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 | Amoretti and Epithalamion |  |
TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFULL
SIR ROBART NEEDHAM, KNIGHT.
SIR, to gratulate your safe return from Ireland, I had nothing so readie, nor thought any thing so meete, as these sweete conceited Sonets, the deede of that wel deserving gentleman, maister Edmond Spenser: whose name sufficiently warranting the worthinesse of the work, I do more confidently presume to publish it in his absence, under your name, to whom (in my poore opinion) the patronage thereof doth in some respectes properly appertaine. For, besides your judgement and delighte in learned poesie, this gentle Muse, for her former perfection long wished for in Englande, nowe at the length crossing the Seas in your happy companye, (though to your selfe unknowne) seemeth to make coyse of you, as meetest to give her deserved countenaunce, after her retourne: entertaine her, then, (Right worshipfull) in sorte best beseeming your gentle minde, and her merite, and take in worth my good will herein, who seeke no more but to shew my selfe yours in all dutifull affection.
TO THE AUTHOR.
And weaker sights may wander soone astray:
But, when they see his glorious raies unclowded,
With steddy steps they keepe the perfect way:
So, while this Muse in forraine landes doth stay,
Invention weepes, and pens are cast aside:
The time, like night, deprivd of chearefull day;
And few do write, but (ah!) too soone may slide.
Then, hie thee home, that art our perfect guide,
And with thy wit illustrate Englands fame,
Dawnting thereby our neighboures auncient pride,
That do, for poesie, challendge cheefest name:
So we that live, and ages that succeede,
With great applause thy learned works shall reede.
Pyping to shepherds thy sweete roundelaies:
Or whether singing, in some lofty vaine,
Heroick deedes of past or present daies:
Or whether in thy lovely mistris praise,
Thou list to exercise thy learned quill;
Thy muse hath got such grace and power to please,
With rare invention, bewtified by skill,
As who therein can ever joy their fill!
O! therefore let that happy muse proceede
To clime the height of Vertues sacred hill,
Where endles honour shall be made thy meede:
Because no malice of succeeding daies
Can rase those records of thy lasting praise.
| Amoretti and Epithalamion | |