Chapter III: Part 3

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

Sonnet 41

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

Sonnet 58

_To Prouerbe_

As Loue and I, late harbour'd in one Inne,
With Prouerbs thus each other intertaine;
_In loue there is no lacke, thus I beginne?
Faire words makes fooles, replieth he againe?
That spares to speake, doth spare to speed (quoth I)
As well (saith he) too forward as too slow.
Fortune assists the boldest, I replie?
A hasty man (quoth he) nere wanted woe.
Labour is light, where loue (quoth I) doth pay,
(Saith he) light burthens heauy, if farre borne?
(Quoth I) the maine lost, cast the by away:
You haue spunne a faire thred, he replies in scorne_.
And hauing thus a while each other thwarted,
Fooles as we met, so fooles againe we parted.

Sonnet 63

_To the high and mighty Prince, James, King of Scots_

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

Sonnet _66_

_To the Lady_ L.S.

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

[from the Edition of 1605]

Sonnet 43

Why should your faire eyes with such soueraine grace,
Dispearse their raies on euery vulgar spirit,
Whilst I in darknes in the selfesame place,
Get not one glance to recompence my merit:
So doth the plow-man gaze the wandring starre,
And onely rests contented with the light,
That neuer learnd what constellations are,
Beyond the bent of his vnknowing sight.
O why should beautie (custome to obey)
To their grosse sence applie her selfe so ill?
Would God I were as ignorant as they
When I am made vnhappy by my skill;
Onely compeld on this poore good to boast,
Heauens are not kind to them that know them most.

Sonnet 46

Plain-path'd Experience the vnlearneds guide,
Her simple followers euidently shewes,
Sometime what schoolemen scarcely can decide,
Nor yet wise Reason absolutely knowes:
In making triall of a murther wrought,
If the vile actor of the heinous deede,
Neere the dead bodie happily be brought,
Oft hath been prou'd the breathlesse coarse will bleed;
She comming neere that my poore hart hath slaine,
Long since departed, (to the world no more)
The auncient wounds no longer can containe,
But fall to bleeding as they did before:
But what of this? should she to death be led,
It furthers iustice, but helpes not the dead.

Sonnet 47

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

Sonnet 50

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

Sonnet 51

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

Sonnet 57

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

Sonnet 58

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

_To Sir Walter Aston, Knight of the honourable
order of the Bath, and my most
worthy Patron_

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

[from the Edition of 1619]

1

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

6

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

8

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

15

_His Remedie for Loue_

Since to obtaine thee, nothing me will sted,
I haue a Med'cine that shall cure my Loue,
The powder of her Heart dry'd, when she is dead,
That Gold nor Honour ne'r had power to moue;
Mix'd with her Teares, that ne'r her true-Loue crost,
Nor at Fifteene ne'r long'd to be a Bride,
Boyl'd with her Sighes, in giuing vp the Ghost,
That for her late deceased Husband dy'd;
Into the same then let a Woman breathe,
That being chid, did neuer word replie,
With one thrice-marry'd's Pray'rs, that did bequeath
A Legacie to stale Virginitie.
If this Receit haue not the pow'r to winne me,
Little Ile say, but thinke the Deuill's in me.

21

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

27

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

36

_Cupid coniured_

Thou purblind Boy, since thou hast been so slacke
To wound her Heart, whose Eyes haue wounded me,
And suff'red her to glory in my Wracke,
Thus to my aid, I lastly coniure thee;
By Hellish _Styx_ (by which the THUND'RER sweares)
By thy faire Mothers vnauoided Power,
By HECAT'S Names, by PROSERPINE'S sad Teares,
When she was rapt to the infernall Bower,
By thine own loued PSYCHES, by the Fires
Spent on thine Altars, flaming vp to Heau'n;
By all the Louers Sighes, Vowes, and Desires,
By all the Wounds that euer thou hast giu'n;
I coniure thee by all that I haue nam'd,
To make her loue, or CUPID be thou damn'd.

48

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

52

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

61

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

ODES

[from the Edition of 1619]

TO HIMSELFE AND THE HARPE

And why not I, as hee
That's greatest, if as free,
(In sundry strains that striue,
Since there so many be)
Th' old _Lyrick_ kind reuiue?

I will, yea, and I may;
Who shall oppose my way?
For what is he alone,
That of himselfe can say,
Hee's Heire of _Helicon_? 10

APOLLO, and the Nine,
Forbid no Man their Shrine,
That commeth with hands pure;
Else be they so diuine,
They will not him indure.

For they be such coy Things,
That they care not for Kings,
And dare let them know it;
Nor may he touch their Springs,
That is not borne a Poet. 20

Pyreneus, _King The _Phocean_ it did proue, of_ Phocis, Whom when foule Lust did moue, _attempting to Those Mayds vnchast to make, rauish the Muses._ Fell, as with them he stroue, His Neck and iustly brake.

That instrument ne'r heard,
Strooke by the skilfull Bard,
It strongly to awake;
But it th' infernalls skard,
And made Olympus quake. 30

Sam. lib. 1. As those Prophetike strings
cap. 16. Whose sounds with fiery Wings,
Draue Fiends from their abode,
Touch'd by the best of Kings,
That sang the holy Ode.

Orpheus _the_ So his, which Women slue, Thracian _Poet_. And it int' Hebrus threw, Caput, Hebre, Such sounds yet forth it sent, lyramque Excipis. The Bankes to weepe that drue, &c. Ouid. lib. 11. As downe the streame it went. 40 Metam. Mercury _inuentor That by the Tortoyse shell, of the Harpe, as_ To MAYAS Sonne it fell, Horace Ode 10. The most thereof not doubt lib. 1. _curuaq; But sure some Power did dwell, lyra parente_. In Him who found it out.

Thebes _fayned The Wildest of the field, to haue beene And Ayre, with Riuers t' yeeld, raysed by Which mou'd; that sturdy Glebes, Musicke._ And massie Oakes could weeld, To rayse the pyles of _Thebes_. 50

And diuersly though Strung,
So anciently We sung,
To it, that Now scarce knowne,
If first it did belong
To _Greece_, or if our Owne.

_The ancient_ The _Druydes_ imbrew'd, British _Priests_ With Gore, on Altars rude so called of With Sacrifices crown'd, their abode in In hollow Woods bedew'd, woods. Ador'd the Trembling sound. 60

Pindar _Prince of Though wee be All to seeke, the_ Greeke Of PINDAR that Great _Greeke_, lyricks, _of whom_ To Finger it aright, Horace: Pindarum The Soule with power to strike, quisquis studet, His hand retayn'd such Might. &c. Ode 2. lib. 4. Horace _first of Or him that _Rome_ did grace the_ Romans _in Whose Ayres we all imbrace, that kind_. That scarcely found his Peere, Nor giueth PHOEBVS place, For Strokes diuinely cleere. 70

_The_ Irish The _Irish_ I admire,
_Harpe_. And still cleaue to that Lyre,
As our Musike's Mother,
And thinke, till I expire,
APOLLO'S such another.

As _Britons_, that so long
Haue held this Antike Song,
And let all our Carpers
Forbeare their fame to wrong,
Th' are right skilfull Harpers. 80

Southerne, _an_ _Southerne_, I long thee spare,
English _Lyrick_. Yet wish thee well to fare,
Who me pleased'st greatly,
As first, therefore more rare,
Handling thy Harpe neatly.

To those that with despight
Shall terme these Numbers slight,
Tell them their Iudgement's blind,
Much erring from the right,
It is a Noble kind. 90

_An old_ English Nor is 't the Verse doth make,
_Rymer_. That giueth, or doth take,
'Tis possible to clyme,
To kindle, or to slake,
Although in SKELTON'S Ryme.

TO THE NEW YEERE

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

Great IANVS, I thy pleasure,
With all the _Thespian_ treasure,
Doe seriously pursue;
To th' passed yeere returning, 10
As though the old adiourning,
Yet bringing in the new.

Thy ancient Vigils yeerely,
I haue obserued cleerely,
Thy Feasts yet smoaking bee;
Since all thy store abroad is,
Giue something to my Goddesse,
As hath been vs'd by thee.

Giue her th' _Eoan_ brightnesse,
Wing'd with that subtill lightnesse, 20
That doth trans-pierce the Ayre;
The Roses of the Morning
The rising Heau'n adorning,
To mesh with flames of Hayre.

Those ceaselesse Sounds, aboue all,
Made by those Orbes that moue all,
And euer swelling there,
Wrap'd vp in Numbers flowing,
Them actually bestowing,
For Iewels at her Eare. 30

O Rapture great and holy,
Doe thou transport me wholly,
So well her forme to vary,
That I aloft may beare her,
Whereas I will insphere her,
In Regions high and starry.

And in my choise Composures,
The soft and easie Closures,
So amorously shall meet;
That euery liuely Ceasure 40
Shall tread a perfect Measure
Set on so equall feet.

That Spray to fame so fertle,
The Louer-crowning Mirtle,
In Wreaths of mixed Bowes,
Within whose shades are dwelling
Those Beauties most excelling,
Inthron'd vpon her Browes.

Those Paralels so euen,
Drawne on the face of Heauen, 50
That curious Art supposes,
Direct those Gems, whose cleerenesse
Farre off amaze by neerenesse,
Each Globe such fire incloses.

Her Bosome full of Blisses,
By Nature made for Kisses,
So pure and wond'rous cleere,
Whereas a thousand Graces
Behold their louely Faces,
As they are bathing there. 60

O, thou selfe-little blindnesse,
The kindnesse of vnkindnesse,
Yet one of those diuine;
Thy Brands to me were leuer,
Thy _Fascia_, and thy Quiuer,
And thou this Quill of mine.

This Heart so freshly bleeding,
Vpon it owne selfe feeding,
Whose woundes still dropping be;
O Loue, thy selfe confounding, 70
Her coldnesse so abounding,
And yet such heat in me.

Yet if I be inspired,
Ile leaue thee so admired,
To all that shall succeed,
That were they more then many,
'Mongst all, there is not any,
That Time so oft shall read.

Nor Adamant ingraued,
That hath been choisely 'st saued, 80
IDEA'S Name out-weares;
So large a Dower as this is,
The greatest often misses,
The Diadem that beares.

TO HIS VALENTINE

Muse, bid the Morne awake,
Sad Winter now declines,
Each Bird doth chuse a Make,
This day 's Saint VALENTINE'S;
For that good Bishop's sake
Get vp, and let vs see,
What Beautie it shall bee,
That Fortune vs assignes.

But lo, in happy How'r,
The place wherein she lyes, 10
In yonder climbing Tow'r,
Gilt by the glitt'ring Rise;
O IOVE! that in a Show'r,
As once that Thund'rer did,
When he in drops lay hid,
That I could her surprize.

Her Canopie Ile draw,
With spangled Plumes bedight,
No Mortall euer saw
So rauishing a sight; 20
That it the Gods might awe,
And pow'rfully trans-pierce
The Globie Vniuerse,
Out-shooting eu'ry Light.

My Lips Ile softly lay
Vpon her heau'nly Cheeke,
Dy'd like the dawning Day,
As polish'd Iuorie sleeke:
And in her Eare Ile say;
O, thou bright Morning-Starre, 30
'Tis I that come so farre,
My Valentine to seeke.

Each little Bird, this Tyde,
Doth chuse her loued Pheere,
Which constantly abide
In Wedlock all the yeere,
As Nature is their Guide:
So may we two be true,
This yeere, nor change for new,
As Turtles coupled were. 40

The Sparrow, Swan, the Doue,
Though VENVS Birds they be,
Yet are they not for Loue
So absolute as we:
For Reason vs doth moue;
They but by billing woo:
Then try what we can doo,
To whom each sense is free.

Which we haue more then they,
By liuelyer Organs sway'd, 50
Our Appetite each way
More by our Sense obay'd:
Our Passions to display,
This Season vs doth fit;
Then let vs follow it,
As Nature vs doth lead.

One Kisse in two let's breake,
Confounded with the touch,
But halfe words let vs speake,
Our Lip's imploy'd so much, 60
Vntill we both grow weake,
With sweetnesse of thy breath;
O smother me to death:
Long let our Ioyes be such.

Let's laugh at them that chuse
Their Valentines by lot,
To weare their Names that vse,
Whom idly they haue got:
Such poore choise we refuse,
Saint VALENTINE befriend; 70
We thus this Morne may spend,
Else Muse, awake her not.

THE HEART

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

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

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

Were it cymented, or sowne, 10
By Shreds or Pieces knowne,
We each might find our owne.

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

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

It cannot two Brests fill,
One must be heartlesse still, 20
Vntill the other will.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Till to that temper brought, 40
Through our perfection wrought,
That blessing eythers Thought.

In such a Height it lyes,
From this base Worlds dull Eyes,
That Heauen it not enuyes.

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

THE SACRIFICE TO APOLLO

Priests of APOLLO, sacred be the Roome,
For this learn'd Meeting: Let no barbarous Groome,
How braue soe'r he bee,
Attempt to enter;
But of the Muses free,
None here may venter;
This for the _Delphian_ Prophets is prepar'd:
The prophane Vulgar are from hence debar'd.

And since the Feast so happily begins,
Call vp those faire Nine, with their Violins; 10
They are begot by IOVE,
Then let vs place them,
Where no Clowne in may shoue,
That may disgrace them:
But let them neere to young APOLLO sit;
So shall his Foot-pace ouer-flow with Wit.

Where be the Graces, where be those fayre Three?
In any hand they may not absent bee:
They to the Gods are deare,
And they can humbly 20
Teach vs, our Selues to beare,
And doe things comely:
They, and the Muses, rise both from one Stem,
They grace the Muses, and the Muses them.

Bring forth your Flaggons (fill'd with sparkling Wine)
Whereon swolne BACCHVS, crowned with a Vine,
Is grauen, and fill out,
It well bestowing,
To eu'ry Man about,
In Goblets flowing: 30
Let not a Man drinke, but in Draughts profound;
To our God PHOEBVS let the Health goe Round.

Let your Iests flye at large; yet therewithall
See they be Salt, but yet not mix'd with Gall:
Not tending to disgrace,
But fayrely giuen,
Becomming well the place,
Modest, and euen;
That they with tickling Pleasure may prouoke
Laughter in him, on whom the Iest is broke. 40

Or if the deeds of HEROES ye rehearse,
Let them be sung in so well-ord'red Verse,
That each word haue his weight,
Yet runne with pleasure;
Holding one stately height,
In so braue measure,
That they may make the stiffest Storme seeme weake,
And dampe IOVES Thunder, when it lowd'st doth speake.

And if yee list to exercise your Vayne,
Or in the Sock, or in the Buskin'd Strayne, 50
Let Art and Nature goe
One with the other;
Yet so, that Art may show
Nature her Mother;
The thick-brayn'd Audience liuely to awake,
Till with shrill Claps the Theater doe shake.

Sing Hymnes to BACCHVS then, with hands vprear'd,
Offer to IOVE, who most is to be fear'd;
From him the Muse we haue,
From him proceedeth 60
More then we dare to craue;
'Tis he that feedeth
Them, whom the World would starue; then let the Lyre
Sound, whilst his Altars endlesse flames expire.

TO CVPID

Maydens, why spare ye?
Or whether not dare ye
Correct the blind Shooter?
Because wanton VENVS,
So oft that doth paine vs,
Is her Sonnes Tutor.

Now in the Spring,
He proueth his Wing,
The Field is his Bower,
And as the small Bee, 10
About flyeth hee,
From Flower to Flower.

And wantonly roues,
Abroad in the Groues,
And in the Ayre houers,
Which when it him deweth,
His Fethers he meweth,
In sighes of true Louers.

And since doom'd by Fate,
(That well knew his Hate) 20
That Hee should be blinde;
For very despite,
Our Eyes be his White,
So wayward his kinde.

If his Shafts loosing,
(Ill his Mark choosing)
Or his Bow broken;
The Moane VENVS maketh,
And care that she taketh,
Cannot be spoken. 30

To VULCAN commending
Her loue, and straight sending
Her Doues and her Sparrowes,
With Kisses vnto him,
And all but to woo him,
To make her Sonne Arrowes.

Telling what he hath done,
(Sayth she, Right mine owne Sonne)
In her Armes she him closes,
Sweetes on him fans, 40
Layd in Downe of her Swans,
His Sheets, Leaues of Roses.

And feeds him with Kisses;
Which oft when he misses,
He euer is froward:
The Mothers o'r-ioying,
Makes by much coying,
The Child so vntoward.

Yet in a fine Net,
That a Spider set, 50
The Maydens had caught him;
Had she not beene neere him,
And chanced to heare him,
More good they had taught him.

AN AMOVRET ANACREONTICK

Most good, most faire,
Or Thing as rare,
To call you's lost;
For all the cost
Words can bestow,
So poorely show
Vpon your prayse,
That all the wayes
Sense hath, come short:
Whereby Report 10
Falls them vnder;
That when Wonder
More hath seyzed,
Yet not pleased,
That it in kinde
Nothing can finde,
You to expresse:
Neuerthelesse,
As by Globes small,
This Mightie ALL 20
Is shew'd, though farre
From Life, each Starre
A World being:
So wee seeing
You, like as that,
Onely trust what
Art doth vs teach;
And when I reach
At Morall Things,
And that my Strings 30
Grauely should strike,
Straight some mislike
Blotteth mine ODE.
As with the Loade,
The Steele we touch,
Forced ne'r so much,
Yet still remoues
To that it loues,
Till there it stayes;
So to your prayse 40
I turne euer,
And though neuer
From you mouing,
Happie so louing.

LOVES CONQVEST

Wer't granted me to choose,
How I would end my dayes;
Since I this life must loose,
It should be in Your praise;
For there is no Bayes
Can be set aboue you.

S' impossibly I loue You,
And for you sit so hie,
Whence none may remoue You
In my cleere Poesie, 10
That I oft deny
You so ample Merit.

The freedome of my Spirit
Maintayning (still) my Cause,
Your Sex not to inherit,
Vrging the _Salique_ Lawes;
But your Vertue drawes
From me euery due.

Thus still You me pursue,
That no where I can dwell, 20
By Feare made iust to You,
Who naturally rebell,
Of You that excell
That should I still Endyte,

Yet will You want some Ryte.
That lost in your high praise
I wander to and fro,
As seeing sundry Waies:
Yet which the right not know
To get out of this Maze. 30

TO THE VIRIGINIAN VOYAGE

You braue Heroique minds,
Worthy your Countries Name;
That Honour still pursue,
Goe, and subdue,
Whilst loyt'ring Hinds
Lurke here at home, with shame.

_Britans_, you stay too long,
Quickly aboard bestow you,
And with a merry Gale
Swell your stretch'd Sayle, 10
With Vowes as strong,
As the Winds that blow you.

Your Course securely steere,
West and by South forth keepe,
Rocks, Lee-shores, nor Sholes,
When EOLVS scowles,
You need not feare,
So absolute the Deepe.

And cheerefully at Sea,
Successe you still intice, 20
To get the Pearle and Gold,
And ours to hold,
VIRGINIA,
Earth's onely Paradise.

Where Nature hath in store
Fowle, Venison, and Fish,
And the Fruitfull'st Soyle,
Without your Toyle,
Three Haruests more,
All greater then your Wish. 30

And the ambitious Vine
Crownes with his purple Masse,
The cedar reaching hie
To kisse the Sky
The Cypresse, Pine
And vse-full Sassafras.

To whome, the golden Age
Still Natures lawes doth giue,
No other Cares that tend,
But Them to defend 40
From Winters rage,
That long there doth not liue.

When as the Lushious smell
Of that delicious Land,
Aboue the Seas that flowes,
The cleere Wind throwes,
Your Hearts to swell
Approaching the deare Strande.

In kenning of the Shore
(Thanks to God first giuen,) 50
O you the happy'st men,
Be Frolike then,
Let Cannons roare,
Frighting the wide Heauen.

And in Regions farre
Such Heroes bring yee foorth,
As those from whom We came,
And plant Our name,
Vnder that Starre
Not knowne vnto our North. 60

And as there Plenty growes
Of Lawrell euery where,
APOLLO'S Sacred tree,
You may it see,
A Poets Browes
To crowne, that may sing there.

Thy Voyages attend,
Industrious HACKLVIT,
Whose Reading shall inflame
Men to seeke Fame, 70
And much commend
To after-Times thy Wit.

AN ODE WRITTEN IN THE PEAKE

This while we are abroad,
Shall we not touch our Lyre?
Shall we not sing an ODE?
Shall that holy Fire,
In vs that strongly glow'd,
In this cold Ayre expire?

Long since the Summer layd
Her lustie Brau'rie downe,
The Autumne halfe is way'd,
And BOREAS 'gins to frowne, 10
Since now I did behold
Great BRVTES first builded Towne.

Though in the vtmost _Peake_,
A while we doe remaine,
Amongst the Mountaines bleake
Expos'd to Sleet and Raine,
No Sport our Houres shall breake,
To exercise our Vaine.

What though bright PHOEBVS Beames
Refresh the Southerne Ground, 20
And though the Princely _Thames_
With beautious Nymphs abound,
And by old _Camber's_ Streames
Be many Wonders found;

Yet many Riuers cleare
Here glide in Siluer Swathes,
And what of all most deare,
_Buckston's_ delicious Bathes,
Strong Ale and Noble Cheare,
T' asswage breeme Winters scathes. 30

Those grim and horrid Caues,
Whose Lookes affright the day,
Wherein nice Nature saues,
What she would not bewray,
Our better leasure craues,
And doth inuite our Lay.

In places farre or neere,
Or famous, or obscure,
Where wholesome is the Ayre,
Or where the most impure, 40
All times, and euery-where,
The Muse is still in vre.

HIS DEFENCE AGAINST THE IDLE CRITICK

The Ryme nor marres, nor makes,
Nor addeth it, nor takes,
From that which we propose;
Things imaginarie
Doe so strangely varie,
That quickly we them lose.

And what 's quickly begot,
As soone againe is not,
This doe I truely know:
Yea, and what 's borne with paine, 10
That Sense doth long'st retaine,
Gone with a greater Flow.

Yet this Critick so sterne,
But whom, none must discerne,
Nor perfectly haue seeing,
Strangely layes about him,
As nothing without him
Were worthy of being.

That I my selfe betray
To that most publique way, 20
Where the Worlds old Bawd,
Custome, that doth humor,
And by idle rumor,
Her Dotages applaud.

That whilst he still prefers
Those that be wholly hers,
Madnesse and Ignorance,
I creepe behind the Time,
From spertling with their Crime,
And glad too with my Chance. 30

O wretched World the while,
When the euill most vile,
Beareth the fayrest face,
And inconstant lightnesse,
With a scornefull slightnesse,
The best Things doth disgrace.

Whilst this strange knowing Beast,
Man, of himselfe the least,
His Enuie declaring,
Makes Vertue to descend, 40
Her title to defend,
Against him, much preparing.

Yet these me not delude,
Nor from my place extrude,
By their resolued Hate;
Their vilenesse that doe know;
Which to my selfe I show,
To keepe aboue my Fate.

TO HIS RIVALL

Her lou'd I most,
By thee that 's lost,
Though she were wonne with leasure;
She was my gaine,
But to my paine,
Thou spoyl'st me of my Treasure.

The Ship full fraught
With Gold, farre sought,
Though ne'r so wisely helmed,
May suffer wracke 10
In sayling backe,
By Tempest ouer-whelmed.

But shee, good Sir,
Did not preferre
You, for that I was ranging;
But for that shee
Found faith in mee,
And she lou'd to be changing.

Therefore boast not
Your happy Lot, 20
Be silent now you haue her;
The time I knew
She slighted you,
When I was in her fauour.

None stands so fast,
But may be cast
By Fortune, and disgraced:
Once did I weare
Her Garter there,
Where you her Gloue haue placed. 30

I had the Vow
That thou hast now,
And Glances to discouer
Her Loue to mee,
And she to thee
Reades but old Lessons ouer.

She hath no Smile
That can beguile,
But as my Thought I know it;
Yea, to a Hayre, 40
Both when and where,
And how she will bestow it.

What now is thine,
Was onely mine,
And first to me was giuen;
Thou laugh'st at mee,
I laugh at thee,
And thus we two are euen.

But Ile not mourne,
But stay my Turne, 50
The Wind may come about, Sir,
And once againe
May bring me in,
And help to beare you out, Sir.

A SKELTONIAD

The Muse should be sprightly,
Yet not handling lightly
Things graue; as much loath,
Things that be slight, to cloath
Curiously: To retayne
The Comelinesse in meane,
Is true Knowledge and Wit.
Not me forc'd Rage doth fit,
That I thereto should lacke
Tabacco, or need Sacke, 10
Which to the colder Braine
Is the true _Hyppocrene_;
Nor did I euer care
For great Fooles, nor them spare.
Vertue, though neglected,
Is not so deiected,
As vilely to descend
To low Basenesse their end;
Neyther each ryming Slaue
Deserues the Name to haue 20
Of Poet: so the Rabble
Of Fooles, for the Table,
That haue their Iests by Heart,
As an Actor his Part,
Might assume them Chayres
Amongst the Muses Heyres.
_Parnassus_ is not clome
By euery such Mome;
Vp whose steep side who swerues,
It behoues t' haue strong Nerues: 30
My Resolution such,
How well, and not how much
To write, thus doe I fare,
Like some few good that care
(The euill sort among)
How well to liue, and not how long.

THE CRYER

Good Folke, for Gold or Hyre,
But helpe me to a Cryer;
For my poore Heart is runne astray
After two Eyes, that pass'd this way.
O yes, O yes, O yes,
If there be any Man,
In Towne or Countrey, can
Bring me my Heart againe,
Ile please him for his paine;
And by these Marks I will you show, 10
That onely I this Heart doe owe.
It is a wounded Heart,
Wherein yet sticks the Dart,
Eu'ry piece sore hurt throughout it,
Faith, and Troth, writ round about it:
It was a tame Heart, and a deare,
And neuer vs'd to roame;
But hauing got this Haunt, I feare
'Twill hardly stay at home.
For Gods sake, walking by the way, 20
If you my Heart doe see,
Either impound it for a Stray,
Or send it backe to me.

TO HIS COY LOVE

A CANZONET

I pray thee leaue, loue me no more,
Call home the Heart you gaue me,
I but in vaine that Saint adore,
That can, but will not saue me:
These poore halfe Kisses kill me quite;
Was euer man thus serued?
Amidst an Ocean of Delight,
For Pleasure to be sterued.

Shew me no more those Snowie Brests,
With Azure Riuerets branched, 10
Where whilst mine Eye with Plentie feasts,
Yet is my Thirst not stanched.
O TANTALVS, thy Paines n'er tell,
By me thou art preuented;
'Tis nothing to be plagu'd in Hell,
But thus in Heauen tormented.

Clip me no more in those deare Armes,
Nor thy Life's Comfort call me;
O, these are but too pow'rfull Charmes,
And doe but more inthrall me. 20
But see, how patient I am growne,
In all this coyle about thee;
Come nice thing, let my Heart alone,
I cannot liue without thee.

A HYMNE TO HIS LADIES BIRTH-PLACE

Couentry, that do'st adorne
The Countrey wherein I was borne,
Yet therein lyes not thy prayse
Why I should crowne thy Tow'rs with Bayes:
_Couentry finely 'Tis not thy Wall, me to thee weds
walled._ Thy Ports, nor thy proud Pyrameds,
_The Shoulder-bone Nor thy Trophies of the Bore,
of a hare of But that Shee which I adore,
mighty bignesse._ Which scarce Goodnesse selfe can payre,
First their breathing blest thy Ayre; 10
IDEA, in which Name I hide
Her, in my heart Deifi'd,
For what good, Man's mind can see,
Onely her IDEAS be;
She, in whom the Vertues came
In Womans shape, and tooke her Name,
She so farre past Imitation,
As but Nature our Creation
Could not alter, she had aymed,
More then Woman to haue framed: 20
She, whose truely written Story,
To thy poore Name shall adde more glory,
Then if it should haue beene thy Chance,
T' haue bred our Kings that Conquer'd _France_.
Had She beene borne the former Age,
_Two famous That house had beene a Pilgrimage,
Pilgrimages, the And reputed more Diuine,
one in_ Norfolk, Then _Walsingham_ or BECKETS Shrine.
_the other in_ That Princesse, to whom thou do'st owe
Kent. Thy Freedome, whose Cleere blushing snow, 30
Godiua, _Duke_ The enuious Sunne saw, when as she
Leofricks _wife, Naked rode to make Thee free,
who obtained the Was but her Type, as to foretell,
Freedome of the Thou should'st bring forth one, should excell
city, of her Her Bounty, by whom thou should'st haue
husband, by riding More Honour, then she Freedome gaue;
thorow it naked._ And that great Queene, which but of late
_Queene_ Rul'd this Land in Peace and State,
Elizabeth. Had not beene, but Heauen had sworne,
A Maide should raigne, when she was borne. 40
_A noted Streete Of thy Streets, which thou hold'st best,
in_ Couentry. And most frequent of the rest,
Happy _Mich-Parke_ eu'ry yeere,
_His Mistresse On the fourth of _August_ there,
birth-day._ Let thy Maides from FLORA'S bowers,
With their Choyce and daintiest flowers
Decke Thee vp, and from their store,
With braue Garlands crowne that dore.
The old Man passing by that way,
To his Sonne in time shall say, 50
There was that Lady borne, which long
To after-Ages shall be sung;
Who vnawares being passed by,
Back to that House shall cast his Eye,
Speaking my Verses as he goes,
And with a Sigh shut eu'ry Close.
Deare Citie, trauelling by thee,
When thy rising Spyres I see,
Destined her place of Birth;
Yet me thinkes the very Earth 60
Hallowed is, so farre as I
Can thee possibly descry:
Then thou dwelling in this place,
Hearing some rude Hinde disgrace
Thy Citie with some scuruy thing,
Which some Iester forth did bring,
Speake these Lines where thou do'st come,
And strike the Slaue for euer dumbe.

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

Faire stood the Wind for _France_,
When we our Sayles aduance,
Nor now to proue our chance,
Longer will tarry;
But putting to the Mayne,
At _Kaux_, the Mouth of _Sene_,
With all his Martiall Trayne,
Landed King HARRY.

And taking many a Fort,
Furnish'd in Warlike sort, 10
Marcheth tow'rds _Agincourt_,
In happy howre;
Skirmishing day by day,
With those that stop'd his way,
Where the _French_ Gen'rall lay,
With all his Power.

Which in his Hight of Pride,
King HENRY to deride,
His Ransome to prouide
To the King sending. 20
Which he neglects the while,
As from a Nation vile,
Yet with an angry smile,
Their fall portending.

And turning to his Men,
Quoth our braue HENRY then,
Though they to one be ten,
Be not amazed.
Yet haue we well begunne,
Battels so brauely wonne, 30
Haue euer to the Sonne,
By Fame beene raysed.

And, for my Selfe (quoth he),
This my full rest shall be,
_England_ ne'r mourne for Me,
Nor more esteeme me.
Victor I will remaine,
Or on this Earth lie slaine,
Neuer shall Shee sustaine,
Losse to redeeme me. 40

_Poiters_ and _Cressy_ tell,
When most their Pride did swell,
Vnder our Swords they fell,
No lesse our skill is,
Than when our Grandsire Great,
Clayming the Regall Seate,
By many a Warlike feate,
Lop'd the _French_ Lillies.

The Duke of _Yorke_ so dread,
The eager Vaward led; 50
With the maine, HENRY sped,
Among'st his Hench-men.
EXCESTER had the Rere,
A Brauer man not there,
O Lord, how hot they were,
On the false _French-men_!

They now to fight are gone,
Armour on Armour shone,
Drumme now to Drumme did grone,
To heare, was wonder; 60
That with the Cryes they make,
The very Earth did shake,
Trumpet to Trumpet spake,
Thunder to Thunder.

Well it thine Age became,
O Noble ERPINGHAM,
Which didst the Signall ayme,
To our hid Forces;
When from a Medow by,
Like a Storme suddenly, 70
The _English_ Archery
Stuck the _French_ Horses,

With _Spanish_ Ewgh so strong,
Arrowes a Cloth-yard long,
That like to Serpents stung,
Piercing the Weather;
None from his fellow starts,
But playing Manly parts,
And like true _English_ hearts,
Stuck close together. 80

When downe their Bowes they threw,
And forth their Bilbowes drew,
And on the French they flew,
Not one was tardie;
Armes were from shoulders sent,
Scalpes to the Teeth were rent,
Downe the _French_ Pesants went,
Our Men were hardie.

This while our Noble King,
His broad Sword brandishing, 90
Downe the _French_ Hoast did ding,
As to o'r-whelme it;
And many a deepe Wound lent,
His Armes with Bloud besprent,
And many a cruell Dent
Bruised his Helmet.

GLOSTER, that Duke so good,
Next of the Royall Blood,
For famous _England_ stood,
With his braue Brother; 100
CLARENCE, in Steele so bright,
Though but a Maiden Knight,
Yet in that furious Fight,
Scarce such another,

WARWICK in Bloud did wade,
OXFORD the Foe inuade,
And cruell slaughter made,
Still as they ran vp;
SVFFOLKE his Axe did ply,
BEAVMONT and WILLOVGHBY 110
Bare them right doughtily,
FERRERS and FANHOPE.

Vpon Saint CRISPIN'S day
Fought was this Noble Fray,
Which Fame did not delay,
To _England_ to carry;
O, when shall _English_ Men
With such Acts fill a Pen,
Or _England_ breed againe,
Such a King HARRY? 120

[from the Edition of 1606]

_Ode 4_

_To my worthy frend, Master John Sauage of the Inner Temple_

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

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

To rayse his mean estate
That sooths no wanton's sinne, 10
Doth that preferment hate
That virtue doth not winne.

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

Loose humor nor to please,
That neither spares nor spends,
But by discretion weyes
What is to needfull ends. 20

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

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

Whose constancy doth rise
'Boue vndeserued spight 30
Whose valewr's to despise
That most doth him delight.

That earely leaue doth take
Of th' world though to his payne
For virtues onely sake
And not till need constrayne.

Noe man can be so free
Though in imperiall seate
Nor Eminent as he
That deemeth nothing greate. 40

_Ode 8_

Singe wee the Rose
Then which no flower there growes
Is sweeter:
And aptly her compare
With what in that is rare
A parallel none meeter.

Or made poses,
Of this that incloses
Suche blisses,
That naturally flusheth 10
As she blusheth
When she is robd of kisses.

Or if strew'd
When with the morning dew'd
Or stilling,
Or howe to sense expos'd
All which in her inclos'd,
Ech place with sweetnes filling.

That most renown'd
By Nature richly crownd 20
With yellow,
Of that delitious layre
And as pure, her hayre
Vnto the same the fellowe,

Fearing of harme
Nature that flower doth arme
From danger,
The touch giues her offence
But with reuerence
Vnto her selfe a stranger. 30

That redde, or white,
Or mixt, the sence delyte
Behoulding,
In her complexion
All which perfection
Such harmony infouldinge.

That deuyded
Ere it was descided
Which most pure,
Began the greeuous war 40
Of _York_ and _Lancaster_,
That did many yeeres indure.

Conflicts as greate
As were in all that heate
I sustaine:
By her, as many harts
As men on either parts
That with her eies hath slaine.

The Primrose flower
The first of _Flora's_ bower 50
Is placed,
Soo is shee first as best
Though excellent the rest,
All gracing, by none graced.

ELEGIES VPON SVNDRY OCCASIONS

[from the Edition of 1627]

Of his Ladies not Comming _to London_