The Works of Michael Drayton Edited by J. William Hebel |
 | I. |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
TO THE MAIESTIE OF KING JAMES.
|
|
|
|
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | The Works of Michael Drayton |  |
469
TO THE MAIESTIE OF KING JAMES.
A gratulatorie Poem by Michaell Drayton.
471
The hopefull raigne of a most happy King,
Loe thus excites our early Muse to sing,
Of her own strength which boldly thus presumes,
That's yet unimpt with any borowed plumes,
A Counsailes wisdome, and their grave fore-sight,
Lends me this luster, and resplendent light:
Whose well-prepared pollicie, and care,
For theyr indoubted Soveraigne so prepare,
Other vaine titles strongly to withstand,
Plac'd in the bosome of a peacefull Land:
That blacke destruction which now many a day,
Had fix'd her sterne eye for a violent pray,
Frustrate by their great providence and power,
Her very nerves is ready to devoure,
And even for griefe downe sincking in a swound
Beats her snak'd head against the verdant ground.
But whilst the ayre thus thunders with the noise,
Perhaps unheard, why should I straine my voyce?
When stirs, & tumults have been hot'st & proudest,
The noble Muse hath song the stern'st & lowdest;
And know great Prince, that Muse thy glory sings,
(What ere detraction snarle) was made for Kings.
The neighing courser in this time of mirth,
That with his arm'd hoofe beats th'reecchoing earth,
The trumpets clangor, & the peoples cry,
Not like the Muse can strike the burnish'd skie,
Which should heaven quench th'eternal quicking springs,
The stars put out, could light them with her wings.
What though perhaps my selfe I not intrude
Amongst th'unstedy wondring multitude,
The tedious tumults, and the boystrous throng,
That presse to view thee as thou com'st along,
The praise I give thee shall thy welcome keepe,
When all these rude crowds in the dust shal sleepe,
And when applause and shouts are hush'd & still,
Then shall my smooth verse chant thee cleer & shril.
With thy beginning, doth the Spring begin,
And as thy Usher gently brings thee in,
Which in consent doth happily accord
With the yeere kept to the incarnate Word,
And in that Month (cohering by a fate)
By the old world to wisdome dedicate,
Thy Prophet thus doth seriously apply,
As by a strong unfailing Augury,
That as the fruitfull, and ful-bosom'd Spring,
So shall thy raigne be rich and florishing:
The month thy conquests, & atchievements great
By those shall sit on thy Imperiall seate,
And by the yeere I seriously divine
The Crowne for ever setled in thy line.
From Cornwall now past Calidons proude strength,
Thy Empire beares eight hundred miles in length:
Halfe which in bredth her bosome forth doth lay
From the faire German to'th Vergivian sea:
Thy Realme of Ireland, a most fertile Land,
Brought in subjection to thy glorious hand,
And all the Iles theyr chalkie tops advance
To the sunne setting from the coast of Fraunce.
Saturne to thee his soveraignty resignes,
Op'ning the lock'd way to the wealthy mines:
And till thy raigne Fame all this while did hover,
The North-west passage that thou might'st discover
Unto the Indies, where that treasure lies
Whose plenty might ten other worlds suffice.
Neptune and Jove together doe conspire,
This gives his trydent, that his three-forkt fire,
And to thy hand doe give the kayes to keepe,
Of the profound immeasurable deepe.
Loe thus excites our early Muse to sing,
Of her own strength which boldly thus presumes,
That's yet unimpt with any borowed plumes,
A Counsailes wisdome, and their grave fore-sight,
Lends me this luster, and resplendent light:
Whose well-prepared pollicie, and care,
For theyr indoubted Soveraigne so prepare,
Other vaine titles strongly to withstand,
Plac'd in the bosome of a peacefull Land:
That blacke destruction which now many a day,
Had fix'd her sterne eye for a violent pray,
Frustrate by their great providence and power,
Her very nerves is ready to devoure,
And even for griefe downe sincking in a swound
Beats her snak'd head against the verdant ground.
But whilst the ayre thus thunders with the noise,
Perhaps unheard, why should I straine my voyce?
When stirs, & tumults have been hot'st & proudest,
The noble Muse hath song the stern'st & lowdest;
And know great Prince, that Muse thy glory sings,
(What ere detraction snarle) was made for Kings.
The neighing courser in this time of mirth,
That with his arm'd hoofe beats th'reecchoing earth,
The trumpets clangor, & the peoples cry,
Not like the Muse can strike the burnish'd skie,
Which should heaven quench th'eternal quicking springs,
The stars put out, could light them with her wings.
What though perhaps my selfe I not intrude
Amongst th'unstedy wondring multitude,
The tedious tumults, and the boystrous throng,
That presse to view thee as thou com'st along,
The praise I give thee shall thy welcome keepe,
When all these rude crowds in the dust shal sleepe,
472
Then shall my smooth verse chant thee cleer & shril.
With thy beginning, doth the Spring begin,
And as thy Usher gently brings thee in,
Which in consent doth happily accord
With the yeere kept to the incarnate Word,
And in that Month (cohering by a fate)
By the old world to wisdome dedicate,
Thy Prophet thus doth seriously apply,
As by a strong unfailing Augury,
That as the fruitfull, and ful-bosom'd Spring,
So shall thy raigne be rich and florishing:
The month thy conquests, & atchievements great
By those shall sit on thy Imperiall seate,
And by the yeere I seriously divine
The Crowne for ever setled in thy line.
From Cornwall now past Calidons proude strength,
Thy Empire beares eight hundred miles in length:
Halfe which in bredth her bosome forth doth lay
From the faire German to'th Vergivian sea:
Thy Realme of Ireland, a most fertile Land,
Brought in subjection to thy glorious hand,
And all the Iles theyr chalkie tops advance
To the sunne setting from the coast of Fraunce.
Saturne to thee his soveraignty resignes,
Op'ning the lock'd way to the wealthy mines:
And till thy raigne Fame all this while did hover,
The North-west passage that thou might'st discover
Unto the Indies, where that treasure lies
Whose plenty might ten other worlds suffice.
Neptune and Jove together doe conspire,
This gives his trydent, that his three-forkt fire,
And to thy hand doe give the kayes to keepe,
Of the profound immeasurable deepe.
But soft my Muse, check thy abundant straine
To the conceiving of th'unskilfull braine,
That whilst thy true descent I doe rehearse,
Th'unlearned'st soule may sweetly tast my verse.
Which now in order let me first dispose,
And tell the union of the blessed Rose,
That to thy Grandsire Henry I may bring thee,
(From whom I after to thy birth may sing thee.)
That Tudors blood did worthily prefer,
From the great Queene that beautious Dowager,
Whose sonne brave Richmond from the Brittons fet,
Graft in the stock of Princely Sommerset,
The third faire Sien, the sweet Roseat plant,
Sprong from the Roote of the Lancastrian Gant,
Which had seaventh Henry, that of royall blood
By his deere Mother, is the Red-rose bud,
As theyr great Merlin propheci'd before
Should the old Brittons regalty restore,
Which Henry raigning by th'usurpers death,
Maried the Princesse faire Elizabeth
Fourth Edwards daughter, whose predest'nate bed
Did thus conjoyne the White-rose, and the Red:
These Roseall branches as I thus entwyne,
In curious trayles embelishing thy lyne,
To thy blest Cradell let me bring thee on,
Rightly deriv'd from thy great Grandsires throne.
Who holding Scotlands amity in worth,
Strongly to linck him with King James the fourth,
His eldest daughter did to him unite,
Th'unparaleld bright lovely Margarite,
Which to that husband prosperously did bring,
The fifth of that Name, Scotlands lawfull King,
Father to Mary (long in England seene)
The Daulphins dowager, the late Scottish Queene.
To the conceiving of th'unskilfull braine,
That whilst thy true descent I doe rehearse,
Th'unlearned'st soule may sweetly tast my verse.
473
And tell the union of the blessed Rose,
That to thy Grandsire Henry I may bring thee,
(From whom I after to thy birth may sing thee.)
That Tudors blood did worthily prefer,
From the great Queene that beautious Dowager,
Whose sonne brave Richmond from the Brittons fet,
Graft in the stock of Princely Sommerset,
The third faire Sien, the sweet Roseat plant,
Sprong from the Roote of the Lancastrian Gant,
Which had seaventh Henry, that of royall blood
By his deere Mother, is the Red-rose bud,
As theyr great Merlin propheci'd before
Should the old Brittons regalty restore,
Which Henry raigning by th'usurpers death,
Maried the Princesse faire Elizabeth
Fourth Edwards daughter, whose predest'nate bed
Did thus conjoyne the White-rose, and the Red:
These Roseall branches as I thus entwyne,
In curious trayles embelishing thy lyne,
To thy blest Cradell let me bring thee on,
Rightly deriv'd from thy great Grandsires throne.
Who holding Scotlands amity in worth,
Strongly to linck him with King James the fourth,
His eldest daughter did to him unite,
Th'unparaleld bright lovely Margarite,
Which to that husband prosperously did bring,
The fifth of that Name, Scotlands lawfull King,
Father to Mary (long in England seene)
The Daulphins dowager, the late Scottish Queene.
But now to Margarite backe againe to come,
From whose so fruitfull, and most blessed wombe
We bring our full joy, James her husband dead,
Tooke gallant Anguish to a second bed,
To whom ere long she bare a princely gerle,
Maried to Lenox, that brave-issued Earle,
This beautious Dowglasse, as the powers imply,
Brought that Prince Henry, Duke of Albany,
Who in the prime of strength, in youths sum'd pride
Maried the Scotch Queene on the other side,
Whose happy bed to that sweet Lord did bring,
This Brittaine hope, James our undoubted King,
In true succession, as the first of other
Of Henries line by Father, and by Mother.
Thus from the old stock showing thee sprong to be,
Grafting the pure White, with the Red-rose tree,
By mixture made vermillion as they meet,
For in that colour is the Rose most sweet:
So in thy Crowne the precious flower that growes
Be it the Damaske, or Vermillion Rose,
Amongst those Reliques, that victorious King,
Edward cald Longshanks, did from Scotland bring,
And as a Trophie royally prefer
To the rich Shrine in famous Westminster,
That stone reserv'd in England many a day,
On which great Jacob his grave head did lay,
And saw descending Angels whilst he slept:
Which since that time by sundry Nations kept,
(From age to age I could recite you how,
Could I my pen that liberty alow.)
An ancient Prophet long agoe fore-told,
(Though fooles their sawes for vanities doe hold)
A King of Scotland, ages comming on,
Where it was found, be crown'd upon that stone.
Two famous Kingdoms seperate thus long,
Within one Iland, and that speake one tongue,
Since Brute first raign'd, (if men of Brute alow)
Never before united untill now,
What power, nor war could do, nor time expected,
Thy blessed birth hath happily effected.
O now revive that noble Brittaines name,
From which at first our ancient honors came,
Which with both Nations fitly doth agree
That Scotch and English without difference be,
And in that place wher feuds were wont to spring
Let us light Jigs, and joyfull Pæans sing.
Whilst such as rightly propheci'd thy raigne,
Deride those Ideots held their words for vaine.
Had not my soule beene proofe gainst envies spite
I had not breath'd thy memory to write:
Nor had my zealous, and religious layes
Told thy rare vertues, and thy glorious dayes.
Renowned Prince, when all these tumults cease,
Even in the calme, and Musick of thy peace,
If in thy grace thou deigne to favour us,
And to the Muses be propitious,
Cæsar himselfe, Roomes glorious wits among,
Was not so highly, nor divinely sung.
From whose so fruitfull, and most blessed wombe
We bring our full joy, James her husband dead,
Tooke gallant Anguish to a second bed,
To whom ere long she bare a princely gerle,
Maried to Lenox, that brave-issued Earle,
This beautious Dowglasse, as the powers imply,
Brought that Prince Henry, Duke of Albany,
474
Maried the Scotch Queene on the other side,
Whose happy bed to that sweet Lord did bring,
This Brittaine hope, James our undoubted King,
In true succession, as the first of other
Of Henries line by Father, and by Mother.
Thus from the old stock showing thee sprong to be,
Grafting the pure White, with the Red-rose tree,
By mixture made vermillion as they meet,
For in that colour is the Rose most sweet:
So in thy Crowne the precious flower that growes
Be it the Damaske, or Vermillion Rose,
Amongst those Reliques, that victorious King,
Edward cald Longshanks, did from Scotland bring,
And as a Trophie royally prefer
To the rich Shrine in famous Westminster,
That stone reserv'd in England many a day,
On which great Jacob his grave head did lay,
And saw descending Angels whilst he slept:
Which since that time by sundry Nations kept,
(From age to age I could recite you how,
Could I my pen that liberty alow.)
An ancient Prophet long agoe fore-told,
(Though fooles their sawes for vanities doe hold)
A King of Scotland, ages comming on,
Where it was found, be crown'd upon that stone.
Two famous Kingdoms seperate thus long,
Within one Iland, and that speake one tongue,
Since Brute first raign'd, (if men of Brute alow)
Never before united untill now,
What power, nor war could do, nor time expected,
Thy blessed birth hath happily effected.
O now revive that noble Brittaines name,
From which at first our ancient honors came,
Which with both Nations fitly doth agree
That Scotch and English without difference be,
And in that place wher feuds were wont to spring
Let us light Jigs, and joyfull Pæans sing.
475
Deride those Ideots held their words for vaine.
Had not my soule beene proofe gainst envies spite
I had not breath'd thy memory to write:
Nor had my zealous, and religious layes
Told thy rare vertues, and thy glorious dayes.
Renowned Prince, when all these tumults cease,
Even in the calme, and Musick of thy peace,
If in thy grace thou deigne to favour us,
And to the Muses be propitious,
Cæsar himselfe, Roomes glorious wits among,
Was not so highly, nor divinely sung.
The very earthl'est & degenerat'st spirit,
That is most voyd of vertue, and of merit,
With the austeer'st, and impudentest face,
Will thrust himselfe the formost to thy grace;
Those silken, laced, and perfumed hinds,
That have rich bodies, but poore wretched minds,
But from thy Court (O Worthy) banish quite
The foole, the Pandar, and the Parasite,
And call thy selfe most happy (then be bold)
When worthie places, worthi'st men doe hold,
The servile clowne for shame shall hide his head,
His ignorance, and basenesse frustrated,
Set lovely vertue ever in thy view,
And love them most, that most doe her pursue,
So shalt thou ad renowne unto thy state,
A King most great, most wise, most fortunate.
That is most voyd of vertue, and of merit,
With the austeer'st, and impudentest face,
Will thrust himselfe the formost to thy grace;
Those silken, laced, and perfumed hinds,
That have rich bodies, but poore wretched minds,
But from thy Court (O Worthy) banish quite
The foole, the Pandar, and the Parasite,
And call thy selfe most happy (then be bold)
When worthie places, worthi'st men doe hold,
The servile clowne for shame shall hide his head,
His ignorance, and basenesse frustrated,
Set lovely vertue ever in thy view,
And love them most, that most doe her pursue,
So shalt thou ad renowne unto thy state,
A King most great, most wise, most fortunate.
FINIS.
| The Works of Michael Drayton | |