Chapter IV: Part 4

That ten-yeares-trauell'd _Greeke_ return'd from Sea
Ne'r ioyd so much to see his _Ithaca_,
As I should you, who are alone to me,
More then wide _Greece_ could to that wanderer be.
The winter windes still Easterly doe keepe,
And with keene Frosts haue chained vp the deepe,
The Sunne's to vs a niggard of his Rayes,
But reuelleth with our _Antipodes_;
And seldome to vs when he shewes his head,
Muffled in vapours, he straight hies to bed. 10
In those bleake mountaines can you liue where snowe
Maketh the vales vp to the hilles to growe;
Whereas mens breathes doe instantly congeale,
And attom'd mists turne instantly to hayle;
Belike you thinke, from this more temperate cost,
My sighes may haue the power to thawe the frost,
Which I from hence should swiftly send you thither,
Yet not so swift, as you come slowly hither.
How many a time, hath _Phebe_ from her wayne,
With _Phoebus_ fires fill'd vp her hornes againe; 20
Shee through her Orbe, still on her course doth range,
But you keep yours still, nor for me will change.
The Sunne that mounted the sterne Lions back,
Shall with the Fishes shortly diue the Brack,
But still you keepe your station, which confines
You, nor regard him trauelling the signes.
Those ships which when you went, put out to Sea,
Both to our _Groenland_, and _Virginia_,
Are now return'd, and Custom'd haue their fraught,
Yet you arriue not, nor returne me ought. 30
The Thames was not so frozen yet this yeare,
As is my bosome, with the chilly feare
Of your not comming, which on me doth light,
As on those Climes, where halfe the world is night.
Of euery tedious houre you haue made two,
All this long Winter here, by missing you:
Minutes are months, and when the houre is past,
A yeare is ended since the Clocke strooke last,
When your Remembrance puts me on the Racke,
And I should Swound to see an _Almanacke_, 40
To reade what silent weekes away are slid,
Since the dire Fates you from my sight haue hid.
I hate him who the first Deuisor was
Of this same foolish thing, the Hower-glasse,
And of the Watch, whose dribbling sands and Wheele,
With their slow stroakes, make mee too much to feele
Your slackenesse hither, O how I doe ban,
Him that these Dialls against walles began,
Whose Snayly motion of the moouing hand,
(Although it goe) yet seeme to me to stand; 50
As though at _Adam_ it had first set out
And had been stealing all this while about,
And when it backe to the first point should come,
It shall be then iust at the generall Doome.
The Seas into themselues retract their flowes.
The changing Winde from euery quarter blowes,
Declining Winter in the Spring doth call,
The Starrs rise to vs, as from vs they fall;
Those Birdes we see, that leaue vs in the Prime,
Againe in Autumne re-salute our Clime. 60
Sure, either Nature you from kinde hath made,
Or you delight else to be Retrograde.
But I perceiue by your attractiue powers,
Like an Inchantresse you haue charm'd the bowers
Into short minutes, and haue drawne them back,
So that of vs at _London_, you doe lack
Almost a yeare, the Spring is scarce begonne
There where you liue, and Autumne almost done.
With vs more Eastward, surely you deuise,
By your strong Magicke, that the Sunne shall rise 70
Where now it setts, and that in some few yeares
You'l alter quite the Motion of the Spheares.
Yes, and you meane, I shall complaine my loue
To grauell'd Walkes, or to a stupid Groue,
Now your companions; and that you the while
(As you are cruell) will sit by and smile,
To make me write to these, while Passers by,
Sleightly looke in your louely face, where I
See Beauties heauen, whilst silly blockheads, they
Like laden Asses, plod vpon their way, 80
And wonder not, as you should point a Clowne
Vp to the _Guards_, or _Ariadnes_ Crowne;
Of Constellations, and his dulnesse tell.
Hee'd thinke your words were certainly a Spell;
Or him some piece from _Creet_, or _Marcus_ show,
In all his life which till that time ne'r saw
Painting: except in Alehouse or old Hall
Done by some Druzzler, of the Prodigall.
Nay doe, stay still, whilst time away shall steale
Your youth, and beautie, and your selfe conceale 90
From me I pray you, you haue now inur'd
Me to your absence, and I haue endur'd
Your want this long, whilst I haue starued bine
For your short Letters, as you helde it sinne
To write to me, that to appease my woe,
I reade ore those, you writ a yeare agoe,
Which are to me, as though they had bin made,
Long time before the first _Olympiad_.
For thankes and curt'sies sell your presence then
To tatling Women, and to things like men, 100
And be more foolish then the _Indians_ are
For Bells, for Kniues, for Glasses, and such ware,
That sell their Pearle and Gold, but here I stay,
So I would not haue you but come away.

To Master GEORGE SANDYS

_Treasurer for the English Colony in_ VIRGINIA

Friend, if you thinke my Papers may supplie
You, with some strange omitted Noueltie,
Which others Letters yet haue left vntould,
You take me off, before I can take hould
Of you at all; I put not thus to Sea,
For two monthes Voyage to _Virginia_,
With newes which now, a little something here,
But will be nothing ere it can come there.
I feare, as I doe Stabbing; this word, State,
I dare not speake of the _Palatinate_, 10
Although some men make it their hourely theame,
And talke what's done in _Austria_, and in _Beame_,
I may not so; what _Spinola_ intends,
Nor with his _Dutch_, which way Prince _Maurice_ bends;
To other men, although these things be free,
Yet (GEORGE) they must be misteries to mee.
I scarce dare praise a vertuous friend that's dead,
Lest for my lines he should be censured;
It was my hap before all other men
To suffer shipwrack by my forward pen: 20
When King IAMES entred; at which ioyfull time
I taught his title to this Ile in rime:
And to my part did all the Muses win,
With high-pitch _Paeans_ to applaud him in:
When cowardise had tyed vp euery tongue,
And all stood silent, yet for him I sung;
And when before by danger I was dar'd,
I kick'd her from me, nor a iot I spar'd.
Yet had not my cleere spirit in Fortunes scorne,
Me aboue earth and her afflictions borne; 30
He next my God on whom I built my trust,
Had left me troden lower then the dust:
But let this passe; in the extreamest ill,
_Apollo's_ brood must be couragious still,
Let Pies, and Dawes, sit dumb before their death,
Onely the Swan sings at the parting breath.
And (worthy GEORGE) by industry and vse,
Let's see what lines _Virginia_ will produce;
Goe on with OVID, as you haue begunne,
With the first fiue Bookes; let your numbers run 40
Glib as the former, so shall it liue long,
And doe much honour to the _English_ tongue:
Intice the Muses thither to repaire,
Intreat them gently, trayne them to that ayre,
For they from hence may thither hap to fly,
T'wards the sad time which but to fast doth hie,
For Poesie is follow'd with such spight,
By groueling drones that neuer raught her height,
That she must hence, she may no longer staye:
The driery fates prefixed haue the day, 50
Of her departure, which is now come on,
And they command her straight wayes to be gon;
That bestiall heard so hotly her pursue,
And to her succour, there be very few,
Nay none at all, her wrongs that will redresse,
But she must wander in the wildernesse,
Like to the woman, which that holy IOHN
Beheld in _Pathmos_ in his vision.
As th' _English_ now, so did the stiff-neckt _Iewes_,
Their noble Prophets vtterly refuse, 60
And of these men such poore opinions had;
They counted _Esay_ and _Ezechiel_ mad;
When _Ieremy_ his Lamentations writ,
They thought the Wizard quite out of his wit,
Such sots they were, as worthily to ly,
Lock't in the chaines of their captiuity,
Knowledge hath still her Eddy in her Flow,
So it hath beene, and it will still be so.
That famous _Greece_ where learning flourisht most,
Hath of her muses long since left to boast, 70
Th' vnlettered _Turke_, and rude _Barbarian_ trades,
Where HOMER sang his lofty _Iliads_;
And this vaste volume of the world hath taught,
Much may to passe in little time be brought.
As if to _Symptoms_ we may credit giue,
This very time, wherein we two now liue,
Shall in the compasse, wound the Muses more,
Then all the old _English_ ignorance before;
Base Balatry is so belou'd and sought,
And those braue numbers are put by for naught, 80
Which rarely read, were able to awake,
Bodyes from graues, and to the ground to shake
The wandring clouds, and to our men at armes,
'Gainst pikes and muskets were most powerfull charmes.
That, but I know, insuing ages shall,
Raise her againe, who now is in her fall;
And out of dust reduce our scattered rimes,
Th' reiected iewels of these slothfull times,
Who with the Muses would misspend an hower,
But let blind Gothish Barbarisme deuoure 90
These feuerous Dogdays, blest by no record,
But to be euerlastingly abhord.
If you vouchsafe rescription, stuffe your quill
With naturall bountyes, and impart your skill,
In the description of the place, that I,
May become learned in the soyle thereby;
Of noble _Wyats_ health, and let me heare,
The Gouernour; and how our people there,
Increase and labour, what supplyes are sent,
Which I confesse shall giue me much content; 100
But you may saue your labour if you please,
To write to me ought of your Sauages.
As sauage slaues be in great _Britaine_ here,
As any one that you can shew me there
And though for this, Ile say I doe not thirst,
Yet I should like it well to be the first,
Whose numbers hence into _Virginia_ flew,
So (noble _Sandis_) for this time adue.

To my noble friend Master WILLIAM BROWNE, _of the euill time_

Deare friend, be silent and with patience see,
What this mad times Catastrophe will be;
The worlds first Wisemen certainly mistooke
Themselues, and spoke things quite beside the booke,
And that which they haue of said of God, vntrue,
Or else expect strange iudgement to insue.
This Isle is a meere Bedlam, and therein,
We all lye rauing, mad in euery sinne,
And him the wisest most men use to call,
Who doth (alone) the maddest thing of all; 10
He whom the master of all wisedome found,
For a marckt foole, and so did him propound,
The time we liue in, to that passe is brought,
That only he a Censor now is thought;
And that base villaine, (not an age yet gone,)
Which a good man would not haue look'd vpon;
Now like a God, with diuine worship follow'd,
And all his actions are accounted hollow'd.
This world of ours, thus runneth vpon wheeles,
Set on the head, bolt vpright with her heeles; 20
Which makes me thinke of what the _Ethnicks_ told
Th' opinion, the Pythagorists vphold,
Wander That the immortall soule doth transmigrate;
From body Then I suppose by the strong power of fate,
to body. And since that time now many a lingering yeare,
Through fools, and beasts, and lunatiques haue past,
Are heere imbodyed in this age at last,
And though so long we from that time be gone,
Yet taste we still of that confusion.
For certainely there's scarse one found that now, 30
Knowes what t' approoue, or what to disallow,
All arsey varsey, nothing is it's owne,
But to our prouerbe, all turnd vpside downe;
To doe in time, is to doe out of season,
And that speeds best, thats done the farth'st from reason,
Hee 's high'st that 's low'st, hee 's surest in that 's out,
He hits the next way that goes farth'st about,
He getteth vp vnlike to rise at all,
He slips to ground as much vnlike to fall;
Which doth inforce me partly to prefer, 40
_Zeno._ The opinion of that mad Philosopher,
Who taught, that those all-framing powers aboue,
(As 'tis suppos'd) made man not out of loue
To him at all, but only as a thing,
To make them sport with, which they vse to bring
As men doe munkeys, puppets, and such tooles
Of laughter: so men are but the Gods fooles.
Such are by titles lifted to the sky,
As wherefore no man knowes, God scarcely why;
The vertuous man depressed like a stone, 50
For that dull Sot to raise himselfe vpon;
He who ne're thing yet worthy man durst doe,
Neuer durst looke vpon his countrey's foe,
Nor durst attempt that action which might get
Him fame with men: or higher might him set
Then the base begger (rightly if compar'd;)
This Drone yet neuer braue attempt that dar'd,
Yet dares be knighted, and from thence dares grow
To any title Empire can bestow;
For this beleeue, that Impudence is now 60
A Cardinall vertue, and men it allow
Reuerence, nay more, men study and inuent
New wayes, nay, glory to be impudent.
Into the clouds the Deuill lately got,
And by the moisture doubting much the rot,
A medicine tooke to make him purge and cast;
Which in short time began to worke so fast,
That he fell too 't, and from his backeside flew,
A rout of rascall a rude ribauld crew
Of base Plebeians, which no sooner light, 70
Vpon the earth, but with a suddaine flight,
They spread this Ile, and as _Deucalion_ once
Ouer his shoulder backe, by throwing stones
They became men, euen so these beasts became,
Owners of titles from an obscure name.
He that by riot, of a mighty rent,
Hath his late goodly Patrimony spent,
And into base and wilfull beggery run
This man as he some glorious acte had done,
With some great pension, or rich guift releeu'd, 80
When he that hath by industry atchieu'd
Some noble thing, contemned and disgrac'd,
In the forlorne hope of the times is plac'd,
As though that God had carelessely left all
That being hath on this terrestriall ball,
To fortunes guiding, nor would haue to doe
With man, nor aught that doth belong him to,
Or at the least God hauing giuen more
Power to the Deuill, then he did of yore,
Ouer this world: the feind as he doth hate 90
The vertuous man; maligning his estate,
All noble things, and would haue by his will,
To be damn'd with him, vsing all his skill,
By his blacke hellish ministers to vexe
All worthy men, and strangely to perplexe
Their constancie, there by them so to fright,
That they should yeeld them wholely to his might.
But of these things I vainely doe but tell,
Where hell is heauen, and heau'n is now turn'd hell;
Where that which lately blasphemy hath bin, 100
Now godlinesse, much lesse accounted sin;
And a long while I greatly meruail'd why
Buffoons and Bawdes should hourely multiply,
Till that of late I construed it that they
To present thrift had got the perfect way,
When I concluded by their odious crimes,
It was for vs no thriuing in these times.
As men oft laugh at little Babes, when they
Hap to behold some strange thing in their play,
To see them on the suddaine strucken sad, 110
As in their fancie some strange formes they had,
Which they by pointing with their fingers showe,
Angry at our capacities so slowe,
That by their countenance we no sooner learne
To see the wonder which they so discerne:
So the celestiall powers doe sit and smile
At innocent and vertuous men the while,
They stand amazed at the world ore-gone,
So farre beyond imagination,
With slauish basenesse, that the silent sit 120
Pointing like children in describing it.
Then noble friend the next way to controule
These worldly crosses, is to arme thy soule
With constant patience: and with thoughts as high
As these be lowe, and poore, winged to flye
To that exalted stand, whether yet they
Are got with paine, that sit out of the way
Of this ignoble age, which raiseth none
But such as thinke their black damnation
To be a trifle; such, so ill, that when 130
They are aduanc'd, those few poore honest men
That yet are liuing, into search doe runne
To finde what mischiefe they haue lately done,
Which so preferres them; say thou he doth rise,
That maketh vertue his chiefe exercise.
And in this base world come what euer shall,
Hees worth lamenting, that for her doth fall.

Vpon the three Sonnes of the Lord SHEFFIELD, _drowned in HVMBER_

Light Sonnets hence, and to loose Louers flie,
And mournfull Maydens sing an Elegie
On those three SHEFFIELDS, ouer-whelm'd with waues,
Whose losse the teares of all the Muses craues;
A thing so full of pitty as this was,
Me thinkes for nothing should not slightly passe.
Treble this losse was, why should it not borrowe,
Through this Iles treble parts, a treble sorrowe:
But Fate did this, to let the world to knowe,
That sorrowes which from common causes growe, 10
Are not worth mourning for, the losse to beare,
But of one onely sonne, 's not worth one teare.
Some tender-hearted man, as I, may spend
Some drops (perhaps) for a deceased friend.
Some men (perhaps) their Wifes late death may rue;
Or Wifes their Husbands, but such be but fewe.
Cares that haue vs'd the hearts of men to tuch
So oft, and deepely, will not now be such;
Who'll care for loss of maintenance, or place,
Fame, liberty, or of the Princes grace; 20
Or sutes in law, by base corruption crost,
When he shall finde, that this which he hath lost,
Alas, is nothing to his, which did lose,
Three sonnes at once so excellent as those:
Nay, it is feard that this in time may breed
Hard hearts in men to their owne naturall seed;
That in respect of this great losse of theirs,
Men will scarce mourne the death of their owne heires.
Through all this Ile their losse so publique is,
That euery man doth take them to be his, 30
And as a plague which had beginning there,
So catching is, and raigning euery where,
That those the farthest off as much doe rue them,
As those the most familiarly that knew them;
Children with this disaster are wext sage,
And like to men that strucken are in age;
Talke what it is, three children at one time
Thus to haue drown'd, and in their very prime;
Yea, and doe learne to act the same so well,
That then olde folke, they better can it tell. 40
Inuention, oft that Passion vs'd to faine,
In sorrowes of themselves but slight, and meane,
To make them seeme great, here it shall not need,
For that this Subiect doth so farre exceed
All forc'd Expression, that what Poesie shall
Happily thinke to grace it selfe withall,
Falls so belowe it, that it rather borrowes
Grace from their griefe, then addeth to their sorrowes,
For sad mischance thus in the losse of three,
To shewe it selfe the vtmost it could bee: 50
Exacting also by the selfe same lawe,
The vtmost teares that sorrowe had to drawe
All future times hath vtterly preuented
Of a more losse, or more to be lamented.
Whilst in faire youth they liuely flourish'd here,
To their kinde Parents they were onely deere:
But being dead, now euery one doth take
Them for their owne, and doe like sorrowe make:
As for their owne begot, as they pretended
Hope in the issue, which should haue discended 60
From them againe; nor here doth end our sorrow,
But those of vs, that shall be borne to morrowe
Still shall lament them, and when time shall count,
To what vast number passed yeares shall mount,
They from their death shall duly reckon so,
As from the Deluge, former vs'd to doe.
O cruell _Humber_ guilty of their gore,
I now beleeue more then I did before
The _Brittish_ Story, whence thy name begun
Of Kingly _Humber_, an inuading _Hun_, 70
By thee deuoured, for't is likely thou
With blood wert Christned, bloud-thirsty till now.
The _Ouse_, the _Done_, and thou farre clearer _Trent_,
To drowne the SHEFFIELDS as you gaue consent,
Shall curse the time, that ere you were infus'd,
Which haue your waters basely thus abus'd.
The groueling Boore yee hinder not to goe,
And at his pleasure Ferry to and fro.
The very best part of whose soule, and bloud,
Compared with theirs, is viler then your mud. 80
But wherefore paper, doe I idely spend,
On those deafe waters to so little end,
And vp to starry heauen doe I not looke,
In which, as in an euerlasting booke,
Our ends are written; O let times rehearse
Their fatall losse, in their sad Aniuerse.

To the noble Lady, the Lady I.S. _of worldly crosses_

Madame, to shew the smoothnesse of my vaine,
Neither that I would haue you entertaine
The time in reading me, which you would spend
In faire discourse with some knowne honest friend,
I write not to you. Nay, and which is more,
My powerfull verses striue not to restore,
What time and sicknesse haue in you impair'd,
To other ends my Elegie is squar'd.
Your beauty, sweetnesse, and your gracefull parts
That haue drawne many eyes, wonne many hearts, 10
Of me get little, I am so much man,
That let them doe their vtmost that they can,
I will resist their forces: and they be
Though great to others, yet not so to me.
The first time I beheld you, I then sawe
That (in it selfe) which had the power to drawe
My stayd affection, and thought to allowe
You some deale of my heart; but you have now
Got farre into it, and you haue the skill
(For ought I see) to winne vpon me still. 20
When I doe thinke how brauely you haue borne
Your many crosses, as in Fortunes scorne,
And how neglectfull you have seem'd to be,
Of that which hath seem'd terrible to me,
I thought you stupid, nor that you had felt
Those griefes which (often) I haue scene to melt
Another woman into sighes and teares,
A thing but seldome in your sexe and yeares,
But when in you I haue perceiu'd agen,
(Noted by me, more then by other men) 30
How feeling and how sensible you are
Of your friends sorrowes, and with how much care
You seeke to cure them, then my selfe I blame,
That I your patience should so much misname,
Which to my vnderstanding maketh knowne
Who feeles anothers griefe, can feele their owne.
When straight me thinkes, I heare your patience say,
Are you the man that studied _Seneca_:
_Plinies_ most learned letters; and must I
Read you a Lecture in Philosophie, 40
T'auoid the afflictions that haue vs'd to reach you;
I'le learne you more, Sir, then your bookes can teach you.
Of all your sex, yet neuer did I knowe,
Any that yet so actually could showe
Such rules for patience, such an easie way,
That who so sees it, shall be forc'd to say,
Loe what before seem'd hard to be discern'd,
Is of this Lady, in an instant learn'd.
It is heauens will that you should wronged be
By the malicious, that the world might see 50
Your Doue-like meekenesse; for had the base scumme,
The spawne of Fiends, beene in your slander dumbe,
Your vertue then had perish'd, neuer priz'd,
For that the same you had not exercised;
And you had lost the Crowne you haue, and glory,
Nor had you beene the subiect of my Story.
Whilst they feele Hell, being damned in their hate,
Their thoughts like Deuils them excruciate,
Which by your noble suffrings doe torment
Them with new paines, and giues you this content 60
To see your soule an Innocent, hath suffred,
And vp to heauen before your eyes be offred:
Your like we in a burning Glasse may see,
When the Sunnes rayes therein contracted be
Bent on some obiect, which is purely white,
We finde that colour doth dispierce the light,
And stands vntainted: but if it hath got
Some little sully; or the least small spot,
Then it soon fiers it; so you still remaine
Free, because in you they can finde no staine. 70
God doth not loue them least, on whom he layes
The great'st afflictions; but that he will praise
Himselfe most in them, and will make them fit,
Near'st to himselfe who is the Lambe to sit:
For by that touch, like perfect gold he tries them,
Who are not his, vntill the world denies them.
And your example may work such effect,
That it may be the beginning of a Sect
Of patient women; and that many a day
All Husbands may for you their Founder pray. 80
Nor is to me your Innocence the lesse,
In that I see you striue not to suppresse
Their barbarous malice; but your noble heart
Prepar'd to act so difficult a part,
With vnremoued constancie is still
The same it was, that of your proper ill,
The effect proceeds from your owne selfe the cause,
Like some iust Prince, who to establish lawes,
Suffers the breach at his best lou'd to strike,
To learne the vulgar to endure the like. 90
You are a Martir thus, nor can you be
Lesse to the world so valued by me:
If as you haue begun, you still perseuer
Be euer good, that I may loue you euer.

An Elegie vpon the death of the Lady PENELOPE CLIFTON

Must I needes write, who's hee that can refuse,
He wants a minde, for her that hath no Muse,
The thought of her doth heau'nly rage inspire,
Next powerfull, to those clouen tongues of fire.
Since I knew ought time neuer did allowe
Me stuffe fit for an Elegie, till now;
When _France_ and _England's_ HENRIES dy'd, my quill,
Why, I know not, but it that time lay still.
'Tis more then greatnesse that my spirit must raise,
To obserue custome I vse not to praise; 10
Nor the least thought of mine yet ere depended,
On any one from whom she was descended;
That for their fauour I this way should wooe,
As some poor wretched things (perhaps) may doe;
I gaine the end, whereat I onely ayme,
If by my freedome, I may giue her fame.
Walking then forth being newly vp from bed,
O Sir (quoth one) the Lady CLIFTON'S dead.
When, but that reason my sterne rage withstood,
My hand had sure beene guilty of his blood. 20
If shee be so, must thy rude tongue confesse it
(Quoth I) and com'st so coldly to expresse it.
Thou shouldst haue giuen a shreeke, to make me feare thee;
That might haue slaine what euer had beene neere thee.
Thou shouldst haue com'n like Time with thy scalpe bare,
And in thy hands thou shouldst haue brought thy haire,
Casting vpon me such a dreadfull looke,
As seene a spirit, or th'adst beene thunder-strooke,
And gazing on me so a little space,
Thou shouldst haue shot thine eye balls in my face, 30
Then falling at my feet, thou shouldst haue said,
O she is gone, and Nature with her dead.
With this ill newes amaz'd by chance I past,
By that neere Groue, whereas both first and last,
I saw her, not three moneths before shee di'd.
When (though full Summer gan to vaile her pride,
And that I sawe men leade home ripened Corne,
Besides aduis'd me well,) I durst haue sworne
The lingring yeare, the Autumne had adiourn'd,
And the fresh Spring had beene againe return'd, 40
Her delicacie, louelinesse, and grace,
With such a Summer brauery deckt the place:
But now alas, it lookt forlorne and dead;
And where she stood, the fading leaues were shed,
Presenting onely sorrowe to my sight,
O God (thought I) this is her Embleme right.
And sure I thinke it cannot but be thought,
That I to her by prouidence was brought.
For that the Fates fore-dooming, shee should die,
Shewed me this wondrous Master peece, that I 50
Should sing her Funerall, that the world should know it,
That heauen did thinke her worthy of a Poet;
My hand is fatall, nor doth fortune doubt,
For what it writes, not fire shall ere race out.
A thousand silken Puppets should haue died,
And in their fulsome Coffins putrified,
Ere in my lines, you of their names should heare
To tell the world that such there euer were,
Whose memory shall from the earth decay,
Before those Rags be worne they gaue away: 60
Had I her god-like features neuer seene,
Poore slight Report had tolde me she had beene
A hansome Lady, comely, very well,
And so might I haue died an Infidell,
As many doe which neuer did her see,
Or cannot credit, what she was, by mee.
Nature, her selfe, that before Art prefers
To goe beyond all our Cosmographers,
By Charts and Maps exactly that haue showne,
All of this earth that euer can be knowne, 70
For that she would beyond them all descrie
What Art could not by any mortall eye;
A Map of heauen in her rare features drue,
And that she did so liuely and so true,
That any soule but seeing it might sweare
That all was perfect heauenly that was there.
If euer any Painter were so blest,
To drawe that face, which so much heau'n exprest,
If in his best of skill he did her right,
I wish it neuer may come in my sight, 80
I greatly doubt my faith (weake man) lest I
Should to that face commit Idolatry.
Death might haue tyth'd her sex, but for this one,
Nay, haue ta'n halfe to haue let her alone;
Such as their wrinkled temples to supply,
Cyment them vp with sluttish _Mercury_,
Such as vndrest were able to affright,
A valiant man approching him by night;
Death might haue taken such, her end deferd,
Vntill the time she had beene climaterd; 90
When she would haue bin at threescore yeares and three,
Such as our best at three and twenty be,
With enuie then, he might haue ouerthrowne her,
When age nor time had power to ceaze vpon her.
But when the vnpittying Fates her end decreed,
They to the same did instantly proceed,
For well they knew (if she had languish'd so)
As those which hence by naturall causes goe,
So many prayers, and teares for her had spoken,
As certainly their Iron lawes had broken, 100
And had wak'd heau'n, who clearely would haue show'd
That change of Kingdomes to her death it ow'd;
And that the world still of her end might thinke,
It would haue let some Neighbouring mountaine sinke.
Or the vast Sea it in on vs to cast,
As _Seuerne_ did about some fiue yeares past:
Or some sterne Comet his curld top to reare,
Whose length should measure halfe our Hemisphere.
Holding this height, to say some will not sticke,
That now I raue, and am growne lunatique: 110
You of what sexe so ere you be, you lye,
'Tis thou thy selfe is lunatique, not I.
I charge you in her name that now is gone,
That may coniure you, if you be not stone,
That you no harsh, nor shallow rimes decline,
Vpon that day wherein you shall read mine.
Such as indeed are falsely termed verse,
And will but sit like mothes vpon her herse;
Nor that no child, nor chambermaide, nor page,
Disturbe the Rome, the whilst my sacred rage, 120
In reading is; but whilst you heare it read,
Suppose, before you, that you see her dead,
The walls about you hung with mournfull blacke,
And nothing of her funerall to lacke,
And when this period giues you leaue to pause,
Cast vp your eyes, and sigh for my applause.

Vpon the noble Lady ASTONS _departure for Spaine_

I many a time haue greatly marueil'd, why
Men say, their friends depart when as they die,
How well that word, a dying, doth expresse,
I did not know (I freely must confesse,)
Till her departure: for whose missed sight,
I am enforc'd this Elegy to write:
But since resistlesse fate will haue it so,
That she from hence must to _Iberia_ goe,
And my weak wishes can her not detaine,
I will of heauen in policy complaine, 10
That it so long her trauell should adiourne,
Hoping thereby to hasten her returne.
The witches Can those of _Norway_ for their wage procure,
of the By their blacke spells a winde that shall endure
Northerly Till from aboard the wished land men see,
legions sell And fetch the harbour, where they long to be,
windes to Can they by charmes doe this and cannot I
passengers. Who am the Priest of _Phoebus_, and so hie,
Sit in his fauour, winne the Poets god,
To send swift _Hermes_ with his snaky rod, 20
To _AEolus_ Caue, commanding him with care,
His prosperous winds, that he for her prepare,
And from that howre, wherein shee takes the seas,
Nature bring on the quiet _Halcion_ dayes,
And in that hower that bird begin her nest,
Nay at that very instant, that long rest
May seize on _Neptune_, who may still repose,
And let that bird nere till that hower disclose,
Wherein she landeth, and for all that space
Be not a wrinkle seene on _Thetis_ face, 30
Onely so much breath with a gentle gale,
As by the easy swelling of her saile,
The nearest May at *_Sebastians_ safely set her downe
Harbour of Where, with her goodnes she may blesse the towne.
_Spaine_. If heauen in iustice would haue plagu'd by thee
Some Pirate, and grimme _Neptune_ thou should'st be
His Executioner, or what is his worse,
The gripple Merchant, borne to be the curse
Of this braue Iland; let them for her sake,
Who to thy safeguard doth her selfe betake, 40
Escape vndrown'd, vnwrackt, nay rather let
Them be at ease in some safe harbour set,
Where with much profit they may vent their wealth
That they haue got by villany and stealth,
Rather great _Neptune_, then when thou dost raue,
Thou once shouldst wet her saile but with a waue.
Or if some proling Rouer shall but dare,
To seize the ship wherein she is to fare,
Let the fell fishes of the Maine appeare,
And tell those Sea-thiefes, that once such they were 50
As they are now, till they assaid to rape
An Ile for Grape-crowned _Bacchus_ in a striplings shape,
the abundance That came aboard them, and would faine haue saild,
of wine To vine-spread *_Naxus_ but that him they faild,
supposed to Which he perceiuing, them so monstrous made,
be the And warnd them how they passengers inuade.
habitation Ye South and Westerne winds now cease to blow
of _Bachus_. Autumne is come, there be no flowers to grow,
Yea from that place respire, to which she goes,
And to her sailes should show your selfe but foes, 60
But _Boreas_ and yee Esterne windes arise,
To send her soon to _Spaine_, but be precise,
That in your aide you seeme not still so sterne,
As we a summer should no more discerne,
For till that here againe, I may her see,
It will be winter all the yeare with mee.
_Castor_ and Ye swanne-begotten lonely brother-stars,
_Polox_ begot So oft auspicious to poore Mariners,
by _Ioue_ on Ye twin-bred lights of louely _Leda's_ brood,
_Leda_ in the _Ioues_ egge-borne issue smile vpon the flood, 70
forme of a And in your mild'st aspect doe ye appeare
Swanne. A To be her warrant from all future feare.
constellation And if thou ship that bear'st her, doe proue good,
ominous to May neuer time by wormes, consume thy wood
Mariners. Nor rust thy iron, may thy tacklings last,
Till they for reliques be in temples plac't;
Maist thou be ranged with that mighty Arke,
Wherein iust _Noah_ did all the world imbarque,
With that which after _Troyes_ so famous wracke,
From ten yeares trauell brought _Vlisses_ backe, 80
That Argo which to _Colchos_ went from _Greece_,
And in her botome brought the goulden fleece
Vnder braue _Iason_; or that same of _Drake_,
Wherein he did his famous voyage make
About the world; or _Candishes_ that went
As far as his, about the Continent.
And yee milde winds that now I doe implore,
Not once to raise the least sand on the shore,
Nor once on forfait of your selues respire:
When once the time is come of her retire, 90
If then it please you, but to doe your due,
What for these windes I did, Ile doe for you;
Ile wooe you then, and if that not suffice,
My pen shall prooue you to haue dietyes,
Ile sing your loues in verses that shall flow,
And tell the storyes of your weale and woe,
Ile prooue what profit to the earth you bring,
And how t'is you that welcome in the spring;
Ile raise vp altars to you, as to show,
The time shall be kept holy, when you blow. 100
O blessed winds! your will that it may be,
To send health to her, and her home to me.

To my most dearely-loued friend HENERY REYNOLDS Esquire, of _Poets & Poesie_

My dearely loued friend how oft haue we,
In winter evenings (meaning to be free,)
To some well-chosen place vs'd to retire;
And there with moderate meate, and wine, and fire,
Haue past the howres contentedly with chat,
Now talk of this, and then discours'd of that,
Spoke our owne verses 'twixt our selves, if not
Other mens lines, which we by chance had got,
Or some Stage pieces famous long before,
Of which your happy memory had store; 10
And I remember you much pleased were,
Of those who liued long agoe to heare,
As well as of those, of these latter times,
Who have inricht our language with their rimes,
And in succession, how still vp they grew,
Which is the subiect, that I now pursue;
For from my cradle, (you must know that) I,
Was still inclin'd to noble Poesie,
And when that once _Pueriles_ I had read,
And newly had my _Cato_ construed, 20
In my small selfe I greatly marueil'd then,
Amonst all other, what strange kinde of men
These Poets were; And pleased with the name,
To my milde Tutor merrily I came,
(For I was then a proper goodly page,
Much like a Pigmy, scarse ten yeares of age)
Clasping my slender armes about his thigh.
O my deare master! cannot you (quoth I)
Make me a Poet, doe it if you can,
And you shall see, Ile quickly bee a man, 30
Who me thus answered smiling, boy quoth he,
If you'le not play the wag, but I may see
You ply your learning, I will shortly read
Some Poets to you; _Phoebus_ be my speed,
Too't hard went I, when shortly he began,
And first read to me honest _Mantuan_,
Then _Virgils Eglogues_, being entred thus,
Me thought I straight had mounted _Pegasus_,
And in his full Careere could make him stop,
And bound vpon _Parnassus'_ by-clift top. 40
I scornd your ballet then though it were done
And had for Finis, _William Elderton_.
But soft, in sporting with this childish iest,
I from my subiect haue too long digrest,
Then to the matter that we tooke in hand,
_Ioue_ and _Apollo_ for the _Muses_ stand.
Then noble _Chaucer_, in those former times,
The first inrich'd our _English_ with his rimes,
And was the first of ours, that euer brake,
Into the _Muses_ treasure, and first spake 50
In weighty numbers, deluing in the Mine
Of perfect knowledge, which he could refine,
And coyne for currant, and as much as then
The _English_ language could expresse to men,
He made it doe; and by his wondrous skill,
Gaue vs much light from his abundant quill.
And honest _Gower_, who in respect of him,
Had only sipt at _Aganippas_ brimme,
And though in yeares this last was him before,
Yet fell he far short of the others store. 60
When after those, foure ages very neare,
They with the _Muses_ which conuersed, were
That Princely _Surrey_, early in the time
Of the Eight _Henry_, who was then the prime
Of _Englands_ noble youth; with him there came
_Wyat_; with reuerence whom we still doe name
Amongst our Poets, _Brian_ had a share
With the two former, which accompted are
That times best makers, and the authors were
Of those small poems, which the title beare, 70
Of songs and sonnets, wherein oft they hit
On many dainty passages of wit.
_Gascoine_ and _Churchyard_ after them againe
In the beginning of _Eliza's_ raine,
Accoumpted were great Meterers many a day,
But not inspired with braue fier, had they
Liu'd but a little longer, they had seene,
Their works before them to have buried beene.
Graue morrall _Spencer_ after these came on
Then whom I am perswaded there was none 80
Since the blind _Bard_ his _Iliads_ vp did make,
Fitter a taske like that to vndertake,
To set downe boldly, brauely to inuent,
In all high knowledge, surely excellent.
The noble _Sidney_ with this last arose,
That _Heroe_ for numbers, and for Prose.
That throughly pac'd our language as to show,
The plenteous _English_ hand in hand might goe
With _Greek_ or _Latine_, and did first reduce
Our tongue from _Lillies_ writing then in vse; 90
Talking of Stones, Stars, Plants, of fishes, Flyes,
Playing with words, and idle Similies,
As th' _English_, Apes and very Zanies be,
Of euery thing, that they doe heare and see,
So imitating his ridiculous tricks,
They spake and writ, all like meere lunatiques.
Then _Warner_ though his lines were not so trim'd,
Nor yet his Poem so exactly lim'd
And neatly ioynted, but the Criticke may
Easily reprooue him, yet thus let me say; 100
For my old friend, some passages there be
In him, which I protest haue taken me,
With almost wonder, so fine, cleere, and new
As yet they haue bin equalled by few.
Neat _Marlow_ bathed in the _Thespian_ springs
Had in him those braue translunary things,
That the first Poets had, his raptures were,
All ayre, and fire, which made his verses cleere,
For that fine madnes still he did retaine,
Which rightly should possesse a Poets braine. 110
And surely _Nashe_, though he a Proser were
A branch of Lawrell yet deserues to beare,
Sharply _Satirick_ was he, and that way
He went, since that his being, to this day
Few haue attempted, and I surely thinke
Those wordes shall hardly be set downe with inke;
Shall scorch and blast, so as his could, where he,
Would inflict vengeance, and be it said of thee,
_Shakespeare_, thou hadst as smooth a Comicke vaine,
Fitting the socke, and in thy naturall braine, 120
As strong conception, and as Cleere a rage,
As any one that trafiqu'd with the stage.
Amongst these _Samuel Daniel_, whom if I
May spake of, but to sensure doe denie,
Onely haue heard some wisemen him rehearse,
To be too much _Historian_ in verse;
His rimes were smooth, his meeters well did close
But yet his maner better fitted prose:
Next these, learn'd _Johnson_, in this List I bring,
Who had drunke deepe of the _Pierian_ spring, 130
Whose knowledge did him worthily prefer,
And long was Lord here of the Theater,
Who in opinion made our learn'st to sticke,
Whether in Poems rightly dramatique,
Strong _Seneca_ or _Plautus_, he or they,
Should beare the Buskin, or the Socke away.
Others againe here liued in my dayes,
That haue of vs deserued no lesse praise
For their translations, then the daintiest wit
That on _Parnassus_ thinks, he highst doth sit, 140
And for a chaire may mongst the Muses call,
As the most curious maker of them all;
As reuerent _Chapman_, who hath brought to vs,
_Musaeus_, _Homer_ and _Hesiodus_
Out of the Greeke; and by his skill hath reard
Them to that height, and to our tongue endear'd,
That were those Poets at this day aliue,
To see their bookes thus with vs to suruiue,
They would think, hauing neglected them so long,
They had bin written in the _English_ tongue. 150
And _Siluester_ who from the _French_ more weake,
Made _Bartas_ of his sixe dayes labour speake
In naturall _English_, who, had he there stayd,
He had done well, and neuer had bewraid
His owne inuention, to haue bin so poore
Who still wrote lesse, in striuing to write more.
Then dainty _Sands_ that hath to _English_ done,
Smooth sliding _Ouid_, and hath made him run
With so much sweetnesse and vnusuall grace,
As though the neatnesse of the _English_ pace, 160
Should tell the Ietting _Lattine_ that it came
But slowly after, as though stiff and lame.
So _Scotland_ sent vs hither, for our owne
That man, whose name I euer would haue knowne,
To stand by mine, that most ingenious knight,
My _Alexander_, to whom in his right,
I want extreamely, yet in speaking thus
I doe but shew the loue, that was twixt vs,
And not his numbers which were braue and hie,
So like his mind, was his clear Poesie, 170
And my deare _Drummond_ to whom much I owe
For his much loue, and proud I was to know,
His poesie, for which two worthy men,
I _Menstry_ still shall loue, and _Hauthorne-den_.
Then the two _Beamounts_ and my _Browne_ arose,
My deare companions whom I freely chose
My bosome friends; and in their seuerall wayes,
Rightly borne Poets, and in these last dayes,
Men of much note, and no lesse nobler parts,
Such as haue freely tould to me their hearts, 180
As I have mine to them; but if you shall
Say in your knowledge, that these be not all
Haue writ in numbers, be inform'd that I
Only my selfe, to these few men doe tye,
Whose works oft printed, set on euery post,
To publique censure subiect haue bin most;
For such whose poems, be they nere so rare,
In priuate chambers, that incloistered are,
And by transcription daintyly must goe;
As though the world vnworthy were to know, 190
Their rich composures, let those men that keepe
These wonderous reliques in their iudgement deepe;
And cry them vp so, let such Peeces bee
Spoke of by those that shall come after me,
I passe not for them: nor doe meane to run,
In quest of these, that them applause haue wonne,
Vpon our Stages in these latter dayes,
That are so many, let them haue their bayes
That doe deserue it; let those wits that haunt
Those publique circuits, let them freely chaunt 200
Their fine Composures, and their praise pursue
And so my deare friend, for this time adue.

Vpon the death of his incomparable _friend Sir_ HENRY RAYNSFORD _of_ CLIFFORD