The complete works in verse and prose of Samuel Daniel ::

The complete works in verse and prose of Samuel Daniel

Edited with memorial-introduction and a glossarial index embracing notes and illustrations. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart

Daniel, Samuel (1562-1619)

Vol. I.

I. INEDITED POEMS, ETC.

II.

II. SONNETS TO DELIA.

III.

III. THE COMPLAINT OF ROSAMOND.

IV.

IV. A LETTER FROM OCTAUIA TO MARCUS ANTONIUS.

V. A PANEGYRIKE CONGRATVLATORIE TO THE KING

VI.

VI. A Fvnerall Poeme Vpon the Death of the late noble Earle of Deuonshire.

VII.

VII. CERTAINE EPISTLES.

VIII.

VIII. Musophilus, or Defence of all Learning.

IX.

IX. OCCASIONAL POEMS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES.

II.

VOL. II. THE CIVILE WARS BETWEEN THE TWO HOUSES OF LANCASTER AND YORKE. 1595–1623.

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1. Vol. I.

I. INEDITED POEMS, ETC.

INTRODUCTORY TO THE WORKS OF SAMUEL DANIEL.

FROM VARIOUS SOURCES. 1595–1623.

I. TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, SIR Charles Blunt Knight, Lord Mountioy, and Knight of the most Noble order of the Garter, and his most worthy Lord.

I do not plant thy great respected name
Here in this front, to th'end thou shouldst protect
These my endeuors from contempt or blame,
Which none but their owne forces must effect:

Nor do I seeke to win thy more respect,
Most learned Lord, by these Essaies of mine,
Since that cleere iudgement that did first elect
To fauor me, will alwaies keepe me thine:

Nor do I this more honour to assigne,
Vnto thy worth, that is not more hereby,
Since th'offrings made vnto the powers deuine,
Enrich not them, but shew mens pietie:

But this I do to th'end if destinie
Shall any monument reserue of me,
Those times should see my loue, how willing I
That liu'd by thee, would haue thee liue with me.

S. D.

II. S. D. TO HIS BOOKE, In the Dedicating thereof to the Librarie in Oxford, erected by Sir Thomas Bodley Knight.

Heere in this goodly Magazine of witte,
This Storehouse of the choisest furniture
The world doth yeelde, heer in this exquisite,
And most rare monument, that dooth immure
The glorious reliques of the best of men;
Thou part imperfect worke, voutsafed art
A little roome, by him whose care hath beene
To gather all what euer might impart
Delight or Profite to Posteritie;
Whose hospitable bountie heere receiues
Vnder this roofe powers of Diuinitie,
Inlodg'd in these transformed shape of leaues.
For which good Worke his Memorie heere liues,
As th'holy guardian of this reuerent place,
Sacred to Woorth, being fit that hee which giues
Honour to others, should himselfe haue grace.

And charitable Bodley that hath thus
Done for the good of these, and other times,
Must liue with them, and haue his fame with vs.
For well wee see our groueling fortune climes
Vp to that sphere of glory, to be seene
From farre, by no course else, but by this way
Of dooing publique good; this is the meane
To shew we were, how fram'd, of what good clay.
For well we see how priuate heapes (which care
And / greedy toyle prouides for her owne endes)
Doe speede with her succeeders, and what share
Is left of all that store, for which it spendes
It selfe, not hauing what it hath in vse,
And no good t'others nor it selfe conferres:
As if that Fortune mocking our abuse
Would teach vs that it is not ours, but hers
That which we leaue: and if we make it not
The good of many, she will take that paine,
And re-dispers th'inclosed parcelles got
From many hands, t'in-common them againe.
Which might aduise vs, that our selues should doe
That worke with iudgement, which her blindnesse will,
And passe a State which she cannot vndoe,
And haue th'assurance in our owne name still.

For this is to communicate with men
That good the world gaue by societie,
And not like beasts of prey, draw all to' our Den
T'inglut our selues, and our owne progenie.
This is to make our giftes immortall giftes,
And thankes to last, whilst men, and bookes shall last;
This heritage of glory neuer shiftes
Nor changes Maisters; what thou leau'st thou hast.

The grounds, the lands, which now thou callest thine,
Haue had a thousand lords that term'd them theirs,
And will be soone againe pent from thy line,
By some concussion, change, or wastefull heires.
We can no perpetuitie collate
Vpon our race that euer will endure;
It is the worlds demaines, whereof no state
Can be by any cunning made so sure,
But at the change of Lordes for all our paine,
It will returne vnto the world againe.

And therefore did discreet Antiquitie,
Heere / (seeing how ill mens priuate cares did speede),
Erect an euerlast[ing] Granery
Of Artes, the vniuersall State to feede,
And made the worlde their heire, whereby their name
Holdes still a firme possession in the same.
O well giuen landes, wherein all the whole land
Hath an eternall share! where euery childe
Borne vnto Letters, may be bolde to stand
And claime his portion, and not be beguilde.
Happy erected walles whose reuerent piles
Harbour all commers, feede the multitude:
Not like the prowd-built pallace that beguiles
The hungry soule with empty solitude;
Or onely raisde for priuate luxurie
Stands as an open marke for Enuies view,
And being the purchase of felicitie
Is Fortunes in remainder, as her due.

But you, blest you, the happy monuments
Of Charitie and Zeale, stand and beholde
Those vaine expences, and are documents
To shew what glory hath the surest holde.
You tell these times, wherein kind Pietie
Is dead intestate, and true noble Worth
Hath left no heire, that all things with vs die,
Saue what is for the common good brought forth.

Which this iudicious Knight did truely note,
And therefore heere hath happily begunne
To shew this age, that had almost forgot
This way of glory, and thereby hath wonne
So much of Time, as that his memorie
Will get beyond it, and will neuer die.

III. To her sacred Maiestie.

Heere sacred Soueraigne, glorious Queen of Peace,
The tumults of disordred times I sing,
To glorifie thy Raigne, and to increase
The wonder of those blessings thou doost bring
Vpon thy land, which ioyes th'intire release
From bloud and sorrowes by thy gouerning,
That through affliction we may see our ioyes
And blesse the glorie of Elizaes dayes.

Happier then all thy great Progenitors
That euer sate vpon that powrefull Throne;
Or all thy mightiest neighbour-Gouernors,
Which wonder at the blessings of thy Crowne,
Whose Peace more glorious farre than all their warres,
Haue greater powres of admiration showne;
Receiue these humble fruites of mine increase,
Offered on th'Altare of thy sacred Peace.

I, who by that most blessed hand sustain'd,
In quietnes, do eate the bread of rest:
And by that all-reuiuing powre obtain'd
That comfort which my Muse and me hath blest,
Bring here this worke of Warre, whereby was gain'd
This blessed Vnion which these wounds redrest,
That sacred Concord which prepar'd the way
Of glory for thee onely to enioy.

Whereto if these my Labors shall attaine,
And which, if Fortune giue me leaue to end,
It will not be the least worke of thy Raigne,
Nor that which least thy glory shall commend,
Nor shall I hereby vainely entertaine
Thy Land, with ydle shadowes to no end,
But by thy Peace, teach what thy blessings are,
The more t'abhorre this execrable warre.

V. To the Reader.

Behold once more with serious labor here
Haue I refurnisht out this little frame,
Repaird some parts defectiue here and there,
And passages new added to the same:
Some rooms inlargd, made some les thē they were
Like to the curious builder who this yeare
Puls downe, and alters what he did the last,
As if the thing in doing were more deere
Then being done, & nothing likes thats past.

For that we euer make the latter day
The scholler of the former, and we find
Something is still amisse that must delay
Our busines, and leaue worke for vs behinde,
As if there were no saboath of the minde.
And howsoever be it, well or ill
What I haue done, it is mine owne, I may
Do whatsoeuer therewithall I will.

I may pull downe, raise, and reedifie:
It is the building of my life, the fee
Of Nature, all th'inheritance that I
Shall leaue to those which must come after me;
And all the care I haue is but to see
Those lodgings of m' affections neatly drest,
Wherein so many noble friends there be
Whose memories with mine must therein rest.
And glad I am that I haue liud to see
This edifice renewd, who doo but long
To liue t'amend. For man is a tree
That hath his fruite late ripe, and it is long
Before he come t'his taste; there doth belong
So much t'experience, and so infinite
The faces of things are, as hardly we
Discerne which lookes the likest vnto right.

Besides these curious times, stuf'd with the store
Of cōpositions in this kind, to driue
Me to examine my defects the more,
And oft would make me not my self belieue,
Did I not know the world wherein I liue:
Which neither is so wise, as that would seeme
Nor certaine iudgement of those things doth giue
That it disliks, nor that it doth esteeme.

I know no work from man yet euer came
But had his marke, and by some error shewd
That it was his, and yet what in the same
Was rare, and worthy, euermore allowd
Safe cōuoy for the rest: the good thats sow'd
Though rarely paies our cost, & who so lookt
T'haue all thinges in perfection, & in frame
In mens inuentions, neuer must read books.

And howsoeuer here detraction may
Disvalew this my labour, yet I know
There will be foūd therein, that which wil pay
The reckning for the errors which I owe,
And likewise will sufficiently allow
T'an vndistasted iudgement fit delight,
And let presumptuous selfe-opinion say
The woorst it can, I know I shall haue right.

I know I shalbe read among the rest
So long as men speake english, and so long
As verse and vertue shal be in request,
Or grace to honest industry belong:
And England since I vse thy present tongue,
Thy forme of speech, thou must be my defēce
If to new eares it seemes not well exprest;
For though I hold not accent I hold sence.

And since the measures of our tong we see
Confirmd, by no edict of power doth rest
But onely vnderneath the regencie
Of vse and fashion, which may be the best
Is not for my poore forces to contest:
But as the Peacock, seeing himselfe to weake,
Confest the Eagle fairer farre to be,
And yet not in his feathers but his beake;
Authoritie of powerfull censure may
Preiudicate the forme wherein we mould
This matter of our spirite, but if it pay
The eare with substance, we haue what wee wold,
For that is all which must our credit hold.
The rest (how euer gay, or seeming rich
It be in fashion wise men will not wey),
The stamp will not allowe it but the touch.

And would to God that nothing falty were
But only that poore accent in my verse,
Or that I could all other recknings cleere
Wherwith my heart stands charg'd, or might reverse
The errors of my iudgmēt passed here,
Or els where, in my bookes, and vnrehearce
What I haue vainely said, or haue addrest
Vnto neglect, mistaken in the rest.

Which I do hope to liue yet to retract
And craue that England neuer will take note
That it was mine. Ile disauow mine act,
And wish it may for euer be forgot.
I trust the world will not of me exact
Against my will, that hath all els I wrote.
I will aske nothing therein for my paine
But onely to haue in mine owne againe.

II. SONNETS TO DELIA.

1592.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, THE Lady Mary, Countesse of Pembrooke.

Wonder of these, glory of other times,
O thou whom Enuy eu'n is forst t'admyre:
Great Patroness of these my humble Rymes,
Which thou from out thy greatnes doost inspire:
Sith onely thou hast deign'd to rayse them higher,
Vouchsafe now to accept them as thine owne,
Begotten by thy hand, and my desire,
Wherein my Zeale, and thy great might is showne.
And seeing this vnto the world is knowne,
O leaue not, still to grace thy worke in mee:
Let not the quickning seede be ouer-throwne,
Of that which may be borne to honour thee.
Whereof, the trauaile I may challenge mine,
But yet the glory, (Madam) must be thine.

TO DELIA.

SONNET. I.

[Vnto the boundlesse Ocean of thy beautie]

Vnto the boundlesse Ocean of thy beautie,
Runnes this poore Riuer, charg'd with streames of zeale:
Returning thee the tribute of my dutie,
Which here my loue, my youth, my plaints reueale.
Here I vnclaspe the Booke of my charg'd soule,
Where I haue cast th'accounts of all my care:
Here haue I summ'd my sighs, here I inrole
How they were spent for thee; looke what they are:
Looke on the deere expences of my youth,
And see how iust I reckon with thine eies:
Examine well thy beautie with my truth,
And crosse my cares ere greater summes arise.
Reade it (sweet maide) though it be done but sleightly;
Who can shew all his loue, doth loue but lightly.

SONNET. II.

[Goe wailing Verse, the Infants of my loue]

Goe wailing Verse, the Infants of my loue,
Minerua-like, brought foorth without a mother:
Present the Image of the cares I proue,
Witnesse your Fathers griefe exceedes all other.
Sigh out a Storie of her cruell deedes,
With interrupted accents of despaire:
A Monument that whosoeuer reedes,
May iustly praise, and blame my louelesse Faire.
Say her disdaine hath dryed vp my blood,
And starued you, in succours still denying:
Presse to her eyes, importune me some good.
Waken her sleeping pitty with your crying,
Knocke at that hard hart, begge till you haue mou'd her,
And tell th'vnkinde, how dearely I haue lou'd her.

SONNET. III.

[If so it hap, this of-spring of my care]

If so it hap, this of-spring of my care,
These fatall Antheames, sad and mornefull Songs:
Come to their view, who like afflicted are;
Let them yet sigh their owne, and mone my wrongs.
But vntoucht hearts, with vnaffected eie,
Approach not to behold so great distresse:
Cleere-sighted you, soone note what is awrie,
Whilst blinded ones mine errours neuer gesse.

You blinded soules whom youth and errour leade,
You out-cast Eaglets, dazeled with your Sunne:
Ah you, and none but you my sorrowes reade,
You best can iudge the wrongs that she hath done.
That she hath done, the motiue of my paine,
Who whilst I loue, doth kill me with disdaine.

SONNET. IIII.

[These plaintiue Verse, the Postes of my desire]

These plaintiue Verse, the Postes of my desire,
Which haste for succour to her slow regard:
Beare not report of any slender fire,
Forging a griefe to winne a fames reward.
Nor are my passions limnd for outward hew,
For that no colours can depaint my sorrowes:
Delia her selfe, and all the world may view
Best in my face, how cares haue tild deepe forrowes.
No Bayes I seeke to decke my mourning brow,
O cleere-eyde Rector of the holy Hill:
My humble accents beare the Oliue bough,
Of intercession but to moue her will.
These lines I vse, t'vnburthen mine owne hart;
My loue affects no fame, nor steemes of Art.

SONNET. V.

[VVhilst youth and error led my wandring minde]

VVhilst youth and error led my wandring minde,
And set my thoughts in heedlesse wayes to range:
All vnawares, a Goddesse chaste I finde,
(Diana-like) to worke my sudden change.
For her no sooner had mine eyes bewraid,
But with disdaine to see me in that place;
With fairest hand, the sweet vnkindest Maid,
Cast water-cold Disdaine vpon my face.
Which turn'd my sport into a Harts dispaire,
Which still is chac'd, while I haue any breath,
By mine owne thoughts, set on me by my Faire:
My thoughts (like Houndes) pursue me to my death.
Those that I fostred of mine owne accord,
Are made by her to murther thus their Lord.

SONNET. VI.

[Faire is my Loue, and cruell as she's faire]

Faire is my Loue, and cruell as she's faire;
Her brow shades frownes, although her eyes are sunny,
Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despaire;
And her disdaines are Gall, her fauours Hunny.
A modest Maide, deckt with a blush of honor,
Whose feete doe tread greene paths of youth and loue,
The wonder of all eyes that looke vpon her:
Sacred on earth, design'd a Saint aboue.

Chastitie and Beautie, which were deadly foes,
Liue reconciled friends within her brow:
And had she pitty to conioyne with those,
Then who had heard the plaints I vtter now?
For had she not beene faire and thus vnkinde,
My Muse had slept, and none had knowne my minde.

SONNET. VII.

[For had she not beene faire and thus vnkinde]

For had she not beene faire and thus vnkinde,
Then had no finger pointed at my lightnesse:
The world had neuer knowne what I doe finde,
And cloudes obscure had shaded still her brightnesse.
Then had no Censors eye these lines suruaid,
Nor grauer browes haue iudg'd my Muse so vaine
No Sunne my blush and error had bewraid,
Nor yet the world haue heard of such disdaine.
Then had I walkt with bold erected face,
No downe-cast looke had signified my misse:
But my degraded hopes, with such disgrace
Did force me grone out griefes, and vtter this.
For being full, should I not then haue spoken,
My sence oppress'd, had faild, and heart had broken.

SONNET. VIII.

[Thou poore heart sacrifiz'd vnto the fairest]

Thou poore heart sacrifiz'd vnto the fairest,
Hast sent the incense of thy sighs to heauen:
And still against her frownes fresh vowes repairest,
And made thy passions with her beautie euen.
And you mine eyes, the agents of my hart
Tolde the dumbe message of my hidden griefe:
And oft with carefull turnes, with silent Art,
Did treate the cruell faire to yeeld reliefe.
And you my Verse, the Aduocates of Loue,
Haue followed hard the Processe of my case:
And vrg'd that title which doth plainely proue,
My faith should win, if Iustice might haue place.
Yet though I see, that nought we doe, can moue,
Tis not disdaine must make me leaue to loue.

SONNET. IX.

[If this be loue, to draw a wearie breath]

If this be loue, to draw a wearie breath,
To paint on floods, till the shore crie to th'aire:
With downeward lookes, still reading on the earth,
These sad memorials of my loues dispaire:
If this be loue, to warre against my soule,
Lie downe to waile, rise vp to sigh and grieue,
The neuer-resting stone of Care to roule,
Still to complaine my griefes, whilst none relieue.

If this be loue, to cloathe me with darke thoughts,
Haunting vntrodden paths to waile apart;
My pleasures horror, Musicke tragicke notes,
Teares in mine eyes, and sorrow at my hart.
If this be loue, to liue a liuing death,
Then doe I loue and draw this wearie breath.

SONNET. X.

[Then doe I loue, and draw this wearie breath]

Then doe I loue, and draw this wearie breath,
For her the cruell Faire, within whose brow
I written finde the sentence of my death,
In vnkinde Letters; wrote she cares not how.
Thou powre that rul'st the confines of the night,
Laughter louing Goddesse, worldly pleasures Queene,
Intenerat that heart that sets so light,
The truest loue that euer yet was seene.
And cause her leaue to triumph in this wise,
Vpon the prostrate spoyle of that poore hart
That serues a Trophey to her conquering eies,
And must their glory to the world impart.
Once let her know, sh'hath done enough to proue me,
And let her pitte if she cannot loue me.

SONNET. XI.

[Teares, vowes, and prayers, winne the hardest hart]

Teares, vowes, and prayers, winne the hardest hart,
Teares, vowes, and prayers haue I spent in vaine;
Teares cannot soften flint, nor vowes conuart,
Prayers preuaile not with a quaint disdaine.
I lose my teares where I haue lost my loue,
I vow my faith, where faith is not regarded;
I pray in vaine, a mercilesse to moue:
So rare a faith ought better be rewarded.
Yet, though I cannot winne her will with teares,
Though my soules Idoll scorneth all my vowes;
Though all my prayers be to so deafe eares,
No fauour though, the cruell faire allowes,
Yet will I weepe, vow, pray to cruell shee:
Flint, frost, disdaine, weares, meltes, and yeeldes we see.

SONNET. XII.

[My spotlesse loue houers with purest wings]

My spotlesse loue houers with purest wings,
About the Temple of the proudest frame:
Where blaze those lights fairest of earthly things,
Which cleere our clouded world with brightest flame.
M'ambitious thoughts confined in her face,
Affect no honor but what she can giue:
My hopes doe rest in limits of her grace,
I weigh no comfort vnlesse she relieue.

For she that can my heart imparadize,
Holdes in her fairest hand what dearest is,
My fortunes wheeles the circle of her eies,
Whose rowling grace deigne once a turne of blis.
All my liues sweet consists in her alone,
So much I loue the most vnlouing one.

SONNET. XIII.

[Behold what hap Pigmalion had to frame]

Behold what hap Pigmalion had to frame
And carue his proper griefe vpon a stone;
My heauy fortune is much like the same,
I worke on flint, and thats the cause I mone.
For haplesse loe euen with mine owne desires,
I figurde on the table of mine hart,
The fairest forme, that all the world admires,
And so did perish by my proper art.
And still I toyle, to change the Marble brest
Of her, whose sweetest grace I do adore,
Yet cannot finde her breathe vnto my rest,
Hard is her hart, and woe is me therefore.
But happy he that ioy'd his stone and art,
Vnhappy I, to loue a stony hart.

SONNET. XIIII.

[Those snary locks, are those same nets (my Deere)]

Those snary locks, are those same nets (my Deere)
Wherewith my liberty thou didst surprize;
Loue was the flame that fired me so neere,
The Dart transpearsing, were those Christall eies.

Strong is the net, and feruent is the flame;
Deepe is the wound my sighes can well report:
Yet do I loue, adore, and prayse the same,
That holds, that burnes, that wounds me in this sort.
And list not seeke to breake, to quench, to heale,
The bond, the flame, the wound that festreth so,
By knife, by liquor, or by salue to deale:
So much I please to perish in my woe.
Yet least long trauailes be aboue my strength,
Good Delia lose, quench, heale me now at length.

SONNET. XV.

[If that a loyall hart and faith vnfained]

If that a loyall hart and faith vnfained,
If a sweet languish with a chast desire,
If hunger-staruen thoughts so long retained,
Fed but with smoke, and cherisht but with fire:
And if a brow with cares characters painted,
Bewraies my loue, with broken words halfe spoken
To her that sits in my thoughts Temple sainted,
And laies to view my Vultur-gnawne hart open:
If I haue done due homage to her eyes,
And had my sighes still tending on her name;
If on her loue my life and honour lyes,
And she (th'vnkindest maid) still scorns the same:
Let this suffice, that all the world may see
The fault is hers, though mine the hurt must be.

SONNET. XVI.

[Happy in sleepe, waking content to languish]

Happy in sleepe, waking content to languish,
Imbracing clouds by night, in day time mourne,
My ioys but shadowes, touch of truth, my anguish,
Griefes euer springing, comforts neuer borne.
And still expecting when she will relent,
Growne hoarce with crying mercy, mercy giue,
So many vowes, and praiers hauing spent,
That weary of my life, I loath to liue.
And yet the Hydra of my cares renues
Still new borne sorrowes of her fresh disdaine:
And still my hope the Sommer windes pursues,
Finding no end nor period of my paine.
This is my state, my griefes do touch so neerly,
And thus I liue because I loue her deerly.

SONNET. XVII.

[VVhy should I sing in verse, why should I frame]

VVhy should I sing in verse, why should I frame
These sad neglected notes for her deare sake?
Why should I offer vp vnto her name,
The sweetest sacrifice my youth can make?
Why should I striue to make her liue for euer,
That neuer deignes to giue me ioy to liue?
Why should m'afflicted Muse so much endeuour,
Such honour vnto cruelty to giue?
If her defects haue purchast her this fame,
What should her vertues do, her smiles, her loue?
If this her worst, how should her best inflame?
What passions would her milder fauours moue?
Fauours (I thinke) would sence quite ouercome,
And that makes happy Louers euer dombe.

SONNET. XVIII.

[Since the first looke that led me to this error]

Since the first looke that led me to this error,
To this thoughts-maze, to my confusion tending:
Still haue I liu'd in griefe, in hope, in terror,
The circle of my sorrowes neuer ending.
Yet cannot leaue her loue that holds me hatefull,
Her eyes exact it, though her hart disdaines me;
See what reward he hath that serues the vngratefull,
So true and loyall loue no fauour gaines me.

Still must I whet my yong desires abated,
Vpon the flint of such a hart rebelling;
And all in vaine, her pride is so innated,
She yeelds no place at all for pitties dwelling.
Oft haue I told her that my soule did loue her,
(And that with teares) yet all this will not moue her.

SONNET. XIX.

[Restore thy tresses to the golden Ore]

Restore thy tresses to the golden Ore,
Yeeld Cithereas sonne those Arkes of loue;
Bequeath the heauens the starres that I adore,
And to th'Orient do thy Pearles remoue,
Yeeld thy hands pride vnto th'Iuory white,
T'Arabian odors giue thy breathing sweete:
Restore thy blush vnto Aurora bright,
To Thetis giue the honour of thy feete.
Let Venus haue thy graces, her resign'd,
And thy sweet voice giue back vnto the Spheares:
But yet restore thy fierce and cruell mind,
To Hyrcan Tygres, and to ruthles Beares.
Yeeld to the Marble thy hard hart againe;
So shalt thou cease to plague, and I to paine.

SONNET. XX.

[VVhat it is to breathe and liue without life]

VVhat it is to breathe and liue without life:
How to be pale with anguish, red with feare,
T'haue peace abroad, and nought within but strife:
Wish to be present, and yet shun t'appeare:

How to be bold far off, and bashfull neare:
How to thinke much, and haue no words to speake:
To craue redresse, yet hold affliction deare:
To haue affection strong, a body weake,
Neuer to finde, and euermore to seeke:
And seeke that which I dare not hope to finde:
T'affect this life, and yet this life disleeke:
Gratefull t'another, to my selfe vnkinde.
This cruell knowledge of these contraries,
Delia my hart hath learnd out of those eyes.

SONNET. XXI.

[If beauty thus be clowded with a frowne]

If beauty thus be clowded with a frowne,
That pitty shines no comfort to my blis,
And vapours of disdaine so ouergrowne
That my liues light wholy in-darkned is.
Why should I more molest the world with cries?
The ayre with sighes, the earth below with teares?
Sith I liue hatefull to those ruthlesse eies,
Vexing with vntun'd moane her dainty eares.
If I haue lou'd her dearer then my breath,
My breath that calls the heauens to witnes it:
And still must hold her deare till after death,
And that all this mooues not her thoughts a whit,
Yet sure she cannot but must thinke a part,
She doth me wrong, to grieue so true a heart.

SONNET. XXII.

[Come Time the anchor-hold of my desire]

Come Time the anchor-hold of my desire,
My last Resort whereto my hopes appeale,
Cause once the date of her disdaine t'expire:
Make her the sentence of her wrath repeale.
Rob her faire Brow, breake in on Beauty, steale
Powre from those eyes, which pitty cannot spare:
Deale with those dainty cheekes as she doth deale
With this poore heart consumed with dispaire.
This heart made now the prospectiue of care,
By louing her, the cruelst Faire that liues,
The cruelst Fayre that sees I pine for her,
And neuer mercy to thy merit giues.
Let her not still triumph ouer the prize
Of mine affections taken by her eies.

SONNET. XXIII.

[Time, cruell time, come and subdue that Brow]

Time, cruell time, come and subdue that Brow
Which conquers all but thee, and thee too staies
As if she were exempt from Syeth or Bow,
From loue or yeares vnsubiect to decaies.
Or art thou growne in league with those faire eies
That they may helpe thee to consume our daies?
Or dost thou spare her for her cruelties,
Being merciles like thee that no man weies?
And yet thou seest thy powre she disobayes,
Cares not for thee, but lets thee waste in vaine,
And prodigall of howers and yeares betraies
Beauty and youth t'opinion and disdaine.
Yet spare her Time, let her exempted be,
She may become more kinde to thee or me.

SONNET. XXIIII.

[These sorrowing sighes, the smoake of mine annoy]

These sorrowing sighes, the smoake of mine annoy,
These teares, which heate of sacred flame distils,
Are those due tributes that my faith doth pay
Vnto the tyrant, whose vnkindnes kils.
I sacrifise my youth, and blooming yeares
At her proud feete, and she respects not it;
My flower vntimely's withred with my teares:
And Winter woes, for spring of youth vnfit.
She thinkes a looke may recompence my care,
And so with lookes, prolongs my long-lookt ease,
As short that blisse, so is the comfort rare,
Yet must that blisse my hungry thoughts appease.

Thus she returnes my hopes so fruitlesse euer,
Once let her loue indeed, or els eye me neuer.

SONNET. XXV.

[False Hope prolongs my euer certaine griefe]

False Hope prolongs my euer certaine griefe,
Traitour to me, and faithfull to my Loue:
A thousand times it promis'd me reliefe,
Yet neuer any true effect I proue.
Oft when I finde in her no truth at all,
I banish her, and blame her trechery,
Yet soone againe I must her backe recall,
As one that dies without her company.
Thus often as I chase my hope from me,
Straight-way she hasts her vnto Delias eies:
Fed with some pleasing looke there shall she be,
And so sent backe, and thus my fortune lies.
Lookes feed my Hope, Hope fosters me in vaine,
Hopes are vnsure, when certaine is my paine.

SONNET. XXVI.

[Looke in my griefes, and blame me not to mourne]

Looke in my griefes, and blame me not to mourne,
From care to care that leades a life so bad;
Th'Orphan of Fortune, borne to be her scorne,
Whose clouded brow doth make my daies so sad.
Long are their nights whose cares do neuer sleepe,
Lothsome their daies, whom no sun euer ioyd,
Th'impression of her eyes do pearce so deepe,
That thus I liue both day and night annoyd.

But since the sweetest roote yeelds fruite so sowre,
Her praise from my complaint I may not part:
I loue th'effect the cause being of this powre,
Ile praise her face, and blame her flinty heart.
Whilst we both make the world admire at vs,
Her for disdaine, and me for louing thus.

SONNET. XXVII.

[Oft and in vaine my rebel thoughts haue ventred]

Oft and in vaine my rebel thoughts haue ventred,
To stop the passage of my vanquisht hart:
And shut those waies my friendly foe first entred,
Hoping thereby to free my better part.
And whilst I garde these windowes of this forte,
Where my harts theese to vexe me made her choice:
And thether all my forces doe transporte,
An other passage opens at her voice.
Her voyce betraies me to her hand and eye:
My freedomes tyrants conquering all by arte.
But ah, what glorie can she get thereby,
With thee such powers to plague one silly harte.
Yet my soules soueraigne, since I must resigne,
Reigne in my thoughts, my loue and life are thine.

SONNET. XXVIII.

[Raigne in my thoughts faire hand, sweete eye, rare voice]

Raigne in my thoughts faire hand, sweete eye, rare voice,
Possesse me whole, my hearts triumvirate:
Yet heauy heart to make so hard a choise,
Of such as spoile thy poore afflicted state.
For whilst they striue which shall be Lord of all,
All my poore life by them is troden downe;
They all erect their Trophies on my fall,
And yeeld me nought that giues them their renowne.
When backe I looke, I sigh my freedome past,
And waile the state wherein I present stand:
And see my fortune euer like to last,
Finding me rain'd with such a heauy hand.
What can I do but yeeld? and yeeld I doo,
And serue all three, and yet they spoile me too.

SONNET. XXIX.

[Like as the spotlesse Ermelin distrest]

To M. P.

Like as the spotlesse Ermelin distrest,
Circumpass'd round with filth and lothsome mud:
Pines in her griefe, imprisoned in her nest,
And cannot issue forth to seeke her good.
So I inuiron'd with a hatefull want,
Looke to the heauens; the heauens yeelde forth no grace:
I search the earth, the earth I finde as skant,
I view my selfe, my selfe in wofull case.

Heauen nor earth will not, my selfe cannot wake
A way through want to free my soule from care:
But I must pine, and in my pining lurke,
Least my sad lookes bewray me how I fare.
My fortune mantled with a clowde s'obscure;
Thus shades my life so long as wants endure.

SONNET. XXX.

[My cares draw on mine euerlasting night]

My cares draw on mine euerlasting night,
In horrors sable clowdes sets my liues sunne:
My liues sweet sunne, my dearest comforts light,
Will rise no more to me, whose day is dunne.
I goe before vnto the Mirtle shades.
To attend the presence of my worlds Deere;
And there prepare her flowres that neuer fades,
And all things fit against her comming there.
If any aske me why so soone I came,
Ile hide her sinne and say it was my lot:
In life and death Ile tender her good name,
My life nor death shal neuer be her blot.
Although this world may seeme her deede to blame,
Th'Elisian ghosts shall neuer know the same.

SONNET. XXXI.

[VVhilst by thy eies pursu'd, my poore heart flew]

[_]

Alluding to the Sparrow pursued by a Hawke, that flew into the bosome of Zenocrates.

VVhilst by thy eies pursu'd, my poore heart flew
Into the sacred Refuge of thy brest:
Thy rigor in that Sanctuary slew
That which thy succring mercy should haue blest.
No priuiledge of faith could it protect,
Faith being with blood, and fiue yeares witnes sign'd,
Wherein no shew gaue cause of least suspect,
For well thou saw'st my loue and how I pin'd
Yet no mild comfort would thy Brow reueale,
No lightning lookes which falling hopes erect:
What bootes to lawes of Succor to appeale?
Ladies and Tyrants, neuer lawes respect.
Then there I die from whence my life should come,
And by that hand whom such deeds ill become.

SONNET. XXXII.

[The Starre of my mishap impos'd this paine]

The Starre of my mishap impos'd this paine
To spend the Aprill of my yeares in griefe:
Finding my fortune euer in the waine
With still fresh cares, supplide with no reliefe.
Yet thee I blame not, though for thee tis done,
But these weake whings presuming to aspire,
Which now are melted by thine eyes bright sun,
That makes me fall from off my hie desire.
And in my fall I crye for helpe with speede,
No pittying eye lookes backe vpon my feares:
No succour finde I now when most I neede,
My heates must drowne in th'Ocean of my teares.
Which still must beare the title of my wrong,
Caus'd by those cruell beames that were so strong.

SONNET. XXXIII.

[Still in the trace of one perplexed thought]

Still in the trace of one perplexed thought,
My ceasles cares continually run on:
Seeking in vaine what I haue euer sought,
One in my loue, and her hard hart still one.

I who did neuer ioy in other Sun,
And haue no stars but those, that must fulfill
The worke of rigor, fatally begun
Vpon this heart, whom cruelty will kill.
Iniurious Delia yet I loue thee still,
And will whilst I shall draw this breath of mine,
Ile tell the world that I deseru'd but ill,
And blame my selfe t'excuse that heart of thine.
See then who sinnes the greater of vs twaine,
I in my loue, or thou in thy disdaine.

SONNET. XXXIIII.

[Oft do I maruell, whether Delias eies]

Oft do I maruell, whether Delias eies,
Are eyes, or els two radiant starres that shine
For how could Nature euer thus deuise,
Of earth on earth a substance so diuine.

Starres sure they are, whose motions rule desires,
And calme and tempest follow their aspects:
Their sweet appearing still such power inspires,
That makes the world admire so strange effects,
Yet whether fixt or wandring starres are they,
Whose influence rule the Orbe of my poore hart?
Fixt sure they are, but wandring make me stray,
In endles errors, whence I cannot part.
Starres then, not eyes, moue you with a milder view,
Your sweet aspect on him that honours you.

SONNET. XXXV.

[And yet I cannot reprehend the flight]

And yet I cannot reprehend the flight,
Or blame th'attempt presuming so to sore;
The mounting venter for a high delight,
Did make the honour of the fall the more.
For who gets wealth that puts not from the shore?
Danger hath honor, great designes their fame,
Glory doth follow, courage goes before.
And though th'euent oft answers not the same,
Suffice that high attempts haue neuer shame.
The meane obseruer (whom base safety keeps)
Liues without honour, dies without a name,
And in eternall darknesse euer sleeps.
And therefore Delia, tis to me no blot,
To haue attempted, though attaind thee not.

SONNET. XXXVI.

[Raising my hopes on hills of high desire]

Raising my hopes on hills of high desire,
Thinking to scale the heauen of her hart,
My slender meanes presum'd too high a part;
Her thunder of disdaine forst me retire,
And threw me downe to paine in all this fire,
Where loe I languish in so heauy smart,
Because th'attempt was farre aboue my art:
Her pride brook'd not poore soules should so aspire.
Yet I protest my high desiring will
Was not to dispossesse her of her right:
Her soueraignty should haue remained still,
I onely sought the blisse to haue her sight.
Her sight contented thus to see me spill,
Fram'd my desires fit for her eyes to kill.

SONNET. XXXVII.

[VVhy doost thou Delia credit so thy glasse]

VVhy doost thou Delia credit so thy glasse,
Gazing thy beauty deign'd thee by the skies:
And doest not rather looke on him (alas)
Whose state best shewes the force of murdering eies?
The broken tops of lofty trees declare
The fury of a mercy-wanting storme;
And of what force thy wounding graces are,
Vpon my selfe thou best mayst finde the forme:

Then leaue thy glasse, and gaze thy selfe on me,
That Mirror shewes what power is in thy face:
To view your forme too much, may danger bee,
Narcissus chang'd t'a flower in such a case.
And you are chang'd, but not t'a Hiacint;
I feare your eye hath turnd your heart to flint.

SONNET. XXXVIII.

[I once may see when yeares shall wreck my wrong]

I once may see when yeares shall wreck my wrong,
When golden haires shall change to siluer wier:
And those bright raies that kindle all this fire,
Shall faile in force, their working not so strong:
Then beauty (now the burthen of my song)
VVhose glorious blaze the world doth so admire,
Must yeeld vp all to tyrant Times desire;
Then fade those flowers that deckt her pride so long.
VVhen, if she grieue to gaze her in her glasse,
Which, then presents her winter-withered hew,
Goe you my verse, go tell her what she was;
For what she was, she best shall find in you.
Your firy heate lets not her glory passe,
But (Phænix-like) shall make her liue anew.

SONNET. XXXIX.

[Looke Delia how w'esteeme the halfe blowne Rose]

Looke Delia how w'esteeme the halfe blowne Rose,
The image of thy blush and Sommers honor:
Whilst yet her tender bud doth vndisclose
That full of beauty, time bestowes vpon her.
No sooner spreads her glory in the ayre,
But straight her wide blowne pomp comes to decline:
She then is scornd that late adornd the Fayre;
So fade the Roses of those cheeks of thine.
No Aprill can reuiue thy withered flowres,
Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now:
Swift speedy Time, feathred with flying houres,
Dissolues the beauty of the fairest brow.
Then do not thou such treasure wast in vaine,
But loue now whilst thou maist be lou'd againe.

SONNET. XL.

[Bvt loue whilst that thou maist be lou'd againe]

Bvt loue whilst that thou maist be lou'd againe,
Now whilst thy May hath fild thy lap with flowers,
Now whilst thy beauty beares without a staine;
Now vse the Sommer smiles, ere Winter lowers.
And whilst thou spreadst vnto the rising sunne,

The fairest flowre that euer saw the light,
Now ioy thy time before thy sweet be done.
And (Delia) thinke thy morning must haue night,
And that thy brightnes sets at length to West,
When thou wilt close vp that which now thou show'st,
And thinke the same becomes thy fading best,
Which then shall most inuaile and shadow most.
Men do not wey the stalke for that it was,
When once they find her flowre her glory pas.

SONNET. XLI.

[VVhen men shall find thy flower, thy glory passe]

VVhen men shall find thy flower, thy glory passe,
And thou with carefull brow sitting alone:
Receiued hast this message from thy glasse,
That tells the truth, and sayes that all is gone;
Fresh shalt thou see in me the wounds thou madst,
Though spent thy flame, in me the heat remaining,
I that haue lou'd thee thus before thou fadst,
My faith shall waxe, when thou are in thy waining.
The world shall finde this myracle in me,
That fire can burne when all the matter's spent:
Then what my faith hath bene thy selfe shall see,
And that thou wast vnkinde, thou mayst repent.
Thou maist repent that thou hast scornd my teares,
When winter snowes vpon thy sable haires.

SONNET. XLII.

[VVhen winter snowes vpon thy sable haires]

VVhen winter snowes vpon thy sable haires,
And frost of age hath nipt thy beauties neere,
When darke shall seeme thy day that neuer cleares,
And all lies withred that was held so deere.
Then take this picture which I here present thee,
Limmed with a Pensill not all vnworthy:
Here see the gifts that God and nature lent thee,
Here read thy selfe, and what I suffred for thee.
This may remaine thy lasting monument,
Which happily posterity may cherrish,
These colours with thy fading are not spent,
These may remaine when thou and I shall perish.
If they remaine, then thou shalt liue thereby,
They will remaine, and so thou canst not die.

SONNET. XLIII.

[Thou canst not die whilst any zeale abound]

Thou canst not die whilst any zeale abound
In feeling hearts that can conceiue these lines;
Though thou a Laura hast no Petrarch found,
In base attire, yet cleerly Beauty shines.
And I (though borne within a colder clime,)
Do feele mine inward heat as great (I know it:)
He neuer had more faith, although more rime,
I loue as well, though he could better show it.
But I may adde one feather to thy fame,
To helpe her flight throughout the fairest Ile,
And if my pen could more enlarge thy name,
Then shouldst thou liue in an immortall stile.

For though that Laura better limned be,
Suffice, thou shalt be lou'd as well as shee.

SONNET. XLIIII.

[Be not displeasd that these my papers should]

Be not displeasd that these my papers should
Bewray vnto the world how faire thou art:
Or that my wits haue shewed the best they could.
(The chastest flame that euer warmed hart)
Thinke not (sweet Delia) this shall be thy shame,
My Muse should sound thy praise with mournfull warble:
How many liue, the glory of whose name
Shall rest in Ise, when thine is grau'd in Marble.
Thou maist in after ages liue esteem'd,
Vnburied in these lines reseru'd in purenes;
These shall intombe those eies, that haue redeem'd
Me from the vulgar, thee from all obscurenes.
Although my carefull accents neuer moou'd thee,
Yet count it no disgrace that I haue lou'd thee.

SONNET. XLV.

[Delia, these eyes that so admireth thine]

Delia, these eyes that so admireth thine,
Haue seene those walls which proud ambition rear'd
To check the world, how they intomb'd haue lien
Within themselues, and on them ploughs haue ear'd.
Yet neuer found that barbarous hand attaind
The spoyle of fame deseru'd by vertuous men:
Whose glorious actions luckily had gaind
Th'eternall Annals of a happy pen.

And therefore grieue not if thy beauties die,
Though time do spoyle thee of the fairest vaile
That euer yet couered mortality,
And must instarre the Needle, and the Raile.
That Grace which doth more then in woman thee,
Liues in my lines, and must eternall bee.

SONNET. XLVI.

[Most faire and louely Maide, looke from the shore]

Most faire and louely Maide, looke from the shore,
See thy Leander striuing in these waues:
Poore soule quite spent, whose force can do no more,
Now send forth hope, for now calme pitty saues.
And waft him to thee with those louely eies,
A happy conuoy to a holy Land:
Now shew thy power, and where thy vertue lies,
To saue thine owne, stretch out the fairest hand.
Stretch out the fairest hand, a pledge of peace;
That hand that darts so right and neuer misses:
I shall forget old wrongs, my griefes shall cease;
And that which gaue me wounds, Ile giue it kisses.
Once let the Ocean of my cares finde shore,
That thou be pleas'd, and I may sigh no more.

SONNET. XLVII.

[Read in my face, a volume of dispaires]

Read in my face, a volume of dispaires,
The wailing Iliads of my tragicke woe:
Drawne with my blood, and painted with my cares,
Wrought by her hand that I haue honour'd so.
Who whilst I burne, she sings at my soules wrack,
Looking aloft from turret of her pride:
There my soules tyrant ioyes her, in the sack
Of her owne seate, whereof I made her guide.
There do these smoakes that from affliction rise,
Serue as an incense to a cruell Dame:
A sacrifice thrice-gratefull to her eies,
Because their power serue to exact the same.
Thus ruines she (to satisfie her will,)
The temple, where her name was honour'd still.

SONNET. XLVIII.

[My Delia hath the waters of mine eies]

My Delia hath the waters of mine eies,
The ready handmayds on her grace t'attend:
That neuer fall to ebbe, but euer rise,
For to their flow she neuer grants an end.
Th'Ocean neuer did attend more duly
Vpon his souereignes course, the nights pale Queene,
Nor payd the impost of his waues more truly,
Then mine vnto her cruelty hath beene.

Yet nought the rocke of that hard heart can moue,
Where beat these teares with zeale, and fury driues:
And yet I'd rather languish for her loue,
Then I would ioy the fairest she that liues.
And if I finde such pleasure to complaine,
What should I do then, if I should obtaine?

SONNET. XLIX.

[How long shall I in mine affliction mourne?]

How long shall I in mine affliction mourne?
A burden to my selfe, distrest in minde:
When shall my interdicted hopes returne,
From out dispaire, wherein they liue confinde?
When shal her troubled brow charg'd with disdaine
Reueale the treasure which her smiles impart?
When shall my faith the happines attaine,
To breake the Ise that hath congeald her heart?
Vnto her selfe, her selfe my loue doth sommon,
(If loue in her hath any power to moue,)
And let her tell me as she is a woman,
Whether my faith hath not deseru'd her loue?
I know her heart cannot but iudge with me,
Although her eyes my aduersaries be.

SONNET. L.

[Beautie (sweet Loue) is like the morning dew]

Beautie (sweet Loue) is like the morning dew,
Whose short refresh vpon the tender greene:
Cheeres for a time, but till the Sunne doth shew,
And straight tis gone as it had neuer beene.
Soone doth it fade that makes the fairest florish,
Short is the glory of the blushing Rose:
The hew which thou so carefully dost norish,
Yet which at length thou must be forc'd to lose.
When thou surcharg'd with burthen of thy yeeres,
Shalt bend thy wrinckles homeward to the earth,
And that in Beauties lease expir'd, appeares
The date of Age, the Kalends of our death.
But ah! no more, this must not be foretold,
For women grieue to thinke they must be old.

SONNET. LI.

[I must not griue my Loue, whose eies would reede]

I must not griue my Loue, whose eies would reede
Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile:
Flowers haue a time before they come to seede,
And she is yong, and now must sport the while.
Ah sport (sweet Maide) in season of these yeares,
And learne to gather flowers before they wither:
And where the sweetest blossomes first appeares,
Let loue and youth conduct thy pleasures thither.

Lighten foorth smiles to cleere the clouded aire,
And calme the tempest which my sighs doo raise:
Pitty and smiles doe best become the faire,
Pitty and smiles must onely yeeld thee praise.
Make me to say, when all my griefes are gone,
Happy the heart that sigh'd for such a one.

SONNET. LII.

[And whither (poore forsaken) wilt thou goe]

[_]

At the Authors going into Italie.

And whither (poore forsaken) wilt thou goe,
To goe from sorrow, and thine owne distresse?
When euery place presents like face of woe,
And no remoue can make thy sorrowes lesse?
Yet goe (forsaken) leaue these Woods, these plaines,
Leaue her and all, and all for her that leaues
Thee and thy Loue forlorne, and both disdaines:
And of both, wrongfull deemes, and ill conceiues.
Seeke out some place, and see if any place
Can giue the least release vnto thy griefe:
Conuay thee from the thought of thy disgrace,
Steale from thy selfe, and be thy cares owne thiefe.
But yet, what comforts shall I hereby gaine?
Bearing the wound, I needes must feele the paine.

SONNET. LIII.

[Drawne with th'atractiue vertue of her eyes]

[_]

This Sonnet was made at the Author's beeing in Italie.

Drawne with th'atractiue vertue of her eyes,
My toucht heart turnes it to that happy cost:
My ioyfull North, where all my fortune lies,
The leuell of my hopes desired most,
There where my Delia fairer then the Sunne,
Deckt with her youth whereon the world doth smile,
Ioyes in that honor which her eyes haue wonne,
Th'eternall wonder of our happy Ile.
Florish faire Albion, glory of the North,
Neptunes best darling, held betweene his armes:
Diuided from the world, as better worth,
Kept for himselfe, defended from all harmes.
Still let disarmed peace decke her and thee:
And Muse-foe Mars, abroad farre fostred bee.

SONNET. LIIII.

[Care-charmer Sleepe, sonne of the sable night]

Care-charmer Sleepe, sonne of the sable night,
Brother to death, in silent darknes borne:
Relieue my languish, and restore the light
With darke forgetting of my care returne.
And let the day be time enough to mourne
The shipwracke of my ill aduentred youth:
Let waking eyes suffice to waile their scorne,
Without the torment of the nights vntruth.

Cease dreames, th'Images of day desires,
To modell forth the passions of the morrow:
Neuer let rising Sunne approue you liers,
To adde more griefe to aggrauate my sorrow.
Still let me sleepe, imbracing clouds in vaine,
And neuer wake to feele the dayes disdaine.

SONNET. LV.

[Let others sing of Knights and Palladines]

Let others sing of Knights and Palladines;
In aged accents, and vntimely words:
Paint shadowes in imaginary lines,
VVhich well the reach of their high wits records;
But I must sing of thee, and those faire eies,
Autentique shall my verse in time to come,
VVhen yet th'vnborne shall say, Lo where she lies,
VVhose beauty made him speake that else was dombe.
These are the Arkes, the Trophies I erect,
That fortifie thy name against old age:
And these thy sacred vertues must protect,
Against the darke and times consuming rage.
Though th'error of my youth in them appeare,
Suffice, they shew I liu'd and lou'd thee deare.

SONNET. LVI.

[As to the Roman that would free his Land]

As to the Roman that would free his Land,
His error was his honour and renowne:
And more the fame of his mistaking hand,
Then if he had the tyrant ouer-throwne.
So Delia, hath mine error made me knowne,
And my deceiu'd attempt, deseru'd more fame;
Then if I had the victory mine owne:
And thy hard heart had yeelded vp the same.
And so likewise, renowmed is thy blame,
Thy cruelty, thy glory; O strange case
That errors should be grac'd that merit shame,
And sinne of frownes bring honour to the face.
Yet happy Delia that thou wast vnkind,
Though happier far if thou wouldst change thy mind.

SONNET. LVII.

[Like as the Lute delights or els dislikes]

Like as the Lute delights or els dislikes,
As is his art that playes vpon the same:
So sounds my Muse according as she strikes
On my heart-strings high tun'd vnto her fame.
Her touch doth cause the warble of the sound,
VVhich here I yeeld in lamentable wise:
A wayling descant on the sweetest ground,
VVhose due reports giue honor to her eyes.

Else harsh my stile, vntunable my Muse,
Hoarce sounds the voyce that prayseth not her name;
If any pleasing relish here I vse,
Then iudge the world her beauty giues the same.
For no ground els could make the Musicke such,
Nor other hand could giue so true a touch.

SONNET. LVIII.

[None other fame mine vnambitious Muse]

None other fame mine vnambitious Muse,
Affected euer, but t'eternize thee:
All other honors doe my hopes refuse,
Which meaner priz'd and momentary bee.
For God forbid I should my Papers blot,
With mercenary lines, with seruile Pen:
Praising vertues in them that haue them not,
Basely attending on the hopes of men.
No, no, my Verse respects not Thames nor Theaters,
Nor seekes it to be knowne vnto the Great,
But Auon rich in fame, though poore in waters,
Shall haue my Song, where Delia hath her seat:
Auon shall be my Thames, and she my Song,
No other prouder Brookes shall heare my wrong.

SONNET. LIX.

[Vnhappy Pen, and ill-accepted lines]

Vnhappy Pen, and ill-accepted lines
That intimate in vaine my chaste desire:
My chaste desire, which from darke sorrow shines,
Inkindled by her eyes celestiall fire.
Celestiall fire, and vnrespecting powres
Which pitty not the wounds made by their might,
Shew'd in these lines, the worke of carefull houres,
The sacrifice here offred to her sight.
But since she weighs them not, this rests for me,
Ile mone my selfe, and hide the wrong I haue:
And so content me that her frownes should be
To m'infant stile the Cradle, and the Graue.
What though my Muse no honor get thereby,
Each Bird sings to her selfe, and so will I.

SONNET. LX.

[Lo here the impost of a faith entire]

Lo here the impost of a faith entire
Which loue doth pay, and her disdaine extorts:
Behold the message of a chast desire
Which tells the world how much my griefe imports.
These tributary passions, beauties due,
I send those eyes the cabinets of loue:
That Cruelty her selfe might grieue to view
Th'affliction her vnkind disdaine doth moue.

And how I liue cast downe from off all myrth,
Pensiue alone, onely but with Dispaire:
My ioyes abortiue, perish in their byrth.
My griefes long liu'd, and care succeeding care.
This is my state, and Delias heart is such,
I say no more, I feare I sayd too much.

III. THE COMPLAINT OF ROSAMOND.

1592.

THE COMPLAINT OF Rosamond.

Ovt from the horror of infernall deepes,
My poore afflicted ghost comes here to plain it,
Attended with my shame that neuer sleepes,
The spot wherewith my kind, and youth did staine it.
My body found a graue where to containe it:
A sheete could hide my face, but not my sin,
For Fame findes neuer Tombe t'inclose it in.

And which is worse, my soule is now denied,
Her transport to the sweet Elisian rest,
The ioyfull blisse for Ghosts repurified,
The euer-springing Gardens of the blest:
Caron denies me waftage with the rest.
And saies my soule can neuer passe the Riuer,
Till Louers sighs on earth shall it deliuer.

So shall I neuer passe; for how should I
Procure this sacrifice amongst the liuing?
Time hath long since worne out the memorie
Both of my life, and liues vniust depriuing:
Sorrow for me is dead for aye reuiuing.
Rosamond hath little left her but her name,
And that disgrac'd, for time hath wrong'd the same.

No Muse suggests the pitty of my case,
Each Pen doth ouerpasse my iust complaint,
Whilst others are prefer'd, though farre more base;
Shores wife is grac'd, and passes for a Saint;
Her Legend iustifies her soule attaint.
Her well-told tale did such compassion finde,
That she is pass'd, and I am left behinde.

Which seene with griefe, my miserable Ghost,
(Whilome inuested in so faire a vaile,
Which whilst it liu'd, was honoured of the most,
And being dead, giues matter to bewaile,)
Comes to sollicite thee, (whilst others faile)
To take this taske, and in thy wofull song
To forme my case, and register my wrong.

Although I know thy iust lamenting Muse,
Toill'd in th'affliction of thine owne distresse,
In others cares hath little time to vse,
And therefore maist esteeme of mine the lesse:
Yet as thy hopes attend happy redresse,
The ioyes depending on a womans grace,
So moue thy minde a wofull womans case.

Delia may hap to deigne to reade our Story,
And offer vp her sighs among the rest,
Whose merit would suffice for both our glory,
Whereby thou might'st be grac'd and I be blest;
That indulgence would profit me the best.
Such powre she hath by whom thy youth is led,
To ioy the liuing, and to blesse the dead.

So I (through beauty) made the wofull'st wight,
By beauty might haue comfort after death:
That dying fairest, by the fairest might
Finde life aboue on earth, and rest beneath.
She that can blesse vs with one happy breath,
Giue comfort to thy Muse to doe her best,
That thereby thou mayst ioy, and I might rest.

Thus said: forthwith mou'd with a tender care,
And pitty (which my selfe could neuer find,)
What she desir'd, my Muse deign'd to declare,
And therefore, will'd her boldly tell her mind.
And I (more willing) tooke this charge assign'd,
Because her griefes were worthy to be knowne,
And telling hers, might hap forget mine owne.

Then write (quoth she) the ruine of my youth,
Report the downe-fall of my slippry state:
Of all my life reueale the simple truth,
To teach to others what I learnt too late.
Exemplifie my frailtie, tell how Fate
Keepes in eternall darke our fortunes hidden,
And ere they come to know them tis forbidden.

For whilst the Sun-shine of my fortune lasted,
I ioy'd the happiest warmth, the sweetest heate
That euer yet imperious beauty tasted,
I had what glory euer flesh could get:
But this faire morning had a shamefull set.
Disgrace dark'd honour, sinne did cloude my brow,
As note the sequell, and Ile tell thee how.

The bloud I stain'd, was good and of the best,
My birth had honour, and my beauty fame:
Nature and Fortune ioyn'd to make me blest.
Had I had grace t'haue knowne to vse the same.
My education shew'd from whence I came,
And all concurr'd to make me happy furst,
That so great hope might make me more accurst.

Happy liu'd I whilst parents eye did guide
The indiscretion of my feeble wayes,
And Countrey-home kept me from being eide,
Where best vnknowne I spent my sweetest daies:
Till that my friends mine honour sought to raise
To higher place, which greater credit yeelds,
Deeming such beauty was vnfit for fields.

From Countrey then to Court I was prefer'd
From calme to stormes, from shore into the deepes:
There where I perish'd, where my youth first err'd,
There where I lost the floure which honour keepes,
There where the worser thriues, the better weepes;
Ah me (poore wench) on this vnhappy shelfe,
I grounded me, and cast away my selfe.

There whereas fraile and tender beauty stands,
With all assaulting powres inuironed;
Hauing but prayers and weake feeble hands
To hold their honours Fort vnuanquished;
There where to stand, and be vnconquered,
Is to b'aboue the nature of our kinde,
That cannot long for pitty be vnkinde.

For thither com'd, when yeeres had arm'd my youth,
With rarest proofe of beauty euer seene:
When my reuiuing eie had learnt the truth,
That it had powre to make the winter greene,
And floure affections whereas none had beene;
Soone could I teach my brow to tyrannize,
And make the world doe homage to mine eyes.

For age I saw (though yeeres with cold conceit,
Congeal'd their thoughts against a warme desire,)
Yet sigh their want, and looke at such a baite;
I saw how youth was waxe before the fire;
I saw by stealth, I fram'd my looke a lyre.
Yet well perceiu'd, how Fortune made me then
The enuie of my sexe, and wonder vnto men.

Looke how a Comet at the first appearing,
Drawes all mens eyes with wonder to behold it;
Or as the saddest tale at sudden hearing,
Makes silent listning vnto him that told it,
So did my speech when Rubies did vnfold it;
So did the blazing of my blush appeare,
T'amaze the world, that holdes such sights so deere.

Ah beauty Syren, faire enchaunting good,
Sweet silent Rhetorique of perswading eyes:
Dombe Eloquence, whose powre doth moue the bloud,
More then the words or wisedome of the wise;
Still harmony, whose Diapason lyes
Within a brow, the key which passions moue,
To rauish sence, and play a world in loue.

What might I then not doe whose powre was such?
What cannot women doe that know their powre?
What women knowes it not (I feare too much)
How blisse or bale lyes in their laugh or lowre?
Whilst they inioy their happy blooming flowre,
Whilst Nature decks them in their best attires
Of youth and beauty, which the world admires.

Such one was I, my beauty was mine owne,
No borrowed blush which bank-rot beauties seeke:
That new-found shame, a sinne to vs vnknowne,
Th'adulterate beauty of a falsed cheeke:
Vilde staine to honour, and to women eeke,
Seeing that time our fading must detect,
Thus with defect to couer our defect.

Impietie of times, Chastities abator,
Falshood, wherein thy selfe thy selfe deniest:
Treason to counterfeit the seale of Nature,
The stampe of heauen, impressed by the highest.
Disgrace vnto the world, to whom thou liest,
Idoll vnto thy selfe, shame to the wise,
And all that honour thee Idolatrise.

Farre was that sinne from vs whose age was pure,
VVhen simple beauty was accounted best,
The time when women had no other lure
But modestie, pure cheekes, a vertuous brest:
This was the pompe wherewith my youth was blest.
These were the weapons which mine honour wonne,
In all the conflicts which mine eyes begunne.

VVhich were not small; I wrought on no meane obiect,
A Crowne was at my feete, Scepters obey'd me:
VVhom Fortune made my King, Loue made my Subiect,
VVho did command the Land, most humbly pray'd me:
Henry the second, that so highly weigh'd me,
Found well (by proofe) the priuiledge of beauty,
That it had powre to counter-maund all duty.

For after all his victories in France,
And all the triumphs of his honour wonne:
Vnmatcht by sword, was vanquisht by a glance,
And hotter warres within his breast begunne.
VVarres, whom whole legions of desires drew on:
Against all which, my chastitie contends,
VVith force of honour, which my shame defends.

No Armour might be found that could defend,
Transpearcing raies of cristall poynted eyes:
No stratagem, no reason could amend,
No not his age; (yet old men should be wise)
But shewes deceiue, outward appearance lies.
Let none for seeming so, thinke Saints of others,
For all are men, and all haue suckt their mothers.

VVho would haue thought a Monarch would haue euer
Obey'd his hand-maide of so meane estate;
Vulture ambition feeding on his liuer,
Age hauing worne his pleasures out of date.
But hap comes neuer, or it comes too late,
For such a dainty which his youth found not,
Vnto his feeble age did chaunce allot.

Ah Fortune, neuer absolutely good,
For that some crosse still counter-checks our lucke;
As here behold th'incompatible blood,
Of age and youth was that whereon we stucke:
VVhose lothing, we from Natures breasts doe sucke,
As opposite to what our bloud requires;
For equall age, doth equall like desires.

But mighty men, in highest honour sitting,
Nought but applause and pleasure can behold:
Sooth'd in their liking, carelesse what is fitting,
May not be suffred once to thinke the'are old:
Not trusting what they see, but what is told.
Miserable fortune to forget so farre
The state of flesh, and what our frailties are.

Yet must I needs excuse so great defect;
For drinking of the Lethe of mine eies,
H'is forc'd forget himselfe, and all respect
Of maiesty, whereon his state relies:
And now of loues and pleasures must deuise.
For thus reuiu'd againe, he serues and su'th,
And seekes all meanes to vndermine my youth.

Which neuer by assault he could recouer,
So well incamp'd in strength of chaste desires:
My cleane-arm'd thoughts repell'd an vnchaste louer.
The Crowne that could command what it requires,
I lesser priz'd then Chastities attires.
Th'vnstained vaile, which innocents adornes,
Th'vngathred Rose, defended with the thornes.

And safe mine honor stood, till that in truth,
One of my Sexe, of place and nature bad,
Was set in ambush to intrap my youth.
One in the habit of like frailtie clad,
One who the liu'ry of like weakenesse had.
A seeming Matron, yet a sinfull Monster,
As by her words the Chaster sort may conster.

She set vpon me with the smoothest speech
That Court and age could cunningly deuise:
Th'one authentique, made her fit to teach,
The other learn'd her how to subtilise.
Both were enough to circumuent the wise.
A document that well might teach the sage,
That there's no trust in youth, nor hope in age.

Daughter (said she) behold thy happy chance,
That hast the lot cast downe into thy lap,
Whereby thou may'st thy honor great aduance,
Whilst thou (vnhappy) wilt not see thy hap:
Such fond respect thy youth doth so inwrap,
T'oppose thy selfe against thine owne good fortune,
That poynts thee out, and seemes thee to importune.

Doost thou not see, how that thy King (thy Ioue)
Lightens forth glory on thy darke estate:
And showers downe gold and treasure from aboue,
Whilst thou doost shut thy lap against thy Fate?
Fie Fondling fie, thou wilt repent too late
The error of thy youth; that canst not see
What is the Fortune that doth follow thee.

Thou must not thinke thy flower can alwayes flourish,
And that thy beauty will be still admired;
But that those raies which all these flames doe nourish,
Cancell'd with Time, will haue their date expired,
And men will scorne what now is so desired.
Our frailties doome is written in the flowers,
Which flourish now, and fade ere many howers.

Reade in my face the ruines of my youth,
The wracke of yeeres vpon my aged brow;
I haue beene faire (I must confesse the truth)
And stood vpon as nice respects as thou;
I lost my time, and I repent it now.
But were I to beginne my youth againe,
I would redeeme the time I spent in vaine.

But thou hast yeeres and priuiledge to vse them,
Thy priuiledge doth beare Beauties great seale;
Besides, the Law of Nature doth excuse them,
To whom thy youth may haue a iust appeale.
Esteeme not Fame more then thou dost thy weale.
Fame (whereof the world seemes to make such choice)
Is but an Eccho, and an idle voice.

Then why should this respect of honor bound vs,
In th'imaginarie lists of Reputation?
Titles which cold seueritie hath found vs,
Breath of the vulgar, foe to recreation:
Melancholies opinion, Customes relation;
Pleasures plague, beauties scourge, hell to the faire,
To leaue the sweet for Castles in the aire.

Pleasure is felt, opinion but conceau'd,
Honor, a thing without vs, not our owne:
Whereof we see how many are bereau'd,
Which should haue reap'd the glory they had sowne:
And many haue it, yet vnworthy, knowne.
So breathes his blast this many-headed beast,
Whereof the wisest haue esteemed least.

The subtill City-women, better learned,
Esteeme them chaste enough that best seeme so:
Who though they sport, it shall not be discerned,
Their face bewraies not what their bodies do;
Tis warie walking that doth saflyest go,
With shew of Vertue, as the cunning knowes:
Babes are beguild with sweets, and men with showes.

Then vse thy tallent, youth shall be thy warrant,
And let not honor from thy sports detract:
Thou must not fondly thinke thy selfe transparant,
That those who see thy face can iudge thy fact;
Let her haue shame that cannot closely act.
And seeme the chaste, which is the chiefest arte,
For what we seeme each sees, none knowes our hart.

The mightie who can with such sinnes dispence,
In steed of shame doe honors great bestow,
A worthie author doth redeeme th'offence,
And makes the scarlet sinne as white as snow.
The Maiestie that doth descend so low,
Is not defilde, but pure remaines therein:
And being sacred, sanctifies the sin.

What, doost thou stand on this, that he is old?
Thy beautie hath the more to worke vpon;
Thy pleasures want shall be supplide with gold,
Cold age dotes most when heate of youth is gone:
Enticing words preuaile with such a one.
Alluring shewes most deepe impression strikes,
For age is prone to credit what it likes.

Here interrupt, she leaues me in a doubt,
When loe beganne the cumbat in my blood:
Seeing my youth inuiron'd round about,
The ground vncertaine where my reasons stood;
Small my defence to make my party good,
Against such powers which were so surely laid,
To ouerthrow a poore vnskilfull Maide.

Treason was in my bones, my selfe conspiring,
To sell my selfe to lust, my soule to sin:
Pure-blushing shame was euen in retiring,
Leauing the sacred hold it glori'd in.
Honor lay prostrate for my flesh to win,
When cleaner thoughts my weakenesse gan vpbray
Against my selfe, and shame did force me say;

Ah Rosamond, what doth thy flesh prepare?
Destruction to thy dayes, death to thy fame:
Wilt thou betray that honor held with care,
T'entombe with blacke reproch a spotted name?
Leauing thy blush the colours of thy shame?
Opening thy feete to sinne, thy soule to lust,
Gracelesse to lay thy glory in the dust?

Nay first let th'earth gape wide to swallow thee,
And shut thee vp in bosome with her dead,
Ere Serpent tempt thee taste forbidden Tree,
Or feele the warmth of an vnlawfull bed;
Suffring thy selfe by lust to be misled;
So to disgrace thy selfe and grieue thine heires,
That Cliffords race should scorne thee one of theirs.

Neuer wish longer to enioy the Aire,
Then that thou breath'st the breath of Chastitie:
Longer then thou preseru'st thy soule as faire
As is thy face, free from impuritie.
Thy face, that makes th'admir'd in euery eie,
Where Natures care such rarities inroule;
Which vs'd amisse, may serue to damne thy soule.

But what? he is my King, and may constraine me,
Whether I yeeld or not, I liue defamed.
The World will thinke Authoritie did gaine me,
I shall be iudg'd his Loue, and so be shamed:
We see the faire condemn'd, that neuer gamed.
And if I yeeld, tis honorable shame,
If not, I liue disgrac'd, yet thought the same.

What way is left thee then (vnhappy Maide)
Whereby thy spotlesse foote may wander out
This dreadfull danger, which thou seest is laide,
Wherein thy shame doth compasse thee about?
Thy simple yeeres cannot resolue this doubt.
Thy Youth can neuer guide thy foote so euen,
But (in despite) some scandall will be giuen.

Thus stood I ballanc'd equally precize,
Till my fraile flesh did weigh me downe to sin;
Till world and pleasure made me partialize,
And glittering pompe my vanitie did win,
When to excuse my fault my lusts begin.
And impious thoughts alledg'd this wanton clause,
That though I sinn'd, my sinne had honest cause.

So well the golden balles cast downe before me,
Could entertaine my course, hinder my way:
Whereat my wretchlesse youth stooping to store me,
Lost me the Goale, the Glory and the Day.
Pleasure had set my well school'd thoughts to play,
And bade me vse the vertue of mine eies,
For sweetly it fits the faire to wantonise.

Thus wrought to sinne, soone was I train'd from Court,
T'a sollitarie Grange, there to attend
The time the King should thither make resort,
Where he Loues long-desired worke should end.
Thither he daily messages doth send,
With costly Iewels (Orators of Loue,)
Which (ah, too well men know) doe women moue.

The day before the night of my defeature,
He greetes me with a Casket richly wrought;
So rare, that Arte did seeme to striue with Nature,
T'expresse the cunning Worke-mans curious thought;
The mysterie whereof I prying sought,
And found engrauen on the lid aboue,
Amymone, how she with Neptune stroue.

Amymone, old Danaus fairest Daughter,
As she was fetching water all alone
At Lerna: whereas Neptune came and caught her:
From whom she striu'd and struggled to be gone,
Beating the aire with cries and piteous mone;
But all in vaine, with him she's forc'd to go;
Tis shame that men should vse poore maidens so.

There might I see described how she lay,
At those proude feete, not satisfied with prayer:
Wayling her heauy hap, cursing the day,
In act so pitious to expresse despaire.
And by how much more grieu'd, so much more faire.
Her teares vpon her cheekes (poore carefull Gerle,)
Did seeme against the Sunne Christall and Pearle:

Whose pure cleere streames (which lo so faire appeares)
Wrought hotter flames (O miracle of Loue
That kindles fire in water, heate in teares,
And makes neglected beauty mightier proue,
Teaching afflicted eyes affects to moue;)
To shew that nothing ill becomes the faire,
But cruelty, which yeelds vnto no prayer.

This hauing view'd, and therewith something moued,
Figured I finde within the other squares,
Transformed Io, Ioues deerely loued,
In her affliction how she strangely fares.
Strangely distress'd (O beauty, borne to cares)
Turn'd to a Heiffer, kept with iealous eyes,
Alwayes in danger of her hatefull spies.

These presidents presented to my view,
Wherein the presage of my fall was showne,
Might haue fore-warn'd me well what would ensue,
And others harmes haue made me shun mine owne.
But Fate is not preuented, though foreknowne.
For that must hap, decreed by heauenly powers,
Who worke our fall, yet make the fault still ours.

Witnesse the world, wherein is nothing riser,
Then miseries vnken'd before they come:
Who can the Characters of chaunce decipher,
Written in cloudes of our concealed dome?
Which though perhaps haue beene reueal'd to some,
Yet that so doubtfull (as successe did proue them)
That men must know they haue the Heau'ns aboue them.

I saw the sinne wherein my foote was entring,
I saw how that dishonour did attend it,
I saw the shame whereon my flesh was ventring,
Yet had I not the power for to defend it.
So weake is sence, when error hath condemn'd it.
We see what's good, and thereto we consent,
But yet we choose the worst, and soone repent.

And now I come to tell the worst of ilnesse,
Now drawes the date of mine affliction neere.
Now when the darke had wrapt vp all in stilnesse,
And dreadfull blacke had dispossest the cleere,
Com'd was the Night (mother of sleepe and feare)
Who with her sable-mantle friendly couers
The sweet-stolne sport of ioyfull meeting Louers.

When lo, I ioy'd my Louer, not my Loue,
And felt the hand of lust most vndesired:
Enforc'd th'vnprooued bitter sweet to proue,
Which yeeldes no naturall pleasure when tis hired.
Loue's not constrain'd, nor yet of due required.
Iudge they who are vnfortunately wed,
What tis to come vnto a loathed bed.

But soone his age receiu'd his short contenting,
And sleepe seal'd vp his languishing desires:
When he turnes to his rest, I to repenting,
Into my selfe my waking thought retires:
My nakednesse had prou'd my sences liers.
Now opned were mine eyes to looke therein;
For first we taste the fruit, then see our sin.

Now did I finde my selfe vnparadis'd,
From those pure fields of my so cleane beginning:
Now I perceiu'd how ill I was aduis'd,
My flesh gan loathe the new-felt touch of sinning;
Shame leaues vs by degrees, not at first winning.
For Nature checks a new offence with loathing,
But vse of sinne doth make it seeme as nothing.

And vse of sinne did worke in me a boldnesse,
And loue in him, incorporates such zeale,
That iealousie increas'd with ages coldnesse,
Fearing to loose the ioy of all his weale;
Or doubting time his stealth might else reueale,
H'is driuen to deuise some subtill way,
How he might safelyest keepe so rich a pray.

A stately Pallace he forthwith did build,
Whose intricate innumerable wayes
With such confused errours, so beguilde
Th'vnguided Entrers, with vncertaine strayes,
And doubtfull turnings, kept them in delayes;
With bootelesse labor leading them about,
Able to finde no way, nor in, nor out.

Within the closed bosome of which frame,
That seru'd a Centre to that goodly Round,
Were lodgings, with a Garden to the same,
With sweetest flowers that eu'r adorn'd the ground,
And all the pleasures that delight hath found,
T'entertaine the sense of wanton eies;
Fuell of Loue, from whence lusts flames arise.

Here I inclos'd from all the world asunder,
The Minotaure of shame kept for disgrace,
The Monster of Fortune, and the worlds wonder,
Liu'd cloistred in so desolate a case:
None but the King might come into the place,
With certaine Maides that did attend my neede,
And he himselfe came guided by a threed.

O Iealousie, daughter of Enuie and Loue,
Most wayward issue of a gentle Sire;
Fostred with feares, thy fathers ioyes t'improue,
Mirth-marring Monster, borne a subtill lier;
Hatefull vnto thy selfe, flying thine owne desire:
Feeding vpon suspect that doth renue thee,
Happy were Louers if they neuer knew thee.

Thou hast a thousand Gates thou enterest by,
Condemning trembling passions to our hart;
Hundred ey'd Argus, euer waking Spie,
Pale Hagge, infernall Furie, pleasures smart,
Enuious Obseruer, prying in euery part;
Suspicious, fearefull, gazing still about thee,
O would to God that loue could be without thee.

Thou didst depriue (through false suggesting feare)
Him of content, and me of libertie:
The onely good that women hold so deere,
And turnst my freedome to captiuitie,
First made a prisoner, ere an enemie.
Enioyn'd the ransome of my bodies shame,
Which though I paid, could not redeeme the same.

What greater torment euer could haue beene,
Then to inforce the faire to liue retir'd?
For what is beauty if it bee not seene?
Or what is't to be seene if not admir'd?
And though admir'd, vnlesse in loue desir'd?
Neuer were cheekes of Roses, locks of Amber,
Ordain'd to liue imprison'd in a Chamber.

Nature created beauty for the view,
(Like as the Fire for heate, the Sunne for light:)
Thy faire doe hold this priuiledge as due
By ancient Charter, to liue most in sight,
And she that is debar'd it, hath not right.
In vaine our friends from this, doe vs dehort,
For Beauty will be where is most resort.

100

Witnesse the fairest streetes that Thames doth visit,
The wondrous concourse of the glittring Faire:
For what rare woman deckt with beauty is it,
That thither couets not to make repaire?
The sollitary Countrey may not stay her.
Here is the centre of all beauties best,
Excepting Delia, left t'adorne the West.

Here doth the curious with iudiciall eies,
Contemplate Beauty gloriously attired:
And herein all our chiefest glory lies,
To liue where we are prais'd and most desired.
O how we ioy to see our selues admired,
Whilst niggardly our fauours we discouer:
We loue to be belou'd, yet scorne the Louer.

Yet would to God my foote had neuer mou'd
From Countrey-safety, from the fields of rest:
To know the danger to be highly lou'd,
And liue in pompe to braue among the best:
Happy for me, better had I beene blest,
If I vnluckily had neuer straide,
But liu'd at home a happy Countrey Maide.

Whose vnaffected innocencie thinkes
No guilefull fraude, as doth the Courtly liuer:
Shee's deckt with truth; the Riuer where she drinkes
Doth serue her for her glasse, her Counsell-giuer;
She loues sincerely, and is loued euer.
Her dayes are peace, and so she endes her breath;
(True life that knowes not what's to die till death.)

101

So should I neuer haue beene registred,
In the blacke booke of the vnfortunate:
Nor had my name inrol'd with maides misled,
Which bought their pleasures at so hie a rate.
Nor had I taught, (through my vnhapy fate)
This Lesson (which my selfe learn't with expence)
How most it hurts, that most delights the sence.

Shame followes sinne, disgrace is duely giuen,
Impietie will out, neuer so closely done:
No walles can hide vs from the eye of Heauen,
For shame must end what wickednesse begun;
Forth breakes reproch when we least thinke thereon,
And this is euer proper vnto Courts,
That nothing can be done, but Fame reports.

Fame doth explore what lies most secret hidden,
Entring the Closet of the Pallace dweller:
Abroade reuealing what is most forbidden.
Of truth and falshood both an equall teller,
Tis not a guard can serue for to expell her.
The Sword of Iustice cannot cut her Wings,
Nor stop her mouth from vtt'ring secret things.

And this our stealth she could not long conceale,
From her whom such a forfeit most concerned:
The wronged Queene, who could so closely deale,
That she the whole of all our practise learned,
And watcht a time when least it was discerned,
In absence of the King to wreake her wrong,
With such reuenge as she desired long.

102

The Labyrinth she entred by that Threed,
That seru'd a conduct to my absent Lord,
Left there by chance, reseru'd for such a deed,
Where she surpriz'd me whom she so abhor'd.
Enrag'd with madnesse, scarce she speakes a word,
But flies with eager furie to my face,
Offring me most vnwomanly disgrace.

Looke how a Tygresse that hath lost her Whelpe,
Runnes fiercely ranging through the Woods astray:
And seeing her selfe depriu'd of hope or helpe,
Furiously assaults what's in her way,
To satisfie her wrath, (not for a pray)
So fell she on me in outragious wise,
As could Disdaine and Iealousie deuise.

And after all her vile reproches vsde,
She forc'd me take the Poyson she had brought,
To end the life that had her so abusde,
And free her feares, and ease her iealous thought.
No cruelty her wrath could leaue vnwrought,
No spitefull act that to Reuenge is common;
(No beast being fiercer then a iealous woman.)

Here take (saith she) thou impudent vncleane,
Base gracelesse Strumpet, take this next your heart;
Your Love-sicke heart, that ouer-charg'd hath beene
With Pleasures surfeit, must be purg'd with Art.
This potion hath a power that will conuart
To naught, those humors that oppresse you so.
And (Gerle) Ile see you take it ere I go.

103

What, stand you now amaz'd, retire you backe?
Tremble you (Minion?) come, dispatch with speed;
There is no helpe, your Champion now you lacke,
And all these teares you shed will nothing steed;
Those dainty fingers needes must doe the deed.
Take it, or I will drench you else by force,
And trifle not, lest that I vse you worse.

Hauing this bloody doome from hellish breath,
My wofull eyes on euery side I cast:
Rigor about me, in my hand my death,
Presenting me the horror of my last:
All hope of pitty and of comfort past.
No meanes, no power; no forces to contend,
My trembling hands must giue my selfe my end.

Those hands that beauties ministers had bin,
They must giue death, that me adorn'd of late,
That mouth that newly gaue consent to sin,
Must now receiue destruction in thereat,
That body which my lust did violate,
Must sacrifice it selfe t'appease the wrong.
(So short is pleasure, glory lasts not long.)

And she no sooner saw I had it taken,
But forth she rushes (proud with victorie)
And leaues m'alone, of all the world forsaken,
Except of Death, which she had left with me.
(Death and my selfe alone together be.)
To whom she did her full reuenge refer.
Oh poore weake conquest both for him and her.

104

Then straight my Conscience summons vp my sinne,
T'appeare before me in a hideous face;
Now doth the terror of my soule beginne,
When eu'ry corner of that hatefull place
Dictates mine error, and reueales disgrace;
Whilst I remaine opprest in euery part,
Death in my body, Horror at my hart.

Downe on my bed my loathsome selfe I cast,
The bed that likewise giues in euidence
Against my soule, and tels I was vnchast;
Tels I was wanton, tels I followed sence,
And therefore cast, by guilt of mine offence;
Must here the right of Heauen needes satisfie,
And where I wanton lay, must wretched die.

Here I beganne to waile my hard mishap,
My sudden, strange vnlookt for misery,
Accusing them that did my youth intrap,
To giue me such a fall of infamy.
And poore distressed Rosamond (said I)
Is this thy glory got, to die forlorne
In Desarts where no eare can heare thee mourne?

Nor any eye of pitty to behold
The wofull end of my sad tragedie;
But that thy wrongs vnseene, thy tale vntold,
Must here in secret silence buried lie.
And with thee, thine excuse together die.
Thy sinne reueal'd, but thy repentance hid,
Thy shame aliue, but dead what thy death did.

105

Yet breathe out to these Walles the breath of mone,
Tell th'Aaire thy plaints, since men thou canst not tell.
And though thou perish desolate alone,
Tell yet thy selfe, what thy selfe knowes too well:
Vtter thy griefe wherewith thy soule doth swell.
And let thy heart pitty thy hearts remorse,
And be thy selfe the mourner and the corse.

Condole thee here, clad all in blacke dispaire,
With silence onely, and a dying bed;
Thou that of late, so flourishing, so faire,
Did'st glorious liue, admir'd and honored:
And now from friends, from succour hither led,
Art made a spoyle to lust, to wrath, to death,
And in disgrace, forc'd here to yeeld thy breath.

Did Nature (for this good) ingeniate,
To shew in thee the glory of her best;
Framing thine eye the starre of thy ill fate,
Making thy face the foe to spoyle the rest?
O Beautie thou an enemie profest
To Chastitie and vs that loue thee most,
Without thee, how w'are loath'd, and with thee lost?

You, you that proude with libertie and beautie,
(And well may you be proude that you be so)
Glitter in Court, lou'd and obseru'd of dutie;
Would God I might to you but ere I goe
Speake what I feele, to warne you by my woe,
To keepe your feete in cleanly paths of shame,
That no inticing may diuert the same.

106

See'ng how against your tender weakenesse still,
The strength of wit, and gold, and all is bent;
And all th'assaults that euer might or skill,
Can giue against a chaste and cleane intent:
Ah let not greatnesse worke you to consent.
The spot is foule, though by a Monarch made,
Kings cannot priuiledge what God forbade.

Locke vp therefore the treasure of your loue,
Vnder the surest keyes of feare and shame:
And let no powers haue power chaste thoughts to moue
To make a lawlesse entry on your fame.
Open to those the comfort of your flame,
Whose equall loue shall march with equall pace,
In those pure wayes that leade to no disgrace.

For see how many discontented beds,
Our owne aspiring, or our Parents pride
Haue caus'd, whilst that ambition vainely weds
Wealth and not loue, honor and nought beside:
Whilst married but to titles, we abide
As wedded Widowes, wanting what we haue,
When shadowes cannot giue vs what we craue.

Or whilst we spend the freshest of our time,
The sweet of youth in plotting in the ayre;
Alas, how oft we fall, hoping to clime;
Or whither as vnprofitably faire,
Whilst those decayes which are without repaire,
Make vs neglected, scorned and reprou'd.
(And O what are we, if we be not lou'd?)

107

Fasten therefore vpon occasions fit,
Lest this, or that, or like disgrace as mine,
Doe ouer-take your youth or ruine it,
And cloude with infamie your beauties shine:
Seeing how many seeke to vndermine
The treasurie that's vnpossest of any:
And hard tis kept that is desired of many.

And flie (O flie) these Bed-brokers vncleane,
(The Monsters of our Sexe) that make a pray
Of their owne kinde, by an vnkindely meane;
And euen (like Vipers) eating out a way
Through th'wombe of their owne shame, accursed they
Liue by the death of Fame, the gaine of sin,
The filth of lust, vncleannesse wallowes in.

As if t'were not inough that we (poore we)
Haue weakenesse, beautie, gold and men our foes,
But we must haue some of our selues to be
Traitors vnto our selues, to ioyne with those?
Such as our feeble forces doe disclose,
And still betray our cause, our shame, our youth,
To lust, to folly, and to mens vntruth?

Hatefull confounders both of bloud and lawes,
Vilde Orators of shame, that pleade delight:
Vngracious agents in a wicked cause,
Factors for darkenesse, messengers of night,
Serpents of guile, Deuils, that doe inuite
The wanton taste of that forbidden tree,
Whose fruit once pluckt, will shew how foule we bee.

108

You in the habite of a graue aspect,
(In credit by the trust of yeeres) can shoe
The cunning wayes of lust, and can direct
The faire and wilie wantons how to goe,
Hauing (your lothesome selues) your youth spent so.
And in vncleannesse euer haue beene fed,
By the reuenue of a wanton bed.

By you haue beene the innocent betraide,
The blushing fearefull, boldned vnto sin,
The wife made subtill, subtill made the maide,
The husband scorn'd, dishonored the kin:
Parents disgrac'd, children infamous bin.
Confus'd our race, and falsified our blood,
Whilst fathers sonnes possesse wrong fathers good.

This, and much more, I would haue vttered then,
A testament to be recorded still,
Sign'd with my bloud, subscrib'd with Conscience Pen,
To warne the faire and beautifull from ill.
Though I could wish (by th'example of my will)
I had not left this note vnto the faire,
But dide intestate to haue had no heire.

But now, the poyson spread through all my vaines,
Gan dispossesse my liuing sences quite:
And nought-respecting death (the last of paines)
Plac'd his pale colours (th'ensigne of his might)
Vpon his new-got spoyle before his right;
Thence chac'd my soule, setting my day ere noone,
When I least thought my ioyes could end so soone.

109

And as conuaide t'vntimely funerals,
My scarce cold corse not suffred longer stay,
Behold, the King (by chance) returning, fals
T'incounter with the same vpon the way,
As he repair'd to see his dearest ioy.
Not thinking such a meeting could haue beene,
To see his Loue, and seeing bin vnseene.

Iudge those whom chance depriues of sweetest treasure,
What tis to lose a thing we hold so deere:
The best delight, wherein our soule takes pleasure,
The sweet of life, that penetrates so neere.
What passions feeles that heart, inforc'd to beare
The deepe impression of so strange a sight,
That ouerwhelmes vs, or confounds vs quite?

Amaz'd he stands, nor voice nor body steares,
Words had no passage, teares no issue found,
For sorrow shut vp words, wrath kept in teares;
Confus'd affects each other doe confound.
Opprest with griefe, his passions had no bound:
Striuing to tell his woes, words would not come;
For light cares speake, when mightie griefes are dombe.

At length, extremitie breakes out a way,
Through which, th'imprisoned voice with teares attended,
Wailes out a sound that sorrowes doe bewray:
With armes a-crosse, and eyes to heauen bended,
Vaporing out sighs that to the skies ascended.
Sighs (the poore ease calamitie affords)
Which serue for speech when sorrow wanteth words.

110

O Heauens (quoth he) why doe mine eyes behold
The hatefull raies of this vnhappy Sunne?
Why haue I light to see my sinnes controld,
With bloud of mine owne shame thus vildely done?
How can my sight endure to looke thereon?
Why doth not blacke eternall darkenesse hide,
That from mine eyes, my heart cannot abide?

What saw my life wherein my soule might ioy;
What had my dayes whom troubles still afflicted,
But onely this, to counterpoize annoy?
This ioy, this hope, which Death hath interdicted;
This sweet, whose losse hath all distresse inflicted;
This, that did season all my sowre of life,
Vext still at home with broiles, abroade in strife.

Vext still at home with broiles, abroade in strife,
Dissension in my bloud, iarres in my bed:
Distrust at boord, suspecting still my life,
Spending the night in horror, daies in dread;
(Such life hath Tyrants, and this life I led.)
These miseries goe mask'd in glittering showes,
Which wise men see, the vulgar little knowes.

Thus as these passions doe him ouerwhelme,
He drawes him neere my body to behold it.
And as the Vine married vnto the Elme
With strict imbraces, so doth he infold it:
And as he in his carefull armes doth hold it,
Viewing the face that euen death commends,
On sencelesse lippes, millions of kisses spends.

111

Pittifull mouth (saith he) that liuing gauest
The sweetest comfort that my soule could wish:
O be it lawfull now, that dead thou hauest,
This sorrowing farewell of a dying kisse;
And you faire eyes, containers of my blisse,
Motiues of Loue, borne to be matched neuer,
Entomb'd in your sweet circles, sleepe for euer.

Ah, how me thinkes I see Death dallying seekes,
To entertaine it selfe in Loues sweet place;
Decayed Roses of discoloured cheekes,
Doe yet retaine deere notes of former grace:
And vgly Death sits faire within her face;
Sweet remnants resting of Vermillian red,
That Death it selfe doubts whether she be dead.

Wonder of beautie, oh receiue these plaints,
These obsequies, the last that I shall make thee:
For loe, my soule that now already faints,
(That lou'd thee liuing, dead will not forsake thee)
Hastens her speedy course to ouer-take thee.
Ile meete my death, and free my selfe thereby,
For (ah) what can he doe that cannot die?

Yet ere I die, thus much my soule doth vow,
Reuenge shall sweeten death with ease of minde:
And I will cause Posterity shall know,
How faire thou wert about all women kinde;
And after-Ages Monuments shall finde,
Shewing thy beauties title, not thy name,
Rose of the world, that sweetned so the same.

112

This said, though more desirous yet to say,
(For sorrow is vnwilling to giue ouer)
He doth represse what griefe would else bewray,
Lest he too much his passions should discouer;
And yet respect scarce bridles such a Louer,
So farre transported that he knowes not whither,
For Loue and Maiestie dwell ill togither.

Then were my Funerals not long deferred,
But done with all the rites pompe could deuise,
At Godstow, where my body was interred,
And richly tomb'd in honorable wise:
Where yet as now scarce any note descries
Vnto these times, the memory of me,
Marble and Brasse so little lasting be.

For those walles which the credulous deuout,
And apt-beleeuing ignorant did found;
With willing zeale, that neuer call'd in doubt,
That time their workes should euer so consound,
Lie like confused heapes as vnder-ground.
And what their ignorance esteem'd so holy,
The wiser ages doe account as folly.

And were it not thy fauourable lines
Re-edified the wracke of my decayes,
And that thy accents willingly assignes
Some farther date, and giue me longer daies,
Few in this age had knowne my beauties praise.
But thus renew'd, my fame redeemes some time,
Till other ages shall neglect thy Rime.

113

Then when Confusion in her course shall bring
Sad desolation on the times to come:
When mirthlesse Thames shall haue no Swanne to sing,
All Musicke silent, and the Muses dombe.
And yet euen then it must be knowne to some,
That once they flourisht, though not cherisht so,
And Thames had Swannes as well as euer Po.

But here an end, I may no longer stay,
I must returne t'attend at Stygian flood:
Yet ere I goe, this one word more I pray,
Tell Delia, now her sigh may doe me good,
And will her note the frailtie of our blood.
And if I passe vnto those happy bankes,
Then she must haue her praise, thy Pen her thankes.

So vanisht she, and left me to returne
To prosecute the tenor of my woes,
Eternall matter for my Muse to mourne:
But (yet) the world hath heard too much of those,
My youth such errors must no more disclose.
Ile hide the rest, and grieue for what hath beene;
Who made me knowne, must make me liue vnseene.

FINIS.

115

IV. A LETTER FROM OCTAUIA TO MARCUS ANTONIUS.

1599.

117

To the right Honourable and most vertuous Lady, the Lady Margaret Countesse of Cumberland.

Although the meaner sort (whose thoughts are plac'd
As in another Region, farre below
The sphere of greatnesse) cannot rightly taste
What touch it hath, nor right her passions know:
Yet haue I here aduentur'd to bestow
Words vpon griefe, as my griefes comprehend;
And made this great afflicted Lady show,
Out of my feelings, what she might haue pend.
And here the same, I bring forth, to attend
Vpon thy reuerent name, to liue with thee
Most vertuous Lady, that vouchsaf'st to lend
Eare to my notes, and comfort vnto mee,
That one day may thine owne faire vertues spread,
B'ing Secretary now but to the dead.

121

A Letter sent from Octauia to her husband Marcus Antonius into Ægypt.

The Argument.

Vpon the second agreement (the first being broken through iealousie of a disproportion of eminencie) betweene the Triumuiri Octauius Cæsar, Marcus Antonius, & Lepidus: Octauia the sister of Octauius Cæsar, was maried to Antonius, as a lincke to combine that which nere yet, the greatest strength of Nature, or any power of nearest respect could long hold together, who made but the instrument of others ends, and deliuered vp as an Ostage, to serue the opportunity of aduantages, met not with that integrity she brought: but as highly preferred to affliction, encountred with all the grieuances that beate vpon the misery of greatnesse, exposed to stand betwixt the diuerse tending humours of vnquiet parties. For Antonie hauing yet vpon him the fetters of Ægypt, layd on by the power of a most incomparable beauty, could admit no new Lawes into the state of his affection, or dispose of himselfe, being not himselfe, but as hauing his heart turned Eastward, whither the poynt of his desires were directed, toucht with the strongest allurements that ambition, and a licentious soueraignty could draw a man vnto: could not truly descend to the priuate loue of a ciuill nurtred

120

Matron, whose entertainment bounded with modesty, and the nature of her education, knew not to clothe her affections in any other colours, then the plaine habit of truth! wherein she euer suted all her actions, and vsed all her best ornaments of Honestie, to winne the good liking of him that held her, but as a Curtaine, drawne betweene him and Octauius, to shadow his other purposes withall: which the sharpe sight of an equally iealous ambition could soone pierce into, and as easily looke thorow, and ouer bloud and nature, as he to abuse it: and therefore, to preuent his aspiring, he armes his forces, either to reduce Antonie to the ranke of his estate, or else to disranke him out of state and all. When Octauia by the imployment of Antonie (as being not yet ready to put his fortune to her tryall) throwes her selfe, great with childe, and as big with sorrow, into the trauell of a most laboursome reconciliation: taking her iourney from the farthest part of Greece, to finde Octauius, with whom her care and teares were so good agents, that they effected their Commission beyond all expectation: and for that time quite disarmed their wrath, which yet long could not hold so. For Antonius falling into the relapse of his former disease, watching his opportunity, got ouer againe into Ægypt, where he so forgot himselfe, that hee quite put off his owne nature, and wholly became a prey to his pleasures, as if he had wound himselfe out of the respect of Countrey, bloud and alliance; which gaue to Octauia the cause of much affliction, and to mee, the Argument of this Letter.

1

To thee (yet deere) though most disloyall Lord,
Whom impious loue keeps in a barbarous land,
Thy wronged wife Octauia sendeth word
Of th'vnkind wounds receiued by thy hand:
Great Antony, O let thine eyes afford
But to permit thy heart to vnderstand
The hurt thou dost, and doe but reade her teares,
That still is thine though thou wilt not be hers.

2

Although perhaps, these my complaints may come
Whilst thou in th'armes of that incestuous Queene,
The staine of Ægypt, and the shame of Rome
Shalt dallying sit, and blush to haue them seene:
Whilst proud disdainfull she, gessing from whome
The message came, and what the cause hath beene,
Will scorning say, Faith this comes from your Deere,
Now Sir you must be shent for staying heere.

122

3

From her indeede it comes, delitious Dame,
(Thou royall Concubine and Queene of lust)
Whose armes yet pure, whose breasts are voyde of blame,
And whose most lawfull flame proues thine vniust:
Tis she that sends the message of thy shame,
And his vntruth that hath betraid her trust:
Pardon, deare Lord, from her these sorrowes are,
Whose bed brings neither infamie nor warre.

4

And therefore heare her words, that too too much
Hath heard the wrongs committed by thy shame,
Although at first my trust in thee was such,
As it held out against the strongest fame:
My heart would neuer let in once a touch
Of least beleefe, till all confirm'd the same:
That I was almost last that would belieue,
Because I knew me first that most must grieue.

5

How oft haue poore abused I tooke part
With Falshood, onely for to make thee true?
How oft haue I argued against my heart,
Not suffering it to know that which it knew?
And for I would not haue thee what thou art,
I made my selfe, vnto my selfe vntrue:
So much my loue labour'd against my sinne,
To shut out feare which yet kept feare within.

123

6

For I could neuer thinke th'aspiring mind
Of worthy and victorious Anthonie,
Could be by such a Syren so declind,
As to be traind a prey to Luxury:
I could not thinke my Lord would be s'vnkind,
As to despise his Children, Rome and me:
But O how soone are they deceiu'd that trust,
And more their shame that will be so vniust.

7

But now that certaine fame hath open laid
Thy new relapse, and strange reuolt from me,
Truth hath quite beaten all my hopes away,
And made the passage of my sorrowes free;
For now poore heart, there's nothing in the way
Remaines to stand betwixt Despaire and thee:
All is throwne downe, there comes no succours new,
It is most true, my Lord is most vntrue.

8

And now I may with shame inough pull in
The colours I aduanced in his grace,
For that subduing powre, that him did win,
Hath lost me too, the honour of my face:
Yet why should I, bearing no part of sinne,
Beare such a mighty part of his disgrace?
Yes, though it be not mine, it is of mine:
And his renowne being clips'd, mine cannot shine.

124

9

Which makes me, as I doe, hide from the eye
Of the misiudging vulgar that will deeme,
That sure there was in me some reason why
Which made thee thus, my bed to disesteeme:
So that alas, poore vndeseruing I,
A cause of thy vncleane deserts shall seeme,
Though lust takes neuer ioy in what is due,
But still leaues knowne delights to seeke out new.

10

And yet my brother Cæsar laboured,
To haue me leaue thy house, and liue more free:
But God forbid Octauia should be led,
To leaue to liue in thine, though left by thee.
The pledges here of thy forsaken bed,
Are still the obiects that remember me
What Antony was once, although false now,
And is my Lord, though he neglect his vow.

11

These walles that here doe keepe me out of sight,
Shall keepe me all vnspotted vnto thee,
And testifie that I will doe thee right;
Ile neuer staine thy house, though thou shame me:
The now sad Chamber of my once delight,
Shall be the Temple of my pietie,
Sacred vnto the faith I reuerence,
Where I will pay my teares for thy offence.

125

12

Although my youth, thy absence, and this wrong
Might draw my bloud to forfeit vnto shame;
Nor neede I frustrate my delights so long,
That haue such meanes to carry so the same,
Since that the face of greatnesse is so strong,
As it dissolues suspect, and beares out blame;
Hauing all secret helpes that long thereto,
That seldome wants there aught, but will to do.

13

Which yet to doe, ere lust this heart shall frame,
Earth swallow me aliue, Hell rap me hence:
Shall I, because dispis'd, contemne my shame,
And adde disgrace to others impudence?
What can my powre, but giue more powre to fame?
Greatnesse must make it great incontinence:
Chambers are false, the bed and all will tell,
No doore keepes in their shame that doe not well.

14

Hath greatnesse aught peculiar else alone,
But to stand faire and bright aboue the base?
What doth diuide the Cottage from the Throne,
If vice shall lay both leuell with disgrace?
For if vncleannesse make them but all one,
What priuiledge hath Honour by his place?
What though our sinnes goe braue and better clad
They are as those in ragges, as base, as bad.

126

15

I know not how, but wrongfully I know
Hath vndiscerning custome plac'd our kind
Vnder desert, and set vs farre below
The reputation to our sexe assign'd:
Charging our wrong reputed weaknesse, how
We are vnconstant, fickle, false, vnkinde:
And though our life with thousand proofes shewes no,
Yet since strength saies it, weakenesse must be so.

16

Vnequall partage to b'allow'd no share
Of power to doe of lifes best benefit:
But stand, as if we interdicted were
Of vertue, action, liberty and might:
Must you haue all, and not vouchsafe to spare
Our weaknesse any int'rest of delight?
Is there no portion left for vs at all,
But sufferance, sorrow, ignorance and thrall?

17

Thrice happy you, in whom it is no fault,
To know, to speake, to doe, and to be wise:
Whose words haue credit, and whose deedes, though naught,
Must yet be made to seeme farre otherwise:
You can be onely heard, whilst we are taught
To hold our peace, and not to exercise
The powers of our best parts, because your parts
Haue with our freedome robb'd vs of our harts.

127

18

We, in this prison of our selues confin'd,
Must here shut vp with our owne passions liue,
Turn'd in vpon vs, and denied to find
The vent of outward meanes that might relieue:
That they alone must take vp all our mind,
And no room left vs, but to thinke and grieue:
Yet oft our narrowed thoughts looke more direct
Then your loose wisdomes born with wild neglect.

19

For, should we to (as God forbid we should)
Carry no better hand on our desires
Then your strength doth, what int'rest could
Our wronged patience pay you for your hires?
What mixture of strange generations would
Succeede the fortunes of vncertaine Sires?
What foule confusion in your bloud and race
To your immortall shame and our disgrace?

20

What? are there barres for vs, no bounds for you?
Must Leuitie stand sure, though Firmenesse fall?
And are you priuiledg'd to be vntrue,
And we no grant to be dispens'd withall?
Must we inuiolable keepe your due,
Both to your loue, and to your falshood thrall?
Whilst you haue stretch't your lust vpon your will,
As if your strength were licenc'd to doe ill.

128

21

O if you be more strong, then be more iust,
Cleere this suspition, make not the world to doubt,
Whether in strong or weake be better trust,
If frailty or else valour be more stout:
And if we haue shut in our hearts from lust,
Let not your bad example let them out,
Thinke that there is like feeling in our bloud:
If you will haue vs good, be you then good.

22

Is it, that loue doth take no true delight
In what it hath, but still in what it would,
Which drawes you on to doe vs this vnright,
Whilst feare in vs, of loosing what we hold,
Keepes vs in still to you, that set vs light,
So that, what you vnties, doth vs infolde?
Then Loue, tis thou that dost confound vs so,
To make our truth the occasion of our wo.

23

Distressed woman kind, that either must
For louing loose your loues, or get neglect:
Whilst wantons are more car'd for then the iust,
And falshood cherisht, Faith without respect:
Better she fares in whom is lesse trust,
And more is lou'd that is in more suspect.
Which (pardon me) shewes no great strength of mind
To be most theirs, that vse you most vnkind

129

24

Yet well it fits, for that sinne euer must
Be tortur'd with the racke of his owne frame;
For he that holdes no faith, shall find no trust,
But sowing wrong, is sure to reape the same:
How can he looke to haue his measure iust,
That fils deceit, and reckons not of shame,
And being not pleas'd with what he hath in lot,
Shall euer pine for that which he hath not?

25

Yet if thou couldst not loue, thou mightst haue sem'd
Though to haue seem'd, had likewise beene vniust:
Yet so much are leane shewes of vs esteem'd,
That oft they feede, though not suffice our trust:
Because our nature grieueth to be deem'd
To be so wrong'd, although we be, and must,
And it's some ease yet to be kindly vs'd
In outward shew, though secretly abus'd.

26

But woe to her that both in shew despis'd
And in effect disgrac'd, and left forlorne,
For whom no comforts are to be deuis'd,
Nor no new hopes can euermore be borne:
O Antony, could it not haue suffiz'd
That I was thine, but must be made her scorne
That enuies all her bloud, and doth deuide
Thee from thy selfe, onely to serue her pride?

130

27

What fault haue I committed that should make
So great dislike of me and of my loue?
Or doth thy fault but an occasion take
For to dislike what most doth it reproue?
Because the conscience gladly would mistake
Her owne misdeeds which she would faine remoue;
And they that are vnwilling to amend,
Will take offence, because they will offend.

28

Or hauing runne beyond all pardon quite,
They flie and ioyne with sinne as wholly his,
Making it now their side, their part, their right,
And to turne backe, would shew t'haue done amisse:
For now they thinke, not to be opposite
To what obraides their fault, were wickednesse:
So much doth folly thrust them into blame,
That euen to leaue off shame, they count it shame.

29

Which doe not thou, deere Lord, for I doe not
Pursue thy fault, but sue for thy returne
Backe to thy selfe, whom thou hast both forgot
With me, poore me, that doth not spight, but mourne:
And if thou couldst as well amend thy blot
As I forgiue, these plaints had beene forborne:
And thou shouldst be the same vnto my hart
Which once thou were, not that which now thou art.

131

30

Though deepe doth sit the hard recouering smart
Of that last wound (which God grant be the last)
And more doth touch that tender feeling part
Of my sad soule, then all th'vnkindnesse past:
And Antony, I appeale to thine owne hart,
(If th'heart which once was thine thou yet still hast)
To iudge if euer woman that did liue
Had iuster cause, then wretched I, to grieue.

31

For comming vnto Athens, as I did,
Weary and weake with toyle, and all distrest,
After I had with sorrow compassed
A hard consent, to grant me that request:
And how my trauell was considered,
And all my care and cost, thy selfe knowes best:
That wouldst not moue one foote from lust for me,
That had left all was deere to come to thee.

32

For first what great adoe had I to win
M'offended brother Cæsars backward will?
And praid, and wept, and cride to stay the sinne
Of ciuill rancor rising twixt you still:
For in what case shall wretched I be in,
Set twixt both, to share with both your ill?
My bloud said I with either of you goes,
Who euer win, I shall be sure to lose.

132

33

For what shame should such mighty persons get,
For two weake womens cause to disagree?
Nay, what shall I that shall be deem'd to set
Th'inkindled fire, seeming inflam'd for me?
O if I be the motiue of this heate,
Let these vnguilty hands the quenchers be,
And let me trudge to mediate an accord,
The agent twixt my brother and my Lord.

34

With prayers, vowes and teares, with vrging hard
I wrung from him a slender grant at last,
And with the rich prouisions I prepar'd
For thy (intended Parthian warre) made haste,
Weighing not how my poore weake body far'd,
But all the tedious difficulties past:
And came to Athens; whence I Niger sent,
To shew thee of my comming and intent.

35

Whereof, when he had made relation,
I was commanded to approach no neare;
Then sent I backe, to know what should be done
With th'horse, and men, and money I had there:
Whereat perhaps when some remorse begun
To touch thy soule, to thinke yet what we were,
Th'inchantresse strait stept twixt thy heart and thee,
And intercepts all thoughts that came of mee.

133

36

She armes her teares, the ingins of deceit
And all her batterie, to oppose my loue,
And bring thy comming grace to a retreit,
The powre of all her subtilty to proue:
Now pale and faint she languishes, and strait
Seemes in a sound, vnable more to moue:
Whilst her instructed fellowes ply thine eares
With forged passions, mixt with fained teares.

37

Hard-hearted Lord, say they, how canst thou see
This mighty Queene, a creature so diuine
Lie thus distrest, and languishing for thee,
And onely wretched, but for being thine?
Whilst base Octauia must intitled be
Thy wife, and she esteem'd thy Concubine:
Aduance thy heart, raise it vnto his right,
And let a Scepter baser passions quit.

38

Thus they assaile thy natures weakest side,
And worke vpon th'aduantage of thy minde,
Knowing where iudgement stood least fortified,
And how t'incounter folly in her kinde:
But yet the while, O what dost thou abide,
Who in thy selfe such wrastling thoughts dost finde?
In what confused case is thy soule in,
Rackt betwixt pitty, sorrow, shame and sin?

134

39

I cannot tell, but sure I dare beleeue
My trauels needs must some compassion moue:
For no such locke to bloud could Nature giue
To shut out Pitty, though it shut out Loue:
Conscience must leaue a little way to grieue
To let in horror comming to reproue
The guilt of thine offence that caus'd the same,
For deepest wounds the hand of our owne shame.

40

Neuer haue vniust pleasures beene compleete,
In ioyes intire, but still feare kept the dore,
And held backe something from that full of sweete,
To intersowre vnsure delights the more:
For neuer did all circumstances meete
With those desires which were conceiu'd before:
Some thing must still be left to checke our sinne,
And giue a touch of what should not haue bin.

41

Wretched Mankinde, wherfore hath nature made
The lawfull vndelightfull, th'vniust shame?
As if our pleasure onely were forbade,
But to giue fire to lust, t'adde greater flame;
Or else, but as ordained more to lade
Our heart with passions to confound the same;
Which though it be, yet adde not worse to ill,
Do, as the best men do, bound thine owne will.

135

42

Redeeme thy selfe, and now at length make peace
With thy diuided heart opprest with toile:
Breake vp this warre, this brest-dissention cease,
Thy passions to thy passions reconcile:
I do not onely seeke my good t'increase,
But thine owne ease, and liberty: the while
Thee in the circuit of thy selfe confine,
And be thine owne, and then thou wilt be mine.

43

I know my pittied loue, doth aggrauate
Enuy and Wrath for these wrongs offered:
And that my suffrings adde with my estate,
Coales in thy bosome, hatred on thy head:
Yet is not that, my fault, but, my hard fate,
Who rather wish to haue beene vnpitied
Of all but thee, then that my loue should be
Hurtfull to him that is so deere to me.

44

Cannot the busie world let me alone,
To beare alone the burthen of my griefe,
But they must intermeddle with my mone,
And seeke t'offend me with vnsought reliefe?
Whilst my afflictions labour to moue none
But onely thee, must Pitty play the thiefe,
To steale so many hearts to hurt my hart,
And moue a part against my deerest part?

136

45

Yet all this shall not preiudice my Lord,
If yet he will but make returne at last;
His sight shall raze out of the sad record
Of my inrowled griefe all that is past:
And I will not so much as once afford
Place for a thought to thinke I was disgrac'd:
And pitty shall bring backe againe with me
Th'offended harts that haue forsaken thee.

46

And therefore come deere Lord, lest longer stay
Do arme against thee all the powres of spight,
And thou be made at last the wofull pray
Of full inkindled wrath, and ruin'd quite:
But what presaging thought of bloud doth stay
My trembling hand, and doth my soule affright?
What horror do I see, prepar'd t'attend
Th'euent of this? what end vnlesse thou end?

47

With what strange formes and shadowes ominous
Did my last sleepe, my grieu'd soule intertaine?
I dreamt, yee O dreames are but friuolous,
And yet Ile tell it, and God grant it vaine.

A sea horse.

Me thought a mighty Hippopotamus
From Nilus floating, thrusts into the maine,
Vpon whose backe, a wanton Mermaide sate,
As if she rul'd his course, and steer'd his fate.

137

48

With whom t'incounter, forth another makes,
Alike in kind, of strength and powre as good:
At whose ingrappling, Neptunes mantle takes
A purple colour, dyde with streames of bloud;
Whereat this looker on amaz'd, forsakes
Her Champion there, who yet the better stood:
But se'ing her gone, strait after her he hies,
As if his heart and strength lay in her eyes.

49

On followes Wrath vpon Disgrace and Feare,
Whereof th'euent forsooke me with the night
But my wak'd cares, gaue me: these shadowes were
Drawne but from darkenesse to instruct the light.
These secret figures, natures message beare
Of comming woes, were they desciphered right;
But if as cloudes of sleepe thou shalt them take,
Yet credite Wrath and Spight that are awake.

50

Preuent, great spirit, the tempests that begin,
If Lust and thy Ambition haue left way
But to looke out, and haue not shut all in,
To stop thy iudgement from a true suruay
Of thy estate, and let my hart within
Consider in what danger thou dost lay
Thy life and mine, to leaue the good thou hast,
To follow hopes with shadowes ouercast.

138

51

Come, come away from wrong, from craft, from toile,
Possesse thine owne with right, with trueth, with peace:
Breake from these snares, thy iudgment vnbeguile,
Free thine owne torment, and my griefe release.
But whither am I carried all this while
Beyond my scope, and know not when to cease?
Words still with my increasing sorrowes grow:
I know t'haue said too much, but not enow.
Wherefore no more, but onely I commend
To thee the hart that's thine, and so I end.

Finis.

139

V. A PANEGYRIKE CONGRATVLATORIE TO THE KING

(JAMES I.).

1603.

143

A PANEGYRIKE CONGRATVLATORIE to the Kings most excellent Maiestie.

1

Loe here the glory of a greater day
Then England euer heretofore could see
In all her daies! When she did most display
The ensignes of her pow'r, or whenas she
Did spread her selfe the most, and most did sway
Her state abroade, yet could she neuer be
Thus blest at home, nor euer come to grow
To be intire in her full Orbe till now.

2

And now she is, and now in peace therefore
Shake hands with Vnion, O thou mighty State,
Now thou art all Great-Britaine and no more,
No Scot, no English now, nor no debate;
No borders but the Ocean and the shore:
No wall of Adrian serues to separate
Our mutuall loue, nor our obedience,
Being Subiects all to one imperiall Prince.

144

3

What heretofore could neuer yet be wrought
By all the swords of pow'r, by bloud, by fire,
By ruine and distruction; here is brought
To passe with peace, with loue, with ioy, desire:
Our former blessed vnion hath begot
A greater vnion that is more intire,
And makes vs more our selues, sets vs at one
With Nature that ordain'd vs to be one.

4

Glory of men, this hast thou brought to vs,
And yet hast brought vs more then this by farre;
Religion comes with thee, peace, righteousnesse,
Iudgement and iustice, which more glorious are
Then all thy Kingdomes; and art more by this
Then Lord and Sou'raigne, more then Emperor
Ouer the hearts of men that let thee in
To more then all the pow'rs on earth can win.

5

God makes thee King of our estates, but we
Doe make thee King of our affection,
King of our loue: a passion borne more free,
And most vnsubiect to dominion:
And know, that England which in that degree
Can loue with such a true deuotion,
Those that are lesse then Kings; to thee must bring
More loue, who art so much more then a King.

145

6

And King of this great Nation, populous,
Stout, valiant, pow'rfull both by Sea and Land,
Attemptiue, able, worthy, generous,
Which ioyfully embraces thy command;
A people tractable, obsequious,
Apt to be fashion'd by thy glorious hand
To any forme of honor, t'any way
Of high attempts, thy vertues shall assay.

7

A people so inur'd to peace, so wrought
To a successiue course of quietnesse,
As th'haue forgot (and O, b'it still forgot)
The nature of their ancient stubbornnesse:
Time altred hath the forme, the meanes, and brought
The State to that proportion'd euennesse,
As 'tis not like againe 'twill euer come
(Being vs'd abroad) to draw the sword at home.

8

This people, this great State, these hearts adore
Thy Scepter now, and now turne all to thee,
Touch't with as pow'rfull zeale, and if not more,
(And yet O more, how could there euer be
Then vnto her, whom yet we doe deplore
Amidst our ioy!) And giue vs leaue if we
Reioyce and mourne, that cannot without wrong
So soone forget her we enioy'd so long.

146

9

Which likewise makes for thee, that yet we holde
True after death, and bring not this respect
To a new Prince for hating of the olde;
Or from desire of change, or from neglect;
Whereby, O mighty Soueraigne, thou art tolde
What thou and thine are likely to expect
From such a faith, that doth not haste to runne
Before their time to an arising Sunne.

10

And let my humble Muse, whom she did grace,
Beg this one grace for her that now lies dead,
That no vile tongue may spot her with disgrace,
Nor that her fame become disfigured:
O let her rest in peace, that rul'd in peace;
Let not her honour be disquieted
Now after death: but let the Graue inclose
All but her good, and that it cannot close.

11

It addes much to thy glory and our grace,
That this continued current of our loue
Runnes thus to thee, all with so swift a pace;
And that from peace to peace we doe remoue
Not as in motion put from out our place,
But in one course, and doe not seeme to moue,
But in more ioy then euer heretofore;
And well we may, since thou wilt make vs more.

147

12

Our loue we see concurres with Gods great loue,
Who onely made thy way, thy passage plaine,
Leuell'd the world for thee, did all remoue,
That might the shew but of a let retaine:
Vnbarr'd the North, humbled the South, did moue
The hearts of all the right to entertaine;
Held other states embroil'd, whose enuie might
Haue fostred factions to impugne thy right:

13

And all for thee, that we the more might praise
The glory of his powre, and reuerence thine,
Whom he hath rais'd to glorifie our dayes,
And make this Empire of the North to shine
Against all th'impious workings, all th'assayes
Of vile disnatur'd Vipers, whose designe
Was to embroile the State, t'obscure the light,
And that cleere brightnesse of thy sacred right.

14

To whose reproch, since th'issue and successe
Doth a sufficient marke of shame returne,
Let no Pen else blazon their ouglinesse;
Be it enough, that God and men doe scorne
Their proiects, censures, vaine pretendences:
Let not our children, that are yet vnborne,
Find there were any offred to contest,
Or make a doubt to haue our Kingdome blest.

148

15

Burie that question in th'eternall graue
Of darknesse, neuer to be seene againe:
Suffice we haue thee whom we ought to haue,
And t'whom all good men knew did appertaine
Th'inheritance thy sacred birth-right gaue,
That needed n'other suffrages t'ordaine
What onely was thy due, nor no decree
To be made know'n, since none was known but thee.

16

Witnesse the ioy, the vniuersall cheere,
The speede, the ease, the will, the forwardnesse
Of all this great and spacious State, how deere
It held thy title and thy worthinesse:
Haste could not post so speedy any where,
But Fame seem'd there before in readinesse,
To tell our hopes, and to proclaime thy name;
O greater then our hopes, more then thy fame!

17

What a returne of comfort dost thou bring
Now at this fresh returning of our bloud,
Thus meeting with the opening of the Spring,
To make our spirits likewise to imbud!
What a new season of incouraging
Biginnes t'inlength the dayes dispos'd to good!
What apprehension of recouerie
Of greater strength, of more abilitie!

149

18

The pulse of England neuer more did beat
So strong as now: nor euer were our harts
Let out to hopes so spacious and so great
As now they are: nor euer in all parts
Did we thus feele so comfortable heat,
As now the glory of thy worth imparts:
The whole complection of the Common-wealth,
So weake before, hop'd neuer for more health.

19

Could'st thou but see from Douer to the Mount,
From Totnes, to the Orcades, what ioy,
What cheere, what triumphs, and what deere account
Is held of thy renowne this blessed day:
A day which we and ours must euer count
Our solemne festiuall, as well we may.
And though men thus court Kings still which are new,
Yet doe they more, where they find more is due.

20

They feare the humours of a future Prince,
Who either lost a good or felt a bad,
But thou hast cheer'd vs of this feare long since,
We know thee more, then by report we had:
We haue an euerlasting euidence
Vnder thy hand, that now we need not dread
Thou wilt be otherwise in thy designes
Then there thou art in those iudiciall lines.

150

21

It is the greatest glory vpon earth
To be a King, but yet much more to giue
The institution with the happy birth
Vnto a King, and teach him how to liue:
VVe haue, by thee, far more then thine owne worth,
That doth encourage, strengthen and relieue
Our hopes in the succession of thy blood,
That like to thee, they likewise will be good.

22

VVe haue an earnest, that doth euen tie
Thy Scepter to thy word, and binds thy Crowne
(That els no band can binde) to ratifie
VVhat thy religious hand hath there set downe,
VVherein thy all commanding Soueraigntie
Stands subiect to thy Pen and thy renowne;
There we behold thee King of thine owne hart,
And see what we must be, and what thou art.

23

There great Exemplare, Prototipe, of Kings,
VVe finde the good shall dwell within thy Court;
Plaine zeale and truth, free from base flatterings,
Shall there be entertain'd, and haue resort;
Honest discretion, that no cunning brings,
But counsels that lie right, and that import,
Is there receiu'd, with those whose care attends
Thee and the State more then their priuate ends.

151

24

There grace and fauour shall not be dispos'd,
But by proportion, euen and vpright;
There are no mightie Mountaines interpos'd
Betweene thy beames and vs, t'imbarre thy light;
There Maiesty liues not as if inclos'd
Or made a prey t'a priuate benefit:
The hand of Pow'r deales there her owne reward,
And thereby reapes the whole of mens regard.

25

There is no way to get vp to respect,
But onely by the way of worthinesse;
All passages that may seeme indirect
Are stopt vp now, and there is no accesse
By grosse corruption, bribes cannot effect
For th'vndeseruing any offices;
Th'ascent is cleane, and he that doth ascend
Must haue his meanes as cleane as is his end.

26

The deeds of worth and laudable desarts
Shall not now passe thorow the straight report
Of an imbasing tongue, that but imparts
What with his ends and humours shall comport:
The Prince himselfe now heares, sees, knowes what parts
Honor and Vertue acts, and in what sort:
And thereto giues his grace accordingly,
And cheeres vp other to the like thereby.

152

27

Nor shall we now haue vse of flatterie,
For he knowes falshood farre more subtill is
Then truth, basenesse then libertie,
Feare then loue, t'inuent these flourishes:
And Adulation now is spent so nie
As that it hath no colours to expresse
That which it would, that now we must be faine
T'vnlearne that Arte, and labour to be plaine.

28

For where there is no eare to be abus'd
None will be found that dare t'informe a wrong:
The insolent deprauer stands confus'd:
The impious Atheist seemes to want a tongue,
Transform'd into the fashion that is vs'd.
All striue t'appeare like those they liue among,
And all will seeme compos'd by that same square
By which they see the best and greatest are.

29

Such pow'r hath thy example and respect,
As that without a sword, without debate,
Without a noise (or feeling in effect)
Thou wilt dispose, change, forme, accommodate
Thy Kingdome, people, rule, and all effect
Without the least conuulsion of the State;
That this great passage and mutation will
Not seeme a change, but onely of our ill.

153

30

We shall continue and remaine all one,
In Law, in Iustice, and in Magistrate;
Thou wilt not alter the foundation
Thy Ancestors haue laid of this Estate,
Nor grieue thy Land with innouation,
Nor take from vs more then thou wilt collate;
Knowing that course is best to be obseru'd,
Whereby a State hath longest beene preseru'd.

31

A King of England now most graciouslie,
Remits the iniuries that haue beene done
T'a King of Scots, and makes his clemencie
To checke them more then his correction;
Th'annointed bloud that stain'd most shamefully
This ill seduced State, he lookes thereon
With th'eye of griefe, not wrath, t'auenge the same,
Since th'Authors are extinct that caus'd that shame.

32

Thus mightie riuers quietly doe glide,
And doe not by their rage their powers professe,
But by their mightie workings, when in pride
Small Torrents roare more lowd, and worke much lesse:
Peace, greatnesse best becomes: calme power doth guide
With a farre more imperious statelinesse,
Then all the swords of violence can doe,
And easier gaines those ends she tends vnto.

154

33

Then England, thou hast reason thus to cheare,
Reason to ioy and triumph in this wise,
When thou shalt gaine so much, and haue no feare
To lose ought els but thy deformities;
When thus thou shalt haue health and be set cleare
From all thy great infectious maladies,
By such a hand that best knowes how to cure,
And where most lie those griefes thou dost endure.

34

When thou shalt see there is another grace
Then to be rich; another dignitie

Nam vbi cupido diuitiarum inuasit, neque disciplina, neque artes bonœ neque ingenium vllum satis pollet.

Then money; other meanes for place
Then gold; wealth shall not now make honestie;
When thou shalt see the estimation base
Of that which most afflicts our miserie:
Without the which, else could'st thou neuer see
Our wayes laid right, nor men themselues to bee.

35

By which improuement we shall gaine much more
Then by Peru, or all discoueries:
For this way to imbase, is to instore
The treasure of the Land, and make it rise.
This is the onely key t'vnlocke the dore,
To let out plenty, that it may suffice:
For more then all this Ile, for more increase
Of subiects then by thee, there can increase.

155

36

This shall make roome and place enough for all,
Which otherwise would not suffice a few,
And by proportion Geometricall
Shall so dispose to all what shall be due,
As that without corruption, wrangling, brawle,
Intrusion, wresting, and by meanes vndue,
Desert shall haue her charge, and but one charge,
As hauing but one body to discharge.

37

Whereby the all in-cheering Maiestie
Shall come to shine at full in all her parts,
And spread her beames of comfort equally,
As being all alike to like desarts:
For thus to checke, imbase and vilifie
Th'esteeme of wealth, will fashion so our hearts
To worthy ends, as that we shall by much
More labour to be good then to be rich.

38

This will make peace with Law, restore the Bar,
T'her ancient silence, where contention now
Makes so confus'd a noise; this will debar
The fostring of debate, and ouerthrow
That ougly Monster, that foule rauener,
Extortion, which so hideously did grow,
By making prey vpon our misery,
And wasting it againe as wickedly.

156

39

The strange examples of impou'rishments,
Of sacriledge, exaction and of waste,
Shall not be made, nor held as presidents
For times to come, but end with th'ages past:
Whenas the State shall yeeld more suppliments
(Being well imploy'd) then Kings can well exhaust;
This golden Meadow lying ready still
Then to be mow'd, when their occasions will.

40

Fauour, like pitie, in the hearts of men
Haue the first touches euer violent:
But soone againe it comes to languish, when
The motiue of that humour shall be spent:
But being still fed with that which first hath been
The cause thereof, it holdes still permanent,
And is kept in by course, by forme, by kinde,
And time begets more ties that still more binde.

41

The broken frame of this disioynted State,
Being by the blisse of thy great Grandfather
Henry the seuenth, restor'd to an estate
More sound then euer, and more stedfaster,
Owes all it hath to him, and in that rate
Stands bond to thee that art his successer:
For without him it had not beene begunne,
And without thee we had beene now vndone.

157

42

He, of a priuate man, became a King,
Hauing indur'd the weight of tyrannie,
Mourn'd with the world, complain'd, and knew the thing
That good men wish for in their miserie
Vnder ill Kings, saw what it was to bring
Order and forme to the recouerie
Of an vnruly State; conceiu'd what cure
Would kill the cause of this distemp'rature.

43

Thou, borne a King, hast in thy State endur'd
The sowre affronts of priuate discontent
With subiects broiles; and euer beene enur'd
To this great mysterie of gouernment:
Whereby thy Princely wisdome hath allur'd
A State to peace, left to thee turbulent,
And brought vs an addition to the frame
Of this great worke, squar'd fitly to the same.

44

And both you (by the all-working Prouidence,
That fashions out of dangers, toyles, debates,
Those whom it hath ordained to commence
The first, and great establishments of States)
Came when your aide, your powers experience
(Which out of iudgement best accommodates
These ioynts of rule) was more then most desir'd,
And when the times of neede the most requir'd.

158

45

And as he laid the modell of this frame,
By which was built so strong a worke of State,
As all the powers of changes in the same,
All that excesse of a disordinate
And lustfull Prince, nor all that after came,
Nor child, nor stranger, nor yet womens fate,
Could once disioynt the couplements, whereby
It held together in iust Symetry.

46

So thou likewise art come as fore-ordaind,
To reinforce the same more really,
Which oftentimes hath but beene entertain'd
By the onely stile and name of Maiesty;
And by no other counsells oft attain'd
Those ends of her inioy'd tranquility,
Then by this forme, and by the incumbrances
Of neighbour States that gaue it a successe.

47

That hadst thou had no title (as thou hast
The onely right, and none hath els a right)
We yet must now haue bin inforc'd t'haue cast
Our selues into thy armes, to set all right,
And to auert confusion, bloudshed, waste,
That otherwise vpon vs needes must light:
None but a King, and no King els beside
Could now haue sau'd this State from being destroid'.

159

48

Thus hath the hundred yeeres brought backe againe
The sacred bloud lent to adorne the North,
And here return'd it with a greater gaine,
And greater glory then we sent it forth.
Thus doth th'all-working Prouidence retaine,
And keepe for great effects the seede of worth,
And so doth point the stops of time thereby,
In periods of vncertaine certainty.

49

Margaret of Richmond (glorious Grandmother
Vnto that other precious Margaret,
From whence th'Almighty worker did transfer
This branch of peace, as from a roote well set)
Thou Mother, Author, Plotter, Counseller
Of vnion, that didst both conceiue, beget
And bring forth happinesse to this great State,
To make it thus intirely fortunate.

50

O couldst thou now but view this faire successe,
This great effect of thy religious worke,
And see therein how God hath pleas'd to blesse
Thy charitable counsels and to worke
Still greater good out of the blessednesse
Of this conioyned Lancaster and Yorke:
Which all conioyn'd within, and those shut out
Whom nature and their birth had set without.

160

51

How much hast thou bound all posterities
In this great worke to reuerence thy name!
And with thee, that religious, faithfull, wise
And learned Mourton, who contriu'd the same,
And first aduis'd, and did so well aduise
As that the good successe that thereof came
Shew'd well, that holy hands, cleane thoughts, cleere harts
Are onely fit to act such glorious parts.

52

But Muse, these deare remembrances must be
In their conuenient places registred,
When thou shalt bring sterne discord to agree,
And bloudy warre into a quiet bed:
Which worke must now be finished by thee,
That long hath laine vndone, as destined
Vnto the glory of these dayes: for which
Thy vowes and Verse haue laboured so much.

53

Thou euer hast opposed all thy might
Against contention, furie, pride and wrong,
Perswading still to hold the course of right;
And peace hath beene the burden of thy song:
And now thy selfe shalt haue the benefit
Of quietnesse, which thou hast wanted long;
And now shalt haue calme peace, and vnion
With thine owne warres, and now thou must go on.

161

54

Onely the ioy of this so deare a thing
Made me looke backe vnto the cause, whence came
This so great good, this blessing of a King,
When our estate so much requir'd the same:
When we had need of pow'r for the well ordering
Of our affaires, need of a spirit to frame
The world to good, to grace and worthinesse,
Out of this humour of luxuriousnesse.

55

And brings vs backe vnto our selues againe,
Vnto our ancient natiue modestie;
From out these forren sinnes we entertaine,
These lothesome surfets, ougly gluttonie;
From this vnmanly and this idle vaine
Of wanton and superfluous brauery:
The wracke of Gentry, spoyle of Noblenesse;
And square vs by thy temp'rate sobernesse.

56

When Abstinence is fashion'd by the Time,
It is no rare thing to be abstinent,
But then it is, when th'age full fraught with crime
Lies prostrate vnto all misgouernment.
And who is not licencious in the prime
And heate of youth, nor then incontinent
When out of might he may, he neuer will;
No power can tempt him to that taste of ill.

162

57

Then what are we t'expect from such a hand
That doth this sterne of faire example guide?
Who will not now shame to haue no command
Ouer his lusts? Who would be seene t'abide
Vnfaithfull to his vowes, to infringe the band
Of a most sacred knot which God hath tide?
Who would now seeme to be dishonoured
With th'vncleane touch of an vnlawfull bed?

58

What a great checke will this chaste Court be now
To wanton Court debausht with luxury;
Where we no other Mistresses shall know
But her to whom we owe our loyalty?
Chaste Mother of our Princes, whence do grow
Those righteous issues, which shall glorifie
And comfort many Nations with their worth,
To her perpetuall grace that brought them forth.

59

We shall not feare to haue our wiues distain'd,
Nor yet our daughters violated here
By an imperiall lust, that being vnrain'd,
Will hardly be resisted any where.
He will not be betrai'd with ease, nor train'd
With idle rest, in soft delights to weare
His time of life: but knowes whereto he tends,
How worthy minds are made for worthy ends.

163

60

And that this mighty worke of vnion now
Begun with glory, must with grace run on,
And be so clos'd, as all the ioynts may grow
Together firme in due proportion:
A worke of power and Iudgement, that must show
All parts of wisedome and discretion
That man can shew, that no cloud may impaire
This day of hope, whose morning shewes so faire.

61

He hath a mighty burden to sustaine,
Whose fortune doth succeed a gracious Prince,
Or where mens expectations entertaine
Hopes of more good, and more beneficence:
But yet he vndergoes a greater paine,
A more laborious worke, who must commence
The great foundation of a gouernment,
And lay the frame of Order and Content.

62

Especially where mens desires do runne
A greedy course of eminency, gaine,
And priuate hopes, weighing not what is done
For the Republicke, so themselues may gaine
Their ends, and where few care who be vndone,
So they be made, whil'st all do entertaine
The present motions that this passage brings
With th'infancy of change, vnder new kings.

164

63

So that the weight of all seemes to relie
Wholly vpon thine owne discretion;
Thy iudgement now must only rectifie
This frame of pow'r thy glory stands vpon
From thee must come; that thy posterity
May ioy this peace, and hold this vnion:
For whil'st all worke for their owne benefit,
Thy only worke must keepe vs all vpright.

64

For, did not now thy full maturity
Of yeeres and wisdome, that discerne what showes,
What arte and colours may deceiue the eye,
Secure our trust that that cleere iudgement knowes
Vpon what grounds depend thy Maiesty,
And whence the glory of thy greatnesse growes;
We might distrust lest that a side might part
Thee from thy selfe, and so surprize thy heart.

65

Since th'art but one, and that against thy brest
Are laid all th'ingins both of skill and wit,
And all th'assaults of cunning are addrest
With stratagems of Art to enter it,
To make a prey of grace, and to inuest
Their pow'rs within thy loue, that they might sit
And stir that way which their affection tends,
Respecting but themselues and their owne ends.

165

66

And see'ng how difficult a thing it is
To rule, and what strength is requir'd to stand
Against all th'interplac'd respondences
Of combinations, set to keepe the hand
And eye of power from out the Prouinces
That Auarice may draw to her command;
Which, to keepe hers, she others vowes to spare,
That they againe to her might vse like care.

67

But God, that rais'd thee vp to act this part,
Hath giuen thee all those powers of worthines,
Fit for so great a worke, and fram'd thy heart
Discernable of all apparences;
Taught thee to know the world, and this great Art
Of ord'ring man, Knowledge of Knowledges;
That from thee men might reckon how this State
Became restor'd, and was made fortunate.

68

That thou the first, with vs, in name, might'st be
The first in course, to fashion vs a new,
VVherein the times hath offred that to thee,
VVhich seldome t'other Princes could accrue:
Thou hast th'aduantage only to be free
T'imploy thy fauours where they shall be due,
And to dispose thy grace in generall,
And like to Ioue, to be alike to all.

166

69

Thy fortune hath indebted thee to none,
But t'all thy people vniuersally,
And not to them, but for their loue alone,
Which they account is placed worthily:
Nor wilt thou now frustrate their hopes, wheron
They rest, nor they faile in their loyalty;
Since no Prince comes deceiued in his trust,
But he that first deceiues, and proues vniust.

70

Then since we are in this so faire a way
Of Restauration, Greatnesse and Command,
Cursed be he that causes the least stay
In this faire worke, or interrupts thy hand;
And cursed he that offers to betray
Thy graces or thy goodnesse to withstand;
Let him be held abhorr'd, and all his race
Inherit but the portion of disgrace.

71

And he that shall by wicked Offices
Be th'author of the least disturbancy,
Or seeke t'auert thy godly purposes,
Be euer held the scorne of infamy:
And let men but consider their successe
Who Princes loues abus'd presumptuously:
They shall perceiue their ends do still relate,
That sure God loues them not whom men do hate.

167

72

And it is iust, that they who make a prey
Of Princes fauours, in the end againe
Be made a prey to Princes, and repay
The spoiles of misery with greater gaine;
Whose sacrifices euer do allay
The wrath of men, conceiu'd in their disdaine:
For that their hatred prosecuteth still,
More than ill Princes, those that make them ill.

73

But both thy iudgement and estate doth free
Thee from these powers of feare and flattery
The conquerours of Kings, by whom we see
Are wrought the acts of all impiety:
Thou art so set, as th'hast no cause to be
Iealous, or dreadfull of disloyalty;
The pedestall whereon thy greatnesse stands,
Is built of all our hearts, and all our hands.

169

VI. A Fvnerall Poeme Vpon the Death of the late noble Earle of Deuonshire.

1606.

171

A FVNERALL Poeme.

Vpon the Death of the late noble Earle of Deuonshire.

Now that the hand of death hath layd thee there,
Where neither greatnesse, pompe, nor grace, we see,
Nor any differences of earth; and where
No vaile is drawne betwixt thy selfe and thee:
Now Deuonshire that thou art but a name,
And all the rest of thee besides is gone,
When men conceiue thee not, but by the fame
Of what thy vertue, and thy worth haue done:

172

Now shal my verse which thou in life didst grace,
(And which was no disgrace for thee to do)
Not leaue thee in the graue, that ougly place
That few regard, or haue respect vnto,
Where all attendance, and obseruance ends,
Where all the Sunshine of our fauour sets,
Where what was ill, no countenance defends,
And what was good, th'vnthankfull world forgets.
Here shalt thou haue the seruice of my pen
(The tongue of my best thoughts) and in this case
I cannot be supposde to flatter, when
I speake behinde thy backe, not to thy face:
Men neuer sooth the dead but where they do
Find liuing tyes, to hold them therevnto.
And I stand cleere from any other chaine
Then of my loue which freeborne, draws free breath.
The benefit thou gau'st me to sustaine
My humble life, I loose it by thy death.
Nor was it such, as it could lay on me
Any exaction of respect so strong,
As t'inforce m'obseruance, beyond thee,
Or make my conscience differ from my tongue.
Let those be vassals to such seruices
Who have their hopes, or whose desires are hye,
For me I haue my ends, and know it is
For I haue learnt it is the property
For free men to speake truth, for slaues to lye.

173

And therefore I sincerely will report
First how thy parts were faire conuaid within,
How that braue minde was built and in what sort
All thy contexture of thy heart hath beene,
Which was so nobly fram'd, so well compos'd
As vertue neuer had a fairer seate,
Nor could be better lodg'd nor more repos'd,
Then in that goodly frame; where all things sweete,
And all things quiet, held a peacefull rest;
Where passion did no suddaine tumults raise
That might disturbe her, nor was euer brest
Contain'd so much, and made so little noyse;

174

That by thy silent modestie is found
The emptiest vessells make the greatest sound.
For thou so well discernd'st thy selfe, had'st read
Man and his breath so well, as made thee force
The lesse to speake, as being ordain'd to spread
Thy selfe in action, rather than discourse;
Though thou hadst made a generall Suruey
Of all the best of mens best knowledges,
And knew as much as euer learning knew,
Yet did it make thee trust thy selfe the lesse,
And lesse presume; and yet when being mou'd
In priuate talke to speake, thou didst bewray
How fully fraught thou wert within, and prou'd
That thou didst know what euer wit could say;
Which shew'd thou hadst not bookes as many haue
For ostentation, but for vse, and that
Thy bounteous memory was such, as gaue
A large reuenue of the good, it gat.
Witnesse so many volumes whereto thou
Hast set thy notes vnder thy learned hand,
And markt them with that print as will shew how
The point of thy conceiuing thoughts did stand;
That none would thinke if all thy life had beene,
Turn'd into leisure, thou couldst haue attain'd
So much of time, to haue perus'd and seene,
So many volumes that so much contain'd.
Which furniture may not be deem'd least rare
Amongst those ornaments that sweetly dight
Thy solitary Wansteed, where thy care
Had gathered all what heart or eyes delight.

175

And whereas many others haue, we see
All things within their houses worth the sight,
Except themselues, that furniture of thee
And of thy presence, gaue the best delight.
With such a season, such a temprature
Wert thou compos'd, as made sweetnes one,
And held the tenor of thy life still sure,
In consort with thy selfe in perfect tone;
And neuer man had heart more truely seru'd
Vnder the regiment of his owne care
And was more at command, and more obseru'd
The colours of that modesty he bare
Then that of thine, in whom men neuer found
That any shew, or speech obscene, could tell
Of any veine thou hadst that was vnsound,
Or motion of thy powers, that turn'd not well.
And this was thy prouision laid within,
Thus wert thou to thy selfe, and now remaines.
VVhat to the world thou outwardly hast beene,
VVhat the dimension of that side containes,
Which likewise was so goodly and so large
As shewes that thou wert borne t'adorne the dayes
Wherein thou liu'st, and also to discharge
Those parts which Englands and thy fame should raise;
Although in peace, thou seem'dst to be all peace
Yet being in warre, thou wert all warre, and there
As in thy spheere thy spirits did neuer cease
To moue with indefatigable care
And nothing seem'd more to arride thy heart
Nor more inlarge thee into iollity,

176

Then when thou sawest thy selfe in armour girt,
Or any act of armes like to be nye.
The Belgique warre first tride thy martiall spirit,
And what thou wert and what thou wouldst be found
And markt thee there according to thy merit
With honors stampe, a deepe and noble wound.
And that same place that rent from mortall men
Immortall Sidney, glory of the field
And glory of the Muses, and their pen
(VVho equall bare the Caduce and the Shield)
Had likewise bin thy last, had not the fate
Of England then reseru'd thy worthy blood,
Vnto the preseruation of a State
That much concern'd her honour and her good;
And thence return'd thee to inioy the blis
Of grace and fauour in Elizaes sight
(That miracle of women) who by this
Made thee be held according to thy right;
Which faire and happy blessing thou mightst well
Haue farre more raisd had not thine enemy
Retired priuacy, made thee to sell
Thy greatnes for thy quiet, and deny
To meet faire Fortune, when she came to thee.
For neuer man did his preferment fly,
And had it in that emminent degree,
As thou, as if it fought thy modesty.
For that which many, whom ambition toyles
And tortures with their hopes, hardly attaine

177

With all their thrusts, & shouldring-plots, and wiles
VVas easily made thine, without thy paine.
And without any priuate malicing
Or publique greeuance, euery good man ioy'd
That vertue could come cleere to any thing,
And faire deserts to be so fairely pay'd.
Those benefits that were bestow'd on thee
VVere not like fortunes fauours, they could see.
Eliza's cleere-eied iudgement is renown'd
For making choice of thy ability:
But it will euerlastingly redound
Vnto the glory, and benignity
Of Britaines mighty Monarch, that thou wert
By him aduanced for thy great desert;
It being the fairer worke of maiesty
With fauour to reward, than to employ.
And as thou saidst that naught thy heart did grieue,
In death so much, as that time would not yeeld
Thee meanes to shew thy zeale, that thou mightst liue
T'haue done but one dayes seruice in the field,
And that faire bed of honour died vpon,
And with thy bloud haue seald thy gratefulnesse
To such a royall Maister. Who had done
So much for thee t'aduance thy seruices;
Which were indeed of that deseart, as they
Might aske their grace themselues: yet do we see
That to successe, desert hath not a way
But vnder Princes that most gracious be,

178

For without thy great valour we had lost
The dearest purchase euer England made:
And made with such profuse exceeding cost
Of bloud and charge, to keepe and to inuade:
As commutation paid a deerer price
For such a peece of earth, and yet well paid
And well aduentur'd for, with great aduice,
And happily to our dominions laid;
Without which out-let, England thou hadst bin
From all the rest of th'earth shut out, and pent
Vnto thy selfe, and forst to keepe within,
Inuiron'd round with others gouernment;
Where now by this, thy large imperiall Crowne
Stands boundlesse in the West, and hath a way
For noble times, left to make all thine owne
That lyes beyond it, and force all t'obay.
And this important peece, like t'haue beene rent
From off thy state, did then so tickle stand,
As that no ioynture of the gouernment
But shooke, no ligament, no band
Of order and obedience, but were then
Loose and in tottering, when the charge
Thereof was laid on Montioy, and that other men
Checkt by example sought to put it off.
And he out of his natiue modesty
(As being no vndertaker) labours too
To haue auoided that which his ability
And Englands Genius would haue him do

179

Alleadging how it was a charge vnfit
For him to vndergo, seeing such a one
As had more power and meanes t'accomplish it
Then he could haue, had there so little done.
VVhose ill successe (considering his great worth,
Was such as could that mischiefe be withstood,
It had beene wrought) did in it selfe bring forth
Discouragement that he should do lesse good.

The state replide, it was not lookt he should
Restore it wholy to it selfe againe,
But only now if possible he could
In any fashion but the same retaine
So that it did not fall a sunder quite,
Being thus dishiuered in a desperate plight.

With courage on he goes, doth exiquute
With counsell, and returnes with victory;
But in what noble fashion he did sute
This action, with what wit and industry,
Is not to be disgracde in this small carde:
It askes a spacious Mappe of more regarde.

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Here is no roome to tell with what strange speed
And secrecy he vsed to preuent
The enemies designes, nor with what heed
He marcht before report, where what he ment
Fame neuer knew her selfe till it was done,
His drifts and Rumor seldome being all one;
Nor will this place conueniency afford
To shew how he, when dismall winter stormes
Keepes peace, and makes Mars sheath his sword,
Toyles him abroad, and noble act performes;
Nor how by mastring difficulties so
In times vnusuall, and by passage hard
He brauely came to disappoint his foe,
And many times surpris'd him vnprepared.

Yet let me touch one point of that great Act,
That famous siege, the Master-worke of all,
Where no distresse nor difficulties lackt
T'afflict his weary tyred Campe with all.
That when inclos'd by powerfull enemies
One either side, with feeble troupes he lay
Intrencht in myre, in colde, in miseries;
Kept waking with Alarumes night and day.
There were, who did aduise him, to withdraw
His army to some place of safe defence,
From the apparent perill which they saw
Was to confound them, or to force them thence.

181

For now the Spaniard had possest three ports
The most important of this Ile say they,
And sooner fresh supplyments, Spaine transports
To them then England can to vs conuay;
The Reble is in heart, and now is ioyn'd
With some of them already, and doth stand
Here ouer vs, with chiefest strength combin'd
Of all the desperate forces of the land;
And how vpon these disaduantages
Your doubtfull troupes will fight your Honour guess.
Th'vndaunted Montioy hereto answers this.

My worthy friends, the charge of this great state
And kingdome to my faith committed is,
And I must all I can ingeniate
To answere for the same, and render it
Vpon as faire a reckning as I may;
But if from hence I shall once stirre my feete,
The kingdome is vndone, and lost this day.
All will fly thither where they find is hart,
And feare shal haue none stand to take his part;
And how shal we answere our Country then
At our returne, nay answere our owne fame?
Which howsoeuer we haue done like men
Will be imbranded with the marke of blame.
And since we here are come vnto the point
For which we toild so much and staid so long,
Let vs not now our trauailes disappoint
Of th'honour which doth thereunto belong.
We cannot spend our blood more worthily
Then in so faire a cause, and if we fall

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We fall with glory, and our worth thereby
Shalbe renowned, and held deare of all.
And for my part I count the field to be
The honourablest bed to die vpon;
And here your eies this day either see
My body laid, or els this action done.
The Lord the chiefe and soueraigne Generall
Of Hosts, makes weake to stand, the strong to fall.
With which braue resolution he so warm'd
Their shaking courage, as they all in one
Set to that noble worke; which they perform'd
As gallantly as euer men haue done.
Of which tis better nothing now to say,
Then say too little: For there rests behind
A Trophey to b'erected, that will stay
To all posterities, and keepe in minde
That glorious act which did a kingdome saue,
Kept the Crowne whole and made the peace we haue.

And now I will omit to shew therefore,
His management of publike businesses:
Which oft are vnder fortunes conduct more
Then ours, and tell his priuate carriages;
VVhich on his owne discretion did relie,
VVherewith his spirit was furnisht happely.

Milde, affable, and easie of accesse
He was, but with a due reseruednes:
So that the passage to his fauours lay
Not common to all commers, nor yet was

183

So narrow, but it gaue a gentle way
To such as fitly might or ought to passe:
Nor sold he smoke, nor tooke he vp to day
Commodities of mens attendances,
And of their hopes, to pay them with delay,
And intertaine them with faire promises.
But as a man that lou'd no great commerce
With businesse, and with noise, he euer flies
That Maze of many waies, which might disperse
Him, into other mens vncertainties.
And with a quiet calme sincerity,
H'effects his vndertakings really.
His tongue and heart did not turne-backes, but went
One way, and kept one course with what he ment.
He vs'd no maske at all, but euer ware
His honest inclination open fac'd,
The friendships that he vou'd, most constant were,
And with great iudgment, and discretion plac'd.

And Deuonshire thy faith hath her reward,
Thy noblest friends do not forsake thee now,
After thy death, but beare a kind regard,
Vnto thine honour in the Graue, and show,
That worthinesse, which merits to remaine
Among th'examples of integrity;
Whereby themselues no doubt shall also gaine,
A like regard vnto their memory.

Now muttering enuy, what canst thou produce
To darken the bright luster of such parts?
Cast thy pure stone, exempt from all abuse.
Say what defects could weigh downe these deserts?

184

Summon detraction, to obiect the worst
That may be told, and vtter all it can.
It cannot find a blemish to b'inforst,
Against him, other, then he was a man,
And built of flesh and blood, and did liue here
Within the region of infirmity;
VVhere all perfections neuer did appeare,
To meet in any one so really,
But that his frailty euer did bewray
Vnto the world, that he was set in clay.
But yet his vertues, and his worthinesse
Being seene so farre aboue his weaknesse,
Must euer shine, whilst th'other vnder ground,
With his fraile part, shall neuer more be found
And gratitude, and charity I know,
Will keepe no note, nor memory will haue,
Of any fault committed, but will now
Be pleasd, to bring all within his Graue.
Seeing only such stand euer base and low
That strike the dead, or mutter vnder-hand:
And as dogges bark at those they do not know,
So they at such they do not vnderstand.
The worthier sort, who know we do not liue
With perfect men, will neuer be so vnkinde;
They will the right to the disceased giue,
Knowing themselues must likewise leaue behind,

185

Those that will censure them. And they know how,
The Lyon being dead euen Hares insult.
And will not vrge a passed error now,
Whenas he hath no party to consult,
Nor tongue, nor aduocate, to shew his minde:
They rather will lament the losse they finde,
By such a noble member of that worth,
And know how rare the world such men brings forth.
For neuer none had heart more truly seru'd,
Vnder the regiment of his own care,
And was none at command, and none obseru'd
The coullours of that honesty he bare,
Then that of his: who neuer more was knowne;
To vse immodest act, or speech obscene,
Or any leuity that might haue showne,
The touch but of a thought that was vncleane.
So that what euer he hath done amisse,
Was vnderneath a shape that was not knowne;
As Iupiter did no vnworthinesse,
But was in other formes, not in his owne.

But let it now sufficient be, that I,
The last Scene of his act of life bewray;
Which giues th'applause to all, doth glorifie
The worke. For t'is the euening crownes the day.
This action of our death especially
Shewes all a man. Here only is he found.
With what munition he did fortifie
His heart, how good his furniture hath bin.
And this did he performe in gallant wise:
In this did he confirme his worthinesse.

186

For on the morrow after the surprise
That sicknes made on him with fierce accesse,
He told his faithfull friend whom he held deere
(And whose great worth was worthy so to be)
How that he knew those hot diseases were
Of that contagious force, as he did see
That men were ouer-tumbled sudainly,
And therefore did desire to set a course
And order t'his affaires as speedily;
As might be, ere his sicknes should grow worse:
And as for death, said he, I do not wey,
I am resolu'd and ready in this case.
It cannot come t'affright me any way,
Let it looke neuer with so grim a face:
And I will meete it smiling, for I know,
How vaine a thing all this worlds glory is.
And herein did he keepe his word. Did show
Indeede as he had promised in this.
For sicknesse neuer heard him grone at all,
Nor with a sigh consent to shew his paine;
Which howsoeuer being tirannicall,
He sweetly made it looke, and did retaine
A louely countenance of his being well,
And so would euer make his tongue to tell.

Although the feruour of extremity,
Which often doth throw those defences downe,
VVhich in our health, wall in infirmity,
Might open lay more then we would haue knowne:
Yet did no idle word in him bewray
Any one peece of nature ill set in;

187

Those lightnesses that any thing will say
Could say no ill of what they knew within;
Such a sure locke of silent modesty
VVas set in life vpon that noble heart
As that no anguish, nor extremity
Could open it t'impaire that worthy part.
For hauing dedicated still the same
Vnto deuotion, and to sacred skill,
That furnish perfect held, that blessed flame
Continued to the last in feruour still.
And when his spirit and tongue, no longer could
Do any certaine seruices beside,
Euen at the point of parting, they vnfold
VVith feruent zeale, how only he relide
Vpon the merits of the precious death
Of his redeemer; and with rapt desires
H'appeales to grace, his soule deliuereth
Vnto the hand of mercy, and expires.
Thus did that worthy, who most vertuously
And mildly liu'd, most sweete, and mildly dy.

And thus Great Patrone of my muse haue I
Paid thee my vowes and fairely cleer'd the accounts
VVhich in my loue I owe thy memory.
And let me say that herein there amounts
Something vnto thy fortune, that thou hast
This monument of thee, perhaps may last.
Which doth not t'euery mighty man befall:
For loe how many when they die, die all.
And this doth argue too, thy great deserts,
For honour neuer brought vnworthinesse
Further then to the graue, and there it parts
And leaues mens greatnes to forgetfulnes.

188

And we do see that nettles, thistles, brakes
(The poorest workes of nature) tread vpon
The proudest frames that mans inuention makes,
To hold his memory when he is gone.
But Deuonshire thou hast another Tombe
Made by thy vertues in a safer roome.

Samvel Daniell.

FINIS.

189

VII. CERTAINE EPISTLES.

1601–3.

191

TO Sr. THOMAS EGERTON Knight, Lord Keeper of the Great seale of England.

Well hath the pow'rfull hand of Maiesty,
Thy worthines, and Englands hap beside,
Set thee in th'aidfull'st roome of dignity,
As th'Isthmus, these two Oceans to diuide,
Of Rigor and confus'd Vncerteinty;
To keepe out th'entercourse of wrong and pride,
That they ingulph not vp vnsuccoured right
By the extreme current of licencious might.

Now when we see the most combining band,
The strongest fastning of society,
Law; whereon all this frame of men doth stand,
Remaine concussed with vncerteinty,
And seeme to foster rather than withstand
Contention, and embrace obscurity,
Only t'afflict, and not to fashion vs,
Making her cure farre worse than the disease;

192

As if she had made couenant with Wrong,
To part the prey made on our weaknesses,
And suffred Falshood to be arm'd as strong
Vnto the combate, as is Righteousnesse,
Or suted her, as if she did belong
Vnto our passions, and did euen professe
Contention, as her only mystery,
Which she restraines not, but doth multiply.

Was she the same sh'is now in ages past?
Or was she lesse when she was vsed lesse:
And growes as malice growes, and so comes cast
Iust to the forme of our vnquietnesse?
Or made more slow, the more that strife runs fast,
Staying t'vndo vs ere she will redresse?
That th'ill she checks seemes suffred to be ill,
When it yeelds greater gaine than goodnes will.

Must there be still some discord mixed among
The Harmony of men? whose mood accords
Best with Contention, tun'd t'a note of wrong,
That when warre failes, peace must make warre with words,
And b'arm'd vnto destruction euen as strong,
As were in ages past our ciuill swords;
Making as deepe, although vnbleeding wounds,
That whenas fury failes, wisdome confounds.

If it be wisdome, and not cunning, this
Which so imbroiles the state of truth with brawles,
And wraps it vp in strange confusednesse,
As if it liu'd immur'd within the walls

193

Of hideous termes, fram'd out of barbarousnesse
And forren customes, the memorialls
Of our subiection, and could neuer be
Deliu'red but by wrangling subtilty.

Whereas it dwells free in the open plaine,
Vncurious, Gentle, easie of accesse;
Certaine vnto it selfe, of equall vaine,
One face, one colour, one assurednesse:
It's falshood that is intricate and vaine,
And needes these labyrinths of subtlenesse:
For where the cunningst cou'rings most appeare,
It argues still that all is not sincere.

Which thy cleere-ey'd experience well discries
Great Keeper of the state of Equity,
Refuge of mercy, vpon whom relies
The succour of oppressed misery;
Altar of safegard, whereto affliction flies
From th'eager pursuit of seuerity;
Hauen of peace, that labour'st to withdraw
Iustice from out the tempests of the Law.

And set her in a calme and euen way,
Plaine, and directly leading to redresse,
Barring these counter-courses of delay,
These wasting dilatory processes:
Ranging into their right and proper ray,
Errors, demurs, essoines, and trauerses;
The heads of Hydra springing out of death,
That giues this monster, Malice, still new breath.

194

That what was made for the vtility
And good of man, might not be turn'd t'his hurt,
To make him worser by his remedy,
And cast him downe, with what should him support:
Nor that the state of Law might lose thereby
The due respect, and reu'rence of her port;
And seeme a trap to catch our ignorance,
And to intangle our intemperance.

Since her interpretations and our deeds
Vnto a like infinity arise,
As being a Science, that by nature breeds
Contention, striefe, and ambiguities:
For altercation controuersie feeds,
And in her agitation multiplies:
The field of Cauill lying all like wide,
Yeelds like aduantage vnto either side.

Which made the graue Castillian king deuise

Ferdinand king of Castile (1601.)

A prohibition, that no Aduocate
Should be conuai'd to th'Indian Colonies,
Lest their new setting, shaken with debate,
Might take but slender root, and so not rise
To any perfect grow'th of firme estate:
For hauing not this skill, how to contend,
Th'vnnourisht strife wold quickly make an end.

So likewise did th'Hungarian, when he saw

The king of Hungarie.

These great Italian Bartolists, who were
Call'd in of purpose to explane the Law,
T'imbroile it more, and make it much lesse cleere;

195

Caus'd them from out his kingdom to withdraw
With this infestious skill, some other-where:

Difficultatem facit doctrina.

Whose learning, rather let men farther out,
And opened wider passages of doubt.

Seeing euen Iniustice may be regulare,
And no proportion can there be betwixt
Our actions, which in endlesse motion are,
And th'ordinances which are alwayes fixt;
Ten thousand lawes more can not reach so far,
But malice goes beyond, or liues immixt
So close with goodnesse, as it euer will
Corrupt, disguise, or counterfet it still.

And therefore did those glorious Monarchs, (who
Diuide with God the stile of Maiesty
For being good, and had a care to do
The world right, and succour honesty)
Ordaine this sanctuary, whereunto
Th'opprest might flie, this seat of Equity;
Whereon thy vertues sit with faire renowne,
The greatest grace and glory of the Gowne.

Which Equity, being the soule of law,
The life of iustice, and the spirit of right,
Dwell's not in written lines, or liues in awe
Of bookes: deafe powers, that haue nor eares nor sight
But out of well-weigh'd circumstance doth draw
The essence of a iudgement requisit;
And is that Lesbian square, that building fit,
Plies to the worke, not forc'th the worke to it.

196

Maintaining still an equall paralell,
Iust with th'occasions of humanity;
Making her iudgement euer liable
To the respect of peace and amity;
When surely Law, sterne, and vnaffable,
Cares only but it selfe to satisfie:
And often innocencies scarce defends,
As that which on no circumstance depends.

But Equity, that beares an euen raine
Vpon the present courses, holds in aw,
By giuing hand a little, and doth gaine
By a gentle relaxation of the law;
And yet inuiolable doth maintaine
The end whereto all constitutions draw;
Which is the well-fare of society,
Consisting of an vpright policy:

Which first being by necessity compos'd,

Necessitas est lex temporis.

Is by necessity maintain'd in best estate;
Where, whenas iustice shall be ill dispos'd,
It sickens the whole body of the State:
For if there be a passage once disclos'd,
That Wrong may enter at the selfe-same gate
Which serues for Right, clad in a coate of Law,
What violent distempers may it draw:

And therefore do'st thou stand to keepe the way,
And stop the course that malice seekes to run,
And by thy prouident Iniunctions stay
This neuer ending Altercation;

197

Sending contention home, to the end men may
There make their peace whereas their strife begun,
And free these pestred streets they vainely weare,
Whom both the state, and theirs, do need elsewhere.

Lest th'humor which doth thus predominate
Conuert vnto it selfe all that it takes;
And that the law grow larger than debate,
And come t'exceede th'affaires it vndertakes:
As if the only Science of the State
That tooke vp all our wits for gaine it makes;
Not for the good that thereby may be wrought,
Which is not good if it be dearely bought.

What shall we thinke whenas ill causes shall
Inrich men more, and shall be more desir'd
Than good, as farre more beneficiall?
Who then defends the good? Who will be hir'd
To entertaine a right, whose gaine is small?

A Remedie for defending ill causes.

Vnlesse the Aduocate that hath conspir'd
To plead a wrong, be likewise made to runne
His Clients chance, and with him be vndone.

So did the wisest nations euer striue
To binde the hands of Iustice vp so hard,
That lest she falling to proue Lucratiue
Might basely reach them out to take reward:
Ordaining her prouisions fit to liue
Out of the publike, as a publike guard
That all preserues, and all doth entertaine,
Whose end is only glory, and not gaine.

198

That eu'n the Scepter which might all command,
Seeing her s'vnpartiall, equall regular,
Was pleas'd to put it selfe into her hand,
Whereby they both grew more admired far.
And this is that great blessing of this land,
That both the Prince and people vse one Barre;
The Prince, whose cause (as not to be withstood)
Is neuer bad but where himselfe is good.

This is that ballance which committed is
To thy most euen and religious hand,
Great Minister of Iustice, who by this
Shalt haue thy name still gracious in this land:
This is that seale of pow'r which doth impresse
Thy acts of right, which shall for euer stand:
This is that traine of State, that pompously
Attends vpon thy reu'rent dignity.

All glory els besides ends with our breath,
And mens respects, scarce brings vs to our graue:
But this of doing good, must out liue Death,
And haue a right out of the right it gaue:
Though th'act but few, th'example profiteth
Thousands, that shall thereby a blessing haue.
The worlds respect growes not but on desarts,
Pow'r may haue knees, but iustice hath our hearts.

199

TO THE LORD HENRIE HOWARD, one of his Maiesties Priuy Councell.

Praise, if it be not choice, and layd aright,
Can yeeld no lustre where it is bestow'd,
Nor any way can grace the giuers Art,
(Tho'it be a pleasing colour to delight)
For that no ground whereon it can be shew'd
Will beare it well, but Vertue and Desart.

And though I might commend your learning, wit,
And happy vttrance; and commend them right,
As that which decks you much, and giues you grace,
Yet your cleere iudgement best deserueth it;
Which in your course hath carried you vpright,
And made you to discerne the truest face,

And best complexion of the things that breed
The reputation and the loue of men;
And held you in the tract of honesty,
Which euer in the end we see succeed;

200

Though oft it may haue interrupted beene
Both by the times and mens iniquity.

For sure those actions which do fairely runne
In the right line of honour, still are those
That get most cleane and safest to their end,
And passe the best without confusion,
Either in those that act or els dispose,
Hauing the scope made cleere, whereto they tend.

When this by-path of cunning doth s'imbroile
And intricate the passage of affaires,
As that they seldome fairely can get out;
But cost, with lesse successe, more care and toyle,
Whil'st doubt and the distrusted cause impaires
Their courage, who would els appeare more stout.

For though some hearts are blinded so, that they
Haue diuers doores whereby they may let out
Their wills abroad without disturbancy,
Int'any course, and into eu'ry way
Of humor that affection turnes about;
Yet haue the best but one t'haue passage by,

And that so surely warded with the gard
Of conscience and respect, as nothing must
Haue course that way, but with the certaine passe
Of a perswasiue right; which being compar'd
With their conceit, must thereto answere iust,
And so with due examination passe.

Which kind of men, rais'd of a better frame,
Are meere religious, constant and vpright,
And bring the ablest hands for any effect,
And best beare vp the reputation, fame,
And good opinion, that the action's right
When th'vndertakers are without suspect:

201

But when the body of an enterprize
Shall go one way, the face another way,
As if it did but mocke a weaker trust,
The motion being monstrous, can not rise
To any good, but falls downe to bewray,
That all pretences serue for things vniust;

Especially where th'action will allow
Apparency, or that it hath a course
Concentrike with the vniuersall frame
Of men combin'd; whom it concerneth how
These motions runne, and entertaine their force;
Hauing their being resting on the same.

And be it, that the vulgar are but grosse,
Yet are they capable of truth, and see,
And sometimes gesse the right, and do conceiue
The nature of that text that needs a glosse,
And wholy neuer can deluded be:
All may a few, few cannot all deceiue.

And these strange disproportions in the traine
And course of things doe euermore proceed
From th'ill-set disposition of their mindes,
Who in their actions cannot but retaine
Th'incumbred formes which doe within them breed,
And which they cannot shew but in their kindes.

Whereas the wayes and counsels of the light
So sort with valour and with manlinesse,
As that they carry things assuredlie
Vndazling of their owne or others sight:
There being a blessing that doth giue successe
To worthinesse and vnto constancie.

And though sometimes th'euent may fall amisse,
Yet shall it still haue honour for th'attempt,

202

When craft begins with feare and ends with shame,
And in the whole designe perplexed is;
Vertue, though lucklesse, yet shall scape contempt,
And though it hath not hap, it shall haue fame.

203

TO THE LADIE MARGARET Countesse of Cumberland.

He that of such a height hath built his minde,
And rear'd the dwelling of his thoughts so strong,
As neither feare nor hope can shake the frame
Of his resolued powr's, nor all the winde
Of vanitie or malice pierce to wrong
His setled peace, or to disturbe the same;
What a faire seate hath he, from whence he may
The boundlesse wastes and wildes of man suruay.

And with how free an eye doth he looke downe
Vpon these lower regions of turmoyle!
Where all the stormes of passions mainly beat
On flesh and bloud; where honour, pow'r, renowne
Are onely gay afflictions, golden toyle;
Where greatnesse stands vpon as feeble feet
As frailty doth, and onely great doth seeme
To little minds, who doe it so esteeme.

He lookes vpon the mightiest Monarchs warres
But onely as on stately robberies;
Where euermore the fortune that preuailes
Must be the right; the ill-succeeding marres

204

The fairest and the best-fac't enterprize:
Great Pirat Pompey lesser Pirats quailes;
Iustice, he sees, as if seduced, still
Conspires with pow'r, whose cause must not be ill.

He sees the face of Right t'appeare as manifolde
As are the passions of vncertaine man;
Who puts it in all colours, all attires,
To serue his ends and make his courses holde:
He sees, that let Deceit worke what it can,
Plot and contriue base wayes to high desires;
That the all-guiding Prouidence doth yet
All disappoint, and mocks this smoake of wit.

Nor is he mou'd with all the thunder-cracks
Of Tyrants threats, or with the surly brow
Of power, that proudly sits on others crimes,
Charg'd with more crying sinnes then those he checks;
The stormes of sad confusion, that may grow
Vp in the present, for the comming times,
Appall not him, that hath no side at all
But of himselfe, and knowes the worst can fall.

Although his heart so neere allied to earth,
Cannot but pitty the perplexed State
Of troublous and distrest mortalitie,
That thus make way vnto the ougly birth
Of their owne sorrowes, and doe still beget
Affliction vpon imbecillitie:
Yet seeing thus the course of things must runne,
He lookes thereon, not strange, but as foredone.

205

And whilst distraught Ambition compasses
And is incompast; whil'st as craft deceiues
And is deceiued; whil'st man doth ransacke man,
And builds on bloud, and rises by distresse;
And th'inheritance of desolation leaues
To great expecting hopes; he lookes thereon
As from the shore of peace with vnwet eie,
And beares no venture in impietie.

Thus, Madam, fares that man that hath prepar'd
A rest for his desires, and sees all things
Beneath him, and hath learn'd this booke of man,
Full of the notes of frailty, and compar'd
The best of glory with her sufferings:
By whom I see you labour all you can
To plant your heart, and set your thoughts as neare
His glorious mansion as your pow'rs can beare.

Which, Madam, are so soundly fashioned
By that cleere iudgement that hath carryed you
Beyond the feeble limits of your kinde,
As they can stand against the strongest head
Passion can make; inur'd to any hue
The world can cast; that cannot cast that minde
Out of her forme of goodnesse, that doth see
Both what the best and worst of earth can be.

Which makes, that whatsoeuer here befalles
You in the region of your selfe remaine;
Where no vaine breath of th'impudent molests,
That hath secur'd within the brasen walles

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Of a cleere conscience, that without all staine
Rises in peace, in innocencie rests;
Whilst all what malice from without procures,
Shewes her owne ougly heart, but hurts not yours.

And whereas none reioyce more in reuenge
Then women vse to doe; yet you well know,
That wrong is better checkt, by being contemn'd
Then being pursu'd: leauing to him t'auenge
To whom it appertaines; wherein you show
How worthily your cleerenesse hath condemn'd
Base malediction, liuing in the darke,
That at the raies of goodnesse still doth barke.

Knowing the heart of man is set to be
The centre of this world, about the which
These reuolutions of disturbances
Still roule; where all th'aspects of miserie
Predominate; whose strong effects are such
As he must beare, being pow'rlesse to redresse;
And that vnlesse aboue himselfe he can
Erect himselfe, how poore a thing is man!

And how turmoyl'd they are, that leuell lie
With earth, and cannot lift themselues from thence;
That neuer are at peace with their desires,
But worke beyond their yeeres, and euen denie
Dotage her rest, and hardly will dispence
With death: that when ability expires,
Desire liues still: so much delight they haue
To carry toyle and trauell to the graue.

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Whose ends you see, and what can be the best
They reach vnto, when they haue cast the summe
And reckonings of their glory; and you know
This floting life hath but this Port of rest,
A heart prepar'd, that feares no ill to come:
And that mans greatnesse rests but in his show;
The best of all whose dayes consumed are
Either in warre, or peace conceiuing warre.

This concord, Madame, of a well-tun'd minde
Hath beene so set, by that all-working hand
Of heauen, that though the world hath done his worst
To put it out, by discords most vnkinde;
Yet doth it still in perfect vnion stand
With God and man, nor euer will be forc't
From that most sweet accord, but still agree
Equall in Fortunes inequalitie.

And this note (Madame) of your worthinesse
Remaines recorded in so many hearts,
As time nor malice cannot wrong your right
In th'inheritance of Fame you must possesse;
You that haue built you by your great deserts,
Out of small meanes, a farre more exquisit
And glorious dwelling for your honoured name
Then all the gold that leaden minds can frame.

S. D.

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TO THE LADIE LVCIE Countesse of Bedford.

Though vertue be the same when low she stands,
In th'humble shadowes of obscuritie,
As when she either sweats in martiall bands,
Or sits in Court clad with authoritie;
Yet, Madam, doth the strictnesse of her roome
Greatly detract from her abilitie:
For as in-wall'd within a liuing tombe,
Her hands and armes of action, labour not;
Her thoughts, as if abortiue from the wombe,
Come neuer borne, though happily begot,
But where she hath mounted in open sight
An eminent and spacious dwelling got.
Where shee may stirre at will, and vse her might,
There is she more her selfe, and more her owne;
There in the faire attire of honor dight,
She sits at ease and makes her glory knowne:
Applause attends her hands, her deeds haue grace,
Her worth new-borne is strait as if full growne.

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With such a godly and respected face
Doth vertue looke, that's set to looke from hie;
And such a faire aduantage by her place
Hath state and greatnesse to doe worthily.
And therefore well did your high fortunes meet
With her, that gracing you, comes grac't thereby:
And well was let into a house so sweet,
So good, so faire, so faire so good a guest;
Who now remaines as blessed in her seat,
As you are with her residencie blest.
And this faire course of knowledge whereunto
Your studies, learned Lady, are addrest,
Is th'only certaine way that you can go
Vnto true glory, to true happinesse:
All passages on earth besides, are so
Incumbred with such vaine disturbances;
As still we lose our rest in seeking it,
Being but deluded with apparances;
And no key had you else that was so fit
T'vnlocke that prison of your sex, as this,
To let you out of weaknesse, and admit
Your powers into the freedome of that blisse
That sets you there where you may ouer-see
This rowling world, and view it as it is;
And apprehend how th'outsides doe agree
With th'inward, being of the things we deeme
And hold in our ill-cast accounts, to be
Of highest value and of best esteeme;
Since all the good we haue rests in the minde,
By whose proportions onely we redeeme
Our thoughts from out confusion, and doe finde
The measure of our selues, and of our pow'rs;

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And that all happinesse remaines confinde
Within the Kingdome of this breast of ours:
Without whose boundes all that we looke on lies
In others iurisdictions, others pow'rs,
Out of the circuit of our liberties.
All glory, honor, fame, applause, renowne,
Are not belonging to our royalties,
But t'others wils, wherein th'are onely growne:
And that vnlesse we find vs all within,
We neuer can without vs be our owne,
Nor call it right our life that we liue in:
But a possession held for others vse,
That seeme to haue most int'rest therein;
Which we doe so disseuer, part, traduce,
Let out to custome, fashion, and to shew,
As we enioy but onely the abuse,
And haue no other deed at all to shew.
How oft are we constrained to appeare
With other countenance then that we owe,
And be our selues farre off, when we are neere!
How oft are we forc't on a cloudie hart
To set a shining face, and make it cleere;
Seeming content to put our selues apart,
To beare a part of others weakenesses!
As if we onely were compos'd by Art,
Not Nature, and did all our deeds addresse
T'opinion, not t'a conscience, what is right:
As fram'd b'example, not aduisednesse,
Into those formes that entertaine our sight.
And though books, Madam, cannot make this minde
Which we must bring apt to be set aright,
Yet doe they rectifie it in that kinde,

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And touch it so, as that it turnes that way
Where iudgement lies: and though we cannot find
The certaine place of truth, yet doe they stay
And entertaine vs neere about the same;
And giue the soule the best delight that may
Encheere it most, and most our spirits inflame
To thoughts of glory, and to worthy ends:
And therefore in a course that best became
The cleerenesse of your heart, and best commends
Your worthy pow'rs, you run the rightest way
That is on earth, that can true glory giue;
By which when all consumes, your fame shal liue.

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TO THE LADIE ANNE Clifford.

Vnto the tender youth of those faire eies
The light of iudgement can arise but new;
And yong the world appeares t'a yong conceit,
Whil'st thorow the vnacquainted faculties
The late inuested soule doth rawly view
Those obiects which on that discretion wait.
Yet you that such a faire aduantage haue
Both by your birth and happy pow'rs, t'out go,
And be before your yeeres, can fairely guesse
What hue of life holdes surest without staine;
Hauing your well-wrought heart full furnish't so
With all the images of worthinesse,
As there is left no roome at all t'inuest
Figures of other forme but sanctitie:
Whilst yet those cleane-created thoughts, within
The Garden of your innocencies rest;
Where are no motions of deformitie,
Nor any doore at all to let them in.
With so great care doth she, that hath brought forth
That comely body, labour to adorne

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That better part, the mansion of your minde,
With all the richest furniture of worth;
To make y'as highly good as highly borne,
And set your vertues equall to your kinde.
She tels you how that honour onely is
A goodly garment put on faire desarts;
Wherein the smallest staine is greatest seene,
And that it cannot grace vnworthinesse;
But more apparant shewes defectiue parts,
How gay soeuer they are deckt therein.
She tels you too, how that it bounded is,
And kept inclosed with so many eies,
As that it cannot stray and breake abroad
Into the priuate wayes of carelesnesse;
Nor euer may descend to vulgarize,
Or be below the sphere of her abode.
But like to those supernall bodies set
Within their Orbs, must keepe the certaine course
Of order, destin'd to their proper place;
Which onely doth their note of glory get.
Th'irregular apparances inforce
A short respect, and perish without grace:
Being Meteors seeming high, but yet low plac't,
Blazing but while their dying matters last:
Nor can we take the iust height of the minde,
But by that order which her course doth shew,
And which such splendor to her actions giues;
And thereby men her eminencie finde,
And thereby onely doe attaine to know
The Region, and the Orbe wherein she liues.
For low in th'aire of grosse vncertaintie
Confusion onely rowles, order sits hie.

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And therefore since the dearest thinge on earth,
This honour, Madam, hath his stately frame
From th'heau'nly order, which begets respect;
And that your Nature, vertue, happy birth,
Haue therein highly interplac'd your name,
You may not runne the least course of neglect,
For where, not to obserue, is to prophane
Your dignity; how carefull must you be
To be your selfe? And though you may to all
Shine faire aspects, yet must the vertuous gaine
The best effects of your benignitie:
Nor must your common graces cause to fall
The price of your esteeme t'a lower rate,
Then doth befit the pitch of your estate.
Nor may you build on your sufficiencie,
For in our strongest parts we are but weake;
Nor yet may ouermuch distrust the same:
Lest that you come to checke it so thereby,
As silence may become worse then to speake;
Though silence women neuer ill became.
And none we see were euer ouerthrowne
By others flattery more then by their owne.
For though we liue amongst the tongues of praise,
And troopes of smoothing people that collaud
All that we doe, yet 'tis within our harts
Th'ambushment lies, that euermore betraies
Our iudgements, when our selues be come t'applaud
Our owne abilitie and our owne parts.
So that we must not onely fence this fort
Of ours, against all others fraud, but most
Against our owne; whose danger is the most,
Because we lie the neerest to doe hurt,

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And soon'st deceiue our selues, and soon'st are lost
By our best pow'rs, that doe vs most transport.
Such are your holy bounds, who must conuay
(If God so please) the honourable bloud
Of Clifford, and of Russell, led aright
To many worthy stems; whose ofspring may
Looke backe with comfort, to haue had that good
To spring from such a branch that grew s'vpright;
Since nothing cheeres the heart of greatnesse more
Then th'Ancestors faire glory gone before.

217

TO HENRY VVRIOTHESLY Earle of Southamton.

Non fert vllum ictum illæfa fœlicitas.

He who hath neuer warr'd with miserie,
Nor euer tugg'd with Fortune and distresse,
Hath had n'occasion nor no field to trie
The strength and forces of his worthinesse:
Those parts of iudgement which felicitie
Keepes as conceal'd, affliction must expresse;
And onely men shew their abilities,
And what they are, in their extremities.

The world had neuer taken so full note
Of what thou art, hadst thou not beene vndone;
And onely thy affliction hath begot
More fame, then thy best fortunes could haue done;
For euer, by aduersitie are wrought
The greatest workes of admiration.
And all the faire examples of renowne
Out of distresse and miserie are growne.

Mutius the fire, the tortures Regulus,
Did make the miracles of faith and zeale,
Exile renown'd, and grac'd Rutilius;
Imprisonment and poyson did reueale

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The worth of Socrates; Fabritius'
Pouertie did grace that Common-weale
More then all Syllaes riches, got with strife;
And Catoes death did vie with Cæsars life.

Not to b'vnhappy is vnhappynesse;
And misery not t'haue knowne miserie:
For the best way vnto discretion, is
The way that leades vs by aduersitie.
And men are better shew'd what is amisse,
By th'expert finger of calamitie,
Then they can be with all that Fortune brings;
Who neuer shewes them the true face of things.

How could we know that thou could'st haue indur'd
With a reposed cheere, wrong and disgrace;
And with a heart and countenance assur'd
Haue lookt sterne death and horror in the face!
How should we know thy soule had beene secur'd
In honest counsels and in way vnbase!
Hadst thou not stood to shew vs what thou wert,
By thy affliction, that discri'd thy heart.

It is not but the Tempest that doth show
The Sea-mans cunning; but the field that tries
The Captaines courage: and we come to know
Best what men are, in their worst ieoperdies:
For lo, how many haue we seene to grow
To high renowne from lowest miseries,
Out of the hands of death, and many a one
T'haue beene vndone, had they not beene vndone.

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He that indures for what his conscience knowes
Not to be ill, doth from a patience hie
Looke onely on the cause whereto he owes
Those sufferings, not on his miserie:
The more h'endures, the more his glory growes,
Which neuer growes from imbecillitie:
Onely the best compos'd and worthiest harts
God sets to act the hardest and constant'st parts.

S. D.

221

VIII. Musophilus, or Defence of all Learning.

1602–3.

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To the right VVorthy and Iudicious Fauorer of Vertue, Master Fulke Greuill.

I doe not here vpon this hum'rous Stage,
Bring my transformed Verse, apparelled
With others passions, or with others rage;
With loues, with wounds, with factions furnished:
But here present thee, onely modelled
In this poore frame, the forme of mine owne heart:
Where, to reuiue my selfe, my Muse is led
With motions of her owne, t'act her owne part;
Striuing to make her now contemned Art,
As faire t'her selfe as possibly she can;
Lest, seeming of no force, of no desert,
She might repent the course that she began;
And, with these times of dissolution, fall
From Goodnesse, Vertue, Glory, Fame and all.

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MVSOPHILVS

Containing, A generall Defence of all Learning.

Philocosmus.
Fond man Musophilus, that thus dost spend,
In an vngainefull Arte thy deerest dayes,
Tyring thy wits, and toyling to no end,
But to attaine that idle smoake of Praise:
Now when this busie world cannot attend
Th'vntimely Musicke of neglected layes.
Other delights then these, other desires
This wiser profit-seeking Age requires.

Musophilus.

Friend Philocosmus, I confesse indeede,
I loue this sacred Arte thou sett'st so light,
And though it neuer stand my life in steede,
It is enough, it giues my selfe delight;
The whiles my vnafflicted minde doth feede
On no vnholy thoughts for benefit.

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Be it, that my vnseasonable Song
Come out of time; that fault is in the Time,
And I must not doe Vertue so much wrong,
As loue her aught the worse for others crime:
And yet I finde some blessed spirits among,
That cherish me, and like, and grace my Rime.

Againe, that I doe more in Soule esteeme,
Then all the gaine of dust the world doth craue:
And, if I may attaine, but to redeeme
My name from Dissolution and the Graue;
I shall haue done enough, and better deeme
T'haue liu'd to be, then to haue dide to haue.

Short-breath'd Mortalitie would yet extend
That spanne of life so farre forth as it may,
And robbe her Fate; seeke to beguile her end
Of some few lingring dayes of after-stay,
That all this little All, might not descend
Into the darke, a vniuersall pray.
And giue our labours yet this poore delight,
That when our daies doe end, they are not done:
And though we die, we shall not perish quite,
But liue two liues, where other haue but one.

Philocosmus.

Silly desires of selfe-abusing man,
Striuing to gaine th'inheritance of Aire,
That hauing done the vttermost he can,
Leaues yet, perhaps, but beggarie to his heire:
All that great purchase of the breath he wan,
Feedes not his race, or makes his house more faire.

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And what art thou the better, thus to leaue
A multitude of words to small effect,
Which other times may scorne, and so deceiue
Thy promis'd name, of what thou dost expect?
Besides, some viperous Criticke may bereaue
Th'opinion of thy worth for some defect;

And get more reputation of his wit,
By, but controlling of some word or sence,
Then thou shalt honour for contriuing it,
With all thy trauell, care and diligence;
Being Learning now enough to contradict,
And censure others with bold insolence.

Besides, so many so confusedly sing,
Whose diuerse discords haue the Musicke mar'd,
And in contempt that mysterie doth bring,
That he must sing alowd that will be heard:
And the receiu'd opinion of the thing,
For some vnhallowed string that vildely iar'd,

Hath so vnseason'd now the eares of men,
That who doth touch the tenour of that vaine,
Is held but vaine; and his vnreckned pen
The title but of Leuitie doth gaine.
A poore light gaine, to recompence their toyle,
That thought to get Eternitie the while.

And therefore, leaue the left and out-worne course
Of vnregarded wayes, and labour how
To fit the times with what is most in force;
Be new with mens affections that are new;
Striue not to runne an idle counter-course,
Out from the scent of humours, men allow.

For not discreetly to compose our partes
Vnto the frame of men (which we must be)

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Is to put off our selues, and make our Artes
Rebels to Nature and Societie;
Whereby we come to burie our desarts,
In th'obscure graue of Singularitie.

Musophilus.

Doe not prophane the worke of doing well,
Seduced man, that canst not looke so hie
From out that mist of earth, as thou canst tell
The wayes of Right, which Vertue doth descrie;
That ouer-lookes the base contemptibly,
And low-laid follies of Mortalitie:

Nor mete out Truth and right-discerning Praise,
By that wrong measure of Confusion,
The vulgar foote; that neuer takes his wayes
By Reason, but by Imitation,
Rowling on with the rest; and neuer weighs
The course which he should goe, but what is gone.

Well were it with Mankinde, if, what the most
Did like, were best: But Ignorance will liue
By others square, as by example lost:
And man to man must th'hand of Errour giue
That none can fall alone, at their owne cost;
And all, because men iudge not, but beleeue.

For what poore bounds haue they, whom but th'earth bounds;
What is their end whereto their care attaines,
When the thing got, relieues not, but confounds,
Hauing but trauell to succeede their paines?
What ioy hath he of liuing, that propounds
Affliction but his end, and Griefe his gaines?

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Gath'ring, incroching, wresting, ioyning to,
Destroying, building, decking, furnishing,
Repayring, altring, and so much adoe,
To his soules toyle, and bodies trauelling:
And all this doth he, little knowing who
Fortune ordaines to haue th'inheriting.

And his faire house rais'd hie in Enuies eie;
Whose Pillars rear'd (perhaps) on bloud and wrong,
The spoyles and pillage of Iniquitie:
Who can assure it to continue long?
If Rage spar'd not the walles of Pietie,
Shall the prophanest pyles of sinne keepe strong?

How many proud aspiring Pallaces
Haue we knowne, made the prey of wrath and pride;
Leuell'd with th'earth, left to forgetfulnesse;
Whilst titlers their pretended rights decide,
Or ciuill tumults, or an orderlesse
Order, pretending change of some strong side?

Then where is that proud Title of thy name,
Written in yce of melting vanitie?
Where is thine heire left to possesse the same?
Perhaps, not so well as in beggarie.
Something may rise to be beyond the shame
Of vile and vnregarded Pouertie.

Which I confesse, although I often striue
To clothe in the best habit of my skill,
In all the fairest colours I can giue:
Yet for all that, me thinkes she lookes but ill.
I cannot brooke that face, which dead-aliue
Shewes a quicke body, but a buried will.

Yet oft we see the barres of this restraint
Holdes goodnesse in, which loose wealth would let flie;

230

And fruitlesse riches barriner then want,
Brings forth small worth from idle Libertie:
Which when Disorders shall againe make scant,
It must refetch her state from Pouertie.

But yet in all this interchange of all,
Vertue we see, with her faire grace, stands fast:
For what high races hath there come to fall,
With low disgrace, quite vanished and past,
Since Chaucer liu'd; who yet liues, and yet shall,
Though (which I grieue to say) but in his last.

Yet what a time hath he wrested from Time,
And wonne vpon the mighty waste of dayes,
Vnto th'immortall honour of our clime!
That by his meanes came first adorn'd with Bayes;
Vnto the sacred Relickes of whose rime,
We yet are bound in zeale to offer praise?

And, could our lines, begotten in this age,
Obtaine but such a blessed hand of yeares,
And scape the fury of that threatning rage,
Which in confused cloudes gastly appeares;
Who would not straine his trauels to ingage,
When such true glory should succeede his cares?

But whereas he came planted in the Spring,
And had the Sunne, before him, of Respect:
We, set in th'Autumne, in the withering
And sullen season of a cold defect,
Must taste those sowre distasts the times do bring
Vpon the fulnesse of a cloy'd Neglect;

Although the stronger constitutions shall
Weare out th'infection of distempred dayes,
And come with glory to out-liue this fall:
Recou'ring of another springing of Praise,

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Cleer'd from th'oppresing humours wherewithall
The Idle multitude surcharge their laies.

Whenas (perhaps) the words thou scornest now
May liue, the speaking picture of the minde;
The extract of the soule, that laboured, how
To leaue the Image of herselfe behinde;
Wherein Posteritie, that loue to know
The iust proportion of our Spirits, may finde.

For these Lines are the veines, the arteries,
And vndecaying life-strings of those harts
That still shall pant, and still shall exercize
The motion, spirit and Nature both imparts;
And shall, with those aliue so sympathize,
As, nourisht with their powers, inioy their parts.

O blessed Letters, that combine in one,
All Ages past, and make one liue with all:
By you, we doe conferre with who are gone,
And, the dead-liuing vnto Councell call:
By you, th'vnborne shall haue communion
Of what we feele, and what doth vs befall.

Soule of the world, Knowledge, without thee,
What hath the Earth, that truly glorious is?
Why should our pride make such a stirre to be,
To be forgot? What good is like to this,
To doe worthy the writing, and to write
Worthy the reading, and the worlds delight?

And let th'vnnaturall and wayward Race,
Borne of one wombe with vs, but to our shame,
That neuer read t'obserue, but to disgrace;
Raise all the tempest of their powre, to blame.
That puffe of folly neuer can deface,
The worke a happy Genius tooke to frame.

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Yet why should ciuill Learning seeke to wound
And mangle her owne members with despight?
Prodigious wits, that study to confound
The life of wit, to seeme to know aright,
As if themselues had fortunately found
Some stand from off the earth beyond our sight;
Whence, ouer-looking all as from aboue,
Their grace is not to worke, but to reproue.

But how came they plac'd in so high degree
Aboue the reach and compasse of the rest?
Who hath admitted them onely to be
Free-denizons of skill, to iudge the best?
From whom the world as yet could neuer see
The warrant of their wit soundly exprest.

T'acquaint our times with that perfection
Of high conceipt, which onely they possesse;
That we might haue things exquisitely done,
Measur'd with all their strict obseruances:
Such would (I know) scorne a Translation,
Or bring but others labours to the Presse:
Yet, oft these monster-breeding mountaines will
Bring forth small Mice of great expected skill.

Presumption euer fullest of defects,
Failes, in the doing, to performe her part:
And I haue knowne proude words and poore effects,
Of such indeede as doe condemne this Arte:
But let them rest, it euer hath beene knowne,
They others vertues scorne, that doubt their owne.

And for the diuers disagreeing cordes
Of inter-iangling Ignorance, that fill
The dainty eares, and leaue no roome for words,
The worthier mindes neglect, or pardon will:

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Knowing the best he hath, he frankely foordes,
And scornes to be a niggard of his skill.

And that the rather, since this short-liu'd race,
Being fatally the sonnes but of one day;
That now with all their powre plie it apace,
To hold out with the greatest might they may,
Against Confusion, that hath all in chace,
To make of all, an vniuersall pray.

For now great Nature hath laid downe at last
That mighty birth, wherewith so long she went,
And ouer-went the times of ages past,
Here to lye in, vpon our soft content:
Where fruitfull she, hath multiplyed so fast,
That all she hath, on these times seem'd t'haue spent.

All that which might haue many ages grac'd,
Is borne in one, to make one cloy'd with all;
Where Plenty hath imprest a deepe distast,
Of best and worst, and all in generall:
That Goodnesse seemes Goodnesse to haue defac't,
And Vertue hath to Vertue giuen the fall.

For Emulation, that proude nurse of Wit,
Scorning to stay below or come behinde,
Labours vpon that narrow top to sit
Of sole Perfection in the highest kinde:
Enuy and Wonder looking after it,
Thrust likewise, on the selfesame blisse to finde:

And so, long striuing, till they can no more,
Doe stuffe the place, or others hopes shut out;
Who, doubting to ouertake those gone before,
Giue vp their care, and cast no more about:
And so in scorne, leaue all as fore possest,
And will be none, where they may not be best.

234

Eu'n like some empty Creeke, that long hath laine,
Left or neglected of the Riuer by,
Whose searching sides, pleas'd with a wandring vaine,
Finding some little way that close did lie;
Steale in at first, then other streames againe
Second the first, then more then all supply;

Till all the mighty maine hath borne, at last,
The glory of his chiefest powre that way;
Plying this newfound pleasant roome so fast,
Till all be full, and all be at a stay:
And then about, and backe againe doth cast,
Leauing that full to fall another way:

So fares this hum'rous world, that euermore
Rapt with the current of a present course,
Runnes into that which lay contemn'd before:
Then glutted, leaues the same, and falles t'a worse:
Now Zeale holdes all, no life but to adore,
Then cold in spirit, and faith is of no force.

Strait, all that holy was, vnhallowed lies,
The scattred carcasses of ruin'd vowes:
Then Truth is false, and now hath Blindnesse eies,
Then Zeale trusts all, now scarcely what it knowes:
That euermore, to foolish or to wise,
It fatall is to be seduc'd with showes.

Sacred Religion, mother of Forme and Feare,
How gorgeously sometimes dost thou sit deckt?
What pompous vestures doe we make thee weare?
What stately piles we prodigall erect?
How sweet perfum'd thou art, how shining cleare?
How solemnely obseru'd, with what respect?

235

Another time, all plaine, all quite thread-bare,
Thou must haue all within, and nought without;
Sit poorely without light, disrob'd,no care
Of outward grace, to amuze the poore deuout;
Powrelesse, vnfollowed, scarcely men can spare
The necessary rites to set thee out.

Either Truth, Goodnesse, Vertue are not still
The selfesame which they are, and alwayes one,
But alter to the proiect of our will,
Or we, our actions make them waite vpon,
Putting them in the liuery of our skill,
And cast them off againe when we haue done.

You mightie Lords, that with respected grace
Doe at the sterne of faire example stand,
And all the body of this populace
Guide with the turning of your hand;
Keepe a right course, beare vp from all disgrace,
Obserue the poynt of glory to our land:

Hold vp disgraced knowledge from the ground,
Keepe Vertue in request, giue Worth her due,
Let not Neglect with barbarous meanes confound
So faire a good, to bring in night anew.
Be not, O be not accessary found
Vnto her death, that must giue life to you.

Where will you haue your vertuous name safe laide?
In gorgeous Tombes, in sacred Cels secure?
Doe you not see those prostate heapes betraide
Your fathers bones, and could not keep them sure?
And will you trust deceitfull stones faire laide,
And thinke they will be to your honour truer?

236

No, no, vnsparing Time will proudly send
A warrant vnto Wrath; that with one frowne
Will all these mock'ries of Vaine-glory rend,
And make them, as before, vngrac'd, vnknowne;
Poore idle honours that can ill defend
Your memories, that cannot keepe their owne.

And whereto serue that wondrous Trophei now,
That on the goodly Plaine neere Wilton stands?
That huge dumbe heape, that cannot tell vs how,
Nor what, nor whence it is, nor with whose hands,
Nor for whose glory, it was set to shew
How much our pride mocks that of other lands?

Whereon, whenas the gazing passenger
Hath greedy lookt with admiration,
And faine would know his birth, and what he were,
How there erected, and how long agone:
Enquires, and askes his fellow traueller,
What he hath heard, and his opinion:

And he knowes nothing. Then he turnes againe,
And lookes, and sighs, and then admires afresh,
And in himselfe with sorrow doth complaine
The misery of darke Forgetfulnesse:
Angry with Time that nothing should remaine
Our greatest wonders wonder, to expresse.

Then Ignorance, with fabulous discourse,
Robbing faire Arte and Cunning of their right,
Tels, how those stones, were by the Deuils force,
From Affrike brought to Ireland in a night,
And thence, to Britannie, by Magicke course,
From Gyants hands redeem'd, by Merlins sleight.

And then neere Ambri plac'd, in memorie
Of all those noble Britons murthered there,

237

By Hengist and his Saxon trecherie,
Comming to parlee in peace at vnaware.
With this old Legend then Credulitie
Holdes her content, and closes vp her care:

But is Antiquitie so great a liar?
Or, doe her yonger sonnes her age abuse,
Seeing after-commers still, so apt t'admire
The graue authoritie that she doth vse,
That reuerence and Respect dares not require
Proofe of her deedes, or once her words refuse?

Yet wrong they did vs, to presume so far,
Vpon our easie credit and delight:
For, once found false, they strait became to mar
Our faith, and their owne reputation quite,
That now her truths hardly beleeued are:
And though sh'auouch the right, she scarce hath right.

And as for thee, thou huge and mighty frame,
That stands corrupted so with times despight,
And giu'st false euidence, against their fame
That set thee there, to testifie their right;
And art become a Traitour to their name
That trusted thee with all the best they might.

Thou shalt stand still belide, and slaundered,
The onely gazing-stocke of Ignorance;
And by thy guile, the wise admonished,
Shall neuer more desire such heapes t'aduance;
Nor trust their liuing glory with the dead
That cannot speake, but leaue their fame to Chance:

Considering in how small a roome doe lie,
And yet lie safe, as fresh as if aliue,
All those great worthies of antiquitie;
Which long foreliu'd thee, and shall long suruiue;

238

Who stronger tombes found for Eternitie,
Then could the powres of all the earth contriue.

Where they remaine these trifles to obraid
Out of the reach of Spoyle, and way of Rage;
Though Time with all his power of yeeres hath laid
Long batterie, back'd with vndermining Age,
Yet they make head, onely with their owne aide
And warre, with his all-conquering forces, wage.
Pleading the Heau'ns prescription to be free,
And t'haue a grant, t'indure as long as hee.

Philocosmus.

Beholde how euery man, drawne with delight
Of what he doth, flatters him in his way;
Striuing to make his course seeme onely right
Doth his owne rest, and his owne thoughts betray:
Imagination bringing brauely dight,
Her pleasing Images in best aray.

With flattering glasses that must shew him faire,
And others foule: his skill and wit best,
Others seduc'd, deceiu'd and wrong in their:
His knowledge right, all ignorant the rest.
Not seeing how these Minions in the aire
Present a face of things falsely exprest,
And that the glimmering of these errours showne,
Are but a light, to let him see his owne.

Alas poore Fame, in what a narrow roome,
As an incaged Parrot art thou pent
Here amongst vs, where, euen as good be dombe
As speake, and to be heard with no attent?
How can you promise of the time to come,
Whenas the present are so negligent?

239

Is this the walke of all your wide renowne,
This litle Point, this scarce discerned Ile,
Thrust from the world, with whom our speech vnknowne
Made neuer any traffike of our Stile?
And in this All, where all this care is showne,
T'inchant your fame to last so long a while?
And for that happier tongues haue wonne so much,
Thinke you to make your barbarous language such?

Poore narrow limits for so mightie paines,
That cannot promise any forraine vent:
And yet, if here, to all, your wondrous vaines
Were generally knowne, it might content:
But loe, how many reades not, or disdaines
The labour of the chiefe and excellent?

How many thousands neuer heard the name
Of Sidney, or of Spencer, or their Bookes?
And yet braue fellowes, and presume of Fame,
And seeme to beare downe all the world with lookes?
What then shall they expect of meaner frame,
On whose indeuours few or none scarce lookes?

Doe you not see these Pamphlets, Libels and Rymes,
These strange confused tumults of the minde,
Are growne to be the sicknesse of these times,
The great disease inflicted on mankinde?
Your Vertues by your Follies made your crimes,
Haue issue with your indiscretion ioyn'd.

Schooles, Artes, Professions, all in so great store,
Passe the proportion of the present state;
Where, being as great a number as before,
And fewer roomes them to accommodate:
It cannot be but they must throng the more,
And kick, and thrust, and shoulder with Debate.

240

For when the greater wits cannot attaine
Th'expected good, which they account their right,
And yet perceiue others to reape that gaine
Of farre inferiour vertues in their sight:
They present, with the sharpe of Enuie, straine
To wound them with reproches and despight:
And for these cannot haue as well as they,
They scorne their faith should deigne to looke that way.

Hence, discontented Sects and Schismes arise,
Hence interwounding Controuersies spring,
That feede the Simple, and offend the Wise,
Who know the consequence of cauelling
Disgrace, that these to others doe deuise:
Contempt and Scorne on all in th'end doth bring,
Like scolding wiues, reckning each others fault,
Make standers-by imagine both are naught.

For when to these rare dainties, time admits
All commers, all complexions, all that will,
Where none should be let in but choisest wits,
Whose milde discretion could comport with skill:
For when the place their humour neither fits,
Nor they the place, who can expect but ill?

For being vnapt for what they tooke in hand,
And for aught els whereto they shall b'addrest,
They eu'n become th'incumbrance of the land,
As out of ranke, disordring all the rest:
This grace of theirs, to seeme to vnderstand,
Marres all their grace, to doe, without their rest.

Men finde, that action is another thing,
Then what they in discoursing papers reade:
The worlds affaires require in managing,
More Artes then those wherein you Clerkes proceede:

241

Whilst timorous Knowledge stands considering,
Audacious Ignorance hath done the deede;
For who knowes most, the more he knowes to doubt;
The least discourse is commonly most stout;

This sweet inchaunting Knowledge turnes you cleene
Out from the fields of naturall delight,
And makes you hide, vnwilling to be seene
In th'open concourse of a publike sight:
This skill, wherewith you haue so cunning beene,
Vnsinues all your powres, vnmans you quite.

Publike societie and commerce of men
Require another grace, another port:
This Eloquence, these Rymes, these Phrases then,
Begot in shades, doe serue vs in no sort;
Th'vnmateriall swelling of your Pen
Touch not the spirit that action doth import:

A manly stile, fitted to manly eares
Best grees with wit; not that which goes so gay,
And commonly the gawdy liu'ry weares
Of nice Corruptions, which the times doe sway,
And waites on th'humour of his pulse that beares
His passions set to such a pleasing kay:
Such dainties serue onely for stomackes weake;
For men doe fowlest, when they finest speake.

Yet doe I not dislike that in some wise
Be sung, the great heroicall deserts,
Of braue renowned spirits; whose exercise
Of worthy deeds may call vp others hearts,
And serue a modell for posterities,
To fashion them fit for like glorious parts:
But so, that all our spirits may tend hereto,
To make it, not our grace, to say, but do.

242

Musophilus.

Mvch thou hast said, and willingly I heare,
As one that am not so possest with Loue
Of what I doe, but that I rather beare
An eare to learne, then a tongue to disproue:
I know men must, as carried in their spheare,
According to their proper motions, moue.
And that course likes them best which they are on,
Yet Truth hath certaine bounds, but Falshood none.

I doe confesse our limits are but small,
Compar'd with all the whole vaste earth beside;
All which, againe, rated to that great All,
Is likewise as a poynt, scarcely descride:
So that in these respects, we may this call,
A poynt but of a poynt, where we abide.

But if we shall descend from that high stand
Of ouer-looking Contemplation,
And cast our thoughts, but to, and not beyond
This spacious circuit which we tread vpon;
We then may estimate our mighty land,
A world, within a world standing alone.

Where, if our fame confind cannot get out,
What, shall we imagine it is pen'd,
That hath so great a world to walke about,
Whose bounds with her reports haue both one end?
Why shall we not rather esteeme her stout,
That farther then her owne scorne to extend?

Where being so large a roome, both to doe well,
And eke to heare th'applause of things well done,
That farther, if men shall our vertues tell,
We haue more mouthes, but not more merit won;

243

It doth not greater make that which is laudable,
The flame is bigger blowne, the fire all one.

And for the few that onely lend their eare,
That few, is all the world; which with a few
Doe euer liue, and moue, and worke, and stirre.
This is the heart doth feele and onely know
The rest of all, that onely bodies beare,
Rowle vp and downe, and fill vp but the row.

And serues as others members, not their owne,
The instruments of those that doe direct.
Then what disgrace is this, not to be knowne
To those know not to giue themselues respect?
And though they swell with pompe of folly blowne,
They liue vngrac'd, and die but in Neglect.

And for my part, if onely one allow
The care my labouring spirits take in this,
He is to me a Theater large enow,
And his applause onely sufficient is:
All my respect is bent but to his brow,
That is my All; and all I am, is his.

And if some worthy spirits be pleased too,
It shall more comfort breede, but not more will.
But what if none? It cannot yet vndoo
The loue I beare vnto this holy skill:
This is the thing that I was borne to doo,
This is my Scene, this part must I fulfill.

Let those that know not breath, esteeme of winde,
And set t'a vulgar ayre their seruile song;
Rating their goodnesse by the praise they find,
Making their worth on others fits belong;
As Vertue were the hireling of the minde,
And could not liue if Fame had ne'r a tong.

244

Hath that all-knowing powre that holdes within
The goodly prospectiue of all this frame,
(Where, whatsoeuer is, or what hath bin,
Reflects a certaine image of the same)
No inward pleasures to delight her in,
But she must gad to seeke an almes of Fame?

Must she, like to a wanton Curtezan,
Open her brests for shew, to winne her praise;
And blaze her faire bright beauty vnto man
As if she were enamour'd of his wayes,
And knew not Weakenesse, nor could rightly scan
To what defects his hum'rous breath obayes?

She that can tell, how proud Ambition
Is but a Beggar, and hath nought at all,
But what is giu'n of meere Deuotion:
For which, how much it sweats, how much it's thrall?
What toyle it takes, and yet, when all is done,
Th'endes in expectation neuer fall;

Shall she ioyne hands with such a seruile mate,
And prostrate her faire body, to commit
Folly with earth, and to defile that state
Of cleerenesse, for so grosse a benefit?
Hauing Reward dwelling within her gate,
And Glory of her owne to furnish it:

Her selfe, a recompence sufficient
Vnto her selfe, to giue her owne content.
I'st not enough, that she hath rais'd so hie,
Those that be hers, that they may sit and see
The earth below them, and this All to lie
Vnder their view, taking the true degree
Of the iust height of swolne Mortalitie,
Right as it is, not as it seemes to be?

245

And vndeceiued with the Paralax
Of a mistaking eye of passion, know
By these mask'd outsides what the inward lackes;
Meas'ring man by himselfe, not by his show;
Wondering not at their rich and golden backes,
That haue poore mindes and little else to shew:

Nor taking that for them which well they see
Is not of them, but rather is their loade:
The lies of Fortune, wherewithall men be
Deemed within, when they be all abroade:
Whose ground, whose grasse, whose earth haue cap and knee,
Which they suppose, is on themselues bestow'd.

And thinke like Isis Asse, all Honours are
Giuen vnto them alone, the which are done
Vnto the painted Idoll which they beare,
That onely makes them to be gazed on:
For take away their packe, and shew them bare,
And see what best this Honour rides vpon.

Hath Knowledge lent to hers the priuy kay,
To let them in vnto the highest Stage
Of Causes, Secrets, Counsels, to suruay
The wits of men, their hearts, their colds, their rage,
That build, destroy, praise, hate, say and gainesay,
Beleeue and vnbeleeue, all in one age.

And shall we trust goodnesse as it proceedes
From that vnconstant mouth, which with one breath
Will make it bad againe vnlesse it feedes
The present humour that it fauoureth?
Shall we esteeme and reckon how it heedes
Our workes, that his owne vowes vnhalloweth?

Then whereto serues it to haue bin inlarg'd
With this free manumission of the mind,

246

If for all that, we still continue charg'd
With those discou'red errors which we finde?
As if our knowledge onely were discharg'd,
Yet we our selues staid in a seruile kinde.

That Vertue must be out of countenance,
If this grosse spirit, or that weake shallow braine,
Or this nice wit, or that distemperance,
Neglect, distaste, vncomprehend, disdaine;
When such sicke eyes can neuer cast a glance,
But through the colours of their proper staine.

Though, I must needes confesse, the small respect,
That these great-seeming best of men doe giue,
(Whose brow begets th'inferior sorts neglect,)
Might moue the weake irresolute to grieue:
But stronger, see how iustly this defect
Hath ouertooke the times wherein we liue:

That Learning needs must runne the common fate
Of all things else, thrust on by her owne weight,
Comporting not her selfe in her estate
Vnder this burthen of a selfe conceit:
Our owne dissentious hands opening the gate
Vnto Contempt, that on our quarrels waite,

Discou'red haue our inward gouernement,
And let in hard opinion to Disgrace
The generall, for some weake impotent
That beare out their disease with a stolne face;
Who (silly soules) the more wit they haue spent,
The lesse they shew'd, not bettring their bad case.

And see how soone this rowling world can take
Aduantage for her dissolution,
Faine to get loose from this withholding stake
Of ciuill Science and Discretion:

247

How glad it would runne wilde, that it might make
One formelesse forme of one confusion?

Like tyrant Ottomans blindefolded state,
Which must know nothing more, but to obay:
For this, seekes greedy Ignorance t'abate
Our number, order, liuing, forme and sway:
For this, it practises to dissipate
Th'vnsheltred troupes, till all be made away.

For, since our Fathers sinnes pull'd first to ground
The pale of their disseuered dignitie,
And ouerthrew that holy reuerent bound
That parted learning and the Laiety,
And laid all flat in common, to confound
The honour and respect of Pietie:

It did so much invile the estimate
Of th'opened and inuulgar'd mysteries,
Which now reduc'd vnto the basest rate,
Must waite vpon the Norman subtilties,
Who (being mounted vp into their state)
Doe best with wrangling rudenesse sympathize.

And yet, though now set quite behinde the traine
Of vulgar sway (and light of powre weigh'd light)
Yet would this giddy innouation faine
Downe with it lower, to abase it quite:
And those poore remnants that doe yet remaine
The spoyled markes of their diuided right:

They wholly would deface to leaue no face
Of reuerent Distinction and Degree,
As if they weigh'd no diffrence in this case,
Betwixt Religions Age and Infancie:
Where th'one must creepe, th'other stand with grace,
Lest turn'd to a child it ouerturned be.

248

Though to pull backe th'on-running state of things,
(Gath'ring corruption, as it gathers dayes)
Vnto the forme of their first orderings,
Is the best meanes that dissolution stayes,
And to goe forward, backward, right, men brings,
T'obserue the line from whence they tooke their wayes.

Yet being once gone wide, and the right way
Not leuell to the times condition:
To alter course, may bring men more astray,
And leauing what was knowne to light on none;
Since eu'ry change the reuerence doth decay,
Of that which alway should continue one.

For this is that close kept Palladium
Which once remoou'd, brings ruine euermore:
This stir'd, makes men fore-setled, to become
Curious, to know what was beleeu'd before:
Whilst Faith disputes that vsed to be dombe,
And more men striue to talke, then to adore.

For neuer head-strong Reformation will
Rest, till to th'extreame opposite it runne,
And ouer-runne the meane distrusted still,
As being too neare of kinne, to that men shunne:
For good, and bad, and all, must be one ill,
When once there is another truth begunne.

So hard it is an euen hand to beare,
In tamp'ring with such maladies as these;
Lest that our forward passions launce too neare,
And make the cure proue worse then the disease:
For with the worst we will not spare the best,
Because it growes with that, which doth displease:

And faults are easier lookt in, then redrest:
Men running with such eager violence,

249

At the first view of errours fresh in quest;
As they, to rid an inconuenience,
Sticke not to raise a mischiefe in the steed,
Which after mocks their weake improuidence:

And therefore doe make not your owne sides bleed
To pricke at others: you that would amend
By pulling downe, and thinke you can proceed,
By going backe vnto the farther end,
Let stand that little Couert left behinde,
Whereon your succours and respects depend.

And bring not downe the prizes of the minde,
With vnder-rating of your selues so base:
You that the mighties doores doe crooching find,
To sell your selues to buy a little grace,
Or waite whole months to out-bid Symonie,
For that, which being got, is not your place:

For if it were, what needed you to buy
What was your due; your thirsting shewes your shift,
And little worth that seekes iniuriously
A worthier from his lawfull roome to lift?
We cannot say, that you were then prefer'd,
But that your money was, or some worse gift.

O scattring gath'rers, that without regard
Of times to come, will to be made, vndo
As if you were the last of men, prepar'd
To bury in your graues all other to.
Dare you prophane that holy portion
Which neuer sacrilegious hand durst do?

Did forme-establishing Deuotion,
To maintaine a respectiue reuerence
Extend her bountifull prouision,
With such a charitable prouidence,

250

For your deforming hands to dissipate,
And make Gods due, your impious expence?

No maruell then, though th'ouerpestred State
Want roome for goodnesse, if our little hold
Be lesned vnto such a narrow rate,
That Reuerence cannot sit, fit as it should:
And yet what neede we thus for roomes complaine,
That shall not want voyde roomes if this course hold?

And more then will be fill'd; for who will straine
To get an empty title, to betray
His hopes, and trauell for an honour vaine,
And gaine a Port, without support or stay?
What neede hath Enuy to maligne their state,
That will themselues, so kind, giue it away?

This makes indeede our number passe the rate
Of our prouisions: which, if dealt aright,
Would yeeld sufficient roome t'accommodate,
More then we haue in places requisite.
The ill disposing onely doth vs set
In disaray, and out of order quite.

Whiles other guifts then of the minde shall get
Vnder our colours, that which is our dues,
And to our trauels, neither benefit,

Nor grace, nor honour, nor respect accrewes:
The sicknesse of the States soule, Learning, then
The bodies great distemprature insues.

For if that Learnings roomes to learned men
Were as their heretage distributed,
All this disordred thrust would cease: for when
The fit were call'd, th'vnworthy frustrated,
These would b'asham'd to seeke, those to b'vnsought,
And stay'ng their turne, were sure they should be sped.

251

Then would our drooping Academies, brought
Againe in heart, regaine that reuerend hand
Of lost Opinion, and no more be thought,
Th'vnnecessary furnish of the land,
Nor discourag'd with their small esteeme,
Confus'd, irresolute and wauering stand:

Caring not to become profound, but seeme
Contented with a superficiall skill;
Which for a sleight reward enough they deeme,
When th'one succeedes as well as th'other will:
Seeing shorter wayes leade sooner to their end,
And others longer trauels thriue so ill.

Then would they onely labour to extend
Their now vnsearching spirit beyond these bounds
Of others powres; wherein they must be pend,
As if there were besides, no other grounds:
And set their bolde Plus vltra farre without
The pillers of those Axioms Age propounds:

Discou'ring daily more and more about,
In that immense and boundlesse Ocean
Of Natures riches; neuer yet found out,
Nor fore-clos'd, with the wit of any man.
So farre beyond the ordinary course
That other vnindustrious Ages ran,

That these more curious times, they might diuorce
From the opinion they are linckt vnto
Of our disable and vnactiue force,
To shew true knowledge can both speake and do:
Arm'd for the sharpe, which in these dayes they finde,
With all prouisions that belong thereto:

That their Experience may not come behinde
The times conceipt, but leading in their place,

252

May make men see the weapons of the minde
Are States best strengths, and kingdomes chiefest grace;
And roomes of charge, charg'd full with worth and praise,
Makes Maiestie appeare with her full face,

Shining with all her beames, with all her raies,
Vnscanted of her parts, vnshadowed
In any darkened poynt; which still bewrayes
The wane of Powre, when powr's vnfurnished,
And hath not all those intire complements
Wherewith the State should for her state be sped.

And though the fortune of some age consents
Vnto a thousand errours grossely wrought,
Which flourisht ouer with their faire euents,
Haue past for currant, and good courses thought:
The least whereof, in other times againe
Most dang'rous inconueniences haue brought,

Whilst to the times, not to mens wits pertaine,
The good successes of ill manag'd deedes:
Though th'ignorant deceiued with colours vaine,
Misse of the causes whence this lucke proceedes.
Forraine defects giuing home-faults the way,
Make eu'n that weakenesse sometimes well succeedes.

I grant, that some vnlettred practique may
(Leauing beyond the Alpes, Faith and Respect
To God and man) with impious cunning, sway
The courses fore-begunne with like effect,
And without stop, maintaine the turning on,
And haue his errours deem'd without defect:

But when some powerfull opposition,
Shall, with a sound incountring shocke, disioynt
The fore-contriued frame, and thereupon,

253

Th'experience of the present disappoynt,
And other stirring spirits, and other hearts
Built-huge, for action, meeting in a poynt:

Shall driue the world to sommon all their Artes,
And all too little for so reall might,
When no aduantages of weaker parts
Shall beare out shallow councels from the light:
And this sence-opening action (which doth hate
Vnmanly craft) shall looke to haue her right.

Who then holdes vp the glory of the State
(Which letred armes, and armed letters won)
Who shall be fittest to negotiate,
Contemn'd Iustinian, or else Littleton?
When it shall not be held wisedome to be
Priuately made, and publikely vndone:

But sound designes that iudgement shall decree
Out of a true discerne, of the cleere wayes
That lie direct, with safe-going Equitie;
Imbroyling not their owne and others dayes.
Extending forth their prouidence, beyond
The circuit of their owne particular:

That eu'n the ignorant may vnderstand,
How that deceit is but a cauillar;
And true vnto it selfe can neuer stand,
But still must with her owne conclusions warre.
Can Truth and Honestie, wherein consists
The right, repose on earth? the surest ground

Of Trust, come weaker arm'd into the lists,
Then Fraud or Vice, that doth it selfe confound?
Or shall Presumption that doth what it lists,
Not what it ought, carry her courses sound?
Then, what safe place out of confusion

254

Hath plaine proceeding Honestie to dwell?

What sute of grace hath Vertue to put on,
If Vice shall weare as good, and doe as well?
If Wrong, if Craft, if Indiscretion,
Act as faire parts, with ends as laudable?
Which all this mighty volume of euents,
The world, the vniuersall map of deedes

Strongly controwles, and proues from all discents,
That the directest courses best succeedes
When Craft, wrapt still in many comberments
With all her cunning thriues not, though it speedes.
For, should not graue and learn'd Experience
That lookes with th'eyes of all the world beside,

And with all ages holdes intelligence,
Goe safer then Deceit without a guide?
Which in the by-paths of her diffidence
Crossing the waies of Right, still runs more wide:
Who will not grant? and therefore this obserue,
No state stands sure, but on the grounds of Right,

Of Vertue, Knowledge, Iudgement to preserue,
And all the powres of Learning requisite:
Though other shifts a present turne may serue,
Yet in the tryall they will weigh too light.
And doe not thou contemne this swelling tide
And streame of words, that now doth rise so hie

Aboue the vsuall bankes, and spreads so wide
Ouer the borders of Antiquitie:
Which I confesse comes euer amplifide
With th'abounding humours that doe multiplie:
And is with that same hand of happinesse
Inlarg'd, as vices are out of their bands:

Yet so, as if let out but to redresse,

255

And calme, and sway th'affections it commands:
Which as it stirres, it doth againe represse
And brings in, th'out-gone malice that withstands.
Powre aboue powres, O heauenly Eloquence,
That with the strong reine of commanding words,

Dost manage, guide, and master th'eminence
Of mens affections, more then all their swords:
Shall we not offer to thy Excellence,
The richest treasure that our wit affords?
Thou that canst doe much more with one poore pen
Then all the powres of Princes can effect:

And draw, diuert, dispose and fashion men
Better then force or rigour can direct:
Should we this ornament of Glory then
As th'vnmateriall fruits of shades, neglect?
Or should we carelesse, come behinde the rest
In powre of words, that goe before in worth,

Whenas our accents equall to the best,
Is able greater wonders to bring forth:
When all that euer hotter spirits exprest,
Comes bettred by the patience of the North.
And who, in time, knowes whither we may vent
The treasure of our tongue, to what strange shores

This gaine of our best glory shall be sent,
T'inrich vnknowing Nations with our stores?
What worlds in th'yet vnformed Occident
May come refin'd with th'accents that are ours?
Or, who can tell for what great worke in hand
The greatnesse of our stile is now ordain'd?

What powrs it shall bring in, what spirits command,
What thoughts let out, what humours keepe restrain'd,
What mischiefe it may powrefully withstand,

256

And what faire ends may thereby be attain'd.
And as for Poesie (mother of this force)
That breedes, brings forth, and nourishes this might,

Teaching it in a loose, yet measured course,
With comely motions how to goe vpright:
And fostring it with bountifull discourse,
Adornes it thus in fashions of delight,
What should I say? since it is well approu'd
The speech of heauen, with whom they haue commerce;

That onely seeme out of themselues remou'd,
And doe with more then humane skills conuerse:
Those numbers wherewith heau'n and earth are mou'd,
Shew, weakenesse speakes in Prose, but powre in Verse.
Wherein thou likewise seemest to allow,
That th'acts of worthy men should be preseru'd:

As in the holiest Tombes we can bestow
Vpon their glory that haue well deseru'd,
Wherein thou dost no other Vertue show,
Then what most barbrous Countries haue obseru'd:
When all the happiest Nations hitherto
Did with no lesser glory speake, then do.

Now to what else thy malice shall obiect,
For Schooles, and Artes, and their necessitie:
When from my Lord, whose iudgement must direct,
And forme, and fashion my abilitie,
I shall haue got more strength; thou shalt expect
Out of my better leasure, my reply.

FINIS.

257

IX. OCCASIONAL POEMS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES.

1593–1607.

259

An Ode.

Now each creature ioyes the other,
passing happy dayes and howers;
One Bird reports vnto another,
in the fall of siluer showers;
Whilst the earth (our common mother)
hath her bosome deckt with flowers.

Whilst the greatest Torch of heauen,
with bright rayes warmes Floras lap,
Making nights and dayes both euen,
chearing plants with fresher sap:
My field of flowers quite bereuen,
wants refresh of better hap.

Eccho, daughter of the Aire,
(babling guest of Rocks and hils,)
Knows the name of my fierce Faire,
and sounds the accents of my ils.
Each thing pitties my dispaire,
whilst that she her Louer kils.

260

Whilst that she (O cruell Mayd)
doth me and my true loue despise;
My liues florish is decayed,
that depended on her eyes:
But her will must be obeyed,
and well he ends for loue who dies.

A Pastorall.

O happy golden Age,
Not for that Riuers ranne
With streames of milke, and hunny dropt from trees;
Not that the earth did gage
Vnto the husband-man
Her voluntary fruites, free without fees:
Not for no cold did freeze,
Nor any cloud beguile,
Th'eternall flowring Spring
Wherein liu'd euery thing,
And whereon th'heauens perpetually did smile;
Not for no ship had brought
From forraine shores, or warres or wares ill sought.

But onely for that name,
That Idle name of wind:
That Idoll of deceit, that empty sound
Call'd Honor, which became
The tyran of the minde,
And so torments our Nature without ground;
Was not yet vainly found:
Nor yet sad griefes imparts

261

Amidst the sweet delights
Of ioyfull amorous wights.
Nor were his hard lawes knowne to free-borne hearts.
But golden lawes like these
Which nature wrote. That's lawfull which doth please.

Then amongst flowres and springs
Making delightfull sport,
Sate Louers without conflict, without flame;
And Nymphs and shepheards sings,
Mixing in wanton sort
Whisp'rings with Songs, then kisses with the same
Which from affection came:
The naked virgin then
Her Roses fresh reueales,
Which now her vaile conceales:
The tender Apples in her bosome seene.
And oft in Riuers cleere
The Louers with their Loues consorting were.

Honor, thou first didst close
The spring of all delight:
Denying water to the amorous thirst
Thou taught'st faire eyes to lose
The glory of their light;
Restrain'd from men, and on themselues reuerst.
Thou in a lawne didst first
Those golden haires incase,
Late spred vnto the wind;
Thou mad'st loose grace vnkind,
Gau'st bridle to their words, art to their pace.
O Honour it is thou
That mak'st that stealth, which loue doth free allow.

262

It is thy worke that brings
Our griefes, and torments thus:
But thou fierce Lord of Nature and of Loue,
The quallifier of Kings,
What doest thou here with vs
That are below thy power, shut from aboue?
Goe and from vs remoue,
Trouble the mighties sleepe,
Let vs neglected, base,
Liue still without thy grace,
And th'vse of th'ancient happy ages keepe:
Let's loue: this life of ours
Can make no truce with time that all deuours.

Let's loue: the sun doth set, and rise againe,
But whenas our short light
Comes once to set, it makes eternall night.

263

A Description of Beauty, translated out of Marino.

1

O beauty (beames, nay flame
Of that great lampe of light)
That shines a while, with fame,
But presently makes night:
Like Winters short-liu'd bright,
Or Summers suddaine gleames,
How much more deare, so much losse-lasting beames.

2

Wing'd Loue away doth flye,
And with it time doth beare;
And both take suddainly
The sweate, the faine, the deare:
A shining day, and cleare,
Succeedes an obscene night,
And sorrow is the hewe of sweet delight.

3

With what then dost thou swell,
O youth of new-borne day?
Wherein doth thy pride dwell
O beauty made of clay?

264

Not with to swift away
The headlong corrant flyes,
As do the sparkling rayes of two faire eyes.

4

Do not thy selfe betray
VVith wantonizing yeares:
O beauty, traytors gay,
Thy melting life that weares,
Appearing, disappeares,
And with thy flying dayes,
Ends all thy good of price, thy faire of prayse.

5

Trust not, vaine creditor
Thy apt deceiued view,
In thy false counsellor,
That neuer tels thee true:
Thy forme, and flattred hew,
Which shall so soone transpasse,
Is farre more faire, then is thy looking-glasse.

6

Inioy thy Aprill now,
Whilst it doth freely shine;
This lightning flash and show,
With that cleare spirit of thine,
Will suddainly decline;
And thou faire murthering eyes
Shalbe loues tombes, where now his cradle lyes.

265

7

Old trembling age will come,
With wrinkled cheekes, and staines,
With motion troublesome,
With skinne and bloodlesse veines,
That liuely visage reauen,
And made deform'd and old,
Hates sight of glasse, it lou'd so to behold.

8

Thy gold, and scarlet shall
Pale siluer colour bee,
Thy rowe of pearles shall fall
Like withred leaues from tree;
And thou shalt shortly see
Thy face and haire to grow
All plough'd with furrowes, ouer-sowne with snow.

9

That which on Flora's brest,
All fresh and flourishing,
Aurora newly drest,
Saw in her dawning spring;
Quite dry and languishing
Depriu'd of honour quite,
Day-closing Hesperus beholds at night.

10

Faire is the Lilly, faire
The Rose, of flowers the eye;
Both wither in the ayre,

266

Their beautious colours die;
And so at length shall lye
Depriu'd of former grace,
The lillies of thy brests, the roses of thy face.

11

What then wilt it auaile,
O youth aduised ill,
In lap of beauty fraile
To nurse a way-ward will;
Like snake in sunne-warme hill?
Plucke, plucke, betime thy flower,
That springs, and parcheth in one short howre.

267

To the Angell Spirit of the most excellent, Sr. Phillip Sidney.

To the pure Spirit, to thee alone addrest
Is this ioynt worke, by double intrist thine;
Thine by his owne, and what is done of mine
Inspir'd by thee, thy secret powre imprest.
My Muse with thine, it selfe dar'd to combine
As mortall staffe with that which is diuine:
Let thy faire beames giue luster to the rest.

That Israels King may daygne his owne transform'd
In substance no, but superficiall tire:
And English guis'd in some sort may aspire
To better grace thee what the vulgar form'd:
His sacred Tones, age after age admire.
Nations grow great in pride, and pure desire
So to excell in holy rites perform'd.

O had that soule which honour brought to rest
To soone not leaft, and reaft the world of all
What man could shew, which we perfection call;
This precious peece had sorted with the best.
But ah! wide festred wounds that neuer shall
Nor must be clos'd, vnto fresh bleeding fall:
Ah memory, what needs this new arrist.

268

Yet blessed griefe, that sweetnes can impart
Since thou art blest. Wrongly do I complaine;
What euer weights my heauy thoughts sustaine
Deere feeles my soule for thee. I know my part,
Nor be my weaknes to thy rites a staine;
Rites to aright, life bloud would not refraine:
Assist me then, that life what thine did part.

Time may bring forth, what time hath yet supprest,
In whom, thy losse hath layd to vtter wast
The wracke of time, vntimely all defac't,
Remayning as the tombe of life disceast:
VVhere, in my heart the highest roome thou hast;
There, truly there, thy earthly being is plac't:
Triumph of death, in life how more then blest.

Behold! O that thou were now to behold,
This finisht long perfections part begun;
The rest but peic'd, as leaft by thee vndone;
Pardon blest soule, presumption ouerbold:
If loue and zeale hath to this error run
Tis zealous loue, loue that hath neuer dun,
Nor can enough, though iustly here contrould.

But since it hath no other scope to go,
Nor other purpose but to honour thee,
That thine may shine, where all the graces be;
And that my thoughts (like smallest streames that flow,
Pay to their sea, their tributary fee)
Do striue, yet haue no meanes to quit nor free,
That mighty debt of infinits I owe.

269

To thy great worth which time to times inroule
VVonder of men, sole borne, soule of thy kind
Compleat in all, but heauenly was thy mind,
For wisdome, goodnes, sweetnes, fairest soule:
To good to wish, to faire for earth, refin'd
For Heauen, where all true glory rests confin'd:
And where but there no life without controule.

O when from this accompt, this cast-vp somme,
This reckning made the Audit of my woe,
Some time of rase my swelling passions know,
How work my thoughts, my sense, is striken dombe
That would the more then words could euer shew;
Which all fall short. Who knew thee best do know
There liues no wit that may thy prayer become.

And rest faire monuments of thy faire fame,
Though not complete. Nor can we reach, in thought,
What on that goodly peece, time would haue wrought.
Had diuers so spar'd that life (but life) to frame
The rest: alas such losse the world hath nought
Can equall it, nor O more grieuance brought,
Yet what remaines must euer crowne thy name.

Receiue these Hims, these obsequies receiue,
(If any marke of thy secret spirit thou beare)
Made only thine, and no name els must weare.
I can no more deare soule, I take my leaue,
My sorrow striues to mount the highest Sphere.

270

Vlisses and the Syren.

Syren.
Come worthy Greeke, Vlisses come
Possesse these shores with me:
The windes and Seas are troublesome,
And heere we may be free.
Here may we sit, and view their toile
That trauaile on the deepe,
And ioy the day in mirth the while,
And spend the night in sleepe.

Vlis.
Faire Nimph, if fame, or honor were
To be atteynd with ease,
Then would I come and rest with thee,
And leaue such toyles as these.
But here it dwels, and here must I
With danger seeke it forth:
To spend the time luxuriously
Becomes not men of worth.

Syr.
Vlisses, O be not deceiu'd
With that vnreall name:
This honour is a thing conceiu'd,
And rests on others fame.
Begotten onely to molest
Our peace, and to beguile
(The best thing of our life) our rest,
And giue vs vp to toile.

271

Vlis.
Delicious Nimph, suppose there were
Nor honour, nor report,
Yet manlines would scorne to weare
The time in idle sport.
For toyle doth giue a better touch,
To make vs feele our ioy:
And ease finds tediousnesse as much
As labour yeelds annoy.

Syr.
Then pleasure likewise seemes the shore
Whereto tends all your toyle,
Which you forgo to make it more,
And perish oft the while.
Who may disporte them diuersly,
Finde neuer tedious day,
And ease may haue varietie,
As well as action may.

Vlis.
But natures of the noblest frame,
These toyles, and dangers please,
And they take comfort in the same,
As much as you in ease.
And with the thoughts of actions past
Are . . . . reuealed still;
When pleasure leaues a touch at last,
To shew that it was ill.

Syr.
That doth opinion onely cause,
That's out of custome bred,
Which makes vs many other lawes
Then euer Nature did.
No widdowes waile for our delights,
Our sportes are without bloud,
The world we see by warlike wights,
Receiues more hurt then goud.

272

Vlis.
But yet the state of things require
These motions of vnrest,
And these great Sports of high desire,
Seeme borne to turne them best.
To purge the mischiefes that increase
And all good order mar:
For oft we see a wicked peace,
To be well chang'd for war.

Syr.
Well, well Vlisses then I see
I shall not haue thee heare,
And therefore I will come to thee,
And take my fortunes there.
I must be wonne that cannot win,
Yet lost were I not wonne:
For beauty hath created bin,
T'vndoo, or be vndonne.

273

“To Edward Seymour Earle of Hertford:

Concerning his question of a distressed man in a Boate vpon the Seas.

“The passion of a distressed man, who being in a tempest on the Sea, and hauing in his Boate two Women, of whom, he loued the one that disdained him, and scorned the other who affected him, was by commandement from Neptune, to cast out one of them, to appease the rage of the tempest, but which, was referred to his owne choice.”

274

My vnkinde Loue, or she that loues me deare,
Neptune will haue cast forth to calme the Seas.
One of these two, or all must perish here:
And therefore now, which shall I saue of these?
Ah! doe I make a question which to saue,
When my desires share but one onely part!
Who should it be but she to whom I haue
Resign'd my life, and sacrific'd my hart?
She, she must liue, the tempests of whose brow
Confound me more then all these stormes can doo,
And but for whom I liue: And therefore how
Can any life be life, lesse she liue too?
For by that meanes I both may pacifie
The rigour of these waues, and her hard heart,
Who must saue him who would not let her die:
Nor can she but reward so great desert.
She cannot, but in mercy needes must giue
Comfort to him, by whom her selfe doth liue.

Pars altera.

Bvt shall the bloud of her that loues me then
Be sacrifiz'd to her disdainefulnesse
That scornes my loue? and shall I hope to win
Mercie from her, by being mercilesse?

275

Will not her safety being thus attain'd,
Raise her proude heart t'a higher set of scorne,
When she shall see my passions are distain'd
With bloud, although it were to serue her turne?
Since th'act of ill, though it fall good to vs,
Makes vs yet hate the doer of the same:
And though my hand should haue preseru'd her thus,
Yet being by cruell meanes, it is my shame;
Which she will but ascribe to my defects,
And th'imperfections of my passions; which
She knowes the influence of her eyes effects,
And therein ioyes t'haue vanquisht me so much.
And when desert shall seeme t'exact reward,
It breedes a loathing in the heart of Grace;
That must worke free out of her owne regard,
And haue no dues t'obraid her to her face.
So shall I then haue bent against my soule
Both her disdaine, and th'horror of that deed;
Which euer must my crueltie controule,
And checke the wrong that neuer can succeed.
And though it be requir'd that one must go,
By message sent me from the powrs Diuine,
Yet will I not redeeme my safety so;
Though life be in their hand, death is in mine.
And therefore since compassion cannot be
Cruell to either, Neptune take all three.

Resumptio.

Bvt that were to be cruell to all three,
Rebell to Nature, and the gods arrest,
Whose ordinances must obserued be;
Nor may our frailty with the heauens contest.

276

Why then that must be done that's least vniust,
And my affections may not beare a part
With crueltie and wrong. But here I must
Be of a side, to goe against my hart,
And her disdaine her due reward must haue:
She must be cast away that would not saue.

S. D.

277

Of William Jones, his “Nennio 1595.”

Here dost thou bring (my friend) a stranger borne
To be indenized with vs, and made our owne,
Nobilitie; whose name indeed is worne
By manie that are great, or mightie growne:

But yet to him most natural, best knowne,
To whom thou doost thy labours sacrifize,
And in whom al those vertues best are showne
Which here this little volume doth comprize.

Wheron when he shall cast his worthie eies,
He here shal glasse himselfe, himselfe shal reed:
The modell of his owne perfections lies
Here plaine describ'd, which he presents indeed:
So that if men can not true worth discerne
By this discourse, looke they on him and learne.

Sa. Danyel.

279

From “Penelopes Complaint: Or, A Mirrour for wanton Minions.

To his most dear friend P. C.—S. D.

Why seeks she titles, boasts she riches, why—Avisa?
Is she with thy Penelope to vie?
The one renowned, revered, true to her own: Avisa
An unknown woman from a place unknown.
The one spouse of a prince of glorious name: Avisa
Child of an innkeeper, wife of the same.
The one is chaste, her husband being away: Avisa
Chaste when he is at home, by night and day.
The one through twice ten years strong to endure: Avisa
Through scarce as many days could be kept pure.
The one to a hundred lords refused her hand: Avisa
The force and prayers of seven could scarce withstand.
The one would spin until her task was done: Avisa
Ne'er tired the spinning-wheel with what she spun.
The one to the Greeks and Romans praise: Avisa
Has but one man her name and fame to raise.
Long live Penelope and flourish fair: Avisa
May never with Penelope compare.

280

From “Il Pastor Fido; or The Faithfull Shepheard.”

Translated out of Italian into English. 1602.

To the right worthy and learned Knight, . . . . Syr Edward Dymock, Champion to her Maiestie, concerning this translation of Pastor Fido.

I do reioyce learned and worthy Knight,
That by the hand of thy kinde Country-man
(This painfull and industrious Gentleman)
Thy deare esteem'd Guarini comes to light:

Who in thy loue I know tooke great delight
As thou in his, who now in England can
Speake as good English as Italian,
And here enioyes the grace of his owne right.

Though I remember he hath oft imbas'd
Vnto us both the vertues of the North,
Saying, our costes were with no measures grac'd,
Nor barbarous tongues could any verse bring forth.
I would he sawe his owne, or knew our store,
Whose spirits can yeeld as much, and if not more.

Sam. Daniell.

281

From “BARTAS his Deuine Weekes & Workes.”

Translated by Iosuah Syluester, 1605.

To my good friend, M. Syluester, in honour of this sacred Worke.

Thus to aduenture forth, and re-conuay
The best of treasures, from a Forraine Coast,
And take that wealth wherin they gloried most,
And make it Ours by such a gallant pray,
And that without in-iustice; doth bewray
The glory of the Worke, that we may boast
Much to haue wonne, and others nothing lost
By taking such a famous prize away.
As thou industrious Sylvester hast wrought,
And heere enritch'd vs with th'immortall store
Of others sacred lines: which from them brought
Comes by thy taking greater then before:
So hast thou lighted from a flame deuout,
As great a flame, that neuer shall goe out.

Samuel Daniel.

282

From Clement Edmundes (Remembrancer of the Cittie of London): his “Obseruations vpon Cæsars Comentaries, 1609.”

To my friend, Maister Clement Edmonds.

Who thus extracts, with more then Chymique Art,
The spirit of Bookes, shewes the true way to finde
Th'Elixer that our leaden Parts conuart
Into the golden Metall of the Minde.

Who thus obserues in such materiall kinde
The certaine Motions of hie Practises,
Knowes on what Center th'Actions of Mankinde
Turne in their course, and sees their fatalnes.

And hee that can make these obseruances,
Must be aboue his Booke, more then his Pen.
For, wee may be assur'd, hee men can ghesse,
That thus doth Cæsar knowe; the Man of men.
Whose Work, improu'd here to our greater gaine,
Makes Cæsar more then Cæsar to containe.

Sam. Danyell.

283

From “Queen Anna's New World of Words,” etc. Collected by John Florio. 1611.

To my deare friend and brother M. Iohn Florio, one of the Gentlemen of hir Maiesties Royall Priuy-chamber.

I stand not to giue praise before the face
Of this great worke, that doth it selfe commend:
But to congratulate the good and grace
That England com's thereby to apprehend:
And in hir name to thanke your industry
Laborius Flório, who haue so much wrought
To honour hir in bringing Italy
To speake hir language, and to giue hir note
Of all the treasure that rich tongue containes:
Wherein I cannot but admire your paines
In gathering vp this vniuersall store,
And furniture of words for euery arte,
And skill of man: So that there seem's no more
Beyond this search, that knowledge can impart.
Which being a worke which would take vp the powers
Of more then one whole man, I wonder how
You could subtract so many serious howres
From that great summe of seruice that you owe.
But that it seemes the beaming Gracefulnesse
That lightens from the most refulgent Qveene
Our sacred Mistris, work's that ablenesse
As mak's you more, then els you could haue beene.
Wherein the power of Princes well is seene
That can infuse such force, and make age greene.

284

And it were well, if in this season, when
They leaue erecting Churches, Colledges,
And pious monuments, they would build men
Who of their glory may be witnesses,
And what they doe be theirs: As Mazons raise
Work's not for them, but for their masters praise.
For, would they but be ples'd to know, how small
A portion of that ouer-flowing waste
Which run's from them, would turne the wheeles and all
The frame of wit, to make their glory last:
I thinke they would doe something: but the stirre
Still about greatnesse, giues it not the space
To looke out from it selfe, or to conferre
Grace but by chance, and as men are in place.
But that concern's not me, It is ynow
I doe applaud your worke. Thus from my Plow.

Samuel Daniel.

285

From John Florio's 1613 edition of his “Done into English” Essayes written in French by Michael Lord of Montaigne.

To my deare brother and friend M. Iohn Florio, one of the Gentlemen of hir Maiesties most Royall Priuie Chamber.

Books , like superfluous humors bred with ease
So stuffe the world, as it becomes opprest
With taking more than it can well digest;
And now are turn'd to be a great disease.
For by this ouercharging we confound
The appetite of skill they had before:
There be'ng no end of words, nor any bound
Set to conceit the Ocean without shore.
As if man laboured with himselfe to be
As infinite in writing, as intents;
And draw his manifold vncertaintie
In any shape that passion represents:
That these innumerable images
And figures of opinion and discourse
Draw'n out in leaues, may be the witnesses
Of our defects much rather than our force.
And this proud frame of our presumption,
This Babel of our skill, this Towre of wit,
Seemes only checkt with the confusion
Of our mistakings that dissolueth it.

286

And well may make vs of our knowledge doubt,
Seeing what vncertainties wee build vpon,
To be as weake within booke as without;
Or els that truth hath other shapes then one.

But yet although wee labor with this store
And with the presse of writings seeme opprest,
And haue to many bookes, yet want wee more,
Feeling great dearth and scarcenesse of the best;
Which cast in choiser shapes haue bin produc'd,
To giue the best proportions to the minde
Of our confusion, and haue introduc'd
The likeliest images frailtie can finde.
And wherein most the skill-desiring soule
Takes her delight, the best of all delight;
And where her motions euenest come to rowle
About this doubtfull center of the right.

Which to discouer this great Potentate,
This Prince Montaigne (if he be not more)
Hath more aduentur'd of his owne estate
Than euer man did of himselfe before:
And hath made such bold sallies out vpon
Custome: the mightie tyrant of the earth,
In whose Seraglio of subiection
Wee all seeme bred-vp, from our tender birth;
As I admire his powres, and out of loue,
Here at his gate do stand, and glad I stand
So neere to him whom I do so much loue,
T'applaude his happie setling in our land:
And safe transpassage by his studious care
Who both of him and vs doth merit much,
Hauing as sumptuously, as he is rare
Plac'd him in the best lodging of our speach.

287

And made him now as free, as if borne here,
And as well ours as theirs, who may be proud
That he is theirs, though he be euery where
To haue the franchise of his worth allow'd.

It be'ing the proportion of a happie Pen,
Not to b'inuassal'd to one Monarchie,
But dwell with all the better world of men,
Whose spirits all are of one communitie;
Whom neither Ocean, Desarts, Rockes nor Sands
Can keepe from th'intertraffique of the minde,
But that it vents her treasure in all lands,
And doth a most secure commercement finde.

Wrap Excellencie vp neuer so much,
In Hierogliphicques, Ciphers, Caracters,
And let her speake neuer so strange a speach,
Her Genius yet finds apt discipherers:
And neuer was she borne to dye obscure,
But guided by the starres of her owne grace,
Makes her owne fortune, and is euer sure
In mans best hold, to hold the strongest place.

And let the Critick say the worst he can,
He cannot say but that Montaigne yet,
Yeeldes most rich pieces and extracts of man;
Though in a troubled frame confus'dly set.
Which yet h'is blest that he hath euer seene,
And therefore as a guest in gratefulnesse,
For the great good the house yeelds him within,
Might spare to taxe th'vnapt conuayances.
But this breath hurts not, for both worke and frame,
Whilst England English speakes, is of that store
And that choyse stuffe, as that without the same
The richest librarie can be but poore.

288

And they vnblest who letters doe professe
And haue him not: whose owne fate beates their want
With more sound blowes, then Alcibiades
Did his Pedante that did Homer want.

By Sam. Daniel one of the Gentlemen extraordinarie of hir Maiesties most royall priuie Chamber.

289

Concerning the honor of bookes.

Since Honor from the Honorer proceeds,
How well do they deserue that memorie
And leaue in bookes for all posterities
The names of worthyes, and their vertuous deedes
When all their glorie els, like water weedes
Without their element, presently dyes,
And all their greatnes quite forgotten lyes:
And when, and how they florisht no man heedes.
How poore remembrances, are statutes, Toomes
And other monuments that men erect
To Princes, which remaine in closed roomes
Where but a few behold them; in respect
Of Bookes, that to the vniuersall eye
Shew how they liu'd, the other where they lye.

290

From “The Essayes, of Morall Politike and Millitarie Discourses of Lo: Michaell de Montaigne, Knt, 1603 edition.”

To my deere friend M. Iohn Florio, concerning his translation of Montaigne.

Bookes the amasse of humors, swolne with ease,
The Griefe of peace, the maladie of rest;
So stuffe the world, falne into this disease,
As it receiues more then it can digest:
And doe so ouercharge, as they confound
The apetite of skill with idle store:
There being no end of words, nor any bound
Set to conceipt, the Ocean without shore.

As if man labor'd with himselfe to be
As infinite in words, as in intents,
And drawe his manifold incertaintie
In eu'ry figure, passion represents;
That these inuumerable visages
And strange shapes of opinions and discourse
Shadowed in leaues, may be the witnesses
Rather of our defects, then of our force.
And this proud frame of our presumption,
This Babel of our skill, this Towre of wit,
Seemes onely checkt with the confusion
Of our mistakings, that dissolueth it.

291

And well may make vs of our knowledge doubt,
Seeing what vncertainties we build vpon,
To be as weake within booke as without;
Or els that truth hath other shapes then one.

But yet although we labor with this store
And with the presse of writings seeme opprest,
And haue too many bookes, yet want we more,
Feeling great dearth and scarsenesse of the best;
Which cast in choiser shapes haue bin produc'd,
To giue the best proportions to the minde
Of our confusion, and haue introduc'd
The likeliest images frailtie can finde.
And wherein most the skill-desiring soule
Takes her delight, the best of all delight;
And where her motions euenest come to rowle
About this doubtfull center of the right.

Which to discouer this great Potentate,
This Prince Montaigne (if he be not more)
Hath more aduentur'd of his owne estate
Then euer man did of himselfe before:
And hath made such bolde sallies out vpon
Custome: the mightie tyrant of the earth,
In whose Seraglio of subiection
We all seeme bred-vp, from our tender birth;
As I admire his powres, and out of loue,
Here at his gate do stand; and glad I stand,
So neere to him whom I do so much loue,
T'applaude his happie setling in our land:
And safe transpassage by his studious care,
Who both of him and vs doth merit much;
Hauing as sumptuously, as he is rare
Plac'd him in the best lodging of our speach,

292

And made him now as free, as if borne here,
And as well ours as theirs, who may be proud
That he is theirs; though he be euery where
To haue the franchise of his worth allow'd.

It being the portion of a happie Pen,
Not to b'inuassal'd to one Monarchie,
But dwell with all the better world of men
Whose spirits are all of one communitie.
Whom neither Ocean, Desarts, Rockes nor Sands
Can keepe from th'intertraffique of the minde,
But that it vents her treasure in all lands,
And doth a most secure commercement finde.

Wrap Excellencie vp neuer so much,
In Hierogliphicques, Ciphers, Caracters,
And let her speake neuer so strange a speach,
Her Genius yet finds apt discipherers:
And neuer was she borne to dye obscure,
But guided by the Starres of her owne grace,
Makes her owne fortune, and is euer sure
In mans best hold, to hold the strongest place.

And let the Critic say the worst he can,
He cannot say but that Montaigne yet,
Yeeldes most rich pieces and extracts of man;
Though in a troubled frame confus'dly set.
Which yet h'is blest that he hath euer seene,
And therefore as a guest in gratefulnesse,
For the great good the house yeelds him within
Might spare to taxe th'vnapt conuayances.
But this breath hurts not, for both worke and frame,
Whilst England English speakes, is of that store
And that choyse stuffe, as that without the same
The richest librarie can be but poore.

293

And they vnblest who letters do professe
And haue him not: whose owne fate beates their want
With more sound blowes, then Alcibiades
Did his Pedante that did Homer want.

Sam. Danyel.

294

To the Right Reuerend Father in God, Iames Montague, Lord Bishop of Winchester, Deane of the Chapell, and one of his Maiesties most Honorable Priuy Councell.

Although you haue out of your proper store
The best munition that may fortifie
A Noble heart as no man may haue more,
Against the batteries of mortality:
Yet reuerend Lord voutsafe me leaue to bring
One weapon more vnto your furnishment;
That you the Assaults of this close vanquishing,
And secret wasting sicknesse may preuent:
For that my selfe haue struggled with it too,
And know the worst of all that it can do;
And let me tell you this you neuer could
Haue found a gentler warring enemy,
And one that with more faire proceeding would
Encounter you without extremity,
Nor giue more time to make resistances
And to repaire your breaches, then will this.

For whereas other sicknesses surprize,
Our spirits at vnawares disweopning sodainely,

295

All sense of vnderstanding in such wise,
As that they lay vs dead before we die,
Or fire vs out of our inflamed fort,
With rauing Phrensies in a fearefull sort;

This comes and steales vs by degrees away;
And yet not that without our priuity
They rap vs hence, as Vultures do their pray;
Confounding vs with tortures instantly.
This fairely kills, they fowly murther vs,
Trippe vp our heeles before we can discerne;
This giues vs time of treaty to discus
Our suffring, and the cause thereof to learne.

Besides therewith we oftentimes haue truce
For many months, sometimes for many yeares,
And are permitted to inioy the vse
Of study, and although our body weares
Our wit remaines; our speach, our memory
Faile not, or come before our selues to die:
We part together and we take our leaue
Of friends, of kindred; we dispose our state,
And yeeld vp fairely what we did receiue
And all our businesses accomodate:
So that we cannot say we were thrust out,
But we depart from hence in quiet sort:
The foe with whom we haue the battaile fought,
Hath not subdu'd vs but got our Fort,
And this disease is held most incident
To the best natures and most innocent.

And therefore reuerend Lord, there cannot be
A gentler passage then there is hereby,
Vnto that port wherein we shall be free
From all the stormes of worldly misery.

296

And though it show vs dayly in our glasse,
Our fading leafe turn'd to a yellow hue,
And how it withers as the sap doth passe,
And what we may exspect is to insue.

Yet that I know disquiets not your mind,
Who knowes the brittle mettaile of mankind,
And haue all comforts vertue can beget,
And most the conscience of well acted dayes;
Which all those monuments which you haue set
On holy ground to your perpetuall praise,
(As things best set) must euer testifie;
And shew the worth of Noble Montague.
And so long as the Walls of Piety
Stand, so long shall stand the memory of you;
And Bath, and Wells, and Winchester shall show
Their faire repaires to all Posterity;
And how much blest and fortunate they were
That euer Gracious hand did plant you there;
Besides, you haue not only built vp walls
But also (worthier edifices) men;
By whom you shall haue the memorialls
And euerlasting honor of the pen
That whensoeuer you shall come to make
Your Exit from this Scene wherein you haue
Perform'd so noble parts, you then shall take
Your leaue with honor, haue a glorious graue.
“For when can men go better to their rest
“Then when they are esteem'd and loued best?”

Sam. Daniel.

END OF VOL. I.

University of Virginia Library

1. Vol. I.

I. INEDITED POEMS, ETC.

INTRODUCTORY TO THE WORKS OF SAMUEL DANIEL.

FROM VARIOUS SOURCES. 1595–1623.

I. TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, SIR Charles Blunt Knight, Lord Mountioy, and Knight of the most Noble order of the Garter, and his most worthy Lord.

II. S. D. TO HIS BOOKE, In the Dedicating thereof to the Librarie in Oxford, erected by Sir Thomas Bodley Knight.

III. To her sacred Maiestie.

V. To the Reader.

II. SONNETS TO DELIA.

1592.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, THE Lady Mary, Countesse of Pembrooke.

TO DELIA.

SONNET. I.

[Vnto the boundlesse Ocean of thy beautie]

SONNET. II.

[Goe wailing Verse, the Infants of my loue]

SONNET. III.

[If so it hap, this of-spring of my care]

SONNET. IIII.

[These plaintiue Verse, the Postes of my desire]

SONNET. V.

[VVhilst youth and error led my wandring minde]

SONNET. VI.

[Faire is my Loue, and cruell as she's faire]

SONNET. VII.

[For had she not beene faire and thus vnkinde]

SONNET. VIII.

[Thou poore heart sacrifiz'd vnto the fairest]

SONNET. IX.

[If this be loue, to draw a wearie breath]

SONNET. X.

[Then doe I loue, and draw this wearie breath]

SONNET. XI.

[Teares, vowes, and prayers, winne the hardest hart]

SONNET. XII.

[My spotlesse loue houers with purest wings]

SONNET. XIII.

[Behold what hap Pigmalion had to frame]

SONNET. XIIII.

[Those snary locks, are those same nets (my Deere)]

SONNET. XV.

[If that a loyall hart and faith vnfained]

SONNET. XVI.

[Happy in sleepe, waking content to languish]

SONNET. XVII.

[VVhy should I sing in verse, why should I frame]

SONNET. XVIII.

[Since the first looke that led me to this error]

SONNET. XIX.

[Restore thy tresses to the golden Ore]

SONNET. XX.

[VVhat it is to breathe and liue without life]

SONNET. XXI.

[If beauty thus be clowded with a frowne]

SONNET. XXII.

[Come Time the anchor-hold of my desire]

SONNET. XXIII.

[Time, cruell time, come and subdue that Brow]

SONNET. XXIIII.

[These sorrowing sighes, the smoake of mine annoy]

SONNET. XXV.

[False Hope prolongs my euer certaine griefe]

SONNET. XXVI.

[Looke in my griefes, and blame me not to mourne]

SONNET. XXVII.

[Oft and in vaine my rebel thoughts haue ventred]

SONNET. XXVIII.

[Raigne in my thoughts faire hand, sweete eye, rare voice]

SONNET. XXIX.

[Like as the spotlesse Ermelin distrest]

SONNET. XXX.

[My cares draw on mine euerlasting night]

SONNET. XXXI.

[VVhilst by thy eies pursu'd, my poore heart flew]

SONNET. XXXII.

[The Starre of my mishap impos'd this paine]

SONNET. XXXIII.

[Still in the trace of one perplexed thought]

SONNET. XXXIIII.