A poets vision, and a princes glorie Dedicated to the high and mightie prince, Iames, King of England, Scotland, France and Ireland. Written by Thomas Greene Gentleman.

A POETS VISION, AND A PRINCES GLORIE. WHEN Hesperus, the Harbinger of night, Had iuſtly ordred eu'rie burning light, My ſolitary chamber I forſooke, And muſing went vnto a pleaſant brooke; Where, ſitting downe vpon a hillocke by, To ſteale delight with a more quiet eye, Soft drizling droppes vpon my face did fall, Which ſweeter were then that wee Nectar call. That tree that but one little droppe receiues, Though bare before, was ſpangled all with leaues, The ground where ſcarce before a graſſe was ſeene, Reuiu'd with this, was mantled o're with greene. Long look't I not before my wondring eyes Were vnto Morpheus made a willing prize: Such ſhapes of ioy into each ſence did creepe, As rock'd them all into a heauenly ſleepe. For had mine eyes a little longer ſeene, With extreame rapture I had ſenceleſſe beene, Sith nothing ſooner can the ſence deſtroy, Then taken by the eye too much of ioy. Scarce had the pale God with his ſleepie dart Strooke through mine eyes my ſoft ſlumbering hart, When muſique ſweeter I may ſay right well, Then that which brought Eurydice from hell, Did all the powers in me poſſeſſe ſo whole, That through mine eares it ſtole away my ſoule; To which a Ladie ſinging heare I might, The burthen of her ſong I pray thee write. VVhere-with I wak'd, and ſeeing nought, concluded My ſenſes all were meerely but deluded: Or elſe the gods to banquet now addreſt, Apollo gaue them muſick to their feaſt. No creature ſawe I yet, till looking round, Behinde me iuſt vpon the verdant ground I ſpide a Ladie ſit, but ſuch an one, As well might make Ioue to forſake his throne, And vtterly renounce his ſiſters bed, And all his want on trickes with Ganymed. Her garments all were white, her haire hung downe, Vpon her head ſhe wore a Laurel Crowne, An Iu'rie Lute ſhe with one hand did twine, And with the other Muſick plaid diuine. Her Lute, to glut mine eares with different choyce, She did accord with her melodious voice. After her ſong ſhe often had repeated, VVith this demaund I fairely her intreated; Goddeſſe (ſaide I) for by thy heauenly face, I gheſſe thou ſprung'ſt not from a mortall race, Thoſe lookes of thine ſerue as a warrant good, That thou no mixture hadſt of humane blood, Neuer could Nature, of her ſelfe, bring forth A creature of ſuch rare and Princely worth. Of fauour ſhewe to me, why at this time, Eſpecially vnder this hapleſſe clime, Where neuer ioy yet peeped from the earth, But it was ſtifled fore it came to birth, Delight ſo prodigall it ſelfe doth waſt, Spending in minutes that ſhould ages laſt, As of neceſſitie it muſt be ſhone, Yet by extreames, ſhowes it would faine be gone? Is Earth aſcended into Heauens place? Or is't your beautie doth enforce this grace? Is Heaven deſcended to the loweſt Earth? Or is't your Muſicke that doth cauſe this Mirth? Or is't a Dreame, and doe I nothing ſee, That ſweetely thus colludes my phantaſie? Or if none of theſe, what it then ſhould bee, I pray thee, gentle Ladie, tell to mee? Pauſing a while, and looking in my face, Thus ſhe beſpake me with a modeſt grace; Vainly to boaſt of my deſcent or blood, VVould argue I did feare my proper good. For who his blood only and kin commends, Commends nought of his owne, but of his frends. Yet, were I ſo diſpoſ'd my birth to prooue, I could deriue my ſelfe from higheſt Ioue: And I could ſay, and yet but truely ſay, My mother was the wiſe Mnemoſyne; Or I could call my name Calliope, And tell how once I with Apollo lay, From whoſe mixt pleaſures, being then but young, The Thracian Orpheus naturally ſprung. But farewell this: my purpoſe is to ſhowe From whence my comming hither now doth flowe. Vertue confined in a narrowe roome, Farre in the North, where ſhe doth only bloome, (Where had ſhe not contenting fauour ſeene, From all the world ſhe had exiled beene, And long ere this had loſt her glorious name, Had ſhe not there reuiu'd her dying fame. O worthie place! thy Epethite hence-forth Be ſung by Poets thus; The Vertuous North.) Now breaking forth into a larger State, Which of all Lands is made moſt fortunate, Giues me the matter of this new delight, And doth my ſoule vnto this ioy excite, That houres vnnumbred hath beene lockt from light, And puzzled laine in darke obliuious night. Groſſe Nature that hath many yeares laine ſicke (Firſt wounded with leud vices ſtinging pricke) On the corrupted bed of vaine deſire, Without all ſhewe of hope, euer t'aſpire, To bleſt fruition of her ſelfe, is now (The thought whereof would ſmooth the agedſt brow) Cleane purged of her filth, from error led, As till this houre ſhe were not perfect bred, But ages infinite had laine in earth, And by no meanes before could haue her birth, Euen as a Hauke new taken from the Mew Hath caſt her old traine, and reſum'd a new: So Nature now doth with freſh wings aſpire, Whoſe old ones all were tainted o're with mire. Time, that before was baited with deceat, In the foule riuer of a forced ſweate, To make ſimplicitie the ſooner bite, That had no eyes, but bended on delite, (Who would not liue in blinde credulitie, Rather then ſee what he would feare to ſee?) Is now full gorg'd with honorable zeale, Which lately proofe did to the world reueale. Now yet at laſt returned are thoſe daies, That ancient Poets long agoe did praiſe, Which haue ſo many years beene kept from breath, Bard vp within the Iron caue of death, Which eating time, conſenting with the Fates, Hath now enlarg'd, by burſting ope the gates. For ioy whereof, could but this dumbe earth ſpeake, She would into an exultation breake: Yet, for ſhe wants a tongue, to ſhew her pleaſure She is inueſted with her richeſt treaſure. Erect thy face, and thou ſhalt ſee on high The ſtarres do daunce proud Galliardes in the ſkie, Or elſe they all are forced thus to moue, Vnder the weight of Ioue dauncing aboue. Now Mercurie, heauens Orator alone, Perſwades his Father leaue his ſacred throne, And ſweetly tels him with ſuch mouing grace, He muſt deſcend vnto a better place: Which Ioue beleeuing, in Heauen makes a dearth, And Tuns of Nectar tumbles on the earth, As if he would vnfurniſh heauen quite, And frame another on this earth to night. Now flattring Pride, and Oſtentation vaine, Hath (Peacocke-like) pull'd in her painted traine. Couetouſneſſe is chang'd, yet keepes her name, Where ſhe crau'd wealth, ſhe onely craues but fame. Gluttonie feedes ſlightly vpon her owne, That was before with others coſt full blowne. Drunkenneſſe, that aboue the reſt excell'd, Is now vnto Sobrietie compell'd. Sloath, that till now lodg'd in her ſleepie caue, By valour ſhewes ſhe ſeekes an honour'd graue. Incontinence, her fires are ſomewhat drencht, But neuer will be altogether quencht. Black vile betraying Policie is dead, And meager Enuie hangeth downe her head. And whereſoere a vice hath raigned long, In that ſame place there is a vertue ſprong. Now ſhall thoſe young and vertuous plants ariſe, Which were deſtroyed by loathſom poiſ'nous eyes. Here Poets might extoll their excellence, If Barbariſme haue not exil'd them hence, If other Landes inioy not their bleſt ſight, Whome barking ignorance hath put to flight, Their long-ſheath'd Pens they might ſo exerciſe, As they ſhould ſit aboue the reach of eyes, And looking downe vpon their natiue earth, Should grieue to thinke they had ſo lowe a birth. Yet I haue one thing left ſurmounts the reſt, VVhich tunes ſuch Muſick in my gladſome breſt, That ſorrowe cannot my leaſt thought annoy, Each roome in me is ſo fill'd vp with ioy; Nor can I tell it with my breaths faint ſtory, I am ſo ſwell'd vp with immortall glorie. Can ſence (ſaid I) more of delight yet taſte, Then that which hath thy lips alreadie paſt? Thou telleſt wonders, and I feare this night, My greedie eares will ſurfet on delight. Yet if vnſpoken ioy doe liue in thee, Of it (in kindneſſe) let me ſharer be, Where-with to me she did her white hand reach, And ſweetely thus continued on her ſpeach. In Boeotia, my ſiſters eight and I, Which once (ſaid she) were eleuated high, And well eſteem'd in former ages paſt, Vntill theſe dead corrupted times came laſt, And eu'ry yeare to vs had tribute paide, By choyceſt wits, for lending them our aide, Haue long in ſtead of tribute beene diſgrac't, And all our names from memory diſplac't. For want whereof, we all were growne ſo poore, That we could ſcarce keepe miſerie from our doore. The chiefeſt pay we had to ſet vs forth In all our wants, came from the Princely North, And ſome from hence, from worthie Delia's ſtore, From ſweete Idaea, and from ſome fewe more: All which ſo ſhort of that we had before, To thoſe rich times ſo ſlender and ſo poore, That with it we our ſelues could ſcarce ſuſtaine, Our number was ſo great, ſo ſmall our gaine. Others here are which with their railing Muſe Offend graue eares, and doe our names abuſe In bringing forth ſuch Monſters to the light, Whoſe ougly shapes doe terrifie our ſight. But why ſhould ſuch my peacefull gall excite? Well they may barke, but they ſhall neuer bite. The whips are made ſhal yerk them from their places, Whoſe roomes ſhall be adorn'd with better Graces. But now, ôeuer bleſt, eternall ſweete! The Lawrell and a triple Crowne doth meete. Now commeth in our long-detained Spring, Reduced back by a victorious King, VVhoſe triple Crowne, to adde more glorious praiſe, Is triply Crowned with a triple Bayes, Which is the richeſt Crowne a King can haue, It keepes him from obliuion of the graue; Where, after ſome expence of running time, Vpon whoſe backe doth diſſolution clime, His other Crowne, that guilded but the eye, VVill quickly fade, when fadeth Maieſtie. But this ſo long as Heauen lends a breath, Shall freſhly ſpring in ſpite of Fate and death. To be a Prince it is an honour'd thing, Yet eu'ry Poet to himſelfe's a King. But where in one they both commixed be, He then is equall with a Deitie. This cauſ'd vs all to leaue our Helicon, Our double-topped hill, our Cithaeron, That were nighe ruinated with diſgrace, And hether come to a more worthy place, VVhere on the top of an Imperious Throne, We will build vp another Helicon. The Hilles we left were all compoſ'd of mould, But we will here erect a hill of gold, VVhich, where it ſtands, ſhall to ſuch height ariſe, As it ſhal keepe the Starres from mortal eyes: And by theſe names it ſhall be call'd aboue, The Muſes Tent, the golden walke of Ioue. From all my ſiſters haue I ſtolne away, Which maruell much of my ſo long a ſtay, To bring theſe glorious tidings vnto thee, The which haue infinitely rauiſh'd mee, That if thou couetſt to haue thy name nere die, But wrap thy memorie in eternitie, Paſt depriuation of corrupting duſt, When thou into thy lateſt bed art thruſt, This place can yeeld thee ſuch Promethean fires, As ſhall giue anſwere to thy bleſt deſires. Therefore no longer hide thy Muſe from light, But pray thee, pray thee, take thy pen and write. Nor thinke I would thus much to thee impart, But that I knowe thou doſt affect this Art. Alas (ſaid I) ſhould I denie my loue. Of ignorance you might me then reprooue: Yet (hapleſſe I) nothing in me hath place More then my loue, with which I can it grace. Or if there were, I ſhould not trace this way, For that I grieuing ſee how eu'ry day New ſwarmes of vertue-killing Drones appeare, Which vilely ſo vntune the gen'rall eare With harſh diſcording ſounds, as who now ſings, (Although his lines were ſweeter then the ſtrings That play the morning vp) gets no reſpect, And is not heard, or heard but with neglect; But ſooner farre may moue the ſtones to heare, Then careleſſe men, who onely bodies beare Without true ſoules: for had they ſoules, they would VVith all their nerues the life of ſoule vphold, In giuing nutriment to Artes, from whence Man wholly doth deriue his excellence. Theſe be the Hydra's of this age, the Apes, The monſters, rowl'd vp in mens pleaſing ſhapes, Haue ſo infected with their tainted blood The nouriſhing fruits, which ſhould feede the good, That vndeſeruingly they now muſt ſtand Vnder the cenſure of too rough a hand, And for whole yeares of nights in labour ſpent, To giue the enuious idle world content, Muſt not for all thoſe nights receiue more right Then he whoſe ſleepie Muſe nere ſaw the night. Which makes them chuſe to be with eaſe infected, Rather then write, and haue their workes neglected. Where, might not eu'rie Cuckowe haue acceſſe, And bring vnſau'rie writings to the Preſſe, To dull the eares of men, alreadie ſlaine With poyſ'nous ſwellings of their rotten braine, VVhat throngs of learned ſoules would then aſpire, Toucht with this ſacred and celeſtiall fire? How manie would by this their heauenly ſkill, (Hauing abilitie as great as will) Infinitely vpraiſe themſelues from earth, Making their beings farre higher then their birth? But now they hidden lye from light exempt, Rak'd vp within the aſhes of contempt. This maketh me that am with ſkill vnbleſt, To loue this Arte, but dare not ranke the beſt With childiſh iſſue of my fainter Muſe, As poore ambitious ignorantes doevſe. Beſides, what ſlender glorie can enſue His Muſe, whereof the world tooke neuer viewe? Fie fie (ſaid ſhe) thou art too Criticall, And doſt conſent vnto thine owne dread fall. Admit thy worth were vnder the degree Of toleration, which I knowe not to bee, Suppoſe that millions doe deſerue more praiſe, Wilt thou for this forſake Apollos baies? O doe not ſo! thy Muſe may once be bleſt, And gently foſt'red in a Kingly breſt. VVhat though the world ſawe neuer line of thine? Nere can thy Muſe haue a birth more diuine. And where theſe ougly imitating Apes Which (as thou ſaiſt) doe but vſurpe mens ſhapes, Haue ſo defil'd this Land, the time's now come, Thoſe bawling fooles ſhall quite be ſtriken dombe, Or ſhould they talke, what can it hurt the wiſe? It is well knowne they but Idolatriſe. For when true iudgement ſhall their errors find, Twill adde more honour to the vertuous mind. Sweete Philomela that ſings in the ſpring, Would loſe ſome grace, did not the Cuckowe ſing. Therefore no longer hide thy Muſe from light, But pray thee, pray thee, take thy pen and write. With theſe enforcements was I wonne at length, Conuinced wholy by her powrefull ſtrength, And newe inſpired with a ſacred light, Agree'd to write what I had ſeene to night, And if this proſper but ſucceſſefullie, I will herein my further fortunes trie. FINIS.