To the Reader.
FOr the truth of these branches of the descent, in the table or Page heere-vnto anexed, the perfect and sundry Genealogies extant, doe sufficiently warrant in this behalfe: If by reason it is but á part, and that also patrern'd out of the large Genealogie as a lim of the same, and runnes onely and directly with the Emperiall lyne, being but so much (as wee may fitly say) is aly'd to the Poem: It seeme not to beare such vniformity and proportion, as workmanship would prayse, that let iudgement beare with, and the Artificer reforme, being placed heere rather for explanation, then any meere or extreame necessitie.
TO THE MAIESTIE OF KING JAMES.
A gratulatorie Poem by Michaell Drayton.
AT LONDON
Printed by Iames Roberts, for T. M. and H. L. 1603.
TO THE MAIESTIE of King Iames.
THE hopefull raigne of a most happy King,
Loe thus excites our early Muse to sing,
Of her own strength which boldly thus presumes,
That's yet vnimpt with any borowed plumes,
A Counsailes wisdome, and their graue fore-sight,
Lends me this luster, and resplendent light:
Whose well-prepared pollicie, and care,
For theyr indoubted Soueraigne so prepare,
Other vaine titles strongly to withstand,
Plac'd in the bosome of a peacefull Land:
That blacke destruction which now many a day,
Had fix'd her sterne eye for a violent pray,
Frustrate by their great prouidence and power,
Her very nerues is ready to deuoure,
And euen for griefe downe sincking in a swound
Beats her snak'd head against the verdant ground.
[Page]But whilst the ayre thus thunders with the noise,
Perhaps vnheard, why should I straine my voyce?
Whē stirs, & tumults haue been hot'st & proudest,
The noble Muse hath song the stern'st & lowdest;
And know great Prince, that Muse thy glory sings,
(What ere detraction snarle) was made for Kings.
The neighing courser in this time of mirth,
That with his arm'd hoofe beats th'reecchoing earth,
The trumpets clangor, & the peoples cry,
Not like the Muse can strike the burnish'd skie,
which should heauē quench th'eternal quicking springs
The stars put out, could light thē with her wings.
What though perhaps my selfe I not intrude
Amongst th'vnstedy wondring multitude,
The tedious tumults, and the boystrous throng,
That presse to view thee as thou com'st along,
The praise I giue thee shall thy welcome keepe,
Whē all these rude crowds in the dust shal sleepe,
And when applause and shouts are hush'd & still
Thē shal my smooth verse chant thee cleer & shril.
[Page]With thy beginning, doth the Spring begin,
And as thy Vsher gently brings thee in,
Which in consent doth happily accord
With the yeere kept to the incarnate Word,
And in that Month (cohering by a fate)
By the old world to wisdome dedicate,
Thy Prophet thus doth seriously apply,
As by a strong vnfailing Augury,
That as the fruitfull, and ful-bosom'd Spring,
So shall thy raigne be rich and florishing:
The month thy conquests, & atchieuements great
By those shall sit on thy Imperiall seate,
And by the yeere I seriously diuine
The Crowne for euer setled in thy line.
From Cornwall now past Calidons proude strength,
Thy Empire beares eight hūdred miles in length:
Halfe which in bredth her bosome forth doth lay
From the faire German to'th Vergiuian sea:
The Irish Sea.
Thy Realme of Ireland, a most fertile Land,
Brought in subiection to thy glorious hand,
[Page]And all the Iles theyr chalkie tops aduance
To the sunne setting from the coast of Fraunce.
Saturne to thee his soueraignty resignes,
Op'ning the lock'd way to the wealthy mines:
And till thy raigne Fame all this while did houer,
The North-west passage that thou might'st discouer
Vnto the Indies, where that treasure lies
Whose plenty might ten other worlds suffice.
Neptune and Ioue together doe conspire,
This giues his trydent, that his three-forkt fire,
And to thy hand doe giue the kayes to keepe,
Of the profound immeasurable deepe.
But soft my Muse, check thy abundant straine
To the conceiuing of th'vnskilfull braine,
That whilst thy true descent I doe rehearse,
Th'vnlearned'st soule may sweetly tast my verse:
Which now in order let me first dispose,
And tell the vnion of the blessed Rose,
That to thy Grandsire Henry I may bring thee,
(From whom I after to thy birth may sing thee.)
From the great Queene that beautious Dowager,
Whose sonne braue Richmond frō the Brittons fet,
Edmond Tudor Ea [...] of Richmond, son of Owen Tudor by the Queen
Graft in the stock of Princely Sommerset,
The third faire Sien, the sweet Roseat plant,
Sprong from the Roote of the Lancastrian Gant,
Which had seauenth Henry, that of royall blood
The daug [...]ter of Iohn Duke of Sommerset, sonne [...] Iohn Earl [...] of Somm [...]set, the so [...] of Iohn o [...] Gaunt.
By his deere Mother, is the Red-rose bud,
As theyr great Merlin propheci'd before
Should the old Brittons regalty restore,
Which Henry raigning by th'vsurpers death,
Maried the Princesse faire Elizabeth
Fourth Edwards daughter, whose predest'nate bed
Did thus conioyne the White-rose, and the Red:
These Roseall branches as I thus entwyne,
In curious trayles embelishing thy lyne,
To thy blest Cradell let me bring thee on,
Rightly deriu'd from thy great Grandsires throne.
Who holding Scotlands amity in worth,
Strongly to linck him with King Iames the fourth,
[Page]His eldest daughter did to him vnite,
Th'vnparaleld bright louely Margarite,
Which to that husband prosperously did bring,
The fifth of that Name, Scotlands lawfull King,
Father to Mary (long in England seene)
The Daulphins dowager, the late Scottish Queene.
[...]laried [...]hilst he [...]as Daul [...]hin.
But now to Margarite backe againe to come,
From whose so fruitfull, and most blessed wombe
We bring our full ioy, Iames her husband dead,
Tooke gallant Anguish to a second bed,
[...]rchibald [...]owglasse [...]arle of An [...]uish.
To whom ere long she bare a princely gerle,
Maried to Lenox, that braue-issued Earle,
This beautious Dowglasse, as the powers imply,
[...]he Coun [...]le of Le [...]ox.
Brought that Prince Henry, Duke of Albany,
who in the prime of strēgth, in youths sum'd pride
[...]enry Lord [...]rly.
Maried the Scotch Queene on the other side,
Whose happy bed to that sweet Lord did bring,
This Brittaine hope, Iames our vndoubted King,
In true succesion, as the first of other
Of Henries line by Father, and by Mother.
[Page]Thus frō the old stock showing thee sprong to be,
Grafting the pure VVhite, with the Red-rose tree,
By mixture made vermillion as they meet,
For in that colour is the Rose most sweet:
So in thy Crowne the precious flower that growes
Be it the Damaske, or Vermillion Rose,
Amongst those Reliques, that victorious King,
Edward cald Longshanks, did from Scotland bring,
And as a Trophie royally prefer
To the rich Shrine in famous Westminster,
That stone reseru'd in England many a day,
On which great Iacob his graue head did lay,
Recorded to be that stone whereon Iacob slept.
And saw descending Angels whilst he slept:
Which since that time by sundry Nations kept,
(From age to age I could recite you how,
Could I my pen that liberty alow.)
An ancient Prophet long agoe fore-told,
(Though fooles their sawes for vanities doe hold)
A King of Scotland, ages comming on,
A prophecie belonging to that stone.
Where it was found, be crown'd vpon that stone.
[Page]Two famous Kingdoms seperate thus long,
Within one Iland, and that speake one tongue,
Since Brute first raign'd, (if men of Brute alow)
Neuer before vnited vntill now,
what power, nor war could do, nor time expected,
Thy blessed birth hath happily effected.
O now reuiue that noble Brittaines name,
From which at first our ancient honors came,
Which with both Nations fitly doth agree
That Scotch and English without difference be,
And in that place wher feuds were wont to spring
Let vs light Iigs, and ioyfull Paeans sing.
Whilst such as rightly propheci'd thy raigne,
Deride those Ideots held their words for vaine.
Had not my soule beene proofe gainst enuies spite
I had not breath'd thy memory to write:
Nor had my zealous, and religious layes
Told thy rare vertues, and thy glorious dayes.
Renowned Prince, when all these tumults cease,
Euen in the calme, and Musick of thy peace,
[Page]If in thy grace thou deigne to fauour vs,
And to the Muses be propitious,
Caesar himselfe, Roomes glorious wits among,
Was not so highly, nor diuinely sung.
The very earthl'est & degenerat'st spirit,
That is most voyd of vertue, and of merit,
With the austeer'st, and impudentest face,
Will thrust himselfe the formost to thy grace;
Those silken, laced, and perfumed hinds,
That haue rich bodies, but poore wretched minds,
But from thy Court (O Worthy) banish quite
The foole, the Pandar, and the Parasite,
And call thy selfe most happy (then be bold)
When worthie places, worthi'st men doe hold,
The seruile clowne for shame shall hide his head,
His ignorance, and basenesse frustrated,
Set louely vertue euer in thy view,
And loue them most, that most doe her pursue,
So shalt thou ad renowne vnto thy state,
A King most great, most wise, most fortunate.
FINIS.
To the Reader.
FOr the more apt contriuing of this part or branch of the Genealogie, those to whom (from me) the coppie appertaineth, haue now against this speedy, and second impression of this small Poem diligently performed, to which intent I haue set these few lines in the place of the other short Epistle, to cancell the former excuse, made for the speedy dooing of the last: whose proportion beeing (I trust) sufficient, needes no further alowance then it selfe, in giuing apt bodies to those descents, in manner as they are truly wouen in the Poem: Farewell.