Chapter IX: Introduction (8)

That _England_ lost, that Learning lov'd, that euery mouth commended,
That fame did prayse, that Prince did rayse, that Countrey do defended,
Here lyes the man: lyke to the Swan, who knowing shee shall die,
Doeth tune her voice vnto the Spheares, and scornes Mortalitie.
Two worthie Earls his vncles were; a Lady was his Mother;
A Knight his father; and himselfe a noble Countesse Brother.
Belov'd, bewaild; aliue, now dead; of all, with Teares for euer;
Here lyes Sir _Philip Sidneis_ Corps, whom cruell Death did seuer,
He liv'd for her, hee dyde for her; for whom he dyde, he liued:
O graunt (O God) that wee of her, may neuer be depriued.

An Epitaph vpon the Death of his Aunt,

Mistresse Elizabeth Skrymsher.

Loe here beholde the certaine Ende, of euery liuing wight:
No Creature is secure from Death, for Death will haue his Right.
He spareth none: both rich and poore, both young and olde must die;
So fraile is flesh, so short is Life, so sure Mortalitie.
When first the Bodye liues to Life, the soule first dies to sinne:
And they that loose this earthly Life, a heauenly Life shall winne,
If they liue well: as well she liv'd, that lyeth Vnder heere;
Whose Vertuous Life to all the Worlde, most plainly did appeere.
Good to the poore, friend to the rich, and foe to no Degree:
A President of modest Life, and peerelesse Chastitie.
Who louing more, Who more belov'd of euerie honest mynde?
Who more to Hospitalitie, and Clemencie inclinde
Then she? that being buried here, lyes wrapt in Earth below;
From whence we came, to whom wee must, and bee as shee is now,
A Clodd of Clay: though her pure soule in endlesse Blisse doeth rest;
Ioying all Ioy, the Place of Peace, prepared for the blest:
Where holy Angells sit and sing, before the King of Kings;
Not mynding worldly Vanities, but onely heavenly Things.
Vnto which Ioy, Vnto which Blisse, Vnto which Place of Pleasure,
God graunt that wee may come at last, t' inioy that heauenly Treasure.
Which to obtaine, to liue as shee hath done let us endeuor;
That wee may liue with Christ himselfe, (above) that liues for euer.

A Comparison of the Life of Man.

Mans life is vvell compared to a feast,
Furnisht with choice of all Varietie:
To it comes Tyme; and as a bidden guest
Hee sets him downe, in Pompe and Maiestie;
The three-folde Age of Man, the Waiters bee,
Then with an earthen voyder (made of clay)
Comes Death, and takes the table clean away.

FINIS.

ASTROPHEL.

A Pastoral Elegy upon
the death of the most noble
and valorous Knight,
Sir PHILIP SIDNEY.

_Dedicated
to the most beautiful and virtuous Lady
the Countess of ESSEX._

[By EDMUND SPENSER, the Countess
of PEMBROKE, and others.]

[Printed as an Appendix to _COLIN CLOUT's come home again_, first
printed in 1595; but the epistle of which is dated "From my house
of Kilcolman, the 27 of December, 1591."]

Astrophel.

_Shepherds that wont, on pipes of oaten reed,_
_Ofttimes to plain your love's concealèd smart;_
_And with your piteous lays have learned to breed_
_Compassion in a country lass's heart:_
_Hearken, ye gentle shepherds, to my song!_
_And place my doleful plaint, your plaints emong._

_To you alone, I sing this mournful verse,_
_The mournful'st verse that ever man heard tell:_
_To you whose softened hearts it may empierce_
_With dolour's dart, for death of ASTROPHEL._
_To you I sing, and to none other wight,_
_For well I wot my rhymes been rudely dight._

_Yet as they been, if any nicer wit_
_Shall hap to hear, or covet them to read:_
_Think he, that such are for such ones most fit,_
_Made not to please the living but the dead:_
_And if in him, found pity ever place;_
_Let him be moved to pity such a case._

_ASTROPHEL._

_A Pastoral Elegy upon the death of_

_the most noble and valorous Knight,_

_Sir PHILIP SIDNEY._

A gentle shepherd born in Arcady,
Of gentlest race that ever shepherd bore;
About the grassy banks of Hæmony,
Did keep his sheep, his little stock and store.
Full carefully he kept them day and night
In fairest fields; and ASTROPHEL he hight.

Young ASTROPHEL! the pride of shepherds' praise.
Young ASTROPHEL! the rustic lasses' love.
Far passing all the pastors of his days
In all that seemly shepherd might behove.
In one thing only failing of the best;
That he was not so happy as the rest.

For from the time that first the nymph his mother
Him forth did bring; and taught, her lambs to feed:
A slender swain, excelling far each other
In comely shape, like her that did him breed:
He grew up fast in goodness and in grace;
And doubly fair wox both in mind and face.

Which daily more and more he did augment
With gentle usage and demeanour mild;
That all men's hearts with secret ravishment
He stole away, and wittingly beguiled.
Ne Spite itself--that all good things doth spill--
Found ought in him, that she could say was ill.

His sports were fair, his joyance innocent,
Sweet without sour, and honey without gall;
And he himself seemed made for merriment,
Merrily masking both in bower and hall.
There was no pleasure nor delightful play
When ASTROPHEL so ever was away.

For he could pipe, and dance, and carol sweet;
Emongst the shepherds in their shearing feast:
As summer's lark that with her song doth greet
The dawning day, forth coming from the East.
And lays of love he also would compose.
Thrice happy she! whom he to praise did choose.

Full many maidens often did him woo,
Them to vouchsafe, emongst his rhymes to name:
Or make for them, as he was wont to do,
For her that did his heart with love inflame;
For which they promised to dight for him,
Gay chaplets of flowers and garlands trim.

And many a nymph, both of the wood and brook,
Soon as his oaten pipe began to shrill;
Both crystal wells and shady groves forsook,
To hear the charms of his enchanting skill:
And brought him presents; flowers, if it were prime:
Or mellow fruit, if it were harvest time.

But he for none of them did care a whit;
Yet wood-gods for them oft sighed sore:
Ne for their gifts unworthy of his wit,
Yet not unworthy of the country's store.
For One alone he cared, for One he sighed
His life's treasure, and his dear love's delight.

STELLA the fair! the fairest star in sky:
As fair as VENUS, or the fairest fair.
A fairer star saw never living eye,
Shot her sharp pointed beams through purest air.
Her, he did love; her, he alone he did honour;
His thoughts, his rhymes, his songs were all upon her.

To her, he vowed the service of his days;
On her, he spent the riches of his wit;
For her, he made hymns of immortal praise:
Of only her; he sang, he thought, he writ.
Her, and but her, of love he worthy deemed:
For all the rest, but little he esteemed.

Ne her with idle words alone he vowed,
And verses vain--yet verses are not vain:
But with brave deeds, to her sole service vowed;
And bold achievements, her did entertain.
For both in deeds and words he nurtured was.
Both wise and hardy--too hardy, alas!

In wrestling, nimble; and in running, swift;
In shooting, steady; and in swimming, strong:
Well made to strike, to throw, to leap, to lift,
And all the sports that shepherds are emong.
In every one, he vanquished every one,
He vanquished all, and vanquished was of none.

Besides, in hunting such felicity
Or rather infelicity, he found;
That every field and forest far away
He sought, where savage beasts do most abound.
No beast so savage, but he could it kill:
No chase so hard, but he therein had skill.

Such skill, matched with such courage as he had,
Did prick him forth with proud desire of praise;
To seek abroad, of danger nought y'drad,
His mistress' name and his own fame to raise.
What need, peril to be sought abroad?
Since round about us, it doth make abode.

It fortuned as he, that perilous game
In foreign soil pursued, far away;
Into a forest wide and waste, he came,
Where store he heard to be of savage prey.
So wide a forest and so waste as this,
Nor famous Ardenne, nor foul Arlo is.

There his well-woven toils and subtle trains
He laid, the brutish nation to enwrap:
So well he wrought with practice and with pains,
That he of them, great troops did soon entrap.
Full happy man! misweening much, was he;
So rich a spoil within his power to see.

Eftsoons, all heedless of his dearest hale,
Full greedily into the herd he thrust
To slaughter them and work their final bale,
Lest that his toil should of their troops be burst.
Wide wounds emongst them, many one he made;
Now with his sharp boar spear, now with his blade.

His care was all, how he them all might kill;
That none might 'scape, so partial unto none.
Ill mind! so much to mind another's ill,
As to become unmindful of his own.
But pardon that unto the cruel skies,
That from himself to them, withdrew his eyes.

So as he raged emongst that beastly rout;
A cruel beast of most accursèd brood,
Upon him turned--despair makes cowards stout;
And with fell tooth, accustomèd to blood,
Launched his thigh with so mischievous might,
That it both bone and muscle rivèd quite.

So deadly was the dint, and deep the wound,
And so huge streams of blood thereout did flow;
That he endurèd not the direful stound
But on the cold dear earth, himself did throw.
The whiles the captive herd his nets did rend,
And having none to let; to wood did wend.

Ah, where were ye this while, his shepherd peers?
To whom alive was nought so dear as he.
And ye fair maids, the matches of his years!
Which in his grace, did boast you most to be?
And where were ye, when he of you had need,
To stop his wound that wondrously did bleed?

Ah, wretched boy! the shape of drearihead!
And sad ensample of man's sudden end!
Full little faileth, but thou shalt be dead;
Unpitied, unplained of foe or friend:
Whilst none is nigh, thine eyelids up to close;
And kiss thy lips like faded leaves of rose.

A sort of shepherds suing of the chase,
As they the forest rangèd on a day;
By fate or fortune came unto the place,
Whereas the luckless boy yet bleeding lay.
Yet bleeding lay, and yet would still have bled,
Had not good hap those shepherds thither led.

They stopped his wound--too late to stop, it was,
And in their arms then softly did him rear:
Tho, as he willed, unto his lovèd lass,
His dearest love, him dolefully did bear.
The doleful'st bier that ever man did see
Was ASTROPHEL, but dearest unto me.

She, when she saw her love in such a plight,
With curdled blood and filthy gore deformed;
That wont to be with flowers and garlands dight,
And her dear favours dearly well adorned.
Her face, the fairest face that eye might see,
She likewise did deform, like him to be.

Her yellow locks that shone so bright and long,
As sunny beams in fairest summer's day;
She fiercely tore: and with outrageous wrong,
From her red cheeks, the roses rent away.
And her fair breast, the treasury of joy;
She spoiled thereof, and fillèd with annoy.

His pallid face, impicturèd with death;
She bathèd oft with tears and drièd oft:
And with sweet kisses, sucked the wasting breath
Out of his lips, like lilies pale and soft.
And oft she called to him, who answered nought;
But only by his looks did tell his thought.

The rest of her impatient regret
And piteous moan, the which she for him made;
No tongue can tell, nor any forth can set:
But he whose heart, like sorrow did invade.
At last, when pain his vital powers had spent,
His wasted life her weary lodge forewent.

Which when she saw, she stayèd not a whit,
But after him, did make untimely haste:
Forthwith her ghost out of her corps did flit,
And followed her mate, like turtle chaste.
To prove that death, their hearts cannot divide;
Which living were in love so firmly tied.

The gods, which all things see, this same beheld.
And pitying this pair of lovers true;
Transformèd them, there lying on the field,
Into one flower that is both red and blue.
It first grows red, and then to blue doth fade;
Like ASTROPHEL, which thereinto was made.

And in the midst thereof a star appears,
As fairly formed as any star in sky;
Resembling STELLA in her freshest years,
Forth darting beams of beauty from her eyes:
And all the day it standeth full of dew,
Which is the tears that from her eyes did flow.

That herb of some, "Starlight" is called by name;
Of others _Penthia_, though not so well:
But thou wherever thou dost find the same,
From this day forth do call it _Astrophel_.
And whensoever thou it up dost take;
Do pluck it softly, for that shepherd's sake.

Hereof when tidings far abroad did pass,
The shepherds all which lovèd him full dear--
And sure, full dear of all he lovèd was--
Did thither flock to see what they did hear.
And when that piteous spectacle they viewed,
The same with bitter tears they all bedewed.

And every one did make exceeding moan,
With inward anguish and great grief opprest;
And every one did weep and wail and moan,
And means devised to show his sorrow best.
That from that hour since first on grassy green,
Shepherds kept sheep; was not like mourning seen.

But first his sister that CLORINDA hight,
The gentlest shepherdess that lives this day;
And most resembling both in shape and sprite,
Her brother dear, began this doleful lay.
Which lest I mar the sweetness of the verse,
In sort as she it sung, I will rehearse.

"Aye me! to whom shall I, my case complain,
That may compassion my impatient grief?
Or where shall I unfold my inward pain
That my enriven heart may find relief?
Shall I unto the heavenly powers it show,
Or unto earthly men that dwell below?"

"To heavens! Ah, they, alas, the authors were
And workers of my unremèdied woe;
For they foresee what to us happens here,
And they foresaw, yet suffered this be so.
From them comes good, from them comes also ill;
That which they made, who can them warn to spill?"

"To men! Ah, they, alas, like wretched be
And subject to the heaven's ordinance;
Bound to abide whatever they decree,
Their best redress, is their best sufferance.
How then can they, like wretched, comfort me?
The which no less, need comforted to be."

"Then to myself, will I my sorrow mourn,
Sith none alive like sorrowful remains;
And to myself, my plaints shall back return,
To pay their usury with doubled pains.
The woods, the hills, the rivers shall resound
The mournful accent of my sorrow's ground."

"Woods, hills and rivers now are desolate;
Sith he is gone the which them all did grace:
And all the fields do wail their widow-state;
Sith death, their fairest flower did late deface.
The fairest flower in field that ever grew,
Was ASTROPHEL: that 'was,' we all may rue."

"What cruel hand of cursèd foe unknown,
Hath cropped the stalk which bore so fair a flower?
Untimely cropped, before it well were grown,
And clean defacèd in untimely hour.
Great loss to all that ever him see,
Great loss to all, but greatest loss to me."

"Break now your garlands, O ye shepherds' lasses!
Sith the fair flower, which them adorned, is gone:
The flower, which them adorned, is gone to ashes,
Never again let lass put garland on.
Instead of garland, wear sad cypress now;
And bitter elder, broken from the bough."

"Ne ever sing the love-lays which he made;
Whoever made such lays of love as he?
Ne ever read the riddles, which he said
Unto yourselves, to make you merry glee.
Your merry glee is now laid all abed,
Your merry-maker now, alas! is dead."

"Death! the devourer of all world's delight,
Hath robbèd you, and reft from me my joy;
Both you and me and all the world, he quite
Hath robbed of joyance; and left sad annoy.
Joy of the world! and shepherds' pride was he:
Shepherds hope never, like again to see."

"Oh, Death! that hast us of such riches reft,
Tell us at least, What hast thou with it done?
What is become of him, whose flower here left;
Is but the shadow of his likeness gone.
Scarce like the shadow of that which he was:
Nought like, but that he, like a shade, did pass."

"But that immortal spirit, which was deckt
With all the dowries of celestial grace;
By sovereign choice from th' heavenly quires select,
And lineally derived from angels' race:
O what is now of it become aread?
Aye me! can so divine a thing be dead?"

"Ah, no! It is not dead, nor can it die;
But lives for aye in blissful Paradise:
Where like a new-born babe it soft doth lie
In bed of lilies, wrapped in tender wise:
And compassed all about with roses sweet,
And dainty violets from head to feet."

"There, thousand birds, all of celestial brood,
To him do sweetly carol day and night;
And with strange notes, of him well understood,
Lull him asleep in angelic delight:
Whilst in sweet dream, to him presented be
Immortal beauties, which no eye may see."

"But he them sees, and takes exceeding pleasure
Of their divine aspects, appearing plain;
And kindling love in him above all measure
Sweet love, still joyous, never feeling pain.
For what so goodly form he there doth see,
He may enjoy, from jealous rancour free."

"There liveth he in everlasting bliss,
Sweet spirit! never fearing more to die:
Ne dreading harm from any foes of his,
Ne fearing savage beast's more cruelty.
Whilst we here, wretches! wail his private lack;
And with vain vows do often call him back."

"But live thou there still happy, happy spirit!
And give us leave, thee here thus to lament:
Not thee, that dost thy heaven's joy inherit;
But our own selves, that here in dole are drent.
Thus do we weep and wail, and wear our eyes,
Mourning in others, our own miseries."

* * * * *

Which when she ended had, another swain,
Of gentle wit and dainty sweet device;
Whom ASTROPHEL full dear did entertain
Whilst here he lived, and held in passing price:
Hight THESTYLIS, began his mournful tourn,
And made the Muses in his song to mourn.

And after him, full many other moe,
As every one in order loved him best;
'Gan dight themselves t'express their inward woe
With doleful lays unto the tune addrest.
The which I here in order will rehearse,
As fittest flowers to deck his mournful hearse.

_The mourning Muse of_ THESTYLIS.

Come forth ye nymphs! come forth! forsake your watery bowers!
Forsake your mossy caves; and help me to lament.
Help me to tune my doleful notes to gurgling sound
Of Liffey's tumbling streams. Come let salt tears of ours,
Mix with his waters fresh. O come let one consent
Join us to mourn with wailful plaints the deadly wound
Which fatal clap hath made, decreed by higher powers;
The dreary day in which they have from us yrent
The noblest plant that might from East to West be found.
Mourn! mourn great PHILIP'S fall! mourn we his woeful end,
Whom spiteful death hath plucked untimely from the tree;
While yet his years in flower did promise worthy fruit.
Ah, dreadful MARS! why didst thou not thy knight defend?
What wrathful mood, what fault of ours hath moved thee,
Of such a shining light to leave us destitute?
Thou with benign aspect sometime didst us behold.
Thou hast in Britons' valour ta'en delight of old,
And with thy presence oft vouchsafed to attribute
Fame and renown to us, for glorious martial deeds:
But now their ireful beams have chilled our hearts with cold.
Thou hast estranged thyself and deignest not our land:
Far off to others now, thy favour, honour breeds;
And high disdain doth cause thee shun our clime, I fear.
For hadst thou not been wroth, or that time near at hand;
Thou wouldst have heard the cry that woeful England made:
Eke Zealand's piteous plaints, and Holland's toren hair
Would haply have appeased thy divine angry mind.
Thou shouldst have seen the trees refuse to yield their shade
And wailing to let fall the honour of their head,
And birds in mournful tunes lamenting in their kind.
Up from his tomb, the mighty CORINEUS rose,
Who cursing oft the fates that this mishap had bred,
His hoary locks he tare, calling the heavens unkind.
The Thames was heard to roar, the Rhine, and eke the Meuse,
The Scheldt, the Danow self this great mischance did rue:
With torment and with grief, their fountains pure and clear
Were troubled; and with swelling floods declared their woes.
The Muses comfortless, the nymphs with pallid hue;
The sylvan gods likewise came running far and near;
And all, with hearts bedewed, and eyes cast up on high,
"O help! O help, ye gods!" they ghastly 'gan to cry,
"O change the cruel fate of this so rare a wight
And grant that nature's course may measure out his age!"
The beasts their food forsook, and trembling fearfully,
Each sought his cave or den. This cry did them so fright.
Out from amid the waves, by storm then stirred to rage,
This cry did cause to rise th'old father OCEAN hoar,
Who grave with eld, and full of majesty in sight,
Spake in this wise, "Refrain," quoth he, "your tears and plaints!
Cease these your idle words! Make vain requests no more!
No humble speech nor moan may move the fixèd stint
Of destiny or death. Such is His will that paints
The earth with colours fresh, the darkest skies with store
Of starry lights: and though your tears a heart of flint
Might tender make; yet nought herein will they prevail."
Whiles thus he said, the noble Knight, who 'gan to feel
His vital force to faint, and death with cruel dint
Of direful dart his mortal body to assail:
With eyes lift up to heaven, and courage frank as steel;
With cheerful face where valour lively was exprest,
But humble mind, he said, "O LORD! if ought this frail
And earthly carcass have Thy service sought t'advance;
If my desire have been still to relieve th'opprest;
If Justice to maintain, that valour I have spent
Which Thou me gav'st; or if henceforth I might advance
Thy name, Thy truth: then spare me, LORD! if Thou think best;
Forbear these unripe years! But if Thy will be bent,
If that prefixèd time be come which Thou hast set:
Through pure and fervent faith, I hope now to be placed
In th'everlasting bliss; which with Thy precious blood
Thou purchase didst for us." With that a sigh he fet,
And straight a cloudy mist his senses overcast.
His lips waxed pale and wan, like damask rose's bud
Cast from the stalk; or like in field to purple flower
Which languisheth, being shred by culter as it past.
A trembling chilly cold ran through their veins, which were
With eyes brimful of tears to see his fatal hour:
Whose blustering sighs at first their sorrow did declare;
Next, murmuring ensued; at last they not forbear
Plain outcries; all against the heavens that enviously
Deprived us of a sprite so perfect and so rare.
The sun his lightsome beams did shroud, and hide his face
For grief; whereby the earth feared night eternally:
The mountains eachwhere shook, the rivers turned their streams;
And th'air 'gan winter-like to rage and fret apace:
And grisly ghosts by night were seen; and fiery gleams
Amid the clouds with claps of thunder, that did seem
To rent the skies; and made both man and beast afraid:
The birds of ill presage this luckless chance foretold
By dernful noise; and dogs with howling made man deem
Some mischief was at hand: for such they do esteem
As tokens of mishap; and so have done of old.
Ah, that thou hadst but heard his lovely STELLA plain
Her grievous loss, or seen her heavy mourning cheer;
Whilst she, with woe oppressed, her sorrows did unfold.
Her hair hung loose neglect about her shoulders twain:
And from those two bright stars to him sometime so dear,
Her heart sent drops of pearl; which fell in foison down
'Twixt lily and the rose. She wrung her hands with pain
And piteously 'gan say, "My true and faithful pheer!
Alas, and woe is me! why should my fortune frown
On me thus frowardly to rob me of my joy?
What cruel envious hand hath taken thee away;
And with thee, my content, my comfort and my stay?
Thou only wast the ease of trouble and annoy:
When they did me assail, in thee my hopes did rest.
Alas, what now is left but grief that night and day
Afflicts this woeful life, and with continual rage
Torments ten thousand ways my miserable breast?
O greedy envious heaven! what needed thee to have
Enriched with such a jewel this unhappy age;
To take it back again so soon? Alas, when shall
Mine eyes see ought that may content them, since thy grave
My only treasure hides, the joy of my poor heart?
As here with thee on earth I lived, even so equal
Methinks it were, with thee in heaven I did abide:
And as our troubles all, we here on earth did part;
So reason would that there, of thy most happy state
I had my share. Alas, if thou my trusty guide
Were wont to be: how canst thou leave me thus alone
In darkness and astray; weak, weary, desolate,
Plunged in a world of woe--refusing for to take
Me with thee, to the place of rest where thou art gone?"
This said, she held her peace, for sorrow tied her tongue:
And instead of more words, seemed that her eyes a lake
Of tears had been, they flowed so plenteously therefrom:
And with her sobs and sighs th'air round about her rung.
If VENUS when she wailed her dear ADONIS slain,
Ought moved in thy fierce heart, compassion of her woe:
His noble sister's plaints, her sighs and tears emong;
Would sure have made thee mild, and inly rue her pain.
AURORA half so fair, herself did never show;
When from old TITHON'S bed, she weeping did arise.
The blinded archer-boy, like lark in shower of rain,
Sat bathing of his wings, and glad the time did spend
Under those crystal drops which fell from her fair eyes;
And at their brightest beams him proined in lovely wise.
Yet sorry for her grief, which he could not amend;
The gentle boy 'gan wipe her eyes, and clear those lights:
Those lights through which his glory and his conquests shine.
The Graces tuckt her hair, which hung like threads of gold
Along her ivory breast, the treasure of delights.
All things with her to weep, it seemèd did incline;
The trees, the hills, the dales, the caves, the stones so cold.
The air did help them mourn, with dark clouds, rain and mist;
Forbearing many a day to clear itself again:
Which made them eftsoons fear the days of PYRRHA should
Of creatures spoil the earth, their fatal threads untwist.
For PHŒBUS' gladsome rays were wishèd for in vain,
And with her quivering light LATONA'S daughter fair;
And Charles' Wain eke refused to be the shipman's guide.
On NEPTUNE, war was made by ÆOLUS and his train.
Who letting loose the winds, tost and tormented th'air,
So that on every coast, men shipwreck did abide,
Or else were swallowed up in open sea with waves:
And such as came to shore were beaten with despair.
The Medway's silver streams that wont so still to slide,
Were troubled now and wroth; whose hidden hollow caves
Along his banks, with fog then shrouded from man's eye,
Aye "PHILIP" did resound, aye "PHILIP" they did cry.
His nymphs were seen no more, though custom still it craves,
With hair spread to the wind, themselves to bathe or sport;
Or with the hook or net, barefooted wantonly
The pleasant dainty fish to entangle or deceive.
The shepherds left their wonted places of resort,
Their bagpipes now were still, their lovely merry lays
Were quite forgot; and now their flocks, men might perceive
To wander and to stray, all carelessly neglect:
And in the stead of mirth and pleasure, nights and days
Nought else was to be heard, but woes, complaints and moan.
But thou, O blessèd soul! dost haply not respect
These tears we shed, though full of loving pure affect;
Having affixt thine eyes on that most glorious throne,
Where full of majesty, the high Creator reigns.
In whose bright shining face thy joys are all complete,
Whose love kindles thy sprite, where happy always one,
Thou liv'st in bliss that earthly passion never stains;
Where from the purest spring the sacred nectar sweet
Is thy continual drink: where thou dost gather now
Of well-employed life, th'estimable gains.
There VENUS on thee smiles, APOLLO gives thee place;
And MARS in reverent wise doth to thy virtue bow,
And decks his fiery sphere, to do thee honour most.
In highest part whereof, thy valour for to grace,
A chair of gold he sets to thee, and there doth tell
Thy noble acts arew; whereby even they that boast
Themselves of ancient fame, as PYRRHUS, HANNIBAL,
SCIPIO and CÆSAR, with the rest that did excel
In martial prowess; high thy glory do admire.
All hail! therefore, O worthy PHILIP immortal!
The flower of SIDNEY'S race, the honour of thy name.
Whose worthy praise to sing, my Muses not aspire.
But sorrowful and sad these tears to thee let fall:
Yet wish their verses might so far and wide thy fame
Extend, that ENVY'S rage nor time might end the same.

_A pastoral Eclogue upon the death of Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, Knight, &c._

=Lycon.= =Colin.=

=Lycon.= COLIN! well fits thy sad cheer this sad stound,
This woeful stound, wherein all things complain
This great mishap, this grievous loss of ours.
Hear'st thou the Orown? How with hollow sound
He slides away, and murmuring doth plain,
And seems to say unto the fading flowers
Along his banks, unto the barèd trees;
PHILLISIDES is dead. Up, jolly swain!
Thou that with skill canst tune a doleful lay;
Help him to mourn! My heart with grief doth freeze;
Hoarse is my voice with crying, else a part
Sure would I bear, though rude: but as I may,
With sobs and sighs I second will thy song;
And so express the sorrows of my heart.

=Colin.= Ah LYCON! LYCON! what need skill to teach
A grievèd mind pour forth his plaints? How long
Hath the poor turtle gone to school, weenest thou,
To learn to mourn her lost make? No, no, each
Creature by nature can tell how to wail.
Seest not these flocks; how sad they wander now?
Seemeth their leader's bell, their bleating tunes
In doleful sound. Like him, not one doth fail,
With hanging head to show a heavy cheer.
What bird, I pray thee, hast thou seen that prunes
Himself of late? Did any cheerful note
Come to thine ears, or gladsome sight appear
Unto thine eyes, since that same fatal hour?
Hath not the air put on his mourning coat,
And testified his grief with flowing tears?
Sith then, it seemeth each thing to his power,
Doth us invite to make a sad consort:
Come let us join our mournful song with theirs!
Grief will indite, and sorrow will enforce
Thy voice; and ECHO will our words report.

=Lycon.= Though my rude rhymes, ill with thy verses frame,
That others far excel: yet will I force
Myself to answer thee the best I can;
And honour my base words with his high name.
But if my plaints annoy thee where thou sit
In secret shade or cave; vouchsafe, O PAN!
To pardon me; and hear this hard constraint
With patience, while I sing; and pity it.
And eke ye rural Muses, that do dwell
In these wild woods: if ever piteous plaint
We did indite, or taught a woeful mind
With words of pure affect, his grief to tell;
Instruct me now! Now COLIN then go on;
And I will follow thee, though far behind.

=Colin.= PHILLISIDES is dead! O harmful death!
O deadly harm! Unhappy Albion!
When shalt thou see emong thy shepherds all
Any so sage, so perfect? Whom uneath
Envy could touch for virtuous life and skill:
Courteous, valiant, and liberal.
Behold the sacred PALES! where with hair
Untrusst, she sits in shade of yonder hill;
And her fair face bent sadly down, doth send
A flood of tears to bathe the earth: and there
Doth call the heavens despiteful, envious;
Cruel his fate, that made so short an end
Of that same life, well worthy to have been
Prolonged with many years, happy and famous.
The Nymphs and Oreades her round about
Do sit lamenting on the grassy green;
And with shrill cries, beating their whitest breasts,
Accuse the direful dart that DEATH sent out
To give the fatal stroke. The stars they blame;
That deaf or careless seem at their request.
The pleasant shade of stately groves they shun.
They leave their crystal springs, where they wont frame
Sweet bowers of myrtle twigs and laurel fair;
To sport themselves free from the scorching sun.
And now the hollow caves, where HORROR dark
Doth dwell, whence banished is the gladsome air
They seek; and there in mourning spend their time
With wailful tunes; whiles wolves do howl and bark,
And seem to bear a bourdon to their plaint.

=Lycon.= PHILLISIDES is dead! O doleful rhyme!
Why should my tongue express thee? Who is left
Now to uphold thy hopes, when they do faint;
LYCON unfortunate? What spiteful fate?
What luckless destiny hath thee bereft
Of thy chief comfort, of thy only stay?
Where is become thy wonted happy state?
Alas, wherein through many a hill and dale,
Through pleasant woods, and many an unknown way,
Along the banks of many silver streams,
Thou with him yodest; and with him did scale
The craggy rocks of th'Alps and Appennine?
Still with the Muses sporting, while those beams
Of virtue kindled in his noble breast;
Which after did so gloriously forth shine?
But, woe is me, they now yquenched are
All suddenly, and death hath them oppressed,
Lo, father NEPTUNE! with sad countenance,
How he sits mourning on the strond now bare
Yonder; where th'OCEAN with his rolling waves
The white feet washeth, wailing this mischance,
Of Dover cliffs. His sacred skirt about
The sea gods all are set; from their moist caves,
All for his comfort gathered there they be.
The Thamis rich, the Humber rough and stout,
The fruitful Severn, with the rest; are come
To help their lord to mourn, and eke to see
The doleful sight, and sad pomp funeral
Of the dead corps passing through his kingdom;
And all their heads with cypress garlands crowned:
With woeful shrieks salute him, great and small.
Eke wailful ECHO, forgetting her dear
NARCISSUS, their last accents doth resound.

=Colin.= PHILLISIDES is dead! O luckless age!
O widow world! O brooks and fountains clear!
O hills! O dales! O woods that oft have rung
With his sweet carolling, which could assuage
The fiercest wrath of tiger or of bear!
Ye sylvans, fawns and satyrs, that emong
These thickets oft have danced after his pipe!
Ye Nymphs and Naiads with golden hair
That oft have left your purest crystal springs
To hearken to his lays, that coulden wipe
Away all grief and sorrow from your hearts!
Alas! who now is left that like him sings?
When shall you hear again like harmony?
So sweet a sound, who to you now imparts?
Lo where engravèd by his hand yet lives
The name of STELLA in yonder bay tree.
Happy name! happy tree! Fair may you grow
And spread your sacred branch, which honour gives,
To famous emperors; and poets crown.
Unhappy flock! that wander scattered now.
What marvel if through grief, ye woxen lean,
Forsake your food, and hang your heads adown?
For such a shepherd never shall you guide;
Whose parting, hath of weal bereft you clean.

=Lycon.= PHILLISIDES is dead! O happy sprite!
That now in heaven with blessèd souls dost bide.
Look down awhile from where thou sitt'st above,
And see how busy shepherds be to indite
Sad songs of grief, their sorrows to declare;
And grateful memory of their kind love.
Behold myself with COLIN gentle swain,
Whose learned Muse thou cherisht most whilere,
Where we thy name recording, seek to ease
The inward torment and tormenting pain
That thy departure to us both hath bred;
Ne can each other's sorrow yet appease.
Behold the fountains now left desolate,
And withered grass with cypress boughs bespread!
Behold these flowers which on thy grave we strew!
Which faded, show the givers' faded state;
(Though eke they show their fervent zeal and pure)
Whose only comfort on thy welfare grew.
Whose prayers importune shall the heavens for aye,
That to thy ashes, rest they may assure;
That learnedst shepherds honour may thy name
With yearly praises; and the nymphs alway,
Thy tomb may deck with fresh and sweetest flowers;
And that for ever may endure thy fame.

=Colin.= The sun, lo, hastened hath his face to steep
In western waves, and th'air with stormy showers,
Warns us to drive homewards our silly sheep.
LYCON! let's rise, and take of them good keep.

_Virtute summa; cætera fortuna._

=L. B.=

_An Elegy, or Friend's Passion_ _for his ASTROPHIL._

_Written upon the death of the Right Honourable Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, Knight, Lord Governor of Flushing._

As then, no wind at all there blew,
No swelling cloud accloyed the air,
The sky, like grass of watchet hue,
Reflected PHŒBUS' golden hair;
The garnished tree no pendant stirred,
No voice was heard of any bird.

There might you see the burly bear,
The lion king, the elephant.
The maiden unicorn was there,
So was ACTÆON'S horned plant:
And what of wild or tame are found,
Were couched in order on the ground.

ALCIDES' speckled poplar tree;
The palm that monarchs do obtain;
With love juice stained, the mulberry,
The fruit that dews the poet's brain;
And PHILLIS' filbert there away
Compared with myrtle and the bay:

The tree that coffins doth adorn,
With stately height threat'ning the sky,
And for the bed of love forlorn,
The black and doleful ebony:
All in a circle compassed were
Like to an amphitheatre.

Upon the branches of those trees,
The air-winged people sat,
Distinguishèd in odd degrees;
One sort is this, another that.
Here PHILOMEL that knows full well
What force and wit in love doth dwell.

The sky-bred eagle, royal bird,
Perched there upon an oak above;
The turtle by him never stirred,
Example of immortal love.
The swan that sings about to die;
Leaving MEANDER, stood thereby.

And that which was of wonder most,
The Phœnix left sweet Araby;
And on a cedar in this coast,
Built up her tomb of spicery.
As I conjecture by the same,
Prepared to take her dying flame.

In midst and centre of this plot,
I saw one grovelling on the grass;
A man or stone, I knew not what.
No stone; of man, the figure was.
And yet I could not count him one,
More than the image made of stone.

At length I might perceive him rear
His body on his elbows' end:
Earthly and pale with ghastly cheer,
Upon his knees he upward tend;
Seeming like one in uncouth stound,
To be ascending out the ground.

A grievous sigh forthwith he throws,
As might have torn the vital strings;
Then down his cheeks the tears so flows
As doth the stream of many springs.
So thunder rends the cloud in twain,
And makes a passage for the rain.

Incontinent with trembling sound,
He woefully 'gan to complain;
Such were the accents as might wound,
And tear a diamond rock in twain.
After his throbs did somewhat stay,
Thus heavily he 'gan to say.

"O sun!" said he, seeing the sun,
"On wretched me, why dost thou shine?
My star is fallen, my comfort done;
Out is the apple of my eyen.
Shine upon those possess delight,
And let me live in endless night!"

"O grief! that liest upon my soul,
As heavy as a mount of lead;
The remnant of my life control,
Consort me quickly with the dead!
Half of this heart, this sprite and will,
Died in the breast of ASTROPHIL."

"And you compassionate of my woe,
Gentle birds, beasts, and shady trees!
I am assured ye long to know
What be the sorrows me aggrieves;
Listen ye then to what ensu'th,
And hear a tale of tears and ruth."

"You knew, who knew not ASTROPHIL?
(That I should live to say I knew,
And have not in possession still!)
Things known, permit me to renew:
Of him you know, his merit such,
I cannot say, you hear too much."

"Within these woods of Arcady,
His chief delight and pleasure took:
And on the mountain Partheny,
Upon the crystal liquid brook,
The Muses met him every day;
That taught him sing, to write, and say."

"When he descended down the mount,
His personage seemed most divine;
A thousand graces one might count
Upon his lovely cheerful eyen:
To hear him speak, and sweetly smile;
You were in Paradise the while."

"A sweet attractive kind of grace;
A full assurance given by looks;
Continual comfort in a face,
The lineaments of Gospel books.
I trow that countenance cannot lie,
Whose thoughts are legible in the eye."

"Was ever eye did see that face;
Was never ear did hear that tongue;
Was never mind did mind his grace;
That ever thought the travail long:
But eyes and ears and every thought,
Were with his sweet perfections caught."

"O GOD! that such a worthy man,
In whom so rare deserts did reign;
Desired thus, must leave us then:
And we to wish for him in vain.
O could the stars that bred that wit,
In force no longer fixèd sit."

"Then being filled with learned dew,
The Muses willèd him to love:
That instrument can aptly show,
How finely our conceits will move.
As BACCHUS opes dissembled hearts,
So LOVE sets out our better parts."

"STELLA, a nymph within this wood,
Most rare, and rich of heavenly bliss;
The highest in his fancy stood,
And she could well demerit this.
'Tis likely, they acquainted soon:
He was a sun, and she a moon."

"Our ASTROPHIL did STELLA love.
O STELLA! vaunt of ASTROPHIL!
Albeit thy graces gods may move;
Where wilt thou find an ASTROPHIL?
The rose and lily have their prime;
And so hath beauty but a time,"

"Although thy beauty do exceed
In common sight of every eye;
Yet in his poesies when we read,
It is apparent more thereby.
He that hath love and judgment too,
Sees more than any others do."

"Then ASTROPHIL hath honoured thee.
For when thy body is extinct,
Thy graces shall eternal be.
And live by virtue of his ink.
For by his verses he doth give
To shortlived beauty aye to live."

"Above all others this is he,
Which erst approvèd in his song
That love and honour might agree,
And that pure love will do no wrong.
Sweet saints! it is no sin nor blame
To love a man of virtuous name."

"Did never love so sweetly breathe
In any mortal breast before?
Did never Muse inspire beneath,
A poet's brain with finer store?
He wrote of love with high conceit;
And beauty reared above her height."

"Then PALLAS afterward attired
Our ASTROPHIL with her device,
Whom in his armour heaven admired,
As of the nation of the skies:
He sparkled in his arms afar,
As he were dight with fiery stars."

"The blaze whereof, when MARS beheld
(An envious eye doth see afar)
'Such majesty,' quoth he, 'is seld.
Such majesty, my mart may mar.
Perhaps this may a suitor be
To set MARS by his deity.'"

"In this surmise, he made with speed
An iron can, wherein he put
The thunders that in clouds do breed;
The flame and bolt together shut,
With privy force burst out again;
And so our ASTROPHIL was slain."

His word, "was slain," straightway did move,
And Nature's inward life-strings twitch,
The sky immediately above,
Was dimmed with hideous clouds of pitch.
The wrastling winds, from out the ground
Filled all the air with rattling sound.

The bending trees expressed a groan,
And sighed the sorrow of his fall;
The forest beasts made ruthful moan;
The birds did tune their mourning call,
And PHILOMEL for ASTROPHIL,
Unto her notes, annexed a "phil."

The turtle dove with tones of ruth,
Showed feeling passion of his death;
Methought she said "I tell thee truth,
Was never he that drew in breath,
Unto his love more trusty found,
Than he for whom our griefs abound."

The swan that was in presence here,
Began his funeral dirge to sing;
"Good things," quoth he, "may scarce appear;
But pass away with speedy wing.
This mortal life as death is tried,
And death gives life, and so he died."

The general sorrow that was made
Among the creatures of kind,
Fired the Phœnix where she laid,
Her ashes flying with the wind.
So as I might with reason see
That such a Phœnix ne'er should be.

Haply, the cinders driven about,
May breed an offspring near that kind;
But hardly a peer to that, I doubt:
It cannot sink into my mind
That under branches e'er can be,
Of worth and value as the tree.

The eagle marked with piercing sight
The mournful habit of the place;
And parted thence with mounting flight,
To signify to JOVE the case:
What sorrow Nature doth sustain,
For ASTROPHIL, by ENVY slain.

And while I followed with mine eye
The flight the eagle upward took;
All things did vanish by and by,
And disappearèd from my look.
The trees, beasts, birds and grove were gone:
So was the friend that made this moan.

This spectacle had firmly wrought
A deep compassion in my sprite;
My molten heart issued, methought,
In streams forth at mine eyes aright:
And here my pen is forced to shrink;
My tears discolour so mine ink.

_An Epitaph upon the Right Honourable_ Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, Knight, Lord Governor of Flushing._

To praise thy life or wail thy worthy death;
And want thy wit, thy wit pure, high, divine:
Is far beyond the power of mortal line,
Nor any one hath worth that draweth breath.

Yet rich in zeal, though poor in learning's lore;
And friendly care obscured in secret breast,
And love that envy in thy life supprest,
Thy dear life done, and death hath doubled more.

And I, that in thy time and living state,
Did only praise thy virtues in my thought;
As one that seld the rising sun hath sought:
With words and tears now wail thy timeless fate.

Drawn was thy race aright from princely line,
Nor less than such (by gifts that Nature gave,
The common mother that all creatures have)
Doth virtue show, and princely lineage shine.

A King gave thee thy name; a kingly mind
That GOD thee gave: who found it now too dear
For this base world; and hath resumed it near,
To sit in skies, and 'sort with powers divine.

Kent, thy birthdays; and Oxford held thy youth.
The heavens made haste, and stayed nor years nor time;
The fruits of age grew ripe in thy first prime:
Thy will, thy words; thy words, the seals of truth.

Great gifts and wisdom rare employed thee thence,
To treat from kings, with those more great than kings.
Such hope men had to lay the highest things
On thy wise youth, to be transported thence.

Whence to sharp wars, sweet Honour did thee call,
Thy country's love, religion, and thy friends:
Of worthy men, the marks, the lives and ends;
And her defence, for whom we labour all.

These didst thou vanquish shame and tedious age,
Grief, sorrow, sickness and base fortune's might.
Thy rising day saw never woeful night,
But passed with praise from off this worldly stage.

Back to the camp, by thee that day was brought
First, thine own death; and after, thy long fame;
Tears to the soldiers; the proud Castilians' shame;
Virtue expressed; and honour truly taught.

What hath he lost? that such great grace hath won.
Young years, for endless years; and hope unsure
Of fortune's gifts, for wealth that still shall 'dure.
O happy race! with so great praises run.

England doth hold thy limbs, that bred the same;
Flanders, thy valour: where it last was tried.
The camp, thy sorrow; where thy body died.
Thy friends, thy want; the world, thy virtue's fame.

Nations, thy wit; our minds lay up thy love.
Letters, thy learning; thy loss, years long to come.
In worthy hearts, sorrow hath made thy tomb;
Thy soul and sprite enrich the heavens above.

Thy liberal heart embalmed in grateful tears,
Young sighs, sweet sighs, sage sighs bewail thy fall.
ENVY, her sting; and SPITE, hath left her gall.
MALICE herself, a mourning garment wears.

That day their HANNIBAL died, our SCIPIO fell:
SCIPIO, CICERO, and PETRARCH of our time:
Whose virtues, wounded by my worthless rhyme,
Let angels speak; and heaven, thy praises tell.

_Another of the same._

Silence augmenteth grief! writing increaseth rage!
Stald are my thoughts, which loved and lost the wonder of our age.
Yet quickened now with fire, though dead with frost ere now,
Enraged I write, I know not what. Dead, quick, I know not how.

Hard-hearted minds relent, and RIGOUR'S tears abound,
And ENVY strangely rues his end, in whom no fault she found;
KNOWLEDGE her light hath lost; VALOUR hath slain her Knight:
SIDNEY is dead! Dead is my friend! Dead is the world's delight.

PLACE pensive wails his fall, whose presence was her pride.
TIME crieth out "my ebb is come; his life was my springtide."
FAME mourns in that she lost the ground of her reports.
Each living wight laments his lack, and all in sundry sorts.

He was (woe worth that word!) to each well-thinking mind,
A spotless friend, a matchless man, whose virtue ever shined:
Declaring in his thoughts, his life, and that he writ;
Highest conceits, longest foresights, and deepest works of wit.

He only like himself, was second unto none,
Whose death (though life) we rue, and wrong, and all in vain do moan.
Their loss, not him; wail they, that fill the world with cries.
DEATH slew not him; but he made death his ladder to the skies.

Now sink of sorrow I, who live, the more the wrong,
Who wishing death, whom death denies, whose thread is all too long;
Who tied to wretched life, who looks for no relief,
Must spend my ever-dying days in never-ending grief.

Heartsease and only I like parallels run on,
Whose equal length keep equal breadth, and never meet in one:
Yet for not wronging him, my thoughts, my sorrows' cell,
Shall not run out; though leak they will, for liking him so well.

Farewell to you! my hopes, my wonted waking dreams.
Farewell sometimes enjoyèd joy! Eclipsèd are thy beams.
Farewell self-pleasing thoughts! which quietness brings forth.
And farewell friendship's sacred league! uniting minds of worth.

And farewell, merry heart! the gift of guiltless minds;
And all sports! which for life's restore, variety assigns.
Let all that sweet is, void! In me no mirth may dwell.
PHILIP, the cause of all this woe, my life's content, farewell!

Now rhyme, the son of rage, which art no kin to skill;
And endless grief which deads my life, yet knows not how to kill:
Go, seek that hapless tomb! which if ye hap to find;
Salute the stones that keep the limbs that held so good a mind.

_FINIS._

_ALCILIA:_

_PHILOPARTHEN's

Loving Folly._

_Non Deus_ (_ut perhibent_) _amor est_, _sed
amaror_, _et error._

AT LONDON.

_Printed by R. R. for William Mattes_,
dwelling in Fleet street, at the sign of the
_Hand and Plough._

1595.

[The only copy of the 1595 edition, at present known, is in the
City Library, at Hamburg.

It was recovered, and reprinted in 1875 by Herr WILHELM WAGNER,
Ph.D., in Vol. X. of the _Deutschen Shakespeare-Gesellschaft
Jahrbuch;_ copies of this particular text being also separately
printed.

A limited Subscription edition, of fifty-one copies, was printed by
Rev. A. B. GROSART, LL.D., F.S.A., of Blackburn, in 1879: with a
fresh collation of the text by B. S. LEESON, Esq., of Hamburg.