An Ode.
I
Awake, faire Muse; for I intend
These everlasting lynes to thee,
And, honord Drayton, come & lend
An eare to this sweet melodye:
For on my harpes most high & siluer string,
To those Nine Sisters whom I loue, I sing.
2
This man through death & horror seekes
Honor, by the Victorious Steele;
Another in vnmapped creekes
For Jewells moares his winged keele.
The clamrous Barre wins some, & others byte
At lookes throwne from a mushrome Fauorite.
3
But I, that serue the louely Graces,
Spurne at that drosse, which most adore;
And tytles hate, like paynted faces,
And heart-fed Care for euermore.
Those pleasures I disdaine, which are pursude
With praise & wishes by the multitude.
4
The Bayes, which deathles Learning crownes,
Me of Appollo's troope installs:
The Satyres following ore the downes
Fair Nymphs to rusticke festiualls,
Make me affect (where men no traffique haue)
The holy horror of a Sauage Caue.
5
Through the faire skyes I thence intend,
With an vnusd & powerfull wing,
To beare me to my Jorneyes end:
And those that taste the Muses spring,
Too much celestiall fire haue at their birth,
To lyue long tyme like cōmon soules in Earth.
6
From faire Aurora will I reare
My selfe vnto the source of floods;
And from the Ethiopian Beare,
To him as white as snowy woods;
Nor shall I feare (for this daye taking flight)
To be wounde vp in any vayle of night.
7
Of Death I may not feare the dart,
As is the vse of Humane State;
For well I knowe my better part
Dreads not the hand of Tyme or Fate.
Tremble at Death, Enuye, & fortune whoe
Haue but one life: Heauen giues a Poet two.
8
All costly obsequies invaye,
Marble & paintyng too, as vayne;
My ashes shall not meet with Clay,
As those doe of the vulgar trayne.
And if my Muse to Spencers glory come
No King shall owne my verses for his Tombe.”