Chapter IV: Part 4

Now when high Iove, in whose almightie hand 1225 The care of kings and power of empires stand, Sitting one day within his turret hye, From whence he vewes with his black-lidded eye Whatso the heaven in his wide vawte containes, And all that in the deepest earth remaines, 1230 And troubled kingdome of wilde beasts behelde, Whom not their kindly sovereigne did welde, [_Welde_, govern.] But an usurping Ape, with guile suborn’d, Had all subverst, he sdeignfully it scorn’d In his great heart, and hardly did refraine 1235 But that with thunder bolts he had him slaine, And driven downe to hell, his dewest meed. But him avizing, he that dreadfull deed Forbore, and rather chose with scornfull shame Him to avenge, and blot his brutish name 1240 Unto the world, that never after anie Should of his race be voyd of infamie; And his false counsellor, the cause of all, To damne to death, or dole perpetuall, From whence he never should be quit nor stal’d. [_Stal’d_, forestalled (?).] Forthwith he Mercurie unto him cal’d, 1246 And bad him flie with never-resting speed Unto the forrest, where wilde beasts doo breed, And, there enquiring privily, to learne What did of late chaunce to the Lyon stearne, 1250 That he rul’d not the empire, as he ought; And whence were all those plaints unto him brought Of wrongs and spoyles by salvage beasts committed: Which done, he bad the Lyon be remitted Into his seate, and those same treachours vile 1255 [_Treachours_, traitors.] Be punished for their presumptuous guile. The sonne of Maia, soone as he receiv’d That word, streight with his azure wings he cleav’d The liquid clowdes and lucid firmament, Ne staid till that he came with steep descent 1260 Unto the place where his prescript did showe. There stouping, like an arrowe from a bowe, He soft arrived on the grassie plaine, And fairly paced forth with easie paine, Till that unto the pallace nigh he came. 1265 Then gan he to himselfe new shape to frame, And that faire face, and that ambrosiall hew, Which wonts to decke the gods immortall crew, And beautefie the shinie firmament, He doft, unfit for that rude rabblement. 1270 So, standing by the gates in strange disguize, He gan enquire of some in secret wize, Both of the King, and of his government, And of the Foxe, and his false blandishment: And evermore he heard each one complaine 1275 Of foule abuses both in realme and raine: Which yet to prove more true, he meant to see, And an ey-witnes of each thing to bee. Tho on his head his dreadfull hat he dight, Which maketh him invisible in sight, 1280 And mocketh th’eyes of all the lookers on, Making them thinke it but a vision. Through power of that he runnes through enemies swerds; Through power of that he passeth through the herds Of ravenous wilde beasts, and doth beguile 1285 Their greedie mouthes of the expected spoyle; Through power of that his cunning theeveries He wonts to worke, that none the same espies; And through the power of that he putteth on What shape he list in apparition. 1290 That on his head he wore, and in his hand He tooke caduceus, his snakie wand, With which the damned ghosts he governeth, And furies rules, and Tartare tempereth. With that he causeth sleep to seize the eyes, 1295 And feare the harts, of all his enemyes; And when him list, an universall night Throughout the world he makes on everie wight; As when his syre with Alcumena lay. Thus dight, into the court he tooke his way, 1300 Both through the gard, which never him descride, And through the watchmen, who him never spide: Thenceforth he past into each secrete part, Whereas he saw, that sorely griev’d his hart, Each place abounding with fowle iniuries, 1305 And fild with treasure rackt with robberies; Each place defilde with blood of guiltles beasts Which had been slaine to serve the Apes beheasts; Gluttonie, malice, pride, and covetize, And lawlesnes raigning with riotize; 1310 Besides the infinite extortions, Done through the Foxes great oppressions, That the complaints thereof could not be tolde. Which when he did with lothfull eyes beholde, He would no more endure, but came his way, 1315 And cast to seeke the Lion, where he may, [_Cast_, projected.] That he might worke the avengement for this shame On those two caytives which had bred him blame And seeking all the forrest busily, At last he found where sleeping he did ly. 1320 The wicked weed which there the Foxe did lay From underneath his head he tooke away, And then him, waking, forced up to rize. The Lion, looking up, gan him avize, [_Avize_, bethink.] As one late in a traunce, what had of long 1325 Become of him: for fantasie is strong. “Arise,” said Mercurie, “thou sluggish beast, That here liest senseles, like the corpse deceast, The whilste thy kingdome from thy head is rent, And thy throne royall with dishonour blent: 1330 [_Blent_, stained.] Arise, and doo thy selfe redeeme from shame, And be aveng’d on those that breed thy blame.” Thereat enraged, soone he gan upstart, Grinding his teeth, and grating his great hart; And, rouzing up himselfe, for his rough hide 1335 He gan to reach; but no where it espide. Therewith he gan full terribly to rore, And chafte at that indignitie right sore. But when his crowne and scepter both he wanted, Lord! how he fum’d, and sweld, and rag’d, and panted, And threatned death and thousand deadly dolours To them that had purloyn’d his princely honours. With that in hast, disroabed as he was, He toward his owne pallace forth did pas; And all the way he roared as he went, 1345 That all the forrest with astonishment Thereof did tremble, and the beasts therein Fled fast away from that so dreadfull din. At last he came unto his mansion, Where all the gates he found fast lockt anon 1350 And manie warders round about them stood: With that he roar’d alowd, as he were wood, [_Wood_, frantic.] That all the pallace quaked at the stound, [_Stound_, (time, scene) tumult.] As if it quite were riven from the ground, And all within were dead and hartles left; 1355 And th’Ape himselfe, as one whose wits were reft, Fled here and there, and everie corner sought. To hide himselfe from his owne feared thought. But the false Foxe, when he the Lion heard, Fled closely forth, streightway of death afeard, 1360 [_Closely_, secretly.] And to the Lion came, full lowly creeping, With fained face, and watrie eyne halfe weeping, T’excuse his former treason and abusion, And turning all unto the Apes confusion: Nath’les the royall beast forbore beleeving, 1365 But bad him stay at ease till further preeving. [_Preeving_, proving.] Then when he saw no entrance to him graunted, Roaring yet lowder that all harts it daunted, Upon those gates with force he fiercely newe, And, rending them in pieces, felly slewe 1370 Those warders strange, and all that els he met But th’Ape still flying he no where might get: From rowme to rowme, from beame to beame he fled, All breathles, and for feare now almost ded: Yet him at last the Lyon spide, and caught, 1375 And forth with shame unto his iudgement brought. Then all the beasts he causd’ assembled bee, To heare their doome, and sad ensample see: The Foxe, first author of that treacherie He did uncase, and then away let flie. 1380 [_Uncase_, strip of his disguise.] But th’Apes long taile (which then he had) he quight Cut off, and both eares pared of their hight; Since which, all Apes but halfe their eares have left, And of their tailes are utterlie bereft.

So Mother Hubberd her discourse did end: 1385 Which pardon me if I amisse have pend, For weake was my remembrance it to hold, And bad her tongue that it so bluntly tolde.

FOOTNOTES:

MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE. This charming little poem, Spenser’s only successful effort at satire, is stated by the author to have been composed in the raw conceit of his youth. There is internal evidence, however, that some of the happiest passages were added at the date of its publication, at which time the whole was probably retouched. Although Mother Hubberds Tale is in its plan an imitation of the satires of Reynard the Fox; the treatment of the subject is quite original. For the combination of elegance with simplicity, this poem will stand a comparison with Goethe’s celebrated translation of the Reineke. C.

Ver. I.—_It was the month_, &c. August.

Ver. 453.—_Diriges_, dirges. The office for the dead received this name from the antiphon with which the first nocturne in the mattens commenced, taken from Psalm v. 8, “Dirige, Domine Deus meus, in conspectu tuo viam meam.” Way’s _Promptorium Parvulorum._ C.

Ver. 519.—_Scarse can a bishoprick_, &c. This is probably an allusion to the frequent alienations of the lands and manors of bishoprics in Elizabeth’s time. TODD.

Ver. 562.—_The ordinarie._ An ordinary is a judge having jurisdiction in ecclesiastical matters. In England, it is usually the bishop of the diocese. H.

Ver. 623, 624.—The Queen was so much pleased with the results of the Portugal expedition of 1589, that she honored the commanders, and Sir Walter Raleigh among the rest, with a gold chain. C.

Ver. 717.—_The brave courtier_, &c. This description is perhaps intended for Sir Philip Sidney. C.

Ver. 893.—Had-ywist. That is, _had I wist! had I known_ that it would end so! a proverbial expression for late repentance consequent on disappointment. C.

Ver. 901.—_To have thy Princes grace, yet want her Peeres._ Elizabeth was said to have granted Spenser a pension which Burghley intercepted, and to have ordered him a gratuity which her minister neglected to pay. C.

Ver. 913.—_Himselfe will a daw trie._ So the old copy: the reading should probably be _himselfe a daw will trie_, prove or find himself by experience to be a daw or fool. C.

Ver. 1189.—_Of men of armes,_ &c. This passage certainly provokes an application to Lord Burghley, and was probably intended for him. C.

RUINES OF ROME:

BY BELLAY*

[* Joachim du Bellay, a French poet of considerable reputation in his day, died in 1560. These sonnets are translated from _Le Premier Livre des Antiquez de Rome_. Further on we have the Visions of Bellay, translated from the _Songes_ of the same author. The best that can be said of these sonnets seems to be, that they are not inferior to the original. C.]

I.

Ye heavenly spirites, whose ashie cinders lie Under deep ruines, with huge walls opprest, But not your praise, the which shall never die Through your faire verses, ne in ashes rest; If so be shrilling voyce of wight alive May reach from hence to depth of darkest hell, Then let those deep abysses open rive, That ye may understand my shreiking yell! Thrice having seene under the heavens veale Your toombs devoted compasse over all, Thrice unto you with lowd voyce I appeale, And for your antique furie here doo call, The whiles that I with sacred horror sing Your glorie, fairest of all earthly thing!

II.

Great Babylon her haughtie walls will praise, And sharped steeples high shot up in ayre; Greece will the olde Ephesian buildings blaze, And Nylus nurslings their Pyramides faire; The same yet vaunting Greece will tell the storie Of Ioves great image in Olympus placed; Mausolus worke will be the Carians glorie, And Crete will boast the Labyrinth, now raced; The antique Rhodian will likewise set forth The great Colosse, erect to Memorie; And what els in the world is of like worth, Some greater learned wit will magnifie. But I will sing above all moniments Seven Romane Hils, the worlds seven wonderments.

III.

Thou stranger, which for Rome in Rome hero seekest, And nought of Rome in Rome perceiv’st at all, These same olde walls, olde arches, which thou seest, Olde palaces, is that which Rome men call. Beholde what wreake, what mine, and what wast, And how that she which with her mightie powre Tam’d all the world hath tam’d herselfe at last; The pray of Time, which all things doth devowre! Rome now of Rome is th’onely funerall, And onely Rome of Rome hath victorie; Ne ought save Tyber hastning to his fall Remaines of all: O worlds inconstancie! That which is firme doth flit and fall away, And that is flitting doth abide and stay.

IV.

She whose high top above the starres did sore, One foote on Thetis, th’other on the Morning, One hand on Scythia, th’other on the More, Both heaven and earth in roundnesse compassing; Iove fearing, least if she should greater growe, The old giants should once againe uprise, Her whelm’d with hills, these seven hils, which be nowe Tombes of her greatnes which did threate the skies: Upon her head he heapt Mount Saturnal, Upon her bellie th’antique Palatine, Upon her stomacke laid Mount Quirinal, On her left hand the noysome Esquiline, And Caelian on the right; but both her feete Mount Viminal and Aventine doo meete.

V.

Who lists to see what ever nature, arte, And heaven could doo, O Rome, thee let him see, In case thy greatnes he can gesse in harte By that which but the picture is of thee! Rome is no more: but if the shade of Rome May of the bodie yeeld a seeming sight, It’s like a corse drawne forth out of the tombe By magicke skill out of eternall night: The corpes of Rome in ashes is entombed, And her great spirite, reioyned to the spirite Of this great masse, is in the same enwombed; But her brave writings, which, her famous merite In spight of Time out of the dust doth reare, Doo make her idole* through the world appeare. [* _Idole_, image, idea.]

VI.

Such as the Berecynthian goddesse bright, In her swifte charret with high turrets crownde, Proud that so manie gods she brought to light, Such was this citie in her good daies fownd: This citie, more than that great Phrygian mother Renowm’d for fruite of famous progenie, Whose greatnes by the greatnes of none other, But by her selfe, her equall match could see: Rome onely might to Rome compared bee, And onely Rome could make great Rome to tremble: So did the gods by heavenly doome decree, That other earthlie power should not resemble Her that did match the whole earths puissaunce, And did her courage to the heavens advaunce.

VII.

Ye sacred ruines, and ye tragick sights, Which onely doo the name of Rome retaine, Olde moniments, which of so famous sprights The honour yet in ashes doo maintaine, Triumphant arcks, spyres neighbours to the skie, That you to see doth th’heaven it selfe appall, Alas! by little ye to nothing flie, The peoples fable, and the spoyle of all! And though your frames do for a time make warre Gainst Time, yet Time in time shall ruinate Your workes and names, and your last reliques marre. My sad desires, rest therefore moderate! For if that Time make ende of things so sure, It als will end the paine which I endure.

VIII.

Through armes and vassals Rome the world subdu’d, That one would weene that one sole cities strength Both land and sea in roundnes had survew’d, To be the measure of her bredth and length: This peoples vertue yet so fruitfull was Of vertuous nephewes*, that posteritie, Striving in power their grandfathers to passe, The lowest earth ioin’d to the heaven hie; To th’end that, having all parts in their power, Nought from the Romane Empire might be quight**; And that though Time doth commonwealths devowre, Yet no time should so low embase their hight, That her head, earth’d in her foundations deep, Should not her name and endles honour keep. [* _Nephewes_, descendants.] [** _Quight_, quit, free.]

IX.

Ye cruell starres, and eke ye gods unkinde, Heaven envious, and bitter stepdame Nature! Be it by fortune, or by course of kinde*, That ye doo weld th’affaires of earthlie creature; Why have your hands long sithence traveiled To frame this world, that doth endure so long? Or why were not these Romane palaces Made of some matter no lesse firme and strong? I say not, as the common voyce doth say, That all things which beneath the moone have being Are temporall and subiect to decay: But I say rather, though not all agreeing With some that weene the contrarie in thought, That all this whole shall one day come to nought. [* _Kinde_, nature.]

X.

As that brave sonne of Aeson, which by charmes Atcheiv’d the golden fleece in Colchid land, Out of the earth engendred men of armes Of dragons teeth, sowne in the sacred sand, So this brave towne, that in her youthlie daies An hydra was of warriours glorious, Did fill with her renowmed nourslings praise The firie sunnes both one and other hous: But they at last, there being then not living An Hercules so ranke seed to represse, Emongst themselves with cruell furie striving, Mow’d downe themselves with slaughter mercilesse; Renewing in themselves that rage unkinde, Which whilom did those earthborn brethren blinde.

XI.

Mars, shaming to have given so great head To his off-spring, that mortall puissaunce, Puft up with pride of Romane hardiehead, Seem’d above heavens powre it selfe to advaunce, Cooling againe his former kindled heate With which he had those Romane spirits fild. Did blowe new fire, and with enflamed breath Into the Gothicke colde hot rage instil’d. Then gan that nation, th’earths new giant brood, To dart abroad the thunderbolts of warre, And, beating downe these walls with furious mood Into her mothers bosome, all did marre; To th’end that none, all were it* Iove his sire, Should boast himselfe of the Romane empire. [* _All were it_, although it were.]

XII.

Like as whilome the children of the earth Heapt hils on hils to scale the starrie skie, And fight against the gods of heavenly berth, Whiles Iove at them his thunderbolts let flie; All suddenly with lightning overthrowne, The furious squadrons downe to ground did fall, That th’earth under her childrens weight did grone, And th’heavens in glorie triumpht over all; So did that haughtie front, which heaped was On these seven Romane hils, it selfe upreare Over the world, and lift her loftie face Against the heaven, that gan her force to feare. But now these scorned fields bemone her fall, And gods secure feare not her force at all.

XIII.

Nor the swift furie of the flames aspiring, Nor the deep wounds of victours raging blade, Nor ruthlesse spoyle of souldiers blood-desiring, The which so oft thee, Rome, their conquest made, Ne stroke on stroke of fortune variable, Ne rust of age hating continuance, Nor wrath of gods, nor spight of men unstable, Nor thou oppos’d against thine owne puissance, Nor th’horrible uprore of windes high blowing, Nor swelling streames of that god snakie-paced* Which hath so often with his overflowing Thee drenched, have thy pride so much abaced, But that this nothing, which they have thee left, Makes the world wonder what they from thee reft. [* _Snakie-paced_, winding; or perhaps (like Ovid’s _anguipes_) swift.]

XIV.

As men in summer fearles passe the foord Which is in winter lord of all the plaine, And with his tumbling streames doth beare aboord* The ploughmans hope and shepheards labour vaine, And as the coward beasts use to despise The noble lion after his lives end, Whetting their teeth, and with vaine foolhardise Daring the foe that cannot him defend, And as at Troy most dastards of the Greekes Did brave about the corpes of Hector colde, So those which whilome wont with pallid cheekes The Romane triumphs glorie to behold, Now on these ashie tombes shew boldnesse vaine, And, conquer’d, dare the conquerour disdaine. [*_Aboord_, into the current.]

XV.

Ye pallid spirits, and ye ashie ghoasts, Which, ioying in the brightnes of your day, Brought foorth those signes of your presumptuous boasts Which now their dusty reliques do bewray, Tell me, ye spirits! (sith the darksome river Of Styx, not passable to soules returning, Enclosing you in thrice three wards for ever, Doo not restraine your images still mourning,) Tell me then, (for perhaps some one of you Yet here above him secretly doth hide,) Doo ye not feele your torments to accrewe, When ye sometimes behold the ruin’d pride Of these old Romane works, built with your hands, To become nought els but heaped sands?

XVI.

Like as ye see the wrathfull sea from farre In a great mountaine heap’t with hideous noyse, Eftsoones of thousand billowes shouldred narre*, Against a rocke to breake with dreadfull poyse; Like as ye see fell Boreas with sharpe blast Tossing huge tempests through the troubled skie, Eftsoones having his wide wings spent in wast, To stop his wearie cariere** suddenly; And as ye see huge flames spred diverslie, Gathered in one up to the heavens to spyre, Eftsoones consum’d to fall downe feebily, So whilom did this monarchie aspyre As waves, as winde, as fire, spred over all, Till it by fatall doome adowne did fall. [* _Narre_, nearer.] [** _Cariere_, career.]

XVII.

So long as Ioves great bird did make his flight, Bearing the fire with which heaven doth us fray, Heaven had not feare of that presumptuous might, With which the giaunts did the gods assay: But all so soone as scortching sunne had brent* His wings which wont the earth to overspredd, The earth out of her massie wombe forth sent That antique horror which made heaven adredd. Then was the Germane raven in disguise That Romane eagle seene to cleave asunder, And towards heaven freshly to arise Out of these mountaines, now consum’d to pouder. In which the foule that serves to beare the lightning Is now no more seen flying nor alighting. [* _Brent_, burned.]

XVIII.

These heapes of stones, these old wals which ye see, Were first enclosures but of salvage soyle; And these brave pallaces, which maystred bee Of time, were shepheards cottages somewhile. Then tooke the shepheards kingly ornaments And the stout hynde arm’d his right hand with steele: Eftsoones their rule of yearely presidents Grew great, and sixe months greater a great deele; Which, made perpetuall, rose to so great might, That thence th’imperiall eagle rooting tooke, Till th’heaven it selfe, opposing gainst her might, Her power to Peters successor betooke, Who, shepheardlike, (as Fates the same foreseeing,) Doth shew that all things turne to their first being. [XVIII. 8.—_Sixe months_, &c. The term of the dictatorship at Rome.]

XIX.

All that is perfect, which th’heaven beautefies; All that’s imperfect, borne belowe the moone; All that doth feede our spirits and our eies; And all that doth consume our pleasures soone; All the mishap the which our daies outweares; All the good hap of th’oldest times afore, Rome, in the time of her great ancesters, Like a Pandora, locked long in store. But destinie this huge chaos turmoyling, In which all good and evill was enclosed, Their heavenly vertues from these woes assoyling, Caried to heaven, from sinfull bondage losed: But their great sinnes, the causers of their paine, Under these antique ruines yet remaine.

XX.

No otherwise than raynie cloud, first fed With earthly vapours gathered in the ayre, Eftsoones in compas arch’t, to steepe his hed, Doth plonge himselfe in Tethys bosome faire, And, mounting up againe from whence he came, With his great bellie spreds the dimmed world, Till at the last, dissolving his moist frame, In raine, or snowe, or haile, he forth is horld, This citie, which was first but shepheards shade, Uprising by degrees, grewe to such height That queene of land and sea her selfe she made. At last, not able to beare so great weight, Her power, disperst, through all the world did vade*; To shew that all in th’end to nought shall fade. [* _Vade_, vanish.]

XXI.

The same which Pyrrhus and the puissaunce Of Afrike could not tame, that same brave citie Which, with stout courage arm’d against mischaunce, Sustein’d the shocke of common enmitie, Long as her ship, tost with so manie freakes, Had all the world in armes against her bent, Was never seene that anie fortunes wreakes Could breake her course begun with brave intent. But, when the obiect of her vertue failed, Her power it selfe against it selfe did arme; As he that having long in tempest sailed Faine would arive, but cannot for the storme, If too great winde against the port him drive, Doth in the port it selfe his vessell rive.

XXII.

When that brave honour of the Latine name, Which mear’d* her rule with Africa and Byze**, With Thames inhabitants of noble fame, And they which see the dawning day arize, Her nourslings did with mutinous uprore Harten against her selfe, her conquer’d spoile, Which she had wonne from all the world afore, Of all the world was spoyl’d within a while: So, when the compast course of the universe In sixe and thirtie thousand yeares is ronne, The bands of th’elements shall backe reverse To their first discord, and be quite undonne; The seedes of which all things at first were bred Shall in great Chaos wombe againe be hid. [* _Mear’d_, bounded.] [** _Byze_, Byzantium.]

XXIII.

O warie wisedome of the man* that would That Carthage towres from spoile should be forborne, To th’end that his victorious people should With cancring laisure not be overworne! He well foresaw how that the Romane courage, Impatient of pleasures faint desires, Through idlenes would turne to civill rage, And be her selfe the matter of her fires. For in a people given all to ease, Ambition is engendred easily; As, in a vicious bodie, grose disease Soone growes through humours superfluitie. That came to passe, when, swolne with plenties pride, Nor prince, nor peere, nor kin, they would abide. [* I.e. Scipio Nasica.]

XXIV.

If the blinde Furie which warres breedeth oft Wonts not t’enrage the hearts of equall beasts, Whether they fare on foote, or flie aloft, Or armed be with clawes, or scalie creasts, What fell Erynnis, with hot burning tongs, Did grype your hearts with noysome rage imbew’d, That, each to other working cruell wrongs, Your blades in your owne bowels you embrew’d? Was this, ye Romanes, your hard destinie? Or some old sinne, whose unappeased guilt Powr’d vengeance forth on you eternallie? Or brothers blood, the which at first was spilt Upon your walls, that God might not endure Upon the same to set foundation sure?

XXV.

O that I had the Thracian poets harpe, For to awake out of th’infernall shade Those antique Caesars, sleeping long in darke, The which this auncient citie whilome made! Or that I had Amphions instrument, To quicken with his vitall notes accord The stonie ioynts of these old walls now rent, By which th’Ausonian light might be restor’d! Or that at least I could with pencill fine Fashion the pourtraicts of these palacis, By paterne of great Virgils spirit divine! I would assay with that which in me is To builde, with levell of my loftie style, That which no hands can evermore compyle.

XXVI.

Who list the Romane greatnes forth to figure, Him needeth not to seeke for usage right Of line, or lead, or rule, or squaire, to measure Her length, her breadth, her deepnes, or her hight; But him behooves to vew in compasse round All that the ocean graspes in his long armes; Be it where the yerely starre doth scortch the ground, Or where colde Boreas blowes his bitter stormes. Rome was th’whole world, and al the world was Rome; And if things nam’d their names doo equalize, When land and sea ye name, then name ye Rome, And, naming Rome, ye land and sea comprize: For th’auncient plot of Rome, displayed plaine, The map of all the wide world doth containe.

XXVII.

Thou that at Rome astonisht dost behold The antique pride which menaced the skie, These haughtie heapes, these palaces of olde, These wals, these arcks, these baths, these temples his, Iudge, by these ample ruines vew, the rest The which iniurious time hath quite outworne, Since, of all workmen helde in reckning best, Yet these olde fragments are for paternes borne: Then also marke how Rome, from day to day, Repayring her decayed fashion, Renewes herselfe with buildings rich and gay; That one would iudge that the Romaine Daemon* Doth yet himselfe with fatall hand enforce Againe on foot to reare her pouldred** corse. [* _Romaine Daemon_, Genius of Rome.] [** _Pouldred_, reduced to dust.]

XXVIII.

He that hath seene a great oke drie and dead, Yet clad with reliques of some trophees olde, Lifting to heaven her aged hoarie head, Whose foote in ground hath left but feeble holde, But halfe disbowel’d lies above the ground, Shewing her wreathed rootes, and naked armes, And on her trunke all rotten and unsound Onely supports herselfe for meate of wormes, And, though she owe her fall to the first winde, Yet of the devout people is ador’d, And manie yong plants spring out of her rinde; Who such an oke hath seene, let him record That such this cities honour was of yore, And mongst all cities florished much more.

XXIX.

All that which Aegypt whilome did devise, All that which Greece their temples to embrave, After th’Ionicke, Atticke, Doricke guise, Or Corinth skil’d in curious workes to grave, All that Lysippus practike* arte could forme, Apelles wit, or Phidias his skill, Was wont this auncient citie to adorne, And the heaven it selfe with her wide wonders fill. All that which Athens ever brought forth wise, All that which Afrike ever brought forth strange, All that which Asie ever had of prise, Was here to see. O mervelous great change! Rome, living, was the worlds sole ornament; And, dead, is now the worlds sole moniment. [* _Practike_, cunning.]

XXX.

Like as the seeded field greene grasse first showes, Then from greene grasse into a stalke doth spring, And from a stalke into an eare forth-growes, Which eare the frutefull graine doth shortly bring, And as in season due the husband* mowes The waving lockes of those faire yeallow heares, Which, bound in sheaves, and layd in comely rowes, Upon the naked fields in stalkes he reares, So grew the Romane empire by degree, Till that barbarian hands it quite did spill, And left of it but these olde markes to see, Of which all passers by doo somewhat pill**, As they which gleane, the reliques use to gather Which th’husbandman behind him chanst to scater. [* _Husband_, husbandman.] [** _Pill_, plunder.]

XXXI.

That same is now nought but a champian wide, Where all this worlds pride once was situate. No blame to thee, whosoever dost abide By Nyle, or Gange, or Tygre, or Euphrate; Ne Afrike thereof guiltie is, nor Spaine, Nor the bolde people by the Thamis brincks, Nor the brave warlicke brood of Alemaine, Nor the borne souldier which Rhine running drinks. Thou onely cause, O Civill Furie, art! Which, sowing in th’Aemathian fields thy spight, Didst arme thy hand against thy proper hart; To th’end that when thou wast in greatest hight To greatnes growne, through long prosperitie, Thou then adowne might’st fall more horriblie. [XXXI. 10.—_Aemathian fields_. Thessalian fields; alluding to the battle fought at Pharsalia, in Thessaly, between Caesar and Pompey. H.]

XXXII.

Hope ye, my Verses, that posteritie Of age ensuing shall you ever read? Hope ye that ever immortalitie So meane harpes worke may chalenge for her meed? If under heaven anie endurance were, These moniments, which not in paper writ, But in porphyre and marble doo appeare, Might well have hop’d to have obtained it. Nath’les, my Lute, whom Phoebus deigned to give, Cease not to sound these olde antiquities: For if that Time doo let thy glorie live, Well maist thou boast, how ever base thou bee, That thou art first which of thy nation song Th’olde honour of the people gowned long.

L’ENVOY.

Bellay, first garland of free poesie That France brought forth, though fruitfull of brave wits, Well worthie thou of immortalitie, That long hast traveld*, by thy learned writs, Olde Rome out of her ashes to revive, And give a second life to dead decayes! Needes must he all eternitie survive, That can to other give eternall dayes. Thy dayes therefore are endles, and thy prayse Excelling all that ever went before: And, after thee, gins Bartas hie to rayse His heavenly Muse, th’Almightie to adore. Live happie spirits, th’honour of your name, And fill the world with never dying fame! [* _Traveld_, travailed, toiled.]

L’Envoy, 11.—_Bartas_. Guillaume de Salluste du Bartas, a French poet of the time of Henry IV, of extraordinary popularity in his day. His poem on the Creation is said to have been reprinted more than thirty times in six years, and was translated into several languages; among others, into English by Joshua Sylvester. H.

MUIOPOTMOS:

OR

THE FATE OF THE BUTTERFLIE.

BY ED. SP.

DEDICATED TO THE MOST FAIRE AND VERTUOUS LADIE,

THE LADIE CAREY.

LONDON:

IMPRINTED FOR WILLIAM PONSONBIE, DWELLING IN PAULES

CHURCHYARD AT THE SIGNE OF THE BISHOPS HEAD.

1590*

[* This date seems to be an error for 1591; or, as Mr. Craik suggests, it may have been used designedly with reference to real events, not yet ascertained, which furnished the subject of this very pleasing allegory. The Visions of the Worlds Vanitie, which follow this piece, may be suspected of a similar application. C.]

TO THE RIGHT WORTHY AND VERTUOUS LADIE, THE LA: CAREY.

Most brave and bountifull La: for so excellent favours as I have received at your sweet handes, to offer these fewe leaves as in recompence, should be as to offer flowers to the gods for their divine benefites. Therefore I have determined to give my selfe wholy to you, as quite abandoned from my selfe, and absolutely vowed to your services: which in all right is ever held for full recompence of debt or damage, to have the person yeelded. My person I wot wel how little worth it is. But the faithfull minde and humble zeale which I bear unto your La: may perhaps be more of price, as may please you to account and use the poore service thereof; which taketh glory to advance your excellent partes and noble vertues, and to spend it selfe in honouring you; not so much for your great bounty to my self, which yet may not be unminded; nor for name or kindreds* sake by you vouchsafed, beeing also regardable; as for that honorable name, which yee have by your brave deserts purchast to your self, and spred in the mouths of al men: with which I have also presumed to grace my verses, and, under your name, to commend to the world this smal poeme; the which beseeching your La: to take in worth, and of all things therein according to your wonted graciousnes to make a milde construction, I humbly pray for your happines.

Your La: ever humbly,

E. S.

[Footnote: “This lady was Elizabeth, one of the six daughters of Sir John Spencer, of Althorpe, in Northamptonshire, and was married to Sir George Carey, who became Lord Hunsdon on the death of his father, in 1596.”—TODD.]

MUIOPOTMOS:

OR

THE FATE OF THE BUTTERFLIE.

I sing of deadly dolorous debate, Stir’d up through wrathful! Nemesis despight, Betwixt two mightie ones of great estate, Drawne into armes and proofe of mortall fight Through prowd ambition and hart-swelling hate, 5 Whilest neither could the others greater might And sdeignfull scorne endure; that from small iarre Their wraths at length broke into open warre.

The roote whereof and tragicall effect, Vouchsafe, O thou the mournfulst Muse of nyne, 10 That wontst the tragick stage for to direct, In funerall complaints and waylfull tyne* Reveale to me, and all the meanes detect Through which sad Clarion did at last declyne To lowest wretchednes: And is there then 15 Such rancour in the harts of mightie men? [* _Tyne_, grief.]

Of all the race of silver-winged flies Which doo possesse the empire of the aire, Betwixt the centred earth and azure skies Was none more favourable nor more faire, 20 Whilst heaven did favour his felicities, Then Clarion, the eldest sonne and haire Of Muscaroll, and in his fathers sight Of all alive did seeme the fairest wight.

With fruitfull hope his aged breast he fed 25 Of future good, which his yong toward yeares, Full of brave courage and bold hardyhed Above th’ensample of his equall peares, Did largely promise, and to him fore-red, (Whilst oft his heart did melt in tender teares,) 30 That he in time would sure prove such an one, As should be worthie of his fathers throne.

The fresh yong flie, in whom the kindly fire Of lustfull yongth* began to kindle fast, Did much disdaine to subiect his desire 35 To loathsome sloth, or houres in ease to wast; But ioy’d to range abroad in fresh attire Through the wide compas of the ayrie coast, And with unwearied wings each part t’inquire Of the wide rule of his renownned sire. 40 [* _Yongth_, youth.]

For he so swift and nimble was of flight, That from this lower tract he dar’d to stie* Up to the clowdes, and thence with pineons light To mount aloft unto the christall skie, To vew the workmanship of heavens hight 45 Whence down descending he along would flie Upon the streaming rivers, sport to finde, And oft would dare to tempt the troublous winde. [* _Stie_, mount.]

So on a summers day, when season milde With gentle calme the world had quieted, 50 And high in heaven Hyperions fierie childe Ascending did his beames abroad dispred, Whiles all the heavens on lower creatures smilde, Yong Clarion, with vauntfull lustiehead; After his guize did cast abroad to fare, 55 And theretoo gan his furnitures prepare.

His breastplate first, that was of substance pure, Before his noble heart he firmely bound, That mought his life from yron death assure, And ward his gentle corpes from cruell wound: 60 For it by arte was framed to endure The bit* of balefull steele and bitter stownd**, No lesse than that which Vulcane made to sheild Achilles life from fate of Troyan field. [* _Bit_, bite.] [** _Stownd_, hour.]

And then about his shoulders broad he threw 65 An hairie hide of some wilde beast, whom hee In salvage forrest by adventure slew, And reft the spoyle his ornament to bee; Which, spredding all his backe with dreadfull vew, Made all that him so horrible did see 70 Thinke him Alcides with the lyons skin, When the Naeméan conquest he did win.

Upon his head, his glistering burganet*, The which was wrought by wonderous device And curiously engraven, he did set: 75 The mettall was of rare and passing price; Not Bilbo** steele, nor brasse from Corinth fet, Nor costly oricalche from strange Phoenice; But such as could both Phoebus arrowes ward, And th’hayling darts of heaven beating hard. 80 [* _Burganet_, helmet.] [** _Bilbo_, Bilboa.]

Therein two deadly weapons fixt he bore, Strongly outlaunced towards either side, Like two sharpe speares, his enemies to gore: Like as a warlike brigandine, applyde To fight, layes forth her threatfull pikes afore, 85 The engines which in them sad death doo hyde, So did this flie outstretch his fearefull hornes, Yet so as him their terrour more adornes.

Lastly his shinie wings, as silver bright, Painted with thousand colours passing farre 90 All painters skill, he did about him dight: Not halfe so manie sundrie colours arre In Iris bowe; ne heaven doth shine so bright, Distinguished with manie a twinckling starre; Nor Iunoes bird, in her ey-spotted traine, 95 So manie goodly colours doth containe.

Ne (may it be withouten perill spoken) The Archer-god, the sonne of Cytheree, That ioyes on wretched lovers to be wroken*, And heaped spoyles of bleeding harts to see, 100 Beares in his wings so manie a changefull token. Ah! my liege Lord, forgive it unto mee, If ought against thine honour I have tolde; Yet sure those wings were fairer manifolde. [* _Wroken_, avenged.]

Full many a ladie faire, in court full oft 105 Beholding them, him secretly envide, And wisht that two such fannes, so silken soft And golden faire, her Love would her provide; Or that, when them the gorgeous flie had doft, Some one that would with grace be gratifide 110 From him would steale them privily away, And bring to her so precious a pray.

Report is that Dame Venus on a day, In spring when flowres doo clothe the fruitful ground, Walking abroad with all her nymphes to play, 115 Bad her faire damzels flocking her arownd To gather flowres, her forhead to array. Emongst the rest a gentle nymph was found, Hight Astery, excelling all the crewe In curteous usage and unstained hewe. 120

Who, being nimbler ioynted than the rest, And more industrious, gathered more store Of the fields honour than the others best; Which they in secret harts envying sore, Tolde Venus, when her as the worthiest 125 She praisd’, that Cupide (as they heard before) Did lend her secret aide in gathering Into her lap the children of the Spring,

Whereof the goddesse gathering iealous feare,— Not yet unmindfull how not long agoe 130 Her sonne to Psyche secrete love did beare, And long it close conceal’d, till mickle woe Thereof arose, and manie a rufull teare,— Reason with sudden rage did overgoe; And, giving hastie credit to th’accuser, 135 Was led away of them that did abuse her.

Eftsoones that damzel by her heavenly might She turn’d into a winged butterflie, In the wide aire to make her wandring flight; And all those flowres, with which so plenteouslie 140 Her lap she filled had, that bred her spight, She placed in her wings, for memorie Of her pretended crime, though crime none were: Since which that flie them in her wings doth beare.

Thus the fresh Clarion, being readie dight, 145 Unto his iourney did himselfe addresse, And with good speed began to take his flight: Over the fields, in his franke* lustinesse; And all the champion** he soared light; And all the countrey wide he did possesse, 150 Feeding upon their pleasures bounteouslie, That none gainsaid, nor none did him envie. [* _Franke_, free.] [** _Champion_, champaign.]

The woods, the rivers, and the medowes green. With his aire-cutting wings he measured wide, Ne did he leave the mountaines bare unseene, 155 Nor the ranke grassie fennes delights untride. But none of these, how ever sweete they beene, Mote please his fancie nor him cause t’abide: His choicefull sense with everie change doth flit; No common things may please a wavering wit. 160

To the gay gardins his unstaid desire Him wholly caried, to refresh his sprights: There lavish Nature, in her best attire, Powres forth sweete odors and alluring sights; And Arte, with her contending, doth aspire 165 T’excell the naturall with made delights: And all that faire or pleasant may be found In riotous excesse doth there abound. There he arriving round about doth flie, From bed to bed, from one to other border; 170 And takes survey, with curious busie eye, Of every flowre and herbe there set in order; Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly, Yet none of them he rudely doth disorder, Ne with his feete their silken leaves deface, 175 But pastures on the pleasures of each place.

And evermore with most varietie, And change of sweetnesse, (for all change is sweete,) He casts his glutton sense to satisfie; Now sucking of the sap of herbe most meete, 180 Or of the deaw which yet on them does lie, Now in the same bathing his tender feete: And then he pearcheth on some braunch thereby, To weather him, and his moyst wings to dry.

And then againe he turneth to his play, 185 To spoyle the pleasures of that paradise; The wholsome saulge*, and lavender still gray, Ranke-smelling rue, and cummin good for eyes, The roses raigning in the pride of May, Sharpe isope, good for greene wounds remedies, 190 Faire marigoldes, and bees-alluring thime, Sweete marioram, and daysies decking prime: [* _Saulge_, sage.]

Coole violets, and orpine growing still, Embathed balme, and chearfull galingale, Fresh costmarie, and breathfull camomill, 195 Dull poppie, and drink-quickning setuale*, Veyne-healing verven, and hed-purging dill, Sound savorie, and bazil hartie-hale, Fat colworts, and comfórting perseline**, Colde lettuce, and refreshing rosmarine. 200 [* _Setuale_, valerian.] [** _Perseline_, purslain.]

And whatso else of vertue good or ill Grewe in this gardin, fetcht from farre away, Of everie one he takes and tastes at will, And on their pleasures greedily doth pray. Then when he hath both plaid, and fed his fill, 205 In the warme sunne he doth himselfe embay*, And there him rests in riotous suffisaunce Of all his gladfulnes and kingly ioyaunce. [* _Embay_, bathe.]

What more felicitie can fall to creature Than to enioy delight with libertie, 210 And to be lord of all the workes of Nature, To raine in th’aire from earth to highest skie, To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature, To take whatever thing doth please the eie? Who rests not pleased with such happines, 215 Well worthie he to taste of wretchednes.

But what on earth can long abide in state? Or who can him assure of happie day? Sith morning faire may bring fowle evening late, And least mishap the most blisse alter may! 220 For thousand perills lie in close awaite About us daylie, to worke our decay; That none, except a God, or God him guide, May them avoyde, or remedie provide.

And whatso heavens in their secret doome 225 Ordained have, how can fraile fleshly wight Forecast, but it must needs to issue come? The sea, the aire, the fire, the day, the night, And th’armies of their creatures, all and some*, Do serve to them, and with importune might 230 Warre against us, the vassals of their will. Who then can save what they dispose to spill? [* _All and some_, one and all.]

Not thou, O Clarion, though fairest thou Of all thy kinde, unhappie happie flie, Whose cruell fate is woven even now 235 Of loves owne hand, to worke thy miserie! Ne may thee helpe the manie hartie vow, Which thy olde sire with sacred pietie Hath powred forth for thee, and th’altars sprent* Nought may thee save from heavens avengëment! 240 [* _Sprent_, sprinkled.]

It fortuned (as heavens had behight*) That in this gardin where yong Clarion Was wont to solace him, a wicked wight, The foe of faire things, th’author of confusion, The shame of Nature, the bondslave of spight, 245 Had lately built his hatefull mansion; And, lurking closely, in awayte now lay, How he might anie in his trap betray. [* _Behight_, ordained.]

But when he spide the ioyous butterflie In this faire plot dispacing* too and fro, 250 Fearles of foes and hidden ieopardie, Lord! how he gan for to bestirre him tho, And to his wicked worke each part applie! His heart did earne** against his hated foe, And bowels so with rankling poyson swelde, 255 That scarce the skin the strong contagion helde. [* _Dispacing_, ranging about.] [** _Earne_, yearn.]

The cause why he this flie so maliced* Was (as in stories it is written found) For that his mother which him bore and bred, The most fine-fingred workwoman on ground, 260 Arachne, by his meanes was vanquished Of Pallas, and in her owne skill confound**, When she with her for excellence contended, That wrought her shame, and sorrow never ended. [* _Maliced_, bore ill-will to.] [** _Confound_, confounded.]

For the Tritonian goddesse, having hard 265 Her blazed fame, which all the world had fil’d, Came downe to prove the truth, and due reward For her prais-worthie workmanship to yeild: But the presumptuous damzel rashly dar’d The goddesse selfe to chalenge to the field, 270 And to compare with her in curious skill Of workes with loome, with needle, and with quill.

Minerva did the chalenge not refuse, But deign’d with her the paragon* to make: So to their worke they sit, and each doth chuse 275 What storie she will for her tapet** take. Arachne figur’d how love did abuse Europa like a bull, and on his backe Her through the sea did beare; so lively*** seene, That it true sea and true bull ye would weene. 280 [* _Paragon_, comparison.] [** _Tapet_, tapestry.] [*** _Lively_, life-like.]

Shee seem’d still backe unto the land to looke, And her play-fellowes aide to call, and feare The dashing of the waves, that up she tooke Her daintie feete, and garments gathered neare: But Lord! how she in everie member shooke, 285 When as the land she saw no more appeare, But a wilde wildernes of waters deepe: Then gan she greatly to lament and weepe.

Before the bull she pictur’d winged Love, With his yong brother Sport, light fluttering 290 Upon the waves, as each had been a dove; The one his bowe and shafts, the other spring* A burning teade** about his head did move, As in their syres new love both triumphing; And manie Nymphes about them flocking round, 295 And manie Tritons which their homes did sound. [* _Spring_, springal, youth.] [** _Teade_, torch.]

And round about her-worke she did empale* With a faire border wrought of sundrie flowres, Enwoven with an yviewinding trayle: A goodly worke, full fit for kingly bowres, 300 Such as Dame Pallas, such as Envie pale, That al good things with venemous tooth devowres, Could not accuse. Then gan the goddesse bright Her selfe likewise unto her worke to dight. [* _Empale_, inclose.]

She made the storie of the olde debate 305 Which she with Neptune did for Athens trie: Twelve gods doo sit around in royall state, And love in midst with awfull maiestie, To iudge the strife betweene them stirred late: Each of the gods by his like visnomie* 310 Eathe** to be knowen; but love above them all, By his great lookes and power imperiall. [* _Visnomie_, countenance.] [** _Eathe_, easy.]

Before them stands the god of seas in place, Clayming that sea-coast citie as his right, And strikes the rockes with his three-forked mace; Whenceforth issues a warlike steed in sight, 316 The signe by which he chalengeth the place; That all the gods which saw his wondrous might Did surely deeme the victorie his due: But seldom seene, foreiudgement proveth true. 320

Then to herselfe she gives her Aegide shield, And steel-hed speare, and morion * on her hedd, Such as she oft is seene in warlicke field: Then sets she forth, how with her weapon dredd She smote the ground, the which streight foorth did yield 325 A fruitfull olyve tree, with berries spredd, That all the gods admir’d; then all the storie She compast with a wreathe of olyves hoarie. [* _Morion_, steel cap.]

Emongst those leaves she made a butterflie, With excellent device and wondrous slight, 330 Fluttring among the olives wantonly, That seem’d to live, so like it was in sight: The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie, The silken downe with which his backe is dight, His broad outstretched homes, his hayrie thies, 335 His glorious colours, and his glistering eies.

Which when Arachne saw, as overlaid * And mastered with workmanship so rare, She stood astonied long, ne ought gainesaid; And with fast fixed eyes on her did stare, 340 And by her silence, signe of one dismaid, The victorie did yeeld her as her share; Yet did she inly fret and felly burne, And all her blood to poysonous rancor turne: [* _Overlaid_, overcome.]

That shortly from the shape of womanhed, 345 Such as she was when Pallas she attempted, She grew to hideous shape of dryrihed*, Pined with griefe of follie late repented: Eftsoones her white streight legs were altered To crooked crawling shankes, of marrowe empted, 350 And her faire face to foule and loathsome hewe, And her fine corpes to a bag of venim grewe. [* _Dryrihed_, sadness, unsightliness.]

This cursed creature, mindfull of that olde Enfestred grudge the which his mother felt, So soone as Clarion he did beholde, 355 His heart with vengefull malice inly swelt; And weaving straight a net with mame a folde About the cave in which he lurking dwelt, With fine small cords about it stretched wide, So finely sponne that scarce they could be spide, 360

Not anie damzell which her vaunteth most In skilfull knitting of soft silken twyne, Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth boast In dieper, in damaske, or in lyne*, Nor anie skil’d in workmanship embost, 365 Nor anie skil’d in loupes of fingring fine, Might in their divers cunning ever dare With this so curious networks to compare. [* _Lyne_, linen.]

Ne doo I thinke that that same subtil gin The which the Lemnian god framde craftilie, 370 Mars sleeping with his wife to compasse in, That all the gods with common mockerie Might laugh at them, and scorne their shamefull sin, Was like to this. This same he did applie For to entrap the careles Clarion, 375 That rang’d each where without suspition.