Chapter VIII: Part 8

So hast thou often done (ay me the more!) To me thy vassall, whose yet bleeding hart With thousand wounds thou mangled hast so sore, That whole remaines scarse any little part; Yet to augment the anguish of my smart, 145 Thou hast enfrosen her disdainefull brest, That no one drop of pitie there doth rest.

Why then do I this honor unto thee, Thus to ennoble thy victorious name, Sith thou doest shew no favour unto mee, 150 Ne once move ruth in that rebellious dame,

Somewhat to slacke the rigour of my flame? Certes small glory doest thou winne hereby, To let her live thus free, and me to dy.

But if thou be indeede, as men thee call, 155 The worlds great parent, the most kind preserver Of living wights, the soveraine lord of all, How falles it then that with thy furious fervour Thou doest afflict as well the not-deserver, As him that doeth thy lovely heasts despize, 160 And on thy subiects most doth tyrannize?

Yet herein eke thy glory seemeth more, By so hard handling those which best thee serve, That, ere thou doest them unto grace restore, Thou mayest well trie if they will ever swerve, 165 And mayest them make it better to deserve, And, having got it, may it more esteeme; For things hard gotten men more dearely deeme.

So hard those heavenly beauties be enfyred, As things divine least passions doe impresse; 170 The more of stedfast mynds to be admyred, The more they stayed be on stedfastnesse; But baseborne minds such lamps regard the lesse, Which at first blowing take not hastie fyre; Such fancies feele no love, but loose desyre. 175

For Love is lord of truth and loialtie, Lifting himself out of the lowly dust On golden plumes up to the purest skie, Above the reach of loathly sinfull lust, Whose base affect*, through cowardly distrust 180 Of his weake wings, dare not to heaven fly, But like a moldwarpe** in the earth doth ly. [* _Affect_, affection, passion.] [** _Moldwarpe_, mole.]

His dunghill thoughts, which do themselves enure To dirtie drosse, no higher dare aspyre; Ne can his feeble earthly eyes endure 185 The flaming light of that celestiall fyre Which kindleth love in generous desyre, And makes him mount above the native might Of heavie earth, up to the heavens hight.

Such is the powre of that sweet passion, 190 That it all sordid basenesse doth expell, And the refyned mynd doth newly fashion Unto a fairer forme, which now doth dwell In his high thought, that would it selfe excell; Which he beholding still with constant sight, 195 Admires the mirrour of so heavenly light.

Whose image printing in his deepest wit, He thereon feeds his hungrie fantasy, Still full, yet never satisfyde with it; Like Tantale, that in store doth sterved ly, 200 So doth he pine in most satiety; For nought may quench his infinite desyre, Once kindled through that first conceived fyre.

Thereon his mynd affixed wholly is, Ne thinks on ought but how it to attaine; 205 His care, his ioy, his hope, is all on this, That seemes in it all blisses to containe, In sight whereof all other blisse seemes vaine: Thrice happie man, might he the same possesse, He faines himselfe, and doth his fortune blesse. 210

And though he do not win his wish to end, Yet thus farre happie he himselfe doth weene, That heavens such happie grace did to him lend As thing on earth so heavenly to have seene, His harts enshrined saint, his heavens queene, 215 Fairer then fairest in his fayning eye, Whose sole aspect he counts felicitye.

Then forth he casts in his unquiet thought, What he may do her favour to obtaine; What brave exploit, what perill hardly wrought, 220 What puissant conquest, what adventurous paine, May please her best, and grace unto him gaine; He dreads no danger, nor misfortune feares, His faith, his fortune, in his breast he beares.

Thou art his god, thou art his mightie guyde, 225 Thou, being blind, letst him not see his feares, But carriest him to that which he had eyde, Through seas, through flames, through thousand swords and speares; * Ne ought so strong that may his force withstand, With which thou armest his resistlesse hand. 230 [* The fifth verse of this stanza appears to have dropped out. C.]

Witnesse Leander in the Euxine waves, And stout Aeneas in the Troiane fyre, Achilles preassing through the Phrygian glaives*, And Orpheus, daring to provoke the yre Of damned fiends, to get his love retyre; 235 For both through heaven and hell thou makest way, To win them worship which to thee obay. [* _Glaives_, swords.]

And if by all these perils and these paynes He may but purchase lyking in her eye, What heavens of ioy then to himselfe he faynes! 240 Eftsoones he wypes quite out of memory Whatever ill before he did aby*: Had it beene death, yet would he die againe, To live thus happie as her grace to gaine. [* _Aby_, abide.]

Yet when he hath found favour to his will, 245 He nathëmore can so contented rest, But forceth further on, and striveth still T’approch more neare, till in her inmost brest He may embosomd bee and loved best; And yet not best, but to be lov’d alone; 250 For love cannot endure a paragone*. [* _Paragone_, competitor.]

The fear whereof, O how doth it torment His troubled mynd with more then hellish paine! And to his fayning fansie represent Sights never seene, and thousand shadowes vaine, 255 To breake his sleepe and waste his ydle braine: Thou that hast never lov’d canst not beleeve Least part of th’evils which poore lovers greeve.

The gnawing envie, the hart-fretting feare, The vaine surmizes, the distrustfull showes, 260 The false reports that flying tales doe beare, The doubts, the daungers, the delayes, the woes, The fayned friends, the unassured foes, With thousands more then any tongue can tell, Doe make a lovers life a wretches hell. 265

Yet is there one more cursed then they all, That cancker-worme, that monster, Gelosie, Which eates the heart and feedes upon the gall, Turning all Loves delight to miserie, Through feare of losing his felicitie. 270 Ah, gods! that ever ye that monster placed In gentle Love, that all his ioyes defaced!

By these, O Love! thou doest thy entrance make Unto thy heaven, and doest the more endeere Thy pleasures unto those which them partake, 275 As after stormes, when clouds begin to cleare, The sunne more bright and glorious doth appeare; So thou thy folke, through paines of Purgatorie, Dost beare unto thy blisse, and heavens glorie.

There thou them placest in a paradize 280 Of all delight and ioyous happy rest, Where they doe feede on nectar heavenly-wize, With Hercules and Hebe, and the rest Of Venus dearlings, through her bountie blest; And lie like gods in yvory beds arayd, 285 With rose and lillies over them displayd.

There with thy daughter Pleasure they doe play Their hurtlesse sports, without rebuke or blame, And in her snowy bosome boldly lay Their quiet heads, devoyd of guilty shame, 290 After full ioyance of their gentle game; Then her they crowne their goddesse and their queene, And decke with floures thy altars well beseene.

Ay me! deare Lord, that ever I might hope, For all the paines and woes that I endure, 295 To come at length unto the wished scope Of my desire, or might myselfe assure That happie port for ever to recure*! Then would I thinke these paines no paines at all, And all my woes to be but penance small. 300 [* _Recure_, recover, gain.]

Then would I sing of thine immortal praise An heavenly hymne such as the angels sing, And thy triumphant name then would I raise Bove all the gods, thee only honoring; My guide, my god, my victor, and my king: 305 Till then, drad Lord! vouchsafe to take of me This simple song, thus fram’d in praise of thee.

AN HYMNE

IN HONOUR OF BEAUTIE.

Ah! whither, Love! wilt thou now carry mee? What wontlesse fury dost thou now inspire Into my feeble breast, too full of thee? Whylest seeking to aslake thy raging fyre, Thou in me kindlest much more great desyre, 5 And up aloft above my strength doth rayse The wondrous matter of my fire to praise.

That as I earst in praise of thine owne name, So now in honour of thy mother deare An honourable hymne I eke should frame, 10 And, with the brightnesse of her beautie cleare, The ravisht hearts of gazefull men might reare To admiration of that heavenly light, From whence proceeds such soule-enchanting might.

Therto do thou, great Goddesse! Queene of Beauty, Mother of Love and of all worlds delight, 16 Without whose soverayne grace and kindly dewty Nothing on earth seems fayre to fleshly sight, Doe thou vouchsafe with thy love-kindling light T’illuminate my dim and dulled eyne, 20 And beautifie this sacred hymne of thyne:

That both to thee, to whom I meane it most, And eke to her whose faire immortall beame Hath darted fyre into my feeble ghost, That now it wasted is with woes extreame, 25 It may so please, that she at length will streame Some deaw of grace into my withered hart, After long sorrow and consuming smart.

WHAT TIME THIS WORLDS GREAT WORKMAISTER did cast To make al things such as we now behold, 30 It seems that he before his eyes had plast A goodly paterne, to whose perfect mould He fashiond them as comely as he could, That now so faire and seemely they appeare As nought may be amended any wheare. 35

That wondrous paterne, wheresoere it bee, Whether in earth layd up in secret store, Or else in heaven, that no man may it see With sinfull eyes, for feare it do deflore, Is perfect Beautie, which all men adore; 40 Whose face and feature doth so much excell All mortal sence, that none the same may tell.

Thereof as every earthly thing partakes Or more or lesse, by influence divine, So it more faire accordingly it makes, 45 And the grosse matter of this earthly myne Which closeth it thereafter doth refyne, Doing away the drosse which dims the light Of that faire beame which therein is empight*. [* _Empight_, placed.]

For, through infusion of celestiall powre, 50 The duller earth it quickneth with delight, And life-full spirits privily doth powre Through all the parts, that to the lookers sight They seeme to please; that is thy soveraine might, O Cyprian queene! which, flowing from the beame 55 Of thy bright starre, thou into them doest streame.

That is the thing which giveth pleasant grace To all things faire, that kindleth lively fyre; Light of thy lampe; which, shyning in the face, Thence to the soule darts amorous desyre, 60 And robs the harts of those which it admyre; Therewith thou pointest thy sons poysned arrow, That wounds the life and wastes the inmost marrow.

How vainely then do ydle wits invent That Beautie is nought else but mixture made 65 Of colours faire, and goodly temp’rament Of pure complexions, that shall quickly fade And passe away, like to a sommers shade; Or that it is but comely composition Of parts well measurd, with meet disposition! 70

Hath white and red in it such wondrous powre, That it can pierce through th’eyes unto the hart, And therein stirre such rage and restlesse stowre*, As nought but death can stint his dolours smart? Or can proportion of the outward part 75 Move such affection in the inward mynd, That it can rob both sense, and reason blynd? [* _Stowre_, commotion.]

Why doe not then the blossomes of the field, Which are arayd with much more orient hew, And to the sense most daintie odours yield, 80 Worke like impression in the lookers vew? Or why doe not faire pictures like powre shew, In which oft-times we Nature see of Art Exceld, in perfect limming every part?

But ah! beleeve me there is more then so, 85 That workes such wonders in the minds of men; I, that have often prov’d, too well it know, And who so list the like assayes to ken Shall find by trial, and confesse it then, That Beautie is not, as fond men misdeeme, 90 An outward shew of things that onely seeme.

For that same goodly hew of white and red With which the cheekes are sprinckled, shall decay, And those sweete rosy leaves, so fairly spred Upon the lips, shall fade and fall away 95 To that they were, even to corrupted clay: That golden wyre, those sparckling stars so bright, Shall turne to dust, and lose their goodly light.

But that faire lampe, from whose celestiall ray That light proceedes which kindleth lovers fire, 100 Shall never be extinguisht nor decay; But, when the vitall spirits doe espyre, Unto her native planet shall retyre; For it is heavenly borne, and cannot die, Being a parcell of the purest skie. 105

For when the soule, the which derived was, At first, out of that great immortall Spright, By whom all live to love, whilome did pas Down from the top of purest heavens hight To be embodied here, it then tooke light 110 And lively spirits from that fayrest starre Which lights the world forth from his firie carre.

Which powre retayning still, or more or lesse, When she in fleshly seede is eft* enraced**, Through every part she doth the same impresse, 115 According as the heavens have her graced, And frames her house, in which she will be placed, Fit for her selfe, adorning it with spoyle Of th’heavenly riches which she robd erewhyle. [* _Eft_, afterwards.] [** _Enraced_, implanted.]

Thereof it comes that these faire soules which have The most resemblance of that heavenly light 121 Frame to themselves most beautifull and brave Their fleshly bowre, most fit for their delight, And the grosse matter by a soveraine might Temper so trim, that it may well be seene 125 A pallace fit for such a virgin queene.

So every spirit, as it is most pure, And hath in it the more of heavenly light, So it the fairer bodie doth procure To habit in, and it more fairely dight* 130 With chearfull grace and amiable sight: For of the soule the bodie forme doth take; For soule is forme, and doth the bodie make. [* _Dight_, adorn.]

Therefore, where-ever that thou doest behold A comely corpse*, with beautie faire endewed, 135 Know this for certaine, that the same doth hold A beauteous soule with fair conditions thewed**, Fit to receive the seede of vertue strewed; For all that faire is, is by nature good; That is a sign to know the gentle blood. 140 [* _Corpse_, body.] [** i.e. endowed with fair qualities.]

Yet oft it falles that many a gentle mynd Dwels in deformed tabernacle drownd, Either by chaunce, against the course of kynd*, Or through unaptnesse in the substance fownd, Which it assumed of some stubborne grownd, 145 That will not yield unto her formes direction, But is deform’d with some foule imperfection. [* _Kynd_, nature.]

And oft it falles, (ay me, the more to rew!) That goodly Beautie, albe heavenly borne, Is foule abusd, and that celestiall hew, 150 Which doth the world with her delight adorne, Made but the bait of sinne, and sinners scorne, Whilest every one doth seeke and sew to have it, But every one doth seeke but to deprave it.

Yet nathëmore is that faire Beauties blame, 155 But theirs that do abuse it unto ill: Nothing so good, but that through guilty shame May be corrupt*, and wrested unto will. Nathelesse the soule is faire and beauteous still, However fleshes fault it filthy make; 160 For things immortall no corruption take. [* _Corrupt_, corrupted.]

But ye, faire Dames! the worlds deare ornaments, And lively images of heavens light, Let not your beames with such disparagements Be dimd, and your bright glorie darkned quight; l65 But mindfull still of your first countries sight, Doe still preserve your first informed grace, Whose shadow yet shynes in your beauteous face.

Loath that foule blot, that hellish fiërbrand, Disloiall lust, fair Beauties foulest blame, 170 That base affections, which your eares would bland*, Commend to you by loves abused name, But is indeede the bondslave of defame; Which will the garland of your glorie marre, And quench the light of your brightshyning starre. 175 [* _Bland_, blandish.]

But gentle Love, that loiall is and trew, Wil more illumine your resplendent ray, And add more brightnesse to your goodly hew From light of his pure fire; which, by like way Kindled of yours, your likenesse doth display; 180 Like as two mirrours, by opposd reflection, Doe both expresse the faces first impression.

Therefore, to make your beautie more appeare, It you behoves to love, and forth to lay That heavenly riches which in you ye beare, 185 That men the more admyre their fountaine may; For else what booteth that celestiall ray, If it in darknesse be enshrined ever, That it of loving eyes be vewed never?

But, in your choice of loves, this well advize, 190 That likest to your selves ye them select, The which your forms first sourse may sympathize, And with like beauties parts be inly deckt; For if you loosely love without respect, It is not love, but a discordant warre, 195 Whose unlike parts amongst themselves do iarre.

For love is a celestiall harmonie Of likely* harts composd of** starres concent, Which ioyne together in sweete sympathie, To work each others ioy and true content, 200 Which they have harbourd since their first descent Out of their heavenly bowres, where they did see And know ech other here belov’d to bee. [* _Likely_, similar.] [** _Composd of_, combined by.]

Then wrong it were that any other twaine Should in Loves gentle band combyned bee, 205 But those whom Heaven did at first ordaine, And made out of one mould the more t’agree; For all that like the beautie which they see Straight do not love; for Love is not so light As straight to burne at first beholders sight. 210

But they which love indeede looke otherwise, With pure regard and spotlesse true intent, Drawing out of the obiect of their eyes A more refyned form, which they present Unto their mind, voide of all blemishment; 215 Which it reducing to her first perfection, Beholdeth free from fleshes frayle infection.

And then conforming it unto the light Which in it selfe it hath remaining still, Of that first sunne, yet sparckling in his sight, 220 Thereof he fashions in his higher skill An heavenly beautie to his fancies will; And it embracing in his mind entyre, The mirrour of his owne thought doth admyre.

Which seeing now so inly faire to be, 225 As outward it appeareth to the eye, And with his spirits proportion to agree, He thereon fixeth all his fantasie, And fully setteth his felicitie; Counting it fairer then it is indeede, 230 And yet indeede her fairnesse doth exeede.

For lovers eyes more sharply sighted bee Then other mens, and in deare loves delight See more then any other eyes can see, Through mutuall receipt of beamës bright, 235 Which carrie privie message to the spright, And to their eyes that inmost faire display, As plaine as light discovers dawning day.

Therein they see, through amorous eye-glaunces, Armies of Loves still flying too and fro, 240 Which dart at them their litle fierie launces; Whom having wounded, back againe they go, Carrying compassion to their lovely foe; Who, seeing her faire eyes so sharp effect, Cures all their sorrowes with one sweete aspect. 245

In which how many wonders doe they reede To their conceipt, that others never see! Now of her smiles, with which their soules they feede, Like gods with nectar in their bankets free; Now of her lookes, which like to cordials bee; 250 But when her words embássade* forth she sends, Lord, how sweete musicke that unto them lends! [* _Embássade_, embassy.]

Sometimes upon her forhead they behold A thousand graces masking in delight; Sometimes within her eye-lids they unfold 255 Ten thousand sweet belgards*, which to their sight Doe seeme like twinckling starres in frostie night; But on her lips, like rosy buds in May, So many millions of chaste pleasures play. [* _Belgards_, fair looks.]

All those, O Cytherea! and thousands more, 260 Thy handmaides be, which do on thee attend, To decke thy beautie with their dainties store, That may it more to mortall eyes commend, And make it more admyr’d of foe and frend; That in men’s harts thou mayst thy throne enstall, 265 And spred thy lovely kingdome over all.

Then Iö, tryumph! O great Beauties Queene, Advance the banner of thy conquest hie, That all this world, the which thy vassels beene, May draw to thee, and with dew fëaltie 270 Adore the powre of thy great maiestie, Singing this hymne in honour of thy name, Compyld by me, which thy poor liegeman am!

In lieu whereof graunt, O great soveraine! That she whose conquering beauty doth captíve 275 My trembling hart in her eternall chaine, One drop of grace at length will to me give, That I her bounden thrall by her may live, And this same life, which first fro me she reaved, May owe to her, of whom I it receaved. 280

And you, faire Venus dearling, my dear dread! Fresh flowre of grace, great goddesse of my life, When your faire eyes these fearfull lines shall read, Deigne to let fall one drop of dew reliefe, That may recure my harts long pyning griefe, 285 And shew what wondrous powre your beauty hath, That can restore a damned wight from death.

AN HYMNE

OF HEAVENLY LOVE*.

[* See the sixth canto of the third book of the Faerie Queene, especially the second and the thirty-second stanzas; which, with his Hymnes of Heavenly Love and Heavenly Beauty, are evident proofs of Spenser’s attachment to the Platonic school. WARTON.]

Love, lift me up upon thy golden wings From this base world unto thy heavens hight, Where I may see those admirable things Which there thou workest by thy soveraine might, Farre above feeble reach of earthly sight, 5 That I thereof an heavenly hymne may sing Unto the God of Love, high heavens king.

Many lewd layes (ah! woe is me the more!) In praise of that mad fit which fooles call Love, I have in th’heat of youth made heretofore, 10 That in light wits did loose affection move; But all those follies now I do reprove, And turned have the tenor of my string, The heavenly prayses of true Love to sing.

And ye that wont with greedy vaine desire 15 To reade my fault, and, wondring at my flame, To warme your selves at my wide sparckling fire, Sith now that heat is quenched, quench my blame, And in her ashes shrowd my dying shame; For who my passed follies now pursewes, 20 Beginnes his owne, and my old fault renewes.

BEFORE THIS WORLDS GREAT FRAME, in which al things Are now containd, found any being-place, Ere flitting Time could wag* his eyas** wings About that mightie bound which doth embrace 25 The rolling spheres, and parts their houres by space, That high eternall Powre, which now doth move In all these things, mov’d in it selfe by love. [* _Wag_, move.] [** _Eyas_, unfledged.]

It lovd it selfe, because it selfe was faire; (For fair is lov’d;) and of it self begot 30 Like to it selfe his eldest Sonne and Heire, Eternall, pure, and voide of sinfull blot, The firstling of his ioy, in whom no iot Of loves dislike or pride was to be found, Whom he therefore with equall honour crownd. 35

With him he raignd, before all time prescribed, In endlesse glorie and immortall might, Together with that Third from them derived, Most wise, most holy, most almightie Spright! 39 Whose kingdomes throne no thoughts of earthly wight Can comprehend, much lesse my trembling verse With equall words can hope it to reherse.

Yet, O most blessed Spirit! pure lampe of light, Eternall spring of grace and wisedom trew, Vouchsafe to shed into my barren spright 45 Some little drop of thy celestiall dew, That may my rymes with sweet infuse* embrew, And give me words equall unto my thought, To tell the marveiles by thy mercie wrought. [* _Infuse_, infusion]

Yet being pregnant still with powrefull grace, 50 And full of fruitfull Love, that loves to get Things like himselfe and to enlarge his race, His second brood, though not of powre so great, Yet full of beautie, next he did beget, An infinite increase of angels bright, 55 All glistring glorious in their Makers light.

To them the heavens illimitable hight (Not this round heaven which we from hence behold, Adornd with thousand lamps of burning light, And with ten thousand gemmes of shyning gold) 60 He gave as their inheritance to hold, That they might serve him in eternall blis, And be partakers of those ioyes of his.

There they in their trinall triplicities About him wait, and on his will depend, 65 Either with nimble wings to cut the skies, When he them on his messages doth send, Or on his owne dread presence to attend, Where they behold the glorie of his light, And caroll hymnes of love both day and night. 70 [Ver. 64.—_Trinall triplicities_. See the Faerie Queene, Book I. Canto XII. 39. H.]

Both day and night is unto them all one; For he his beames doth unto them extend, That darknesse there appeareth never none; Ne hath their day, ne hath their blisse, an end, But there their termelesse time in pleasure spend; 75 Ne ever should their happinesse decay, Had not they dar’d their Lord to disobay.

But pride, impatient of long resting peace, Did puffe them up with greedy bold ambition, That they gan cast their state how to increase 80 Above the fortune of their first condition, And sit in Gods own seat without commission: The brightest angel, even the Child of Light*, Drew millions more against their God to fight. [* I.e. Lucifer.]

Th’Almighty, seeing their so bold assay, 85 Kindled the flame of his consuming yre, And with his onely breath them blew away From heavens hight, to which they did aspyre, To deepest hell, and lake of damned fyre, Where they in darknesse and dread horror dwell, 90 Hating the happie light from which they fell.

So that next off-spring of the Makers love, Next to himselfe in glorious degree, Degendering* to hate, fell from above Through pride; (for pride and love may ill agree;) 95 And now of sinne to all ensample bee: How then can sinfull flesh it selfe assure, Sith purest angels fell to be impure? [* _Degendering_, degenerating.]

But that Eternall Fount of love and grace, Still flowing forth his goodnesse unto all, 100 Now seeing left a waste and emptie place In his wyde pallace through those angels fall, Cast to supply the same, and to enstall A new unknowen colony therein, Whose root from earths base groundworke should begin. 105

Therefore of clay, base, vile, and next to nought, Yet form’d by wondrous skill, and by his might According to an heavenly patterne wrought, Which he had fashiond in his wise foresight, He man did make, and breathd a living spright 110 Into his face, most beautifull and fayre, Endewd with wisedomes riches, heavenly, rare.

Such he him made, that he resemble might Himselfe, as mortall thing immortall could; Him to be lord of every living wight 115 He made by love out of his owne like mould, In whom he might his mightie selfe behould; For Love doth love the thing belov’d to see, That like it selfe in lovely shape may bee.

But man, forgetfull of his Makers grace 120 No lesse than angels, whom he did ensew, Fell from the hope of promist heavenly place, Into the mouth of Death, to sinners dew, And all his off-spring into thraldome threw, Where they for ever should in bonds remaine 125 Of never-dead, yet ever-dying paine;

Till that great Lord of Love, which him at first Made of meere love, and after liked well, Seeing him lie like creature long accurst In that deep horor of despeyred hell, 130 Him, wretch, in doole* would let no lenger dwell, But cast** out of that bondage to redeeme, And pay the price, all@ were his debt extreeme. [* _Doole_, pain.] [** _Cast_, devised.] [@ _All_, although.]

Out of the bosome of eternall blisse, In which he reigned with his glorious Syre, 135 He downe descended, like a most demisse* And abiect thrall, in fleshes fraile attyre, That he for him might pay sinnes deadly hyre, And him restore unto that happie state In which he stood before his haplesse fate. 140 [* _Demisse_, humble.]

In flesh at first the guilt committed was, Therefore in flesh it must be satisfyde; Nor spirit, nor angel, though they man surpas, Could make amends to God for mans misguyde, But onely man himselfe, who selfe did slyde: 145 So, taking flesh of sacred virgins wombe, For mans deare sake he did a man become.

And that most blessed bodie, which was borne Without all blemish or reprochfull blame, He freely gave to be both rent and torne 150 Of cruell hands, who with despightfull shame Revyling him, (that them most vile became,) At length him nayled on a gallow-tree, And slew the iust by most uniust decree.

O huge and most unspeakeable impression 155 Of Loves deep wound, that pierst the piteous hart Of that deare Lord with so entyre affection, And, sharply launcing every inner part, Dolours of death into his soule did dart, Doing him die that never it deserved, 160 To free his foes, that from his heast* had swerved! [* _Heast_, command.]

What hart can feel least touch of so sore launch, Or thought can think the depth of so deare wound? Whose bleeding sourse their streames yet never staunch, But stil do flow, and freshly still redownd*, 165 To heale the sores of sinfull soules unsound, And clense the guilt of that infected cryme, Which was enrooted in all fleshly slyme. [* _Redownd_, overflow.]

O blessed Well of Love! O Floure of Grace! O glorious Morning-Starre! O Lampe of Light! 170 Most lively image of thy Fathers face, Eternal King of Glorie, Lord of Might, Meeke Lambe of God, before all worlds behight*, How can we thee requite for all this good? Or what can prize** that thy most precious blood? 175 [* _Behight_, named.] [** _Prize_, price.]

Yet nought thou ask’st in lieu of all this love But love of us, for guerdon of thy paine: Ay me! what can us lesse than that behove? Had he required life for us againe, Had it beene wrong to ask his owne with gaine? 180 He gave us life, he it restored lost; Then life were least, that us so little cost.

But he our life hath left unto us free, Free that was thrall, and blessed that was band*; Ne ought demaunds but that we loving bee, 185 As he himselfe hath lov’d us afore-hand, And bound therto with an eternall band; Him first to love that us so dearely bought, And next our brethren, to his image wrought. [* _Band_, cursed.]

Him first to love great right and reason is, 190 Who first to us our life and being gave, And after, when we fared* had amisse, Us wretches from the second death did save; And last, the food of life, which now we have, Even he himselfe, in his dear sacrament, 195 To feede our hungry soules, unto us lent. [* _Fared_, gone.]

Then next, to love our brethren, that were made Of that selfe* mould and that self Maker’s hand That we, and to the same againe shall fade, Where they shall have like heritage of land, 200 However here on higher steps we stand, Which also were with selfe-same price redeemed That we, however of us light esteemed. [* _Selfe_, same.]

And were they not, yet since that loving Lord Commaunded us to love them for his sake, 205 Even for his sake, and for his sacred word Which in his last bequest he to us spake, We should them love, and with their needs partake; Knowing that whatsoere to them we give We give to him by whom we all doe live. 210

Such mercy he by his most holy reede* Unto us taught, and, to approve it trew, Ensampled it by his most righteous deede, Shewing us mercie, miserable crew! That we the like should to the wretches shew, 215 And love our brethren; thereby to approve How much himselfe that loved us we love. [* _Reede_, precept.]

Then rouze thy selfe, O Earth! out of thy soyle*, In which thou wallowest like to filthy swyne, And doest thy mynd in durty pleasures moyle**, 220 Unmindfull of that dearest Lord of thyne; Lift up to him thy heavie clouded eyne, That thou this soveraine bountie mayst behold, And read, through love, his mercies manifold. [* _Soyle_, mire.] [** _Moyle_, defile.]

Beginne from first, where he encradled was 225 In simple cratch*, wrapt in a wad of hay, Betweene the toylfull oxe and humble asse, And in what rags, and in how base aray, The glory of our heavenly riches lay, When him the silly shepheards came to see, 230 Whom greatest princes sought on lowest knee. [* _Cratch_, manger.]

From thence reade on the storie of his life, His humble carriage, his unfaulty wayes, His cancred foes, his fights, his toyle, his strife, His paines, his povertie, his sharpe assayes, 235 Through which he past his miserable dayes, Offending none, and doing good to all, Yet being malist* both by great and small. [* _Malist_, regarded with ill-will.]

And look at last, how of most wretched wights He taken was, betrayd, and false accused; 240 How with most scornfull taunts and fell despights, He was revyld, disgrast, and foule abused; How scourgd, how crownd, how buffeted, how brused; And, lastly, how twixt robbers crucifyde, With bitter wounds through hands, through feet, and syde! 245

Then let thy flinty hart, that feeles no paine, Empierced be with pittifull remorse, And let thy bowels bleede in every vaine, At sight of his most sacred heavenly corse, So torne and mangled with malicious forse; 250 And let thy soule, whose sins his sorrows wrought, Melt into teares, and grone in grieved thought.

With sence whereof whilest so thy softened spirit Is inly toucht, and humbled with meeke zeale Through meditation of his endlesse merit, 255 Lift up thy mind to th’author of thy weale, And to his soveraine mercie doe appeale; Learne him to love that loved thee so deare, And in thy brest his blessed image beare.

With all thy hart, with all thy soule and mind, 260 Thou must him love, and his beheasts embrace; All other loves, with which the world doth blind Weake fancies, and stirre up affections base, Thou must renounce and utterly displace, And give thy self unto him full and free, 265 That full and freely gave himselfe to thee.

Then shalt thou feele thy spirit so possest, And ravisht with devouring great desire Of his dear selfe, that shall thy feeble brest Inflame with love, and set thee all on fire 270 With burning zeale, through every part entire*, That in no earthly thing thou shalt delight, But in his sweet and amiable sight. [* _Entire_, inward.]

Thenceforth all worlds desire will in thee dye, And all earthes glorie, on which men do gaze, 275 Seeme durt and drosse in thy pure-sighted eye, Compar’d to that celestiall beauties blaze, Whose glorious beames all fleshly sense doth daze With admiration of their passing light, Blinding the eyes, and lumining the spright. 280

Then shall thy ravisht soul inspired bee With heavenly thoughts, farre above humane skil, And thy bright radiant eyes shall plainely see Th’idee of his pure glorie present still Before thy face, that all thy spirits shall fill 285 With sweete enragement of celestiall love, Kindled through sight of those faire things above.

AN HYMNE

OF HEAVENLY BEAUTIE.

Rapt with the rage of mine own ravisht thought, Through contemplation of those goodly sights And glorious images in heaven wrought, Whose wondrous beauty, breathing sweet delights, Do kindle love in high conceipted sprights, 5 I faine* to tell the things that I behold, But feele my wits to faile and tongue to fold. [* _Faine_, long.]

Vouchsafe then, O Thou most Almightie Spright! From whom all guifts of wit and knowledge flow, To shed into my breast some sparkling light 10 Of thine eternall truth, that I may show Some little beames to mortall eyes below Of that immortall Beautie there with Thee, Which in my weake distraughted mynd I see;

That with the glorie of so goodly sight 15 The hearts of men, which fondly here admyre Faire seeming shewes, and feed on vaine delight, Transported with celestiall desyre Of those faire formes, may lift themselves up hyer, And learne to love, with zealous humble dewty, 20 Th’Eternall Fountaine of that heavenly Beauty.

Beginning then below, with th’easie vew Of this base world, subiect to fleshly eye, From thence to mount aloft, by order dew, To contemplation of th’immortall sky; 25 Of the soare faulcon* so I learne to flye. That flags a while her fluttering wings beneath, Till she her selfe for stronger flight can breath. [* _Soare faulcon_, a young falcon; a hawk that has not shed its first feathers, which are _sorrel_.]

Then looke, who list thy gazefull eyes to feed With sight of that is faire, looke on the frame 30 Of this wyde universe, and therein reed The endlesse kinds of creatures which by name Thou canst not count, much less their natures aime; All which are made with wondrous wise respect, And all with admirable beautie deckt. 35

First, th’Earth, on adamantine pillers founded Amid the Sea, engirt with brasen bands; Then th’Aire, still flitting, but yet firmely bounded On everie side with pyles of flaming brands, Never consum’d, nor quencht with mortall hands; 40 And last, that mightie shining cristall wall, Wherewith he hath encompassed this all.

By view whereof it plainly may appeare, That still as every thing doth upward tend And further is from earth, so still more cleare 45 And faire it growes, till to his perfect end Of purest Beautie it at last ascend; Ayre more then water, fire much more then ayre, And heaven then fire, appeares more pure and fayre.

Looke thou no further, but affixe thine eye 50 On that bright shynie round still moving masse, The house of blessed God, which men call Skye, All sowd with glistring stars more thicke then grasse, Whereof each other doth in brightnesse passe, But those two most, which, ruling night and day, 55 As king and queene the heavens empire sway;

And tell me then, what hast thou ever seene That to their beautie may compared bee? Or can the sight that is most sharpe and keene Endure their captains flaming head to see? 60 How much lesse those, much higher in degree, And so much fairer, and much more then these, As these are fairer then the land and seas?

For farre above these heavens which here we see, Be others farre exceeding these in light, 65 Not bounded, not corrupt, as these same bee, But infinite in largenesse and in hight, Unmoving, uncorrupt, and spotlesse bright, That need no sunne t’illuminate their spheres, But their owne native light farre passing theirs. 70

And as these heavens still by degrees arize, Until they come to their first movers* bound, That in his mightie compasse doth comprize And carrie all the rest with him around, So those likewise doe by degrees redound**, 75 And rise more faire, till they at last arive To the most faire, whereto they all do strive. [* I.e. the _primum mobile_.] [** I.e. exceed the one the other.]

Faire is the heaven where happy soules have place, In full enioyment of felicitie, Whence they doe still behold the glorious face 80 Of the Divine Eternall Maiestie; More faire is that where those Idees on hie Enraunged be, which Plato so admyred, And pure Intelligences from God inspyred.

Yet fairer is that heaven in which do raine 85 The soveraigne Powres and mightie Potentates, Which in their high protections doe containe All mortall princes and imperiall states; And fayrer yet whereas the royall Seates And heavenly Dominations are set, 90 From whom all earthly governance is fet*. [* _Fet_, fetched, derived.]

Yet farre more faire be those bright Cherubins, Which all with golden wings are overdight, And those eternall burning Seraphins, Which from their faces dart out fierie light; 95 Yet fairer then they both, and much more bright, Be th’Angels and Archangels, which attend On Gods owne person, without rest or end.

These thus in faire each other farre excelling, As to the Highest they approach more near, 100 Yet is that Highest farre beyond all telling, Fairer then all the rest which there appeare, Though all their beauties ioyn’d together were; How then can mortall tongue hope to expresse The image of such endlesse perfectnesse? 105

Cease then, my tongue! and lend unto my mynd Leave to bethinke how great that Beautie is, Whose utmost* parts so beautifull I fynd; How much more those essentiall parts of His, His truth, his love, his wisedome, and his blis, 110 His grace, his doome**, his mercy, and his might, By which he lends us of himselfe a sight! [* _Utmost_, outmost.] [** _Doome_, judgment.]

Those unto all he daily doth display, And shew himselfe in th’image of his grace, As in a looking-glasse, through which he may 115 Be seene of all his creatures vile and base, That are unable else to see his face; His glorious face! which glistereth else so bright, That th’angels selves can not endure his sight.

But we, fraile wights! whose sight cannot sustaine 120 The suns bright beames when he on us doth shyne, But* that their points rebutted** backe againe Are duld, how can we see with feeble eyne The glorie of that Maiestie Divine, In sight of whom both sun and moone are darke, 125 Compared to his least resplendent sparke? [* _But_, unless.] [** _Rebutted_, reflected.]

The meanes, therefore, which unto us is lent Him to behold, is on his workes to looke. Which he hath made in beauty excellent, And in the same, as in a brasen booke, 130 To read enregistred in every nooke His goodnesse, which his beautie doth declare; For all thats good is beautifull and faire.

Thence gathering plumes of perfect speculation To impe* the wings of thy high flying mynd, 135 Mount up aloft through heavenly contemplation From this darke world, whose damps the soule do blynd, And, like the native brood of eagles kynd, On that bright Sunne of Glorie fixe thine eyes, Clear’d from grosse mists of fraile infirmities. 140 [* _Impe_, mend, strengthen.]

Humbled with feare and awfull reverence, Before the footestoole of his Maiestie Throw thy selfe downe, with trembling innocence, Ne dare looke up with córruptible eye On the dred face of that great Deity, 145 For feare lest, if he chaunce to look on thee, Thou turne to nought, and quite confounded be.

But lowly fall before his mercie seate, Close covered with the Lambes integrity From the iust wrath of His avengefull threate 150 That sits upon the righteous throne on hy; His throne is built upon Eternity, More firme and durable then steele or brasse, Or the hard diamond, which them both doth passe.

His scepter is the rod of Righteousnesse, 155 With which he bruseth all his foes to dust, And the great Dragon strongly doth represse Under the rigour of his iudgment iust; His seate is Truth, to which the faithfull trust, From whence proceed her beames so pure and bright, 160 That all about him sheddeth glorious light:

Light farre exceeding that bright blazing sparke Which darted is from Titans flaming head, That with his beames enlumineth the darke And dampish air, wherby al things are red*; 165 Whose nature yet so much is marvelled Of mortall wits, that it doth much amaze The greatest wisards** which thereon do gaze. [* _Red_, perceived.] [** _Wisards_, wise men, _savants_.]

But that immortall light which there doth shine Is many thousand times more bright, more cleare, 170 More excellent, more glorious, more divine; Through which to God all mortall actions here, And even the thoughts of men, do plaine appeare; For from th’Eternall Truth it doth proceed, Through heavenly vertue which her beames doe breed. 175

With the great glorie of that wondrous light His throne is all encompassed around, And hid in his owne brightnesse from the sight Of all that looke thereon with eyes unsound; And underneath his feet are to be found 180 Thunder, and lightning, and tempestuous fyre, The instruments of his avenging yre.

There in his bosome Sapience doth sit, The soveraine dearling of the Deity, Clad like a queene in royall robes, most fit 185 For so great powre and peerelesse maiesty, And all with gemmes and iewels gorgeously Adornd, that brighter then the starres appeare, And make her native brightnes seem more cleare.

And on her head a crown of purest gold 190 Is set, in signe of highest soverainty; And in her hand a scepter she doth hold, With which she rules the house of God on hy, And menageth the ever-moving sky, And in the same these lower creatures all 195 Subiected to her powre imperiall.

Both heaven and earth obey unto her will, And all the creatures which they both containe; For of her fulnesse, which the world doth fill, They all partake, and do in state remaine 200 As their great Maker did at first ordaine, Through observation of her high beheast, By which they first were made, and still increast.

The fairnesse of her face no tongue can tell; For she the daughters of all wemens race, 205 And angels eke, in beautie doth excell, Sparkled on her from Gods owne glorious face, And more increast by her owne goodly grace, That it doth farre exceed all humane thought, Ne can on earth compared be to ought. 210

Ne could that painter (had he lived yet) Which pictured Venus with so curious quill That all posteritie admyred it, Have purtray’d this, for all his maistring* skill; Ne she her selfe, had she remained still, 215 And were as faire as fabling wits do fayne, Could once come neare this Beauty soverayne. [* _Maistring_, superior.]

But had those wits, the wonders of their dayes, Or that sweete Teian poet*, which did spend His plenteous vaine in setting forth her praise, 220 Seen but a glims of this which I pretend**, How wondrously would he her face commend, Above that idole of his fayning thought, That all the world should with his rimes be fraught! [* I.e. Anacreon.] [** _Pretend_, set forth, (or, simply) intend.]

How then dare I, the novice of his art, 225 Presume to picture so divine a wight, Or hope t’expresse her least perfections part, Whose beautie filles the heavens with her light, And darkes the earth with shadow of her sight? Ah, gentle Muse! thou art too weake and faint 230 The pourtraict of so heavenly hew to paint.

Let angels, which her goodly face behold, And see at will, her soveraigne praises sing, And those most sacred mysteries unfold Of that faire love of mightie Heavens King; 235 Enough is me t’admyre so heavenly thing, And being thus with her huge love possest, In th’only wonder of her selfe to rest.

But whoso may, thrise happie man him hold Of all on earth, whom God so much doth grace, 240 And lets his owne Beloved to behold; For in the view of her celestiall face All ioy, all blisse, all happinesse, have place; Ne ought on earth can want unto the wight Who of her selfe can win the wishfull sight. 245

For she out of her secret threasury Plentie of riches forth on him will powre, Even heavenly riches, which there hidden ly Within the closet of her chastest bowre, Th’eternall portion of her precious dowre, 250 Which Mighty God hath given to her free, And to all those which thereof worthy bee.

None thereof worthy be, but those whom shee Vouchsafeth to her presence to receave, And letteth them her lovely face to see, 255 Wherof such wondrous pleasures they conceave, And sweete contentment, that it doth bereave Their soul of sense, through infinite delight, And them transport from flesh into the spright.

In which they see such admirable things, 260 As carries them into an extasy; And heare such heavenly notes and carolings Of Gods high praise, that filles the brasen sky; And feele such ioy and pleasure inwardly, That maketh them all worldly cares forget, 265 And onely thinke on that before them set.

Ne from thenceforth doth any fleshly sense, Or idle thought of earthly things, remaine; But all that earst seemd sweet seemes now offence, And all that pleased earst now seemes to paine: 270 Their ioy, their comfort, their desire, their game, Is fixed all on that which now they see; All other sights but fayned shadowes bee.

And that faire lampe which useth to enflame The hearts of men with selfe-consuming fyre, 275 Thenceforth seemes fowle, and full of sinfull blame And all that pompe to which proud minds aspyre By name of Honor, and so much desyre, Seemes to them basenesse, and all riches drosse, And all mirth sadnesse, and all lucre losse. 280

So full their eyes are of that glorious sight, And senses fraught with such satietie. That in nought else on earth they can delight, But in th’aspect of that felicitie Which they have written in theyr inward ey; 285 On which they feed, and in theyr fastened mynd All happie ioy and full contentment fynd.

Ah, then, my hungry soule! which long hast fed On idle fancies of thy foolish thought, And, with false Beauties flattring bait misled, 290 Hast after vaine deceiptfull shadowes sought, Which all are fled, and now have left thee nought But late repentance, through thy follies prief, Ah! ceasse to gaze on matter of thy grief:

And looke at last up to that Soveraine Light, 295 From whose pure beams al perfect Beauty springs, That kindleth love in every godly spright, Even the love of God; which loathing brings Of this vile world and these gay-seeming things; With whose sweet pleasures being so possest, 300 Thy straying thoughts henceforth for ever rest.

EPIGRAMS AND SONNETS.

EPIGRAMS.

I.*

[* In the folio of 1611, these four short pieces are appended to the Sonnets. The second and third are translated from Marot’s Epigrams, Liv. III. No. 5, _De Diane_, and No. 24, _De Cupido et de sa Dame_. C.]

In youth, before I waxed old, The blynd boy, Venus baby, For want of cunning, made me bold In bitter hyve to grope for honny: But when he saw me stung and cry, He tooke his wings and away did fly.

II.

As Diane hunted on a day, She chaunst to come where Cupid lay, His quiver by his head: One of his shafts she stole away, And one of hers did close convay, Into the others stead: With that Love wounded my Loves hart, But Diane, beasts with Cupids dart.

III.

I saw, in secret to my dame How little Cupid humbly came, And said to her, “All hayle, my mother!” But when he saw me laugh, for shame His face with bashfull blood did flame, Not knowing Venus from the other. “Then, never blush, Cupid,” quoth I, “For many have err’d in this beauty.”

IV.

Upon a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbring
All in his mothers lap,
A gentle Bee, with his loud trumpet murm’ring,
About him flew by hap.
Whereof when he was wakened with the noyse,
And saw the beast so small,
“Whats this,” quoth he, “that gives so great a voyce,
That wakens men withall?”
In angry wize he flies about,
And threatens all with corage stout. 10

To whom his mother, closely* smiling, sayd,
’Twixt earnest and ’twixt game:
“See! thou thy selfe likewise art lyttle made,
If thou regard the same.
And yet thou suffrest neyther gods in sky, 15
Nor men in earth, to rest:
But when thou art disposed cruelly,
Theyr sleepe thou doost molest.
Then eyther change thy cruelty,
Or give lyke leave unto the fly.” 20
[* _Closely_, secretly.]

Nathelesse, the cruell boy, not so content,
Would needs the fly pursue,
And in his hand, with heedlesse hardiment,
Him caught for to subdue.
But when on it he hasty hand did lay, 25
The Bee him stung therefore.
“Now out, alas,” he cryde, “and welaway!
I wounded am full sore.
The fly, that I so much did scorne,
Hath hurt me with his little horne.” 30