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 Second Song.
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 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
153
The Second Song.
The Argument.
Goode daye to all yee merry westerne swaynes,And ev'ry gentle shepherdesse that deignes
A kinde attentive eare to what I sing.
Come, sitt you rounde about me in a ring;
My reed is fitted, and I meane to playe
The faieryes song I promis'd yesterdaye;
And thoughe for length I have it over-run,
This was the matter, thus the elfe begun.
Of royall parents in a country rich
Were borne three daughters, with all beautyes crownde
That coulde the eyes of men or gods bewitch,
Or poets sacred verse did ever sounde;
But Natures favour flewe a higher pitch,
When with the youngest she enrich'd this round,
Thoughe her first worke for prayse much right might holde,
Her last outwent yt, and she broke the molde.
Were borne three daughters, with all beautyes crownde
That coulde the eyes of men or gods bewitch,
Or poets sacred verse did ever sounde;
But Natures favour flewe a higher pitch,
When with the youngest she enrich'd this round,
Thoughe her first worke for prayse much right might holde,
Her last outwent yt, and she broke the molde.
From countryes farre remote, wing'd with desire,
Strangers pass'd gladly o're a tedious waye
To see if fame would now be founde a lyer,
Whoe said another sun brought in the daye;
Poore men! yee come too neere to such a fire,
And for a looke your lives at hazard laye.
Staye, staye at home, reade of her beauty there,
And make not those sweet eyes your murderer.
Strangers pass'd gladly o're a tedious waye
154
Whoe said another sun brought in the daye;
Poore men! yee come too neere to such a fire,
And for a looke your lives at hazard laye.
Staye, staye at home, reade of her beauty there,
And make not those sweet eyes your murderer.
The curious statuaryes, painters quainte,
From their greate monarks come, from ev'ry land,
That what the chesill coulde or pensill painte,
Might in her portraict have the skillfull'st hand;
But, seely men, they meet a sadd restrainte,
And they themselves as turn'd to statues stand:
Soe many graces in her feature lurke,
They turne all eye and have noe hands to worke.
From their greate monarks come, from ev'ry land,
That what the chesill coulde or pensill painte,
Might in her portraict have the skillfull'st hand;
But, seely men, they meet a sadd restrainte,
And they themselves as turn'd to statues stand:
Soe many graces in her feature lurke,
They turne all eye and have noe hands to worke.
The altars of the gods stood nowe forlorne;
Their mirrhe and frankincense was kept awaye,
And fairest Cytherea (that was borne
Out of the white froth of the working sea)
Wanted her votaryes; nay, some in scorne
Durste wante, while they the sacrifice delaye;
This was a deity, indeed, for whome
The gods themselves might be a hecatombe.
Their mirrhe and frankincense was kept awaye,
And fairest Cytherea (that was borne
Out of the white froth of the working sea)
Wanted her votaryes; nay, some in scorne
Durste wante, while they the sacrifice delaye;
This was a deity, indeed, for whome
The gods themselves might be a hecatombe.
Divers beleev'd, whoe, ravish'd with the sight,
Stood gazing, as amaz'd, at her faire eyes,
That Nature had produc'd another light,
Newe kinde of starre, and in a newer guize;
And from the earth, not from the sea, should rise
A Venus worthyer to unlength the night;
And thoughe the first be for a goddesse plac'd,
This was more heavenly faire, more truely chaste.
Stood gazing, as amaz'd, at her faire eyes,
That Nature had produc'd another light,
Newe kinde of starre, and in a newer guize;
And from the earth, not from the sea, should rise
A Venus worthyer to unlength the night;
And thoughe the first be for a goddesse plac'd,
This was more heavenly faire, more truely chaste.
Hence came it Paphos and Cythera nowe,
Gnidus and Amathus, could see noe more
The shipps, the parent of their goddesse plowe,
Nor pilgrims land on their forsaken shore.
Noe man a guifte coulde to her shryne allowe,
Nor rose nor mirtle crowne her image wore;
The bedds contemn'd, harth fireless and unfitt,
And mens devotions were as colde as it.
Gnidus and Amathus, could see noe more
155
Nor pilgrims land on their forsaken shore.
Noe man a guifte coulde to her shryne allowe,
Nor rose nor mirtle crowne her image wore;
The bedds contemn'd, harth fireless and unfitt,
And mens devotions were as colde as it.
Anger and rage possest the queen of love
To see a fairer queen of love then she;
And that a mortall with the powers above
Came in divyne rytes to a like degree;
Nay, that the ravish'd people alwayes strove
That this none other coulde then Venus be;
Impatient ought on earth deserv'd her name;
Thus murmur'd she, and scorne still fedd the flame.
To see a fairer queen of love then she;
And that a mortall with the powers above
Came in divyne rytes to a like degree;
Nay, that the ravish'd people alwayes strove
That this none other coulde then Venus be;
Impatient ought on earth deserv'd her name;
Thus murmur'd she, and scorne still fedd the flame.
Have I, quoth she, the most confus'd abisse,
The chaos rude unwounde, the vault of heaven
Compos'd, and settled all that order is?
The name of nursing mother to me given,
And all regardless? must I, after this,
Be from my temples and myne altars driven?
And she that is the sourse of humane things
Paye, as a vassall, tribute to her springs?
The chaos rude unwounde, the vault of heaven
Compos'd, and settled all that order is?
The name of nursing mother to me given,
And all regardless? must I, after this,
Be from my temples and myne altars driven?
And she that is the sourse of humane things
Paye, as a vassall, tribute to her springs?
Noe; 'tis a competition too-too lowe,
To stand with one compos'd of elements
Which their originall to me doe owe;
Shall fading creatures prosecute intents
With us that all eternity doe knowe?
And the like victimes have and sacred sents?
Or share with me in any rites of myne,
And mingle mortall honors with divine?
To stand with one compos'd of elements
Which their originall to me doe owe;
Shall fading creatures prosecute intents
With us that all eternity doe knowe?
And the like victimes have and sacred sents?
Or share with me in any rites of myne,
And mingle mortall honors with divine?
What bootes it then that men me rightly call
The daughter of the mighty thunderer?
And that I can ascend up to my stall
Along the milky waye by many a starre?
And where I come, the powers celestiall
Rise more to mee then any goddesse farre?
And all those contryes by bright Phœbus seen
Doe homage and acknowledge me their queen.
The daughter of the mighty thunderer?
156
Along the milky waye by many a starre?
And where I come, the powers celestiall
Rise more to mee then any goddesse farre?
And all those contryes by bright Phœbus seen
Doe homage and acknowledge me their queen.
Shall I then leave the prize I whilome wonne
On stately Ida (for my beautyes charmes),
Given me by Paris, Priams fatall sonne,
From stately Juno and the Maide of Armes?
By which old Symois long with blood did run.
If such ambition her proude bosome warmes,
I must descend: she fly to heaven, and there
Sitt in my glorious orbe, and guide my spheare.
On stately Ida (for my beautyes charmes),
Given me by Paris, Priams fatall sonne,
From stately Juno and the Maide of Armes?
By which old Symois long with blood did run.
If such ambition her proude bosome warmes,
I must descend: she fly to heaven, and there
Sitt in my glorious orbe, and guide my spheare.
Noe! this usurping maide shall feele the powre
Of an incensed deity, and see
Those cheekes of redd and white, that living flowre,
And those her limms of truest symetrie,
Want winning eloquence to scape the showre
Of due revenge must fall on her from me.
She shall repent those beautyes, and confesse
She had been happyer in deformednes.
Of an incensed deity, and see
Those cheekes of redd and white, that living flowre,
And those her limms of truest symetrie,
Want winning eloquence to scape the showre
Of due revenge must fall on her from me.
She shall repent those beautyes, and confesse
She had been happyer in deformednes.
She said noe more: but full of ire ascends,
Her chariott drawne by white enamour'd doves;
Her passion to their speed more swiftnes lends.
And now to search her sonne (that various loves
Worketh each where) she studiously intends:
She sought him long among th' Elizian groves,
But missing him, to earth-ward bent her reynes,
And with a shepheard founde him on the playnes.
Her chariott drawne by white enamour'd doves;
Her passion to their speed more swiftnes lends.
And now to search her sonne (that various loves
Worketh each where) she studiously intends:
She sought him long among th' Elizian groves,
But missing him, to earth-ward bent her reynes,
And with a shepheard founde him on the playnes.
It was a shepheard that was borne by-west,
And well of Tityrus had learnt to sing;
Little knewe he, poore ladd, of loves unrest,
But by his fellowe shepheards sonnetting;
A speculative knowledge with the best
He had, but never felt the golden sting;
And to comply with those his fellowe swaynes,
He sung of love and never felt the paines.
And well of Tityrus had learnt to sing;
157
But by his fellowe shepheards sonnetting;
A speculative knowledge with the best
He had, but never felt the golden sting;
And to comply with those his fellowe swaynes,
He sung of love and never felt the paines.
The little Cupid lov'd him for his verse,
Thoughe lowe and tuned to an oaten reed;
And that he might the fitter have commerce
With those that sung of love and lovers deed,
Strooke (O but had Death strooke her to a herse)
Those woundes had not been ope which freshly bleed—
Strooke a faire maide and made her love this ladd,
From whence his sorrowes their beginnings had.
Thoughe lowe and tuned to an oaten reed;
And that he might the fitter have commerce
With those that sung of love and lovers deed,
Strooke (O but had Death strooke her to a herse)
Those woundes had not been ope which freshly bleed—
Strooke a faire maide and made her love this ladd,
From whence his sorrowes their beginnings had.
Long tyme she lov'd: and Cupid did soe deare
Affect the shepheard, that he woulde not try
A golden dart to wounde him, out of feare
(That they might not be strooken equally)
But turned orator, and coming there
Where this yong pastor did his flocks apply,
He wooes him for the lasse sicke of his hand,
And beggs, whoe might imperiously command:
Affect the shepheard, that he woulde not try
A golden dart to wounde him, out of feare
(That they might not be strooken equally)
But turned orator, and coming there
Where this yong pastor did his flocks apply,
He wooes him for the lasse sicke of his hand,
And beggs, whoe might imperiously command:
Shall that sweet paradise neglected lye
('Twas soe, and had a serpent in it too),
Shall those sweet lipps, that pitty-begging eye
Begett noe flame, when common beautyes doe?
Those brests of snowe, bedds of felicitye,
Made to inforce a man of ire to woo,
Make nought for her, in whose soule-melting flashes
A Salamander might consume to ashes?
('Twas soe, and had a serpent in it too),
Shall those sweet lipps, that pitty-begging eye
Begett noe flame, when common beautyes doe?
Those brests of snowe, bedds of felicitye,
Made to inforce a man of ire to woo,
Make nought for her, in whose soule-melting flashes
A Salamander might consume to ashes?
Pitty her sighes, fond swayne! beleeve her teares;
What hearte of marble woulde not rend to see her
Languish for love? poore soule, her tender yeares
Have flame to feed her fire, not words to free her.
Bad orators are yonger loves and feares.
Thus Cupid wooes, and coulde a mortall flee her?
But Venus coming, Cupid threwe a dart
To make all sure, and left it in his heart.
What hearte of marble woulde not rend to see her
158
Have flame to feed her fire, not words to free her.
Bad orators are yonger loves and feares.
Thus Cupid wooes, and coulde a mortall flee her?
But Venus coming, Cupid threwe a dart
To make all sure, and left it in his heart.
Thus to the winged archer Venus came,
Whoe, thoughe by Nature quick ynoughe inclynde
To all requests made by the Cyprian dame,
She lefte noe grace of looke or worde behynde
That might rayse up that fire which none can tame:
Revenge, that sweet betrayer of the mynde,
That cunning, turbulent, impatient guest,
Which sleepes in blood, and but in death hath rest.
Whoe, thoughe by Nature quick ynoughe inclynde
To all requests made by the Cyprian dame,
She lefte noe grace of looke or worde behynde
That might rayse up that fire which none can tame:
Revenge, that sweet betrayer of the mynde,
That cunning, turbulent, impatient guest,
Which sleepes in blood, and but in death hath rest.
Into her charyott she him quickly takes,
And swifte as tyme, cutting the yeelding ayre,
Her discontent she tells him, as she makes
Towards Psyches sweet aboade a sadd repaire.
Psyche the lady hight that nowe awakes
Faire Venus furye; looke, quoth she, and there
Beholde my griefe; O Cupid, shutt thyne eyne,
Or that which now is hers will soone be thyne.
And swifte as tyme, cutting the yeelding ayre,
Her discontent she tells him, as she makes
Towards Psyches sweet aboade a sadd repaire.
Psyche the lady hight that nowe awakes
Faire Venus furye; looke, quoth she, and there
Beholde my griefe; O Cupid, shutt thyne eyne,
Or that which now is hers will soone be thyne.
See yonder girle, quoth she, for whome my shryne
Is lefte neglected and of all forlorne;
Hearke how the poets court the sacred Nyne
To give them raptures full and highly borne
That maye befitt a beauty soe divyne,
And from the threshold of the rosy morne
To Phœbus westerne inne, fill by their layes
All hearts with love of her, all tongues with praise.
Is lefte neglected and of all forlorne;
Hearke how the poets court the sacred Nyne
To give them raptures full and highly borne
That maye befitt a beauty soe divyne,
And from the threshold of the rosy morne
To Phœbus westerne inne, fill by their layes
All hearts with love of her, all tongues with praise.
By that maternall rightfull powre, my sonne,
Which I have with thee, and may justly claime:
By those golde darts which I for thee have wonne,
By those sweet wounds they make without a mayme:
By thy kinde fire which hath such wonders donne,
And all faire eyes from whence thou takest ayme:
By these and by this kisse, this and this other,
Right a wronged goddesse and revenge thy mother.
Which I have with thee, and may justly claime:
159
By those sweet wounds they make without a mayme:
By thy kinde fire which hath such wonders donne,
And all faire eyes from whence thou takest ayme:
By these and by this kisse, this and this other,
Right a wronged goddesse and revenge thy mother.
And this waye doe it: make that glorious mayde
Slave in affection to a wretch as rude
As ever yet deformitie arayde
Or all the vices of the multitude.
Lett him love money! and a friend betrayde
Proclayme with how much witt he is indude;
Lett not sweet sleepe but sicknes make his bedd!
And to the grave bring home her maidenhead.
Slave in affection to a wretch as rude
As ever yet deformitie arayde
Or all the vices of the multitude.
Lett him love money! and a friend betrayde
Proclayme with how much witt he is indude;
Lett not sweet sleepe but sicknes make his bedd!
And to the grave bring home her maidenhead.
When the bless'd day calls others from their sleepe,
And birds sweet layes rejoyce all creatures waking,
Lett her lame husbands grones and sighing deepe
Affright her from that rest which she is taking!
And (spight of all her care) when she doth weepe,
Lett him mistrust her teares and faithes forsaking!
In briefe, lett her affect (thus I importune)
One wrong'd as much as Nature coulde or Fortune.
And birds sweet layes rejoyce all creatures waking,
Lett her lame husbands grones and sighing deepe
Affright her from that rest which she is taking!
And (spight of all her care) when she doth weepe,
Lett him mistrust her teares and faithes forsaking!
In briefe, lett her affect (thus I importune)
One wrong'd as much as Nature coulde or Fortune.
Thus spoke she, and a winning kisse she gave,
A long one with a free and yeelding lipp,
Unto the God; and on the brackish wave
(Leaving her sonne ashore) doth nimbly tripp.
Two dolphins with a charryot richly brave
Wayted, and with her unto Cyprus tripp;
The little Cupid she had lefte behinde,
And gave him sight then when he shoulde be blynde.
A long one with a free and yeelding lipp,
Unto the God; and on the brackish wave
(Leaving her sonne ashore) doth nimbly tripp.
Two dolphins with a charryot richly brave
Wayted, and with her unto Cyprus tripp;
The little Cupid she had lefte behinde,
And gave him sight then when he shoulde be blynde.
Cupid, to worke his wyles that can applye
Himselfe, like Proteus, to what forme he list,
Fierce as a lyon, nimble as an eye,
As glorious as the sun, darke as a miste,
Hiding himselfe within a ladyes eye,
Or in a silken hayres insnaring twist;
And those within whose brests he ofte doth fall,
And feele him moste, doe knowe him leaste of all.
Himselfe, like Proteus, to what forme he list,
160
As glorious as the sun, darke as a miste,
Hiding himselfe within a ladyes eye,
Or in a silken hayres insnaring twist;
And those within whose brests he ofte doth fall,
And feele him moste, doe knowe him leaste of all.
The God now us'd his powre, and him addrest
Unto a fitting stand, where he might see
All that kinde Nature ever yet exprest
Of colour, feature, or due symetrie:
It seem'd heaven was come downe to make earth blest.
Noe wonder then if there this god should be;
Noe; wonder more which waye he can be driven,
To leave this sight for those he knewe in heaven.
Unto a fitting stand, where he might see
All that kinde Nature ever yet exprest
Of colour, feature, or due symetrie:
It seem'd heaven was come downe to make earth blest.
Noe wonder then if there this god should be;
Noe; wonder more which waye he can be driven,
To leave this sight for those he knewe in heaven.
Her cheekes the wonder of what eye beheld
Begott betwixt a lilly and a rose,
In gentle rising plaines devinely swell'd,
Where all the graces and the loves repose.
Nature in this peece all her workes excell'd,
Yet shewd her selfe imperfect in the close,
For she forgott (when she soe faire did rayse her)
To give the world a witt might duely prayse her.
Begott betwixt a lilly and a rose,
In gentle rising plaines devinely swell'd,
Where all the graces and the loves repose.
Nature in this peece all her workes excell'd,
Yet shewd her selfe imperfect in the close,
For she forgott (when she soe faire did rayse her)
To give the world a witt might duely prayse her.
Her sweet and ruddy lipps, full of the fyre
Which once Prometheus stole awaye from heaven,
Coulde by their kisses rayse a like desire
To that by which Alcides once was driven
To fifty bedds, and in one night entyre
To fifty maides the name of mother given;
But had he mett this dame first, all the other
Had rested maides: she fifty tymes a mother!
Which once Prometheus stole awaye from heaven,
Coulde by their kisses rayse a like desire
To that by which Alcides once was driven
To fifty bedds, and in one night entyre
To fifty maides the name of mother given;
But had he mett this dame first, all the other
Had rested maides: she fifty tymes a mother!
When that she spoake, as at a voice from heaven
On her sweet words all eares and hearts attended;
When that she sung, they thought the planetts seaven
By her sweet voice might well their tunes have mended;
When she did sighe, all were of joye bereaven;
And when she smyld, heaven had them all befriended.
If that her voice, sighes, smiles, soe many thrilld,
O, had she kiss'd, how many had she kill'd!
On her sweet words all eares and hearts attended;
161
By her sweet voice might well their tunes have mended;
When she did sighe, all were of joye bereaven;
And when she smyld, heaven had them all befriended.
If that her voice, sighes, smiles, soe many thrilld,
O, had she kiss'd, how many had she kill'd!
Her hayre was flaxen, small, and full and long,
Wherewith the softe enamour'd ayre did playe,
And heere and there with pearles was quaintly strung;
When they were spredd (like to Apollos raye)
They made the brests of the Olimpicque throng
To feele their flames, as we the flame of daye;
And to eternize what they sawe soe fayre,
They made a constellation of her hayre.
Wherewith the softe enamour'd ayre did playe,
And heere and there with pearles was quaintly strung;
When they were spredd (like to Apollos raye)
They made the brests of the Olimpicque throng
To feele their flames, as we the flame of daye;
And to eternize what they sawe soe fayre,
They made a constellation of her hayre.
Her slender fingers (neate and worthy made
To be the servants to soe much perfection)
Joyn'd to a palme, whose touch woulde streight invade
And bring a sturdy heart to lowe subjection.
Her slender wrists two diamond braceletts lade,
Made richer by soe sweet a soules election.
O happy braceletts! but more happy he
To whom those armes shall as a bracelett be!
To be the servants to soe much perfection)
Joyn'd to a palme, whose touch woulde streight invade
And bring a sturdy heart to lowe subjection.
Her slender wrists two diamond braceletts lade,
Made richer by soe sweet a soules election.
O happy braceletts! but more happy he
To whom those armes shall as a bracelett be!
Nature, when she made woemens brests, was then
In doubt of what to make them, or how stayned;
If that she made them softe, she knewe that men
Woulde seeke for rest there, where none coulde be gayned:
If that she made them snow-like, they agen
Woulde seeke for colde where loves hote flamings reigned;
She made them both, and men deceaved soe,
Finde wakefullnes in downe, and fyre in snowe.
In doubt of what to make them, or how stayned;
If that she made them softe, she knewe that men
Woulde seeke for rest there, where none coulde be gayned:
If that she made them snow-like, they agen
Woulde seeke for colde where loves hote flamings reigned;
She made them both, and men deceaved soe,
Finde wakefullnes in downe, and fyre in snowe.
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Such were faire Psyches lillyed bedds of love,
Or rather two new worlds where men would faine
Discover wonders by her starres above,
If any guide coulde bring them back againe.
But who shall on those azure riveretts move,
Is lost, and wanders in an endles mayne;
Soe many graces, pleasures, there apply them,
That man should need the worlds age to descry them.
Or rather two new worlds where men would faine
Discover wonders by her starres above,
If any guide coulde bring them back againe.
But who shall on those azure riveretts move,
Is lost, and wanders in an endles mayne;
Soe many graces, pleasures, there apply them,
That man should need the worlds age to descry them.
As when a woodman on the greeny lawnes,
Where daylie chants the sadd-sweet nightingale,
Woulde counte his heard, more bucks, more pricketts, fawnes
Rush from the copps and put him from his tale;
Or some wayfaring man, when morning dawnes,
Woulde tell the sweet notes in a joysome vale,
At ev'ry foote a newe bird lights and sings,
And makes him leave to counte their sonnettings.
Where daylie chants the sadd-sweet nightingale,
Woulde counte his heard, more bucks, more pricketts, fawnes
Rush from the copps and put him from his tale;
Or some wayfaring man, when morning dawnes,
Woulde tell the sweet notes in a joysome vale,
At ev'ry foote a newe bird lights and sings,
And makes him leave to counte their sonnettings.
Soe when my willing muse would gladly dresse
Her severall graces in immortall lines,
Plenty impoores her; ev'ry golden tresse,
Each little dimple, every glance that shynes
As radyant as Apollo, I confesse
My skill too weake for soe admirde designes;
For whilst one beauty I am close about,
Millions doe newly rise and put me out.
Her severall graces in immortall lines,
Plenty impoores her; ev'ry golden tresse,
Each little dimple, every glance that shynes
As radyant as Apollo, I confesse
My skill too weake for soe admirde designes;
For whilst one beauty I am close about,
Millions doe newly rise and put me out.
Never was mayde to varyous nature bounde
In greater bonds of thanckfullnes then she,
As all eyes judg'd; nor on the massy round
For all perfections coulde another be
Upon whose any limme was to be founde
Ought, that on hers coulde vante of masterie;
Yet thoughe all eyes had been a wishfull feaste,
Whoe sawe nought but her body sawe her leaste.
In greater bonds of thanckfullnes then she,
As all eyes judg'd; nor on the massy round
For all perfections coulde another be
Upon whose any limme was to be founde
Ought, that on hers coulde vante of masterie;
Yet thoughe all eyes had been a wishfull feaste,
Whoe sawe nought but her body sawe her leaste.
163
Blest was the wombe that bore soe faire a birth;
Blest was the birth for blessing of the wombe;
Blest was the hand that tooke her to the earth;
Blest ev'ry shady arbour, every roome;
Blest were the deserts roughe where zephir stirr'th;
Blest ev'ry craggy rock and rushy coombe:
All things that held, touchd, sawe her, still confessed
To tymes last periodd they were ever blessed.
Blest was the birth for blessing of the wombe;
Blest was the hand that tooke her to the earth;
Blest ev'ry shady arbour, every roome;
Blest were the deserts roughe where zephir stirr'th;
Blest ev'ry craggy rock and rushy coombe:
All things that held, touchd, sawe her, still confessed
To tymes last periodd they were ever blessed.
My fairest Cœlia, when thyne eyes shall viewe
These, and all other lynes ere writt by me,
Wherein all beautyes are describ'd, and true,
Thincke your devoted shepheards fantazie,
Rapt by those heavenly graces are in you,
Had thence all matter fitt for elogie.
Your blest endowments are my verses mothers,
For by your sweetnesse I describe all others.
These, and all other lynes ere writt by me,
Wherein all beautyes are describ'd, and true,
Thincke your devoted shepheards fantazie,
Rapt by those heavenly graces are in you,
Had thence all matter fitt for elogie.
Your blest endowments are my verses mothers,
For by your sweetnesse I describe all others.
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