Chapter VII: Part 7

To all those happy blessings which ye have With plenteous hand by heaven upon you thrown, This one disparagement they to you gave, That ye your love lent to so meane a one. Ye, whose high worths surpassing paragon Could not on earth have found one fit for mate, Ne but in heaven matchable to none, Why did ye stoup unto so lowly state? But ye thereby much greater glory gate, Then had ye sorted with a princes pere: For now your light doth more it selfe dilate, And, in my darknesse, greater doth appeare. Yet, since your light hath once enlumind me, With my reflex yours shall encreased be.

LXVII.

Lyke as a huntsman, after weary chace, Seeing the game from him escapt away, Sits downe to rest him in some shady place, With panting hounds, beguiled of their pray, So, after long pursuit and vaine assay, When I all weary had the chace forsooke, The gentle deer returnd the selfe-same way, Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke. There she, beholding me with mylder looke, Sought not to fly, but fearlesse still did bide, Till I in hand her yet halfe trembling tooke, And with her own goodwill her fyrmely tyde. Strange thing, me seemd, to see a beast so wyld So goodly wonne, with her owne will beguyld.

LXVIII

Most glorious Lord of lyfe! that on this day Didst make thy triumph over death and sin, And, having harrowd* hell, didst bring away Captivity thence captive, us to win, This ioyous day, dear Lord, with ioy begin; And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dy, Being with thy deare blood clene washt from sin, May live for ever in felicity; And that thy love we weighing worthily, May likewise love thee for the same againe, And for thy sake, that all lyke deare didst buy, With love may one another entertayne! So let us love, deare Love, lyke as we ought: Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. [* _Harrowd_, despoiled.]

LXIX.

The famous warriors of the anticke world Us’d trophees to erect in stately wize, In which they would the records have enrold Of theyr great deeds and valorous emprize. What trophee then shall I most fit devize, In which I may record the memory Of my loves conquest, peerlesse beauties prise, Adorn’d with honour, love, and chastity! Even this verse, vowd to eternity, Shall be thereof immortall moniment, And tell her praise to all posterity, That may admire such worlds rare wonderment; The happy purchase of my glorious spoile, Gotten at last with labour and long toyle.

LXX.

Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty king, In whose cote-armour richly are displayd All sorts of flowres the which on earth do spring, In goodly colours gloriously arrayd, Goe to my Love, where she is carelesse layd, Yet in her winters bowre not well awake: Tell her the ioyous time wil not be staid, Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take; Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make, To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew, Where every one that misseth then her make* Shall be by him amearst with penance dew. Make haste therefore, sweet Love, while it is prime**; For none can call againe the passed time. [* _Make_, mate.] [** _Prime_, spring.]

LXXI.

I ioy to see how, in your drawen work, Your selfe unto the Bee ye doe compare, And me unto the Spyder, that doth lurke In close awayt, to catch her unaware. Right so your selfe were caught in cunning snare Of a deare foe, and thralled to his love; In whose streight bands ye now captived are So firmely, that ye never may remove. But as your worke is woven all about With woodbynd flowers and fragrant eglantine, So sweet your prison you in time shall prove, With many deare delights bedecked fyne: And all thensforth eternall peace shall see Betweene the Spyder and the gentle Bee.

LXXII.

Oft when my spirit doth spred her bolder winges, In mind to mount up to the purest sky, It down is weighd with thought of earthly things, And clogd with burden of mortality: Where, when that soverayne beauty it doth spy, Resembling heavens glory in her light, Drawn with sweet pleasures bayt it back doth fly, And unto heaven forgets her former flight. There my fraile fancy, fed with full delight, Doth bathe in blisse, and mantleth most at ease; Ne thinks of other heaven, but how it might Her harts desire with most contentment please. Hart need not wish none other happinesse, But here on earth to have such hevens blisse.

LXXIII

Being my self captyved here in care, My hart, (whom none with servile bands can tye, But the fayre tresses of your golden hayre,) Breaking his prison, forth to you doth fly. Like as a byrd, that in ones hand doth spy Desired food, to it doth make his flight, Even so my hart, that wont on your fayre eye To feed his fill, flyes backe unto your sight. Doe you him take, and in your bosome bright Gently encage, that he may be your thrall: Perhaps he there may learne, with rare delight, To sing your name and prayses over all: That it hereafter may you not repent, Him lodging in your bosome to have lent.

LXXIV

Most happy letters! fram’d by skilfull trade, With which that happy name was first desynd The which three times thrise happy hath me made, With guifts of body, fortune, and of mind. The first ray being to me gave by kind, From mothers womb deriv’d by dew descent: The second is my sovereigne Queene most kind, That honour and large richesse to me lent: The third my Love, my lives last ornament, By whom my spirit out of dust was raysed, To speake her prayse and glory excellent, Of all alive most worthy to be praysed. Ye three Elizabeths! for ever live, That three such graces did unto me give.

LXXV.

One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away: Agayne I wrote it with a second hand; But came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray. “Vayne man,” sayd she, “that doest in vaine assay A mortall thing so to immortalize; For I my selve shall lyke to this decay, And eke my name bee wyped out lykewize.” “Not so,” quod I; “let baser things devize To dy in dust, but you shall live by fame: My verse your vertues rare shall eternize, And in the hevens wryte your glorious name. Where, when as death shall all the world subdew, Our love shall live, and later life renew.”

LXXVI

Fayre bosome! fraught with vertues richest tresure, The neast of love, the lodging of delight, The bowre of blisse, the paradice of pleasure, The sacred harbour of that hevenly spright, How was I ravisht with your lovely sight, And my frayle thoughts too rashly led astray, Whiles diving deepe through amorous insight, On the sweet spoyle of beautie they did pray, And twixt her paps, like early fruit in May, Whose harvest seemd to hasten now apace, They loosely did theyr wanton winges display, And there to rest themselves did boldly place. Sweet thoughts! I envy your so happy rest, Which oft I wisht, yet never was so blest.

LXXVII.

Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne? A goodly table of pure yvory, All spred with juncats fit to entertayne The greatest prince with pompous roialty: Mongst which, there in a silver dish did ly Two golden apples of unvalewd* price, Far passing those which Hercules came by, Or those which Atalanta did entice; Exceeding sweet, yet voyd of sinfull vice; That many sought, yet none could ever taste; Sweet fruit of pleasure, brought from Paradice By Love himselfe, and in his garden plaste. Her brest that table was, so richly spredd; My thoughts the guests, which would thereon have fedd. [* _Unvalewd_, invaluable]

LXXVIII

Lackyng my Love, I go from place to place, Lyke a young fawne that late hath lost the hynd, And seeke each where where last I sawe her face, Whose ymage yet I carry fresh in mynd. I seeke the fields with her late footing synd; I seeke her bowre with her late presence deckt; Yet nor in field nor bowre I can her fynd, Yet field and bowre are full of her aspect. But when myne eyes I therunto direct, They ydly back return to me agayne; And when I hope to see theyr trew obiect, I fynd my self but fed with fancies vayne. Cease then, myne eyes, to seeke her selfe to see, And let my thoughts behold her selfe in mee.

LXXIX

Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it, For that your selfe ye daily such doe see: But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of me. For all the rest, how ever fayre it be, Shall turne to nought and lose that glorious hew; But onely that is permanent, and free From frayle corruption that doth flesh ensew. That is true beautie: that doth argue you To be divine, and born of heavenly seed, Deriv’d from that fayre Spirit from whom all true And perfect beauty did at first proceed. He only fayre, and what he fayre hath made; All other fayre, lyke flowres, untymely fade.

LXXX

After so long a race as I have run Through Faery land, which those six books compile, Give leave to rest me being half foredonne, And gather to my selfe new breath awhile. Then, as a steed refreshed after toyle, Out of my prison I will break anew, And stoutly will that second work assoyle*, With strong endevour and attention dew. Till then give leave to me in pleasant mew** To sport my Muse, and sing my Loves sweet praise, The contemplation of whose heavenly hew My spirit to an higher pitch will rayse. But let her prayses yet be low and meane, Fit for the handmayd of the Faery Queene. [* _Assoyle_, discharge.] [** _Mew_, prison, retreat.]

LXXXI.

Fayre is my Love, when her fayre golden haires With the loose wynd ye waving chance to marke; Fayre, when the rose in her red cheekes appeares, Or in her eyes the fyre of love does sparke; Fayre, when her brest, lyke a rich laden barke, With pretious merchandize she forth doth lay; Fayre, when that cloud of pryde, which oft doth dark Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away. But fayrest she, when so she doth display The gate with pearles and rubyes richly dight, Throgh which her words so wise do make their way, To beare the message of her gentle spright. The rest be works of Natures wonderment; But this the worke of harts astonishment.

LXXXII.

Ioy of my life! full oft for loving you I blesse my lot, that was so lucky placed: But then the more your owne mishap I rew, That are so much by so meane love embased. For had the equall hevens so much you graced In this as in the rest, ye mote invent* Some hevenly wit, whose verse could have enchased Your glorious name in golden moniment. But since ye deignd so goodly to relent To me your thrall, in whom is little worth, That little that I am shall all be spent In setting your immortal prayses forth: Whose lofty argument, uplifting me, Shall lift you up unto an high degree. [* _Invent_, light upon, find.]

LXXXIII

Let not one sparke of filthy lustfull fyre Breake out, that may her sacred peace molest; Ne one light glance of sensuall desyre Attempt to work her gentle mindes unrest: But pure affections bred in spotlesse brest, And modest thoughts breathd from well-tempred spirits, Goe visit her in her chaste bowre of rest, Accompanyde with ángelick delightes. There fill your selfe with those most ioyous sights, The which my selfe could never yet attayne: But speake no word to her of these sad plights, Which her too constant stiffnesse doth constrayn. Onely behold her rare perfection, And blesse your fortunes fayre election.

LXXXIV.

The world, that cannot deeme of worthy things, When I doe praise her, say I doe but flatter: So does the cuckow, when the mavis* sings, Begin his witlesse note apace to clatter. But they, that skill not of so heavenly matter, All that they know not, envy or admyre; Rather then envy, let them wonder at her, But not to deeme of her desert aspyre. Deepe in the closet of my parts entyre**, Her worth is written with a golden quill, That me with heavenly fury doth inspire, And my glad mouth with her sweet prayses fill: Which when as Fame in her shril trump shall thunder, Let the world chuse to envy or to wonder. [* _Mavis_, song-thrush.] [** _Entyre,_ inward.]

LXXXV.

Venemous tongue, tipt with vile adders sting, Of that self kynd with which the Furies fell, Their snaky heads doe combe, from which a spring Of poysoned words and spightfull speeches well, Let all the plagues and horrid paines of hell Upon thee fall for thine accursed hyre, That with false forged lyes, which thou didst tell, In my true Love did stirre up coles of yre: The sparkes whereof let kindle thine own fyre, And, catching hold on thine own wicked hed, Consume thee quite, that didst with guile conspire In my sweet peace such breaches to have bred! Shame be thy meed, and mischiefe thy reward, Due to thy selfe, that it for me prepard!

LXXXVI.

Since I did leave the presence of my Love, Many long weary dayes I have outworne, And many nights, that slowly seemd to move Theyr sad protract from evening untill morn. For, when as day the heaven doth adorne, I wish that night the noyous day would end: And when as night hath us of light forlorne, I wish that day would shortly reascend. Thus I the time with expectation spend, And faine my griefe with chaunges to beguile, That further seemes his terme still to extend, And maketh every minute seem a myle. So sorrowe still doth seem too long to last; But ioyous houres do fly away too fast.

LXXXVII.

Since I have lackt the comfort of that light The which was wont to lead my thoughts astray, I wander as in darknesse of the night, Affrayd of every dangers least dismay. Ne ought I see, though in the clearest day, When others gaze upon theyr shadowes vayne, But th’only image of that heavenly ray Whereof some glance doth in mine eie remayne. Of which beholding the idaea playne, Through contemplation of my purest part, With light thereof I doe my self sustayne, And thereon feed my love-affamisht hart. But with such brightnesse whylest I fill my mind, I starve my body, and mine eyes doe blynd.

LXXXVIII.

Lyke as the culver* on the bared bough Sits mourning for the absence of her mate, And in her songs sends many a wishful vow For his returne, that seemes to linger late, So I alone, now left disconsolate, Mourne to my selfe the absence of my Love; And wandring here and there all desolate, Seek with my playnts to match that mournful dove Ne ioy of ought that under heaven doth hove**, Can comfort me, but her owne ioyous sight, Whose sweet aspect both God and man can move, In her unspotted pleasauns to delight. Dark is my day, whyles her fayre light I mis, And dead my life that wants such lively blis. [* _Culver_, dove.] [** _Hove_, hover, exist.]

EPITHALAMION.

Ye learned Sisters, which have oftentimes Beene to me ayding, others to adorne Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes, That even the greatest did not greatly scorne To heare theyr names sung in your simple layes, 5 But ioyed in theyr praise, And when ye list your own mishaps to mourne, Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck did rayse, Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne, And teach the woods and waters to lament 10 Your dolefull dreriment, Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside, And having all your heads with girlands crownd, Helpe me mine owne Loves prayses to resound: Ne let the same of any be envide: 15 So Orpheus did for his owne bride; So I unto my selfe alone will sing; The woods shall to me answer, and my eccho ring.

Early, before the worlds light-giving lampe His golden beame upon the hils doth spred, 20 Having disperst the nights unchearfull dampe, Doe ye awake, and, with fresh lustyhed, Go to the bowre of my beloved Love, My truest turtle dove. Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake, 25 And long since ready forth his maske to move, With his bright tead* that flames with many a flake, And many a bachelor to waite on him, In theyr fresh garments trim. Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight**, 30 For loe! the wished day is come at last, That shall for all the paynes and sorrowes past Pay to her usury of long delight: And whylest she doth her dight, Doe ye to her of ioy and solace sing, 35 That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. [* _Tead,_ torch.] [** _Dight,_ deck.]

Bring with you all the nymphes that you can heare, Both of the rivers and the forrests greene, And of the sea that neighbours to her neare, All with gay girlands goodly wel beseene*. 40 And let them also with them bring in hand Another gay girland, For my fayre Love, of lillyes and of roses, Bound truelove wize with a blew silke riband. And let them make great store of bridale poses, 45 And let them eke bring store of other flowers, To deck the bridale bowers: And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread, For feare the stones her tender foot should wrong, Be strewd with fragrant flowers all along, 50 And diapred** lyke the discolored mead. Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt, For she will waken strayt; The whiles do ye this song unto her sing, The woods shall to you answer, and your eccho ring;. [* _Beseene,_ adorned.] [** _Diapred,_ variegated.]

Ye Nymphes of Mulla, which with carefull heed 56 The silver scaly trouts do tend full well, And greedy pikes which use therein to feed, (Those trouts and pikes all others doe excell,) And ye likewise which keepe the rushy lake, 60 Where none doo fishes take, Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd light, And in his waters, which your mirror make, Behold your faces as the christall bright, That when you come whereas my Love doth lie, 65 No blemish she may spie. And eke, ye lightfoot mayds which keepe the dere That on the hoary mountayne use to towre, And the wylde wolves, which seeke them to devoure, With your steele darts doe chace from coming neer, Be also present heere, 71 To helpe to decke her, and to help to sing, That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Wake now, my Love, awake! for it is time: The rosy Morne long since left Tithons bed, 75 All ready to her silver coche to clyme, And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed. Hark! how the cheerefull birds do chaunt theyr laies, And carroll of Loves praise: The merry larke hir mattins sings aloft; 80 The thrush replyes; the mavis* descant** playes; The ouzell@ shrills; the ruddock$ warbles soft; So goodly all agree, with sweet consent, To this dayes meriment. Ah! my deere Love, why doe ye sleepe thus long, 85 When meeter were that ye should now awake, T’awayt the comming of your ioyous make,% And hearken to the birds love-learned song, The deawy leaves among! For they of ioy and pleasance to you sing, 90 That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring. [* _Mavis_, song-thrush.] [** _Descant_, variation.] [@ _Ouzell_, blackbird.] [$ _Ruddock_, redbreast.] [% _Make_, mate.]

My love is now awake out of her dreame, And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmed were With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly beams More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere. 95 Come now, ye damzels, daughters of delight, Helpe quickly her to dight. But first come, ye fayre Houres, which were begot, In Ioves sweet paradice, of Day and Night, Which doe the seasons of the year allot, 100 And all that ever in this world is fayre Do make and still repayre: And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian Queene, The which doe still adorn her beauties pride, Helpe to adorne my beautifullest bride: 105 And, as ye her array, still throw betweene Some graces to be scene; And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing, The whiles the woods shal answer, and your eccho ring.

Now is my Love all ready forth to come: 110 Let all the virgins therefore well awayt, And ye fresh boyes, that tend upon her groome, Prepare your selves, for he is comming strayt. Set all your things in seemely good aray, Fit for so ioyfull day, 115 The ioyfulst day that ever sunne did see. Fair Sun! shew forth thy favourable ray, And let thy lifull* heat not fervent be, For feare of burning her sunshyny face, Her beauty to disgrace. 120 O fayrest Phoebus! Father of the Muse! If ever I did honour thee aright, Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight, Doe not thy servants simple boone refuse, But let this day, let this one day, be mine; 125 Let all the rest be thine. Then I thy soverayne prayses loud wil sing, That all the woods shal answer, and theyr eccho ring. [* _Lifull_, life-full.]

Harke! how the minstrils gin to shrill aloud Their merry musick that resounds from far, 130 The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling croud*, That well agree withouten breach or iar. But most of all the damzels doe delite, When they their tymbrels smyte, And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet, 135 That all the sences they doe ravish quite; The whyles the boyes run up and downe the street, Crying aloud with strong confused noyce, As if it were one voyce, “Hymen, Iö Hymen, Hymen,” they do shout; 140 That even to the heavens theyr shouting shrill Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill; To which the people, standing all about, As in approvance, doe thereto applaud, And loud advaunce her laud; 145 And evermore they “Hymen, Hymen,” sing, That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring. [* _Croud_, violin]

Loe! where she comes along with portly pace, Lyke Phoebe, from her chamber of the East, Arysing forth to run her mighty race, 150 Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. So well it her beseems, that ye would weene Some angell she had beene. Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre, Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres atweene, Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre, 156 And, being crowned with a girland greene, Seem lyke some mayden queene. Her modest eyes, abashed to behold So many gazers as on her do stare, 160 Upon the lowly ground affixed are, Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud,— So farre from being proud. Nathlesse doe ye still loud her prayses sing, 165 That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Tell me, ye merchants daughters, did ye see So fayre a creature in your towne before; So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, Adornd with beautyes grace and vertues store? 170 Her goodly eyes lyke saphyres shining bright, Her forehead yvory white, Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath rudded, Her lips lyke cherries, charming men to byte, Her brest like to a bowl of creame uncrudded*, 175 Her paps lyke lyllies budded, Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre, And all her body like a pallace fayre, Ascending up, with many a stately stayre, To honors seat and chastities sweet bowre. 180 Why stand ye still, ye virgins, in amaze, Upon her so to gaze, Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing, To which the woods did answer, and your eccho ring? [* _Uncrudded_, uncurdled.] [Ver. 168.—_In your towne_. The marriage seems to have taken place in Cork, and we might infer from this passage that the heroine of the song was a merchant’s daughter. C.]

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, 185 The inward beauty of her lively spright, Garnisht with heavenly guifts of high degree, Much more then would ye wonder at that sight, And stand astonisht lyke to those which red* Medusaes mazeful hed. 190 There dwells sweet Love, and constant Chastity, Unspotted Fayth, and comely Womanhood, Regard of Honour, and mild Modesty; There Vertue raynes as queene in royal throne, And giveth lawes alone, 195 The which the base affections doe obay, And yeeld theyr services unto her will; Ne thought of things uncomely ever may Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill. Had ye once seene these her celestial threasures, 200 And unrevealed pleasures, Then would ye wonder, and her prayses sing, That all the woods should answer, and your eccho ring. [* _Red_, saw.]

Open the temple gates unto my Love, Open them wide that she may enter in, 205 And all the postes adorne as doth behove, And all the pillours deck with girlands trim, For to receyve this saynt with honour dew, That commeth in to you. With trembling steps and humble reverence, 210 She commeth in before th’Almighties view: Of her, ye virgins, learne obedience, When so ye come into those holy places, To humble your proud faces. Bring her up to th’high altar, that she may 215 The sacred ceremonies there partake, The which do endlesse matrimony make; And let the roring organs loudly play The praises of the Lord in lively notes; The whiles, with hollow throates, 220 The choristers the ioyous antheme sing, That all the woods may answer, and their eccho ring.

Behold, whiles she before the altar stands, Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes And blesseth her with his two happy hands, 225 How the red roses flush up in her cheekes, And the pure snow with goodly vermill stayne, Like crimsin dyde in grayne: That even the angels, which continually About the sacred altar doe remaine, 230 Forget their service and about her fly, Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more fayre The more they on it stare. But her sad* eyes, still fastened on the ground, Are governed with goodly modesty, 235 That suffers not one look to glaunce awry, Which may let in a little thought unsownd. Why blush ye, Love, to give to me your hand, The pledge of all our band? Sing, ye sweet angels, Alleluya sing, 240 That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. [* _Sad_, serious]

Now al is done; bring home the bride againe; Bring home the triumph of our victory; Bring home with you the glory of her game, With ioyance bring her and with iollity. 245 Never had man more ioyfull day than this, Whom heaven would heape with blis. Make feast therefore now all this live-long day; This day for ever to me holy is. Poure out the wine without restraint or stay, Poure not by cups, but by the belly full, Poure out to all that wull*, And sprinkle all the posts and wals with wine, That they may sweat, and drunken be withall. Crowne ye god Bacchus with a coronall, And Hymen also crowne with wreaths of vine; And let the Graces daunce unto the rest, For they can doo it best: The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroll sing, To which the woods shall answer, and theyr eccho ring. [* _Wull_, will.]

Ring ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne, And leave your wonted labors for this day: This day is holy; doe ye write it downe, That ye for ever it remember may. This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight, With Barnaby the bright*, From whence declining daily by degrees, He somewhat loseth of his heat and light, When once the Crab behind his back he sees. But for this time it ill ordained was, To choose the longest day in all the yeare, And shortest night, when longest fitter weare: Yet never day so long, but late would passe. Ring ye the bels to make it weare away, And bonefiers make all day; 275 And daunce about them, and about them sing, That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. [* Ver. 266.—_Barnaby the bright_. The difference between the old and new style at the time this poem was written was ten days. The summer solstice therefore fell on St. Barnabas’s day, the 11th of June. C.]

Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my Love? How slowly do the houres theyr numbers spend? 280 How slowly does sad Time his feathers move? Hast thee, O fayrest planet, to thy home, Within the Westerne fome: Thy tyred steedes long since have need of rest. Long though it be, at last I see it gloome, 285 And the bright evening-star with golden creast Appeare out of the East. Fayre childe of beauty! glorious lampe of love! That all the host of heaven in rankes doost lead, And guidest lovers through the nights sad dread, 290 How chearefully thou lookest from above, And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling light, As ioying in the sight Of these glad many, which for ioy do sing, 294 That all the woods them answer, and their eccho ring!

Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights fore-past; Enough it is that all the day was youres: Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast; Now bring the bryde into the brydall bowres. The night is come; now soon her disaray, 300 And in her bed her lay; Lay her in lillies and in violets, And silken curteins over her display, And odourd sheets, and Arras coverlets. Behold how goodly my faire Love does ly, 305 In proud humility! Like unto Maia, when as Iove her took In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras, Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary was With bathing in the Acidalian brooke. 310 Now it is night, ye damsels may be gone, And leave my Love alone, And leave likewise your former lay to sing: The woods no more shall answer, nor your eccho ring.

Now welcome, Night! thou night so long expected, That long daies labour doest at last defray, 316 And all my cares, which cruell Love collected, Hast sumd in one, and cancelled for aye. Spread thy broad wing over my Love and me, That no man may us see; 320 And in thy sable mantle us enwrap, From feare of perrill and foule horror free. Let no false treason seeke us to entrap, Nor any dread disquiet once annoy The safety of our ioy; 325 But let the night be calme and quietsome, Without tempestuous storms or sad afray; Lyke as when Iove with fayre Alemena lay, When he begot the great Tirynthian groome; Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie, 330 And begot Maiesty: And let the mayds and yongmen cease to sing; Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho ring.

Let no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull teares, Be heard all night within, nor yet without: 335 Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden feares, Breake gentle sleepe with misconceived dout. Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadful sights, Make sudden sad affrights: Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helpless harmes, 340 Ne let the Pouke, nor other evill sprights, Ne let mischievous witches with theyr charmes, Ne let hob-goblins, names whose sence we see not, Fray us with things that be not: Let not the shriech-owle, nor the storke, be heard, 345 Nor the night-raven, that still deadly yels, Nor damned ghosts, cald up with mighty spels, Nor griesly vultures, make us once affeard: Ne let th’unpleasant quyre of frogs still croking Make us to wish theyr choking. 350 Let none of these theyr drery accents sing; Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho ring. [Ver. 341.—The _Pouke_ (Puck is a generic term, signifying fiend, or mischievous imp) is Robin Goodfellow. C.]

But let stil Silence trew night-watches keepe, That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne, And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe, 355 May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant playne. The whiles an hundred little winged Loves, Like divers-fethered doves, Shall fly and flutter round about the bed, And in the secret darke, that none reproves, 360 Their prety stealthes shall worke, and snares shall spread To filch away sweet snatches of delight, Conceald through covert night. Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at will! For greedy Pleasure, carelesse of your toyes, 365 Thinks more upon her paradise of ioyes, Then what ye do, albe it good or ill. All night, therefore, attend your merry play, For it will soone be day: Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing; 370 Ne will the woods now answer, nor your eccho ring.

Who is the same which at my window peepes? Or whose is that faire face that shines so bright? Is it not Cinthia, she that never sleepes, But walkes about high heaven al the night? 375 O fayrest goddesse! do thou not envy My Love with me to spy: For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought, And for a fleece of wooll, which privily The Latmian Shepherd* once unto thee brought, 380 His pleasures with thee wrought. Therefore to us be favorable now; And sith of wemens labours thou hast charge, And generation goodly dost enlarge, Encline thy will t’effect our wishfull vow, 385 And the chast womb informe with timely seed, That may our comfort breed: Till which we cease our hopefull hap to sing, Ne let the woods us answer, nor our eccho ring. [* I.e. Endymion.]

And thou, great Iuno! which with awful might 390 The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize, And the religion of the faith first plight With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize, And eke for comfort often called art Of women in their smart, 395 Eternally bind thou this lovely band, And all thy blessings unto us impart. And thou, glad Genius! in whose gentle hand The bridale bowre and geniall bed remaine, Without blemish or staine, 400 And the sweet pleasures of theyr loves delight With secret ayde doost succour and supply, Till they bring forth the fruitfull progeny, Send us the timely fruit of this same night, And thou, fayre Hebe! and thou, Hymen free! 405 Grant that it may so be. Till which we cease your further prayse to sing, Ne any woods shall answer, nor your eccho ring.

And ye high heavens, the temple of the gods, In which a thousand torches flaming bright 410 Doe burne, that to us wretched earthly clods In dreadful darknesse lend desired light, And all ye powers which in the same remayne, More than we men can fayne, Poure out your blessing on us plentiously, 415 And happy influence upon us raine, That we may raise a large posterity, Which from the earth, which they may long possesse With lasting happinesse, Up to your haughty pallaces may mount, 420 And for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit, May heavenly tabernacles there inherit, Of blessed saints for to increase the count. So let us rest, sweet Love, in hope of this, And cease till then our tymely ioyes to sing: 425 The woods no more us answer, nor our eccho ring!

_Song, made in lieu of many ornaments With which my Love should duly have been dect, Which cutting off through hasty accidents, Ye would not stay your dew time to expect, 430 But promist both to recompens, Be unto her a goodly ornament, And for short time an endlesse moniment!_

PROTHALAMION:

OR,

A SPOUSALL VERSE,

MADE BY

EDM. SPENSER.

IN HONOUR OF THE DOUBLE MARRIAGE OF THE TWO HONORABLE AND VERTUOUS LADIES, THE LADIE ELIZABETH, AND THE LADIE KATHERINE SOMERSET, DAUGHTERS TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE EARLE OF WORCESTER, AND ESPOUSED TO THE TWO WORTHIE GENTLEMEN, M. HENRY GILFORD AND M. WILLIAM PETER, ESQUYERS.

(1596)

PROTHALAMION:

OR,

A SPOUSALL VERSE.

Calme was the day, and through the trembling ayre Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay* Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre; When I (whom sullein care, Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay In princes court, and expectation vayne Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away Like empty shadows, did afflict my brayne,) Walkt forth to ease my payne 10 Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes; Whose rutty** bank, the which his river hemmes, Was paynted all with variable flowers, And all the meades adornd with dainty gemmes, Fit to decke maydens bowres, 15 And crowne their paramours Against the brydale day, which is not long@: Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song. [* _Delay_, allay.] [** _Rutty_, rooty.] [@ _Long_, distant.]

There, in a meadow by the rivers side, A flocke of Nymphes I chaunced to espy, 20 All lovely daughters of the flood thereby, With goodly greenish locks, all loose untyde, As each had bene a bryde; And each one had a little wicker basket, Made of fine twigs, entrayled* curiously, 25 In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket**, And with fine fingers cropt full feateously@ The tender stalkes on hye. Of every sort which in that meadow grew They gathered some; the violet, pallid blew, 30 The little dazie, that at evening closes, The virgin lillie, and the primrose trew, With store of vermeil roses, To deck their bridegroomes posies Against the brydale day, which was not long: 35 Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song. [* _Entrayled_, interwoven.] [** _Flasket_, a long, shallow basket.] [@ _Feateously_, dexterously.]

With that I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe Come softly swimming downe along the lee*: Two fairer birds I yet did never see; The snow which doth the top of Pindus strew 40 Did never whiter shew, Nor Jove himselfe, when he a swan would be For love of Leda, whiter did appear; Yet Leda was, they say, as white as he, Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near: 45 So purely white they were, That even the gentle stream, the which them bare, Seem’d foule to them, and bad his billowes spare To wet their silken feathers, least they might Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre, 50 And marre their beauties bright, That shone as heavens light, Against their brydale day, which was not long: Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song. [* _Lee_, stream.]

Eftsoones, the Nymphes, which now had flowers their fill, 55 Ran all in haste to see that silver brood, As they came floating on the cristal flood; Whom when they sawe, they stood amazed still, Their wondring eyes to fill. Them seem’d they never saw a sight so fayre 60 Of fowles, so lovely, that they sure did deeme Them heavenly borne, or to be that same payre Which through the skie draw Venus stiver teeme; For sure they did not seeme To be begot of any earthly seede, 65 But rather angels, or of angels breede; Yet were they bred of Somers-heat, they say, In sweetest season, when each flower and weede The earth did fresh aray; So fresh they seem’d as day, 70 Even as their brydale day, which was not long: Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song. [Ver. 67—_Somers-heat_. A pun on the name of the Ladies Somerset. C.]

Then forth they all out of their baskets drew Great store of flowers, the honour of the field, That to the sense did fragrant odours yeild, 75 All which upon those goodly birds they threw, And all the waves did strew, That like old Peneus waters they did seeme, When downe along by pleasant Tempes shore, Scattred with flowres, through Thessaly they streeme, That they appeare, through lillies plenteous store, 81 Like a brydes chamber flore. Two of those Nymphes, meane while, two garlands bound Of freshest flowres which in that mead they found, The which presenting all in trim array, 85 Their snowie foreheads therewithall they crownd, Whilst one did sing this lay, Prepar’d against that day, Against their brydale day, which was not long: Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.

“Ye gentle Birdes! the worlds faire ornament, 91 And heavens glorie, whom this happie hower Doth leade unto your lovers blissfull bower, Ioy may you have, and gentle hearts content Of your loves couplement; 95 And let faire Venus, that is Queene of Love, With her heart-quelling sonne upon you smile, Whose smile, they say, hath vertue to remove All loves dislike, and friendships faultie guile For ever to assoile*. 100 Let endlesse peace your steadfast hearts accord, And blessed plentie wait upon your bord; And let your bed with pleasures chast abound. That fruitfull issue may to you afford, Which may your foes confound, 105 And make your ioyes redound Upon your brydale day, which is not long: Sweet Themmes! runne softlie, till I end my song.” [* _Assoile_, do away with.]

So ended she; and all the rest around To her redoubled that her undersong*, 110 Which said, their brydale daye should not be long: And gentle Eccho from the neighbour ground Their accents did resound. So forth those ioyous birdes did passe along Adowne the lee, that to them murmurde low, 115 As he would speake, but that he lackt a tong, Yet did by signes his glad affection show, Making his streame run slow. And all the foule which in his flood did dwell Gan flock about these twaine, that did excell 120 The rest so far as Cynthia doth shend** The lesser stars. So they, enranged well, Did on those two attend, And their best service lend Against their wedding day, which was not long: 125 Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song. [* _Undersong_, burden.] [** _Shend_, put to shame.]

At length they all to mery London came, To mery London, my most kyndly nurse, That to me gave this lifes first native sourse, Though from another place I take my name, 130 An house of auncient fame. There when they came whereas those bricky towres The which on Themmes brode aged backe doe ryde, Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers.— There whylome wont the Templer Knights to byde, Till they decayd through pride,— 136 Next whereunto there standes a stately place, Where oft I gayned giftes and goodly grace Of that great lord which therein wont to dwell, Whose want too well now feels my freendles case: 140 But ah! here fits not well Olde woes, but ioyes, to tell, Against the bridale daye, which is not long: Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song. [Ver. 137.—_A stately place_ Exeter House, the residence first of the Earl of Leicester, and afterwards of Essex. C.]

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, 145 Great Englands glory and the worlds wide wonder, Whose dreadfull name late through all Spaine did thunder, And Hercules two pillors standing neere Did make to quake and feare. Faire branch of honor, flower of chevalrie! 150 That fillest England with thy triumphs fame, Ioy have thou of thy noble victorie, And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name, That promiseth the same; That through thy prowesse and victorious armes 155 Thy country may be freed from forraine harmes, And great Elisaes glorious name may ring Through al the world, fil’d with thy wide alarmes. Which some brave Muse may sing To ages following, 160 Upon the brydale day, which is not long: Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song. [Ver. 147.—_Whose dreadfull name, &c_. The allusion here is to the expedition against Cadiz, from which Essex returned in August, 1596. C.]

From those high towers this noble lord issuing, Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hayre In th’ocean billowes he hath bathed fayre, 165 Descended to the rivers open vewing, With a great traine ensuing. Above the rest were goodly to bee scene Two gentle Knights of lovely face and feature, Beseeming well the bower of any queene, 170 With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature Fit for so goodly stature, That like the twins of Iove they seem’d in sight, Which decke the bauldricke of the heavens bright. They two, forth pacing to the rivers side, 175 Receiv’d those two faire brides, their loves delight; Which, at th’appointed tyde, Each one did make his bryde Against their brydale day, which is not long: 179 Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.

FOWRE HYMNES

MADE BY

EDM. SPENSER.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND MOST VERTUOUS LADIES,

THE LADIE MARGARET,

COUNTESSE OF CUMBERLAND;

AND THE LADIE MARIE*,

COUNTESSE OF WARWICK.

Having, in the greener times of my youth, composed these former two Hymnes in the praise of love and beautie, and finding that the same too much pleased those of like age and disposition, which, being too vehemently carried with that kind of affection, do rather sucke out poyson to their strong passion, then honey to their honest delight, I was moved, by the one of you two most excellent Ladies, to call in the same; but being unable so to do, by reason that many copies thereof were formerly scattered abroad, I resolved at least to amend, and, by way of retraction, to reforme them, making (instead of those two Hymnes of earthly or naturall love and beautie) two others of heavenly and celestiall; the which I doe dedicate ioyntly unto you two honorable sisters, as to the most excellent and rare ornaments of all true love and beautie, both in the one and the other kind; humbly beseeching you to vouchsafe the patronage of them, and to accept this my humble service, in lieu of the great graces and honourable favours which ye dayly shew unto me, until such time as I may, by better meanes, yeeld you some more notable testimonie of my thankfull mind and dutifull devotion. And even so I pray for your happinesse. Greenwich, this first of September, 1596. Your Honors most bounden ever,

In all humble service,

ED. SP.

[* The Countess of Warwick’s name was Anne, not Mary. TODD.]

AN HYMNE

IN HONOUR OF LOVE.

Love, that long since hast to thy mighty powre Perforce subdude my poor captived hart, And raging now therein with restlesse stowre*, Doest tyrannize in everie weaker part, Faine would I seeke to ease my bitter smart 5 By any service I might do to thee, Or ought that else might to thee pleasing bee. [* _Stowre_, commotion.]

And now t’asswage the force of this new flame, And make thee more propitious in my need, I meane to sing the praises of thy name, 10 And thy victorious conquests to areed*, By which thou madest many harts to bleed Of mighty victors, with wide wounds embrewed, And by thy cruell darts to thee subdewed. [* _Areed_, set forth.]

Onely I fear my wits, enfeebled late 15 Through the sharp sorrowes which thou hast me bred, Should faint, and words should faile me to relate The wondrous triumphs of thy great god-hed: But, if thou wouldst vouchsafe to overspred Me with the shadow of thy gentle wing, 20 I should enabled be thy actes to sing.

Come, then, O come, thou mightie God of Love! Out of thy silver bowres and secret blisse, Where thou dost sit in Venus lap above, Bathing thy wings in her ambrosial kisse, 25 That sweeter farre than any nectar is, Come softly, and my feeble breast inspire With gentle furie, kindled of thy fire.

And ye, sweet Muses! which have often proved The piercing points of his avengefull darts, 30 And ye, fair Nimphs! which oftentimes have loved The cruel worker of your kindly smarts, Prepare yourselves, and open wide your harts For to receive the triumph of your glorie, That made you merie oft when ye were sorrie. 35

And ye, faire blossoms of youths wanton breed! Which in the conquests of your beautie bost, Wherewith your lovers feeble eyes you feed, But sterve their harts, that needeth nourture most, Prepare your selves to march amongst his host, 40 And all the way this sacred hymne do sing, Made in the honor of your soveraigne king.

Great God of Might, that reignest in the mynd, And all the bodie to thy hest doest frame, Victor of gods, subduer of mankynd, 45 That doest the lions and fell tigers tame, Making their cruell rage thy scornfull game, And in their roring taking great delight, Who can expresse the glorie of thy might?

Or who alive can perfectly declare 50 The wondrous cradle of thine infancie, When thy great mother Venus first thee bare, Begot of Plenty and of Penurie, Though elder then thine own nativitie, And yet a chyld, renewing still thy yeares, 55 And yet the eldest of the heavenly peares?

For ere this worlds still moving mightie masse Out of great Chaos ugly prison crept, In which his goodly face long hidden was From heavens view, and in deep darknesse kept, 60 Love, that had now long time securely slept In Venus lap, unarmed then and naked, Gan reare his head, by Clotho being waked:

And taking to him wings of his own heat, Kindled at first from heavens life-giving fyre, 65 He gan to move out of his idle seat; Weakly at first, but after with desyre Lifted aloft, he gan to mount up hyre*, And, like fresh eagle, made his hardy flight Thro all that great wide wast, yet wanting light. 70 [* _Hyre_, higher.]

Yet wanting light to guide his wandring way, His own faire mother, for all creatures sake, Did lend him light from her owne goodly ray; Then through the world his way he gan to take, The world, that was not till he did it make, 75 Whose sundrie parts he from themselves did sever. The which before had lyen confused ever.

The earth, the ayre, the water, and the fyre, Then gan to raunge themselves in huge array, And with contráry forces to conspyre 80 Each against other by all meanes they may, Threatning their owne confusion and decay: Ayre hated earth, and water hated fyre, Till Love relented their rebellious yre.

He then them tooke, and, tempering goodly well 85 Their contrary dislikes with loved meanes, Did place them all in order, and compell To keepe themselves within their sundrie raines*, Together linkt with adamantine chaines; Yet so as that in every living wight 90 They mix themselves, and shew their kindly might. [* _Raines_, kingdoms.]

So ever since they firmely have remained, And duly well observed his beheast; Through which now all these things that are contained Within this goodly cope, both most and least, 95 Their being have, and daily are increast Through secret sparks of his infused fyre, Which in the barraine cold he doth inspyre.

Thereby they all do live, and moved are To multiply the likenesse of their kynd, 100 Whilest they seeke onely, without further care, To quench the flame which they in burning fynd; But man, that breathes a more immortall mynd, Not for lusts sake, but for eternitie, Seekes to enlarge his lasting progenie. 105

For having yet in his deducted spright Some sparks remaining of that heavenly fyre, He is enlumind with that goodly light, Unto like goodly semblant to aspyre; Therefore in choice of love he doth desyre 110 That seemes on earth most heavenly to embrace, That same is Beautie, borne of heavenly race.

For sure, of all that in this mortall frame Contained is, nought more divine doth seeme, Or that resembleth more th’immortall flame 115 Of heavenly light, than Beauties glorious beam. What wonder then, if with such rage extreme Frail men, whose eyes seek heavenly things to see, At sight thereof so much enravisht bee?

Which well perceiving, that imperious boy 120 Doth therewith tip his sharp empoisned darts, Which glancing thro the eyes with* countenance coy Rest not till they have pierst the trembling harts, And kindled flame in all their inner parts, Which suckes the blood, and drinketh up the lyfe, 125 Of carefull wretches with consuming griefe. [* Qu. from? WARTON.]

Thenceforth they playne, and make full piteous mone Unto the author of their balefull bane: The daies they waste, the nights they grieve and grone, Their lives they loath, and heavens light disdaine; 130 No light but that whose lampe doth yet remaine Fresh burning in the image of their eye, They deigne to see, and seeing it still dye.

The whylst thou, tyrant Love, doest laugh and scorne At their complaints, making their paine thy play; 135 Whylest they lye languishing like thrals forlorne, The whyles thou doest triumph in their decay; And otherwhyles, their dying to delay, Thou doest emmarble the proud hart of her Whose love before their life they doe prefer. 140