Fovvre hymnes, made by Edm. Spenser

Fovvre Hymnes, MADE BY EDM. SPENSER.

ANCHORA SPEI

printer's or publisher's device

LONDON, Printed for VVilliam Ponſonby. 1596.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND MOST VERtuous Ladies, the Ladie Margaret Counteſſe of Cumberland, and the Ladie Marie Counteſſe of Warwicke.

HAuing in the greener times of my youth, compoſed theſe former two Hymnes in the praiſe of Loue and beautie, and finding that the ſame too much pleaſed thoſe of like age & diſpoſitiō, which being too vehemently caried with that kind of affection, do rather ſucke out poyſon to their ſtrong paſsion, then hony to their honeſt delight, I was moued by the one of you two moſt excellent Ladies, to call in the ſame. But being vnable ſo to doe, by reaſon that many copies thereof were formerly ſcattered abroad, I reſolued at leaſt to amend, and by way of retractation to reforme them, making in ſtead of thoſe two Hymnes of earthly or naturall loue and beautie, two others of heauenly and celeſtiall. The which I doe dedicate ioyntly vnto you two honorable ſiſters, as to the moſt excellent and rare ornaments of all true loue and beautie, both in the one and the other kinde, humbly beſeeching you to vouchſafe the patronage of them, and to accept this my humble ſeruice, in lieu of the great graces and honourable fauours which ye dayly shew vnto me, vntill ſuch time as I may by better meanes yeeld you ſome more notable teſtimonie of my thankfull mind and dutifull deuotion. And euen ſo I pray for your happineſſe. Greenwich this firſt of September. 1596.

Your Honors moſt bounden euer in all humble ſeruice. Ed. Sp.

AN HYMNE IN HONOVR OF LOVE. LOue, that long ſince haſt to thy mighty powre, Perforce ſubdude my poore captiued hart, And raging now therein with reſtleſſe ſtowre, Doeſt tyrannize in euerie weaker part; Faine would I ſeeke to eaſe my bitter ſmart, By any ſeruice I might do to thee, Or ought that elſe might to thee pleaſing bee. And now t'aſſwage the force of this new flame, And make thee more propitious in my need, I meane to ſing the praiſes of thy name, And thy victorious conqueſts to areed; By which thou madeſt many harts to bleed Of mighty Victors, with wyde wounds embrewed, And by thy cruell darts to thee ſubdewed. Onely I feare my wits enfeebled late, Through the ſharpe ſorrowes, which thou haſt me bred, Should faint, and words ſhould faile me, to relate The wondrous triumphs of thy great godhed. But if thou wouldſt vouchſafe to ouerſpred Me with the ſhadow of thy gentle wing, I ſhould enabled be thy actes to ſing. Come then, ô come, thou mightie God of loue, Out of thy ſiluer bowres and ſecret bliſſe, Where thou doeſt ſit in Venus lap aboue, Bathing thy wings in her ambroſiall kiſſe, That ſweeter farre then any Nectar is; Come ſoftly, and my feeble breaſt inſpire With gentle furie, kindled of thy fire. And ye ſweet Muſes, which haue often proued The piercing points of his auengefull darts; And ye faire Nimphs, which oftētimes haue loued The cruell worker of your kindly ſmarts, Prepare your ſelues, and open wide your harts, For to receiue the triumph of your glorie, That made you merie oft, when ye were ſorie. And ye faire bloſſomes of youths wanton breed, Which in the conqueſts of your beautie boſt, Wherewith your louers feeble eyes you feed, But ſterue their harts, that needeth nourture moſt, Prepare your ſelues, to march amongſt his hoſt, And all the way this ſacred hymne do ſing, Made in the honor of your Soueraigne king. GReat god of might, that reigneſt in the mynd, And all the bodie to thy heſt doeſt frame, Victor of gods, ſubduer of mankynd, That doeſt the Lions and fell Tigers tame, Making their cruell rage thy ſcornefull game, And in their roring taking great delight; Who can expreſſe the glorie of thy might? Or who aliue can perfectly declare, The wondrous cradle of thine infancie? When thy great mother Venus firſt thee bare, Begot of Plentie and of Penurie, Though elder then thine owne natiuitie; And yet a chyld, renewing ſtill thy yeares; And yet the eldeſt of the heauenly Peares. For ere this worlds ſtill mouing mightie maſſe, Out of great Chaos vgly priſon crept, In which his goodly face long hidden was From heauens view, and in deepe darkneſſe kept, Loue, that had now long time ſecurely ſlept In Venus lap, vnarmed then and naked, Gan reare his head, by Clotho being waked. And taking to him wings of his owne heate, Kindled at firſt from heauens life-giuing fyre, He gan to moue out of his idle ſeate, VVeakely at firſt, but after with deſyre Lifted aloft, he gan to mount vp hyre, And like freſh Eagle, make his hardie flight Through all that great wide waſt, yet wāting light. Yet wanting light to guide his wandring way, His owne 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; Whoſe ſundrie parts he frō them ſelues did ſeuer, The which before had lyen confuſed euer. The earth, the ayre, the water, and the fyre, Then gan to raunge them ſelues in huge array, And with contrary forces to conſpyre Each againſt other, by all meanes they may, Threatning their owne confuſion and decay: Ayre hated earth, and water hatefyre, Till Loue relented their rebellious yre. He then them tooke, and tempering goodly well Their contrary diſlikes with loued meanes, Did place them all in order, and compell To keepe them ſelues within their ſundrie raines, Together linkt with Adamantine chaines; Yet ſo, as that in euery liuing wight They mixe themſelues, & ſhew their kindly might. So euer ſince they firmely haue remained, And duly well obſerued his beheaſt; Through which now all theſe things that are cōtained Within this goodly cope, both moſt and leaſt Their being haue, and dayly are increaſt, Through ſecret ſparks of his infuſed fyre, Which in the barraine cold he doth inſpyre. Thereby they all do liue, and moued are To multiply the likeneſſe of their kynd, 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 progenie. For hauing yet in his deducted ſpright, Some ſparks remaining of that heauenly fyre, He is enlumind with that goodly light, Vnto like goodly ſemblant to aſpyre: Therefore in choice of loue, he doth deſyre That ſeemes on earth moſt heauenly, to embrace, That ſame is Beautie, borne of heauenly race. For ſure of all, that in this mortall frame Contained is, nought more diuine doth ſeeme, Or that reſembleth more th'immortall flame Of heauenly light, then Beauties glorious beame. What wonder then, if with ſuch rage extreme Fraile men, whoſe eyes ſeek heauenly things to ſee, At ſight thereof ſo much enrauiſht bee? Which well perceiuing that imperious boy, Doth therwith tip his ſharp empoiſned darts; Which glancing through the eyes with coūtenāce coy, Reſt not, till they haue pierſt the trembling harts, And kindled flame in all their inner parts, Which ſuckes the blood, and drinketh vp the lyfe Of carefull wretches with conſuming griefe. Thenceforth they playne, & make ful piteous mone Vnto the author of their balefull bane; The daies they waſte, the nights they grieue and grone, Their liues they loath, and heauens light diſdaine; 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 Loue doeſt laugh & ſcorne At their complaints, making their paine thy play; 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 loue before their life they doe prefer. 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, Thou haſt enfroſen her diſdainefull breſt, That no one drop of pitie there doth reſt. Why then do I this honor vnto thee, Thus to ennoble thy victorious name, Since thou doeſt ſhew no fauour vnto mee, Ne once moue ruth in that rebellious Dame, Somewhat to ſlacke the rigour of my flame? Certes ſmall glory doeſt thou winne hereby, To let her liue thus free, and me to dy. But if thou be indeede, as men thee call, The worlds great Parent, the moſt kind preſeruer Of liuing wights, the ſoueraine Lord of all, How falles it then, that with thy furious feruour, Thou doeſt afflict as well the not deſeruer, As him that doeth thy louely heaſts deſpize, And on thy ſubiects moſt doeſt tyrannize? Yet herein eke thy glory ſeemeth more, By ſo hard handling thoſe which beſt thee ſerue, That ere thou doeſt them vnto grace reſtore, Thou mayeſt well trie if they will euer ſwerue, And mayeſt them make it better to deſerue, And bauing got it, may it more eſteeme, For things hard gotten, men more dearely deeme. So hard thoſe heauenly beauties be enfyred, As things diuine, leaſt paſſions doe impreſſe, The more of ſtedfaſt mynds to be admyred, The more they ſtayed be on ſtedfaſtneſſe: But baſeborne mynds ſuch lamps regard the leſſe, Which at firſt blowing take not haſtie fyre, Such fancies feele no loue, but looſe deſyre. For loue is Lord of truth and loialtie, Lifting himſelfe out of the lowly duſt, On golden plumes vp to the pureſt skie, Aboue the reach of loathly ſinfull luſt, Whoſe baſe affect through cowardly diſtruſt Of his weake wings, dare not to heauen fly, But like a moldwarpe in the earth dothly. His dunghill thoughts, which do themſelues enure To dirtie droſſe, no higher dare aſpyre, Ne can his feeble earthly eyes endure The flaming light of that celeſtiall fyre, Which kindleth loue in generous deſyre, And makes him mount aboue the natiue might Of heauie earth, vp to the heauens hight. Such is the powre of that ſweet paſſion, That it all ſordid baſeneſſe doth expell, And the refyned mynd doth newly faſhion Vnto a fairer forme, which now doth dwell In his high thought, that would it ſelfe excell; Which he beholding ſtill with conſtant ſight, Admires the mirrour of ſo heauenly light. VVhoſe image printing in his deepeſt wit, He thereon feeds his hungrie fantaſy, Still full, yet neuer ſatisfyde with it, Like Tantale, that in ſtore doth ſteruedly: So doth he pine in moſt ſatiety, For nought may quench his infinite deſyre, Once kindled through that firſt conceiued fyre. Thereon his mynd affixed wholly is, Ne thinks on ought, but how it to attaine; His care, his ioy, his hope is all on this, That ſeemes in it all bliſſes to containe, In ſight whereof, all other bliſſe ſeemes vaine. Thriſe happie man, might he the ſame poſſeſſe; He faines himſelfe, and doth his fortune bleſſe. And though he do not win his wiſh to end, Yet thus farre happie he him ſelfe doth weene, That heauens ſuch happie grace did to him lend, As thing on earth ſo heauenly, to haue ſeene, His harts enſhrined ſaint, his heauens queene, Fairer then faireſt, in his fayning eye, Whoſe ſole aſpect he counts felicitye. Then forth he caſts in his vnquiet thought, What he may do, her fauour to obtaine; What braue exploit, what perill hardly wrought, What puiſſant conqueſt, what aduenturons paine, May pleaſe her beſt, and grace vnto 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, Thou being blind, letſt him not ſee his feares, But carieſt him to that which he hath eyde, Through ſeas, through flames, through thouſand ſwords and ſpeares: Ne ought ſo ſtrong that may his force withſtand, With which thou armeſt his reſiſtleſſe hand. Witneſſe Leander, in the Euxine waues, And ſtout AEneas in the Troiane fyre, Achilles preaſſing through the Phrygian glaiues, And Orpheus daring to prouoke the yre Of damned fiends, to get his loue retyre: For both through heauen & hell thou makeſt way, To win them worſhip which to thee obay. And if by all theſe perils and theſe paynes, He may but purchaſe lyking in her eye, What heauens of ioy, then to himſelfe he faynes, Eftſoones he wypes quite out of memory, What euer ill before he did aby, Had it bene death, yet would he die againe, To liue thus happie as her grace to gaine. Yet when he hath found fauour to his will, He nathemore can ſo contented reſt, But forceth further on, and ſtriueth ſtill T'approch more neare, till in her inmoſt breſt, He may emboſomd bee, and loued beſt; And yet not beſt, but to be lou'd alone, For loue can not endure a Paragone. The feare whereof, ô how doth it torment His troubled mynd with more then helliſh paine! And to his fayning fauſie repreſent Sights neuer ſeene, and thouſand ſhadowes vaine, To breake his ſleepe, and waſte his ydle braine; Thou that haſt neuer lou'd canſt not beleeue, Leaſt part of th'euils which poore louers greeue. The gnawing enuie, the hart-fretting feare, The vaine ſurmizes, the diſtruſtfull ſhowes, The falſe reports that flying tales doe beare, The doubts, the daungers, the delayes, the woes, The fayned friends, the vnaſſured foes, With thouſands more then any tongue can tell, Doe make a louers life a wretches hell. Yet is there one more curſed then they all, That cancker worme, that monſter Geloſie, Which eates the hart, and feedes vpon the gall, Turning all loues delight to miſerie, Through feare of looſing his felicitie. Ah Gods, that euer ye that monſter placed In gentle loue, that all his ioyes defaced. By theſe, ô Loue, thou doeſt thy entrance make, Vnto thy heauen, and doeſt the more endeere, Thy pleaſures vnto thoſe which them partake, As after ſtormes when clouds begin to cleare, The Sunne more bright & glorious doth appeare; So thou thy folke, through paines of Purgatorie, Doſt beare vnto thy bliſſe, and heauens glorie. There thou them placeſt in a Paradize Of all delight, and ioyous happie reſt, Where they doe feede on Nectar heauenly wize, With Hercules and Hebe, and the reſt Of Venus dearlings, through her bountie bleſt, And lie like Gods in yuorie beds arayd, With roſe and lillies ouer them diſplayd. There with thy daughter Pleaſure they doe play Their hurtleſſe ſports, without rebuke or blame, And in her ſnowy boſome boldly lay Their quiet heads, deuoyd of guilty ſhame, 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 euer I might hope, For all the paines and woes that I endure, To come at length vnto the wiſhed ſcope Of my deſire, or might my ſelfe aſſure, That happie port for euer to recure. Then would I thinke theſe paines no paines at all, And all my woes to be but penance ſmall. Then would I ſing of thine immortall praiſe An heauenly Hymne, ſuch as the Angels ſing, And thy triumphant name then would I raiſe Boue all the gods, thee onely 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. FINIS.

AN HYMNE. IN HONOVR OF BEAVTIE. AH whither, Loue, 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 vp aloft aboue my ſtrength doeſt rayſe The wondrous matter of my fyre to prayſe. 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, And with the brightneſſe of her beautie cleare, The rauiſht harts of gazefull men might reare, To admiration of that heauenly light, From whence proceeds ſuch foule enchaunting might. Therto do thou great Goddeſſe, queene of Beauty, Mother of loue, and of all worlds delight, Without whoſe ſouerayne grace and kindly dewty, Nothing on earth ſeemes fayre to fleſhly ſight, Doe thou vouchſafe with thy loue-kindling light, Tilluminate my dim and dulled eyne, And beautifie this ſacred hymne of thyne. That both to thee, to whom I meane it moſt, And eke to her, whoſe faire immortall beame, Hath darted fyre into my feeble ghoſt, That now it waſted is with woes extreame, 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 It ſeemes 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. That wondrous Paterne whereſoere it bee, Whether in earth layd vp in ſecret ſtore, Or elſe in heauen, that no man may it ſee With ſinfull eyes, for feare it to deflore, Is perfect Beautie which all men adore, Whoſe face and feature doth ſo much excell All mortall ſence, that none the ſame may tell. Thereof as euery earthly thing partakes, Or more or leſſe by influence diuine, So it more faire accordingly it makes, And the groſſe matter of this earthly myne, Which clotheth it, thereafter doth refyne, Doing away the droſſe which dims the light Of that faire beame, which therein is empight. For through infuſion of celeſtiall powre, The duller earth it quickneth with delight, And life-full ſpirits priuily doth powre Through all the parts, that to the lookers ſight They ſeeme to pleaſe. That is thy ſoueraine might, O Cyprian Queene, which flowing from the beame Of thy bright ſtarre, thou into them doeſt ſtreame. That is the thing which giueth pleaſant grace To all things faire, that kindleth liuely fyre, Light of thy lampe, which ſhyning in the face, Thence to the ſoule darts amorous deſyre, And robs the harts of thoſe which it admyre, Therewith thou pointeſt thy Sons poyſned arrow, That wounds the life, & waſtes the inmoſt marrow. How vainely then doe ydle wits inuent, That beautie is nought elſe, but mixture made Of colours faire, and goodly temp'rament Of pure complexions, that ſhall quickly fade And paſſe away, like to a ſommers ſhade, Or that it is but comely compoſition Of parts well meaſurd, with meet diſpoſition. Hath white and red in it ſuch wondrous powre, That it can pierce through th'eyes vnto the hart, And therein ſtirre ſuch rage and reſtleſſe ſtowre, As nought but death can ſtint his dolours ſmart? Or can proportion of the outward part, Moue 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, Worke like impreſſion in the lookers vew? Or why doe not faire pictures like powre ſhew, In which oftimes, we Nature ſee of Art Exceld, in perfect limming euery part. But ah, beleeue me, there is more then ſo That workes ſuch wonders in the minds of men. I that haue often prou'd, too well it know; And who ſo liſt the like aſſayes to ken, Shall find by tryall, and confeſſe it then, That Beautie is not, as fond men miſdeeme, 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 leaues ſo fairely ſpred Vpon the lips, ſhall fade and fall away To that they were, euen 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 louers fire, Shall neuer be extinguiſht nor decay, But when the vitall ſpirits doe expyre, Vnto her natiue planet ſhall retyre, For it is heauenly borne and can not die, Being a parcell of the pureſt skie. For when the ſoule, the which deriued was At firſt, out of that great immortall Spright, By whom all liue to loue, whilome did pas Downe from the top of pureſt heauens hight, To be embodied here, it then tooke light And liuely 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 eſt enraced, Through euery part ſhe doth the ſame impreſſe, According as the heauens haue her graced, And frames her houſe, in which ſhe will be placed, Fit for her ſelfe, adorning it with ſpoyle Of th'heauenly riches, which ſhe robderewhyle. Therof it comes, that theſe faire ſoules, which haue The moſt reſemblance of that heauenly light, Frame to themſelues moſt beautifull and braue Their fleſhly bowre, moſt fit for their delight, And the groſſe matter by a ſoueraine might Tempers ſo trim, that it may well be ſeene, A pallace fit for ſuch a virgin Queene. So euery ſpirit, as it is moſt pure, And hath in it the more of heauenly light, So it the fairer bodie doth procure To habit in, and it more fairely dight With chearefull grace and amiable ſight. For of the ſoule the bodie forme doth take: For ſoule is forme, and doth the bodie make. Therefore where euer that thou doeſt behold A comely corpſe, with beautie faire endewed, Know this for certaine, that the ſame doth hold A beauteous ſoule, with faire conditions thewed, Fit to receiue the ſeede of vertue ſtrewed. For all that faire is, is by nature good; That is a ſigne to know the gentle blood. Yet oft it falles, that many a gentle mynd Dwels in deformed tabernacle drownd, Either by chaunce, againſt the courſe of kynd, Or through vnaptneſſe in the ſubſtance fownd, Which it aſſumed of ſome ſtubborne grownd, That will not yield vnto her formes direction, But is perform'd with ſome foule imperfection. And oft it falles (ay me the more to rew) That goodly beautie, albe heauenly borne, Is foule abuſd, and that celeſtiall hew, Which doth the world with her delight adorne, Made but the bait of ſinne, and ſinners ſcorne; Whileſt euery one doth ſeeke and ſew to haue it, But euery one doth ſeeke, but to depraue it. Yet nathemore is that faire beauties blame, But theirs that do abuſe it vnto ill: Nothing ſo good, but that through guilty ſhame May be corrupt, and wreſted vnto will. Natheleſſe the ſoule is faire and beauteous ſtill, How euer fleſhes fault it filthy make: For things immortall no corruption take. But ye faire Dames, the worlds deare ornaments, And liuely images of heauens light, Let not your beames with ſuch diſparagements Be dimd, and your bright glorie darkned quight, But mindfull ſtill of your firſt countries ſight, Doe ſtill preſerue your firſt informed grace, Whoſe ſhadow yet ſhynes in your beauteous face. Loath that foule blot, that helliſh fierbrand, Diſloiall luſt, faire beauties fouleſt blame, That baſe affectiōs, which your eares would bland, Commend to you by loues abuſed name; But is indeede the bondſlaue of defame, Which will the garland of your glorie marre, And quēch the light of your bright ſhyning ſtarre. But gentle Loue, 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, which by like way Kindled of yours, your likeneſſe doth diſplay, Like as two mirrours by oppoſd reflexion, Doe both expreſſe the faces firſt impreſſion. Therefore to make your beautie more appeare, It you behoues to loue, and forth to lay That heauenly riches, which in you ye beare, That men the more admyre their fountaine may, For elſe what booteth that celeſtiall ray, If it in darkneſſe be enſhrined euer, That it of louing eyes be vewed neuer? But in your choice of Loues, this well aduize, That likeſt to your ſelues ye them ſelect, The which your forms firſt ſourſe may ſympathize, And with like beauties parts be inly deckt: For if you looſely loue without reſpect, It is no loue, but a diſcordant warre, Whoſe vnlike parts amongſt themſelues do iarre. For Loue is a celeſtiall harmonie, Of likely harts compoſd of ſtarres concent, Which ioyne together in ſweete ſympathie, To worke ech others ioy and true content, Which they haue harbourd ſince their firſt deſcēt Out of their heauenly bowres, where they did ſee And know ech other here belou'd to bee. Then wrong it were that any other twaine Should in loues gentle band combyned bee, But thoſe whom heauen did at firſt ordaine, And made out of one mould the more t'agree: For all that like the beautie which they ſee, Streight do not loue: for loue is not ſo light, As ſtreight to burne at firſt beholders ſight. But they which loue 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 Vnto their mind, voide of all blemiſhment; Which it reducing to her firſt perfection, Beholdeth free from fleſhes frayle infection. And then conforming it vnto the light, Which in it ſelfe it hath remaining ſtill Of that firſt Sunne, yet ſparckling in his ſight, Thereof he faſhions in his higher skill, An heauenly 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, 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, And yet indeede her faireneſſe doth exceede. For louers eyes more ſharply ſighted bee Then other mens, and in deare loues delight See more then any other eyes can ſee, Through mutuall receipt of beames bright, Which carrie priuie meſſage to the ſpright, And to their eyes that inmoſt faire diſplay, As plaine as light diſcouers dawning day. Therein they ſee through amorous eye-glaunces, Armies of loues ſtill flying too and fro, Which dart at them their litle fierie launces, Whom hauing wounded, backe againe they go, Carrying compaſſion to their louely foe; Who ſeeing her faire eyes ſo ſharpe effect, Cures all their ſorrowes with one ſweete aſpect. In which how many wonders doe they reede To their conceipt, that others neuer 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; But when her words embaſſade forth ſhe ſends, Lord how ſweete muſicke that vnto them lends. Sometimes vpon her forhead they behold A thouſand Graces masking in delight, Sometimes within her eye-lids they vnfold 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, ô Cytherea, and thouſands more Thy handmaides be, which do on thee attend 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, And ſpred thy louely kingdome ouer all. Then Iotryumph, ô great beauties Queene, Aduance the banner of thy conqueſt hie, That all this world, the which thy vaſſals beene, May draw to thee, and with dew fealtie, Adore the powre of thy great Maieſtie, Singing this Hymne in honour of thy name, Compyld by me, which thy poore liegeman am. In lieu whereof graunt, ô great Soueraine, That ſhe whoſe conquering beautie doth captiue My trembling hart in her eternall chaine, One drop of grace at length will to me giue, That I her bounden thrall by her may liue, And this ſame life, which firſt fro me ſhe reaued, May owe to her, of whom I it receaued. And you faire Venus dearling, my deare dread, Freſh flowre of grace, great Goddeſſe of my life, Whē your faire eyes theſe fearefull lines ſhal read, Deigne to let fall one drop of dew reliefe, That may recure my harts long pyning griefe, And ſhew what wōdrous powre your beauty hath, That can reſtore a damned wight from death. FINIS.

AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY LOVE. LOue, lift me vp vpon thy golden wings, From this baſe world vnto thy heauens hight, Where I may ſee thoſe admirable things, Which there thou workeſt by thy ſoueraine might, Farre aboue feeble reach of earthly ſight, That I thereof an heauenly Hymne may ſing Vnto the god of Loue, high heauens king. Many lewd layes (ah woe is me the more) In praiſe of that mad fit, which fooles call loue, I haue in th'heat of youth made heretofore, That in light wits did looſe affection moue. But all thoſe follies now I do reproue, And turned haue the tenor of my ſtring, The heauenly prayſes of true loue to ſing. And ye that wont with greedy vaine deſire To reade my fault, and wondring at my flame, To warme your ſelues 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, 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 The rolling Spheres, & parts their houres by ſpace, That high eternall powre, which now doth moue In all theſe things, mou'd in it ſelfe by loue. It lou'd it ſelfe, becauſe it ſelfe was faire; (For faire is lou'd;) and of it ſelfe begot 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 loues diſlike, or pride was to be found, Whom he therefore with equall honour crownd. With him he raignd, before all time preſcribed, In endleſſe glorie and immortall might, Together with that third from them deriued, Moſt wiſe, moſt holy, moſt almightie Spright, Whoſe kingdomes throne no thought of earthly wight Can cōprehēd, much leſſe my trēbling verſe With equall words can hope it to reherſe. Yet ô moſt bleſſed Spirit, pure lampe of light, Eternall ſpring of grace and wiſedome trew, Vouchſafe to ſhed into my barren ſpright, Some little drop of thy celeſtiall dew, That may my rymes with ſweet infuſe embrew, And giue me words equall vnto my thought, To tell the marueiles by thy mercie wrought. Yet being pregnant ſtill with powrefull grace, And full of fruitfull loue, that loues to get Things like himſelfe, and to enlarge his race, His ſecond brood though not in powre ſo great, Yet full of beautie, next he did beget An infinite increaſe of Angels bright, All gliſtring glorious in their Makers light. To them the heauens illimitable hight, Not this round heauē, which we frō hence behold, Adornd with thouſand lamps of burning light, And with ten thouſand gemmes of ſhyning gold, He gaue as their inheritance to hold, That they might ſerue him in eternall blis, And be partakers of thoſe ioyes of his. There they in their trinall triplicities About him wait, and on his will depend, Either with nimble wings to cut the skies, When he them on his meſſages doth ſend, Or on his owne dread preſence to attend, Where they behold the glorie of his light, And caroll Hymnes of loue both day and night. Both day and night is vnto them all one, For he his beames doth ſtill to them extend, That darkneſſe there appeareth neuer none, Ne hath their day, ne hath their bliſſe an end, But there their termeleſſe time in pleaſure ſpend, Ne euer ſhould their happineſſe decay, Had not they dar'd their Lord to diſobay. But pride impatient of long reſting peace, Did puffe them vp with greedy bold ambition, That they gan caſt their ſtate how to increaſe, Aboue the fortune of their firſt condition, And ſit in Gods owne ſeat without commiſſion: The brighteſt Angell, euen the Child of light Drew millions more againſt their God to fight. Th'Almighty ſeeing their ſo bold aſſay, Kindled the flame of his conſuming yre, And with his onely breath them blew away From heauens hight, to which they did aſpyre, To deepeſt hell, and lake of damned fyre; Where they in darkneſſe and dread horror dwell, Hating the happie light from which they fell. So that next off-ſpring of the Makers loue, Next to himſelfe in glorious degree, Degendering to hate fell from aboue Through pride; (for pride and loue 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 loue and grace, Still flowing forth his goodneſſe vnto all, 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 vnknowen Colony therein, Whoſe root from earths baſe groundworke ſhold begin. Therefore of clay, baſe, vile, and next to nought, Yet form'd by wondrous skill, and by his might: According to an heauenly patterne wrought, Which he had faſhiond in his wiſe foreſight, He man did make, and breathd a liuing ſpright Into his face moſt beautifull and fayre, Endewd with wifedomes riches, heauenly, rare. Such he him made, that he reſemble might Himſelfe, as mortall thing immortall could; Him to be Lord of euery liuing wight, He made by loue out of his owne like mould, In whom he might his mightie ſelfe behould: For loue doth loue the thing belou'd to ſee, That like it ſelfe in louely ſhape may bee. But man forgetfull of his makers grace, No leſſe then Angels, whom he did enſew, Fell from the hope of promiſt heauenly place, Into the mouth of death to ſinners dew, And all his off-ſpring into thraldome threw: Where they for euer ſhould in bonds remaine, Of neuer dead, yet euer dying paine. Till that great Lord of Loue, which him at firſt Made of meere loue, and after liked well, Seeing him lie like creature long accurſt, In that deepe horror of deſpeyred hell, 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 eternall bliſſe, In which he reigned with his glorious ſyre, He downe deſcended, like a moſt demiſſe And abiect thrall, in fleſhes fraile attyre, That he for him might pay ſinnes deadly hyre, And him reſtore vnto that happie ſtate, In which he ſtood before his hapleſſe fate. In fleſh at firſt the guilt committed was, Therefore in fleſh it muſt be ſatisfyde: Nor ſpirit, nor Angell, though they man ſurpas, Could make amends to God for mans miſguyde, But onely man himſelfe, who ſelfe did ſlyde. 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 gaue to be both rent and torne Of cruell hands, who with deſpightfull ſhame Reuyling him, that them moſt vile became, At length him nayled on a gallow tree, And ſlew the iuſt, by moſt vniuſt decree. O huge and moſt vnſpeakeable impreſſion Of loues deepe wound, that pierſt the piteous hart Of that deare Lord with ſo entyre affection, And ſharply launching euery inner part, Dolours of death into his ſoule did dart; Doing him die, that neuer it deſerued, To free his foes, that from his heaſt had ſwerued. What hart can feele leaſt touch of ſo ſore launch, Or thought can think the depth of ſo deare wound? Whoſe bleeding ſourſe their ſtreames yet neuer ſtaunch, But ſtil do flow, & freſhly ſtill redound, To heale the ſores of ſinfull ſoules vnſound, And clenſe the guilt of that infected cryme, Which was enrooted in all fleſhly ſlyme. O bleſſed well of loue, ô floure of grace, O glorious Morning ſtarre, ô lampe of light, Moſt liuely image of thy fathers face, Eternall 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? Yet nought thou ask'ſt in lieu of all this loue, But loue of vs for guerdon of thy paine. Ay me; what can vs leſſe then that behone? Had he required life of vs againe, Had it beene wrong to aske his owne with gaine? He gaue vs life, he it reſtored loſt; Then life were leaſt, that vs ſo litle coſt. But he our life hath left vnto vs free, Free that was thrall, and bleſſed that was band; Ne ought demaunds, but that we louing bee, As he himſelfe hath lou'd vs afore hand, And bound therto with an eternall band, Him firſt to loue, that vs ſo dearely bought, And next, our brethren to his image wrought. Him firſt to loue, great right and reaſon is, Who firſt to vs our life and being gaue; And after when we fared had amiſſe, Vs wretches from the ſecond death did ſaue; And laſt the food of life, which now we haue, Euen himſelfe in his deare ſacrament, To feede our hungry ſoules vnto vs lent. Then next to loue our brethren, that were made Of that ſelfe mould, and that ſelfe makers hand, That we, and to the ſame againe ſhall fade, Where they ſhall haue like heritage of land, How euer here on higher ſteps we ſtand; Which alſo were with ſelfe ſame price redeemed That we, how euer of vs light eſteemed. And were they not, yet ſince that louing Lord Commaunded vs to loue them for his ſake, Euen for his ſake, and for his ſacred word, Which in his laſt bequeſt he to vs ſpake, We ſhould them loue, & with their needs partake; Knowing that whatſoere to them we giue, We giue to him, by whom we all doe liue. Such mercy he by his moſt holy reede Vnto vs taught, and to approue it trew, Enſampled it by his moſt righteous deede, Shewing vs mercie miſerable crew, That we the like ſhould to the wretches ſhew, And loue our brethren; thereby to approue, How much himſelfe that loued vs, we loue. Then rouze thy ſelfe, ô earth, out of thy ſoyle, In which thou walloweſt like to filthy ſwyne, And doeſt thy mynd in durty pleaſures moyle, Vnmindfull of that deareſt Lord of thyne; Lift vp to him thy heauie clouded eyne, That thou his ſoueraine bountie mayſt behold. And read through loue his mercies manifold. Beginne from firſt, where he encradled was In ſimple cratch, wrapt in a wad of hay, Betweene the toylefull Oxe and humble Aſſe, And in what rags, and in how baſe aray, The glory of our heauenly riches lay, When him the ſilly Shepheards came to ſee, Whom greateſt Princes ſought on loweſt knee. From thence reade on the ſtorie of his life, His humble carriage, his vnfaulty wayes, His cancred foes, his fights, his toyle, his ſtrife, His paines, his pouertie, his ſharpe aſſayes, Through which he paſt his miſerable dayes, Offending none, and doing good to all, Yet being maliſt both of great and ſmall. And looke at laſt how of moſt wretched wights, He taken was, betrayd, and falſe accuſed, How with moſt ſcornefull taunts, & fell deſpights bruſed; He was reuyld, diſgraſt, and foule abuſed, How ſcourgd, how crownd, how buffeted, how & ſyde. And laſtly how twixt robbers crucifyde, With bitter wounds through hands, through feet Then let thy flinty hart that feeles no paine, Empierced be with pittifull remorſe, And let thy bowels bleede in euery vaine, At ſight of his moſt ſacred heauenly corſe, So torne and mangled with malicious forſe, And let thy ſoule, whoſe ſins his ſorrows wrought, Melt into teares, and grone in grieued thought. With ſence whereof whileſt ſo thy ſoftened ſpirit Is inly toucht, and humbled with meeke zeale, Through meditation of his endleſſe merit, Lift vp thy mind to th'author of thy weale, And to his ſoueraine mercie doe appeale; Learne him to loue, that loued thee ſo deare, And in thy breſt his bleſſed image beare. With all thy hart, with all thy ſoule and mind, Thou muſt him loue, and his beheaſts embrace, All other loues, with which the world doth blind Weake fancies, and ſtirre vp affections baſe, Thou muſt renounce, and vtterly diſplace, And giue thy ſelfe vnto him full and free, That full and freely gaue himſelfe to thee. Then ſhalt thou feele thy ſpirit ſo poſſeſt, And rauiſht with deuouring great deſire Of his deare ſelfe, that ſhall thy feeble breſt Inflame with loue, and ſet thee all on fire With burning zeale, through euery part entire, That in no earthly thing thou ſhalt delight, But in his ſweet and amiable ſight. Thenceforth all worlds deſire will in thee dye, And all earthes glorie on which men do gaze, Seeme durt and droſſe in thy pure ſighted eye, Compar'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. Then ſhall thy rauiſht ſoule inſpired bee With heauēly thoughts, farre aboue 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 With ſweete enragement of celeſtiall loue, Kindled through ſight of thoſe faire things aboue. FINIS.

AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY BEAVTIE. RApt with the rage of mine own rauiſht thought, Through cōtemplation of thoſe goodly ſights, And glorious images in heauen wrought, Whoſe wōdrous beauty breathing ſweet delights, Do kindle loue in high conceipted ſprights: I faine to tell the things that I behold, But feele my wits to faile, and tongue to fold. Vouchſafe then, ô thou moſt almightie Spright, From whom all guifts of wit and knowledge flow, To ſhed into my breaſt ſome ſparkling light Of thine eternall Truth, that I may ſhow Some litle beames to mortall eyes below, Of that immortall beautie, there with thee, Which in my weake diſtraughted mynd I ſee. That with the glorie of ſo goodly ſight, The hearts of men, which fondly here admyre Faire ſeeming ſhewes, and feed on vaine delight, Tranſported with celeſtiall deſyre Of thoſe faire formes, may lift themſelues vp hye • , And learne to loue with zealous humble dewty Th'eternall fountaine of that heauenly beauty. Beginning then below, with th'eaſie vew Of this baſe world, ſubiectro fleſhly eye, From thence to mount aloft by order dew, To contemplation of th'immortall sky, Of the ſoare faulcon ſo I learne to fly, That flags awhile her fluttering wings beneath, Till ſhe her ſelfe for ſtronger flight can breath. Then looke who liſt, thy gazefull eyes to feed With ſight of that is faire, looke on the frame Of this wyde vniuerſe, and therein reed The endleſſe kinds of creatures, which by name Thou cāſt not coūt, much leſſe their natures aime: All which are made with wondrous wiſe reſpect, And all with admirable beautie deckt. Firſt th'Earth, on adamantine pillers founded, Amid the Sea engirt with braſen bands; Then th'Aire ſtill flitting, but yet firmely bounded On euerie ſide, with pyles of flaming brands, Neuer conſum'd nor quencht with mortall hands; And laſt, that mightie ſhining chriſtall wall, Wherewith he hath encompaſſed this All. By view whereof, it plainly may appeare, That ſtill as euery thing doth vpward tend, And further is from earth, ſo ſtill more cleare And faire it growes, till to his perfect end Of pureſt beautie, it at laſt aſcend: Ayre more then water, fire much more then ayre, And heauen then fire appeares more pure & fayre. Looke thou no further, but affixe thine eye, On that bright ſhynie round ſtill mouing Maſſe, The houſe of bleſſed Gods, which men call Skye, All ſowd with gliſtring ſtars more thicke thē graſſe, Whereof each other doth in brightneſſe paſſe; But thoſe two moſt, which ruling night and day, As King and Queene, the heauens Empire ſway. And tell me then, what haſt thou euer 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? How much leſſe thoſe, much higher in degree, And ſo much fairer, and much more then theſe, As theſe are fairer then the land and ſeas? For farre aboue theſe heauens which here we ſee, Be others farre exceeding theſe in light, Not bounded, not corrupt, as theſe ſame bee, But infinite in largeneſſe and in hight, Vnmouing, vncorrupt, and ſpotleſſe bright, That need no Sunne t'illuminate their ſpheres, But their owne natiue light farre paſſing theirs. And as theſe heauens ſtill by degrees arize, Vntill they come to their firſt Mouers bound, That in his mightie compaſſe doth comprize, And carrie all the reſt with him around, So thoſe likewiſe doe by degrees redound, And riſe more faire, till they at laſt ariue To the moſt faire, whereto they all do ſtriue. Faire is the heauen, where happy ſoules haue place, In full enioyment of felicitie, Whence they doe ſtill behold, the glorious face Of the diuine eternall Maieſtie; More faire is that, where thoſe Idees on hie Enraunged be, which Plato ſo admyred, And pure Intelligences from God inſpyred. Yet fairer is that heauen, in w hich doe raine The ſoueraine Powres and mightie Potentates, Which in their high protections doe containe All mortall Princes, and imperiall States; And fayrer yet, whereas the royall Seates And heauenly Dominations are ſet, From whom all earthly gouernance is fet. Yet farre more faire be thoſe bright Cherubins, Which all with golden wings are ouerdight, And thoſe eternall burning Seraphins, Which from their faces dart out fierie light; Yet fairer then they both, and much more bright Be th'Angels and Archangels, which attend On Gods owne perſon, without reſt or end. Theſe thus in faire each other farre excelling, As to the Higheſt they approch more neare, Yet is that Higheſt farre beyond all telling, Fairer then all the reſt which there appeare, Though all their beauties ioynd together were: How then can mortall tongue hope to expreſſe, The image of ſuch endleſſe perfectneſſe? Ceaſe then my tongue, and lend vnto my mynd Leaue to bethinke how great that beautie is, Whoſe vtmoſt parts ſo beautifull I fynd, How much more thoſe eſſentiall parts of his, His truth, his loue, his wiſedome, and his blis, His grace, his doome, his mercy and his might, By which he lends vs of himſelfe a ſight. Thoſe vnto all he daily doth diſplay, And ſhew himſelfe in th'image of his grace, As in a looking glaſſe, through which he may Be ſeene, of all his creatures vile and baſe, That are vnable elſe to ſee his face, His glorious face which gliſtereth elſe ſo bright, That th'Angels ſelues can not endure his ſight. But we fraile wights, whoſe ſight cannot ſuſtaine The Suns bright beames, whē he on vs doth ſhyne, But that their points rebutted backe againe Are duld, how can we ſee with feeble eyne, The glory of that Maieſtie diuine, In ſight of whom both Sun and Moone are darke, Compared to his leaſt reſplendent ſparke? The meanes therefore which vnto vs 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, To reade enregiſtred in euery nooke His goodneſſe, which his beautie doth declare, For all thats good, is beautifull and faire. Thenee gathering plumes of perfect ſpeculation, To impe the wings of thy high flying mynd, Mount vp aloft through heauenly contemplation, From this darke world, whoſe damps the ſoule do blynd, And like the natiue brood of Eagles kynd, On that bright Sunne of glorie fixe thine eyes, Clear'd from groſſe miſts of fraile infirmities. Humbled with feare and awfull reuerence, Before the footeſtoole of his Maieſtie, Throw thy ſelfe downe with trembling innocence, Ne dare looke vp with corruptible eye, On the dred face of that great Deity, For feare, leſt if he chaunce to looke on thee, Thou turne to nought, and quite confounded be. But lowly fall before his mercie ſeate, Cloſe couered with the Lambes integrity, From the iuſtwrath of his auengefull threate, That ſits vpon the righteous throne on hy: His throne is built vpon 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, With which he bruſeth all his foes to duſt, And the great Dragon ſtrongly doth repreſſe, Vnder the rigour of his iudgement iuſt; His ſeate is Truth, to which the faithfull truſt; Frō whence proceed her beames ſo pure & bright, 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 The dark & dampiſh aire, wherby al things are red: Whoſe nature yet ſo much is maruelled 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 cleare, More excellent, more glorious, more diuine, Through which to God all mortall actions here, And euen the thoughts of men, do plaine appeare: For from th'eternall Truth it doth proceed, Through heauenly vertue, which her beames doe breed. With the great glorie of that wondrous light, His throne is all encompaſſed around, And hid in his owne brightneſſe from the ſight Of all that looke thereon with eyes vnſound: And vnderneath his feet are to be found, Thunder, and lightning, and tempeſtuous fyre, The inſtruments of his auenging yre. There in his boſome Sapience doth ſit, The ſoueraine dearling of the Deity, Clad like a Queene in royall robes, moſt fit For ſo great powre and peereleſſe maieſty. And all with gemmes and iewels gorgeouſly Adornd, that brighter then the ſtarres appeare, And make her natiue brightnes ſeem more cleare. And on her head a crowne of pureſt gold Is ſet, in ſigne of higheſt ſoueraignty, And in her hand a ſcepter ſhe doth hold, With which ſhe rules the houſe of God on hy, And menageth the euer-mouing sky, And in the ſame theſe lower creatures all, Subiected to her powre imperiall. Both he auen and earth obey vnto 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, As their great Maker did at firſt ordaine, Through obſeruation of her high beheaſt, By which they firſt were made, and ſtill increaſt. The faireneſſe of her face no tongue can tell, For ſhe the daughters of all wemens race, And Angels eke, in beautie doth excell, Sparkled on her from Gods owne glorious face, And more increaſt by her owne goodly grace, That it doth farre exceed all humane thought, Ne can on earth compared be to ought. Ne could that Painter (had he liued yet) Which pictured Venus with ſo curious quill, That all poſteritie admyred it, Haue purtrayd this, for all his maiſtring skill; Ne ſhe her ſelfe, had ſhe remained ſtill, And were as faire, as fabling wits do fayne, Could once come neare this beauty ſouerayne. But had thoſe wits the wonders of their dayes, Or that ſweete Teian Poet which did ſpend His plenteous vaine in ſetting forth her prayſe, Seene but a glims of this, which I pretend, How wondrouſly would he her face commend, Aboue that Idole of his fayning thought, That all the world ſhold with his rimes be fraught? How then dare I, the nouice of his Art, Preſume to picture ſo diuine a wight, Or hope t'expreſſe her leaſt perfections part, Whoſe beautie filles the heauens with her light, And darkes the earth with ſhadow of her ſight? Ah gentle Muſe thou art too weake and faint, The pourtraict of ſo heauenly hew to paint. Let Angels which her goodly face behold And ſee at will, her ſoueraigne praiſes ſing, And thoſe moſt facred myſteries vnfold, Of that faire loue of mightie heauens king. Enough is me t'admyre ſo heauenly thing, And being thus with her huge loue poſſeſt, In th'only wonder of her ſelfe to reſt. But who ſo may, thriſe happie man him hold, Of all on earth, whom God ſo much doth grace, And lets his owne Beloued to behold: For in the view of her celeſtiall face, All ioy, all bliſſe, all happineſſe haue place, Ne ought on earth can want vnto the wight, Who of her ſelfe can win the wiſhfull ſight. For ſhe out of her ſecret threaſury, Plentie of riches forth on him will powre, Euen heauenly riches, which there hidden ly Within the cloſet of her chaſteſt bowre, Th'eternall portion of her precious dowre, Which mighty God hath giuen to her free, And to all thoſe which thereof worthy bee. None thereof worthy be, but thoſe whom ſhee Vouchſafeth to her preſence to receaue, And letteth them her louely face to ſee, Wherof ſuch wondrous pleaſures they conceaue, And ſweete contentment, that it doth bereaue Their ſoule of ſenſe, through infinite delight, And them tranſport from fleſh into the ſpright. In which they ſee ſuch admirable things, As carries them into an extaſy, And heare ſuch heauenly notes, and carolings Of Gods high praiſe, that filles the braſen sky, And feele ſuch ioy and pleaſure inwardly, That maketh them all worldly cares forget, 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, 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 vſeth to enflame The hearts of men with ſelfe conſuming fyre, Thenceforth ſeemes fowle, & 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. 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 haue written in their inward ey; On which they feed, and in their faſtened mynd All happie ioy and full contentment fynd. Ah then my hungry ſoule, which long haſt fed On idle fancies of thy fooliſh thought, And with falſe beauties flattring bait miſled, Haſt after vaine deceiptfull ſhadowes ſought, Which all are fled, and now haue left thee nought, But late repentance through thy follies prief; Ah ceaſſe to gaze no matter of thy grief. And looke at laſt vp to that ſoueraine light, From whoſe pure beams alperfect beauty ſprings, That kindleth loue in euery godly ſpright, Euen the loue of God, which loathing brings Of this vile world, and theſe gay ſeeming things; With whoſe ſweete pleaſures being ſo poſſeſt, Thy ſtraying thoughts henceforth for euer reſt.

Daphnaida.

AN ELEGIE VPON THE DEATH OF THE NOBLE AND VERTVOVS DOVGLAS Howard, daughter and heire of Henry Lord Howard, Viſcount Byndon, and wife of Arthur Gorges Eſquier.

Dedicated to the Right honorable the Ladie Helena, Marqueſſe of Northampton.

By Ed. Sp.

ANCHORA SPEI

printer's or publisher's device

AT LONDON Printed for William Ponſonby, 1596.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND VERtuous Lady Helena Marqueſſe of North-hampton.

I Haue the rather preſumed humbly to offer vnto your Honour the dedication of this little Poëme, for that the noble and vertuous Gentlewomā of whom it is written, was by match neere alied, and in affection greatly deuoted vnto your Ladiship. The occaſion why I wrote the ſame, was aſwell the great good fame which I heard of her deceaſſed, as the particular good will which I beare vnto her husband Maſter Arthur Gorges, a louer of learning and vertue, whoſe houſe, as your Ladiship by mariage hath honoured, ſo doe I find the name of them by many notable records, to be of great antiquitie in this Realme; and ſuch as haue euer borne themſelues with honoarable reputation to the world, & vnſpotted loyaltie to their Prince and Countrey: beſides ſo lineally are they deſcended from the Howards, as that the Lady Anne Howard, eldeſt daughter to Iohn 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 gratefull to your Ladiship, whoſe husband and children do ſo neerely participate with the bloud of that noble family. So in all dutie I recommende this Pamphlet, and the good acceptance thereof, to your honourable fauour and protection. London this firſt of Ianuarie. 1591.

Your Honours humbly euer. Ed. Sp.

DAPHNAIDA. WHat euer man he be, whoſe heauie mynd With griefe of mournefull great miſhap oppreſt, Fit matter for his cares increaſe would fynd: Let reade the rufull plaint herein expreſt, Of one (I weene) the wofulſt man aliue; Euen ſad Alcyon, whoſe empierced breſt, Sharpe ſorrowe did in thouſand peeces riue. But who ſo elſe in pleaſure findeth ſenſe, Or in this wretched life dooth take delight, Let him be baniſht farre away from hence: Ne let the ſacred Siſters here be hight, Though they of ſorrowe heauilie can ſing; For euen their heauie ſong would breede delight: But here no tunes, ſaue ſobs and grones ſhall ring. In ſtead of them, and their ſweete harmonie, Let thoſe three fatall Siſters, whoſe ſad bands Doe weaue the direfull threeds of deſtinie, And in their wrath breake off the vitall bands, Approach hereto: and let the dreadfull Queene Of darkenes deepe come from the Stygian ſtrands, And griſly Ghoſts to heare this dolefull teene. In gloomie euening, when the wearie Sun, After his dayes long labour drew to reſt, And ſweatie ſteedes now hauing ouer run The compaſt skie, gan water in the weſt, 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 vnto my mind a troublous thought, Which dayly doth my weaker wit poſſeſſe, Ne lets it reſt, vntill it forth haue brought Her long borne Infant, fruit of heauineſſe, Which ſhe conceiued hath through meditation Of this worlds vainneſſe, and lifes wretchedneſſe, That yet my ſoule it deepely doth empaſſion. So as I muzed on the miſerie In which men liue, 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: And Iaakob ſtaffe in hand deuoutly croſt, Like to ſome Pilgrim, come from farre away. His careleſſe lockes, vncombed and vnſhorne, Hong long adowne, and beard all ouer growne, That well he ſeemd to be ſome wight forlorne; Downe to the earth his heauie eyes were throwne As loathing light: and euer as he went, He ſighed ſoft, and inly deepe did grone, As if his heart in peeces would haue rent. Approaching nigh, his face I vewed nere, And by the ſemblant of his countenaunce, Me ſeemd I had his perſon ſeene elſe where, Moſt like Alcyon ſeeming at a glaunce; Alcyon he, the iollie Shepheard ſwaine, That wont full merrilie to pipe and daunce, And fill with pleaſance euery wood and plaine. Yet halfe in doubt, becauſe of his diſguize, I ſoftlie ſayd, Alcyon? There withall He lookt a ſide as in diſdainefull wiſe, Yet ſtayed not: till I againe did call. Then turning back, he ſaide with hollow ſound, Who is it, that dooth name me, wofull thrall, The wretchedſt man that treads this day on groūd? One, whom like wofulneſſe impreſſed deepe, Hath made fit mate thy wretched caſe to heare, And giuen 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 haue to my truſtie care Committed, what thee dooth ſo ill apay. Ceaſe fooliſh man (ſaide he halfe wrothfully) To ſeeke to heare that which cannot be told: For the huge anguiſh, which dooth multiplie My dying paines, no tongue can well vnfold: Ne doo I care, that any ſhould bemone My hard miſhap or any weepe that would, But ſeeke alone to weepe, and dye alone. Then be it ſo (quoth I) that thou art bent To die alone, vnpitied, vnplained, Yet ere thou die, it were conuenient 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 dooes loath, and longs to be vnbound From the ſtrong ſhackles of fraile fleſh (quoth he) Nought cares at all, what they that liue on ground Deeme the occaſion of his death to bee: Rather deſires to be forgotten quight, Than queſtion made of his calamitie, 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, (Signe of thy loue, though nought for my reliefe: For my reliefe exceedeth liuing thought) I will to thee this heauie caſe relate, Then harken well till it to end be brought, For neuer didſt thou heare more hapleſſe fate. Whilome Ivſde (as thou right well doeſt know) My little flocke on weſterne downes to keepe. Not far from whence Sabrinaes ſtreame doth flow, And flowrie bancks with ſiluer liquor ſteepe. Nought carde I then for worldly change or chaūce, For all my ioy was on my gentle ſheepe, And to my pype to caroll and to daunce. It there befell, as I the fields did range Feareleſſe and free, a faire young Lioneſſe, White as the natiue Roſe before the chaunge, Which Venus blood did in her leaues impreſſe. I ſpied playing on the graſſie plaine Her youthfull ſports and kindlie wantonneſſe, That did all other Beaſts in beawtie ſtaine. Much was I moued at ſo goodly ſight; Whoſe like before, mine eye had ſeldome ſeene, And gan to caſt, how I her compaſſe might, And bring to hand, that yet had neuer beene: So well I wrought with mildnes and with paine, That I her caught diſporting on the greene, And brought away faſt bound with ſiluer chaine. And afterwards I handled her ſo ſayre, That though by kind ſhee ſtout and ſaluage were, For being borne an auncient Lions hayre, And of the race, that all wild beaſtes do feare; Yet I her fram'd and wanſo to my bent, That ſhee became ſo meeke and milde of cheare, As the leaſt lamb in all my flock that went. For ſhee in field, where euer I did wend, Would wend with me, and waite by me all day: And all the night that I in watch did ſpend, If cauſe requir'd, or els in ſleepe, if nay, Shee would all night by me or watch or ſleepe; And euermore when I did ſleepe or play, She of my flock would take full warie keepe. Safe then and ſafeſt were my fillie ſhe epe, Ne fear'd the Wolfe, ne fear'd the wildeſt beaſt: All were I drown'd in careleſſequiet deepe: My loucly Lionoſſe without beheaſt So careful was for them and for my good, Thta when I waked, neither moſt nor leaſt I found miſcaried or in plaine or wood. Oft did the Shepheatils, which my hap did heare, And oft their laſſes which my lack enuyde, Daylie reſort to my from farre and neare, To ſee my Lyoneſſe, whoſe prailes wyde Where ſpred abroad, and when her worthineſſe Much greater than the rude report they try'de, They her did praiſe, and my good fortune bleſſe. Long thus Lioyed in my happineſſe, And well did hope my ioy would haue no end: But oh fond man, that in worlds fickleneſſe Repoſedſt hope, or weenedſt her thy frend, That glories moſt in mortall miſeries, And daylie doth her changefull counfels bend To make new matter fit for Tragedies. For whileſt I was thus without dread or dout, A cruell Satyre with his murdrous dart, Greedie of miſchiefe, ranging all about, Gaue her the fatall wound of deadly ſmart: And reft from me my ſweete companion, And reft fro me my loue, my life, my hart: My Lyoneſſe (an woe is me) is gon. Out of the world thus was ſhe reft away, Out of the world, vnworthy ſuch a ſpoyle; And borne to heauen, for he auen a fitter pray: Much fitter than the Lyon, which with toyle 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 heauie plight, 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, painefull is thy plight, That it in me breeds almoſt equall paine. Yet doth not my dull wit well vnderſtand The riddle of thy loued 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, And be the vaſſall of his vaſſaleſſe: Therefore more plaine aread this doubtfull caſe. Then ſighing ſore, Daphne thou kneweſt (quoth he) She now is dead; ne more endur'd to ſay: But fell to ground for great extremitie, That I beholding it, with deepe diſmay Was much appald, and lightly him vprearing, Reuoked life, that would haue fled away, All were my ſelfe through grief in deadly drearing. Then gan I him to comfort all my beſt, And with milde counſaile ſtroue to mitigate The ſtormie paſſion of his troubled breſt, But he thereby was more empaſſionate: As ſtubborne ſteed, that is with curb reſtrained, Becomes more fierce and feruent in his gate, And breaking foorth at laſt, thus dearnely plained. 1 What man henceforth that breatheth vitall aire, Will honour heauen, or heauenly powers adore? Which ſo vniuſtly do their iudgements ſhare; Mongſt earthly wights, as to afflict ſo ſore The innocent, as thoſe which do tranſgreſſe, And doe not ſpare the beſt or faireſt, more Than worſt or fowleſt, but doe both oppreſſe. If this be right, why did they then create The world ſo faire, ſith faireneſſe is neglected? Or why be they themſelues immaculate, If pureſt things be not by them reſpected? She faire, ſhe pure, moſt faire, moſt pure ſhe was, Yet was by them as thing impure reiected: Yet ſhe in pureneſſe, heauen it ſelfe did pas. In pureneſſe and in all celeſtiall grace, That men admire in goodly womankind; She did excell and ſeem'd of Angels race, Liuing on earth like Angell new diuinde, Adorn'd with wiſedome and with chaſtitie: And all the dowries of a noble mind, Which did her beautie much more beautifie. No age hath bred (ſince faire Aſtraea left The ſinfull world) more vertue in a wight, And when ſhe parted hence, with her ſhe reft Great hope; and robd her race of bountie quight: Well may the ſhepheard laſſes now lament, For doubble loſſe by her hath on them light; To looſe both her and bounties omament. Ne let Eliſa royall Shepheardeſſe The praiſes of my parted loue enuy, For ſhe hath praiſes in all plenteouſneſſe, Powr'd vpon her, like ſhowers of Caſtaly By her owne Shepheard, Colin her own Shepherd, That her with heauenly hymnes doth deifie, 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: Not mine but his, which mine a while her made: Mine to be his, with him to liue for ay: O that ſo faire a flowre ſo ſoone ſhould fade, And through vntimely tempeſt fall away. She fell away in her firſt ages ſpring, Whilſt yet her leafe was greene, & freſh her rinde, And whilſt her braunch faire bloſſomes foorth did bring, She fell away againſt all courſe of kinde: For age to dye is right, but youth is wrong; She fell away like fruit blowne downe with winde: Weepe Shepheard weepe to make my vnderſong. 2 What hart ſo ſtonie hard, but that would weepe, And poure forth fountaines of inceſſant teares? What Timon, but would let compaſſion creepe Into his breaſt, and pierce his froſen eares? In ſtead of teares, whoſe brackiſh bitter well I waſted haue, my heart bloud dropping weares, To thinke 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 trauell downe doth lye, So lay ſhe downe, as if to fleepe ſhe went, And cloſde her eyes with careleſſe quiemeſſe; The whiles ſoft death away her ſpirit hent, And ſoule aſſoyld from ſinfull fleſhlineſſe. Yet ere that life her lodging did forſake, She all reſolu'd and readie to remone, Calling to me (ay me) this wiſe beſpake; Alcyon, ah my firſt and lateſt lone, Ah why does my Alcyon weepe and mourne, And grieue my ghoſt, that ill more him behoue, As if to me had chaunſt ſome euill tourne? I, ſince the meſſenger is come for mee, That ſummons ſoules vnto the bridale feaſt Of his great Lord, muſt needs depart from thee, And ſtraight obay his ſoneraine beheaſt: Why ſhould Alcyon then ſo ſore lament, That I from miſerie ſhall be releaſt, And freed from wretched long impriſonment? Our daies are full of dolour and diſeaſe, Our life afflicted with inceſſant paine, That nought on earth may leſſen or appeaſe. Why then ſhould I deſire here to remaine? Or why ſhould he that loues me, ſorrie bee For my deliuerance, or at all complaine My good to heare, and toward ioyes to ſee? I goe, and long deſired haue 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 Eternally him praiſe, that hath them bleſt; There ſhall I be amongſt thoſe bleſſed ones. Yet ere I goe, a pledge I leaue with thee Of the late loue, the which betwixt vs paſt, My young Ambroſia, in lieu of mee Loue her: ſo ſhall our loue for euer laſt. Thus deare adieu, whom I expect ere long: So hauing ſaid, away ſhe ſoftly paſt: Weepe Shepheard weepe, to make mine vnderſong. 3 So oft as I record thoſe piercing words, Which yet are deepe engrauen 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 ſoule firſt conquerd and poſſeſt, The firſt beginners of my endleſſe care; And when thoſe pallid cheekes and aſhie 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, I match with that ſweete ſmile and chearful brow, Which all the world ſubdued vnto it; How happie was I then, and wretched now? How happie was I, when I ſaw her leade The Shepheards daughters dauncing in arownd? How trimly would ſhe trace and ſoftly tread The tender graſſe with roſye garland crownd? And when ſhe liſt aduance her heauenly voyce, Both Nymphes & Muſes nigh ſhe made aſtownd, And flocks and ſhepheards cauſed to reioyce. But now ye Shepheard laſſes, who ſhall lead Your wandring troupes, or ſing your virelayes? Or who ſhall dight your bowres, ſith ſhe is dead That was the Lady of your holy dayes? Let now your bliſſe be turned into bale, And into plaints conuert your ioyous playes, And with the ſame fill euery hill and dale. Let Bagpipe neuer more be heard to ſhrill, That may allure the ſenſes to delight; Ne euer Shepheard ſound his Oaten quill Vnto the many, that prouoke them might To idle pleaſance: but let ghaſtlineſſe And drearie horror dim the chearefull light, To make the image of true heauineſſe. Let birds be ſilent on the naked ſpray, And ſhady woods reſound with dreadfull yells: Let ſtreaming floods their haſtie courſes ſtay, And parching drouth drie vp the chriſtall wells; Let th'earth be barren and bring foorth no flowres, And th'ayre be fild with noyſe of dolefull knells, And wandring ſpirits walke vntimely howres. And Nature nurſe of euery liuing thing, Let reſt her ſelfe from her long wearineſſe, And ceaſe henceforth things kindly forth to bring, But hideous monſters full of vglineſſe: For ſhe it is, that hath me done this wrong, No nurſe, but Stepdame, cruell, mercileſſe, Weepe Shepheard weepe to make my vnderſong. 4 My litle flocke, whom earſt I lou'd ſo well, And wont to feede with fineſt graſſe that grew, Feede ye hencefoorth on bitter Astrofell, And ſtinking Smallage, and vnſauerie Rew; And when your mawes are with thoſe weeds corrupted, Be ye the pray of Wolues: ne will I rew, That with your carkaſſes wild beaſts be glutted. Ne worſe to you my ſillie ſheepe I pray, Ne ſorer vengeance wiſh on you to fall Than to my ſelfe, for whoſe confuſde decay To careleſſe heauens I doo daylie call: But heauens refuſe to heare a wretches cry, And cruell death doth ſcorne to come at call, Or graunt his boone that moſt deſires to dye. The good and righteous he away doth take, To plague th'vnrighteous which aliue remaine: But the vngodly ones he doth forſake, By liuing long to multiplie their paine: Els ſurely death ſhould be no puniſhment, As the great Iudge at firſt did it ordaine, But rather riddance from long languiſhment. Therefore my Daphne they haue tane away; For worthie of a better place was ſhe: But me vnworthie willed here to ſtay, That with her lacke I might tormented be. Sith then they ſo haue ordred, I will pay Penance to her according their decree, And to her ghoſt doe ſeruice day by day. For I will walke this wandring pilgrimage, Throuhout the world from one to other end, And in affliction waſte my better age. My bread ſhall be the anguiſh of my mynd, 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 the my loue that was, my Saint that is, When ſhe beholds from her celeſtiall throne, (In which ſhee ioyeth in eternall blis) My bitter penance, will my cafe bemone, And pitie me that liuing thus doo die: For heauenly ſpirits haue compaſsion On mortall men, and rue their miſerie. So when I haue with ſorrow ſatiſfyde Th'importune fates, which vengeance on me ſeeke, And th'eauens with long languor pacifyde, She for pure pitie of my ſufferance mecke, Will ſend for me; for which I daylie long, And will tell then my painfull penance ecke: Weepe Shepheard, weepe to make my vnderſong. 5 Hencefoorth I hate what euer Nature made, And in her workmanſhip no pleaſure finde: For they be all but vaine, and quickly fade, So ſoone as on them blowes the Northern winde, They tarrie not, but flit and fall away, Leauing behind them nought but griefe of minde, And mocking ſuch as thinke they long will ſtay. I hate the heauen, becauſe it doth withhould Me from my loue, and eke my loue from me; I hate the earth, becauſe it is the mould Of fleſhly ſlime and fraile mortalitie; I hate the fire, becauſe to nought it flyes, I hate the Ayre, becauſe fighes 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 loue to ſee; I hate the darkneſſe and the dreary night, Becauſe they breed ſad balefulneſſe in mee: I hate all times, becauſe all times doe fly So faſt away, and may not ſtayed bee, But as aſpeedie poſt that paſſeth by. I hate to ſpeake, my voyce is ſpent with crying: I hate to heare, lowd plaints haue duld mine eares: I hate to taſt, for food withholds my dying: 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. I hate all men, and ſhun all womankinde; The one, becauſe as I they wretched are, The other, for becauſe I doo not finde My loue with them, that wont to be their Starre: And life I hate, becauſe it will not laſt, 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 euer too and fro, And neuer ſtandeth in one certaine ſtate, But ſtill vnſtedfaſt round about doth goe, Like a Mill wheele, in midſt of miſerie, Driuen with ſtreames of wretchedneſſe and woe, That dying liues, and liuing ſtill does dye. So doo I liue, ſo doo I daylie die, And pine away in ſelfe-conſuming paine, Sith ſhe that did my vitall powres ſupplie, And feeble ſpirits in their force maintaine Is fetcht fro me, why ſeeke I to prolong My wearie daies in dolour and diſdaine? Weepe Shepheard weepe to make my vnderſong. 6 Why doo I longer liue 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, Sith all my ſorrow ſhould haue end thereby, And cares finde quiet; is it ſo vneath To leaue this life, or dolorous to dye? To liue I finde it deadly dolorous; For life drawes care, and care continuall woe: Therefore to dye muſt needes be ioyeous, And wiſhfull thing this fad 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. Yet whileſt I in this wretched vale doo ſtay, My wearie feete ſhall euer 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, Ne will I reſt my limmes for frailtie, Ne will I reſt mine eyes for heauineſſe. But as the mother of the Gods, that ſought For faire Eurydice her daughter deere Throghout the world, with wofull heauie thought; So will I trauell whileſt I tarrie heere, Ne will I lodge, ne will I euer lin, Ne when as drouping Titan draweth neere To looſe his teeme, will I take vp my Inne. Ne ſleepe (the harbenger of wearie wights) Shall euer lodge vpon mine eye-lids more; Ne ſhall with reſt refreſh my fainting ſprights, Nor failing force to former ſtrength reſtore, But I will wake and ſorrow all the night With Philumene, my fortune to deplore, With Philumene, the partner of my plight. And euer as I ſee the ſtarre to fall, And vnder ground to goe, to giue them light Which dwell in darkneſſe, I to mind will call, How my faire Starre (that ſhind on me ſo bright) Fell ſodainly, and faded vnder ground; Since whoſe departure, day is turned to night, And night without a Venus ſtarre is found. But ſoone as day doth ſhew his deawie face, And cals foorth men vnto their toylſome trade, I will withdraw me to ſome darkeſome place, Or ſome deere came, or ſolitarie ſhade, There will I ſigh, and ſorrow all day long, And the huge burden of my cares vn lade: Weepe Shepheard, weepe, to make my vnderſong. 7 Henceforth mine eyes ſhall neuer more behold Faire thing on earth, ne feed on falſe delight Of ought that framed is of mortall mould, Sith that my faireſt flower is faded quight: For all I ſee is vaine and tranſitorie, Ne will be held in any ſtedfaſt plight, But in a moment looſe their grace and glorie. And ye fond men, on fortunes wheele that ride, Or in ought vnder heauen repoſe aſſurance, Be it riches, beautie, or honours pride: Be ſure that they ſhall haue no long endurance, But ere ye be aware will flit away; For nought of them is yours, but th'only vſance Of a ſmall time, which none aſcertaine may. And ye true Louers, whom deſaſtrous chaunce 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, And when life parts, vouchſafe to cloſe mine eye. And ye more happie Louers, which enioy The preſence of your deareſt loues delight, When ye doe heare my ſorrowfull annoy, Yet pittie me in your empaſſiond ſpright, And thinke that ſuch miſhap, as chaunſt to me, May happen vnto the moſt happieſt wight; For all mens ſtates alike vnſtedfaſt be. And ye my fellow Shepheards, which do feed Your careleſſe flockes on hils and open plaines, With better fortune, than did me ſucceed, Remember yet my vndeſerued 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. And ye faire Damſels Shepheards deare delights, That with your loues do their rude hearts poſſeſſe, When as my hearſe ſhall happen to your ſightes, Vouchſafe to deck the ſame with Cypareſſe; And cuer ſprinckleb rackiſh teares among, In pitie of my vndeſeru'd diſtreſſe, The which I wretch, endured haue thus long. And ye poore Pilgrimes, that with reſſleſſe toyle Wearie your ſelues in wandring deſert wayes, Till that you come, where ye your vowes aſſoyle, When paſſing by ye reade theſe woſfull layes On my graue written, rue my Daphnes wrong, And mourne for me that languiſh out my dayes: Ceaſe Shepheard, ceaſe, and end thy vnderſong. Thus when he ended had his heauie plaint, The heauieſt plaint that euer I heard found, His cheekes wext pale, and ſprights began to faint, As if againe he would haue fallen to ground; Which when I ſaw, I (ſtepping to him light) Amooued him out of his ſtonie ſwound, And gan him to recomfort as I might. But he no waie recomforted would be, Nor ſuffer ſolace to approach him me, But caſting vp aſdeinfull eie at me, That in his tramce I would not loth him lie, Did rend his haire, and beat his blubbred face, As one diſpoſed wilfullie to die, That I ſore grieu'd to ſee his wretched • aſe. Tho when the pang was ſomewhat ouerpaſt, And the outragious paſsion nigh appeaſed, I him deſyrde, ſith daie was ouercaſt, And darke night faſt approched, to be pleaſed To turne aſide vnto my Cabinet, And ſtaie with me, till he were better eaſed Of that ſtrong ſtownd, which him ſo ſore beſet. But by no meanes I could him win thereto, Ne longer him intreate with me to ſtaie, But without taking leaue he foorth did goe With ſtaggring pace and diſmall lookes diſmay, As if that death he in the face had ſeene, Or helliſh hags had met vpon the way: But what of him became I cannot weene. FINIS.