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Pancharis

The first Booke. Containing The Preparation of the Loue betweene Ovven Tvdyr, and the Qveene, Long since intended to her Maiden Maiestie: And now dedicated to The Invincible Iames, Second and greater Monarch of great Britaine, King of England Scotland, France, and Ireland, with the Islands adiacent [by Hugh Holland]
 

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To my Mayden Muse.
 



To my Mayden Muse.

Goe Virgin Muse to her Diuinity,
That is the Vesta of Virginity:
For vnto whom shouldst thou goe rather
So bound to her, and to her father?
Be gonne, and when thou com'st before her,
Vpon thy knee, see thou adore her.
For thou mayst gather by her feature,
She is more then an earthly creature.
In whom no Elements are combined,
But a fift Essence well refined
Aboue the vulgar grosse confections
Of any of the fower complexions,
Flegme, Sanguine, Melancholy, Coler.
Tell her that once I was her Scholer,
And how in Grammer I was grounded
In the best schoole she euer founded,
By two great Clerkes (two greater wasters
Of oyle then houres) that were my Masters;
Where I liu'd partly of her larges,
And partly of my parents charges.


Thence was I had to learne more knolledge
To Cambridge, and her fathers Colledge,
Of him whose fame is flowne All-Over
As well beyond as this side Douer.
On Aristotle oft I pored,
And here and there him ouer-skored.
Where Poetrie too I found defined,
To which by birth I was enclined.
Yet heard I worthy Downes in Homer,
And euery day I glean'd my gomer.
Thus hauing there for Lea serued
Though some saide Rachel I deserued)
Some thought the house could stand without me.
I then began to looke about me:
And forthwith desperately did ventre
The wide world, in whose little Centre
My friends (of whom death hath bereft me)
My louing friends some liuing left me,
Enough (if God the grace but lend me)
From Cold and Hunger to defend me:


That I may study still by leasure,
Without all paine, and at my pleasure.
Now the blacke Doune began to couer
My pale Cheekes (for I was a Louer)
And sung Acrosticke Sonets sweetely;
For (if that some can iudge discreetely)
I neede not feare that daintie Davies,
Though he sing sweeter then the Mauis.
And of my Loue they were. But stay thee,
No more of that my Muse I pray thee.
For either it must show my folly,
Or else renew my Melancholly:
Yet was she faire, and Honourable,
And Vertuous (had she beene more stable.)
Though she perhaps did but forget her,
And now likes May denhead the better:
Whereof she is the richest border
Next Cynthia Soueraigne of that Order.
When Loue my bosome thus had fired,
Me for his Prophet he inspired:


That euery line, and euery letter
Of my deuise might passe the better.
Yet of this Legend but the writer
Was I, and he the sole inditer.
For how alas can it be other?
I am not I the Muses brother.
My lips I neuer yet haue sowsed
In Hippocrene, nor carowsed
The lusty Liquor thence distilling
The braine with holly fury filling.
The Climat where I was begotten
Of father Phœbus is forgotten,
No Parnasse there (though Mountaines many)
Nor Muse (though Nymphs as faire as any)
God wote it is too farre remoued
From her, to be of them beloued.
Apollo, they and all the Graces,
Attend her onely in all places.
This in effect when thou hast told her,
Thou must be yet a little bolder:


And beg that thou mayst waite vpon her,
Among her many Maydes of Honor;
A modest Maide with chaste variety,
To lull asleeepe that sweete Society.
Who may as well as any other,
Reade euery line before the Mother.
So shamefa'cd are they, and so holly,
Voide of all loosenesse, and light folly:
Else had it beene too much impiety,
To vow them to so great a Deity.
This done, againe on knee lowe bended,
And hands as high to heauen extended,
Ascribe me of this golden story
Onely the paine, and her the glory:
Praying she would but reade the proem,
And so breath life into my Poëm