Cephalus and Procris Narcissus. By Thomas Edwards. From the unique copy in the Cathedral library, Peterborough. Edited by Rev. W. E. Buckley ... with an appendix from divers sources |
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L'ENVOY. |
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L'ENVOY.
Scarring beautie all bewitching,
Tell a tale to hurt it selfe,
Tels a tale how men are fleeting,
All of Loue and his power,
Tels how womens shewes are pelfe,
And their constancies as flowers.
Tell a tale to hurt it selfe,
Tels a tale how men are fleeting,
All of Loue and his power,
Tels how womens shewes are pelfe,
And their constancies as flowers.
Aie me pretie wanton boy,
What a sire did hatch thee forth,
To shew thee of the worlds annoy,
Ere thou kenn'st anie pleasure:
Such a fauour's nothing worth,
To touch not to taste the treasure.
What a sire did hatch thee forth,
To shew thee of the worlds annoy,
Ere thou kenn'st anie pleasure:
Such a fauour's nothing worth,
To touch not to taste the treasure.
Poets that diuinely dreampt,
Telling wonders visedly,
My slow Muse haue quite benempt,
And my rude skonce haue aslackt,
So I cannot cunningly,
Make an image to awake.
Telling wonders visedly,
My slow Muse haue quite benempt,
And my rude skonce haue aslackt,
So I cannot cunningly,
Make an image to awake.
Ne the frostie lims of age,
Vncouth shape (mickle wonder)
To tread with them in equipage,
As quaint light blearing eies,
Come my pen broken vnder,
Magick-spels such deuize.
Vncouth shape (mickle wonder)
To tread with them in equipage,
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Come my pen broken vnder,
Magick-spels such deuize.
Collyn was a mighty swaine,
In his power all do flourish,
We are shepheards but in vaine,
There is but one tooke the charge,
By his toile we do nourish,
And by him are inlarg'd.
In his power all do flourish,
We are shepheards but in vaine,
There is but one tooke the charge,
By his toile we do nourish,
And by him are inlarg'd.
He vnlockt Albions glorie,
He twas tolde of Sidneys honor,
Onely he of our stories,
Must be sung in greatest pride,
In an Eglogue he hath wonne her,
Fame and honor on his side.
He twas tolde of Sidneys honor,
Onely he of our stories,
Must be sung in greatest pride,
In an Eglogue he hath wonne her,
Fame and honor on his side.
Deale we not with Rosamond,
For the world our sawe will coate,
Amintas and Leander's gone,
Oh deere sonnes of stately kings,
Blessed be your nimble throats,
That so amorously could sing.
For the world our sawe will coate,
Amintas and Leander's gone,
Oh deere sonnes of stately kings,
Blessed be your nimble throats,
That so amorously could sing.
Adon deafly masking thro,
Stately troupes rich conceited,
Shew'd he well deserued to,
Loues delight on him to gaze,
And had not loue her selfe intreated,
Other nymphs had sent him baies.
Stately troupes rich conceited,
Shew'd he well deserued to,
Loues delight on him to gaze,
And had not loue her selfe intreated,
Other nymphs had sent him baies.
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Eke in purple roabes distaind,
Amid'st the Center of this clime,
I haue heard saie doth remaine,
One whose power floweth far,
That should haue bene of our rime,
The onely obiect and the star.
Amid'st the Center of this clime,
I haue heard saie doth remaine,
One whose power floweth far,
That should haue bene of our rime,
The onely obiect and the star.
Well could his bewitching pen,
Done the Muses obiects to vs,
Although he differs much from men,
Tilting under Frieries,
Yet his golden art might woo vs,
To haue honored him with baies.
Done the Muses obiects to vs,
Although he differs much from men,
Tilting under Frieries,
Yet his golden art might woo vs,
To haue honored him with baies.
He that gan vp to tilt,
Babels fresh remembrance,
Of the worlds-wracke how twas spilt,
And a world of stories made,
In a catalogues semblance
Hath alike the Muses staide.
Babels fresh remembrance,
Of the worlds-wracke how twas spilt,
And a world of stories made,
In a catalogues semblance
Hath alike the Muses staide.
What remaines peerelesse men,
That in Albions confines are,
But eterniz'd with the pen,
In sacred Poems and sweet laies,
Should be sent to Nations farre,
The greatnes of faire Albions praise.
That in Albions confines are,
But eterniz'd with the pen,
In sacred Poems and sweet laies,
Should be sent to Nations farre,
The greatnes of faire Albions praise.
Let them be audacious proude,
Whose deuises are of currant,
Euerie stampe is not allow'd,
Yet the coine may proue as good,
Yourselues know your lines haue warrant,
I will talke of Robin Hood.
Whose deuises are of currant,
Euerie stampe is not allow'd,
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Yourselues know your lines haue warrant,
I will talke of Robin Hood.
And when all is done and past,
Narcissus in another sort,
And gaier clothes shall be pla'st,
Eke perhaps in good plight,
In meane while I'le make report,
Of your winnings that do write.
Narcissus in another sort,
And gaier clothes shall be pla'st,
Eke perhaps in good plight,
In meane while I'le make report,
Of your winnings that do write.
Hence a golden tale might grow,
Of due honor and the praise,
That longs to Poets, but the show
were not worth the while to spend,
Sufficeth that they merit baies,
Saie what I can it must haue end,
Then thus faire Albion flourish so,
As Thames may nourish as did Pô.
Of due honor and the praise,
That longs to Poets, but the show
were not worth the while to spend,
Sufficeth that they merit baies,
Saie what I can it must haue end,
Then thus faire Albion flourish so,
As Thames may nourish as did Pô.
FINIS.
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