University of Virginia Library

IX. OCCASIONAL POEMS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES.

1593–1607.

An Ode.

A Pastorall.

Let's loue: the sun doth set, and rise againe,
But whenas our short light
Comes once to set, it makes eternall night.

A Description of Beauty, translated out of Marino.

To the Angell Spirit of the most excellent, Sr. Phillip Sidney.

Vlisses and the Syren.

Syren.
Come worthy Greeke, Vlisses come
Possesse these shores with me:
The windes and Seas are troublesome,
And heere we may be free.
Here may we sit, and view their toile
That trauaile on the deepe,
And ioy the day in mirth the while,
And spend the night in sleepe.

Vlis.
Faire Nimph, if fame, or honor were
To be atteynd with ease,
Then would I come and rest with thee,
And leaue such toyles as these.
But here it dwels, and here must I
With danger seeke it forth:
To spend the time luxuriously
Becomes not men of worth.

Syr.
Vlisses, O be not deceiu'd
With that vnreall name:
This honour is a thing conceiu'd,
And rests on others fame.
Begotten onely to molest
Our peace, and to beguile
(The best thing of our life) our rest,
And giue vs vp to toile.

Vlis.
Delicious Nimph, suppose there were
Nor honour, nor report,
Yet manlines would scorne to weare
The time in idle sport.
For toyle doth giue a better touch,
To make vs feele our ioy:
And ease finds tediousnesse as much
As labour yeelds annoy.

Syr.
Then pleasure likewise seemes the shore
Whereto tends all your toyle,
Which you forgo to make it more,
And perish oft the while.
Who may disporte them diuersly,
Finde neuer tedious day,
And ease may haue varietie,
As well as action may.

Vlis.
But natures of the noblest frame,
These toyles, and dangers please,
And they take comfort in the same,
As much as you in ease.
And with the thoughts of actions past
Are . . . . reuealed still;
When pleasure leaues a touch at last,
To shew that it was ill.

Syr.
That doth opinion onely cause,
That's out of custome bred,
Which makes vs many other lawes
Then euer Nature did.
No widdowes waile for our delights,
Our sportes are without bloud,
The world we see by warlike wights,
Receiues more hurt then goud.

Vlis.
But yet the state of things require
These motions of vnrest,
And these great Sports of high desire,
Seeme borne to turne them best.
To purge the mischiefes that increase
And all good order mar:
For oft we see a wicked peace,
To be well chang'd for war.

Syr.
Well, well Vlisses then I see
I shall not haue thee heare,
And therefore I will come to thee,
And take my fortunes there.
I must be wonne that cannot win,
Yet lost were I not wonne:
For beauty hath created bin,
T'vndoo, or be vndonne.

“To Edward Seymour Earle of Hertford:

Concerning his question of a distressed man in a Boate vpon the Seas.

Of William Jones, his “Nennio 1595.”

From “Penelopes Complaint: Or, A Mirrour for wanton Minions.

Why seeks she titles, boasts she riches, why—Avisa?
Is she with thy Penelope to vie?
The one renowned, revered, true to her own: Avisa
An unknown woman from a place unknown.
The one spouse of a prince of glorious name: Avisa
Child of an innkeeper, wife of the same.
The one is chaste, her husband being away: Avisa
Chaste when he is at home, by night and day.
The one through twice ten years strong to endure: Avisa
Through scarce as many days could be kept pure.
The one to a hundred lords refused her hand: Avisa
The force and prayers of seven could scarce withstand.
The one would spin until her task was done: Avisa
Ne'er tired the spinning-wheel with what she spun.
The one to the Greeks and Romans praise: Avisa
Has but one man her name and fame to raise.
Long live Penelope and flourish fair: Avisa
May never with Penelope compare.

From “Il Pastor Fido; or The Faithfull Shepheard.”

Translated out of Italian into English. 1602.

From “BARTAS his Deuine Weekes & Workes.”

Translated by Iosuah Syluester, 1605.

Thus to aduenture forth, and re-conuay
The best of treasures, from a Forraine Coast,
And take that wealth wherin they gloried most,
And make it Ours by such a gallant pray,
And that without in-iustice; doth bewray
The glory of the Worke, that we may boast
Much to haue wonne, and others nothing lost
By taking such a famous prize away.
As thou industrious Sylvester hast wrought,
And heere enritch'd vs with th'immortall store
Of others sacred lines: which from them brought
Comes by thy taking greater then before:
So hast thou lighted from a flame deuout,
As great a flame, that neuer shall goe out.

From Clement Edmundes (Remembrancer of the Cittie of London): his “Obseruations vpon Cæsars Comentaries, 1609.”

From “Queen Anna's New World of Words,” etc. Collected by John Florio. 1611.

I stand not to giue praise before the face
Of this great worke, that doth it selfe commend:
But to congratulate the good and grace
That England com's thereby to apprehend:
And in hir name to thanke your industry
Laborius Flório, who haue so much wrought
To honour hir in bringing Italy
To speake hir language, and to giue hir note
Of all the treasure that rich tongue containes:
Wherein I cannot but admire your paines
In gathering vp this vniuersall store,
And furniture of words for euery arte,
And skill of man: So that there seem's no more
Beyond this search, that knowledge can impart.
Which being a worke which would take vp the powers
Of more then one whole man, I wonder how
You could subtract so many serious howres
From that great summe of seruice that you owe.
But that it seemes the beaming Gracefulnesse
That lightens from the most refulgent Qveene
Our sacred Mistris, work's that ablenesse
As mak's you more, then els you could haue beene.
Wherein the power of Princes well is seene
That can infuse such force, and make age greene.
And it were well, if in this season, when
They leaue erecting Churches, Colledges,
And pious monuments, they would build men
Who of their glory may be witnesses,
And what they doe be theirs: As Mazons raise
Work's not for them, but for their masters praise.
For, would they but be ples'd to know, how small
A portion of that ouer-flowing waste
Which run's from them, would turne the wheeles and all
The frame of wit, to make their glory last:
I thinke they would doe something: but the stirre
Still about greatnesse, giues it not the space
To looke out from it selfe, or to conferre
Grace but by chance, and as men are in place.
But that concern's not me, It is ynow
I doe applaud your worke. Thus from my Plow.

From John Florio's 1613 edition of his “Done into English” Essayes written in French by Michael Lord of Montaigne.

Concerning the honor of bookes.

Since Honor from the Honorer proceeds,
How well do they deserue that memorie
And leaue in bookes for all posterities
The names of worthyes, and their vertuous deedes
When all their glorie els, like water weedes
Without their element, presently dyes,
And all their greatnes quite forgotten lyes:
And when, and how they florisht no man heedes.
How poore remembrances, are statutes, Toomes
And other monuments that men erect
To Princes, which remaine in closed roomes
Where but a few behold them; in respect
Of Bookes, that to the vniuersall eye
Shew how they liu'd, the other where they lye.

From “The Essayes, of Morall Politike and Millitarie Discourses of Lo: Michaell de Montaigne, Knt, 1603 edition.”

To the Right Reuerend Father in God, Iames Montague, Lord Bishop of Winchester, Deane of the Chapell, and one of his Maiesties most Honorable Priuy Councell.