plight? 

What furie, or Avhat feentl, with felon deeds 4S; 

Hath stirred up so mischievous despight? 

Can griefe then enter into heavenly harts, 

And piei'ce immortall breasts with mortall smarts ? 

Vouchsafe ye then, whom onely it concernes, 

To me those secret causes to display ; 5C . 

For none but you, or who of you it learnes, 

Can rightfully aread so dolefull lay. 

Begin, thou eldest sister of the crew. 

And let the rest in order thee ensew. 


Heare, thou great Father of the Gods on hie, S6- 

That most art dreaded for thy thunder darts ; 

And thou, our Syre, that raignst in Castalie 

And Mount Parnasse, the god of goodly arts : 

Heare, and behold the miserable state 

Of us thy daughters, dolefull desolate. 60 

Behold the fowle reproach and open shame 
Tiie which is day by day unto us wrought 
By such as hate the honour of our name, 
The foes of learning and each gentle thouglit ; 
They, not contented us themselves to scorne, 66 

Doo seeke to make us of the world forlorne.^ 

1 ForJorne, abandoned. 


Ne onely they that dwell in lowly dust, 

The sonnes of darknes and of ignoraunce ; 

But they whom thou, great love, by doome uniust 

Didst to the type of honour earst advaunce ; 7o 

They now, puft up with sdeignfuU insolence, 

Despise the brood of blessed Sapience. 

The sectaries ^ of my celestiall skill. 

That wont to be the worlds chiefe ornament, 

And learned irapes that wont to slioote up still, 7s 

And grow to hight of kingdomes government, 

They underkeep, and with their spredding armes 

Doo beat their buds, that perish through their harraes. 

It most behoves the honorable race 

Of mightie peeres true wisedome to sustaine, so 

And with their noble countenaunce to grace 

The learned forheads, without gifts or gaine : 

Or rather learnd themselves behoves to bee ; 

That is the cirlond of nobilitie. 


But ah ! all otherwise they doo esteeme 65 

Of th' heavenly gift of wisdomes influence, 

And to be learned it a base thing deeme : 

Base minded they that want intelligence ; 

For God himselfe for wisedome most is praised, 

And men to God thereby are nighest raised. m 

But they doo onely strive themselves to raise 
Through pompous pride, and foolish vanitie ; 

1 Sectaries, followers. 


In til' eyes of people tliey put all their praise, 
And onely boast of armes and auncestrie : 
But vertuous deeds, which did those armes first give 
To their grandsyres, they care not to atchive. m 

So T, that doo all noble feates professe 
To register and sound in trump of gold, 
Through their bad dooings, or base slothfulnesse, 
Finde nothing worthie to be writ, or told : loo 

For better farre it were to hide their names, 
Than telling them to blazon out their blames. 

So shall succeeding ages have no light 

Of things forepast, nor moniments of time ; 

And all that in this world is worthie hight luJ 

Shall die in darknesse, and lie hid in slime ! 

Therefore I mourne with deep harts sorrowing. 

Because I nothing noble have to sing. 

With that she raynd such store of streaming teares, 
That could have made a stonie heart to weep ; no 
And all her sisters rent ^ their golden heares, 
And their faire faces with salt humour steep. 
So ended shee : and then the next anew 
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew. 


0, WHO shall powre into my swollen eyes us 

A saa of teares that never may be dryde, 
A brasen voice that may with shrilling cryes 

!• Eent, rend. 


Pierce the dull heavens and fill the ayer wide, 

And yron sides that sighing may endure, 

To waile the wretchednes of world impure ! 120 

Ah, wretched world ! the den of wickednesse, 

Deformd with filth and fowle iniquitie ; 

Ah, wretched world ! the house of heavinesse, 

Fild with the wreaks of mortall miserie ; 

Ah, wretched woi-ld, and all that is therein ! laa 

The vassals of Gods wrath, and slaves of sin. 

Most miserable creature under sky 

Man without understanding doth appears; 

For all this worlds affliction he thereby, 

And fortunes freakes, is wisely taught to beare : i3o 

Of wretched life the onely ioy shee is. 

And th' only comfort in calamities. 

She amies the brest with constant patience 
Against the bitter throwes of dolours darts : 
She solaceth with rules of sapience 13& 

The gentle minds, in midst of worldlie smarts : 
Wlien he is sad, shee seeks to make him merie, 
And doth refresh his sprights when they be werie. 

But he that is of reasons skill bereft. 

And wants the statFe of wisedome him to stay, 140 

Is like a ship in midst of tempest left 

Withouten helme or pilot her to sway : 

Full sad and dreadfuU is that ships event ; 

So is the man that wants intendiment. ^ 

1 Intendiment, understanding. 


Whie then doo foolish men so much despize 145 

The precious store of this celestiall riches ? 

Why doo they banish us, that patronize 

The name of learning ? Most unhappie wretches ! 

The which lie drowned in deep wretchednes, 

Yet doo not see their owne unhappines. I60 

My part it is and ray professed skill 

The stage with tragick buskin to adorne, 

And fill the scene with plaint and outci-ies shriD 

Of wretched persons, to misfortune borne : 

But none more tragick matter I can finde xss 

Than this, of men depriv'd of sense and rainde. 

For all mans life me seemes a tragedy, 
Full of sad sights and sore catastrophees ; 
First comming to the world with weeping eye, 
Where all his dayes, like dolorous trophees, leo 

Are heapt with spoyles of fortune and of feare. 
And he at last laid forth on balefuU beare. 

So all with rufuU spectacles is fild. 

Fit for Megera or Persephone ; 

But I that in true tragedies am skild, tea 

The flowre of wit, finde nought to busie me : 

Therefore I mourne, and pitifully mone, 

Because that mourninof matter I have none. 


Then gan she wofully to waile, and wring 

ller wretched hands in lamentable wise ; 170 

And all her sisters, thereto answering, 

Threw forth lowd shrieks and drerie dolefull cries. 

VOL. V. 4 


So rested she : and then the next m rew 
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew. 


"Where be the sweete delights of learnings treas- 
ure, 176 
That wont with comick sock to beautefie 
The pauited theaters, and fill with pleasure 
The listners eyes, and eares with melodie, 
In which I late was wont to raine as queene, 
And maske in mirth with graces well beseene? isj 

0, all is gone ! and all that goodly glee. 

Which wont to be the glorie of gay wits, 

Is layd abed, and no where now to see ; 

And in her roome unseemly Sorrow sits, 

With hollow browes and greisly countenaunce iss 

Marring my ioyous gentle dalliaunce. 

And him beside sits ugly Barbarisme, 

And brutish Ignorance, ycrept of late 

Out of dredd darknes of the deep abysme. 

Where being bredd, he light and heaven does hate : 

They in the mindes of men now tyrannize, lai 

And the faire scene with rudenes foule disguize. 

All places they with follie have possest. 
And with vaine toyes the vulgare entertaine ; 
But me have banished, with all the rest m 

That whilome wont to wait upon my traine, 


Fine Counterfesaunce,^ and unhurtfull Sport, 
Delight, and Laugliter, declit in seemly sort. 

All these, and all that els the comick stage 

With seasoned wit and goodly pleasance graced, aoc 

By which mans life in his likest image 

Was limned forth, are wholly now defaced ; 

And those sweete wits which wont the like to frame 

Are now despizd, and made a laughing game. 

And he, the man whom Nature selfe had made 206 
To mock her selfe, and truth to imitate. 
With kindly counter - under mimick shade, 
Our pleasant AVilly, ah ! is dead of late : 
With whom all ioy and iolly meriment 
'Is also deaded, and in dolour drent.' 210 

In stead thereof scoffing Scurrilitie, 

And scornfull FoUie with Contempt is crept, 

Rolling in rymes of shameles ribaudrie 

Without regard, or due decorum kept; 

Each idle wit at will presumes to make,* ais 

And doth the learneds taske upon him take. 

1 Oninterfesfiunce, mimicry. ^ Brent, drowned. 

2 Couiittr, counterfeit. ■* Mnkc, write poetr/. 

Ver. 205-210. — There are perhaps sufficient reasons for be- 
lieving that these lines refer to Shakespeare. He had probably 
written The T\i-o Gentlemen of Verona, and Love's Labor's Lost, 
before the Complaints were published (1591), and no other author 
had up to this time produced a comedy that wou'd compare with 
these. For a discussion of this subject, see Collier's Life of Shaiie- 
Bpeare, Chap. VU.; Knight's Biography, pp. 344-348; Dvce's 
Life (1857) p. xxxvi. C. 


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

So am I made the servant of the raanie, 
And laughing stocke of all that list to scorne, 
Not honored nor cared for of anie, 288 

But loath'd of losels ^ as a thing forlorne : 
Therefore I mourne and sorrow with the rest, 
Untill my cause of sorrow be redrest. 

Therewith she lowdly did lament and shrike, 
Pouring forth streames of teares abundantly ; mj 
And all her sisters, with compassion like. 
The breaches of her singulfs ^ did supply. 
So I'ested shee : and then the next in rew 
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew. 


Like as the dearling of the summers pryde, lae 

Faire Philomele, when winters stormie wrath 

The goodly fields, that earst so gay were dyde 

In colours divers, quite despoyled hath. 

All comfortlesse dotli hide her chearlesse head 

During the time of that her widow head, 34a 

I Losels, worthless fellows. 2 I. e. the pauses of her sighs. 


So we, that earst wt;re wont in sweet accord 

All places with our pleasant notes to fill, 

Whilest favourable times did us afford 

Free libertie to chaunt our cliarmes at will, 

All comfortlesse upon the bared bow,^ 246 

Like wofull culvers,^ doo sit wayling now. 

For far more bitter storme than winters stowre * 
The beautie of the world hath lately wasted, 
And those fresh buds, which wont so faire to flowre, 
Hath marred quite, and all their blossoms blasted ; 260 
And those yong plants, which wont with fruit t' abound, 
Now without fruite or leaves are to be found. 

A stonie coldnesse hath benunibd the sence 

And livelie spirits of each living wight, 

And dimd with darknesse their intelligence, 256 

Darknesse more than Cymerians daylie night : 

And monstrous Error, flying in the ayre, 

Hath mard the face of ail that semed fayre. 

Image of hellish horrour. Ignorance, 

Borne in the bosome of the black abysse, soo 

And fed with Furies milke for sustenaunce 

Of his weake infancie, begot amisse 

By yawning Sloth on his owne mother Night, — 

So hee his sonnes both syre and brother hight, — 

He, armd with blindnesse and with boldnes stout, aes 
(For blind is bold,) hath our fayre light defaced ; 

I Boio, bough. 2 Culvers, doves. 3 Stown'., violence. 


And, gathering unto him a ragged rout 
Of Faunes and Satyres, hath our dwellings raced/ 
And our chast bowers, in which all vertue rained, 
With brutishnesse and beastlie filth hath stained. 37t 

The sacred springs of horsefoot Helicon, 

So oft bedeawed with our learned layes, 

And speaking streames of pure Castalion, 

The famous witnesse of our wonted praise, 

They trampled have with their fowle footings trade,' 

And like to troubled puddles have them made. 2-6 

Our pleasant groves, which planted were with paines, 
That with our musick wont so oft to ring. 
And arbors sweet, in which the shepheards swaines 
Were wont so oft their pastoralls to sing, 28O 

They have cut downe, and all their pleasaunce mard, 
That now no pastorall is to bee hard. 

In stead of them, fowle goblins and shriek-owles 

With fearful! howling do all places fill, 

And feeble eccho now laments and howles, vss 

The dreadfuU accents of their outcries shrill. 

So all is turned into wildernesse, 

Whilest Ignorance the Muses doth oppresse. 

And I, whose ioy was earst with spirit full 

To teach the warbling pipe to sound aloft, stw 

My spirits now dismayd with sorrow dull, 

Dog mone my miserie in silence soft. 

1 Raced, razed. 2 Trade, tread. 


Therefore I mourne and waile incessantly, 
Till please the heavens affoord me remedy. 

Therewith shee wayled with exceeding woe, aw 

And pitious lamentation did make ; 

And all her sisters, seeing her doo soe. 

With equall plaints her sorrowe did partake. 

So rested shee : and then the next in rew 

Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew. 300 


Whoso hath in the lap of soft delight 

Beene long time liild, and fed with pleasures sweet, 

Feareles through his own fault or Fortunes spight 

To tumble into sorrow and regreet, 

Yf chaunce him fall into calamitie, soo 

Findes greater burthen of his miserie. 

So wee, that earst in ioyance did abound, 

And in the bosome of all blis did sit. 

Like virgin queenes, with laurell garlands cround. 

For vertues meed and ornament of wit, 310 

Sith Ignorance our kingdome did confound, 

Bee now become most wretched wightes on ground. 

And in our royall thrones, which lately stood 

In th' hearts of men to rule them carefully. 

He now hath placed his accursed brood, aie 

By him begotten of fowlc Infamy; 

Blind Error, scornefull Follie, and base Spight, 

Who liold by wrong that wee should Iiave l)y right. 


They to the vulgar sort now pipe and sing, 

And make them merrie with their fooleries ; 320 

They cherelie chaunt, and rymes at randon fling, 

The fruitfull spawne of" their ranke fantasies ; 

They feede the eares of fooles with flattery, 

And good men blame, and losels ^ magnify. 

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

The noble hearts to pleasures they allure, 
And tell their Prince that learning is but vaine ; 
Faire ladies loves they spot with thoughts impure, 
And gentle mindes witli lewd delights distaine ; 
Clerks - they to loathly idlenes entice, 336 

And fill their bookes with discipline of vice. 

So every where they rule and tyrannize, 
For their usurped kingdomes maintenaunce, 
The whiles we silly maides, whom they dispize 
And with reprochfull scorne discountenaunce, 340 

From our owne native heritage exilde, 
Walk through the world of every one revilde. 

Nor anie one doth care to call us in, 

Or once vouchsafeth us to entertaine, 

Unlesse some one perhaps of gentle kin, -ao 

1 Losek, worthless fellows. 2 Clerics, scholars. 


For pitties sake, compassion our paine, 
And yeelcl us some reliefe in this distresse ; 
Yet to be so reliev'd is wretchednesse. 

So wander we all carefull comfortlesse, 

Yet none doth care to comfort us at all ; sso 

So seeke we helpe our sorrow to redresse, 

Yet none vouchsafes to answere to our call ; 

Therefore we mourne and pittilesse complaine. 

Because none living pittieth our paine. 

With that she wept and wofuUie waymented, 355 

That naught on earth her griefe might pacific ; 

And all the rest her dolefull din augmented 

With shrikes, and groanes, and grievous agonie. 

So ended shee : and then the next in rew 

Began her piteous plaint, as doth ensew. ' sao 


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

ForgetfuU of your former heavinesse, — 

Now change the tenor of your ioyous laves, ' 
With which ye use your loves to deifie, 
And blazon foorth an earthlie beauties praise 
Above the compasse of the arched skie : 370 


Now change your pi'aises into piteous cries, 
And eulogies turne into elegies. 

Such as ye wont, whenas those bitter stounds ^ 

Of raging love first gan you to torment, 

And launch your hearts with lamentable wounds sis 

Of secret sorrow and sad languishment, 

Before your loves did take you unto grace ; 

Those now renew, as titter for this place. 

For I that rule in measure moderate 

The tempest of that stormie passion, sso 

And use to paint in rimes the troublous state 

Of lovers life in likest fashion, 

Am put from practise of my kindlie * skill, 

Banisht by those that love with leawdnes fill. 

Love wont to be schoolmaster of my skill, 38A 

And the devicefull matter of my song ; 
Sweete love devoyd of villanie or ill. 
But pure and spotles, as at first he sprong 
Out of th' Almighties bosome, where he nests ; 
From thence infused into mortall brests. S90 

Such high conceipt of that celestiall fire. 

The base-borne brood of Blindnes cannot gesse. 

Me ever dare their dunghill thoughts aspire 

Unto so loftie pitch of perfectnesse, 

But rime at riot, and doo rage in love, ass 

Yet little wote what doth thereto behove. 

1 Stounds, hours. 2 Kindlie, natural. 


Faire Cytheree, the mother of delight 

And queene of beautie, now thou maist go pack ; 

For lo ! thy kingdome is defaced quight, 

Thy scepter rent, and power put to wrack ; 400 

And thy gay sonne, that winged God of Love, 

May now goe prune his plumes like ruffed ^ dove. 

And ye three twins, to light by Venus brought, 

The sweete companions of the Muses late, 

From whom Avhatever thing is goodly thought 405 

Doth borrow grace, the fancie to aggrate,*^ 

Go beg with us, and be companions still, 

As heretofore of good, so now of ill. 

For neither you nor we shall anie more 

Finde entertainment or in court or schoole : 410 

For that which was accounted heretofore 

The learneds meed is now lent to the foole ; 

He sings of love and maketh loving layes, 

And they him heare, and they him highly prayse. 

With that she powred foorth a brackish flood 4i» 

Of bitter teares, and made exceeding mone ; 

And all her sisters, seeing her sad mood. 

With lowd laments her answered all at one. 

So ended she : and then the next in rew 

Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew. 430 

1 Ruffed, ruffled. » Aggrate, please. 



To whom shall I my evill case coraplaine, 

Or tell the anguish of my inward smart, 

Sith none is left to remedie my paine, 

Or deignes to pitje a perplexed hart ; 

But rather seekes my sorrow to augment 43e 

With fowle reproach, and cruell banishment ? 

For they to whom I used to applie 

The faithfuU service of my learned skill, 

The goodly off-spring of loves progenie. 

That wont the world with famous acts to fill, 430 

Whose living pi-aises in heroick style. 

It is my chiefe profession to compyle, — 

They, all corrupted through the rust of time, 

That doth all fairest things on earth deface. 

Or through unnoble sloth, or sinfull crime, 485 

That doth degenerate the noble race. 

Have both desire of worthie deeds forlorne, 

And name of learning utterly doo scorne. 

Ne doo they care to have the auncestrie 

Of th' old heroes memorizde anew ; 440 

Ne doo they care that late posteritie 

Should know their names, or speak their praises dew, 

But die, forgot from whence at first they sprong, 

As they themselves shalbe forgot ere long. 

What bootes it then to come from glorious 446 

Forefathe]"s, or to have been nobly bredd ? 


What oddes twixt Irus and old Inachus, 

Twixt best and worst, when both alike are dedd, 

If none of neither mention should make, 

Nor out of dust their memories awake ? 4oo^ 

Or who would ever care to doo brave deed, 

Or strive in vertue others to excell, ' 

If none should yeeld him his deserved meed, 

Due praise, that is the spur of doing well ? 

For if good were not praised more than ill, 45S 

None would choose goodnes of his owne freewill. 

Therefore tfie nurse of vertue I am hight, 

And golden trompet of eternitie. 

That lowly thoughts lift up to heavens hight, 

And mortall men have powre to deifie : 460 

Bacchus and Hercules I raisd to heaven, 

And Charlemaine amongst the starris seaven. 

But now I will my golden clarion rend, 

And will henceforth immortalize no more, 

Sith I no more finde worthie to commend 466 

For prize of value, or for learned lore : 

For noble peeres, whom I was wont to raise. 

Now onely seeke for pleasure, nought for praise. 

Their great revenues all in sumptuous pride 
They spend, that nought to learning they may spare; 
And the rich fee which poets wont divide 47J 

Now parasites and sycophants doo share : 
Therefore I mourne and endlesse sorrow make, 
Both for my selfe and for my sisters sake. 


With that she lowdly gan to waile and shrike, 475 

And from her eyes a sea of teares did powre ; 

And all her sisters, with compassion like. 

Did more increase the shai pnes of her showre. 

So ended she : and then the next in raw 

Began her plaint, as doth herein ensew. 480 


What wrath of gods, or wicked influence 

Of starres conspiring wretched men t' afflict, 

Hath powrd on earth this nojous pestilence, 

That mortall mindes doth inwardly infect 

With love of blindnesse and of ignorance, 485 

To dwell in darkenesse without sovenance?* 

What difference twixt man and beast is left, 

When th' heavenlie light of knowledge is put out, 

And th' ornaments of wisdome are bereft ? 

Then wandreth he in error and in doubt, *^ 

Unweeting ^ of the danger hee is in. 

Through fleshes frailtie and deceipt of sin. 

In this wide world in which they wretches stray, 

It is the onelie comfort which they have, 

It is their light, their loadstarre, and their day ; 495 

But hell, and darkenesse, and the grislie grave. 

Is Ignorance, the enemie of Grace, 

That mindes of men borne heavenlie doth debace. 

1 Sovenance, remembrance. 2 Unweeting, unknowing. 


Through knowledge we behold the worlds creation, 

How in his cradle first he fostred was ; boo 

And iudge of Natures cunning operation, 

How things she formed of a formelesse mas : 

By knowledge wee do learne our selves to knowe, 

And what to man, and what to God, wee owe. 

From hence wee mount aloft unto the skie, 806 

And looke into the christall firmament ; 

There we behold the heavens great hierarchie, • 

The starres pure light, the spheres swift movement, 

The spirites and intelligences fayre, 

And angels waighting on th' Almighties chayre. 510 

And there, with humble minde and high insight, 
Th' eternall Makers maiestie.wee viewe, 
His love, his truth, his glorie, and his might, 
And mercie more than mortall men can vew. 

soveraigne Lord, O soveraigne happinesse, 61& 
To see thee, and thy mercie measurelesse ! 

Such happines have they that doo embrace 

The precepts of my heavenlie discipline ; 

But shame and sorrow and accursed case 

Have they that scorne the schoole of arts divine, >;ij 

And banish me, which do professe the skill * 

To make men heavenly wise through humbled will. 

However yet they mee despise and spight, 

1 feede on sweet contentment of my thought. 

And please my selfe with mine owne self-delight, 520 
In contemplation of things heavenlie wrought : 


So, loathing earth, I looke up to the sky, 
A.nd being driven hence, I thether fly. 

Thence I behold the miserie of men, 

Which want the blis that wisedom would them breed. 

And like brute beasts doo lie in loathsome den 531 

Of ghostly darkenes and of gastlie dreed : 

For whom I mourne, and for my selfe complaine. 

And for my sisters eake whom they disdaine. 

With that shee wept and waild so pityouslie, ose 

As if her eyes had beene two springing wells ; 

And all the rest, her sorrow to supplie. 

Did throw forth shrieks and cries and dreery yells. 

So ended shee : and then the next in rew 

Began her mournfuU plaint, as doth ensew! 640 


A DOLEFULL case desires a dolefull song, 

Without vaine art or curious complements ; 

And squallid Fortune, into basenes flong, 

Doth scorne the pride of wonted ornaments. 

Then fittest are these I'agged rimes for mee, ^^^ 

"To tell my sorrowes that exceeding bee. 

For the sweet numbers and melodious measures 

With which I wont the winged words to tie, 

And make a tuwefull diapase of pleasures, 

Now being let to runne at libertie 550 

By those which have no skill to rule them right, 

Have now quite lost their naturall floH2■^^ 


tleapes of huge words uphoorded hideously, 

With horrid sound, though having little sence. 

They thinke to be chiefe praise of poetry ; 565 

And, thereby wanting due intelligence, 

Have mard the face of goodly poesie, 

And made a monster of their fantasie. 

Whilom in ages past none might professe 

But princes and high priests that secret skill ; seo 

The sacred lawes therein they wont expresse, 

And with deepe oracles their verses fill : 

Then was shea held in soveraigne dignitie, 

And made the noursling of nobilitie. 

But now nor prince nor priest doth her maintayne, 

But suffer her prophaned for to bee 666 

Of the base vulgar, that with hands uncleane 

Dares to pollute her hidden mysterie ; 

And treadeth under foote hir holie things, 

Which was the care of kesars * and of kings. 670 


One onelie lives, her ages ornament, 

And myrrour of her Makers maiestie, 

That with rich bountie and deare cherishment 

Supports the praise of noble poesie ; 

Ne onelie favours them which it professe, 67fi 

But is her selfe a peereles poetresse. 

Most peereles Prince, most peereles Poetresse, 
The true Pandora of all heavenly gi'aces. 

1 Kesars, emperors. 
VOL. v. 6 


Divine Elisa, sacred Emperesse ! 

Live she for ever, and her royall p'laces sso 

Be fild with praises of divinest wits, 

That her eternize witli their heavenlie writs ! 

Some few beside this sacred skill esteme, 

Admirers of her glorious excellence ; 

Which, being lightned with her beawties heme, oss 

Are thereby fild with happie influence. 

And lifted up above the worldes gaze, 

To sing with angels her immortall praize. 

But all the rest, as borne of salvage brood, 

And having beene with acorns alwaies fed, 590 

Can no whit savour this celestiall food, 

But with base thoughts are into blindnesse led. 

And kept from looking on the lightsome day : 

For whome I waile and weepe all that I may. 

Eftsoones^ such store of teares shee forth did powre, 
As if shee all to water would have gone ; 596 

And all her sisters, seeing her sad stowre,^ 
Did weep and waile, and made exceeding mone. 
And all their learned instruments did breake : 
The rest untold no living tongue can speake. eoc 

1 Eftsoones, forthwith. 2 Stowre, disturbance, trouble. 






Wrong'd, yet not daring to expresse my paine, 
To you, great Lord, the causer of my care, 
In clowdie teares my case I thus complaine 
Unto your selfe, that onely privie are. 

But if that any CEdipus unware 
Shall chaunce, through power of some divining spright, 
To reade the secrete of this riddle rare, 
And know the purporte of my evill plight, 
Let him rest pleased with his owne insight, 
Ne farther seeke to glose upon the text : 
For griefe enough it is to grieved wight 
To feele his fault, and not be further vext. 

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

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


We now have playde, Augustus, wantonly, 

Tuning our song unto a tender Muse, 

And, like a cobweb weaving slenderly, 

Have onely playde: let thus much then excuse 

This Gnats small poeme, that th' whole history s 

Is but a iest, though envie it abuse : 

But who such sports and sweet delights doth blame, 

Shall lighter seeme than this Gnats idle name. 

Hereafter, when as season more secure 

Shall bring forth fruit, this Muse shall speak to thee lo 

In bigger notes, that may thy sense allure. 

And for thy worth frame some fit poesie : 

* This is a very free translation of the Culex, a poem attrib- 
uted, without reason, to Virgil. The orijrinal, which is crabbed 
and pedantic, where it is not unintelligible from corruption, is 
here rendered with sufficient fidelity to the sense, and with much 
elegance and sweetness. C. 


The golden ofspring of Latona pure, 

And ornament of great loves progenie, 

Phoebus, shall be the author of ray song, is 

Playing on yvorie harp with silver strong.^ 

He shall inspire my verse with gentle mood, 
Of poets prince, whether he woon ^ beside 
Faire Xanthus sprincled with Chimyeras blood, 
Or in the woods of Astery abide, so 

Or whereas Mount Parnasse, the Muses brood. 
Doth his broad forhead like two homes divide, 
And the sweete waves of sounding Castaly 
With liquid foote doth slide downe easily. 

Wherefore ye Sisters, which the glorie bee as 

Of the Pierian strearaes, fayre Naiades, 
Go too, and dauncing all in companie, 
Adorne that god : and thou holie Pales, 
To whome the honest care of husbandrie 
Returneth by continuall successe, ao 

Have care for to pursue his footing light 
Throgh the wide woods and groves with green 
leaves dight. 

Professing thee I lifted am aloft 

Betwixt the forrest wide and starrie sky : 

And thou, most dread Octavius, which oft 39 

To learned wits givest courage worthily, 

come, thou sacred childe, come sliding soft, 

And favour my beginnings graciously : 

1 Strong, strung. 2 Woon, dwelL 


For not these leaves do sing that dreadful! stound/ 
When giants bloud did staine Phlegra^an ground ; 40 

Nor how th' halfe-horsy people, Centaures hight, 

Fought with the bloudie Lapiihaes at bord; 

Nor how the East with tyranous despight 

Burnt th' Attick towres, and people slew with 

sword ; 
Nor how Mount Athos through exceeding might a 
Was digged downe ; nor yron bands abord 
The Pontick sea by their huge navy cast, 
My volume shall renowne, so long since past. 

Nor Hellespont trampled with horses feete, 

When flocking Persians did the Greeks affray : so 

But my soft Muse, as for her power more meete, 

Dehghts (with Phoebus friendly leave) to play 

An easie running verse with tender feete. 

And thou, dread sacred child, to thee alway 

Let everlasting lightsome glory strive, ss 

Through the worlds endles ages to survive. 

And let an happie roome remaine for thee 

Mongst heavenly ranks, where blessed soules do rest; 

And let long lasting life with ioyous glee, 

As thy due meede that thou deservest best, OQ 

Flereafter many yeares remembred be 

Amongst good men, of whom thou oft are blest. 

Live thou for ever in all happinesse ! 

But let us turne to our first businesse. 

1 Stvund, time. 


The fiery Sun was mounted now on hight 66 

Up to the heavenly towers, and shot each where 
Out of his golden charet glistering light ; 
And fayre Aurora, with her rosie heare. 
The hatefuU darknes now had put to flight ; 
When as the Shepheard, seeing day appeare, 70 

His little goats gan drive out of their stalls, 
To feede abroad, where pasture best befalls. 

To an high mountaines top he with them went, 
Where thickest grasse did cloath the open hills : 
They, now amongst the woods and thickets ment,^ 76 
Now in the valleies wandring at their wills, 
Spread themselves farre abroad through each de- 
scent ; 
Some on the soft greene grasse feeding their fills. 
Some, clambring through the hollow clifFes on hy. 
Nibble the bushie shrubs which growe thereby. so 

Others the utmost boughs of trees doe crop, 

And brouze the woodbine twigges that freshly bud ; 

This with full bit ^ doth catch the utmost top 

Of some soft willow, or new growen stud ; " 

This with sharpe tet^th the bramble leaves doth lop, so 

And chaw the tender prickles in her cud ; 

The whiles another high c'oth overlooke 

Her owne like imase in a christall brooke. 


O the great happines which shepheards have. 

Who so loathes not too much the poore estate oo 

1 Ment, mingled. 2 Bit, bite. 3 stud, stoclc. 


With ininde that ill use doth before deprave, 

Ne measures all things by the costly rate 

Of riotise, and seniblants outward brave ! 

No such sad cares, as wont to macerate 

And rend the greedie mindes of covetous men, 93 

Do ever creepe into the shepheards den. 

Ne cares he if the fleece which him arayes 

Be not twice steeped in Assyrian dye ; 

Ne glistering of golde, which underlayes ^ 

The summer beames, doe blinde his gazing eye ; lOO 

Ne pictures beautie, nor the glauncing rayes 

Of precious stones, whence no good commeth by ; 

Ne yet his cup erabost with imagery 

Of Baetus or of Alcons vanity. 

Ne ought the whelky ^ pearles esteemeth hee, i06 
Which are from Lidian seas brought far away : 
But with pure brest, from careful! sorrow free, 
On the soft grasse his limbs doth oft display. 
In sweete spring time, when flowres varietie 
With sundrie colours paints the sprincled lay^ ; no 
There, lying all at ease from guile or spight, 
With pype of fennie reedes doth him deliglit. 

There he, lord of himselfe, with palme bedight. 
His looser locks doth wrap in wreath of vine : 
There his milk-dropping goats be his delight, ilfi 

And fruitefull Pales, and the forrest greene, 

1 Underlayes, surpasses. ' Lay, lea. 

* Wlielky, shelly 'conchm\ 


And darkesome caves in pleasaunt vallies pight,-' 
Wheras continuall shade is to be scene, 
And wliere fresh springing wells, as christall neate, 
Do alwayes flow, to quench his thirstie heate. lao 

O ! who can lead then a more happie life 

Than he, that with cleane minde and heart sincere, 

No greedy riches knowes nor bloudie strife, 

No deadly fight of warlick fleete doth feare, 

Ne runs in perill of foes cruell knife, 125 

That in the sacred temples he may reare 

A trophee of his glittering spoyles and treasure, 

Or may abound in riches above measure. 

Of him his God is worshipt with his sythe, 
And not with skill of craftsman polished : 130 

He ioyes in groves, and makes himselfe full blythe 
With sundrie flowers in wilde fieldes gathered, 
Ne frankincens he from Panchica buyth : • 
Sweete Quiet harbours in his harmeles head, 
And perfect Pleasure buildes her ioyous bowre, 135 
Free from sad cares, that rich mens hearts devowre. 

This all his care, this all his whole indevour. 
To this his minde and senses he dotli bend. 
How he may flow in quiets matchles treasour, 
Content with any food that God doth send ; \\r 

And how his limbs, resolv'd through idle leisour, 
Unto sweete sleepe he may securely lend, 
In some coole shadow from the scorching heat, 
The whiles his flock their chawed cuds do eate. 

1 Pight, placed. 


Flocks, O Faunes, and O ye pleasaunt Springs i4d 
Of Tempe, where the countrey nymphs are rife, 
Through whose not costly care each shepheard sings 
As merrie notes upon his rusticke fife 
As that Ascraean bard,^ whose fame now rings 
Through the wide world, and leads as ioyfull life ; i60 
Free from all troubles and from worldly toyle, 
In which fond men doe all their dayes turmoyle. 

In such delights whilst thus his carelesse time 

This shepheard drives, upleaning on his batt,'^ 

And on shrill reedes chaunting his rustick rime, iss 

Hyperion, throwing foorth his beames full hott, 

Into the highest top of heaven gan clime, 

And the world parting by an equall lott, 

Did shed his whirling flames on either side, 

As the great Ocean doth himselfe divide. leo 

Then gan the shepheard gather into one 

His stragling goates, and drave them to a foord, 

Whose casrule streame, rombling in pible stone, 

Crept under mosse as greene as any goord. 

Now had the sun halfe heaven overgone, las 

When he his heard back from that water foord 

Drave, from the force of Phoebus boyling ray, 

Into thick shadowes, there themselves to lay. 

Soone as he them plac'd in thy sacred wood, 

Delian goddesse, saw, to which of yore i7o 

Came the bad daughter of old Cadmus brood, 

1 1, e. Hesiod. * Batt, stick. 


Cruell Agave, flying vengeance sore 
Of King Nictileus for the guiltie blood 
Which she with cursed hands had shed before ; 
There she halfe frantick, having slaine her sonne, i7o 
Did shrewd her selfe like punishment to shonne. 

Here also playing on the grassy greene, 
Woodgods, and Satyres, and swift Dryades, 
With many Fairies oft were dauncing scene. 
Not so much did Dan Orpheus represse iso 

The streames of Hebrus with his songs, I weene, 
As that faire troupe of woodie goddesses 
Staled thee, O Peneus, powring foorth to thee. 
From cheereful lookes, great mirth and gladsome glee. 

The verie nature of the place, resounding las 

With gentle murmure of the breathing ayre, 
A pleasant bowre with all delight abounding 
In the fresh shadowe did for them prepayre, 
To rest their limbs with weai'ines redounding. 
For first the high palme-trees, with braunches faire, 
Out of the lowly vallies did ai'ise, 191 

And high shoote up their heads into the skyes. 

And them amongst the wicked lotos grew, 

Wicked, for holding guilefully away 

Ulysses men, whom rapt with sweetenes new, i96 

Taking to hoste,^ it quite from him did stay ; 

And eke those trees, in whose transformed hew 

The Sunnes sad daughters waylde the rash decay 

1 Hoste, entertain. 


Of Phaeton, whose limbs with hghtening rent 

They gathering up, with sweete teares did lament. 20a: 

And that same tree,^ in which Demophoon, 
By his disloyalty lamented sore, 
Eternall hurte left unto many one : 
Whom als accompanied the oke, of yore 20*1 

Through fatall charmes transformd to such an one : 
The oke, whose acornes were our foode before 
That Ceres seede of mortall men were knowne, 
Which first Triptoleme taught how to be sowne. 

Here also grew the rougher-rinded pine. 

The great Argoan ships brave ornament, 210 

Whom golden fleece did make an heavenly signe ; 

Which coveting, with his high tops extent, 

To make the mountaines touch the stari-es divine,. 

Decks all the forrest with embellishment ; 

And the blacke holme that loves the watrie vale ; 21s 

And the sweete cypresse, signe of deadly bale. 

Emongst the rest the clambring yvie grew. 
Knitting his wanton armes with grasping hold. 
Least that the poplar happely should rew 
Her brothers strokes, whose boughes she doth en- 
fold 2iO 
With her lythe twigs, till they the top survew, 
And paint with pallid greene her buds of gold. 
Next did the myrtle ti'ee to her approach. 
Not yet unmindfull of her olde reproach. 


1 I. e. the almond-tree. 


But the small birds in their wide boughs embowring 
Chaunted their sundrie tunes with sweete consent; 
And under thera a silver spring, forth powi'ing 
His trickling streames, a gentle murraure sent ; 
Thereto the frogs, bred in the slimie scowi'ing 
Of the moist moores, their iarring voyces bent ; 330 
And shrill grashoppers chirped them around : 
All which the ayrie echo did resound. 

In tiiis so pleasant place this shepheards flocke 
Lay everie where, their wearie limbs to rest, 
On everie bush, and everie hollow rocke, 235 

Where breathe on them the whistling wind mote best ; 
The whiles the shepheard self, tending his stocke. 
Sate by the fountaine side, in shade to rest, 
Where gentle slumbring sleep oppressed him 
Displaid on ground, and seized everie lini. 340 

Of trecherie or traines nought tooke he keep. 

But, looslie on the grassie greene dispredd, 

His dearest life did trust to careles sleep ; 

Which, Aveighing down his drouping drowsie hedd. 

In quiet rest his molten heart did steep, 245 

Devoid of care, and feare of all falshedd : 

Had not inconstant Fortune, bent to ill. 

Bid sti-ange mischance his quietnes to spill. 

For at his wonted time in that same place 
An huge great Serpent, all with speckles pide, aso 
To drench himselfe in moorish slime did trace, 
There from the boyling heate himselfe to hide : 
ITp, passing by with rolhng wreathed pace. 


Witli brandisht tongue the emptie aire did gride,' 
And wrapt his soalie boughts ^ witli fell diispight, 265 
That all things seem'd appalled at his sight. 

Now more and more having himselfe enrolde, 
His glittering breast he lifteth up on hie, 
And with proud vaunt his head aloft doth holde ; 
His creste above, spotted with purple die, aeo 

On everie side did shine like scalie golde ; 
And his bright eyes, glauncing full dreadfuUie, 
Did seerae to flame out flakes of flashing fyre. 
And with sterne lookes to threaten kindled yre. 

Thus wise long time he did himselfe dispace aee 

There round about, when as at last he spide. 
Lying along before him in that place. 
That flocks grand captaine and most trustie guide : 
Eftsoones more fierce in visage and in pace. 
Throwing his firie eyes on everie side, 270 

He commeth on, and all things in his way 
Full stearnly rends that might his passage stay. 

Much he disdaines that anie oge should dare 

To come unto his haunt ; for which intent 

He inly burns, and gins straight to prepare 275 

The weapons which Nature to him hath lent ; 

Fellie he hisseth, and doth fiercely stare, 

And hath his iawes with angrie spirits rent, 

That all his tract with bloudie drops is stained. 

And all his foldes ai*e now in length outstrained. J8t 


1 Gi-ide, pierce. ^ Boughts, knots. 


Whom, thus at point prepared, to prevent, 

A Htle noursHng of the humid ayre, 

A Gnat, unto the sleepie shepheard went, 

And marking where his ey-Hds twinckling rare 

Shewd the two pearles which sight unto him lent, -a; 

Through their thin coverings appearing fayre 

His httle needle there infixing deep, 

Warnd him awake, from death himselfe to keep. 

Wherewith enrag'd, he fiercely gan upstart, 

And with his hand him rashly bruzing slevve 2W 

As in avengement of his heedles smart, 

That streight the spirite out of his senses flew, 

And life out of his members did depart : 

When, suddenly casting aside his vew. 

He spide his foe with felonous intent, 295 

And fervent eyes to his destruction bent. 

All suddenly dismaid, and hartles quight. 

He fled abacke, and, catching hastie holde 

Of a yong alder hard beside him pight. 

It rent, and streight about him gan beholde 300 

Wliat god or fortune \^ould assist his might. 

But whether god or fortune made him bold 

Its hard to read : yet bardie will he had 

To overcome, that made him lesse adrad. ^ 

The scalie backe of that most hideous snake 300 

Enwrapped round, oft faining to retire 
And oft him to assaile, he fiercely strake 

1 Adrad, temfied. 


Whereas his temples did his creast front tyre * ; 
A.nd, for he was but slowe, did slowth off shake, 
And, gazing ghastly on, (for feare and yre 310 

Had blent 2 so much his sense, that lesse he feard,) — 
Yet, when he saw him slaine, himselfe he cheard. 

By this the Night forth from the darksome bowre 
Of Herebus her teemed ^ steedes gan call, 
And laesie Vesper in his timely howre 31s 

From golden Oeta gan proceede withall ; 
Whenas the shepheard after this sharpe stowre,* 
Seing the doubled shadowes low to fall, 
Gathering his straying flocke, does homeward fare, 
And unto rest his wearie ioynts prepare. 320 

Into whose sense so soone as lighter sleepe 

Was entered, and now loosing everie lim, 

Sweete slurabring deaw in carelesnesse did steepe, 

The image of that Gnat appeard to him, 

And in sad tearmes gan sorrowfully weepe, 326 

With grieslie countenaunce and visage grim, 

Wailing the wronar which he had done of late. 

In steed of good, hastning his cruell fate. 

Said he, " What have I wretch deserv'd, that thus 

Into this bitter bale I am outcast, 330 

Whilest that Ihy life more deare and precious 

Was than mine owne, so long as it did last ? 

I now, in lieu of paines so gracious. 

Am tost in th' ayre with everie wiiidie blast : 

1 Tyre, encircle. ^ Teemed, hiiniessed in a team. 

2 Blent, blinded. * Stoim-e, perturbation. 

VOL. V. 6 


Thou, safe delivered from sad decay, sso 

Thy careles limbs in loose sleep dost display. 

" So livest thou ; but my poore wretched ghost 

Is forst to ferrie over Lethes river, 

And spoyld of Charon too and fro am tost. 

Seest thou not how all places quake and quiver, o4o 

Lightned with deadly lamps on everie post ? 

Tisiphone each where doth shake and shiver 

Her flaming fire-brond, encountring me. 

Whose lockes uncombed cruell adders be. 

" And Cerberus, whose many mouthes doo bay, 346 

And barke out flames, as if on fire he fed, 

Adowne whose necke, in terrible array. 

Ten thousand snakes, cralling about his bed. 

Doo hang in heapes, that horribly affray, 

And bloodie eyes doo glister firie red, 350 

He oftentimes me dreadfullie doth threaten 

With painfull torments to be sorely beaten. 

" Ay me ! that thankes so much should faile of meed, 

For that I thee restor'd to life againe. 

Even from the doore of death and deadlie dreed. 355 

Where then is now the guerdon of my paine ? 

Where the reward of my so piteous deed ? 

The praise of pitie vanisht is in vaine. 

And th' antique faith of iustice long agone 

Out of the land is fled away and gone. aso 

"1 saw anothers fate approaching fast. 
And left mine owne his safetie to tender ; 


Into the same mishap I now am cast, 

And shun'd destruction doth destruction render: 

Not unto him that never hath trespast, ass 

But punishment is due to the offender : 

Yet let destruction be the punishment, 

So long as thankfull will may it relent. 

" I carried am into waste wildernesse, 

Waste wildernes, amongst Cymerian shades, 3io 

Where endles paines and hideous heavinesse 

Is round about me heapt in darksome glades. 

For there huge Othos sits in sad distresse, 

Fast bound with serpents that him oft invades, 

Far of beholding Ephialtes tide, 376 

Which once assai'd to burne this world so wide. 

" And there is mournfull Tityus, mindefuU yet 

Of thy displeasure, Latona faire ; 

Displeasure too implacable was it, 

That made him meat for wild foules of the ayre : sso 

Much do I feare among such fiends to sit ; 

Much do I feare back to them to repayre. 

To the black shadowes of the Stygian shore, 

Where wretched ghosts sit wailing evermore. 

" There next the utmost brinck doth he abide sss 

That did the bankets of the gods bewray, 

Whose throat through thirst to nought nigh being 

His sense to seeke for ease turnes every way : 
And he that in avengement of his pride, 
For scorning to the sacred gods to pray, 890 


Against a rnountaine rolls a mightie stone, 
Calling in vaine for rest, and can have none. 

" Go ye with them, go, cursed damosells, 
Whose bridale torches foule Erynnis tynde,* 
And Hymen, at your spousalls sad, foretells S90 

Tydings of death and massacre unkinde ^ : 
With them that cruell Colchid mother dwells, 
The which conceiv'd in her revengefull minde 
With bitter woundes her owne deere babes to slay. 
And murdred troupes upon great heapes to lay. 400 

" There also those two Pandionian maides, 
Calling on Itis, Itis evermore, 

Wliom, wretched boy, they slew with guiltie blades ; 
For whome the Thracian king lamenting sore, 
Turn'd to a lapwing, fowlie them upbraydes, 405 

And flattering round about them still does sore ; 
There now they all eternally complaine 
Of others wrong, and suffer endles paine. 

" But the two brethren ^ borne of Cadmus blood. 
Whilst each does for the soveraignty contend, 410 
Blinde through ambition, and with vengeance wood,* 
Each doth asrainst the others bodie bend 
His cursed Steele, of neither well withstood, 
And with wide wounds their carcases doth rend ; 
That yet they both doe mortall foes remaine, 413 

Sith each with brothers bloudie hand was slaine. 

1 Tyiifk, kindled. 8 I. e. Eteocles and Polynices. 

' Unkhule, unnatural. * Wood, mad. 


'* Ah (waladay !) there is no end of paine, 

Nor chaunge of hibour may intreated bee : 

Yet I beyond all these am carried faine, 

"Where other powers farre different I see, 190 

And must passe over to th' Elisian plaine : 

There grim Persephone, encountring raee, 

Doth urge her fellow Furies earnestlie 

With their bright firebronds me to terrifie. 

" There chast Alceste lives inviolate, 433 

Free from all care, for that her husbands dales 
She did prolong by changing fate for fate : 
Lo ! there lives also the immortall praise 
Of womankinde, most faithful! to her mate, 
Penelope ; and from her farre awayes tso 

A rulesse ^ rout of yongmen which her woo'd, 
All slaine with darts, lie wallowed in their blood. 

" And sad Eurydice thence now no more 

Must turne to life, but there detained bee 

For looking back, being forbid before : 48£ 

Yet was the guilt thereof, Orpheus, in thee ! 

Bold sure he was, and worthie spirite bore. 

That durst those lowest shadowes goe to see. 

And could beleeve that anie thing could please 

Fell Cerberus, or Stygian powres apj'ease. 440 

"Ne feard the burning waves of Phlegeton, 
Nor those same mournfuU kingdomes, compassed 
With rustie horrour and fowle fashion ; 

1 Rulesse, rule-less. 


And deep digd vawtes ^ ; and Tartar covered 
With bloodie night and darke coufusiou ; *« 

And iudgemeut seates, whose iudge is deadlie dred, 
A iudge that after death doth punish sore 
Tiie faults which life hath trespassed before. 

" But valiant fortune made Dan Orpheus bolde : 
For the swift running rivers still did stand, 450 

And the wilde beasts their furie did withhold, 
To follow Orpheus musicke through the land : 
And th' okes, deep grounded in the earthly molde. 
Did move, as if they could him understand ; «4 

And the shrill woods, which were of sense bereav'd, 
Through their hard barke his silver sound receav'd. 

" And eke the Moone her hastie steedes did stay, 

Drawing in teemes along the starrie skie ; 

And didst, O monthly Virgin, thou delay 

Thy niglitly course, to heare his melodie ? «o 

The same was able, with like lovely lay. 

The Queene of Hell to move as easily 

To yeeld Eurydice unto her fere, 

Backe to be borne, though it unlawfull were. 

" She, ladie, having well before approoved 465 

The feends to be too cruell and severe, 

Observ'd th' appointed way, as her behooved, 

Ne ever did her eysight turne arere, 

Ne ever spake, ne cause of speaking mooved ; 

But, cruell Orpheus, thou much crueller, *n 

1 Yawtes, vaults. 


Seeking to kisse her, brok'st the gods decree, 
And thereby mad'st her ever damn'd to be. 

" Ah ! but sweete love of pardon worthie is, 

And doth deserve to have small faults remitted ; 

If Hell at least things lightly done amis 475 

Knew how to pardon, when ought is omitted : 

Yet are ye both received into bhs, 

And to the seates of happie soules admitted, 

And you beside the honourable band 

Of great heroes doo in order stand. 460 

" There be the two stout sonnes of -^acus, 

Fierce Peleus, and the bardie Telaraon, 

Both seeming now full glad and ioyeous 

Through their syres dreadfull iurisdiction. 

Being the iud";e of all that horrid hous : 485 

And both of them, by strange occasion, 

Renown'd in choyce of happie marriage 

Through Venus grace, and vertues cariage. 

" For th' one was ravisht of his owne bondmaide, 
The faire Ixione captiv'd from Troy : 490 

But th' other was with Thetis love assaid, 
Great Nereus his daughter and his ioy. 
On this side them there is a yongman layd. 
Their match in glorie, mightie, fierce, and coy, 
That from th' Argolick sliips, with furious yre, 496 
Bett back the furie of tlie Troian fyre. 

" ! who would not recount the strong divorces 
Of that great warre, which Troianes oft behelde, 


And oft beheld the warlike Greekish forces, 
When Teucrian soyle with bloodie rivers swelde, soo 
And wide Sigsean shores were spred with corses, 
And Simois and Xanthus blood outwelde ; 
Whilst Hector raged, with outragious minde, 
Flames, weapons, wounds, in Greeks fleete to have 

" For Ida selfe, in ayde of that fierce fight, 606 

Out of her mountaines ministred supplies ; 

And like a kindly nourse did yeeld, for spight. 

Store of firebronds out of her nourseries 

Unto her foster children, that they might 

Inflame the navie of their enemies, sjn 

And aU the Rhetcean shore to ashes turne, 

Where lay the ships which they did seeke to burno. 

" Gainst which the noble sonne of Telamon 
Oppos'd himselfe, and tliwarting^ his huge shield, 
Them battell bad : gainst whom appeard anon eis 
Hector, the glorie of the Troian fiold : 
Both fierce and furious in contention 
Encountred, that their mightie strokes so shrild 
As the great clap of thunder, which doth ryve 
The ratling heavens and cloudes asunder dryve. e.iw 

'' So th' one with fire and weapons did contend 
To cut the ships from turning liome againe 
To Argos ; th' other strove for to defend ^ 
The force of Vulcane with his might and maine. 


1 TInearting, interposing. 2 Defend, keep off. 


Thus th' one JEacide did his fame extend : 535 

But th' other ioy'd that, on the Phiygian playne 
Having the blood of vanquisht Hector shedd, 
THe compast Troy thrice with his bodie dedd. 

" Againe great dole on either partie grewe, 

That him to death unfaithfuU Paris sent ; 530 

And^ also him that false Ulysses slewe, 

Drawne into danger through close ambushraent ; 

Therefore from him Laertes sonne his vewe 

Doth turn aside, and boasts his good event 

In working of Strymonian Rhaesus fall, 5S4 

And efte ^ in Dolons slye surprysall. 

" Againe the dreadfull Cycones hiui dismay, 

And blacke Laestrigones, a people stout ; 

Then greedie Scilla, under whom there bay 

Manie great bandogs, which her gird about ; 540 

Then doo the ^tnean Cyclops him affray, 

And deep Charybdis gulphing in and out ; 

Lastly the squalid lakes of Tartaric, 

And griesly feends of hell him terrific. 

" There also goodly Agamemnon hosts, m& 

The glorie of the stock of Tantalus, 

And famous light of all the Greekish hosts ; 

Under whose conduct most victorious, 

The Dorick flames consum'd the Iliack posts. 

Ah ! but the Greekes themselves, more dolorous, seo 

To thee, O Troy, paid penaunce for thy fall, 

In th' Hellespont being nigh drowned all. 

1 Efte, again. 


" Well may appeare by proofe of their mischaui.ce 

The chaiingfull turning of mens slipperie state, 

That none whom fortune freely doth advaunce ass 

Himselfe therefore to heaven should elevate : 

For loftie type of honour through the glaunce 

Of envies dart is downe in dust prostrate, 

And all that vaunts in worldly vanitie 

Shall fall through fortunes mutabilitie. » seo 

" Th' Argolicke power returning home againe, 
Enricht with spoyles of th' Ericthonian towre. 
Did happie winde and weather entertaine, 
And with good speed the fomie billowes scowre : 
No signe of storme, no feare of future paine, 585 

Which scone ensued them with heavie stowre ^ : 
Nereis to the seas a token gave, 
The whiles their ci'ooked keeles the surges clave. 



" Suddenly, whether through the gods decree, 

Or haplesse rising of some froward starre, 570 

Tlie heavens on everie side enclowded bee : 

Black stormes and fogs are blowen up from farre, 

That now the pylote can no loadstarre see. 

But skies and seas doo make most dreadfull warre ; 

The billowes striving to the heavens to reach, 571 

And th' heavens striving them for to impeach.^ 

'' And, in avengement of their bold attempt. 
Both sun and starres and all the heavenly powi-es 
Conspire in one to wreake their rash contempt, 
And downe on them to ftiU from highest towres : 68O 

^ Stowre, turmoil, uproar. 2 Impeach, hinder. 


The skie, in pieces seeming to be rent, 

Throwes lightning forth, and haile, and harmful 

That death on everie side to them appeares, 
In thousand formes, to worke more ghastly feare&. 

•' Some in the greedie flouds are sunke and drent * ; sss 
Some on the rocks of Caphareus are throwne ; 
Some on th' Euboick cliffs in pieces rent ; 
Some scattred on the Hercaean^ shores unknowne; 
And manie lost, of whom no moniment 
Remaines, nor memorie is to be showne : s90 

Whilst all the purchase ^ of the Phrigian pray, 
Tost on salt billowes, round about doth sti-ay. 

" Here manie other like heroes bee, 

Equall in honour to the former crue, 

Whom ye in goodly seates may placed see, s95 

Descended all from Rome by linage due ; 

From Rome, that holds the world in sovereigntie, 

And doth all nations unto her subdue : 

Here Fabii and Decii doo dwell, 

Horatii that in vertue did excell. eoo 

" And here the antique fame of stout Camill 

Doth ever live ; and constant Curtius, 

Who, stifly bent his vowed life to spill 

For countreye.s health, a gulph most hideous 

Amidst the towne with his owne corps did fill, soj 

T' appease the Powers ; and prudent Mutius, 

1 Drent, drowned. ^ Purchase, booty. 

* fferctean should probably be ^gean. 


Who in his flesh endur'd the scorching flame, 
To daunt his foe by ensample of the same. 

" And here wise Curius, companion 

Of noble vertues, lives in endles rest ; aio 

And stout Flaminius, whose devotion 

Taught him the fires scorn'd furie to detest ; 

And here the praise of either Scipion 

Abides in highest place above the best, 

To whom the ruin'd walls of Carthage vow'd, 6i& 

Trembling their forces, sound their praises lowd. 

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

" Me therefore thus the cruell fiends of hell, 6-25 

Girt with long snakes and thousand yron chaynes, 
Through doome of that their cruell iudge compell. 
With bitter torture and impatient paines. 
Cause of ray death and iust complaint to tell. 
For thou art he whom my poore ghost complaines 63o 
To be the author of her ill unwares, 
That careles hear'st my intollerable cares. 

" Them therefore as bequeathing to the winde, 
I now depart, returning to thee never, 


And leave this lamentable plaint behinde. 636 

But doo thou haunt the soft downe-rolling river, 
And wilde greene woods and fruitful pastures niinde, 
And let the flitting aire my vaine words sever." 
Thus having said, he heavily departed 
With piteous crie that anie would have smarted. 640 

Now, when the sloathfuU fit of lifes sweete rest 
Had left the heavie Shepheard, wondrous cares 
His inly grieved minde full sore opprest; 
That balefuU sorrow he no longer beares 
For that Gnats death, which deeply was imprest, 64s 
But bends what 'ever power his aged yeares 
Him lent, yet being such as through their might 
He lately slue his dreadfull foe in fight. 

By that same river lurking under greene, 
Eftsoones * he gins to fashion forth a place, eso 

And, squaring it in compasse well beseene,'' 
There plotteth out a tombe by measured space : 
His yron-headed spade tho making cleene, 
To dig up sods out of the flowrie grasse, 
His worke he shortly to good purpose brought, ess 
Like as he had conceiv'd it in his thought. 


An heape of earth he hoorded up on hie, 
Enclosing it with banks on everie side, 
And thereupon did raise full busily 
A little mount, of greene turtfs edifide '; 
And on the top of all, that passers by 

1 Eftixjones, immediately. * Edifide, built. 

2 WM beseene, seemly. 



Might it behold, the toomb he did provide 
Of smoothest marble stone in order set, 
That never might his luckie scape forget. 

And round about he taught sweete flowres to growe ; 60.s 

The Rose, engrained in pure scarlet die ; 

The Lilly fresh, and Violet belowe ; 

The Marigolde, and cherefuU Rosemarie ; 

The Spartan Mirtle, whence sweet gumb does flowe ; 

The purple Hyacinthe, and fresh Costmarie, 670 

And Saffron, sought for in Cilician soyle. 

And LawreU, th' ornament of Phoebus toyle : 

Fresh Rhododaphne, and the Sabine flowre,^ 
Matching the wealth of th' auncient Frankincence ; 
And pallid Yvie, building his owne bowre ; 676 

And Box, yet mindfuU of his olde offence ; 
Red Amaranthus, lucklesse paramour ; 
Oxeye still greene, and bitter Patience ; 
Ne wants there pale Narcisse, that, in a well 
Seeing his beautie, in love with it fell. eso 

And whatsoever other flowre of worth, 

And whatso other hearb of lovely hew 

The ioyous Spring out of the ground brings forth, 

To cloath her selfe in colours fresh and new. 

He planted there, and reard a mount of earth, ese 

In whose hijjh front was writ as doth ensue: 


To thee^ small Gnat, in lien of his life saved, 
The Sliepheard hath thy deaths record engraved. 

1- Sabine flowre, a kind of juniper, the savine. 




By ED. SP. 









Most faire and vertuous Ladie: having often 
sought opportunitie by some good meanes to make 
knowen to your Ladiship the humble affection and 
faithful! duetie which I have alwaies professed, and am 
bound to bear e, to that house from whence yee spring, 
I have at length found occasion to remember the same 
by making a simple present to you of these my idle 
labours ; which having long sithens composed in the 
raw conceipt of my youth, I lately amongst other 
papers lighted upon, and was by others, which liked 
the same, mooved to set them foorth. Simple is the 
device, and the composition meane, yet carrieth some 
delight, even the rather because of the simplicitie 
and meannesse thus personated. The same I bescecli 
your Ladiship take in good part, as a pledge of that 
profession which I have made to you, and keepe 
with you untill with some other more worthie labour 

* "This lady was Anne, the fifth daughter of Sir John Spent er, 
distinguished also, ifl the pastoral of Colin Clouts come Home again, 
by the name of Charillis. She was married, first to Sir William 
Stanley, Lord ;\Iountegle ; next to Hem-y Compton, Lord Comp- 
ton; and lastly to Robert Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, afterwards 
Earl of Dorset." —Todd. 

VOL. V. 7 


1 do redeeme it out of your hands, and discharge my 
utmost dutie. Till then, wishing your Ladiship all 
increase of honour and happinesse, I humblie take 

Tour La : ever 


En. Sp. 




It was the month in which the righteous Maide 

That fox' disdaine of sinfull worlds upbraide 

Fled back to heaven, whence she was first conceived, 

Into her silver bowre the Sunne received ; 

And the hot Syrian Dog on him awayting, s 

After the chafed Lyons cruell bayting, 

Corrupted had th' ayre with his noysome breath, 

And powr'd on th' earth plague, pestilence, and death. 

Emonerst the rest a wicked maladie 

Raign'd emongst men, that manie did to die, lo 

Depriv'd of sense and ordinarie reason ; 

Ver. 1. — It was the month, &c.] August. 

* This charming little poem, Spenser's only successful effort at 
satire, is stated by the author to have been composed in the raw 
conceit of his youth. There is internal evidence, however, that 
some of the happiest passages were added at the date of its publica- 
tion, at which time the whole was probably retouched. Although 
Mother Hubberds Tale is in its plan an imitation of the satires of 
Uevnardthe Fox, the treatment of the subject is quite original. 
For the combination of elegance with simplicity, this poem will 
stand a comparison with Goetne's rifacimenlo of the Reineke. V. 


That it to leaches seemed strange and geason. ' 

My fortune was, mongst manic others moe, 

To be partaker of their common woe ; 

And my weake bodie, set on fire with griefe, 15 

Was rob'd of rest and naturall reliefe. 

In this ill plight, there came to visite mee 

Some friends, who, sorie my sad case to see, 

Began to comfort me in chearfull wise, 

And meanes of gladsome solace to devise. 20 

But seeing kindly sleep refuse to doe 

His office, and my feeble eyes forgoe, 

They sought my troubled sense how to deceave 

With talke that might unquiet fancies reave ^ ; 

And sitting all in seates about me round, 25 

With pleasant tales fit for that idle stound^ 

They cast in course to waste the wearie howres. 

Some tolde of ladies, and their paramoures ; 

Some of brave knights, and their renowned squires ; 

Some of the faeries and their strange attires ; 80 

And some of giaunts hard to be beleeved ; 

That the delight thereof me much releeved. 

Amongst the rest a good old woman was, 

Hight Mother Hubberd, who did farre surpas 

The rest in honest mirth, that seem'd her well. 35 

She, when her turne was come her tale to tell, 

Tolde of a strange adventure that betided 

Betwixt the Foxe and th' Ape by him misguided ; 

The which, for that my sense it greatly pleased, 

All were my spirite heavie and diseased, 00 

He write in termes, as she the same did say, 

1 Geason, rare. 8 Stound, time. 

2 Reave, take away. 


So well as I her words remember may. 
No Muses aide me needes hereto© to call ; 
Base ^ is the style, and matter meane withall. 

^ Whilorae, said she, before the world was civill. 
The Foxe and th' Ape, disliking of their evill -i' 

And hard estate, determined to seeke 
Their fortunes farre abroad, lyeke with his lyeke : 
For both were craftie and unhappie^ witted ; 
Two fellowes might no where be better fitted. so 

The Foxe, that first this cause of griefe did finde, 
Gan first thus plains his case with words unkinde: 
" Neighbour Ape, and my gossip eke beside, 
(Both two sure bands in friendship to be tide,) 
To whom may I more trustely complaine 35 

The evill plight that doth me sore constraine. 
And hope thereof to finde due remedie ? 
Heare then my paine and inwai'd agonie. 
Thus manie yeares I now have spent and worne, 
In meane regard, and basest fortunes scorne, eo 

Dooing my countrey service as I might. 
No lesse I dare sale than the prowdest wight; 
And still I hoped to be up advaunced 
For my good parts ; but still it hath miscliaunced. 
Now therefore that no lenger hope I see, m 

But froward fortune still to follow mee. 
And losels ^ lifted up on high, where I did looke, 
I meane to turne the next leafe of the booke. 
Yet ere that anie way I doe betake, 
I meane my gossip privie first to make." 70 

1 Base, humble. 8 Loseh, worthless fellows. 

2 Unhappie, mischievous. 


" Ah ! my deare gossip," answer'd then the Ape, 

" Deeply doo your sad words my wits awhape,* 

Both for because your griefe doth great appeare, 

And eke because my selfe am touched neare : 

For I hkewise have wasted much good time, '^ 

Still wayting to preferment up to clime, 

Whilst others alwayes have before me stept, 

And from my beard the fat away have swept ; 

That now unto despaire I gin to growe, 

And meane for better winde about to throwe. m 

Therefore to me, my trustie friend, aread * 

Thy councell : two is better than one head." 

" Certes," said he, " I meane me to disguize 

In some straunge habit, after uncouth wize, 

Or like a pilgrime, or a lymiter,^ 85 

Or like a gipsen,* or a iuggeler, 

And so to wander to the world[e]s ende. 

To seeke my fortune, where I may it mend : 

For worse than that I have I cannot meete. 

Wide is the world I wote, and «verie streete 90 

Is full of fortunes and adventures straunge, 

Continuallie subiect unto chaunge. 

Say, my faire brother now, if this device 

Doth like you, or may you to Uke entice." 

" Surely," said th' Ape, " it likes me wondrous well ; 9- 

And would ye not poore fellowship expell, 

My selfe would offer you t' accompanie 

In this adventures chauncefuU ieopardie. 

1 Awhape, astound. 

2 Aread, declare. 

3 I. e. a friar licensed to beg within a certain district. 

4 Gijjsen, gypsy. 


For to wexe olde at home in idlenesse 

Is disadventrous, and quite fortunelesse : loc... 

Abroad, where change is, good may gotten bee." 

The Foxe was glad, and quickly did agree : 

So both resolv'd, the morrow next ensuing, 

So soone as day appeard to peoples vewing, 

On their intended iourney to proceede ; tos 

And over night, whatso theretoo did neede 

Each did prepare, in readines to bee. 

The morrow next, so soone as one might see 

Light out of heavens windowes forth to looke, 

Both their habiliments unto them tooke, iio 

And put themselves, a Gods name, on their way. 

Whenas the Ape, beginning well to wey 

This hard adventure, thus began t' advise : 

" Now read. Sir Reynold, as ye be right wise, 

What course ye weene is best for us to take, iia 

That for our selves we may a living make. 

Whether shall we professe some trade or skill ? 

Or shall we varie our device at will. 

Even as new occasion appeares ? 

Or shall we tie our selves for certaine yeares lao 

To anie service, or to anie place ? 

For it behoves, ere that into the rac» 

We enter, to resolve first hereupon." 

" Now surely, brother," said the Foxe anon, 

" Ye have this matter motioned in season : 195 

For everie thing that is begun with reason 

Will come by readie meanes unto his end ; 

But things raiscouDselled must needs miswend.* 

1 Aiiswendj go wrong. 


Thus therefore I advize upon the case : 

That not to anie certaine trade or place, 130 

Nor anie man, we should our selves applie. 

For why should he that is at libertie 

Make himselfe bond ? Sith then we are free borne, 

Let us all servile base subiection scorne ; 

And as we bee sonnes of the world so wide, i36 

Let us our fathers heritage divide, 

And chalenge to our selves our portions dew 

Of all the patrimonie, which a few 

Now hold in hugger mugger^ in their hand, 

And all the rest doo rob of good and land : 1-10 

For now a few have all, and all have nought. 

Yet all be brethren ylike dearly bought. 

There is no right in this partition, 

Ne was it so by institution 

Ordained first, ne by the law of Nature, us 

But that she gave like blessing to each creture 

As well of worldly livelode as of life, 

That there might be no difference nor strife, 

Nor ought cald mine or thine : thrice happie then 

Was the condition of mortall men. i50 

That was the golden age of Saturne old. 

But this might better be the world of gold ; 

For without golde now nothing wilbe got. 

Therefore, if please you, this shalbe our plot : 

We will not be of anie occupation ; I66 

Let such vile vassalls, borne to base vocation, 

Drudge in the world and for their living droyle,- 

Which have no wit to live withouten toyle. 

1 In hugger mugger, it *5cret. 2 DroyU, moil. 


But we will walke about the world at pleasure, 

Like two free men, and make our ease our treasure. 

Free men some beggers call ; but they be free ; lei 

And they which call them so more beggei-s bee : 

For they doo swinke * and sweate to feed the other, 

Who live like lords of that which they doo gather. 

And yet doo never thanke them for the same, i65 

But as their due by nature doo it clame. 

Such will we fashion both our selves to bee, 

Lords of the world ; and so will wander free 

Where so us listeth, uncontrol'd of anie. 

Hard is our hap, if we, emongst so manie, no 

Light not on some that may our state amend ; 

Sildome but some good commeth ere the end." 

Well seemd the Ape to like this ordinaunce : 

Yet, well considering of the circumstaunce. 

As pausing in great doubt awhile he staid, 175 

And afterwards with grave advizement said : 

" I cannot, my lief ^ brother, like but well 

The purpose of the complot which ye tell ; 

For well I wot (compar'd to all the rest 

Of each degree) that beggers life is best, iso 

And they that thinke themselves the best of all 

Oft-times to begging are content to fall. 

But this I wot withall, that we shall ronne 

Into great daunger, like to bee undonne. 

Thus wildly to wander in the worlds eye, iss 

Withouten pasport or good warrantye, 

For feare least we like rogues should be reputed, 

And for eare-mai'ked beasts abroad be bruted. 

^Swinke, toil. 2 Lief, dear. 


Therefore I read that we our counsells call 

How to prevent this mischiefe ere it fall, 190 

And how we may, with most securitie, 

Beg amongst those that beggars duo defie." 

" Right well, deere gossip, ye advized have," 

Said then the Foxe, " but I this doubt will save : 

For ere we farther passe, I will devise ws 

A pasport for us both in fittest wize, 

And by the names of souldiers us protect, 

That now is thought a civile begging sect. 

Be you the souldier, for you likest are 

For manly semblance, and small skill in warre : aoo 

I will but* way te on you, and, as occasion 

Falls out, my selfe fit for the same will fashion." 

The pasport ended, both they forward went ; 

The Ape clad souldierlike, fit for th' intent, 

In a blew iacket with a crosse of redd sos 

And manie slits, as if that he had shedd 

Much blood throgh many wounds therein receaved. 

Which had the use of his right arme bereaved. 

Upon his head an old Scotch cap he wore, 

"With a plume feather all to peeces tore ; sio 

His breeches were made after the new cut, 

Al Portugese, loose like an emptie gut, 

And his hose broken high above the heeling, 

And his shooes beaten out with traveling. 

But neither sword nor dagger he did beare ; aif 

Seemes that no foes revengement he did feare ; 

In stead of them a handsome bat ^ he held. 

On which he leaned, as one farre in elde." 

1 Bat, stick. 2 Eide, age. 


Shame light on him, that through so false illusion 

Doth turne the name of souldiers to abusion, 220 

And that which is the noblest mysterie ^ 

Brings to reproach and common infamie ! 

Long they thus travailed, yet never met 

Adventure which might them a working set : 

Yet manie waies they sought, and manie tryed ; aas 

Yet for their purposes none fit espyed. 

At last they chaunst to meete upon the way 

A simple husbandman in garments gray ; 

Yet, though his vesture were but meane and bace,* 

A good yeoman he was of honest place, 230 

And more for thrift did care than for gay clothing : 

Gay without good is good hearts greatest loathing. 

The Foxe, him spying, bad the Ape him dight* 

To play his part, for loe ! he was in sight 

That, if he er'd not, should them entertaine, 236 

And yeeld them timely profite for their paine. 

Eftsoones * the Ape himselfe gan up to reare, 

And on his shoulders high his bat to beare, 

As if good service he were fit to doo, 

But little thrift for him he did it too : 240 

And stoutly forward he his steps did strains, 

That like a handsome swaine it him became. 

"When as they nigh approached, that good man. 

Seeing them wander loosly, first began 

T' enquire, of custome, what and whence they were. 

To whom the Ape : "I am a souldiere, 246 

That late in warres have spent my deerest blood, 

1 Mysterie, profession. ^ Di</ht. prepare. 

2 Bace, humble. * Eftsoones, straightway. 


And in long service lost both limbs and good; 

And now, constrain'd that trade to overgive, 

I driven am to seeke some meanes to live : 2so 

Wliich might it you in pitie please t" afford, 

I would be readie, both in deed and word. 

To doo you faithfull service all my dayes. 

This yron world " (that same he weeping sayes) 

" Brings downe the stowtest hearts to lowest state : 255 

For miserie doth bravest mindes abate. 

And make them seeke for that they wont to scorne, 

Of fortune and of hope at once forlorne." ^ 

The honest man that heard him thus complaine 

"Was griev'd as he had felt part of his paine ; 26O 

And, well dispos'd him some reliefe to showe, 

Askt if in husbandrie he ought did knowe, — 

To plough, to plant, to reap, to rake, to sowe, 

To hedge, to ditch, to thrash, to thetch, to mowe , 

Or to what labour els he was prepar'd : ace 

For husbands - life is labourous and hard. 

Whenas the Ape him hard so much to talke 

Of laboui', that did from his liking balke, 

He would have slipt the coUer handsomly. 

And to him said : " Good Sir, full glad am I 270 

To take what paines may anie living wight : 

But my late maymed limbs lack wonted might 

To doo their kindly ^ services, as needetli : 

Scarce this right hand the mouth with diet feedeth ; 

So that it may no painfull worke endure, aid 

Ne to strong labour can it selfe enure. 

1 Forlorne, deserted. ^ Kindly, natural. 

2 Husbands, husbandman's. 


But if that anie other place you have, 

Which askes small paines, but thriftines to save, 

Or care to overlooke, or trust to gather, 

Ye may me trust as your owiie ghostly father." 28aj 

With that the husbandman gan him avize. 

That it for him were fittest exercise 

Cattell to keep, or grounds to oversee ; 

And asked him, if he could willing bee 

To keep his sheep, or to attend his swyne, sjee-. 

Or watch his mares, or take his charge of kyne. 

" Gladly," said he, " what ever such like paine 

Ye put on me, I will the same sustaine : 

But gladliest I of your fleecie sheepe 

(Might it you please) would take on me the keep. 2y\i- 

For ere that unto armes I me betooke, 

Unto my fathers sheepe I usde to looke, 

That yet the skill thereof I have not loste : 

Thereto right well this curdog, by my coste, 

(Meaning the Foxe,) will serve my sheepe to gather, 

And drive to follow after their belwether." 296 

The husbandman was meanly ^ well content 

Triall to make of his endevourment ; 

And, home him leading, lent to him the charge 

Of all his flocke, with libertie full large, soo 

Giving accompt of th' annuall increce 

Both of their lambes, and of their w'oolly fleece. 

Thus is this Ape become a shepheard swaine, 

And the false Foxe his dog: God give them paine! 

For ere the yeare have halfe his course out-run, sos 

And doo returne from whence he first begun, 

1 Meanly, humbly? or "middling," as Americans say? (Freiicli 


They shall him make an ill accompt of thrift. 

Now whenas time, flying with vvinges swift, 

Expired had the terme that these two iavels ^ 

Should render up a reckning of their travels aic 

Unto their master, which it of them sought, 

Exceedingly they troubled were in thought, 

Ne wist what answere unto him to frame, 

Ne how to ocape great punishment, or shame, 

For their false treason and vile theeverie : 315 

For not a lambe of all their flockes supply 

Had they to shew ; but ever as they bred. 

They slue them, and upon their fleshes fed : 

For that disguised dog lov'd blood to spill, 

And drew the wicked shepheard to his will. a-a, 

So twixt them both they not a lambkin left ; 

And when lambes fail'd, the old sheepes lives they 

reft ; 
That how t' acquite themselves unto their lord 
They were in doubt, and flatly set abord.^ 
The Foxe then counsel'd th' Ape for to require 325 
Respite till morrow t' answere his desire : 
For times delay new hope of helpe still breeds. 
The good man granted, doubting nought their deeds, 
And bad next day that all should readie be. 
But they more subtill meaning had tlian he : 330 

For the next morrowes meed they closely^ raent, 
For feare of afterclaps, for to prevent * : 
And that same evening, when all shrowded were 
In careles sleep, they without care or feare 
Cruelly fell upon their flock in folde, 33; 

1 Iavels, rascals. 3 Closely, secretly. 

2 Set abord, set adrift, at a loss * Prevent, antici])a*e. 


And of them slew at pleasure what they wolde : 

Of which whenas they feasted had then- fill, 

For a full complement of all their ill, 

They stole away, and tooke their hastie flight, 

Carried in clowdes of all-concealing: night. •■•■i« 

So was the husbandman left to his losse. 

And they unto their fortunes change to tosse. 

After which sort they wandered long while, 

Abusing manie through their cloaked guile ; 

That at the last they gan to be descryed 345 

Of everie one, and all their sleights espyed ; 

So as their begging now them failed quyte, 

For none would give, but all men would them wyte.^ 

Yet would they take no paines to get their living, 

But seeke some other way to gaine by giving, 300 

Much like to begging, but much better named ; 

For manie beg which are thereof ashamed. 

And now the Foxe had gotten him a gowne, 

And th' Ape a cassocke sidelong hanging downe , 

For they their occupation meant to change, ass 

And now in other state abroad to range : 

For since their souldiers pas no better spedd, 

They forg'd another, as for clerkes booke-redd. 

Who passing foorth, as their adventures fell, 

Through manie haps, which needs not here to tell, ssi 

At length chaunst with a forraall ^ Pi-iest to meete, 

Whom they in civill manner first did greete, 

And after askt an almes for Gods deare love. 

The man straightway his choler up did move. 

And with reproachfuU tcarmes gan them revile, 306 

^ Wyte, blame. 2 Frntnall, regular 


For following that trade so base and vile ; 

And askt what license or what pas they had. 

" Ah ! " said the Ape, as sighing wondrous sad, 

"Its an hard case, when men of good deserving 

Must either driven be perforce to sterving, 370 

Or asked for their pas by everie squib,* 

That list at will them to revile or snib.^ 

And yet (God wote) small oddes I often see 

Twixt them that aske, and them that asked bee. 

Natheles because you shall not us misdeeme, srm 

But that we are as honest as we seeme, 

Yee shall our pasport at your pleasure see, 

And then ye will (I hope) well mooved bee." 

Which when the Priest beheld, he vew'd it nere, 

As if therein some text he studying were, sso 

But little els (God wote) could thereof skill : ' 

For read he could not evidence nor will, 

Ne tell a written word, ne %vrite a letter, . 

Ne make one title worse, ne make one better. 

Of such deep learning little had he neede, 865 

Ne yet of Latine ne of Gi'eeke, that breede 

Doubts mongst divines, and difference of texts, 

From whence arise diversitie of sects. 

And hatefull heresies, of God ablior'd. 

But this good Sir did follow the plaine word, 390 

Ne medled with their controversies vaine ; 

All his care was his service well to saine,' 

And to read homelies upon holidayes ; 

When that was done, he might attend his playes : 

1 Squib, flashy, pretentious fellow. s Skill, understand. 

2 Snib, snub. * Saine, say. 



An easie life, and fit high God to please. 39b 

He, having overlookt their pas at ease, 

Gan at the length them to rebuke againe, 

That no good trade of life did entertaine, 

But lost their time in wandring loose abroad ; 

Seeing the world, in which they booties boad,^ «» 

Had wayes enough for all therein to live ; 

Such grace did God unto his creatures give. 

Sjud then the Foxe : " Who hath the world not tride 

From the right way full eath ^ may wander wide. 

We are but novices, new come abroad, 4o6 

We have not yet the tract of anie troad,^ 

Nor on us taken anie state of hfe. 

But readie are of anie to make preife.* 

Therefore might please you, which the world have 

Us to advise, which forth but lately moved, 410 

Of some good course that we might undertake, 
Ye shall for ever us your bondmen make." 
The priest gan wexe halfe proud to be so praide, 
And thereby willing to affoord them aide, 
" It seeraes," said he, '• right well that ye be clerks, vo 
Both by your wittie words and by your werks. 
Is not that name enough to make a living 
To him that hath a whit of Natures giving ? 
How manie honest men see ye arize 
Daylie thereby, and grow to goodly prize ; ^20 

To deanes, to archdeacons, to commissaries, 
To lords, to principalis, to prebendaries ? 

1 Bootless bond, dwelt unprofitably. ^ f^fth, easy. 

8 Troad, trodden; possibly, path. « Preife, proof. 

VOL. v. 8 


All iolly prelates, worthie rule to beare, 

Who ever them envie : yet spite bites neare. 

Why should ye doubt, then, but that ye likewise 425 

Might unto some of those in time arise ? 

In the raeane time to live in good estate, 

Loving that love, and hating those that hate ; 

Being some honest curate, or some vicker, 

Content with little in condition sickei-.^" 430 

" Ah ! but," said th' Ape, " the charge is wondrous 

To feed mens soules, and hath an heavie threat." 
" To feede mens soules," quoth he, " is not in man : 
For they must feed themselves, doo what we can. 
We are but charg'd to lay the meate before : iss 

Eate they that list, we need to doo no more. 
But God it is that feedes them w'ith his grace, 
The bread of life powr'd downe from heavenly place. 
Therefore said he that with the budding rod 
Did rule the lewes, All sJialhe taught of God. 440 

That same hath lesus Christ now to him raught,* 
By whom the flock is rightly fed and taught: 
He is the shepheard, and the priest is bee ; 
We but his shepiieard swaines ordaiu'd to bee. 
Therefore herewith doo not your selfe dismay; 445 
Ne is the paines so great, but beare ye may ; 
For not so great, as it was wont of yore. 
It's now a dayes, ne halfe so streight and sore. 
They whilome used duly everie day 
Their service and their hoHe things to say, 451 

At morne and even, beside their anthemes sweete, 

1 Sicker, sure. 2 Raughl, reached, taken. 


Their penie masses, and their complynes ^ meete, 

Their diriges, their trentals,^ and their shrifts, 

Their memories,^ their singings, and their gifts. 

Now all those needlesse works are laid away ; vm 

Now once a weeke, upon the Sabbath day, 

It is enough to doo our small devotion. 

And then to follow any merrie motion. 

Ne are we tyde to fast, but when we list ; 

Ne to weare garments base of woUen twist, 460 

But with the finest silkes us to aray. 

That before God we may appeare more gay, 

Resembling Aarons glorie in his place : 

For farre unfit it is, that person bace 

Should with vile cloaths approach Gods maiestie, nb 

Whom no uncleannes may approachen nie ; 

Or that all men, which anie master serve, 

Good garments for their service should deserve, 

But he that serves the Lord of Hoasts jNIost High, 

And that in highest place, t' approach him nigh, 470 

And all the peoples prayers to present 

Before his throne, as on ambassage sent 

Both too and fro, should not deserve to weare 

A fjarment better than of wooll or heare. 

Beside, we may have lying by our sides 4-0) 

1 Coniphjnes, even-song ; tlie last service of the day. 

2 Trentah, thirty masses for the de;id. 
8 3fciiwries, services for the dead. 

Ver. 453. — Diriges, dirges. The office for the dead received 
this name from the antiphon witli which the first nocturne in the 
mattens commenced, taken from I'salm v. 8, " Diriffe, Domine 
Dcus meus, ui coi.spectu tuo viam meam." Way's Prompla- 
tiiun Parvulofum. C. 


Our lovely lasses, or briglit sliining brides ; 

We be not tyde to wilful! chastitie, 

But have the gospell of free libertie." 

By that he ended had his ghostly sermon, 

Tiie Foxe was well induc'd to be a parson ; 460 

And of the priest eftsoones gan to enquire 

How to a benefice he might aspire. 

" Marie, there," said the priest, "is arte indeed : 

Much good deep learning one thereout may reed ; 

For that the ground-worke is, and end of all, 486 

How to obtaine a beneficiall. 

First, therefore, when ye have in handsome wise 

Your selfe attyred, as you can devise, 

Then to some nobleman your selfe applye, 

Or other great one in the worldes eye, 490 

That hath a zealous disposition 

To God, and so to his religion. 

There must thou fashion eke a godly zeale, 

Such as no carpers may contrayre reveale : 

For each thing fained ought more warie bee. 495 

There thou must walke in sober gravitee, 

And seeme as saintlike as Saint Radegund : 

Fast much, pray oft, looke lowly on the ground, 

And unto everie one doo curtesie raeeke : 

Tliese lookes (nought saying) doo a benefice seeke, 

And be thou sure one not to lacke or^ long. soi 

But if thee list unto the Court to throng, 

And there to hunt after the hoped pray, 

Then must thou thee dispose another way : 

For there thou needs must learne to laugh, to lie, 50a 

To face, to forge, to scoffe, to companie, 

1 Or, ere. 


To crouche, to phiase, to be a beetle-stock 

Of thy great masters will, to scoriie, or mock : 

So maist thou chaunce mock out a benefice, 

Unlesse thou canst one coniure by device, 510 

Or cast a figure for a bishoprick : 

And if one could, it were but a schoole trick. 

These be the wayes by which without i-eward 

Livings in court be gotten, though full hard ; 

For nothing there is done without a fee : &16 

The courtier needes must recompenced bee 

With a benevolence, or have in jrase ^ 

The primitias ^ of your parsonage : 

Scarse can a bishoprick forpas them by, 

But that it must be gelt in privitie. &80 

Dog not thou therefore seeke a living there, 

But of more private persons seeke elswhere. 

Whereas thou maist compound a better penie, 

Ne let thy learning question'd be of anie. 

For some good gentleman, that hath the right 520 

Unto his church for to present a wight, 

Will cope ^ with thee in reasonable wise, 

That if the living yerely doo arise 

To fortie pound, that then his yongest sonne 

Shall twentie have, and twentie thou hast wonne : ssu 

Thou hast it wonne, for it is of franke gift. 

And he will care for all the rest to siiift ; 

Both that the bishop may admit of thee, 

1 Gage, pledge. 2 Primitias, first-fruits. * Cope, bargain. 

Ver. 519. — Scaise can a bishoprick, &c.] Tliis is probably iin 
illusion to the frequent alienations of the lantls and manors of 
Wshoprics in Elizabeth's time. Todd. 


And that therein thou maist maintained bee. 

This is the way for one that is unlern'd 536 

Living to get, and not to be discern'd. 

But they that are gi-eat clerkes have nearer wayes 

For learning sake to living them to raise : 

Yet manie eke of them (God wote) are driven 

T' accept a benefice in peeces riven. — 540 

How saist thou, friend, liave I not well discourst 

Upon this common-place, though plaine, not wourst ? 

Better a short tale than a bad long shriving : 

Needes anie more to learne to get a living ? " 

" Now sure, and by my hallidome," quoth he, bit 

" Yea great master are in your degree : 

Great thankes I yeeld you for your discipline, 

And doo not doubt but duly to encline 

My wits theretoo, as ye shall shortly heare." 

The priest him wisht good speed and well to fare : oso 

So parted they, as eithers way them led. 

But th' Ape and Foxe ere long so well them sped, 

Through the priests holesome counsell lately tought, 

And throgh their owne faire handling wisely wroght, 

That they a benefice twixt them obtained, 555 

And craftie Reynold was a priest ordained. 

And th' Ape his parish clarke procur'd to bee : 

Then made they revell route and goodly glee. 

But, ere long time had passed, they so ill 

Did order their affaires, that th' evill will eoo 

Of all their parishners they had constraind; 

Who to tlie ordinarie of them complain'd, 

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


How fowlie they their offices abusd, 

And them of crimes and heresies accusd ; 

That pursivants he often for them sent. cei 

But they neglected his commaundement ; 

So long persisted obstinate and bolde, 

Till at the length he published to holde 

A visitation, and them cyted thether. 

Then was high time their wits about to geather ; 370 

What did they then, but made a composition 

With their next neighbor priest for light condition, 

To whom their living they resigned quight 

For a few pence, and ran away by night. 

So passing through the countrey in disguize, 576 

They fled farre off, where none might them surprize, 

And after that long straied here and there. 

Through everie field and forrest farre and nere ; 

Yet never found occasion for their tourne. 

But, almost sterv'd, did much lament and mourne. 58O 

At last they chaunst to meete upon the way 

The Mule, all deckt in goodly rich aray, 

With bells and bosses that full lowdly rung, 

And costly trappings that to ground downe hung. 

Lowly they him saluted in meeke wise ; 680 

But he through pride and fatnes gan despise 

Their meanesse ; scarce vouchsafte them to re(iuite. 

Whereat the Foxe deep groning in his sprite, 

Said : " Ah ! Sir Mule, now blessed be the day 

That I see you so goodly and so gay sw 

In your attyres, and eke your silken hyde 

Fil'd with round flesh, that everie bone doth hide. 

Seemes that in fruitfull pastures ye doo live. 

Or fortune doth you secret favour give." 


" Foolish Foxe ! " said the IMule, " thy wretched need 

Praiseth the thing that doth thy sorrow breed. 59S 

For well I weene thou canst not but envie 

My wealth, compar'd to thine owne miserie, 

That art so leane and meagre waxen late 

That scarse thy legs uphold thy feeble gate." aoo 

" Ay me ! " said then the Foxe, " whom evill hap 

rjnworthy in such wretchednes doth wrap, 

And makes the scorne of other beasts to bee. 

But read, faire Sir, of grace, from whence come yee ; 

Or what of tidings you abroad doo heare ; eos 

Newes may perhaps some good unweeting beare." 

" From royall court I lately came," said he, 

" Where all the braverie that eye may see, 

And all the happinesse that heart desire, 

Is to be found ; he nothing can admire, eio 

That hath not scene that heavens portracture. 

But tidings there is none, I you assure. 

Save that which commoi* is, and knowne to all, 

That courtiers as the tide doo rise and full." 

" But tell us," said the Ape, " we doo you pray, 6io 

"Who now in court doth beare the greatest sway : 

That, if such fortune doo to us befall. 

We may seeke favour of the best of all." 

" Marie," said he, " the highest now in grace, 

Be the wilde beasts, that swiftest are in chase ; ean 

For in their speedie course and nimble flight 

The Lyon now doth take the most delight : 

But chieflie ioyes on foote them to beholde, 

Ver. 623, 624. — The Queen was so much pleased with the results 
i)f the Portugal expedition of 15?9, that she honored the command- 
ers, and Sir Walter Raleigh among the rest, with a gold chain. C. 


Enchaste^ with cliaine and circulet of golde: 

So wilde a beaste so tame y taught to bee, 6i4S 

And buxome^ to his bands, is ioy to see ; 

So well his golden circlet him beseemeth. 

But his late chayne his Liege unmeete esteemeth ; 

For so bi-ave beasts she ^ loveth best to see 

In the wilde forrest raunging fresh and free. 630 

Therefore if fortune thee in court to live, 

In case thou ever there wilt hope to thrive. 

To some of these thou must thy selfe apply ; 

Els as a thistle-downe in th' ayre doth file, 

So vainly shalt thou too and fro be tost, 835 

And loose thy labour and thy fruitles cost. 

And yet full few which follow them I see 

For vertues bare regard advaunced bee. 

But either for some gainfuU benefit, 

Or tliat they may for their owne turnes be fit. mo 

Nath'les, perhaps ye things may handle soe. 

That ye may better thrive than thousands moe." 

" But," said the Ape, " how shall we first come in, 

That after we may favour seeke to win ?" 

'•' How els," said he, " but with a good bold face, 646 

And with big words, and with a stately pace. 

That men may thinke of you in generall 

That to be in you which is not at all : 

For not by that which is the w^orld now deemeth, 

(As it was wont) but by that same that seemeth. sso 

Ne do I doubt but that ye well can fashion 

Your selves theretoo, according to occasion. 

So fare ye well : good courtiers may ye bee ! " 

» Enchaste, adorned. * I. e. the queen. 

2 Btixome, obedient. 


So, proudlie neighing, from them parted hee. 

Then gan this craftie couple to devize, 665 

How for the court themselves they might aguize*: 

For thither they themselves meant to addresse, 

In hope to finde there happier successe. 

So well they shifted, that the Ape anon 

Himselfe had cloathed like a gentleman, eeo 

And the slie Foxe as like to be his groome ; 

That to the court in seemly sort they come. 

Where the fond Ape, himselfe uprearing hy 

Upon his tiptoes, stalketh stately by, 

As if he were some great magnifico, 6d6 

And boldlie doth amongst the boldest go ; 

And his man Reynold, with fine counterfesaunce,* 

Supports his credite and his countenaunce. 

Then gan the courtiers gaze on everie side, 

And stare on him with big looks basen ^ wide, 670 

Wondring what mister wight* he was, and whence: 

For he was clad in strange accoustrements, 

Fashion'd with queint devises never seene 

In court befoi'e, yet there all fashions beene ; 

Yet he them in newfanglenesse did pas. 67f. 

But his behaviour altogether was 

Alia Turchesca^ much the more admyr'd ; 

And his lookes loftie, as if lie aspyr'd 

To dignitie, and sdeign'd the low degree ; 

That all which did such sti*angenesse in him see sac 

By secrete meanes gan of his state enquire. 

And privily his servant thereto hire : 

1 Agnize, decorate. 2 Counterfesnimce, counterfeiting. 

8 Bnsen, swelled. ^ Mister tvif/hf, sort of creature. 

*» Alld Tarchesca, in the Turkish fashion. 


Who, throughly aim'd against such coverture,^ 
Reported unto all that he was sure 
A noble gentleman of high regard, esj 

Which through the world had with long travel far'd, 
And seene the manners of all beasts on ground, 
Now here arriv'd to see if like he found. 
Thus did the Ape at first him credit gaine, 
Which afterwards he wisely did maintaine 6po 

With gallant showe, and daylie more augment 
Through his fine feates and courtly complement ; 
For he could play, and daunce, and vaute, and spring, 
And all that els pertaines to reveling, 
Onelythrough kindly^ aptnes of his ioynts. 690 

Besides he could doo manie other poynts. 
The which in court him served to good stead : 
For he mongst ladies could their fortunes read 
Out of their hands, and merle leasings tell, 
And iuggle finely, that became him well 70c 

But he so light was at legierdemaine, 
That what he toucht came not to light againe ; 
Yet would he laugh it out, and proudly looke, 
And tell them that they greatly him mistooke. 
So would he scoffe them out with mockerie, 7oa 

For he therein had great felicitie ; 
And with sharp quips ioy'd others to deface, 
Thinking that their disgracing did him grace : 
So whilst that other like vaine wits he pleased 
\nd made to laugh, his heart was greatly cased, no 
Jut the right gentle minde woulde bite liis lip, 
To heare the iavell^ so good men to iiij) : 

1 Coverture, underliaiid dealing. ^larfll. nwcul. 

2 KijuJly, natural. 


For, though the vulgar yeeld an open eare, 

And common courtiers love to gybe and fleare 

At everie thing which they lieare spoken ill. 715 

And the best speaches with ill meaning spill, 

Yet the brave courtier, in whose beauteous thought 

Regard of honour harbours more than ouglit. 

Doth loath such base condition,^ to backbite 

Anies good name for envie or despite. 720 

He stands on tearmes of honourable minde, 

Ne will be carried with the common winde 

Of courts inconstant mutabilitie, 

Ne after everie tattling fable flie ; 

But heares and sees the follies of the rest, • 7as 

And thereof gathers for himselfe the best. 

He will not creepe, nor crouche with fained face, 

But walkes upright with comely stedfast pace, 

And unto all doth yeeld due curtesie ; 

But not with kissed hand belowe the knee, 780 

As that same apish crue is wont to doo : 

For he disdaines himselfe t' embase theretoo. 

He hates fowle leasings and vile flatterie, 

Two filthie blots in noble genterie ; 

And lothefull idlenes he doth detest, 736 

The canker worme of everie gentle brest ; 

The which to banish with faire exercise 

Of knightly feates he daylie doth devise : 

Now mena^inoj the mouthes of stubborne steedes, 

Now practising the proofe of warlike deedes, 74c 

1 Spill, spoil. 2 Condition, quality, 

Ver. 717. — The brave courtier, Szc] This description is per- 
haps intended for Sir Philip Sidney. C. 


Now his bright armes assaying, now his speare, 
Now the nigh aymed ring away to beare : 
At other times he casts ^ to sew the chace 
Of swift wilde beasts, or runne on foote a race, 
T' enlarge his breath, (large breath in armes most' 
needfuU,) 748 

Or els by wrestling to wex strong and heedfull, 
Or his stiffe armes to stretch with eughen ^ bowe, 
And manly legs, still passing too and fro, 
Without a gowned beast him fast beside ; 
A vaine ensample of the Persian pride, 7s^ 

Who after he had wonne th' Assyrian foe, 
Did ever after scorne on foote to goe. 
Thus when this courtly gentleman with toyle 
Himselfe hath wearied, he doth recoyle 
Unto his rest, and there with sweete delight 763 

Of musicks skill revives his toyled spright ; 
Or els with loves and ladies gentle sports, 
The ioy of youth, himselfe he recomforts : 
Or lastly, when the bodie list to pause. 
His minde unto the Muses he witlidrawes, 760 

Sweete Ladie Muses, ladies of delight. 
Delights of life, and ornaments of light : 
With whom he close confers with wise discourse, 
Of Natures workes, of heavens continuall course, 
Of forreine lands, of people different, ■}&: 

Of kingdomes change, of divers gouvernment, 
Of dreadfull battailes of renowmed knights ; 
With which he kindleth his ambitious sprights 
To like desire and praise of noble fame, 

1 Casta, plans, makes arrangements. 
'■i Eughen, made of yew. 


Tho onely upshot whereto he dotli apne. tto 

For all his miiule on honour fixed is, 
To which he levels all his purposis, 
And in his Princes service spends his dayes, 
Not so much for to gaine, or for to raise 
Himselfe to high degree, as for his grace, m 

And in his liking to winne worthie place. 
Through due deserts and comely carriage. 
In whatso please employ his personage, 
That may be matter meete to gaine him praise. 
For he is fit to use in all assayes, 780 

Whether for armes and warlike amenaunce,* 
Or else for wise and civill governaunce : 
For he is practiz'd well in policie, 
And thereto doth his courting ^ most applie : 
To learn e the enterdeale ^ of princes strange, 786 

To marke th' intent of counsells, and the change 
Of states, and eke of private men somewhile, 
Supplanted by fine falshood and faire guile ; 
Of all the which he gathereth what is fit 
T' enrich the storehouse of his powerfull wit, 790 

Which through wise speaches and grave conference 
He daylie eekes,^ and brings to excellence- 
Such is the rightfuU courtier in his kinde : 
But unto such the Ape lent not his minde ; 
Such were for him no fit companions, 70a 

Such would descrie his lewd conditions : 
But the yong lustie gallants he did chose 
To follow, meete to wiiom he might disclose 
His witlesse pleasance and ill pleasing vaine. 

1 Amenaunce, conduct. 8 Enterdeale. dealing top'ether. 

2 Onirting, life at court. ■* Eekes, increases. 


A thousand wayes he them could entertaine, eoo 

With all the thrifUes games that may be found ; 

With mumming and with masking all around, 

With dice, with cards, with halliards^ farre unfit, 

With shuttelcocks, misseeming^ manlie wit, 

With courtizans, and costly riotize, sos 

Whereof still somewhat to his share did rize : 

Ne, them to pleasure, would he sometimes scorne 

A pandares coate (so basely was he borne) ; 

Thereto he could fine loving verses frame, 

And play the poet oft. But ah ! for shame, eio 

Let not sweete poets praise, whose onely pride 

Is vertue to advaunce, and vice deride, 

Be with the worke of losels wit defamed, 

Ne let such verses poetrie be named ! 

Yet he the name on him would rashly take, eu 

Maugre the sacred Muses, and it make 

A servant to the vile affection 

Of such as he depended most upon ; 

And with the susrrie sweete thereof allure 

Chast ladies eares to fantasies impure. MO 

To such delights the noble wits he led 

Which him reliev'd, and their vaine humours fed 

With fruitles folies and unsound deliglits. 

But if pei-haps into their noble sprights 

Desire of honor or brave thought of armes eas 

Did ever creepe, then with his wicked charraes 

And strong conceipts he would it drive away, 

Ne suffer it to house there halfe a day. 

And whenso love of letters did inspire 

^ BcMcurds, bUliards. ^ Misseeming, unbecoming. 


Their gentle wits, and kindly ^ wise desire, uso 

That chieflie doth each noble minde adorne, 

Then he would scofFe at learning, and eke scoi'ne 

The sectaries ^ thereof, as people base 

And simple men, which never came in place 

Of worlds affaires, but, in darke corners mewd, sao 

Muttred of raatlers as their bookes thera shewd, 

Ne other knowledge ever did attaine, 

But with their gownes their gravitie maintaine. 

From them he would his impudent lewde speach 

Against Gods holie ministers oft reach, »40 

And mocke divines and their profession. 

What else then did he by progression. 

But mocke High God himselfe, whom they professe ? 

But what car'd he for God, or godHnesse ? 

All his care was himselfe how to advaunce, 846 

And to uphold his courtly countenaunce 

By all the cunning meanes he could devise ; 

Were it by honest wayes, or otherwise. 

He made small choyce : yet sure his honestie 

Got him small gaines, but shameles flatterie, sso 

And filthie brocage,^ and unseemly shifts, 

And borowe* base, and some good ladies gifts. 

But the best helpe, which chiefly him sustain'd. 

Was his man Raynolds purchase^ which he gain'd : 

For he was school'd by kinde® in all the skill su 

Of close conveyance, and each practise ill 

Of coosinage and cleanly ' knaverie, 

1 Qu. Mrulle f 5 Purchase, booty. 

2 Sectai-ies, followers. ' ^ Kinde, nature. 

8 Brocage, pimping. ^ Cleanly, neat, skilful. 

4 Borowe, pledging. 


Which ol't maintain'd his masters braverie. 

Besides, he usde another slipprie slight. 

In taking on hiniselfe, in common sight, 8€0 

False personages fit for everie sted, 

With which he thousands cleanly coosined : 

Now like a merchant, merchants to deceave, 

With whom his credite he did often leave 

In gage for his gay masters hopelesse dett : 866 

Now like a lawyer, when he land would lett, 

Or sell fee-simples in his masters name. 

Which he had never, nor ought like the same ; 

Then would he be a broker, and draw in 

Both wares and money, by exchange to win : 870 

Then would he seeme a farmer, that would sell 

Bargaines of woods, which he did lately fell, 

Or corne, or cattle, or such other ware, 

Thereby to coosin men not well aware : 

Of all the which there came a secret fee 816 

To th' Ape, that he his countenaunce might bee. 

Besides all this, he us'd oft to beguile 

Poore suters that in court did haunt some while : 

For he would learne their busines secretly, 

And then informe his master hastel}-, 880 

That he by meanes might cast them to pi-event,* 

And bes the sute the which the other ment. 

Or otherwise false Reynold would abuse 

The simple suter, and wish him to chuse 

His master, being one of great regard 885 

In court, to com pas anie sute not hard, 

In case his paines were recompenst with reason : 

1 Prevetit, anticipate. 

VOL V. 9 


So would he worke the silly man by treason 

To buy his masters ft-ivolous good will, 

That had not power to doo him good or ill. 890 

So pitifull a thing is suters state ! 

Most miserable man, whom wicked fate 

Hath brought to court, to sue for had-ywist, 

That few have found, and manie one hath mist ! 

Full little knowest thou that hast not tride, 895 

What hell it is in suing long to bide : 

To loose good dayes, that might be better spent ; 

To wast long nights in pensive discontent ; 

To speed to day, to be put back to morrow ; 

To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow ; soo 

To have thy Princes grace, yet want her Peeres; 

To have thy asking, yet waite manie yeeres ; 

To fret thy soule with crosses and with cares ; 

To eate thy heart through conifortlesse dispaires ; 

To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne, 906 

To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne. 

Unhappie wight, borne to desastrous end, 

That doth his life in so long tendance spend ! 

Who ever leaves sweete home, where meane estate 

In safe assurance, without strife or hate, aio 

Findes all things needfuU for contentment meeke, 

And will to court for shadowes vaine to seeke, 

Ver. 893. Had-rjiDist.] That is, had I vnst! had I hnmon that 
it would end so ! a proverbial expression for late repentance con- 
sequent on disuppoiiitment. C. 

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


Or hope to gaine, hiraselfe will a daw trie : 

That curse God send unto mine enemie ! 

For none but such as this bold Ape unblest sis 

Can ever thrive in that unluckie quest ; 

Or such as hath a Reynold to his man, 

That by his shifts his master furnish can. 

But yet this Foxe could not so closely hide 

His craftie feates, but that they were descride 920 

At length by such as sate in iustice seate, 

Who for the same him fowlie did entreate ; 

And, having worthily him punished, 

Out of the court for ever banished. 

And now the Ape, wanting his huckster man, 93s 

That wont provide his necessaries, gan 

To growe into great lacke, ne could upholde 

His countenaunce in those his garments olde ; 

Ne new ones could he easily provide, 

Though all men him uncased gan deride, 980 

Like as a puppit placed in a play, 

Whose part once past all men bid take away : 

So that he driven was to great distresse. 

And shortly brought to hopelesse wretchedness©. 

Then closely as he might he cast to leave 93e 

The court, not asking any passe or leave ; 

But ran away in his rent rags by night, 

Ne ever stayd in place, ne spake to wight. 

Till that the Foxe, his copesmate,^ he had found ; 

1 Copesmate, partner in trade. 

Ver. 913. nimselfe will a daw tiie.] So the old copy: ttic 
reading should probably be liimsclfe a daw will Crie, i)rove or find 
Uimself by experience to be a daw or fool. C. 


To whome complayning his unhappie stound,^ 940 

At last againe with hiin in travell ioynd, 

And witli him far'd some better chaunce to fynde 

So in the world long time they wandered, 

And mickle want and hardnesse suffered ; 

Tliat them repented much so foolishly 9*5 

To come so farre to seeke for misery, 

And leave the sweetnes of contented home, 

Though eating hipps ^ and drinking watry fome. 

Thus as they them complayned too and fro. 

Whilst through the forest rechlesse ® they did goe, 96C 

Lo ! where they spide how in a gloomy glade 

The Lyon sleeping lay in secret shade. 

His crowne and scepter lying him beside. 

And having doft for heate his dreadfull hide : 

Which when they saw, the Ape was sore afrayde, 955 

And would have fled with terror all dismayde. 

But him the Foxe with hardy words did stay, 

And bad him put all cowardize away ; 

For now was time, if ever they would hope, 

To ayme their counsels to the fairest scope, 960 

And them for ever highly to advaunce. 

In case the good which their owne happie chaance 

Them freely offred they would wisely take. 

Scarse could the Ape yet speake, so did he quake ; 

Yet, as he could, he askt how good might growe 9& 

Where nought but dread and death do seeme in show 

" Now," sayd he, " whiles the Lyon sleepeth sound, 

May we his crowne and mace take from the ground, 

1 Slownd, plight, exigency. 8 Rechlesse, reckless. 

2 Hipps, dog-rose berries. 


And eke his skiiine, the terror of the wood, 
Wherewith we may our selves, if" we thiuke good, 970 
Make kings of beasts, and lords of forests all 
Subiect unto that powre imperial!." 
•' Ah ! but," sayd the Ape, " who is so bold a wretch, 
That dare his hardy hand to those ou.tstretch, 
When as he knowes his meede, if he be spide, 975 
To be a thousand deathes, and shame beside ? " 
•' Fond Ape ! " sayd then the Foxe, '' into whose 

Never crept thought of honor nor brave gest,* 
Who will not venture life a king to be, 
And rather rule and raigne in soveraign see, 980 

Than dwell in dust inglorious and bace, 
Where none shall name the number of his place? 
One ioyous howre in blisfull happines, 
I chose before a life of wretchednes. 
Be therefore counselled herein by me, sss 

And shake off this vile-liarted cowardree. 
If lie awake, yet is not death the next, 
For we may colour it with some pretext 
Of this or that, that may excuse the cryme : 
Else we may flye; thou to a tree mayst clyme, 990 
And I creepe under ground ; both from his reach: 
Therefore be rul'd to doo as T doo teacli." 
The Ape, that earst did nought but chill and quake, 
Now gan some courage unto him to take, 
And was content to attempt that enterprise, w-w 

Tickled with glorie and rash covetise. 
But first gan question, whether '^ should assay 

' Gest, deed. 2 Whether, which of the twa 


Those royall ornaments to steale away ? 

" Marie, that shall your selfe," quoth he theretoo, 

" For ye be fine and nimble it to doo ; looo 

Of all the beasts which in the forrests bee 

Is not a fitter for this turne than yee : 

Therefore, mine.owne deare brother, take good hart, 

And ever thinke a kingdome is your part." 

Loath was the Ape, though praised, to adventer, 1006 

Yet faintly gan into his worke to enter, 

Afraid of everie leafe that stir'd him by, 

And everie stick that underneath did ly : 

Upon his tiptoes nicely he up went. 

For making noyse, and still his eare he lent 1010 

To everie sound that under heaven blew ; 

Now went, now stopt, now crept, now backward drew, 

That it good sport had been him to have eyde. 

Yet at the last, so well he him applyde, 

Through his fine handling and cleanly play lois 

He all those royall signes had stolne away, 

And with the Foxes helpe them borne aside 

Into a secret corner unespide. 

Whither whenas they came they fell at words, 

Whetiier of them should be the lords of lords : 1020 

For th' Ape was stryfuU and ambicious. 

And the Foxe guilefuU and most covetous ; 

That neither pleased was to have the rayne 

Twixt them divided into even twaine, 

But either algates^ would be lords alone: 1025 

For love and lordship bide no paragone.^ 

" I urn most wortliie," said the Ape, " sith I 

^Alffdtes, by all means. 2 Paragone, equal, partner. 


For it did put mj life in ieopardiu: 

Thereto I am in person and in stature 

Most like a man, the lord of everie creature, io30 

So that it seemeth I was made to rai^ne. 

And borne to be a kingly soveraigne." 

" Nay," said the Foxe, " Sir Ape, you are astray ; 

For though to steale the diademe away 

Were the worke of your nimble hand, yet I loas 

Did first devise the plot by pollicie ; 

So that it wholly springeth from my wit : 

For which also I claime my selfe more fit 

Than you to rule : for government of state 

Will without wisedome soone be ruinate. i040 

And where ye claime your selfe for outward shape 

Most like a man, man is not like an ape 

In his chiefe parts, that is, in wit and spirite ; 

But I therein most like to him doo merite, 

For my slie wyles and subtill craftinesse, i046 

The title of the kingdome to possesse. 

Nath'les, my brother, since we passed are 

Unto this point, we will appease our iarre ; 

And I with reason meete will rest content, 

That ye shall have both crowne and government, loeo 

Upon condition that ye ruled bee 

In all affaires, and counselled by mee ; 

And that ye let none other ever dravve 

Your minde from me, but keepe this as a lawe: 

And hereupon an oath unto me jjlight." lOM 

The Ape was glad to end the strife so light, 

And thereto swore : for who would not oft sweare, 

And oft unsweare, a diademe to bearc ? 

Then freely up those i oyall spoyles he tooke, 


Yet at the Lyons skin he inly quooke ; ' 106O 

But it dissembled, and upon his head 

The crowne, and on his backe the skin, he did, 

And the false Foxe him helped to array. 

Then when he was all digbt he tooke his way 

Into the forest, that he might be seene 106& 

Of the wilde beasts in his new glory sheene. 

There the two first whorae he encountred were 

The Sheepe and th' Asse, who, striken both with 

At sight of him, gan fast away to flye ; 
But unto them the Foxe alowd did cry, 1070 

And in the kings name bad them both to stay, 
Upon the payne that thereof follow may. 
Hardly naythles were they restrayned so, 
Till that the Foxe forth toward them did goe. 
And there disswaded them from needlesse feare, io7a 
For that tlie King did favour to them beare ; 
And therefore dreadles bad them come to corte; 
For no wild beasts should do them any torte * 
There or abroad, ne would his Maiestye 
Use them but well, with gracious cleraencye, loso 
As whorae he knew to him both fast and true. 
So he perswaded them with homage due 
Themselves to humble to the Ape prostrate. 
Who, gently to them bowing in his gate,'^ 
Receyved them with chearefull entertayne. loas 

Thenceforth proceeding with his princely trayae, 
He shortly met the Tygre, and the Bore, 
Which with the simple Camel! raged sore 

1 Twte, wrong. 2 Gale, way. 


In bitter words, seeking to take occasion 

Upon his fleshly corpse to make invasion : 1090 

But soone as they this mock-king did espy, 

Their troublous strife they stinted by and by,* 

Thinking indeed that it the Lyon was. 

He then, to prove whether his powre would pas 

As currant, sent the Foxe to them streight way, 1096 

Commaunding them their cause of strife bewi-ay; 

And, if that wrong on eyther side there were, 

That he should warne the wronger to appeare 

The morrow next at court, it to defend ; 

In the meane time upon the King t' attend. 1100 

The subtile Foxe so well his message sayd, 

That the proud beasts him readily obayd : 

Whereby the Ape in wondrous storaack woxe, 

Strongly encorag'd by the crafty Foxe ; 

That king indeed himselfe he shortly thought, uoo 

And all the beasts him feared as they ought, 

And followed unto his palaice hye ; 

Where taking conge, each one by and by 

Departed to his home in dreadfuU awe. 

Full of the feared sight which late they sawe 1110 

The Ape, thus seized of the regall throne, 

Eftsones by counsell of the Foxe alone 

Gan to provide for all things in assurance, 

That so his rule might lenger have endurance. 

First, to his gate he pointed a strong gard, 111$ 

That none might enter but with issue hard : 

Then, for the safegard of his personage, 

He did appoint a warlike equipage 

' Stinted by and by, stopped at once 


Of forreine beasts, not in the forest bred, 

But part by land and part by water fed ; iiso 

For tyrannic is with strange ayde supported. 

Then unto liim all monstrous beasts resorted 

Bred of two kindes, as Griffons, Minotaures, 

Crocodiles, Dragons, Reavei's, and Centaures : 

With those himselfe he strengthned mightelie, iiao 

Tliat feare he neede no force of enemie. 

Then gan he rule and tyrannize at will, 

Like as the t'oxe did guide his graceles skill ; 

And all wylde beasts made vassals of his pleasures, 

And with their spoyles enlarg'd his private treasures. 

No care of iustice, nor no rule of reason, 1131 

No temperance, nor no regard of season, 

Did tlienceforth ever enter in his minde ; 

But crueltie,. the signe of currish kinde. 

And sdeignfull pride, and wilfull arrogaunce ; ii36 

Such followes those whom fortune doth advaunce. 

But the false Foxe most kindly ^ plaid his part : 

For whatsoever mother-wit or arte 

Could worke, he put in proofs : no practise she, 

No counterpoint^ of cunning policie, luo 

Ne reach, no breach, that might him profit bring. 

But he the same did to his purpose wring. 

Nought suifered he the Ape to give or graunt, 

But through his hand must passe the flaunt.' 

All offices, all leases by him lept, wr. 

And of them all whatso he likte he kept. 

Tuslice he solde iniustice for to buy, 

1 Kindly, according to his nature. * Flaunt, fiat. 

2 Covnterpoint, counterplot. 


A.nd for to purchase ^ for liis progeny. 

Ill might if prosper that ill gotten was, 

But, so he got it, little did he pas.^ liM 

He fed his cubs with fat of all the soyle, 

And with the sweete of others sweating toyle ; 

He crammed them with crumbs of benefices, 

And fild their mouthes with meeds of malefices*; 

He cloathed them with all colours save wliite, iis& 

And loded them with lordships and with might. 

So much as they were able well to beare, 

That with the weight their backs nigh broken were. 

He chafFred ^ chayres in which churchmen were set, 

And breach of lawes to privie ferme** did let. 1100 

No statute so established might bee. 

Nor ordinaunce so needfull, but that hee 

Would violate, though not with violence, 

Yet under colour of the confidence 

The which the Ape reposd' in him alone, n«s 

And reckned him the kingdomes corner stone. 

And ever, when he ought would bring to pas, 

His long experience the platforme was : 

And when he ought not pleasing would put by 

The cloke was care of thrift, and husbandry, 1170 

For to encrease the common treasures store. 

But his owne treasure he encreased more. 

And lifted up his loftie towres thereby. 

That they began to threat the neighbour sky ; 

The whiles the princes pallaces fell fast 1176 

To ruine ; for what thing can ever last ? 

1 Purchnse, collect spoil. ■• Omffred, bartered. 

2 Pns, care. ^ Fcrme, furra. 
« Malefices, evil deeds. 


And whilest the other peeres for povertie 

Were forst their auncient houses to let lie, 

And their olde castles to the ground to fall, 

Which their forefathers famous over-all ^ ?i80 

Had founded for the kingdomes ornament, 

And for their memories long moniment. 

But he no count made of nobilitie, 

Nor the wilde beasts whom armes did glorifie, iiha 

The realmes chiefe strength and girlond of the crowne. 

All these through fained crimes he thrust adowne, 

Or made them dwell in darknes of disgrace : 

For none but whom he list might come in place. 

Of men of armes he had but small regard, 

But kept them lowe, and streigned verie hard. ii90 

For men of learning little he esteemed ; 

His wisedome he above their learning deemed. 

As for the rascall commons, least he cared, 

For not so common was his bountie shared: 1194 

" Let God," said he, " if please, care for the mania, 

I for my selfe must care before els anie." 

So did he good to none, to manie ill, 

So did he all the kingdome rob and pill,^ 

Yet none durst speake, ne none durst of him plaine ; 

So great he was in grace, and rich through gaine. 

Ne would he anie let to have accesse laoj 

Unto the Prince, but by his owne addresse : 

For all that els did come were sure to faile ; 

Yet would he further none but for availe. 

' Over-all, everywhere. 2 pm^ plunder. 

Ver. 1189. Of men of armes, &c.] This passage certainlv 
provokes an application to Lord Burghlej', and was probablv in 
tended for him. C. 


For on a time the Sheepe, to whom of yore I20«= 

The Foxe had promised of friendship store, 

WJiat time the Ape the kingdome first did gaine, 

Came to the court, her case there to complaine ; 

How that the Wolfe, her mortall enemie, 

Had sithence^ slaine her lambe most crueUie ; 1210" 

And therefore crav'd to come unto the King, 

To let him knowe the order of the thing. 

" Soft, Gooddie Sheepe ! " then said the Foxe, " not 

soe : 
Unto the King so rash ye may not goe ; 
He is with greater matter busied 1315 

Than a lambe, or the lambes owne mothers hed. 
Ne certes may I take it well in part. 
That ye my cousin Wolfe so fowly thwart. 
And seeke with slaunder his good name to blot : 
For there was cause, els doo it he would not : 1220 
Therefore surcease, good dame, and hence depart." 
So went the Sheepe away with heavie hart ; 
So manie moe, so everie one was used, 
That to give largely to the boxe refused. 

Now when high love, in whose almightie hand 1225 
The care of kings and power of empires stand, 
Sitting one day within his turret hye. 
From whence he vewes with his black-lidded eye 
Whatso the heaven in his wide vawte containes, 
And all that in the deepest earth remaines, laao 

And troubled kingdome of wilde beasts behelde, 
Whom not their kindly sovereigne did welde,'^ 

1 Siaience, since. 2 Welde, govern. 


But an usurping Ape, with guile suborn'd, 

Had all subverst, he sdeignfully it scorn'd 

In his great heart, and hardly did refraine 1235 

But that with thunder bolts he had him slaine, 

And driven downe to hell, his dewest meed. 

But him avizing, he that dreadfull deed 

Forbore, and rather chose with scoi'nfull shame 

Him to avenge, and blot his brutish name 1340 

Unto the world, that never after anie 

Should of his race be voyd of infamie ; 

And his false counsellor, the cause of all, 

To damne to death, or dole perpetuall. 

From whence he never should be quit nor stal'd.* 

Forthwith he Mercuric unto him cal'd, 1346 

And bad liim flie with never-resting speed 

Unto the forrest, where wilde beasts doo breed, . 

And, there enquiring privily, to learne 

What did of late chaunce to the Lyon stearne, laeo 

That he rul'd not the empire, as he ought ; 

And whence were all those plaints unto him brought 

Of wrongs and spoyles by salvage beasts committed : 

Which done, he bad the Lyon be remitted 

Into his seate, and those same treachours ^ vile 1255 

Be punished for their presumptuous guile. 

The Sonne of Maia, soone as he receiv'd 

That word, streight with his azure wings he cleav'd 

The liquid clowdes and lucid fix-mament, 

Ne staid till that he came with steep descent 126O 

Unto the place where his prescript did showe. 

There stoupiug, like an arrowe from a bowe, 

1 StaVd, forestalled ( ?). 2 Treachours, traitors. 


He soft arrived on the grassie plaine, 

And fairly paced forth with easie paine, 

Till that unto the pallace nigh he came. lafti 

Then gan he to himselfe new shape to frame, 

And that faire face, and that ambrosiall,hew, 

Which wonts to decke the gods immortall crew, 

And beautefie the shinie firmament, 

He doft, unfit for that rude rabblement. 1270 

So, standing by the gates in strange disguize. 

He gan enquii'e of some in secret wize, 

Both of the King, and of his government. 

And of the Foxe, and his false blandishment: 

And evermore he heard each one complaine 127c 

Of foule abuses both in realme and raine : 

Which yet to prove more true, he meant to see, 

And an ey-witnes of each thing to bee. 

Tho on his head his dreadfull hat he dight, 

Which maketh him invisible in sight, is&o 

And mocketh th' eyes of all the lookers on. 

Making them thinke it but a vision. 

Through power of that he runnes through enemies 

swerds ; 
Tlirough power of that he passeth through the herds 
Of ravenous wilde beasts, and doth beguile ia85 

Their greedie mouthes of the expected spoyle ; 
Through power of that his cunning theeveries 
He wonts to worke, that none the same espies ; 
And through the power of that he putteth on 
What shape he list in apparition. is^'u 

That on his head he wore, and in his hand 
He tooke caduceus, his snakie wand, 
With which the damned ghosts he governeth, 


And furies rules, and Tarture teinpereth. 

With that he causeth sleep to seize the eyes, law 

And feare the harts, of all his enemyes ; 

And when him list, an universall night 

Throughout jthe world he makes on everie wight; 

As when his syre with Alcumena lay. 

Thus dight, into the court he tooke his way, isoo 

Both through the gard, which never him descride, 

And through the watchmen, who him never spide: 

Thenceforth he past into each secrete part, 

Whereas he saw, that sorely griev'd his hart, 

Each place abounding with fowle iniuries, isoe 

And fild with treasure rackt with robberies ; 

Each place defilde with blood of guiltles beasts 

Which had been slaine to serve the Apes beheasts ; 

Gluttonie, malice, pride, and covetize. 

And lawlesnes raigning with riotize ; i3io 

Besides the infinite extortions. 

Done through the Foxes great opi^ressions. 

That the complaints thereof could not be tolde. 

Which when he did with lothfull eyes beholde. 

He would no more endure, but came his way, isio 

And cast ^ to seeke the Lion, where he may. 

That he might worke the avengement for this shame 

On those two caytives which had bred him blame : 

And seeking all the foi-rest busily. 

At last he found where sleeping he did ly. 1320 

The wicked weed which there the Foxe did lay 

From underneath his head he tooke away, 

A.nd then him, waking, forced up to rize. 

1 Cast, projected. 


The Lion, looking up, gan him avize,^ 

As one late in a traunce, what had of long jsa* 

Become of" him : for fantasie is strong. 

" Arise," said Mercurie, " thou sluggish beast, 

That here liest senseles, like the corpse deceast, 

The whilste thy kingdom e from thy head is rent, 

And thy throne royall with dishonour blt;nt '^ : 1330 

Arise, and doo thy selfe redeeme fi'om shame. 

And be aveng'd on those that breed thy blame." 

Thereat enraged, soone he gan upstart. 

Grinding his teeth, and grating his great hart ; 

And, rouzing up himselfe, for his rough hide lase 

He gan to reach ; but no where it espide. 

Tlu'rewith he gan full terribly to rore. 

And chafte at that indignitie right sore. 

But when his crowne and scepter both he wanted, 

Lord ! how he fum'd, and sweld, and rag'd, and panted, 

And threatned death and thousand deadly dolours 

To them tliat had purloyn'd his princely honours. 

With tliat in hast, disroabed as he was. 

He toward his owne pallace forth did pas ; 

And all the way he roared as he went, t846 

That all the forrest witii astonishment 

Thereof did tremble, and the beasts therein 

Fled fast away from that so dreadfull din. 

At last lie came unto his mansion, 

Where all the gates he found fast lockt anon i86c 

And manie warders round al>out them stood : 

With that he roar'd alowd, as he were wood,' 

1 Arize, bethink. * Wood, frantic. 

2 Blunt, stained. 

VOL. V. 10 


That all the pallace quaked at the stound,' 

As if it quite were riven from the ground, 

And all within were dead and hartles left ; i36a 

And th' Ape himselfe, as one whose wits were reft, 

Fled here and there, and everie corner sought. 

To hide himselfe from his owne feared thought. 

But the false Foxe, when he the Lion heard. 

Fled closely^ forth, streightway of death afeard, iseo 

And to the Lion came, full lowly creeping, 

Witli fained face, and watrie eyne halfe weeping, 

T' excuse his former treason and abusion, 

And turning all unto the Apes confusion: 

Nath'les the royall beast forbore beleeving, i365 

But bad him stay at ease till further preeving.* 

Then when he saw no entrance to him graunted, 

Roaring yet lowder that all harts it daunted. 

Upon those gates with force he fiercely flewe, 

And, rending them in pieces, felly slewe 1370 

Those warders strange, and all that els he met. 

But th' Ape still Hying he no where might get : 

From rowme to rownie. from beame to beame he fled. 

All breathles, and for feare now almost ded : 

Yet him at la^t the Lyon spide, and caught, 1375 

And forth with shame unto his iudgement brought. 

Then all the beasts he causd' assembled bee, 

To heare their doome, and sad ensample see : 

The Foxe, first author of that treactlierie, 

He did uncase/ and then away let flie. isso 

But th' Apes long taile (which then he had) he quight 

1 Slovnd, (time, scene) tumult. 3 Preeving, proving. 

2 Closely, secretly. •* Uncase, strip of his disguise. 


Cut off, and both eares pared of their hight ; 

Since which, all Apes but halfe their eares have left, 

And of their tailes are utterlie bereft. 

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






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

* Joachim du Bellay, a Frcncli poet of considerable reputation 
in his day, died in 1500. Tliese sonnets are translated from Le 
Premier Livre des Anti'piitcz <le Hume. Further on we have the 
Visions of Bellay, iranslateii from the Simijes of tiie same author. 
The best that can be said of tiiese sonnets seems to be, that they 
are not inferior to the original. C. 



Great Babylon her haughtie walls will praise, 
And sharped steeples high shot up in ay re ; 
Greece will the olde Ephesian buildings blaze, 
And Nylus nurslings their Pyramides faire ; ^ 

The same yet vaunting Greece will tell the storie 
Of loves great image in Olympus placed ; 
Mausolus worke v/ill be the Carians glorie, 
And Crete will boast the Labyrinth, now raced ; 
The antique Rhodian will likewise set forth 
The great Colosse, erect to Memorie ; 
And what els in the world is of like worth, 
Some greater learned wit will magnifie. 

But I will sing above all moniments 

Seven Romane Ilils, the worlds seven wondermenta 


Thou stranger, which for Rome in Rome here seekest, 
And nouglit of Rome in Rome perceiv'st at all, 
These same olde walls, olde arches, which thou seest, 
Olde palaces, is that which Rome men call. 
Beholde what wreake, wliat ruine, and what wast. 
And how that she which with her mightie powre 
Tam'd all the world hath tam'd herselfe at last; 
The pray of Time, which all things doth devowrel 
Rome now of Rome is th' onely funerall, 
And onely Rome of Rome liath victorie ; 
Ne ouglit save Tyber hastning to his fall 
Remaines of all : O worlds inconstancie ! 
That wliicli is tirme dotii Hit and fall away. 
And that is flitting doth abide and stay 



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

And Cffilian on the right ; but both her feete 
Mount Viminal and Aventme doo meete. 


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

1 Idole, image, idea. 



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


Ye sacred mines, and ye tragick sights, 

Which onely doo the name of Rome retaine, 

Olde moniments, which of so famous sprights 

The honour yet in ashes doo maintaine, 

Triumphant arcks, spyres neighbours to the skie, 

That you to see doth th' heaven it selfe appall, 

Alas ! by little ye to nothing file, 

The peoples fable, and the spoyle of all ! 

And though your frames do for a time make warre 

Gainst Time, yet Time in time shall ruinate 

Your workes and names, and your last reliques marre. 

My sad desires, rest therefore moderate ! 

For if that Time make ende of things so sure, 
It als will end the paine which I endure. 



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


Ye cruell starres, and eke ye gods unkinde, 

Heaven envious, and bitter stepdame Nature ! 

Be it by fortune, or by course of kinde,' 

That ye doo weld th' affaires of earthlie creature ; 

Why have your hands long sithence travelled 

To frame this world, that doth endure so long? 

Or why were not these Romane palaces * 

Made of some matter no lesse firme and strong ? 

I say not, as the common voyce doth say. 

That all things which beneath the moone have being 

Are temporal! and subiect to decay : 

But I say rather, though not all agreeing 

With some that weene the contrarie in thought, 
That all this whole shall one day come to nought. 

1 Nephewes, descendants. 3 Kinde, nature. 

•i Quiyht, quit, free. •» The want of rhyme wiU be obser%'e<i 



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


Mars, shaming to have given so great head 

To his ofl-spring, that mortall puissaunce, 

Puft up with pride of Romane hardiehead, 

Seem'd above heavens powre it selfe to advaunce, 

Cooling againe his former kindled heate 

With which he had those Romane spirits fild, 

Did blowe new fire, and with enflamed breath 

Into the Gothicke colde hot rage instil'd. 

Then gan that nation, th' earths new giant brood. 

To dart abroad the thunderbolts of warre. 

And, beating downe these walls with furious mood 

Into her mothers bosome, all did marre ; 

To th' end that none, all were it^ love his sire, 
Should boast himselfe of the Romane empire. 

1 All were it, although it were. 



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

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

1 Snaicie-paced, winding; or perhaps (like Ovid's anguipes) svr'ft 



As men in summer fearles passe tlie f'oord 

Wliich is in winter lord of all the plaine, 

And with his tumbling streames doth beare aboord ' 

The ploughmans hope and shepheards labour vaine, 

And as the coward beasts use to despise 

The noble lion after his lives end. 

Whetting theii- teeth, and with vaine foolhardise 

Daring the foe that cannot him defend, 

And as at Troy most dastards of the Greekes 

Did brave about the corpes of Hector colde, 

So those which wliilome wont with pallid cheekes 

The Romane triumphs glorie to behold, 

Now on these ashie tombes shew boldnesse vaine, 
And, conquer'd, dare the conquerour disdaine. 


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

Of these old Romane works, built with your hands, 
To become nought els but heaped sands ? 

1 Aboard, into the current. 


Like as ye see the wrathfull sea from farre 
In a great mountaine heap't with hideous noyse, 
Eftsoones of thousand billowes shouldred narre,* 
Against a rocke to breake with dreadfull poyse ; 
Like as ye see fell Boreas with sharpe blast 
Tossing huge tempests through the troubled skie, 
Eftsoones having his wide wings spent in wast, 
To stop his wearie cariere ^ suddenly ; 
And as ye see huge flames spred diverslie, 
Gathered in one up to the heavens to spyre, 
Eftsoones consum'd to fall downe feebily, 
So whilom did this monarchie aspyre 

As waves, as winde, as fire, spred over all, 
Till it by fatall doome adowne did fall. 

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

i Narre^ nearer. 2 Cariere, career. * Brent, burned. 



These heapes of stones, these old vvals which ye see, 
Were first enclosures but of salvage soyle ; 
And these brave pallaces, which maystred bee 
Of time, were shepheards cottages somewhile. 
Then tooke the shepheards kingly ornaments 
And the stout hynde arm'd his right hand with Steele: 
Eftsoones their rule of yearely presidents 
Grew great, and sixe months greater a great deele ; 
Which, made perpetuall, rose to so great might, 
That thence th' imperiall eagle rooting tooke, 
Till th' heaven it selfe, opposing gainst her might, 
Her power to Peters successor betooke. 

Who, shepheardhke, (as Fates the same foreseeing,) 
Doth shew that all things turne to their first being. 


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

XVIII. 8. — Sixe months, &c.] The term of the clictatorsliip 
at Rome. 



No otherwise than raynie cloud, first fed 
"With earthly vapours gathered in the ayre, 
Eftsoones in compas arch't, to steepe his hed, 
Doth plonge himselfe in Tethys bosome faire, 
And, mounting up againe from whence he came, 
With his great bellie spreds the dimmed world, ' 
Till at the last, dissolving his moist frame, 
In raine, or snowe, or haile, he forth is horld, 
This citie, which was first but shepheards shade, 
Uprising by degrees, grewe to such height 
That queene of land and sea her selfe she made. 
At last, not able to beare so great weight, 

Her power, disperst, through all the world did vade*; 

To shew that all in th' end to nought shall fade. 


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

1 Vade, vanish. 

VOL. V. 11 



When that brave honour of the Latine name, 
Which mear'd ^ her rule with Africa and Byze,^ 
With Thames inhabitants of noble fame, 
And they which see the dawning day arize, 
Her nourslings did with mutinous upi'ore 
Harten against her selfe, her conquer'd spoile. 
Which she had wonne from all the world afore, 
Of all the world was spoyl'd within a while : 
So, when the com past course of the universe 
In sixe and thirtie thousand yeares is ronne. 
The bands of th' elements shall backe reverse 
To their first discord, and be quite undonne ; 

The seedes of which all things at first were bred 
Shall in great Chaos wombe againe be hid. 

O warie wisedome of the man^ that would 
That Carthage towres from spoile should be forborne, 
To th' end that his victorious people should 
With cancring laisure not be overworne ! 
He well foresaw how that the Romane courage. 
Impatient of pleasures faint desires, 
Through idlenes would turne to civill rage, 
And be her selfe the mutter of her fires. 
For in a people given all to ease. 
Ambition is engendred easily ; , 

As, in a vicious bodie, grose disease 
Soone growes through humours superfluitie. 

That came to passe, when, swolne with plenties pride, 
Nor prince, nor peere, nor kin, they would abide. 

1 Mear'd, bounded. ^l e. Scipio Nasica. 

2 Byze, Byzantium. 


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


that I had the Thracian poets harpe, 
For to awake out of th' infernall shade 
Those antique Caesars, sleeping long in darke, 
The which this auncient citie whilome made ! 
Or that I had Amphions instrument, 

To quicken with his vitall notes accord 

The stonie ioynts of these old walls now rent, 

By which th' Ausonian light might be restor'd ! 

Or that at least I could with pencill fine 

Fashion the pourtraicts of these palacis, 

By paterne of great Virgils spirit divine ! 

1 would assay with that which in me is 
To builde, with levell of my loftie style, 
That which no hands can evermore compylc. 



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


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

1 Romaine Dtemon, Genius of Rome. 2 Pouldred, reduced to dust. 



He that hath seene a great oke drie and dead, 
Yet clad with reliques of some trophees olde, 
Lifting to heaven her aged hoarie head, 
Whose foote in ground hath left but feeble holde, 
But halfe disbowel'd lies above the ground, 
Shewing her wreathed rootes, and naked arme8. 
And on her trunke all rotten and unsound 
Onely supports herselfe for meate of wormes. 
And, though she owe her fall to the first winde, 
Yet of the devout people is ador'd, 
And manie yong plants spring out of her rinde ; 
Who such an oke hath seene, let him record 
That such this cities honour was of yore, 
And mongst all cities fiorished much more. 


All that which Aegypt whilorae did devise. 

All that which Greece their temples to embrave, 

After th' lonicke, Atticke, Doricke guise. 

Or Corinth skil'd in curious workes to grave. 

All that Lysippus practike^ arte could foi-me, 

Apelles wit, or Pliidias his skill, 

Was wont this auncient citie to adorne, 

And the heaven it selfe tvith her wide wonders fill. 

All that which Athens ever brought forth wise, 

All that which Afrike ever brought forth strange, 

All that which Asie ever had of prise, 

Was here to see. O mervelous great change ! 

Rome, living, was the worlds sole ornament ; 

And, dead, is now the worlds sole moniment. 

1 Practike, cunning. 



Like as the seeded field greene grasse first showes, 
Then from greene grasse into a stalke doth spring, 
And from a stalke into an eare forth-growes, 
Which eare the frutefull graine doth shortly bring, 
And as in season due the husband^ mowes 
The waving lockes of those faire yeallow heares, 
Wliich, bound in sheaves, and layd in comely rowes, 
Upon the naked fields in stackes he reares, 
So grew the Romane empire by degree, 
Till that barbarian hands it quite did spill, 
And left of it but these olde markes to see. 
Of which all passers by doo somewhat pill,^ 

As they which gleane, the reliques use to gather 
Which th' husbandman behind him chanst to scater. 


That same is now nought but a champian wide, 

Where all this worlds pride once was situate. 

No blame to thee, whosoever dost abide 

By Nyle, or Gauge, or Tygre, or Euphrate ; 

Ne Afrike thereof guilt ie is, nor Spaine, 

Nor the bolde people by the Thamis brincks. 

Nor the brave warlicke brood of Aleraaine, 

Nor the borne souldier which Rhine running drinks. 

Thou onely cause, O Civill Furie, art ! 

Which, sowing in th' Aemathian fields thy spight, 

Didst arme thy hand against thy proper hart; 

1 Hmbaiul, husbandman. 2 pm^ plunder. 

XXXI. 10. — Aemathian fel(h.\ Thessalian fields; alluding to 
the battle fought at Pharsalia, in Thessaly, between Caesar and 
Pompey. H. 


To th' end that when thou wast in greatest hight 
To greatnes growiie, through long prosperitie, 
Thou then adowne might'st fall more horriblie. 

Hope ye, my Verses, that posteritie 
Of age ensuing shall you ever read ? 
Hope ye that ever immortalitie 

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


Bellay, first garland of free poesie 

That France brought forth, though fruitfuU of brave 

Well worthie thou of immortalitie, 
That long hast traveld,^ by thy learned writs, 
Olde Rome out of her ashes to revive. 
And give a second life to dead decayes ! 
Needes must he all eternitie survive, 

I Traveld, travailod, toiled. 


That can to other give eternall dayes. 
Thy dayes therefore are endles, and thy prayse 
Excelling all that ever went befoi-e: 
And, after thee, gins Bartas hie to rayse 
His heavenly Muse, th' Almightie to adore. 
Live happie spirits, th' honour of your name, 
And fill the world with never dying fame! 

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



By ED. SP. 






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




Most brave and bountifull La: for so excellent 
favours as I have received at your sweet handes, to 
offer these fewe leaves as in recom pence, should be 
as to offer flowei's to the gods for their divine benefites. 
Therefore I have determined to give my selfe wholy 
to you, as quite abandoned from ray selfe, and abso- 
lutely vowed to your services: which in all right is 
ever held for full recompence of debt or damage, to 
have the person yeelded. My person I wot wel how 
little worth it is. But the faithfuU minde and hum- 
ble zeale which I bear unto your La : may perhaps 
be more of price, as may please you to account and 
use the poore service thereof; which taketh glory to 
advance your excellent partes and noble vertues, and 
to spend it selfe in honouring you ; not so much for 
your great bounty to my self, which yet may not be 
unminded ; nor for name or kindreds* sake by you 
vouchsafed, beeing also regardable ; as for that honora- 
ble name, which yee have by your brave deserts pur- 
chast to your self, and spred in the mouths of al men : 

* "This lady was Elizabeth, one of the six daughters of Sir 
John Spencer, af Althnrpc, in Northamptonshire, and was married 
to Sir George Carey, who became Lord Hunsdon on tlie deatli of 
his fattier, in 1596." — Todd. 


with which I have also presumed to grace my verses, 
and, under your name, to commend to the world this 
smal poeme ; the which beseeching your La : to take 
in worth, and of all things therein according to your 
wonted graciousnes to make a milde construction, I 
humbly pray for your happines. 

Your La : ever 


E. S. 




I SING of deadly dolorous debate, 
Stir'd up through wrathfuU Nemesis despight^ 
Betwixt two mightie ones of great estate, 
Drawne into armes and proofe of raortall fight 
Through provvd ambition and hart-swelling hate, o 
Whilest neither could the others greater might 
And sdeignfuU scorne endure ; that from small iarre 
Their wraths at length broke into open warre. 

The roote whereof and tragicall effect, 
Vouchsafe, thou the mournfulst Muse of nyne, lo 
That wontst the tragick stage for to direct. 
In funerall complaints and waylfull tyne ^ 
Reveale to me, and all the meanes detect 
Through which sad Clarion did at last declyne 
To lowest wretchednes : And is there then is 

Such rancour in the harts of mightie men? 

1 Tyne, grief. 


Of all the race of silver-winged flies 

Which doo possesse the empire of the aire, 

Betwixt the centred earth and azure skies 

Was none more favourable nor more faire, 20 

Whilst heaven did favour his felicities. 

Then Clarion, the eldest sonne and haire 

Of MuscaroU, and in his fathers ^ight 

Of all alive did seeme the fairest wight. 

With fruitfull hope his aged breast he fed 36 

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

The fresh yong flie, in whom the kindly fire 

Of lustfull yongth ^ began to kindle fast, 

Did much disdaine to subiect his desire 35 

To loathsome sloth, or houres in ease to wast : 

Bui ioy'd to range abroad in fresh attire 

Through the wide compas of the ayrie coast, 

And with unwearied wings each part t' inquire 

Of the wide rule of his renowmed sire. to 

For he so swift and nimble was of flight, 

That from this tract he dai-'d to stie '^ 

Up to the clovvdes, and thence with pineons light 

1 Ytmffth, youth. ^ Stie, mount. 


To mount aloft unto the chnstall skie, 

To vew the workmanship of heavens hight : 46 

Whence down descendhig he along would flie 

Upon the streaming rivers, sport to finde, 

And oft would dare to tempt the troublous winde. 

So on a summers day, when season milde 

With gentle calme the world had quieted, so 

And high in heaven Hyperions fierie childe 

Ascending did his beames abroad dispred, 

Whiles all the heavens on lower creatures smilde, 

Yong Clarion, with vauntfuU lustiehead, 

After his guize did cast abroad to fare, os 

And theretoo gan his furnitures prepare. 

His breastplate first,, that was of substance pure, 

Before his noble heart he firmely bound, 

1 hat mought his life from yron death assure, 

And ward his gentle corpes from cruell wound : eo 

For it by arte was framed to endure 

The bit * of balefull Steele and bitter stownd,^ 

No lesse than that which Vulcane made to sheild 

Achilles life from fate of Troyan field. 

And then about his shoulders broad he threw w 

An hairie hide of some wilde beast, whom bee 
In salvage forrest by adventure slew, 
And reft the spoyle his ornament to bee ; 
Which, spredding all his backe with dreadful 1 

1 Bit, bite. ^ Stoimd. hour 


Made all that him so horrible did see to 

Thinke him Alcides with the lyons skin, 
When the Nasraean conquest he did win. 

Upon his head, his glistering burganet,^ 

The which was wrought by wonderous device 

And curiously engraven, he did set : T5 

Tiie mettall was of rare and passing price ; 

Not Bilbo ^ Steele, nor brasse ft-om Corinth fet, 

Nor costly oricalche from strange Phoenice ; 

But such as could both Phoebus ari-owes ward, 

And th' hayling darts of heaven beating hard. «» 

Therein two deadly weapons fixt he bore, 
Strongly outlaunced towards either side, 
Like two sharpe speares, his enemies to gore : 
Like as a warlike brigandine, applyde 
To fight, layes forth her threatfuU pikes afore, -' 

The engines which in them sad death doo hyde, 
So did this flie outstretch his fearefuU homes, 
Yet so as him their terrour more adornes. 

Lastly his shinie wings, as silver bright, 

Painted with thousand colours passing farre :« 

All painters skill, he did about him dight : 

Not halfe so manie sundrie colours ari-e 

In Iris bowe ; ne heaven doth shine so bright. 

Distinguished with manie a twinckling starre ; 

Nor lunoes bird, in her ey-spotted traine, '■'^■ 

So manie goodly colours doth containe. 

1 Buri/nvet. helmet. 2 Bilbo, Bilboa. 


Ne (may it be withouten perill spoken) 

The Archer-god, the soiine of Cytheree, 

That ioyes on wretched lovers to be wroken/ 

And heaped spoyles of bleeding harts to see, loo 

Beares in his wings so manie a changefull token. 

Ah! my liege Lord, forgive it unto mee. 

If ousht against thine honour I have tolde ; 

Yet sure those wings were fairer manifolds. 

Full many a ladie faire, in court full oft m» 

Beholding them, him secretly envide, 
And wisht that two such fannes, so silken soft 
And golden faire, her Love would her provide ; 
Or that, when them the gorgeous Hie had doft, 
Some one that would with grace be gratifide no 

From him would steale them privily away, 
And bring to her so precious a pray. 

Report is that Dame Venus on a day. 

In spring when flowres doo clothe the fruitful ground. 

Walking aliroad with all her nyraphes to play, ns 

Bad her faire damzels flocking her arownd 

To gather flowres, her forhead to array. 

Emongst the rest a gentle nymph was found, 

Hight Astery, excelling all the crewe 

In curteous usage and unstained hewe. uo 

Who, being nimbler ioynted than the rest, 
And more industrious, gathered more store 
Of the fields honour than the others best ; 

1 Wroken, avenged. 
VOL. v. 12 


Which they in secret harts envying sore, 

Tolde Venus, when her as the worthiest 125 

She praisd', that Cupide (as they heard before^ 

Did lend her secret aide in gathering 

Into her lap the children of the Spring. 

Whereof the goddesse gathering iealous feare, — 
Not yet unmindfull how not long agoe iso 

Her Sonne to Psyche secrete love did beare, 
And long it close conceal'd, till raickle woe 
Thereof arose, and manie a rufuU teare, — 
Reason with sudden rage did overgoe ; 
And, giving hastie credit to th' accusei', 135 

Was led away of them that did abuse her. 

Eftsoones that damzel by her heavenly might 

She turn'd into a winged butterflie. 

In the wide aire to make her wandring flight ; 

And all those flowres, with which so plenteouslie 140 

Her lap she filled had, that bred her spight, 

She placed in her Avings, for memorie 

Of her pretended crime, though crime none were : 

Since which that flie tiiem in her win<i;s doth beare. 


Thus the fresh Clarion, being readie dight, ue 

Unto his iourney did himselfe addresse, 

And with good speed began to take his flight ; 

Over the fields, in his franke ^ lustinesse, 

And all the champion "^ lie soared light ; 

And all the countrey wide he did possesse, iso 

1 Franke, free. 2 Cliamjnon, champaign. 


Feeding upon their pleasures bounteouslie, 
That none gainsaid, nor none did him envie. 

The woods, the rivers, and the medowes green, 
With his aire-cutting wings he nieas-ured wide, 
Ne did lie leave the mountaines bare unseene, i6s 
Nor the ranke grassie fennes delights untride. 
But none of these, how ever sweete they beene, 
Mote please his fancie nor him cause t' abide : 
His choicefuU sense with everie change doth flit; 
No common things may please a wavering wit. i60 

To the gay gardins his unstaid desire 
Him wholly caried, to refresh his sprights : 
There lavish Nature, in her best attire, 
Powres forth sweete odors and alluring sights ; 
And Arte, with her contending, doth aspire 166 

T' excell the naturall with made delights : 
And all that faire or pleasant may be found 
In riotous excesse doth there abound. 

There he arriving round about doth flie, 

From bed to bed, from one to other border ; no 

And takes survey, with curious busie eye, 

Of every flowre and herbe there set in order ; 

Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly, 

Yet none of them he rudely doth disorder, 

Ne with his feete their silken leaves deface, nu 

But pastures on the pleasures of each i)lace. 

Vev. 1Q&. — AiidArte,iolih her contemUng] Compare the do- 
Eoriptioii of Acrasia's garden, Faerie Queeiie, II. xii. 59 ; and also 
V. 29. Todd. 


And evermore with most vai'ietie, 

And change of sweetnesse, (for all change is sweets,) 

He casts his glutton sense to satisfie ; 

Now sucking of the sap of herbe most meete, iso 

Or of the deaw which yet on them does lie, 

Now in the same bathing his tender feete : 

And then he pearcheth on some braunch thereby, 

To weather him, and his moyst wings to dry. 

And then againe he turneth to his play, i86 

To spoyle the pleasures of that paradise ; 
The wholsome saulge,^ and lavender still gray, 
Ranke-smelling rue, and cummin good for eyes, 
The roses raigning in the pride of May, 
Sharpe isope, good for greene wounds remedies, 190 
Faire marigoldes, and bees-alluring thime, 
Sweete marioi'am, and daysies decking prime : 

Coole violets, and orpine growing still, 

Embathed balme, and chearfull galingale. 

Fresh costmarie, and breathfuU camomill, los 

Dull poppie, and drink-quickning setuale,^ 

Veyne-healing verven, and hed-purging dill, 

Sound savorie, and bazil hartie-hale. 

Fat colworts, and comforting perseline,* 

Colde lettuce, and refreshing rosmarine. 200 

And whatso else of vertue good or ill 
Grewe in this gardin, fetcht from farre away. 
Of everie one he takes and tastes at will, 

1 8aulf/e, sage. 8 Perscline, purslain. 

2 Setuale, valerian. 


And on their pleasures greedily doth pray. 

Tlien when he Imth both plaid, and fed his fill, -ioo 

In the warme sunne he doth hiraselfe embay ,^ 

And there him rests in riotous suffisaunce 

Of all his gladfulnes and kingly ioyaunce. 

What more felicitie can fall to creature 

Than to enioy delight with libertie, sio 

And to be lord of all the workes of Nature, 

To raine in th' aire from earth to highest skie, 

To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature. 

To take whatever thing doth please the eie ? 

Who rests not pleased with such happines, -'' 

Well worthie he to taste of wretchednes. 

But what on earth can long abide in state ? 
Or who can him assure of happie day ? 
Sith morning faire may bring fowle evening late, 
And least mishap the most blisse alter may ! *m 

 For thousand perills lie in close awaite 
About us daylie, to worke our decay ; 
That none, except a God, or God him guide, 
May them avoyde, or remedie provide. 

And whatso heavens in their secret doome asfi 

Ordained have, how can fraile fleshly wight 
Forecast, but it must needs to issue come ? 
The sea, the aire, the fire, the day, the night, 
And th' armies of their creatures, all and some,* 
Do serve to them, and with importune might 230 

1 Embay, bathe. * All and some, one and all. 


Warre against us, the vassals of their will. 
Who then can save what they dispose to spill? 

Not thou, Clarion, though fairest thou 

Of all thy kinde, unhappie happie flie, 

Whose cruell fate is woven even now sse 

Of loves owne hand, to worke thy raiserie ! 

Ne may thee helpe the manie hartie vow, 

Which thy olde sire with sacred pietie 

Hath powred forth for thee, and th' altars sprent' . 

Nought may thee save from heavens avengement ! 340 

It fortuned (as heavens had behight^) 

That in this gardin where yong Clarion 

Was wont to solace him, a wicked wight, 

The foe of faire things, th' author of confusion, 

The shame of Nature, the bondslave of spight, 245 

Had lately built his hatefuU mansion ; 

And, lurking closely, In awayte now lay, 

How he might anie in his trap betray. 

But when he spide the ioyous butterflie 

In tliis faire plot dispacing^ too and fro, 26C 

Fearles of foes and hidden ieopardie. 

Lord ! how he gan for to bestirre him tho. 

And to his wicked worke each part applie ! 

His heart did earne * against his hated foe, 

And bowels so with rankling poyson swelde, isa 

That scarce the skin the strong contagion helde. 

1 Sprent, sprinkled. 8 Dispacing, ranging about 

2 Behight, ordained. < Earne, yearn. 


The cause why he this file so maliccd ^ 

Was (as in stories it is written found) 

For that his mother which hiin l)ore and bred, 

The most fine-fiiigred workwoman on ground, 260 

Arachne, by his meanes was vanquished 

Of Pallas, and in her owne skill confound,'* 

When she wdth her for excellence contended, 

That wrought her shame, and sorrow never ended. 

For the Tritonian goddesse, having hard id 

Her blazed fame, which all the world had fil'd. 

Came downe to prove the truth, and due reward 

For her ])rais-worthie workmanship to yeild : 

But the presumptuous damzel rashly dar'd 

The goddesse selfe to chalenge to tlie field, 970 

And to compare with her in curious skill 

Of workes with loome, with needle, and with quill. 

Minerva did the chalenge not refuse. 

But deign'd with her the paragon ^ to make : 

So to their worke they sit, and each doth chuse 376 

What storie she will for her tapet * take. 

Arachne figur'd how love did abuse 

Europa like a bull, and on his backe 

Her through the sea did beare ; so lively ^ seene, 

That it true sea and true bull ye would weene. aoo 

1 Mnlked, bore ill-will to. * Tapet, tapestry. 

2 Confound, confounded. ^ Lively, life-like. 
* Paragon, comparison. 

Ver. 273. — Minei-wi did, &c.] Mncli of wlint follows is taken 
from the fuble of Arachne in Ovid. Jdktin. 


Shee seem'd still backe unto the land to looke, 
And her play-fellowes aide to call, and feare 
The dashing of the waves, that up she tooke 
Her daintie feete, and garments gathered neare : 
But Lord ! how she in everie member shooke, 385 
When as the land she saw no more appeare, 
But a wilde wildernes of waters deepe : 
Then gan she greatly to lament and weepe. 

Before the bull she pietur'd winged Love, 

With his yong brother Sport, light fluttering 99c 

Upon the waves, as each had been a dove ; 

The one his bowe and shafts, the other spring* 

A burning teade^ about his head did move, 

As in their syres new love both triumphing ; 

And manie Nymphes about tiiem flocking round, 295 

And manie Tritons which their homes did sound. 

And round about her worke she did empale * 

With a faire border wrought of sundrie flowres, 

Enwoven with an yviewinding trayle : 

A goodly worke, full fit for kingly bowres, 300 

Such as Dame Pallas, such as Envie pale, 

That al good things with venemous tooth devowres. 

Could not accuse. Then gan the goddesse bright 

Her selfe likewise unto her worke to dight. 

She made the storie of the olde debate sofi 

Which she witli Neptune did for Athens trie : 
Twelve gods doo sit around in royall state, 

1 Sprint], springal, youth. 3 Empale, inclose 

2 Teade, torch. 


And love in midst with avvfull maiestie, 
To iudge the strife betweene them stirred late : 
Each of the gods by his Hke visnomie ^ sio 

Eathe ^ to be knowen ; but love above them all, 
By his great lookes and power imperiall. 

Before them stands the god of seas in place, 

Clayming that sea-coast citie as his right, 

And strikes the rockes with his three-forked mace ; 

Whenceforth issues a warlike steed in sight, su 

The signe by which he chalengeth the place ; 

That all the gods which saw his wondrous might 

Did surely deeme the victorie his due : 

But seldom seene, foreiudgement proveth true. sw 

Then to herselfe she gives her Aegide shield, 
And steel-hed speare, and morion ^ on her hedd, 
Such as she oft is seene in warlicke field : 
Then sets she forth, how with her weapon dredd 
She smote the ground, the which streight foorth did 
yield 326 

A fruitfull olyve tree, with berries spredd, 
That all the gods admir'd ; then all the storie 
She compast with a wreathe of oly ves lioarie. 

Emongst those leaves she made a butterflie, 

With excellent device and wondrous slight, 33n 

Fluttring among the olives wantonly. 

That seem'd to live, so like it was in sight : 

The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie, 

1 Visnomie, countenance. • Morion, steel cap 

s Eathe, easy. 


The silken downe with which his baeke is dight, 
His broad outstretched homes, liis hayrie thies, sse 
His glorious colours, and his glistering eies. 

Which when Arachne saw, as overlaid * 

And mastered with workmanship so rare, 

She stood astonied long, ne ought gainesaid ; 

And with fast fixed eyes on her did stai'e, 340 

And by her silence, signe of one disraaid, 

The victorie did yeeld her as her share ; 

Yet did she inly fret and felly burne, 

And all her blood to poysonous rancor turne : 

That shortly from the shape of womanhed, a46 

Such as she was when Pallas she attempted, 
She grew to hideous shape of dryrihed,'^ 
Pined with griefe of follie late repented : 
Eftsoones her white streight legs were altered 
To crooked crawling shankes, of marrowe empted, sso 
And her faire face to foule and loathsome hewe. 
And her fine corpes to a bag of venim grewe. 

This cursed creature, mindfuU of that olde 

Enfestred grudge the which his mother felt. 

So soone as Clarion he did beholde, 366 

His heart with vengefull malice inly swelt ; 

And weavinoj straiorht a net with manie a folde 

About the cave in which he lurking dwelt, 

With fine small cords about it stretched wide, 

So finely sponne that scarce they could be spide. 300 

1 Overlaid, overcome. 2 Dryrihed, sadness, unsightliness, 


Not anie damzell which her vaunteth most 

In skilfull knitting of soft iilken twyne, 

Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth boast 

In dieper, in damaske, or in lyne,* 

Nor anie skil'd in workmanship embost, 36S 

Nor anie skil'd in loupes of fingring fine, 

Misht in their divers cunning ever dare 

With this so curious networke to compare. 

Ne doo I thinke that that same subtil gin 

The which the Lemnian god framde craftilie, 87o 

Mars sleeping with his wife to compasse in, 

That all the gods with common mockerie 

Might laugh at them, and scorne their shamefuU sin. 

Was like to this. This same he did applie 

For to entrap the careles Clarion, 874 

That rang'd each where without suspition. 

Suspition of friend, nor feare of foe, 

That hazarded his health, had he at all, 

But walkt at will, and wandred too and fro. 

In the pride of his freedome principall ^ : a» 

Litle wist he his fatall future woe. 

But was secure ; tlie liker he to fall. 

He likest is to fall into mischaunce. 

That is regardles of his governaunce. 

Yet still AragnoU (so his foe was bight) aw 

Lay lurking covertly him to sui-()rise ; 
.\nd all his gins, that him entangle might, 
Drest in good order as he could devise. 

1 Lyne, linen. - Pinnvipi'll, piincelv. 


At length the foolish flie, without foresight, 

As he that did all daunger quite despise, mo 

Toward those parts came flying careleslie, 

Where hidden was his hatefuU enemie. 

VVho, seeing him, with secret ioy therefore 

Did tickle inwardly in everie vaine ; 

And his false hart, fraught with all treasons store, 390 

Was fil'd with hope his purpose to obtaine : 

Himselfe he close upgathered more and more 

Into his den, that his deceiptfull traine 

By his there being might not be bewraid, 

Ne anie noyse, ne anie motion made. 400 

Like as a wily foxe, that, having spide 

Where on a sunnie banke the lambes doo play, 

Full closely creeping by the hinder side, 

Lyes in ambush ment of his hoped pray, 

Ne stirreth limbe, till, seeing readie tide,^ m 

He rusheth forth, and snatcheth quite away 

One of the litle yonglings unawares ; 

So to his worke Aragnoll him prepares. 

Who now shall give unto my heavie eyes 

A well of teares, that all may overflow ? 410 

Or where shall I finde lamentable cryes. 

And mournfuU tunes enough my griefe to show ? 

Helpe, O thou Tragick Muse, me to devise 

Notes sad enough, t' expresse this bitter throw : 

For loe, the drerie stownd^ is now arrived, 410 

That of all happines hath us deprived. 

1 Tide time. 2 Stoivnd, hour. 


The luckles Clarion, whether cruell Fate 

Or wicked Fortune faultles him misled, 

Or some ungracious blast out of the gate 

Of Aeoles raine ^ perforce him drove on hed,'' «:» 

Was (O sad hap and howre unfortunate !) 

With violent swift flight forth caried 

Into the cursed cobweb, which his foe 

Had framed for his finall overthroe. 

There the fond flie, entangled, strugled long, 43e 

Himselfe to free thereout ; but all in vaine. 

For, striving more, the more in laces strong 

Himselfe he tide, and wrapt his winges twaine 

In lymie snares the subtill loupes among ; 

That in the ende he breathelesse did remaine, 430 

And, all his yougthly forces idly spent, 

Him to the mercie of th' avenger lent. 

Which when the greisly tyrant did espie, 

Like a grimme lyon rushing with fiei'iie might 

Out of his den, he seized greedelie 435 

On the resistles pray, and, with fell spight. 

Under the left wing stroke his weapon she 

Into his heart, that his deepe-groning spright 

In bloodie streames foorth fled into the aire, 

His bodie left the spectacle of care. mc 

A Jtaine, kingdom. ^ On lied, head-foremost. 





Onk day, whiles that my day lie cares did sleepe, 
My spirit, shaking off her earthly prison, 
Began to enter into meditation deepe 
Of things exceeding reach of common reason ; 
Such as this age, in which all good is geason,-^ 
And all that humble is and meane ^ debaced. 
Hath brought forth in her last declining season, 
Griefe of good mindes, to see goodnesse disgraced ! 
On which when as my thought was throghly ^ placed, 
Unto my eyes strange showes presented were. 
Picturing that which I in minde embraced, 
That yet those sights empassion * me full here. 

Such as they were, faire Ladie, take in wortli. 

That when time serves may bring things better forth. 

1 Geason, rare. ^ Throghly, th<)roiii,'lily. 

2 Meane, lowly. * Empassion, move. 

I. 13. — Faire Lndie.] The names of ihe ladies to whom these 
Visions and those of Petrarch (see p. 210, VII. 9) were inscribed 
have not been preserved. C. 



In summers day, when Phoebus fairly shone, 

I saw a Bull as white as driven snowe. 

With gilden homes embowed like the moone, 

In a fresh flowring meadow lying lowe : 

Up to his eares the verdant grasse did growe, 

And the gay floui-es did ofler to be eaten ; 

But he with fatnes so did overflowe, 

That he all wallowed in the weedes downe beat< n, 

Ne car'd witii them his daintie lips to sweeten : 

Till that a Brize/ a scorned little creature. 

Through his faire hide his angi'ie sting did threaten, 

And vext so sore, that all his goodly feature 

And all his plenteous pasture nought him pleased . 

So by the small the great is oft diseased.^ 


Beside the fruitfuU shore of muddie Nile, 

Upon a sunnie banke outstretched lay, 

In monstrous length, a mightie Crocodile, 

That, crarh'd with guiltles blood and greedie pray 

Of wretched people travailing that way. 

Thought all things lesse than his disdainfull pride. 

I saw a little Bird, cal'd Tedula, 

The least of thousands which on earth abide, 

That forst this hideous beast to open wide 

The greisly gates of his devouring hell, 

1 Brize, a gadfly. 2 Diseased, deprived of ease. 

III. 7. — Tedula.] Spenser appears to mean the bird Trockihs, 
which, according to Aristotle, enters the moutli of tiie crocodile, 
and picks her meat out of the monster's teeth. C 


And let him feede, as Nature doth provide, 
Upon his iawes, that with blacke venime swell. 
Why then should greatest things the least disdain«», 
Sith that so small so mightie can constraine ? 


The kingly bird that beares loves thunder-clap 
One day did scorne the simple Scarabee,^ 
Proud of his highest service and good hap, 
That made all other foules his thralls to bee. 
The silly flie, that no redresse did see, 
Spide where the Eagle built his towring nest, 
And, kindling fire within the hollow tree. 
Burnt up his yong ones, and himselfe distrest ; 
Ne suffred him in anie place to rest, 
But drove in loves owne lap his egs to lay ; 
Where gathering also filth him to infest, 
Forst with the filth his egs to fling away : 

For which when as the foule was wroth, said love, 
" Lo ! how the least the greatest may reprove." 


Toward the sea turning my troubled eye, 
I saw the fish (if fish I may it cleepe ^) 
That makes the sea beforfe his face to flye, 
And with his flaggie finnes doth seeme to sweepe 
The fomie waves out of the dreadfull deep ; 
The huge Leviathan, dame Natures wonder, 
Making his sport, that manie makes to weep. 
A Sword-fish small him from the i-est did sundei' 
That, in his throat him pricking softly under, 

1 Scarabee, beetle. - Cleepe, call. 

VOL. v. 13 


His wide abysse hira forced fortli to spewe, 
That all the sea did roare like heavens thunder. 
And all the waves were stain'd with filthie hewo. 
Hereby I learned have not to despise 
Whatever thing seemes small in common eyes. 


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


High on a hill a goodly Cedar grewe, 
Of wondrous length and streight proportion, 
That farre abroad her daintie odours threwe ; 
Mongst all the daughters of proud Libanon, 
Her match in beautie was not anie one. 
Shortly within her inmost pith there bred 
A litle wicked worme, perceiv'd of none. 
That on her sap and vitall moysture fed : 

* Goaely, secretly. * Forhrne. ruined. 


Thenceforth her garhind so much honoured 
Began to die, O great ruth ^ for the same ! 
And her faire lockes fell from her loftie head, 
That shortly balde and bared she became. 

I, which this sight beheld, was much dismayed, 
To see so goodly thing so soone decayed. 


Soone after this I saw an Elephant, 
Adorn'd with bells and bosses gorgeouslie. 
That on his backe did beare, as batteilant,* 
A gilden towre, which shone exceedinglie ; 
That he himselfe through foolii-h vanitie, 
Both for his rich attire and goodly forme, 
Was puffed up with passing surquedrie,' 
And shortly gan all other beasts to scorne,. 
Till that a little Ant, a silly worme, 
Into his nosthrils creeping, so him pained. 
That, casting downe his towres, he did deforme 
Both borrowed pride, and native'* beautie stained. 
Let therefore nought that great is therein gl6rie, 
Sith so small thing his happines may varie. 


Looking far foorth into the ocean wide, 
A goodly Ship with banners bravely dight, 
And flag in her top-gallant, I espide 
Through the raaine sea making her merry flight. 
Faire blewe the wind into her bosome right, 
A.nd th' heavens looked lovely all the while, 

1 Ruth, pity. 8 Surquedne, presumption. 

2 Batleilant, equipped for battle. * Natures in Collier's copy 


That she did seeme to daunce, as in delight, 

And at her owne fehcitie did smile. 

All sodainely there clove unto her keele 

A little fish that men call Remora, 

Which stopt her course, and held her by the heel«^, 

That winde nor tide could move her thence away. 
Straunge thing me seemeth, that so small a thing 
Should able be so great an one to wring. 


A mighty Lyon, lord of all the wood, 

Having his hunger throughly satisfide 

With pray of beasts and spoyle of living blood, 

Safe in his dreadles den him thought to hide : 

His sternesse was his prayse, his strength his pride, 

And all his glory in his cruell clawes. 

I saw a Wasp, that fiercely him defide. 

And bad him battaile even to his iawes ; 

Sore he him stong, that it the blood forth drawes, 

And his proude heart is fild with fretting ire : 

In vaine he threats his teeth, his tayle, his pawes, 

And from his bloodie eyes doth sparkle fire ; 

That dead himselfe he wisheth for despight. 

So weakest may anoy the most of might ! 


Wliat time the Romaine Empire bore the raine 
Of all the world, and florisiit most in might, 
The nations gan their soveraigntie disdaine. 
And cast to quitt them from their bondage quighl. 
So, when all shrouded were in silent night. 
The Galles were, by corrupting of a mavde 


Possest nigb of the Capitol through slight, 
Had not a Goose the treachery bewrayde. 
If then a goose great Rome from ruine stayde, 
And love himselfe, the patron of the place, 
Preservd from being to his foes betrayde, 
Why do vaine men mean things so much deface,* 
And in their might repose their most assurance, 
Sith nought on earth can chalenge long endurance ? 


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

1 Deface, disparage, despise. 



It was the time when rest, soft sliding downe 

From heavens liight into mens heavy eyes, 

In the forgetfulnes of sleepe doth drowne 

The careful! thoughts of mortall miseries. 

Then did a ghost before mine eyes appeare, 

On that great rivers banck that runnes by Rome ; 

"Which, culling me by name, bad me to reare 

INIy lookes to heaven whence all good gifts do come, 

And crying lowd, " Loe ! now beholde," quoth hee, 

" What under this great temple placed is : 

Lo, all is nought but flying vanitee ! " 

So I, that know this worlds inconstancies, 

* Eleven of these Visions of BeUay (all except the 6th, 8th, ISL'i, 
and 14th) differ only by a few changes necessary for rhyme from 
blank-verse translations found in Van der Noodt's Theatre oj 
Woi-ldlings, priflted in 1569 ; and the six first of the Visions of 
Petrarch (here said to have been " foraierly translated") occur 
almost word for word in tlie same publication, where the author- 
ship appears to be claimed by one Theodore Roest. The Com- 
plaints weie collected, not by Spenser, but by Ponsonby, his book- 
seller, and he may have erred in ascribing these Visions to cm 
ooet. C. 


Sith onely God surmounts all times decay, 
In God alone my confidence do stay. 


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


Then did a sharped spyre of diamond bright, 
Ten feete each way in square, appeare to mee, 
Justly proportion'd up unto his hight, 
So far as archer might his level see. 
The top thereof a pot did seerae to beare, 
Made of the mettall which we most do honour ; 
And in this golden vessel couched weare 
The ashes of a mightie emperour : 
Upon foure corners of the base were pight,' 

1 Assize, measure. ■* Parget, varnish, plaster. 

' Rayons, beams, rays. ^ Bight, compo«e<l. 

3 I. e. enchased with gold. « Pight, placed. 


To beare the frame, foure great lyons of gold ; 

A woi'tliy tombe for :*iich a worthy wight. 

Alas ! this world doth nought but grievance hold : 
I saw a tempest from the heaven descend, 
Which this brave monument with flash did rend. 


I saw raysde up on yvorie pillers tall, 
Whose bases were of richest mettalls warke, 
The chapters ^ alablaster, the fryses christall, 
The double front of a triumphall arke. 
On each side purtraid was a Victorie, 
Clad like a nimph, that wings of silver weares. 
And in triumphant chayre was set on hie, 
The auncient glory of the Romaine peares. 
No worke it seem'd of earthly craftsmans wit, 
But rather wrought by his owne industry 
That thunder-dartes for love his syre doth fit. 
Let me no more see faire thing under sky, 

Sith that mine eyes have scene so faire a sight 
With sodain fall to dust consumed quight. 


Then was the faire Dodonian tree far scene 
Upon seaven hills to spread his gladsome glearae, 
And conquerours bedecked with his greene, 
Along the bancks of the Ausonian streame. 
There many an auncient trophee was addrest,^ 
And many a spoyle, and many a goodly show, 
Which that brave races greatnes did attest, 

1 Chapters, capitals. ^ Addrest, hung on arranged. 


That whilorae from the Tro_) an blood did flow. 
Ravisht I was so rare a tiling to vew ; 
When lo ! a barbarous troupe of clownish fone ^ 
The honour of these noble boughs down threw : 
Under the wedge I heard the tronck to grone ; 
And since, I saw the roote in great disdaine 
A twinne of foi'ked trees send forth ajraine. 


I saw a wolfe under a rockie cave 

Noursing two whelpes ; I saw her litle ones 

In wanton dalliance the teate to crave, 

While she her neck wreath'd from them for the nones.* 

I saw her raunge abroad to seeke her food. 

And roming through the field with greedie rage 

T' embrew her teeth and clawes with lukewarm blood 

Of the small beards, her thirst for to asswage. 

I saw a thousand huntsmen, which descended 

Downe from the mountaines bordring Lombardie, 

That with an hundred speares her flank wide rended : 

I saw her on the plaine outstretched lie, 

Throwing out thousand throbs in her owne soyle ^: 
Soone on a tree uj)hang'd I saw her spoyle. 


I saw the bird that can the sun endure 
With feeble wings assay to mount on hight ; 

1 Foree, foes. 8 i. e. the mire made by her blood. 

2 Xcmes, nonce. 

VII. 1-14. " A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place, 

Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd." C. 


By more and more she gan her wings t' assure, 
Following th' ensample of her mothers sight. 
I saw her rise, and with a larger flight 
To pierce the clondes, and with wide pinneons 
To measure the most haughtie * mountaines hight, 
Untill she raught ^ the gods owne mansions. 
There was she lost ; when suddaine I behelde, 
Where, tumbling through the ayre in firie fold, 
All flaming downe she on the plaine was felde. 
And soone her bodie turn'd to ashes colde. 
I saw the foule that doth the light dispise 
Out of her dust like to a worme arise. 


I saw a river swift, whose fomy billowes 

Did wash the ground-woi'k of an old great wall ; 

I saw it cover'd all with griesly shadowes, 

That with black horror did the ayre appall : 

Thereout a strange beast with seven heads arose. 

That townes and castles under her brest did coure,* 

And seem'd both milder beasts and fiercer foes 

Alike with equall i-avine to devoure. 

Much was I mazde to see this monsters kinde 

In hundred formes to change his fearefuU hew; 

When as at length I saw the wrathfull winde, 

Which blows cold storms, burst out of Scithian mew, 

That sperst these cloudes ; and, in so short as 

This dreadfull shape was vanished to nought. 

1 Hauffhtie, lofty. 8 Coure, cover. 

2 Rauylit, reached. 



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


Hard by a rivers side a virgin faire, 

Folding her armes to heaven with thousand throbs, 

And outraging her cheekes and golden haire. 

To falling rivers sound thus tun'd her sobs. 

" Where is," quoth she, " this whilom honoured face ? 

Where the great glorie and the auncient praise. 

In which all worlds felicitie had place, 

When gods and men ray honour up did raise? 

Suffisd' it not that civill warres me made 

Tlie whole worlds spoile, but that this Hydra new, 

Of hundred Hercules to be assaide, 

With seven heads, budding monstrous crimes anew, 

1 Side, long, trailing • Creakie, indented witj» creeks 

2 LoaM, loosed. 


So many Neroes and Caligulaes 

Out of these crooked shores must dayly rayse?" 


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


I saw a spring out of a rocke forth rayle,® 
As cleare as christall gainst the sunnie beames ; 
The bottome yeallow, like the golden grayle * 
That bright Pactolus washeth with his strearaes. 
It seem'd that Art and Nature had assembled 
All pleasure there for which mans hart could long ; 
And there a noyse alluring sleepe soft trembled, 
Of manie accords, more sweete than mermaids song, 

1 Stie, mount. 8 Rayle, flow. 

2 Earst. at first. * Grayle, gravel. 


The seates and benches shone as p^orie, 

And hundred nymphes sate side by side about ; 

When from nigh hills, with hideous outcrie, 

A troupe of satyres in the place did rout,^ 

Which with their villeine feete the strearae did ray,^ 

Threw down the seats, and drove the nymphs away. 


Much richer then that vessell seem'd to bee 
Which did to that sad Florentine appeare, 
Casting mine eyes farre off, I chaunst to see 
Upon the Latine coast herselfe to reare. 
But suddenly arose a tempest great, 
Bearing close en vie to these riches rare, 
Which gan assaile this ship with dreadfull threat, 
This ship, to which none other might compare : 
And finally the storme impetuous 
Sunke up these riches, second unto none, 
Within the gulfe of greedie Nereus. 
I saw both ship and mariners each one, 

And all that treasure, drowned in the mains : 

But I the ship saw afler raisd' againe. 


Long having deeply gron'd these visions sad, 
I saw a citie like unto that same 
Which saw the messenger of tidings glad, 
But that on sand was built the goodly frame : 

1 Rout, burst. 2 Hay, defile. 

Xin. 1. — That vessell.] See the second canto of the Pur- 
gatorio. C. 


It seera'd her top the firmament did rayse, 
And, no lesse I'ich than faire, right worthie sure 
(If ought here worthie) of immortall dayes, 
Or if ought under heaven might firrae endure. 
Much wondred I to see so faire a wall : 
When from the Northerne coast a storme arose, 
Which, breathing fux'ie from his inward gall 
On all which did against his course oppose, 
Into a clowde of dust sperst in the aire 
The weake foundations of this citie faire. 


At length, even at the time when Morpheus 
Most trulie doth unto our eyes appeare, 
Wearie to see the heavens still wavering thus, 
I saw Typhaeus sister ^ comraing neare : 
Whose head, full bravely with a morion ^ hidd, 
Did seeme to match the gods in maiestie. 
She, by a rivers bancke that swift downe slidd, 
Over all the world did raise a trophee hie ; 
An hundred vanquisht kings under her lay, 
With armes bound at their backs in shamefuU wize. 
Whilst I thus mazed was with great affray, 
I saw the heavens in warre against her rize : 

Then downe she stricken fell with clap of thonder, 
That with great noyse I wakte in sudden wonder. 

1 1, e. (apparently) Change or Mutability. See the two cantos 
of the Seventh Book of the Faerie Queene. 
' Morion, steel cap. 




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

* The first six of these sonnets are translated (not directly, but 
through the French of Clement >hirot)from Petrarch's third Can- 
zone in Morte di Laura. The seventh is by the translator. The 
circumstance that the version is made from Marot renders it prob 
■^ble that these sonnets are really by Spenser. C. 



After, at sea a tall ship did appeaie, 

Made all of lieben ^ and white y vorie ; 

The sailes of golde, of silke the tackle were. 

Milde was the winde, calme seem'd the sea to bee, 

The tekie eachwhere did show full bright and faire : 

With rich treasures this gay ship fraighted was : 

But sudden storme did so turmoyle the aire, 

And tumbled up the sea, that she, alas ! 

Strake on a rock, that under water lay, 

And perished past all recoverie. 

! how great ruth, and sorrowfull assay,' 

Doth vex my spirite witli perplexitie, 

Thus in a moment to see lost and drown'd 
So great I'iches as like cannot be found. 


The heavenly branches did I see arise 
Out of the fresh and lustie lawrell tree, 
Amidst the yong greene wood : of Paradise 
Some noble plant I thought my selfe to see. 
Such store of birds therein yshrowded were, ' 

Chaunting in shade their sundrie melodic, 
That with their sweetnes I was raA'ish't nere- 
While on this lawrell fixed was mine eie, 
The skie gan everie where to overcast, 
And darkned w^as the welkin all about, 
When sudden flash of heavens fire out brast,'^ 
A.nd rent this royall tree quite by the roote ; 

Which makes me much and ever to complaine. 

For no such shadow shalbe had againe. 

1 Ikhcn, chony. 2 Assny. trinl. 3 H,•r»s^ burst 



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

I saw a Phoenix in the wood alone, 
With purple wings and crest of golden hewe ; 
Strange bird he was, whereby I thought anone 
That of some heavenly wight I had the vewe ; 
UntiU he came unto the broken tree. 
And to the spring that late devoured was. 
What say I more ? Each thing at last we see 
Doth passe away : the Phoenix there, alas ! 
Spying the tree destroid, the water dride, 
Himselfe smote with his beake, as in disdaine, 
And so foorthwith in great despight he dide ; 
That yet my heart burnes in exceeding paine 

For ruth and pitie of so haples plight. 

0, let mine eyes no more see such a sight ! 

vou V. 14 



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

Which make this life wretched and miserable. 
Tossed with stormes of fortune variable. 


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

1 Tickle, uncertain. 









By ED. SP. 






I HAVE the rather presumed humbly to offer unto 
your Honour the dedication of this little poeine, tbr 
that the noble and vertuous gentlewoman of whom it 
IS written was by match neere alied, and in afte'^tion 
greatly devoted, unto your Ladiship. The occasion 
why I wrote the same was as well the great good 
fame whi(,i' I heard of her deceassed, as the particular 
goodwill which I beare unto her husband, Master Ar- 
thur Gorges, a lover of learning and vertue, whose 
house, as your Ladiship by mariage hath honoured, 
so doe I find the name of them, by many notabl6 rec- 
ords, to be of great antiquitie in this realme, and such 
as have ever borne themselves with honourable repu- 
tation to the world, and unspotted loyaltie to their 
prince and countrey : besides, so lineally are they de- 
scended from the Howards, as that the Lady Anne 

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


Howard, eldest daughter to Jolin Duke of Norfolke, 
was wife to Sir Edmund, mother to Sir Edward, and 
grandmother to Sir William and Sir Thomas Gorges, 
Knightes : and therefore I doe assure my selfe that 
no due honour done to the White Lyon, but will be 
most gratefuU to your Ladiship, whose husband and 
children do so neerely participate with the bloud of 
that noble family. So in all dutie I recommend this 
pamphlet, and the good acceptance thereof, to your 
honourable favour and protection. London, this first 
of lanuarie, 1591. Your Honours humbly ever. 

Ed. Sr. 


Whatever man he be whose heavie mynd, 
With griefe of mournefuU great mishap opprest, 
Fit matter for his cares increase would fynd, 
Let reade the rufull plaint herein exprest, 
Of one, I weene, the wofulst man ahve, 
Even sad Alcyon,^ whose empierced brest 
Sharpe sorrowe did in thousand peeces rive. 

But whoso else in pleasure findeth sense, 

Or in this wretched life doeth take delight, 

Let him be banisht farre away from hence ; lo 

Ne let the Sacred Sisters here be hight,^ 

Though they of sorrowe heavilie can sing, 

For even their heavie song would breede delight ; 

But here no tunes save sobs and grones shall ring. 

In stead of them and their sweet harmonic, le 

Let those three Fatall Sisters, whose sad hands 
Doe weave the direfull threeds of destinie. 
And in their wrath break off the vitall bands, 
Approach hereto ; and let the dreadfull Queene 

1 1. e Sir Arthur Gorges. 2 Hight, summoned. 

216 DAl'HNAIDA. 

Of Darknes deepe come from the Stygian strands, 20 
And grisly ghosts, to heare this doleful! teene.* 

In gloomy evening, when the vvearie sun 
After his dayes long labour drew to rest, 
And sweatie steedes, now having overrun 
The compast skie, gan water in the west, 25 

I walkt abroad to breath the freshing ayre 
In open fields, whose flowring pride, opprest 
With early frosts, had lost their beautie faire. 

There came unto my mind a troublous thought, 
Which dayly doth my weaker wit possesse, so 

Ne lets it rest untill it forth have broug-ht 
Her long borne infant, fruit of heavinesse, 
Which she conceived hath through meditation 
Of this worlds vainnesse and life's wretchednesse, 
That yet my soule it deepely doth empassion.* 35 

So as I muzed on the miserie 

In which men live, and I of many most, 

Most miserable man, I did espie 

Where towards me a sory wight did cost,^ 

Clad all in black, that mourning did bewray, 40 

And lacob stafFe * in hand devoutly crost. 

Like to some pilgrim come from farre away. 

His carelesse locks, uncombed and unshorne. 
Hong long adowne, and bearde all ovei-growne. 
That well he seemd to be some wight forlorne : 4s 

* Teene, sorrow. 2 Empassitm, move. 3 Cost, approach. 

■* lacob staffe, a pilgrim's stafl', in tlie form of a cross. 


Downe to the earth his heavie eyes were throwne. 
As loathing light, and ever as he went 
He sighed soft, and inly deepe did grone, 
As if his heart in peeces would have rent. 

Approaching nigh his face I vewed nere, oi 

And by the semblant of his countenaunce 

Me seemd I had his person seene elsewhere, 

Most like Alcyon seeming at a glaunce ; 

Alcyon he, the iollie shepheard swaine, 

That wont full merrilie to pipe and daunce, 55 

And fill with pleasance every wood and plaine. 

Yet halfe in doubt, because of his disguize, 

I softlie sayd, Alcyon ! There-withall 

He lookt aside as in disdainefuU wise, 

Yet stayed not, till I againe did call : ,;o 

Then, turning back, he saide, with hollow sound, 

" Who is it that dooth name me, wofull tin-all, 

The wretchedst man that treads this day on ground?" 

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

" Cease, foolish man ! " saide he halfe wrothfully, 
" To seeke to heare that which cannot be told ; 

1 III apay, discontent, disti'ess. 


For the huge anguish, which doeth multiply 

My dying paines, no tongue can well unfold ; 

Ne doo I care that any should bemone 7: 

My hard mishap, or any weepe that would. 

But seeke alone to weepe, and dye alone." 

" Then be it so," quoth I, " that thou are bent 

To die alone, unpitied, unplained ; 

Yet, ere thou die, it were convenient ** 

To tell the cause which thee thereto constrained, 

Least that the world thee dead accuse of guilt. 

And say, when thou of none shalt be maintained, 

That thou for secret crime thy blood hast spilt." 

" Who life does loath, and longs to be unbound 85 

From the strong shackles of fraile flesh," quoth he, 

" Nought cares at all what they that live on ground 

Deem the occasion of his death to bee ; 

Rather desires to be forgotten quight. 

Than question made of his calamitie ; 90 

For harts deep sorrow hates both life and light. 

" Yet since so much thou seemst to rue my griefe, 
And car'st for one that for himselfe cares nought, 
(Sign of thy love, though nought for my reliefe, 
For my reliefe exceedeth living thought,) ee 

I will to thee this heavie case relate : 
Then barken well till it to end be brought, 
For never didst thou heare more haplesse fate. 

" Whilome I usde (as thou right well doest know) 
My little flocke on westerne downes to keep, 100 


Not far from whence Sabrinaes streame doth flow, 
And flowrie bancks with silver liquor steepe ; 
Nought carde I then for worldly change or chaunce, 
For all ray ioy was on my gentle sheepe, 
And to my pype to caroU and to daunce. loo 

" It there befell, as I the fields did range 
Fearlesse and free, a faire young Lionesse, 
White as the native rose before the chaunge 
Which Venus blood did in her leaves impresse, 
I spied playing on the grassie plaine no 

Her youthfull sports and kindlie vvantonnesse, 
That did all other beasts in beawtie staine. 

" Much was I moved at so goodly sight, 
Whose like before mine eye had seldome scene, 
And gan to cast how I her compasse might, no 

And bring to hand that yet had never beene : 
So well I wrought with mildnes and with paine, 
That I her caught disporting on the greene, 
And brought away fast bound with silvei- chaine. 

" And afterwardes I handled her so fayre, lao 

That though by kind shee stout and salvage were, 

For being borne an auncient lions hayre. 

And of the race that all wild beastes do feare, 

Yet I her fram'd, and wan so to my bent, 

That shee became so meeke and milde of cheare us 

As the least lamb in all my flock that went. 

Ver. 107. — A faire ymmrj Lionesse.] So called from the wtiite 
lion in the arms of the Duke of Norfolk, the head of the family 
to which Lady Douglas Hnwprd belonged. H. 


" For shee in field, vvhere-ever I did wend, 

Would wend with me, and waite by rae all day : 

And all the night that I in watch did spend. 

If cause requir'd, or els in sleepe, if nay, iso 

.Shee would all night by me or watch or sleepe ; 

And evermore when I did sleepe or play, 

She of my flock would take full warie keepe.* 

" Safe then, and safest, were my sillie sheepe, 

Ne fear'd the wolfe, ne fear'd the wildest beast, isa 

All ^ were I drown'd in carelesse quiet deepe : 

My lovely Lionesse without beheast 

So careful was for them and for my good, 

That when I waked, neither most nor least 

I found miscarried, or in plain e or wood. i40 

" Oft did the shepheards which my hap did heai'e, 

And oft their lasses, which my luck envyde, 

Daylie resort to me from farre and neare, 

To see my Lyonesse, whose praises wyde 

Were spred abroad ; and when her worthinesse ua 

Much greater than the rude report they tryde,* 

They her did praise, and my good fortune blesse. 

" Long thus I ioyed in my happinesse, 

And well did hope my ioy would have no end ; 

But oh ! fond man ! that in worlds ficklenesse jso 

Reposedst hope, or weenedst Her thy frend 

That glories most in mortall miseries, 

And daylie doth her changefuU counsels bend 

To make new matter fit for tragedies. 

A Ketpe, care. ^ AU, although. 3 Tryde, proved, fonnd 


" For whilest I was thus without dread or dout, ibir 

A cruel Satyre with his murdrous dart, 

Greedie of mischiefe, ranging all about, 

Gave her the fatall wound of deadly smart. 

And reft from me my sweete companion, 

And reft from me my love, my life, ray hart : lea: 

My Lyonesse, ah woe is me ! is gon ! 

" Out of the world thus was she reft away, 

Out of the world, unworthy such a spoyle, 

And borne to heaven, for heaven a fitter pray ; 

Much fitter then the lyon which with toyle lea- 

Alcides slew, and fixt in firmament ; 

Her now I seeke throughout this earthly soyle^ 

And seeking misse, and missing doe lament." 

Therewith he gan afresh to waile and weepe, 

That I for pittie of his heavie plight no 

Could not abstain mine eyes with teares to steepe ; 

But when I saw the anguish of his spright 

Some deale alaid, I him bespake againe : 

" Certes, Alcyon, painfull is thy plight. 

That it in me breeds almost equall paine. 175 

" Yet doth not my dull wit well understand 

The riddle of thy loved Lionesse ; 

For rare it seemes in reason to be skand, 

That man, who doth the whole worlds rule possesse. 

Should to a beast his noble hart embase, I8O 

And be the vassall of his vassalesse ; 

Therefore more plain areade ^ this doubtfull case." 

1 Areade, explain. 


Then sighing sore, " Daphne thou knew'st," quoth he ; 

" She now is dead " : ne more endur'd to say, 

But fell to ground for great extreniitie ; ise 

That I, beholding it, with deepe dismay 

Was much apald, and, lightly him uprearing, 

Revoked life, that would have fled away, 

All were my selfe through grief in deadly drearing.^ 

Then gan I him to comfort all my best, im 

And with milde counsaile strove to mitigate 

The stormie passion of his troubled brest ; 

But he thereby was more empassionate. 

As stubborne steed that is with curb restrained 

Becomes moi'e fierce and fervent in his gate, 195 

And, breaking foorth at last, thus dearnely ^ plained : 


•" What man henceforth that breatheth vitall aire 
Will honour Heaven, or heavenly powers adore, 
Which so unjustly doth their iudgements share 
Mongst earthly wights, as to afflict so sore 400 

The innocent as those which do transgresse, 
And doe not spare the best or fairest more 
Than worst or foulest, but doe both oppresse ? 

" If this be right, why did they then create 

The world so faire, sith fairenesse is neglected ? 205 

Or why be they themselves immaculate. 

If purest things be not by them respected ? 

She faire, she pure, most faire, most pure she was, 

* Drearing, sorrowing. 2 Dearnely, sadly. 


Yet was by them as thing impure reiected ; 

Yet she in purenesse heaven it self did pas. sio 

" In purenesse, and in all celestiall grace 

That men admire in goodly womankind^ 

She did excell, and seera'd of angels race, 

Living on earth like angell new divinde,* 

Adorn'd with wisedome and with chastitie, me 

And all the dowries of a noble mind, 

Which did her beautie much more beautifie. 

" No age hath bred (since faire Astrsea left 

The sinful] world) more vertue in a wight ; 

And, when she parted hence, with her she reft 2io 

Great hope, and robd her race of bounty ^ quight. 

Well may the shepheard lasses now lament ; 

For doubble losse by her hath on them light, 

To loose both her and bounties ornament. 

" Ne let Elisa, royall shepheardesse, 28* 

The praises of my parted * love envy, 

For she hath praises in all plenteousnesse 

Powr'd upon her, like showers of Castaly, 

By her owne shepheard, Colin, her own shepheard, 

That her with heavenly hymnes doth deifie, sac 

Of rusticke Muse full hardly to be betterd. 

' She is the rose, the glory of the day, 
And mine the primrose in the lowly shade : 
Mine ? ah, not mine ! amisse I mine did say : 

1 Divinde, deified. ^ Parted, departed. 

. 2 Bounty, goodness. 


Not mine, but His which mine awhile her made ; 23a 
Mine to be his, with him to live for ay. 

that so faire a flowre so soon should fade, 
And through untimely tempest fall away ! 

" She fell away in her first ages spring, 
Whilst yet her leafe was greene, and fresh her rinde ; 
And whilst her braunch faii'e blossomes foorth did 
bring, an 

She fell away against all course of kinde.^ 
For age to dye is right, but youth is wrong ; 
She fell away Uke fruit blowne down with winde. 
Weepe, Shepheard ! weepe, to make my undersong.^ 


" What hart so stonie hard but that would weepe, 
And poui'e forth fountaines of incessant teares ? 
What Timon but would let compassion creepe 
Into his breast, and pierce his frosen eares ? 
In stead of teares, whose brackish bitter well 280 

1 wasted have, my heart bloud dropping weares. 
To think to ground how that faire blossome fell. 

" Yet fell she not as one enforst to dye, 

Ne dyde with dread and grudging discontent, 

But as one toyld with travell downe doth lye, 36i 

So lay she downe, as if to sleepe she went, 

And closde her eyes with carelesse quietnesse ; 

The whiles soft death away her spirit hent,^ 

A^nd soule assoyld * from sinfull fleshlinesse. 

1 Kinde, nature. ^ Hent, took. 

2 Undersong, accompaniment. "• Assoyld. absolved. 


" Yet ere that life her lodging did forsake, 200 

She, all resolv'd, and readie to remove, 

Calling to me (ay me !) this wise bespake ; 

* Alcyon ! ah, my first and latest love ! 

Ah ! why does my Alcyon weepe and mourne, 

And grieve my ghost, that ill mote him behove, 265 

As if to me had chaunst some evill tourne ! 

" ' I, since the messenger is come for mee 

That summons soules unto the bridale feast 

Of his great Lord, must needs depart from thee, 

And straight obay his soveraine beheast ; " p70 

Why should Alcyon then so sore lament 

That I from miserie shall be releast, 

And freed from wretched long imprisonment ! 

" ' Our dales are full of dolour and disease, 

Our life afflicted with incessant paine, 976 

That nought on earth may lessen or appease ; 

Why then should I desire here to remaine ! 

Or why should he that loves me sorrie bee 

For my deliverance, or at all complaine 

My good to heare, and toward ^ ioyes to see ! cso 

" ' I goe, and long desired have to goe ; 

I goe with gladnesse to my wished rest. 

Whereas ^ no worlds sad care nor wasting woe 

May come, their happie quiet to molest ; 

But saints and angels in celestiall thrones 285 

Eternally Him praise that hath thorn blest ; 

There shall I be amongst those blessed ones. 

1 Toward, preparing, near at hand. * Whereas, where 

VOL. v. 15 


" ' Yet, ere I goe, a pledge I leave with thee 
Of the late love the which betwixt us past ; 
My young Ambrosia ; in lieu of mee, 290 

Love her ; so shall our love for ever last. 
Thus, deare ! adieu, whom I expect ere long.' — 
So having said, away she softly past ; 
Weepe, Shepheard ! weepe, to make mine under- 


" So oft as I record those piercing words, '295 

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

" And when those pallid cheekes and ashe hew, 

In which sad Death his pourtraiture had writ. 

And when those hollow eyes and deadly view, 

On which the cloud of ghastly night did sit, 303 

I match with that sweete smile and chearful brow. 

Which all the world subdued unto it, 

How happie was I then, and wretched now ! 

" How happie was I when I saw her leade 
The shepheards daughters dauncing in a rownd! 310 
How trimly would she trace ^ and softly tread 
The tender grasse, with rosye garland crownd ! 
A.nd when she list advaunce her heavenly voyce, 

1 Trace, step. 


Both Nymphes and Muses nigh she made astcwnd, 
And flocks and shepheards caused to reioyce. 315 

" But now, ye shepheard lasses ! who shall lead 

Your wandring troupes, or sing your virelayes ^ ? 

Or who shall dight ^ your bowres, sith she is dead 

That was the lady of your holy-day es ? 

Let now your blisse be turned into bale, sao 

And into plaints convert your ioyous playes, 

And with the same fill every hill and dale. 

" Let bagpipe never more be heard to shrill, 

That may allure the senses to delight, 

Ne ever shepheard sound his oaten quill sas 

Unto the many,' that provoke them might 

To idle pleasance ; but let ghastlinesse 

And drearie horror dim the chearfuU light, 

To make the image of true heavinesse. 

" Let birds be silent on the naked spray, 330 

And shady woods resound with dreadfuU yells ; 
Let streaming floods their hastie courses stay. 
And parching drouth drie up the cristall wells ; 
Let th' earth be barren, and bring foorth no flowres. 
And th' ayre be fild with noyse of doleful! knells, 335 
And wandring spirits walke untimely howres. 

" And Nature, nurse of every living thing, 
"Let rest her selfe from her long wearinesse. 
And cease henceforth things kindly forth to bring, 

1 Virdcxyes, roundelays » ^^any, company 

t Di(jht, deck. 

228 DAPHNAroA. 

But hideous monsters full of uglinesse ; 84C 

For she it is that hath me done this wrong ; 
No nurse, but stepdame cruell, mercilesse. 
Weepe, Shepheard ! weepe, to make my undersong. 


" My litle flock, whom earst I lov'd so well, 
And wont to feed with finest grasse that grew, 345 
Feede ye hencefoorth on bitter astrofelV 
And stinking smallage, and unsaverie rew ; 
And when your mawes are with those weeds cor- 
Be ye the pray of wolves ; ne will I rew 
That with your carkasses wild beasts be glutted. 360 

" Ne worse to you, ray sillie sheepe, I pray, 

Ne sorer vengeance wish on you to fall 

Than to my selfe, for whose confusde decay ^ 

To carelesse heavens I doo daylie call ; 

But heavens refuse to heare a wretches cry ; 354 

And cruell Death doth scorn to come at call, 

Or graunt his boone that most desires to dye. 

" The good and righteous he away doth take, 

To plague th' unrighteous which alive reraaine ; 

But the ungodly ones he doth forsake, stx' 

By living long to raultiplie their paine ; 

Else surely death should be no punishment. 

As the Great ludge at first did it oi-daine. 

But rather riddance from long languisliment. 

1 Astro/ell, (probably) starwort. See Astrophel, v. 184- 196. 

2 Decay, destruction. 


' Therefore, my Daphne they have tane away ; sae 

For worthie of a better place was she : 

But me unworthie willed here to stay, 

That with her lacke I might tormented be. 

Sith then they so have ordred, I will pay 

Penance to her, according ^ their decree, 370 

And to her ghost doe service day by day. 

" For I will walke this wandring pilgrimage, 

Throughout the world from one to other end, 

And in affliction waste my better age : 

My bread shall be the anguish of my mynd, 370 

My drink the teares which fro mine eyes do raine, 

My bed the ground that hardest I may fynd ; 

So will I wilfully increase my paine. 

" And she, my love that was, my saint that is. 

When she beholds from her celestiall throne aso 

(In which shee ioyeth in eternall blis) 

My bitter penance, will my case beraone, 

And pittie me that living thus doo die ; 

For heavenly spirits have compassion 

On mortall men, and rue their miserie. 386 

" So when I have with sorrow satisfyde 

Th' importune Fates which vengeance on me seeke, 

And th' heavens with long languor pacifyde. 

She, for pure pitie of my sufferance meeke, 

Will send for me ; for which I daily long, 

A.nd will till then my painfull penance eeke. 

Weepe, Shepheard ! weepe, to make my undersong. 

1 Accm-ding, according to. 




" Henoefoorth I hate whatever Nature made, 

And in her workmanship no pleasure finde, 

For they be all but vaine, and quickly fade ai.? 

So soone as on them blowes the northern winde ; 

They tarrie not, but flit and fall away, 

Leaving behind them nought but griefe of minde, 

And mocking such as thinke they long will stay. 

" I hate the heaven, because it doth withhould 400 

Me from my love, and eke my love from me ; 

I hate the earth, because it is the mould 

Of fleshly slime and fraile mortalitie ; 

1 hate the fire, because to nought it flyes ; 

I hate the ayre, because sighes of it be ; «» 

I hate the sea, because it teares supplyes. 

" I hate the day, because it lendeth light 

To see all things, and not my love to see ; 

I hate the darknesse and the dreary night, 

Because they breed sad balefulnesse in raee ; 4ie 

I bate all times, because all times doo fly 

So fast away, and may not stayed bee. 

But as a speedie post that passeth by. 

" I hate to speake, my voyce is spent with crying ; 

I hate to heare, lowd plaints have duld mine eares ; 

I hate to tast, for food withholds ray dying ; ue 

I hate to see, mine eyes are dimd with teares ; 

I hate to smell, no sweet on earth is left ; 

I hate to feele, my flesh is numbd with feares : 

So all my senses from me are bereft. 4*. 


" 1 hate all men, and shun all womankinde , 

The one, because as I they wretched are ; 

The other, for because I doo not finde 

My love with them, that wont to be their starre : 

And life I hate, because it will not last ; 423 

And death I hate, because it life doth marre ; 

And all I hate that is to come or past. 

*' So all the world, and all in it I hate, 

Because it changeth ever to and fro, 

And never standeth in one certaine state, 430 

But, still unstedfast, round about doth goe 

Like a mill-wheele in midst of miserie, 

Driven with streames of wretchednesse and woe, 

That dying lives, and living still does dye. 

" So doo I live, so doo I daylie die, 436 

And pine away in selfe-consuming paine ! 

Sith she that did my vitall powres supplie. 

And feeble spirits in their force maintaine. 

Is fetcht fro me, why seeke I to prolong 

My wearie dales in dolour and disdaine ! 440 

Weepe, Shepheard ! weepe, to make my under- 



" Wliy doo I longer live in lifes despight, 

And doo not dye then in despight of death ! 

Why doo I longer see this loathsome light, 

And doo in darknesse not abridge my breath, 44* 

Sith all my sorrow should have end thereby, 


And cares finde quiet ! Is it so uneath ^ 
To leave this life, or dolorous to dye ? 

" To live I finde it deadly dolorous, 

For life drawes care, and care continuall woe ; tw 

Therefore to dye must needes be ioyeous, 

And wishfull thing this sad life to forgoe. 

But I must stay ; I may it not amend ; 

My Daphne hence departing bad me so ; 

She bad me stay, till she for me did send. 45,5 

" Yet, whilest I in this wretched vale doo stay, 

My wearie feete shall ever wandring be, 

That still I may be readie on my way 

When as her messenger doth come for me ; 

Ne will I rest my feete for feeblenesse, 400 

Ne will I rest my limmes for frailtie, 

Ne will I rest mine eyes for heavinesse. 

" But, as the mother of the gods, that sought 

For faire Euridyce, her daughter dere. 

Throughout the world, with wofull heavie thought, 

So will I travell whilest I tarrie heere, 460 

Ne will I lodge, ne will I ever lin,^ 

Ne, when as drouping Titan draweth nere 

To loose his teeme, will I take up my inne.' 

" Ne sleepe, the harbenger * of wearie wights, 470 
Shall ever lodge upon mine eye-hds more, 

1 Uneath, difficult. 2 i,in^ cease. * Inne, lodging 

^ Harbenger, one who provides lodging or repose. 


Ne shall with rest refresh my fainting sprights, 

Nor failing force to former strength restore : 

But I will wake and sorrow all the night 

With Philumene/ my fortune to deplore 476 

With Philumene, the partner of my plight. 

" And ever as I see the starre to fall, 

And under ground to goe to give them light 

Which dwell in darknesse, I to mind will call 

How my faire starre, that shlnd on me so bright, 480 

Fell sodainly and faded under ground ; 

Since whose departure, day is turnd to night, 

And night without a Venus starre is found. 


* But soon as day doth shew his deawie face, 
And cals foorth men unto their toylsome trade, 485 
I will withdi'aw me to some darkesome place, 
Or some dere ^ cave, or solitarie shade ; 
There will I sigh, and sorrow all day long, 
And the huge burden of my cares unlade. 489 

Weepe, Shepheard ! weepe, to make my undersong. 


" Henceforth mine eyes shall never more behold 

Faire thing on earth, ne feed on false dehght 

Of ought that framed is of mortall mould, 

Sith that my fairest flower is faded quight ; 

For all I see is vaine and transitorie, 4P6 

Ne will be held in any stedfast plight. 

But in a moment loose their grace and glorie. 

1 Pfc'fowiene, Philomel. 2 Qu. tfeme, lonely ? Or drei-ef 


•* And ye, fond Men ! on Fortunes wheele that 

Or in ought under heaven repose assurance, 
Be it riches, beautie, or honours pride, soo 

Be sure that they shall have no long endurance, 
But ere ye be aware will flit away ; 
For nought of them is yours, but th' only usanct 
Of a small time, which none ascertaine may. 

•* And ye, true Lovers ! whom desastrous chaunce 6w 

Hath farre exiled from your ladies grace. 

To mourne in sorrow and sad sufferaunce, 

When ye doe heare me in that desert place 

Lamenting loud my Daphnes elegie, 

Helpe me to waile my miserable case, tie 

And when life parts vouchsafe to close mine eye. 

" And ye, more happie Lovers ! which enioy 

The presence of your dearest loves delight, 

When ye doe heare my sorrowfull annoy, 

Yet pittie me in your empassiond spright, 515 

And thinke that such mishap as chaunst to rae 

May happen unto the most happiest wight ; 

For all mens states alike unstedfast be. 

" And ye, my fellow Shepheards ! which do feed 

Your carelesse flocks on hils and open plaines, b-n 

With better fortune than did me succeed, 

Remember yet my undeserved paines ; 

And when ye heare that I am dead or slaine, 

Lament my lot, and tell your fellow-swaines 

That sad Alcyon dyde in lifes disdaine. psa 


" And ye, faire Damsels ! shepheards deare delights, 

Tliat with your loves do their rude hearts possesse, 

When as my hearse shall happen to your sightes, 

Vouchsafe to deck the same with cyparesse ; 

And ever sprinckle brackish teares among, 630 

In pitie of my undeserv'd distresse, 

The which, I, wretcii, endured have thus long. 

" And ye, poore Pilgrims ! that with restlesse toyle 
Wearie your selves in wandring desart wayes. 
Till that you come where ye your vowes assoyle,^ 690 
When passing by ye reade these wofuU layes 
On my grave written, rue my Daphnes wrong, 
And mourne for me that languish out my dayes. 
Cease, Shepheard ! cease, and end thy undersong." 

Thus when he ended had his heavie plaint, 640 
The heaviest plaint that ever I heard sound. 
His cheekes wext pale, and sprights began to faint, 
As if againe he would have fallen to ground ; 
Which when I saw, I, stepping to him light, 
Amooved^ him out of his stonie swound, mo 

And gan him to recomfort as I might. 

But he no waie recomforted would be, 

Nor suffer solace to approach him nie, 

But, casting up a sdeinfull eie at me. 

That in his traunce I would not let him lie, 6M 

Did rend his haire, and beat his blubbred face, 

I A$soyle, absolve, pay. ^ Amooved, rousea. 


As one disposed wilfullie to die, 

That I sore griev'd to see his wretched case. 

Tho when the pang was somewhat overpast, 

And the outragious passion nigh appeased, sm 

I him desyrde, sith daie was overcast 

And darke night fast approched, to be pleased 

To turne aside unto my cabinet,* 

And staie with me, till he were better eased 

Of that strong stownd ^ which him so sore beset. 660 

But by no meanes I could him win thereto, 

Ne longer him intreate with me to staie, 

But without taking leave he foorth did goe 

With staggrtug pace and dismall looks dismay, 

As if that Death he in the face had scene, 565 

Or hellish hags had met upon the way : 

But what of him became I cannot weene. 

* Cabinet, cabin. ^ Stownd, mood, paroxysm of grief. 







G. W. Senior,* 


Darke is the day when Phoebus face is ehrowded, 
And weaker sights may wandei* soone astray ; 
But when they see his glorious raies unclowded. 
With steddy steps they keepe the perfect way : 
So, while this Muse in forraine landes doth stay. 
Invention weepes, and pens are cast aside ; 
The time, like night, depriv'd of chearefull day ; 
And few do write, but ah ! too soone may slide. 
Then hie thee home, that art our perfect guide, 
And with thy wit illustrate Englands fame, 
Dawnting thereby our neighboures auncient pride, 
That do for Poesie challendge cheefest name : 
So we that live, and ages that succeede, 
With great applause thy learned works shall reede. 

Ah ! Colin, whether on the lowly plaine, 
Piping to shepherds thy sweete roundelaies, 

* These commendatory Sonnets first appeared in tlie first folio 
edition of Spenser's entire works (1611). G. W., as Todd conjec- 
tures, may be George Wlietstone. C. 


Or whether singing, in some lofty vaine, 
Heroick deedes of past or present daies, 
Or whether in thy lovely mistris praise 
Thou list to exercise thy learned quiU, 
Thy Muse hath got such grace and power to ])lease. 
With rare invention, bewtified by skill, 
As who therein can ever ioy their fill ! 
0, therefore let that happy Muse proceed 
To clime the height of Vertues sacred hill. 
Where endles honor shall be made thy meede : 
Because no malice of succeeding daies 
Can rase those records of thy lasting praise. 

G. W. J[unior]- 


Happy, ye leaves ! when as those lilly hands 
Which hold ray life in their dead-doing might 
Shall handle you, and hold in loves soft bands, 
Lyke captives trembling at the victors sight. 
And happy lines ! on which, with starry light. 
Those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to look. 
And reade the sorrowes of my dying spright, 
Written with teares in harts close-bleeding book. 

* These Sonnets furnish us with a circumstantial and very 
interesting history of Spenser's second courtship, whicli, after 
many repulses, was successfully terminated by the marriage cele- 
brated in the Kpitlmlavdcm. As these poems were entered in the 
Stationers' Rejiisters on the 19th of November, 1594, we may infer 
that they cover n npriod of time extpndins from r'le fnd of 1592 to 
the summer of 1594. It is possible, however, that these last 
dates may be a year too late, and that Spenser was married in 
1593. We cannot be sure of the year, but we know, from the 
266th verse of the Epitkalamion, that the day was the feast of St 
Barnabas, June 11 of the Old Style. In the 74th sonnet we are 
directly told that the lady's name was Elizabeth. In the 61st, 
she is said to be of the " brood of Angels, heavenly born." From 
this and many similar expressions, interpreted by the laws of 
Anagram, and taken in conjunction with various circumstances 
which do not requii-e to be stated here, it may be inferred that 
lier surname was Nagle. C. 

VOL. V. 16 

242 AMORETTl. 

And happy rymes ! bath'd in the sacred brooke 

Of Helicon, whence she derived is. 

When ye behold that Angels blessed looke, 

My soules long-lacked food, my heavens blis, 

Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to piease alone. 
Whom if ye please, I care for other none ! 


Unquiet thought ! whom at the first I bred 
Of th' inward bale of my love-pined hart, 
And sithens have with sighes and sorrowes fed, 
Till greater then ray wombe thou woxen art, 
Breake forth at length out of the inner part, 
In which thou lurkest lyke to vipers brood, 
And seeke some succour both to ease my smart, 
And also to sustayne thy selfe with food. 
But if in presence of that fayrest Proud 
Thou chance to come, fall lowly at her feet ; 
And with meek humblesse and afflicted mood 
Pardon for thee, and grace for me, intreat : 

Which if she graunt, then live, and my love chei'ish : 
If not, die soone, and I with thee will perish. 


The soverayne beauty which I doo admyre, 
Witnesse the world how worthy to be prayzed ! 
The light wherof hath kindled heavenly fyre 
In my fraile spirit, by her from basenesse raysed t 
That being now with her huge brightnesse dazed. 
Base thing I can no more endure to view : 
But, looking still on her, I stand amazed 
At wondrous sight of so celestiall hew. 

AMORETTI. 243 • 

So when my toung would speak her praises dew, 

It stopped is with thoughts astonishment ; 

And when my pen would write her titles true, 

It ravisht is with fancies wonderment : 

Yet in my hart I then both speake and write 
The wonder that my wit cannot endite. 


New yeare, forth looking out of lanus gate, 

Doth seeme to promise hope of new delight, 

And, bidding th' old adieu, his passed date 

Bids all old thoughts to die in dumpish^ spright ; . 

And caUing forth out of sad Winters night 

Fresh Love, that long hath slept in cheerlesse bowery. 

Wils him awake, and soone about him dight 

His wanton wings and darts of deadly power. 

For lusty Spring now in his timely howre 

Is ready to come forth, him to receive ; 

And warnes the Earth with divers colord flowre 

To decke hir selfe, and her faire mantle weave. 

Then you, faire flowre ! in whom fresh youth doth 

Prepare your selfe new love to entertaine. 


Rudely thou wrongest my deare harts desire, 
In finding fault with her too portly pride : 
The thing which I doo most in her admire, 
Is of the world unworthy most envide. 
For in those lofty lookes is close implide 

1 Dumpish, monmful. 


Scorn of base things, and sdeigne of foul dishonor ; 
Thretning rash eies which gaze on her so wide, 
That loosely they ne dare to looke upon her. 
Such pride is praise, such portlinesse is honor. 
That boldned innocence beares in hir eies, 
And her faire countenaunce, like a goodly banner, 
Spreds in defiaunce of all enemies. 

Was never in this world ought worthy tride,^ 
Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride. 


Be nought dismayd that her unmoved mind 
Doth still persist in her rebellious pride : 
Such love, not lyke to lusts of baser kynd, 
The harder wonne, the firmer will abide. 
The durefuU oake whose sap is not yet dride 
Is long ere it conceive the kindling fyre ; 
But when it once doth burne, it doth divide 
' Great heat, and makes his flames to heaven aspire. 
So hard it is to kindle new desire 
In gentle brest, that shall endure for ever : 
Deepe is the wound that dints the parts entire '^ 
With chaste affects, that naught but death can sever 
Then thinke not long in taking litle paine 
To knit the knot that ever shall remaine. 


Fatre eyes ! the myrrour of my mazed hart. 

What wondrous vertue is contayn'd in you. 

The which both lyfe and death forth from you dart 

1 Tridit found. '■* Ektire, inward. 


Into the obiect of your mighty view ? 

For when ye mildly looke with lovely hew, 

Then is my soule with life and love inspired : 

But when ye lowre, or looke on me askew, 

Then doe I die, as one with lightning fyred. 

But since that lyfe is more then death desyred, 

Looke ever lovely, as becomes you best ; 

That your bright beams, of my weak eies admyred, 

May kindle living fire within my brest. 

Such life should be the honor of your light, 
Such death the sad ensample of your might. 


More then most faire, full of the living fire 
Kindled above unto the Maker neere, 
No eies, but ioyes, in which al powex'S conspire, 
That to the world naught else be counted deare ! 
Thrugh your bright beams doth not the blinded guest 
Shoot out his darts to base affections wound ; 
But angels come, to lead fraile mindes to rest 
In chast desires, on heavenly beauty bound. 
You frame my thoughts, and fashion me within ; 
You stop my toung, and teach my hart to speake; 
You calme the storme that passion did begin. 
Strong thrugh your cause, but by your vertue weak. 

Dark is the world where your light shined never ; 

Well is he borne that may behold you ever. 


Long-while I sought to what I might compare 
Those powrefull eies which lighten my dark spright -, 
Yet find I nought on earth, to which I dart- 


Resemble th' ymage of their goodly light. 

Not to the sun, for they doo shine by night ; 

Nor to the moone, for they ai*e changed never; 

Nor to the starres, for they have purer sight ; 

Nor to the fire, for they consume not ever; 

Nor to the lightning, for they still persever ; 

Nor to the diamond, for they are more tender ; 

Nor unto cristall, for nought may them sever ; 

Nor unto glasse, such basenesse mought offend her. 
Then to the Maker selfe they likest be, 
Whose light doth lighten all that here we see. 

Unrighteous Lord of Love, what law is this, 
That me thou makest thus tormented be, 
The whiles she lordeth in licentious blisse 
Of her freewill, scorning both thee and me ? 
See ! how the Tyrannesse doth ioy to see 
The hugh massacres which her eyes do make, 
And humbled harts brings captive unto thee. 
That thou of them mayst mightie vengeance take. 
But her proud hart doe thou a little shake. 
And that high look, with which she doth comptroU 
All this worlds pride, bow to a baser make,^ 
And al her faults in thy black booke enroll : 
That I may laugh at her in equall sort 
As she doth laugh at me, and makes my pain her 

1 Make, mate. 



Daylt when I do seeke and sew for peace, 
And hostages doe offer for my truth, 
She, cruell warriour, doth her selfe addresse 
To battell, and the weary war renew'th ; 
Ne wilbe moov'd, with reason or with rewth,^ 
To graunt small respit to my restlesse toile ; 
But greedily her fell intent poursewth. 
Of my poore life to make unpittied spoile. 
Yet ray poore life, all sorrowes to assoyle, 
I would her yield, her wrath to pacify ; 
But then she seekes, with torment and turmoyle, 
To force me live, and will not let me dy. 

All paine hath end, and every war hath peace ; 

But mine, no price nor prayer may surcease. 


One day I sought with her hart-thrilling eies 
To make a truce, and termes to entertaine ; 
All fearlesse then of so false enimies. 
Which sought me to entrap in treasons traine. 
So, as I then disarmed did remaine, 
A wicked ambush, which lay hidden long 
In the close covert of her guilfuU eyen. 
Thence breaking forth, did thick about me throng. 
Too feeble I t' abide the brunt so strong, 
Was forst to yeeld my selfe into their hands ; 
Who, me captiving streight with rigorous wrong, 
Have ever since kept me in cruell bands. 
So, Ladie, now to you I doo complaine 
Against your eies, that iustice I may gaine. 

1 Reiolh, ruth, pity. 



In that proud port which her so goodly graceth, 
Whiles her faire face she reares up to the skie, 
And to the ground her eie-h*ds low embaseth, 
Most goodly temperature ye may descry ; 
Myld humblesse mixt with awfull maiestie. 
For, looking on the earth, whence she was borne, 
Her minde reraembreth her mortalitie, 
Whatso is fayrest shall to earth returne : 
But that same lofty countenance seemes to scorne 
Base thing, and thinke how she to heaven may clim^ 
Treading downe earth as lothsome and forlorne, 
That hinders heavenly thoughts with drossy slime. 

Yet lowly still vouchsafe to looke on me ; 

Such lowlinesse shall make you lofty be. 


Retourne agayne, my forces late dismayd. 
Unto the siege by you abandon'd quite. 
Great shame it is to leave, like one afrayd. 
So fayre a peece * for one repulse so light. 
'Gaynst such strong castles needeth greater might 
Then those small forts which ye were wont belay : * 
Such haughty mynds, enur'd to hardy fight, 
Disdayne to yield unto the first assay. 
Bring therefore all the forces that ye may, 
And lay incessant battery to her heart ; 
Playnts, prayers, vowes, ruth, sorrow, and dismay : 
Those engins can the proudest love convert : 

And, if those fayle, fall down and dy before her : 
So dying live, and living do adore her. 

1 Peece, fortres* "- Belay, beleaguer. 



i'E tradefuU Merchants, that, with weary toyle, 
Do seeke most pretious things to make your gain, 
And both the Indias of their treasure spoile, 
What needeth you to seeke so farre in vaine ? 
For loe, my Love doth in her selfe containe 
All this worlds riches that may farre be found : 
If saphyres, loe, her eies be saphyres plaine ; 
If rubies, loe, hir lips be rubies sound ; 
If pearles, hir teeth be pearles, both pure and round ; 
If yvorie, her forhead y vory weene ; 
If gold, her locks are finest gold on ground ; 
If silver, her faire hands are silver sheens : 
But that which fairest is but few behold: — 
Her mind,adornd with vertues manifold. 


One day as I unwarily did gaze 
On those fayre eyes, my loves immortall light, 
The whiles my stonisht hart stood in amaze, 
Through sweet illusion of her lookes delight, 
I mote perceive how, in her glauncing sight, 
Legions of Loves with little wings did fly, 
Darting their deadly arrowes, fyry bright, 
At every rash beholder passing by. 
One of those archers closely I did spy, 
Ayming his arrow at my very hart : 
When suddenly, with twincle of her eye, 
The damzell broke his misintended dart. 

Had she not so doon, sure I had bene slayne j 
Yet as it was, I hardly scap't with paine. 



The glorious pourtraict of that angels face, 
Made to amaze weake mens confused skil, 
And this worlds worthlesse glory to erabase, 
What pen, what pencill, can expresse her fill ? 
For though he colours could devize at will, 
And eke his learned hand at pleasure guide, 
Least, trembling, it his workmanship should spill,* 
Yet many wondrous things there are beside : 
The sweet eye-glaunces, that like arrowes glide, 
The charming smiles, that rob sence from the hart, 
The lovely pleasance, and the lofty pride, 
Cannot expressed be by any art. 

A greater craftesmans hand thereto doth neede, 
That can expresse the life of things indeed. 


The rolling wheele,that runneth often round. 
The hardest Steele, in tract of time doth teare ; 
And drizling drops, that often doe redound,'^ 
The firmest flint doth in continuance weare : 
Yet cannot I, with many a dropping teare 
And long intreaty, soften her hard hart, 
That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to heare, 
Or looke with pitty on my payneful smart. 
But when I pleade, she bids me play my part ; 
And when I weep, she sayes, teares are but water ; 
And when I sigh, she sayes, I know the art ; 
And when I waile, she turnes hir selfe to laughter. 
So do I weej)e, and wayle, and pleade in vaine, 
Whiles she as Steele and flint doth still remayne. 

i Spill, spoW 2 Redound, ovcvfiow . 

AMORETTl. 251 


The merry cuckow, messenger of Spring, 
His trorapet shrill hath thx-ise already sounded, 
That warnes al lovers wayte upon their king, 
Who now is comming forth with girland crouned. 
With noyse whereof the quyre of byrds resounded 
Their anthemes sweet, devized of loves prayse. 
That all the woods theyr ecehoes back rebounded, 
As if they knew the meaning of their layes. 
But mongst them all which did Loves honor rayse, 
No word was heard of her that most it ought ; 
But she his precept proudly disobayes, 
And doth his ydle message set at nought. 

Therefore, O Love, unlesse she turne to thee 
Ere cuckow end, let her a rebeU be ! 


In vaine I seeke and sew to her for grace, 
And doe myne humbled hart before her poure. 
The whiles her foot she in ray necke doth place, 
And tread my life downe in the lowly floure.^ 
And yet the lyon, that is lord of power, 
And reigneth over every beast in field. 
In his most pride disdeigneth to devoure 
The silly lambe that to his might doth yield. 
But she, more cruell and more salvage wylde 
Than either lyon or the lyonesse. 
Shames not to be with guiltlesse bloud defylde. 
But taketh glory in her cruelnesse. 

Fayrer then fayrest ! let none ever say 
That ye.were blooded in a yeelded pray. 

1 Floure, floor, gi-ound. 



Was it the worke of Nature or of Art, 
Wliich tempred so the feature of her face, 
That pride and ineeknesse, raixt by equall part, 
Doe botli appeare t' adorne her beauties grace ? 
For with mild pleasance, which doth pride displace, 
She to her love doth lookers eyes allure ; 
And with stern countenance back again doth chace 
Their looser lookes that stir up lustes impure. 
With such strange termes* her eyes she doth inure, 
That with one looke she doth my life dismay, 
And with another doth it streight recure : 
Her smile me drawes ; her frowne me drives away. 
Thus doth she traine and teach me with her lookes i 
Such art of eyes I never read in bookes ! 


This holy season,^ fit to fast and pray, 
Men to devotion ought to be inclynd : 
Therefore, I lykewise, on so holy day. 
For my sweet sa,ynt some service fit will find. 
Her temple fay re is built within my mind. 
In which her glorious ymage placed is ; 
On which my thoughts doo day and night attend, 
Lyke sacred priests that nev^er thinke amisse. 
There I to her, as th' author of my blisse, 
Will builde an altar to appease her yre ; 
And on the same my hart will sacrifise, 
Burning in flames of pure and chaste desyre : 
The which vouchsafe, Goddesse, to accept. 
Amongst thy deerest relicks to be kept* 

1 Termes, extremes (?). ^ I. e. Easter. 



Penelope, for her Ulisses sake, 
Deviz'd a web her wooers to deceave ; 
In which the worke that she all day did make, 
The same at night she did againe unreave. 
Such subtile craft ray damzell doth conceave, 
Th' importune suit of my desire to shonne : 
For all that I in many dayes doo weave, 
In one short houre I find by her undonne. 
So when I thinke to end that I begonne, 
I must begin and never bring to end : 
For with one looke she spils that long I sponne, 
And with one word my whole years work doth rend^. 
Such labour like the spyders web I fynd, 
Whose fruitlesse worke is broken with least wynd. 


When I behold that beauties wonderment, 
And rare perfection of each goodly part, 
Of Natures skill the onely complement, 
I honor and admire the Makers art. 
But when I feele the bitter balefull smart 
Which her fayre eyes unwares doe worke in mee, 
That death out of theyr shiny bearaes doe dart, 
I thinke that I a new Pandora see. 
Whom all the gods in councell did agree 
Into this sinfull world from heaven to send, 
That she to wicked men a scourge should bee. 
For all their faults with which they did offend 
But since ye are my scourge, I will intreat 
That for my faults ye will me gently beat. 



How long shall this lyke-dying lyfe endure, 
And know no end of her owne mysery, 
But wast and weare away in termes unsure, 
'Twixt feare and hope depending doubtfully ! 
Yet better were attonce to let me die, 
And shew the last ensample of your pride, 
Then to torment me thus with cruelty, 
To prove your powre, which I too wel have tride. 
But yet if in your hardned brest ye hide 
A close intent at last to shew me grace, 
Then all the woes and wrecks which I abide, 
-As meanes of blisse I gladly wil embrace ; 

And wish that more and greater they might be, 
That greater meede at last may turne to mee. 


Sweet is the rose, but growes upon a brere ; 

Sweet is the iunipre, but sharpe his bough ; 

Sweet is the eglantine, but pricketh nere ; 

Sweet is the firbloorae, but his braunches rough; 

Sweet is the cypresse, but his rynd is tough ; 

Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill ^ ; 

Sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough ; 

And sweet is moly, but his root is ill. 

So every sweet with soure is tempred still. 

That maketh it be coveted the more : 

For easie things, that may be "ot at will, 

Most sorts of men doe set but little store. 
"Why then should I accoumpt of little paii.c, 
That endlesse pleasure shall unto me gaine ! 

1 Pill, peel. 



Faire Proud ! now tell me, why should faire he 

Sith all worlds glorie is but drosse uncleane, 
And in the shade of death it selfe shall shroud. 
However now thex-eof ye little weene ! 
That goodly idoll, now so gay beseene,^ 
Shall doffe her fleshes borowd fayre attyre, 
And be forgot as it had never beene, 
That many now much worship and admire: 
Ne any then shall after it inquire, 
Ne any mention shall thereof remaine, 
But what this verse, that never shall expyre, 
Shall to you purchas with her thankles pain. 
Faire ! be no lenger proud of that shall perisli. 
But that which shall you make immortall clierish. 


The laurel-leafe which you this day doe weare 
Gives me great hope of your relenting mynd : 
For since it is the badge which I doe beare,* 
Ye, bearing it, doe seeme to me inclind. 
The powre thereof, which ofte in me I find, 
Let it lykewise your gentle brest inspire 
With sweet infusion, and put you in mind 
Of that proud raayd whom now those leaves attyre : 
Proud Daphne, scorning Phoebus lovely * fyre. 
On the Thessalian shore from him did flie ; 
For which the gods, in theyr revengefuU yre, 
Did her transforme into a laurell-tree. 

1 Beseene, appearing. ^ Lovely, loving. 

2 I. e. as poet-laureate. 


Then fly no more, fayre Love, from Phebus chace, 
But in your brest his leafe and love embrace. 


See ! how the stubborne damzell doth deprave 
My simple meaning with disdaynfull scorne. 
And by the bay which I unto her gave 
Accoumpts my self her captive quite forlorne. 
The bay, quoth she, is of the victours born. 
Yielded them by the vanquisht as theyr meeds, 
And they therewith doe poetes heads adorne, 
To sing the glory of their famous deeds. 
But sith she will the conquest challeng needs, 
Let her accept me as her faithfull thrall; 
That her great triumph, which my skill exceeds, 
r may in trump of fame blaze over all. 

Then would I decke her head with glorious bayes 
And fill the world with her victorious prayse. 


My Love is lyke to yse, and I to fyre : 

How comes it then that this her cold so great 

Is not dissolv'd through my so hot desyre, 

But harder growes the more I her intreat ? 

Or how comes it that my exceeding heat 

Is not delay d ^ by her hart-frosen cold, 

But that I burne much more in boyling sweat, 

And feele my flames augmented manifold? 

What more miraculous thing may be told, 

That fire, which all things melts, should harden yse, 

1 Delayd, tempered. 


And yse, which is congeald with sencelesse cold, 
Should kindle fyre by wonderful devyse? 
Such is the powre of love in gentle mind, 
That it can alter all the course of kynd. 


Ah ! why hath Nature to so hard a hart 
Given so goodly giftes 'of beauties grace, 
"Whose pryde depraves each other better part, 
And all those pretious ornaments deface ? 
Sith to all other beastes of bloody race 
A dreadful! countenance she given hath, 
That with theyr terrour al the rest may chace. 
And warne to shun the daunger of theyr wrath. 
But my proud one doth worke the greater scath,^ 
Through sweet allurement of her lovely hew. 
That she the better may in bloody bath 
Of such poore thralls her cruell hands embrew. 
But did she know how ill these two accord, 
Such cruelty she would have soone abhord. 


The paynefuU smith with force of fervent heat 
The hardest yron soone doth mollify. 
That with his heavy sledge he can it beat, 
And fashion to what he it list apply. 
Yet cannot all these flames in which I fry 
Her hart, more harde than yron, soft a whit, 
Ne all the playnts and prayers with which I 
Doe beat on th' andvyle of the stubberne wit : 

1 Scaih, injury. 
vol. V. 1" 


But still, the more she fervent sees my fit. 
The more she frieseth in her wilfull pryde, 
And harder growes, the harder she is smit 
With all the playnts which to her be applydt:. 
What then remaines but I to ashes burne, 
And she to stones at length all frosen turns ! 

xxxm. . 

Great wrong I doe, I can it not deny. 
To that most sacred empi-esse, my dear dred. 
Not finishing her Queene of Faery, 
That mote enlarge her living prayses, dead. 
But Lodwick,^ this of grace to me aread : 
Do ye not thinck th' accomplishment of it 
Sufficient worke for one mans simple head, 
All were it, as the rest, but rudely writ ? 
How then should I, without another wit, 
Thinck ever to endure so tiedious toyle, 
Sins that this one is tost with troublous fit 
Of a proud Love, that doth my spirite spoyle ? 
Cease, then, till she vouchsafe to grawnt me rest, 
Or lend you me another living brest. 


Lyke as a ship, that through the ocean wyde 
By conduct of some star doth make her way, 
Whenas a storm hath dirad her trusty guyde, 
Out of her course doth wander far astray. 
So I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray 
Me to direct, with cloudes is over-cast, 

1 1, e. Lodowick Brj'skett 


Doe wander now in darknesse and dismay, 
Through hidden perils round about me plast. 
Yet hope I well that, when this storme is past, 
My Helice/ the lodestar of ray lyfe, 
Will shine again, and looke on me at last. 
With lovely light to cleare my cloudy grief. 
Till then I wander carefull, comfortlesse, 
In secret sorrow and sad pensivenesse. 


My hungry eyes, through greedy covetize 
Still to behold the obiect of their paine. 
With no contentment can themselves suffize ; 
But having, pine, and having not, complaine. 
For lacking it, they cannot lyfe sustayne ; 
And having it, they gaze on it the more. 
In their amazement lyke Narcissus vaine, 
Whose eyes him starv'd : so plenty makes me poore. 
Yet are mine eyes so filled with the store 
Of that faire sight, that nothing else they brooke, 
But lothe the things which they did like before, 
And can no more endure on them to looke. 
All this worlds glory seemeth vayne to me, 
And all their showes but shadowes, saving she. 

Tell me, when shall these wearie woes have end ; 
Or shall their ruthlesse torment never cease. 
But al my days in pining languor spend. 
Without hope of asswageraent or release ? 

1 1. e. Cvnosure. 


Is there no meanes for me to purchace peace, 
Or make agreement with her thrilling eyes : 
But that their cruelty doth still increace, 
And dayly more augment my miseryes ? 
But when ye have shewed all extremityes, 
Then think how little gloiy ye have gayned 
By slaying him, whose lyf'e, though ye despyse, 
Mote have your life in honor long maintayned. 
But by his death, which some perhaps will mone, 
Ye shall condemned be of many a one. 


What guyle is this, that those her golden tresses 
She doth attyre under a net of gold, 
And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses, 
That which is gold or haire may scarse be told ? 
Is it that mens frayle eyes, which gaze too bold, 
She may entangle in that golden snare ; 
And, being caught, may craftily enfold 
Theyr weaker harts, which are not wel aware ? 
Take heed therefore, myne eyes, how ye doe stare 
Henceforth too rashly on that guilefull net, 
In which if ever ye entrapped are, 
Out of her bands ye by no meanes shall get. 
Fondnesse it were for any, being free. 
To covet fetters, though they golden bee ! 


Arion, when, through tempests cruel wracke, 
He forth was thrown into the gi'eedy seas, 
Til rough the sweet musiek which his harp did make 
Allur'd a dolphin him from death to ease. 


But my rude musick, which was wont to please 
Some dainty eares, cannot, with any skill, 
The dreadful! tempest of her wrath appease, 
Nor move the dolphin from her stubborne will. 
But in her pride she dooth persever still, 
All carelesse how my life for her decayse : 
Yet with one word she can it save or spill. 
To spill were pitty, but to save were prayse ! 
Chuse rather to be praysd for doing good. 
Then to be blam'd for spilling guiltlesse blood. 


S"Wt;et smile ! the daughter of the Queene of Love, 
Expressing all thy mothers powrefull art, 
With which she wonts to temper angry love, 
When all the gods he threats with thundi'ing dart. 
Sweet is thy vertue, as thy selfe sweet art. 
For when on me thou shinedst late in sadnesse, 
A melting pleasance ran through every part. 
And me revived with hai-t-rol)bing gladnesse ; 
Whylest rapt with ioy resembling heavenly niad- 

My soule was ravisht quite, as in a traunce. 
And, feeling thence no more her sorowes sadnesst; 
Fed on the fulnesse of that chearefull glaunce. 
More sweet than nectar, or ambrosiall meat, 
Seem'd every bit which thenceforth I did eat. 


Mark when she smiles with amiable cheare, 
And tell me whereto can ye lyken it ; 
VVhen on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare 


An hundred Graces as in shade to sit. 
Lykest it seeraeth, in my simple wit, 
Unto the fayre sunshine in somers day, 
That, when a dreadfull storme away is flit, 
Thrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly ray: 
At sight whereof, each bird that sits on spray, 
And every beast that to his den was fled. 
Comes forth afresh out of their late dismay, 
And to the light lift up their drouping hed. 
So my storme-beaten hart likewise is cheared 
With that sunshine, when cloudy looks are cleared. 


Is it her nature, or is it her will. 

To be so cruell to an humbled foe ? 

If nature, then she may it mend with skill ; 

If will, then she at will may will forgoe. 

But if her nature and her will be so, 

That she will plague the man that loves her most, 

And take delight t' encrease a wretches woe, 

Then all her natures goodly guifts are lost ; 

And that same glorious beauties ydle boast 

Is but a bayt such wretches to beguile. 

As, being long in her loves tempest tost, 

She meanes at last to make her pitious spoyle. 

XL. 4. — An huiulred &races.'\ E. K., in his commentary on the 
S.ieplieards Calender, quotes a line closely resembling this from 
Spenser's Pageants: 

"An hundred Graces on her eyelids sat." 

The same fancy occurs in the Faerie Queene, and in the Hymn to 
Beauty. It is copied from a poem ascribed to Musaju~. C. 


O fayrest fayre ! let never it be named, 
That so fayre beauty was so fowly shamed. 


The love vv^hich me so cruelly tormenteth 
So pleasing is, in my extreamest paine, 
That, all the more my sorrow it augmenteth, 
The more I love and doe embrace my bane. 
Ne do I wish (for wishing were but vaine) 
To be acquit fro my continuall smart. 
But ioy her thrall for ever to I'emayne, 
And yield for pledge my poore captyved hart : 
The which, that it from her may never start, 
Let her, yf please her, bynd with adamant chayne, 
And from all wandring loves, which mote pervart 
His safe assurance, strongly it restrayne. 
Onely let her abstaine from cruelty. 
And doe me not before my time to dy. 


Shall I then silent be, or shall I speake ? 

And if I speake, her wrath renew I shall ; 

And if I silent be, my hart will breake, 

Or choked be with overflowing gall. 

What tyranny is this, both my hart to thrall. 

And eke my toung with proud restraint to tie; 

That neither I may speake nor thinke at all, 

But like a stupid stock in silence die ! 

Yet I my hart with silence secretly 

Will teach to speak and my just cause to plead, 

And eke mine eies, with meek humility. 

Love-learned letters to her eyes to read •, 


Wliich her deep wit, that true harts thought can spel, 
Wil soon conceive, and learne to construe well. 


When those renoumed noble peres of Greece 

Through stubborn pride among themselves did iar, 

ForgetfuU of the famous golden fleece, 

Then Orpheus with his harp theyr strife did bar. 

But this continuall, cruell, civill warre 

The which my selfe against my selfe doe make, 

Whilest my weak powres of passions warreid arre. 

No skill can stint, nor reason can aslake. 

But when in hand my tunelesse harp I take, 

Then doe I more augment my foes despight, 

And griefe renew, and passions doe awake 

To battaile, fresh against my selfe to fight. 

Mongst whome the more I seeke to settle peace, 
The more I fynd their malice to increace. 

Leave, Lady ! in your glasse of cristall clene 
Your goodly selfe for evermore to vew, 
And in my selfe, (my inward selfe I meane,) 
Most lively lyke behold your semblant trew. 
Within my hart, though hardly it can shew 
Thing so divine to vew of earthly eye. 
The fayre idea of your celestiall hew 
And every part remaines immortally : 
And were it not that through your cruelty 
With sorrow dimmed and deformd it were, 
The goodly ymage of your visnomy,' 

1 Vlsiiomy, countenance 


Clearer than cristall, would therein appere. 
But if your selfe in me ye playne will see, 
Remove the cause by which your fayre beames 
darkned be. 


When my abodes prefixed time is spent, 
My or u oil fayre streight bids me wend my way : 
But then from heaven most hideous stormes are eent, 
As willing me against her will to stay. 
Whom then shall I — or heaven, or her — obay? 
The heavens know best what is the best for me : 
But as she will, whose will my life doth sway, 
My lower heaven, so it perforce must bee. 
But ye high hevens, that all this sorowe see, 
Sith all your tempests cannot hold me backe, 
Aswage your storms, or else both you and she 
Will both together me too sorely wrack. 
Enouffh it is for one man to sustaine 
The stormes which she alone on me doth raine. 


Trust not the treason of those smyling lookes, 
Untill ye have theyr guylefull traynes well tryde ; 
For they are lyke but unto golden hookes. 
That from the foolish fish theyr bayts do hyde : 
So she with flattring smyles weake harts doth guyde 
Unto her love, and tempte to theyr decay ; 
Whome, being caught, she kills with cruell pryde, 
And feeds at pleasure on the wretched [)ray. 
Yet even whylst her bloody hands them sLiy, 
Her eyes looke lovely, and upon them smylc, 


That they take pleasure in their cruell play, 
And, dying, doe themselves of payne beguyle. 

mighty charm! which makes men love theyr bane, 
And thinck they dy with pleasure, live with payne 


Innocent paper ! whom too cruell hand 
Did make the matter to avenge her yre, 
And ere she could thy cause wel understand, 
Did sacrifize unto the greedy fyre. 
Well worthy thou to have found better hyre 
Then so bad end, for hereticks ordayned ; 
Yet heresy nor treason didst conspire. 
But plead thy maisters cause, unjustly payned : 
Whom she, all carelesse of his grief, constrayned 
To utter forth the anguish of his hart, 
And would not heare, when he to her complayned 
The piteous passion of his dying smart. 
Yet live for ever, though against her will, 
And speake her good, though she requite it ill. 


Fayre Cruell ! why are ye so fierce and cruell ? 
Is it because your eyes have powre to kill ? 
Then know that mercy is the Mighties iewell, 
And greater glory think to save then spill- 
But if it be your pleasure and proud will 
To shew the powre of your imperious eyes. 
Then not on him that never thought you ill, 
But bend your force against your enemyes. 
Let them feele tli' utmost of your crueltyes, 
And kill with looks, as cockatrices doo. 


But him that at your footstoole humbled lies, 
With mei'cifuU regard give mercy to. 

Such mercy shal you make admyred to be ; 

So shall you live, by giving hfe to me. 

Long languishing in double malady, 
Of my harts wound and of my bodies griefe, 
There came to me a leach, that would apply 
Fit medcines for my bodies best reliefe. 
Vayne man, quod I, that hast but little priefe * 
In deep discovery of the mynds disease ; 
Is not the hart of all the body chiefe, 
And rules the members as it selfe doth please ? 
Then with some cordialls seeke for to appease 
The inward languor of my wounded hart. 
And then my body shall have shortly ease. 
But such sweet cordialls passe physitions art : 
Then, my lyfes leach ! doe you your skill reveale, 
And with one salve both hart and body heale. 


Doe I not see that fayrest ymages 

Of hardest marble are of purpose made. 

For that they should endure through many ages, 

Ne let theyr famous moniments to fade ? 

Why then doe I, untrainde in lovers trade, 

Her hardnos blame, which I should more commend ? 

Sith never jught was excellent assayde 

Which was not hard t' atchive and bring to end ; 

Ne ought so hard, but he that would attend 

' Priefe, proof, experience. 


Mote soften it and to his will allure. 

So doe I hope her stubborne hart to bend, 

And that it then more stedfast will endure : 

Onely my paines wil be the more to get her ; 

But, having her, my ioy wil be the greater 


So oft as homeward I fi-om her depart, 
I go lyke one that, having lost the field, 
Is prisoner led away with heavy hart, 
Despoyld of warlike armes and knowen shield. 
So doe I now my selfe a prisoner yield 
To sorrow and to solitary paine, 
From presence of my dearest deare exylde, 
Longwhile alone in languor to remaine. 
There let no thought of ioy, or pleasure vaine, 
Dare to approch, that may my solace breed ; 
But sudden ^ dumps,^ and drery sad disdayne 
Of all worlds gladnesse, more my torment feed. 
So I her absens will my penaunce make, 
That of her presens I my meed may take. 


Thic panther, knowing that his spotted hyde 

Doth please all beasts, but that his looks them fray,"** 

Within a bush his dreadfull head doth hide, 

To let them gaze, whylst he on them may pray. 

Right so ray cruell fayre with me doth play ; 

For with the goodly semblant of her hew 

She doth allure me to mine owne d(!cay, 

1 Sudden, qu. sullen f 8 Fratf frightea. 

8 Dwnps, himentations. 


And then no mercy will unto me shew. 
Great shame it is, thing so divine' in view, 
Made for to be the worlds most ornament. 
To make the bayte her gazers to embrew : 
Good shames to be to ill an instrument : 
But mercy doth with beautie best agree, 
As in theyr Maker ye them best may see. 


Of this worlds theatre in which we stay. 
My Love, like the spectator, ydly sits, 
Beholding me, that all the pageants play, 
Disguysing diversly my troubled wits. 
Sometimes I ioy when glad occasion fits. 
And mask in myrth lyke to a comedy : 
Soone after, when my ioy to sorrow flits, 
I waile, and make my woes a tragedy. 
Yet she, beholding me with constant eye. 
Delights not in my mirth, not rues my smart : 
But when I laugh, she mocks ; and when I cry, 
She laughes, and hardens evermore her hart. 

What then can move her? If nor mirth, nor raone, 
She is no woman, but a sencelesse stone. 


So oft as I her beauty doe behold, 

And therewith doe her cruelty compare, 

I marvaile of what substance was the mould 

The which her made attonce so cruell faire. 

Not earth ; for her high thoghts more heavenly are : 

Not water ; for her love doth burne like fyre : 

Not ayre ; for she is not so light or t-jivo : 


Not fyre ; for she doth friese with faint desire. 
Then needs another element inquire, 
Whereof she mote be made ; that is, the skye. 
For to the heaven her haughty looks aspire, 
And eko her love is pure immortall hye. 

Then sith to heaven ye lykened are the best, 

Be lyke in mercy as in all the rest. 


Fatre ye be sure, but cruell and unkind, 

As is a tygre, that with greedinesse 

Hunts after bloud ; when he by chance dotli find 

A feeble beast, doth felly him oppresse. 

Fayre be ye sure, but proud and pitilesse, 

As is a storme, that all things doth prostrate ; 

Finding a tree alone all comfortlesse, 

Beats on it strongly, it to ruinate. 

Fayre be ye sure, but hard and obstinate. 

As is a rocke amidst the raging floods ; 

Gaynst which a ship, of succour desolate, 

Doth suffer wreck both of her selfe and goods. 
That ship, that tree, and that same beast, am I, 
Whom ye doe wreck, doe mine, and destroy. 


Sweet warriour ! when shall I have peace with you ? 

High time it is this warre now ended were, 

Which I no lenger can endure to sue, 

Ne your incessant battry more to beare. 

So weake my powi-es, so sore my wounds, appeurc. 

That wonder is how I should live a iot, 

Seeing my hart through-launched every where 


With thousand arrowes which your eies have shot. 
Yet shoot ye sharpely still, and spare me not, 
But glory thinke to make these cruel stoures.^ 
Ye cruell one ! what glory can be got, 
In slaying him that would live gladly yours ? 

Make peace therefore, and graunt me timely grace, 
That al my wounds will heale in little space. 


By her that is most assured to her selfe. 

Weake is th' assuranct that weake flesh reposeth 
In her own powre, and icorneth others ayde ; 
That soonest fals, when as she most supposeth 
Her selfe assur'd, and is of nought affrayd. 
All flesh is frayle, and all her strength unstayd, 
Like a vaine bubble blowen up Avith ayre : 
Devouring tyme and changeful chance have prayd - 
Her glorious pi'ide, that none may it repayre. 
Ne none so rich or wise, so strong or fayre. 
But fayleth, trusting on his owne assurance : 
And he that standeth on the hyghest stay re 
Fals lowest ; for on earth nought hath endurance. 
Why then doe ye, proud fayre, misdeeme so farre, 
That to your selfe ye most assured arre ! 


TiiRiSE happie she that is so well assured 
Unto her selfe, and setled so in hart, 

i Sloures, agitations. 2 Prayd, preyed upon. 

LVIII. — By her, &c.] By is perhaps a misprint for to; or thif 
title may belong to Sonnet LIX. H. 


That neithex" will for better be allured, 
Ne feard with worse to any chaunce to start: 
But, like a steddy ship, doth strongly part 
The raging waves, and keepes her course aright, 
Ne ought for tempest doth from it depart, 
Ne ought for fayrer weathers false delight. 
Such selfe-assurance need not feare the spight 
Of grudging foes, ne favour seek of friends : 
But in the stay of her owne stedfast might. 
Neither to one her selfe nor other bends. 

Most happy she that most assured doth rest ; 

But he most happy who such one loves best. 


They that in course of heavenly spheares are skild 
To every planet point his sundry yeare. 
In which her circles voyage is fulfild : 
As Mars in three score yeares doth run his spheare. 
So, since the winged god his planet cleare 
Began in me to move, one yeare is spent ; 
The which doth longer unto me appeare, 
Then al those fourty which my life out-went. 
Then, by that count which lovers books invent, 
The spheare of Cupid fourty yeares containes, 
Which I have wasted in long languishment. 
That seem'd the longer for my greater paines. 
But let my Loves fayre planet short her waye.s 
This yeare ensuing, or else short my dayes. 

LX. 4. — As Mars in three score yeares.] I do not understand 
Spenser's astronomy. C. 



The glorious image of the Makers beautie, 
My soverayne saynt, the idoll of my thought, 
Dare not henceforth, above the bounds of dewtie, 
T' accuse of pride, or rashly blame for ought. 
For being, as she is, divinely wrought, 
And of the brood of angels hevenly born, 
And with the crew of blessed saynts upbrought, 
Each of which did her with theyr guifts adorne, 
The bud of ioy, the blossome of the niorne. 
The beame of light, whom mortal eyes admyre, 
What reason is it then but she should scorne 
Base things, that to her love too bold aspire ! 
Such heavenly formes ought rather worshipt be, 
Then dare be lov'd by men of meane degree. 


The weary yeare his race now having run, 
The new begins his compast course anew : 
With shew of morning mylde he hath begun, 
Betokening peace and plenty to ensew. 
So let us, which this chaunge of weather vew, 
Chaunge eeke our mynds, and former lives amend ; 
The old yeares sinnes forepast let us eschew. 
And fly the faults with which we did offend. 
Then shall the new yeares ioy forth freshly send 
Into the glooming world his gladsome ray, 
And all these stormes, which now his beauty blend,* 
Shall turne to caulmes, and tymely cleare away. 
So, likewise, Love ! cheare you your heavy spright, 
And chaunge old yeares annoy to new delight. 

1 Blend, blemish. 
VOL. v. 18 

274 AMORETTl. 


After long stormes and tempests sad assay. 

Which hardly I endured heretofore, 

In dread of death, and daungerous dismay, 

With which my silly barke was tossed sore, 

I doe at length descry the happy shore, 

In which I hope ere long for to arry ve : 

Fayre soyle it seemes from far, and fraught with store 

Of all that deare and daynty is aly ve. 

Most happy he that can at last atchyve 

The ioyous safety of so sweet a rest ; 

Whose least delight sufficeth to deprive 

Remembrance of all paines which him opprest. 

All paines are nothing in respect of this ; 

All sorrowes short that gaine eternall blisse. 


COMMING to kisse her lyps, (such grace I found,) 
Me seemd I smelt a gardin of sweet flowres, 
That dainty odours from them threw around, 
For damzels fit to decke their lovers bowres. 
Her lips did smell lyke unto gillyflowei's ; 
Her ruddy cheekes lyke unto roses red ; 
Her snowy browes lyke budded bellamoures ; 
Her lovely eyes lyke pincks but newly spred ; 
Her goodly bosorae lyke a strawberry bed ; 
Her neck lyke to a bounch of cullambynes ; 
Her brest lyke lillyes, ere their leaves be shed ; 
Her nipples lyke young blossomd jessemynes. 

(Such fragrant flowres doe give most odorous smell; 

But her sweet odour did them all excell. 

LXIV. 7. — Belldmoures.] I have not discovered what flower 
Is here meant. C. 



TuE doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre Love, is vaine, 
That fondly feare to lose your liberty, 
When, losing one, two liberties ye gayne, 
And make him bond that bondage earst did fly. 
Sweet be the bands the whieh true love doth tye, 
Without constraynt or dread of any ill : 
The gentle birde feeles no captivity 
Within her cage, but sings, and feeds her fill. 
There pride dare not approch, nor discord spill 
The league twixt them that loyal love hath bound, 
But simple Truth and mutual Good-will 
Seekes with sweet peace to salve each others wound : 
There Fayth doth fearless dwell in brasen towre, 
And spotlesse Pleasure builds her sacred bowre. 


To all those happy blessings which ye have 
With plenteous hand by heaven upon you thrown, 
This one disparagement they to you gave. 
That ye your love lent to so meane a one. 
Ye, whose high worths surpassing paragon 
Could not ort earth ha\e found one fit for mate, 
Ne but in heaven matchable to none, 
Why did ye stoup unto so lowly state ? 
But ye thereby much greater glory gate, 
Then had ye sorted with a princes pere : 
For now your light doth more it selfe dilate, 
And, in my darknesse, greater doth appeare. 
Yet, since your light hath once enlumind me, 
With my reflex yours shall encreased be. 


Ltkr as a huntsman, after weary chace, 
Seeing the game from him escapt away, 
Sits downe to rest him in some shady place, 
With panting iiounds, beguiled of their pray, 
So, after long pursuit and vaine assay, 
When I all weary had the chace forsooke, 
The gentle deere returnd the selfe-same way, 
Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke. 
There she, beholding me with mylder looke, 
Sought not to fly, but fearlesse still did bide, 
Till I in hand her yet halfe trembling tooke, 
And with her owne goodwill her fyrmely tyde. 
Strange thing, me seemd, to see a beast so wyld 
So goodly wonne, with her owne will beguyld. 


Most glorious Lord of lyfe ! that on this day 
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin, 
And, having harrowd ^ hell, didst bring away 
Captivity thence captive, us to win. 
This ioyous day, deare Lord, with ioy begin ; 
And grant that we, for w^hom thou diddest dy. 
Being with thy deare blood clene washt from sin, 
May live for ever in felicity ; 
And that thy love we weighing worthily. 
May likewise love thee for the same againe. 
And for thy sake, that all lyke deare didst buy. 
W^ith love may one another ei.tertayne ! 

So let us love, deare Love, lyke as we ought : 
Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. 


1 Harrowd, despoiled. 



The famous warriors of the anticke world 
Us'd trophees to erect in stately wize, 
In which they would the records have enrold 
Of theyr great deeds and valorous emprize, 
What trophee then shall I most fit devize, 
In which I may record the memory 
Of my loves conquest, peerelesse beauties prise, 
Adorn'd with honour, love, and chastity ! 
Even this verse, vowd to eternity, 
Shall be thereof immortall moniment, 
And tell her praise to all posterity, 
That may admire such worlds rare wonderment ; 
The happy purchase of ray glorious spoile, 
Gotten at last with labour and long toyle. 


Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty king, 

In whose cote-armour richly are displayd 

All sorts of flowres the which on earth do spring, 

In goodly colours gloriously arrayd, 

Goe to my Love, where she is carelesse layd, 

Yet in her wintei's bowre, not well awake ; 

Tell her the ioyous time wil not be staid, 

Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take : 

Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make. 

To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew, , 

Where every one that niisseth then her make* 

Shall be by him amearst with penance dew. 

Make haste therefore, sweet Love, whilst itis prime^; 

For none can call againe the passed time. 

1 Make, mate 2 Prime, spring. 



I lOY to see how, in your drawen work, 
Your selfe unto the Bee ye doe compare, 
And me unto the Spyder, that doth hirke 
In close awayt, to catch her unaware. 
Right so your selfe were caught in cunning snare 
Of a deare foe, and thralled to his love ; 
In whose streight bands ye now captived are 
So firraely, that ye never may remove. 
But as your worke is woven all above 
With woodbynd flowers and fragrant eglantine, 
So sweet your prison you in time shall prove, 
With many deare delights bedecked fyne : 
Aiid all thensforth eternall peace shall see 
Betweene the Spyder and the gentle Bee. 


Oft when my spirit doth spred her bolder winges, 
In mind to mount up to the purest sky, 
It down is weighd with thoght of earthly things, 
And clogd with burden of mortality : 
Where, when that soverayne beauty it doth spy, 
Resembling heavens glory in her light, 
Drawne with sweet pleasures bayt it back doth fly, 
And unto heaven forgets her former flight. 
There my fraile fancy, fed with full delight, 
Doth bathe in blisse, and mantleth most at ease ; 
Ne thinks of other heaven, but how it might 
Her harts desire with most contentment please. 
Hart need not wish none other happinesse. 
But here on earth to have such hevens blisse. 

AMORETTl. 279 


Being my self captyvccl here in care, 
My hart, (whom none with servile bands can tye, 
But the fayre tresses of your golden hayre,) 
Breaking his prison, forth to you doth fly. 
Like as a byrd, that in ones hand doth spy 
Desired food, to it doth make his flight, 
Even so my hart, that wont on your fayre eye 
To feed his fill, flyes backe unto your sight. 
Doe you him take, and in your bosome bright 
Gently encage, that he may be your thrall : 
Perhaps he there may learne, with rare delight, 
To sing your name and prayses over all : 
That it hereafter may you not repent, 
Him lodging in your bosome to have lent. 


Most happy letters ! fram'd by skilfull trade. 
With which that happy name was first desynd 
The which three times thrise happy hath me made, 
With guifts of body, fortune, and of mind. 
The first my being to me gave by kind. 
From mothers womb deriv'd by dew descent : 
The second is my sovereigne Queene most kind. 
That honour and large richesse to me lent : 
The third my Love, my lives last ornament, 
By whom my spirit out of dust was raysed, 
To speake her prayse and glory excellent, 
Of all alive most worthy to be praysed. 
Ye three Elizabeths ! for ever live. 
That three such graces did unto me give. 



One day I wrote her name upon the strand, 

But came the waves and washed it away : 

Agayne I wrote it with a second hand ; 

But came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray 

" Vayne man," sayd she, " that doest in vaine assay 

A mortall thing so to immortalize ; 

For I my selve shall lyke to this decay, 

And eek my name bee wyped out lykewize." 

" Not so," quod I ; " let baser things devize 

To dy in dust, but you shall live by fame : 

My verse your vertues rare shall eternize. 

And in the hevens wryte your glorious name; 

Where, when as death shall all the world subdew. 
Our love shall live, and later life renew." 


Fatre bosome, fraught wth vertues richest tresuni, 
The neast of love, the lodging of delight, 
The bowre of blisse, the paradice of pleasure, 
The sacred harbour of that lievenly spright ; 
How was I ravisht with your lovely sight, 
And my frayle thoughts too rashly led astray, 
Whiles diving deepe through amorous insight, 
On the sweet spoyle of beautie they did pray. 
And twixt her paps, like early fruit in May, 
Whose harvest seemd to hasten now apace. 
They loosely did theyr wanton winges display. 
And there to rest themselves did boldly place ! 
Sweet thoughts ! I envy your so happy rest, 
Which oft 1 wisht, yet never was so blest. 



Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne ? 
A goodly table of pure y vory, 
All spred with juncats fit to entertayne 
The greatest prince with pompous roialty : 
Mongst which, there in a silver dish did ly 
Two golden apples of unvalewd ^ price, 
Far passing those which Hercules came by, 
Or those which Atalanta did entice ; 
Exceeding sweet, yet voyd of sinfull vice ; 
That many sought, yet none could ever taste ; 
Sweet fruit of pleasure, brought from Paradice 
By Love himselfe, and in his garden plaste. 

Her brest that table was, so richly spredd ; 

My thoughts the guests, which would thereon have 


Lackyng my Love, I go from place to place, 
Lyke a young fawne that late hath lost tlie hynd, 
And seeke each where where last I sawe her face, 
Whose ymage yet I carry fresh in mynd. 
1 seeke the fields with her late footing synd ; 
I seeke her bowre with her late presence deckt ; 
Yet nor in field nor bowre I can her fynd, 
Yet field and bowre are full of her aspect. 
But when myne eyes I therunto direct, 
rhey ydly back returne to me agayne ; 
And when I hope to see theyr trew obiect, 
I fynd my self but fed with fancies vayne. 

1 Unvalewdy invaluable. 


Ceasse then, myne eyes, to seeke her selfe to see, 
And let my thoughts behold her selfe in mee. 


Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it, 

For that your selfe ye daily such doe see : 

But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit 

And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of me. 

For all the rest, how ever fayre it be. 

Shall turne to nought and loose that glorious hew ; 

But onely that is permanent, and free 

From frayle corruption that doth flesh ensew. 

That is true beautie : that doth argue you 

To be divine, and borne of heavenly seed, 

Deriv'd from that fayre Spirit from whom al true 

And perfect beauty did at first proceed. 

He only foyre, and what he fayre hath made ; 

All other fayre, lyke flowres, untymely fade. 


After so long a race as I have run 

Through Faery land, which those six books compile 

Give leave to rest me, being half foredonne, 

And gather to my selfe new breath awhile. 

Then, as a steed refreshed after toyle. 

Out of my prison I will break anew. 

And stoutly will that second work assoyle,^ 

With strong endevour and attention dew. 

Till then give leave to me in pleasant mew ^ 

To sport my muse, and sing my Loves sweet praise, 

^ Assoyle, discharge. ^ Mew, prison, retre:\t. 


The contemplation of whose heavenly hew 

My spirit to an higher pitch will rayse. 
But let her prayses yet be low and meane, 
Fit for the handmayd of the Faery Queene. 


Fayre is my Love, when her fayre golden heares 
With the loose wynd ye waving chance to marke ; 
Fayre, when the rose in her red cheekes appeares, 
Or in her eyes the fyre of love does sparke ; 
Fayre, when her brest, lyke a rich laden barke 
With pretious merchandize, she forth doth lay ; 
Fayre, when that cloud of pryde, which oft doth dark 
Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away. 
But fayrest she, when so she doth display 
The gate with pearles and rubyes richly dight, 
Throgh which her words so wise do make their way, 
To beare the message of her gentle spright. 

The rest be woi'ks of Natures wonderment ; 

But this the worke of harts astonishment. 


loY of my life ! full oft for loving you 
I blesse my lot, that was so lucky placed : 
But then the more your owne mishap I rew. 
That are so much by so meane love embased. 
For had the equall hevens so much you graced 
In this as in the rest, ye mote invent ^ 
Sora hevenly wit, whose verse could have enchased 
Your glorious name in golden moniment. 

1 Invent, light upon, find. 


But since ye deignd so goodly to relent 

To me your thrall, in whom is little worth, 

That little that I am shall all be spent 

In setting your immortal prayses forth : 
Whose lofty argument, uplifting me. 
Shall lift you up unto an high degree. 


Let not one sparke of filthy lustfull fyre 
Breake out, that may her sacred peace molest ; 
Ne one light glance of sensuall desyre 
Attempt to work her gentle mindes unrest • 
But pure affections bred in spotlesse brest. 
And modest thoughts breathd from well-tempred spirits, 
Goe visit her in her chaste bowre of rest, 
Accompanyde with angelick delightes. 
There fill your selfe with those most ioyous sights, 
The which my selfe could never yet attayne : 
But speake no word to her of these sad plights. 
Which her too constant stifFnesse doth constrayn. 
Onely behold her rare perfection, 
And blesse your fortunes fayre election. 


The world, that cannot deeme of worthy things. 
When I doe praise her, say I doe but flatter : 
So does the cuckow, when the mavis ' sings. 
Begin his witlesse note apace to clatter. 
But they that skill not of so heavenly matter, 
All that they know not, envy or admyre ; 

1 Mavis, song-thrush. 


Rather then envj, let them wonder at her, 
But not to deeme of her desert aspyre. 
Deepe in the closet of ray parts entyre,* 
Her worth is written with a golden quill, 
That me with heavenly fury doth inspire, 
And my glad mouth with her sweet prayses fill : 

Which when as Fame in her shrill trump shall 

Let the world chose to envy or to wonder. 


Venemous toung, tipt with vile adders sting, 
Of that self kynde with which the Fui-ies fell 
Theyr snaky heads doe combe, from which a spring 
Of poysoned words and spightfull speeches well, 
Let all the plagues and horrid paines of hell 
Upon thee fall for thine accursed hyre, 
That with false forged lyes, which thou didst tel,. 
In my true Love did stirre up coles of yre : 
The sparkes whereof let kindle thine own fyre, 
And, catching hold on thine own wicked hed, 
Consume thee quite, that didst with guile conspire 
In my sweet peace such breaches to have bred ! 
Shame be thy meed, and mischiefe thy reward, 
Due to thy selfe, that it for me prepard ! 


Since I did leave the presence of my Love, 
Many long weary dayes I have outworne. 
And many nights, that slowly seemd to move 
Theyr sad protract from evening untill mome. 

1 EnUjre, inward. 


For, when as day the heaven doth adorne, 
I wish that night the noyous day would end : 
And when as night hath us of light forlorne, 
I wifh that day would shortly reascend. 
Thus I the time with expectation spend, 
And faine my griefe with chaunges to beguile, 
That further seemes his terme still to extend, 
And raaketh every minute seem a myle. 

So sorrowe still doth seem too long to last ; 

But ioyous houres doe fly away too fast. 


Since I have lackt the comfort of that light 
The which was wont to lead my thoughts astray, 
I wander as in darknesse of the night, 
Affrayd of every dangers least dismay. 
Ne ought I see, though in the clearest day, 
When others gaze upon theyr shadowes vayne. 
But th'onely image of that heavenly ray. 
Whereof some glance doth .n mine eie remayne. 
Of which beholding the idsea playne. 
Through contemplation of my purest jiart, 
With light thereof I doe my selfe sustayne, 
And thereon feed my love-afTaraisht hart. 

But with such brightnesse whylest I fill my mind, 
I starve my body, and mine eyes doe blynd. 


Lyke as the culver ^ on the bared bough 
Sits mourning for tiie absence of her mate, 
And in her songs sends many a wishfull vow 

1 Culver, dove. 


For his returne, that seemes to linger late, 

So I alone, now left disconsolate, 

Mourne to my selfe the absence of my Love ; 

And wandring here and there all desolate, 

Seek with my playnts to match that mournful dove: 

Ne ioy of ought that under heaven doth hove * 

Can comfort me, but her owne ioyous sight, 

Whose sweet aspect both god and man can move, 

[n her unspotted pleasauns to delight. 

Dark is my day whyles her fayre light I mis, 
And dead my life that wants such lively blis. 

1 B3ve, hover, exist. 


Ye learned Sisters, which have oftentimes 

Beene to me ayding, others to adorne 

Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes, 

That even the greatest did not greatly scorne 

To heare theyr names sung in your simple layes, s 

But ioyed in theyr praise ; 

And when ye list your own mishaps to mourne, 

Wliich death, or love, or fortunes wreck did rayse, 

Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne, 

And teach the woods and waters to lament lo 

Your dolefuU dreriment ; 

Now lay those sorrowful! complaints aside, 

And having all your heads with girlands crownd, 

Helpe me mine owne Loves prayses to resound : 

Ne let the same of any be envide : is 

So Orpheus did for his owne bride ; 

So I unto my selfe alone will sing ; 

The woods shall to me answer, and ray eccho ring. 

Early, before the worlds light-giving lampe 

His golden beame upon the liils doth spred, m 

Having disperst the nights unchearefull dampe, 


Doe ye awake, and, with fresh lustyhed, 

Go to the bowre of ray beloved Love, 

My truest turtle dove. 

Bid her awake ; for Hymen is awake, ae 

And long since ready forth his raaske to move, 

With his bright tead^ that flames with many a flake, 

And many a bachelor to waite on him, 

In theyr fresh garments trim. 

Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight,^ so 

For loe ! the wished day is come at last, 

That shall for al the paynes and sorrowes past 

Pay to her usury of long delight : 

And whylest she doth her dight, 

Doe ye to her of ioy and solace sing, 86 

That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. 

Bring with you all the nymphes that you can heare. 

Both of the rivers and the forrests greene. 

And of the sea that neighbours to her neare. 

All with gay girlands goodly wel beseene.^ 40 

And let them also with them bring in hand 

Another gay girland. 

For my fayre Love, of lillyes and of roses, 

Bound truelove wize with a blew silke riband. 

And let them make great store of bridale poses. 

And let them eeke bring store of other flowers, 

To deck the bridale bowers : 

And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread, 

For feare the stones her tender foot should wrong, 

Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along, «j 

1 Tend, torch. 2 J)ic/ht, deck. 8 Beseem, adorned- 

V. „. V. 19 


And diapred ' lyke the discolored mead. 

Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt, 

For she will waken strayt ; 

The whiles do ye this song unto her sing, 

The woods shall to you answer, and your eccho ring. 

Ye Nymphes of Mulla, which with carefull heed ea 

The silver scaly trouts do tend full well, 

And greedy pikes which use therein to feed, 

(Those trouts and pikes all others doe excell,) 

And ye likewise which keepe the rushy lake, oo 

Where none doo fishes take, 

Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd Ught, 

And in his waters, which your mirror make, 

Behold your faces as the christall bright. 

That when you come whereas my Love doth lie, es 

No blemish she may spie. 

And eke, ye lightfoot mayds which keepe the dere 

That on the hoary mountayne use to towre. 

And the wylde wolves, which seeke them to devoure, 

With your Steele darts doe chace from comming neer, 

Be also present heere, 71 

To helpe to decke her, and to help to sing. 

That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. 

Wake now, my Love, awake ! for it is time : 

The rosy Morne long since left Tithones bed, 76 

All ready to her silver coche to clyme, 

And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed. 

Hark ! how the cheerefuU birds do chaunt theyr laies, 

1- Diapred, variegated. 


A.nd Carroll of loves praise : 

The merry larke hir mattins sings aloft ; so 

The thrush replyes ; the mavis ^ descant * playes ; 

The ouzell " shrills ; the ruddock * warbles soft ; 

So goodly all agree, with sweet consent, 

To this dayes meriment. 

Ah ! my deere Love, why doe ye sleepe thus long, ss 

When meeter w^ere that ye should now awake, 

T' awayt the comming of your ioyous make,'' 

And hearken to the birds love-learned song, 

The deawy leaves among ! 

For they of ioy and pleasance to you sing, 90 

That all the woods them answer, and tlieyr eccho ring. 

My love is now awake out of her dreame, 
And her fa}Te eyes, like stars that dimmed were 
With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly beams 
More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere. 96 
Come now, ye damzels, daughters of delight, 
Helpe quickly her to dight. 

 But first come, ye fayre Houres, which were begot, 
In loves sw^eet paradice, of Day and Night, 
Which doe the seasons of the year allot, ion 

And al that ever in this world is fayre 
Do make and still repayre : 

And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian Queene, 
The whi<jh doe still adorn her beauties pride, 
Helpe to adorne my beautifullest bride : ica 

1 Mavis, song-thrush. * Ruddock, redbreast. 

3 Descant, variation. * Make, mate. 

• Ouzell, blackbird. 


And, as ye her array, still throw betvveene 

Some graces to be seene ; 

And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing. 

The whiles the woods shal answer, and your eccho ring. 

Now is my Love all ready forth to come : no 

Let all the virgins therefore well awayt, 

And ye fresh boyes, that tend upon her groome, 

Prepare your selves, for he is comming strayt. 

Set all your tilings in seeraely good aray, 

Fit for so ioyfuU day, 116 

The ioyfulst day that ever sunne did see. 

Fair Sun ! shew forth thy favourable ray, 

And let thy lifull ^ heat not fervent be, 

For feare of burning her sunshyny face, 

Her beauty to disgrace. lao 

O fayrest Phoebus ! Father of the Muse ! 

If ever I did honour thee aright, 

Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight, 

Doe not thy servants simple boone refuse, 

But let this day, let this one day, be mine ; 128 

Let all the rest be thine. 

Then I thy soverayne prayses loud wil sing, 

That all the woods shal answer, and theyr eccho ring. 

Harke ! how the minstrels gin to shrill aloud 
Their merry musick that resounds fi-om far, 13& 

The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling croud,- 
That well agree withouten breach or iar. 
But most of all the damzels doe delite, 

1 Lifull, life-full. 2 Crotid, violin. 


When they their tymbrels srayte, 

And thereunto doe daunce and cari'ol sweet, 195 

That all the sences they doe ravish quite ; 

The whyles the boyes run up and downe the street, 

Crying aloud with strong confused noyce, 

As if it were one voyce ; 

" Hymen, 16 Hymen, Hymen," they do shout ; 140 

That even to the heavens theyr shouting shrill 

Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill ; 

To which the people, standing all about, 

As in approvance, doe thereto applaud, 

And loud advaunce her laud ; ue 

And evermore they " Hymen, Hymen," sing, 

That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring. 

Loe ! where she comes along with portly pace, 

Lyke Phcebe, from her chamber of the East, 

Arysing forth to run her mighty race, leo 

Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. 

So well it her beseemes, that ye would weene 

Some angell she had beene. 

Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre, 

Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres atweene, 

Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre, 160 

And, being crowned with a girland greene. 

Seem lyk(3 some mayden queene. 

Her modest eyes, aba<lied to behold 

So many gazers as on her do stare, 160 

Upon the lowly gi-ound affixed are, 

Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, 

But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud, — 

So farre from being proud. 


Nathlesse,doe ye still loud her prayses sing, ise 

That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. 

Tell me, ye merchants daughters, did ye see 

So fayre a creature in your towne befoi-e ; 

So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, 

Adornd with beautyes grace and vertues store ? no 

Her goodly eyes lyke saphyres shining bright, 

Her forehead yvory white. 

Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath rudded, 

Her lips lyke cherryes, charming men to byte, 

Her brest like to a bowl of creame uncrudded,* i76 

Her paps lyke lyllies budded, 

Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre, 

And all her body like a pallace fayre, 

Ascending uppe, with many a stately stayre. 

To honors seat and chastities sweet bowre. iso 

Why stand ye still, ye virgins, in amaze. 

Upon her so to gaze. 

Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing, 

To which the woods did answer, and your eccho ring? 

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, iss 

The inward beauty of her lively spright, 
Garnisht with heavenly guifts of high degree, 
Much more then would ye wonder at that sight. 
And stand astonisht lyke to those which red ^ 

1 Uncrudded, uncurdled. 2 ^eJ, saw. 

Ver. 168. — In your tozone.] The marriage seems to have taken 
place in Cork, and we miglit infer from this passage that the 
Ueroine of the song was a merchant's daughter. C. 


Medusaes mazeful bed. 190 

There dwells sweet Love, and constant Ciuistity, 

Unspotted Fayth, and comely Womanhood, 

Regard of Honour, and mild Modesty ; 

There Vertue raynes as (Jueene in royal throne, 

And giveth lawes alone, 193 

The which the base affections doe obay, 

And yeeld theyr services unto her will ; 

Ne thought of things uncomely ever may 

Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill. 

Had ye once seene these her celestial threasures, 200 

And unrevealed pleasures. 

Then would ye wonder, and her prayses sing, 

That all the woods should answer, and your eccho ring. 

Open the temple gates unto my Love, 

Open them wide that she may enter in, 20a 

And all the postes adorne as doth behove, 

And all the pillours deck with girlands trim. 

For to receyve this saynt with honour dew, 

That commeth in to you. 

With trembling steps, and humble reverence, 210 

She commeth in before th' Almighties view : 

Of her, ye virgins, learn e obedience, 

When so ye come into those holy places, 

To humble your proud faces. 

Bring her up to th' high altar, that she may 215 

The sacred ceremonies there partake, 

The which do endlesse matrimony make; 

And let the roring organs loudly play 

The prjiises of the Lord in lively notes ; 

The whiles, with hollow throates, 220 


The choristers the ioyous antheme sing, 

That all the woods may answere,and their eccho ring. 

Behold, whiles she before the altar stands, 

Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes 

And blesseth her with his two happy hands, 226 

How the red roses flush up in her cheekes, 

And the pure snow with goodly vermill stayne, 

Like crirasin dyde in grayne : 

That even the angels, wliich continually 

About the sacred altar doe remaine, 230 

Forget their service and about her fly, 

Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more fayre 

The more they on it stare. 

But her sad * eyes, still fastened on the ground. 

Are governed with goodly modesty, 235 

That suffers not one look to glaunce awry. 

Which may let in a little thought unsownd. 

Why blush ye, Love, to give to me your hand, 

The pledge of all our band ? 

Sing, ye sweet angels, Alleluya sing, 240 

That all the woods may answere, and your eccho ring. 

Now al is done ; bring home the bride againe ; 

Bring home the triumph of our victory ; 

Bring liome with you the glory of her gaine, 

With ioynnce bring her and with iollity. sis 

N<^ver had man more io}'fun day then this, 

Wiiom heaven would heape with blis. 

Make feast therefore now all this live-long day ; 

1 Sad, serious 


This day foi ever to me holy is. 

Poure out the wine without restraint or stay, 200 

Poure not by cups, but by the belly -full, 

Poure out to all that wull,^ 

And sprinkle all the posts and wals with wine, 

That they may sweat, and druiiken be withall. 

Crowne ye god Bacchus with a coronall, 256 

And Hymen also crowne with wreaths of vine ; 

And let the Graces daunce unto the rest, 

For they can doo it best : 

The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroll sing, 

To which the woods shal answer, and theyr ecchoring. 

Ring ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne, zci 

And leave your wonted labors for this day : 

This day is holy ; doe ye write it downe, 

That ye for ever it remember may. 

This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight, 286 

With Barnaby the bright. 

From whence declining daily by degrees, 

He somewhat loseth of his heat and light, 

When once the Crab behind his back he sees. 

But for this time it ill ordained was, 'zio 

To choose the longest day in all the yeare, 

And shortest night, when longest fitter weare : 

Yet never day so long, but late would passe. 

1 Wull, will. 

Ver. 266. — Barnaby the bright.] The difference between the 
old and new style at the time this poem was written was ten 
days. The summer solstice therefore fell on St. Barnaba ;'3 day, 
the 11th of June. C. 


Ring ye the bels to make it weare away, 

And boiiefiers make all day ; 275 

And daunce about them, and about them sing, 

That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. 

Ah ! when will this long weary day have end, 

And lende me leave to come unto my Love ! 

How slowly do the houres theyr numbers spend ! 28O 

How slowly does sad Time his feathers move ! 

Hast thee, fayrest planet, to thy home. 

Within the westerne feme : 

Thy tyred steedes long since have need of rest. 

Long though it be, at last I see it gloome, aso 

And the bright evening-star with golden creast 

Appeare out of the east. 

Fayre childe of beauty ! glorious lampe of love ! 

That all the host of heaven in rankes doost lead, 

And guidest lovers through the nights sad dread, 290 

How chearefully thou lookest from above, 

And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling light, 

As ioying in the sight 

Of these glad many, which for ioy do sing, 294 

That all the woods them answer, and their eccho ring ! 

Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights fore-past ; 

Enough is it that all the day was youres : 

Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast ; 

Now bring the bryde into the brydall bowres. 

The night is come ; now soone her disaray, m 

And in her bed her lay ; 

Lay her in lillies and in violets, 

And silken courteinsover her display, 


A-iid odourd sheets, and Arras coverlets. 
Behold how goodly my faire Love does ly, soo 

In proud humility ! 

Like unto Maia, when as love her took 
In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras, 
Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary was 
With bathing in the Acidalian brooke. sio 

No^v it is night, ye damsels may be gone, 
And leave my Love alone. 
And leave likewise your former lay to sing : 
The woods no more shal answer, nor youi- eccho 

Now welcome, night ! thou night so long expected, 

That long dales labour doest at last defray, 314 

And all my cares, which cruell Love collected, 

Hast surad in one, and cancelled for aye. 

Spread thy broad wing over my Love and me, 

That no man may us see ; sm 

And in thy sable mantle us enwrap. 

From feare of perrill and foule horror free. 

Let no false treason seeke us to entrap, 

Nor any dread disquiet once annoy 

The safety of our ioy ; bm 

But let the night be calme and quietsome, 

Without tempestuous storms or sad afray ; 

Lyke as when love with fayre Alcmena lay, 

When he begot the great Tirynthian groome ; 

Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie, 330 

And begot Maiesty : 

And let the mayds and yongmen cease to sing ; 

Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr ecdio ring. 


Let no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull teares. 

Be heard all night within, nor yet without : :tt.5 

Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden feares, 

Breake gentle sleepe with misconceived dout. 

Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadful sights, 

Make sudden sad affrights : 

Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helpless harmes, 340 

Ne let the Pouke, nor other evill sprights,  

Ne let mischivous witches with theyr charmes, 

Ne let hob-goblins, names whose sense we see not, 

Fray us with things that be not : 

Let not the shriech-owle, nor the storke, be heard, 3*6 

Nor the night-raven, that still deadly yels. 

Nor damned ghosts, cald up with mighty s])els. 

Nor griesly vultures, make us once affeard : 

Ne let th' unpleasant quyre of frogs still croking 

Make us to wish theyr choking. 350 

Let none of these theyr drery accents sing ; 

Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho ring. 

But let stil Silence trew night-watches keepe, 

That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne, 

And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe, 355 

May poure his limbs Forth on your pleasant playne, 

The whiles an hundred little winged Loves, 

Like divers-fethered doves, 

Shall fly and flutter round about the bed, 

And in the secret darke, that none reproves, son 

Ver. 341. —The Pouke (Puck is a generic tenn, signifying 
(lend, or mischievous imp) is Robin Goodfellow. C 


Their prety stealthes shall worke, and snares shall 

To filch away sweet snatches of delight, 
Conceald through covert night. 
Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at will ! 
For greedy Pleasure, carelesse of your toyes, see 
Thinks more upon her paradise of ioyes, 
Then what ye do, albe it good or ill. 
All night, therefore, attend your merry play, 
For it will soone be day : 

Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing ; 370 

Ne will the woods now answer, nor your eccho ringv- 

Who is the same which at my window peepes ? 

Or whose is that faire face that shines so bright ? 

Is it not Cinthia, she that never sleepes, 

But walkes about high heaven al the night ? 875 

fay rest goddesse ! do thou not envy 

My Love with me to spy : 

For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought, 

And for a fleece of woU, which privily 

The Latmian Shepherd ^ once unto thee brought, 3«o 

His pleasures with thee wrought. 

Therefore to us be favorable now ; 

And sith of wemens labours thou hast charge, 

And generation goodly dost enlarge, 

Encline thy will t' effect our wishfull vow, 086 

And the chast womb informe with timely seed, 

That may our comfort breed : 

Till which we cease our hopefuU hap to sing, 

Ne let the woods us answere, nor our eccho ring. 

' 1. e. EndymioD. 


And thou, great luno ! which with awful might 390 

The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize, 

And the religion of the faith first plight 

With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize, 

And eke for comfort often called art 

Of women in their smart, ssw 

Eternally bind thou this lovely band, 

And all thy blessings unto us impart. 

And thou, glad Genius ! in whose gentle hand 

The bridale bowre and geniall bed remaine, 

Without blemish or staine, 400 

And the sweet pleasures of theyr loves delight 

Witli secret ayde doost succour and supply, 

Till they bring forth the fruitfuU progeny, 

Send us the timely fruit of this same night. 

And thou, fayre Hebe ! and thou, Hymen free I 40fi 

Grant that it may so be. 

Till which we cease your further prayse to sing, 

Ne any woods shal answer, nor your eccho ring. 

And ye high heavens, the temple of the gods. 

In which a thousand torches flaming bright 410 

Doe burne, that to us wretched earthly clods 

In dreadful darknesse lend desired light, 

And all ye powers which in the same remayne, 

More than we men can fayne, 

Poure out your blessing on us plentiously, 4J6 

And happy influence upon us raine, 

That we may raise a large posterity, 

Which from the earth, which they may long possesse 

With lasting happinesse. 

Up to your haughty pallaces may mount, 420 


And, for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit, 

May heavenly tabernacles there inherit, 

Of blessed saints for to increase the count. 

So let us rest, sweet Love, in hope of this, 

And cease till then our tymely ioyes to sing : am 

The woods no more us answer, nor our eccho ring. 

Song, made in lieu of many ornaments 

With which my Love should dxdy have been dect^ 

Which cutting off through hasty accidents, 

Ye would not stay your dew time to expect, 480 

But promist both to recompens, 

Be unto her a goodly ornament, 

Andfor^ short time an endlesse inonimentl 

1 1, e. instead of. 










voi„ V. 20 

P R O T H A L A M I O N 



Calme was the day, and through the trembhng ayre 

Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play, 

A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay * 

Hot Titans beanies, which then did glyster fayre ; 

When I, whom sullein care, ^ 

Ohrough discontent of my long fruitlesse stay 

In princes court, and expectation vayne 

Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away 

Like empty shaddowes, did afflict my brayne, 

Walkt forth to ease my payne lO 

Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes ; 

Whose rutty ^ bancke, the which his river henimes, 

Was paynted all with variable flowers, 

And all the meades adornd with daintie gemmes, 

Fit to decke maydens bowres, is 

And crowne their paramours, 

Against the brydale day, which is not long': 

Sweet Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my song. 

1 Delay, allay. ' ^■'♦"•i', distant. 

2 Rutty, rooty. 


There, in a meadow by the rivers side, 
A flocke of Nymplies I chaunced to espy, ■_> 

All lovely daughters of the flood thereby, 
With goodly greenish locks, all loose untyde, 
As each liad bene a bryde ; 
And each one had a little wicker basket, 
Made of fine twigs, entrayled ^ curiously, 2j 

In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket,' 
And with fine fingers cropt full feateously * 
The tender stalkes on hye. 
Of every sort which in that meadow grew 
They gathered some ; the violet, pallid blew, 3o 

Th-e little dazie, that at evening closes, 
The virgin hllie, and the primrose trew, 
With store of vermeil roses. 
To deck their bridegroomes posies 
Against the brydale day, which was not long: se 

Sweet Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my 

With that I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe 

Come softly swimming downe along the lee * : 

Two fairer birds I yet did never see ; 

The snow which doth the top of Pinrtos strew 40 

Did never whiter shew. 

Nor Jove himselfe, when he a swan would be 

For love of Leda, whiter did appear ; 

Yet Leda was, they say, as white as he. 

Yet not so white as these, nor nothing neare : te 

1 Entraf/led, interwov-eii. S Fenteously, dexterotisly. 

2 Flasket, a long, shallow basket. ■* Lee, here, (smooth) stream 


So purely white they were, 

That even the gentle strearae the which them bare 
Seem'd foule to them, and bad his billowes spare 
To wet their silken feathers, least they might 
Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre, eo 
And marre their beauties bright, 
That shone as heavens hght. 
Against their brydale day, which was not long : 
Sweet Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my song. 

Eftsoones, the Nymphes, which now had flowers 
their fill, " 

Ran all in haste to see that silver brood, 
As they came floating on the cristal flood ; 
"Whom when they sawe, they stood amazed still, 
Their wondring eyes to fill. 

Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fayre 6o 

Of fowles, so lovely, that they sure did deeme 
Them heavenly borne, or to be that same payre 
"Which through the skie draw Venus silver teeme ; 
For sure they did not seeme 

To be begot of any earthly seede, es 

But rather angels, or of angels breede ; 
Yet were they bred of Somers-heat, they say, 
In sweetest season, when each flower and weede 
The earth did fresh ai-ay ; 

So fresh they seem'd as day, ^o 

Even as their brydale day, which was not long: 
Sweet Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my song. 

Ver. 67. — Scmiers-heat.] A pun on the name of the brides, — 
Somerset. C. 


Then forth they all out of their baskets drew 

Great store of flowers, the honour of the field. 

That to the sense did fragrant odours jeild, 76 

All which upon those goodly birds they threw, 

And all the waves did strew. 

That like old Peneus waters they did seeme, 

When downe along by pleasant Tempes shore, 

Scattred with flowres, through Thessaly they streeme, 

That they appeare, through hllies plenteous store, bi 

Like a brydes chamber flore. 

Two of those Nymphes, meane while, two garlands 

Of freshest flowres which in that mead they fouiui. 
The which presenting all in trim array, « 

Their snowie foreheads therewithal! they crownd, 
Whilst one did sing this lay, 
Prepar'd against that day. 
Against their brydale day, which was not long : 
Sweet Themmes 1 runne softly, till I end my song. 

" Ye gentle Birdes, the worlds faire ornament, 9i 

And heavens glorie, whom this happie hower 

Doth leade unto your lovers blissfull bower, 

loy may you have, and gentle hearts content 

Of your loves couplement! 9» 

And let faire Venus, that is Queene of Love, 

With her heart-quelling sonne, upon you smile, 

Whose smile, they say, hath vertue to remove 

All loves dislike, and friendships faultie guile 

For ever to assoile.* io« 

' Assoile, do away with. 


Let endlesse peace your steadfast hearts accord, 

And blessed plentie wait upon your bord ; 

And let your bed with pleasures chast abound. 

That fruitfuU issue may to you afford, 

Which may your foes confound, xos 

And make your ioyes redound 

Upon your brydale day, which is not long : 

Sweet Themmes ! runne softlie, till I end my song.^ 

So ended she ; and all the rest around 
To her redoubled that her undersong,* mo 

Which said, their bridale daye should not be long : 
And gentle Eccho from the neighbour ground 
Their accents did resound. 
So forth those ioyous birdes did passe along 
Adowne the lee, that to them murmurde low, iia 

As he would speake, but that he lackt a tong. 
Yet did by signes his glad affection show, 
Making his streame run slow. 
And all the foule which in his flood did dwell 
Gran flock about these twaine, that did excell 12c 

The rest so far as Cynthia doth shend * 
The lesser stars. So they, enranged well, 
Did on those two attend. 
And their best service lend 

Against their wedding day, which was not long : lat 
Sweet Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my song 

At length they all to mery London came, 
To mery London, my most kyndly nurse, 

1 Undersong, burden. * Shend, put to shame 


That to me gave tliis lifes first native soiirse, 

Though from another place I take my name, iM 

An house of auncient fame. 

There when they came whereas those bricky tow res 

The which on Themmes brode aged backe doe ryde, 

Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers, — 

There whylome wont the Templer Knights to byde, 

Till they decayd through pride, — 136 

Next whereunto there staiides a stately place, 

Where oft I gayned giftes and goodly grace 

Of that great lord which therein wont to dwell, 

Whose want too well now feels my freendles case : i40 

But ah ! here fits not well 

Olde woes, but ioyes, to tell, 

Against the bridale daye, which is not long . 

Sweet Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my song. 

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, i46 

Great Englands glory and the woi'lds wide wonder. 
Whose dreadfuU name late through all Spaine did 

And Hercules two pillors standing neere 
Did make to quake and feare. 

Faire branch of honor, fiower of chevalrie ! i60 

That fillest England with thy triumphes fame, 
loy ha\:e thou of thy noble victorie. 

Ver. 137. — A stately place.] Exeter House, the residence first 
of the Earl of Leicester, and afterwards of Essex. C. 

Ver. 147. — Wliose dreadfuU name, &c.] The allusion here is 
to the expedition against Cadiz, from whicli Essex returned in An- 
Sust, 1596. C. 


And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name, 

That promiseth the same ; 

That through thy prowesse and victorious armes i6i. 

Thy country may be freed from forraine harmes. 

And great Elisaes glorious name may ring 

Through al the world, fil'd with thy wide alarmes, 

Which some brave Muse may sing 

To ages following, 160 

Upon the brydale day, which is not long: 

Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song. 

From those high towers this noble lord issuing, 
Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hayre 
In th' ocean billowes he hath bathed fayre, lee. 

Descended to the rivers open vewing, 
With a great traine ensuing. 
Above the rest were goodly to bee seene 
Two gentle Knights of lovely face and feature, 
Beseeming well the bower of any queene, no- 

With sifts of wit and ornaments of nature 
Fit for so goodly stature. 

That like the twins of love they seem'd in sight, 
Which decke the bauldricke of the heavens bright. 
They two, forth pacing to the rivers side, 173 

Receiv'd those two faire brides, their loves delight, 
(Which, at th' appointed tvde, 
Each one did make his bryde,) 

Against their brydale day, which is not long : 179 
Sweet Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my song. 




L OND on: 








Having, in the greener times of my youth, com- 
posed these former two Hymnes in the praise of love 
and beautie, and finding that the same too much 
pleased those of like age and disposition, which, being 
too vehemently carried with that kind of affection, 
do rather sucke out poyson to their strong passion, 
then honey to their honest delight, I was moved, by 
the one of you tAvo most excellent Ladies, to call in 
the same. But being unable so to do, by reason that 
many copies thereof were formerly scattered abroad, 
I resolved at least to amend, and, by way of retracta- 
tion, to reforme them, making, instead of those two 
Hymnes of earthly or natural! love and beautie, two 
others of heavenly and celestiall. The which I doe 
dedicate ioyntly unto you two honorable sisters, as 

* The Countess of Warwick's name was Aune, not Marv- 


yi8 HYMNES. 

to the most excellent and rare ornaments of all true 
love and beautie, both in the one and the other kindfe ; 
humbly beseeching you to vouchsafe the patronage 
of them, and to accept this my humble service, in lieu 
of the great graces and honourable favours which ye 
dayly shew unto me, until such time as I may, by 
better meanes, yeeld you some more notable testimo- 
nie of my thankfuU mind and dutifuU devotion. And 
even so I pray for your happinesse. Greenwich, thia 
first of September, 1596. Your Honors most boun- 
den ever. 

In all humble service, 

Ed Sp. 



Love, that long since hast to thy mighty powre 

Perforce subdude my poore captived hart, 

And raging now therein with restlesse stowre,* 

Doest tyrannize in everie weaker part, 

Faine would I seekt^ to ease my bitter smart 5 

By any service I might do to thee, 

Or ought that else might to thee pleasing bee. 

And now t' ass wage the force of this new flame, 

And make thee more propitious in my need, 

I meane to sing the praises of thy name, 10 

And thy victorious conquests to areed,*^ 

By which thou madest many harts to bleed 

Of mighty victors, with wide wounds embrewed, 

And by thy cruell darts to thee subdewed. 

Onely I fear my wits, enfeebled late is 

Through the sharp soiTOwes which thou hast me bred 

1 Sioiore, commotion. ' Areed, set forth. 

820 HTMNES. 

Should faint, and words should faile me to relate 
The wondrous triumphs of thy great godhed : 
But, if thou wouldst vouchsafe to overspred 
Me with the shadow of thy gentle wing, 90 

I should enabled be thy actes to sing. 

Come, then, O come, thou raightie God of Love I 

Out of thy silver bowres and secret blisse, 

Where thou dost sit in Venus lap above, 

Bathing thy wings in her ambrosiall kisse, ss 

That sweeter farre than any nectar is, 

Come softly, and my feeble breast inspire 

With gentle furie, kindled of thy fire. 

And ye, sweet Muses ! which have often proved 

The piercing points of his avengefuU darts, so 

And ye, fair Nimphs ! which oftentimes have lo'-ed 

The cruell worker of your kindly smarts. 

Prepare yourselves, and open wide your harts 

For to receive the triumph of your glorie. 

That made you merie oft when ye were sorie. 36 

And ye, faii-e blossoms of youths wanton breed ! 
Which in the conquests of your beautie host. 
Wherewith your lovers feeble eyes you feed, 
But sterve their harts, that needeth nourture most, 
Prepare your solves to march amongst his host, 40 
And all the way this sacred hymne do sing. 
Made in the honor of your soveraigne king. 

Great God of might, that reignest in the raynd, 
And all the bodie to thy hest doest frame. 

HTMNES. 321 

Victor of gods, subduer of mankynd, 49 

That doest the lions and fell tigers tame, 
Making their cruell rage thy scornefuU game, 
And in their roring taking great delight, 
Who can expresse the glorie of thy might ? 

Or who alive can perfectly declare oo 

The wondrous cradle of thine infancie, 

"When thy great mother Venus first thee bare, 

Begot of Plenty and of Penurie, 

Though elder then thine own nativitie, 

And yet a chyld, renewing still thy yeares, « 

And yet the eldest of the heavenly peares ? 

For ere this worlds still moving mightie masse 

Out of great Chaos ugly prison crept. 

In which his goodly face long hidden was 

From heavens view, and in deepe darknesse kept, oo 

Love, that had now long time securely slept 

In Venus lap, unarmed then and naked, 

Gan rears his head, by Clotho being waked : 

And taking to him winss of his own heate, 

Kindled at first from heavens life-giving fyre, es 

He gan to move out of his idle seate ; 

Weakely at first, but after with desyre 

Lifted aloft, he gan to mount up hyre,^ 

And, like fresh eagle, made his hardie fliglit 

Through all that gj-eat wide wast, yet wanting light, lo 

1 Hyre, higher. 

VOL. v. 21 

322 HYMNES. 

Yet wanting light to guide his wandring way, 
His own faire mother, for all creatures sake, 
Did lend him light from her owne goodly ray ; 
Then through the world his way he gan to take, 
The world, that was not till he did it make, -e 

Whose sundrie parts he from themselves did sever, 
The which |>efore had lyen confused ever. 

The earth, the ayre, the water, and the fyre, 
Then gan to raunge themselves in huge array. 
And with contrary forces to conspyre so 

Each against other by all meanes they may, 
Threatning their owne confusion and decay : 
Ayre hated earth, and water hated fyre, 
Till Love relented their rebellious yre. 

He then them tooke, and, tempering goodly well «.■> 

Their contrary dislikes with loved meanes. 

Did place them all in order, and compell 

To keepe themselves within their sundrie raines,* 

Together linkt with adamantine chaines ; 

Yet so as that in every living wight 90 

They mix themselves, and shew their kindly might. 

So ever Since they firmely have remained, 
And duly well observed his beheast; 
Through which now all these things that are con- 
Within this goodly cope, both most and least, 95 

Their being have, and daily are increast 

1 Raines, kingdoms. 

HYMNES. 323 

Through secret sparks of his infused fyre, 
Which in the barraine cold he doth iiispjre. 

Thereby they all do live, and moved are 

To multiply the likenesse of their kynd, lOO 

Whilest they seeke onely, without further care, 

To quench the flame which they in burning fynd; 

But man, that breathes a more immortall mynd. 

Not for lusts sake, but for eternitie, 

Seekes to enlarge his lasting pi-ogenie. loe 

For having yet in his deducted spright 

Some sparks remaining of that heavenly fyre, 

He is enlumind with that goodly light, 

Unto like goodly semblant to aspyre ; 

Therefore in choice of love he doth desyre no 

That seemes on earth most heavenly to embrace ; 

That same is Beautie, borne of heavenly race. 

For sure, of all that in this mortall frame 
Contained is, nought more divine doth seeme. 
Or that resembleth more th' immortall flame ii6 

Of heavenly light, than Beauties glorious beam. 
"What wonder then, if with such rage extreme 
Frail men, whose eyes seek heavenly things to see, 
At sisht thereof so much enravisht bee ? 

Which well perceiving, that imperious boy 120 

Doth therewith tip his sharp empoisned darts, 
Which glancing thro the eyes with^ countenance coy 
Rest not till they have pierst the trembling harts, 

1 Qu. from? Warton. 

324 HYMNES. 

And kindled flame in all their inner parts, 

Which suekes the blood, and drinketh up the lyfe, lac 

Of carefull wretches with consuming griefe. 

Thenceforth they playne, and make ful piteous mone 

Unto the author of their balefull bane : 

The dales they waste, the nights they grieve and grone, 

Their lives they loath, and heavens light disdaine ; iso 

No light but that whose lampe doth yet remaine 

Fresh burning in the image of their eye. 

They deigne to see, and seeing it still dye. 

The whylst thou, tyrant Love, doest laugh and scorne 
At their complaints, making their paine thy play ; 135 
Whylest they lye languishing like thrals forlorne, 
The whyles thou doest triumph in their decay ; 
And otherwhyles, their dying to delay. 
Thou doest emmarble the proud hart of her 
Whose love befoi*e their life they doe prefer. J40 

So hast thou often done (ay me the more !) 

To me thy vassall, whose yet bleeding hart 

With thousand wounds thou mangled hast so sore, 

That whole remaines scarse any little part ; 

Yet to augment the anguish of my smart, us 

Thou hast enfrosen her disdainefull brest, 

That no one drop of pitie there doth rest. 

Why then do I this honor unto thee, 

Thus to ennoble thy victorious name, 

Sith thou doest shew no favour unto mee, w 

Ne on re move ruth in that rebellious dame. 

nvMNES. 325 

Somewhat to slacke the rigour of my flame ? 
Certes small glory doest thou winne hereby, 
To let her live thus free, and me to dy. 

But if thou be indeede, as men thee call, leo 

The worlds great parent, the most kind preserver 

Of living wights, the soveraine lord of all, 

How falles it then that with thy furious fervour 

Thou doest afflict as well the not-deserver. 

As him that doeth thy lovely heasts despize, 130 

And on thy subiects most doth tyrannize ? 

Yet herein eke thy glory seemeth more. 

By so hard handling those which best thee serve, 

That, ere thou doest them unto grace restore. 

Thou mayest well trie if they will ever swerve, 186 

And mayest them make it better to deserve, 

And, having got it, may it more esteeme ; 

For things hard gotten men more dearely deeme. 

So hard those heavenly beauties be enfyred. 

As things divine least passions doe imf>resse ; no 

The more of stedfast mynds to be admyred. 

The more they stayed be on stedfastnesse ; 

But baseborne minds such lamps regard the lesse, 

Which at first blowing take not hastie fyre ; 

Such fancies feele no love, but loose desyre. i7c 

For Love is lord of truth and loialtie, 
Lifting himself out of the lowly dust 
On golden plumes up to the purest skie, 
Above the reach o' loatlily sinfuU lust, 

326 HYMNES. 

Whose base affect,^ through cowardly distrust iso 

Of his weake wings, dare not to heaven fly. 
But like a moldwarpe ^ in the earth doth ly. 

His dunghill thoughts, which do themselves enure 

To dirtie drosse, no higher dare aspyre ; 

Ne can his feeble earthly eyes endure ise 

The flaming light of that celestiall fyre 

Which kindleth love in generous desyre. 

And makes him mount above the native might 

Of heavie earth, up to the heavens hight. 

Such is the powre of that sweet passion, iso 

That it all sordid basenesse doth expell. 
And the refyned mynd doth newly fashion 
Unto a fairer forme, which now doth dwell 
In his high thought, that would it selfe excell ; 
Which he beholding still with constant sight, 195 

Admires the mirrour of so heavenly light. 

Whose image printing in his deepest wit, 

He thereon feeds his hungrie fantasy, 

Still full, yet never satisfyde with it ; 

Like Tantale, that in store doth sterved ly, 000 

So doth he pine in most satiety ; 

For nought may quench his infinite desyre. 

Once kindled through that first conceived fyre. 

Thereon his mynd affixed wholly is, 

Ne thinks on ought but how it to attaine ; ao; 

1 Affect, affection, passion. 2 Moldwarpe, mole 

HYMNES. 327 

His care, his ioy, his hope, is all on this, 

That seemes in it all blisses to containe, 

In sio'ht whereof all other blisse seemes vaine : 

Thrice happie man, might he the same possesse, 

He faines himselfe, and doth his fortune blesse. 3io 

And though he do not win his wish to end, 

Yet thus farre happie he himselfe doth weene, 

That heavens such happie grace did to him lend 

As thing on earth so heavenly to have seene, 

His harts enshrined saint, his heavens queene, aia 

Fairer then fairest, in his fayning eye, 

Whose sole aspect he counts felicitye. 

Then forth he casts in his unquiet thought, 

What he may do her favour to obtaine ; 

What brave exploit, what perill hardly wrought, 8ao 

What puissant conquest, what adventurous paine, 

May please her best, and grace unto him gaine ; 

He dreads no danger, nor misfortune feares. 

His faith, his fortune, in his breast he beares. 

Thou art his god, thou art his mightie guyde, 223 

Thou, being Wind, letst him not see his feares. 
But cariest him to that which he had eyde, 
Through seas, througli flames, through thousand 

swords and speares ; * 
Ne ought so strong that may his force withstand, 
With which thou armest his resistlesse hand. 230 

« The fifth verse of this stanza appears to have dropped out. 0- 


But hideous monsters full of uglinesse ; 84 c 

For she it is that hath me done this wrong ; 
No nurse, but stepdame cruell, mercilesse. 
Weepe, Shepheard ! weepe, to make my undersong. 


" My litle flock, whom earst I lov'd so well, 
And wont to feed with finest grasse that grew, 345 
Feede ye hencefoorth on bitter astrofell,^ 
And stinking smallage, and unsaverie rew ; 
And when your mawes are with those weeds cor- 
Be ye the pray of wolves ; ne will I rew 
That with your carkasses wild beasts be glutted, aso 

" Ne worse to you, my sillie sheepe, I pray, 

Ne sorer vengeance wish on you to fall 

Than to ray selfe, for whose confusde decay ^ 

To carelesse heavens I doo daylie call ; 

But heavens refuse to heare a wretches cry ; S56 

And cruell Death doth scorn to come at call, 

Or graunt his boone that most desires to dye. 

" The good and righteous he away doth take. 

To plague th' unrighteous which alive reraaine ; 

But the ungodly ones he doth forsake, 3tx; 

By living long to raultiplie their paine ; 

Else surely death should be no punishment. 

As the Great ludge at first did it ordaine. 

But rather riddance from long languishment. 

1 Astrofell, (probably) starwort. See Astrophel, v. 184- 196. 

2 Decay, destruction. 


' Tlierefore, my Daphne they have tane away ; 3S6 

For worthie of a better place was she : 

But me unworthie willed here to stay, 

Tliat with her lacke I might tormented be. 

8ith then they so have ordred, I will pay 

Penance to her, according ^ their decree, 370 

And to her ghost doe service day by day. 

" For I will walke this wandring pilgrimage, 

Throughout the world from one to other end, 

And in affliction waste my better age : 

My bread shall be the anguish of my mynd, 376 

My drink the teares which fro mine eyes do raine, 

My bed the ground that hardest I may fynd ; 

So will I wilfully increase my paine. 

" And she, my love that was, my saint that is, 

When she beholds from her celestiall throne 880 

(In which shee ioyeth in eternall blis) 

My bitter penance, will my case bemone, 

And pittie me that living thus doo die ; 

For heavenly spirits have compassion 

On mortall men, and rue their miserie. 386 

" So when I have with sorrow satisfy de 

Th* importune Fates which vengeance on me seeke. 

And th' heavens with long languor pacifyde, 

She, for pure pitie of my sufferance meeke. 

Will send for me ; for which I daily long, 390 

A-nd will till then my painfull penance eeke. 

Weepe, Shepheard ! weepe, to make my undersong. 

1 Accwding, according to. 

330 HYMNES. 

There with thy daughter Pleasure they doe play 

Their hurtlesse sports, without rebuke or blame. 

And in her snowy bosorae boldly lay 

Their quiet heads, devoyd of guilty shame, 390 

After full ioyance of their gentle game ; 

Then her they crowne their goddesse and their queene, 

And decke with floures thy altars well beseene. 

Ay me ! deare Lord, that ever I might hope. 

For all the paines and woes that I endure, aw 

To come at length unto the wished scope 

Of my desire, or might myselfe assure 

That happie port for ever to recure ' ! 

Then would I thinke these paines no paines at all, 

And all my woes to be but penance small. aoo 

Then would I sing of thine immortal praise 

An heavenly hymne such as the angels sing, 

And thy triumphant name then would I raise 

Bove all the gods, thee only honoring ; 

My guide, my god, my victor, and my king : .«« 

Till then, dread Lord ! vouchsafe to take of me 

This simple song, thus fram'd in praise of thee. 

* Secure, recover, gain. 


Ah ! whither, Love, wilt thou now carrie mee ? 

What wontlesse fury dost thou now inspire 

Into my feeble breast, too full of thee ? 

Whylest seeking to aslake thy raging fyre, 

Thou in me kindlest much more great desyre, & 

And up aloft above my strength doth rayse 

The wondrous matter of my fyre to praise : 

That as I earst in praise of thine owne name, 

So now in honour of thy mother deare 

An honourable hymne I eke should frame, lo 

And, with the brightnesse of her beautie cleare, 

The ravisht hearts of gazefull men might reare 

To admiration of that heavenly light, 

From whence proceeds such soule-enchanting might- 

Therto do thou, great Goddesse, Queene of Beauty, 
Mother of Love, and of all worlds delight, lo- 

Without whose soverayne grace and kindly dewty 
Nothing on earth seemes fayre to fleshly sight, 
Doe thou vouchsafe with thy love-kindling light 

332 HYMNES. 

T' illuminate my dim and dulled eyne, so 

And beautifie this sacred hjrane of thyne : 

That both to thee, to whom I raeane it most, 

A.nd eke to her whose faire immortall beame 

Hath darted fyre into my feeble ghost, 

That DOW it wasted is with woes extreame, 25 

It may so please, that she at length will streame 

Some deaw of grace into my withered hart, 

After long sorrow and consuming smart. 

What time this worlds great Workmaister 
did cast 
To make al things such as we now behold, so 

It seems that he before his eyes had plast 
A goodly paterne, to whose perfect mould 
He fashiond them as comely as he could, 
That now so faire and seemely they appeare 
As nought may be amended any wheare. 85 

That wondrous paterne, wheresoere it bee, 

Whether in earth layd up in secret store. 

Or else in heaven, that no man may it see 

With sinfuU eyes, for feare it to deflore, 

Is perfect Beautie, which all men adore ; ifl 

Whose face and feature doth so much excell 

All mortal sence, that none the same may tell. 

Thereof as every earthly thing partakes 

Or more or lesse, by influence divine, 

So it more faire accordingly it makes, 4.1 

And the grosse matter of this earthly myne, 

HTMNES. 333 > 

Which closeth it thereafter, doth refyne, 
Doing away the drosse which dims the hght 
Of that faire beame which therein is empight.* 

For, through infusion of celestiall powre, aoi 

The duller earth it quickneth with delight, 
And life-full spirits privily doth powre 
Through all the parts, that to the lookers sight 
They seeme to please ; that is thy soveraine might, 
Cyprian queene ! which, flowing from tlie beame 56. 
Of thy bright starre, thou into them doest streame. 

That is the thing which giveth pleasant grace 
To all things faire, that kindleth lively fyre ; 
Light of thy lampe ; which, shyning in the face, 
Thence to the soule darts amorous desyre, 60; 

And robs the harts of those which it admyre ; 
Therewith thou pointest thy sons poysned: arrow, 
That wounds the life and wastes the inmost marrow. . 

How vainely then doe ydle wits invent 

That Beautie is nought else but mixture made 66 

Of colours faire, and goodly temp'i-ament 

Of pure complexions, that shall quickly fade 

And passe away, like to a somraers shade ; 

Or that it is but comely composition 

Of parts well measurd, with meet disposition ! 'o 

Hath white and red in it such wondrous powre. 
That it can pierce through th' eyes unto the hart, 
And therein stirre such rage and restlesse stowre," 

1 Empigkt, placed. ^ Stowre, comm-^l^on. 

334 HTMNES. 

As nought but death can stint his dolours smart? 
Or can proportion of the outward part 75 

Move such affection in the inward mynd, 
That it can rob both sense, and reason blynd ? 

Why doe not then the blossomes of the field, 

Which are arayd with much more orient hew, 

And to the sense most daintie odours yield, ao 

Worke like impression in the lookers vew ? 

Or why doe not faire pictures like powre shew, 

In which oft-times we Nature see of Art 

Exceld, in perfect limming evei'y part ? 

But ah ! beleeve me there is more then so, a? 

That workes such wonders in the minds of men; 

I, that have often prov'd, too well it know, 

And who so list the like assayes to ken 

Shall find by trial, and confesse it then. 

That Beautie is not, as fond men misdeeme, ao 

An outward shew of things that onely seeme. 

For that same goodly hew of white and red 

With which the cheekes are sprinckled, shal decay, 

And those sweete rosy leaves, so fairly spred 

Upon the lips, shall fade and fall away 95 

To that they were, even to corrupted clay : 

That golden wyre, those sparckling stars so bright, 

Shall turne to dust, and loose their goodly light. 

But that faire lampe, from whose celestiall ray 
That light proceedes which kindleth lovers fin-. ir^' 
Shall never be extinguisht nor decay ; 

HYMNES. 335 

But, when the vitall spirits doe expyre, 

Unto her native planet shall retyre ; 

For it IS heavenly borne, and cannot die, 

Being a parcell of the purest skie. lo* 

For when the soule, the which derived was, 

At first, out of that great iramortall Spright, 

By whom all live to love, whilorae did pas 

Down from the top of purest heavens hight 

To be embodied here, it then tooke light mo 

And lively spirits from that fayrest starre 

Which lights the world forth from his firie carre. 


Which powre retayning still, or more or lesse. 

When she in fleshly seede is eft * enraced,^ 

Through every part she doth the same impresse. ris 

According as the heavens have her graced, 

And frames her house, in which she will be placed. 

Fit for her selfe, adorning it with spoyle 

Of th' heavenly riches which she robd erewhyle. 

Thereof it comes that these faire soules which have 
The most resemblance of that heavenly light 'ji 

Frame to themselves most beautiful! and brave 
Their fleshly bowre, most fit for their delight, 
And the grosse matter by a soveraine might 
Temper so trim, tiiat it may well be scene na 

A pallace fit for such a virgin queene. 

So every spirit, as it is most pure. 

And hath in it the more of heavenly light, 

1 Eft, afterwards. 2 Enraced, implanted 

836 HYMNES. 

So it the fairer bodie dotli procure 

To habit in, and it more fairely dight ^ loo 

With chearfuU grace and amiable sight : 

For of the soule the bodie forme doth take ; 

For soule is forme, and doth the bodie make. 

Therefore, where ever that thou doest behold 

A comely corpse,^ with beautie faire endewed, isb 

Know this for certaine, that the same doth hold 

A beauteous soule with fair conditions thewed,* 

Fit to receive the seede of vertue strewed ; 

For all that faire is, is by nature good ; 

That is a signe to know the gentle blood. 140 

Yet oft it falles that many a gentle mynd 

Dwels in deformed tabernacle drownd. 

Either by chaunce, against the course of kynd,* 

Or through unaptnesse in the substance fowud, 

Which it assumed of some stubborne grownd, us 

That will not yield unto her formes direction, 

But is deform'd with some foule imperfection. 

And oft it falles, (ay me, the more to rew !) 

That goodly Beautie, albe heavenly borne, 

Is foule abusd, and that celestiall hew, lio 

Which doth the world with her delight adorne. 

Made but the bait of sinne, and sinners scorne, 

Whilest every one doth seeke and sew to have it, 

But every one doth seeke but to deprave it. 

1 Dight, adorn. ' I. e. endowed with fair qualities. 

8 Corpse, body. "» Kynd, nature. 


Yet nathemore is that faire Beauties blame, im 

But theirs that do abuse it unto ill : 
Nothing so good, but that through guilty shame 
May be corrupt,^ and wrested unto will. 
Nathelesse the soule is faire and beauteous still, 
However fleshes fault it filthy make ; i«k> 

For things immortall no corruption take. 

But ye, faire Dames ! the worlds deare ornaments, 

And lively images of heavens light, 

Let not your beames with such disparagements 

Be dirad, and your bright glorie darkned quight ; iw 

But mindfuU still of your first countries sight, 

Doe still preserve your first informed grace, 

Wliose shadow yet shynes in your beauteous face. 

Loath that foule blot, that hellish fierbrand, 

Disloiall lust, fair Beauties foulest blame, iio 

That base affections, which your eares would bland,* 

Commend to you by loves abused name, 

But is indeede the bondslave of defame ; 

Which will the garland of your glorie marre. 

And quench the light of your brightshyning starre. ns 

But gentle Love, that loiall is and trew, 

Will more illumine your resplendent ray, 

And adde more brightnesse to your goodly hew, 

From light of his pure fire; whicli, by like way 

Kindled of yours, your likenesse doth display ; lao 

1 Corrupt, corrupted. ^ Bland, blandish. 

VOL. v. 22 

338 HYMNES. 

Like as two mirrours, by opposd reflection, 
Doe both expresse the faces first impression. 

Therefore, to make your beautie more appeare, 

It you behoves to love, and forth to lay 

That heavenly riches which in you ye beax*e, ibs 

That men the more admyre their fountaine may ; 

For else what booteth that celestiall ray, 

If it in darknesse be enshrined ever, 

That it of loving eyes be vewed never ? 

But, in your choice of loves, this well advize, i*) 

That likest to your selves ye them select. 

The which your foi-ms first sourse may sympathize, 

And with like beauties parts be inly deckt ; 

For if you loosely love without respect, 

It is not love, but a discordant warre, 196 

Whose unlike parts amongst themselves do iarre. 

For love is a celestiall harmonic 

Of likely' harts composd of^ starres concent. 

Which ioyne together in sweete sympathie, 

To work ech others ioy and true content, 200 

Which they have harbourd since their first descent 

Out of their heavenly bowres, where they did see 

And know ech other here belov'd to bee. 

Then wrong it were that any other twaine 

Should in Loves gentle band combyned bee, ajo 

But those whom Heaven did at first ordaine, 

1 Likely, similar. 2 Composd of , combined by. 

HVMNES. 339 

And made out of one mould the more t' agree ; 
For all that like the beautie which they see 
Streight do not love ; for Love is not so light 
As streight to burne at first beholders sight. 210 

But they which love indeede looke otherwise, 

With pure regard and spotlesse true intent, 

Drawing out of the obiect of their eyes 

A more refyned forme, which they present 

Unto their mind, voide of all blemishment ; 215 

Which it reducing to her first perfection, 

Beholdeth free from fleshes frayle infection. 

And then conforming it unto the light 

Which in it selfe it hath remaining still, 

Of that first sunne, yet sparckhng in his sight, 220 

Thereof he fashions in his higher skill 

An heavenly beautie to his fancies will ; 

And it embracing in his mind entyre. 

The mirrour of his owne thought doth admyre. 

Which seeing now so inly faire to be, 826 

As outward it appeareth to the eye. 

And with his spirits proportion to agree. 

He thereon fixeth all his fantasie. 

And fully setteth his felicitie ; 

Counting it fairer then it is indeede, 230 

And yet indeede her fairnesse doth exceede. 

For lovers eyes more sharply sighted bee 
Then other mens, and in deare loves delight 
See more then any other eyes can see. 

840 HTjrNEs. 

Through mutuall receipt of beames bright, 235 

Which Carrie privie message to the spright, 
And to their eyes that inmost faire display, 
As plaine as light discovers dawning day. 

Therein they see, through amorous eye-glaunces, 
Armies of Loves still flying too and fro, 240 

Which dart at them their litle fierie launces ; 
Whom having wounded, backe againe they go, 
Carrying compassion to their lovely foe ; 
Who, seeing her faire eyes so sbarpe t-ffect, 
Cures all their sorrowes with one sweete aspect. 246 

In which how many wonders doe they reede 

To their conceipt, that others never see ! 

Now of her smiles, with which their soules they feede, 

Like gods with nectar in their bankets free ; 

Now of her lookes, which like to cordials bee ; 250 

But when her words embassade* forth she sends, 

Lord, how sweete musicke that unto them lends ! 

Sometimes upon her forhead they behold 

A thousand graces masking in delight ; 

Sometimes within her eye-lids they unfold m 

Ten thousand sweet belgards,^ which to their sight 

Doe seeme like twinckling starres in frostie night ; 

But on her lips, like rosy buds in May, 

So many millions of chaste pleasures play. 

All those, O Cytherea ! and thousands more, am 

Thy handraaides be, which do on thee attend, 

1 Embdssade, embassy. 2 Belynrds, fair looks. 

HTMNES. 341 

To decke thy beautie with their dainties store, 
That may it more to mortall eyes commend, 
And make it more admyr'd of foe and frend ; 
That in mens harts thou mayst thy throne enstall, 263 
And spred thy lovely kingdome over idl. 

Then 16, tryumph ! O great Beauties Queeiie, . 

Advance the banner of thy conquest hie. 

That all this world, the which thy vassels beene, 

May draw to thee, and with dew fealtie 270 

Adore the powre of thy great maiestie. 

Singing this hynine in honour of thy name, 

Compyld by me, which thy poore liegeman am ! 

In lieu whei'eof graunt, O great soveraine ! 

That she whose conquering beauty doth captive 276 

My trembling hart in her eternall chaine, 

One di-op of grace at length will to me give. 

That I her bounden thrall by her may live, 

And this same life, which first fro me she reaved, 

May owe to her, of whom I it receaved. aso 

And you, faire Venus dearling, my dear dread ! 
Fresh flowre of grace, great goddesse of my life. 
When your faire eyes these fearfull lines shal read, 
Deigne to let fall one drop of dew reliefe. 
That may recure ray harts long pyning griefe, asa 
And shew what wondrous powre your beauty hath, 
That can restore a damned wight from death. 


Love, lift me up upon thy golden wings 

From this base world unto thy heavens hight, 

Where I may see those admirable things 

Which there thou workest by thy soveraine might, 

Farre above feeble reach of earthly sight, 3 

That I thereof an heavenly- hymne may sing 

Unto the God of Love, high heavens king. 

Many lewd layes (ah, woe is me the more !) 

In praise of that mad fit which fooles call Love, 

I have in th' heat of youth made heretofore, 10 

That in light wits did loose affection move ; 

But all those follies now I do reprove, 

And turned have the tenor of my string. 

The heavenly prayses of true Love to sing. 

* See the sixth canto of the third book of the Faerie Qiieene, 
especially the second and the thirty-second stanzas; whii>.h, 
with his Hyranes of Heavenly Love and Heavenly Beauty, are 
evident proofs of Spenser's attachment to the Platonic school. 

HYMNES. 343 

And ye that wont with greedy vaine desire w 

To reade my fault, and, wondring at my flame, 
To warme your selves at my wide sparckling fire, 
Sith now that heat is quenched, quench my blame, 
And in her ashes shrowd my dying shame ; 
For who my passed follies now pursewes, 20 

Beginnes his owne, and my old fault renewes. 

Before this worlds great frame, in which 
al things 
Are now containd, found any being-place. 
Ere flitting Time could wag ^ his eyas ^ wings 
About that mightie bound which doth embrace 2ft 
The rolling spheres, and parts their houres by space, 
That high eternall Powre, which now doth move 
In all these things, mov'd in it selfe by love. 

It lovd it selfe, because it selfe was faire ; 

(For fair is lov'd ;) and of it selfe begot so 

Like to it selfe his eldest Sonne and Heire, 

Eternall, pure, and voide of sinfull blot, 

The firstling of his ioy, in whom no iot 

Of loves dislike or pride was to be found. 

Whom he therefore with equall honour crownd. sa 

With him he raignd, before all time prescribed, 
In endlesse gloi'ie and immortall might. 
Together with that Third from them derived, 
Most wise, most holy, most ahnightie Spright! 39 

Whose kiugdomes throne no thoughts of earthly wight 
Can comprehend, much lesse ray trembling verse 
With equall words can hope it to reherse. 

I Wag, move. 2 y.;,^.,^, not fully fledged. 

844 HYMNES. 

Yet, most blessed Spirit ! pure lampe of light, 

Eternall spring of grace and wisedorae trew, 

Vouchsafe to shed into my barren spright 4a 

Some little drop of thy celestiall dew, 

That may my rymes with sweet infuse * embi'ew, 

And give me words equall unto my thought, 

To tell the marveiles by thy mercie wrought. 

Yet being pregnant still with powrefull grace, so 

And full of fruitfull Love, that loves to get 

Things like hiraselfe and to enlai'ge his race, 

His second brood, though not of powre so great, 

Yet full of beautie, next he did beget, 

An infinite increase of angels bright, ca 

All glistring glorious in their Makers light. 

To them the heavens illimitable hight 

(Not this round heaven which we from hence behold, 

Adornd with thousand lamps of burning light, 

And with ten thousand gemmes of shyning gold) 60 

He gave as their inheritance to hold. 

That they might serve him in eternal blis, 

And be partakers of those ioyes of his. 

Thei'e they in their trinall triplicities 

About him wait, and on his will depend, 6d 

Either with nimble wings to cut the skies, 

When he them on his messages doth send, 

l Infuse, infusion. 

Ver. 64. — TrinaR tiHpHcities.] See the Faerie Queene, Book I 
C:iuto XII. 39. H. 

HYMNES. 345 

Or on his owne dread presence to attend, 
Where they behold the glorie of his light, 
And caroll hymnes of love both day and night. ™ 

Both day and night is unto them all one ; 

For he his bearaes doth unto them extend, 

That darknesse there appeareth never none ; 

Ne hath their day, ne hath their blisse, an end, 

But there ' their termelesse time in pleasure spend ; '•' 

Ne ever should their happinesse decay, 

Had not they dar'd their Lord to disobay. 

But pride, impatient of long resting peace, 

Did puffe them up with greedy bold ambition, 

That they gan cast their state how to increase so 

Above the fortune of their first condition, 

And sit in Gods own seat without commission : 

The brightest angel, even the Child of Light,^ 

Drew millions more against their God to fight. 

Th' Almighty, seeing their so bold assay, as 

Kindled the flame of his consuming yre, 

And with his onely breath them blew away 

From heavens hight, to which they did aspyre. 

To deepest hell, and lake of damned fyi'e, 

WTiere they in darknesse and dread horror dwell, 90 

Hating the happie light from which they fell. 

So that next off-spring of the Makers love, 
Next to himselfe in glorious degree, 

1 Qu. they 7 '■« L e. Lucifer. 

346 HYMNES. 

Degendering* to hate, fell from above 

Through pride ; (for pride and love may ill agree ;) ^ 

And now of sinne to all ensample bee : 

How then can sinfull flesh it selfe assure, 

Sith purest angels fell to be impure? 

But that Eternall Fount of love and grace, 
Still flowing forth his goodnesse unto all, loo 

Now seeing left a waste and emptie place 
In his wyde pallace, through those angels fall. 
Cast to supply the same, and to enstall 
A new unknowen colony thei'ein, 
Whose root from earths base groundworke shold 
begin. i06 

Therefore of clay, base, vile, and next to nought, 

Yet form'd by wondrous skill, and by his might, 

According to an heavenly patterne wrought, 

Which he had fashiond in his wise foresight, 

He man did make, and breathd a living spright no 

Into his face, most beautifull and fayre, 

Endewd with wisedomes riches, heavenly, rare 

Such he him made, that he resemble might 

Himselfe, as mortall thing immortall could ; 

Him to be lord of every living wight us 

He made by love out of his owne like mould. 

In whom he might his mightie selfe behould ; 

For Love doth love the thing belov'd to see. 

That like it selfe in lovely shape may bee. 

1 Degendering, degenerating. 

UYMNES. 347 

But man, forgetful! of his Makers grace 120 

No lesse then angels, whom he did ensew, 

Fell from the hope of promist heavenly place, 

Into the mouth of Death, to sinners dew, 

And all his off-spring into thraldome threw, 

Where they for ever should in bonds remaine 125 

Of never-dead, yet ever-dying paine. 

Till that great Lord of Love, which him at first 

Made of meere love, and after liked well. 

Seeing him lie like creature long accurst 

In that deep horor of despeyred hell, lao 

Him, wretch, in doole ^ would let no lenger dwell, 

But cast ^ out of that bondage to redeeme. 

And pay the price, all ^ were his debt extreeme. 

Out of the bosome of etei-nall blisse. 

In which he reigned with his glorious Syre, 13s 

He downe descended, like a most deraisse * 

And abiect thrall, in fleshes fraile attyre. 

That he for him might pay sinnes deadly hyre, 

And him restore unto that happie state 

In which he stood before his haplesse fate. i40 

In flesh at first the guilt committed was, 
Therefore in flesh it must be satisfyde ; 
Nor spirit, nor angel, though they man surpas, 
Could make amends to God for mans misguyde, 
But onely man himselfe, who selfe did slyde : wt 

I Doole, pain. * -All, altlioiisrii. 

« Cast, devised. * Deviisse, huml>lc. 

348 HTMNES. 

So, taking flesh of sacred virgins wombe, 
For mans deare sake he did a man become. 

And that most blessed bodie, which was borne 

Without all blemish or reprochfull blame, 

He freely gave to be both rent and tome iso 

Of cruell hands, who with despightfull shame 

Revyling him, (that them most vile became,) 

At length him nailed on a gallow-ti-ee, 

And slew the iust by most uniust decree. 

O huge and most unspeakeable impression iss 

Of Loves deep wound, that pierst the piteous hart 

Of that deare Lord with so entyre affection, 

And, sharply launching every inner part, 

Dolours of death into his soule did dart, 

Doing him die that never it deserved, ico 

To free his foes, that from his heast ^ had s\v(M-ved ! 

What hart can feel least touch of so sore launch, 
Or thought can think the depth of so deare wound, 
Whose bleeding sourse their streame.-; yet never 

But stil do flow, and freshly still redound,'^ les 

To heale the sores of sinfuU soules unsound. 
And dense the guilt of that infected cryme, 
Which was enrooted in all fleshly sl}Tne ? 

O blessed Well of Love ! Floui-e of Grace ! 

O glorious Morning-Starre ! Lampe of Light ! i7C 

^ Ueast, command. 2 Redound, overflow. 

HTMNES. 349- 

Most lively image of thy Fathers face, 

Eternal King of Glorie, Lord of Might, 

Meeke Lambe of God, before all worlds behight,* 

How can we thee requite for all this good ? 

Or what can prize ^ that thy most precious blood? nt^ 

Yet nought thou ask'st in lieu of all this love 

But love of us, for guerdon of thy paine : 

Ay me ! what can us lesse then that behove ? 

Had he required life for us againe. 

Had it beene wrong to ask his owne with gaine ? iio 

He gave us life, he it restored lost ; 

Then life were least, that us so little cost. 


But he our life hath left unto us free, 

Free that was thrall, and blessed that was band*; 

Ne ought demaunds but that we loving bee, is5 

As he himselfe hath lov'd us aforehand. 

And bound thei'to with an eternall band, 

Him first to love that was so dearely bought. 

And next our brethren, to his image wrought. 

Him first to love great right and reason is, i90 

Who first to us our life and being gave. 

And after, when we fared * had amisse, 

Us wretches from the second death did save ; 

And last, the food of life, which now we have, 

Even he himselfe, in his dear sacrament, 195 

To feede our hungry soules, unto us lent. 

1 Behigkt, named. 8 Barul, cursed. 

2 Prize, price. < Fi'rcJ. p-rinc 

350 HTMNES. 

Then next, to love our brethren, that were made 
Of that selfe ^ mould and that self Maker's hand 
That we, and to the same agauie shall fade, 
Where they shall have like heritage of land, zoo 

However here on higher steps we stand ; 
Which also were with selfe-same price redeemed 
That we, however of us light esteemed. 

And were they not, yet since that loving Lord 

Commaunded us to love them for his sake, 206 

Even for his sake, and for his sacred word 

Which in his last bequest he to us spake. 

We should them love, and with their needs partake ; 

Knowing that whatsoere to them we give, 

We give to him by whom we all doe live. aio 

Such mercy he by his most holy reede * 

Unto us taught, and, to approve it trew, 

Ensampled it by his most righteous deeds, 

Shewing us mercie, miserable crew ! 

That we the like should to the wretches shew, 216 

And love our brethren ; thereby to approve 

How much himselfe that loved us we love. 

Then rouze thy selfe, Earth ! out of thy soyle,' 
In which thou wallowest like to filthy swyne. 
And doest thy mynd in durty pleasures moyle.^ 320 
rjnmindfull of that dearest Lord of thyne ; 
Lift up to him thy heavie clouded eyne. 

1 Selfe, same. * Soyle, mire. 

* Reede, precept. * Moyle, defile. 

HYMNES. 351 

That thou this soveraine bountie mayst behold, 
And read, through love, his mercies manifold. 

Bnginne from first, where he encradled was jae 

In simple cratch,* wrapt in a wad of hay, 

Betweene the toylfull oxe and humble asse, 

And in what rags, and in how base aray, 

The glory of our heavenly riches lay, 

When him the silly shepheards came to see, 930 

Whom greatest princes sought on lowest knee. 

From thence reade on the storie of his life, 

His humble carriage, his unfaulty wayes. 

His cancred foes, his fights, his toyle, his strife, 

His paines, his povertie, his sharpe assayes, 23a 

Through which he past his miserable dayes, 

Offending none, and doing good to all. 

Yet being malist ^ both by great and small. 

And looke at last, how of most wretched wishta 
He taken was, betrayd, and false accused ; 240 

How with most scornfull taunts and fell despights, 
He was revyld, disgrast, and foule abused ; 
How scourgd, how crownd, how buffeted, how brused ; 
And, lastly, how twixt robbers crucifyde. 
With bitter wounds through hands, through feet, and 
syde ! 946 

Then let thy flinty hart, that feeles no paine, 
Empierced be with pittifuU remorse, 

1 Cratch, manger ' Malist, regarded wi>h ill-will. 

352 HYMNES. 

And let thy bowels bleede in every vaine, 

At sight of his most sacred heavenly corse, 

So tome and mangled with malicious forse ; 200 

And let thy soule, whose sins his sorrows wrought, 

Melt into teares, and grone in grieved thought. 

With sence whereof whilest so thy softened spirit 
Is inly toucht, and humbled with meeke zeale 
Through meditation of his endlesse merit, 26& 

Lift up thy mind to th' author of thy weale, 
And to his soveraine mercie doe appeale ; 
Learne him to love that loved thee so deare, 
And in thy brest his blessed image beare. 

With all thy hart, with all thy soule and mind, 26O 
Thou must him love, and his beheasts embrace ; 
All other loves, with which the world doth blind 
Weake fancies, and stirre up affections base. 
Thou must renounce and utterly displace. 
And give thy selfe unto him full and free, 386 

That full and freely gave himselfe to thee. 

Then shalt thou feele thy spirit so possest. 

And ravisht with devouring great desire 

Of his dear selfe, that shall thy feeble brest 

Inflame with love, and set thee all on fire rro 

With burning zeale, through every part entire, * 

That in no earthly thing thou shalt delight, 

But in his sweet and amiable sight. 

1 Entire, inward. 

HYMNES. 353 

Thenceforth all worlds desire will in thee dye, 

And all earthes glorie, on which men do gaze, sis 

Seeme durt and drosse in thy pure-sighted eye, 

Corapar'd to that celestiall beauties blaze, 

Whose glorious beames all fleshly sense doth daze 

With admiration of their passing light. 

Blinding the eyes, and lumining the spright. 2.0 

Then shall thy ravisht soul inspired bee 

With heavenly thoughts, farre above humane skil, 

And thy bright radiant eyes shall plainely see 

Th' idee of his pure glorie present still 

Before thy face, that all thy spirits shall fill 28.^ 

With sweete enragement of celestial' love, 

Kindled through sight of those faire things above. 

VOL. V. 23 



Rapt with the rage of mine own ravisht thought, 

Through contemplation of those goodly sights 

And glorious images in heaven wrought, 

Whose wondrous beauty, breathing sweet delights, 

Do kindle love in high eonceipted sprights, a 

I faine ^ to tell the things that I behold, 

But feele my wits to faile and tongue to fold. 

Vouchsafe then, Thou most Almightie Spright ! 
From whom all guifts of wit and knowledge flow. 
To shed into my breast some sparkling light lo 

Of thine eternall truth, that I may show 
Some little beames to mortall eyes below 
Of that iramortall Beautie there wiih Thee, 
Which in my weake distraughtea mynd I see ; 

That with the glorie of so goodly sight 16 

The hearts of men, which fondly liere admyre 

1 Paine, long. 

HYMNES. 355 

Faix'e seeming slievves, and feed on vaiiie delight. 
Transported with celestiall desyre 
Of those faire formes, may lift themselves up hyer, 
And learne to love, with zealous humble dewty, iio 
Th' Eternall Fountaine of that heavenly Beauty. 

Beginning then below, with th' easie vew 

Of this base world, subiect to fleshly eye, 

Fi'om thence to mount aloft, by order dew, 

To contemplation of th' immortall sky, 26 

Of the soare faulcon ^ so I learne to flye, 

That flags a while her fluttering wings beneath, 

Till she her selfe for stronger flight can breath. 

Then looke, who list thy gazefuU eyes to feed 

With sight of that is faire, looke on the frame ao 

Of this wyde universe, and therein reed 

The endlesse kinds of creatures which by name 

Thou canst not count, much less their natures aims ; 

All which are made with wondrous wise respect. 

And all with admirable beautie deckt. 86 

First, th' Earth, on adamantine pillers founded 

Amid the Sea, engirt with brasen bands ; 

Then th' Aire, still flitting, but yet firmely bounded 

On everie side with pyles of flaming brands. 

Never consum'd, nor quencht with mortall hands ; w 

And last, that mightie shining cristall wall, 

Wherewith he hath encompassed this all. 

I SoiireyhWcow, a young falcon; a hawk thsit li;is not sbed its 
drat leathers, wluch are sorreL 

356 HYMNES. 

By view whereof it plainly may appeare, 

That still as every thing doth upward tend 

And further is from earth, so still more cleare 46 

And faire it growes, till to his perfect end 

Of purest Beautie it at last ascend ; 

Ay re more then water, fire much more then ay re, 

And heaven then fire, appeares more pui'e and fayre. 

Looks thou no further, but affixe thine eye so 

On that bright shynie round still moving masse. 
The house of blessed God, which men call Skye, 
All sowd with glistring stars more thicke then grasse, 
Whereof each other doth in brightnesse passe, 
But those two most, which, ruling night and day, 66 
As king and queene the heavens empire sway ; 

And tell me then, what hast thou ever seene 
That to their beautie may compared bee ? 
Or can the sight that is most sharpe and keene 
Endure their captains flaming head to see ? eo 

How much lesse those, much higher in degree. 
And so much fairer, and much more than tliese, 
As these are fairer then the land and seas ? 

For farre above these heavens which here we see. 

Be others farre exceeding these in light, 65 

Not bounded, not corrupt, as these same bee. 

But infinite in largenesse and in hight, 

Unmoving, uncorrupt, and spotlesse bright. 

That need no sunne t' illuminate their spheres, 

But their owne native liglit farre passing theirs. 70 

HYMNES. 357 

And as these heavens still by degrees arize, 

Until they come to their first movers^ bound, 

That in his mightie compasse doth comprize 

And Carrie all the rest with him around, 

So those likewise doe by degrees redound,'^ 7s 

And rise more faire, till they at last arive 

To the most faire, whereto they all do strive. 

Faire is the heaven where happy soules have 

In full enioyment of felicitie, 

Whence they doe still behold the glorious face 90 
Of the Divine Eternall Maiestie ; 
More faire is that where those Idees on hie 
Enraunged be, which Plato so admyred, 
And pure Inlelligences from God inspyred. 

Yet fairer is that heaven in which do raine as 

The soveraigne Powres and mightit; Potentates, 

Which in their high protections doe containe 

All mortall princes and imperiall states ; 

And fayrer yet whereas the royall Seates 

And heavenly Dominations are set, no 

From whom all earthly governance is fet.' 

Yet farre more faire be those bright Cherubins, 

Which all Avith golden wings are overdight, 

And those eternall burning Seraphins, 

Which from their faces dart out fierie light ; i« 

Y^et fairer then they both, and much more bright, 

1 1, e. the prirmim mobile. 8 J<\t^ fetched, derived. 

' I. e. exceed the one the other. 

358 HYMNES. 

Be th' Angels and Archangels, which attend 
On Gods ovvne person, without rest or end. 

These thus in faire each other farre excelling, 
As to the Highest they approach more near, loo 

Yet is that Highest farre beyond all telling. 
Fairer then all the rest which there appeare, 
Though all their beauties ioyn'd together were ; 
How then can mortall tongue hope to expresse 
The image of such endlesse perfectnesse ? i08 

Cease then, my tongue ! and lend unto my mynd 
Leave to bethinke how great that Beautie is, 
Whose utmost^ parts so beautifull I fynd ; 
How much more those essentiall parts of His, 
His truth, his love, his wisedome, and his blis, no 
His grace, his doome,'^ his mercy, and his might, 
By which he lends us of himselfe a sight ! 

Those unto all he daily doth display. 

And shew himselfe in th' image of his grace, 

As in a looking-glasse, through which he may ii6 

Be seene of all his creatures vile and base. 

That are unable else to see his face ; 

His glorious face ! which glistereth else so bright, 

That th' angels selves can not endure his sight. 

But we, fraile wights ! whose sight cannot sustaine 12c 
The suns bright beanies when he on us doth shyne, 
But* that their points rebutted* backe againe 

1 Utmost, outmost. ^ £ut^ unless. 

8 Doame, judgment. * Rebutted, reflected. 

HYMNES. 359 

Are duld, how can we see with feeble eyne 

The glorie of that Maiestie Divine, 

In sight of whom both sun and moone are darke, iss 

Compared to his least resplendent sparke ? 

The meanes, therefore, which unto us is lent 

Him to behold, is on his workes to looke, 

Which he hath made in beauty excellent, 

And in the same, as in a brasen booke, iso 

To read enregistred in every nooke 

His goodnesse, which his beautie doth declare ; 

For all thats good is beautifuU and faire. 


Thence gathering plumes of perfect speculation 

To impe ^ the wings of thy high flying mynd, 13& 

Mount up aloft, through heavenly contemplation. 

From this darke world, whose damps the soule do blynd, 

And, like the native brood of eagles kynd, 

On that bright Sunne of Glorie fixe thine eyes, 

Clear'd from grosse mists of fraile infirmities. uo 

Humbled with feare and awfull reverence, 

Before the footestoole of his Maiestie 

Throw thy selfe downe, with trembling innocence, 

Ne dare looke up with corruptible eye 

On the dred face of that great Deity, 145 

For feare lest, if he chaunce to look on thee, 

Thou turne to nought, and quite confounded be. 

But lowly fall before his mercie seate, 
Close covered with the Lambes integrity 

1 Impi, mend, strengthen. 

360 HYMNES. 

From the iust wrath of His avengefull threate iso 

That sits upon the righteous throne on hy : 

His throne is built upon Eternity, 

More firme and durable then Steele or brasse, 

Or the hard diamond, which them both doth passe. 

His scepter is the rod of Righteousnesse, 155 

With which he bruseth all his foes to dust, 
And the great Dragon strongly doth represse, 
Under the rigour of his iudgment iust ; 
His seate is Truth, to which the faithfull trust, 
From whence proceed her beames so pure and 
bright, 160 

That all about him sheddeth glorious light : 

Light farre exceeding that bright blazing sparke 

Which darted is from Titans- flaming head, 

That with his beames enlumineth the darke 

And dampish air, wherby al things are red * ; les 

Whose nature yet so much is marvelled 

Of mortall wits, that it doth much amaze 

The greatest wisards ^ which thereon do gaze. 

But that immortall light which there doth shine 
Is many thousand times more bright, more cleare, no 
More excellent, more glorious, more divine ; 
Through which to God all mortall actions here. 
And even the thoughts of men, do plaine appeare ; 
For from th' Eternall Truth it doth proceed, 
Through heavenly vertue which her beames doe 
breed. 17s 

1 Med, perceived. 2 Wisards, wise men, savants 

HTMNES. 361 

With the great glorie of that wondrous Hght 

His throne is all encompassed around, 

And hid in his owne brightnesse ft-om the sight 

Of all that looke thereon with eyes unsound ; 

And underneath his feet are to be found iso 

Thunder, and lightning, and tempestuous fyre, 

The instruments of his avenging yre. 

There in his bosome Sapience doth sit, 

The soveraine dearling of the Deity, 

Clad like a queene in royall robes, most fit im 

For so great powre and peerelesse maiesty, 

And all with gerames and iewels gorgeously 

Adornd, that brighter then the starres appeare, 

And make her native brightnes seem more cleare. 

And on her head a crown of purest gold 190 

Is set, in signe of highest soverainty ; 

And in her hand a scepter she doth hold, 

With which she rules the house of God on hy, 

And menageth the ever-moving sky. 

And in the same these lower creatures all 199 

Subiected to her powre imperial!. 

Both heaven and earth obey unto her will, 
And all the creatures which they both containe ; 
For of her fulnesse, which the world doth fill, 
They all partake, and do in state remaine soo 

As their great Maker did at first ordaine, 
Through observation of her high beheast. 
By which they first were made, and -till in- 

362 HTMNES. 

The fairness of her face no tongue can tell ; 

For she the daughters of all wemens race, a» 

And angels she in beautie doth excell, 

Sparkled on her from Gods owne glorious face, 

And more increast by her owne goodly grace, 

Tliat it doth farre exceed all humane thought, 

Ne can on earth compared be to ought. 21" 

Ne could that painter (had he lived yet) 

Which pictured Venus with so curious quill 

That all posteritie admyred it. 

Have purtray'd this, for all his maistring ^ skill ; 

Ne she her selfe, had she remained still, m 

And were as faire as fabling wits do fayne. 

Could once come neare this Beauty soverayne. 

But had those wits, the wonders of their dayes, 

Or that sweete Teian poet,^ which did spend 

His plenteous vaine in setting forth her praise, aac 

Seen but a glims of this which I pretend,^ 

How wondrously would he her face commend. 

Above that idole of his fayning thought, 

That all the world should with his rimes be fraught I 

How then dare I, the novice of his art, aae 

Presume to picture so divine a wight, 
Or hope t' expresse her least perfections part. 
Whose beautie fiUes the heavens with her light. 
And darkes the earth with shadow of her sight ? 


J Maistring, superior. 2 I. e. Anacreon. 

' Pretend, set forth, (or, simply) intend. 

HTMNES. 363 

Ah, gentle Muse ! thou art too weake and famt 230 
The pourtraict of so heavenly hew to paint. 

Let angels, which her goodly face behold. 

And see at will, her soveraigne pi-aises sing, 

And those most sacred mysteries unfold 

Of that faire love of mightie Heavens King ; 2s« 

Enough is me t' admyre so heavenly thing. 

And being thus with her huge love possest, 

In th' only wonder of her selfe to rest. 

But whoso may, thrise happie man him hold 

Of all on earth, whom God so much doth grace, >i« 

And lets his owne Beloved to behold ; 

For in the view of her celestiall face 

All ioy, all blisse, all happinesse, have place ; 

Ne ought on earth can want unto the wight 

Who of her selfe can win the wishfull sight. -45 


For she out of her secret threasury 

Plentie of riches forth on him will powre, 

Even heavenly riches, which there hidden ly 

Within the closet of her chastest bowre, 

Th' eternall portion of her precious dowre, 3»« 

Which Mighty God hath given to her free, 

And to all those which thereof worthy bee. 

None thereof worthy be, but those whom shee 
Vouchsafeth to her presence to receave. 
And letteth them her lovely face to see, aat 

Wherof such wondrous pleasures they conceave, 
A^nd sweete contentment, that it doth bereave 

364 HTMNES. 

Their soul of sense, through infinite delight, 
And them transport from flesh into the spright. 

In which they see such admirable things, 200 

As carries them into an extasy ; 

And heare such heavenly notes and caroHngs 

Of Gods high praise, that filles the brasen sky ; 

And feele such ioy and pleasure inwardly, 

That maketh them all worldly cares forget, 36A 

And onely thinke on that before them set. 

Ne from thenceforth doth any fleshly sense, 

Or idle thought of earthly things, remaine ; 

But all that earst seemd sweet seemes now offense, 

And all that pleased earst now seemes to paine : 210 

Their ioy, their comfort, their desire, their gaine, 

Is fixed all on that which now they see ; 

All other sights but fayned shadowes bee. 

And that faire lampe which useth to enflame 
The hearts of men with selfe-consuming fyre, 376 

Thenceforth seemes fowle, and full of sinfull blame ; 
And all that pompe to which proud minds aspyre 
By name of Honor, and so much desyre, 
Seemes to them basenesse, and all riches drosse, 
And all mirth sadnesse, and all lucre losse. aeo 

So full their eyes are of that glorious sight, 

And senses fraught with such satietie. 

That in nought else on earth they can delight, 

But in th' aspect of that felicitie 

Which they have written in theyr inward ey : 286 

HYllNKS. 365 

On which they feed, and in theyr fastened mynd 
All happie ioy and full contentment fynd. 

Ah, then, ray hungry soule ! which long hast fed 

On idle fancies of thy foolish thought, 

And, with false Beauties flattring bait misled, -290 

Hast after vaine deceiptfuU shadowes sought. 

Which all are fled, and now have left thee nouf^ht 

But late repentance, through thy follies prief, 

Ah ! ceasse to gaze on matter of thy grief: 

And looke at last up to that Soveraine Light, 296 
Fi'ora whose pure beams al perfect Beauty springs, 
That kindleth love in every godly spright. 
Even the love of God ; which loathing brings 
Of this vile world and these gay-seeming things ; 
With whose sweet pleasures being so possest, iw 

Thy straying thoughts henceforth for ever rest. 



In jouth, before I waxed old, 
The blynd boy, Venus baby, 
For want of cunning, made me bold 
In bitter hyve to grope for honny : 
But when he saw me stung and cry, 
He tooke his wings and away did fly. 


As Diane hunted on a day, 

She chaunst to come where Cupid lay, 

His quiver by his head : 
One of his shafts she stole away, 
And one of hers did close convay 

Into the others stead : 
With that Love wounded my Loves hart, 
But Diane, beasts with Cupids dart. 

* These four sliort pieces, which we have called Epis^ams, were 
printed with the Amoretli and Epilhalamion, and between the two. 
They have no titles in the old copies, and no account is given of 
them. The second and thira are translated from Marot's Epigrams. 
T.iv. Til. No. 6, De Diane, and No. 24, De Cupido ef <1f »n Dame. C. 



I SAW, in secret to my dame 
How little Cupid humbly came, 

And said to her, " All hayle, my mother ! " 
But when he saw me laugh, for shame 
His face with bashfull blood did flame, 

Not knowing Venus from the other. 
" Then, never blush, Cupid," quoth I, 
" For many have err'd in this beauty." 


Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbring 

All in his mothers lap, 
A gentle Bee, with his loud trumpet murm'ring. 

About him flew by hap- 
Whereof when he was wakened with the noyse, 

And saw the beast so small, 
" What's this," quoth he, " that gives so great a voyce. 

That wakens men withall ? " 
In angry wize he flies about, 
And threatens all with coi*age stout. ic 

To whom his mother, closely* smiling, sayd, 

'Twixt earnest and 'twixt game : 
' See ! thou thy selfe likewise art lyttle made, 

If thou regard the same. 

1 Closely, secretly. 


And yet thou suffrest neyther gods in sky, ». 

Nor men in earth, to rest ; 
But when thou art disposed cruelly, 
Theyr sleepe thou doost molest. 
Then eyther change thy cruelty, 
Or give lyke leave unto the fly." 9(r 

Nathelesse, the cruell boy, not so content, 

Would needs the fly pursue. 
And in his hand, with heedlesse hardiment,. 

Him caught for to subdue. 
But when on it he hasty hand did lay, ae - 

The Bee him stung therefore : 
" Now out, alas," he cryde, " and welaway ! 

I wounded am full sore : 

The fly, that I so much did scorne, 

Hath hurt me with his little home." «» 

Unto his mother straight he weeping came,. 

And of his griefe com play ned ; 
"Who could not chose but laugh at his fond cratiie. 

Though sad to see him pained. 
" Think now," quoth she, *' my Sonne, how great the 
smart 36 

Of those whom thou dost wound : 
Full many thou hast pricked to the hart, 
That pitty never found. 

Therefore, henceforth some pitty takt% 

When thou doest spoyle of lovers make." 40 

She tooke him streight full pitiously lamenting. 
And wrapt him in her smock ; 

372 EPIGllAMS. 

She wrapt him softly, all the while repenting 

That he the fly did mock. 
She drest his wound, and it embaulraed well ts 

With salve of soveraigne might ; 
And then she bath'd him in a dainty well, 
The well of deare delight. 

Who would not oft be stung as this, 

To be so bath'd in Venus blis ? so 

The wanton boy was shortly wel recured 

Of that his malady ; 
but he soone after fresh again enured * 

His former cruelty. 
And since that time he wounded hath my selfe w 

With his sharpe dart of love, 
And now forgets the cruell carelesse elfe 

His mothers heast ^ to prove. 
So now I languish, till he please 
My pining anguish to appease. eo 

1 Enured, practised. ^ Beast, command. 




To the right worshipfuU, my singular good frend, 
M. GabrieU Harvey, Doctor of the Lawes. 

Hauvey, the happy above happiest men 

I read ^ ; t:iat, sitting like a looker-on 

Of this worldes stage, doest note with critique pen 

The sharpe dislikes of each condition : 

And, as one carelesse of suspition. 

Ne fawnest for the favour of the great, 

Ne fearest fooHsh repreliensioii 

Of faulty men, which daunger to thee threat: 

But freely doest of what thee list entreat,^ 

1 Read, consider. * Entreat, treat. 

• From " Foure Letters,and certaine Sonnets, especially tonching 
Robert Greene, and other parties by turn abused," &c. London, 

15P2 TODT>. 


Like a great lord of peerelesse liberty, 
Lifting the good up to high Honours seat, 
And the evill damning evermore to dy : 
For life and death is in thy doomeful writing ; 
So thy renowme lives ever by endighting. 

Dublin, this xviij. of July, 1586. 

Your devoted friend, during life, 

Edmund Spknceb. 


Whoso wil seeke, by right deserts, t' attaine 
Unto the type of true nobility, 
And not by painted shewes, and titles vaine. 
Derived farre from famous auncestrie, 
Behold them both in their right visnoray ^ 
Here truly pourtray'd as they ought to be. 
And striving both for termes of dignitie, 
To be advanced highest in degree. 
And when thou doost with equall insight see 
The ods twixt both, of both then deem aright. 
And chuse the better of them both to thee ; 
But tliaiiks to him that it deserves behight "^ : 
To Nenna first, that first this worke created, 
And next to lones, that truely it translated. 

Ed. Spenskr. 

J Visnomy, features. ^ BehU/ht, nccnrd. 

* Prefixed to " Nennio, or A Treatise of Nobility, &c. Written 
in Italian by tliat famous Doctor and worthy Knight, Sir lohn 
Baptista Nenna of Bari. Done into English by William lones. 
Gent." 1595. Todd. 



Upon the Historic of George Castriot, alias Scander- 
beg, King of the Eptrots, translated into English. 

Wherefore doth vaine Antiquitie so vaunt 
Her ancient monuments of mightie peeres, 
And old heroes, which their world did daunt 
With their great deedes and fild their childrens eares? 
Who, rapt with wonder of their famous praise, 
Admii'e their statues, their colossoes great, 
Their rich triuraphall arcks which they did raise, 
Their huge pyramids, which do heaven threat. 
Lo ! one, whom later age hath brought to light, 
Matchable to the greatest of those great ; 
Great both by name, and great in power and might, 
And meriting a meere ^ triumphant seate. 

The scourge of Turkes, and plague of infidels, 
Thy acts, Scanderbeg, this volume tels. 

Ed. Spenseb. 


The antique Babel, empresse of the East, 
Upreard her buildinges to the threatned skie 

1 Meere, absolute, decided : qy. more ? 

* Prefixed to the " Historie of George Castriot, surnatue 1 
Scanderbeg, King of Albanie: Containing his famous actes, &c. 
Newly translated out of French into English by Z. I. Gentleman ' 
1596 Todd. 

t Prefixed to " The Commonwealth and Government of Venice, 
Written by the Cardinal! Caspar Contareno, and transhited out of 
Italian into English by Lewes Lewkenor, Esquire." London, 1599 


And second Babell, tyrant of the West, 
Her ayry towers upraised much more high. 
But with the weight of their own surquedry * 
They both are fallen, that all the earth did feare, 
And buried now in their own ashes ly ; 
Yet shewing, by their heapes, how great they were. 
But in their place doth now a third appeare, 
Fayre Venice, flower of the last worlds delight ; 
And next to them in beauty draweth neare, 
But farre exceedes in policie of right. 
Yet not so fayre her buildinges to behold 
As Lewkenors stile that hath her beautie told. 

Edm. Spengeb. 

1 Surquedry, presumption. 











Printed by Hugh Singleton, dwelling in Creede Lane, neero 

unto Ludgate, at the signe of the Gylden Tunne, 

and are there to be solde. 



GoE, little Booke, thy selfe present, 
As child whose parent is unkent,* 
To him that is the president ^ 
Of noblesse and of chevalree : 
And if that Envie barke at thee, 
As sure it will, for succoure flee 
Under the shadow of his wing ; 
And, asked who thee forth did bring, 
A shepheards swaine, saye, did thee sing. 
All as his straying flocke he fedde : 
And when his Honor has thee redde, 
Crave pardon for my hardyhedde. 
But if that any aske thy name, 
Say, thou wei*t base-begot with blame ; 
Forthy thereof thou takest shame. 
And when thou art past jeopardee, 
Come tell me what was sayd of mee, 
And I wiU send more after thee. 


I Unkent, unknown. 2 President, precedent, pattern. 







Uncouthe, unkiste,* saytle the old famous poete 
Chaucer : whom for his excellencie and woiiderfull 
skil in making,- his scholler Lidgate, a worthy schol- 
ler of SO excellent a maister, ealleth the loadstarre 
of our language : and whom our Colin Clout in his 
aeglogue ealleth Tityrus the god of shepheards, com- 
paring hym to the worthines of the Roman Tityrus, 
Virgile. Which proverbe, mjne owne good friend Ma. 
Harvey, as in that good old poete it served well Pan- 
dares purpose for the bolstering of his baudie brocage,' 
so very well taketh place in this our new poete, who, 
for that hee is uncouthe, (as said Chaucer,) is unkist, 
and unknown to most men, is regarded but of few. 
But I dout not, so soone as his name shall come into 
the knowledg of men, and his woorthines bee sounded 

1 I. e. unknown, unwelcomed. 8 Brocage, procuring. 

2 Making, jnoetry. 


in the tromp of Fame, but that hee shall bee not 
onely kiste, but also beloved of all, imbraced of the 
most, and wondred at of the best. No lesse, I thinke, 
deserveth his wittinesse in devising, his pithiresse in 
uttering, his complaints of love so lovely, his dis- 
courses of pleasure so pleasantly, his pastoral rudenes, 
his morall veisenesse, his dewe observing of decorum 
everye where, in personages, in seasons, in matter, in 
speach ; and generally, in al seemely simplycitie of 
handeling his matters, and framing his words : the 
which, of many thinges which in him be straunge, I 
know will seeme the straungest, the wordes them selves 
being so auncient, the knitting of them so short and 
intricate, and the whole periode and compasse of speech 
80 delightsome for the roundnesse, and so grave for the 
straungenesse. And firste of the wordes to speake, 1 
graunt they bee something hard, and of most -men un- 
used, yet both English, and also used of most excellent 
authours and most famous poetes. In whom, when as 
this our poet hath bene much travelled and tliroughly 
redd, how could it be, (as that worthy oratour sayde,) 
but that walking in the sonne, although for other cause 
he walked, yet needes he mought be sunburnt ; and, 
having the sound of those auncient poetes still ringing 
in his eares, he mought needes, in singing, hit out some 
of theyr tunes. But whether he useth them by such 
casualtye and custome, or of set purpose and choyse, 
as thinking them fittest for such rustical rudenesse of 
shepheards, eyther for that theyr rough sounde would 
make his rymes more ragged and rustical ; or els be- 
cause such olde and obsolete wordes are most used 
of country folke, sure I think, and think I tliink not 


amisse, that they bring great grace, and, as cne wowH 
say, auctoritie to the verse. For albe, amongst msmj 
other faultes, it specially be objected of Valla against 
Livie, and of other against Saluste, that with over- 
much studie they affect antiquitie, as coveting there- 
by credence and honor of elder yeeres, yet I a;m of 
opinion, and eke the best learned are of the lyke, that 
those auncient solemne wordes are a great ornament, 
both in the one and in the other : the one labouring to 
set forth in hys worke an eternall image of antiquitie, 
and the other carefully discoursing matters of gravity 
and importaunce. For, if my memory faile not, Tullie, 
in that booke wherein he endevoureth to set forth the 
paterne of a perfect oratour, sayth that (rflttimes an 
ancient worde maketh the style seeme grave, and as 
it were reverend, no otherwise then we honour and 
reverence gray heares, for a certein religious regard 
which we have of old age. Yet nether everj' where 
must old words be stuffed in, nor the comraen dialecte 
and maner of speaking so corrupted therby, that, as 
in olde buildings, it seme disorderly and ruinous.. 
But all as in most exquisite pictures they use to blaze  
and portraict not only the daintie lineaments of beauty e, 
but also rounde about it to shadowe the rude thickets 
and craggy clifts, that, by the basenesse of such parts, 
more excellency may accrew to the principall — for 
oftimes we fynde our selves, I knowe not how, sin- 
gularly delighted with the shewe of such naturall 
rudenesse, and take great pleasure in that disorderly 
order — even so doe those rough and harsh termes en- 
lumine, and make more clearly to appeare, the bright- 
nesse of brave and glorious wordes. So, ofentimes a 


dischorde in musick maketh a comely concordaunce*. 
so, great delight tooke the worthy poete Alceus to 
behold a blemish in the joynt of a wel shaped body. 
But if any will rashly blame such his purpose in 
choyse of old and unwonted wordes, him may I more 
justly blame and condemne, or of witlesse headinesse 
in judging, or of heedelesse hardinesse in condemning ; 
for, not marking the compasse of hys bent, he wil 
judge of the length of his cast : for in my opinion 
it is one speciall praise, of many whych are dew to 
this poete, that he hath laboured to restore, as to theyr 
rightfull heritage, such good and naturall English 
words as have ben long time out of use, and almost 
cleane disherited. Which is the only cause that our 
mother tonge, which truely of it self is both ful enough 
for prose and stately enough for verse, hath long time 
ben counted most bare and barren of both. Whicli 
default when as some endevoured to salve and recure, 
they patched up the holes with peces and rags of 
other languages, borrowing here of the French, there 
of the Italian, every where of the Latine ; not weighs 
ing how il those tongues accorde with themselves, but 
much worse with ours : so now they have made our 
English tongue a gallimaufray or hodgepodge of al 
other speches. Other some, not so wel seene ^ in 
the English tonge as perhaps in other languages, if 
they happen to heare an olde word, albeit ver}- nat- 
urall and significant, crye out straightway that we 
speak no English, but gibbrish, or rather such as in 
olde time Evanders mother spake : whose fii-st shame 
is, that they are not ashamed in their own niotlier 

1 Seene, skilled. 


tonge straungers to bee counted and alienes. The 
second shame no lesse then the first, that what so 
they understand not, they streight way deeme to be 
senselesse, and not at al to be understode. Much 
like to the mole in ^sopes fable, that, being blynd 
herselfe, would in no wise be perswaded that any 
beast could see. The last, more shameful then both, 
that of their owne country and natural speach, which 
together with their nourses milke they sucked, they 
have so base regard & bastard judgement, that they 
will not onely themselves not labor to garnish and 
beautifie it. but also repine that of other it shold be 
embellished. Like to the dogge in the maunger, that 
him selfe can eate no hay, and yet barketh at the 
hungry bullock that so faine would feede : whose cur- 
rish kinde, though [it] cannot be kept from barking, 
yet I conne them thanke ^ that they refrain from 

Now, for the knitting of sentences, which th«.y call 
the joynts and members therof, & for al the com- 
passe of the speech, it is round without roughnesse, 
and learned without hardnes, such indeede as may be 
perceyved of the leaste, understoode of the most, but 
judged onely of the learned. For what in most Eng- 
lish wryters useth to be loose, and as it were ungyrt,^ 
in this authour is well grounded, finely framed, and 
strongly trussed up together. In regard whereof, I 
scorne and spue out the rake-hellye route of our 
ragged rymers (for so themselves use to hunt the 
letter) which without learning boste, without judge- 
ment jangle, without reason rage and fome, as if some 

1 I. e. feel gratitii-ie to them. 2 j. e. slipshorl. 


instinct of poeticall spirite had newly ravished thera 
above the meannesse of commen capac-itie. And be 
ing, in the middest of all theyr braverie, sodenly 
eyther for want of matter or ryme, or having forgot- 
ten theyr former conceyt, they seeme to be so pained 
and traveiled in theyr remembrance as it were a 
woman in childebirth, or as that same Pythia, when 
the traunce came upon her: " Os rabidumfera cor da 
domans" &,Q. 

Nethelesse, let them a Gods name feede on theyr 
owne folly, so they seeke not to darken the beames of 
others glory. As for Colin, under whose person the 
Authour selfe is shadowed, how furre he is from such 
vaunted titles and glorious showes, both him selfe 
sheweth, where he sayth, 

" Of Muses, Bobbin, I conne no skill," 

" Enough is me to paint out my unrest," &c. 

And also appeareth by the basenesse of the name, 
wherein it seemeth he chose rather to unfold great 
matter of argument covertly, then, professing it, not 
suffice thereto accordingly. Which moved him rather 
in feglogues then other wise to write, doubting perhaps 
his habilitie, which he little needed, or mynding to fur- 
nish our tonsfue with this kinde, w-herein it faulteth ; 
or following the example of the best and most auncient 
poetes, which devised tliis kinde of wryting, being both 
so base for the matter, and homely for the manner, 
at the first to trie theyr habilities, and, as young birdes 
that be newly crept out of the nest, by little first to 
prove theyr tender wyngs, before they make a great- 
er flyght. So flew Theocritus, as ^ou may perceive 


he was allreadie full fledged. So flewe Virgile. as not 
yet well feeling his winges. So flew Mantuane, as 
not being full somd.^ So Petrarque. So Boccace. 
So Marot, Sanazarus, and also diverse other excel- 
lent both Italian and French poetes, whose foting this 
author every where foUoweth : yet so as few, but they 
be wel sented, can trace him out. So finally flyeth 
this our new poete, as a birde whose principals - be 
scarce growen out, but yet as that in time shall be 
hable to keepe wing with the best. 

Nowe, as touching the generall dryft and purpose 
of his jEglogues, I mind not to say much, him selfe 
laboring to conceale it. Onely this appeareth, that 
his unstayed yougth had long wandred in the com- 
mon labyrinth of Love ; in which time, to mitigate 
and allay the heate of his passion, or els to warne 
(as he sayth) the young shepheards, as his equalls 
and companions, of his unfortunate folly, he compiled 
these xij ^glogues, which, for that they be propor- 
tioned to the state of the xij monethes, he tenneth the 
Shepheards Calender, applying an olde name^ fo a 
new worke. Hereunto have I added a cei'taine glosse, 
or scholion,* for thexposition of olde wordes and hard- 
er phrases ; which maner of glosing and commenting, 
well I wote, wil seeme straunge and rare in our 
tongue : yet, for somuch as I knewe many excellent 

1 Somd, summed (a term in falconry), having all the feathers 

2 Principals, two longest feathers. 

8 It was the name of a popular almanac. 

* Here omitted, it being sometimes incorrect, ofiicn insufficient, 
an(» very often superfluous. C. 


and proper clevises, both in wordes and matter, would 
passe in tlie speedie course of leading, either as un- 
knowen, or as not marked, and that in this kind, as 
in other, we might be equal to the learned of other 
nations, I thought good to take the paines upon me, 
the rather for that by meanes of some familiar ac- 
quaintance I was made privie to his counscll and 
secret meaning in them, as also in sundrie other 
works of his : which albeit I know he nothing so 
much hateth as to promulgate, yet thus much have I, 
adventured upon his frendship, him selfe being for 
long time furre estraunged ; hoping that this will the 
rather occasion him to put forth diverse other excel- 
lent works of his wliich slepe in silence, as Ids 
Dreames, his Legendes, his Court of Cupide, and 
sondry others, whose commendation to set out were 
verye vaine, the things, though worthie of many, yet 
beeing knowen to fewe. These my present paynes, 
if to any they be pleasurable or profitable, be you 
judge, mine owne good Maister Harvey, to whom I 
have, both in respect of your worthines generally, and 
otherwyse upon some particular and special consid- 
erations, voued this my labour, and the maydenhead 
of this our commen frends poetrie ; himselfe having 
already in the beginning dedicated it to the noble 
and worthy gentleman, the right worsliipfull Ma. 
Phi. Sidney, a special favourer and maintainer of 
all kind of learning. Whose cause, I pray you. Sir, 
if envie shall stur up any wrongful accusasion, de- 
fend with your mightie rhetorick and other your 
rare gifts of learning, as you can, and shield with 
your good wil, as you ought, against the malice and. 


outrage of so many enemies as I know will bee set on 
fire with the sparkes of his kindled glory. And thus 
recommending the Author unto yon. as unto his most 
special good frend, and my self'e unto you both, as 
one making singuler account of two so very good and 
so choise friends, I bid you both most hartely farwel, 
and commit you and your commendable studies to 
the tuicion of the Greatest. 

Your owne assuredly to be commaunded, 

E. K.* 


Now I trust, M. Harvey, that upon sight of your 
speciall frends and fellow poets doings, or els for en- 
vie of so many unworthy quidams, which catch at 
the garlond which to you alone is dewe, you will be 
perswaded to plucke out of the hatefull darknesse those 
so many excellent P^nglish poemes of yours which lye 
hid, and bring them foitli to eternall light. Trust me, 
you doe both them great wrong, in depriving them 
of the desired sonne, and also your selfe, in smooth- 
ering your deserved praises ; and all men generally, 
in withholding from them so divine pleasures which 
they might conceive of your gallant English verses, as 
they have already done of your Latine poemes, which, 
in my opinion, both for invention and elocution are 
very delicate and superexcellent. And thus againe 
1 take my leave of my good IMayster Harvey. From 
my lodging at London, this 10 of Aprill, 1579. 

* In all probability one Edward Kirke, who was of the same 
I'oUege as Spenser. 





Little, I hope, needeth me at large to discourse 
the first originall of ^glogues, having ah'eadie touched 
the same. But, for the Avorde ^glogues, I know, is 
unknowen to most, and also mistaken of some of the 
best learned, (as they think,) I wyll say somewhat 
thereof, beeing not at all impei'tinent to my present 

They were first of the Greekes, the mventours of 
them, called ^glogai, as it Avere alyav, or alyovofxoiv 
\dyoi, tliat is, Goteheards tales.* For although in 
Virgile and others the speakers be more shepheards 
then goatheards, yet Theocritus, in whom is more 
ground of authoritie then in Virgile, tliis specially 
from that deriving, as from the first head and wel- 
spring, the whole invention of his ^glogues, maketli 
goteheards the persons and authors of his tales. This 
being, who seeth not the grossnesse of such as by 
colour of learning would make us beleeve that they 

* A mistaken etymologj'; and derived from I'etrarch. Wak- 


are more rightly termed Eclogai ; as they would say, 
extraordinary discourses of unnecessarie matter : 
which definition, albe in substaunce and meaninor it 
agree with the nature of the thing, yet no whit an- 
swereth with the avakv<m and interpretation of the 
worde. For tliey be not termed Eclogues, but 
^glogues ; which sentence this authour very well 
observing, upon good judgement, though indeede 
fewe goteheards have to doe herein, netlielesse 
doubteth not to cal them by the used and best 
knowen name. Other curious discourses hereof 1 
reserve to greater occasion. 

These xij ^glogues, every wlrere answering to 
the seasons of the twelve monethes, may be well 
devided into three formes or ranckes. For eyther 
they be Plaintive, as the first, the sixt, the eleventh, 
and the twelfth ; or Recreative, such as al those bee 
which containe matter of love, or commendation of 
special personages ; or Morall, which for the most 
part be mixed with some satyrical bitternesse, — 
namely, the second, of reverence dewe to olde age ; 
the fift, of coloured deceipt ; the seventh and ninth, 
of dissolute shepheards and pastours ; the tenth, of 
contempt of poetrie and pleasant wits. And to this 
division may every thing herein bee reasonaljly ap- 
plyed ; a few onely except, whose speciall ])urpose 
and meaning I am not privie to. And thus much 
generally of these xij ^^glogues. Now will we 
speake {)articularly of all, and first of the first, wiiich 
hee calleth by the first monethes name, Januarie : 
wherein to some hee may seeme fowly to have fault- 
ed, in that he erroniously beginneth with that nioneth 


which beginneth not the yeare. For it is wel knowen, 
and stoutly mainteyned with stronge reasons of the 
learned, that the yeare beginneth in March ; for then 
the Sonne renewetli his finished course, and the sea- 
sonable spring refreshetli the earth, and the pleas- 
aunce thereof, being buried in the sadnesse of the 
dead winter, now worne away, reliveth. 

This opinion niaynteine the olde astrologers and 
philosophers, namely, the reverend Andalo, and Ma- 
crobius in his Holydayes of Saturne ; which accoumpt 
also was geneially observed both of Grecians and 
Romans. But, saving the leave of such leai-ned 
heads, wee mayntaine a custome of coumpting the sea- 
sons from the moneth January uppon a more speciall 
cause then the heathen philosophers ever coulde con- 
ceyve, that is, for the incarnation of our mighty Sav- 
iour and eternall Redeemer, the L. Christ, who, as 
then renewing the state of the decayed worlde, and 
returning the compasse of expyred yeares to theyr 
former date and first commencement, left to us his 
heires a memoriall of his birth in the end of the last 
yeere and beginning of the next. Which reckoning' 
beside that eternall monument of our salvation, lean- 
eth also uppon good proofe of special judgement. 

For albeit that in elder tymes, when as yet the 
coumpt of the yere was not perfected, as afterwarde it 
was by Julius Caesar, they began to tel the monethes 
from Marches beginning, and according to tlie same, 
God (as is sayd in Scripture) comaunded the people 
of the Jewes to count the moneth Abib, that which 
wee call March, for the first moneth, in remem- 
braunce that in that moneth he brought them out of 


the land of ^gipt, yet, according to tradition of 
latter times it hath been otherwise observed, both in 
government of the Cliurch and rule of mightiest 
realines. For from Julius Cajsar, who first observed 
the leape yeare, which he called Blssextilem Annum, 
and brought into a more certain course the odde 
wandring daycs which of the Greekes were called 
VTTfpjUaivovTfs, of the Romans intercalares, (for in such 
matter of learning I am forced to use the tearincs 
of the learned,) the monethes have beene numbred 
xij, which in the first ordinaunce of Romulus were 
but tenne, counting but ccciiij dayes in every yeare, 
and beginning with March. But Numa Pompilius, 
who was the father of al the Romain ceremonies and 
religion, seeing that reckoning to agree neither with 
the course of the soime nor of the moone, thei-eunto 
added two monetbes, .January and February ; wherin 
it seemeth that wise king minded, upon good reason, 
to begin the yeare at Januarie, of him theiefore so 
called tanquam janua anni, the gate and cntraunce 
of the yere ; or of the name of the god Janus, to 
which god for that the olde Paynims attributed the 
byrth and beginning of all creatures new comming 
into the worlde, it seemeth that he therfore to him 
assigned the beginning and first entraunce of the 
yeare. Which account for the most part hath hetli- 
erto continued : notwithstanding that the ^giptians 
beginne theyr yeare at September ; for that, accord- 
ing to the opinion of the best rabbins and very pur- 
pose of the Scripture selfe, God made the worlde in 
that moneth, that is called of them 2\sri. And 
iherefore he commaunded them to keepe the feast of 


Pavilions in the ende of the yeare, in the xv. day of 
the seventh moneth, which before that time was the 

But our Authour, respecting neither the subtiltie 
of thone part, nor the antiquitie of thother, thinketb 
it fittest, according to the simplicitie of commen un- 
derstanding, to begin with Januarie ; wening it per- 
haps no decorum that shepheards should be seene - 
in matter of so deepe insight, or canvase a case of so 
doubtful judgment. So therefore beginneth he, and 
so continueth he throughout. 

1 Seene, Skilled. 





•In this first jEglogue Colin Cloute, a shepheardes boy, complain- 
cth him of his unfortunate love, being but newly (as semeth) 
enamoured of a countrie lasse called Rosalinde: with which 
strong affection being very sore traveled, he compareth his care- 
full case to the sadde season of the yeare, to the frostie ground, 
to the frosen trees, and to his owne winterbeaten flocke. And 
lastlye, fynding himselfe robbed of all former pleasaunce and 
delights, hee breaketh his pipe in peeces, and casteth him selfe 
to the ground. 


A SHEPEHEARDS boye, (no better doe him call,) 
When winters wastful spight was almost spent, 
All in a sunneshine day, as did befall, 
Led forth his flock, that had bene long ypent : 

* Colin Clout is Spenser himself: see p. 266. The name is 
derived from a well-known poem of Skelton's. Bosalinde is %o 
poet's first love. C. 


So faint they woxe, and feeble in the folde, 5 

That now unnethes* their feete could them uphold. 

All as the sheepe, such was the shepeheards looke. 

For pale and wanne he was, alas the while ! 

May seeme he lovd, or els some care he tooke ; 

Well couth ^ hee tune liis pipe and frame his stile : lo 
Tho ^ to a hill his faynting flocke hee ledde, 
And thus him playnde, the while his shepe there 
fedde : 

" Yee Gods of love, that pitie lovers paine, 

(If any gods the paine of lovers pitie,) 

Looke from above, where you in joyes remaine, 15 

And bowe your eares unto my dolefull dittie. 

And, Pan, thou shepheards god, that once didst love, 
Pitie the paines that thou thy selfe didst prove. 

"Thou barrein ground, whome winters wrath hath 

Art made a myrrhour to behold my plight : 20 

Whilome thy fresh spring flowrd, and after hasted 
Thy sommer prowde, ^vith daffadillies dight*; 
And now is come thy wynters stormy state. 
Thy mantle mard wherein thou maskedst late. 

" Such rage as winters reigneth in my heart, ij 

My life-bloud friesing with unkindly cold ; 

Such stormy stoures * do breede my balefull smart, 

1 Unnethes, hardly. * Dight, adorned. 

2 Couth, could. 6 Stoures, commotions 
8 Tho, then. 


As if my yeare were wast and woxen * old ; 
And yet, alas ! but now my spring begonne, 
And yet, alas ! yt is already donne. 


** You naked trees, whose shady leaves are lost, 
Wherein the byrds were wont to build their bowre, 
And now are clothd with mosse and hoary frost, 
In stede ol" bloosmes, wherwith your buds did flowrc ; 
I see your teares that from your boughes doe raine, 
Whose drops in drery ysicles remaine. 36 

"All so ray lustfull^ leafe is drye and sere, 
My timely buds with wayling all are wasted ; 
The blossome which my braunch of youth did beare 
With breathed sighes is blowne away and blasted ; 40 
And from mine eyes the drizling teares descend, 
As on your boughes the ysicles depend. 

" Thou, feeble flocke, whose fleece is rough and rent. 
Whose knees are weake through fast and evill fare, 
Mayst witnesse well, by thy ill governement, 43 

Thy maysters mind is overcome with care : 

Thou weake, I wanne ; thou leane, I quite forloi Tie : 
With mourning pyne I ; you with pyning mouriie. 

"• A thousand sithes* I curse that carefull hower 
Wherein I longd the neighbour towne to see ; so 

And eke tenne thousand sithes I blesse the stoure * 
Wherein I sawe so fayre a sight as shee : 

I Woxen, grown. •' Siilies, times. 

* Lustfull, lusty. * Stours, (agitated moment,) time 


Yet all for naught : such sight hath bred my bane : 
Ah, God! that love should breede both joy and 

" It is not Hobbinol wherefore I plaine, 55 

Albee my love hee seeke with dayly suit ; 
His clownish gifts and curtsies I disdaine, 
His kiddes, his cracknelles, and his early fruit. 

Ah, foolish Hobbinol ! thy gyfts bene vayne ; 

Colin them gives to Rosalind againe. ao 

" I love thilke ^ lasse ; alas ! why doe I love ? 

And am forlome ; alas ! why am I lorne ? 

Shee deignes not my good will, but doth reprove, 

And of my rurall musick holdeth scorne. 

Shepheards devise she hateth as the snake, 6& 

And laughes the songs that Colin Clout doth make. 

" Wherefore, ray pype, albee rude Pan thou please. 
Yet for thou pleasest not where most I would, 
And thou, unlucky Muse, that wontst to ease 
My musing mynd, yet canst not when thou should, -,o 
Both pype and Muse shall sore the while abye -" : — 
So broke his oaten pype, and down dyd lye. 

By that, the welked ^ Phoebus gan availe * 
His wearie waine ; and now the frosty Night 

1 Thilke, this same. * Availe, lower, sink. 

2 Abye, suffer. 

* Welked, having completed his revolution, dimmed. 

Ver. 55, 66. — Hobbitwl.'] Hobbinol is our author's friend Gabriel 


Her mantle black through heaven gan overhaile*: ts 
Which seene, the pensife boy, halfe in despight, 
Arose, and homeward drove his sonned sheepe, 
Whose hanging heads did seeme his carefull case 
to weepe. 


Anchora speme.* 
1 Overhaile, draw over. 

* Anchora {dncora) is undoubtedly a misprint for anc6ra. This 
motto is meant to correspond with tiiat of June, — " Gid speii*: 




This ^glogue is rather morall and generall then bent to anie 
secrete or particular purpose. It speciallie conteyneth a dis- 
course of olde age, in the persone of Thenot, an olde shepheard, 
who, for his crookednesse and unlustinesse, is scorned of Cud- 
die, an unhappy i heardmans boye. The matter very well ac- 
cordeth with the season of the moneth, the yeare now drouping, 
and, as it were, drawing to his last age. For as in this time of 
yeare, so then in our bodies, there is a dry and withering cold, 
which congealeth the crudled blood, and frieseth the weather- 
beaten flesh, with stormes of fortune and hoare frosts of care. 
To which purpose the olde man telleth a tale of the Oake and 
the Bryer, so lively and so feelingly, as, if the thing were set 
forth in some picture before our eyes, more plainly could not 



Ah for pittie ! will rancke winters rage 

These bitter blasts never ginne t' asswage ? 

The kene cold blowes through my beaten hyde, 

All as I were through the body gryde ^ : 

My ragged routes ^ all shiver and shake, t 

As doen high towers in an earthquake : 

1 Unhappy, ill-conditioned, saucy. 8 Routes, young bullocks. 

2 Gryde, pierced. 


They wont in the wind wagge their wrigle ttiyles 
Perke ^ as a peacock ; but nowe it avales.^ 

The. Lewdly ^ complainest thou, laesie ladde, 
Of winters wracke for making thee sadde. lo 

Must not the worlde wend in his commun cours(!. 
From good to badd, and from badde to worse, 
From worse unto that is worst of all. 
And then returne to his former fall ? * 
Who will not suffer the stormy time, is 

Where will he live tyll the lusty prime ? ^ 
Selfe have I worne out thrise threttie yeares, 
Some in much joy, many in many teares, 
Yot never complained of cold nor heate, 
Of sommers flame, nor of winters threat, 30 

Ne ever was to fortune foeman, 
But gently tooke that ungently came : 
And ever my flocke was my chiefe care ; 
Winter or sommer they niought well fare. 

Cud, No marveile, Thenot, if thou can beare 2s 
CherefuUy the winters wratlifull cheare ; 
For age and winter accord full nie, 
This chill, that cold ; this crooked, that wrye ; 
And as the lowring wether lookes downe, 
So semest thou like Good Fryday ^ to frowne : 30 

But my flowring youth is foe to frost. 
My shippe unwont in stormes to be tost. 

The. The soveraigiie of seas he blames in value. 
That, once sea-beate, will to sea againe : 
So loytring live you little heardgroomes,' 35 

' Perke, pert, brisk. 6 Prime, spring. 

2 Avales, sinks. 6 I. e. as a day of general mourning. 

8 Lewdly, foolishly. " Heardgroomes, heard smen. 

 Fall, case, condition. 


Keeping your beastes in the budded broomes ; 

And when the shining sunne laugheth once, 

You deemen the spring is come attonce. 

The gynne you, fond flies ! the cold to scorne, 

And, crowing in pypes made of greene corne, 40 

You thinken to be lords of the yeare ; 

But eft,^ when ye count you freed from feare, 

Comes the breme ^ winter with chamfred ^ browes, 

Full of wrinckles and frostie furrowes, 

Drerily shooting his stormy darte, 45 

"Which cruddles "* the bloud and pricks the harte : 

Then is your carelesse corage accoied,® 

Your carefuU beards with cold bene annoied : * 

Then paye you the price of your surquedrie,^ 

With weeping, and wayling, and misery. eo 

Cud. Ah, foolish old man ! I scorne thy skill, 
That wouldest me my springing youngth to spil : 
I deeme thy braine emperished bee 
Through rusty elde, that hath rotted thee ; 
Or sicker ' thy head veray tottie ^ is, 55 

So on thy corbe ® shoulder it leanes amisse. 
Now thy selfe hast lost both lopp ^'^ and topp, 
Als " my budding braunch thou wouldest cropp ; 
But were thy yeares greene, as now bene myne, 
To other delights they would encline : « 

Tho wouldest thou learne to caroll of love, 
A.nd hery '^ with hymnes thy lasses glove ; 

1 Eft, S0C1 after. v Sicker, sure. 

2 Breme, sharp. 8 Tottie, unsteady. 
8 Cliamfred, channelled. 9 Corbe, crooked. 

* Cruddles, curdles. 10 Lopp, bough. 

6 Accded, subdued. H Als, also. 

6 Burquedrie, pride. 12 Eery, extol. 


Tho wouldest thou pype of Phyllis prayse ; 

But Phyllis is myne for many dayes. 

I wonne her with a gyrdle of gelt,^ 66 

Embost with buegle about the belt : 

Such an one shepeheards woulde make full faine ^ ; 

Such an one would make thee younge againe. 

The. Thou art a fon,^ of thy love to boste ; 
All that is lent to love wyll be lost. 70 

Cud. Seest howe brag * yond bullocke beares, 
So smirke,^ so smoothe, liis pricked eares ? 
His homes bene as broade as rainebowe bent, 
His dewelap as lythe ® as lasse of Kent. 
See how he venteth ' into the Avynd ; 7a 

Weenest of love is not his mynd ? 
Seemeth thy flocke thy counsell can,* 
So lustlesse ^ bene they, so weake, so wan ; 
Clothed with cold, and lioarie wyth frost, 
Thy flockes father his corage hath lost. so 

Thy ewes, that wont to have blowen bags. 
Like wailefull widdowes hangen their crass " ; 
The rather " larabes bene starved with cold, 
All for their maister is lustlesse and old. 

The. Cuddie, I wote thou kenst little good,^^ st 
So vainely tadvaunce thy headlessehood"; 
For youngth " is a bubble blowne up with breath, 
Whose witt is weakenesse, whose wage is death, 
Whose way is wildernesse, whose ynne penaunce. 

1 Gelt, gilt. 8 Can, know. ' 

2 Fnine, glad. 9 Lustlesse, listless. 
8 Fon, fool. 10 Crags, necks. 

* Braff, proudly. n Rather, earlier. 

' Smirhe, trim. 12 I. e. good manners. 

8 Lythe, soft. is /Teadlessehoml, heedlessness. 

' Venteth, snuffeth. l-i Yaungth, youth. 


And stoope-gallaunt Age, the hoste of Greevaunce. 
But shall I tel thee a tale of truth, si 

Which I cond ^ of Tityrus in my youth, 
Keeping his sheepe on the hils of Kent ? 

Cud. To nought more, Thenot, my mind is bent, 
Then to heare novells of his devise ; 95 

They bene so well thewed,^ and so wise, 
What ever that good old man bespake. 

The. Many meete tales of youth did he make, 
And some of love, and some of chevalrie ; 
But none fitter then this to applie. 100 

Now listen a while and hearken the end. 

There grewe an aged tree on the greene : 
A goodly Oake sometime had it bene, 
With amies full strong and largely displayd. 
But of their leaves they were disarayde : los 

The bodie bigge, and mightely pight,^ 
Throughly rooted, and of wonderous hight ; 
Whilome had bene the king of the field. 
And mochell* mast to the husband did yielde, 
And with his nuts larded many swine : no 

But now the gray mosse marred his rine ^ ; 
His bared boughes were beaten with stormes. 
His toppe was bald, and wasted witli wormes. 
His honour decayed, his braunches sere. 

Hard by liis side grewe a bragging Brere,® ub 

1 Cond, learned. * Mochell, rouob. 

2 Well thewed, full of moral wisdom. ^ Bine, rind. 

8 Piyht, fixed. 6 Breve, brier. 

Ver. 90. — And sloope-gallaunt Age, &c.] The tamer of whose 
t<ay gallav.tries is Old Age, the guest or companion of Misery. 

Ver. 92. — Tityrus.] Chaucer. 


Which prowdly thrust into thelement. 

And seemed to threat the firmament. 

It was embellisht with blossomes fayre, 

And thereto aye wonned ^ to i-epayre 

The shepheardes daughters to gather flowres, 120 

To peinct their girlonds with his colowres ; 

And in his small bushes used to shrowde 

The sweete nightingale singing so lowde ; 

Which made this foolish Brere wexe so bold, 

That on a time hee cast him to scold 124 

And snebbe ^ the good Oake, for hee was old. 

"Why standst there," quoth he, "tliou brutish 
blocke ? 
Nor for fruict nor for shadowe serves thy stocke. 
Seest how fresh my flowers bene spredde, 
Dyed in lilly white and cremsin redde, 10 

With leaves engrained in lusty greene : ^ 

Colours meete to clothe a mayden queene ? 
Thy wast bignes but combers the grownd. 
And dirks ^ the beautie of my blossomes round : 
The mouldie mosse which thee accloieth * 135 

My sinamon smell too much annoieth : 
Wherefore soone I rede ^ thee hence remove. 
Least thou the price of my displeasure prove." 
So spake this bold Brere with great disdaine : 
Little him aunswered the Oake againe, i-it 

But yeelded, with shame and grief adawed,® 
That of a weede he was overawed.' 

1 Wonned, wonted. 6 Rede, advise. 

2 Snebbe, enub. 6 Adawed, confounded. 
8 Dirks, darkens. T Later eds. overcrawed. 
* AccUneth, encumbereth. 


Yt chaunced after upon a day 
The husbandman selfe to come that way, 
Of custome for to survewe his grownd, im 

And his trees of state in compasse rownd. 
Him when the spiteful! Brere had espyed, 
Causelesse complayned, and lowdly cryed 
Unto his lord, stirring up sterne strife : 

" O my liege lord, the god of my life ! IM 

Pleaseth you ponder your suppliants plaint, 
Caused of wrong and cruell constraint 
Which I your poore vassall dayly endure ; 
And, but your goodnes the same recure, 
Am like for desperate doole * to dye, iw 

Through felonous force of mine enemie." 

Greatly agast with this piteous plea, 
Him rested the goodman on the lea. 
And badde the Brere in his plaint proceede. 
With painted wordes tho gan this proude weede i60 
(As most usen ambitious folke) 
His coloured crime with craft to cloke. 

" Ah, my soveraigne, lord of creatures all, 
Thou placer of plants both humble and tall, 
Was not I planted of thine owne hand, les 

To be the primrose ^ of all thy land ; 
With flowring blossomes to furnish the prime, 
And scarlot berries in sommer time ? 
Howe falls it then that this faded Oake, 
Whose bodie is sere, whose braunches broke, no 

Whose naked armes stretch unto the fyre, 
Unto such .tyrannie doth aspire ; 
Hindering with his shade my lovely light, 

1 Dooh, grief. 2 i. e (here) chief flower. 


And robbinof meo of the sweete sonnes siglit ? 

So beate his old boughes my tender side, i76 

That oft the bloude springeth from woundes wyde ; 

Untimely my flowres forced to fall, 

That bene the honor of your coronall : 

And oft he lets his cancker-wormes light 

Upon my braunches, to worke me more spight; lec 

And oft his hoarie locks downe doth cast, 

Where "with my fresh flowretts bene defast.^ 

For this, and many more such outrage, 

Craving your goodlihead to aswage 

The ranckorous rigour of his might, iso 

Nought aske I, but onely to holde my right ; 

Submitting me to your good suffei-ance, 

And praying to be garded from greevance." 

To this the Oake cast him to replie 
Well as he couth-; but his enemie 190 

Had kindled such coles of displeasure, 
That the good man noulde^ stay his leasure, 
But home him hasted with furious heate, 
Encreasing his Avrath with many a threate : 
His harmefull hatchet he hent * in hand, iss 

(Alas ! that it so ready should stand !) 
And to the field alone he speedeth, 
(Ay little help to harme there needeth !) 
Anger nould let him speake to the tree, 
Enaunter ^ his rage mought cooled bee ; 20c 

But to the roote bent his stui'die stroake. 
And made many woundes in the wast Oake. 

1 Defast, defaced. * Hent, took. 

2 Chuth, could. 6 Enaunter, lest that 
8 Noulde, would noL 


The axes edge did oft tui'ne againe, 

As halfe unwilling to cutte the graine ; 

Semed the senselesse yron dyd feare, cm 

Or to wrong holy eld did forbeare : 

For it had bene an auncient tree, 

Sacred with many a mystei-ee, 

And often crost with the priestes crewe,* 

And often halowed with holy-water dewe. 21: 

But sike ^ fancies weren foolerie, 

And broughten this Oake to this miserye ; 

For nought mought they quitten him from decay," 

For fiercely the goodman at him did laye. 

The blocke oft groned under the blow, nb 

And sighed to see his neare overthrow : 

In fine,* the Steele had pierced his pitth, 

Tho downe to the earth hee fell forthwith. 

His wonderous weight made the ground to quake, 

Thearth shronke under him, and seemed to shake : — 

There lyeth the Oake, pitied of none ! -221 

Now stands the Brere like a lord alone, 
Puffed up with pryde and vaine pleasaunce. 
But all this glee had no continuaunce : 
For eftsones winter gan to approche ; aac 

The blustering Boreas did encroche, 
And beate upon the solitarie Brere ; 
For nowe no succoure was seene him nere. 
Now gan he repent his pride to late ; 
For, naked left and disconsolate, 230 

The byting frost nipt his stalke dead. 
The watrie wette weighed downe his head, 

1 Crewe, holy-water pot. 8 Decay, ruin. 

2 Sike. such. 4 in fine, at last. 


And heaped snowe burdned him so sore, 

That nowe upright bee can stand no more ; 

And, being downe, is trodde in the dui-t 236 

Of cattell, and brouzed, and sorely hurt 

Such was thend of this ambitious Brere, 

For scorning eld — 

Cud. Now I pray thee, shepheard, tel it not forth : 
Here is a long tale, and little worth. j40 

So longe have I listened to thy speche, 
That graffed to the ground is my breche ; 
My hartblood is welnigh frorne,^ I feele, 
And my galage - growne fast to my heele. 
But little ease of tliy lewd ^ tale I tasted : 240 

Hie the home, shepheard, the day is nigh wasted. 


Iddio, perche e vecchio, 
Fa suoi al suo essempio. 


Niuno veccMo 
Spaventa Iddio. 

1 Frorne, frozen. 8 Lewd, foolish. 

2 Galage, galoche, wooden shoe. 

* God, because he is olu, 
Makes his own hke himself. 

t No old mail 
Fears God. 




In this iEgJogue two shepheards boj'cs, taking occasion of the 
season, beginne to make purpose i of love, and other pleasaunce 
which to spring-time is most agreeable. The speciall meaning 
hereof is to give certaine markes and tokens to know Cupide, 
the poets god of Love. But more particularlye, I thinke, in the 
person of Thomalin is meant some secrete freend, who scorned 
Love and his knights so long, till at length him selfe was en- 
tangled, and unwares wounded with the dart of some beautiful! 
regard, which is Cupides arrow. 



Thomalin, why sitten we soe, 
As weren overwent^ with woe, 

Upon so fayre a morow ? 
The joyous time now nigheth fast, 
That shall alegge ^ this bitter blast, 

And slake the winters sorow. 
Tho. Sicker,* Willye, thou warnest well ; 
For winters wrath beginnes to quell,^ 

And pleasant spring appeareth : 
The grasse nowe ginnes to be refresht, lo 

1 Purpose, discourse. * Sicker, surely. 

* I. e. as if we were overcome. 6 Quell, abate. 

Alegge, allay. 

MARCH. . 409 

The swallowe peepes out of her nest, 

And clowdie welkin cleareth. 
WiL. Seest not thilke ^ same hawthorne studde,^ 
How bragly ^ it beginnes to budde, 

And utter * his tender head ? m 

Flora nowe calleth forth eche flower, 
And bids make readie Maias bowre. 

That newe is upryst® from bedde. 
Tho shall wee sporten in delight, 
And leame with Lettice to wexe light, w 

That scornefully lookes askaunce ; 
Tho will wee little Love awake, 
That nowe sleepeth in Lethe lake. 

And pray him leaden our daunce. 
Tho. Willye, I wene thou bee assot ® ; 3» 

For lustie Love still sleepeth not, 

But is abroad at his game. 
WiL. How kenst thou that he is awoke ? 
Or hast thy selfe his slomber broke, 

Or made previe to the same ? so 

Tho. No ; but happely I him spyde. 
Where in a bush he did him hide, 

With winges of purple and blewe ; 
And were not that my sheepe would stray, 
The previe markes I would bewray, ss 

Whereby by chaunce I him knewe. 
WiL. Thomalin, have no care forthy ' ; 
My selfe will have a double eye, 

Ylike to my flocke and thine ; 
For als * at home I have a syre, 40 

1 Thilke, this. ■* Utter, put forth. 7 Forthy, for that. 

* Studde, stock. 5 Vpryst, uprisen. « Ah,: Iso. 

« Bragly, proudly. ^ Assot, besotted. 


A stepdame eke, as whott as fyre, 

That dewly adayes ^ counts mine. 
Tho. Nay, but thy seeing will not serve, 
My sheepe for that may chaunce to swerve. 

And fall into some miscliiefe : 4ft 

For sithens ^ is but the third morowe 
That I chaunst to fall a sleepe with sorowe. 

And waked againe with griefe ; 
The while thilke same imhappye ewe. 
Whose clouted legge her hurt doth shewe, m 

Fell headlong into a dell. 
And there unjoynted both her bones : 
Mought her necke bene joynted attones ! 

She shoulde have neede no more spell.^ 
Th' elf was so wanton and so wood,* S6 

(But now I trowe can better good,^) 

She mought ne gang on the greene. 
WiL. Let be as may be that is past ; 
That is to come, let be forecast : 

Now tell us what thou hast seene. eo 

Tho. It was upon a holiday, 
When shepheardes groomes ban ^ leave to play, 

I cast to goe a shooting ; 
Long wandring up and downe the land. 
With bow and bolts '' in either hand, 66 

For birds in bushes tooting,^ 

1 1 e. every day. 6 ^an, have. 

■■2 Sithens, since. 7 Bolts arrows. 

8 Spell, charm (to preserve her from accidents). 

* Wood, mad. 8 Tooting, searching. 

6 I. e. knows better manners. 

Ver 61. — It was upon a holiday.'] What folic ws is an imitation 
•if an Idyl of Bion, 'l^evras en Kapos, k- t. X Warton. 

MARCH. 411 

At length within the yvie todde,^ 
(There shrouded was the little god,) 

I heard a busie bustling. 
I bent my bolt against the bush, 70 

Listening if any thing did rushe, 

But then heard no more rustling : 
Tho, peeping close into the thicke. 
Might see the moving of some quicke,* 

Whose shape appeared not ; 7» 

But were it faerie, feend, or snake, 
My courage earnd ^ it to awake, 

And manfully thereat shotte. 
With that sprang forth a naked swayne,* 
With spotted winges, like peacocks trayne, so 

And laughing lope * to a tree ; 
His gylden quiver at his backe, 
And silver bowe, which was but slacke, 

Which lightly he bent at me. 
That seeing, I levelde againe, as 

And shott at him with might and mains. 

As thicke as it had hayled. 
So long I shott that al was spent ; 
Tho pumie ® stones I hastly bent. 

And threw ; but nought availed : ai 

He was so wimble'' and so wight,* 
From bough to bough he lepped light. 

And oft the pumies latched.^ 
Therewith affi-ayd, I ranne away ; 

1 Todde, thick bush. 8 Pumie, pumice. 

2 Some quicke, some live tiling. "^ [Vinible, nimble. 
8 Earnd, yearned. ^ Wight, active. 

■* Swayne, boy. ^ Latched, cnn<r!it. 

s Lope, leaped. 


But he, that earst seemd but to playe, 96 

A shaft in earnest snatched, 
And hit me running in the heele. 
For then, I little smart did feele ; 

But soone it sore encreased, 
And now it ranckleth more and more, loo 

And inwardly it festreth sore, 

Ne wote I how to cease it. 
WiL. Thomalin, I pittie thy plignt ; 
Perdie,^ with Love thou diddest fight ; 

I know him by a token : io6 

For once I heard my father say, 
How he him caught upon a day, 

(Whereof he wilbe wroken,^) 
Entangled in a fowling net, 
Which he for carrion crowes had set no 

That in our peere-tree haunted : 
Tho sayd he was a winged lad, 
But bowe and shafts as then none had. 

Els had he sore be daunted. 
But see, the welkin thicks apace, n.^ 

And stouping Phoebus steepes his face : 

Yts time to haste us homeward. 


To he wise, and eke to love, 

Is graunted scarce to gods above. 


Ofhonye and of gaule in love there is store ; 
The honye is much, hut the gaule is more. 

I Perdie, par dieu. ^ Wroken, avenged. 

APRIL. 4iy 



Trtis .^iglogue is purposely intended to the honor and prayse of 
our most gracious sovereigne, Queene Elizabeth. The speakers 
herein bee Hobbinoll and Thenott, two shepheardes: the which 
Hobbinoll, being before mentioned greatly to have loved Colin, 
is here set forth more largely, complayning him of that boyes 
gi-eat misadventure in love; whereby his mynd was alienate 
and withdrawen not onely from him, who moste loved him, but 
also from all former delightes and studies, aswell in pleasant 
pyping as conning ryming and singing, and other his laudable 
exercises. Whereby he taketh occasion, for proofe of his more 
excellencie and skill in poetrie, to recorde a song which the 
sayd Colin sometime made in honor of her Majestie, whom 
abruptely he termeth Elysa. 


Tell me, good Hobbinoll, what garres thee greete*? 

What, hath some wolfe thy tender lambes ytorne ? 
Or is thy bagpype broke, that soundes so sweete ? 

Or art thou of thy loved lasse forlorne ? 

Or bene thine eyes attempred to the yeare, 5 

Quenching the gasping furrowes thirst with rayne ? 

Like April shoure so stremes the trickling teare 
Adowne thy cheeke, to quench thy thirstie payne. 

1 Carres the-e greete, makes thee weep. 


Hob. Nor thys, nor that, so muche doeth make me 

But for the ladde whome long I lovd so deare lo 
Now loves a lasse that all his love doth scorne : 

He, plongd m paine, his tressed locks dooth teare : 
Sliepheards delights he dooth them all forsweare ; 

Hys pleasaunt pipe, whych made us meriment, 
He wylfnlly hath broke, and doth forbeare i« 

His* wonted songs, wherein he all outwent. » 

The. What is he for a ladde you so lament ? 

Ys love such pinching payne to them that prove ? 
And hath he skill to make ^ so excellent. 

Yet hath so little skill to brydle love ? 20 

Hob. Colin thou kenst, the southerne shepheardes 

Him Love hath wounded with a deadly darte : 
Whilome on him was all my care and joye. 

Forcing - with gyfts to winne his wanton heart. 
But now from me hys madding mynd is starte, as 

And woes the widdowes daughter of the glenne ; 
So nowe fayre Rosalind hath bredde hys smart ; 

So now his frend is chaunged for a frenne.^ 
The. But if hys ditties bene so trimly dight,"* 

I pray thee, HobbinoU, recorde ® some one, so 

The whiles our flockes do graze about in sight, 

And we close shrowded in thys shade alone. 
Hob. Contented I: then will I singe his laye 

Of fayre Elisa, queene of shepheardes all, 
W'^hich once he made as by a spring he laye, 35 

And tuned it unto the waters fall. 

1 J/((A;e, versiTy. * D!(jht, composed 

2 Forcing, strivins;. 5 Recorde, rehearse, sing 
8 Frenne, stranger. 

APRIL. 415 

* Ye daynty Nymphs that in this blessed brooke 

Doe bathe your brest, 
Forsake your watrie bowres, and hether looke, 

At my i-eqnest. 40 

And eke you Vii'gins that on Parnasse dwell, 
Whence floweth Helicon, the learned well, 

Helpe me to blaze 

Her worthy praise 
Which in her sexe doth all excell. 46 

" Of fayre Elisa be your sUver song, 

That blessed wight, 
The floAvre of virgins ; may shee florish long 

In princely plight ! 
For shee is Syi-inx daughter without spotte, so 

Which Pan, the shepheards god, of her begot : 

So sprong her grace 

Of heavenly race, 
No mortall blemishe may her blotte. 

" See, where she sits upon the grassie greene, g6 

(O seemely sight !) 
Yclad in scarlet, like a mayden queene, 

And ermines white : 
Upon her head a cremosin coronet. 
With damaske roses and daffadillies set ; eo 

Bayleaves betweene, 

And primroses greene, 
Embellish the sweete violet. 

" Tell me, have ye seene her angelick face, 

Like Phoebe fayre ? ,vr, 


Her heavenly haveour, her princely gi'ace, 

Can you well compare ? 
The redde rose medled^ with the white yfere,' 
In either cheeke depeincten lively chere : 

Her modest eye, ""> 

Her majestic, 
Where have you scene the like, but there ? 

" I saw Phoebus thrust out his golden hedde, 

Upon her to gaze ; 
But, when he sawe hoAve broade her beames did 
spredde, 76 

It did him amaze. 
He blusht to see another sunne belowe, 
Ne dui'st againe his fyrye face out showe. 

Let him, if he dare. 

His brightnesse compare so 

With hers, to have tlie overthrowe. 

" Shewe thyselfe, Cyiithia, with thy silver rayes, 

And be not abasht : 
When shee the beames of her beau tie display es, 

O how art thou dasht ! ss 

But I will not match her with Latonaes seede ; 
Such follie great sorow to Niobe did breede : 

Now she is a stone. 

And makes dayly mone. 
Warning all other to take heede. ixi 

1 Medled, mingled. 2 Yfere, together. 

Ver. 68. — The redde rose medled with the white."] An allusion, , 
remarks E. K., (but pi-obably without any reason,) to the union 
of the houses of Lancaster and York in the person of Elizabeth. C. 

APRIL. 41 7 

" Pan may bee proucle that ever hee begot 

Such a bellibone^: 
And Syrinx reyo} se, that ever was her lot 

To beare such an one. 
Soone as my younglings cryen for the dam, 96 

To her will I offer a milkwhite lamb : 

Shee is my goddesse plaine, 

And I her shepherds swayne, 
Albee foi-swonck ^ and forswatt ^ I am. 

" I see Calliope speede her to the place, 100 

Where my goddesse shines. 
And after her the other Muses trace, 

With their violines. 
Bene they not bay-braunches which they ioe beare, 
All for Elisa in her hand to weare ? 105 

So sweetly they play, 

And sing all the way, 
That it a heaven is to heare. 


" Lo, how finely the Graces can it foote 

To the instrument : 
They dauncen deffly,* and singen soote,^ 

In their meriment. 
Wants not a fourth Grace, to make the daunce even ? 
Let that rowme to my Lady bee yeven.® 

She shalbe a Grace, ijj, 

To fyll the fourth place, 
And reigne with the rest in heaven. 

1 BelUbone, (belle et bonne) fair lass. * Deffly, deftly, triralv. 

2 Fvrsieonck, overworked. 5 Soote, sweet. 
8 Foi-swnU, sweated to death. 6 Yeven, given. 


" And whither rennes ^ this bevie of ladies bright, 

Raunged in a rowe ? 
They bene all Ladyes of the Lake behight,^ 13) 

That unto her goe. 
Chloris, that is the chiefest nymph of al, 
Of olive braunches beares a coi'onall : 

Olives bene for peaee, 

When wars doe surcease : lae 

Such for a princesse bene principal!.' 

" Ye shepheards daughters, that dwell on the greene, 

Hye you there apace : 
Let none come there but that virgins bene. 

To adorne her grace : im 

And when you come whereas shee is in place, 
See that your rudenesse doe not you disgrace 

Binde your fillets faste. 

And gird in your waste. 
For more fineness, with a tawdrie lace. iss 

" Bring hether the pincke and purple cullambine. 

With gelliflowres ; 
Bring coronations,^ and sops in wine,* 

Worne of paramoures ^ : 
Strowe me the ground with daffadowndillies, ho 

And cowslips, and kingcups, and loved lillies : 

1 Rennes, runs. * Coronations, carnations. 

2 Behight, called. 6 Sops in wine, pinks. 
8 Pnncipall, princely. 6 Paramoures, lovers. 

Ver 135. — Tawdrie lace.'\ Laces of a peculiar kind, such as 
r/ere sold at the fair of St. Audrey (Etheldreda). C. 

APKIL. 419 

The pretie paAvnce ^ 
And the chevisaunce,^ 
Shall match with the fayre flowre delice. 

" Now ryse up^ Elisa, decked as thou art 14a 

In royall aray ; 
Any now ye daintie damsells may depart 

Echeone her way. 
I feare I have troubled your troupes to longe ; 
Let Dame Elisa thanke you for her song : leo 

And if you come hether 

When damsines I gether, 
I will part them all you among." 

The. And was thilk same song of Colinspwne making? 

Ah, foolish boy ! that is with love yblent ^ ; 159 

Great pittie is hee be in such taking, 

For naught caren that * bene so lewdly bent. 
Hob. Sicker^ I hold him for a greater fon ® 

That loves the thing he cannot purchase.'' 
But let us homeward, for night draweth on, leo 

And twinckling stai-res the daylight hence chase. 


quam te memorem, Virgo ! 


De.a ceiie! 

1 Pawnee, pansies. 

2 Chevisaunce (achievement, &c.) seems to be also the name of a 
fl^wr. 5 Sicke7; surely. 

a VOlent, blinded. 6 yo7i, fool. 

•' 1. e. those that. 7 Purchase, obtain. 




In this fift ^glogue, under the person of two shepheards, Piers 
and Palinode, be represented two formes of pastoures or minis- 
ters, or the Protestant and the Catholiqne; whose chiefs talkc 
standeth in reasoning wliether the life of the one must be like 
the other; with whom having shewed that it is daungerous to 
mainteine any felowship, or give too much credit to their 
colourable and feyned good will, he telleth him a tale of the 
Foxe, that, by -such a counterpoynt of craftines, deceived and 
devoured the credulous Kidde. 


Is not thilke ^ the mery moneth of May, 
When love-lads masken in fresh aray ? 
How falles it then we no merrier bene, 

1 Thilke, this same. 

* The Vision of Piers Ploughman, after having been forgotten 
for a hundred years, was printed by the Reformers in the reign of 
Edward the Sixth, and at once regained the extraordinary ])opu- 
larity it had enjoyed in tlie fourteenth century. The poem was 
still in high favor when the Shepheards Calender was published, 
and in the religious tracts of the time Piers is very often, as 
here, luade the month])iecc of violent invective against corrup- 
tion in the Church. C. 

MAT. 421 

Ylike as others, girt in gawdy greene ? 

Our bloncket liveryes ^ bene all to sadde s 

For thilke same season, when all is ycladd 

With pleasaunce ; the ground with grasse, the wods 

With greene leaves, tlie bushes with bloosming buds. 

Yougthes folke now flocken in every where. 

To gather May-buskets ^ and smelling brere ; lo 

And home they hasten the postes to dight, 

And all the kirke-pillours eare^ day-light. 

With hawthorne buds, and sweete eglantine, 

And girlonds of roses, and sopps in wine.* 

Such merimake holy saints doth queme,* is 

But wee here sitten as drownd in a dreme. 

Piers. For younkers, Palinode, such follies fitte, 
But wee tway bene men of elder witt. 

Pal. Sicker, this morrowe,^ no lenger agoe, 
I sawe a shole of shepeheardes outgoe so 

With singing, and shouting, and jolly chere : 
Before them yode^ a lusty tabrere,* 
That to the many^ a horne-pype playd. 
Whereto they dauncen, eche one with his mayd- 
To see those folkes make such jouysaunce,'" ag 

Made my heart after the pype to daunce. 
Tho to the gi-eene wood tiiey speeden hem all. 
To fetchen home IMay with their musicall " ; 
And home they bringen in a royall throne, 

1 Bhncl'et liveryes, Rray coats. 

2 May-buskets, May-bushes (of hawthorn). 
8 Eare, ere. 

* Sopps in wine, pinks. 8 Tabrere, tabcrer. 
» Queme, please. 9 Many, company. 

* Morrows, morning, lo Jouysaunce, merriment 
' Yale, went. il Musicall, music. 


Crowned as king ; and his queene attone ^ ito 

Was Lad}^ Flora, on whom did attend 

A fayre flocke of faeries, and a fresh bend ^ 

Of lovely nymphs. O that I were there. 

To helpen the ladyes their Maybush beare ! 

Ah ! Piers, bene not thy teeth on edge, to thinke 35 

How great sport they gaynen with little swinck ^ ? 

Piers. Perdie, so farre am I from en\'ie, 
That their fondnesse * inly ^ I pitie : 
Those faytours " little regarden their charge, 
Wliile they, letting their sheep runne at large, 40 

Passen their time, that should be sparely spent, 
In lustihede'^ and wanton meryment. 
Thilke same bene shepeheardes for the devils stedde. 
That playen while their flockes be unfedde. 
"Well it is seene theyr sheepe bene not their owne, a 
That letten them runne at randon alone : 
But Jhey bene hyred for little pay 
Of other, that caren as little as they 
What fallen ^ the flocke, so they ban * the fleece, 
And get all the gayne, paying but a peece. 59 

I muse what account both these will make, 
The one for tlie hire which he doth take, 
And thother for leaving his lords taske, 
When great Pan account of shepeherdes shall aske. 

Pal. Sicker, now I see thou speakest of spight, 
All for thou lackest somdele their delight. ;,o 

I (as I am) had rather be envied, 

1 Attone, at the same time. 6 Faytours, do-noiiirlits 

2 Bend, band. 1 Lustihede, plesisure. 
8 Swinck, toil. 8 Fallen, befall. 

4 Fondnesse, folly. 9 Han, have. 

6 Inly, eutirely. 

MAY. 42o 

All were it of my foe, then fonly ^ pitied : 

And yet, if neede were, pitied would be, 

Ratlier then other should scorne at me ; w) 

For pittied is mishap that nas ^ remedie, 

But scorned bene deedes of fond foolerie. 

VYhat shoulden shepheards other things tend, 

Then, sith their God his good does them send, 

Reapen the fruite thereof, that is pleasure, ec 

The while they here liven, at ease and leasure ? 

For when they bene dead, their good is ygoe * : 

They sleepen in rest, well as other moe : 

The with them wends what they spent in cost, 

But w^hat they left behinde them is lost. -o 

Good is no good, but if it be spend ; 

God giveth good for none other end. 

Piers. Ah, Palinode, thou art a worldes child : 
Who touches pitch, mought needes be defilde : 
But shepheards (as Algrind used to say) 75 

Mought not live ylike as men of the laye.* 
With them it sits ^ to care for their heire, 
Enaunter ® their heritage doe impaire : 
They must provide for meanes of maintenaunce, 
And to continue their wont countenaunee : so 

But shepheard must walke another way, 
Sike " worldly sovenance * he must foresay.^ 

1 Fonly, foolishly. 6 Enaunter, lest. 

8 Nas, has not. 1 Sike, such. 

8 Y(/oe, gone. 8 Sovenance, remeiDl^iuicf. 

•♦ Men of the laye, laymen. 9 Fortsny, renounce. 

6 Sits, becomes. 

Ver. 75. — Alyrind.} Grindal, Archbishop of Canterbury irom 
1675 to 1582. 


The Sonne of his loines why should he regard 

To leave enriched with that he hath spard ? 

Should not thilke God that gave him that good ss 

Eke cherish his child, if in his wayes he stood ? 

For if he mislive in leudnes and lust, 

Little bootes all the wealth and the trust 

That his father left by inheritaunce : 

All will be soon wasted with misgovernaunce. 90 

But through this, and other their miscreaunce,^ 

They maken many a wrong chevisaunce,^ 

Heaping up waves of welth and woe, 

The floddes whereof shall them overflows. 

Sike mens follie I cannot compare 95 

Better then to the apes folish care, 

That is so enamoured of her young one, 

(And yet, God wote, such cause had she none,) 

That with her hard hold, and straight^ embracing, 

Shee stoppeth the breath of her youngling. 100 

So often times, when as good is meant, 

Evil ensueth of wrong entent. 

The time was once, and may againe retorne, 
(For ought may happen, that hath been beforne,) 
When shepeheards had none inheritaimce, 105 

Ne of land, nor fee in sufferaUnce, 
But what might arise of the bare sheepe, 
Were it more or lesse, which they did keepe. 
Well ywis* was it with shepheards thoe^: 
Nought having, nought feared they to forgoe : 110 

For Pan himselfe was their inheritaunce, 

1 Miscreaunce, misbelief, bad living. 4 Yuns, tnily. 

2 Chevisaunce, bargain. 5 Thoe, then. 
8 Siraiyht, close. 

MAY. 425 

And little them served for their mayntenaunce. 

The shephear[d]3 God so wel them guided, 

That of nought they were unprovided ; 

Butter enough, honye, milke, and whay, ii« 

And their flockes fleeces them to araye. 

But tract of time, and long prosperitie, 

(That nource of vice, this of insolencie,) 

Lulled the shepheards in such securitie, 

That, not content with loyaU obeysaimce, lao 

Some gan to gape for greedie governaunce, 

And match them selfe with mighty potentates, 

Lovers of lordship, and troublers of states. 

Tlio gan shepheards swaines to looke a loft. 

And leave to live hard, and leame to ligge ' soft : 125 

Tho, under colour of shepeheards, somewhile 

There crept in wolves, ful of fraud and guile, 

That often devoured their owne sheepe, 

And often the shepheards that did hem ^ keepe. 

This was the first sourse of shepheards sorow, 130 

That now nill ^ be quitt with baile nor borrowe.* 

Pal. Three thinges to beare bene very burdenous, 
But the fourth to forbeare is outi-agious : 
Wemen, that of loves longing once lust, 
Hardly forbearen, but have it they must : im 

So when choler is inflamed with rage. 
Wanting revenge, is hard to asswage : 
And who can counsell a thirstie soule. 
With patience to forbeare the offred bowle ? 
But of all burdens that a man can beare, 140 

Most is, a fooles talke to beare and to heare. 

1 Ligge, lie. 8 j^m^ ^jn not. 

2 Bern, them. 4 Borrawe, pledge. 


I wene the geaunt has not such a weight, 

That beares on his shoulders the heavens height. 

Thou findest faulte where nys ^ to be found, 

And buildest strong warke upon a weake ground : ms 

Thou raylest on right withouten reason, 

And Wamest hem much for small encheason.^ 

How shoulden shepheardes live, if not so ? 

Wliat ^ should they pynen in payne and woe ? 

Nay, saye I thereto, by my deare borrowe,* uo 

If I may rest, I nil live in sorrowe. 

Sorrowe ne neede be hastened on. 
For he will come, without calling, anone. 
Wliile times enduren of tranquillitie, 
Usen we freely our felicitie ; iss 

For when approchen the stormie stowres," 
We mought with our shoulders beare off the sharpe 

And, sooth to sayne, nought seemeth sike strife, 
That shepheardes so witen ® ech others life, 
And layen her '' faults the worlds beforne, leo 

The while their foes done eache of hem* scorne. 
Let none mislike of that may not be mended ; 
So conteck ^ soone by concord mought be ended. 

Piers. Shepheard, I list no accordaunce make 
Witli shepheard that does the right way forsake ; i65 
And of the twaine, if choice were to me, 
Had lever'" my foe then my freend he be. 

1 Nys^ is not. 6 Wittn, blame. 

2 Encheason, occasion. 7 Her, tlieir. 
8 Wluil, why. 8 JJem, them. 

* Borrowe, surety, redeemer. 9 Conteck, contest. 

6 Stowres, troubles, storms. w Lever, rather. 

MAY. 427 

For what concord ban light and darke sam ? ^ 
Or Avhat peace has the lion with the lambe ? 
Such faitors,- when their false hearts bene hidde. no 
Will doe as did the foxe by the kidde. 

Pal. Now, Piers, of felowship, tell us that saying ; 
For the ladde can keepe both our flockes from straying. 

Peirs. Thilke same Kidde (as I can well devise) 
Was too very foolish and unwise ; 176 

For on a tyme in sommer season, 
The Gate^ her dame, that had good reason, 
Yode forth abroade unto the greene wood, 
To bi'ouze, or play, or what she thought good. 
But, for she had a motherly care I80 

Of her young sonne, and wit to beware, 
She set her youngling before her knee, 
That was both fresh and lovely to see. 
And full of favour as kidde mought be. 
His vellet* head began to shoote out iss 

And his wreathed horns gan newly sprout ; 
The blossomes of lust to bud did beginne, 
And spring forth ranckly under his chinne. 
" My Sonne," quoth she, (and with that gan weepe. 
For carefull thoughts in her heart did creepe,) 190 
" God blesse thee, poore orphane, as he mought me, 
And send thee joy of thy jollitee. 
Thy fother," (that worde she spake wath payne, 
For a sigh had nigh rent her heart in twaine,) 
" Thy fathei", had he lived this day, i96 

To see the braunche of his body displaie, 
How would he have joyed at this sweete sight I 

1 Sam, together. 3 Gate, Goat. 

2 Faitors, evil-doers. * Vellet, velvet 


But ah ! false Fortune such joy did him spight, 
And cut of hys dayes with untimely woe, 
Betraying him into the traines of his foe 900 

Now I, a waylfull widdowe behight,^ 
Of my olde age have this one delight, 
To see thee succeede in thy fathers steade, 
And flourish in flowres of lustyhead ; 
For even so thy father his head upheld, 306 

And so his hauty homes did he weld," ^ 
Tho marking him with melting eyes, 
A thrilling throbbe from her hart did aryse, 
And interrupted all her other speache 
With some old sorowe that made a newe breache : 210 
Seemed she sawe in her younglings face 
The old lineaments' of his fathers grace. 
At last her solein silence she broke, 
And gan his newe budded beard to stroke. 
" Kiddie," quoth shee, " thou kenst the great care 315 
I have of thy health and thy welfare, 
Which many wyld beastes liggen^ in waite 
For to entrap in thy tender state : 
But most the Foxe, maister of collusion, 
For he has voued thy last confusion.* 230 

Forthy,* my Kiddie, be rulde by mee, 
And never give trust to his trecheree ; 
And if he chaunce come when I am abroade, 
Sperre the yate® fast, for fear of fraude ; 
Ne for all his worst, nor for his best, 23s 

Open the dore at his request." 

1 Behight, called. ■* Confusion, destruction. 

2 Weld, wield, bear. 6 Forthy, therefore. 

3 Liggen, lie. 6 i. e. bar the gate. 

MAY. 429 

So schooled the Gate her wanton Sonne, 
That answer'd his mother, all should be done. 
Tho went the pensife damme out of dore. 
And chaunst to stomble at the threshold flore : 23c ; 
Her stombhng steppe some what her amazed, 
(For such as signes of ill luck bene dispraised,) 
Yet forth shee yode, thereat half aghast. 
And Kiddie the dore sperred after her fast. 
It was not long after shee was gone, 330 

But the false Foxe came to the dore anone : 
Not as a foxe, for then he had be kend, 
But all as a poore pedler he did wend. 
Bearing a trusse of tryfles at his backe. 
As bells, and babes, and glasses, in hys packe. 240 
A biggen^ he had got about his brayne, 
For in his headpeace he felt a sore payne ; 
His hinder heele was wrapt in a clout. 
For with great cold he had gotte the gout. 
There at the dore he cast me downe hys pack, 245 
And layd him downe, and groned, " Alack ! alack ! 
All, deare Lord ! and sweete Saint Charitee ! 
That some good body woulde once pitie mee ! " 

Well heard Kiddie al this sore constraint. 
And lengd^ to know the cause of his complaint ; aeo 
Tho, creeping close behinde the wickets clink:' 
Privelie he peeped out through a chinck, 
Yet not so privilie but the Foxe him spyed ; 
For deceitfuU meaning is double-eyed. 

" Ah, good young maister ! " then gan he crye, 25s 

1 Biffgen, close cap. » Clinh, fastening. 

2 Lengd, longed. 


" Jesus blesse that sweete face I espye, 

And keepe your corpse from the carefull stoumls^ 

That in my carrion carcas abounds." 

The Kidd, pittying hys heavinesse, 
Asked the cause of his distresse, ' ooc 

And also who and whence that he were. 

Tho he, that had well ycond his lere," 
Thus medled^ his talke with many a teare : 
" Sicke, sicke, alas ! and little lack of dead, 
But I be relieved by your beastlyhead. 260 

I am a poore sheepe, albe my coloure donne,'* 
For with long traveile I am brent in the sonne ; 
And if that my grandsire me sayd be true, 
Sicker/ I am very sybbe" to you ; 
So be your goodlihead do jiot disdayne 270 

The base kinred of so simple swaine. 
Of mercy and favour then I you pray 
With your ayd to forestall my neere decay." 

Tho out of his packe a glasse he tooke, 
Wherein while Kiddie unwares did looke, 275 

He was so enamored with the newell,^ 
That nought he deemed deare for the jewell. 
Tho opened he the dore, and in came 
The false Foxe, as he were starke lame : 
His tayle he clapt betwixt his legs twayne, seo 

Lest he should be descried by his trayne. 

Being within, the Kidde made him good glee, 
All for the love of the glasse he did see. 

1 Carefull slounds, moments, fits of pain. 

2 I. e. studied his lesson. 6 Sicker, surely. 
8 Medled, mingled. 6 Sybbe, akin. 

 I. e. although my color be dun. "i Newell, novelty. 

MAT. 431 

A-fter his chere, the pedler can* chat, 

And tell many lesinges of this and that, aee 

And how he could shewe many a fine knack ^ : 

Tho shewed his ware and opened his packe, 

All save a bell, which he left behind 

In the basket for the Kidde to fynd ; 

Which when the Kidde stooped downe to catch, igo 

He popt him in, and his basket did latch ; 

Ne stayed he once the dore to make fast, 

But ranne awaye with him in all hast. 

Home when the doubtfull damme had her hyde. 
She mought see the dore stand open wyde. aw 

All agast, lowdly she gan to call 
Her Kidde ; but he nould ^ aunswere at all : 
Tho on the flore she saw the merchaundise 
Of which her sonne had sette to deere a prise. 
What help ? her Kidde she knewe well was gone : soo 
She weeped, and wayled, and made great mone. 
Such end had the Kidde, for he nould warned be 
Of craft coloured with simplicitie ; 
And such end, perdie, does all hem remayne 
That of such falsers ■* freendship bene fayne. * 306 

Pal. Truely, Piers, thou art beside thy wit, 
Furthest fro the marke, weening it to hit. 
Now, I pray thee, lette me thy tale borrowe 
•For our Sir John ^ to say to-morowe 
At the kerke, when it is hoUiday ; sio 

For well he meanes, but little can say. 

1 Can, gan. •♦ Falsers, deceivers. 

2 Knack, knick-knack. 5 Fayne, glad, desiroas. 
8 Nould, would not. 

« Sir John, a contemptuous name for a priest. 


But and if foxes bene so crafty as so, 
Much needeth all sliepheards hem to knowe. 

Piers. Of their falshode more could I recount, 
But now the bright sunne gynneth to dismount ; 3i6 
And, for the deawie night now doth nye, 
I hold it best for us home to hye. 

Has fiev aTTtOTOs aTTtoret. 

Tis o apa Tnaris ania-Ta ; 

1 The trustless are always mistrustful. 
• But how oau you trust ttie trustless ? 

Note to V. 69. — Tho with them doth imitate the epitaphe of the 
ryotous king Sardanapalus, whych he caused to be written on 
his tombe in Greeke: which verses be thus translated by TuUie: 

Hseo habiii quJB edi, quseque exaturata libido 
Hausit, at ilia manent multa ac prseclara relicta.* 

Much like the Epitaph of a good old Erie of Devonshire, which, 
though [it] much more wisedome bewraieth then Sardanapalus, 
yet hath a smacke of his sensuall delights and beastliuesse. The 
rimes be these : 

Ho, ho ! who lies here ? 
I the good Earle of Devonshire, 
And Maulde my wife that was ful deare. 
We lived togithir Iv. yeare. 

That we spent, we had : 

That we gave, we liave : 

That we lefte, we lost. — £. K.'s Glosse. 

• Translated in Spenser's letter to Harvey, Vol. V. p. 389. 

JUNE. 433 



This ^glogue is wholly vowed to the complayning of Colins ill 
successe in his love. For being (as is aforesaid) enamoured of a 
country lasse, Rosalind, and having(as seemeth) founde place in 
her heart, hee lamenteth to his deare Iriend Hobbinoll, that he 
is now forsaken unfaithfully, and in his steede Menalcas, an- 
other shepheard, received disloyally. And this is the whole 
Argument of this ^glogue. 



Lo ! Collin, here the place whose plesaunt syte 
From other shades hath weand my wandring mynde : 
Tell me, what wants me here to worke delyte ? 
The simple a}Te, the gentle warbling wynde, 
So calme, so coole, as no where else I fynde ; 6 

The grassye ground with dainty e daysies dight. 
The bramble bush, where byrds of every kynde 
To the waters fall their tunes attemper right. 

Col. happy Hobbinoll, I blesse thy state. 
That Paradise hast founde whych Adam lost : lo 

Here wander may thy flocke, early or late, 

Arg. — The person designated as Menalcas is now all but dem- 
onstrated to be John Fiorio, whose ridiculous sobriquet of " The 
Besolute" is veiy well thus translated {fievos, dX/cij). See the 
Memoir pi-efixed to Vol. I. C. 


Witliouten dreade of wolves to bene y tost ; 

Thy lovely layes here mayst thou freely boste : 

But I, unhappy man ! whom cruell Fate 

And angry gods pursue from coste to coste, is 

Can no where fyud to shroude my lucklesse pate. 

Hob. Then if by me thou list advised be, 
Forsake the soyle that so doth thee bewitch ; 
Leave me those hilles ^ where harbrough nis ^ to see, 
Nor holy-bush, nor brere, nor winding witche ^ ; aa 
And to the dales * resort, where shepheards ritch, 
And fruictfull flocks, bene every where to see. 
Here no night-ravens lodge, more black then pitche. 
Nor elvish ghosts, nor gastly owles doe flee ; 

But frendly Faeries, met with many Graces, 26 

And lightfote Nymplies, can cliace the lingring night 
With heydeguyes^ and trimly trodden traces. 
Whilst Systers N}aie, which dwell on Parnasse bight, 
Doe make them musick for their more delight ; 
And Pan himselfe, to kisse their christall faces, 30 
Will pype and daunce, when Phoebe shineth bright: 
Such pierlesse pleasures have we in these places. 

Col. And I, whjlst youth and course of carelesse 
Did let mee walke withouten lincks of love. 

1 1, e. the North Countiy. E. K. 

2 I. e. where there is no shelter. 

' Witche, the witclien, or low willow. 

4 I. e. Kent. E K. 

8 Fleydeyuyes, a kind of rural dance. 

JUNE. - 435 

In such delights did joy amongst my peeres ; se 

But ryper age such pleasures doth reprove ; 

My fancye eke from former follies move 

To stayed steps ; for time in passing weai-es. 

As garments doen which vvexen olde above,^ 

And draweth newe delightes with hoary heares. 40 

Tho couth " I sing of love, and tune my pype 
Unto my plaintive pleas in verses made ; 
Tho would I seeke for queene-apples unrype, 
To give my Rosalind, and in sommer shade 
Dight gaudy girlonds was my comeu trade, 45 

To crowne her golden locks ; but yeeres more rype, 
And losse of her, whose love as lyfe I wayd, 
Those weary wanton toyes away did w'ype. 

Hob. Colin, to lieare thy rymes and roundelayes, 
Which thou wert wont on wastfuU hylls to singe, 60 
I more delight then larke in sommer dayes, 
Whose echo made the neyghbour groves to ring, 
And taught the byrds, which in the lower spring ' 
Did shroude in shady leaves from sonny rayes, 
Frame to thy songe their cheerefull cherij)ing, m 

Or hold theyr peace, for shame of thy sweete^layes. 

I sawe Calliope wyth Muses moe, 

Sonne as thy oaten pype began to sound, 

TLeyr yvory luyts and tamburins forgoe, ' 

And from the fountaine, where they sat around, et 

Renne * after hastely thy silver sound ; 

1 Al-ove, exceedingly, 8 I. e. the 3'oung growth, 

a Couth, could. 4 Jienne, run. 


But when they came where thou thy skill didst showe. 
They drewe abacke, as halfe with shame confound, 
Shepheard to see them in theyr arte outgoe. 

Col. Of Muses, Hobbinoll, I conne no skill,^ aa 
For they bene daughters of the highest Jove, 
And holden scorne of homely shepheards quill ; 
For sith I heard that Pan with Phoebus strove. 
Which him to much rebuke and daunger drove, 
T never list presume to Pai-nasse hyll, to 

But, pyping low in shade of lowly grove, 
I play to please myselfe, all be it ill. 

Nought weigh I who my song doth prayse or blame, 
Ne strive to winne renowne, or passe the rest : 
With shepheard sittes not ^ followe flying Fame, ts 
But feede his flocke in'fields where falls hem best. 
I wote my rymes bene rough, and rudely drest ; 
The fytter they my carefull ^ case to frame ; 
Enough is me to paint out my unrest. 
And poore * my piteous plaints out in the same. eo 

The god of shepheards, Tityrus,® is dead. 
Who taught mee, homely as I can, to make : " 
Hee, whilst hee lived, was the soveraigne head 
Of shepheards all that bene with love ytake : 
Well couth hee waile his woes, and lightly slake m 
The flames which love within his heart had bredd, 

1 T. e. have no knowledge. * I. e. pour. 

2 Siftes not, is not becoming. 5 I. e. Cliaucer. E. K. 
8 Carefull sorrowful. 6 Make, versify. 

JUNE. 437 

And tell us mery tales to keepe us wake, 
The while our sheepe about us safely fedde. 

Nowe dead hee is, and lyeth wrapt in lead, «<» 

(O why should Death on hym such outrage showc !) 

And all hys passing skil with him is fledde, 

The fame whereof doth dayly greater growp 

But if on me some little drops would tiowe 

Of that the spring was in his learned hedde, 

I soone would learne these woods to wayle my woe, 95 

And teache the trees their trickling teares to shedde. 

Then should my plaints, causde of discurtesee, 
As messengers of this my painfull plight, 
Flye to my Love, where ever that she bee, 
And pierce her heart with poynt of worthy wiglit,^ 
As shee deserves, that wrought so deadly spight. 101 
And thou, Menalcas, that by trecheree 
Didst underfong ^ my lasse to wexe so light, 
Shouldest well be knowne for such thy villanee. 

But since I am not as I wishe I were, 106 

Ye gentle Shepheards, which your flocks doe feede. 
Whether on hylls, or dales, or other where, 
Beare witnesse all of thys so wicked deede ; 
And tell the lasse, whose flowre is woxe a weede, 
And faultlesse fayth is turned to faithlesse fei-e,^ no 
That she the truest shepheards heart made bleede 
That lyves on earth, and loved her most dere. 

1 Worthy wight, (wite,) deserved blame. 8 Fere, mate. 

' Underfong, seduce. 


Hob. O carefull Colin ! I lament thy case ; 
Thy teares would make the hardest flint to flovve : 
Ah, faithless Rosalind, and voyde of grace, ub 

That art the roote of all tliis ruthfuU woe ! 
But now is time, I gesse, homeward to goe : 
Then ryse, ye blessed flocks, and home apace, 
Least night with stealing steppes do you forsloe,^ 
And wett your tender lambes that by you trace. 120 


Gia speme spenta ! 

1 Forsloe, delay. 

* Colin's motto at the end of the first eclogue expressed that 
he was not without hope of succeeding in his love for Rosalind. 
His emblem here (spem' e spenta) means that there is no longer 
any room for hof«. H. 

ICLT. 4;^;) 



This ^glogue is made in the honour and commendation of good 
shepeheardes, and to the shame and disprayse of prcude and 
ambitious pastours : such as Morrell is here imagined to be. 



Is not thilke ^ sarile a gotelieard prowde, 

That sittes on yonder bancke, 
Whose stravino; heard them selfe doth shrowde 

Emong the buslies rancke ? 
MoR. What ho, tliou jollye shepheards swayne, a 

Come up the hill to me ; 
Better is then the lowly playne, 

Als ^ for thy flocke and thee. 

1 TUlke, that. 2 ^^s, also. 

Arg. — Such as Morrell, &c.] Elmer, or Aylmer, Bishop of 
London, is supposed to be the person here described under the 
anagrammatic name of Morrell. Todd. 

Ver. 1. — A goteheard.] By gotes iu Scripture be repre- 
sented the wicked and the reprobate, whose pastour also must 
needes be such. E. K. 

Ver. 6. — Come up the hill.] Elmer, it may be observed, was 
the leading prelate of the High-Church party, as (Iriiulal was of 
the Low-Church. C. 


Thom. Ah, God shield, man, that I should clime. 

And learne to looke alofte ; lO 

This reede is ryfe,^ that oftentime 

Great clymbers fall unsoft. 
In humble dales is footing fast,* 

The trode ' is not so tickle ; * 
And though one fall thi'ough heedlesse hast, is 

Yet is his misse not mickle. 
And now the sonne hath reared up 

His fierie-footed teme, 
Making his way between the Cuppe 

And golden Diademe ; 90 

The rampant Lyon hunts he fast, 

With dogge of noysome breath, 
Whose balefull barking bringes in liast 

Pyne, plagues, and dreery death. 
Agaynst liis cniell scortching heate, 2a 

Where hast thou coverture ? 
The wastefull liylls unto his threate 

Is a playne overture ^. 
But, if thee lust ^ to liolden chat 

With seely ^ shepherds swayne, ao 

Come downe, and learne the little what* 

That Thomalin can sayne. 
MoR. Syker,'' thous but a laesie loord,*" 

And rekes ^^ much of thy swinck,^ 

1 I. e. this saying is common. 1 Seely, simple. 

2 Fast, firm. 8 What, something, matter. 
8 Trode, tread, path. 9 SyJcer, surely. 

4 Tickle, imcertain. 10 Loord, clown. 

6 Overture, opening, exposure. n Eekes, cares, thinks. 

6 Lus. list. 12 Swinck, toil. 

lULY. 441 

That with fond termes, and weetlesse words. 35 

To Were mine eyes doest thinke. 
In evill houre thou hentest ^ in hond 

Thus holy hylles to blame, 
For sacred unto saints they stond, 

And of them han ^ their name. 46 

St. Michels Mount who does not know, 

That wardes the westerne coste ? 
And of St. Brigets Bowre I trow 

All Kent can rightly boaste : 
And they that con of Muses skill ^ 4S 

Sayne most-what,* that they dwell, 
(As gote-heards wont,) upon a hill, 

Beside a learned well. 
And wonned ^ not the great god Pan 

Upon Mount Olivet, eo 

Feeding the blessed flocke of Dan, 

Which did himselfe beget? 
Thom. blessed sheepe ! shepheard great ! 

That bought his flocke so deare. 
And them did save with bloudy sweat 65 

From wolves that would them teare. 
MoR. Besyde, as holy fathers sayne, 

There is a hyllye place, 
Where Titan ryseth from the mayne 

To renne ® his dayly race, eo 

Hentest, takest. ^ Most-what, for the mo=t part. 

* Han, have. 6 Wonned, dwelt. 

« Con skill, have knowledge. 8 Eenne run. 

Ver. 41..— St. Michels Mount] A promontory and rock in 


Upon whose toppe the starres bene stayed, 

And all the skie doth leane ; 
There is the cave wliere Phoebe layed 

The shepheard ^ long to dreame. 
Wliilorae there used shepheards all gs 

To feede theyr flockes at wiU, 
Till by his folly one did fall, 

That all the rest did spill.^ 
And sithens^ shepheardes bene foresayd* 

From places of delight ; 70 

Forthy ® I weene thou be affrayd 

To clime this hilles height. 
Of Synah can I tell thee moi'e, 

And of our Ladyes Bowre ^ ; 
But little needes to strow '' my store, 70 

Suffice this hill of our. 
Here ban the holy Faunes recourse, 

And Sylvanes haunten rathe * ; 
Here has the salt Medway his sourse, 

Wherein the Nymphes doe bathe ; so 

The salt Medway, that trickling stremis 

Adowne the dales of Kent, 
Till with his elder brother Themis 

His brackish waves be meynt.^ 
Here growes melampode ^^ every where, eo 

And teribinth, good for gotes ; 
The one my madding kiddes to smere, 

The next to heale their throtes. 

1 I. e Endymion. 6 i. e. the Holy House of Loretto. 

8 Bpin^ spoil, ruin. 7 I. e. display. 

8 Sithens, since that time. 8 Eathe, eanj 

* Foresayd, interdicted. 9 Meynt, mingled. 

6 For//i.v, therefore. 10 J/e^nwiporfe, black hellebore. 

lULT. 443 

Hereto, the hills bene nigher heven, 

And thence the passage ethe ^ : so 

As well can proove the piercing levin,^ 

That selclome falles bynethe. 
Thom. Syker, thou speakes like a lewd lorrell,^ 

Of heaA' en to demen so ; 
How be I am but rude and borrell,* 96 

Yet nearer wayes I knowe. 
To kerke the narre,* from God more farre, 

Has bene an old-sayd sawe, 
And he that strives to touche a starre 

Oft stombles at a strawe. lOO 

Alsoone ^ may shepheard clymbe to skye 

That leades in lowly dales, 
As goteherd prowd, that, sitting hye. 

Upon the mountaine sayles. 
My seely sheepe like well belowe, los 

They neede not melampode ; 
For they bene. hale enough, I trowe, 

And liken their abode : 
But, if they with thy gotes should yede,' 

They soone myght be corrupted, no 

Or like not of the frowie * fede. 

Or with the weedes be glutted. 
The hylls where dwelled holy saints 

I reverence and adore. 
Not for themselfe, but for the sayncts iia 

Wliich han be dead of yore. 

1 Ethe, easy. ' Alsoone, as soon. 

2 Leviii, lightning. ^ Yede, go. 
8 Lewd hrrell, ignorant and worthless fellow. 

* Borrell, rustic. 

* I. e. the nearer the church. » Froioie, stale, raustj'. 


And nowe they bene to heaven foiewent/ 

Then- good is with them goe ; 
Their sample - onely to us lent, 

That als we mought doe soe. 120 

Shei^heards they weren of the best, 

And lived in lowlye leas ; 
And, sith theyr soules bene now at rest, 

Why done we them disease^? 
Such one he Avas (as I have heard i«6 

Old Algrind often sayne) 
That whilome was the first shepheard, 

And lived with little gayne : 
And meeke he was as meeke mought be, 

Simple as simple sheepe ; iso 

Humble, and like in eche degree 

The flocke which he did keepe. 
Often he used of hys keepe * 

A sacrifice to bring. 
Now with a kidde, now with a sheepe, )3& 

The altars hallowing. 
So lowted ^ he unto hys Lord, 

Such favour couth ® he fynd, 
That sithens never was abhord 

The simple shepheards kynd. 140 

And such, I weene, the brethren were 

That came from Canaan, 
The brethren twelve, that kept yfere ^ 

The flockes of mighty Pan. 

1 Forewent, gone before. 6 Lowted, bowed, worshipped 

2 Sample, example. 6 Couth, could. 

8 Disiase, uneasiness. "> Yfere, together. 

* Keepe, charge. 

lULT. 445- 

But nothing such thilke' shephearde was i4» 

Whom Ida hyll dyd beare, 
That left hys flocke to fetch a lasse, 

Whose love he bought to deare. 
For he was proude, that ill was payd, 

(No such mought shepheards be,) iso 

And with lewde lust was overlayd ' ; 

Tway things doen ill agree. 
But shepheard mought be meeke and mylde, 

Well-eyed as Argus was, 
With fleshly follyes undefyled, im 

And stoute as steede of brasse. 
Sike^ one (sayd Algrind) Moses was, 

That sawe liis Makers face, 
His face, more cleare then christall glasse, 

And spake to him in place. i6o< 

This had a brother, (his name I knewe,) 

The first of all his cote, 
A sliepheard trewe, yet not so true 

As he that earst I bote.* 
Whilome all these were lowe and lief,* las 

And loved theyr flocks to feede ; 
They never stroven to be chiefe, 

And simple was theyr weede * : 

1 Thilke, that same. * Hote, mentioned. 

• Overlayd, overcome. 6 Lief, amiable. 

• Sike, such. " 8 Weede, dress. 

Ver. 163. — Not so ti'ue.] "For Aaron, in the absence of 
Moses, started aside, and committed idolatry. " — E. K. 


But now (tlianked be God therefore !) 

The world is well amend, i70 

Theii' weedes bene not so nighly wore ; 

Such simplesse mought them shend ^ ! 
They bene yclad in purple and pall, 

So hath tlieyr God them blist ; 
They reigne and rulen over all, ns 

And lord it as they list ; 
Ygyrt with belts of glitterand gold, 

(Mought they good sheepeheards bene ?) 
Theyr Pan ^ theyr sheepe to them has sold ; 

I saye as some have seene. lao 

For Palinode (if thou him ken) 

Yode* late on pilgrimage 
To Rome, (if such be Rome,) and then 

He sawe thilke misusage : 
For shepeheards, sayd he, there doen leade, iss 

As lordes done other where ; 
Their sheepe ban crustes, and they the bread ; 

The chippes,* and they the chere. 
They ban the fleece, and eke the flesh ; 

(O seely sheepe the while !) 190 

The corne is theyrs, let others thresh, 

Their handes they may not file.® 
They ban great store and thriftye stockes, 

Great freendes and feeble foes ; 
Wliat neede hem^ caren for their flocks? iw 

Theyr boyes can looke to those. 

1 NUjhly, close to the body. 6 Chippes, fragments. 

a Shend, disgrace. 6 File, defile. 

8 I. e. the Pope. 7 Eem, them. 
* Yode, went. 

lULT. 447 

These wisards^ weltre in welths waves, 

Pampred in pleasures deepe ; 
They han fatte kernes,^ and leauy knaves.* 

Their fasting flockes to keepe. «io 

Sike mister men * bene all misgone, 

They heapen hylles of wrath ; 
Sike syrlye ^ shepheards han we none, 

They keepen all the path. 
MoR. Here is a great deale of good matter 20a 

Lost for lacke of telling ; 
Now, sicker, I see thou doest but clatter ; 

Harme may come of melling.^ 
Thou medlest more then shall have thanke, 

To wyten ^ shepheards welth ; 3 10 

When folke bene fat, and riches raiicke, 

It is a signe of helth. 
But say me, what is Algrind, lie 

That is so oft bynempt ^ ? 
Thom. Hee is a shepheard great in gree,' 21a 

But hath bene long ypent. 
One daye hee sat upon a hyll, 

As now thou wouldest me : 
But I am taught, by Algrinds ill, 

To love the lowe degree. 220 

For sitting so with bared scalpe, 

An eagle sored hye, 

» Wlsards, wise ones. * Melling, meddling. 

a Kernes, farmers. ^ Wyten, blame. 

3 Knaves, servants. 8 Bynempt, named. 

4 I. e. such kind of men. 9 Gree, degree. 
6 Syrlye, liaughty. 


That, weening his whyte head was chalke, 

A shell-fish downe let flye. 
Shee weend the shell-fish to have broake, 225 

But therewith bruzd his brayne ; 
So now, astonied ^ with the stroke, 

He lyes in lingring payne. 
MoR. Ah, good Algrind ! his hap was ill, 

But shall be better in time. sso 

Now farwell, shepheard, sith thys hyll 

Thou hast such doubt to climbe. 


In medio virtus. 


In summo fcelicitas. 
1 Astonied, stunned. 

Ver. 228. — He lyes in lingring payne."] Grindal, for neglecting 
to take severe measures against the Puritans, and for protesting 
against the Queen's interference in his archiepiscopal functions, 
■was, in 1578, confined to his house by an order from the Star 
Chamber, and sequestered from the performance of his official 
duties. G. 

AUGUST. 449 



Is this ^glogue is set forth a delectable controversie, made in 
imitation of that in Theocritus : whei-eto also Virgile fashioned 
his third and seventh ^glogue. They chose for umpere of their 
strife, Cuddie, a neatheards boye; who, having ended their 
cause, reciteth also himselfe a proper song, whereof Colin, he 
sayth, was authour. 



Tell me, Perigot, what shalbe the game, 

Wherefore with myne thou dare thy musick matche? 
Or bene thy bagpipes renne^ farre out of frame? 

Or hath the crampe thy joynts benomd with ache ? 
Per. Ah ! Willye, when the hart is ill assayde,^ e 
How can bagpipe or joynts be well apayd ^ ? 
WiL. What the foule evill hath thee so bestadde * 

Wliilom thou was peregall * to the best, 
And wont to make the jolly shepeheards gladde 

With pyping and dauncing did passe the rest. lo 

I Jienne, run. 4 j. e. reduced yon to this condition. 

S Assayde, affected. 6 Peregall, equal. 

' Well ajjnyd, in good condition. 


Per. Ah ! Willye, now I have learnd a newe daunce, 

My old inusick mard by a new mischaunce- 

WiL. IVIischiefe mought to that mischaunce oefall, 

That so hath raft ^ us of our menment ! 
But reede ^ me what payne doth thee so apall ; 15 

Or lovest thou, or bene thy younghnges mis- 
went ^ ? 
Per. Love hath misled both my younglings and 

I pyne for payne, and they my payne to see. 
WiL. Perdie and wellawaye I ill may they thrive ! 

Never knew I lovers sheepe in good plight : 20 
But and if in ryraes with me thou dare strive. 

Such fond fantsies shall sooiie be put to flight. 
Per. That shall I doe, though mochell* worse I 

fared : 
Never shall be sayde that Perigot was dared. 
WiL. Then loe, Perigot, the pledge which I plight ; 

A mazer " y wrought of the maple warre,^ sa 

Wlierein is enchased many a fayre sight 

Of beres and tygres, that maken fiers warre ; 
And over them spred a goodly wilde vine, 
Entrailed with a wanton yvye twine. ao 

Thereby is a lambe in the wolves jawes ; 

But see, how fast renneth the shepheard swayne 
To save the innocent from the beastes pawes ; 

And here with his sheepehooke hath him slayne. 
Tell me, such a cup hast thou ever sene? se 

Well mought it beseme any harvest queene. 

1 Raft, bereft. * Mochell, much. 

2 Reede, tell. 5 Mazer, bowl. 
* MieweTit, gone astray. 6 Warre, ware. 

AUGUST. 451 

Per. Thereto will I pawne yonder spotted larabe ; 

Of all my flocke there nis sike ^ another, 
For I brought him up without the dambe ; 

But Colin Clout rafte me of his brother, 40 

That he purchast of me in the playne field ; 
Sore against my will was I forst to yield. 
WiL. Sicker,^ make like account of his brother ; 

But who shall judge the wager wonne or lost ? 
Per. That shall yonder heardgrome, and none other, 

Which over the pousse ' hetherward doth post. 46 
WiL. But, for the sunnbeame so sore doth us beate. 
Were not better to shunne the scortching lieate ? 
Per. Well agreed, Willie ; then sitte thee downe, 
swayne ; 

Sike a song never heardest thou but Colin sing, so 
Cud. Gynne when ye lyst, ye jolly shejjheards twayne ; 

Sike a iudge as Cuddie were for a kino;. 

Per. It fell upon a holly eve, 

WiL. Hey ho, hollidaye ! 

Per. When holly fathers wont to shrieve, si> 

WiL. Now gynneth this roundelay. 

Per. Sitting upon a hill so hye, 

WiL. Hey ho, the high hyll ! 

Per. The while my flocke did feede thereby, 

1 Nis sike, is not such. 8 Pousse, pease. 

2 Sickei; surely. 

Ver. bZ.— It fell upon a holly eve."] Nothing can be prettier ia 
Its way than this little song. It has that true lyrical quality 
which forces us to chant the words to a melody suggested bv 
chemselves. C. 


WiL. The while the shcpheard selfe did spill ^; eo 

Per. 1 saw the bouncing Bellibone, 

WiL. Hey ho, bonibell ! 

Per. Tripping over the dale alone ; 

WiL. She can trippe it veiy well. 

Per. Well decked in a frocke of gray, « 

WiL. Hey ho, gray is greete^! 

Per. And in a kirtle of greene saye,' 

WiL. The greene is for maydens meete. 

Per. a chapelet on her head she wore, 

WiL. Hey ho, chapelet ! ?■>) 

Per. Of sweete violets therein was store, 

WiL. She sweeter then the violet. 

Per. My sheepe did leave theyr wonted food, 

WiL. Hey ho, seely sheepe ! 

Per, And gazd on her as they were wood,* 7-, 

"WiL. Woode as he that did them keepe. 

Per. As the bonilasse passed bye, 

"WiL. Hey ho, bonilasse ! 

Per. She rovde ^ at mee with glauncing eye, 

WiL. As cleare as the christall glasse : ** 

Per. All as the sunny beame so bright, 

WiL. Hey ho, the sunnebeame ! 

Per. Glaunceth from Phoebus face forthright, 

WiL. So love into thy hart did streame : 

Per. Or as the thonder cleaves the cloudes, >^ 

WiL. Hey ho, the thonder ! 

Per. Wherein the hghtsome levin® shroudes, 

WiL. So cleaves thy soule a sender : 

1 SpiU, perish. 4 Wood, mad. 

2 Greeie, mouniLng. 5 Rovde, shot. 

8 Saye, silk. 6 Ltvm, lightning 

AUGUST. 453 

Per. Or as Dame Cynthias silver raye, 

WiL. Hey ho, the moonelight ! oo 

Per. Upon the glyttering wave doth playe, 

WiL. Such play is a pitteous plight. 

Per. The glaunce into my heart did glide, 

Wll. Hey ho, the glyder ! 

Per. Therewith my soule was sharply gryde,* 9$ 

WiL. Such woundes soone wexen wider. 

Per. Hasting to raunch ^ the arrow out, 

"WiL. Hey ho, Perigot ! 

Per. I left the head in my hart-roote, 

WiL. It was a desperate shot. ico 

Per. There it ranckleth ay more and more, 

WiL. Hey ho, the arrowe ! 

Per. Ne can I find salve for my sore, 

"WiL. Love is a curelesse sorrowc 

Per. And though my bale with death I bought, los 

WiL. Hey ho, heavie cheere ! 

Per. Yet should thilk lasse not from my thought ; 

WiL. So you may buys golde to deere. 

Per. But whether in paynefull love I pyne, 

WiL. Hey ho, pinching payne ! 110 

Per. Or thrive in wealth, she shalbe mine ; 

WiL. But if thou can her obteine. 

Per. And if for gracelesse greefe I dye, 

WiL. Hey ho, gracelesse griefe ! 

Per. Witnesse shee slewe me with her eye ; m 

WiL. Let thy follye be the priefe. 

Per. And you, that sawe it, simple shepe, 

WiL. Hey ho, the fayre flocke ! 

1 Grt/de, pierced ^ Raunch, wrenoiu 


Per. For pi-iefe thereof, my death shall wcepe, 

WiL.  And mone with many a mocke. 120 

Per. So learnd I love on a hoUye eve, 

WiL. Hey ho, holidays ! 

Per. That ever since my hart did gi-eve, 

WiL. Now endeth our roundelay." 

Cud. Sicker, sike a roundle ^ never heard T none ; 

Little lacketh Perigot of the best, 125 

And Willye is not greatly overgone,^ 

So weren his under-songs well addrest. 
WiL. Herdgrome, I fear me thou have a squint eye : 
Areede^ uprightly, who has the victorye. i30 

Cud. Fayth of my soule, I deeme ech have gjiyned ; 

Forthy ^ let the lambe be Willye his owne ; 
And for Perigot so well hath hym payned. 

To him be the wroughten mazer alone. 
Per. Perigot is well pleased with the doome, i3& 
Ne can "Willye wite the witelesse ® herdgroome. 
"WiL. Never dempt ® more right of beautye, I weene, 
The shepheard of Ida that judged Beauties Queene. 
Cud. But tell me, shepherds, should it not yshend ' 
Your roundels fresh to heare a doolefull verse 140 
Of Rosalend, (who knowes not Rosalend ?) 

That Colin made, ylke ^ can I you rehearse. 
Per. Now say it, Cuddie, as thou art a ladde ; 
With mery thing its good to medle ^ sadde. 

1 Roundle, roundelay. 6 Dempt, deemed, judged 

2 Overgone, surpassed. 7 Yshend, mar. 

8 Areede, declare. 8 Ylke, the same. 

* Forthy, therefore. 9 Medle, mingle. 

^ I. e. blame the blameless. 

AUGUST. 455 

WiL. Fayth of my soule, thou shalt ycrouned be 14a 
In Colins stede, if thou this song areede ;' 

For never thing on earth so pleaseth me 
As him to heare, or matter of his deede.^ 

Cud. Then listneth ech unto my heavie laye, 

And tune your pypes as ruthful as ye may. ico 

" Ye wasteful! woodes beare witnesse of my woe * 
Wherein my plaints did oftentimes resound ; 
Ye carelesse byrds are privie to my cryes, 
Which in your songs were woont to make a part ; 
Thou pleasaunt spring hast luld me oft asleepe, lea 
Whose streames my tricklinge teares did ofte augment. 

" Resort of people doth my greefs augment, 

The walled townes doe worke my greater woe ; 

The forest wide is fitter to resound 

The hollow echo of my carefull cryes : leo 

I hate the house, since thence my Love did part, 

Whose waylefull want debarres mine eyes fro n sleepe. 

« Let the stremes of teares supply the place of sleepe ; 
Let all, that sweete is, voyd,^ and all that may aug- 
My doole draw neare ! More meete to wayle my woe 
Bene the wilde woddes, ray sorowes to resound, lea 
Then bedde, or bowre, both which I fill with cryes, 
When I them see so waist, and fynd no part 

1 Deede, doing. ^ Voyd, remove. 

* This poem is an imitation of the Italian Sestina, but is 
executed with very little skill. C. 


" Of pleasure past. Here Avill I dwell apart 
In gastfull ^ grove therefore, till my Last sleeps ito 
Doc close mine eyes ; so shall I not augment 
With sight of such as chaunge my restlesse woe. 
Help me, yee banefull byrds ! whose shrieking sound 
Ys signe of dreery death, my deadly cryes 

" Most ruthfully to time : and as my cryes na 

(Which of my woe cannot bewray least part) 
You heare all night, when natui-e craveth sleepe, 
Increase, so let your yrksome yells augment. 
Thus all the night in plaintes, the daye in woe, 
I vowed have to wayst, till safe and sound leo 

" She home returne, whose voyces silver sound 

To cheerefuU songes can chaunge my cherelesse 

Hence with the nightingale will I take part, 
That blessed byrd, that spends her time of sleepe 
In songes and plaintive pleas, the more t' augment 
The memorie of hys misdeede that bred her woe. las 

" And you that feele no woe, when as the sound 

Of these my nightly cryes ye heare apart, 

Let breake yom- sounder sleepe, and pitie augment. 

Per. O Colin, Colin, the shepheards joye, igo 

How I admire ech turning of thy verse ! 

And Cuddie, freshe Cuddie, the liefest^ boye, 
How dolefully his doole ^ thou didst rehearse ! 

1 Gastfull, frightful. 8 Doole, grief. 

2 Liefest, dearest. 

AUGUST. 457 

Cud. Then blowe your pypes, shepheai-ds, til you 

be at home ; 
The night nigheth fast, yts time to be gone. 193 


Vincenti gloria victi. 


Vinto non vitto. 


Felice chi pub. 

* " The meaning hereof is verie ambiguous: for Perigot by his 
poesie claiming the conquest, and Willye not yeelding, Cuddie, the 
arbiter of theyr cause and patron of his owne, seeraeth to chal- 
lenge it as his due, saying, that hee is happie which can ; so 
abruptly ending; but hee meeneth eyther him that can win the 
best, or moderate himselfe being best, and leave of with the 
best." E. K. 




Herein Diggoti Davie is devised to be a shepheard that, in hopa 
of more gnyne, drove his sheepe into a farre countrye. The 
abuses whereof, and loose living of popish prelates, by occa- 
sion of Hobbinols demaund, he discourseth at large. 


DiGGON Davie ! I bidcle her ^ god day ; 
Or Dip^gon her is, or I missaye. 

Dig. Her was her while it was daye-light, 
But now her is a most wretched wight : 
For day that was is wightly ^ past, 6 

And now at earst® the dirke night doth hast. 

HoR. Diggon, areede* who has thee so dight*; 
Never I Avist thee in so poore a plight. 
Where is the fayre flocke thou was wont to leade ? 
Or bene they chaffred,* or at' mischiefe dead? lo 

1 //er, provincial for him, he, their. 

2 Wiffhihj, quickly, 5 Dtght, served. 

8 At enrst, at once. 6 Chaffred, sold or exchanged. 

< Areede, say. 7 At, by. 

Arg. — The " Roffin " spoken of in this Eclogue is evidently 
some Bishop of Rochester who had shown favor to Spenser. 
Koightley has called attention to the fact, that John Young, Mas- 
ter of Pembroke Hall, (Spenser's College,) whose patron was the 
Archbishop Grindal of the Seventh Eclogue, was, in January 
1577, called to that see. G. 


Dia. Ah ! for love of that is to thee most leefe, 
Hobbinol, I pray thee gall not my old griefe ; 
Sike question rippeth up cause of newe woe, 
For one opened mote unfolde many moe. 

Hob. Nay, but sorrow close shrouded in hart, la 
I know, to kepe is a burdenous smart : 
P^che thing imparted is more eath ^ to beare : 
When the rayiie is falln, the cloudes wexen cleare. 
And nowe, sithence ^ I sawe thy head last, 
Thrise three moones bene fully spent and past ; ao 
Since when thou hast measured much gi-ownd, 
And wandred, I wene, about the world round, 
So as thou can many thinges relate ; 
But tell me first of thy flocks astate. 

Dig. My sheepe bene wasted : wae ' is me there- 
fore ! 26 
The jolly shepheard that was of yore 
Is now nor joUye, nor shepehearde more. 
In forrein costes men sayd was plentye ; 
And so there is, but all of miserye : 
I dempt* there much to have eeked' my store, ao 
But such eeking hath made my hart sore. 
In the ® countries whereas I have bene, 
No being for those that truely mene ; 
But for such as of guile maken gayne. 
No such countrye as there to remaine. as 
They setten to sale their shops of shame, 
And maken a mart of theyr good name : 
The shepheards there robben one another, 

I Eath, easy. •• Dempt, deemed, 

a Sithence, since. 5 Eeked, increased 

8 Wae, woe. * Tko, those. 


And layen baytes to beguile ber ^ brother ; 

Or they vnU. buy his sheej^e out of the cote, 40 

Or they will carven ^ the shepheards throte. 

The shepheardes swayne you cannot wel ken, 

But it be by his pryde, from other men : 

They looken bigge as bulls that bene bate,' 

And bearen the cragge * so stilFe and so state/' *s 

As cocke on his dunghill cro^ving cranck.^ 

Hob. Diggon, I am so stiffe and so stanck,' 
That uneth may I stand any more ; 
And nowe the westerne winde bloweth sore, 
That nowe is in his chiefe sovereigntee, eo 

Beating the withered leafe from the tree. 
Sitte we downe here under the liill ; 
Tho may we talke and tellen our fill. 
And make a mocke at the blustring blast : 
Now say on, Diggon, what ever thou hast. ss 

Dig. Hobbin, ah Hobbin ! I curse the stounde ^ 
That ever I cast to have lorne® this grounde. 
Wel-away the while I was so fonde 
To leave the good that I had in honde, 
In hope of better that was uncouth ^^ : eo 

So lost the dogge the flesh in his mouth. 
My seely sheepe (ah, seely sheepe !) 
That here by there " I whilome usd to keepe. 
All were they lustye as thou didst see, 
Bene all sterved with pyne and penuree ; « 

1 Eer, their. 7 StancJc, weary. 

2 Carven, cut. 8 Stoumie, hour. 

8 Bate, baited, fat. 9 iorne, lost, left. 

* Cragge, neck. 10 Uncouth, unknown. 

6 S'ate, stoutly. 11 Here by there, here and there. 

* Cranck, lustily. 


Hardly my selfe escaped thilke ^ pajme, 
Driven for neede to come home agajaie. 

Hob. Ah, fon ! now by thy losse art taught 
That seeldome chaunge the better brought : 
Content who lives with tryed state Tot 

Neede feare no chaunge of frowning fate ; 
But who will seeke for unkno^vne gayne, 
Oft lives by losse, and leaves with payne. 

Dig. I wote ne,^ Hobbin, how I Avas bewitcht 
With vayne desire and hope to be enricht : ?o . 

But, sicker,^ so it is as the bright starre 
Seemeth ay greater when it is fai-re. 
1 thought the soyle would have made me rich,. 
But nowe I wote it is nothing sich ; 
For eyther the shepeheards bene ydle and still, ao> 
And ledde of theyr sheepe what way they wyU, 
Or they bene false, and full of covetise, 
And casten to compasse many wrong emprise. 
But the more bene fraight with fraud and spight, 
Ne in good nor gooclnes taken delight, ei^ 

But kindle coales of conteck * and yre. 
Wherewith they sette aU the world on fire ; 
Which when they thinken agayne to quench. 
With holy water they doen hem all drench. 
They saye they con " to heaven the high-way, 90 

But by my soule I dare undersaye * 
They never sette foote in that same troade,' 
But balk ^ the right way, and sti-ayen abroad. 

1 Thilke, the same. 6 Con, know. 

2 Wote ne, know not. 6 Undersaye, gainsay. 
« Sicker, truly. ' Troade, path. 

 Conteck, contest. 8 Balk, forsake. 


They boast they han the devill at commaund, 

But aske hem therefore what they han paund : 9b 

Mari-ie ! that ^ great Pan bought with deare borrow,* 

To quite ^ it from the blacke bowre of sorrowe. 

But they han sold thilke same long agoe, 

Forthy woulden draw with hem many moe. 

But let hem gauge * alone a Gods name ; loo 

As they han brewed, so let hem beare blame. 

Hob. Diggon, I praye thee speake not so dirke ; * 
Such myster ^ saying me seemeth to mirke.^ 

Dig. Then, playnely to speake of shepheards most 
Badde is the best ; (this English is flatt :) io6 

Their ill haviour garres ^ men missay 
Both of their doctrine, and of theyr faye.^" 
They sayne the world is much war^^ then it wont, 
AH for her shepheards bene beastly and blont ^^ : 
Other sayne, but howe truely I note,'^ no 

All for they holden shame of theyr cote : 
Some sticke not to say, (whote cole on her tongue !) 
That sike mischiefe graseth hem emong, 
All for they casten " too much of worlds care, 
To deck her dame, and enrich her beyre. iw 

For such encheason,^^ if you goe nye, 
Fewe chimneis reeking ^'' you shall espye. 

1 That, that which. » Garres, makes. 

2 Borroio, pledge, ransom. W Faye, faith. 
8 Quite, quit, deliver. n War, worse. 

« Gange, go. 12 Blont, dull, rude. 

6 Dirke, dark. 13 Note, know not. 

8 Myster, kind of. 14 Casien, think. 

' To mirke, too obscure. 15 Encheason, occasion. 

8 Most what, for the most [mrt. 16 Reeking, smoking. 


The fatte oxe, that wont ligge * in the stal, 

Is novve fast stalled in her crumenall.^ 

Thus chatten the people in theyr steads, iso 

Ylike as a monster of many heads : 

But they that shooten neerest the pricke ^ 

Sayne other the fat from their beards doen lick : 

For bigge bulles of Basan brace * hem about, 

That with theyr homes butten the more stoute ; 135 

But the leane soules treaden under foote. 

And to seeke r'edreesse mought little boote : 

For liker bene they to pluck away more, 

Then ought of the gotten good to restore : 

For they bene like foule wagmoires ^ overgrast, lao 

That, if thy galage ^ once sticketh fast, 

The more to wind it out thou doest swinck. 

Thou mought ay deeper and deeper sinck. 

Yet better leave off with a little losse. 

Then by much wrestling to leese the grosse/ lac 

Hob. Nowe, Diggon, I see thou speakest to 
plaine ; 
Better it were a little to feyne, 
And cleanly cover that cannot be cured ; 
Such ill as is forced mought nedes be endured. 139 
But of sike pastoures howe done the flocks creepe ? 

Dig. Sike* as the shepheards, sike bene her 
sheepe ; 
For they nill ® listen to the shepheards voyce, 

1 Ligge, lie. « Galage, (a clown's coarse) shoe 

2 Cnnnenall, purse. 1 I. e. lose the whole. 
8 Pi-icke, mark. 8 Sike, such. 

* Brace, compass. 9 Nill, will not 

* Wagmoires, quagmires. 


But if he call hem, at theyr good clioyce 

They wander at wil and stay at pleasure, 

And to theyr folds yead at their owne leasure. la, 

But they had be ^ better come at their cal ; 

For many han unto mischiefe fall, 

And bene of ravenous wolves yrent, 

All for they nould be buxome and bent.- 

HoB. Fye on thee, Diggon, and all thy ibule 
leasing ! 150 

Well is knowne that sith the Saxon king, 
Never was woolfe seene, many nor some, 
Nor in all Kent, nor in Christendome : 
But the fewer woolves, (the soth to sayne,) 
The more bene the foxes that here remaine. iso 

Dig. Yes, but they gang in more secrete wise, 
And with sheepes clothing doen hem disguise. 
They walke not widely as they were wont. 
For fear of raungers and the great hunt, 
But prively prolling to and froe, leu 

Enaunter ^ they mought be inly * knowe. 

Hob. Or prive or pert * yf any bene. 
We han great bandogs will teare their skinne. 

Dig. Indeede thy Ball is a bold bigge curre. 
And could make a jolly hole in theyr furre : lea 

But not good dogges hem needeth to chace, 

1 Be, been. * Inly, inwardly. 

2 I. e. compliant and obedient. ^ i. e. secret or open. 
* Enaunter, lest that. 

Ver. 151. — The Saxon king.'] King Edgar, during whose reign, 
in the tenth century, wolves are said to have disappeared from 
England. H. 


But heedy shepheards to disceme their face ; 

For all their craft is in their countenaunce, 

They bene so grave and full of maj-ntenaunce.^ 

But shall I tell thee what my selfe knowe m 

Chaunced to Roflfynn not long ygoe ? 

Hob. Say it out, Diggon, whatever it hight,^ 
For not but well mought him betight^: 
He is so meeke, wise, and merciable,* 
And with his word his worke is convenable.* ne 

Colin Clout, I wene, be his selfe "^ boye. 
(Ah for Colin, he whilome my ioye !) 
Shepheards sich, God mought us many send, 
That doen so carefully theyr flocks tend. 

Dig. Thilke same shepheard mought I well marke ; 
He has a dogge to byte or to barke ; isi 

Never had shepheard so kene a kurre, 
That waketh and if but a leafe sturre. 
"Whilome there wonned'^ a wicked wolfe, 
That with many a lambe had glutted his gulfe,* iss 
And ever at night wont to repayre 
Unto the flocke, when the welkin shone fayre, 
Ycladde in clothing of seely sheepe. 
When the good old man used to sleepe. 
Tho at midnight he would barke and ball, 190 

(For he had eft® learned a curres call,) 
As if a wooLfe were emong the sheepe : 
With that the shepheard would breake his sleepe, 

1 Mayntenaunce, stately carriage. 6 Selfe, own. 

2 Eight, signify. ' Wanned, dwelt. 
8 Betight, betide. 8 Gulfe, belly. 

* Merciahle, merciful. 9 Eft, (here,) quickly 

6 Convenable, confoiinable. 


And send out Lowder (for so Ms dog hote^) 

To raunge the fields with wide open throte. i93 

Tho, when as Lowder was farre awaye, 

This wolvish sheepe woulde catchen his pray. 

A larabe, or a kidde, or a weanell ^ wast ; 

With that to the wood would he speede him ftist. 

Long time he used this slippery pranck, aoo 

Ere Roffy could for his lahoure him thanck. 

At end, the shepheard his practise spyed, 

(For Roffy is wise, and as Argus eyed,) 

And when at even he came to the flocke, 

Fast in theyr folds he did them locke, job 

And tooke out the woolfe m his counterfect cote, 

And let out the sheepes bloud at his throte. 

Hob. Marry, Diggon, what should him affraye 
To take his owne where ever it laye ? 
For had his wesand bene a little widder,^ aio 

He would have devoured both bidder and shidder.* 

Dig. Mischiefe light on him, and Gods great curse ! 
Too good for him had. bene a great deale woi"se ; 
For it was a perilous beast above all. 
And eke had he cond ^ the shepherds call, 216 

And oft in tlie night came to tlie shepe-cote. 
And called Lowder, with a hollow throte, 
As if it the olde man selfe had bene. 
The dog his maisters voice did it Avene, 
Yet halfe in doubt he opened tlie dore, aaa 

1 Hote, was called 5 Cond, learned. 

8 Weanell, a newly weaned animal. 
8 Wulder, wider. 

* I. e. male and female. [E. K] Qu. hither and thither, on all 


And ranne out as he was wont of yore. 

No sooner was out, but, swifter then thought, 

Fast by the hyde the wolfe Lowder caught ; 

And had not Roffy renne to the Steven,^ 

Lowder had bene slaine thilke same even. «28 

Hob. God shield, man, hee should so ill have thrive, 
AH for he did his devojTe behve.^ 
If sike bene wolves as thou hast told. 
How mought we, Diggon, hem behold ? 

Dig. How, but with heede and watchfullnesse 230 
Forstallen hem of their wnlinesse : 
Forthy ^ with shepheard sittes * not playe, 
Or sleepe, as some doen, all the long day ; 
But ever liggen * in watch and wai-d. 
From soddein force the}T flocks for to gard. 235 

Hob. Ah, Diggon ! tliilke same rule were Um 
All the cold season to wach and waite : 
We bene of flesh, men as other bee. 
Why should we be bound to such miseree ? 
Whatever thing lacketh chaungeable rest, 340 

Mought needes decay, when it is at best. 

Dig. Ah ! but, HobbinoU, all this long tale 
Nought easeth the care that doth me forhaile.^ 
What shall I doe ? what way shall I wend. 
My piteous phght and losse to amend ? 24a 

Ah, good HobbinoU, mought I thee praye 
Of ayde or counsell in my decaye ? 

Hob. Now by my soule, Diggon, I lament 

1 Steven, voice, cry. * Sittee, becomes. 

2 Belive, promptly. 6 Ligfjen, lie 

8 Forthy, therefore. ^ Forhaile, haul about, harass. 


The haplesse mischiefe that has thee hent ^ ; 

Nethelesse thou seest my lowly saile, aso 

That froward fortune doth evei* availe ^ : 

But were Hobbinoll as God mought please, 

Disiron should soone finde favour and ease. 

But if to my cotage thou wilt resort, 

So as I can I wil thee comfort ; SSE 

There mayst thou ligge in a vetchy' bed, 

Till fayrer fortune shewe forth his head. 

Dig. Ah, Hobbinoll, God mought it thee requite ! 
Digeon on fewe such freendes did ever lite. 



Inopem me copia fecit. 

1 Bent, seized upon. 8 Velchy, of pease straw. 

9 Availe, lower, bring down. 

* Diggon applies to his own change of fortune the saying of 
Narcissus in Ovid, — " Plenty has made me poor." H. 




b( Caddie is set out the perfecte pateme of a poete, whiche, 
finding no maintenaunce of his state and studies, complayneth 
of the contempte of Poetrie, and the causes thereof : specially 
having bene in all ages, and even amongst the most barbarous, 
alwaj'es of singular accounpt and honor, and being indede so 
worthy and commendable an arte; or rather no arte, but a 
divine gift and heavenly instinct not to bee gotten by laboure 
and learning, but adorned with both; and poured into the 
witte by a certain evdovaiacrfxos and celestiall inspiration, as 
the Author hereof els where at large discourseth in his boolse 
called The English Poete, which booke, being lately come to 
my hands, I mynde also by Gods grace, upon further advise- 
ment, to publish. 


CuDDiE, for shame ! hold up thy heavye head, 
And let us cast ^ with what delight to chace 
And weary thys long lingring Phoebus race. 
Whilome thou wont the shepheards laddes to leade 
In rymes, in ridles, and in bydding base ^ ; a 

Nowe they in thee, and thou in sleepe art dead. 

1 Ca«t, consider. 2 Bydding base, game of prison base. 


Cud, Piers, I have pyped erst^ so long with payne, 
That all mine oten reedes bene rent and wore, 
And my poore Muse hath spent her spared store, 
Yet little good hath got, and much lesse gayne. lo 
Such pleasaunce makes the grashopper so poore. 
And ligge so layd,' when winter doth her straine. 

The dapper ditties that I wont devise, 

To feede youthes fansie and the flocking fry, 

Deligh ten much : what I the hett forthy ^ ? is 

They han the pleasure, I a sclender prise : 

I beate the bush, the byrds to them do flye : 

What good thereof to Cuddle can arise ? 

Piers. Cuddle, the prayse is better then the price, 
The glory eke much greater then the gayne : atf 

what an honor is it, to restraine 
The lust of lawlesse youth with good advice, 
Or pricke them forth with pleasaunce of thy vaine 
Whereto thou list their trayned willes entice ! 

Soone as thou gynst to sette thy notes in frame, as 
how the rurall routes * to thee doe cleave ! 
Seemeth thou doest their soule of sense bereave. 
All as the shepheard, that did fetch his dame 
From Plutoes balefull bowre withouten leave. 
His musicks might the hellish hound did tame. 30 


Cud. So praysen babes the peacocks spotted 

» Erst, before. 8 Bett forthy, better for that. 

a Layd, frozen, cold. 4 Routes, companies. 


And wondren at bright Ai'gus blazing eye ; 

But who rewards him ere ^ the more f'orthy, 

Or feedes him once the fuller by a graine ? 

Sike prayse is smoke, that sheddeth ^ in the skye ; so 

Sike words bene wynd, and wasten soone in vayne. 

Piers. Abandon then the base and viler clowne ; 
Lift up thy selfe out of the lowly dust, 
And sing of bloody Mars, of wars, of giusts ; 
Turne thee to those that weld ^ the awful crowne, 40 
To doubted* knights, whose woundlesse armour rusta, 
And helmes unbruzed wexen dayly browne. 

There may thy Muse display her fluttryng wing, 
And stretch her selfe at large from east to west ; 
Whither thou list in fayre Elisa rest, 45 

Or, if thee please in bigger notes to sing, 
Advaunce the worthy wliome shee loveth best. 
That first the White Beare to the Stake did bring. 

And when the stubborne stroke of stronger stounds * 

Has somewhat slackt the tenor of thy string, 50 

Of love and lustihead tho mayst thou sing, 

And Carroll lowde, and leade the Myllers Rownde,* 

All were Elisa one of thilke same ring ; 

So mought our Cuddies name to heaven so'VTnde. 

1 Ere, ever. 4 Doubted, redoubted. 

2 Sheddeth, disperses. 6 Stounds, occasions. 

8 Weld, wield. 6 I. e. a kind of dance. 

Ver. 47. — The vxrrtky, &c.] The Earl of Leicester, here de- 
tcribed by his cognizance of the bear and ragged staflf. O. 


Cud. Indeede the Romisli Tit}a-us,^ I heare, 66 
Through his Mecaenas left his oaten reede, 
Whereon hee earst had taught his flocks to feede 
And laboured lands to yield the timely eare, 
And eft ^ did sing of warres and deadly drede, 
So as the heavens did quake his verse to here. so 

But ah ! IMecaenas is yclad in claye, 

And great Augustus long ygoe is dead, 

And all the worthies liggen ^ wrapt in leade, 

That matter made for poets on to play : 

For, ever, who in derring-doe * were dreade, fla 

The loftie verse of hem was loved aye. 

But after Vertue gan for age to stoope. 

And mightie Manhode brought a bedde of ease. 

The vaunting poets found nought worth a pease 

To put in preace* among the learned troupe : 7o 

Tho gan the streames of flowing wittes to cease, 

And sonnebright honour pend in shamefull coupe.' 

And if that any buddes of poesie 

Yet of the old stocke gan to shoote agayne, 

Or it mens follies mote be forst to fayne, 75 

And rolle with rest in rymes of ribaudrye. 

Or, as it sprong, it wither must agayne ; 

Tom Piper makes us better melodic. 

1 I. e. Virgil. * Dernng-doe, daring deeds. 

2 Eft, afterwards. 6 J. e. make an object of competition- 
8 Liggen, lie. 6 Coupe, coop, cage. 


Piers. O pierlesse Poesye, where is then thy 
place ? 
If nor in princes pallace thou doe sitt, 80 

(And yet is princes pallace the most fitt,) 
Ne brest of baser birth doth thee embrace, 
Then make thee wings of thine aspyring wit, 
And, whence thou camst, flye backe to heaven ap^ce. 

Cud. Ah, Percy! it is all to weake and wanne, ee 
So high to sore and make so large a flight ; 
Her peeced ^ pyneons bene not so in plight : 
For Colin fittes such famous flight to scanne^; 
He, wei'e he not with love so ill bedight,^ 
Would mount as high and sing as soote^ as swanne. 90 

Piers. Ah, fon * ! for Love does teach him 
climbe so hie. 
And lyftes him up out of the loathsome myre ; 
Such immortal miiTor as he doth admire 
Would rayse ones mynd above the stany skie, 
And cause a caytive corage ^ to aspire ; 95 

For lofty love doth loath a lowly eye. 

Cud. All otherwise the state of poet stands : 
For lordly Love is such a tyranne fell, 
That, where he rules, all power he doth expell ; 
The vaunted verse a vacant head demaundes, lou 

Ne wont with crabbed Care the Muses dwell : 
Unwisely weaves, that takes two webbes in hand. 

1 I. e. (mended, and therefore) weak. 

2 Scanne, ascend. 6 Fon, fool. 

8 Bedight, affected. 8 Qiytive corage, base heart 

' Soote, sweet. 


Who ever casts to compasse waightye prise. 
And tliinkes to throws out thoiidring words of threate, 
Let powre in lavish cups and thriftie bitts of meate, los 
For Bacchus fruite is friend to Phoebus wise ; 
And when with wine the bx'aine begins to sweate, 
The nombers flowe as fast as spring doth ryse. 

Thou kenst not, Percie, howe the ryme should rage : 
if my temples were distaind with wine, no 

And girt in girlonds of wild y vie twine, 
How I could reare the ]\Iuse on stately stage, 
And teache her tread aloft in buskin fine. 
With queint ^ Bellona in her equipage ! 

But ah ! my corage cooles ere it be warme : no 
Forthy ^ content us in thys humble shade, 
Where no such troublous tydes han us assayde ; 
Here we our slender pipes may safely charme.^ 

Piers. And when my gates * shall han theii 
bellies layd, 
Cuddie shall have a kidde to store his farme. lao 


Agitante calescimus illo,* S^c. 

1 Queint, (strangely or curiously) fair. 8 Chai'me, tune. 

« FortJiy, therefore. 4 Gates, goats. 

* " Est deus in nobis ; agitante calescimus illo." — Ovid, Faati. 
VI. 5. C. 

NOVEMB^K. 475 



Im this xi. ^g'ogue hee bewayleth the death of some maydeu 
of greate bloud, whom he calleth Dido.* The personage is 
secrete, and to me altogether unknowne, albe of him self I 
often required the same. This /Eglogue is made in imitation 
of Marot his song, which he made upon the death of Loysf 
the Frenche Queene; but farre passing his reache, and io 
myue opinion all other the Eglogues of this booke. 


Colin, my deare, when shall it please thee sing, 
As thou were wont, songs of some jouisaunce * ? 
Thy Muse to long slombreth in sorrowing, 
Lulled a sleepe through loves misgovernaunce. 
Now somewhat sing whose endles sovenaunce ^ 5 

Emong the shepeheards swaines may aye remaine, 
Whether tliee list thy loved lasse advaunce, 
Oi honor Pan with hymnes of higher vaine. 

1 Jouisaunce, joyousness. 2 Sovenaunce, remembrance. 

* Conjectured to have oeen a natural daughter of Leicester. C. 

t Louise of Savoy, mother of Francis the First. A few verses 
are translated from Marot, but the imitation is far from being 
close. C. 



Col. Thenot, now nis ^ the time of merimake, 
Nor Pan to herye,^ nor with love to playe ; it 

Sike myrth in May is meetest for to make, 
Or summer shade, under the cocked hay. 
But no we sadde winter welked ® hath the day, 
And Phoebus, weary of his yerely taske, 
Ystabled hath his steedes in lowly laye, is 

And taken up his ynne * in Fishes haske. 
Thilk sollein season sadder plight doth aske. 
And loatheth sike delightes as thou doest prayse ; 
The mornefull Muse in myrth now list ne maske. 
As shee was wont in youngth ^ and sommer-dayes ; ao 
But if thou algate ® lust ^ light virelayes,^ 
And looser songs of love, to underfong,' 
Who but thy self deserves sike poetes prayse ? 
Relieve thy oaten pypes that sleepen long. 

The. The nightingale is sovereigne of song, as 
Before him sits ^^ the titmose silent bee ; 
And I, unfitte to thrust in skilfuU thronge, 
Should Colin make judge of my foolei'ee. 
Nay, better learne of hem that learned bee, 

1 Nis, is not. 6 Algate, at all events. 

2 Eerye, praise. ' Lust, wishest. 

8 Welked, shortened, dimmed. 8 Virelayes, roundelays. 
4 Time, abode. 9 Underfong, undertake. 

6 Yvungth, youth. 10 Sits, it becomes. 

Ver. 15. — In lowly lay.'] According to the season of the 
moneth November, when the sunne draweth Ijw in the South 
toward liis tropick or returne. E. K. 

Ver. 16. — In Fiskes liaske.'] Haske is basket. Spenser has 
very strangely antedated this position of the sun by three 
months. C. 


And hau ^ be watered at the Muses well ; ao i 

The kindelye dewe drops from the higher tree, 

And wets the' little plants that lowly dwell. 

But if sadde winters wrathe, and season chill, 

Accorde not with thy Muses meriment, 

To sadder times thou mayst attune thy quill, 33. 

And sinof of sorrowe and deathes dreeriraent : 

For deade is Dido, dead, alas ! and drent ^ ; 

Dido, the greate shephearde his daughter sheene.* 

The fayrest may * she was that ever went. 

Her like shee has not left beliinde I weene : 40 > 

And if thou wilt bewayle my wofuU tene,^ 

I shall thee give yond cosset ® for thy payne ; 

And if thy rymes as rownde and rufuU bene 

As those that did thy Rosalind complayne, 

Much greater gyfts for guerdon thou shalt gayne 45 . 

Than kidde or cosset, which I thee bynempt/ 

Then up, I say, thou jolly shepeheard swayne. 

Let not my small demaund be so contempt. 

Col. Thenot, to that I choose thou doest mee tempt : 
But ah ! too well I wote my humble vaine, 50 

And howe my rimes bene rugged and unkempt * ; 
Yet, as I conne, my conning I will strayne. 

"Up, then, Melpomene! the mournefulst Muse of 

Such cause of mourning never hadst afore : 
Up, grieslie ghostes ! and up my rufuU ryme ! ss 

1 Han, have. 6 Teene, suffering. 

2 Drent, drowned. 6 Cosset, a lamb brought up by hand. 
8 Sheene, bright. 7 Bynempt, promised. 

■» May, maid. 8 Unkempt, uncombed, unpolis!..--! 


Matter of myrth now shalt thou have no more ; 
For dead shee is that myrth thee made of yore. 

Dido, my deave, alas ! is dead, 

Dead, and lyeth wrapt in lead ; 

O heavie herse ^ ! ca 

Let streaming teares be poured out in store ; 

carefull verse ! 

« Shepheards, that by your flocks on Kentish downea 

Waile ye this woefull waste of Natures warke ; 
Waile we the wight whose presence was our pryde ; so 
Waile we the wight whose absence is our carke.^ 
The Sonne of all the world is dimme and darke ; 

The earth now lacks her wonted light, 

And all we dwell in deadly night ; 

O heavie herse ! 70 

Breake we our pji^es, that shrild as lowde as larke ; 

O carefull verse ! 

" Why doe we longer live, (ah ! why live we so long ?) 
Whose better dayes Death hath shut up in woe ? 
The fayrest floure our gyrlond all emong 76 

Is faded quite, and into dust ygoe.^ 
Sing now, ye shepheards daughters, sing no moe 

The songs that Colin made you in her pi'aise. 

But into weeping turne your wanton layes ; 

O heavie herse ! ao 

Nowe is time to die ; nay, time was long ygoe ; 

O carefull verse ! 

1 Herse, hersal, burden. * ^goe, gone. 

* Carke, care, sorrow. 


' Wlience is it that the flouret of the field doth fade, 

And Ijeth buryed long in winters bale, 

Yet, soone as Spring his mantle hath displayde, ee 

It floureth fresh, as it should never fayle ? 

But thing on earth that is of most availe. 

As vertues braiinch and beauties budde, 

Reliven ^ not for any good ; 

O heavie herse ! gc 

The braunch once dead, the budde eke needes must 
quaile ; 

careful! verse ! 

"She, while she was, (that was, a woful word to 

sayne ^ I) 
For beauties prayse and plesaunce had no peere ; 
So well she couth ^ the shepherds entertayne oe 

With cakes and craeknells, and such country chere : 
Ne would she scorne the simple shepheards swaine ; 

For she would cal hem often heme,* 

And give hem curds and clouted creame ; 

heavie herse ! lOo 

Als Colin Cloute she would not once disdayne ; 

O carefull verse ! 

"But now sike happy cheere is tumd to heavie 

Such pleasaunce now displast by dolors dint ; 
AU musick sleepes where Death doth leade the 

daunce, lot 

And shepherds wonted solace is extinct. 

1 Reliven, live again. 8 Coutk, could, knew how. 

8 Sayne, say. * Home. home. 


The blew in black the greene in gray, is tinct * ; 
The gaudie girlonds deck her grave, 
The faded flowres her corse embrave ; ^ 
O heavie herse ! no 

Morne nowe, my Muse, now mome with teares be- 
sprint ^ ; 
carefull verse ' 

" O thou greate shepheai'd, Lobbin, how great is thy 

griefe ! 
"Where bene the nosegayes that she dight * for thee ? 
The colourd chaplets, wrought with a chiefe,* no 

The knotted rush-ringes, and gilt rosemaree ? 
For shee deemed nothing too deere for thee. 

Ah ! they bene all yclad in clay ; 

One bitter blast blewe all away ; 

heavie herse ! iso 

Thereof nought remaynes but the memoree ; 

carefull verse ! 

" Ay me ! that dreerie Death should strike so mortall 

That can undoe Dame Natures kindly course ; 
The faded lockes fall from the loftie oke, 135 

The flouds doe gaspe, for dryed is theyr sourse, 
A.nd flouds of teares flow in theyr stead perforse : 

The mantled medowes mourne, 

Theyr sondry colours tourne ; 

heavie herse ! lio 

1 Tinct, dyed. 4 Digkt, prepared. 

2 Kmbrave, adorn. 5 Chufe, head. 
' Bespnnt, besprinkled 


The heavens doe melt m teares without remorse ; 
O carefull verse ! 

•♦ The feeble flocks in field refuse their former foode, 
And hang theyr heades as they would learne to weepe ; 
The beastes in forest wayle as they were woode,^ laa 
Except the wolves, that chase the wandriug sheepe, 
Now she is gone that safely did hem keepe. 

The turtle on the bared brauuch 

Laments the wound that Death did launch ; 

O heavie herse ! 140 

And Philomele her song with teares doth steepe ; 

O carefull verse ! 

" The water nymphs, that wont with her to sing and 

And for her girlond olive-braunches beare, 
Nowe balefull boughes of cypress doen advaunce ; i4e 
The Muses, that were wont greene bayes to weare. 
Now bringen bitter eldre-braunches seare. 

The Fatall Sisters eke repent 

Her vitall threde so soone was spent ; 

O heavie herse ! iso 

Morne now, my Muse, now morne with heavy cheare : 

carefull verse ! 

"0 trustlesse state of earthly things, and slipper "- hope 
Of mortal men, that swincke ' and sweate for nought, 
And, shooting wide, doe misse the marked scope * ; i5t 

1 TFoor/e, mad. ^ Swincke, toil. 

2 Slijjpi:r, slippery, uncertain. * I. e. mark aimed at 


Nowe have I learnd, (a lesson derely bought !) 
That nys ^ on earth assurance to be sought : 

For what might be m earthlie mould, 

That did her buried body hould ; 

O heavie herse ! IW 

Yet saw I on the beare when it was brought ; 

carefull verse ! 

"But maugre Death, and dreaded Sisters deadly 

And gates of Hel, and fyrie Furies forse, 
She hath the bonds broke of eternall night, les 

Her soule unbodied of the burdenous corpse. 
Wliy then weepes Lobbiu so without remorse? 
Lobb ! thy losse no longer lament ; 
Dido nis dead, but into heaven hent ; ^ 
O happye herse ! no 

Cease now, my Muse, now cease thy sorrowes sourse ; 

joyful verse ! 

" Why wayle we then ? why weary we the gods with 

As if some evill were to her be tight * ? 
She raignes a goddesse now emong the saintes, 175 
That whilome was the saynt of sheplieards light, 
And is enstalled nowe in heavens hight. 

1 see thee, blessed soule, I see 
Walke in Elisian fieldes so free ; 

O happy herse ! leo 

1 yys, is not. 8 Bedght, happened. 

2 Hent, taken. 


Might I once come to thee ! O that I might ! 
joyfull verse ! 

" Unwise and wretched men, to weete ^ what 's good 

or ill, 
Wee deeme of death as doome of ill desert ; 
But knewe wee, fooles, what it us bringes until,^ isft 
Dye would we dayly, once it to expert ^ ! 
No daunger there the shepheard can astert * ; 

Fayre fieldes and pleasaunt layes " there bene ; 

The fieldes ay fresh, the grasse ay greene ; 

happy herse ! wo 

Make hast, ye shepheards, thether to revert • 

O joyfull verse ! 

" Dido is gone afore ; whose turne shall be the next f 
There lives shee with the blessed sods in blisse. 
There drincks she nectar with ambrosia mixt, iss 

And joyes enjoyes that moitall men doe misse. 
The honor now of highest gods she is. 

That whilome was poore shepheards pi-yde ; 

"While here on earth shee did abyde ; 

O happy herse ! 200 

Ceasse now, my song, my woe now wasted is ; 

joyfull verse ! " 

The. Ay, francke shepheard, how bene thy verses 
W^ith doleful! pleasaunce, so as I ne wotte 

1 TFee^e, know. 4 Astert, alarm. 

2 Until, unto. 5 Layes, leas, fields. 
8 Expert, experience. 6 Meint, mingled. 


Whether rejoyce, or weepe for great constrainte. ■206 
Thyne be the cossette. well hast thow it gotte. 
Up, Colin, up, ynough thou morned hast ; 
Now gynnes to mizzle,^ hye we homeward fast. 


La mort n'y mord* 
1 Mizzle, drizzle. 

* Clement Marot's motto, and apparently an imperfect ana- 
gram of his name. C. 




This Aeglogue (even as the first beganne) is ended with a cotn- 
playnte of Colin to God Pan ; wherein, as weary of his former 
waves, hee proportioneth his life to the foure seasons of the 
yeare; comparing hys youthe to the spring-time, when he was 
fresh and free from loves follye: his manhoode to the sommer, 
which, he saytli, was consumed with great heate and exces- 
sive drouth, caused throughe a comet, or blazing staiTC, by 
which hee meanelh love ; which passion is comenly compared 
to such flames and immoderate heate. His riper yeares he re- 
sembleth to an unseasonable harveste, wherein the fruites fall 
ore they be rype: his latter age to winters chyll and frostie 
season, now drawing neare to his last ende. 

The gentle shepheard sat beside a springe, 

All in the shadowe of a bushye brere, 

That Colin hight, which wel coulde pype and singe, 

For hee of Tityrus his songes did lere ^ : 
There, as he satte in secreate shade alone, 6 

Thus gan hee make of love his piteous mone. 

" soveraigne Pan ! thou god of shepheards all, 
Which of our tender lambkins takest keepe,^ 

1 Lere, learn. 2 Keepe, care. 

* About a third part of this elegant pastoral is loosely translated 
from 5Iarot's Eglogne au Roy sonbz les twrns de Pan ei Robin. C. 


And when our flocks into mischaunce mought fall, 
Doest save from mischiefe the unwary sheepe, w 

Als of their maisters hast no lesse regard 
Then of the flocks, which thou doest watch and ward; 

" I thee beseche, (so be thou deigne to heare 
Rude ditties, tund to shepheards oaten reede, 
Or if I ever sonet song so cleare 16 

As it with pleasaunce moiight thy fancie feede,) 

Hearken a while, from thy greene cabinet,* 

The rurall song of carefuU Colinet. 

" Wliilome in youth, when flowrd my joyfull spring, 
Like swallow swift I wandred here and there ; ao 

For heate of heedlesse lust me so did sting. 
That I of doubted daunger had no feare : 
I went the wastefull woodes and forest wide, 
Withouten dreade of wolves to bene espyed. 

" I wont to raunge amydde the mazie thickette, aa 
And gather nuttes to make me Christmas game. 
And joyed oft to chace the trembling pricket,^ 
Or hunt the hartlesse hare til shee were tame. 
Wliat recked I of wintrye ages waste ? — 
Tho deemed I my spring would ever laste. * 

" How often have I scaled the craggie oke, 
All to dislodge the raven of her nest ! 
How have I wearied, with many a stroke, 
The stately walnut-tree, the while tlie rest 

1 Cabinet, cabin. 2 Pricket, a buck in his seconrl year 


Under the tree fell all for nuts at strife ! u 

For ylike to me was libertee and lyfe. 

" And for I was in thilke ^ same looser yeares, 
(Whether the Muse so wrought me from my byrth, 
Or I to much beleeved my shepherd peeres.) 
Somedele ybent to song and musicks mirth, 40 

A good olde shephearde, Wrenock was his name, 
Made me by arte more cunning in the same. 

" Fro thence I durst in derring * to compare 
With shepheards swayne what ever fed in field : 
And if that HobbinoU right iudgement bare, «& 

To Pan his own selfe pype I neede not yield : 

For if the flocking nymphes did folow Pan, 

The wiser Muses after Colin ranne. 

*' But ah ! such pryde at length was ill rejmyde : 
The shepheards god (perdie, god was he none) w 
My hurtlesse pleasaunce did me ill upbraide ; 
My freedome lorne,^ my life he lefte to mone. 
Love they him called that gave me check-mate, 
But better mought they have behote * him Hate. 

" Tho gan my lovely spring bid me farewel, w 

And sommer season sped him to display 
(For Love then in the Lyons hou^e did dwell) 
The raging fyre that kindled at his ray. 
A comett stird up that unkindly heate. 
That reigned (as men sayd) in Venus seate. eo 

1 Thilke, those. 3 Loiiie,]QM. 

2 Derring, daring. •* Behote, called. 


" Forth was I ledde, not as I wont afore, 
When elioise I had to choose my wandring waye, 
But whether ^ Luck and Loves unbridled lore 
Would leade me forth on Fancies bitte to playe : 
The bush my bedde, the bramble was my bowre, « 
The woodes can witnesse many a wofull stowre.' 

" Where I was wont to seeke the honey-bee, 
Working her formall rowmes in wexen frame, 
The grieslie todestoole growne there mought I see, 
And loathed paddocks ^ lording on the same : 70 

And where the chaunting birds luld me a sleepe, 
The ghastlie owle her grievous ynne * doth keepe. 

" Then as the springe gives place to elder time. 
And bringeth forth the fniite of sommers pryde, 
Al so my age, now passed youthly pryme, 75 

To thinges of riper season selfe applyed, 
And learnd of lighter timber cotes to frame, 
Such as might save my sheepe and me fro shame. 

" To make fine cages for the nightingale. 
And baskets of bulrushes, was my wont : so 

Who to entrappe the fish in winding sale * 
Was better seene,^ or hurtfull beastes to hont? 
I learned als the signes of heaven to ken. 
How Phoebe fayles, where Venus sittes, and when. 

" And tryed time yet taught me greater thinges ; g* 
The sodain rysing of the raging seas, 

1 Whether, whither. 4 Ynne, abode. 

2 Stoiore, trouble.. 5 Sale, willow (-ba^ket> 
8 Paddocks, toads. 6 Seene, skilled. 


The soothe of byrdes by beating of their winges, 
The power of herbs, both which can hurt and ease, 
And which be wont t' em'age the restlesse sheepe, 
And which be wont to worke eternall sleepe. 90 

•* But, ah ! unwise and witlesse Colin Cloute, 
That kydst ' the hidden kinds of many a wede, 
Yet kydst not ene ^ to cure thy sore hart-roote, 
Whose ranckling wound as yet does rifelye ^ bleede ! 

Why livest thou stil, and yet hast thy deathes 
wound ? 93 

Why dyest thou stil, and yet alive art founde ? 

" Thus is my soramer worne away and wasted, 
Thus is my harvest hastened all to rathe * ; 
The eare that budded fayre is burnt and blasted, 
And all my hoped gaine is turn'd to scathe/ 100 

Of all the seede that in my youth was sowne, 
Was nought but brakes and brambles to be mowne. 

"My boughes with bloosmes that crowned were at 

And promised of timely fruite such store. 
Are left both bare and barrein now at erst ® ; 105 

The flattring fruite is fallen to grownd before, 

And rotted ere they were halfe mellow ripe ; 

My harvest, wast, my hope away dyd wipe. 

" The fragrant flowres that in my garden grewe 
Bene withered, as they had bene gathered long : no 

1 Kydst, madest known, discoveredst. ■* To rcthe, too enrly. 

2 Eae. one ( probably a misprint). 5 Sccilfw, ruin. 

< Rifdye, abundantly. 6 At crM ut last. 


Theyr rootes bene dryed up for lacke of dewe, 
Yet dewed with teares they han be ^ ever among. 
Ah ! who has wrought my Rosahnd this spight, 
To spil ^ the flowres that should her girlond dight ! 

" And I, that whilome wont to frame my pype na 
Unto the shifting of the shepheards foote, 
Sike folUes now have gathered as too ripe, 
And cast hem out as rotten and unsoote : ' 

The loser * lasse I cast to please nomore ; 

One if I please, enough is me therefore. lao 

" And thus of all my harvest-hope I have 

Nought reaped but a weedye crop of care ; 

Which, when I thought have thresht in swelling 

Cockel for corne, and chafFe for barley, bare : 

Soone as the chaffe should in the fan be fynd,'* laj 
All was blown away of the wavering wynd. 

" So now my yeare drawes to his latter terme. 
My spring is spent, my sommer burnt up quite ; 
My harveste hastes to stirre up Winter sterne, i2n 
And bids him clayme with rigorous rage hys right : 

So no we he stormes with many a sturdy stoure "; 

So now his blustring blast eche coste doth scouif. 

" The carefull cold hath nypt my rugged rynde. 
And in my face deepe furrowes eld hath pight : 

1 Han be, have been. 6 Fynd, sifted. 

S Spil, spoil, destroy. 6 Stoure, tempest, &c 

8 Unsoote, unsweet. 

* lAJser: qu. wortliless? looser, inconstant? 


My head besprent ^ with hoaiy frost I fynd, 135 

And by m}Tie eie the crow his clawe doth wright : 

Delight is layd ahedde, and pleasure past ; 

No Sonne no\j' shines ; cloudes ban all ©vercast. 

" Now leave, ye shepheards boyes, your merry glee ; 

My Muse is hoarse and wearie of this stounde^: 140 

Here will I hang my pype upon this tree ; 

Was never pype of reede did better sounde : 
"Winter is come, that blowes the bitter blaste, 
And after winter dreerie death does hast. 

" Gather ye together my little flocke, !«• 

My little flock, that was to me so liefe ' ; 
Let me, ah ! lette me in your foldes ye lock, 
Ere the breme * winter breede you greater griefe. 
Winter is come, that blowes the balefull breath, 
And after winter commeth timely death. leo 

" Adieu, delightes, that lulled me asleepe ; 

Adieu, my deare, whose love I bought so dears ; 

Adieu, my little lambes and loved sheepe ; 

Adieu, ye woodes, that oft my witnesse were 1 
Adieu, good HobbinoU, that was so true, lao 

Tell Rosalind her Colin bids her adieu." 


Vivitur ingenio : ccetera mortis erunt. 

1 Be«prtnt, besprinkled. 8 Liefe, dear. 

* SUmnde, hour, effort, &c. "* Breme, sharp 


LoE ! I have made a Calender for every yeare, 
That Steele in strength, and time in durance, shall 

outweare ; 
And if I marked well the starres revolution, 
It shall continewe till the worlds dissolution, 4 

To teach the ruder shepheard how to feede his sheepe. 
And from the falsers fraude his folded flocke to keepe. 

Goe, lyttle Calender ! thou hast a free passeporte ; 
Goe but a lowly gate emongste the meaner sorte : 
Dare not to match thy pype with Tityrus ^ his style. 
Nor with the Pilgrim - that the Ploughman playde a- 
whyle ; 10 

But followe them farre off, and their high steppes adore : 
The better please, the worse despise ; I aske no more. 


1 I. e. Chaucer. 

* I. e. the author of Piers Plouhman. 

* I. e Done for itself and not for profit. 










Sir, — 
. That you may see that I am not alwaies ydle as 
yee thinke, though not greatly well occupied, nor al- 
togither undutifull, though not precisely officious, I 
make you present of this simple Pastorall, unworthie 
of your higher conceipt for the meanesse of the stile, 
but agreeing with the truth in circumstance and mat- 
ter. The which I humbly beseech you to accept in 
part of paiment of the infinite debt in which I ac- 
knowledge my selfe bounden unto you. for your singu- 
lar favours and sundrie good turnes shewed to me at 
my late being in England, and with your good coun- 
tenance protect against the malice of evill mouthes, 
which are alwaies wide open to carpe at and miscon- 
strue my simple meaning. I pray continually for 
your happinesse. P^rom my house of Kilcolman, the 
27. of December, 1591.* 

Yours ever humbly, 

Ed. Sp. 

 Malone and Todd maintain that this is a misprint for 1594 or 
1595, founding their objections to the earlier date, among other 


things, on sapposed allusions in the course of the piece to works of 
Daniel printed after 1591, and to the death of the Earl of Derby, 
which occurred in 1594. But these passages, even if we grant them 
to have tlie meaning which is ascribed to them, miglit have been 
inserted just before publication. Spenser spealis in tliis dedi- 
cation of favors shown him by Raleigh at his late being in Eng- 
land, and we have no trace of his having been there from the 
early part of 1591 up to the time when this poem was published. 
Besides, it is more likely that Spenser would write this account 
of his introduction at court immediately after his return to 
Ireland, than that he should wait three or four years until it was 
la old story. C. 


The ahepheards boy (best knowen by that name) 

That after Tityrus ^ first sung his lay, 

Laies of sweet love, without rebuke or blame, 

Sate, as his custome was, upon a day, 

Charming ^ his oaten pipe unto his peres, & 

The shepheard swaines that did about him play : 

Who all the while, with greedie listfuU eares, 

Did stand astonisht at his curious skill, 

Like hartlesse deare dismayd with thunders sound. 

At last, when as he piped had his fill, lo 

He rested him : and, sitting then around. 

One of those groomes (a iolly groome was he 

As ever piped on an oaten reed. 

And lov'd this shepheard dearest in degree, 

Hight Hobbinol ^) gan thus to him areed.* is 

" Colin, my liefe,^ my life, how great a losse 
Had all the shepheards nation by thy lacke ! 
And I, poore swaine, of many, greatest crosse ; 

1 1, e. Chaucer. * Areed, say. 

2 Chai-ming, tuning. * Liefe, dear. 

8 I. e. Gabriel Harvey 


That, sith thy Muse first since thy turning backe 

Was heard to sound as she was wont on hye, 20 

Hast made us all so blessed and so blythe, 

Whilest thou wast hence, all dead in dole ^ did lie : 

The woods were heard to waile full many a sythe,' 

And all their birds with silence to complain e : 

The fields with faded flowers did seem to mourne, as 

And all their flocks from feeding to refraine : 

The running waters wept for thy returne, 

And all their fish with languour did lament : 

But now both woods and fields and floods revive, 

Sith thou art come, their cause of meriment, «o 

That us, late dead, hast made againe alive. 

But were it not too painfull ' to repeat 

The passed fortunes, which to thee befell 

In thy late voyage, we thee would entreat 

Now at thy leisure them to us to tell." a 

To whom the shepheard gently answered thus : 
" Hobbin, thou temptest me to that I covet : 
For of good passed newly to discus. 
By dubble usurie doth twise renew it. 
And since I saw that Angels blessed eie, 40 

Her worlds bright sun, her heavens fairest light, 
My mind, full of my thoughts satietie. 
Doth feed on sweet contentment of that sight. 
Since that same day in nought I take delight, 
Ne feeling have in any earthly pleasure, 45 

But in remembrance of that glorious bright. 
My lifes sole blisse, my hearts eternall threasure. 

1 Dole, grief. * PainfuU, troublesome- 

2 Sythe, time. 


Wake then, mj pipe ! my sleepie Muse, awake ! 
Till I have told her praises lasting long : 
Hobbin desires thou maist it not forsake.^ Wj 

Harke then, ye iolly shepheards, to my song." 

With that they all gan throng about him neare,. 
With hungrie eares to heare his harmonie : 
The whiles their flocks, devoyd of dangers feare, 
Did round about them feed at libertie. Shj 

" One day," quoth he, " I sat, as was ray trade, 
Under the foote of Mole, that mountaine liore. 
Keeping my sheepe amongst the cooly shade 
Of the greene alders by the Mullaes shore. 
There a straunge shepheard chaunst to find me out, 
Whether allured with my pipes delight, 6i> 

Whose pleasing sound yshrilled far about. 
Or thither led by chaunce, I know not right : 
Whom when I asked from what place he*came, 
And how he hight, himselfe he did ycleepe ^ 66- 

The Shepheard of the Ocean by name, 
And said he came far from the main-sea deepe. 
He, sitting me beside in that same shade. 
Provoked me to plaie some pleasant fit ^ ; 
And when he heard the musicke which I made, 70 

1 Forsake, refuse. s fu^ strain. 

3 Yckepe, call. 

Ver. 59. — By ihe MuUaes shore.] The Mulla is the river ,41^- 
beg, which runs not far from Kilcolman, Spenser's residence. 

Ver. 66. — The Shepheard of the Ocean.l Sir Walter Raleigh, 
whom Spenser accompanied into England, and by whom he wa.s 
introduced to Queen Elizabeth. See ver. 193, 332, 359. 


He found himselfe full greatly pleasd at it r 

Yet, semuling * my pipe, he tooke in bond 

My pipe, before that asmuled of many, 

And plaid thereon ; (for well that skill he cond ^ ;) 

Himselfe as skilfuU in that art as any. is 

He pip'd, I sung ; and when he sung, I piped ; 

By chaunge of turnes, each making other mery ; 

Neither envying other, nor envied, 

So piped we, untill we both were weary." 

There interrupting him, a bonie swaine, so 

That Cuddy hight, him thus atweene bespake : 
" And should it not thy readie course restraine, 
I would request thee, Colin, for my sake. 
To tell what thou didst sing when he did plaie ; 
For well I weene it worth recounting was, 85 

Whether it were some hymne, or morall lai^, 
'Or carol made to praise thy loved lasse." 

" Nor of my love, nor of my lasse," quoth he, 
" I then did sing, as then occasion fell : 
For love had me forlorne,^ forlorne of me, 90 

That made me in that desart chose to dwell. 
But of my river Bregogs love I soong, 
Wliich to the shiny Mulla he did beare. 
And yet doth beare, and ever will, so long 
As water doth within his bancks appeare." 96 

" Of fellowship," said then that bony boy, 
" Record to us that lovely* lay againe : 
The staie whereof shall nought these cares annoy, 
Who all that Colin makes do covet faine." 

1 /Emuling, emulating. 3 Forlorne, forsaken. 

2 Cond, kaew. « Lovely, amatory. 



" Heare then," quoth he, " the tenor of mj tale, lor. 
In sort as I it to that sheplieard told : 
No leasing * new, nor grandams fable stale. 
But auncient truth confirm'd with credence old. 

" Old father Mole, (Mole hight that mountain gray 
That walls the northside of Armulla dale,) loa 

He had a daughter fresh as fioure of May, 
Which gave that name unto that pleasant vale ; 
MuUa, the daughter of old Mole, so hight 
The niniph, which of that water course has charge, 
That, springing out of Mole, doth run downe right no 
To Buttevant, where, spreading forth at large, 
It gi\eth name unto that auncient cittie, 
Which KilnemuUah cleped is of old ; 
Whose ragged ruines breed great ruth and pittie 
To travailers which it from far behold. in 

J'uU faine ^ she lov'd, and was belov'd full faine 
Of her owne brother river, Bregog ^ hight, 
So hight because of this deceitfuU traine * 
Which he with Mulla wi'ought to win delight. 
But her old sire, more carefull of her good, lao 

And meaning her much better to preferre. 
Did thinke to match her with the neighbour flood, 
Which Alio hight, Broad-water called farre ; 
And wrought so well with his continuall paine, 

^ Leasing, fiction. 3 Brer/og, Irish ror false, deceitful 

* Faine, dearly. * Traine, trick. 

Ver. 104.— Old father Mole.] By Jink' [mullach, mwd, \i Irish 
for mountain^ are meant tiie Ballyhowni hills, which tHn,- th-» 
nortlieni boundary of Arraoy (Armulla). C. 


That he that river for his daughter wonne : u- 

The dowre agreed, the day assigned plaine, 

The place appointed where it should be doone. 

Nath'lesse the nymph her former liking held ; 

For love will not be drawne, but must be ledde ; 

And Bregog did so well her fancie weld,* lao 

That her good will he got her first to wedde. 

But for her father, sitting still on hie, 

Did warily still watch which way slie went, 

And eke from far observ'd, with iealous eie, 

Which way his course the wanton Bregog bent, iss 

Him to deceive, for all his watchfuU ward, 

The wily lover did devise this slight : 

First into many parts his streame he shar'd. 

That, whilest the one was watcht, the other might 

Passe unespide to meete her by the way ; uo 

And then, besides, those little streames so brokeu 

He under ground so closely ^ did convay, 

That of their passage doth appeare no token, 

Till they into the Mullaes water slide. 

So secretly did he his love enioy : 145 

Yet not so secret but it was descride, 

And told her father by a shepheards boy. 

Who, wondrous wroth for that so foule despight, 

In gi-eat avenge did roll downe from his hill 

Huge mightie stones, the which encomber miglu iso 

His passage, and his water-courses spill.^ 

So of a river, which he was of old. 

He none was made, but scattred all to nought ; 

1 Weld, wield, sway. 8 ^7;^ gpoji. 

' Closely, secretly. 


And, lost emong those rocks into him rold, 

Did lose his name : so deare his love he bought." ips 

Which having said, him Thestylis ' bespako : 
" Now by my life this was a mery lay, 
Worthie of Colin selfe, that did it make. 
But read ^ now eke, of friendship I thee pray, 
What dittie did that other shepheard sing: leo 

For I do covet most the same to heare. 
As men use most to covet forreine thing." 

" That shall I eke," quoth he, " to you declare. 
His song was all a lamentable lay 
Of great unkindnesse and of usage hard lee 

Of Cynthia, the Ladie of the Sea, 
Which from her presence faultlesse him debard. 
And ever and anon, with singulfs rife,^ 
He cryed out, to make his undersong : 
'Ah ! my loves queene, and goddesse of my life, 170 
Who shall me pittie when thou doest me wrong ? * " 

1 By Thestylis is probably meant Lodowick Bryskett: see p. 
430. Collier. 

2 Bead, say. 3 Singulfs rife, frequent sobs. 

Ver. 166. — Of Cynthia, the Ladie of the Sen.] Queen Elizabeth. 
It wa.s in the summer of 15S9 that Rnleiprh paid this visit to Spe-i- 
ser. A letter dated in August of this year informs us that Essex 
had chased him from court and confined him to Ireland. Of t'.ie 
cause for which Raleigh incurred the displeasure of his capricious 
mistress we know nothing; but it could not have been serious 
or lasting, for he subjoins to his complaints of the Queen's unkind- 
ness an invitation to the poet to visit her in his company, and be- 
fore the year is out we find him boasting that he was never in 
greater favor. Both the substance of the narrative and the lan- 
guage here employed (ver. 167) forbid the supposition that this 
passage refers to Raleigh's confinement in the Tower and sub-ie 
quent banishment from court in consequence of his intrigue with 
Elizabeth Throgmorton. C. 


Then gan a gentle bonylasse to speake, 
That Marin hight : " Right well he sure did plaine, 
That could great Cynthiaes sore displeasure breake, 
And move to take him to her grace againe. 176 

But tell on further, Colin, as befell 
Twixt him and thee, that thee did hence dissuade." 

" When thus our pipes we both had wearied weU," 
Quoth he, " and each an end of singing made, 
He gan to cast great lyking to my lore, igo 

And great dislyking to my lucklesse lot. 
That banisht had my selfe, like wight forlore, 
Into that waste, where I was quite forgot. 
The which to leave thenceforth he counseld mee, 
Unmeet for man in whom was ought regardfull, \ut, 
And wend with him, his Cynthia to see. 
Whose grace was great, and bounty most rewardfull : 
Besides her peerlesse skill in making ^ well, 
And all the ornaments of wondrous wit, 
Such as all womankynd did far excell, 100 

Such as the world admyr'd and praised it. 
So what with hope of good and hate of ill, 
He me perswaded forth with him to fare : 
Nought tooke I with me but mine oaten quill ; 
Small needments else need shepheurd to prepare, m 
So to the sea we came ; the sea, that is 
A world of waters heaped up on hie. 
Rolling like mountaines in wide wildernesse, 
Horrible, hideous, roaring with hoarse crie." 199 

" And is the sea," quoth Coridon, " so fearful I ? " 

" Fearful much more," quoth he, " then hart can 
fear : 

1 Malcing, versifying. 


Thousand wyld beasts with deep mouthes gaping 

Therin stil wait poore passengers to teare. 
Who life doth loath, and longs death to behold 
Before he die, alreadie dead with feare, 2O6 

And yet would live with heart halfe stonie cold, 
Let him to sea, and he shall see it there. 
And yet as ghastly dreadfuU as it seemes, 
Bold men, presuming life for gaine to sell, 
Dare tempt that gulf, and in those wandring stremes 
Seek waies unknowne, waies leading down to hell. 311 
For, as we stood there waiting on the strond, 
Behold, an huge great vessell to us came, 
Dauncing upon the waters back to lond, 
As if it scornd the daunger of the same ; sie 

Yet was it but a wooden frame and fraile, 
Glewed togither with some subtile matter : 
Yet had it armes and wings, and head and taile, 
And life to move it selfe upon the water. 219 

Stransre thinw ! how bold and swift the monster was, 
That neither car'd for wynd, nor haile, nor raine, 
Nor swelling waves, but thorough them did passe 
So proudly that she made them roare againe. 
The same aboord us gently did receave. 
And without harme us farre away did beare, uit 

So farre that land, our mother, us did leave, 
And nought but sea and heaven to us appeare. 
Then hartlesse quite, and full of inward feart-, 
That shepheard I besought to me to tell, 

Ver. 218-223. This is literally trae of a modern steam- 
ship. C. 


Under what skie, or in what world we were, aso 

In which I saw no living people dwell. 

Who, me recomforting all that he might, 

Told me that that same was the regiment * 

•Of a great shepheardesse, that Cynthia hight. 

His liege, his ladie, and his lifes regent. aae 

« If then," quoth I, " a shepheardesse she bee, 
"Where be the flockes and beards which she doth 

And where may I the hills and pastures see, 
On which she useth for to feed her sheepe ? " 

« These be the hills," quoth he, " the surges hie, 34C 
On which faire Cynthia her beards doth feed : 
Her beards be thousand fishes, with their frie, 
Which in the bosome of the billowes breed. 
Of them the shepheard which hath charge in chief. 
Is Triton, blowing loud his wreathed home : an 

At sound whereof, they all for their relief 
Wend too and fro at evening and at morne. 
And Proteus eke with him does drive his heard 
Of stinking scales and porcpisces ^ together. 
With hoary head and deawy dropping beard, 260 

Compelling them which way he list, and whether. 
And I, among the rest, of many least, 
Have in the ocean charge to me assignd ; 
Where I will live or die at her beheast, 
And serve and honour her with faithfull mind. 255 
Besides, an hundred nymphs, all heavenly borne, 
And of immortall race, doo still attend 
To wash faire Cynthiaes sheep, when they be sliorne, 

1 Regiment, kingdom. 2 Porcpisces, porpoises. 


\.nd fold them up, when they have made an end. 
Those be the shepheards which my Cynthia serve aeo 
At sea, beside a thousand moe at land : 
For land and sea my Cynthia doth deserve 
To have in her comraandement at hand." 

Thereat I wondred much, till, wondring more 
And more, at length we land far off descryde : 265 
Which sight much gladed me ; for much afore 
I feard least land we never should have eyde. 
Thereto our ship her course directly bent, 
As if the way she perfectly had knowne. 
We Lunday passe ; by that same name is ment 270 
An island which the first to west was showne. 
From thence another world of land we kend, 
Floting amid the sea in ieopardie, 
And round about with mightie white rocks hemd, 
Against the seas enci'oching crueltie. 275 

Those same, the shepheard told me, were the fields 
In which dame Cynthia her landheards fed ; 
Faire goodly fields, then which ArmuUa yields 
None fairer, nor more fruitfull to be red.^ 
The first to which we nigh approched was 2so 

An high headland^ thrust far into the sea, 
Like to an home, whereof the name it has. 
Yet seemed to be a goodly pleasant lea. 
There did a loftie mount * at first us greet. 
Which did a stately heape of stones upreare 235 

That seerad amid the surges for to fleet,* 
Much greater then that frame which did us beare : 

1 Bed, imagined, seen. « I. e. St. Michael's Mount- 

2 1, e. Cornwall. •« J'ket, float. 


There did our ship her fruitful! worabe unlade, 
And put us all ashore on Cynthias land. 

" What land is that thou meanst," then Cuddy sayd. 
** And is there other then wliereon we stand ? " -291 

" Ah ! Cuddy," then quoth Colin, " thous a fon,^ 
That hast not seene least part of natures worhe : 
Much more there is unkend then thou doest kon,^ 
And much more that does from mens knowledge 
lurke. 'i96 

For that same land much larger is then this, 
And other men and beasts and birds doth feed : 
There fruitfull corne, faire trees, fresh herbage is, 
And all things else that living creatures need. 
Besides most goodly rivers thei-e appeare, soo 

No whit inferiour to thy Funchins praise, 
Or unto Alio, or to MuUa cleare : 
Nought hast thou, foolish boy, seene in thy dales." 

" But if that land be there," quoth he, " as here. 
And is theyr heaven likewise there all one ? 305 

And, if like heaven, be heavenly graces there. 
Like as in this same world where we do wone ^ ? " 

" Both heaven and heavenly graces do much more," 
Quoth he, " abound in that same land then this. 
For there all happie peace and plenteous store sio 
Conspire in one to make contented blisse : 
No wayling there nor wretchednesse is heard 
No bloodie issues nor no leprosies, 
No griesly famine, nor no raging sweard,^ 
No nightly bordrags,^ nor no hue and cries. sif 

1 Thous a fan, thou art a fool. * Sweard, sword. 

2 Kon, know. 6 Bwdrags, border ravaging 
8 Wone, dwell. 


The shepheards there abroad may safely lie, 

On hills and downes, withouten dread or daunorer : 

No ravenous wolves the good mans hope destroy. 

Nor outlawes fell affray the forest raunger. 

There learned arts do florish in great honor, 220 

And poets wits are had in peerlesse price : 

Religion hath lay powre to rest upon her,^ 

Advancing vertue and suppressing vice. 

For end, air good, all grace, there freely growes, 

Had people grace it gratefully to use: aa. 

For God his gifts there plenteously bestowes, 

But gracelesse men them greatly do abuse." 

" But say on further," then said Corylas, 
" The rest of thine adventures that betyded." 

" Foorth on our voyage we by land did passe," 3ao' 
Quoth he, " as that same shepheard still us guyded, 
Untill that we to Cynthiaes presence came : 
Whose glorie, greater then my simple thought, 
I found much greater then the former fame. 
Such greatnes I cannot compare to ought : 333- 

But if I her like ought on earth might read,^ 
I would her lyken to a crowne of liUies, 
Upon a virgin brydes adorned head. 
With roses dight and goolds ^ and daffadillies ; 
Or like the circlet of a turtle true, nw 

In which all colours of the rainbow bee ; 
Or like faire Phebes garlond shining new, 
In which all pure perfection one may see. 
But vaine it is to thinke, by paragone * 

1 1, e. to rest her upon. s Goolds, marigolds. 

* Read, set forth, describe. ^ Paragone, coui!i;insnM 


Of earthly things, to iudge of thhigs divine : m5 

Her power, her mercy, and her wisdome, none 
Can deerae, but who the Godhead can define. 
Why then do I, base shepheard, bold and blind, 
Presume the things so sacred to prophane ? 
More fit it is t' adore, with humble mind, to 

Tfie image of the heavens in shape humane." ^ 

With that Alexis broke his tale asunder, 
Saying : " By wondring at thy Cynthiaes praise, 
Colin, thy selfe thou mak'st us more to wonder. 
And her upraising doest thy selfe upraise. sss 

But let us heare what grace she shewed thee, 
Afid how that shepheard strange thy cause advanced." 

" The Shepheard of the Ocean," quoth he, 
" Unto that Goddesse grace me first enhanced. 
And to mine oaten pipe enchn'd her eare, seo 

That she thenceforth therein gan take delight, 
And it desii"'d at timely houres to heare, 
All were my notes but rude and roughly dight : 
For not by measure of her owne great mynd 
And wondrous worth she mott^ my simple song, ses 
But ioyd that country shepheard ought could fynd ' 
Worth barkening to emongst the learned throng." 
" Why," said Alexis then, " what needeth shee. 
That is so great a shepheardesse her selfe, 
And hath so many shepheards in her fee, 87o 

To heare thee sing, a simple silly elfe ? 
Or 1)6 the shepheards which do serve her laesie, 
Tliat they list not their mery pipes apphe ? 
Or be their pipes untunable and craesie, 

' Ilumhne, human. 2 Moti, meted. 3 Fvnd, invent 


That they cannot her honour worthylie ? " sw 

"Ah ! nay," said Colin, "neither so nor so 

For better shepheards be not under skie. 

Nor better hable, when they hst to blow 

Their pipes aloud, her name to glorifie. 

There is good Harpalus, now woxen aged sso 

In faithful service of faire Cynthia : 

And there is Corydon, though meanly waged, 

Yet hablest wit of most I know this day. 

And there is sad Alcyon, bent to mourne, 

Though fit to frame an everlasting dittie, 3S.5 

Whose gentle spright for Daphnes death doth tourn 

Sweet layes of love to endlesse plaints of pittie. 

Ah ! pensive boy, pursue that brave conceipt, 

In thy sweet Eglantine of Meriflure ; 

Lift up thy notes unto their wonted height, ■»' 

That may thy Muse and mates to mirth allure. 

There eke is Palin, worthie of great praise, 

Albe he envie at my rustick quill : 

And there is pleasing Alcon, could he raise 

His tunes from laies to matter of more skill. 396 

Ver. 380-384. — Todd thinks that Harpalus is probably Baraa- 
>y Googe : Collier suggests Lord Buckhurst, who, however, was 
but 63 in 1595. Shilone and Todd are both of the opinion that 
Corydon is Abraham Fraunce. Alcyon is certainly Sir Arthur 
Gorges, upon the death of whose wife Spenser wrote his Daphna- 
ida. " Eglantine of Meriflure" seems to be one of his works. C. 

Ver. 892 - 399. — Palin.] Palin means Thomas Chaloner (Todd), 
or George Peele (Malone), or somebody else ; Todd guesses Al- 
con to be Thomas Watson, Malone believes he is Thomas Lodge: 
but all these conjectures have very slight foundations. Palenum 
w certainly Thomas Churchyard, for he has applied ver. 399 to 
himself in one of his works. C. 


And there is old Paleraon, free from spight, 

Whose carefull pipe may make the hearer rew : 

Yet he himselfe may rewed be more right, 

That sung so long untill quite hoarse he grew. 

And there is Alabaster, throughly taught 404 

In all this skill, though knowen yet to few ; 

Yet, were he knowne to Cynthia as he ought. 

His Ehseis would be redde anew. 

Who lives that can naatch that heroick song 

Which he hath of that mightie princesse made ? 40S 

O dreaded Dread, do not thy selfe that wrong, 

To let thy fame lie go in hidden shade ; 

But call it forth, O call him forth to thee, 

To end thy glorie which he hath begun ; 

That, when he finisht hath as it should be, no 

No braver poeme can be under sun. 

Nor Po nor Tyburs swans so much renowned, 

Nor all the brood of Greece so highly praised, 

Can match that Muse when it with bayes is crowned, 

And to the pitch of her perfection raised. 4l^ 

And thei-e is a new shepheard late up sprong,. 

The which doth all afore him far surpasse ; 

Appearing well in that well tuned song 

Which late he sung unto a scornfuU lasse. 

Yet doth his trembling Muse but lowly flie , 420 

As daring not too rashly mount on hight, 

Vor. 400. — Alabaster.] This is a real name. William Ala- 
baster was a scholar and poet of Spenser's time, of considerable 
eminence. His Eliseis, here mentioned, -was never printed, but 
Btill exists among the manuscripts of Emmanuel College, Cam- 
')ridge. H, 


And doth her tender plumes as yet but trie 

In loves soft laies and looser thoughts delight. 

Then rouze thy feathers quickly, Daniell, 

And to what course thou please thy selfe advance : 425 

But most, me seemes, thy accent will excell 

In tragick plaints and passionate mischance. 

And there that Shepheard of the Ocean is, 

That spends his wit in loves consuming smart : 

Full sweetly tempred is that Muse of his, ^ 

That can empierce a princes mightie hart. 

There also is — ah no, he is not now ! 

But since I said he is, he quite is gone : 

Amyntas quite is gone and lies full low, 

Having his Amaryllis left to mone. 4^5 

Helpe, ye shepheards, helpe ye all in this, 

Helpe Amaryllis this her losse to mourne : 

Her losse is yours, your losse Amyntas is, 

Amyntas, floure of shepheards pride forlorne. 

He, whilest he lived, was the noblest swaine «o 

That ever piped in an oaten quill : 

Both did he other which could pipe maintains, 

And eke could pipe himselfe with passing skill. 

And there, though last not least, is Aetion ; 

A gentler shepheard may no where be found ; 44J 

Ver. 438. — Amyntas.] Malone and Todd are agreed that by 
Amyntas is meant Ferdinand, the fifth Earl of Derby, the husband 
of Alice Spencer, afterwards mentioned under the name of Ama- 
ryllis. He died in April, 1594. C. 

Ver. 444. — Action.] Aetion may possibly be the "gentle" 
Shakespeare, whose name («y;^«o-7raXos) is of heroic sound (v. 
447). There are equally good reasons, however, in favor of Sack- 
Wile (iro^nropdrjs), as was pointed out m the London Maj;azine 
V)pt., 1821 C. 


Whose Muse, full of high thoughts invention. 

Doth like himselfe heroically sound. 

All these, and many others mo, remaine, 

Now after Astrofell is dead and gone : 

But while as Astrofell did live and raine, oo 

Amongst all these was none his paragone. 

All these do florish in their sundry kynd, 

And do their Cynthia immortall make : 

Yet found I lyking in her royall mynd, 

Not for my skill, but for that shepheards sake." 4^^ 

Then spake a lovely lasse, hight Lucida : 
" Shepheard, enough of shepheards thou hast told, 
Which favour thee and honour Cynthia ; 
But of so many nymphs, which she doth hold 
In her retinew, thou hast nothing sayd : *''^ 

That seems with none of them thou favor foundest, 

Or art ingratefuU to each gentle mayd, 

That none of all their due deserts resoundest." 
" Ah far be it," quoth Colin Clout, " fro me. 

That I of gentle mayds should ill deserve ; 465 

For that my selfe I do professe to be 

Vassall to one whom all my dayes I serve : 

The beame of beautie sparkled from above, 

The floure of vertue and pure chastitie. 

The blossome of sweet ioy and perfect love, <7n 

The pearle of peerlesse grace and modestie. 

To her ray thoughts I daily dedicate. 

To her my heart I nightly martyrize ; 

To her my love I lowly do prostrate, 

To her my life I wholly sacrifice ; ■,-■, 

• Ver. 449. —Astrofell] Sir Philip Sidney. 


My thought, my heart, my love, my life, is shee, 
And I hers ever onely, ever one ; 
One ever I all vowed hers to bee, 
One ever I, and others never none." 

Then thus Melissa said : " Thrise happie raayd, 
Whom thou doest so enforce to deifie, 48i 

That woods, and hills, and valleyes thou hast made 
Her name to eccho unto heaven hie. 
But say who else vouchsafed thee of grace." 

" They all," quoth he, " me gi'aced goodly well, 48a 
That all I praise ; but in the highest place, 
Urani-a, sister unto Astrofell, 
In whose brave mynd, as in a golden cofer. 
All heavenly gifts and riches locked are ; 
More rich then pearles of Ynde, or gold of Ophcr, 
And in her sex more wonderfuU and rare. 4&1 

Ne lesse praise-worthie I Theana read, 
Whose goodly beames, though they be over dight ^ 
With mourning stole of carefuU '^ wydowhead. 
Yet thi'ough that darksome vale do glister bright. 495 
She is the well of bountie and brave mynd, 
Excelling most in glorie and great light : 
She is the ornament of womankind. 
And courts chief garlond with all vertues dight. 
Therefore great Cynthia her in chiefest gi-ace snn 
Doth hold, and next unto her selfe advance, 

1 Dight, covered. 2 CarefuU, soriowfull. 

Ver. 487. — Urania, &c.] The Countess of Pembroke. 

Ver. 492. — Tlienna.] Theana is Anne, third wife of the Earl 
if Warwick, whose exemplary widowhood is commended in the 
Ruines nf Time. Todd. 



Well worthie of so honourable place, 

For her great worth and noble governance. 

Ne lesse praise-worthie is her sister deare, 

Faire Marian, the Muses onely darling : -"^^ 

Whose beautie shyneth as the morning cleare, 

With silver deaw upon the roses pearling. 

Ne lesse praise-worthie is Mahsilia, 

Best knowne by bearing up great Cynthiaes ti-aine : 

That same is she to whom Daphnaida 6io 

Upon her neeces death I did complaine. 

She is the paterne of true womanhead, 

And onely mirrhor of ferainitie : 

Worthie next after Cynthia to tread, 

As she is next her in nobilitie. 

Ne lesse praise-worthie Galathea seemes 

Then best of all that honourable crew ; 

Faire Galathea, with bright shining bearaes 

Inflaming feeble eyes that her do view. 

She there then waited upon Cynthia, 

Yet there is not her won ; but here with us 

About the borders otOur rich Coshma, 

Now made of Maa, the nymph delitious. 

Ne lesse praisworthie faire Nesera is ; 

Neajra ours, not theirs, though there she be ; '21 

For of the famous Shure the nymph she is. 

For high desert advaunst to that degree. 

She is the blosome of grace and curtesie, 

Ver. 506. — 3farian.] llarajaret, Countess of Cumberland, tn 
whom aud the Countess of Warwick Spenser inscribes his Four 
Utftmis. Todd. 

Ver. 508. — Afansilia.'] The Marchioness of Northampton, tu 
•/•horn Daphnaula is inscribed. Todd. 



Adorned with all honourable parts : 

She is the braunch of true nobilitie, oso 

Belov'd of high and low with faithfull harts. 

Ne lesse praisworthie Stella do I read, 

Though nought my praises of her needed arre. 

Whom verse of noblest shepheard lately dead 

Hath prais'd and rais'd above each other starre. is.-, 

Ne lesse praisworthie are the sisters three, 

The honor of the noble familie 

Of which I meanest boast my selfe to be, 

And most that unto them I am so nie : 

Phyllis, Charillis, and sweet Amaryllis. ho 

Phyllis, the faire, is eldest of the three : 

The next to her is bountifull Charillis : 

But th' youngest is the highest in degree. 

Phyllis, the fioure of rai-e perfection, 

Faire spreading forth her leaves with fresh deligh:, «j 

That, with their beauties amorous reflexion. 

Bereave of sence each rash beholders sight. 

But sweet Charillis is the paragone 

Of peerlesse price, and ornament of praise ; 

Ver. 532. — Stella.] This is Liuly Penelope Devereux, daugh- 
ter of Walter, Earl of Essex, of whom Sir Philip Sidney was an 
unsuccessful lover. He celebrated lier in his Arcadia under the 
name of Philoclea, and under that of Stella in his Astrophel and 
Stella. Slie became the wife of IJobert, Lord Rich. H. 

Ver. biO. — Phyllis, &c.] IMiyllis, Charillis, and Amaryl- 
/is are Elizabeth, Anne, and Alice Spencer, daughters of Sir 
John Spencer. Charillis was married, at this time, to Sack- 
ville, Lord Buckhurst, being iier third husband. Mother Unb- 
'jerds Tale is dedicated to her. Amaryllis is Lady Strange, to 
whom the Teares of the Muses is inscribed. Phillis is Lady 
Carey, to whom Muiopotmos is inscribed. H. 


Adrayr'd of all, yet envied of none, 650 

Through the myld temperance of her goodly raies. 

Thrise liappie do I hold thee, noble swaine, 

The which art of so rich a spoile possest, 

And it embracing deare without disdaine, 

Hast sole possession in so #haste a brest. abb 

Of all the shepheards daughters which there bee, 

And yet there be the fairest under skie, 

Or that elsewhere I never yet did see, 

A fairer nymph yet never saw mine eie. 

She is the pride and primrose ' of the rest, boo 

Made by the Maker selfe to be admired, 

And like a goodly beacon high addrest. 

That is with sparks of heavenlie beautie fired. 

But Amaryllis, whether fortunate 

Or else unfortunate may I aread ? ''•is 

That freed is from Cupids yoke by fate. 

Since which she doth new bands adventure dread 

Shepheard, what ever thou hast heard to be 

In this or that praysd diversly apart. 

In her thou maist them all assembled see, sto 

And seald up in the threasui'e of her hart. 

Ne thee lesse worthie, gentle Flavia, 

For thy chaste life and vertue I esteerae : 

Ne thee lesse worthie, curteous Candida, 

For thy true love and loyaltie I deeme. 6''t 

Besides, yet many mo that Cynthia serve, 

1 1, e. prime rose. 

Ver. 572 574. — The ladies intended by Flavia and C;uidid:i, ar. 
well as the two Irish beauties complimented under the naraes o( 
Valathea and Nesera, are not known. C. 


Right noble nymphs, and high to he commended : 

But if I all should praise as they deserve. 

This sun would faile me ere I halfe had ended. 

Therefore, in closure of a thankfull mynd sso 

I deeme it best to hold eternally 

Their bounteous deeds and noble favours shrynd, 

Then by discourse them to indignifie." 

So having said, Aglaura him bespake : 
" Colin, well worthie were those goodly favours ssj 
Bestowd on thee, that so of them doest make. 
And them requitest with thy thankfull labours. 
But of great Cynthiaes goodnesse and high grace. 
Finish the storie which thou hast begunne." 

'' More eath,^ " quoth he, " it is in such a case sfco 
How to begin, then know how to have donrie. 
For everie gift and everie goodly meed 
Which she on me bestowd, demaunds a day ; 
And everie day in which she did a deed 
Demaunds a yeare it duly to display. 595 

Her words were like a strearae of honny fleeting,* 
The which doth softly trickle from the hive : 
Hable to melt the hearers heart unweeting,^ 
And eke to make the dead againe alive. 
Her deeds were like great clusters of ripe grapes, eoo 
Which load the bunches* of the fruitfuU vine ; 
Offring to fall into each mouth that gapes, 
And fill the same with store of timely wine. 
Her lookes were like beames of the morning sun, 
Forth looking through the windowes of the east, eoa 
When first the fleecie cattell have begun 

1 Eaih, easy. ' Unweeting, unknowing. 

"i Fleeting, flovi'mg. i Qn. brariches? Collier. 


Upon the perlecl grasse to make their feast. 

Her thoughts are like the fume of franckincence, 

Which from a golden censer forth doth rise, 

And throwing forth sweet odours mounts fro theuce eio 

In rolling globes up to the vauted skies. 

There she beholds, with high aspiring thought, 

The cradle of her owne creation, 

Emongst the seats of angels heavenly wrought, 

Much like an angell in all forme and fashion." 616 

«• Colin," said Cuddy then, " thou hast forgot 
Thy selfe, me seemes, too much, to mount so hie : 
Such loftie flight base ^ shepheard seemeth not, 
From flocks and fields to angels and to skie." 

" True," answered he, " but her great excellence 821 
Lifts me above the measure of my might :  
That, being fild with furious insolence,^ 
T feele my selfe like one yrapt in spright.^ 
For when I thinke of her, as oft I ought. 
Then want I words to speake it fitly forth : 62^ 

And when I speake of her what I have thought, 
I cannot thinke according to her worth. 
Yet will I thinke of her, yet will I speake. 
So long as life my limbs doth hold together ; 
And when as death these vitall bands shall breake, 630 
Her name recorded I will leave for ever. 
Her name in every tree I will endosse,* 
That, as tiie trees do grow, her name may grow : 
And in the ground each where will it engrosse. 
And fill with stones, that all men may it know. est 
The speaking woods and murmuring waters fall, 

I Bdsi', Immble. 2 I. e. unusual fury. Todu. 

3 Yriijit in Hpriyht, rapt in spirit. 

■* 1. e. indorse (Fr. erulosser), engrave. 


Her name He teach in knowen termes to frame . 

And eke my lambs, when for their dams they call. 

He teach to call for Cynthia by name. 

And long while after I am dead and rotten, b40 

Amongst the shepheards daughters dancing rownd, 

My layes made of her shall not be forgotten, 

But sung by them with flovvry gyrlonds crownd. 

And ye, who so ye be, that shall survive. 

When as ye heare her memory renewed, 64s 

Be witnesse of her bountie here alive. 

Which she to Colin her poore shepheard shewed. ' 

Much was the whole assembly of those beards 
Moov'd at his speech, so feelingly he spake ; 
And stood awhile astonisht at his words, oso 

Till Thestylis at last their silence brake, 
Saying : " Why, Cohn, since thou foundst such grace 
With Cynthia and all her noble crew, 
Why didst thou ever leave that happie place, 
In which such wealth might unto thee accrew ; «56 
And back returnedst to this barrein soyle, 
Where cold and care and penury do dwell. 
Here to keep sheepe, with hunger and with toyle? 
Most wretched he, that is and cannot tell." 

" Happie indeed," said Colin, " I hun hold, 660 

That may that blessed presence still enioy, 
Of fortune and of envy uncomptrold. 
Which still are wont most happie states t' annoy : 
But I, by that which little while I prooved, 
Some part of those enormities did see, ees 

The which in court continually hooved,* 

1 flooved, hovered, prevailed. 


And foUowd those which happie seemd to bee. 
Therefore I, silly man, whose former dayes 
Had in rude fields bene altogether spent, 
Durst not adventure such unknowen wayes, m 

Nor trust the guile of fortunes blandishment ; 
But rather chose back to ray sheep to tourne, 
Whose utmost hardnesse I before had tryde, 
Then, having learnd repentance late, to mourne 
Emongst those wretches which I there descryde." 67S 

" Shepheard," said Thestylis, " it seeraes of spight 
Thou speakest thus gainst their felicitie, 
"Which thou enviest, rather then of right 
That ought in them blamewoi-thie thou doest spie." 

" Cause have I none," quoth he, " of cancred will eoo 
To quite * them ill, that me demeand ^ so well : 
But selfe-regard of private good or ill 
Moves me of each so as I found to tell. 
And eke to warne yong shepheards wandring wit, 
Which, through report of that lives painted blisse, 6» ' 
Abandon quiet home to seeke for it. 
And leave their lambes to losse, misled amisse. 
For, sooth to say, it is no sort of life 
For shepheard fit to lead in that same place, 
Where each one seeks with malice and with strife 690 
To thrust downe other into foule disgrace, 
Himselfe to raise ; and he doth soonest rise 
That best can handle his deceitfull wit 
In subtil shifts, and finest sleights devise, 
Either by slaundring his well deemed name, "'•'•' 

Through leasings lewd ' and fained forgerie, 

1 Quite, requite. 8 Leasings lewd, wicked falsehoods. 

2 Demeand, treated. 


Or else by breeding him some blot of blame, 

By creeping close into Ids secrecie ; 

To wiiich him needs a guilefull hollow hart, 

Masked with faire dissembling curtesie, 700 

A filed ^ toung furnisht with tearmes of art, 

No art of schoole, but courtiers schoolery. 

For arts of schoole have there small countenance. 

Counted but toyes to busie ydle braines ; 

And there professours find small maintenance, 70* 

But to be instruments of others gaines. 

Ne is there place for any gentle wit, 

Unlesse to please, it selfe it can applie ; 

But shouldred is, or out of doore quite shit, 

As base, or blunt, unmeet for melodic. 7io 

For each mans worth is measured by his weed,* 

As harts by homes, or asses by their eares : 

Yet asses been not all whose eares exceed, 

Nor yet all harts that homes the highest beares. 

For liighest lookes have not the highest mynd, 71& 

Nor haughtie words most full of highest thoughts : 

But are like bladders blowen up with wynd, 

That being prickt do vanish into noughts. 

Even such is all their vaunted vanitie. 

Nought else but smoke, that furaeth soone away : lic 

Such is their glorie that in simple eie 

Seeme greatest, when their garments are most gay. 

So they themselves for praise of fooles do sell. 

And all their wealth for painting on a wall ; 

With price whereof they buy a golden bell, m 

And purchace highest rowmes in bowre and hall : 

1 Filed, smooth, artful. 2 Weed, dress 


Whiles single Truth and simple Honestie 
Do wander up and downe despys'd of all ; 
Their plaine attire such glorious gallantry 
Disdaines so much, that none them in doth call." uo 

" Ah ! Colin," then said Hobbinol, " the blame 
Which thou imputest is too generall, 
As if not any gentle wit of name 
Nor honest mynd might there be found at all. 
For well I wot, sith I my selfe was there, r'-i 

To wait on Lobbin,^ (Lobbin well thou knewest,) 
Full many worthie ones then waiting were. 
As ever else in princes court thou vewest. 
Of which among you many yet remaine, 
Whose names I cannot readily now ghesse : 740 

Those that poore sutors papers do retaine. 
And those that skill of medicine professe, 
And those that do to Cynthia expound 
The ledden ^ of straunge lan;j;ua2;es in charore : 
For Cynthia doth in sciences abound, 746 

And gives to their professors stipends large. 
Therefore uniustly thou doest wyte ^ them all, 
For that which thou mislikedst in a few." 

" Blame is," quoth he, " more blamelesse generall, 
Then that which private errours doth pursew ; r.^ 
For well I wot that there amongst them bee 
Full many persons of right worthie parts. 
Both for report of spotlesse honestie. 
And for profession of all learned arts ; 
Whose praise hereby no whit impaired is, lu 

1 Lobbin, probably Leicester. » Wyte, blame. 

'■^ Ledden, dialect. 


Though blame do light on those that faultie bee ; 

For all the rest do most-what ^ far amis, 

An«l yet their owne misfaring ^ will not see : 

Eor either they be puffed up with pride, 

Or fraught with envie that their galls do swell, tpp 

Or they their dayes to ydlenesse divide, 

Or drownded die in pleasures wastefull well, 

In which hke moldwarps ^ nousling * still they lurke, . 

UnrayndfuU of chiefe parts of manlinesse ; 

And do themselves, for want of other worke, vea. 

Vaine votaries of laesie Love professe. 

Whose service high so basely they ensew, 

That Cupid selfe of them ashamed is, 

And, mustring all his men in Venus vew, 

Denies them quite for servitors of his." 770 

" And is Love then," said Corylas, " once knowne 
In Court, and his sweet lore professed there ? 
I weened sure he was our god alone, 
And only woond ^ in fields and forests here." 
* "Not so," quoth he, " Love most aboundeth there. 776 
For all the walls and windows there ai'e writ 
All full of love, and love, and love my deare. 
And all their talke and studie is of it. 
Ne any there doth brave or valiant seeme, 
Unlesse that some gay mistresse badge he beares : 79" 
Ne any one himselfe doth ought esteerae, 
Unlesse he swim in love up to the eares. 
But they of Love, and of his sacred lere,* 

1 Most-what, for the most part. 4 Nottsling, burrowing. 

'■' Misfaring, evil course. 5 Woond, dwelt. 

3 Moldwarps, moles. 6 Lere, lore. 

Ver. 757. — Far amis.] Ed. 1611 has fare, which reading, 11s 
Mr. Collier remarks, is made probable by the occnirence of ?nie 
faring in the next C. 


(As it should be,) all otherwise devise, 

Then we poore shepheards are accustorad here. rs- 

And him do sue and serve all otherwise. 

For with lewd^ speeches, and licentious deeds, 

His mightie mysteries they do prophane. 

And use his ydle name to other needs 

But as a complement for courting vaine. i:-' 

So him they do not serve as they professe, 

But make him serve to them for sordid uses : 

Ah ! my dread Lord, that doest liege hearts possesse, 

Avenge thy selfe on them for their abuses 1 

But we poore shepheards, whether rightly so, 795 

Or through our rudenesse into errour led. 

Do make rehgion how we rashly go 

To serve that god that is so greatly dred. 

Por him the greatest of the gods we deeme, 

Borne without syre or couples of one kynd ; aoo 

For Venus selfe doth soly couples seeme. 

Both male and female through commixture ioynd : 

So pure and spotlesse Cupid forth she brought, 

And in the Gardens of Adonis nurst : 

Where growing he his owne perfection wrought, eoe 

And shortly was of all the gods the first. 

Then got he bow and shafts of gold and lead, 

In which so fell and puissant he grew. 

That Ion e himselfe his powre began to dread. 

And, taking up to heaven, him godded - new. sio 

From thence he shootes his arrowes every where 

Into the world, at randon as he will, 

1 Ltwd, vulgar. '^ Godded., made a god. 

Ver. 802. Both male, and female.'] See Faerie Queene. lioob 
IV. Canto X. 41. Todd. 


On us fraile men, his wretched vassals here, 

Like as himselfe us pleaseth save or spill.^ 

So we him worship, so we him adore sis 

With humble hearts to heaven uplifted hie, 

That to true loves he may us evermore 

Preferre, and of their grace us dignitie : 

Ne is there shepheard, ne yet shepheards swaine, 

What ever feeds in forest or in field, sao 

That dare with evil deed or leasing vaine 

Blaspheme his powre, or termes unworthie yield." 

" Shepheard, it seemes that some celestiall rage 
Of love," quoth Cuddy, " is breath'd into thy brest, 
That powreth forth these oracles so sage Bis 

Of that high powre wherewith thou art possest. 
But never wist I till this present day, 
Albe of Love I alwayes humbly deemed. 
That he was such an one as thou doest say, 
And so religiously to be esteemed. sso 

Well may it seeme, by this thy deep insight, 
That of that god the priest thou shouldest bee: 
So well thou wot'st the mysterie of his might. 
As if his godhead thou didst present see." 

" Of Loves perfection perfectly to speake, sss 

Or of his nature rightly to define. 
Indeed," said Colin, " passeth reasons reach, 
And needs his priest t' expresse his powre divine. 
For long before the world he was ybore. 
And bred above in Venus bosome deare : 840 

For by his powre the world was made of yore. 
And all that therein wondrous doth appeare. 

1 Spill, spoil, destroy. 


For how should else things so far from attone,^ 

And so great enemies as of them bee, 

Be ever drawne together into one, ejo 

And taught in such accordance to agree ? 

Through him the cold began to covet heat, 

And water fire ; the hght to mount on hie. 

And th' heavie downe to peize ^ ; the hungry t' eat. 

And voydnesse to seeke full satietie. 860 

So, being former foes, they wexed friends, 

And gan by litle learne to love each other : 

So, being knit, they brought forth other kynds 

Out of the fruitfuU wombe of their great mother. 

Then first gan heaven out of darknesse dread aw 

For to appeare, and brought forth chearfull day : 

Next gan the earth to shew her naked head, 

Out of deep waters which her drownd alway : 

And shortly after, everie living wight 

Crept forth like wormes out of her slimie nature, '«■■" 

Soone as on them the suns life-giving light 

Had powred kindly heat and formall ^ feature. 

Thenceforth they gan each one his like to love, 

And like himselfe desire for to beget : 

The lyon chose his mate, the turtle dove st^ 

Her deare, the dolphin his owne dolphinet ; 

But man, that had the sparke of reasons might 

More then the rest to rule his passion, 

Chose for his love the fairest in his sight, 

Like as himselfe was fairest by creation. ■-',■} 

For beautie is the bayt which with delight 

' Attone, at one, in liarrnony. s Formall, regular. 

* Ptize, poise, weigh. 


Doth man allure for to enlarge his kynd ; 

Beautie, the burnhig lamp of heavens light, 

Darting her beanies into each feeble mynd : 

Against whose powre, nor God nor man can fynd sit 

Defence, ne ward the daunger of the wound ; 

But, being hurt, seeke to be medicynd 

Of her that first did stir that mortall stownd.^ 

Then do they cry and call to Love apace, 

With praiers lowd importuning the skie; see 

Whence he them heares, and when he list shew grace, 

Does graunt them grace that otherwise would die. 

So Love is lord of all the world by right. 

And rules the creatures by his powrfull saw ^ ; 

All being made the vassals of his might, see 

Through secret sence which therto doth them draw. 

Thus ought all lovers of their lord to deeme. 

And with chaste heart to honor him alway : 

But who so else doth otherwise esteeme, 

Are outlawes, and his lore do disobay. 8B0 

For their desire is base, and doth not merit 

The name of love, but of disloyall lust : 

Ne mongst true lovers they shall place inherit, 

But as exuls ^ out of his court be thrust." 

So having said, Melissa spake at will : ~ 89& 

" Colin, thou now full deeply hast divynd 
Of Love and Beautie, and with wondrous skill 
Hast Cupid selfe depainted in his kynd. 
To thee are all true lovers greatly bound, ^ 

That doest their cause so mightily defend : 90c 

1 Stoiimd, event, casualty. 3 Eioule, exiles. 

2 Saw, say, decree. 


But most, all wemen are they debtors found, 
That doest their bountie still so much commend." 

" That ill, " said Hobbinol, " they him requite, 
For having loved ever one most deare : 
He is repayd with scorne and foule despite, 90fi 

That yrkes each gentle heart which it doth heare." 

" Indeed," said Lucid, " I have often heard 
Faire Rosalind of divers fowly blamed 
For being to that swaine too cruell hard ; 
That her bright glorie else hath much defamed. cio 
But who. can tell what cause had that faire mayd 
To use him so that used her so well ? 
Or who with blame can iustly her upbrayd, 
For loving not ? for who can love compell ? 
And, sooth to say, it is foolhardie thing, m". 

Rashly to wyten * creatures so divine ; 
For demigods they be, and first did spring 
From heaven, though graft in frailnesse feminine. 
And well I wote that oft I heard it spoken. 
How one that fairest Helene did revile, 9io 

Throu"-h iudgement of the gods to been y wroken,- 
Lost both his eyes, and so remaynd long while. 
Till he recanted had his wicked rimes, 
And made amends to her with treble praise. 
Beware therefore, ye groomes, I read ^ betimes, ms 
How rashly blame of Rosalind ye raise." 

, 1 Wyten, blame. 8 Eead, advise. 

2 Ywroken, avenged, punished. 

Ver. 920. — Eow one, &c.] He speaks of the poet Stesichorus. 


'' Ah ! shepheards," then said Colin, " ye ne weet 
How great a guilt upon your heads ye draw, 
To make so bold a doome, with words unmeet. 
Of thing celestiall which ye never saw. 980 

For she is not like as the other crew 
Of shepheards daughters which emongst you bee, 
But of divine regard and heavenly hew, 
Excelling all that ever ye did see. 
Not then to her, that scorned thing so base, ^'So 

But to my selfe the blame, that lookt so hie : 
So hie her thoughts as she her selfe have place. 
And loath each lowly thing with loftie eie. 
Yet so much grace let her vouchsafe to grant 
To simple swaine, sith her I may not love : t.4U 

Yet that I may her honour paravant,^ 
And praise her worth, though far my wit above. 
Such grace shall be some guerdon for the griefe 
And long affliction which I have endured : 
Such grace sometimes shall give me some reliefs, 946 
And ease of paine which cannot be recured. 
And ye, my fellow shepheards, which do see 
And hear the languours of my too long dying, 
Unto the world for ever witnesse bee, 
That hers I die, nought to the world denying 9ao 

This simple trophe of her great conquest." 

So having ended, he from gi'ound did rise, 
And after him uprose eke all the rest : 
All loth to part, but that the glooming skies 
Warnd them to draw their bleating flocks to rest, est 

1 Paravant, before all others. 







* Lady Sidney, who after the death of Sir Philip had remarTied 
with Elizabeth's celebrated favorite. C. 

Shepheards, that wont on pipes of oaten reed 
Oft times to plaine your loves concealed smart, 
And with your piteous layes have learnd to breed 
Compassion in a countrey lasses hart, 
Hearken, ye gentle shepheards, to my song, 
And place my dolefuU plaint your plaints emong. 

To you alone I sing this mournfull verse, 
The mournfulst verse that ever man heard tell ; 
To you, whose softened hearts it may empierse 
With dolours dart for death of Astrophel ;* 
To you I sing, and to none other wight. 
For well I wot my rymes bene rudely dight. 

Yet as they been, if any nycer wit 

Shall hap to heare, or covet them to read, 

Thinke he, that such are for such ones most fit, 

Made not to please the living but the dead. 

And if in him found pity ever place. 

Let him be moov'd to pity such a case. 

 Astrophil or Astrophel was an appellation devised for him- 
Belf by Philip Sidney, by taking the initial sylliiDles of his name, 
Phil Sid, translating Sid (Sidus) into Greek (uarpov), and then 
prefixing this last to Phil (^«/lof ). Sidney had called Lady Dev- 
"reux Stella, and his own quaint name of Astrophel was meant 
to signify Stella's lover. C. 


A. GENTLE Sliepheard borne in Arcady, 
Of gentlest race that ever sliepheard bore. 
About the grassie bancks of H^emony 
Did keepe his sheep, his litle stock and store, 
Full carefully he kept them day and night. 
In fairest fields ; and Astrophel he bight. 

Young Astrophel, the pride of shepheards praise, 

Young Astrophel, the rusticke lasses love, 

Far passing all the pastors of his dales, 

In all that seemly shepheard might behove : lo 

In one thing onely fayling of the best. 

That he was not so happie as the rest. 

For from the time that first the nymph, his mother, 
Him forth did bring, and taught her lambs to feed, 
A sclender swaine, excelling far each other is 

* Astrophel and the accompanying poems are specimens of the 
many lamentations in verse which the untimely death of Sir 
Philip Sidney called forth. They are none of them above medicK}- 
ritv in point of poetical merit, and are deficient in the simplicity 
belonging to the expression of true feeling, which is somewhat 
sm^uliir. as the writers were, undoubtedly, sincere mourners. H. 


In comely shape, like her that did him breed. 
He grew up fast in goodnesse ai>d in grace, 
And doubly faire woxe both in mynd and face. 

Which daily more and more he did augment 

With gentle usage and demeanure myid, 20 

That all mens hearts with secret ravishment 

He stole away, and weetingly ^ beguyld. 

Ne Spight it selfe, that all good things doth spiU, 

Found ought in him that she could say was ill. 

His sports were faire, his ioyance innocent. 2;- 

Sweet without sowre, and honny without gall ; 
And he himselfe seemd made for meriment, 
Merily masking both in bowre and hall : 
There was no pleasure nor delightfuU play, 
When Aatrophel so ever was away. so 

For he could pipe, and daunce, and caroll sweet, 
Emongst the shepheards in their shearing feast; 
As somers larke that with her song doth greet 
The dawning day forth comming from the East. 
And layes of love he also could compose : ss 

Thrise happie she whom he to praise did chose. 

Full many maydens often did him woo 

Them to vouchsafe emongst his rimes to name. 

Or make ^ for them as he was wont to doo 

For her that did his heart with love inflame. 40 

For which they promised to dight for him 

Cray chapelets of flowers and gyrlonds trim. 

I Weetinr/bj, knowing!}-. 2 Make, i. e. verses. 


And many a nymph both of the wood and brooke, 
Soone as his oaten pipe began to shrill, 
Both christall wells and shadie groves forsooke, 4S 
To heare the charmes of his enchanting skill ; 
And brouglit him presents, flowers if it were prime, 
Or mellow fruit if it were harvest time. 

But he for none of them did care a whit, 

(Yet woodgods for them often sighed sore,) so 

Ne for their gifts, unworthie of his wit, 

Yet not unworthie of the countries store. 

For one alone he cared, for one he sight. 

His lifes desire, and his deare loves delight. 

Stella the faire, the fairest star in skie, sb 

As faire as Venus or the fairest faire, 
(A fairer star saw never living eie,) 
Shot her sharp pointed beames through purest aire. 
Her he did love, her he alone did honor, 
His thoughts, his rimes, his songs, were all upon 
her. 60 

To her he vowd the service of his daies, 

On her he spent the riches of his wit : 

For her he made hymnes of immoi'tall praise. 

Of onely her he sung, he thought, he writ. 

Her, and but her, of love he worthie deemed ; 65 

For all the rest but litle he esteemed. 

Ver. 55. — Stella.'] Lady Penelope Devereux, Sidney's first 
love, now the widow of Lord Rich. It was in her honor tliat he 
wrote the collection of poems called Astrophel and Stella. U. 


Ne her with ydle words alone he wowed, 
And verses vaine, (yet verses are not vaine,) 
But with brave deeds, to her sole service vowed, 
And bold atchievements, her did entertaine. 70 

For both in deeds and words he nourtred was, 
Both wise and hardie, too hardie alas ! 

In wrestling nimble, and in renning swift, 

In shooting steddie, and in swimming strong, 

Well made to strike, to throw, to leape, to lift, 75 

And all the sports that shepheards are emong ; 

In every one he vanquisht every one. 

He vanquisht all, and vanquisht was of none. 

Besides, in hunting such felicitie, 

Or rather infelicitie, he found, «o 

That every field and forest far away 

He sought, where salvage beasts do most abound. 

No beast so salvage but he could it kill ; 

No chace so hard, but he therein had skill. 

Such skill, matcht with such courage as he had, sb 

Did prick him foorth with proud desire of praise 

To seek abroad, of daunger nouglit ydrad,^ 

His mistresse name, and his owne fame, to raise. 

What needeth perill to be sought abroad. 

Since round about us it doth make aboad !  ui 

It fortuned as he that perilous game 
In forreine soyle pursued far away, 

1 Tdrad, afraid. 


Into a forest wide and waste he came, 

"Where store he heard to be of salvage pray. 

So wide a forest and so waste as this, 9« 

Nor famous Ardeyn, nor fowle Arlo, is. 

There his welwoven toyles and subtil traines 

He laid the brutish nation to enwrap : 

So well he wrought with practise and with paines. 

That he of them great troups did soone entrap. loo 

Full happie man (misweening much) was hee. 

So rich a spoile within his power to see. 

Eftsoones, all heedlesse of his dearest hale,* 

Full greedily into the heard he thrust, 

To slaughter them and worke their finall bale, loe 

Least that his toyle should of their troups be brust, 

"Wide wounds emongst them many one he made, 

Now with his sharp borespear, now with his blade. 

His care was all how he them all might kill, 

That none might scape (so partiall unto none) : iio 

111 mynd, so much to mynd anothers ill 

As to become unmyndfuU of his owne : 

But pardon that unto the cruell skies, 

That from himselfe to them withdrew his eies. 

So as he rag'd emongst that beastly rout, 135 

A cruell beast of most accursed brood 

^ Hale, welfare. 

Ver. 96. — Arlo.] The highest of the Ballyhowra hills in tho 
county of Cork. See CantO' VI. of Mutability, 36, .39. C. 


Upon him turnd, (despeyre makes cowards stout,) 
And, with fell tooth accustomed to blood, 
Launched his thigh with so mischievous might, 
That it both bone and muscles ryved quight. lao 

So deadly was the dint and deep the wound, 

And so huge streames of blood thereout did flow, 

That he endured not the direfull stound,* 

But on the cold deare earth himselfe did throw ; 

The whiles the captive heard his nets did rend, lae 

And, having none to let, to wood did wend. 

Ah ! where were ye this while, his shepheard peares. 
To whom alive was nought so deare as hee ? 
And ye faire raayds, the matches of his yeares. 
Which in his grace did boast you most tcr bee ; lao 
Ah ! where were ye, when he of you had need, 
To stop his wound that wondrously did bleed ? 

Ah ! wretched boy, the shape of dreryhead. 

And sad ensample of mans suddein end : 

Full litle faileth but thou shalt be dead, iso 

Unpitied, unplaynd, of foe or frend ! 

Whilest none is nigh thine eyelids up to close, 

And kisse thy lips like faded leaves of rose. 

A sort 2 of shepheards, sewing of the chace, 

As they the forest raunged on a day, ni 

By fate or fortune came unto the place 

Where as the lucklesse boy yet bleeding lay ; 

1 Simnd, time. 2 Sort, company. 


Yet bleeding lay, and yet would still have bled, 
Had not good hap those shepheards th ether led. 

They stopt his wound, (too late to stop it was !) ]4.: 

And in theii" amies then softly did him reare : 

Tho (as he wild) unto his loved lasse, 

His dearest love, him dolefully did beare. 

The dolefulst beare that ever man did see, 

Was Astrophel, but dearest unto mee ! i.-n- 

She, when she saw her Love in such a plight, 
With crudled blood and filthie gore deformed, 
That wont to be with flowers and gyrlonds dight, 
And her deare favours dearly well adorned, 
Her face, the fairest face that eye mote see, 166 

She likewise did deforme like him to bee. 

Her yellow locks, that shone so bright and long 

As sunny beames in fairest somers day. 

See fiersly tore, and with outragious wrong 

From her red cheeks the roses rent away, icn 

And her faire brest, the threasui-y of ioy, 

She spoyld thereof, and filled with annoy. 

His palled face, impictured with death, 

She bathed oft with teares and dried oft ; 

And with sweet kisses suckt the wasting breath iw 

Out of his lips like lillies pale and soft ; 

And oft she cald to him, who answerd nought, 

But onely by his lookes did tell his thought. 

The rest of her im[)atient regret 

And piteous mone the which she for liim made, it.i 


No toong can tell, nor any forth can set, 
But he whose heart like sorrow did invade. 
At last, when paine his vitall powres had spent, 
His wasted life her weary lodge forwent.* 

Which when she saw, she staled not a whit, vs 

But after him did make untimely haste ; 
Forth-with her ghost out of her corps did flit, 
And followed her make ^ like turtle chaste ; 
To prove that death their hearts cannot divide, 
Which living were in love so firmly tide. leo 

The gods, which all things see, this same beheld. 

And, pittying this paire of lovers trew. 

Transformed them, there lying on the field, 

Into one flowre that is both red and blew : 

It first growes red, and then to blew doth fade, iss 

Like Astrophel, which thereinto was made. 

And in the midst thereof a star appeares. 

As fairly formd as any star in skyes, 

Resembling Stella in her freshest yeares. 

Forth darting beames of beautie from her eyes ; I'o 

And all the day it standeth full of deow, 

Which is the teares that from her eyes did flow. 

1 Forwent, forsook. 2 Make, mate 

Ver. 175. — She staled rmt a wliit.^ Neither Stella nor Lady Sic- 
ney can be accused of too romantic an attachment to his mem- 
ory. Lady Rich survived him many years, and married a second 
time. Frances Sidney married the Earl of Essex, and, after she 
lost him, the Earl of Clanrickard. C. 


That hearbe of some Starlight is cald by name, 

Of others Penthia, though not so well : 

But thou, where ever thou doest finde the same, ins 

From this day forth do call it Astrophel : 

And when so ever thou it up doest take, 

Do pluck it softly for that shepheards sake. 

Hereof when tydings far abroad did passe, 
The shepheards all which loved him full deare, 200 
And sure full deare of all he loved was, 
« Did thether flock to see what they did heare. 
And when that pitteous spectacle they vewed, 
The same with bitter teares they all bedewed. 

And every one did make exceeding mone, 2m 

With inward anguish and great griefe opprest : 
And every one did weep and waile and mone, 
And meanes deviz'd to shew his sorrow best : 
That from that houre since first on grassie greene 
Shepheards kept sheep, was not like mourning seen. 

But first his sister, that Clorinda hight, an 

The gentlest shepheardesse that lives this day, 
And most resembling both in shape and spright 
Her brother deare, began this dolefuU lay. 
Which, least I marre the sweetnesse of the vearse, 
In sort as she it sung I will rehearse. 316 

544 [the dolefull lay of clokinda.] 

Av me, to whom shall I my case complaine,* 
That may compassion my impatient giiefe ; 
Or where shall I unfold my inward paine, 
That my enriven heart may find reliefe ? 
Shall I unto the heavenly powres it show, 
Or unto earthly men that dwell below ? 

To heavens ? Ah ! they, alas ! the authors were, 

And workers of my unremedied wo : 

For they foresee what to us happens here, 

And they foresaw, yet suffred this be so. 11 « 

From them comes good, from them comes also il ; 

That which they made, who can them warne to 
spill ? 

To men ? Ah ! they, alas ! like wretched bee, 

And subiect to the heavens ordinance : 

Bound to abide what ever they decree, is 

Their best redresse is their best sufferance. 

How then can they, like wretched, comfort mee, 
The which no lesse need comforted to bee ? 

Then to my selfe will I my sorrow mourne, 
Sith none alive like scrrowfuU remaines ; so 

And to my selfe my plaints shall back retourne. 
To pay their usury with doubled paines. 

The woods, the hills, the rivers, shall resound 
The mournfull accent of my sorrowes ground. 

* These verses would appear, from the language by which they 
are introduced, to have been the composition of the Countess oi 
Pembroke. C. 


Woods, hills, and rivers, now are desolate, 25 

Sith he is gone the which them all did grace, 
And all the fields do waile their widow state, 
bith death their fairest flowre did late deface. 
The fairest flowre in field that ever grew, 
Was Astrophel ; that was, we all may rew. 3(i 

What cruell hand of cursed foe unknowne 

Hath ci'opt the stalke which bore so faire a flowre ? 

Untimely cropt, before it well were growne, 

And cleane defaced in untimely howre. 

Great losse to all that ever him did see, sr, 

Great losse to all, but greatest losse to mee ! 

Breake now your gyrlonds, O ye shepheards lasses, 
Sith the faire flowre which them adornd is gon : 
The flowre which them adornd is gone to ashes ; 
Never againe let lasse put gyrlond on. 40 

In stead of gyrlond, weare sad cypres nowe. 
And bitter elder, broken from the bowe. 

Ne ever sing the love-layes which he made ; 

Who ever made such layes of love as hee ? 

Ne ever read the riddles which he sayd *- 

Unto your selves, to make you mery glee. 
Your mery glee is now laid all abed. 
Your mery maker now, alasse ! is dead. 

Death, the devourer of all worlds delight, 
Hath robbed you, and reft fro me my ioy : au 

Both you and me, and all the world, he quight 
Hath robd of ioyance, and left, sad annoy. 

546 [the dolefull lat of clorinda.] 

loy of the world, and shepheards pride was hee ' 
Shepheards, hope never like againe to see ! 

Oh Death ! that hast us of such riches reft, k 

Tell us at least, what hast thou with it done ? 
What is become of him whose flowre here left 
Is but the shadow of his likenesse gone ? 

Scarse like the shadow of that which he was ; 

Nought like, but that he like a shade did pas. go 

But that immortall spirit, which was deckt 

With all the dowries of celestiall grace. 

By soveraine choyce from th' hevenly quires select, 

And lineally deriv'd from angels race, 

O ! what is now of it become, aread.* e6 

Ay me ! can so divine a thing be dead ? 

Ah, no ! it is not dead, ne can it die. 

But lives for aie in blisfuU Paradise : 

Where like a new-borne babe it soft doth lie, 

In bed of lillies wrapt in tender wise, 7i 

And compast all about with roses sweet. 

And daintie violets from head to feet. 

There thousand birds, all of celestiall brood. 

To him do sweetly caroll day and night ; 

And with straunge notes, of him well understood, n 

Lull him asleep in angelick delight ; 

Whilest in sweet dreame to him presented bee 
Immortall beauties, which no eye may see. 

1 Aread, declare. 

[the dolefull lay of clouinda.] 547 

But he them sees, and takes exceeding pleasure 
Of their divine aspects, appearing plaine, w 

And kindUng love in him above all measure : 
Sweet love, still ioyous, never feeling paine. 
For what so goodly forme he there doth see, 
He may enioy from iealous rancor free. 

There liveth he in everlasting blis, sr, 

Sweet spirit, never fearing more to die : 
Ne dreading harme from any foes of his, 
Ne fearing salvage beasts more crueltie. 

Whilest we here, wretches, waile his private lack, 
And with vame vowes do often call him back. 90 

But live thou there, still happie, happie Spirit, 
And give us leave thee here thus to lament ! 
Not thee that doest thy heavens ioy inherit, 
But our owne selves that here in dole are drent.^ 
Thus do we weep and waile, and wear our eies, 91 
Mourning in others our owne miseries. 

Which when she ended had, another swaine, 
Of gentle wit and daintie sweet device. 
Whom Astrophel full deare did entertaine 
Whilest here he liv'd, and held in passing price, 
Hight Thestylis, began his mournfull tourne. 
And made the Muses in his song to niourne. 

1 Drent, drenched, drowned. 


A.nd after him full many other moe, 

As everie one in order lov'd him best, 

Gan dight themselves t' expresse tlieir inward woe, 

With dolefull layes unto the time addrest. lo 

The which I here in order will rehearse, 

As fittest flowres to deck his mournfull hearse. 


Come forth, ye Nyraphes, come forth, forsake your 

watry bowres, 
Forsake your mossy caves, and help me to lament ; 
Help me to tune my dolefull notes to gurgling sound 
Of Liffies tumbling streames : come, let salt teares 

of ours 
Mix with his waters fresh. come, let one consent a 
loyne us to mourne Avith wailful! plaints the deadly 

Which fatall clap hath made, decreed by higher 

powres ; 
The dreery day in which they have from us yrenl 

* In 1587, the following license, aniono; others, was granted by 
the Stationers' Company to John Woll", printer, viz. : " Tiie 
MDuniiiig Muses of Lod. Brysket npon the death of the most 
noble Sir Phillip Sydney, knight, &c." And in a manuscript 
copy of this poem, preserved in the archiepiscopal library at Lam- 
beth palace, the following poem is expressly given to Bryskett- 


The noblest plant that might from East to West be 

Mourne, mourn great Philips fall, mourn we his vvo- 

fuU end, ic 

Whom spitefuU Death hath pluct untimely from the 

Whiles yet his yeares in flowre did promise worthie 

Ah dreadful Mars, why didst thou not thy knight 

defend ? 
What wrathfull mood, what fault of ours, hath moved 

Of such a shining light to leave us destitute ? 15 

Thou with benigne aspect sometime didst us behold ; 
Thou hast in Britons valour tane delight of old, 
And witli thy presence oft vouchsaft to attribute 
Fame and renowme to us for glorious martiall deeds. 
But now tliy ireful hemes have chill'd our harts with 

cold ; 20 

Thou hastestrang'd thy self, and deignest not our land : 
Farre off to others now thy favour honour breeds, 
And higli disdaine doth cause thee shun our clime, I 

For hadst thou not bene wroth, or that time neare at 

Thou wouldst have heard the cry that woful England 

made ; 96 

Eke Zelands piteous plaints, and Hollands toren heare, 
Would haply have appeas'd thy divine angry mynd. 
Thou sliouldst have seen the trees refuse to yeeld 

their shade. 
And wailing to let fall the honor of their head ; 


And birds in mournful! tunes lamenting in their 

kinds. 30 

Up from his torabe the mightie Corineus rose, 
Who cursing oft the Fates that this mishap liad bred. 
His hoary locks he tare, calling the heavens unkinde. 
The Thames was heard to roare, the Reyne and eke 

the Mose, 
The Schald, the Danow selfe, this great mischance 

did rue as 

With torment and with grief: their fountains pure 

and cleere 
Were troubled, and with swelling flouds declar'd 

their woes. 
The Muses comfortles, the Nymphs with paled hue. 
The silvan gods likewise, came running farre and 

And all with teares bedeawd, and eyes cast up on 

hie, 40 

O help, help, ye gods ! they ghastly gan to crie. 
chaunge the cruell fate of this so rare a wight. 
And graunt that natures course may measure out his 

The beasts their foode forsooke, and, trembling fear- 

Each sought his cave or den, this cry did them so 

fright. 4ft 

Out from amid the waves, by storme then stirr'd to 

This crie did cause to rise th' old father Ocean hoare; 
Who grave with eld, and full of maiestie in sight, 
SpaJie in this wise : " Refrain," quoth he, " your 

teares and plaints ; 


Cease these your idle words, make vaine requests n« 

more. *" 

No humble speech nor mone may move the fixed stint 
Of destinie or death : such is His will that paints 
The earth with colours fresh, the darkest skies with 

Of starry lights : and though your teares a hart of flint 
Might tender make, yet nought herein they will pre- 

vaile." 53 

Whiles thus he said, the noble knight, who gan to 

His vitall force to fsiint, and death with cruell dint 
Of direfull dart his mortall bodie to assaile, 
With eyes hft up to heav'n, and courage franke aa 

With cheerfuU face, where valour lively was exprest, so 
But humble mynd, he said : " Lord, if ought this 

And earthly carcasse have thy service sought t' ad- 

vaunce ; 
If my desire have bene still to relieve th' 0{)prest ; 
If, iustice to maintaine, that valour I have .si)ent 
Which thou me gav'st ; or if henceforth I might ad- 

vaunce 65 

Thy name, thy truth, then spare me. Lord, if thou 

think best ; 
Forbeare these unripe yeares. But if thy will be 

bent ; 
If that prefixed time be come which thou hast set ; 
Through pure and fervent faith, I hope now to be 

plast 69 

In th' everlasting blis which with thy precious blood 


Thou puri-liase didst for us." AVith that a sigh he fet,^ 
And straijzht a cloudie mist his sences overcast. 
His lips waxt pale and wan, like damaske roses bud 
Cast from the stalke, or like in field to purple flowre, 
Which languisheth being shred by culter ^ as it past. 
A trembling chilly cold ran throgh their veines 

which were 76 

With eies brimfull of teares to see his fatall howre ; 
Whose blustring sighes at first their sorrow did de- 
clare ; 
Next, murmuring ensude ; at last they not forbeare 
Plaine outcries, all against the heav'ns that enviously 
Depriv'd us of a spright so perfect and so rare. si 
The sun his lightsom beames did shrowd, and hide 

his face 
For griefe, whereby the earth feard night eternally: 
The mountaines eachwhere shooke, the rivers turn'd 

their streames, 
Andth' aire gan winterlike to rage and fret apace : ss 
And grisly ghosts by night were seene, and fierie 

Amid the clouds, with claps of thunder that did seeme 
To rent ^ the skies, and made both man and beast 

The birds of ill presage this lucklesse chance foretold, 
By deriifuU * noise, and dogs with howling made man 

deeme so 

Some miscliief was at hand : for such they do cst?.eme 
A.S toli^ns of mishap, and so have done of old. 

» Fei, fetched. « i?e»!«, rend. 

2 Culter, i)!oughshare. ■• Dernftdl, mournful. 


All ! that thou hadst but heard his lovely Stella 

Her greevous losse, oi' seene her heavie mourning 

While she, with woe opprest, her sorrowes did unfold. 
Her haire hung lose, neglect, about her shoulders 

twaine, 9e 

And from those two bright starres, to him sometime 

so deere. 
Her heart sent drops of pearle, which fell in foyson * 

Twixt Hlly and the rose. She wroong her hands 

with paine, 
And piteously gan say : " My true and faithfull 

pheere,^ loo 

Alas, and woe is me ! why should my fortune frowne 
On me thus frowardly, to rob me of my ioy ? 
What cruell envious hand hath taken thee away, 
And with thee my content, my comfort, and my stay ? 
Thou onelie wast the ease of trouble and annoy, los 
When they did me assaile ; in thee my hopes did rest. 
Alas ! what now is left but grief, that night and day 
Afflicts this wofull life, and with continuall rage 
Torments ten thousand waies my miserable brest ? 
O greedie envious heav'n, what needed thee to 

have " 1 10 

Enricht with such a iewell this unhappie age. 
To take it back againe so soone ? Alas ! when shall 
Mine eies see ought that may content them, sinte thy 


I Foyson, abundance. 2 Pheere, fere. 


My onely treasure hides, the ioyes of my poore hart ! 
As here with thee on earth I liv'd, even so equall iis 
Me thinkes it were with thee in heav'n I did abide : 
And as our troubles all we here on earth did part, 
So reason would that there of thy most happie state 
I had my share. Alas ! if thou my trustie guide 
Were wont to be, how canst thou leave me thus 

alone 120 

In darknesse and astray, weake, wearie, desolate, 
Plung'd in a world of woe, refusing for to take 
Me with thee to the place of rest where thou art 

gone ? " 
This said, she held her peace, for sorrow tide her 

toong ; 
And insteed of more words, seemd that her eies a 

lake ISA 

Of teares had bene, they flow'd so plenteously 

therefro : 
And with her sobs and sishs th' aire round about her 



If Venus, when she waild her deare Adonis slaine, 
Ought moov'd in thy tiers hart compassion of her woe, 
His noble sisters plaints, her sighes and teares emong, 
"Would sure have made thee milde, and inly rue her 

paine. lai 

Aurora halfe so faire her selfe did never show. 
When from old Tithons bed shee weeping did arise. 
The blinded Archer-boy, like larke in showre of 

• raine, 
Sat bathing of his wings, and glad the time did 

spend 135 

Under those cristall drops which fell from her faire eies. 


Aiid at their brightest beames him proynd * in lovelj 

Yet sorie for her grief, which he could not amend, 
The gentle boy gan wipe her eies, and clear those 

Those lights through which his glory and his con 

quests shine. uo 

The Graces tuckt her hair, which hung like threds 

of gold, 
Along her yvorie brest, the treasure of delights. 
All things with her to weep, it seemed, did encline, 
The trees, the hills, the dales, the caves, the stones so 

The aire did help them mourn e with dark clouds, 

raine, and mist, i4s 

Forbearing many a day to cleare it selfe againe ; 
Which made them eftsoones feare the daies of Pirrha 

Of creatures spoile the earth, their fatall threds un- 
For Phoebus gladsome raies were wished for in 

And with her quivering light Latonas daughter faire, 
And Charles-waine eke refus'd to be the shipmans 

guide. 161 

On Neptune warre was made by Aeolus and his 

Who, lettino; loose the winds, tost and tormented th' 

Jo ' . 

aire, • 

So that on ev'ry coast men shipwrack did abide, 

1 Proifnd, pruned. 


Or else were swallowed up in oj)cii sea witli waves, 
And such as came to shoare were beaten with de- 

The Medwaies silver streames, that wont so still to 

Were troubled now and wrothe ; whose hidden hol- 
low caves 
Along his banks, with fog then shrowded from mans eye, 
Ay Phillip did resownd, aie Phillip they did crie. leo 
His nimphs were seen no more (thogh custom stil 

it craves) 
With haire spred to the wynd themselves to bath or 

Or with the hooke or net, barefooted wantonly, 
The pleasant daintie fish to entangle or deceive. 
The shepheards left their wonted places of resort ; les 
Theu' bagpipes now were still, their loving niery 

Were quite forgot ; and now their flocks men might 

To wander and to straie, all carelesly neglect : 
And in the stead of mirth and pleasure, nights and 


Nought els was to be heard, but woes, complaints, and 

mone. 170 

But thou, blessed soule ! doest haply not respect 

These teares we shead, though full of loving pui-e 

Having afRxt thine eyes on that most glorious throne, 
Where full of maiestie the High Creator reignes ; 
In w^hose bright shining face thy ioyes are all com- 
plete ; 176 


Whose love kindles thy spright ; where, happie al- 

waies one,^ 
Thou liv'st in blis that ear'^hly passion never staines ; 
Where trom the purest spring the sacred nectar 

Is thy continual! drinke ; where thou doest gather 

Of well emploied life th' inestimable gaines. iso 

There Venus on thee smiles, Apollo gives thee place, 
And Mars in reverent wise doth to thy vertue bow, 
And decks his fiery sphere to do thee honour most : 
In highest part whereof, thy valour for to grace, i84 
A chaire of gold he setts to thee, and there doth tell 
Thy noble acts arew,^ whereby even they that boast 
Themselves of auncient fame, as Pirrhus, Hanniball, 
Scipio, and Caesar, with the rest that did excell 
In martiall prowesse, high thy glorie do admire. 189 

All haile, therefore, O worthie Phillip immortall, 
The flowre of Sydneyes race, the honour of thy name! 
Whose worthie praise to sing my Muses not aspire. 
But sorrowfuU and sad these teares to thee let fall ; 
Yet wish their verses might so farre and wide thy 

Extend, that envies rage, nor time, might end the 

same. \9t 

1 Om, alike, equally. ^ Arew, in order. 





Colin, well fits thy sad cheare this sad stownd,' 
This wofuU stownd, wherein all things complaine 
This great mishap, this greevous losse of owres. 
Hear'st thou the Grown, how with hollow sownd 
He slides away, and murmuring doth plaine, s 

And seemes to say unto the fading flowres 
Along his bankes, unto the bared trees, 
PhiUisides is dead ? Up, ioUy swaine. 
Thou that with skill canst tune a doleful! lay, 
Help him to mourn. My hart with grief doth freese, 
Hoarse is my voice with crying, else a part u 

Sure would I beare, though rude : but, as I may, 
With sobs and sighes I second will thy song, 
And so expresse the sorrowes of my hart. 

Colin. Ah Lycon, Lycon, what need skill, to teach 

1 Sioumd, season. 


A grieved mynd powre forth his plaints ? How long 

Hath the pore turtle gon to school, weenest thou, 

To learne to mourne her lost make^ ? No, no, each 

Creature by nature can tell how to waile. 

Seest not these flocks, how sad they wander now ? 20 

Seemeth their leaders bell their bleating tunes 

In doleful! sound. Like him, not one doth faile 

With hanging head to shew a heavie cheare. 

What bird, I pray thee, hast thou seen, that prunes 

Himselfe of late ? Did any cheerfuU note 25 

Come to thine eares, or gladsome sight appeare 

Unto thine eies, since that same fatall howre ? 

Hath not the aire put on his mourning coat, 

And testified his grief with flowing teares ? 

Sith then, it seemeth each thing, to his powre, so 

Doth us invite to make a sad consort. 

Come, let us ioyne our mournfull song with theirs : 

Griefe will endite, and sorrow will enforce 

Thy voice, and eccho will our words report. 

Lycon. Though my rude rymes ill with thy 
verses frame, so 

That others farre excell, yet will I force 
My selfe to answere thee the best I can. 
And honor my base words with his high name. 
But if my plaints annoy thee where thou sit 
In secret shade or cave, vouchsafe, O Pan, * 

To pardon me, and here this hard constraint 
With patience while I sing, and pittie it. 
And eke ye rurall Muses, that do dwell 
In these wilde woods, if ever piteous plaint 

1 Make, mate. 


We did endite, or taught a wofull minde « 

With words of pure affect^ his griefe to tell. 
Instruct me now. Now, Colin, then goe on, 
And I will follow thee, though fari-e bebinde. 

Colin. Phillisides is dead. harmfull death, 
deadly harme ! Unhappie Albion, so 

When shalt thou see, emong thy shepheards all, 
Any so sage, so perfect ? Whom uneath ^ 
Envie could touch for vertuous life and skiU ; 
Curteous, valiant, and Hberall. 

Behold the sacred Pales, where with haire 5S 

Untrust she sitts, in shade of yonder hill, 
And, her faire face bent sadly downe, doth send 
A floud of teares to bathe the earth ; and there 
Doth call the heav'ns despightfull, envious ; 
Cruell his fate, that made so short an end 60 

Of that same life, well worthie to have bene 
Prolongd with many yeares, happie and famous. 
The Nymphs and Oreades her round about 
Do sit lamenting on the grassie grene. 
And with shrill cries, beating their whitest brests, es 
Accuse the direful! dart that death sent out 
To give the fatall stroke. The starres they blame. 
That deafe or carelesse seeme at their request : 
The pleasant shade of stately groves they shun : 
They leave their cristall springs, where they wont frame 
Sweet bowres of myrtel twigs and lawrel faire, 71 
To sport themselves free from the scorching sun. 
And now the hollow caves where horror darke 
Doth dwell, whence banisht is the gladsome aire, 

J Affect, affection. 2 Vheath, scarcely. 


They seeke, and there in mourning spend their time w 
With wailful! tunes, whiles wolves do howle and barke, 
And seem to beare a bourdon ^ to their plaint. 

Lycon. PhiUisides is dead. O dolefull ryme ! 
"Why should my toong expresse thee ? Who is left 
Now to uphold thy hopes, when they do faint, so 

Lycon unfortunate ! What spitefuU fate, 
What lucklesse destinie, hath thee bereft 
Of thy chief comfort, of thy onely stay ? 
Where is become thy wonted happie state, 
Alas ! wherein through many a hill and dale, as 

Through pleasant woods, and many an unknowne way, 
Along the bankes of many silver streames, 
Thou with him yodest,^ and with him didst scale 
The craggie rocks of th' Alpes and Appenine, 
Still with the Muses sporting, while those beames so 
Of vertue kindled in his noble brest. 
Which after did so gloriously forth shine ? 
But woe is me ! they now yquenched are 
All suddeinly, and death hath them opprest. 
Loe Father Neptune, with sad countenance, 95 

How he sitts mourning on the strond now bai'e. 
Yonder, where th' Ocean with his rolling waves 
The white feete washeth, wailing this mischance, 
Of Dover cliffes. His sacred skirt about 
The sea-gods all are set ; from their moist caves 10  
All for his comfort gathered there they be. 
The Thamis rich, the Humber rough and stout, 
The frnitfull Severne with the rest are come 
To helpe their lord to mourne, and eke to see 

1 Bourdon, burden. 2 Yodest, wentst. 


The dolefull sight and sad pomp funerall los 

Of the dead corps passing through his kingdome : 
And all their heads, with cypres gyrlonds crown'd, 
"With wofuU shrikes salute him, great and small. 
Eke wailfuU Eccho, forgetting her deare 
Narcissus, their last accents doth resownd. iio 

Colin. Phillisides is dead. O lucklesse age ! 
widow world ! brookes and fountains cleere, 
hills, dales, O woods, that oft have rong 
With his sweet caroling, which could asswage 
The fiercest wrath of tygre or of beare ; iifi 

Ye Silvans, Fawnes, and Satyres, that emong 
These thickets oft have daunst after his pipe ; 
Ye Nymphs and Nayades with golden heare, 
That oft have left your purest cristall springs 
To harken to his layes, that coulden wipe iso 

Away all griefe and sorrow from your harts , 
Alas ! who now is left that like him sings ? 
When shall you heare againe like harmonie ? 
So sweet a sownd who to you now imparts ? 
Loe where engraved by his hand yet lives isb 

The name of Stella in yonder bay tree. 
Happie name ! happie tree ! faire may you grow, 
And spred your sacred branch, which honor gives 
To famous emperours, and poets crowne. 
Unhappie flock, that wander scattred now, lao 

What marvell if through grief ye woxen leane, 
Forsake your food, and hang your heads adowne ! 
For such a shepheard never shall you guide, 
Whose parting hath of weale bereft you cleane. 

Lycon. Phillisides is dead. O happie sprite, i86 
That now in heav'n with blessed soules doest bide. 


Looke downe a while from where thou sitst above, 

And see how busie shepheards be to endite 

Sad songs of grief, their sorrowes to declare, 

And gratefuU memory of their kynd love ! i4o 

Behold my selfe with Colin,^ gentle swaine, 

(Whose lerned Muse thou cherisht most whyleare,*^) 

Where we, thy name recording, seeke to ease 

The inward torment and tormenting paine 

That thy departure to us both hath bred ; ws 

Ne can each others sorrow yet appease. 

Behold the fountains now left desolate, 

And withred grasse with cypres boughes bespred ; 

Behold these floures which on thy grave we strew ; 

Which, faded, shew the givers faded state, iso 

(Though eke they shew their fervent zeale and pure,) 

Whose onely comfort on thy welfare grew. 

Whose praiers importune shall the heav'ns for ay, 

That to thy ashes rest they may assure ; 

That learnedst shepheards honor may thy name iM 

With yeerly praises, and the Nymphs alway 

Thy tomb may deck with fresh and sweetest flowres ; 

And that for ever may endure thy fame. 

Colin. The sun, lo! hastned hath his face to steep 
In western waves, and th' aire with stormy showres leo 
Warnes us to drive homewards our silly sheep : 
Lycon, lett 's rise, and take of them good keep.^ 

Virtute summa : ccetera fortuna. 

L. B.* 

1 1. e. Spenser. 8 Keep, care. 

' WhyUare, formerly. * I. e., apparently, Lodowick Bry^ketL 







As then, no winde at all there blew, 

No swelling cloude accloid ^ the aire ; 

The skie, like glasse of watchet ^ hew, 

Reflected Phcebus golden haire ; 
The garnisht tree no pendant stird, 
No voice was heard of anie bird. 

There might you see the burly Beare, 
The Lion king, the Elephant ; 
The maiden Unicorne was there, 

1 Accloid, choked, filled up 2 Watchel, bltft. 

* This piece was printed two years before the appearance of 
Colin Clout, in The Phanix Nvst, 4to, 1593, where it is anonymous. 
(Collier.) Todd has shown that it was written by Matthew Roy- 
don. Although much of it borders on nonsense, it contains the 
Ivell-known exquisite portrait of Sidney. C. 

Ver. 9.— Maiden nhicoi-ne.] The unicorn was the symbol 


So was Acteons horned plant, w 

And what of wilde or tame are found, 
Were couch t in order on the ground. 

Alcides speckled poplar tree, 
The palme that monarchs do obtaine, 
With love-iuice staind, the mulberie, is 

The fruit that dewes the poets braine, 
And Phillis philbert there away 
Comparde with mirtle and the bay. 

The tree that coffins doth adorne. 

With stately height threatning the skie ; 20 

And for the bed of love forlorne, 

The blacke and dolefuU ebonie ; 

All in a circle compast were, 

Like to an amphitheater. 

Upon the branches of those trees 2i 

The airie-winged people sat, 

Distinguished in od degrees. 

One sort is this, another that. 

Here Philomell, that knowes full well 
What force and wit in love doth dwell : so 

The skiebred Eagle, roiall bird, 
Percht there upon an oke above ; 
The Turtle by him never stird, 
Example of immortall love ; 

of chivalry in the Middle Ages, and it was fabled that the creature 
became tame in the presence of a virgin. C. 

566 AN ELE6IE. 

The Swan that sings, about to dy, se 

Leaving Meander, stood thereby. 

And that which was of woonder most, 

The Phoenix left sweet Arabic, 

And on a Cfedar in this coast 

Built up her tombe of spicerie, 40 

As I coniecture by the same, 
Preparde to take her dying flame. 

In midst and center of this plot 

I saw one groveling on the grasse : 

A man or stone, I knew not that : « 

No stone ; of man the figure was. 
And yet I could not count him one, 
More than the image made of stone. 


At length I might perceive him reare 

His bodie on his elbow end : so 

Earthly and pale with gastly cheare. 

Upon his knees he upward tend. 

Seeming like one in uncouth stound,* 

To be ascending out the ground. 

A grievous sigh forthwith he throwes, si 

As might have torne the vitall strings ; 
Then down his cheeks the teares so flows, 
As doth the strearae of many springs. 
So thunder rends the cloud in twaine. 
And makes a passage for the raine. «o 

1 Stound, amazement. 


Incontinent, with trembling sound 
He wofuUy gan to complaine ; 
Such were the accents as might wound, 
And teare a diamond rocke in twaine : 

After his throbs did somewhat stay, &' 

Thus heavily he gan to say. 

« O sunne ! " said he, seeing the sunne, 

" On wretched me why dost thou shine f 

My star is falne, my comfort done, 

Out is the apple of my eine : to 

Shine upon those possesse delight. 

And let me live in endlesse night. 

'* griefe that liest upon my soule, 

As heavie as a mount of lead, 

The remnant of my life controll, •■> 

Consort me quickly with the dead ; 

Halfe of this hart, this sprite, and will, 

Di'de in the brest of Astrophill. 

" And you, compassionate of my wo. 

Gentle birds, beasts, and shadie trees, so 

I am assurde ye long to kno 

What be the sorrowes me agreev's ; 
Listen ye then to that insu'th. 
And heare a tale of teares and ruthe. 

" You knew — who knew not ? — Astroplull : ss 
(That I should live to say I knew, 
And have not in possession still !) 


Things knowne permit me to renew $ 
Of him you know his merit such, 
I cannot say, you heare, too much. 90 

" Within these woods of Arcadie 

He chiefe delight and pleasure tooke, 

And on the mountain e Parthenie, 

Upon the chrystall liquid brooke, 

The Muses met him ev'ry day, sa 

That taught him sing, to write, and say. 

" When he descended downe to the mount, 

His personage seemed most divine, 

A thousand graces one might count 

Upon his lovely, cheerfull eine ; 100 

To heare him speake and sweetly smile, 

You were in Paradise the while. 

" A sweet attractive kinde of grace, 

A full assurance given by lookes, 

Continuall comfort in a face, 105 

The lineaments of Gospell bookes ; 
I trowe that countenance cannot lie, 
Whose thoughts are legible in the eie. 

" Was never eie did see that face. 
Was never eare did heare that tong, no 

Was never rainde did minde his srrace. 
That over thought the travell long ; 
But eies, and eares, and ev'ry thought, 
Were with his sweete perfections caught. 



•* O God, that such a worthy man. ub 

In whom so rare desarts did raigne, 

Desired thus, must leave us than, 

And we to wish for him in vaine ! 
O could the stars that bred that wit 
In force no longer fixed sit ? WO 

« Then, being fild with learned dew, 

The Muses willed him to love ; 

That mstrument can aptly shew 

How finely our conceits will move : 

As Bacchus opes dissembled harts, i^ 

So Love sets out our better parts. 

" Stella, a nymph within tliis wood 

Most rare and rich of heavenly bUs, 

The highest in his fancie stood, 

And she could well demerite ^ this : lao 

Tis likely they acquainted soone ; 

He was a sun, and she a moone. 

♦' Our Astrophill did Stella love ; 

O Stella, vaunt of Astrophill, 

Albeit thy graces gods may move, 135 

Where wilt thou finde an Astrophill ? 

The rose and lillie have their prime, 

And so hath beautie but a time. 

^ Although thy beautie do exceed. 

In common sight of ev'ry eie, i4n 

Yet in his poesies when we reede, 

1 Demerite, deserve. 


It is apparant more thereby : 

He, that hath love and iudgement too, 
Sees more than any other doc. 

" Then Astrophill hath honord thee ; mb 

For when thy bodie is extinct, 
Thy graces shall eternall be, 
And live by vertue of his inke ; 

For by his verses he doth give 

The short-livde beautie aye to live. im 

*• Above all others this is hee, 
Which erst approoved in his song 
That love and honor might agree, 
And that pure love will do no wrong. 

Sweet saints; it is no sinne nor blame, i6b 

To love a man of vertuous name. 

" Did never love so sweetly breath 

In any mortall brest before ; 

Did never Muse inspire beneath 

A poets braine with finer store : leo 

He wrote of love with high conceit, 
And beautie reard above her height. 

" Then Pallas afterward attyrde 

Our Astrophill with her device, 

Whom in his armor heaven admyrde, 159 

As of the nation of the skies 

He sparkled in his armes afarrs,* 
As he were dight with fierie Starrs. 

* Afarrs, afar. 


** The bkze whereof when Mars beheld, 
(An envious eie doth see afar,) no 

' Such maiestie,' quoth he, ' is seeld,* 
Such maiestie my mart may mar ; 

Perhaps this may a suter be, 

To set Mars by his deitie.' 

«* In this surmize he made with speede "s 

An iron cane, wherein he put 

The thunder that in cloudes do breede ; 

The flame and bolt togither shut 
With privie force burst out againe, 
And so our Astrophill was slaine." iso 

This word, was slaine, straightway did move, 
And natures inward life strings twitch : 
The skie immediately above 
Was dimd with hideous clouds of pitch ; 

The wrastling winds from out the ground i8G 
Fild all the aire with ratling sound. 

The bending trees exprest a grone. 

And sigh'd the sorrow of his fall ; 

The forrest beasts made ruthfull mone, 

The birds did tune their mourning call, iso 

And Philomell for Astrophill 

Unto her notes annext a phill. 

The Turtle dove with tunes of ruthe 

Shewd feeling passion of his death ; 

Me thought she said, " I tell thee truthe, Jm 

1 Seeld, rare. 


Was never he that drew in breath 
Unto his love more trustie found. 
Than he for whom our griefs abound.** 

The Swan, that was in presence heere, 
Began his funerall dirge to sing : soo 

*' Good things," quoth he, " may scarce appeere, 
But passe away with speedie wing : 
This mortall life as death is tride,* 
And death gives life," — and so he di'de. 

The generall sorrow that was made aos 

Among the creatures of Kinde ^ 
Fired the Phoenix where she laide, 
Her ashes flying with the winde, 

So as I might with reason see 

That such a Phoenix nere should bee. sio 

Haply the cinders, driven about, 
May breede an offspring neere that kinde, 
But hardly a peere to that I doubt ; 
It cannot sinke into my minde. 

That under-branches ere can bee aifi 

Of worth and value as the tree. 

The Egle markt with pearcing sight 

The mournfuU habite of the place, 

And parted thence with mounting flight, 

To signifie to love the case, 22c 

What sori'ow nature doth sustains 

For Astrophill by envie slaine. 

1 Ti-ide,, found to be. 2 Kinde, Nature. 

AN ELEGIE. 573: 

And while I followed with mine eie 

The flight the Egle upward tooke, 

All things did vanish by and by, S2s 

And disappeared from my looker 

The trees, beasts, birds, and grove was gone ;. 

So was the friend that made this mone. 

This spectacle had firmly wrought 
A deepe compassion in my spright ; ^» 

My molting hart issude, me thought, 
In streames forth at mine eies aright : 
And here my pen is fbrst to shrinke, 
Mj teares discollors so mine inke. 





To praise thy life, or waile thy worthie death, 
And want thy wit, thy wit high, pure, divine, 
Is far beyond the powre of mortall line. 
Nor any one hath worth that draweth breath. 

Yet rich in zeale, though poore in learnings lore, 5 

And friendly care obscurde in secret brest, 

And love that envie in thy life supprest. 

Thy deere life done, and death, hath doubled more. 

And I, that in thy time and living state 

Did onely praise thy vertues in my thought, lO 

As one that seeld the rising sun hath sought. 

With words and teares now waile thy timelesse fate. 

* The authors of the two following pieces are unknown. C 


Drawne was thy race aright from princely line -, 
Nor lesse than such, (by gifts that Nature gave, 
The common mother that all creatures have,) ifi 

Doth vertue shew, and princely linage shine. 

A king gave thee thy name ; a kingly minde. 
That God thee gave, who found it now ^ too deere 
For this base world, and hath resumde it neere, 
To sit in skies and sort 2 with powres divine. so 

Kent thy birth dales, and Oxford held thy youth ; 
The heavens made hast, and staid nor yeers nor 

time ; 
The fruits of age grew ripe in thy first prime, 
Thy will, thy words, thy words the scales of truth. 

Great gifts and wisedom rare imployd thee thence, 2£ 
To treat from kings with those more great than 

kings ; 
Such hope men had to lay the highest things 
On thy wise youth, to be transported hence ! 

Wlience to sharpe wars sweet honor did thee call. 
Thy countries love, religion, and thy friends : ^ 

Of worthy men the marks, the lives, and ends, 
And her defence, for whom we labor all. 

There didst thou vanquish shame and tedious age, 
Griefe, sorrow, sicknes, and base fortunes might : 

1 Phoenix Nest, 1593, has was. 2 Sort, associate. 

Ver. 17. — A king gave thee thy name.'] He was named from 
Philip II. of Spain. C. 


Thy rising day saw never wofuU night, a- 

But past with praise from of this worldly stage. 

Back to the campe by thee that day was brought, 
First thine owne death, and after tliy long fame ; 
Teares to the soldiers, the proud Castilians shame, 
Vertue exprest, and honor truly taught. 40 

What hath he lost, that such great grace hath woon? 
Yoong yeeres for endles yeeres, and hope unsure 
Of fortunes gifts for wealth that still shall dure : 
Oh ! happie race with so great praises run. 

England doth hold thy lims that bred the same ; 45 
Flaunders thy valure where it last was tried ; 
The campe thy sorrow where thy bodie died ; 
Thy friends, thy want ; the world, thy vertues fame. 

Nations thy wit, our mindes lay up thy love ; 
Letters thy learning ; thy losse, yeeres long to come ; 
In worthy harts sorrow hath made thy tombe ; bi 
Thy soule and sprigl4 enrich the heavens above. 

Thy liberall hart imbalmd in gratefull teares, 
Yoong sighs, sweet sighes, sage sighes, bewaile thy fall : 
Envie her sting, and Spite hath left her gall ; 5» 

Malice her selfe a mourning garment weares. 

That day their Hanniball died, our Scipio fell, 
Scipio, Cicero, and Petrarch of our time : 
Whose vertues, wounded by my worthelesse rime, 
Let angels speake, and heaven thy praises tell. eo 



Silence augmenteth grief, writing encreaseth rage ; 
Staid are my thoughts which lov'd and lost the wont 

der of our age ; 
Yet quickned now with fire, though dead with frost 

ere now, 
Enrag'de I write I know not what ; dead, quick, I 

know not how. 

Hard harted mindes relent, and Rigors teares abound, 
And Envie strangely rues his end in whom no fault 

she found ; 
Knowledge her light hath lost. Valor hath slaine her 

Sidney is dead, dead is my friend, dead is the worlds 


Place pensive wailes his fall, whose presence was her 
pride ; 

Time crieth out. My ebbe is come, his life was my 
spring tide ; lo 

Fame mournes in that she lost the ground of her re- 
ports ; 

Ech living wight laments his lacke, and all in sundry 

He was (wo worth that word !) to ech well thinking 

X spotlesse friend, a matchles man, whose veilue 

ever shinde, 

578 -A^N EPITAPH. 

Declaring in his thoughts, his life, and that he writ, i& 
Highest conceits, longest foresights, and deepest works 
of wit. 

He, onely like himselte, was second unto none. 
Whose deth (though life) we rue, and wrong, and al 

in vain do nione ; 
Their losse, not him, waile they, that fill the world 

with cries ; 
Death slue not him, but he made death his ladder to 
the skies. 80 

Now sinke of sorrow I, who live; the more the wrong; 
Who wishing death, whom deth denies, whose thred 

is al to long. 
Who tied to wretched life, who lookes for no reliefe, 
Must spend my ever dying dales in never ending 


Harts ease and onely I like parallels run on, 26 

Whose equall length keep equall bredth, and never 

meet in one ; 
Yet for not wronging him, my thoughts, my sorrowes 

Shall not run out, though leake they will, for liking 

him so well. 

Farewell to you, my hopes, my wonted waking 

dreames ; 
Farewell, sometimes enioyed ioy, eclipsed are thy 

beames ! 30 


Farewell selfe pleasing thoughts, which quietnes 

brings foorth ; 
And farewell friendships sacred league, uniting minds 

of woorth. 

And farewell mery hart, the gift of guiltlesse mindes, 
And all sports which, for lives restore, varietie as- 

signes ; 
Let all that sweete is voyd * ; in me no mirth may 

dwell ; 36 

Phillip, the cause of all this woe, my lives content, 

farewell ! 

Now rime, the sonne of rage, which art no kin to skill, 
And endles griefe, which deads my life, yet kuowes 

not how to kill, 
Go, seeke that haples tombe; which if ye hap to 

Salute the stones that keep the lims that held so good 

a minde. 40 

1 Voyd, depart. 






Complaints, 1591. 

Daphnaida, 1596. 

Amoretti and EpitLalamion, 1595. 
Prothalainion, 1S96. 

Fowre Hymues, 1596. 

Page 25, v. 363, covetize, O. covertize. 
" 32, V. 541, ocean, O. Occaean. 
" 33, V. 551, which (ed. 1611), 0. with. 
" 34, V. 574, worlds (ed. 1611), 0. words. 
" 38, V. 675, worldijs, 0. worlds. 
" 66, V. 600, living (ed. 1611), 0. loving. 
" 75, V. 149, Ascrwan, O. Astraean. 
" 82, V. 340, seest thou not (ed. 1611), 0. seest thou. 
" 83, V. 387, throat (ed. 1611), 0. threat. 
" 90, V. 575, billowes, O. billowe. 
" 101, V. 53, gossip, O. goship. 
" 102, V. 87, wo rides, 0. worlds. 
" 115, V. 453, dirigcs, 0. dirges. 
" 121, V. 648, at all, 0. all. 
" 124, V. 734, genterie, O. gentrie. 
" 133, V. 997, whether, 0. whither. 
" 134, V. 1012, stopt, 0. stept. 
" 134, V. 1019, whither, 0. whether. 
*' IGO, xviii. 5, ornaments, 0. ornament. 
" 166, XXX. 8, stackes (ed. 1611), 0. stalkes. 
" 182, v. 250, dispacing, 0. displacing. 
" 199, ii. 8, one, O. on. 
" 200, iv. 1, pillers (ed. 1569), cd. 1591 pillowes. 


Page 203, ix. 1 astonied, 0. astoined. 

" 210, vii. 1, behold, 0. beheld. 

«' 252, xxi. 6, love, 0.* loves. ' 

" 278, Ixxi. 9, above, 0. about. 

" 284, son. Ixxxiii. The sonnet so numbered in the original is 

omitted, being, except in a single word, the same as 

Sonnet xxxv. 

" 288, V. 13, girlands, 0. girland. 

" 290, V. 67, dere, 0. dore. 

" 298, V. 290, sad (ed. 1609), 0. not found. 

" 300, V. 341, Pouke, 0. Poiike. 

" 301, V. 380, Latmian, 0. Latinian. 

" 336, V. 147, deform'd, 0. perform'd. 

" 374, 1. 4, thy, 0. the. 

" 380, 1. 14, compasse, 0. compaste. 

" 383, 1. 14, cleane, 0. cleare. 

" 383, 1. 16, it<, 0. not found. 

" 388, 1. 11, more shepheards then (later eds.), 0. most 

shepheards and. 

" 389, 1. 18, containe (later eds.), 0. conceive. 

" 390, 1. 30, Abib, 0. Abil. 

" 392, 1. 8, shepheards, 0. shepheard. 

" 408, V. 4, nigheth (ed. 1611), 0. nighest. 

" 412, last V. but 2, gods, 0. God. 

" 413, V. 7, teare, 0. teares. 

•' 420, line 1 of Arg., fift, 0. first. 

" 420, line 2 of Arg., Palinode, 0. Palinodie. 

" 423, V. 73, " " 

" 426, V. 150, saye (ed. 1611), 0. sayde. 

*' 434, V. 16, shroude, 0. shrouder. 

" 440, V. 14, tickle, O. trickle. 

" 442, V. 77, recourse (ed. 1611), 0. resource. 

" 445, V. 1»7, Algrind, 0. Algrin. 

" 446, V. 193, store, O. stores. 

" 447, V. 213, 219, Algrind, 0. Algrir 

" 448, V. 229, " " 

" 448. 1. 11. Thomalins, 0. Palinodes. 

* Not having the original editions to consult, we have followed 
Collier's text of Daphnaida, Amoretti, and all the succeeding 
nieces in this volume. 


Page 449, v. 10, did (ed. 1591), 0. didst. 

" 453, V. 104, curelesse, O. carelesse. 

" 464, V. 145, yead (ed. 1611), 0. yeeld. 

" 474, V. 103, waightye, O. wigtitye. 

" 478, V. 63, on, 0. of. 

" 478, V. 78, you, 0. omitted. 

" 479, V. 85, hath displayde, 0. doth disp aye. 

" 486, V. 29, recked (ed. 1611), O. wreaked. 

" 488, V. 75, youthly, 0. younthly. 

" 489, V. 89, t' enrage, 0. to tenrage. 

" 497, V. 1, knowen, O. knowiie. 

" 500, V. 88, lasse, O.^Iosse. 

" 508, V. 315, bordrags, O. bodrags. 

" 515, V. 487, Urania, O. Uriana. 

" 519, V. 600, clusters (ed. 1611), 0. glusters. 

" 522, V. 670, durst (ed. 1611), 0. darest. 

" 526, V. 861, life-giving, 0. like giving. 

" 529, V. 884, the (ed. 1611), 0. their. 

" 538, V. 89, needeth (ed. 1611), O. need. 

" 545, V. 35, him did see (ed. 1611), O. him see. 

" 549, V. 20, thy, 0. their. 

" 564, V. 3, glasse, (ed. 1611), 0. grasse. 

" 567, V. 72, night, 0. might. 

" 568, V. 109, never (ed. 1611), 0. ever. 

" 571, V. 181, this (ed. 1611), 0. his. 

" 578, V. 25. parallels (ed. 1611), O. parables. 

" 579, V. 39, seeke (ed. 1611), O. seekes. 



To the WorshipfuU, his very singular good friend, 
Maister G. H., FeUow of Trinitie Hall in Cam- 
bridge. * 

Good Maister G. : — 

I perceine, by your most curtecus and frendly letters, your 
good will to be no lesse in deed than I alwayes esteemed. In 
recompence wherof, think, I beseech you, that I wil spare neither 
speech, nor wryting, nor aught else, whensoeuer and wheresoeuer 
occasion shal be offred me ; yea, I will not stay till it be oflfred, but 
will seeke it in al that possibly I may. And that you may per- 
ceiue how much your counsel in al things preuaileth with me, 
and how altogither I am ruled and ouer-ruled thereby, I am now 
determined to alter mine owne former purpose, and to subscribe 
to your advizement; being, notwithstanding, resolued stil to abide 
your farther resolution. My principal doubts are these. First, I 
was minded for a while to haue intermitted the vttering of my 
writings; leaste by ouer-much cloying their noble eares, I should 
gather a contempt of myself, or else seeme rather for gaine and 
commoditie to doe it, for some sweetnesse that I haue already 
tasted. Then also me seemeth the work too base for his excellent 
lordship, being made in honour of a priuate personage vnknowne, 
which of some ylwillers might be vpbraided, not to be so worthie 
as you knowe she is ; or the matter not so weightie that it should 
be offred to so weightie a personage, or the like. The selfe former 
title still hketh me well ynough, and your fine addition no lesse. 
If these and the like doubtes maye be of importaunce, in your 

• Reprinted from " Ancient Critical Essays upon English Poets and 
Poesy. Edited by Joseph Haslewood." Vol. 11 


seeming, to frustrate any parte of your aduice, I beeseeche you 
without the leaste selfe loue of your own purpose, councell me for 
the beste: and the rather doe it faithfullye and carefully, for that, 
in all things, I attribute so muche to your iudgement, that I am 
euermore content to adnihilate mine owne determinations in re- 
specte thereof. And, indeede, for your selfe to, it sitteth with you 
now to call your wits & senses togither (which are alwaies at call) 
when occasion is so fairely offered of estimation and preferment. 
For whiles the yron is bote it is good striking, and minds of nobles 
varie, as their estates. Verum ne quid dunus. 

I pi-:iy you bethinke you well hereof, good Maister G., and forth- 
with write me those two or three special points and caueats for 
the nonce; De quibm in superioiibus illis mellitissimis hnffissimis- 
que littens tiiis. Your desire to heare of my late beeiiig with hir 
Maiestie muste dye in it selfe. As for the twoo worthy gentle- 
men, Master Sidney and Master Dyer, they haue me, I thanke 
them, in some vse of familiarity; of whom and to whom e what 
speache passeth for youre credite and estimation I leaue your selfe 
to conceiue, hauing alwayes so well conceiued of my vnfained 
affection and zeale towardes you. And nowe they haue pro- 
claimed in their apetOTrayw a generall surceasing and silence of 
balde rymers, and also of the verie beste to; in steade whereof they 
haue, by authoritie of their whole senate, prescribed certaine 
lawes and rules of quantities of EngHsh sillables for English verse; 
hauing had thereof already greate practise, and drawen mee to 
their faction. Newe bookes I heare of none, but only of one,* that 
writing a certaine booke called The Schoole of Abuse, and dedicat 
ing it to Maister Sidney, was for hys labor scorned : if, at leaste, 
it be in the goodiiesse of that nature to scorne. Such follie is it 
not to regarde aforehande the inclination and qualitie of him to 
whome wee dedicate oure bookes. Suche mighte I happily incurre, 
entituling My Slomber, and the other pamphlets, vnto his honor. 
I meant them rather to Maister Dyer. But I am of late more in 
loue wyth my Englishe versifying than with ryming: whyche 1 
should haue done long since, if I would then haue followed your 
councell. Sed ie solum lam turn suspicabar cum Aschamo sapere ; 
nunc aulam video egregios alere poetas Anglicos. Maister E. K. 
hartily desireth to be commended vnto your worshipper of whome 
what accompte he maketh youre selfe shall hereafter perceiue by 
hys paynefull and dutiful! verses of your selfe. 

* Stephen Gosson. 


Thus muche was written at Westminster yesternight; but com 
ming this morning, beeyng the sixteenth of October [1579], to Mys- 
tresse Kerkes, to haue it deliuered to the carrier, I receyued youre 
letter, sente me the laste weeke; whereby I perceiue you other- 
whiles continue your old exercise of versifying in English, — 
whych glorie I had now thought shoulde haue bene onely ours 
heere at London and the court. 

Truste me, your verses I like passmgly well, and enuye your 
hidden paines in this kinde, or rather maligne and grudge at your 
selfe, that woulde not once imparte so muche to me. But once or 
twice you make a breache in Maister Drants rules : quod tamen con- 
donahimus tanto poelce, tiusque ipsius maximoB in his rebus autoritaU. 
Yon shall see, when we meete in London, (whiche when it shall 
be, certifye vs,) howe fast I haue followed after you in that 
course : beware, leaste in time I ouertake you. Veruntamen te 
tolum sequar, (vt soepenumero sum professus,) nwaquam sane asse- 
quar, duin viuam. And nowe requite I you with the like, not 
with the verye beste, but with the verye shortest, namely, with 
a few lambickes. I dare warrant, they be precisely perfect for the 
feete, (as you can easily iudge,) and varie not one inch from the 
rule. I will imparte yours to Maister Sidney and Maister Dyer, 
at my nexte going to the courte. I praye you keepe mine close to 
your selfe, or your verie entire friendes, Maister Preston, Maister 
Still, and the reste. 

lambicum Trimetrum. 

Vnhappie Verse, the witnesse of my vnhappie state, 
Make thy selfe fluttring wings of thy fast flying 
Thought, and fly forth vnto my love whersoeuer she be; 

Whether lying reastlesse in heauy bedde, or pise 
Sitting so cheerelesse at the cheerfull boorde, or else 
Playing alone carelesse on hir heauenlie virginals. 

If in bed, tell hir, that my eyes can take no reste ; 
If at boorde, tell hir, that my mouth can eate no raeate; 
If at hir virginals, tel hir, I can heare no mirth. 

Asked why? say. Waking loue suffereth no sleepe; 
Say, that raging loue dothe appall the weake stomacko; 
Say, that lamenting loue marreth the musicall. 


Tell hir, that hir pleasures were wonte to lull me asleepe; 
Tell hir, that hir beautie was wonte to fcede mine eyes; 
Tell hir, that hir sweete tongue was wonte to make me mirth 

Nowe doe I nightly waste, wanting my kindely reste; 
Nowe doe I dayly stanie, wanting my liuely foode; 
Nowe doe I alwayes dye, wanting thy timely mirth. 

And if I waste, who will bewaile my heauy chaunce ? 
And if I starue, who will record my cursed end? 
And if I dye, who will saye, This was Immerito t 

I thought once agayne here to haue made an ende, with a 
heartie Vale, of the best fashion; but loe, an ylfavoured mys- 
chaunce. My last farewell, whereof I made great accompt, and 
muche maruelled you shoulde make no mention thereof, I am nowe 
tolde, (in the diuel's name,) was thorough one mans negligence 
quite forgotten, but shoulde nowe vndoubtedly haue beene sent, 
whether I hadde come or no. Seing it can now be no otherwise, 
I pray you take all togither, wyth all their faultes : and nowe I 
hope you will vouchsafe mee an answeare of the largest size, or 
else I tell you true, you shall bee verye deepe in my debte ; not- 
wythstandyng thys other sweete but shorte letter, and fine, but 
fewe verses. But I woulde rather I might yet see youre owne 
good selfe, and receiue a reciprocall fareweh from your owne 
sweete mouth. 

Ad (yrnaiisdmum virum, multis iam diu nominibns clarissimum, 
G. H., Immerito sui, mox in Gallias nauigaturi, Evrv;(eii'. 

Sic malus egregium, sic non inimicus amicum, 
Sicque nouus veterem iubet ipse poeta poetam 
Saluere, ac cselo, post secula multa, secundo, 
lam reducem, (caelo mage quam nunc ipse secundo) 
Vtier. Ecce deus, (modo sit deus ille, renixum 
Qui vocet in scelus, et iuratos perdat amores) 
Ecce deus mihi clara dedit modo signa raarinus, 
Et sua veligero lenis parat sequora ligno 
Mox sulcanda; suas etiam pater ^olus iraa 
Ponit, et ingentes animos Aquilonis. 
Cuncta vijs sic apta meis : ego solus ineptus. 
Nam mihi nescio quo mens saucia vulnere, dudum 


Huctuat ancipiti pelago, dum navita proram 

Inualidam validus rapit hue Amor, et rapit illuc 

Consilijs Ratio melioribus vsa, Decusque 

Iraraortale leui difSssa Cupidinis arcu: * 

Angimur hoc dubio, et portu vexamur in ipso. 

Magne pharetrati nunc tu contemptor Amoris, 

(Id tibi Dij nomen precor hand impune remittaiit) 

Hos nodos exsolue, et ens mihi magiius Apollo ! 

Spiritus ad summcs, scio, te generosus honores 

Exstimiilat, majusque docet spirare poetam. 

Quam leuis est Amor, et tamen haud leuis est Amor ©mnifl.: ; 

Ergo nihil laudi reputas ggquale perenni, 

Prseque sacrosancta splendoris imagine tanti, 

CiBtera, quse vecors, vti numina, vulgus adorat, 

Prjedia, amicitias, vrbana peculia, nummos, 

Qu^que placent oculis, formas, spectacula, amores,. 

Conculcare soles, vt humum, et ludibria sensus: 

Digna meo certe Haruejo sententia, digna 

Oratore amplo, et generoso pectore, quam non 

Stoica formidet veterum sapientia vinclis 

Sancire seternis : sapor haud tamen omnibus idem. 

Dicitur effbeti proles facunda Laertse, 

Quamlibet ignoti iactata per sequora caeli, 

Inque procelloso longum exsul gurgite ponto, 

Pras tamen amplexu lachrymosas conjugis, ortus 

Caelestes, Diuumque thoros spreuisse beatos. 

Tantum amor, et mulier, vel amore potentior. Elurtt 

Tu tamen illudis: tua magnificentia tanta est: 

PriEque subumbrata splendoris imagine tanti, 

Prseque ilio-meritis famosis nomine parto. 

Cetera, quiB vecors, vti numina, vulgus adorat, 

Prsedia, amicitias, armenta, pecuha, nummos, 

Quffique placent oculis, fonuas, spectacula, amores, 

Quseque placent ori, quasque auribus, omnia temnis. 

Nse tu grande sapis ! sapor at sapientia non est: 

Omuls et in paruis bene qui scit desipuisse, 

Sfepe supercilijs palmam sapientibus aufert. 

Ludit Aristippum modo tetrica turba sophorum, 

Mitia purpureo moderantem verba tyranno; 

* This line appears to be corrupt. 


Ludit Aristippus dictamina vana sophorum,' 
Quos leuis emensi male torquet Culicis vmbra: 
Et quisquis placuisse studet heroibus altis, 
Desipuisse studet; sic gratia crescit ineptis. 
Denique laurigeris quisquis sua tempora vittis 
Insignire volet, populoque placere fauenti, 
Desipere insanus discit, turpemque pudendse 
Stultitise laudem qu^rit. Pater Ennius vnu3 
Dictus in innumeris sapiens: laudatur at ipse 
Carmina vesano fudisse liquentia vino. 
Nee tu, pace tua, nostri Cato Maxirae s£ecU, 
Nomen honorati sacrum mereare poetse, 
Quantumvis illustre canas, et nobile carmen, 
Ni stultire velis ; sic stultorum omnia plena. 
Tuta sed in medio superest via gi;rgite ; nam qui 
Nee reliquis nimium vult desipuisse videri, 
Nee sapuisse nimis, sapientem dixeris vnum : 
Jlinc te merserit vnda, illinc combusserit ignis. 
Nee tu delicias nimis aspernare fluentes, 
Nee sero dominam venientem in vota, nee aunira, 
Si sapis, oblatum: (Curijs ea, Fabricijsque 
Linque viris miseris miseranda sophismata, quondam 
Grande sui decus ij, nostri sed dedecus asui;) 
Nee sectare nimis : res vtraque crimine plena. 
Hoc bene qui callet, (si quis tamen hoc bene callet,) 
Scribe vel invito sapientem hunc Socrate solum. 
Vis facit vna pios, iustos facit alterr, et alt'ra 
Egregie cordata ac fortia pectora : verum 
Omne fulit puncium, qui miscuit viile dulci. 
Dij mihi dulce diu dederant, verum vtile nunquam; 
Vtile nunc etiam, o vtinam quoque dulce dedissent. 
Dij mihi, (quippe Dijs sequalia maxima paruis,) 
Ni nimis inuideant mortalibus esse beatis, 
Dulce simul tribuisse queant, simul vtile : tanta 
Sed fortuna tua est: pariter quasque vtile, quaeque 
Dulce dat ad placitum : sseuo nos sydere nati 
Qusesitum imus eam per inhospita Caucasa longe, 
Perque Pyrenseos montes, Babilonaque turpem. 
Quod si quassitum nee ibi invenerimus, ingens 
^quor inexhaustis permensi erroribus vltra 
Fluctibus in medijs socij quaereraus Vlyssis: 


Passibus inde deam fessis comitabimur !Bgram, 

Nobile cui furtum quserenti defuit orDis. 

Namque sinu pudet in patrio tenebrisque pudendia, 

Non nimis ingenio iuuenem infoelice virentes 

Officijs fnistra deperdere vilibus annos, 

Frugibus et vacuas speratis cernere spicas. 

Ibimus ergo statim, (quis eunti fausta precetur?) 

Et pede clivosas fesso calcabimus Alpes. 

Quis dabit interea, conditas rore Britanno, 

Quis tibi litterulas, quis carmen amore petulcum ! 

Musa sub Oebalij desueta cacumine mentis, 

Flebit inexhausto tam longa silentia planctu, 

Lugebitque sacrum lacrymis Helicona tacentem. 

Harueiusque bonus, (cliarus licet omnibus idem,) 

Idque suo merito prope suauior omnibus, vnus 

Angelus et Gabriel, quamuis comitatus amicis 

Innumeris, geniuraque chore stipatus amano, 

Immerito tamen vnum absentem s»pe requiret ; 

Optabitque, Utinam mens hie Edmundus adesset. 

Qui noua scripsisset, nee amores conticuisset. 

Ipse sues ; et saepe animo verbisque benignis 

Fausta precaretur, Deus ilium aliquando redmcat. &c. 

Plura vellem per Charites, sed non licet per Musas. 

Vale, Vale plurimum, Mi amabilissime Harueie, meo cordi, meorara 

omnium longe charissime. 

I was minded also to haue sent you some English verses, or 
rymes, for a farewell ; but, by my troth, I haiie no spare time in 
the world to thinke on such toyes, that, you knowe, will demaund 
a freer head than mine is presently. I beseeche you by all your 
curtesies and graces, let me be answered ere I goe ; which will be 
(I hope, I feare, I thinke) the next weeke, if I can be dispatched 
of my Lorde. 1 goe thither, as sent by him, and maintained most 
what of him ; and there am to employ my time, my body, my 
minde, to his Honours seruice. Thus, with many superhartie 
commendations and recommendations to your selfe, and all my 
friendes with you, I ende my last farewell, not thinking any more 
to write vnto you before I goe; and withall committing to your 
faithfull credence the eternall memorie of our euerlasting friend- 
ship ; the inuiolable memorie of our vnspotted friendshippe, the 


sacred memorie of our vowed friendship; which I beseech you 
continue with vsuall writings, as you may, and of all things let me 
heare some newes from you: as gentle M. Sidney, I thanke his 
good worship, hath required of me, and so promised to doe 
againe. Qui monet, vt facias, quod iam fads, you knowe the 
rest. You may alwayes send them most safely to me by Mis- 
tres'se Kerke, and by none other. So once againe, and yet once 
more, farewell most hartily, mine owne good Master H., and loue 
me, as I loue you, and thinke vpon poore Immeriio, as he thinketh 
vppon you. 
Leycester House, this 5 [16*] of October, 1579. 

Per mare, per terras, 
Viuus mortuusque, 
Tuus Immeriio. 

To my long approoued and singula}' good frende, 
Master G. H. 

Good Master H.: — 
I doubt not but you haue some great important matter in 
hande, which al this while restraineth your penne, and wonted 
readinesse in prouoking me vnto that whei-ein yourselfe nowe 
faulte. If there bee any such thing in hatching, I pray you 
hartily lette vs knowe, before al the worlde see it. But if happly 
you dwell altogither in lustinians Courte, and giue your selfe to 
be deuoured of secreate studies, as of all likelyhood you doe, yet 
at least imparte some your olde or newe, Latine or Englishe, elo- 
quent and gallant poesies to vs, from whose eyes, you saye, you 
keepe in a manner nothing hidden. Little newes is here stirred, 
but that olde greate matter still depending. His Honoure neuer 
better. I thinke the earthquake was also there wyth you (which 
I would gladly learne), as it was here with vs ; ouerthrowmg diuers 
old buildings and peeces of churches. Sure verj'e straunge to be 
hearde of in these countries, and yet I heare some saye (I knowo 

* See p. 383, 1. 2. 


tiot howe truely) that they haue knowne the like before in their 
dayes. Sed quid vobis videtur magnis pMlosojjkis f I like your 
late Englishe hexameters so exceedingly well, t/iat I also enure 
my penne sometime in that kinde : whyche I fynd, indeede, as I 
haue heard you often defende in worde, neither so harde nor so 
harshe, that it will easily and fairely yeelde it selfe to oure moother 
tongue. For the onely or chiefest hardnesse wliych seemeth is in 
the accente, whjxhe sometime gapeth, and as it were yawneth 
ilfauouredly, comming shorte of that it should, and sometime ex- 
ceeding the measure of the number; as in carpenter, the middle 
Billable being vsed shorte in speache, when it shall be read long in 
verse, seemeth like a lame gosling, that draweth one legge after 
hir; and heauen, beeing vsed shorte as one sillable, when it is in 
verse, stretched out with a diastole, is like a lame dogge that 
holdes vp one legge. But it is to be wonne with custome, and 
rough words must be subdued with vse. For why, a God's 
name, may not we, as else the Greekes, haue the kingdome of 
oure owne language, and measure our accentes by the sounde, 
reseruing the quantitie to the verse? Loe, here I let you see my 
olde vse of toying in rymes, turned into your artificiall straight- 
nesse of verse by this tetrasiicon. I beseech you tell me your 
fancie, without parcialitie. 

See yee the blindefolded pretie god, that feathered archer, 
Of loners miseries which maketh his bloodie game ? 

Wote ye why his moother with a veale hath coouered his face ? 
Trust me, least he my looue happely chaunce to beholde. 

Seeme they comparable to those two which I translated you 
ex tempore in bed, the last time we lay togither in Westminster? 

That which I eate, did I ioy, and that which I greedily gorged; 
As for those many goodly matters leaft I for others. 

I would hartily wish you would either send me the rules and 
precepts of arte which you obserue in quantities, or else followe 
mine, that M. Philip Sidney gave me, being the verj' same which 
M. Drant deuised, but enlarged with M. Sidneys own iudgement. 
and augmented with my obseruations, that we might both accorde 
Jind agree in one ; leaste we ouerthrowe one an other, and be ouer- 
thrown of the rest. Truste me, you will hardly heleeue what 
greate good liking and estimation Maister Dyer had of your Satyr- 


kail Verses, and I, since the viewe thererf, hauing before of my 
selfe had s])eciall hking of Englishe versifying, am euen nowe 
aboute to giue you some token what and howe well therein I am 
able to doe : for, to tell you trueth, I minde shortely, at conuenieut 
lej'sure, to sette forth a booke in this kiude, whyche I entitle, 
Epithalamion Tliamesis, whyche booke I dare vndertake wil be 
very profitable for the knowledge, and rare for the inuention and 
manner of handling. For in setting forth the marriage of the 
Thames, I shewe his first beginning, and offspring, and all the 
countrey that he passeth thorough, and also describe all the 
riuers throughout Englande, whyche came to this wedding, and 
their righte names and right passage, &c. ; a worke, beleeue 
me, of much labour, wherein notwithstanding Master Holinshed 
hath muche furthered and aduantaged me, who thei-ein hath be- 
stowed singular paines in searching oute their firste heades and 
Bourses, and also in tracing and dogging oute all their course, til 
they fall into the sea. 

Tile, siquid ego, 

Ecquid erit pretij ? 

But of that more hereafter. Nowe, my Dreames and Dying 
Pellicane being fully finished (as I parteh-e signified in my laste 
letters) and presentlye to bee imprinted, I wil in hande forthwith 
with my Faery Queene, whyche I praye you hartily send me 
with al expedition: and your frendly letters, and long expected 
judgement wythal, whyche let not be shorte, but in all pointes 
suche as you ordinarilye vse and I extraordinarily desire. Mul- 
tum vale. Wesiminstei: Quarto Nonas Ajirilis, 1580. Bed, amabo 
te, meum Corculum tibi se ex animo commendat plunmuni : iamdiu 
miratn, te nihil ad lileras suns res2X»isi dedisse. Vide quceso, ne id 
tibi capitale sit : inihi certe quidem erit, neque tibi hercle impune, vt 
opinor. Itei-um vale, et quam voles scepe. 

Yours alwayes to commaunde, 



I take best my Dreames shoulde come forth alone, being 
growen, by meanes of the Glosse (running continually in maner 
ot a paraphrase), full as gi-eat as my Calendar. Therin be some 
things excellently, and many things wittily, discoursed of E. K., 
and the pictures so singularly set forth and purtrayed, as iJ 


Michael Angelo were there, he could (I think) nor amende the 
beste, nor reprehende the worst. I knowe you woulde lyke them 
passing wel. Of my Sieimnata Dudleiann, and especially of the 
sundry apostrophes therein, addressed you knowe to whome, 
muste more aduisement be had, than so lightly to sende them 
abroade: howbeit, trust me, (though I doe never very well,) yet, in 
my owue fancie, I neuer dyd better: Vei-untamen te sequor solum: 
nunquam v&i-o assequar. 

Extract from Harvey's Reply. 

But Master CoUin Cloute is not euery body, and albeit his olde 
oompanions. Master Cuddy & Master Hobbinoll, be as little be- 
holding to their Mistresse Poetrie as euer j'ou wist, yet he perad- 
uenture, by the meanes of hir speciall fauour, and some personal! 
priuiledge, may happely liue by Dying Pellicanes, and purchase 
great landes and lordsliippes with the money which his Calendar 
and Dreames haue and will affourde him. Extra iocum, I like 
your Dreames passingly well ; and the rather, bicause they sauour 
of that singular extraordinarie veine and inuention whiche I euer 
fancied moste, and in a manner admired onelye in Lucian, Pe- 
trarche, Aretine, PasquiU, and all the most dehcate and fine con- 
ceited Grecians and Italians, (for the Romanes to speake of are 
but verye ciphars in this kinde,) whose chiefest endeuour and 
drifte was to haue nothing vulgare, but, in some respecte or othec, 
and especially in liuely hyperbolicaU amplifications, rare, queint, 
and odde in euery pointe, and, as a man woulde saye, a degree or 
two, at the leaste, aboue the reache and compasse of a common 
scholars capacitie. Li whiche respecte notwithstanding, as well 
for the singularitie of the manner as the diuinitie of the matter, 1 
•loarde once a diuine preferre Saint lohns Eeuelation before al the 
veriest metaphysicall visions and iolliest conceited dreames oi 
extasies that euer were deuised by one or other, howe admirable 
or super excellent soeuer they seemed otherwise to the vorlde. 
And truely I am so confirmed in this opinion, that when I be 
Vhinke me of the verie notablest and moste wonderful prophetical] 
or poeticall vision that euer I read, or hearde, meseemeth the pro- 


portion is so vnequall, that there hardly appeareth anye semblaunoe 
of comparison : no more in a manner (specially for poets) 
than, doth betweene the incomprehensible wisedome of God and 
the sensible wit of man. But what needeth this digression be- 
tweene you and me ? I dare saye you wyll holde your selfe rea- 
sonably wel satisfied, if youre Dreames be but as well esteemed of 
in Englande as Petrarches Visions be in Italy ; whiche, I assure 
you, is the very worst I wish you. But see how I haue the arte 
meraoratiue at commaundement. In good ftiith, I had once again 
nigh forgotten your Faerie Queene : howbeit, by good chaunce, I 
haue nowe sent hir home at the laste, neither in better nor worse 
case than I founde hir. And must you of necessitie haue my 
iudgement of hu- indeede ? To be plaiue, I am voyde of al judge- 
ment, if your nine Comcedies, whervnto, in imitation of Herodo- 
tus, you giue the names of the nine Muses, (and in one mans fansie 
not vn worthily), come not neerer Ariostoes comoedies, eyther for 
the finesse of plausible elocution or the rarenesse of poetical inuen- 
tion, than that Eluish Queene doth to his Orlando Furioso; which, 
notwithstanding, you wil needes seeme to emulate, and hope to 
ouergo, as you flatly professed youi'self in one of your last letters. 
Besides that, you know, it hath bene the vsual practise of the most 
exquisite and odde wittes in all nations, and specially in Italia, 
rather to shewe and aduaunce themselues that way than any 
other ; as, namely, those three notorious dyscoursing heads, Bibi- 
ena, Machiauel, and Aretine, did, (to let Bembo and Ariosto 
passe,) with the great admiration and wonderment of the whole 
countrey : being, in deede, reputed matchable in all points, both for 
conceyt of witte and eloquent decyphering of matters, either with 
Aristophanes and Menander in Greek, or with Plautus and Terence 
in Latin, or with any other in any other tong. But I wil not 
stand greatly with you in your owne matters. If so be the Faerye 
Queene be fairer in your eie than the nine Muses, and Hobgoblin 
runne away with the garland from Apollo, marke what I saj'e : 
and yet I will not say that I thought, but there an end for this 
once, and fare you well, till God or some good aungell putte you in 
a better minde. 



[To names which occur very frequently only the most important 

references are given.] 

Abessa, i. 77. 

Abus, ii. 82. 

Achilles, v. 328. 

Acidalian Mount, iii. 87 ; iv. 164. 

Acontius, ii. 23. 

Acrasia, i. 288, 357; ii. 125, 151, 

Actea, iii. 220. 
Adicia, iii. 367, 380. 
Adin, ii. 223. 
Adonis, Gardins of, ii. 103, 277, 

287, 293, 295; v. 526. 
iEacidee, iv. 168. 
j;dus, iii. 171. 
Aegerie, ii. 92. 
Aegina, ii. 394. . 
iEmylia, iii. 127, 145, 157. 
Aeneas, ii. 354; v. 328. 
Aesculapius, i. 118, 120. 
Aeson, v. 156. 
Aijtion, V. 513. 
Africane, i. 18. 
Agamemnon, v. 89. 
Agape, iii. 42. 
Agave, iii. 220 ; v. 76. 
Agdistes, ii. 143. 
Agenor, iii. 207. 
Aggannip of Celtica, ii. 87. 
Aglaia, iv. 169. 
Aglaura, v. 519. 
Alabaster, v. 512. 
Aladine, iv. 42. 
Alane, iv. 237. 
Albanact, ii. 81. 
Albania, ii. 81, 88. 
Albanv, iii. 215. 
Albioii, ii.78, 80, 356; iii. 207. 
Aiceste, v- 85. 

Alcluid, ii. 100. 

Alcmena, ii. 393; brood of, v. 26, 

Alcon, V. 511 ; v. 73. 
Aleyon, v. 511 ; v. 215 et seqq. 
Alcides, ii. 404; iii. 14. 
Alebius, iii. 206. 
Alexander, ii. 69 ; iii. 14. 
Alexis, V. 510. 
Algrind, v. 423, 444, 445, 447, 

Alimeda, iii. 220. 
Allan, ii. 57. 
AUectus, ii. 07. 
Alio, iii. 217; V. 501. 
Alma, ii. 51, 61, 105, 106, 123, 

Alpheus. iii. 209. 
Amaryllis, v. 513, 517. 
Amavia, i. 269. 
Amazon (river), i. 267. 
Ambition, ii. 20. 
Ambrosia, ii. 101; v. 226. 
Ambrosius, King, ii. 214. 
America, ii. 103. 
Amidas, iii. 291, 293. 
Amintas, ii. 293. 
Amoret, ii. 384, 402, 418; ir. 6, 

90, 96, 122, 145, 198. 
Amoretta, ii. 278, 287. 
Amphisa, ii. 278. 
Amphitrite (Nereid), iii. 205,220. 
Amyas, iii. 160. 
Amyntas, v. 513. 
Anamnestes, ii. 74. 
Anchyses, ii. 354. 
, Androgeus, ii. 93, 91 
I Angela, ii. 230, 231 . 



Angles, ii. 230. 

Antioch'us, i. 122. 

Antiopa, ii. 394. 

Antiquitee of Faery Lond, ii. 75. 

Antonius, i. 123. 

Aon, iii. 206. 

Ape (the), v. 101 et seqq. 

Apollo, ii. 248. 

Appetite, ii. 262. 

Aprill, iv. 246. 

Arachne, v. 1S3. 

Araguoll, v. 187. 

Arcady, v. 535, 568. 

Archigald, ii. 92. 

Archimago, i. 43, 48, 79, 84, 126, 

142, 262, 269, 272, 315, 380; ii. 

33, 249. 
Ardenne, iii. 64. 
Ardeyn, v. 539. 
Argante, ii. 313, 382. 
Argo, ii. 142. 
Argonauts, iii. 14. 
Ariadne, iv. 165. 
Arion, iii. 210; v. 260. 
Arlo-hill„iv. 225, 227, 235 ; v. 539. 
Armeddan, iii. 275. 
Armoriclve, ii. 100, 224. 
Armulla, v. 501, 507. 
Arne, ii. 396. 
Arras, ii. 175. 
Artegall, ii. 53, 188, 191, 209, 

218, 2.32; iii. 83, 89, 107, 113, 

235, 241, 358, 361, 381, 398, 

428, 434 ; iv. 7. 
Artegall, Legend of, iii. 235 et 

Arthure, Prince, i. 154. 164, 183, 

185, 190, 318; ii. 29, 35, 94, 

106, 163, 233, 256, 296 ; iii. 136, 

164, 364, 385; iv. 78, 96, 108, 

Arvirage, ii. 95. 
Asclepiodate, ii. 98. 
Ascrffian bard, v. 76. 
Asie, ii. 353. 
Asopus, iii. 206. 
Assaracus, ii. 73, 79. 
Assyrian Lyonesse, v. 13. 
Asterie, ii. 393; v. 70, 177. 
Astraea, iii. 242. 
A.strseus, iii. 206. 
Astrophell, v. 514, 534, 535, 545, 

&.talanta, ii. 23. . 

Ate, ii. 23; iii. 13, 23, 71, 94, 172. 

Athens, ii. 85. 
Athos, Mount, v. 71. 
Atin, i. 345, 347, 357 ; ii. 33. 
Atlas, ii. 23. 
Atropos, iii. 44, 45. 
Aubrian, iii. 217. 
August, iv. 247. 
Augustine, ii. 222. 
Augustus, v. 69. 
Autonoe, iii. 220. 
Autumne, iv. 244. 
Avarice, i. 97. 
Avon, iii. 213. 
Awe, iii. 388. 

Babell, ii. 59. 

Babylon, iii. 14 ; v. 152. 

Bacchante, ii. 179. 

Bacchus, iii. 240. 

Batus, v. 73. 

Ball, V. 464. 

Ban, iii. 217. 

Bandon, iii. 218. 

Bangor, ii. 222. 

Barnaby, v. 297. 

Barow, iii. 218. 

Barry, ii. 212. 

Bartas, v. 168. 

Basciante, ii. 179. 

Bath, i. 240; iii. 213. 

Bedford, v. 22. 

Belgae, iii. 401, 403, 415, 420,427, 

Belgard, castle of, iv. 197. 

Belgicke, i. 26. 

Belinus, ii. 91. 

Bellamoure, Sir, iv. 197. 

Bellay, v. 167. 

Bellisont, Sir, iii. 274. 

Bellodant, iii. 298. 

Bellona, ii. 347 ; iv. 213. 

Belphoebe, i. 311, 319; ii. 161. 

256, 266, 276. 277, 287; iii. 

129, 137, 139; V. 32. 
Belus, iii. 207. 
Biblis, ii. 203. 

Berecynthian goddesse, v. 154. 
Bilbo, V. 176. 
Bisaltis, ii. 396. 
Blacke-water, iii. 217. 
Bladud, ii. 85, 232. 
Blandamour, iii. 17, 29, 68, 170 




Blandford, iii. 213. 

Blandina, iv. 86, 104. 

Blatant Beast, iii. 453, 455 ; iv. 

8, 49, 80, 94, 204, 209. 
Blomius, iii. 217. 
Boccace, v. 3S.5. 
Bonfont, iii 389. 
Bowre of Blis, i. 288, 357 ; ii. 125, 

Boyne, iii. 217. 
Bracidas, iii. 294. 
Braegadocchio, i. 311, 317; ii. 

266, 324, 367; iii. 71, 95, 170, 

276, 283. 
Breane, iii. 212. 

Bregog, iv. 227 ; v. 500, 501, 502. 
Brennus, ii. 91. 
Briaiia, iv. 11, 18, 21. 
Brianor, Sir, iii. 82. 
Brigadore, iii. 285. 
Bristow, iii. 213. 
Britany, ii. 81, 91, 229. 
Britomart, ii. 165, 169, 188, 196. 

209, 216, 231, 233, 339, 348, 

359. 381, 399, 413; iii. 7, 84, 

105, 171, 329, 341, 352. 
Britomartis, Legend of, ii. 159 

et seqq. 
Britonesse, ii. 184. 
Briton Moniments, ii. 74. 
Briton Prince, i. 32; ii. 51, 118, 

162; iii. 167, 174, 396, 405, 

Broad-water, v. 501. 
Brocttwell. ii. 222. 
Bronte.', iii. 206. 
Bronteus, iii. 99. 
Bruin, Sir, iv. 70, 71. 
Bruncheval, iii. 74. 
Brunchild, ii. 84, 85. 
Brunei!, iii. 274. 
Brute, ii. 355, 356. 
Brutus, ii. 79, 81, 84, 89. 
Brytayne, Greater, ii. I9l. 
Buckhurst, Lord of, i. 25. 
Bunduca, ii. 96, 229; v. 15. 
Burbon, iii. 432, 434, 437, 440. 
Burleigli, Lord. i. 19. 
Busyrane, ii. 381 ; iii. 7. 
Buttevant, v. 501. 
Byze, V. 162. 

Cadmus, ii. 69. 
Cador, ii. 19. 

Cadwallader, ii. 224. 

Cadwallin, ii. 223. 224. 

Cadwar, ii. 222. 

CKcily, ii. 88. 

Caelia, i. 204, 211, 228. 

Caalian Hill, v. 153. 

Cfesar, i. 18, 123; ii. 93,94. 

Caicus, iii. 206. 

Cairbadon, ii. 86. 

Cairleill, ii. 85. 

Cairleon, ii. 85. 

Calepine, Sir, iv. 50, 62, 61, 76, 

Calidore. ii. 330; iv. 6, 24, 42, 

144, 158, 162, 185. 
Calidore, Sir, Legend of, iv. 3 et 

Calliope, v. 43, 60, 417. 
Cambden,v. 17. 
Cambel and Triamond, Legend 

of, iii. 3 et seqq. 
Cambell, iii. 38, 49, 72, 79. 
Camber, ii. 81. 
Cambine, iii. 38, 07, 89. 
Cambria, king of, ii. 87. 
Cambridge, iii. 214. 
Camilla, ii. 234; v. 91. 
Canacee, iii. 38, 49, 67, 80. 
Candide, V. 518. 
Cantium, ii. 80. 
Canutus, ii. 80. 
Caphareus, v. 91. 
Carados, ii. 230. 
Carausius, ii. 97. 
Care, ii. 12; iii. 98. 
Careticus, ii. 221. 
Carew (Cary), Lady, i. 28. 
Caiy, Ladie, v. 171. 
Cassibalane, ii. 93. 
Castaly, v. 70. 
Castle Joyeous, ii. 173. 
Castriot, "George, v. 375. 
Cayr-Merdin, ii. 211. 
Cayr-Verolame, ii. 229. 
Ceieno, ii. 12. 
Centaures, iii. 14 .3 v. 71. 
Cepliise, i. 240. 
Cephisus, ii. 205. 
Cerbei-us, i. 117; iv. 8; v. 92. 
Cestus, iii. 88. 
Cliange, iv. 212. 
Chaos, iii. 44, 45. 
Charillis, v. ."il7. 
Charissa, i. 204, 208, 219. 



Charleinaine, v. 61. 

Charvbdis, v. 89. 

Charwell, iii. 211. 

Chastity, Legend of, ii. 159. 

Chaucer, Dan, iii. 39. 

Chester, iii. 216. 

Cherefuhiesse, iii. 197. 

Child of Light (Lucifer), v. 345. 

Chimsera, iv. 8. 

Christ, V. 347 et seqq. 

Chrvsaor (Artegall's sword), iii. 

206, 243, 448. 
Chrysogonee, ii. 278, 286, 295. 
Churne, iii. 211. 
Clare, iii. 214. 
Claribell, i. 339; iii. 170, 174; iv. 

197, 200. 
Clarin (Clarinda), iii. 304, 317. 
Clarion, v. 173 et seqq. 
Claudius, ii. 95. 
Cle, iii. 214. 

Cleopatra, i. 123. 

Cleopolis, i. 161, 224; ii. 103, 

Chmene, ii. 395. 

Clio, ii. 210; v. 45. 

Clonraell, iii. 218. 

Clorinda, v. oi-i. 

Clotho, iii. 44; v. 321. 

Cocytus, i. 46; ii. 24. 

Colchid mother, v. 84. 

Cole, iii. 212. 

Colin Clout, iv. 158, 166, 227 ; 
V. 20, 223, 239, 393, 414, 433, 
451, 465, 475, 489, 497, 514, 
521 , 558, 563. 

Colum'bell, ii. 315. 

Compton and Mountegle, Ladie, 
V. 97. 

Concoction, ii. 63. 

Concord, iii. 17, 191. 

Constautine, ii. 98, 100, 101, 220. 

Constantius, ii. 98. 

Contemplation, i. 219. 

Conway, iii. 216. 

Coradin, i. 343. 

Corceca, i. 77. 

Cordeill, ii. 86, 87, 88. 

Corflambo, iii. 156. 

Coridon, iv. 157, 158, 172, 17' 

Dorineus, ii. 80, 82, 357; v. 

Cork, iii. 218. 

Cormoraunt, iv. 70. 
Cornwaile, ii. 80; iv. 88. 
Coronis, ii. 394. 
Corybantes, iv. 222. 
Corj'don, v. 511. 
Corylas, v. 509, 525. 
Coshma, v. 516. 
Coulin, ii. 80, 357. 
Countesse of Pembroke, i. 27 ; v. 

9, 23. 
Courtesie, Legend of, iv. 3. 
Coylchester, ii. 98. 
Co'vll, ii. 95, 98, 
Crane, iii. 219. 
Crete, v. 152. 
Creiisa, ii. 142. 
Critias, ii. 22 ; iii. 4. 
Croesus, i. 122. 
Crudor, iv. 11, 16, 21. 
Cruelty, ii. 409. 
Cteatus, iii. 206. 

Caddie, v. 398; iii. 33, 51, 82, 

Cumberland, Earle of, i. 21. 

Cundah, ii. 88. 

Cupido, ii. 31, 284. 

Cupid, ii. 398,410; iii. 198; v. 
369, 370; Maske of, ii. 402; 
Court of, iv. 1 17. 

Curius, V. 92. 

Curtesie, iii. 197. 

Curtius, V. 91. 

Cybele, iii. 212. 

Cvcones, v. 89. 

Cvrao, iii. 221. 

Cvmochles, i. 344, 347, 357, 362, 

Cvmodoce, iii. 220, 223. 

Cvmoent, ii. 240, 245. 

Cymothoe, iii. 220. 

Cvnthia (Moon, Diana), i. 47 ; 

"iv. 215, 226, 231, 252 ; v. 301, 

311, 416 ; (Queen Elizabeth), 

i.27; ii. 160; v. 503, 504. 506, 

509, 514, 516, 519, 521, 524. 

Cyparisse, i. 131. 

Cytherea, ii. 284; v. 59, 340. 

Cytheron, ii. 28. 

Damon and Pythias, iii. 188. 
Danae, ii. 392. 
Daniell, v. 513. 
Danius, ii. 92. 
baphnaida, v. 516. 



Daphne, ii . 306, 394 ; v. 222, 229, 

255, 511. 
Parent, iii. 213. 
Dart, iii. 213. 

Dauuger, ii. 406; iii. 184, 199. 
Day, iv. 250. 
Death, iv. 251. 
Debon, ii. 80, 357. 
Debora, ii. 234. 
Decii, V. 91. 
December, iv. 249. 
Decetto, iv. 79, 82. 
Dee, i. 184; ii. 222; iii. 216. 
Defetto, iv. 79, 82. 
Deheubarth, ii. 196. 
Delay, iii. 183. 
Dell, ii. 85. 
Delos, ii. 129. 
Demogorgon, iii. 44. 
Demophoon, v. 77. 
Denmarke, ii. 91. 
Despavre, i. 193, 195. 
Despetto, iv. 79, 82. 
Despight, ii. 11, 409. 
Desyre, ii. 405. 
Detraction, iii. 453. 
Devon, Sir, iii. 75. 
Diana, ii. 283; iv. 228, 230, 232; 

V. 369. 
Dice, iii. 391. 

Dido, V. 477. 

Diet, ii. 62. 

Digestion, ii. 63. 

Diggon Davie, v. 458. 

Dioclesian, daughters of, ii. 79. 

Discord, iii. 27. 

Disdayne, ii. 18; iv. 121, 133. 

Displeasure, ii. 408. 

Dissemblaunce, ii. 407. 

Dolon, iii. 339; v. 89. 

Donwiillo, ii. 91. 

Donv, iii. 253. 

Doris (Nereid), iii. 220. 

Dote, iii. 220. 

Doubt, ii. 405; iii. 183. 

Douglas, Sir, iii. 75. 

Doune, iii. 219. 

Druon, iii. 170, 174. 

Dr3'ope, i. 130. 

Duessa, i. 66, 70, 87, 91, 100, 
103, 107, 112, 115, 121, 144, 
166, 182,261, 277; iii. 12,18, 
89, 172, 394, 400. 

Duinaiin, ii. 240. 

Dyamond, iii. 42. 
Dynamene, iii. 220. 
Dynevowre, ii. 212. 

Easterland, ii. 91. 

Easterlings, ii. 100. 

Ebranck, ii. 84. 

Ecaster, iii. 274. 

Echidna, iii. 403, 423; iv. 93. 

Eden, ii. 145; iii. 215. 

Edwin, ii. 223. 

Eglantine of Meriflure, v. 511. 

Elone, iii. 220. 

Eirene, iii. 391. 

Elfant. ii. 103. 

Elfar, ii. 104. 

Elferon, ii. 104. 

Elficleos, ii. 104. 

ElfiUne, ii. 103. 

Elfin, ii. 103. 

Elfinan, ii. 103. 

Elfinell, ii. 103. 

Elfin Knight, i. 91, 101. 

Elfinor, ii. 104. 

Elidure, ii. 92. 

Eliseis (of Alabaster), v. 412. 

Elissa, i. 305. 

Eliza, i.l4; v. 66, 223, 313, 415, 

417, 471. 
Elizabeths three, v. 279. 
Elversham, ii. 85. 
Emmilen, ii. 230. 
Emiline, iv. 33. 
Encelade, ii. 347. 
Enias, Sir, iv. 126. 
Ennius, i. 18, 
Envie, i. 97; iii. 451. 
Ephialtes, v. 83. 
Erato (Nereid), iii. 220; (Muse), 

V. 57. 
Erichthonian towre, v. 90. 
Erivan, iii. 94. 
Errant Dainzell, ii. 171. 
Errour, i. 33, 37, 43. 
Eryx, iii. 206. 
Esquiline, v. 153. 
Essex, Earle of, i. 21. 
Esthambruges, ii. 85. 
Estrild, Ladie, ii. 82. 
Etheldred, ii. 222. 
Euboick chffs, v. 91. 
Eucrate, iii. 220. 
Eudore, iii. 220. 
Eulimene, iii. 220. 



Eumenias, iii. 319. 
Eumnestes, ii. 74. 
Eunica, iii. 220. 
Eunomie, iii. 391. 
Euphoemus, iii. 206. 
Euphrates, i. 160 ; iii. 209. 
Euphrosyne, iv. 169. 
Eupompe, iii. 221. 
Europa, ii. 392. 
Eurydice, v. 85. 
Eurynome, iv. 168. 
Eurypuius, iii. 206. 
Eurytion, iii. 403. 
Eurytus, iii. 206. 
Euterpe, v. 52. 
Evagore, iii. 220. 
Evarna, iii. 221. 
Excesse, ii. 147. 

Fabii, v. 91. 

Faery Lond, i. 266, 267; iii. 191, 

218, 232, 241. 
Faery Qneene, i. 22, 24, 188, 

231,256, 264; ii. 52, 163; iii. 

241; V. 283. 
Fanchin, iv. 228, 232 ; v. 508. 
Fansy, ii. 404. 
Father of Philosophie, iii. 4. 
Faunns, iv. 228, 230. 
Feare, ii. 11, 406. 
February, iv. 249. 
Ferramont, iii. 75, 90. 
Ferraugh, Sir, iii. 28. 
Ferrex, ii. 89. 
FideHa, i. 204, 207, 211. 
Fidessa, i. 63, 70, 88, 102, 260. 
Flaminius, v. 92. 
Flavia, V. 518. 
Florimell, ii. 162, 233, 256, 259, 

297,806,320; iii. 6,30,70,87, 

90, 170,201,233,273,279. 
Flourdelis, iii. 433. 
Force, ii. 12. 
Foules Parley (Chaucer's), iv. 

Foxe, the, v. 101 et seqq. 
Fradubio, i. 66, 70. 
Fraud, ii. 12. 

Fraunce, i. 26; ii. 80, 84, 91. 
Friendship, Legend of, iii. 3. 
Frith, iii. 219. 
Fulgent, ii. 97. 
Furor, i. 329, 333, 347, 381. 
Fury. ii. 408. 

Galathsea, iii. 220; v. 516. 
Galene, iii. 220. 
Ganges, iii. 209. 
Gardante, ii. 179, 186. 
Gardin of Proserpina, ii. 22. 
Gate of Good Desert, iii. 184. 
Gealosv, ii. 11, 380. 
Geffrey, Dan, iv. 237. 
Gehon, i. 160. 
Genius, ii. 143, 288. 
Genuissa, ii. 95. 
Georgos, i. 227. 
Germany, ii. 84, 91, 100. 
Geryon,'iii. 402, 404. 
Geryoneq, iii. 403, 440. 
Gilford, Henry, v. 305. 
Glamorgan, ii. 88. 
Glauce, ii. 200, 208, 210, 215. 

231,237; iii. 24, 112,220. 
Glauconome, iii. 220. 
Glaucus, iii. 205. 
Gloriana, i. 34, 161 ; ii. 106, 161 ; 

iv. 171. 
Gluttony, i. 94, 102. 
Gnat, V.' 69. 
Gnidas, ii. 287. 
Gobbelines, ii. 103. 
Godmer, ii. 80. 
God of Love, ii. 281, 286. 
Goemagot, ii. 357. 
Goemot, ii. 80. 
Golden Fleece, iii. 14. 
Gonorill, ii. 86, 87. 
Gorbogud, ii. 89. 
Gorboman, ii. 92. 
Gorges, Arthur, v. 213. 
Gorgon, i. 46. 
Gorlois, ii. 219. 
Gormond, ii. 221. 
Graces, iv. 166. 
Grant, iii. 214. 

Grantorto, iii. 241, 428,433, 455. 
Gratian, ii. 99. 
Grecian Libbard, v. 14. 
Greece, ii. 91 ; v. 152. 
Greenwich, v. 318. 
Grev, Lord, of Wilton, i. 24. 
Griefe, ii. 408. 
GrifFyth, Conan, ii. 226. 
Gryll, ii. 158. 
Gualsever, iii. 215. 
Guendolene, ii. 82, 830. 
Guitheline, ii. 91. 
Guizor, iii. 340. 



Gulfe of Greedinesse, ii. 126. 

Gurgiunt, ii. 91. 

Gurgustus, ii. 88. 

Guvon, i. 276, 293, 311, 329, 347, 
362, 372; ii. 3,29,51, 102, 107, 
125, 162, 189; iii. 283; Legend 
of Sir, i. 266 et seqq. 

Ha3mony, v. .535. 

Haeraus, iv. 238. 

Hania, ii. 85. 

Hanuiball, i. 123. 

Harpalus, v. 511. 

Harvev, Gabriel, v. 373, 379, 

585," 588, 592. 
Harwitcii, iii. 214. 
Hate, ii. 11; iii. 190. 
Hattoii, Sir Christopher, i. 18. 
Hebe, v. 302. 
Hebrus, i. 240. 
Hecate, iv. 213. 
Hector, ii. 69. 
Helena, ii. 98, 351, 363. 
Helena, Marquesse of North 

Hampton, v. 213. 
Heliconian Maides, ii. 137. 
Helle, ii. 24, 392. 
Hellenore, ii. 341, 359, 374. 
Hellespont, v. 71. 
Hely, ii. 93. 
Hemus, ii. 347. 
Henalois, ii. 85. 

Henault, ii. 84. 

Hengist, ii. 101. 

Hercxan shores, v. 91. 

Hercules, ii. 23, 80; iii. 240. 

Hercules and Hyllus, iii. 188. 

Hercules two pillors, v. 312. 

Hevenfield, ii. 224. 

Hippolytus, i. 118. 

HippotKoe, iii. 220. 

Hobbinoll, v. 396, 413, 433, 458, 
497, 530. 

Hogh, ii. 80. 

Holland, iii. 215. 

Hope, ii. 406. 

Horror, ii. 11. 

Horsus, ii. 101. 

House of Care, iii. 103. 

House of Holinesse, i. 203. 

House of Pryde, i. 87, 121, 124. 

House of Temperance, ii. 51. 

Howard, Douglas, v. 211. 

Howard, Lord Charles, i. 23. 

Howell Dha, ii. 226. 

Huddibras, Sir, i. 299, 306; ii.85. 

Humber, ii. 82; iu. 213, 216. 

HumUta, i. 205. 

Hunnes, ii. 99. 

Hunsdon, Lord of, i. 23. 

Huntingdon, iii. 214. 

Huon, Sir, i. 271. 

Hyacinct, ii. 394. 

Hygate, ii. 355. 

Hylas, ii. 404. 

Hymen, v. 297, 302. 

Hypocrisie, i. 33. 

Hyponeo, iii. 220. 

Hypsiphil, ii. 97. 

lanuary, iv. 249. 

Ida, ii. 352, 393. 

Idsean Ladies, ii. 23. 

Idle Lake, i. 366; ii. 131. 

Idlenesse, i. 93. 

Ignaro, i. 175. 

Ignorance, v. 50, 53, 55. 

Ihon, iii. 14. 

Imraerito, v. 378. 

Impatience, ii. 115. 

Impotence, ii. 115, 123. 

Inachus, ii. 73 ; iii. 206. 

India, ii. 103. 

Indus, iii. 209. 

Ino, iii. 205, 377. 

Liogene of Italy, ii. 81. 

Inquisition, iii. 409. 

locante, ii. 179. 

lola, iii. 315. 

lonathan and David, iii. 188. 

lones, V. 374. 

lordan, i. 240. 

loseph of Arimathy, ii. 96. 

love, iv. 222, 223, 225, 261 ; v. 

Iphimedia, ii. 396. 
Ireland, i. 26; ii. 91; iv. 226. 
Irena, iii. 241, 245, 428, 443. 
Isis, ii. 210; iii. 344, 347. 
Ismael Africk, ii. 211. 
Isse, ii. 395. 
Ister, iii. 208. 
Itis, V. 84. 
liilus, ii. 355. 
luly, iv. 247. 
lune, iv. 246. 
luno, ii. 393 ; v. 302. 
lustice. Legend of, iii. 235. 



Ixion, i. 118. 
Ixione, v. 87. 

Kenet, Hi. 212. 

Kent, ii. 80. 

Kilkenny, iii. 218. 

Kilnemullah, v. 501. 

Kimarus, ii. 92. 

Kimbeline, ii. 94. 

Kingdomes Care (Burleigh), iii. 

King Edmond, v. 27 
King Nine, ii. 59, 73 
Kinmarke, ii. 89. 
Kirkrapine, i. 79. 
Knight of the Hebene Speare, 

iii. 88. 
Knight of the Red Crosse, i. 33, 

59,87, 139,144,177,183,190, 

234, 250, 260, 269, 280; iii. 

434; Legend of, i. 31 et seqq. 
Knights of Maidenhead, iii. 76, 


Labryde, i. 132. 

Lacedsemon, ii. 351. 

Lachesis, iii. 44, 45. 

Lady of Delight, ii. 174. 

Lsestrigones, v. 89. 

Lago, ii. 89. 

Lamoracke, Sir, iv. 210 

Land of Faerie, iv. 34. 

Lansack, iii. 275. 

Laomedia, iii. 220. 

Laomedon, ii. 113. 

Lapithees, iii. 14; v. 71. 

Latinus, ii. 354. 

Latium, ii. 354. 

Latmian Shepherd, v. 301. 

Latona, ii. 130; v. 416. 

Layburne, ii. 223. 

Leander, v. 328. 

Lecliery, i. 95. 

Leda, ii. 392. 

Leda (twinnes oO, V. 26. 

Lee, iii. 212, 218. 

Legend of Chastity, ii. 159. 

Legend of Courtesie, iv. 3. 

Legend of Friendship, iii. 3. 

Legend of Holinesse, i. 31. 

Legend of lustice, iii. 235. 

Legend of Temperaunce, i. 266. 

Leicester, Earl of, v. 18, 68. 

Leill, King, ii. 85. 

Lemno, iii. 87. 

Lentulus, i. 123. 

Lewkenor, v. 376. 

Leyr, King, ii. 86. 

Liagore, ii. 248; iii. 221. 

Life, iv. 251. 

Liffar, iii. 217. 

Liffv, iii. 217. 

Lincolne, ii. 357; iii. 216. 

Lindus, iii. 216. 

Lionnesse, iv. 34. 

Lipari, iii. 99. 

Lisianassa, iii. 220. 

Lisippus, V. 27, 165. 

Litse, iii. 391. 

Lobbin, v. 482. 

Locrine, ii. 81, 82, 83. 

Locrinus, iii. 216. 

Lodwick (Bryskett), v. 258. 

Logris, ii. 81," 90; iii. 215. 

Loncaster, iii. 216. 

London, v. 311. 

Lone, iii. 216. 

Long Alba, ii. 355. 

Louthiane, ii. 223. 

Love, iii. 190; v. 321 et seqq. 

Lowder, v. 466. 

Lucida, iii. 90 ; v. 514, 530. 

Lucifera, i. 91, 98, 100. 

Lucius, ii. 96. 

Lucy (Lucida), iiu 291. 

Lud, ii. 93. 

Lusitanian soile, 1. 26. 

Lycon, v. 558. 

Lyon, the, v. 142. 

Maa, V. 516. 

Mseander, iii. 209. 

Madan, ii. 84. 

Maglan, king of Scottes, ii. 87. 

Mahound, iv. 123. 

Mahoune, ii. 41. 

Maia, v. 299. 

Maidenhed, Order of, i. 161, 308 

Malbecco, ii. 339, 341, 348, 359, 

367, 376. 
Malecasta, ii. 184. 
Malefibrt, iv. 11. 
Maleger, ii. 106, 114, 123. 
Malengin, iii. 381. 
Malfont, iii. 389. 
Malgo, ii. 221. 
Malvenu, i. 89. 
Mammon, ii. 3 et seqq., 12. 



Mamld, ii. 84. 
Mansilia, v. 516. 
Mantuane, v. 385. 
Marcellus, v. 27. 
March, iv. 245. 

Margaret, Countesse of Cum- 
berland, V. 317. 
Marian, v. 516. 
Maridnnum, ii. 211. 
Marie (Anne), Countesse of 

Warwick, v. 317. 
Marin, v. 504. 
Marinell, ii. 233, 239, 242, 245, 

259, 296 ; iii. 202, 223, 226, 234, 

Marius, i. 123; ii. 95. 
Maro, i. 18. 
Marot, V. 385. 
Mars, ii. 397 ; iv. 253. 
Martia, ii. 230. 
Matliraval, ii. 214. 
Mathusalem, ii. 73. 
Matilda, ii. 214; iv. 70. 
Mausolus, V. 27, 152. 
Maximian, ii. 99. 
Maximinian, ii. 99. 
Mav, iv. 246. 
Mayre, iii. 218. 
Mecsenas, v. 472. 
Medea, jii. 377. 
Medina, i. 298, 303. 
Medua, iii. 218. 
Medusa, ii. 396. 
Medway, v. 442. 
Medway and Thames, marriage 

of, iii" 202 et seqq. 
Melibce, iv. 149, 154, 175, 180; 

V. 28. 
Meliogras, iv. 33. 
Melissa, iv. 201; v. 515,529. 
Melite, iii. 220. 
Memprise, ii. 84. 
Menalcas, v. 437. 
Melpomene, v. 47. 
Menevia, ii. 230. 
Monippe, iii. 221. 
Mercv, i. 215, 219. 
MerciUa, iii. 366, 391, 394, 398, 

400, 404. 
Mercury, iv. 217, 218; v. 145. 
Merlin, i. 157, 184; ii. 36, 195, 

196,209, 232; V. 32. 
Mertia, Dame, ii. 91. 
Martians, ii. 220. 

Milesio, iii. 290. 

Minerva, v. 1 83. 

Mirabella, iv. 118. 

Modestie, iii. 197. 

Molanna, iv. 227, 231. 

Mole, 111. 214; iv. 226,227,238; 

v. 499, 501. 
Mona, ii. 227. 
Mongiball, ii. 63. 
Morands, ii. 92. 
Mordant, i. 269, 287, 316. 
Morddure, ii. 36, 40, 121. 
More, the, v. 153. 
Morgan, ii. 88. 
Jlorindus, ii. 92. 
Morpheus, i. 47. 
Morrell, v. 439. 
Motlier Hubberd, v. 100, 147. 
Mount Aventiiie, v. 153. 
Mount Quirinal, v. 153. 
Mount Saturnal, v. 153. 
Mount Viminal, v. 153. 
Mnemon, ii. 356. 
Mnemosvne, ii. 394. 
JIule, the, V. 119. 
Mulla, iii. 217; iv. 227; v. 499, 

500, 501 ; Xymphes of, v. 290. 
Munera, iii. 252, 255. 
Muscaroll, v. 174. 
Mutability, iv. 212, 219, 221. 

238, 252, 256. 
Mutius, V. 91. 
Myn-he, ii. 203, 306 

Naiades, v. 70. 

Nature, iv. 235, 238, 254. 

Nausa, ii. 352. 

Nausicle, ii. 352. 

Neaera, v- 516. 

Neleus, iii. 206. 

Nemertea, iii. 221 

Nene, iii. 215. 

Nenna, v. 374. 

Nennius, i. 359; ii. 94. 

Nepenthe, iii. 63. 

Neptune, ii. 244, 396 ; iii. 205. 

Nereus, ii. 240; iii. 208, 221. 

Nesasa, iii. 220. 

Neso, iii. 220. 

Nestor, ii. 73. 

Neustria, ii. 227. 

New Hierusalem, i. 228. 

Newre, iii. 218. 

Nictileus, v. 76. 



Nide, iii. 216. 

Night, i. 112; iv. 250. 

Nile, iii. 209. 

Nilus, i. 40. 

Nimrod, i. 122; iii. 14. 

Ninus, i. 122. 

Niobe, V. 416. 

Noctante, ii. 179. 

Norris, Sir John, i. 26. 

Northumber, ii. 224. 

Northumberland, Earle of, i. 20. 

Norveyses, ii. 222. 

Norwitch, iii. 214. 

November, iv. 248. 

Numa, ii. 90, 92. 

Nylus, V. 152. 

Obedience, iii. 197. 

Oberon, King, i. 271; ii. 104. 

Occasion, i. .329, 345, 354. 

Ocean, iii. 203. 

Octa, ii. 229. 

Octavius, ii. 99 ; v. 70. 

October, iv. 248. 

Oenone, ii. 352 ; iv. 156. 

Oeta, v. 81. 

Oflfricke, ii. 223. 

Ogyges, iii. 206. 

OUyphant, ii. 313, 381. 

Olympus, Mount, ii. 311. 

Oranochy, iii. 209. 

Oraxes, iii. 209. 

Order, iii. 388. 

Orgoglio, i. 149, 165, 171 ; iv. 120. 

Origone, iii. 397. 

Orinont, Sir, iii. 274. 

Orion, iii. 206. 

Orkeny, ii. 223. 

Ormond and Ossory, Earle of, i. 

Orown, v. 558. 
Orpheus, iii. 27; v. 85, 828. 
Orsilochns, ii. 234. 
Orthrus, iii. 403. 
Osricke, ii. 223. 
Oswald, ii. 223, 224. 
Oswin, ii. 224. 
OsjTis, iii. 343, 351. 
Othos, V. 83. 
Oure, iii. 214, 218. 
Our Ladyes Bowre, v. 442. 
Ouze, iii. 210. 
Overt-gate, ii. 355. 
Oxeuford, Earle of, i. 19. 

Oxford, iii. 211. 
Oza, ii. 229. 

Pactolus, iii. 110. 

Pa2on, ii. 248. 

Palatine, v. 153. 

Palemon, iii. 206; v. 512. 

Pales, V. 70, 73, 560. 

Palici, V. 43. 

Palimord, Sir, iii. 75. 

Palin, V. 511. 

Palinode, v. 420. 

Palladine, ii. 315. 

Palmer, i. 271, 294, 329; ii. 80, 

107, 125, 165. 
Pan, V. 415, 422, 441, 444, 462, 

Panchsea, v. 74. 
Pandionian maides, v. 84. 
Panopse, iii. 220. 
Panope, ii. 333. 
Panthea, ii. 103. 
Panwelt, ii. 100. 
Paphos, ii. 287. 
Paridas, ii. 352. 
Paridell, ii. 320, 336, 339, 348, 

352,359,366; iii. 18, 68,170, 

Paris, ii. 24, 351; iii. 208. 
Parius, ii. 352. 
Parlante, ii. 179. 
Parnasse, Mount, v. 70. 
Paros, ii. 352. 
Pasiphae, ii. 204. 
Pasithee, iii. 220. 
Pastorella, iv. 147, 156, 172, 175, 

183, 187, 203. 
Patience, i. 211, 213. 
Paulinus, ii. 96. 
Payne, ii. 11. 
Paynim king (Philip II.), i. 231, 

Pelasgus, iii. 206. 
Peleus, iv. 238; V. 87. 
Pelias, iii. 206. 
Pelleas, Sir, iv. 210. 
Pellite,ii. 223. 

Pembroke, Countesse of, i. 27. 
Penaunce, i. 212, 215. 
Penda, ii. 223, 224. 
Pendragon, v. 15. 
Penelope, v. 253. 
Peneus, iii. 209 ; v. 70. 
Penthesilee, ii. 233. 



Peridure, ii. 92, 330. 

Perigot, V. 449. 

Perissa, i. 306. 

Persephone, v. 85. 

Persian Beare, v. 14. 

Peru, i. 266; ii. 211. 

Peter, v. 160. 

Peter, William, v. 305. 

Petrarque, v. 385. 

Phsedria, i. 365, 372; ii. 131. 

Phaeton, v. 77. 

Pliantastes, ii. 71. 

Phao, ii. 196 ; iii. 220. 

Phaon,i. 329,342. 

Phasides, iii. 209. 

Pherusa, iii. 220. 

Philemon, i. 336, 340. 

Philip (Sidney), v. 549, 556. 

Phillisides, v. 35, 5G0. 

Phillira, ii. 397. 

Philotime, ii. 21. 

Philtera, iii. 291. 

Phison, i. 160. 

Phceax, iii. 207. 

PhcEbe, ii. 285, 287. 

Phoebus, ii. 394; iv.238; v. 41G. 

PhcEnice, v. 176. 

Phoenix, iii. 206. 

Pholoe, i. 130. 

Phorcys, iii. 205. 

Phyllis, iv. 517. 

Picts, ii. 99, 100. 

Piers, V. 421, 469. 

Pilate, ii. 26. 

Placidas, iii. 160. 

Plaint of Kinde (Alane's), iv. 

Pleasaunce, ii. 408. 
Plexippus, iv. 156. 
Plim, iii. 213. 
Phmmouth, iii. 213. 
Podalyrius, iv. 90. 
Poeana, iii. 156, 160, 164. 
Pollente, iii. 254. 
Polyhymnia, v. 64. 
Polynoine, iii. 220. 
Pompey, i. 123. 
Pontoporea, iii. 220. 
Poris, iii. 220. 
Porrex, ii. 89. 
Portamore, iv. 118. 
Port Esquiline, ii. 64. 
Praxiteles, ii. 159. 
Prays-Desire, ii. 67. 

Priamond, iii. 42, 50. 

Priest, forraall, v. Ill et seqq. 

Priscilla, iv. 44. 

Prometheus, ii. 102. 

Pronsea, iii. 220. 

Proteus, ii. 242, 246, 320, 330: 

iii. 201,227,233; v. 506. 
Proto, iii. 220. 
Protomedasa, iii. 220. 
Pryene, i. 338. 
Psalmist, iii. 27. 
Psamathe, iii. 221. 
Psyche, ii. 295; v. 178. 
Ptolomase, ii. 196; iii. 238. 
Pubidius, ii. 214. 
Pylades and Orestes, iii. 188. 
Pyracmon, iii. 99. 
Pyrochles, i. 344, 347, 354, 878; 

ii. 33. 
Pyrrha and Deucalione, iii. 236. 
Pyrrhus, v. 161. 

Queen Elizabeth, ii. 77, 160, 210, 

234; iv. 5. 
Quickesand of Unthrifty bed, ii. 


Radegone, iii. 300. 
Radigund, iii. 299, 352. 
Raleigh, Sir Walter, i. 27; v. 

Rauran, i. 184. 
Redcrosse Knight, ii. 178, 186, 

188, 232, 234. 
Regan, ii. 86, 87. 
Remorse, i. 212. 
Repentaunce, i. 212, 213 ; ii. 410, 

Reproch, ii. 410, 411. 
Revenge, ii. 11. 
Reverence, i. 205; iii. 391. 
Rhsesus, V. 89. 
Rhene, iii. 209. 
Rheusa, iii. 217. 
Rhodanus, iii. 209. 
Rhodope, ii. 145. 
Rhodoricke the Great, ii. 226. 
Rhv, iii. 214. 
Rich Strond, ii. 233, 240. 
Rinaldo, iii. 64. 
Rivall, ii. 88. 
Rock of Reproch, ii. 128. 
Roffin, V. 465. 
Rome, ii. 91; iii. 14; v. 14, 152. 



Romulus,!. 123; ii. 355. 
Rosalind, i. 13 ; v. 396, 414, 435, 

438, 454, 490. 491, 530. 
Eosseponte, iii. 218. 
Rother, iii. 214. 
Eowne, iii. 214. 
Ruddoe, ii. 90. 
Ruddymane, i. 312. 
Russian, ii. 116. 
Ryence, King, ii. 195, 196, 231. 

Sabrina, ii. 83. 

Saint George, i. 58, 225. 

Saint Radegiind, v. 116. 

Salem, iii. 14. 

Salomon, v. 28. 

Salvage Island, iv. 9. 

Salvage Knight, iii. 83. 89, 104. 

Salvage Man, iv. 66, 77, 89, 98, 

114^ 135. 
Samient, iii. 368. 
Sanazarius, V. 385. 
Sangliere, Sir, iii. 82, 247, 250. 
Sansfoy, i. 58, 63, 84. 
Sansiov, i. 63, 100, 103. 
Sanslov, i-. 63, 83, 126, 299, 306. 
Sao, iii. 220. 
Sathan, i. 99. 

Saturne, ii. 72, 397 ; iv. 253. 
Satvrane, i. 135,,. 139, 151, 297, 

307, 330. 335, 340, 382; iii. 73, 

78, 83. 
Saxons, ii. 100, 220, 221, 222; y. 

Scaldis, ii. 85. 
Sclauiider, iii. 147. 
Scamander, ii. 352; iii. 209. 
Scaiiderbeg, v. 275. 
Scipio, i. 123. 
Scipion, V. 92. 
Scorne, iv. 122, 133. 
Scudamore, Sir, ii. 296, 381, 385, 

418; iii. 6,20,99, 171. 
Selinis, i. 155. 
Semelee, ii 393. 
Semiramis. i. 123; ii. 96. 
September, iv. 247. 
Serena, iv. 49, 83, 95, 119, 136, 

Sergis, Sir, iii. 428, 444. 
Severne, ii. 81, 83, 96; iii. 213. 
Severus, ii. 97. 
Shame, ii. 11, 410, 411. 
Shamefastnes, ii. 68; iii. 197. 

Shenan, iii. 57, 217. 
Shepheard of the Ocean (Ra^ 

leich), V. 499, 510, 513. 
Shield of Love, iii. J 80. 
Share, iii. 218; iv. 232; v. 516. 
Sidnev, Sir Philip, i. 15, 16; v. 

22, 564. 574. 
Silence, iii. 197. 
Silo, i. 240. 
Sisera, ii. 234. 
Sisillus, ii. 92. 
Sisyphus, i. 118 
Skell, iii. 216. 
Slane, iii. 217. 
Sleepe, ii. 12. 
Slewbloome, iii. 217. 
Slewlogher, iii. 217. 
Slowth, i. 99, 102. 
Socrates, ii. 22. 
Somerset, Ladies Elizabeth and 

Katharine, v. 305. t 
Sommer, iv. 244. 
Sophy, ii. 53. 
Sorrow, ii. 11. 
South- Wales, ii. 195. 
Spau, i. 240. . 
Spayne, ii. 91. 
Spencer, i. 15, 16. 
Speranza, i. 204, 208, 211. 
Spio, iii 220. 
Spring, iv. 244. 
Spumador, ii. 113. 
Squire of Dames, ii. 315, 318, 

338; iii. 34, 92. 
Squire of Low Degree, iii. 158, 

Stamford, iii. 215. 
Stater, ii. 90. 

St. Brigets Bowre, v. 441. 
St. Michels Mount, v. 441. 
Stella, V. 517, 542, 553, 562, 

Sthenoboea, i. 123. 
Stoneheng, ii. 101. 
Stoure, iii. 213. 
Strange, Ladie. v. 42. 
Stremona, i. 150. 
Strife,!. 329; ii. 11. 
Sture, iii. 214. 
Styxv i. 146. 
Suspect, ii. 407. 
Swale, iii. 216. 
Svlla, i. 123. 
Sylvanus, i. 127, 130, 137. 



Sylvius, ii. 356. 
Syrinx, v. 415, 417. 

Talus, iii. 244, 250, 259, 261, 270, 

286, 296, 313, 338, 386, 428, 

436, 442, 456. 
Tamar, iii. 213. 
Tanaquill, i. 32; ii. 105. 
Tantalus, i. 118; ii. 25. 
Tarquin, i. 123. 
Tartar, ii. 116. 
Tartare, ii. 127. 
Tartarv, i. 160; v. 89. 
Teian Poet, v. 362. 
Telaraon, v. 87. 
Tempe, ii. 145. 
Temperaunce, ii. 106, 125; iii. 

Templer Knights, v. 312. 
Tenantius, ii. 93, 94. 
Termagaunt, ii. 40. 
Terwin, Sir, i. 192. 
Terpsichore, v. 55. 
Tethys, i. 47; iii. 207. 
Thabor, Mount, iv. 236. 
Thalia, v. 50. 
Thalia (Grace), iv. 169. 
. Thalia (Nereid), iii. 220. 
Tiiarae, iii. 210, 211. 
Thames, v. 162. 
Thamesis, v. 11. 
Thamis, ii. 355; iii. 210, 212: v. 

Theana, v. 515. 
Thebes, ii. 69 ; iii. 14. 
Theise, iii. 219. 
Tliemes, v. 307, 312, 442. 
Themis, iii. 391. 
Themiste, iii. 221. 
Thenot, v. 399, 413, 475. 
Theocritus, v. 384. 
Therion, i. 132. 
Theseus, i. 118. 

Theseus and Pirithous, iii. 188. 
Thestylis, v. 503, 522, 547. 
Thetis, iii. 212, 220; iv. 168,238; 

V. 28, 87, 153. 
Thomalin, v. 408, 439. 
Thomiris, ii. 97. 
Thyamis, i. 132. 
Timias, ii. 169,250, 256, 265,296 ; 

iv. 78, 82. 
Timon, i. 184; v. 224. 
r^darid lasse, iii. 208 

Titan, iv. 222, 224, 240, 

Titus and Gesippus, iii. 188. 

Titvrus, V. 402,436,485,492,497. 

Tityus, i. 118: v. 83. 

Toure, ii. 175. 

Traherne, ii. 99. 

Treason, ii. 11. 

Trent, iii. 215. 

Trevisan, i. 183, 194. 

Triamond, iii. 38, 42, 56, 77. 

Triptoleme, v. 77. 

Tristram, iv. 33, 36. 

Triton, V. 506. 

Trompart, i. 314, 323, 324, 807. 

Trowis, iii. -217. 

Troy, ii. 69. 

Troynovant, ii. 93, 353, 355; iii. 

212 ; V. 15. 
Tryphon, ii. 249 ; iii. 203, 230. 
Turmagant, iv. 123. 
Turpin, Sir, iii. 297, 313; iv. 56, 

Twede, iii. 215. 
Tybris, iii. 209. 
Tygris, iii. 209. 
Tyne, iii. 215. 
Typhseus sister, v. 206. 
Tvphaon, iii. 403 ; iv. 94 
Typhoeus, i. 118; ii. 313. 
Typhon, iii. 218, 223. 

lllfin, ii. 230. 

Ulysses, v. 89. 

Una, i. 34, 49, 57, 71, 78, 125,136, 

151, 201, 206, 228, 250, 264. 
Urania, v. 62, 515. 
Uranus, iv. 222. 
Ure, iii. 215. 
Uther, ii. 101, 102, 229, 230. 

Valeutide, Saint, iv. 117. 

Vanitie, i. 91. 

Venus, ii. 281, 285, 293, 295,397 ; 

iii. 87; v. 369, 370, 520, 527; 

temple and statue of, iii. 192, 

Verdant, ii. 157. 
Verlame, v. 11, 12. 
Vespasian, ii. 95. 
Vigent, ii. 92. 
Virgil, V. 385. 
Virginia, i. 267. 
Vortigere, ii. 100, 101. 
Vortimere, ii. 101. 



Vortipore, ii. 220. 
Vulcan, iii. 87. 

Walsingham, Sir Francis, i. 25. 
Wandring Islands, ii. 129. 
Waterford, iii. 218. 
Welland, iii. 214. 
Were, iii. 214. 
Werfe, iii. 216. 

Whirlepoole of Decay, ii. 132. 
Willie, V. 408, 449. 
Willy, pleasant, v. 51. 
Winborne, iii. 213. 
Winter, iv. 245. 
Wiseman, the, iii. 139. 

Witches Sonne, ii. 297- 
Witch, the, ii. 299, 320- 
Womanhood, iii. 196. 
Wrath, i. 98. 
Wrenock, v. 487. 
Wyden, ii. 89. 
Wylibourne, iii. 214. 

Xanthus, ii. 352; V. 70. 

Yar, iii. 214. 
Ymner, ii. 90. 

Zele,i. 205;iii. 394, 897. 
Zeuxis, ii. 159. 




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