The Poetical Works of Sir William Alexander :: :: University of Virginia Library

Stay, tragick muse, with those vntimely verses,
With raging accents and with dreadfull sounds,
To draw dead Monarkes out of ruin'd herses,
T'affright th'applauding world with bloudie wounds:
Raze all the monuments of horrours past,
T'aduance the publike mirth our treasures wast.

And pardon (olde Heroes) for O I finde,
I had no reason to admire your fates:
And with rare guiftes of body and of minde,
Th'vnbounded greatnesse of euill-conquer'd states.
More glorious actes then were atchieu'd by you,
Do make your wonders thought no wonders now.

For yee the Potentates of former times,
Making your will a right, your force a law:
Staining your conquest with a thousand crimes,
Still raign'd like tyrants, but obey'd for awe:
And whilst your yoake none willingly would beare,
Dyed oft the sacrifice of wrath and feare.

536

But this age great with glorie hath brought forth
A matchlesse Monarke whom peace highlie raises,
Who as th'vntainted Ocean of all worth
As due to him hath swallow'd all your praises.
Whose cleere excellencies long knowne for such,
All men must praise, and none can praise too much

For that which others hardly could acquire,
With losse of thousands liues and endlesse paine,
Is heapt on him euen by their owne desire,
That thrist t'enioy the fruites of his blest raigne:
And neuer conquerour gain'd so great a thing,
As those wise subiects gaining such a King.

But what a mightie state is this I see?
A little world that all true worth inherites,
Strong without art, entrench'd within the sea,
Abounding in braue men full of great spirits:
It seemes this Ile would boast, and so she may,
To be the soueraigne of the world some day.

O generous Iames, the glorie of their parts,
In large dominions equall with the best:
But the most mightie Monarkes of men's harts,
That euer yet a Diadem possest:
Long maist thou liue, well lou'd & free from dangers,
The comfort of thine owne, the terrour of strangers.

537

II. SOME VERSES Written shortly thereafter by reason of an inundation of Douen, a water neere vnto the Authors house, wherevpon his Maiestie was sometimes wont to Hawke.

What wonder though my melancholious muse,
Whose generous course some lucklesse starre controules:
Her bold attempts to prosecute refuse,
And would faine burie my abortiue scroules.

To what perfection can my lines be rais'd,
Whilst many a crosse would quench my kindling fires:
Lo for Parnassus by the poets prais'd,
Some sauage mountaines shadow my retires.

No Helicon her treasure here vnlockes,
Of all the sacred band the chiefe refuge:
But dangerous Douen rumbling through the rockes,
Would scorne the raine-bowe with a new deluge.

As Tiber, mindefull of his olde renowne,
Augments his floodes to waile the faire chang'd place;
And greeu'd to glide through that degener'd towne,
Toyles with his depthes to couer their disgrace.

So doth my Douen rage, greeu'd in like sort,
While as his wonted honour comes to minde:
To that great Prince whilst he afforded sport,
To whom his Trident Neptune hath resign'd.

And as the want of waters and of swaines,
Had but begotten to his bankes neglect:
He striues t'encroch vpon the bordering plaines,
Againe by greatnesse to procure respect.

538

Thus all the creatures of this orphand boundes,
In their own kindes moou'd with the common crosse:
With many a monstrous forme all forme confoundes,
To make vs mourne more feelingly our losse.

We must our breastes to baser thoughts inure,
Since we want all that did aduaunce our name:
For in a corner of the world obscure,
We rest vngrac'd without the boundes of fame.

And since our Sunne shines in another part,
Liue like th'Antipodes depriu'd of light:
Whilst those to whom his beames he doth impart,
Begin their day whilst we begin our night.

This hath discourag'd my high-bended minde,
And still in doale my drouping Muse arrayes:
Which if my Phœbus once vpon me shin'd,
Might raise her flight to build amidst his rayes.

III. TO M. MICHAELL DRAYTON.

Now I perceiue PYTHAGORAS diuin'd,
When he that mocked Maxim did maintaine,
That Spirits once spoyl'd, reuested were againe,
Though chang'd in shape, remaining one in Mind;
These loue-sicke Princes passionate estates;
Who feeling reades, he cannot but allow,
That OVIDS soule reuiues in DRAYTON now,
Still learn'd in Loue, still rich in rare Conceits,
This pregnant Spirit affecting further Skill,
Oft alt'ring Forme, from vulgar Wits retir'd,
In diuers Idyoms mightily admir'd,
Did prosecute that sacred Studie still;
While to a full Perfection now attain'd,
He sings so sweetly that himselfe is stain'd.

Will: Alexander, Knight, Scotus.

539

IV. To the Author.

In Waues of Woe thy Sighes my Soule doe tosse,
And doe burst vp the Conduits of my Teares,
Whose ranckling Wound no smoothing Baulme long beares,
But freshly bleedes when Ought vpbraides my Losse.
Then thou so sweetly Sorrow makes to sing,
And troubled Passions dost so well accord,
That more Delight Thy Anguish doth afford,
Then others Ioyes can Satisfaction bring.
What sacred Wits (when rauish'd) doe affect,
To force Affections, metamorphose Mindes,
Whilst numbrous Power the Soule in secret bindes,
Thou hast perform'd, transforming in Effect:
For neuer Plaints did greater Pittie moue,
The best Applause that can such Notes approue.

Sr. W. Alexander.

V. TO THE AVTHOR PARTHENIVS.

While thou dost praise the Roses, Lillies, Gold,
Which in a dangling Tresse and Face appeare,
Still stands the Sunne in Skies thy Songs to heare,
A Silence sweet each Whispering Wind doth hold,
Sleepe in Pasitheas Lap his Eyes doth fold,
The Sword falls from the God of the fift Spheare,
The Heards to feede, the Birds to sing, forbeare,
Each plant breathes Loue, each Flood and Fountaine cold:
And hence it is, that that once Nymphe, now Tree,
Who did th'Amphrisian Shepheards Sighes disdaine,
And scorn'd his Layes, mou'd by a sweeter Veine,
Is become pittifull, and followes Thee:
Thee loues, and vanteth that shee hath the Grace.
A Garland for thy Lockes to enterlace.

540

VI. Alexis.

The Loue Alexis did to Damon beare,
Shall witness'd bee to all the Woodes, and Plaines
As singulare, renown'd by neighbouring Swaines,
That to our Relicts Time may Trophees reare:
Those Madrigals wee song amidst our Flockes,
With Garlands guarded from Apollos Beames,
On Ochells whiles, whiles neare Bodotrias Streames,
By Ecchoes are resounded from the Rockes.
Of forraine Shepheards bent to trie the States,
Though I (Worlds Guest) a Vagabond doe straye,
Thou may that Store, which I esteeme Survaye,
As best acquainted with my Soules Conceits:
What euer Fate Heauens haue for mee design'd,
I trust thee with the Treasure of my Mind.

VII. On the Death of Mr. John Murray.

Mourne Muses, mourne, your greatest gallant dyes,
Who free in state did court your sacred traine,
Your Minion Murray, Albiones sweetest swaine,
Who soar'd so high, now sore neglected lyes.
If of true worth the world had right esteemd
His loftie thoughts what bounds could haue confind?
But Fortune feard to match with such a mind,
Where all his due, and not her gift had seemd.
Faire Nymphes whose brood doth stand with Tyme at stryf,
Dare Death presume heauens darelings thus to daunt?
To flattering fancies then in vaine you vaunt
That you for euer will prolong a lyf.
He gracd your band, and not your bayes his brow:
You happie were in him, he not by you.

541

VIII. A Poem by Sir William Alexander.

When Britain's Monarch, in true Greatness great,
His Council's Counsel, did Things past unfold,
He (eminent in Knowledge as in State)
What might occur oraculously told;
And when far rais'd from this Terrestrial Round,
He numbrous Notes with measur'd Fury frames,
Each Accent weigh'd, no Jarr in Sense, or Sound,
He Phœbus seems, his Lines Castalian Streams,
This Worth (though much we owe) doth more extort;
All Honor should, but it constrains to Love,
While ravish'd still above the vulgar Sort
He Prince, or Poet, more than Man doth prove:
But all his due who can afford him then,
A God of Poets, and a King of Men.

IX. [This Day, design'd to spoil the World of Peace]

This Day, design'd to spoil the World of Peace,
And accessary to so foul a Crime,
Why should it rest in the Records of Time,
Since stain'd by Treason forfeiting the Place.
O! but those err who would it odious make:
This Day from Danger Britain's Monarch sav'd,
That Day when first the Mischief was conceiv'd,
Let it accurst still clad with Clouds look black.
Then happy Day, to which by Heaven's Decree
(As consecrated) Festual Pomp is due,
Long may thy Saint (a living Martyr) view,
All Hearts for Love of Him to Honour Thee.
More length we wish, but what thou wantst of Light
Shall be by Fire extorted from the night.

542

X. To his most affectionate friend, W. Lithgow .

No Arabs, Turkes, Moores, Sarazens, nor strangers,
Woods, Wildernesse, and darke, vmbragous Caues,
No Serpents, Beasts, nor cruel fatall dangers,
Nor sad regrates of ghostly groning graues,
Could thee affright, disswade, disturbe, annoy,
To venture life, to winne a world of ioy:
This Worke, which pompe-expecting eyes may feed,
To Vs, and Thee, shall perfect pleasure breed.

W. A.

XI. TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND MASTER WALTER QUIN.

I must commend the clearenesse of thy mind,
Which (stil ingenuous) bent true worth to raise,
Though in the graue an obiect fit will find,
Not flattring liuing Men with question'd praise.
Braue Bernards valour noble Naples sounds:
Which scarce his Country venters to proclaime,
But sith his sword preuail'd in forraine bounds,
Their pennes should pay a tribute to his fame.
Lest Natiues vaunt, let Strangers then deale thus:
For I confesse they prooue too oft ingrate.
What deeds have smother'd bin, or rob'd from vs
By Frenchmen first, by Flemmings now of late?
Where, had all met with such a Muse as thine,
Their lightning glory through each Age might shine.

William Alexander.

543

XII. Sonnet. To the Authour.

Of knowne effects, grounds too precisely sought,
Young Naturalists oft Atheists old doe proue.
And some who naught, saue who first moues, can moue,
Scorne mediate meanes, as wonders still were wrought:
But tempring both, thou dost this difference euen,
Diuine Physician, physicall Diuine;
Who soules and bodies help'st, dost heere designe
From earth by reason, and by faith from heauen,
With mysteries, which few can reach aright:
How heauen and earth are match'd, and worke in man;
Who wise and holy ends, and causes scan.
Loe true Philosophy, perfections height,
For this is all, which we would wish to gaine:
In bodies sound, that mindes may sound remaine.

William Alexander.

XIII. On the Report of the Death of the Author.

If that were true, which whispered is by Fame,
That Damons light no more on Earth doth burne,
His patron Phœbus physicke would disclame,
And cloath'd in clowds as earst for Phæton mourne.

544

Yea, Fame by this had got so deepe a Wound,
That scarce Shee could haue power to tell his Death,
Her Wings cutte short; who could her Trumpet sound,
Whose Blaze of late was nurc't but by His breath?

That Spirit of His which most with mine was free,
By mutuall trafficke enterchanging Store,
If chac'd from Him it would haue come to mee,
Where it so oft familiare was before.

Some secret Griefe distempering first my Minde,
Had (though not knowing) made mee feele this losse:
A Sympathie had so our Soules combind,
That such a parting both at once would tosse.

Though such Reportes to others terrour giue,
Thy heavenly Vertues who did neuer spie,
I know, Thou, that canst make the dead to liue,
Immortal art, and needes not feare to die.

Sir William Alexander.

XIV. To his deservedlie honored frend, Mr. Edward Allane, the first founder and Master of the Colleige of Gods Gift.

Some greate by birth or chance, whom fortune blindes,
Where (if it were) trew vertue wold burst forth,
They, sense not haveing, can afford no worth,
And by their meanes doe but condemne their myndes.
To honour such I should disgrace my penne,
Who might prove more, I count them lesse then men.

545

But thee to praise I dare be bould indeede,
By fortunes strictnesse whilst at first suppress'd,
Who at the height of that which thou profess'd
Both ancients, moderns, all didst farr exceede:
Thus vertue many ways may use hir pow'r;
The bees draw honnie out of evrie flow'r.

And when thy state was to a better chang'd,
That thou enabled wast for doing goode,
To clothe the naked, give the hungrie foode,
As one that was from avarice estrang'd:
Then what was fitt thou scorn'd to seeke for more,
Whilst bent to doe what was design'd before.

Then prosecute this noble course of thyne
As prince or priest for state, in charge though none,
For acting this brave part, when thou art gone,
Thy fame more bright then sonnes' more high shall shyne,
Since thou turnd great, who this worlds stage doe trace,
With whom it seemes thou hast exchangd thy place.

W. Alexander.

XV. [The Ciprian's smyling, led our prince to Spayne]

The Ciprian's smyling, led our prince to Spayne,
Her husband's lightning welcomes him againe;
Love was but hoped for in a forrayne pairt,
He finds it burning heere in every heart.
As revells strange would waste the world away,
We burned the night, and heaven drown'd the day.
Juno and Venus onely frowne a space,
That Pallas now preferred of both takis place.
This day, like doomesday, flameing all with fyre,
To judge of secreets, too, will needs aspire;
What hopes and feares, did vpon it depend,
Which now dispayre or confidence must end.
But how comes this, that clouds ecclipse the spheares;
These showres, vnlesse of Joy, can not be teares;
The heavens, I think, of our hudge fyres affray'd,
Their violence in tyme by raine have it stayed.

546

XVI. [Thay quho to conqueir all the erth presume]

Of Conquerouris.

Thay quho to conqueir all the erth presume,
A littill airth schall thame at last consume.

Of Kingis.

Mo Kingis in chalmeris fall by flatterreris charmis,
Than in the feild by the aduersareis armis.

A Comparisone betuix heich and law Estaitis.

The bramble growis althocht it be obscure,
Quhillis michty cederis feilis the busteous windis;
And myld plebeyan spreitis may leif secure,
Quhylis michty tempestis toss imperiall myndis.

Off an Ennemy.

An ennemy, gif it be weill adwysd',
Thocht he seme waik sould' never be dispysd.

Off Man.

No woundir thocht men change and faid,
Quho of thir chengeing elementis ar maid.

Off the Erth.

We may compair the erthis glory to a floure,
That flurische and faideth in an houre.

Off Man.

Quhat are we bot a puff of braith,
Quho live assurd' of nothing bot of deth.

Finis quod William Alexander of Menstry.