Daphnaïda.  
An Elegy upon the death of the noble and virtuous Douglas Howard, Daughter and heir of Henry Lord Howard, Viscount Byndon, and wife of Arthure George's Esquire.  
Dedicated to the Right honourable the Lady Helena, marquess of Northampton.  
By Ed. Sp.  
AT LONDON Printed for William Ponsonby, dwelling in Paul's Churchyard at the sign of the Bishop's head 1591.   

To the right Honourable and virtuous Lady Helena marquess of Northhampton.  
I Have the rather presumed humbly to offer unto your Honour the dedication of this little poem, for that the noble and virtuous Gentlewoman of whom it is written, was by match near allied, and in affection greatly devoted unto your Ladyship. The occasion why I wrote the same, was aswell the great good fame which I heard of her deceased, as the particular good will which I bear unto her husband Master Arthure Gorges, a lover of learning and virtue, whose house as your Ladyship by marriage hath honoured, so do I find the name of them by many notable records, to be of great antiquity in this Realm; and such as have ever borne themselves with honourable reputation to the world, and unspotted loyalty to their Prince and Country: beside so lineally are they descended from the Howards, as that the Lady Anne Howard, eldest daughter to john Duke of Norfolk, was wife to Sir Edmund, mother to Sir Edward, and grandmother to Sir William and Sir Thomas George's Knights. And therefore I do assure myself that no due honour done to the white Lion, but will be most grateful to your Ladyship, whose husband and children do so nearly participate with the blood of that noble family. So in all duty I recommend this Pamphlet, & the good acceptance thereof to your honourable favour and protection. London this first of January. 1591.  
Your Honours humbly ever. E. Sp.   

Daphnaïda.  

WHat ever man he be, whose heavy mind  
With grief of mournful great mishap oppressed,  
Fit matter for his cares increase would find:  
Let read the rueful plaint herein expressed  
Of one (I ween) the woefull'st man alive;  
Even sad Aleyon, whose empierced breast  
Sharp sorrow did in thousand pieces rive.   

But who so else in pleasure findeth sense,  
Or in this wretched life doth take delight,  
Let him be banished far away from hence:  
Ne let the sacred Sisters here be height,  
Though they of sorrow heavily can sing;  
For even their heavy song would breed delight:  
But here no tunes, save sobs and groans shall ring.   

In stead of them, and their sweet harmony,  
Let those three fatal Sisters, whose sad hands  
Do weave the direful threads of destiny,  
And in their wrath break off the vital bands,  
Approach hereto: and let the dreadful Queen  
Of darkness deep come from the Stygian strands,  
And grisly Ghosts to hear this doleful teen.   

In gloomy evening, when the weary Sun  
After his days long labour drew to rest,  
And sweaty steeds now having over run  
The compassed sky, 'gan water in the west,  
I walked abroad to breathe the freshing air  
In open fields, whose flowering pride oppressed  
With early frosts, had lost their beauty fair.   

There came unto my mind a troublous thought,  
Which daily doth my weaker wit possess,  
Ne lets it rest, until it forth have brought  
Her long borne Infant, fruit of heaviness,  
Which she conceived hath through meditation  
Of this world's vainness and life's wretchedness,  
That yet my soul it deeply doth empassion.   

So as I mused on the misery,  
In which men live, and I of many most,  
Most miserable man; I did espy  
Where towards me a sorry wight did cost,  
Clad all in black, that mourning did bewray:  
And jaakob staff in hand devoutly crossed,  
Like to some Pilgrim come from far away.   

His careless locks, uncombed and unshorn  
Hung long adown, and beard all over grown,  
That well he seemed to be sum wight forlorn;  
Down to the earth his heavy eyes were thrown  
As loathing light: and ever as he went,  
He sighed soft, and inly deep did groan,  
As if his heart in pieces would have rend.   

Approaching nigh, his face I viewed near,  
And by the semblant of his countenance,  
Me seemed I had his person seen elsewhere,  
Most like halcyon seeming at a glance;  
Aleyon he, the jolly Shepherd swain,  
That wont full merrily to pipe and dance,  
And fill with pleasance every wood and plain.   

Yet half in doubt because of his disguise,  
I sostlie said halcyon? There with all  
He looked a side as in disdainful wise,  
Yet stayed not: till I again did call.  
Then turning back he said with hollow sound,  
Who is it, that doth name me, woeful thrall,  
The wretchedst man that treads this day on ground?   

One, whom like woefulness impressed deep  
Hath made fit mate thy wretched case to hear,  
And given like cause with thee to wail and weep:  
Grief finds some ease by him that like does bear,  
Then stay halcyon, gentle shepherd stay,  
(Quoth I) till thou have to my trusty ear  
Committed, what thee doth so ill apay.   

Cease foolish man (said he half wrothfully)  
To seek to hear that which cannot be told.  
For the huge anguish, which doth multiply  
My dying pains, no tongue can well unfold:  
Ne do I care, that any should bemoan  
My hard mishap, or any weep that would,  
But seek alone to weep, and die alone.   

Then be it so (quoth I) that thou art bend  
To die alone, unpiried, unplained,  
Yet ere thou die, it were convenient  
To tell the cause, which thee thereto constrained:  
Lest that the world thee dead accuse of guilt,  
And say, when thou of none shalt be maintained,  
That thou for secret crime thy blood hast spilled.   

Who life does loath, and longs to be unbound  
From the strong shackles of frail flesh (quoth he)  
Nought cares at all, what they that live on ground  
Deem the occasion of his death to be:  
Rather desires to be forgotten quite,  
Than question made of his calamity,  
For hearts deep sorrow hates both life and light.   

Yet since so much thou seemest to rue my grief,  
And carest for one that for himself cares nought,  
(Sign of thy love, though nought for my relief:  
For my relief exceedeth living thought)  
I will to thee this heavy case relate,  
Then hearken well till it to end be brought,  
For never didst thou hear more hapless fate.   

Whilom I used (as thou right well dost know)  
My little flock on western downs to keep.  
Not far from whence Sabrina's stream doth flow,  
And flowery banks with silver liquor steep:  
Nought card I then for worldly change or chance,  
For all my joy was on my gentle sheep,  
And to my pipe to carol and to dance.   

It there befell as I the fields did range  
Fearless and free, a fair young Lioness,  
White as the native Rose before the change,  
Which Venus blood did in her leaves impress,  
I spied playing on the grassy plain  
Her youthful sports and kindly wantonness.  
That did all other Beasts in beauty stain.   

Much was I moved at so goodly sight;  
Whose like before mine eye had seldom seen,  
And 'gan to cast, how I her compass might,  
And bring to hand, that yet had never been:  
So well I wrought with mildness and with pain,  
That I her caught disporting on the green,  
And brought away fast bound with silver chain.   

And afterwards I handled her so fair,  
That though by kind she stout and salvage were,  
For being borne an ancient Lion's hair,  
And of the race, that all wild beasts do fear;  
Yet I her framed and won so to my bent,  
That she became so meek and mild of cheer,  
As the least lamb in all my flock that went.   

For she in field, where ever I did wend,  
Would wend with me, and wait by me all day:  
And all the night that I in watch did spend,  
If cause required, or else in sleep, if nay,  
She would all night by me or watch, or sleep;  
And evermore when I did sleep or play,  
She of my flock would take full wary keep.   

Safe then and safest were my silly sheep,  
Ne feared the Wolf, ne feared the wildest beast:  
All were I drowned in careless quiet deep:  
My lovely Lioness without behest  
So careful was for them and for my good,  
That when I waked, neither most nor lest  
I found miscarried or in plain or wood.   

Oft did the Shepherds, which my hap did hear,  
And oft their lasses which my luck envied,  
Daily resort to me from far and near,  
To see my Lioness, whose praises wide  
Were spread abroad; and when her worthiness  
Much greater than the rude report they tried,  
They her did praise, and my good fortune bless.   

Long thus I joyed in my happiness,  
And well did hope my joy would have no end:  
But oh fond man, that in world's fickleness  
Reposedst hope, or weenedst her thy friend,  
That glories most in mortal miseries,  
And daily doth her changeful counsels bend:  
To make new matter fit for Tragedies.   

For whilst I was thus without dread or doubt,  
A cruel Satire with his murderous dart,  
Greedy of mischief ranging all about,  
Gave her the fatal wound of deadly smart:  
And reft fro me my sweet companion,  
And reft fro me my love, my life, my heart,  
My Lioness (ah woe is me) is gone.   

Out of the world thus was she reft away,  
Out of the world, unworthy such a spoil;  
And borne to heaven, for heaven a fit pray:  
Much fit than the Lion, which with toil  
Alcides slew, and fixed in firmament;  
Her now I seek throughout this earthly soil,  
And seeking miss, and missing do lament.   

Therewith he 'gan afresh to wail and weep,  
That I for pity of his heavy plight.  
Can not abstain mine eyes with tears to steep:  
But when I saw the anguish of his sprite  
Some deal alaid, I him bespoke again.  
Certes halcyon, painful is thy plight,  
That it in me breeds almost equal pain.   

Yet doth not my dull wit well understand  
The riddle of thy loved Lioness;  
For rare it seems in reason to be skand  
That man, who doth the whole world's rule possess  
Should to a beast his noble heart embase,  
And be the vassal of his vassalesse:  
Therefore more plain aread this doubtful case.   

Then sighing sore, Daphne thou knewest (quoth he)  
She now is dead; ne more endured to say:  
But fell to ground for great extremity,  
That I beholding it, with deep dismay  
Was much paid, and lightly him uprearing,  
Revoked life that would have fled away,  
All were myself through grief in deadly drearing.   

Then 'gan I him to comfort all my best,  
And with mild counsel strove to mitigate  
The stormy passion of his troubled breast,  
But he thereby was more empassionate:  
As stubborn steed, that is with curb restrained,  
Becomes more fierce and fervent in his gate;  
And breaking forth at last, thus dearnelie plained.   

1 What man henceforth, that breatheth vital air,  
Will honour heaven, or heavenly powers adore?  
Which so unjustly do their judgements share;  
'mongst earthly wights, as to afflict so sore  
The innocent, as those which do transgress,  
And do not spare the best or fairest more,  
Than worst or foulest, but do both oppress.   

If this be right, why did they then create  
The world so fair, sith fairness is neglected?  
Or why be they themselves immaculate,  
If purest things be not by them respected?  
She fair, she pure, most fair most pure she was,  
Yet was by them as thing impure rejected:  
Yet she in pureness, heaven itself did pass.   

In pureness and in all celestial grace,  
That men admire in goodly womankind,  
She did excel and seemed of Angel's race  
Living on earth like Angel new divined,  
Adorned with wisdom and with chastity:  
And all the dowries of a noble mind,  
Which did her beauty much more beautify.   

No age hath bred (since fair Astraea left  
The sinful world) more virtue in a wight,  
And when she parted hence, with her she reft  
Great hope; and robbed her race of bounty quite:  
Well may the shepherd lasses now lament,  
For double loss by her hath on them light;  
To lose both her and bounties ornament.   

Ne let Elisa royal Shepherdess  
The praises of my parted love envy,  
For she hath praises in all plenteousness  
Poured upon her like showers of Castaly  
By her own Shepherd, Colin her own Shepherd,  
That her with heavenly hymns doth deify,  
Of rustic muse full hardly to be bettered.   

She is the Rose, the glory of the day,  
And mine the Primrose in the lowly shade,  
Mine, ah not mine; amiss I mine did say:  
Not mine but his, which mine awhile her made:  
Mine to be his, with him to live for ay:  
O that so fair a flower so soon should fade,  
And through untimely tempest fall away.   

She fell away in her first age's spring,  
Whilst yet her leaf was green, & fresh her rind,  
And whilst her branch fair blossoms forth did bring,  
She fell away against all course of kind:  
For age to die is right, but youth is wrong;  
She fell away like fruit blown down with wind:  
Weep Shepherd weep to make my undersong.   

2 What heart so stony hard, but that would weep,  
And pour forth fountains of incessant tears?  
What Timon, but would let compassion creep  
Into his breast, and pierce his frozen ears?  
In stead of tears, whose brackish bitter well  
I wasted have, my heart blood dropping wears,  
To think to ground how that fair blossom fell.   

Yet fell she not, as one enforced to die,  
Ne died with dread and grudging discontent  
But as one toiled with travail down doth lie,  
So lay she down, as if to sleep she went,  
And closed her eyes with careless quietness;  
The whiles soft death away her spirit hent,  
And soul assoyld from sinful fleshliness.   

Yet ere that life her lodging did forsake,  
She all resolved and ready to remove,  
Calling to me (ay me) this wise bespoke;  
halcyon, ah my first and latest love,  
Ah why does my halcyon weep and mourn,  
And grieve my ghost, that ill might him behove,  
As if to me had chanced some evil turn?   

I, since the messenger is come for me,  
That summons souls unto the bridal feast  
Of his great Lord, must needs departed from thee,  
And strait obey his sovereign behest:  
Why should halcyon then so sore lament,  
That I from misery shall be released,  
And freed from wretched long imprisonment?   

Our days are full of dolour and disease,  
Our life afflicted with incessant pain,  
That nought on earth may lessen or appease.  
Why then should I desire here to remain?  
Or why should he that loves me, sorry Bee  
For my deliverance, or at all complain  
My good to hear, and toward joys to see?   

I go, and long desired have to go,  
I go with gladness to my wished rest,  
Whereas no world's sad care, nor wasting woe  
May come their happy quiet to molest,  
But Saints and Angels in celestial thrones  
Eternally him praise, that hath them blest,  
There shall I be amongst those blessed ones.   

Yet ere I go, a pledge I leave with thee  
Of the late love, the which betwixt us past,  
My young Ambrosia, in am of me  
Love her: so shall our love for ever last.  
Thus dear adieu, whom I expect ere long:  
So having said, away she softly passed:  
Weep Shepherd weep, to make mine undersong.   

3 So oft as I record those piercing words,  
Which yet are deep engraven in my breast,  
And those last deadly accents, which like swords  
Did wound my heart and rend my bleeding chest,  
With those sweet sugared speeches do compare,  
The which my soul first conquered and possessed,  
The first beginners of my endless care;   

And when those pallid cheeks and ashy hue,  
In which sad death his pourtraicture had writ,  
And when those hollow eyes and deadly view,  
On which the cloud of ghastly night did sit,  
I match with that sweet smile and cheerful brow,  
Which all the world subdued unto it;  
How happy was I then, and wretched now?   

How happy was I, when I saw her lead  
The shepherds daughters dancing in a round?  
How trimly would she trace and softly tread  
The tender grass with rosy garland crowned?  
And when she list advance her heavenly voice,  
Both Nymphs and Muses nigh she made astownd,  
And flocks and shepherds caused to rejoice.   

But now ye Shepherd lasses, who shall lead  
Your wandering troops, or sing your virelayes?  
Or who shall dight your bowers, sith she is dead  
That was the Lady of your holy days?  
Let now your bliss be turned into bale,  
And into plaints convert your joyous plays,  
And with the same fill every hill and dale.   

Let Bagpipe never more be heard to shrill,  
That may allure the senses to delight;  
Ne ever Shepherd sound his Oaten quill  
Unto the many, that provoke them might  
To idle pleasance: but let ghastliness  
And dreary horror dim the cheerful light,  
To make the image of true heaviness.   

Let birds be silent on the naked spray,  
And shady woods resound with dreadful yells:  
Let streaming floods their hasty courses stay,  
And parching drought dry up the crystal wells;  
Let th'earth be barren and bring forth no flowers,  
And th'air be filled with noise of doleful knells,  
And wandering spirits walk untimely hours.   

And Nature nurse of every living thing,  
Let rest herself from her long weariness,  
And cease henceforth things kindly forth to bring,  
But hideous monsters full of ugliness:  
For she it is, that hath me done this wrong,  
No nurse, but Stepdame cruel merciless,  
Weep Shepherd weep to make my under song.   

4 My little flock, whom erst I loved so well,  
And wont to feed with finest grass that grew,  
Feed ye henceforth on bitter Astrofell,  
And stinking Smallage, and unsavoury Rew;  
And when your maws are with those weeds corrupted,  
Be ye the pray of Wolves: ne will I rue,  
That with your carcases wild beasts be glutted.   

Ne worse to you my silly sheep I pray,  
Ne sorer vengeance wish on you to fall  
Than to myself, for whose confused decay  
To careless heavens I do daily call:  
But heavens refuse to hear a wretches cry,  
And cruel death doth scorn to come at call,  
Or grant his boon that most desires to die.   

The good and righteous he away doth take,  
To plagueth unrighteous which alive remain:  
But the ungodly ones he doth forsake,  
By living long to multiply their pain:  
Else surely death should be no punishment,  
As the great judge at first did it ordain,  
But rather riddance from long languishment.   

Therefore my Daphne they have ta'en away;  
For worthy of a better place was she:  
But me unworthy willed here to stay,  
That with her lack I might tormented be.  
Sith than they so have ordered, I will pay  
Penance to her according their decree,  
And to her ghost do service day by day.   

For I will walk this wandering pilgrimage  
Throughout the world from one to other end,  
And in affliction waste my better age.  
My bread shall be the anguish of my mind,  
My drink the tears which fro mine eyes do rain,  
My bed the ground that hardest I may find;  
So will I wilfully increase my pain.   

And she my love that was, my Saint that is,  
When she beholds from her celestial throne,  
(In which she joyeth in eternal bliss)  
My bitter penance, will my case bemoan,  
And pity me that living thus do die:  
For heavenly spirits have compassion  
On mortal men, and rue their misery.   

So when I have with sorrow satisfied  
Th'importune fates, which vengeance on me seek,  
And th'heavens with long languor pacified,  
She for pure pity of my sufferance meek,  
Will send for me; for which I daily long,  
And will tell then my painful penance eke:  
Weep Shepherd, weep to make my under song.   

5 Henceforth I hate what ever Nature made,  
And in her workmanship no pleasure find:  
For they be all but vain, and quickly fade,  
So soon as on them blows the Northern wind,  
They tarry not, but flit and fall away,  
Leaving behind them nought but grief of mind,  
And mocking such as think they long will stay.   

I hate the heaven, because it doth withhold  
Me from my love, and eke my love from me;  
I hate the earth, because it is the mould  
Of fleshly slime and frail mortality;  
I hate the fire, because to nought it flies,  
I hate the Air, because sighs of it be,  
I hate the Sea, because it tears supplies.   

I hate the day, because it dareth light  
To see all things, and not my love to see;  
I hate the darkness and the dreary night,  
Because they breed sad balefulnesse in me:  
I hate all times, because all times do fly  
So fast away, and may not stayed be,  
But as a speedy post that passeth by.   

I hate to speak, my voice is spent with crying:  
I hate to hear, loud plaints have dulled mine ears:  
I hate to taste, for food withholds my dying:  
I hate to see, mine eyes are dimmed with tears:  
I hate to smell, no sweet on earth is left:  
I hate to feel, my flesh is numbed with fears:  
So all my senses from me are bereft.   

I hate all men, and shun all womankind;  
The one because as I they wretched are,  
The other for because I do not find  
My love with them, that wont to be their Star:  
And life I hate, because it will not last,  
And death I hate, because it life doth mar,  
And all I hate, that is to come or passed.   

So all the world, and all in it I hate,  
Because it changeth ever too and fro,  
And never standeth in one certain state,  
But still unsteadfast round about doth go,  
Like a Mill wheel, in midst of misery,  
Driven with streams of wretchedness and woe,  
That dying lives, and living still does die.   

So do I live, so do I daily die,  
And pine away in selfe-confuming pain,  
Sith she that did my vital powers supply,  
And feeble spirits in their force maintain  
Is fetched fro me, why seek I to prolong  
My weary days in dolour and disdain?  
Weep Shepheard weep to make my under song.   

6 Why do I longer live in life's despite?  
And do not die then in despite of death:  
Why do I longer see this loathsome light,  
And do in darkness not abridge my breath,  
Sith all my sorrow should have end thereby,  
And cares find quiet; is it so uneath  
To leave this life, or dolorous to die?   

To live I find it deadly dolorous;  
For life draws care, and care continual woe:  
Therefore to die must needs be joyous,  
And wishful thing this sad life to forego.  
But I must stay; I may it not amend,  
My Daphne hence departing bade me so,  
She bade me stay, till she for me did send.   

Yet whilst I in this wretched vale do stay,  
My weary feet shall ever wandering be,  
That still I may be ready on my way,  
When as her messenger doth come for me:  
Ne will I rest my feet for feebleness,  
Ne will I rest my limbs for frailty,  
Ne will I rest mine eyes for heaviness.   

But as the mother of the Gods, that sought  
For fair Eurydice her daughter dear  
Throughout the world, with woeful heavy thought;  
So will I travel whilst I tarry here,  
Ne will I lodge, ne will I ever lin,  
Ne when as drooping Titan draweth near  
To lose his team, will I take up my Innne.   

Ne sleep (the harbinger of weary wights)  
Shall ever lodge upon mine eyelids more;  
Ne shall with rest refresh my fainting sprights,  
Nor failing force to former strength restore,  
But I will wake and sorrow all the night  
With Philumene, my fortune to deplore,  
With Philumene, the partner of my plight.   

And ever as I see the stars to fall,  
And under ground to go, to give them light  
Which dwell in darkness, I to mind will call,  
How my fair Star (that shined on me so bright)  
Fell suddenly, and faded under ground;  
Since whose departure, day is turned to night,  
And night without a Venus star is found.   

But soon as day doth show his dewy face,  
And calls forth men unto their toilsome trade,  
I will withdraw me to some darksome place,  
Or some deep cave, or solitary shade;  
There will I sigh and sorrow all day long,  
And the huge burden of my cares unlade:  
Weep Shepherd, weep, to make my undersong.   

7 Hence forth mine eyes shall never more behold  
Fair thing on earth, ne feed on false delight  
Of aught that framed is of mortal mould,  
Sith that my fairest flower is faded quite:  
For all I see is vain and transitory,  
Ne will be held in any steadfast plight,  
But in a moment lose their grace and glory.   

And ye fond men on fortunes wheel that ride,  
Or in aught under heaven repose assurance,  
Be it riches, beauty, or honours pride:  
Be sure that they shall have no long endurance,  
But ere ye be aware will flit away;  
For nought of them is yours, but th'only usance  
Of a small time, which none ascertain may.   

And ye true Lovers, whom disastrous chance  
Hath far exiled from your Lady's grace,  
To mourn in sorrow and sad sufferance,  
When ye do hear me in that desert place  
Lamenting loud my Daphne's Elegy,  
Help me to wail my miserable case,  
And when life parts, vouchsafe to close mine eye.   

And ye more happy Lovers, which enjoy  
The presence of your dearest loves delight,  
When ye do hear my sorrowful annoy,  
Yet pity me in your empassiond sprite,  
And think that such mishap, as chanced to me,  
May happen unto the most happiest wight;  
For all men's states alike unsteadfast be.   

And ye my fellow Shepherds, which do feed  
Your careless flocks on hills and open plains,  
With better fortune, than did me succeed,  
Remember yet my undeserved pains,  
And when ye hear, that I am dead or slain,  
Lament my lot, and tell your fellow swains,  
That sad halcyon died in life's disdain.   

And ye fair Damsels Shepherds dear delights,  
That with your loves do their rude hearts possess,  
When as my hearse shall happen to your sights,  
Vouchsafe to deck the same with Cyparesse;  
And ever sprinkle brackish tears among,  
In pity of my undeserved distress,  
The which I wretch, endured have thus long.   

And ye poor Pilgrims, that with restless toil  
Weary yourselves in wandering desert ways,  
Till that you come, where ye your vows assoil,  
When passing by ye read these woeful lays  
On my grave written, rue my Daphne's wrong,  
And mourn for me that languish out my days:  
Cease Shepherd, cease, and end thy undersong.   

Thus when he ended had his heavy plaint,  
The heaviest plaint that ever I heard sound,  
His checks waxed pale, and sprights began to faint,  
As if again he would have fallen to ground;  
Which when I saw, I (stepping to him light)  
Amooved him out of his stony swoon,  
And 'gan him to recomfort as I might.   

But he no way recomforted would be,  
Nor suffer solace to approach him nigh,  
But casting up asdeinfull eye at me,  
That in his trance I would not let him lie,  
Did rend his hair, and beat his blubbered face  
As one ●●●osed wilfully to die,  
That I sore ●●●u'd to see his wretched case.   

though when the pang was somewhat overpast,  
And the outrageous passion nigh appeased,  
I him desired, sith day was overcast,  
And dark night fast approached, to be pleased  
To turn aside unto my Cabinet,  
And stay with me, till he were better eased  
Of that strong stound, which him so sore beset.   

But by no means I could him win thereto,  
Ne longer him entreat with me to stay,  
But without taking leave, he forth did go  
With staggering pace and dismal looks dismay,  
As if that death he in the face had seen,  
Or hellish hags had met upon the way:  
But what of him became I cannot ween.   
FINIS.