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The Works of Michael Drayton

Edited by J. William Hebel
Drayton, Michael (1563-1631)

collapse sectionI. 
VOLUME I
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THE HARMONIE of the Church.
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IDEA THE SHEPHEARDS GARLAND, Fashioned in nine Eglogs.
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IDEAS MIRROVR.
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ENDIMION and Phœbe. IDEAS LATMVS.
  
Peirs Gaueston EARLE OF CORNWALL.
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MATILDA. The faire and chaste Daughter of the Lord Robert Fitzwater.
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THE Tragicall Legend of Robert, Duke of Normandy, surnamed Short-thigh, eldest sonne to William Conqueror.
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Mortimeriados. THE LAMENTABLE ciuell warres of Edward the second and the Barrons.
  
TO THE MAIESTIE OF KING JAMES.
  
A PÆAN TRIVMPHALL.
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[SONNETS NOT PRINTED IN IDEAS MIRROUR, 1594, OR IN IDEA, 1619]
  
To the high and mighty Prince, James, King of Scots. Sonnet. 62.
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[ODES NOT REPRINTED IN 1619 From Poemes Lyrick and pastorall (1606).]
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[UNCOLLECTED POEMS]
  
Mr. M.D. TO THE AUTHOR.
  
OF THE WORKE AND TRANSLATION.
  
[The curious eye that over-rashly lookes]
  
TO HIS FRIEND, MASTER CHR. M. his Booke.
  
ROWLANDS MADRIGALL.
  
[Nature, and Arte are overmatcht by thee]
  
TO MASTER NICHOLAS GEFFE.
  
TO M. JOHN DAVIES, MY GOOD FRIEND.
  
TO MY KINDE FRIEND DA: MURRAY.
  
Incipit Michael Drayton.
  
TO HIS FRIEND THE AUTHOR.
  
TO MY WORTHY FRIEND MR. GEORGE CHAPMAN, and his translated Hesiod.
  
TO MY FRIEND M. A. H.
  
M. D. ESQUIRE TO HIS GOOD FRIEND, T. V.
  
TO THE DEARE REMEMBRANCE of his Noble Friend, Sir John Beaumont, Baronet.
  
TO MY NOBLE FRIEND MR. ROBERT DOVER, on his brave annuall Assemblies upon Cotswold.
  
[Soe well I love thee, as without thee I]
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VOLUME II
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VOLUME III
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VOLUME IV

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127

[Rouland, when first I red thy stately rymes]

Rouland, when first I red thy stately rymes,
In Sheepheards weedes, when yet thou liv'dst unknowne,
Not seene in publique in those former tymes,
But unto Ankor tund'st thy Pype alone,
I then beheld thy chaste Ideas fame,
Put on the wings of thine immortall stile,
Whose rarest vertues and deserved name,
Thy Muse renown's throughout this glorious Ile,
Thy lines, like to the Lawrells pleasant shade,
In after ages shall adorne her Herse,
Nor never can her beauties glory fade,
Deckt in the collours of thy happy verse,
Thy fiery spirit mounts up unto the skye,
And what thou writ'st, lives to Eternitye.
E. P.
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