The Whole Works of William Browne of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple |
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
Now at his feet the stately mountaine lay,
And with a gladsome eye he gan suruay
What perils he had trod on since the time
His weary feet and armes assaid to climbe.
When with a humble voyce (withouten feare,
Though he look'd wilde and ouer-grown with haire)
A gentle Nymph in russet course array,
Comes and directs him onward in his way.
First, brings she him into a goodly Hall,
Faire, yet not beautified with Minerall:
But in a carelesse Art, and artlesse care,
Made, loose neglect, more louely farre then rare.
Vpon the floore (ypau'd with Marble slate)
(With Sack-cloth cloth'd) many in ashes sate:
And round about the wals for many yeares,
Hung Crystall Vials of repentant teares:
And Books of vowes, and many a heauenly deed,
Lay ready open for each one to read,
Some were immured vp in little sheads,
There to contemplate Heauen, and bid their Beads.
Others with garments thin of Cammels-haire,
With head, and armes, and legs, and feet all bare,
Were singing Hymnes to the Eternall Sage,
For safe returning from their Pilgrimage,
Some with a whip their pamper'd bodies beat;
Others in fasting liue, and seldome eat:
But as those Trees which doe in India grow
And call'd of elder Swaines full long agoe
The Sun and Moones faire Trees (full goodly deight)
And ten times ten feet challenging their height:
Hauing no helpe (to ouer-looke braue Towers)
From coole refreshing dew, or drisling showers;
When as the Earth (as oftentimes is seene)
Is interpos'd twixt Sol and Nights pale Queene;
Or when the Moone ecclipseth Titans light,
The Trees (all comfortlesse) rob'd of their sight
Weepe liquid drops, which plentifully shoot
Along the outward barke downe to the root:
And by their owne shed teares they euer flourish;
So their own sorrowes, their owne ioyes doe nourish:
And so within this place full many a wight,
Did make his teares his food both day and night.
And had it g[r]anted (from th' Almighty great)
To swim th' row them vnto his Mercy-seat.
Faire Metanoia in a chaire of earth,
With count'nance sad, yet sadnesse promis'd mirth,
Sate vail'd in coursest weeds of Cammels hayre,
Inriching pouertie; yet neuer faire
Was like to her, nor since the world begun
A louelier Lady kist the glorious Sun.
For her the God of Thunder, mighty, great,
Whose Foot-stoole is the Earth, and Heauen his Seat,
Vnto a man who from his crying birth
Went on still, shunning what he carried, earth:
VVhen he could walke no further for his graue,
Nor could step ouer, but he there must haue
A seat to rest, when he would faine goe on;
But age in euery nerue, in euery bone
Forbad his passage: for her sake hath heauen
Fill'd vp the graue, and made his path so euen,
That fifteene courses had the bright Steeds run,
(And he was weary) ere his course was done.
For scorning her, the Courts of Kings which throw
A proud rais'd pinnacle to rest the Crow;
And on a Plaine out-braue a neighbour Rocke,
In stout resistance of a Tempests shocke,
For her contempt heauen (reining his disasters)
Haue made those Towers but piles to burne their masters.
And with a gladsome eye he gan suruay
What perils he had trod on since the time
His weary feet and armes assaid to climbe.
When with a humble voyce (withouten feare,
Though he look'd wilde and ouer-grown with haire)
A gentle Nymph in russet course array,
Comes and directs him onward in his way.
First, brings she him into a goodly Hall,
Faire, yet not beautified with Minerall:
But in a carelesse Art, and artlesse care,
Made, loose neglect, more louely farre then rare.
Vpon the floore (ypau'd with Marble slate)
(With Sack-cloth cloth'd) many in ashes sate:
And round about the wals for many yeares,
Hung Crystall Vials of repentant teares:
And Books of vowes, and many a heauenly deed,
Lay ready open for each one to read,
Some were immured vp in little sheads,
There to contemplate Heauen, and bid their Beads.
Others with garments thin of Cammels-haire,
With head, and armes, and legs, and feet all bare,
Were singing Hymnes to the Eternall Sage,
For safe returning from their Pilgrimage,
Some with a whip their pamper'd bodies beat;
Others in fasting liue, and seldome eat:
But as those Trees which doe in India grow
And call'd of elder Swaines full long agoe
The Sun and Moones faire Trees (full goodly deight)
And ten times ten feet challenging their height:
Hauing no helpe (to ouer-looke braue Towers)
From coole refreshing dew, or drisling showers;
147
Is interpos'd twixt Sol and Nights pale Queene;
Or when the Moone ecclipseth Titans light,
The Trees (all comfortlesse) rob'd of their sight
Weepe liquid drops, which plentifully shoot
Along the outward barke downe to the root:
And by their owne shed teares they euer flourish;
So their own sorrowes, their owne ioyes doe nourish:
And so within this place full many a wight,
Did make his teares his food both day and night.
And had it g[r]anted (from th' Almighty great)
To swim th' row them vnto his Mercy-seat.
Faire Metanoia in a chaire of earth,
With count'nance sad, yet sadnesse promis'd mirth,
Sate vail'd in coursest weeds of Cammels hayre,
Inriching pouertie; yet neuer faire
Was like to her, nor since the world begun
A louelier Lady kist the glorious Sun.
For her the God of Thunder, mighty, great,
Whose Foot-stoole is the Earth, and Heauen his Seat,
Vnto a man who from his crying birth
Went on still, shunning what he carried, earth:
VVhen he could walke no further for his graue,
Nor could step ouer, but he there must haue
A seat to rest, when he would faine goe on;
But age in euery nerue, in euery bone
Forbad his passage: for her sake hath heauen
Fill'd vp the graue, and made his path so euen,
That fifteene courses had the bright Steeds run,
(And he was weary) ere his course was done.
For scorning her, the Courts of Kings which throw
A proud rais'd pinnacle to rest the Crow;
And on a Plaine out-braue a neighbour Rocke,
In stout resistance of a Tempests shocke,
For her contempt heauen (reining his disasters)
Haue made those Towers but piles to burne their masters.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |