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 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME | 
 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 
 
 SAGE ENDOWMENT 
 
 FUND 
 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 
 
 ficnrg M. Sage 
 
 
 
 1891 
 
 
 4 
 
 as'^^ao 
 
 Htllf 
 
SELECTIONS FROM THE POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 EvKXetav eXa/Soi' ovk avev iroWau irovcjv. 
 
 EURIP. Fragm. (145). 
 
The mnnber of Copies /las been limited to one himdred 
 and fifty-five. 
 
SELECTIONS FROM THE POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 Michael Drayton. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 A. H. BULLEN, 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED BY 
 
 UNWIN BROTHERS, CHILWORTH. 
 1883. 
 
TO DOROTHEA. 
 
 T\EAR little maid with laughing eyes. 
 Wistful, wilful, winsome, %vise, 
 Fain would T lightly poetise 
 
 In stanzas dieery ; 
 But days are short and nights are long. 
 And shrill winds pipe a restless song, 
 Complaining of the wide world's wrong 
 In accents dreary. 
 
 Ah! welladay ! the mist and rain 
 Drive rudely over hill and plain ; 
 December hurries up amain 
 With drum and tabor ; 
 And blown to left atid blown to right, 
 Scared birds that cannot keep their flight 
 Drop, baffled and outwearied quite 
 By battling labour. 
 
 We cannot speed the blustring hours. 
 Or quell tJie angry Winter's powers, 
 Or bring tJie sunshine and the flowers 
 
 We love so dearly ; 
 But we can sing and we can play, 
 And we can make the dullest day 
 As merry as the lark ifi May 
 
 That carolls clearly. 
 
TO DOROTHEA. 
 
 Sweet baby mine with hair of gold, 
 List to a song zvas sung of old, 
 A story of Pigiviggen bold 
 
 On earwig prancing ; 
 Of Oberon with threat' ning mien. 
 And gamesome Puck, and Mab the Queen ; 
 A7id light-foot elves by moonlight seen 
 
 On greensward dancing. 
 
 And you must love the singer zvell 
 Who knew such dainty tales to tell ; 
 'Faith, Michael Drayton bears tJie bell 
 
 For numbers airy. 
 Tlie garden-ways are bla^ik attd bare ; 
 Come from the window, draw tJie chair 
 Neaj-er the fire, and we'll repair 
 
 To Court of Fairy. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION .... . ix-xxiii 
 
 THE B.\LLAD OF DOWSAEEL I 
 
 DAFFADIL 6 
 
 TO CUPID 8 
 
 TO THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE TI 
 
 TO HIS RIVALL 14 
 
 THE CRYER jy 
 
 TO HIS COY LOVE ig 
 
 TO THE CAMBRO-BRITANS AND THEIR HARPE . . ■ IQ 
 
 THE PALACE OF FAME . . 25 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM THE BARONS WARRES : — 
 
 KING EDWARD II. AT BERKLEY CASTLE . . . .28 
 
 A DESCRIPTION OF MORTIMER's CHAMBER, IN THE CASTLE 
 
 AT NOTTINGHAM ....... 30 
 
 THE QUEEN AND MORTIMER AT NOTTINGHAM CASTLE . 35 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM ENGLAND'S HEROICALL EPISTLES : — 
 
 QUEENE MARGARET TO WILLIAM DE-LA-POOLE, DUKE OF 
 
 SUFFOLKE 38 
 
 EDWARD THE FOURTH TO MISTRES SHORE . . 41 
 MARY THE FRENCH QUEENE, TO CHARLES BRANDON, DUKE 
 
 OF SUFFOLKE 47 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 HENRY HOWARD, EARLE OF SURREY, TO THE LADY 
 
 GERALDINE 49 
 
 THE LADY GERALDINE TO HENRY HOWARD, EARLE OF 
 
 SURREY 58 
 
 SONNETS . . . . , 60 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM THE POLYOLBION ...... 66 
 
 NIMPHIDIA THE COURT OF FAYRIE 76 
 
 THE QUEST OF CYNTHIA I06 
 
 THE SHEPHEARDS SIRENA . . . . . • . 1 16 
 EXTRACTS FROM THE BATTAILE OF AGINCOURT . . .129 
 
 OF HIS LADIES NOT COMMING TO LONDON . . . 136 
 TO MY MOST DEARLY-LOVED FRIEND HENERY REYNOLDS, 
 
 ESQUIRE, OF POETS AND POESIE .... 140 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM THE MUSES ELIZIUM : — 
 
 THE DESCRIPTION OF ELIZIUM I47 
 
 THE SECOND NIMPHALL 152 
 
 THE SIXT NIMPHALL 165 
 
 THE EIGHT NIMPHALL 1 74 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM NOAHS FLOUD . . . . . 182 
 
 NOTES ip3 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 No poet is more thoroughly English than Michael Drayton; 
 there is not a poem in our literature that breathes a finer spirit 
 of patriotism than the Ballad of Agincourt; and who loved better 
 than the author of the "Polyolbion" all the highways and byways 
 of England, its hills and dales, its woods and streams? In an age 
 remarkable for powerful intellects Michael Drayton held a distin- 
 guished place. He cultivated many kinds of poetry, and much of his 
 work is of rare excellence. Many of his lyrics are wonderfully spirited; 
 a few of his sonnets are quite first-rate ; for fantastic grace his fairy 
 poem, the "Nimphidia,"is unequalled; his long chorographical poem, 
 the "Polyolbion," carries the reader along through hundreds of pages 
 in the swing and sweep of the bounding verse ; and the " Muses 
 Elizium," published (one year before his death) when he had nearly 
 attained the age of threescore years and ten, takes us into that old 
 pastoral world, of which we never tire, where there was "truth on 
 every shepherd's tongue," and no lack of clouted cream and syllabub, 
 ^'^las, the world grows older and life more sombre. The gospel of 
 science is spreading : it has been demonstrated that the " orbed 
 maiden with white fire laden, whom mortals call the Moon," is a 
 heap of extinct volcanoes ; the revels of Oberon have long ago been 
 broken up, and no village slattern lives in dread of Robin Goodfellow. 
 Marrowbone Park, where the wild deer ranged; Hoxton, where the 
 'prentices treated their sweethearts to cream and custard ; the duck 
 ponds at Islington — alack, what changes have they seen ! Not the 
 Sicily of Theocritus is more remote than the London of Shakespeare. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Everywhere in " damnable iteration " stretch long miles of unlovely 
 streets, and it is no easy matter, even if one's legs are good, to walk 
 out into the country from central London. But the gates of Arcady 
 stand wide open for evermore in the pages of Drayton, Wither, 
 Herrick, and Browne^ 
 
 Drayton's collected works contain not far short of sixty thousand 
 lines ; and it cannot be denied that his voluminousness has been a 
 serious drawback to his popularity. Unsympathetic critics, annpyed 
 at the multiplicity of the old poet's gifts — for nothing can exceed a 
 critic's vexation at being unable to place his poet — have confidently 
 declared that he tried everything and succeeded in nothing. He is 
 represented as a pretender to genius, an intruder on the slopes of 
 Parnassus, and no true-born child of the Muses. Not so did he 
 appear to his contemporaries ; not so to Charles Lamb and William 
 Hazlitt. In his charming Epijtle to Henry Reynolds he tells us how, 
 even in his childhood, when he was " a proper goodly page, much 
 like a Pigmy, scarce (two ] years of age," his one ambition had been to 
 become a poet. The Muses heard his prayer ; they tipped his tongue 
 with eloquence and filled his heart with fire. His articulation is not 
 always clear ; not unfrequently we have to regret the occurrence of 
 harsh constructions, and it must be allowed that he is sometimes 
 found nodding when he ought to be wide awake. Yet he is a true 
 poet, and, though fame is capricious and fashions change, his name 
 will always be held in honour so long as English literature is seriously 
 studied. 
 
 Michael Drayton was born at Hartshill near Atherstone, in War- 
 wickshire, in 1563. He tells us that he was "a proper goodly page," 
 but we do not know the name of the family to which he was attached. 
 Probably he was not a member of either university, but on this point 
 we are without certain information. Some critics have conjectured 
 that he served as a soldier in early manhood : " believe as ye list " is 
 all an editor can say. His earliest patron was Sir Henry Goodeye, 
 of Powlesworth, by whom he was introduced to the famous Laay~ 
 Lucy, Countess of Bedford. This lady (to whom, it will be remem- 
 bered, Ben Jonson addressed one of the finest compliments ever 
 
INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 penned) seems to have paid Drayton much attention at first, but 
 afterwards to have neglected him. In the Eclogues, originally 
 published under the title of "Idea, the Shepheard's Garland," in 
 1593, and republished in " Poefnes Lyrick andHeroick" (circ. 1605), 
 there are many allusions to contemporary poets and patrons, but 
 at this date it cannot be discovered to whom some of the allusions 
 refer. The following passage (from the eighth eclogue), found only 
 in the second edition and suppressed afterwards, would certainly seem 
 to be directed against the Countess of Bedford, under the name of 
 Selena, although it is strange that the poet should have written with 
 such freedom of so distinguished a lady : — 
 
 " So once Selena seemed to reguard 
 That faithful! Rowland her so highly praysed, 
 And did his travell for a while reward 
 As his estate she purpos'd to have raysed : 
 
 But soone she fled him and the swaine defies, 
 
 111 is he sted that on such faith relies. 
 
 And to deceitefull Cerberon she cleaves, 
 That beastly clowne to [o] vile of to be spoken. 
 And that good shepheard wilfully she leaves, 
 And falsly all her promises hath broken ; 
 
 And all those beautyes whilom that her graced 
 
 With vulgar breath perpetually defaced. 
 
 What dainty flower was yet ever there found, 
 Whose smell or beauty might the sence delight. 
 Wherewith Eliza when she lived was crowned, 
 In goodly chapplets he for her not dighte ! 
 Which became withered soone as ere she ware them, 
 So ill agreeing with the brow that bare them. 
 
 Let age sit soone and ugly on her brow ; 
 
 No shepheards praises living let her have ; 
 
 To her last end noe creature pay one vow 
 
 Nor flower be strew'd on her forgotten grave ; 
 And to the last of all devouring time 
 Nere be her name remembered more in rime." 
 
 Rowland is the pastoral name which Drayton adopted for himself. 
 
xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and which is often applied to him by his contemporaries; but 
 Cerberon's personality remains undiscovered. Certain it is that when 
 Drayton in 1603 republished his " Mortemeriados " (issued originally 
 in 1596) under the title of the " Barrons Warres," he withdrew the 
 Dedication to the Countess of Bedford, and carefully cancelled all 
 the references to his patroness that he had scattered up and down 
 the first edition of the poem. 
 
 \f i was in 1591 that Michael Drayton gave the first proof of his 
 poetical ability by the publication of the " Harmonie of the Church," 
 a metrical rendering of portions of the Old and New Testament. 
 For some reason this book gave offence, and was condemned by 
 public order to be destroyed ; but Archbishop Whitgift gave directions 
 that forty copies should be preserved at Lambeth Palace. Only one 
 copy (belonging to the British Museum) is now known to exist ; ' it 
 would have been no great loss if the destruction had been complete. 
 Metrical versions of the scriptures are as a rule singularly dull and 
 spiritless, and the utmost that can be said in Drayton's favour is that 
 where success was impossible he has not wholly failed. The best 
 thing in the book is a rendering of the " Song of Solomon ;" but the 
 subject could not have been a very congenial one, for there is not 
 the least tinge of Oriental feeling in Drayton's temperament. It is 
 difficult to see why the authorities were anxious to stop the sale of 
 the book. Certainly the most rigid stickler for orthodoxy would be 
 unable to find the slightest irregularity in the " Harmonie of the 
 Church ; " but perhaps it was thought that a metrical version of the 
 "Song of Solomon'' was unnecessary or (it may be) injurious. 
 
 Probably the young poet cared little for his first volume of verse. 
 At least he was not seriously discouraged ; for two years later, in 1593, 
 he published his little book of Eclogues. In the early poems the 
 sugar-plums are thickly strewn, and one's appetite is quickly cloyed 
 with the insipid sweetness. Moreover, the reader is continually 
 
 1 " Some copies that had escaped destruction were issued in 1610; for "A 
 I Heavenly Harmonie of Spirituall Songs and Holy Hymnes" (believed to be 
 unique), published in that year, is merely a re-issue of the suppressed book, 
 with a different title-page (Hazlitt's Handbook, sui " Drayton "). 
 
INTROD UCTION. 
 
 vexed by very awkward constructions; violent inversions in the 
 grammatical order of words occur again and again ; the subject of 
 a sentence is left standing without a verb, and participles are used 
 as principal verbs with the most arbitrary freedom. Fluency of 
 language and of versificatioxi is the first essential of pastoral poetry, 
 and it must be confessed that in this respect the Eclogues are sadly 
 wanting. But much of the lyrical part is undeniably excellent, and 
 the poems underwent considerable revision before the issue, in 1605, 
 of a second edition. In 1593 appeared also the first of Drayton's 
 historical poems, " Piers Gaveston." The fallen favourite is brought 
 " from gloomy shadows of eternal night " to relate in a hundred 
 tedious stanzas the story of his doleful tragedy. Another of these 
 " legends," dealing with the fortunes of " Matilda the fair and chaste 
 Daughter of the Lord Robert Fitzwater," was published in 1594. 
 Both pieces underwent revision and appeared again in 1596, with the 
 addition of "The Tragicall Legend of Robert Duke of Normandie." 
 In the last-named poem there are some symbolical passages of much 
 strength and beauty. A poem in rhymed heroics on the subject of 
 "Endymion and Phoebe" (1594) is a smooth piece of versification, 
 pretty and quaint. 
 
 Before leaving Warwickshire Drayton seems to have made the 
 acquaintance of a lady who was a native of Coventry, and who lived 
 close to the river Ankor. To her he addressed, in 1594, a series of 
 sonnets, under the title of " Ideas Mirrour." She never became his 
 wife, but for years he continued to pay her poetical compliments with 
 the most exemplary fidelity. One famous sonnet {" Since there's no 
 helpe, come, let us kisse and part") seems certainly to speak the 
 language of deep and genuine passion. The " Hymne to his Lady's 
 Birth-place " no doubt gave pleasure to the object of his attentions, 
 but the lady must have felt somewhat embarrassed at being com- 
 plimented in the following strain of excessive gallantry : — 
 
 " Had she beene bome in former age 
 That house had beene a pilgrimage, 
 And reputed more divine 
 Than Walsingham or Becket's shrine. 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The old man passing by that way 
 To his Sonne in time shall saye, 
 ' There was that lady borne which long 
 To after-ages shall be sung : ' 
 Who, unawares being passed by, 
 Back to that house shall cast his eye. 
 Speaking my verses as he goes, 
 And with a sigh shut ev'ry close." 
 
 The " hymne " was printed circ. 1605. A later efifusion of the same 
 character is an epistle " Of his Lady's not coming to London," 
 printed in 1627, when the heyday in the blood had sensibly cooled, 
 and love had passed into esteem. For upwards of thirty years 
 the poet had been singing his mistress' praises, and it is to be 
 hoped that she appreciated such life-long devotion. But returning 
 to " Ideas Mirrour," we may note that, while most of the sonnets 
 display a certain amount of technical skill, few rise above or sink 
 below the average. Probably Drayton had no great liking for 
 sonnets, and merely followed the fashion. It is plain that he held 
 no high opinion of his achievements in this direction, for in later 
 collections he omitted many of the sonnets that had appeared in 
 "Ideas Mirrour." 
 
 The first of our author's poems conceived on a large scale is the 
 " Mortemeriados," published in 1596, and republished (with many 
 alterations), under the title of the " Barons' Wars," in 1603. Pre- 
 fixed to the second edition is an interesting Address to the Reader, 
 ^ beginning as follows : " That at first I made choice of this argument 
 I have not as yet repented mee, for if the Muse have not much abused 
 me it was most worthy to have found a more worthy pen than mine 
 owne ; for the Barrens warres (omitting the quality of those Armes 
 whereof I have not heere to speake) were surely, as Well for their 
 length in continuance, as for theyr manifold bloodshed and multi- 
 tude of horrid accidents, meet matter for trumpet or tragedy. There- 
 fore, as at first, the dignity of the thing was the motive of the dooing, 
 so the cause of this my second greater labour was the insufficient 
 handling of the first, which, though it were more than boldnesse to 
 venture on so noble an argument without leisure and studie com- 
 
IN TROD UCTION. 
 
 petent, eyther of which travaile hardly affords ; yet the importunitie 
 of friends made mee contrary to mine owne iudgement take, under- 
 take and publish it so as the world hath scene ; but heerin I intend 
 not to be too exact, as if either it needed to much excuse (knowing 
 well that even as it was, it ought to have passed for better than some 
 would suffer, who can hardly thinke any thing hath favour but their 
 own, though never so unsavorie) as if I shoulde seeme now to have 
 excelled my selfe, and faiUng in my hopes be kept without excuse." 
 The poem had been originally written in seven-line stanzas, but in 
 the second edition the ottava rima was substituted — " of all other 
 the most complete and best proportioned." He goes on to say : 
 " Briefly, this sort of stanza hath in it maiestie, perfection and 
 soliditie, resembling the piller which ..in Architecture is called Tus- 
 can, whose shaft is of six diameters & bases of two." The epic 
 assumed its final shape in the 1619 folio. It is clear that the poet 
 worked hard and took a pride in his work ; it is unfortunately not so 
 clear that the work is a success. The " Barons' Wars " is a desert, 
 but ' a desert plentifully dotted with green oases. There is a general 
 indistinctness, a want of life and movement ; but much of the writing 
 is admirable. The agony of Edward II. in his imprisonment 
 at Berkeley Castle, and the doleful omens that attend him on his 
 way, are rendered powerfully and pathetically ; while the revels of 
 Mortimer and Queen Isabel at Nottingham Castle are brought before 
 our eyes in glowing, richly coloiured stanzas. 
 
 "England's Heroicall Epistles," published in 1597, and often re- 
 published down to the end of the seventeenth century, was the next 
 work of importance on which Drayton was engaged. The idea of 
 the book was of course borrowed from Ovid's " Heroides ; " and it 
 may be said without exaggeration that in fluency of versification, in 
 facility of expression, and in occasional touches of tenderness and 
 pathos, the Elizabethan poet proves himself a not unworthy pupil of 
 the skilful Roman artist These epistles are more polished than any 
 of Drayton's works, with the exception of the " Nimphidia." The 
 diction is graceful\nd clear-cut, dignified without stiffness, and in 
 spite of a certain diffuseness, the poems can be read throughout with 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 genuine pleasure. It may be safely predicted that when a collected 
 edition' of Drayton's works is given to the world, "England's Heroicall 
 Epistles " will meet with a larger share of praise than they have yet 
 received from modern critics. Many passages of considerable length 
 are quite faultless in execution. 
 
 After completing the " Heroical Epistles," Drayton seems to have 
 turned his attention to the stage. On January 20th, 1598-9, he 
 received an advance from Henslowe of two -pounds on a play to be 
 called "William Longsword." Again, in October, 1599, he shared 
 with Munday, Wilson, and Hathway the sum of ten pounds for the 
 " First Part of Sir John Oldcastle " — a play of some interest, attri- 
 buted to Shakespeare by a fraudulent publisher. There is also a 
 tradition that he was concerned in the "Merry Devil of Edmonton;" 
 and the tradition is strongly supported by internal evidence. He 
 seems to have abandoned dramatic writing at an early date. 
 
 We have seen that the poet's earliest work, " The Harmonie of the 
 Church," fell under the displeasure of the public authorities, and 
 that the Duchess of Bedford early deserted her protege. Another 
 piece of ill-fortune was yet in store. In 1603, when James I. came 
 to the throne, Drayton composed a gratulatory poem to his honour. 
 Whatever hopes of advancement he may have entertained were 
 rudely dashed to the ground, his compliments were received with 
 indiiFerence and contempt, and when he essayed in the following 
 year a second time to gain the king's favour, his addresses were 
 again rejected. More than twenty years afterwards (1627), in an 
 epistle to his friend George Sandys, he refers in dignified language to 
 the ill-usage he had received : — 
 
 " It was my hap before all other men 
 To suffer shipwrack by my forward pen, 
 When king y antes entred ; at which joyfull time 
 
 " On such a work the Rev. Richard Hooper, editor of Chapman's Homerj 
 has been for some years engaged. In 1856, Mr. J. P. Collier edited for the Rox- 
 burghe Club a valuable collection of Drayton's poems, including the " Harmonie 
 of the Church," "Idea," "Ideas Mirrour," " Mortemeriados," and " Poemes 
 Lyrick and Pastorall." 
 
INTR on UCTION. x vii 
 
 I taught his title to this lie in rime, 
 
 And to my part did all the Muses win 
 
 With high-pitch Pceans to applaud him in : 
 
 When cowardise had tyed up every tongue 
 
 And all stood silent, yet for him I sung, 
 
 And when before by danger I was dar'd, 
 
 I kick'd her from me nor a iot I spar'd : 
 
 Yet had not my cleere spirit in Fortune's scorne i 
 
 Me above earth and her afflictions borne, 
 
 He next my God on whom I built my trust 
 
 Had left me troden lower then the dust. " 
 
 The allusion in the last two lines is not at all clear. It has been 
 supposed — but the supposition rests on no true foundation — that the 
 poet is glancing at his patron Sir Walter Aston, to whom he dedicated 
 the " Barons' Wars " in 1603. His discontent inspired him with a 
 satirical poem "The Owl" (1603), wherein he complains bitterly of 
 the neglect shown to learning. There is a story told by some of 
 Drayton's biographers that the poet had been sent by Queen 
 Elizabeth on some secret service to the young king of Scotland. 
 Mr. Collier is probably right in supposing that the following lines 
 from the " Owl " are the only basis for the curious statement : — 
 
 " Weary at length, and trusting to my worth, 
 I tooke my flight unto the happie North, 
 Where, nobly bred as I was well ally'd, 
 I hop'd to have my fortune there supply'd : 
 But there an^T^'d disgrace was all my gayne, 
 Experience scom'd of every scurvy swayne: 
 Other had got for which I long did serve, 
 Still fed with wordes whilst I with wants did sterve." 
 
 Another satirical piece, very dull and very ponderous, is the " Moon- 
 calf " (1630). Satire is not a strong point with Michael Drayton, 
 whom the Muses had endowed with a gentle disposition. Your 
 genuine satirist takes a keen delight in exposing the sins and follies 
 of his fellows ; he has commonly had more than the mere on-looker's 
 acquaintance with the vices he reprehends, and hence his pen 
 strikes home deeper. The most uncleanly of all the sturdy writers 
 
 3 
 
xviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 who stood round Shakespeare's throne is undoubtedly Marston ; yet 
 no one assailed with more unsparing bitterness the profligacy of the 
 times. Now Drayton was essentially an unworldly man ; he built up 
 round him a world of romance and shut his eyes to the meanness 
 and villainy practised in the actual world. He does not know the 
 vulnerable points in his adversaries' armour, and his arrows fly wide 
 of the mark. Sometimes when he is fired by a virtuous indignation 
 his words have a weighty ring .as in the lines quoted by Charles 
 Lamb — 
 
 " The gripple merchant bom to be the curse 
 Of this brave isle." 
 
 From the testimony of his contemporaries we leam that he lived a 
 retired life and knew little of the follies that he assailed. His moral 
 character was unimpeachable : he paid his debts and did not live in 
 continual fear of the sherifTs officer. Poor Dekker spent half his 
 life in prison, but it may be doubted whether Drayton ever saw the 
 inside of the Counter. " As Aulus Persius Flaccus," says Francis 
 Meres, " is reputed among all writers to be of an honest life and up- 
 
 -fight conversation y'so Michael Drayton (^?^;« Mies honoris et amoris 
 causa nomino) among schoUers, souldiers, poets and all sorts of 
 people is helde for a man of vertuous disposition, honest conversation 
 and well governed carriage, which is almost miraculous among good 
 wits in these declining and corrupt times when there is nothing but 
 rogery in villanous man ; and when cheating and craftiness is counted 
 the cleanest wit and the soundest wisdome."y'^he anonymous 
 
 "author of the " Return from Parnassus " bears similar testimony : 
 " He wants one true note of a poet of our times, and that is this : he 
 cannot swagger it well at a tavern or domineer at a hot-house." 
 
 After giving relief to his harassed feelings by the publication of the 
 " Owl," Drayton attempted a scriptural subject, and the fruit of his 
 labours was presented to the world in " Moyses in a Map of his 
 Miracles" (1604) — a very tiresome piece of work, without any of the 
 qiiaint touches that redeem " Noah's Flood" (1630) from unqualified 
 damnation. It was about this time that Drayton began his magttum 
 
IN TROD UCTION. 
 
 opus, that marvel of human industry and skill, the " Polyolbion." 
 To all students the " Polyolbion " will be dear for ever, not only for 
 its own sake but in memory of those great men who delighted to 
 praise it Precious in itself, it is consecrated as having been a 
 favourite book of one whose memory we can never love and honour 
 enough — Charles Lamb. The first eighteen songs were published in 
 1 613, with annotations by the learned Selden ; twelve more songs 
 were ^vritten later, and the whole poem in its complete form appeared 
 in 1622. One cannot be surprised that ■ publishers should have 
 regarded the enormous project with something of dismay. In a 
 letter to William Drummond of Hawthornden, dated the 14th of 
 April, 1619, Drayton writes : — " I thank you, my dear, sweet Drum- 
 mond, for your good opinion of Poly-olbion. I have done twelve 
 books more; that is, from the i8th Book (which was Kent, if you 
 note it) all the East parts and North to the River Tweed ; but it 
 Heth by me, for the booksellers and I are in terms. They are a 
 company of base knaves whom I both scorn and kick at." It would 
 have been hard indeed if his capital work, the chief labour of his 
 life, had remained unpublished ; but luckily there were some honest 
 men among the knaves. The achievement was one of which any 
 man might well be proud : not only is the antiquarian learning dis- 
 played throughout singularly wide and profound, but the poem 
 abounds in passages of rare beauty. Often the poet leaves his 
 topographical descriptions and indulges in some sudden rapturous 
 burst of song, as when he tells of the greenwood-life of Robin Hood 
 and Maid Marian (Song xxvi.) ; or enumerates with loving care the 
 birds of his native Warwickshire, and then goes on to give a spirited 
 description of stag-hunting (Song xiii.) ; or twines a garland of a 
 thousand varied flowers to deck a river-nymph at her nuptials. Some 
 modern critics find the rhymed alexandrines wearisome, and they com- 
 plain that the metre is quite untractable — alien as the hexameter to 
 the genius of the English language. There is undoubtedly some truth 
 in the charge, but it would be difficult to find a metre possessing at 
 once the variety of blank verse and the travelling speed of the rhymed 
 alexandrine. The nature of the subject made it impossible that the 
 
 ^ 
 
INTRO D UCTION. 
 
 poem should not be to some extent monotonous ; had the poet 
 chosen ottava rima, or even rhymed heroics, his work would have 
 been almost unreadable. The long rolling verse has something of the 
 springiness of heather ; we cover the ground insensibly, and find a 
 growing delight in the labour. A saunter down a Surrey lane when, 
 the nuts are ripening is the one thing pleasanter than a ramble 
 through the " Polyolbion." 
 
 In 1619 Drayton collected into a small folio all the poems (with 
 the exception of the Polyolbion) that he wished to preserve. In 
 this volume the " Barons' Wars " and " England's Heroical Epistles " 
 were issued in their finally revised state ; some additional lyrics were 
 given, and the famous Ballad of Agincourt was freed from some 
 harsh constructions. As the poet evidently desired the text of this 
 volume to be regarded as authoritative, we have followed it in the 
 present book of Selections. In the case of the Ballad of Agincourt 
 we have placed at the foot of the page the readings of the earlier 
 copy (1605 ?) that the reader may see how each correction, however 
 slight, is a genuine improvement 
 
 A fresh volume of his miscellaneous poems appeared in 1627. 
 Here was published for the -first time the charming and inimitable 
 fairy poem "Nimphidia." Not Herrick's touch is so dainty as 
 Drayton's in recounting the doings of the elves. In sprightly 
 tripping stanzas the poet tells how Oberon, the King of Faery, 
 is jealous of the favour shown by Queen Mab to the elfin knight 
 Pig^viggen. The knight sends by Tom Thumb a bracelet of emmets' 
 eyes to Queen Mab, imploring her to meet him by night in a cowslip 
 flower. So the queen bids her maids make ready, and orders her 
 chariot. The description, of the chariot is quite a tour de force. 
 Oberon's fury when he discovers her absence is delightfully ludicrous. 
 Rushing distractedly about he falls foul of a wasp whom he mistakes, 
 for Pigwiggen, and will not let go until the wasp shows his sting j 
 then he thrashes a glowworm, and afterwards vents his spleen on 
 a beehive ; next bestriding an ant, he rides off at a gallop, but the. 
 ant stumbles and Oberon is thrown heavily. We will not pursue his 
 adventures further : suffice it to saj that when a combat ensues 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxi 
 
 between Pigwiggen and the elf-king, Proserpine at the intreaty of 
 Queen Mab induces the warriors to refresh themselves with a draught 
 of the water of Lethe, and straightway all memory of the strife is 
 effaced. In reading the " Nimphidia " one is transported to the 
 golden time of childhood, when the air was alive with mystery, when 
 the shadows on the window-bUnd or the embers in the grate held 
 an Iliad of imaginary joys and sorrows. Few pleasures are better 
 than that of looking back into the delightful world where once 
 we wandered at will ; and such a pleasure Michael Drayton has 
 provided for us in this airy masterpiece of whimsical grace, the 
 " Nimphidia." 
 
 Two poems first published in the 1627 collection, the "Shep- 
 heards Sirena " and the " Quest of Cynthia," have much sweetness 
 of expression and versification ; but the latter poem might have been 
 somewhat shortened with advantage. We need not dwell on the 
 long narrative poems, " The^attaile of Agincourt " and " Miseries 
 of Queen Margarite^-in' Spite of some spirited passages they are 
 very inanimate. Far more interesting are the " elegies " that follow. 
 The one addressed to his friend Henry Reynolds is peculiarly valu- 
 able as giving Drayton's views on the merits of his contempo- 
 rai-ies. Some of the criticism, particularly the passage on Marlowe, 
 is admirable. It is pleasant to view the terms of cordial sympathy 
 existing between the poets of those days ; for, as Gray's latest and 
 best biographer well observes, " it is a sign of a dry age when the 
 Ijrincipal authors of a country look askance on one another.'' Pro- 
 bably in his praise of Marlowe the poet is thinking more of " Hero 
 and Leander " than the plays ; nor can it be doubted that he held 
 the ordinary opinion of his time about the inferiority of dramatic 
 writing to other forms of poetry. His notice of Shakespeare is very 
 tame in comparison with his laudation of Spenser, and only a vague 
 general reference at the end of thg^ epistle is given to the band of 
 illustrious dramatists whose fame is now so firmly established. Two 
 epistles, somewhat plaintive in tone, are addressed to William Browne, 
 of Tavistock, author of " Britannia's Pastorals," and George Sandys, 
 the fluent translator of Ovid's "Metamorphoses." The poet was 
 
xxii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 growing old, and with old age came care and anxiety. But the 
 sombreness of these two epistles probably sprang from no real sorrow, 
 and is merely the expression of a vague restlessness at the shadow of 
 coming changes. Certain it is that three years later )ie had copi- 
 pletely recovered his wonted cheerfulness. The " Muses Elizium," ' 
 published in 1630, contains some of Drayton's brightest and most 
 characteristic work, showing nowhere a trace of failing power. The 
 sixth " Nimphall " opens with a passage of limpid sweetness, and 
 the contention that follows between the woodman, the fisher, and the 
 swain is lively and well sustained, full of picturesque touches and 
 quaint turns of expression. But the gem of the " Muses Elizium " 
 is undoubtedly the description of the preparations for the Fay's 
 bridal (the eighth "Nimphall"). As a play of light fancy this 
 charming poem is quite worthy to stand alongside of the " Nim- 
 phidia." 
 J In the year following the publication of the " Muses Elizium " 
 Michael Drayton went to join the band of those who, "having 
 spoken wortliily of Apollo," now lie at ease on the further side of 
 Styx. Somewhere apart, in a meadow of asphodel, he is listening 
 to a " sweet low idyl " of Theocritus ; mild-eyed Tibullus is seen 
 hard by, and the flushed face of Robert Herrick. Pious friends 
 raised him a monument in Poets' Corner, and tradition says that Ben 
 Jonson wrote the inscription : — 
 
 "Do, pious marble, let thy readers know 
 What they and what their children owe 
 To Drayton's name ; whose sacred dust 
 We recommend vmto thy trust. 
 Protect his memory and preserve his story ; 
 
 » I am surprised to find so tasteful a writer as Miss Mary Robinson (Dublin 
 University Magazine, New Series, iy, 63) saying of the "Muses Elizium" that 
 it "is without life or charm, and has no merit but that of a somewhat senile 
 devotion." I am inclined to think that if Miss Robinson had possessed a doser 
 acquaintance with the " Muses Elizium " her critical verdict would have been less 
 sweeping. The article was evidently written at a distance from books, for most 
 of the bibliographical details are seriously wrong. 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxiii 
 
 Remain a lasting monument of his glory ; 
 And when thy ruins shall disclaim 
 To be the treasurer of his name, 
 His name, that cannot die, shall be 
 An everlasting monument to thee." 
 
This charming Ballad of Dawsabcl was 
 originally published in '* Idca^ Th£ HIicp- 
 hcards Garland'* (1593), wliere it is sung 
 by the s1i£pherd Motto ill the eighth eclogue : 
 it was republished in " Poemes Lyrick and 
 PastoralV {circ. 1605), and again in thf 
 i6iij folia, from which we print. 
 
 FARRE in the Countrey of Arden 
 There won'd a Knight, hight Cassamen 
 
 As bold as Isenbras : 
 Fell was he and eager bent 
 In Battaile and in Tournament 
 
 As was the good Sir Topas. 
 He had, as antike Stories tell, 
 A Daughter cleaped Dowsabel, 
 
 A Mayden faire and free : 
 And for she was her Fathers Heire, 
 Full well she was ycond the leire 
 
 Of mickle courtesie. 
 The Silke well couth she twist and twine 
 And make the fine March-pine 
 
 And with the Needle worke ; 
 And she couth helpe the Priest to say 
 His Mattens on a Holy-day, 
 
 And sing a Psalme in Kirke. 
 She ware a Frock of frollick Greene 
 Might well become a Mayden Queene, 
 
 Which seemly was to see ; 
 4 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 A hood to that so neat and fine 
 In colour like the Columbine, 
 
 Iwrought full featuously: 
 Her features all as fresh above 
 As is the Grasse that growes by Dove, 
 
 And lythe as Lasse of Kent; 
 Her skin cis soft as Lemster Wooll, 
 As white as Snow on Peakish Hull, 
 
 Or Swan that swims in Trent. 
 This Mayden in a Morne betime 
 Went forth when May was in the prime 
 
 To get sweet Setywall, 
 The Honey-suckle, the Sherlocke, 
 The Lilly and the Lady-smocke, 
 
 To decke her Summer Hall. 
 Thus as she wandered here and there 
 And picked of the bloomie Bryer, 
 
 She chanced to espy 
 A Shepheard sitting on a Banke ; 
 Like Chanticlere he crowed cranck-e 
 
 And pip'd full merrily. 
 He learn'd his Sheep as he him list 
 When he would whistle in his fist 
 
 To feed about him round. 
 Whilst he full many a Carroll sang 
 Untill the I^ields and Medows rang 
 
 And that the Woods did sound. 
 In favour this same Shepheard Swaine 
 Was like the Bedlam Tantberlaine 
 
 Which held proud kings in awe. 
 But meeke as any Lamb mought bee 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 And innocent of ill as he 
 
 Whom his lewd Brother slaw ; 
 This Shepheard ware a Sheepe-gray Cloke 
 Which was of the finest loke 
 
 That could be cut with sheere. 
 His Mittens were of Bauzons Skin, 
 His Cockers were of Cordiwin 
 
 His Hood of Miniveere ; 
 His Aule and Lingell in a Thong 
 His Tar-box on his broad belt hong, 
 
 His Breech of Cointree blue ; 
 Full crispe and curled were his Lockes, 
 His Browes as wJiite as Albion Rocks, 
 
 So like a Lover true ; 
 And piping still he spent the day 
 So merry as the Popingay; 
 
 Which diked Dowsabell, 
 That would she ought or wold she nought 
 This Lad would never from her thought ; 
 
 She in love-longing fell. 
 At. length she tucked up her Frocke ; 
 White as the Lilly was her Smocke ; 
 
 She drew the Shepheard nie. 
 But then .the Shepheard pip'd a good 
 That all his Sheepe forsooke their foode 
 
 To hear his Melodie. 
 Thy Sheepe, quoth shee, can not be leanc 
 That have a jolly Sheepheard's Swaine 
 
 The which can pipe so well: 
 Yea but (aaith lie) their Shepheard may, 
 If piping thus he pine away 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 In love of Doxvsahell. 
 Of love, fond boy, take thou no Keepe, 
 Quoth she ; looke wel unto thy sheepe 
 
 Least they should hap to stray. 
 Quoth he, So had I done full well 
 Had I not seen faire Dowsabell 
 
 Come foorth to gather May. 
 With that she gan to vaile her head : 
 Her Cheeks were like the Roses red, ' 
 
 But not a word she said. 
 With that the Shepheard gan to frowne. 
 He threw ETs prettie pipes adowne. 
 
 And on the ground him laid. 
 Saith she, I may not stay till Night 
 And leave my Summer Hall undight 
 
 And all for love of thee : 
 My Coat, saith he, nor yet my Fold 
 Shall neither Sheepe nor Shepheard hould 
 
 Except thou favour mee. 
 Saith she, Yet lever I were dead 
 Then I should loose my Maiden-head 
 
 And all for love of men : 
 Saith he. Yet are you too unkind 
 If in your heart you cannot find 
 
 To love us now and then ; 
 And I to thee will be as kind 
 As Colin was to Rosalind, 
 
 Of courtesie the flowre. 
 Then will I be as true, quoth she. 
 As ever Maiden yet might be 
 
 Unto her -Paramour. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 With that she bent her Snow-white knee, 
 Downe by the Shepheard kneeled shee 
 
 And him she sweetlie kist : 
 With that the Shepheard whoop'd for joy ; 
 Quoth he, there's never Shepheards Boy 
 
 That ever was so blist. 
 
PPEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Extract from the Ninth Eclogue \ed. 1619). 
 
 BATTE. Gorbo as thou cam'st this waye 
 By yonder little hill, 
 
 Or as thou through the Fields didst stray 
 Saw'st thou my Daffadill? 
 
 Shee's in a Frocke of Lincobie greene, 
 Which colour likes her sight, 
 And never hath her beautie seene 
 But through a vale of white. 
 
 Then Roses richer to behold 
 That trim up Lovers Bowres, 
 The Pansie and the Marigold, 
 Tho Phoebus Paramours. 
 
 GORBO. Thou well describ'st the Daffadtir; 
 It is not full an houre 
 Since by the Spring neere yonder Hill 
 I saw that lovely Flowre. 
 
 BATTE. Yet my faire Flowre thou didst not meet 
 Nor newes of her did'st bring, 
 And yet my Daffadil^s\ more sweet 
 Than that by yonder .Spring. 
 
 GORBO. I saw a Shepheard that doth keepe. 
 In yonder Field of Lillies, 
 Was making (as he fed his She55)e) 
 A wreathe of X>affadillies. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 BATTE. Yet, Gorbo, thou'delud'st me still; 
 My Flowre thoH didst not see, 
 For, know, my pretty Daffadill 
 Is wome of none but mee. 
 
 To shew it selfe but neere her feate 
 No Lilly is so bold. 
 Except to shade her from the heate 
 Or keepe her from the cold. 
 
 GORBO. Through yonder Vale as I did passe, 
 Descending from the Hill, 
 I met a smirking bonny Lasse ; 
 They call her Daffadill^ 
 
 Whose presence as along she went 
 
 The pretty Flowres did greet 
 
 As though their Heads they downeward bent 
 
 With homage to her feet- 
 
 And all the Shepheards that were nie, 
 From top of every Hill 
 Unto the Valleyes loud did crie 
 ' There goes sweet Daffadil.' 
 
 BATTE. I, gentle Shepheard, now with joy 
 Thou all my Flocks dost fill ; 
 That's she alone, kind Shepheards Boy; 
 Let us to Daffadil. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 These lines were originally published in 
 " Pbemes Lyrick and Pastorall" (1605?), 
 ■where the Jive following poems are found. 
 The text of the i6ig folio has been followed 
 in each ease. 
 
 To Cupid. 
 
 MAYDENS, why spare ye ? 
 Or whether not dare ye 
 Correct the blind Shooter ?— 
 Because wanton Venus, 
 So oft that doth paine us, 
 Is her Sonnes Tutor. 
 
 Now in the Spring 
 He proveth his Wing ; 
 
 The Field is his Bower, 
 And, as the small Bee, 
 About flyeth hee 
 
 From Flower to Flower. 
 
 And wantonly roves 
 Abroad in the Groves, 
 
 And in the Ayre hovers ; 
 Which when it him deweth. 
 His Fethers he meweth 
 
 In sighes of true Lovers. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 And since doom'd by Fate 
 (That well knew his Hate) 
 
 That Hee should be blinde, 
 For very despite 
 Our Eyes be his White ; 
 
 So wajrward his kinde. 
 
 If his Shafts loosing 
 (111 his Marke choosing) 
 
 Or his Bow broken, 
 The Moane Venus maketh 
 And care that she taketh 
 
 Cannot be spoken. 
 
 To Vulcan commending 
 
 Her love and straight sending 
 
 Her Doves and her Sparrowes 
 With kisses unto him ; 
 And all but to woo him 
 
 To make her Sonne Arrowes ! 
 
 Telling what he hath done 
 
 (Sayth she, Right mine owne Sonne) 
 
 In her Armes she him closes ; 
 Sweetes on him fans 
 Layd in Downe of her Swans, 
 
 His Sheets Leaves of Roses. 
 
 And feeds him with kisses, 
 Which oft when he misses 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 He ever is froward ; 
 The Mothers o'r-joying 
 Makes by much coying 
 
 The Child so untoward. 
 
 Yet in a fine Net 
 That a spider set 
 
 The Maydens had caught him : 
 Had she not been neere him 
 And chanced to heare him, 
 
 More good they had taught him. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 To the Virginian Voyage. 
 
 YOU brave Heroique Minds, 
 Worthy your Countries Name, 
 That Honour still pursue, 
 Goe and subdue 
 Whilst loyt'ring Hinds 
 Lurke here at home with shame. 
 
 Britans, you stay too long ; 
 
 Quickly aboord bestow you, 
 And with a merry Gale 
 Swell your stretch'd Sayle 
 
 With Vowes as strong 
 
 As the Winds that blow you. 
 
 Your Course securely steere, 
 West and by South forth keepe. 
 
 Rocks, Lee-shores nor Sholes 
 
 When Eolus scowles 
 You need not feare. 
 So absolute the Deepe. 
 
 And cheerfully at Sea 
 Successe you still intice 
 
 To get the Pearle and Gold, 
 
 And ours to hold 
 Virginia, 
 F.arth's onely Paradise. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Where Nature hath in store 
 Fowle, Venison and Fish, 
 
 And the fruitfull'st Soyle, 
 
 Without your Toyle 
 Three Harvests more, 
 All greater then your wish. 
 
 And the ambitious Vine 
 Crownes with his purple Masse 
 
 The Cedar reaching hie 
 
 To kisse the sky, 
 The Cypresse, Pine, 
 And use-full Sassafras. 
 
 To whome^ the Golden Age 
 Still Natures lawes doth give 
 
 Nor 2 other Cares attend 
 
 But Them to defend 
 From Winters rage 3 
 That long there doth not live. 
 
 When as the Lushious smell 
 Of that delicious Land 
 
 Above the Seas that flowes 
 
 The cleare Wind throwes. 
 Your Hearts to swell 
 Approching the deare Strand : 
 
 ' Ed. 1619, "to whose." 
 
 ° Ed. 1619: "No other Cares that tend." The reading in the text is from 
 ed. 1605. 
 3 Ed. 1619: "Winters age.'' 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 13 
 
 In kenning of the Shore 
 (Thanks to God first given) 
 
 O you the happy'st men, 
 
 Be FroHque then ; 
 Let Cannons roare, 
 Frighting the wide Heaven. 
 
 And in Regions farre 
 
 Such Heroes bring yee forth 
 
 As those from whom We came ; 
 
 And plant our name 
 Under that Starre 
 Not knowne unto our North. " 
 
 And as there Plenty growes 
 Of Lawrell everywhere/ 
 
 Apollo's sacred tree, 
 
 You it may see 
 A Poets Browes 
 To crowne that may sing there. 
 
 Thy Voyages attend. 
 Industrious Hackluit, 
 
 Whose Reading shall inflame 
 
 Men to seeke Fame, 
 And much commend 
 To after-Times thy Wit. 
 
 Ed. 1605 : "And where in plenty growes 
 The lawrell everywhere." 
 
14 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 To His Rivall. 
 
 HER lov'd I most, 
 By thee that's lost, 
 Though she was wonne with leasure 
 She was my gaine, 
 But to my paine 
 Thou spoyl'st me of my Treasure. 
 
 The Ship full fraught 
 
 With Gold, farre sought, 
 Though ne'r so wisely helmed, 
 
 May suffer wracke 
 
 In sayling backe. 
 By Tempest over- whelmed. 
 
 But shee, good Sir, 
 
 Did not preferre 
 You for that I was ranging. 
 
 But for that shee 
 
 Found faith in mee 
 And she lov'd to be changing. 
 
 Therefore boast not 
 
 Your happy Lot, 
 Be silent now you have her ; 
 
 The time I knew 
 
 She slighted you 
 When I was in her favour. 
 
FOE MS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 15 
 
 None stand so fast 
 
 But may be cast 
 By Fortune and disgraced ; 
 
 Once did I weare 
 
 Her Garter there 
 Where you her Glove have placed. 
 
 I had the Vow 
 
 That thou hast now, 
 And Glances to discover 
 
 Her Love to mee ; 
 
 And she to thee 
 Reades but old Lessons over. 
 
 She hath no Smile 
 
 That can beguile 
 But as my Thought I know it ; 
 
 Yea to a Hayre 
 
 Both when and where 
 And how she will bestow it. 
 
 What now is thine 
 
 Was onely mine, 
 And first to me was given ; 
 
 Thou laugh'st at mee, 
 
 I laugh at thee. 
 And thus we two are even. 
 
1 6 POEMS OF MICHA'EL DRAYTON. 
 
 But He not mourne, 
 
 But stay my Turne ; 
 The Wind may come about, Sir, 
 
 And once again 
 
 May bring me in 
 And helpe to beare you out sir. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. ii 
 
 The Cryer. 
 
 GOOD Folke, for Gold or Hyre, 
 But helpe me to a Cryer, 
 For my poore Heart is runne astray 
 After two Eyes that pass'd this way. 
 
 O yes, O yes, O yes! 
 If there be any man 
 In Towne or Countrey can 
 Bring me my Heart againe. 
 He please him for his paine ; 
 And by these Marks I will you show 
 That only I this Heart doe owe. 
 
 It is a wounded Heart, 
 Wherein yet sticks the Dart : 
 Ev'ry piece sore hurt throughout it, 
 Faith and Troth writ round about it : 
 It was a tame Heart and a deare 
 
 And never us'd to roame. 
 But having got this Haunt I feare 
 
 'Twill hardly stay at home. 
 For God's sake, walking by the way 
 
 If you my Heart doe see. 
 Either impound it for a Stray 
 
 Or send it back to me. 
 
1 8 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 To His Coy Love, 
 
 A Cantontt. 
 
 I PRAY thee leave, love me no more, 
 Call home the Heart you gave me ; 
 I but in vaine that Saint adore 
 
 That can but will not save me. 
 These poore halfe Kisses kill me quite ; 
 
 Was ever Man thus served ? 
 Amidst an Ocean of Delight 
 For Pleasure to be starved. 
 
 Shew me no more those Snowie Breasts 
 
 With Azure Riverets branched. 
 Where whilst mine Eye with Plentie feasts 
 
 Yet is my Thirst not stanched. 
 O Tantalus, thy Paines ne'r tell, 
 
 By me thou art prevented ; 
 'Tis nothing to be plagu'd in Hell, 
 
 But thus in Heaven tormented. 
 
 Clip me no more in those deare Armes, 
 
 Nor thy Life's Comfort call me ; 
 O these are but too pow'rfull Charmes 
 
 And doe but more inthrall me. 
 But see how patient I am growne 
 
 In all this coyle about thee ! 
 Come, nice Thing, let thy Heart alone, 
 
 I cannot live without thee. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 19 
 
 To the Cavibro-Britans and their Harpe, his 
 Ballad of Agincourt. 
 
 FAIRE stood the Wind for France 
 When we our Sayles advance. 
 Nor » now to prove our chance 
 
 Longer will tarry ; 
 But putting 2 to the Mayne, 
 At Kaux the mouth of Se\i\ne 
 With all his Martiall Trayne 
 Landed King Harry : 
 
 And taking many a Fort 
 Furnish'd in warlike sort, 
 Marcheth 3 tow'rds Agincourt 
 
 In happy howre ; 
 Skirmishing day by day 
 With those that stop'd"* his way, 
 Where 5 the French Gen'rall lay 
 
 With all his Power. 
 
 ■ Ed. 1605 : " And now to prove our chance 
 
 Longer not tarry." 
 » Ed. 1605 : " put unto." 
 ^ Ed. 1605 : " Comming." 
 
 ' Ed. 1605 "With those oppose" — an awkward jingle. 
 3 Ed. 1605 : " Whereas the Gen'rall lay." 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Which in his Hight of Pride 
 King I Henry to deride, 
 His Ransome to provide 
 
 To 2 the King sending ; 
 Which he neglects the while 
 As from a Nation vile, 
 Yet with an angry smile 
 
 Their fall portending. 
 
 And turning to his Men 
 Quoth our 3 brave Henry then : 
 " Though they be one to ten, 
 
 Be not amazed : 
 Yet have we well begun : 
 Battels so bravely wonne 
 Have'* ever to the Sonne 
 
 By Fame beene raysed. 
 
 "And for my Selfe (quoth he) 
 This my full rest shall be, 
 England ne'r mourne for Me 
 
 Nor more esteeme me ; 
 Victor I will remaine 
 On on this Earth lie slaine, 
 Never shall Shee sustaine 
 
 Losse to redeeme me. 
 
 ' Ed. 1605: "As Henry." 
 ' Ed. 1605: "Unto him sending." 
 ' Ed. 1605 : "Quoth famous Henry then." 
 * Ed. 1605 : " Eyennore to the Sonne 
 By fame are raysed." 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 " Poiters and Cressy tell, 
 
 When most their Pride did swell, 
 
 Under our Swords they fell : 
 
 No less our skill is 
 Then when our Grandsire Great 
 Clayming the Regall Seate, 
 By many a Warlike feate 
 
 Lop'd the French Lillies." 
 
 The Duke of Yorke so dread 
 The eager Vaward led ; 
 With the maine Henry sped 
 
 Among'st his Hench-men ; 
 Excester had the Rere, 
 A braver man not there, — 
 O ' Lord, how hot they were 
 
 On the false French-men ! 
 
 They now to fight are gone : 
 
 Armour on Armour shone, 
 
 Drumme now to Drumme did grone,- 
 
 To heare was wonder. 
 That with the Cryes they make 
 The very Earth did shake ; 
 Trumpet to trumpet spake, 
 
 Thunder to Thunder. 
 
 ' Ed. 1&05 : "And now preparing were 
 For the," &c. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 Well it thine Age became, 
 
 O Noble Erpingfiam, 
 
 Which ' didst the Signall ayme 
 
 To our hid Forces ; 
 When from a Medow by, 
 Like a Storme suddenly, 
 The Eiiglish Archery 
 
 Stuck the French Horses, 
 
 With Spa7tish Ewgh so strong, 
 Arrowes a Cloth-yard long 
 That like to Serpents stung 
 
 Piercing the Weather ; 
 None from his fellow starts, 
 But playing Manly parts 
 And like true English hearts, 
 
 Stuck close together. 
 
 When downe their Bowes they threw 
 And forth their Bilbowes drew 
 And on the French they flew, 
 
 Not 2 one was tardie ; 
 Armes 3 were from shoulders sent, 
 Scalpes to the Teeth were rent, 
 Downe the French Pesants went. 
 
 Our '^ men were hardie. 
 
 » Ed. 1605 : " Which didst the signall frame 
 
 Unto the forces." 
 = Ed. 1605 : " No man." 
 ' Ed. 1605 : "Armes from the shoulders sent.' 
 * Ed. 1605 : " These were men hardye." 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 23 
 
 This while our Noble King, 
 His broad Sword brandishing, 
 Downe ' the French hoast did ding, 
 
 As to o'r-whelme it ; 
 And 2 many a deepe Wound lent, 
 His Armes with Bloud besprent. 
 And many a cruell Dent 
 
 Bruised his Helmet. 
 
 Gloster, that Duke so good, 
 Next of the Royall Blood, 
 For famous England stood 
 
 With his brave Brother, 
 Clarence, in steel so bright ; 
 Though but a Maiden Knight, 
 Yet in that furious Fight 
 
 Scarce such another. 
 
 Warwick in Bloud did wade, 
 Oxford the Foe invade. 
 And cruell slaughter made 
 
 Still as they ran up : 
 Suffolke his Axe did ply, 
 BeaJimont and Willoughby 
 Bare them right doughtily, 
 
 Ferrers and FanJwpe. 
 
 ' Ed. 1605 : "Into the hoast did fling." 
 ■Ed. 1605: "Who." 
 
24 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Upon ' Saint Cnspitis day 
 Fought was this Noble Fray, 
 Which Fame did not delay 
 
 To England to carry : 
 O when shall Etiglish Men 
 With such Acts fill a Pen, 
 Or England breed againe 
 
 Such a King Harry! 
 
 ' Ed. 1605 : " On happy Crispin's day." 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 25 
 
 From " The Tragicall Legend of Robert 
 Duke of Normandie," ed. 1619. The 
 poem was originally fuilished in 1596. 
 
 Fame express- TI) UT I alone the Herald am of Heaven, 
 
 ing her pre- |j Whosc spacious Kingdome stretcheth farre and wide ; 
 
 emiiiejice in t-^. - , ^ , ,, t '1 j_i • j • _ 
 
 Divimiy above Through ev ry Coast upon the hght ning driven, 
 Fortune, in As OH the Sunne-beames, gloriously I ride, 
 eight stanzas, g^ ^^^^ j mount and downe by them I slide ; 
 I register the Worlds long-during houres 
 And know the hie Will of th' immortall powers. 
 
 Men to the Starres, me guiding them, doe clime, 
 
 That all Demensions perfectly expresse ; 
 
 I am alone the vanquisher of Time, 
 
 Bearing those Sweets which cure deaths bitternesse, 
 
 I all good Labours plentifully blesse, 
 
 Yea, all abstruse profoundities impart, 
 
 Leading men through the Tedious wayes of Art. 
 
 A description of My Palace, placed betwixt Earth and Skies, 
 the Palace of -y^j^j^^t^ many a Tower ambitiously up beares, 
 4 following Whereof the Windowes are glaz'd all with Eyes, 
 stanzas. -j-j^g Walls as neatly builded are of Eares, 
 
 Where ev'ry thing in Heaven and Earth appeares ; 
 No thing so softly whisper'd in the Round 
 But through my Palace presently doth sound. 
 
 7 
 
26 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 And under foot floor'd all about with Drummes, 
 The Rafters Trumpets, admirably cleare, 
 Sounding alowd each Name that thither comes, 
 The Crannies Tongues, and Talking ev'ry where. 
 And all Things past in Memorie doe beare ; 
 
 The Doores unlocke with ev'ry little breath, 
 Nay, open wide with each word which Man sayth. 
 
 And hung about with Armes and conqu'red Spoyles ; 
 
 The Posts whereon the goodly Roofe doth stand 
 
 Are Pillars graven with Herculian Toyles, 
 
 Th' Atchievements great of many a Warlike Hand 
 
 As well in Christned as in Heathen Land, 
 
 Done by those Nobles that are most renown'd 
 That there by me immortally are crown'd. 
 
 Here in the Bodies likenesse whilst it lives 
 
 Appeare the Thoughts proceeding from the Mind, 
 
 To which the place a glorious Habit gives 
 
 When once to me they freely are resign'd 
 
 To be preserv'd here ; and are so refin'd 
 
 That when the Corps by death doth lastly perish 
 Then doth this Place the Mind's true Image cherish. 
 
 My Beautie never fades but still new-borne. 
 As Yeeres increase so ever waxing young ; 
 My Strength is not diminished nor worne ; 
 Time weak'ning all Things only makes me strong 
 Nor am I subject to base Worldly Wrong 
 
 The Power of Kings I utterly defie, 
 
 Nor am I aw'd by all their Tyrannic. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 27 
 
 The Brow of Heav'n my Monuments containe 
 (And is the mightie Register of Fame) 
 Which there in fierie Characters remaine, 
 The gorgeous Seeling of th' immortall Frame, 
 The Constellations, publishing my Name, 
 
 Where my Memorials evermore abide ; 
 
 So by th' old Poets was I glorify'd. 
 
2 8 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 From the "Barons Warres," Canto V., 
 stanzas 42-45. The text followed is that of 
 the iSigfol. Published originally in 1596 
 ■under the title of " Mortemeriados," this 
 important poem was continually revised by 
 the author — most of the corrections being for 
 the better, but some for the worse — until it 
 assumed its final shape in i6ig. 
 
 King Edward II. at Berkley Castle. 
 
 THE ominous Raven often he doth heare, 
 Whose croking him of following Horror tells, 
 Begetting strange imaginarie Feare, 
 With heavie Ecchoes like to passing Bells ; 
 The howling Dogge a doleful Part doth beare 
 As though they chym'd his last sad burying Knells ; 
 Under his Eave the buzzing Schreech-Owle sings, 
 Beating the Windowes with her fatall Wings. 
 
 By Night affrighted in his fearefuU Dreames 
 Of raging Fiends and Goblins that he meets, 
 Of falling downe from steepe Rocks into Streames, 
 Of Deaths, of Buryals and of Wynding Sheets, 
 Of Wand'ring Helpelesse in farre forraine Realmes, 
 Of strong Temptations by seducing Sprights ; 
 Wherewith awak'd and calling out for aid 
 His hollow Voyce doth make himselfe afraid. 
 
 Then came the Vision of his bloudie Raigne ; 
 Marching along with Lancaster's sterne Ghost, 
 Twentie eight Barons either hang'd or slaine, 
 Attended with the rufull mangled Hoast 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 29 
 
 That unreveng'd did all that while remayne, 
 
 At Burton Bridge and fatall Borough lost ; 
 
 Threat'ning with Frownes and quaking ev'ry Lim 
 As though that piece-meale they would torture him. 
 
 And if it chanc'd that from the troubled Skyes 
 The least small Starre through any Chinke gave light. 
 Straightwayes on heapes the thronging Clouds did rise 
 As though that Heaven were angry with the Night 
 That it should lend that comfort to his Eyes ; 
 Deformed Shaddowes glimpsing in his sight, 
 
 As Darkenesse, that it might more ugly bee, 
 Through the least Cranny would not let him see. 
 
30 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 From the "Barons Warres,'' ed. 1619, 
 Canto VI. , stanzas 30-43. 
 
 A Description of Mortimers Chamber, in the Castle 
 at Nottingham. 
 
 WITHIN the Castle had the Queene devis'd 
 (Long about which she busied had her Thought) 
 A Chamber, wherein she imparadiz'd 
 What shapes for her could any where be sought. 
 Which in the same were curiously compriz'd, 
 By skilfull Painters excellently wrought, 
 
 And in the place of greatest Safetie there 
 Which she had nam'd the Tower of Mortimer. 
 
 A Roome prepar'd with Pilasters she chose 
 That to the Roofe their slender Poynts did reare, 
 Arching the Top whereas they all did close; 
 Which from below shew'd like an Hemisphere ; 
 In whose Concavitie she did compose 
 The Constellations that to us appeare, 
 
 In their corporeall shapes with Starres inchased- 
 As by th'old Poets they on Heaven were placed. 
 
 About which Lodging, tow'rds the upper Face, 
 Ran a fine Border circularly led 
 As equall 'twixt the Zenith and the Base, 
 Which as a Zone the Waste ingirdled, 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 31 
 
 That lent the Sight a breathing by the space 
 Twixt things neere hand and those farre over head, 
 Upon the plaine Wall of which lower part 
 Painting express'd the utmost of her Art. 
 
 There Phcebus clipping Hyacinthus stood, 
 
 Whose Lifes last drops did the Gods Brest imbrew, 
 
 His Teares so mixed with the young Boyes Blood 
 
 That whether was the more no Eye could view, 
 
 And though together lost as in a Flood 
 
 Yet here and there th'one from th'other drew ; 
 
 The prettie Wood-Nimphes chafing him with Balme, 
 Proving to wake him from his deadly qualme. 
 
 Apollo's Quiver and farre-killing Bow, 
 His Gold-frindg'd Mantle on the Grasse-full Ground, 
 T'expresse whose Act Art ev'n her best did show ; 
 The Sledge so shadow'd still, as to rebound. 
 As it had scarce done giving of the Blow, 
 Lending a lasting freshnesse to the Wound ; 
 The purple from the Boyes Bloud begun, 
 That since ne'r spreads but to the rising Sunne. 
 
 Neere that was lo, in a Heyfers shape, 
 
 Viewing her new-ta'n Figure in a Brooke, 
 
 In which her shadow seem'd on her to gape 
 
 As on the same she greedily did looke 
 
 To see how Jove could cloud his wanton scape : 
 
 So done that the Beholders oft mistooke 
 
 Themselves ; to some that one way did allow 
 A Womans likenesse, th'other way a Cow. 
 
32 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 There Mecurie was like a Sheppeards Boy, 
 
 Sporting with Hebe by a Fountaine brim, 
 
 With many a sweet Glance, many an am'rous Toy ; 
 
 He sprinkling Drops at her and she at him ; 
 
 Wherein the Painter so explain'd their Joy 
 
 As he had meant the very Life to limne ; 
 
 For on their Browes he made the Drops so cleare 
 That through each Drop their faire Skins did appear. 
 
 By them, in Landskip, Rookie Cynthus rear'd. 
 With the Clouds leaning on his loftie Crowne ; 
 On his sides shewing many a straggling Heard, 
 And from his Top the cleare Springs creeping downe 
 By the old Rocks, each with a hoarie Beard, 
 With Mosse and climbing Ivie over-growne ; 
 So done that the Beholders with the Skill 
 Never ynough their longing Eyes could fill. 
 
 The halfe-nak'd Nymphs, some climbing, some descending; 
 The sundry Flowers at one another flung; 
 In Postures strange their Limber bodies bending : 
 Some cropping Branches, that seem'd lately sprung, 
 Upon the Brakes, their coloured Mantles rending, 
 Which on the Mount grew here and there among ; 
 
 Combing their Hayre some, some made Garlands by : 
 So strove the Painter to content the Eye. 
 
 In one part Pltaeton, cast amongst the Clouds 
 By Phoebus Palfreyes that their Reynes broke. 
 His Chariot tumbling from the welked Shrowds, 
 And the fierce Steeds flew madding fro^m their Yoke ; 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 33 
 
 The Elements confusedly in Crowds, 
 
 And Heaven and Earth were nought but flame and smoke: 
 A Piece so done that Many did desire 
 To warm themselves ; some frighted with the fire. 
 
 And into Padua falling, as he burn'd, 
 Thereinto throwne by Jove out of the Skyes ; 
 His weeping Sisters there to Trees were turn'd, 
 Yet so of Women did retayne the Guise 
 That none could censure whether (as they mourn'd) 
 Drops from their Boughes or Teares fell from their Eyes : 
 Done fgr the last with such exceeding Life 
 As Art therein with Nature seem'd at strife. 
 
 And for the Light to this brave Lodging lent, 
 
 The Workeman, who as wisely could direct, 
 
 Did for the same the Windowes so invent 
 
 That they should artificially reflect 
 
 The Day alike on ev'ry Liniament 
 
 To their Proportion, and had such respect 
 
 As that the Beames, condensated and grave. 
 
 To ev'ry Figure a sure Colour gave. 
 
 In part of which, under a golden Vine, 
 Which held a curious Canopie through all. 
 Stood a rich Bed quite cover'd with the Twyne, 
 Shadowing the same in the redoubling fall. 
 Whose Clusters drew the Branches to decline, 
 Mongst which did many a naked Cupid sprawle : 
 Some at the sundty-eolour'd Birds did shoot, 
 And some about to plucke the Purple Fruit. 
 
 8 
 
34 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 On which a Tissue counterpoyne was cast, 
 AracJmes Web did not the same surpasse; 
 Wherein the storie of his Fortunes past 
 In lively Pictures neatly handled was, — 
 How he escap'd the Tower ; in France how grac'd- 
 With Stones imbroyd'red of a wondrous Masse : 
 About the Border in a fine-wrought Fret 
 Emblem's, Empressa's, Hieroglyphicks set. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 35 
 
 From " The Barons Warns,'" ed. iSig. 
 Canto VI. , stanzas 55-61. 
 
 The Queen and Mortimer at Nottingham 
 Castle. 
 
 THE Night wax'd old (not dreaming of these things) 
 And to her Chamber is the Queene vvithdrawne, 
 To whom a choise Musician playes and sings 
 Whilst she sat under an Estate of Lawne, 
 In Night-Attyre, more God-like glittering 
 Than any Eye had seene the chearefull Dawne, 
 Leaning upon her most-lov'd Mortimer, 
 Whose Voice more then the Musike pleas'd her Eare. 
 
 Where her faire Brests at libertie were let, 
 Whose Violet Veines in branched Riverets flow, 
 And Venus Swans and milkie Doves were set 
 Upon those swelling Mounts of driven Snow ; 
 Whereon whilst Love to sport himselfe doth get. 
 He lost his Way nor backe againe could goe, 
 But with those Bankes of Beautie set about 
 He wand'red still, yet never could get out. 
 
 Her loose Hayre look'd like Gold (O word too base; 
 Nay, more then sinne but so to name her Hayre) 
 Declining as to kisse her fayrer Face; 
 No word is fayre ynough for thing so fayre, 
 
36 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 Nor never was there Epithite could grace 
 
 That by much praysing which we much impayre ; 
 
 And where the Pen fayles Pensils cannot show it, 
 Only the Soul may -be- suppos'd to know it. 
 
 She layd her fingers on his Manly Cheeke, 
 The Gods pure Scepters and the Darts of Love, 
 That with their touch might make a Tygre meeke, 
 Or might great Atlas from his Seat remove ; 
 So white, so soft, so delicate, so sleeke, 
 As she had worne a Lilly for a Glove; 
 
 As might beget Life where was never none 
 And put a Spirit into the hardest stone. 
 
 The Fire of precious Wood, the Light Perfume, 
 Which left a sweetnesse on each thing it shone, 
 As ev'ry thing did to it selfe assume 
 The Sent from them and made the same their ov/nc ; 
 So that the painted Flowres within the Roome 
 Were sweet, as if they naturally had growne ; 
 
 The Light gave Colours, which upon them fell, 
 And to the Colours the Perfume gave smell. 
 
 When on those sundry Pictures they devise 
 And from one Peece they to another runne. 
 Commend that Face, that Arme, that Hand, those Eyes, 
 Shew how that Bird, how well that Flowre was done. 
 How this part shadow'd, and how that did rise, 
 This Top was clouded, how that Trayle was spunne. 
 The Land-skip, Mixture and Delineatings, 
 And in that Art a thousand curious Things. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 37 
 
 Looking upon proud Phaeton wrap'd in Fire, 
 The gentle Queene did much bewayle his Fall, 
 But Mortimer commended his Desire 
 To lose one poore Life or to governe all. 
 What though (quoth he) he madly did aspire 
 And his great Mind made him proud Fortunes Thrall ? 
 Yet, in despight when she her worst had done, 
 He perish'd in the Chariot of the Sunne. 
 
38 POEMS OF MICHAEL BRA YTON. 
 
 From "England! Heroicall EfisUes," 
 ed. 1619. This was the most popular work 
 of Drayton's. Originally published in 1597, 
 if was reprinted in 1598, 1599, 1600, and 
 1602. // was also included in the colleC' 
 tions of 1605, 1608, 1615, &■/. 
 
 Queene Margaret to William De-La-Poole, Duke 
 
 of Suffolke. 
 
 I 
 
 WHAT news (sweet Poole) look'st thou my Lines 
 should tell 
 But like the toling of the dolefull Bell, 
 Bidding the Deaths-man to prepare the Grave ? 
 Expect from me no other newes to have. 
 My Brest which once was Mirths imperiall Throne, 
 A vast and desart Wildernesse is growne, 
 Like that cold Region from the World remote 
 On whose breeme Seas the Icie Mountaines flote, 
 Where those poore Creatures banish'd from the Light 
 Doe live impris'ned in continuall Night. 
 
 No Object greets my Soules internall Eyes 
 But divinations of sad Tragedies ; 
 And Care takes up her solitarie Inne 
 Where Youth and Joy their Court did once begin. 
 As in September when our Yeere resignes 
 The glorious Sunne to the cold Wat'rie Signes, 
 Which through the Clouds lookes on the Earth in scorne ; 
 The little Bird yet to salute the Morne 
 Upon the naked Branches sets her foot, 
 The Leaves then lying on the mossie Root, 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 39 
 
 And there a silly chiripping doth keepe 
 
 As though she faine would sing, yet faine would wcepe, 
 
 Praysing faire Summer that too soone is gone 
 
 Or sad for Winter too fast comming on : 
 
 In this strange plight I mourne for thy depart 
 
 Because that Weeping cannot ease my Heart. 
 
 Now to our aid who stirres the neighb'ring Kings 
 Or who from France a puisant Armie brings ? 
 Who moves the Norman to abet our Warre 
 Or brings in Burgoyne to aid Lancaster? 
 Who in the North our lawful! Clayme commends 
 To winne us Credit with our valiant Friends ? 
 To whom shall I my secret Griefes impart ? 
 Whose Brest shall be the Closet of my Heart ? 
 The ancient Heroes fame thou do'st revive, 
 As from all them thy selfe thou didst derive 
 Nature by thee' both gave and taketh all, 
 Alone in Poole she was too prodigall ; 
 Of so divine and rich a temper wrought 
 As Heav'n for thee Perfections depth had sought. 
 Well knew King Henry what he pleaded for 
 When he chose thee to be his Orator, 
 Whose Angell-eye by pow'rfull influence, 
 Doth utter more than humane Eloquence, 
 That if againe Jove would his Sports have try'd 
 He in thy shape himselfe would only hide. 
 Which in his love might be of greater pow'r 
 Then was his Nymph, his Flame, his Swan, his Show'r. 
 
 I pray thee, Poole, have care how thou do'st passe,— 
 Never the Sea yet halfe so dang'irous was, 
 
40 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 And one foretold by Water thou should'st die : 
 
 (Ah ! foule befall that foule Tongues Prophesie !) 
 
 Yet I by Night am troubled in my Dreames 
 
 That I doe see thee toss'd in dang'rous Streames, 
 
 And oftimes shipvvrack'd cast upon the "Land, 
 
 And lying breathlesse on the queachy Sand ; 
 
 And oft in Visions see thee in the Night 
 
 Where thou at Sea maintain'st a dang'rous Fight, 
 
 And with thy proved Target and thy Sword 
 
 Beat'st back the Pyrate which would come aboord. 
 
 Yet be not angry that I wame thee thus : 
 
 The truest love is most suspitious. 
 
 Sorrow doth utter what it still doth grieve, 
 
 But Hope forbids us sorrow to beleeve ; 
 
 And in my counsell yet this comfort is, 
 
 It cannot hurt although I thinke amisse : 
 
 Then live in hope in Triumph to returne 
 
 When .cleerer Dayes shall leave in Clouds to mourne. 
 
 But so hath Sorrow girt my Soule about 
 
 That that word Hope (me thinkes) comes slowly out ; 
 
 The reason is I know it here would rest 
 
 Where it might still behold thee in my Brest. 
 
 Farewell, sweet Poole, faine more I would indite 
 
 But that my Teares doe blot what I doe write. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 4r 
 
 From " Englands Heroicall Epistles,' 
 ed. 1619. 
 
 Edward the Fourth to Mistres Shore. 
 
 The Argument. 
 
 EDWARD the Fourth bewitcJid with tJie Report 
 Of Mistres Shore resounded through his Court, 
 Steaks to the Citie in a strange Disguise 
 To view that Beautie wlwse trans-piercing Eyes 
 Had shot so many : which did so content 
 T/ie amorous King that instantly lie sent 
 T/iese Lines to Iter whose Graces did allure him ; 
 Whose Answere backe doth of her love assure him. 
 
 To thee the fair'st that ever breath'd this ayre, 
 From English Edward to thee fairest Faire. 
 Ah, would to God thy Title were no more ! 
 That no remembrance might remaine of Shore 
 To countermaund a Monarchs high desire 
 And barre mine Eyes of what they most admire. 
 O why should Fortune make the Citie proud, 
 To give that more then is the Court allow'd ; 
 When they (like Wretches) hoord it up to spare 
 And doe ingrosse it as they doe their ware? 
 
 When fame first blaz'd thy Beautie here in Court 
 Mine Eares repulsde it as a light Report ; 
 But when mine Eyes saw what mine Eare hath heard 
 They thought Report too niggardly had spar'd, 
 
 9 
 
42 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 And strucken dumbe with wonder did but mutter, 
 
 Conceiving more then it had words to utter. 
 
 Then thinke of what thy Husband is possest, 
 
 When I mah'gne the wealth wherewith hee's blest, 
 
 When much abundance make the needie mad 
 
 Who having all yet knowes not what is had : 
 
 Into Fooles Bosomes this good fortune creepes, 
 
 And Summes come in whilst the base Miser sleepes. 
 
 If now thy beautie be of such esteeme, 
 
 Which all of so rare excellencie deeme. 
 
 What would it be and prized at what rate 
 
 Were it adorned with a Kingly State? 
 
 Which being now but in so meane a Bed 
 
 Is like an uncut Diamond in Lead, 
 
 E'er it be set in some high-prized Ring 
 
 Or garnished with rich enamelling : 
 
 We see the beauty of the Stone is spilt 
 
 Wanting the gratious Ornament of Gilt. 
 
 When first attracted by thy heavenly Eyes 
 
 I came to see thee in a strange Disguise, 
 
 Passing thy Shop thy Husband call'd me backe, 
 
 Demanding what rare Jewell I did lacke. 
 
 I want (thought I) One that I dare not crave 
 
 And One (I feare) thou wilt not let me have. 
 
 He calls for Caskets forth and shewes me store ; 
 
 But yet I knew he had one Jewell more. 
 
 And deadly curst him that he did deny it 
 
 That I might not for Love or Money buy it. 
 
 O might I come a Diamond to buy 
 
 That had but such a Lustre as thine Eye, 
 
 Would not my Treasure serve, my Crowne should goe 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 43 
 
 If any Jewell could be prized so ! 
 
 An Agat branched with thy blushing straines, 
 
 A Saphire but so azur'd as thy veines, 
 
 My Kingly Scepter onely should redeeme it 
 
 At such a price if Judgement could esteeme it. 
 
 How fond and senselesse be those Strangers then 
 Who bring in Toyes to please the English men ! 
 I smile to thinke how fond ih'Italians are 
 To judge their artificiall Gardens rare, 
 When London in thy Cheekes can shew them heere 
 Roses and Lillies growing all the yeere : 
 The Portugall that only hopes to win 
 By bringing stones from farthest India in, 
 When happie S}i07-e can bring them forth a Girle 
 Whose Lips be Rubies and her Teeth be Pearle. 
 How silly is the Polander and Dane 
 To bring us Crystall from the frozen Maine, 
 When thy cleare Skins transparence doth surpasse 
 Their Crystall as the Diamond doth Glasse! 
 The foolish French which bring in Trash and Toyes 
 To turne our Women Men, our Girles to Boyes, 
 When with what Tyre thou do'st thy selfe adorne 
 That for a Fashion onely shall be worne, 
 Which though it were a Garment but of Haire 
 More rich then Robe that ever Empresse ware. 
 
 Me thinkes thy Husband takes his marke awry 
 To set his Plate to sale when thou art by, 
 When they which doe thy Angell-locks behold 
 As the b£ise Drosse doe but respect his Gold, 
 And wish one Haire before that massie Heape 
 And but one Locke before the Wealth of CJieape : 
 
44 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 And for no cause else hold we Gold so deare 
 
 But that it is so like unto thy Haire. 
 
 And sure I thinke Shore cannot choose but flout 
 
 Such as would find the great Elixar out, 
 
 And laugh to see the Alchymists that choke 
 
 Themselves with Fumes and waste their Wealth in smoke ; 
 
 When if thy Hand but touch the grossest Mold 
 
 It is converted to refined Gold ; 
 
 When theirs is chaffred at an easie rate, 
 
 Well knowne to all to be adulterate, 
 
 And is no more when it by thine is set 
 
 Then paltry Bengle or light-prized Jeat. 
 
 Let others weave Perfumes, for thee unmeet ; 
 
 If there were none thou couldst make all things sweet : 
 
 Thou comfort'st ev'ry Sense with sweet repast. 
 
 To heare, to see, to smell, to feele, to taste ; 
 
 Like a rich Ship whose very refuse Ware 
 
 Aromatikes and precious Odors are. 
 
 If thou but please to walke into the Paivne 
 To buy thee Cambricke, Callico or Lawne, 
 If thou the whitenesse of the same wouldst prove, 
 From thy more whiter hand plucke off thy glove ; 
 And those which buy, as the beholders stand, 
 Will take thy Hand for Lawne, Lawne for thy Hand. 
 
 A thousand Eyes, clos'd up by envious Night, 
 Doe wish for Day but to injoy thy sight. 
 And when they once have blest their eyes with thee 
 Scorne ev'ry object else what ere they see ; 
 So like a Goddesse Beautie still controules 
 And hath such pow'rfull working in our Soules. 
 The Merchant which in Traffique spends his life, 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 45 
 
 Yet loves at home to have a daintie wife ; 
 
 The blunt-spoke Cynicke, poring on his Booke, 
 
 Sometimes .(aside) at Beautie loves to looke ; 
 
 The Churche-man, by whose Teaching we are led, 
 
 Allowes what keepes love in the Marriage Bed ; 
 
 The bloudie Souldier, spent in dang'rous Broyles, 
 
 With Beautie yet content to share his Spoyles ; 
 
 The busie Lawyer, wrangling in his Pleas, 
 
 Findeth that Beautie gives his labour ease ; 
 
 The toyling Trades-man and the sweating Clowne 
 
 Would have his Wench faire though his Bread be brownc : 
 
 So much is Beautie pleasing unto all 
 
 That Prince and Pesant equally doth call, 
 
 Nor never yet did any Man despise it 
 
 Except too deare and that he could not prize it. 
 
 Unlearn'd is Learning, Artlesse be all Arts, 
 If not imploy'd to prayse thy sev'rall parts : 
 Poore plodding Schoole-men they are farre too low, 
 Which by Probations, Rules and Axiomes goe ; 
 He must be still familiar with the Skies 
 Which notes the Revolutions of thine Eyes ; 
 And by that Skill which measures Sea and Land 
 See Beauties All, thy Wciste, thy Foot, thy Hand ; 
 Where he may find, the more that he doth view. 
 Such rare Delights as are both strange and new, 
 And other Worlds of Beautie more and more 
 Which never were discovered before ; 
 And to thy rare Proportion to apply 
 The Lines and Circles in Geometry, 
 Using alone Arithmetikes strong ground, 
 Numbring the Vertues that in thee are found : 
 
46 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 And when these all have done what they can doo, 
 For thy Perfections all too little too. 
 
 When from the East the Dawne hath gotten out 
 And gone to seeke thee all the World about, 
 Within thy Chamber hath she fix'd her Light 
 Where, but that place, the World hath all beene Night : 
 Then is it fit that ev'ry vulgar Eye 
 Should see Love banquet in her Majestie ? 
 We deeme those things our Sight doth most frequent 
 To be but meane, although most excellent ; 
 For strangers still the streets are swept and strovv'd, 
 Few looke on such as dayly come abroad ; 
 Things much restrain'd doe make us much desire them, 
 And Beauties seldome scene make us admire them. 
 Nor is it fit a Citie shop should hide 
 The Worlds delight and Natures onely Pride ; 
 But in a Princes sumptuous Gallerie 
 Hung all with Tissue, floor'd with Tapestrie, 
 Where thou shalt sit and from thy State shalt see 
 The Tilts and Triumphs that are done for thee. 
 Then know the difference (if thou list to prove) 
 Betwixt a Vulgar and a Kingly loVe ; 
 And when thou find'st, as now thou doubt'st, the troth. 
 Be thou thy selfe unpartiall Judge of both. 
 
 Where Hearts be knit what helpes if not injoy ? 
 Delay breeds doubts, no Cunning to be coy; 
 Whilst lazie Time his turne by tarriance serves. 
 Love stiir growes sickly and Hope dayly starves. 
 Meane while receive that Warrant by these lines 
 Which Princely Rule and Sov'raigntie resignes ; 
 Till when, these Papers by their Lords command 
 By me shall kisse thy sweet and daintic Hand. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 47 
 
 From " Hcroicall Epistles," ed. 1619. 
 
 Mary the French Queene, to Charles Brandon, 
 Duke of Suffolke. 
 
 SUCH health from Heav'n my selfe may wish to mee, 
 Such health from France Queen Mary sends to thee. 
 Bra?idon, how long mak'st thou excuse to stay 
 And know'st how ill we Women brooke delay ? 
 If one poore Channell thus can part us two, 
 Tell me (unkind) what would an Ocean doe ? 
 Lea7ider had an Hellespont to swim, 
 Yet this from Hero could not hinder him ; 
 His Barke (poore Soule) his Brest, his Armes his Oares ; 
 But thou a Ship to land thee on our shoares, 
 And opposite to famous Kent doth lie 
 The plccisant Fields of flowrie Picardie, 
 Where our faire Callice, walled in her Sands, 
 In Kenning of the Clififie Dover stands. 
 
 Here is no Beldam Nurse to powt nor lowre 
 When wantoning we revell in my Towre, 
 Nor need I top my Turret with a Light 
 To guide thee to me as thou swim'st by Night, 
 Compar'd with me wert thou but halfe so kind, 
 Thy Sighs should stuffe thy Sayles though wanting Wind ; 
 But thy Brest is becalm'd, thy Sighs be slacke. 
 And mine too stiffe and blow thy broad Sayles backe. 
 But thou wilt say that I should blame the Floud 
 Because the Wind so full against thee stood : 
 Nay, blame it not that it did roughly blow, 
 
48 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 For it did chide thee for thou wert so slow ; 
 
 For it came not to keepe thee in the Bay, 
 
 But came from me to bid thee come away : 
 
 But that thou vainely let'st occasion slide 
 
 Thou might'st have wafted hither with the tide. 
 
 If, when thou com'st, I knit mine angry Brow, 
 
 Blame me not, Brandon ; thou hast broke thy Vow : 
 
 Yet if I meant to frowne I might be dumbe. 
 
 For this may make thee stand in doubt to come : 
 
 Nay come, sweet Charles ; have care thy Ship to guide ; 
 
 Come, my sweet Heart, in faith I will not chide. 
 
 When as my Brother and his lovely Queene 
 In sad attyre for my depart were scene, 
 The utmost date expired of my stay. 
 When I from Dover did depart away ; 
 Thou know'st what Woe I suff'red for thy sake, 
 How oft I fain'd of thee my leave to take ; 
 God and thou know'st with what a heavie Heart 
 I tooke my farewell when I should depart. 
 And being ship'd gave signall with my Hand 
 Up to the Cliffe where I did see thee stand. 
 Nor could refraine in all the peoples view 
 But cryed to thee, Sweet Charles, adiew, adiew. 
 Looke how a little Infant that hath lost 
 The thing wherewith it was delighted most, 
 Wearie with seeking, to some corner creepes 
 And there (poore Soule) it sits it downe and weepes ; 
 And when the Nurse would faine content the mind 
 Yet still it mournes for that it cannot find : 
 Thus in my carefuU Cabbin did I lye 
 When as the Ship out of the Road did flie. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 49 
 
 From " Heroicall Epistles," ed. 1619. 
 
 Henry Howard, Earle of Surrey, To the 
 Lady Geraldine. 
 
 The Argument. 
 
 "I ^HE Earle of Surrey, that renowned Lord, 
 TJiold English Glory bravely that restor'd. 
 That Prince and Poet {a Name more divine) 
 Falling in love with beautious Geraldine, 
 Of the Geraldi which derive their Name 
 From, Florence : whitJier to advance lur Fame 
 He travels, and by publique Justs maintayn'd 
 Her Beautie peerelesse, which by Armes lie gayn'd ; 
 But staying long, faire Italy to see, 
 To let Iter know him constant still to bee. 
 From Tuskany this Letter to Jier writes 
 Which Jier Rescription instantly invites. 
 
 From learned Florence (long time rich in fame) 
 From whence thy Race, thy noble grandsir[e]s came, 
 To famous England, that kind Nurse of mine, 
 Thy Surrey sends to heav'niy Geraldine : 
 Yet let not Tuscan thinke I doe it wrong 
 That I from theiicfe write in my Native Toiigue, 
 That in these barsh-tun'd' Cadences I sing, 
 Sitting so rieere the Muses sacred Spring ; 
 But rather thinlce if selfe adorn'd thereby 
 
 10 
 
so POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTONi 
 
 That England reades the prayse of Italy. 
 
 Though to the Tuscans I the smoothness grant, 
 
 Our Dialect no Majestic doth want, 
 
 To set thy praises in as high a Key 
 
 As France or Spaine or Germanie or they. 
 
 What day I quit the Fore-land of faire Kent 
 And that my Ship her course for Flanders bent, 
 Yet thinke I with how many a heavy looke 
 My leave of Englatid aiid of thee I tooke, 
 And did intreate the Tide (if it might be) 
 But to convey me one sigh backe to thee. 
 Up to the Decke a Billow lightly skips 
 Taking my sigh, and downe againe it slips ; 
 Into the Gulfe it selfe it headlong throwes 
 And as a post to England-'^ Bird it goes. 
 As I sat wondring how the rough Seas stird, 
 I might farre off perceive a little Bird, 
 Which as she faine from Shore to Shore woyld flie 
 Had lost her selfe in the broad vastie Skie : 
 Her feeble Wing beginning to deceive her. 
 The Seas of life still gaping to bereave her, 
 Unto the Ship she makes, which she discovers, 
 And there (poore foole) a while for refuge hovers ; 
 And when at length her flagging Pinnion failes. 
 Panting she hangs upon the rattling Sailes, 
 And, being forc'd to loose her hold with paine. 
 Yet beaten off she straight lights on againe. 
 And toss'd with flawes, with stormes, with Wind, with weather, 
 Yet still departing thence still turneth thither ; 
 Now with the Poope, now with the Prow doth beare. 
 Now on this side, now that, now here, now there. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL BRA YTON. 51 
 
 Me thinks these Stormes should be my sad depart ; 
 
 The silly helplesse Bird is my poore heart ; 
 
 The Ship, to which for succour it repaires, 
 
 That is your selfe regardlesse of my cares : 
 
 Of every Surge doth fall or Waves doth rise 
 
 To some one thing I sit and moralize. 
 
 When for thy love I left the Belgicke Shore, 
 Divine Erasmus and our famous Moore, 
 Whose happy presence gave me such delight 
 As made a minute of a Winters night. 
 With whom a while I staid at Roterdame, 
 Now so renowned by Erasmus name, 
 Yet every houre did seeme a world of time 
 Till I had scene that sole-reviving Clime, 
 And thought the foggie Netherlands unfit, 
 A watry Soyle to clogge a fiery Wit 
 And as that wealthy Germatty I past. 
 Coming unto the Emperours Court at last, 
 Great learn'd Agrippa, so profound in Art, 
 Who the infernall secrets doth impart. 
 When of thy health I did desire to know 
 Me in a Glasse my Geraldine did show, 
 Sicke in thy Bed, and — for thou could'st not sleepe — 
 By a Waxe Taper set the Light to keepe. 
 I doe remember thou did'st reade that Ode 
 Sent backe whil'st I in Thanet made abode ; 
 Where, when thou cam'st unto that word of Love, 
 Even in thine eyes I saw how passion strove : 
 That Snowie Lawne, which covered thy Bed, 
 Me thought look'd White to see thy Cheeke so red ; 
 Thy Rosie Cheeke, oft changing in my sight, 
 
S 2 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 Yet still was red to see the Lawne so white ; 
 The little Taper, which should give thee light, 
 Me thought wax'd dimme to see thine Eye so bright ; 
 Thine Eye againe supply'd the Tapers turne 
 And with his Beames more brightly made it burne ; 
 The shrugging Ayre about thy Temples hurles 
 And wrapt thy breath in little clouded curies. 
 And as it did ascend it straight did seaze it, 
 And as it sunke it presently did raise it. 
 Canst thou by sicknesse banish beautie so, 
 Which if put from thee knowes not where to goe, 
 To make her shift and for her succour seeke 
 To every rival'd Face, each bankrupt Cheeke ? 
 If health 'preserv'd, thou Beautie still do'st cherish ; 
 If that neglected, Beautie soone doth perish. 
 Care drawes on Care, Woe comforts Woe againe. 
 Sorrow breeds Sorrow, one Griefe brings forth twaine ; 
 If live or die, as thou do'st so doe I ; 
 If live I live, and if thou die I die: 
 One Heart, one Love, one Joy, one Griefe, one Troth, 
 One Good, one 111, one Life, one Death to both. 
 If Howards bloud thou hold'st but as too vile 
 Or not esteem'st of Norfolk's Princ-ely Stile, 
 If Scotland's Coate no marke of Fame can lend-^ 
 That Lyon plac'd in our bright Silver bend, 
 Which as a Trophy beautifies our Shield 
 Since Scottish Bloud discolour'd Floden field, 
 When the proud Cheviot our brave Ensigne bare 
 As a Rich Jewell in a Ladyes Haire, 
 And did faire Bramstons neighbouring Vallies choke 
 With Clouds of Canons, fire-disgorged Smoke ; — . 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 53 
 
 Or Surrey's Earledome insufficient be 
 
 And not a Dower so well contenting thee.: 
 
 Yet am I one of great Apollo's Heires, — 
 
 The sacred Muses, challenge me for theirs ; 
 
 By Princes my immortall lines are sung, 
 
 My flowing Verses grac'd with ev'ry Tongue ; 
 
 The little Children when they learn to goe, 
 
 By painefuU Mothers daded to and fro, 
 
 Are taught my sugred Numbers to rehearse, 
 
 And have their sweet Lips season'd with my Verse. 
 
 When Heav'n would strive to do the best it can 
 And put an Angels Spirit into a Man, 
 The utmost pow'r it hath it then doth spend 
 When to the World a Port it doth intend ; 
 That little diffrence 'twixt the Gods and us 
 (By them confirm'd) distinguish'd onely thus : 
 Whom they in Birth ordaine to happy dayes 
 The Gods commit their glory to our prayse ; 
 T'eternall Life, when they disolve their breath. 
 We likewise share a second Pow'r by Death. 
 
 When Time shall turne those Amber Lockes to Gray 
 My Verse againe shall guild and make them gay, 
 And tricke them up in knotted Curies anew 
 And to thy Autumne give a Summers hiew. 
 That sacred Pow'r that in my lake remaines 
 Shall put fresh Bloud into thy wither'd Veines, 
 And on thy Red decay'd, thy Whitenesse dead, 
 Shall set a White more White, a Red more Red ; 
 When thy dimme Sight thy Glasse cannot descry 
 Nor thy craz'd Mirrour can &cerne thine Eye, 
 My Verse to tell th'one what the other was 
 
54 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Shall represent them both, thine Eye and Glasse, 
 Where both thy Mirrour and thine Eye shall see 
 What once thou saw'st in that, that saw in thee ; 
 And to them both shall tell the simple truth, 
 What that in purenesse was, what thou in youth. 
 
 If Florence once should lose her old renowne, 
 As famous Athens, now a Fisher-Towne, 
 My Lines for thee a Florence shall erect 
 Which great Apollo ever shall protect, 
 And with the Numbers from my Penne that falls 
 Bring Marble Mines to re-erect those Walls. 
 Nor beautious StanJwpe, whom all Tongues report 
 To be the glory of the English Court, 
 Shall by our Nation be so much admir'd, 
 If ever Surrey truely were inspir'd. 
 And famous Wyat, who in Numbers sings 
 To that inchanting Thracian Harpers strings, 
 To whom Phcebus (the Poets God) did drinke 
 A Bowie of Nectar fiU'd up to the Brinke ; 
 And sacred Bryan, (whom the Muses kept 
 And in his Cradle rockt him whilst he slept) 
 In sacred Verses (most divinely pen'd) 
 Upon thy prayses ever shall attend. 
 
 What time I came into this famous Towne 
 And made the cause of my Arrivall knowne, 
 Great Medices a List (for Triumphs) built ; 
 Within the which, upon the Tree of Gilt, 
 (Which was with sundry rare Devices sat) 
 I did erect thy lovely Counterfeit, 
 To answer those Italian Dames desire 
 Which dayly came thy Beautie to admire ; 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 55 
 
 By which my Lion in his gaping Jawes 
 Held up my Lance, and in his dreadfull Pawes 
 Reacheth my Gauntlet unto him that dare 
 A Beautie with my Geraldines compare. 
 Which when each Manly valiant Arme assayes, 
 After so many brave triumphant dayes 
 The glorious Prize upon my Lance I bare, 
 By Heralds voice proclaim'd to be thy share. 
 The shiver'd Staves here for thy Beautie broke 
 With fierce encounter past at ev'ry shocke, 
 When stormier Courses ansvver'd Cuffe for Cuffe, 
 Denting proud Bevers with the Counter-buffe, 
 Upon an Altar burnt with holy Flame 
 I sacrific'd as Incense to thy Fame : 
 Whereas the Phcenix from her spiced fume 
 Renues her selfe in that she doth consume, 
 So from these sacred Ashes live we both 
 Ev'n as that one Arabian Wonder doth. 
 
 When to my Chamber I my selfe retire. 
 Burnt with the Sparkes that kindled all this fire, 
 Thinking of England which my Hope containes. 
 The happie He where Geraldine remaines ; 
 Of Hmisdon, where those sweet celestiall Eyne 
 At first did pierce this tender Brest of mine ; 
 Of Hampton Court and Windsor, where abound 
 All pleasures that in Paradise were found. 
 Neere that faire Castle is a little Grove 
 With hanging Rocks all cover'd from above, 
 Which on the Banke of goodly Tliames doth stand, 
 Clipt by the Water from the other Land ; 
 Whose bushie Top doth bid the Sunne forbeare 
 
56 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 And checks his proud Beames that would enter there ; 
 
 Whose leaves still mutt'ring, as the Ayre doth breathe, 
 
 With the sweet bubbling of the Streame beneath, 
 
 Doth rocke the Senses (whilst the small Birds sing) 
 
 Lulled asleepe with gentle murmuring! 
 
 Where light-foot Fayries sport at Prison- Base 
 
 (No doubt there is some Pow'r frequents the place) 
 
 There the soft Poplar and smooth Beech doe beare 
 
 Our Names together carved ev'ry where, 
 
 And Gordian knots doe curiously entwine 
 
 The Names of Henry and of Geraldine. 
 
 let this Grove in happy times to come 
 Be call'd The Lovers blessed Eliziutn; 
 Whither my Mistres wonted to resort 
 
 In Summers heat in those sweet shades to sport. 
 A thousand sundry Names I have it given 
 And call'd it Wonder-hider, Cover-Heaven ; 
 Tlie Roofe where Beautie- her rich Court doth keepe. 
 Under whose compasse all t/te Starres doe sleepe. 
 There is one Tree, which now I call to minde, 
 Doth beare these Verses carved in his Rinde : 
 Wlien Geraldine sltall sit in thy faire shade, 
 Fanne her sweet Tresses with perfmned Aire^ 
 Let thy large Boughes a Canopie be made 
 To keepe tJie Sunne from gazing en my Faire ; 
 And when thy spreading branched Armes be sunke 
 And tliou no Sap nor Pith sltalt more retaine, 
 Eifn from tJte dust of thy unweldie Trunke 
 
 1 will renue thee Phoenix-like againe. 
 And from thy dry decayed Root will bring 
 A new-borne Stem, another Aesons; spring. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 57 
 
 I find no cause nor judge I reason why 
 My Countrey should give place to Lnmbardy. 
 As goodly flow'rs on Thamesis doe growe 
 As beautifie the Bankes of wanton Po ; 
 As many Nymphs as haunt rich A^-nus strand 
 By silver Severne tripping hand in hand. 
 Our shade's as sweet, though not to us so deere, 
 Because the Sunne hath greater power there ; 
 This distant place doth give me greater woe, — 
 Farre off, my Sighes the farther have to goe. 
 Ah, absence ! why thus should'st thou seeme so long ? 
 Or wherefore should'st thou offer Time such wrong, 
 Summer, so soone to steale in Winters Cold, 
 Or Winters Blasts so soone make Summer old? 
 Love did us both with one-selfe Arrow strike ; 
 Our Wound's both one, our Cure should be the like. 
 Except thou hast found out some meane by Art, 
 Some pow'rfuU Med'cine to withdraw the dart : 
 But mine is fixt, and absence being proved 
 It stickes too fast, it cannot be removed. 
 
 Adiew, adiew ! From Florence when I goe. 
 By my next Letters Geraldine shall know, 
 Which, if good fortune shall by course direct. 
 From Venice by some messenger expect; 
 Till when I leave thee to thy hearts desire: 
 By him that lives thy vertues to admire. 
 
 II 
 
S8 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 From " Jfienicall Efisiles," ed. 1619. 
 
 The Lady Geraldine to Henry Howard, Earle 
 of Surrey. 
 
 TO what place ever did the Court remove 
 But that the House gives matter to my Love? 
 At Windsor still I see thee sit and walke. 
 There mount thy Courser, there devise, there talke ; 
 The Robes, the Garter, and the state of Kings 
 Into my Thoughts thy hoped Greatnesse brings ; 
 None-such, the Name imports (me thinkes) so much, 
 None-such as it nor as my Lord none such'; 
 In Hamptons great Magnificence I find 
 The lively Image of thy Princely Mind ; 
 Faire Richmonds Tow'rs like goodly Trophies stand 
 Rear'd by the pow'r of thy victorious Hand ; 
 White-Halls triumphing Galleries are yet 
 Adom'd with rich Devices of thy Wit ; 
 In Greenwich still, as in a Glasse, I view 
 Where last thou bad'st thy Geraldine adiew. 
 
 With ev'ry little perling breath that blowes 
 How are my Thoughts confus'd with Joyes and Woes 
 As through a gate so through my longing Eares 
 Passe to my Heart whole multitudes of Feares. 
 O in a Map that I might see thee show 
 The place where now in danger thou do'st goe ! 
 Whilst we discourse, to travell with our Eye 
 Romania, Tuscan and faire Lumbardy, 
 Or with thy penne exactly to set downe 
 The modell of that. Temple or that Towne ; 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 59 
 
 And to relate at large where thou hast beene, 
 
 As there and there, and what thou there has scene, 
 
 Expressing in a Figure by thy Hand 
 
 How Naples lyes, how Florence faire doth stand ; 
 
 Or as the Grecians finger dip'd in Wine 
 
 Drawing a River in a little Line, 
 
 And with a drop a Gulfe to figure out 
 
 To modell Venice moted round about, 
 
 Then, adding more, to counterfeit a Sea 
 
 And draw the Front of stately Genoa. 
 
 Till thou returne the Court I will exchange 
 
 For some poore Cottage or some Country Grange, 
 
 Where to our Distaves as we sit and Spin 
 
 My Maide and I will tell what things have bin ; 
 
 Our Lutes unstrung shall hang upon the Wall, 
 
 Our Lessons serve to wrap our Towe withall ; 
 
 And passe the Night whiles Winter Tales we tell 
 
 Of many things that long agoe befell. 
 
 Or tune such homely Carrols as were sung 
 
 In Country sport when we ourselves were yong, 
 
 In pretty Riddles to bewray our Loves 
 
 In questions, purpose, or in drawing Gloves. 
 
 The Noblest Spirits to Vertue most inclin'd. 
 
 These here in Court thy greatest want doe find ; 
 
 Others there be on which we feed our Eye 
 
 Like Arras-worke or such like Imagerie : 
 
 Many of us desire Queene Katharine's state 
 
 But very few her Vertues imitate. 
 
 Then, as Vlysses's Wife, write I to thee, — 
 
 Make no reply but come thy selfe to mee. 
 
6o POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 From, the 1619 folio, where it first 
 appeared. 
 
 LIKE an adventurous Sea-farer am I 
 Who hath some long and dang'rous Voyage beene, 
 
 And caird_ to tell of his Discoverie, 
 
 How farre he sayl'd, what Countries he had seene, 
 
 Proceeding from the Port whence he put forth, 
 
 Shewes by his Compasse how his Course he steer'd, 
 
 When East, when West, when South and when by North, 
 
 As how the Pole to ev'ry place was rear'd ; 
 
 What Capes he doubled, of what Continent ; 
 
 The Gulphes and Straits that strangely he had past ; 
 
 Where most becalm'd, where with foule Weather spent 
 
 And on what Rocks in perill to be cast : 
 
 Thus in my Love Time calls me to relate 
 My tedious Travels and oft-varying fate. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 6i 
 
 This sonnet laas originally published in 
 " Ideas Mirrour," 1594. The text of the 
 1619 folio, which is here followed, differs 
 .considerably from thai of tlu earlier 
 editions, 
 
 STAY, speedy Time ; behold before thou passe 
 From Age to Age what thou hast sought to see, 
 One in whom all the Excellencies be, 
 In whom Heav'n lookes it selfe as in a Glasse. 
 Time, looke thou too in this tralucent Glasse, 
 And thy Youth past in this pure Mirrour see. 
 As the World's Beautie in his Infancie, 
 What it was then and thou before it was. 
 Passe on and to Posteritie tell this, 
 Yet see thou tell but truly what hath beene ; 
 Say to our Nephewes that thou once hast seene 
 In perfect humane shape all heav'nly Blisse : 
 
 And bid them mourne, nay more despaire with thee, 
 That she is gone, her like againe to see. 
 
62 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Tht four follovaing sonnets wire originally 
 fublished in the 1601 Collection, The text 
 of the i6ig folio is here followed, 
 
 AS Love and I, late harbourde in one Inne, 
 With Proverbs thus each other entertaine : 
 In love tJtere is no lacke, thus I beginne ; 
 Faire words make fooles, replieth he againe ; 
 TJtat spares to speake doth spare to speede (quoth I) ; 
 As well (saith he) too forward as to[o] slowe ; 
 Fortune assists tJie boldest, I reply ; 
 A hastie man (quoth he) tieWe wanted woe ; 
 Labour is light where love (quoth I) doth pay ; 
 (Saith he) light burthens Iteavy if far borne; 
 (Quoth I) the vtaine lost, cast the by away ; 
 You have spin a faire thred, he replies in scome. 
 
 And having thus a while each other thwarted, 
 Fooles as we met so fooles againe we parted. 
 
 Nothing but No and I and I and No ! 
 How fals it out so strangely you reply ? 
 I tell ye (Faire) ile not be answered so, 
 With this afifirming No, denying I, 
 I say I love, you slightly answere I ; 
 I say You love, you peulle me out a No. 
 I say I die, you eccho me with I % 
 Save me I cry, you sigh me out a No. 
 Must woe and I have naught but No and I ? 
 No I am I if I no more can have : 
 Aunswere no more, with silence make reply 
 And let me take my selfe what I do crave. 
 
 Let No and I with I and You be so ; 
 
 Then aunswere No and I, and I and No. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 63 
 
 An evill spirit your beautie haunts me still, 
 Wherewith (alas) I have beene long possest, 
 Which ceaseth not to tempt me to each ill 
 Nor gives me once but one poore minutes rest : 
 In me it speakes whether I sleepe or wake, 
 And when by meanes to drive it out I trie. 
 With greater torments then it me doth take 
 And tortures me in most extreamitie. 
 Before my face it layes downe my despaires 
 And hastes me on unto a sudden death. 
 Now tempting me to drowne my selfe in teares 
 And then in sighing to give up my breath : 
 Thus am I still provokde to every evill 
 By this good wicked spirit, sweete Angell devill. 
 
 Truce, gentle Love ; a Parly now I crave. 
 Me thinkes 'tis long since first these Warres begun, 
 Nor thou nor I the better yet can have : 
 Bad is the Match where neither partie wonne. 
 I offer free Conditions of faire Peace : 
 My Heart for Hostage that it shall remaine ; 
 Discharge our Fprces heere, let Malice cease. 
 So for my Pledge thou give me Pledge againe. 
 Or if nothing but Death will serve thy turne. 
 Still thirsting for subversion of my state. 
 Doe what thou canst, raze, massacre and burne 
 Let the World see the utmost of thy hate ; 
 I send defiance, since if overthrowne. 
 Thou vanquishing, the Conquest is mine owne. 
 
64 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 From Ihe i6i<) folio. This sonnet was first 
 printed in -Lda^. 
 
 IN pride of Wit when high desire of Fame 
 Gave Life and Courage to my lab'ring Pen, 
 And first the sound and vertue of my Name 
 Won grace and credite in the Eares of Men : 
 With those the thronged Theaters that presse 
 I in the circuite for the Lawrell strove, 
 When the full Prayse, I freely must confesse, 
 In heate of blood a modest Minde might move. 
 With Showts and Claps at ev'ry little pause 
 When the proud round on ev'ry side hath rung, 
 Sadly I sit unmov'd with the Applause 
 As though to me it nothing did belong : 
 
 No publique Glorie vainely I pursue, 
 All that I seeke is to eternize you. 
 
 From tlie 1619 folio, where it first 
 appeared. 
 
 HOW many paltiy, foolish, painted things 
 That now in Coaches trouble ev'ry Street 
 Shall be forgotten, whom no Poet sings, 
 Ere they be well wrap'd in theire winding Sheet ? 
 Where I to thee Eternitie shall give 
 When nothing else remayneth of these dayes,' 
 And Queenes hereafter shall be glad to live 
 Upon the Alraes of thy superfluous prayse : 
 Virgins and Matrons, reading these my Rimes, 
 Shall be so much delighted with thy story 
 That they shall grieve they liv'd not in these Times 
 To have scene thee, theire Sexes only glory. 
 
 So shalt thou flye above the vulgar Throng, 
 Still to survive in my immortall Song. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 65 
 
 This sonnet was first printed in 1602. 
 Tht text of the zGigfolio'is followed. 
 
 DEARE, why should you command me to my Rest 
 When now the Night doth summon all to sleepe ? 
 
 Methinkes this Time becommeth Lovers best ; 
 
 Night was ordayn'd together Friends to keepe. 
 
 How happie are all other living Things, 
 
 Which though the Day dis-ioyne by sev'rall flight, 
 
 The quiet Ev'ning yet together brings. 
 
 And each returnes unto his Love at Night? 
 
 O, Thou that art so courteous else to all, 
 
 Why should'st thou. Night, abuse me onely thus, 
 
 That ev'ry Creature to his kind do'st call 
 
 And yet 'tis thou do'st only sever us ? 
 
 Well could I wish it would be ever Day, 
 If when Night comes you bid me goe away. 
 
 From the 1619 folio, where it first ap- 
 peared. This sonnet is undoubtedly one of 
 tht finest in the English language, 
 
 SINCE ther's no helpe come let us kiss and part : 
 Nay I have done ; You get no more of Me ; 
 
 And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart 
 
 That thus so cleanly I my selfe can free. 
 
 Shake hands for ever ; Cancell all our Vowes ; 
 
 And when we meet at any time againe. 
 
 Be it not seen in either of our Browes 
 
 That we one jot of former Love reteyne. 
 
 Now at the last gaspe of Loves latest Breath 
 
 When, his Pulse fayling, Passion speechlesse lies. 
 
 When Faith is kneeling by his bed of Death 
 
 And Innocence is closing up his Eyes ; 
 
 Now, if thou would'st, when all have given him over. 
 From Death to Life thou might'st him yet recover. 
 
66 POEMS Of MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 From the Polyolbion (Song ix.) Tht first 
 tightein Songs were publishtd in 1613. The 
 sale seems to have been very sl&w. Nine 
 years afteruiards, when Songs xviii.-xxx. 
 were printed, a new title-page was given to 
 the unsold copies of the First Part, and all 
 the Sengs were bound together in one volume. 
 
 BUT in things past /SO long (for alii the world)! we are 
 Like to a mai^' embarqu't and travelling the Deepe ; 
 Who sayling by| some hill [or promontory steepe 
 Which juts : into, the Sea,j with an lamazed eye 
 Beholds the Cleeves thrust up into the lofty skie ; 
 And th' more that hee doth looke the more it Drawes his sight 
 Now at the craggy front, then at the wondrous weight 
 But from the passed shore still as the swelling saile 
 (Thrust forward by the wind) the floating Barque doth haile, 
 The mightie Giant-heape so lesse and lesser still 
 Appeareth to the eye, untill the monstrous hill 
 At length shewes like a cloud ; and further beeing cast, 
 Is out ot kenning quite. So of the Ages past : 
 Those things that in their Age much to be wondered were, 
 Still as wing-footed Time them farther off doth beare 
 Doe lessen every howre. 
 
W! 
 
 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 67 
 
 From iht Polyolbion (Song xiii.) 
 
 "HEN Phoebus lifts his head out of the Winteres wave 
 No sooner doth the Earth her flowerie bosome brave, 
 At such time as the Yeere brings on the pleasant Spring, 
 But Hunts-up to the Morne the feathr'ed Sylvans sing : 
 And in the lower Grove as on the rising Knole, 
 Upon the highest spray of every mounting pole, 
 Those Quirristers are pearcht with many a speckled breast. 
 Then from her burnisht gate the goodly glittring East 
 Guilds every lofty top which late the humorous Night 
 Bespangled had with pearle to please the Mornings sight : 
 On which the mirthfull Quires with their cleere open throats 
 Unto the joyfull Morne so straine their warbling notes 
 That Hills and Valleys ring, and even the ecchoing Ayre 
 Secmes all compos'd of sounds about them every where. 
 The Throstell with shrill sharps, as purposely he song 
 T'awake the lustlesse Sunne, or chiding that so long 
 He was in comming forth that should the thickets thrill : 
 The Woosell neere at hand that hath a golden bill ; 
 As Nature him had markt of purpose t' let us see 
 That from all other Birds his tunes should different bee ; 
 For, with their vocall sounds they sing to pleasant May, 
 0/ all Birdt Upon his dulcet pype the Merle doth onely play. 
 <w7> iu BUuk- When in the lower Brake the Nightingale hard-by 
 
 In such lamenting straines the joyfull howres doth ply, 
 As though the other Birds shee to her tunes would draw ; 
 And, but that Nature (by her all-constraining law) 
 Each Bird to her owne kind this season doth invite, 
 They else, alone to heare that Charmer of the Night 
 (The more to use their eares) their Voyces sure would spare 
 That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare 
 
68 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 As man to set in Parts at first had learn'd of her 
 
 To Philomel the next the Linet we prefer, 
 And by that warbling bird the Wood-Larke place we then, 
 The Red-sparrow, the Nope, the Red-breast and the Wren ; 
 The Yellow-pate, which though shee hurt the blooming tree, 
 Yet scarce hath any bird a finer pype then shee ; 
 And of these chaunting Fowles the Goldfinch not behind, 
 That hath so many sorts descending from her kind ; 
 The Tydie for her notes as delicate as they. 
 The laughing Hecco then, the counterfetting Jay. 
 The Softer with the Shrill (some hid among the leaves, 
 Some in the taller trees, some in the lower greaves) 
 Thus sing away the Mome untill the mounting Sunne 
 Through thick exhaled fogs his golden head hath runne. 
 And through the twisted tops of our close Covert creeps 
 To kisse the gentle Shade this while that sweetly sleeps. , 
 And neere to these our Thicks, the wild and frightfuU 
 Heards, 
 Not hearing other noyse but this of chattering Birds, 
 Feed fairely on the Launds, both sorts of seasoned Deere : 
 Here walke the stately Red, the freckled Fallowe there. 
 The Bucks and lusty Stags, amongst the Rascalls strew'd. 
 As sometimes gallant spirits amongst the multitude. 
 o/Huuiingcr Of all the Beasts which we for our veneriall name 
 
 The Hart amongst the rest, the Hunters noblest game : 
 Of which most Princely Chase sith none did ere report 
 Or by description touch, t'expresse that wondrous sport 
 (Yet might have well beseem'd th'ancients nobler Songs) 
 To our old Arden heere most fitly it belongs. 
 Yet shall shee not invoke the Muses to her ayde, 
 But thee, Diana bright, a Goddesse and a mayd. 
 
 chase. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 69 
 
 In many a huge-growne Wood, and many a shady Grove, 
 Which oft hast borne thy Bowe (great Huntresse) us'd to rove 
 At many a cruell beast and with thy darts to pierce 
 The Lyon, Panther, Ounce, the Beare and Tiger fierce ; 
 And following thy fleet Game, chaste mightie Forrests Queene, 
 With thy disheveld Nymphs attyr'd in youthfull greene. 
 About the Launds hast scow'rd, and Wastes both farre and 
 
 neere. 
 Brave Huntresse, but no beast shall prove thy Quarries heere, 
 Save those the best of Chase, the tall and lusty Red, 
 The Stag for goodly shape and statelinesse of head 
 A dcscriffion 0/ \s fit'st to huut at forcc. For whom when with his hounds 
 ut^^ '" The laboring Hunter tufts the thicke un barbed grounds ? 
 Where harbor'd is the Hart, there often from his feed 
 The dogs of him doe find ; or thorough skilfull heed 
 The Huntsman by his slot* or breaking earth perceaves 
 Or entring of the thicke by pressing of the greaves 
 Where he hath gone to lodge. Now when the Hart doth heare 
 The often-bellowing hounds to sent his secret leyre, 
 He rouzirtg rusheth out and through the Brakes doth drive 
 As though up by the roots the bushes he would rive. 
 And through the combrous thicks, as fearefully he makes, 
 Hee with his branched head the tender Saplings shakes, 
 That sprinkling their moyst pearle doe seeme for him to weepe ; 
 "When after goes the Cry with yelHngs lowd and deepe 
 That all the Forrest rings and every neighbouring place. 
 And there is not a hound but falleth to the Chase. 
 Rechating with his home which then the Hunter cheeres. 
 Whilst still the lustie Stag his high-palm'd head up-beares, 
 His body showing state, with unbent knees upright. 
 Expressing (from all beasts) his courage in his flight. 
 
 * Tie tract of 
 ike footc. 
 
 One of tite 
 Hfeasures in 
 VjinJirtg- t/ie 
 herttc. 
 
70 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 But when th'approaching foes, still following, he perceives 
 That hee his speed must trust, his usuall walke he leaves, 
 And or'e the Champaine flies ; which when th'assembly find, 
 Each foUowes as his horse were footed with the wind. 
 But beeing then imbost, the noble stately Deere 
 When he hath gotten ground (the kennell cast arere) 
 Doth beat the Brooks and Ponds for sweet refreshing soyle 
 And makes amongst the Heards and flocks of shag-wooll'd 
 
 Sheepe, 
 Them frighting from the guard of those who had their keepe ; 
 But when as all his shifts his safety still denies, 
 Put quite out of his walke the wayes and fallowes tryes : 
 Whom when the Plow-man meets his teame he letteth stand 
 T'assaile him with his goad ; so with his hooke in hand 
 The Shepheard him pursues and to his dog doth halow, 
 When with tempestuous speed the hounds and Huntsmen 
 
 follow ; 
 Until" the noble Deere, through toyle bereav'd of strength. 
 His long and sinewy legs then fayling him at length. 
 The Villages attempts, enrag'd, not giving way 
 To any thing hee meets now at his sad decay. 
 The cruell ravenous hounds and bloody Hunters neer. 
 This noblest beast of Chase, that vainly doth but feare. 
 Some banke or quick-set finds, to which his hanch oppos'd 
 He tumes upon his foes that soone have him inclos'd. 
 The churlish throated hounds then holding him at bay, 
 And as their cruell fangs on his harsh skin they lay. 
 With" his sharp-poynted head he dealeth deadly wounds. 
 riie Hart The Hunter, comming in to helpe his wearied hounds, 
 
 7l:I:£!L. He desperatly assailes, untill opprest by force, 
 arc held io be Hc who the Mourner is to his owne dying Corse 
 
 precious in __ - ,- «■- 
 
 mMkinc. Upon the ruthlesse earth his precious teares lets fall. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 71 
 
 From tht PolyolHon (Song xv.) 
 
 Cravnes o_f 
 Flowers* 
 
 Fhwtrs from 
 the Medtnves 
 and Pastures, 
 
 THE Naiads and the Nymphs extreamly over-joy'd 
 And on the winding banks all busily imploy'd 
 Upon this joyfull day, some dainty Chaplets twine ; 
 Some others, chosen out with fingers neat and fine, 
 Brave Anadems doe make ; some Bauldricks up do bind ; 
 Some Garlands ; and to some the Nosegaies were assign'd 
 As best their skill did serve. But for that Tanu should be 
 Still man-like as him selfe, therefore they will that he 
 Should not be drest with Flowers to Gardens that belong 
 (His Bride that better fitte) but onely such as sprong 
 From the replenisht Meads and fruitfull Pastures neere. 
 To sort which Flowers some sit, some making Garlands were ; 
 The Primrose placing first because that in the Spring 
 It IS the first appears, then onely flourishing. 
 The azur'd Hare-bell next with them they neatly mixt, 
 T'allay whose lushious smell they Woodbind plac't betwixt. 
 Amongst those things of sent there prick they in the Lilly, 
 And neere to that againe her sister Daffadilly. 
 To sort these Flowers of showe with th'other that were sweet, 
 The Cowslip then they couch, and th'Oxslip for her meet ; 
 The Columbine amongst they sparingly doe set, 
 The yellow King-cup wrought in many a curious fret ; 
 And now and then among, of Eglantine a spray. 
 By which againe a course of Lady-smocks they lay. 
 The Crow-flower^ and thereby the Clover-flower they stick, 
 
7 2 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 Magariteis jj^g ])aysle over all those sundry sweets so thick, 
 
 both. PearU and ^ ^ 
 
 a Daisy. As Naturc doth her selfe, to imitate her right, 
 
 Who seems in that her pearle so greatly to delight 
 That every Plaine therewith she powdreth to beholde : 
 The crimson Darnell Flower, the Blew-bottle and Gold, 
 Which though esteem'd but weeds, yet for their dainty hewes 
 And for their sent not ill they for this purpose chuse. 
 
 Thus having told you how the Bridegroome Tame was drest, 
 lie shew you how the Bride, faire Isis, they invest ; 
 Sitting to be attyr'd under her Bower of State, 
 Which scornes a meaner sort then fits a Princely rate. 
 In Anadems for whom they curiously dispose 
 The Red, the dainty White, the goodly Damask Rose, 
 For the rich Ruby, Pearle and Amatist men place 
 
 rivMrio/ In King's Emperiall Crownes the circle that enchase. 
 
 The brave Carnation then, with sweet and soveraigne 
 
 power 
 (So of his colour call'd, although a July-flower) 
 With th'other of his kinde, the speckled and the pale, 
 Then th'odoriferous Pink that sends forth such a gale 
 Of sweetnes, yet in sents as various as in sorts. 
 The purple Violet then the Pansie there supports ; 
 The Mary-gold above t'adome the arched Bar, 
 The dubble Daysie, Thrift, the Button-batcheler, 
 Sweet William, Sops in wine, the Campion, juid to these 
 Some Lavander they put with Rosemary and Bayes ; 
 Sweet Marjoram with her like, sweet Basill rare for smell, 
 With many a flower whose name were now too long to tell ; 
 And rarely with the rest the goodly Flower-delice. 
 
 Thus for the nuptiall houre, all fitted point-device, 
 Whilst some some still busied are in decking of the Bride, 
 
PO^MS, OF J^ICHABL DRAYTON. 73 
 
 Some others were again as seriously imploy'd 
 In strewing of those hearbs at Bridalls us'd that be, 
 Which every where they throwe with bountious hands and free. 
 strn.-u,ghta7-is. fhe hcalthfuU Balme and Mint from their full laps doe fly, 
 The sent-fuU Camomill, the verdurous Costmary. 
 They hot Muscado oft with milder Maudlin cast; 
 Strong Tansay, Fennell coole they prodigally waste ; 
 Cleere Isop and therewith the comfortable Thyme, 
 Gerniander with the rest, each thing then in h?r prime ; 
 As well of wholesome hearbs as every pleasant flower, 
 Which Nature here produc't to fit this happy hqure. 
 Amongst these strewing kinds some other wilde th^t growe. 
 As Burnet, all abroad, ^nd Meadovv-wprth they throw. 
 
 n 
 
74 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 From the Polyolbion (Song xxvi.) 
 
 Robin Hood's Story. 
 
 THE meifry pranks/ he played (would askd, an age to tell, 
 And the adventures strange that Robin Hood befell, 
 When Mansfield many a time for Robin hath bin layd, 
 How he hath cosned them that him would have betrayd ; 
 How often he hath come to Nottingliam disguisd 
 And cunningly escapt being set to be surprizd. 
 In this our spacious Isle I thinke there is not one 
 But he hath heard some talke of him and little John ; 
 And to the end of time the Tales shall ne'r be done 
 Of Scarlock, George a Greene and Much the Millers sonnc, 
 Of Tuck the merry Frier which many a Sermon made 
 In praise of Robin Hood his Out-lawes and their Trade. 
 An hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood 
 Still ready at his call, that Bow-men were right good, 
 All clad in Lincolne Greene with Caps of Red and Blue, 
 His fellowes winded Home not one of them but knew, 
 When setting to their lips their little Beugles shrill 
 The warbling Ecchds wakt from every D^le and Hill : 
 Their Bauldricjcs sat with Studs, athwart their shoulders cast. 
 To which under their armes their Sheafes were buckled fast ; 
 A short Sword at their Belt, a Buckler scarse a span. 
 Who stroke below the knee not counted then a man : 
 All made of Spanish Yew their Bowes were wondrous strong, 
 They not an Arrow drew but was a cloth-yard long. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 75 
 
 Of Archery they had the very perfect craft, 
 
 With Broad-arrow, or But, or Prick, or Roving Shaft : 
 
 At Markes full fortie score they us'd to Prick and Rove, 
 
 Yet higher then the breast for Compasse never strove. 
 
 Yet at the farthest marke a foot could hardly win : 
 
 At Long-buts, short and Hoyles each one could cleave the pin. 
 
 Their Arrows finely pair'd for Timber and for Feather, 
 
 With Birch and Brazill peec'd to flie in any weather; 
 
 And shot they with the round, the square, or forked Pyle, 
 
 The loose gave such a twang as might be heard a myle. 
 
 And of these Archers brave there was not any one 
 
 But he could kill a Deere his swiftest speed upon ; 
 
 Which they did boyle and rost in many a mightie wood, 
 
 Sharpe hunger the fine sauce to their more kingly food. 
 
 Then taking them to rest, his merry men and hee 
 
 Slept many a Summers night under the Greenewood tree. 
 
 From wealthy Abbotts chests and Churles abundant store 
 
 What often times he tooke he shar'd amongst the poore: 
 
 No lordly Bishop came in lusty Robins way, 
 
 To him before he went but for his Passe must lay : 
 
 The Widdow in distresse he graciously reliev'd 
 
 And remedied the wrongs of many a Virgin griev'd. 
 
 He from the husbands bed no married woman wan 
 
 But to his Mistris deare, his loved Marian, 
 
 Was ever constant knowne, which wheresoere shee came 
 
 Was soveraigne of the Woods, chiefe Lady of the Game. 
 
 Her Clothes tuck'd to the knee, and daintie braided haire. 
 
 With Bow and Quiver arm'd shee wandred here and there 
 
 Amongst the Forrests wild. Diatia never knew 
 
 Such pleasures nor such Harts as Mariana slew. 
 
76 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 From " Tht Battaile.o/ Agincouit," ifc, 
 1627. 
 
 Nimphidia the Court of Fayrie, 
 
 OLDE Chaucer Ao'^ of Topas tell, 
 Mad Rablais of Pantagrtiell, 
 A latter third of Dowsabdl, 
 
 With such poore trifles playing : 
 Others the like have laboured at, 
 Some of this thing and some of that 
 And many of they know not what, 
 But that they must be saying. 
 
 Another sort- there bee, that will 
 Be talking of the Fayries still, 
 Nor never can they have their fill, 
 
 As they were wedded to them : 
 No Tales of them their thirst can slake, 
 So much delight therein they take 
 -And some strange thing they faine would make. 
 
 Knew they the way to doe them. 
 
 Then since no Muse hath bin so bold. 
 Or of the later or the ould. 
 Those Elvish secrets to unfold 
 
 Which lye from others reeding. 
 My active Muse to light shall bring 
 The coiirt of that proud -Fayry King 
 And tell there of the Revelling : 
 
 Jove prosper my proceeding. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DHAYTON. 77 
 
 And thou, Nimphidia, gentle Fay, 
 Which meeting me upon the way 
 These secrets didst to me bewray 
 
 Which now I am in telling : 
 My pretty light fantastick mayde, 
 I here invoke thee to my ayde 
 That I may speake what thou hast sayd 
 
 In numbers smoothly swelling. 
 
 This Pallace standeth in the Ayre, 
 By Nigromancie placed there, 
 That it no Tempest needs to feare 
 
 Which way so ere it blow it; 
 And somewhat Southward tow'rd the Noone, 
 Whence lyes a way -up to the-Moone 
 And thence the Fayrie can as soone 
 
 Passe to the earth below it. 
 
 The Walls of Spiders legs are made, 
 Well mortized and .finely layd ; 
 He was the master .of his Trade 
 
 It curiously that builded: 
 The 'Windowes of the eyes of Cats, 
 And for the 'jRoofe, instead of Slats, 
 Is cover'd with the fekinns of,Batts 
 
 With Mooneshine that sare guilded. 
 
78 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Hence Oberon him sport to make 
 (Their rest when weary Mortals take 
 And none but onely Fayries wake) 
 
 Descendeth for his pleasure: 
 And Mob his meerry Queene by night 
 Bestrids young Folks that lye upright 
 (In elder times the Mare that hight) 
 
 Which plagues them out of measure. 
 
 Hence Shaddowes, seeming idle shapes 
 
 Of little frisking Elves and Apes, 
 
 To Earth do make their wanton skapes 
 
 As hope of pastime hasts them : 
 Which maydes think on the Hearth they see, 
 When Fyers well nere consumed be, 
 Their daunsing Hayes by two and three 
 
 Just as their Fancy casts them. 
 
 These make our Girles their sluttery rue 
 By pinching them both blacke and blew, 
 And put a penny in their shue 
 
 The house for cleanely sweeping: 
 And in their courses make that Round 
 In Meadowes and in Marshes found, 
 Of them so call'd the Fayrie ground, 
 
 Of which they have the keeping. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 79 
 
 These when a Childe haps to be gott 
 Which after prooves an Ideott, 
 When Folke perceive it thriveth not, 
 
 The fault therein to smother, 
 Some silly Doting brainelesse Calfe 
 That understands things by the halfe 
 Say that the Fayrie left this Aulfe 
 
 And tooke away the other. 
 
 But listen and I shall you tell 
 
 A chance in Fayrie that befell, 
 
 Which certainely may please some well, 
 
 In Love and Armes delighting ; 
 Of Oberon that jealous grewe 
 Of one of his own Fayrie crue 
 Too well (he fear'd) his Queene that knew. 
 
 His love but ill requiting. 
 
 Pigwiggen was this Fayrie knight. 
 
 One wondrous gratious in the sight 
 
 Of faire Queene Mab, which day and night 
 
 He amorously observed ; 
 Which made King Oberon suspect 
 His Service took too good effect, 
 His saucinesse and often checkt 
 
 And could have wisht him starved. 
 
8o POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Pigwiggen gladly would commend 
 Some token to queene Mab to send 
 If Sea or Land him ought could lend 
 
 Were worthy of her wearing : 
 At length this Lover doth devise 
 A Bracelett made of Emmotts eyes, 
 A thing he thought that shee would prize, 
 
 No whitt her state impayring. 
 
 And to the Queene a Letter writes 
 Which he most curiously endites, 
 Conjuring her by all the rites 
 
 Of love she would be pleased 
 To meet him her true Servant, where 
 They might without suspect or feare 
 Themselves to one another cleare 
 
 And have their poore hearts eased. 
 
 At mid-night the appointed hower, 
 And for the Queene a fitting Bower 
 (Quoth he) is that faire Cowslip flower 
 
 On Hipait hill that groweth ; 
 In all your Trayne there's not a Fay 
 That ever went to gather May 
 But she hath made it in her way 
 
 The tallest there that groweth. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 8t 
 
 When [Then ?] by Tom Thumb, a Fayrie Page, 
 He sent it and doth him engage 
 By promise of a mighty wage 
 
 It secretly to carrie : 
 Which done, the Queene her Maydes doth call 
 And bids them to be ready all ; 
 She would goe see her Summer Hall, 
 
 Sllfe could no longer tarrie. 
 
 Her Chariot ready straight is made, 
 Each thing therein is fitting layde 
 That she by nothing might be stayde, 
 
 For naught must her be letting: 
 Foure nimble Gnats the Horses were, 
 Their Hamasses of Gossamere ; 
 Fly Cranion, her Chariotterej 
 
 Upon the Coach-box getting. 
 
 Her Chariot of a Snayles fine shell 
 
 Which for the colours did excell, 
 
 The faire Queene Mab becomming well, 
 
 So lively was the limming; 
 The seate the soft wooU of the Bee, 
 The cover (gallantly to see) 
 The wing of a pyde Butterflee, 
 
 I trowe 'twas simple trimming. 
 14 
 
Si POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 sj The wheeles compos'd of Crickets bones 
 And daintily made for the nonce ; 
 For feare of rattling on the stones 
 
 With Thistle down they shod it ; 
 
 For all her Maydens much did feare 
 If Oberon had chanc'd to heare 
 That Mab his Queene should have bin there, 
 He would not have aboad it •* 
 
 She mounts her Chariot with a trice, 
 Nor would she stay for no advice, 
 Untill her Maydes, that were so nice, 
 
 To wayte on her were fitted, 
 But ranne away herself alone ; 
 Which when they heard, there was not one 
 But hasted after to be gone. 
 
 As she had beene diswitted. 
 
 Hop and Mop and Drop so cleare, 
 Pip and Trip and Skip that were 
 To Mab their Soveraigne ever deare, 
 
 Her speciall Maydes of Honour; 
 Fib and Tib and Pinck and Pin, 
 Tick and Quick and Jill and Jin, 
 Tit and Nit and Wap and Win, 
 
 The trayne that wayte upon her. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 83 
 
 >/ Upon a Grashopper they got, 
 
 And what with Amble and with Trot, 
 For hedge nor ditch they spared not. 
 
 But after her they hie them ; 
 A Cobweb over them they throw, 
 To shield the winde if it should blowe ; 
 Themselves they wisely could bestowe, 
 
 test any should espie them. 
 
 But let us leave Queene Mai a while, 
 Through many a gate, o'er many a stile 
 That now had gotten by this wile. 
 
 Her deare Pigwiggin kissing ; 
 And tell how Oberon doth fare. 
 Who grewe as mad as any Hare 
 When he had sought each place with care 
 
 And found his Queene was missing. 
 
 By grisUy Pluto he doth sweare. 
 
 He rent his cloths and tore his haire, 
 
 And as he runneth, here and there. 
 
 An Acome cup he greeteth ; 
 Which soon he taketh by the stalke, 
 About his head he lets it walke, 
 Nor doth he any creature balke. 
 
 But layes on all he meeteth. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 The Thuskan Poet doth advance 
 The franticke Paladine of France, 
 And those more ancient doe inhaunce 
 
 Alcides in his fury, 
 And others Ajax Telainon ; 
 But to this time there hath bin non 
 So Bedlam as our Oberon, 
 
 Of which I dare assure you. 
 
 And first encountring with a waspe, 
 
 He in his armes the Fly doth claspe 
 
 As though his breath he forth would graspe, 
 
 Him for Pigwiggen taking : 
 Where is my wife, thou Rogue ? quoth he ; 
 Pigwiggen she is come to thee. 
 Restore her or thou dy'st by me : 
 
 Whereat the poore waspe, quaking. 
 
 Cryes, Oberon, great Fayrie king. 
 Content thee ; I am no such thing ; 
 I am a Wsispe, behold my sting : 
 
 At which the Fayrie started ; 
 When soone away the Waspe doth goe ; 
 Poor wretch was never frighted So, 
 He thought his wings were much to[o] slow, 
 
 O'rjoyd they so were parted. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 85 
 
 He next upon a Glow-worme light, 
 (You must suppose it now was night) 
 Which, for her hinder part was bright, 
 
 He tooke to be a Devill ; 
 And furiously doth her assaile 
 For carrying fier in her taile ; 
 He thrasht her rough coat with his flayle ; 
 
 The mad King fear'd no evill. 
 
 O, quoth the Gloworme, hold thy hand, 
 
 Thou puisant king of Fayrie land ; 
 
 Thy mighty stroaks who may withstand -? 
 
 Hould, or of life despaire I. 
 Together then her selfe doth roule, 
 And tumbling downe into a hole 
 She seem'd as black as any Cole, 
 
 Which vext away the Fayrie. 
 
 From thence he ran into a Hive ; 
 Amongst the Bees hee letteth drive 
 And downe their combes begins to rive. 
 
 All likely to have spoyled ; 
 Which with their Waxe his face besmeard. 
 And with their Honey daub'd his beard ; 
 It would have made a man.afeard 
 
 To see how he was moyled. 
 
86 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 ~J — - ■ ^ - — 
 
 A new Adventure him betides ; 
 He mett an Ant, which he bestrides, 
 And post thereon away he rides, 
 
 Which with his haste doth stumble, 
 V And came full over on her snowte ; 
 Her heels so threw the dust about, 
 For she by no meanes could get out 
 But over him doth tumble. 
 
 And being in this piteous case. 
 And all be-slurried head and face, 
 On runs he in this Wild-goose chase : 
 
 As here and there he rambles, 
 Halfe blinde, against a mole-hill hit 
 And for a Mountaine taking it. 
 For all he was out of his wit 
 
 Yet to the top he scrambles. 
 
 And being gotten to the top 
 
 Yet there himselfe he could not stop. 
 
 But downe on th'other side doth chop 
 
 And to the foot came rumbling ; 
 So that the Grubs therein that bred. 
 Hearing such turmoyle over head, 
 Thought surely they had all bin dead,- 
 
 So fearfull was the Jumbling. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON, 87 
 
 And falling downe into a Lake 
 Which him up tQ the neck doth take, 
 His fury somewhat it doth slake, ' 
 
 He calleth for a Ferry; 
 Where you may some recovery note, 
 What was his Club he made his Boate, 
 And in his Oaken Cup doth float 
 
 As safe as in a Wherry. 
 
 Men talke of the Adventures strange 
 Of Don Quishott and of their change 
 Through which he armed oft did range, 
 
 Of Sanc/w Panchas travell ; 
 But should a man tell everything 
 Done by this franticke Fayrie King 
 And them in lofty Numbers sing, 
 
 It well his wits might gravell. 
 
 Scarse set on shore but therewithal! 
 He meeteth Puck, which most men call 
 Hobgoblin, and on him doth fall 
 
 With words from frenzy spoken : 
 Hoh, hoh ! quoth Hob ; God save thy grace ! 
 Who drest thee in this piteous case ? 
 He thus hath spoild my soveraignes face 
 
 I would his necke were broken. 
 
8S POEMS dF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 This Puck seems but a dreaming dolt, 
 Still walking like a ragged Colt, 
 And oft out of a Bush doth bolt 
 
 Of purpose to deceive us ; 
 And leading us makes us to stray 
 Long Winters nights out of the way, 
 And when we stick in mire and clay 
 
 Hob doth with laughter leave us. 
 
 Deare Puck (quoth he) my wife is gone ; 
 As ere thou lov'st King Oberon, 
 Let everything but this alone. 
 
 With vengeance and pursue her : 
 Bring her to me alive or dead. 
 Or that vile thiefe Pigwiggins head, 
 That villaine hath defil'd my bed. 
 
 He to this folly drew her. 
 
 Quoth Puck, My Liege He never lin. 
 But I will thorough thick and thinne 
 Untill at length I bring her in. 
 
 My dearest Lord nere doubt it : 
 \^ Tliorough Brakci thorough Brier, 
 
 Thorough Muck, thorough Mier, 
 Thorough Water, thorough Fier; 
 And thus goes Puck about it 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 89 
 
 This thing Nimphidia overhard 
 That on this mad king had a guard, 
 Not doubting of a great reward 
 
 For first this businesse broching ; 
 And through the ayre away doth goe, 
 Swift as an arrowe from the Bowe, 
 To let her Soveraigne Mob to know 
 
 What perill was approching. 
 
 The Queene, bound with Loves powerfulst charms, 
 
 Sat with Pigwiggen arme in arme; 
 
 Her merry Maydes that thought no harme 
 
 About the roome were skipping: 
 A Humble-Bee their Minstrell playde 
 Upon his Hoboy ; ev'ry Mayde 
 Fit for this Revells was arayde, 
 
 The Hornepype neatly tripping. 
 
 In comes Nimphidia and doth crie : 
 My Soveraigne for yovx safety flie, 
 For there is danger but too nie ; 
 
 I posted to forewame you : 
 The King hath sent Hobgoblin out 
 To seeke you all the Fields about, 
 And of your safety you may doubt, 
 
 If he but once disceme you. 
 15 
 
90 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 When like an uprore in a Towne 
 Before them every thing went downe, 
 Some tore a Ruffe and some a Gowne, 
 
 Gainst one another justling; 
 They flewe about like Chaffe 1' th winde, 
 For hast some left their Maskes behinde. 
 Some could not stay their Gloves to finde ; 
 
 There never wjis such bustling. 
 
 Forth ranne they by a secret way 
 Into a brake that neere them lay, 
 Yet much they doubted there to stay 
 
 Lest Hob should hap to' finde them ; 
 (He had a sharpe and piercing sight, 
 All one to him the day and night,) 
 And therefore were resolv'd by flight 
 
 To leave this place behind them. 
 
 At length one chanc'd to finde a Nut, 
 In th'end of which a hole was cut. 
 Which lay upon a Hazell roote. 
 
 There scatt'red by a Squirrill, 
 Which out the kernell gotten had : 
 When quoth this Fay, deare Queene be glad ; 
 Let Oberon be ne'r so mad. 
 
 He set you safe from perill. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 91 
 
 Come all into this Nut (quoth she), 
 Come closely in, be rul'd by me, 
 Each one may here a chuser be, 
 
 For roome ye neede not wrastle 
 Nor neede ye be together heapt : 
 So one by one therein they crept, 
 And lying downe they soundly slept 
 
 And safe as in a Castle. 
 
 Nimphidia, that this while doth watch, 
 Perceiv'd if Puck the Queene should catch 
 That he should be her over-match. 
 
 Of which she well bethought her ; 
 Found it must be som powerfull Charme 
 The Queene against him that must arme. 
 Or surely he would doe her harme. 
 
 For thoroughly he had sought her. 
 
 And listning if she ought could heare 
 That her might/hinder or might fear, 
 But finding still the coast was cleare. 
 
 Nor creature had discride her ; 
 Each circumstance and having scand, 
 She came thereby to understand 
 Puck would be with her out of hand : 
 
 When to her Charmes she bide her. 
 
92 POBMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 And first her Feme seede doth bestow, 
 
 The kernell of the Mistletowe ; 
 
 And here and there as Puck should goe, 
 
 With terrour to affright him, 
 She Night-shade strawes to work him ill ; 
 Therewith her Vervayne and her Dill, 
 That hindreth Witches of their will, 
 
 Of purpose to dispight him. 
 
 Then sprinkles she the juice of Rue 
 That groweth underneath the Yeu, 
 With nine drops of the midnight dew. 
 
 From Lxinarie distilling ; 
 The Molewarps braine mixt therewithall. 
 And with the same the Pismyres gall, 
 For she in nothing short would fall — 
 
 The Fay fie was so willing. 
 
 Then thrice tinder a Bryer doth creepe, 
 Which at both ends was rooted deepe, 
 And over it three times shea leepe, 
 
 Her Magicke much avayling ; 
 Then on Proserpyna doth call 
 And so upon her Spell doth fall,. 
 Which here to you repeate I shall 
 
 Not in one tittle fayling. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 93 
 
 By the croking of the Frogge, 
 By the howling of the Dogge, 
 By the crying of the Hogge 
 
 Against the storme arising ; 
 By the Evening Curphewe bell, 
 By the dolefull dying knell, 
 O let this my direful Spell, 
 
 Hob, hinder thy surprising. 
 
 By the Mandrakes dreadful groanes, 
 By the Lubricans sad moanes, 
 By the noyse of dead mens bones. 
 
 In Charnell houses ratling ; 
 By the hissing of the Snake, 
 The rustling of the fire-Drake, 
 I charge thee thou this place forsake 
 
 Nor of Queene Mab be pratling. 
 
 By the Whirlewindes hollow sound, 
 By the Thunders dreadfull stound. 
 Yells of Spirits under ground, 
 
 I charge thee not to feare us : 
 By the Schreech-owles dismall note, 
 By the blacke Night-Ravens throate. 
 I charge thee. Hob, to teare thy Coate 
 
 With thorns if thou come neere us. 
 
94 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 Her Spell thus spoke she stept aside 
 And in a Chincke her selfe doth hide 
 To see there of what would betyde, 
 
 For shee doth onely minde him ; 
 When presently shee Puck espies. 
 And well she markt his gloating eyes, 
 How under every leafe he pries 
 
 In seeking still to finde them. 
 
 But, once the Circl6 got within, 
 
 The Charmes to worke doe straight begin 
 
 And he was caught as in a Gin ; 
 
 For as he thus was busie 
 A paine he in his Head-peece feeles, 
 Against a stubbed Tree he reeles, 
 And up went poore Hobgoblins hecles ; 
 
 Alas, his braine was dizzie. 
 
 At length upon his feet he gets : 
 Hobgoblin fumes, Hobgoblin frets,. 
 And as again he forward sets 
 
 And through the Bushes scrambles, 
 A Stump doth trip him in his pace — 
 Downe comes poore Hob upon his face 
 And lamentably tore his case 
 
 Amongst the Bryers and Brambles. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 95 
 
 A plague upon Queene Mab, quoth hee, 
 And all her Maydes where ere they be ! 
 I thinke the Devill guided me, 
 
 To seeke her so provoked : 
 When, stumbling at a piece of Wood, 
 He fell into a dich of mudd 
 Where to the very Chin he stood, 
 
 In danger to be choked. 
 
 Now, worse than er'e he was before, 
 
 Poore Puck doth yell, poore Puck doth rore, 
 
 That wak'd Queene Mab who doubted sore 
 
 Some Treason had beene wrought her ; 
 Untill Nimphidia told the Queene 
 What she had done, what she had scene, 
 Who then had well-neere crack'd her spleene 
 
 With very extreame laughter. 
 
 But leave we Hob to clamber out, 
 Queene Mab and all her Fayrie rout, 
 And come againe to have 4bout 
 
 With Oberon yet madding, 
 And with Pigwiggen now distrought 
 Who much was troubled in his thought 
 That he so long the Queene had sought, 
 
 And through the Fields was gadding. 
 
<)6 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 And as he runnes he still doth crie : 
 
 King Oberon I thee defie 
 
 And dare thee here in Armes to trie 
 
 For my deare Ladies honour, 
 For that she is a Queene right good 
 In whose defence He shed my blood, 
 And that thou in this jealous mood 
 
 Hast lay'd this slander on her. 
 
 And quickly armes him for the Field, 
 A little Cockle-shell his Shield, 
 Which he could very bravely wield. 
 
 Yet could It not be pierced : 
 His Speare a Bent both stiffe and strong 
 And well neere of two Inches long. 
 The Pyle was of a House-flyes tongue 
 
 Whose sharpnesse naught reversed. 
 
 And puts him on a coate of Male, 
 
 Which was of a Fishes scale; 
 
 That when his foe should him assaile 
 
 No poynt should be prevayling: 
 His Rapier was a Hornets sting, 
 It was a very dangerous thing; 
 For if he chanc'd to hurt the King 
 
 It would be long in healing. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 97 
 
 His Helmet was a Beetles head, 
 Most horrible and full of dread, 
 That able was to strike one dead, 
 
 Yet did it well become him ; 
 And for a plume a horses hayre, 
 Which, being tossed with the ayre. 
 Had Force to strike his foe with feare 
 
 And tume his weapon from him. 
 
 Himselfe he on an Earwig set. 
 
 Yet scarce he on his back could get, 
 
 So oft and high he did corvet 
 
 Ere he himselfe could settle : 
 He made him tume and stop and bound, 
 To gallop and to trot the Round ; 
 He scarce could stand on any ground. 
 
 He was so full of mettle. 
 
 When soone he met with Tomalin, 
 One that a valiant Knight had bin 
 And to King Oberon of kin : 
 
 Quoth he. Thou manly Fayrie, 
 Tell Oberon I come prepar'd, 
 Then bid him stand upon his Guard ; 
 This hand his basenesse shall reward, 
 
 Let him be ne'r so wary. 
 16 
 
98 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Say to him thus ; that I defie 
 His slanders and his infamie, 
 And as a mortall enemie 
 
 Doe publickly proclaime him ; 
 Withall, that if I had mine owne 
 He should not weare the Fayrie Crowne 
 But with a vengeance should come downe, 
 
 Nor we a King should name him. 
 
 This Tomalin could not abide 
 To heare his Soveraigne vilefide, 
 But to the Fayrie Court him hide, 
 
 Full furiously he posted ; 
 With ev'ry thing Pigwiggen sayd, 
 How title to the Crowne he layd 
 And in what Armes he was aray'd, 
 
 As how himselfe he boasted. 
 
 Twixt head and foot, from point to point, 
 
 He told th'arming of each joint. 
 
 In ev'ry piece how neate and quaint, 
 
 For Tomalin could doe it ; 
 How fayre he sat, how sure he rid. 
 As of the courser he bestrid, 
 How mannag'd and how well he did, 
 
 The King which listned to it. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 99 
 
 Quoth he, Goe, Tomalin, with speede, 
 Provide me armes, provide my Steed 
 And every thing that I shall neede, 
 
 By thee I will be guided ; 
 To strait account call thou thy witt, 
 See there be wanting not a whitt, 
 In every thing see thou mee fitt, 
 
 Just as my foes provided. 
 
 Soone flewe this newes through Fayrie land. 
 Which gave Queene Mab to understand, 
 The combate that was then in hand 
 
 Betwixt those men so mighty ; 
 Which greatly she began to rew, 
 Perceiving that all Fayrie knew 
 The first occasion from her grew 
 
 Of these affaires so weighty. 
 
 Wherefore, attended with her maides. 
 Through fogs and mists and dampes she wades 
 To Proserpine the Queene of shades. 
 
 To treat that it would please her 
 The cause into her hands to take 
 For ailcient love and friendships sake 
 And soone thereof an end to make, 
 
 Which of much care would ease her. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 A while there let we Mab alone 
 And come we to King Oberon 
 Who arm'd to meete his foe is gone 
 
 For Proud Pigwiggen crying ; 
 Who sought the Fayrie King as fast 
 And had so well his joumeyes cas^ 
 That he arrived at the last, 
 
 His puisant foe espying. 
 
 Stout Tontalin came with the King, 
 Tom Thum doth on Pigwiggen bring. 
 That perfect were in every thing 
 
 To single fights belonging ; 
 And therefore they themselves ingage 
 To see them exercise their rage 
 With faire and comely equipage. 
 
 Not one the other wronging. 
 
 So like in armes these champions were 
 
 As they had bin a very paire, 
 
 So that a man would almost sweare 
 
 That either had bin either; 
 Their furious steedes began to naye. 
 That they were heard a mighty way ; 
 Their staves upon their rests they lay ; 
 
 Yet, e'r they flew together, 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 Their Seconds minister an oath 
 Which was indifferent to them both 
 That on their Knightly faith and troth 
 
 No magicke them supplyed ; 
 And sought them that they had no charmes 
 Wherewith to worke each others harmes. 
 But came with simple open armes 
 
 To have their causes tryed. 
 
 Together furiously they ran 
 
 That to the ground came horse and man, 
 
 The blood out of their Helmets span, 
 
 So sharpe were their incounters ; 
 And though they to the earth were thrown c 
 Yet quickly they regain'd their owne ; 
 Such nimblenesse was never showne, — 
 
 They were two Gallant Mounters. 
 
 When in a second Course againe 
 
 They forward came with might and mayne, 
 
 Yet which had better of the twayne 
 
 The Seconds could not judge yet ; 
 Their shields were into pieces cleft, 
 Their helmets from their heads were reft, 
 And to defend them nothing left, 
 
 These Champions would not budge yet. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Away from them their Staves they threw, 
 Their cruell Swords they quickly drew 
 And freshly they the fight renew. 
 
 They every stroke redoubled ; 
 Which made Proserpina take heed 
 And make to them the greater speed 
 For feare lest they too much should bleed 
 
 Which wondrously her troubled, 
 
 When to th'infernall Stix she goes, 
 
 She takes the Fogs from thence that rose 
 
 And in a Bagge doth them inclose, 
 
 When well she had them blended ; 
 She hyes her then to Lethe spring, 
 A Bottell and thereof doth bring, 
 Wherewith she meant to worke the thing 
 
 Which onely she intended. 
 
 Now Proserpine with Mab is gone 
 Unto the place where Oberon 
 And proud Pigwiggen, one to one, 
 
 Both to be slaine were likely ;, 
 And there themselves they closely hide 
 Because they would not be espide. 
 For Proserpine meant to decide 
 
 The matter very quickly. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 103 
 
 And suddainly untyes the Poke, 
 Which out of it sent such a smoke 
 As ready was them all to choke 
 
 So grievous was the pother : 
 So that the knights each other lost 
 And stood as still as any post ; 
 Tom Thumb nor Tomalin could boast 
 
 Themselves of any other. 
 
 But when the mist gan somewhat cease 
 
 Proserpina commandeth peace, 
 
 And that a while they should release 
 
 Each other of their perill ; 
 Which here (quoth she) I doe proclaime 
 To all in dreadfull Plutos name 
 That as yee will eschewe his blame 
 
 You let me heare the quarrell. 
 
 But here your selves you must engage, 
 Somewhat to coole your spleenish rage, 
 Your greevous thirst and to asswage, 
 
 That first you drinke this liquor ; 
 Which shall your understanding cleare 
 As plainely shall to you appeare, 
 Those things from me that you shall heare 
 
 Conceiving much the quicker. 
 
I04 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 This Lethe water you must knowe 
 The memory destroyeth so 
 That of our weale or of our woe 
 
 It all remembrance blotted, 
 Of it nor can you ever thinke; 
 For they no sooner tooke this drinke, 
 But nought into their braines could sinks 
 
 Of what had them besotted. 
 
 King Oberon forgotten had 
 
 That he for jealousie ranne mad, 
 
 But of his Queene was wondrous glad, 
 
 And ask'd how they came thither; 
 Pigwiggen likewise doth forget 
 That he Queene Mab had ever met, 
 Or that they were so hard beset 
 
 When they were found together. 
 
 Nor neither of them both had thought 
 That e'r they had each other sought, 
 Much lesse that they a Combat fought, 
 
 But such a dreame were lothing:- 
 Tom Thumb had got a little sup. 
 And Tomalin scarce kist the Cup, 
 Yet had their braines so sure lockt up 
 
 That they remembred nothing. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 105 
 
 Queene Mab and her light Maydes the while 
 Amongst themselves doe closely smile 
 To see the King caught with this wile, 
 
 With one another jesting ; 
 And to the Fayrie Court they went 
 With mickle joy and merriment, 
 Which thing was done with good intent ; 
 
 And thus I left them feasting. 
 
 17 
 
io6 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 The Quest of Cynthia. 
 
 WHAT time the groves were clad in greene, 
 The Fields drest all in flowers, 
 And that the sleeke-hayr'd Nimphs were scene 
 To seeke them Summer Bowers, 
 
 Forth rov'd I by the sliding Rills 
 
 To finde where Cynthia sat, 
 Whose name so often from the hills 
 
 The Ecchos wondred at. 
 
 When me upon my Quest to bring, 
 
 That pleasure might excell, 
 The Birds strove which should sweetliest sing, 
 
 The Flowers which sweet'st should smell. 
 
 Long wandring in the Woods (said I) 
 
 Oh whether's Cynthia gone? 
 When soone the Eccho doth reply 
 
 To my last word, goe on. 
 
 \ 
 At length upon a lofty Firre 
 
 It was my chance to finde 
 
 Where that deare name most due to her 
 
 Was carv'd upon the rynde. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. ■i.':>-i 
 
 Which whilst with ^*onder I beheld, 
 
 The Bees their hony brought, 
 And up the carved letters fild 
 
 As they with gould were wrought. 
 
 And neere that trees more spacious roote, 
 
 Then looking on the ground. 
 The shape of her most dainty foot 
 
 Imprinted there I found ; 
 
 Which stuck there like a curious seale 
 
 As though it should forbid 
 Us wretched mortals to reveale 
 
 What under it was hid. 
 
 Besides the flowers which it had pres'd 
 
 Apeared to my vew 
 More fresh and lovely than the rest 
 
 That in the meadowes grew. 
 
 The cleere drops in the steps that stood 
 
 Of that delicious Girle 
 The Nimphes amongst their dainty food 
 
 Drunke for dissolved pearle. 
 
 The yeilding sand where she had troad, 
 
 Untutcht yet with the winde. 
 By the faire posture plainely show'd 
 
 Where I might Cynthia finde. 
 
io8 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 When on upon my waylesse walke, 
 
 As my desires me draw, 
 I like a madman fell to talke 
 
 With every thing I saw. 
 
 I ask'd some Lillyes why so white 
 They from their fellowes were, 
 
 Who answered me that Cynthia's sight 
 Had made them looke so cleare. 
 
 I ask'd a nodding Violet why 
 It sadly hung the head, 
 
 It told me Cynthia late past by, 
 Too soone from it that fled. 
 
 A bed of Roses saw I there, 
 Bewitching with their grace : 
 
 Besides so wondrous sweete they were 
 That they perfum'd the place. 
 
 I of a Shrube of those enquir'd, 
 
 From others of that kind, 
 Who with such vertue them enspir'd : 
 
 It answer'd (to my minde), 
 
 As the base Hemblocke were we such, 
 The poysned'st weed that growes. 
 
 Till Cynthia by her god-like tuch 
 Transform'd us to the Rose ; 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 109 
 
 Since when those Frosts that winter brings, 
 
 Which candy every greene, 
 Renew us like the Teeming Springs, 
 
 And we thus Fresh are seene. 
 
 At length I on a Fountaine light, 
 Whose brim with Pincks was platted, 
 
 The Banck with Daffadillies dight. 
 With grass like Sleave was matted. 
 
 When I demanded of that Well 
 
 What Power frequented there. 
 Desiring it would please to tell 
 
 What name it usde to. beare : 
 
 It told me it was Cynthias owne. 
 
 Within whose cheereful brimmes 
 That curious Nimph had oft beene knowne 
 
 To bath her snowy Limmes ; 
 
 Since when the Water had the power 
 
 Lost Mayden-heads to restore, 
 And make one Twenty in an howre 
 
 Of Esons Age before. 
 
 And told me that the bottome cleere 
 
 Now layd with many a fett 
 Of seed-pearle, ere shee bath'd her there. 
 
 Was knowne aa blacke as Jet ; 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 As when she from the water came 
 Where first she touch'd the molde, 
 
 In balls the people made the same 
 For Pomander and solde. 
 
 When chance me to an Arbour led, 
 
 Whereas I might behold, 
 Two blest Elizeums in one sted 
 
 The lesse the great enfold. 
 
 The place which she had chosen out 
 
 Her selfe in to repose, 
 Had they com'n downe, the gods no doubt 
 
 The very same had chose. 
 
 The wealthy Spring yet never bore 
 
 That sweet nor dainty flower 
 That damask'd not the chequer'd flore 
 
 Of Cynthias Summer Bower. 
 
 The Birch, the Mirtle, and the Bay 
 
 Like friends did all embrace. 
 And their large branches did display 
 
 To Canopy the place. 
 
 Where she like Venus doth appeare 
 
 Upon a Rosie bed. 
 As Lillyes the soft pillowes weare 
 
 Whereon she layd her head. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Heav'n on her shape such cost bestow'd 
 And with such bounties blest, 
 
 No lim of hers but might have made 
 A Goddesse at the least. 
 
 The Flyes by chance mesht in her hayre, 
 By the bright Radiance throwne 
 
 From her cleare eyes rich Jewels weare, 
 They so like Diamonds shone. 
 
 The meanest weede the soyle there bare 
 
 Her breath did so refine 
 That it with Woodbynd durst compare, 
 
 And beard the Eglantine. 
 
 The dewe, which on the tender grasse 
 
 The Evening had distill'd. 
 To pure Rose-water turned was, 
 
 The shades with sweets that fill'd. 
 
 The windes were husht, no leafe so small 
 
 At all was seene to stirre, 
 Whilst tuning to the waters fall 
 
 The small Birds sang to her ; 
 
 Where she too quickly me espies, • 
 
 When I might plainely see 
 A thousand Cupids from her eyes 
 
 Shoote all at onc« at me. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Into these secret shades (quoth she) 
 
 How dar'st thou be so bold 
 To enter, consecrate to me, 
 
 Or touch this hallowed mold ? 
 
 Those words (quoth she) I can pronounce 
 Which to that shape can bring 
 
 Thee, which the Hunter had who once •'" 
 Sawe Dian in the Spring. 
 
 Bright Nimph, againe I thus replie, 
 
 This cannot me affright ; 
 I had rather in Thy presence die 
 
 Than live out of thy sight 
 
 I first upon the Mountaines hie 
 
 Built Altars to thy nanie ; 
 And grav'd it on the Rocks thereby 
 
 To propogate thy fame. 
 
 I taught the Shepheards on the Downes 
 Of thee to frame their Layes ; 
 
 'Twas I that fiU'd the neighbouring Townes 
 With Ditties of thy praise. 
 
 Thy coloures I devis'd with care, 
 Which were unknown before. 
 
 Which, since that, in their braided hayre 
 The Nimphes and Silvans wore. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 1 1 3 
 
 Transforme me to what shape you can, 
 
 I passe not what it be ; 
 Yea, what most hatefull is to man, 
 
 So I may follow thee. 
 
 Which when she heard, full pearly drops 
 
 I in her eyes might view : 
 (Quoth she) most welcome to these Woods, 
 
 Too meane for one so true. 
 
 Here from the hatefull world wee'll live, 
 
 A den of mere dispight, 
 To Ideots onely that doth give, 
 
 Which be her sole delight ; 
 
 To people the infernall pit 
 
 That more and more doth strive ; 
 Where only Villany is wit 
 
 And Divels onely thrive. 
 
 Whose Vilenesse us shall never awe, 
 But here our sports shall be. 
 
 Such as the golden world first sawe. 
 Most innocent and free. 
 
 Of Simples in these Groves that growe 
 Wee'll learne the perfect skill, 
 
 The nature of each Herbe to knowe. 
 Which cures and which can kill. 
 18 
 
114 FOEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 The waxen Pallace of the Bee 
 
 We seeking will surprise, 
 The curious workmanship to see 
 
 Of her full laden thighes. 
 
 Wee'll suck the sweets out of the Combe 
 And make the gods repine, 
 
 As they doe feast Jn Joves great roome, 
 To see with what we dine. 
 
 Yet, when there haps a honey fall, 
 Wee'll lick the sirupt leaves, 
 
 And tell the Bees that their's is gall 
 To this upon the Greaves ; 
 
 The nimble Squirrell noting here 
 Her mossy Dray that makes. 
 
 And laugh to see the lusty Deere 
 Come bounding ore the brakes. 
 
 The Spiders Webb to watch weele stand, 
 And, when it takes the Bee, 
 
 Weele help out of the Tyrants hand 
 The Innocent to free. 
 
 Sometime weele angle at the Brooke 
 The freckled Trout to take. 
 
 With silken Wormes, and bayte the hooke 
 Which him our prey shall make. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 115 
 
 Of medling with such subtile tooles, 
 
 Such Dangers that enclose, 
 The Morrall is that painted Fooles 
 
 Are caught with silken showes. 
 
 And when the Moone doth once appeare 
 
 Weele trace the lower grounds, 
 When Fayries in their Ringlets there 
 
 Doe dance their nightly Rounds ; 
 
 And have a Flocke of Turtle Doves, 
 
 A guard on us to keepe 
 As witnesse of our honest loves 
 
 To watch us till we sleepe. 
 
 Which spoke, I felt such holy fires 
 
 To overspread my breast. 
 As lent life to my Chast Desires 
 
 And gave me endlesse rest. 
 
 By Cynthia thus doe I subsist. 
 
 On earth Heavens onely pride ; 
 Let her be mine, and let who list 
 
 Take all the world beside. 
 
1 1 6 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 The Shepheards Sirena, 
 
 7~\0RILUS in sorrowes deepe, 
 ■^^^ Autumne waxing olde and chill, 
 As he sate his Flocks to keepe 
 Underneath an easie hill, 
 Chanc'd to cast his eye aside 
 On those fields where he had scene 
 Bright Sirena, Natures pride, 
 Sporting on the pleasant greene ; 
 To whose walkes the Shepheards oft 
 Came, her god-like foote to finde, 
 And in places that were soft 
 Kist the print there left behinde : 
 Where the path which she had troad 
 Hath thereby more glory gayn'd 
 Then in Heav'n that milky way 
 Which with Nectar Hebe stayn'd. 
 But bleake Winters boystrous blasts 
 Now their fading pleasures chid 
 And so fill'd them with his wastes 
 That from sight her steps were hid. 
 Silly Shepheard sad the while 
 For his sweet Sirena gone. 
 All his pleasures in exile, 
 Layd on the colde earth alone ; 
 Whilst his gamesome cut-tayld Curre 
 With his mirthlesse Master playes 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 1 1 7 
 
 Striving him with sport to stirre 
 As in his more youthful! dayes. 
 Dorilus his Dogge doth chide, 
 Lays his well-tun'd Bagpype by 
 And his Sheep-hooke casts aside ; 
 There (quoth he) together lye. 
 When a Letter forth he tooke, 
 Which to him Sirena Writ, 
 With a Deadly downe-cast looke, ~ 
 And thus fell to reading it, 
 
 Dorilus, my deare (quoth she) 
 Kinde Companion of my woe. 
 Though we thus divided be. 
 Death cannot divorce us so. 
 Thou whose bosome hath beene still 
 Th'onely Closet of my care. 
 And in all my good and ill 
 Ever had thy equall share ; 
 Might I winne thee from thy Fold, 
 Thou shouldst come to visite me, 
 But the Winter is so cold 
 That I feare to hazard thee. 
 The wilde waters are waxt hie, 
 So they are both deafe and dumbe, 
 Lov'd they thee so well as I 
 They would ebbe when thou shouldst come ; 
 Then my Coate with light should shine, 
 Purer than the Vestall fire ; 
 Nothing here but shall be thine 
 That thy heart can well desire : 
 Where at large we will relate 
 
1 1 8 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 From what cause our friendship grewe. 
 And in that the varying Fate 
 Since we first each other knewe ; 
 Of my heavie passed plight, 
 As of many a future feare, 
 Which except the silent night 
 None but onely thou shalt heare. 
 My sad heart it shall releeve, 
 When my thoughts I shall disclose, 
 For thou canst not chuse but greeve 
 When I shall recount my woes : 
 There is nothing to that friend 
 To whose close uncranied brest 
 We our secret thoughts may send, 
 And there safely let it rest. 
 And thy faithfull counsel! may 
 My distressed case assist ; 
 Sad affliction else may sway 
 Me a woman as it list. 
 Hither would I have thee haste, 
 Yet would gladly have thee stay, 
 When those dangers I forecast 
 That may meet thee by the way. 
 Doe as thou shalt thinke it best ; 
 Let thy knowledge be thy guide ; 
 Live thou in my constant breast 
 Whatsoever shall betide. 
 
 He her Letter having red 
 Puts it in his Scrip againe. 
 Looking like a man halfe dead. 
 By her kindnesse strangely slaine ; 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 1 19 
 
 And as one who inly knew 
 Her distressed present state, 
 And to her had still been true, 
 Thus doth with himselfe delate. 
 
 I will not thy face admire. 
 Admirable though it bee, 
 Nor thine eyes whose subtile fire 
 So much wonder winne in me ; 
 But my marvell shall be now 
 (And of long it hath bene so) 
 Of all Woman kind that thou 
 Wert ordain'd to taste of woe. 
 To a Beauty so divine, 
 Paradise in little done, 
 
 that Fortune should assigne 
 
 Ought but what thou well mightst shun. 
 But my counsailes such must bee 
 (Though as yet I them conceale) 
 By their deadly wound in me 
 They my hurt must onely heale. 
 Could I give what thou do'st crave. 
 To that passe thy state is growne 
 
 1 thereby thy life may save 
 
 But am sure to loose mine owne. 
 To that joy, thou do'st conceive. 
 Through my heart the way doth lye, 
 Which in two for thee must cl[e]ave 
 Lest that thou shouldst go awry. 
 Thus my death must be a toy 
 Which my pensive breast must cover; 
 Thy beloved to enjoy 
 
120 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 Must be taught thee by thy Lover. 
 Hard the Choise I have to chuse: 
 To myselfe if friend I be 
 I must my Sirena loose ; 
 If not so shee looseth me. 
 
 Thus whilst he doth cast about 
 What therein were best to doe, 
 Nor could yet resolve the doubt 
 Whether he should stay or goe ; 
 In those Fields not farre away 
 There was many a frolike Swaine, 
 In fresh Ruffers day by day 
 That kept Revells on the Plaine : 
 Nimble Tom, sirnam'd the Tup, 
 For his Pipe without a Peere, 
 And could tickle Trenchmore up 
 As t'would joy your heart to heare ; 
 Ralph, as much renown'd for skill, 
 That the Taber touch'd so well ; 
 For his Cittern little Gill, 
 That all others did excell ; 
 Rock and Rollo every way 
 Who still led the Rusticke Ging, 
 And could troule a Roundelay 
 That would make the Fields to ring ; 
 Collin on his Skaltne so cleare 
 Many a high-pitcht Note that had 
 And could make the Ecchos nere 
 Shout as they were wexen mad. 
 Many a lusty Swaine beside, 
 That for nought but pleasure car'd, 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 Having Dorilus espy'd 
 
 And with him knew how it far'd, 
 
 Thought from him they would remove 
 
 This strong melancholy fitt, 
 
 Or so, should it not behove, 
 
 Quite to put him out of 's witt ; 
 
 Having learnt a Song which he 
 
 Sometime to Sirena sent. 
 
 Full of jollity and glee, 
 
 When the Nimph liv'd neere to Trent ; 
 
 They behinde him softly gott, 
 
 Lying on the earth along. 
 
 And when he suspected not 
 
 Thus the Joviall Shepheards song. 
 
 Neare to the Silver Trent 
 
 Sirena dwelleth, 
 Shee to whom Nature lent 
 
 all that excelleth ; 
 By which the Muses late 
 
 and the neate Graces, 
 Have for their greater state 
 
 taken their places : 
 Twisting an Anadem 
 
 wherewith to Crowne her. 
 As it belong'd to them 
 most to renowne her, 
 Cho : On thy Bancke, 
 
 In a Rancke, 
 Let thy Swanes sing her 
 And with their Musick 
 
 along let tliem bring her. 
 19 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 Tagiis and Pactolus 
 
 are to thee Debter, 
 Nor for their gould to us 
 
 ere they the better : 
 Henceforth of all the rest 
 
 be thou the River 
 Which as the daintiest 
 
 puts them downe ever ; 
 For as my precious one 
 
 O'r thee doth travell 
 She to Pearle Parragon 
 turneth thy gravell 
 Cho : On thy Bancke, 
 
 In a Rancke, 
 Let thy Swanns sing her 
 And with their Musicke 
 
 along let them bring her. 
 
 Our moumefull Philomell 
 
 that rarest Tuner, 
 Henceforth in Aperill 
 
 shall wake the sooner. 
 And to her shall complaine 
 
 from the thicke Cover, 
 Redoubling every straine 
 
 over and over; 
 For when my Love too long 
 
 her chamber keepeth. 
 As though it suffered wrong 
 
 the Morning weepeth. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 123 
 
 Cho : On thy Bancke, 
 
 In a Rancke 
 
 Let thy S wanes sing Iicr 
 And with tJteir Mustek 
 
 along let tliem bring Iter. 
 
 Oft have I scene the Sunne, 
 
 to doe her honour, 
 Fix himselfe at his noone 
 
 to looke upon her, 
 And hath guilt every Grove 
 
 every Hill neare her 
 With his flame from above 
 striving to cheere her ; 
 And when shce from his sight 
 
 hath her selfe turned, 
 He as it had beene night 
 
 in Cloudes hath mourned. 
 Cho : On thy Baricke, 
 
 hi a Rancke, 
 Let thy Swanns sing Iier 
 And with their Musicke 
 
 along let tliem bring her. 
 
 The Verdant Meades are seene, 
 
 when she doth view them, 
 In fresh and gallant Greene 
 
 straight to renewe them ; 
 And every little Grasse 
 
 broad it selfe spreadeth. 
 
124 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Proud that this bonny Lasse 
 
 upon it treadeth ; 
 Nor flower is so sweete 
 
 in this large Cincture, 
 But it upon her feete 
 
 leaveth some Tincture. 
 Cho : On tliy Bancke, 
 
 In a Rancke 
 Let thy Swanns sing her 
 A7id with their Musick 
 
 Along let them bring her. 
 
 The Fishes in the Flood, 
 
 when she doth Angle, 
 For the Hooke strive a good 
 
 them to entangle, 
 And leaping on the Land 
 from the cleare water 
 Their Scales upon the sand 
 
 lavishly scatter ; 
 Therewith to pave the mould 
 
 whereon she passes, 
 So her selfe to behold 
 as in her glasses, 
 Cho : On thy Bancke, 
 
 In a Rancke, 
 Let thy Swatini sing her. 
 And with tlieir Musicke 
 
 along let them bring her. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 1 25 
 
 When shee lookes out by night 
 
 the Starres stand gazing, 
 Like Commets to our sight 
 
 fearefully blazing, 
 As wondring at her eyes 
 
 with their much brightnesSe, 
 Which so amaze the skies, 
 
 dimming their lightnesse ; 
 The raging Tempests are calme 
 
 when shee speaketh, 
 Such most delightsome balrrte 
 
 from her lips breaketh. 
 Cho : On thy Bancke 
 
 In a Ra7icke &c. 
 
 In all our Brittany 
 
 ther's not a fayrer, 
 Nor can you iitt any 
 
 should you compare her ; 
 Angels her eye-lids keepe, 
 
 all harts surprizing, 
 Which looke, whilst she doth sleepe, 
 
 Like, the Sunnes rising : 
 She alone of her kinde 
 
 knoweth the measure, 
 And her unmatched mind 
 is Heavens treasure. 
 Cho : On thy Bancke, 
 
 In a RajtckCj 
 Let thy Swanes sing Jier, 
 And with t/teir Musick 
 
 along let them bring her. 
 
126 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Fayre Dove and Darwine cleere, 
 
 boast yee your beauties, 
 To Trent your Mistres here 
 
 yet pay your duties : 
 My Love was higher borne, 
 
 tow'rds the full Fountaines, 
 Yet she doth Moorland scome 
 
 and the Peake Mountaines ; 
 Nor would she none should dreame, 
 
 where she abideth 
 Humble as is the streame 
 which by her slydeth 
 Cho : On thy Bancke, 
 
 In a Rancke, 
 Let thy Swanns sing her. 
 And with their Musick 
 
 along let them bring her.. 
 
 Yet my poore Rusticke Muse 
 
 nothing can move her. 
 Nor the meanes I can use 
 
 though her true Lover : 
 Many a long Winter's night 
 
 have I wak'd for her. 
 Yet this my piteous plight 
 
 nothing can stirre her: 
 All thy Sands silver Trent 
 downe to the Number, 
 The sighes that I have spent 
 
 never can number. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 127 
 
 Cbo : On thy Bancke, 
 
 In a Rancke, 
 Let thy Swans sing her 
 And with tJteir Musicke 
 
 along let tliem bring lier. 
 
 Taken with this suddaine Song, 
 Least for mirth when he doth look, 
 His sad heart more deeply stong 
 Then the former care he tooke : 
 At their laughter and amaz'd, 
 For a while he sat aghast 
 But a little having gaz'd 
 Thus he then bespoke at last. 
 
 Is this time for mirth (quoth he) 
 To a man with griefe opprest, 
 Sinfull wretches as you be, 
 May the sorrowes in my breast 
 Light upon you one by one, 
 And as now you mocke my woe, 
 When your mirth is turn'd to moane 
 May your like then serve you so. 
 
 When one Swaine among the rest 
 Thus him merily bespake : — 
 Get thee up, thou arrant beast ; 
 Fits this season love to make ? 
 Take thy Sheephooke in thy hand, 
 Clap thy Curre and set him on ; 
 For our fields t'is time to stand, 
 Or they quickly will be gon. 
 Rouguish Swineheards that repine 
 
1 28 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 At our Flocks, like beastly Clovvnes, 
 
 Sweare that they will bring their Swine 
 
 And will wroote up all our Downes. 
 
 They their Holly whips have brac'd, 
 
 And tough Hazell goades have gott; 
 
 Soundly they your sides will baste 
 
 If their courage faile them not. 
 
 Of their purpose if they speed 
 
 Then your Bagpypes you may burne ; 
 
 It is neither Droane nor Reed, 
 
 Shepheard, that will serve your turne. 
 
 Angry Olcon sets them on 
 
 And against us part doth take^ 
 
 Ever since he was out-gone 
 
 Offring Rymes with us to make. 
 
 Yet, if so our Sheep-hookes hold, 
 
 Dearly shall our Downes be bought ; 
 
 For it never shall be told 
 
 We our Sheep-walkes sold for na-ught.. 
 
 And we here have got us Dogges 
 
 Best of all the Westerne breeds 
 
 Which, though Whelps, shall lug their Hogges 
 
 Till they make their eares to bleed :, 
 
 Therefore Shepheard come away. 
 
 Whereas Dorilus arose 
 
 Whistles Cut-tayle from his play, 
 
 And along with them he goes. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 129 
 
 From " The BattaiU of Agincourt" 1627. 
 
 THE man whose way from London hap'd to lye 
 By those he met might guesse the generall force, 
 Daily encountred as he passed by 
 Now with a Troupe of Foote and then of Horse; 
 To whom the people still themselves apply, 
 Bringing them victuals as in meere remorce : 
 And still the acclamation of the presse, 
 Saint George for England to your good successe! 
 
 There might a man have scene in ev'ry Streete 
 
 The Father bidding farewell to his Sonne ; 
 
 Small Children kneeling at their Fathers feete ; 
 
 The Wife with her deare Husband ne'r had done ; 
 
 Brother his Brother with adieu to greete ; 
 
 One Friend to take leave of another runne ; 
 The Mayden, with her best belov'd to part. 
 Gave him her hand who tooke away her heart 
 
 The nobler Youth, the common ranke above, 
 On their corvetting Coursers mounted faire, 
 One ware his Mistris Garter, one her Glove ; 
 And he a lock of his deare Ladies haire. 
 And he her Colours whom he most did love; 
 There was not one but did some Favour weare : 
 And each one tooke it on his happy speede, 
 To make it famous by some Knightly deede. 
 
130 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 From " TheBattaiUofAgincourt," \(a!j. 
 
 A description of TV T QW doc they mount their Ordnance for the day, 
 Harflewe in the V\ Their Scaling Ladders rearing to the walls, 
 ^stin^"^ Their battering Rammes against the gates they lay, 
 Their brazen slings send in the wilde-fire balls. 
 Baskets of twigs now carie stones and clay ; 
 And to th'assault who furiously not falls ? 
 
 The Spade and Pickax working are belowe. 
 Which then unfelt yet gave the greatest blowe. 
 
 Rampiers of earth the painefull Pyoners raise 
 With the walls equall, close upon the Dike, 
 To passe by which the Souldier that assayes 
 On Planks thrust over, one him downe doth strike ; 
 Him with a mall a second English payes ; 
 A second French transpearc'd him with a Pyke : 
 That from the height of the embattel'd Towers, 
 Their mixed blood runne downe the walls in showers. 
 
 A French man back into the Towne doth fall, 
 With a sheafe Arrow shot into the head ; 
 An English man in scaling of the wall 
 From the same place is by a stone struck dead ; 
 Tumbling upon them logs of wood, and all 
 That any way for their defence might sted : 
 The hills at hand re-echoing with the din 
 Of shouts without and fearefull shrieks within 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 131 
 
 When all at once the English men assaile, 
 
 The French within all valiantly defend, 
 
 And in a first assaulte, if any faile 
 
 They by a second strive it to amend : 
 Crosimu Qut of the Towne come quarries thick as haile, 
 
 As thick againe their Shafts the English send : 
 
 The bellowing Canon from both sides doth rore 
 With such a noise as makes the Thunder pore. 
 
 Now upon one side you should heare a cry 
 And all that Quarter clowded with a smother ; 
 The like from that against it by and by ; 
 As though the one were eccho to the other, 
 The King and Clarence so their turnes can ply, 
 And valiant Gloster showes himselfe their brother, 
 
 Whose Mynes to the besieg'd more mischiefe doe 
 Then, with th'assaults above, the other two 
 
 An olde man sitting by the fier side, 
 Decrepit with extreamity of Age, 
 Stilling his little Grand-childe when it cride, 
 Almost distracted with the Batteries rage ; 
 Sometimes doth speake it faire, sometimes doth chide 
 As thus he seekes its mourning to asswage, 
 By chance a Bullet doth the chimney hit. 
 Which, falling in, doth kill both him and it. 
 
132 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Whilst the sad weeping Mother sits her downe, 
 To give her little new-borne Babe the Pap, 
 A luckless quarry leveld at the Towne 
 Kills the sweet Baby sleeping in her lap, 
 That with the fright shee falls into a swoone. 
 From which awak'd, and mad with the mishap, 
 As up a Rampire shreeking she doth dim, 
 Comes a great Shot and strikes her lim from lim. 
 
 Whilst a sort runne confusedly to quench 
 
 Some Pallace burning or some fired Street, 
 
 Call'd from where they were fighting in the Trench, 
 
 They in their way with Balls of Wild-fire meet ; 
 
 So plagued are the miserable French, 
 
 Not above head but also under feet, 
 
 For the fierce English Vowe the Towne to take 
 Or of it soone a heape of stones to make. 
 
 Hot is the Siege, the English comming on, 
 As men so long to be kept out that scome, 
 Carelesse of wounds as they were made of stone, 
 As with their teeth the walls they would have torne ; 
 Into a Breach who quickly is not gone 
 Is by the next behine him over-borne; 
 
 So that they found a place that gave thep way. 
 They never car'd what danger therein lay. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 133 
 
 From ev'ry Quarter they their course must plye 
 
 As't pleas'd the King them to th'assault to call ; 
 
 Now on the Duke of Yorke the charge doth lye ; 
 
 To Kent and Cornwall then the turne doth fall ; 
 
 Then Huntingdon up to the walls they crye. 
 
 Then Suffolke and then Bxcester ; which all 
 
 In their meane Souldiers habits us'd to goe, 
 Taking such part as those that own'd them doe. 
 
 The men of Harflew rough excursions make 
 Upon the English, watchfuU in their Tent, 
 Whose courages they to their cost awake. 
 With many a wound that often back them sent, 
 So proud a Sal^ that durst undertake. 
 And in the chase pell raell amongst them went ; 
 For on the way such ground of them they win 
 That some French are shut out, some English in. 
 
 Nor idely sit our men at Armes the while, 
 Foure thousand Horse that ev'ry day goe out. 
 And of the Field are Masters many a mile 
 By putting their Rebellious French to rout ; 
 No Peasants them with promises beguile. 
 Another bus'nesse they are come about : 
 
 For him they take his Ransome must redeeme, 
 Onely French Crownes the English men esteeme. 
 
134 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Whilst English Henry lastly meanes to try 
 By three vast Mynes the walls to overthrowe, 
 The French men, their approches that espye, 
 By Countermynes doe meet with them belowe, 
 And as opposed in the Workes they lye 
 Up the Besieged the Besiegers blowe, 
 
 That, stifled quite with powder as with dust, 
 Longer to walls they found it vaine to trust. 
 
 Till Gaucourt then and Tuttivile that were 
 
 The Townes Commanders (with much perill) finde 
 
 The Resolution that the English beare, 
 
 As how their owne to yeelding were inclinde, 
 
 Summon to parly, off'ring frankly there, 
 
 If that ayde came not by a day assignde, 
 
 To give the Towne up, might their lyves stand free ; 
 
 As for their goods, at Henries will to be. 
 
 And having wonne their conduct to the King, 
 Those hardy Chiefes on whom the charge had layne 
 Thither those well-fed Burgesses doe bring. 
 What they had ofTred strongly to maintaine 
 In such a case, although a dang'rous thing; 
 Yet they so long upon their knees remaine 
 
 That five dayes respight from his Grant they have, 
 Which Wcis the most they (for their lives) durst crave. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 135 
 
 The time prefixed comming to expire, 
 And their reliefe ingloriously delay'd ; 
 Nothing within their sight but sword and fire, 
 And bloody Ensignes ev'ry where display'd ; 
 The English still within themselves entire : 
 When all these things Uiey seriously had way'd. 
 To Henries mercy found that they must trust. 
 For they perceiv'd their owne to be injust; 
 
 The Ports are opened, weapons layd aside. 
 And from the Walls th' Artillery displac'd; 
 The Armes of England are advanc'd in pride. 
 The watch Tower with Saint Georges Banner grac'd ; 
 Live Englands Henry ! all the people cride ; 
 Into the Streetes their women runne in hast. 
 Bearing their little Children for whose sake 
 They hop'd the King would the more mercy take. 
 
 The gates thus widened with the breath of Warre 
 Their ample entrance to the English gave ; 
 There was no dore that then had any barre, 
 For of their owne not any thing they have ; 
 When Henry comes on his Emperiall Carre, 
 To whom they kneele, their lives alone to save, 
 England «/«/A Strucken with wonder when that face they sawe, 
 
 Hajilew in _ . - - 
 
 triumph. Wherein such mercy was with so much awe. 
 
 The King of 
 
136 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 From the 1627 ColUction. 
 
 Of his Ladies not Comming to London. 
 
 THAT ten-yeares-travell'd Greeke return'd from Sea 
 Ne'r ioyd so much to see his Ithaca 
 As I should you, who are alone to me 
 More then wide Greece could to that wanderer ba 
 The winter winds still Easterly doe keepe, 
 And with keene Frosts have chained up the deepe ; 
 The Sunne's to us a niggard of his Rayes, 
 But revelleth with our Antipodes, 
 And seldome to us when he shewes his head, 
 Muffled in vapours, he straight hies to bed. 
 In those bleake mountaines can you live where snowe 
 Maketh the vales up to the hilles to growe, 
 Whereas mens breathes doe instantly congeale 
 And attom'd mists turne instantly to hayle? 
 Belike you thinke from this more temperate cost 
 My sighes may have the power to thawe the frost. 
 Which I from hence should swiftly send you thither. 
 Yet not so swift as you come slowly hither. 
 How many a time hath Phebe from her wayne 
 With Phoebus fires fill'd up her homes againe: 
 Shee through her Orbe still on her course doth range. 
 But you keep yours still nor for me will change. 
 The Sunne that mounted the sterne Lions back 
 Shall with the Fishes shortly dive the Brack ; 
 But still you keep your station which confines 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 137 
 
 You, nor regard him travelling the signes. 
 
 Those ships which, when you went, put out to Sea, 
 
 Both to our Greenland and Virginia, 
 
 Are now return'd, and Custom'd have their fraught ; 
 
 Yet you arrive not, nor returne me ought. 
 
 The Thames was not so frozen yet this yeare 
 As is my bosome with the chilly feare 
 Of your not comming, which on me doth light 
 As on those Climes where halfe the world is night. 
 
 Of every tedious houre you have made two 
 All this long Winter here by missiTig you : 
 Minutes are monthes and when the houre is past, 
 A yeare is ended since the Clocke strooke last ; 
 When your remembrance puts me on the Racke 
 And I should swound to see an Alnuxnacke, 
 To reade what silent weekes away are slid 
 Since the dire Fates you from my sight have hid. 
 
 I hate him who the first Devisor was 
 Of this same foolish thing, the Hower-glasse, 
 And of the Watch, whose dribbling sands and Wheele 
 With their slow stroakes make mee too much to feele 
 Your slacknesse hither. O how I doe ban 
 Him that these Dialls against walles began. 
 Whose Snayly motioo of the mooving hand 
 (Although it goe) yet seeme to me to stand, 
 As though at Adam it ^ had first set out 
 And had been stealing all this while about, 
 And when it backe to the first point should come 
 It shall be then just at the generall Doome. 
 
 The Seas into themselves retract their flowes, 
 The changing Winde from every quarter blowes ; 
 
138 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Declining Winter in the Spring doth call, 
 The Starrs rise to us as from us they fall ; 
 Those Birdes we see, that leave us in the Prime, 
 Again in Autumne re-salute our Clime. 
 Sure, either Nature you from kinde hath made, 
 Or you delight else to be Retrograde. 
 
 But I perceive by your attractive powers, 
 Like an Inchantresse, you have charm'd the howers 
 Into short minutes, and have drawne them back. 
 So that of us at London you doe lack 
 Almost a yeare ; the Spring is scarse begone 
 Then where you are, and Autumne almost done 
 With us more Eastward. Surely you devise 
 By your strong Magicke that the Sunne shall rise 
 Where now it setts, and that in some few yeares 
 You'l alter quite the Motion of the Spheares. 
 
 Yes, and you meane I shall, complaine my love 
 To gravell'd Walkes or to a stupid Grove, 
 Now your companions ; and that you the while 
 (As you are cruell) will sit by and smile 
 To make me write to these, while Passers by 
 Sleightly looke in your lovely face where I 
 See Beauties heaven, whilst silly blockheads they 
 Like laden Asses plod upon their way 
 And wonder not, as you should point a Clowne 
 Up to the Guards or Ariadnes Crowne, 
 Of Constellations and his dulnesse tell, 
 Hee'd thinke your words were certainly a spell ; 
 Or him some peice from Greet or Marcus show. 
 In all his life which till that time ne'r saw 
 Painting, except in Alehouse or old Hall, 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 139 
 
 Done by some Druzzler of the Prodigall. 
 
 Nay doe ; stay still, whilst time away shall steale 
 Your youth and beautie, and your selfe conceale 
 From me, I pray you ; you have now inur'd 
 Me to your absence, and I have endur'd 
 Your want this long, whilst I have starved bine 
 For your short Letters, as you held it sinne 
 To write to me, that to appease my woe 
 I reade ore those you writ a yeare agoe, 
 Which are to me as though they had bin made 
 Long time before the first Olympiad. 
 
 For thankes and curt'sies sell your presence then 
 To tatling Worrien and to things like Men, 
 And be more foolish then the Indians are, 
 For Bells, for Knives, for Glasses and such ware 
 That sell their Pearle and Gold ; — but here I stay. 
 So would I not have you but come away. 
 
I40 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 .Frirm the 1627 Collectiim. 
 
 To my most dearly-loved friend Henery Reynolds 
 Esquire, of Poets and Poesie. 
 
 MY dearely loved friend, how oft have we 
 In winter evenings (meaning to be free) 
 To some well chosen place us'd to retire, 
 And there with moderate meate and wine and fire 
 Have passed the howers contentedly with chat ; 
 Now talk'd of this and then discours'd of that ; 
 Spoke our owne verses 'twixt our selves, if jiot, 
 Other mens lines which we by chance had got, 
 Or some Stage pieces famous long before 
 Of which your happy memory had store ; 
 And I remember you much pleased were 
 Of those who lived long agoe to heare. 
 As well as of those of these latter times 
 Who have inricht our language with their rimes, 
 And in succession how still up they grew ; 
 Which is the subject that I now pursue. 
 For from my cradle you must know that I 
 Was still inclin'd to noble Poesie; 
 And when that once Pueriles I had read 
 And newly had my Cato construed, 
 In my small selfe I greatly marveil'd then 
 Amongst all others what strange kinde of men 
 These Poets were ; and pleased with the name 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 141 
 
 To my milde Tutor merrily I came, 
 
 (For I was then a proper goodly page, 
 
 Much like a Pigmy, scarse ten years of age) 
 
 Clasping my slender armes about his thigh : 
 
 " O my deare master, cannot you " (quoth I) 
 
 Make me a Poet ? doe it, if you can. 
 
 And you shall see lie quickly be a man." 
 
 Who me thus answered smiling: "Boy," quoth he, 
 
 " If you'le not play the wag, but I may see 
 
 You ply your learning, I will shortly read 
 
 Some Poets to you." Phoebus be my speed ! 
 
 Too't hard went I, when shortly he began, 
 
 And first read to me honest Mantuan, 
 
 Then Virgils Eglogues. Being entred thus, 
 
 Me thought I straight had mounted Pegasus 
 
 And in his full Careere could make him stop 
 
 And bound upon Parnassus by-clift top. 
 
 I scornd your ballet then, though it were done 
 
 And had for Finis William Elderton. 
 
 But soft ; in sporting with this childish jest, 
 I from- my subject have too long digrest ; 
 Then to the matter that we took in hand — 
 Jove and ApMo for the Muses stand ! 
 
 That noble Chaucer in those former times 
 The first inrich'd our English with his rimes 
 And was the first of ours that ever brake 
 Into the Muses treasure and first spake 
 In weighty numbers, delving in the Mine 
 Of perfect knowledge, which he could refine 
 And coyne for currant ; and as much as then 
 The English language could expresse to men, 
 
142 POEMS OF MICHAEL BRA YTON. 
 
 He made it doe, and by his wondrous skill 
 Gave us much light from his abundant quill. 
 
 And honest Gower who, in respect of him. 
 Had only sipt at Aganippas brimme. 
 And though in yeares this last was him before 
 Yet fell he far short of the others store. 
 When after those, foure ages very neare, 
 They with the Muses which conversed were 
 That Princely Surrey, early in the time 
 Of the Eight Henry, who was then the prime 
 Of Englands noble youth : with him there came 
 Wyat, with reverence .whom we still doe name 
 Amongst our Poets : Brian had a share 
 With the two former, which accompted are 
 That times best makers^ and the authors were 
 Of those small poems which the title beare 
 Of songs and sonnets, wherein oft they hit 
 On many dainty passages of wit. 
 
 Gascoigne and Churchyard after them againe, 
 In the beginning of Eliza's raine, 
 Accompted were great Meterers many a day, 
 But not inspired with brave fier : had they 
 Liv'd but a little longer, they had scene 
 Their workes before them to have buried beene. 
 
 Grave morrall Spender after these came on. 
 Then whom I am perswaded there was none, 
 Since the blind Bard his Iliads up did make. 
 Fitter a tciske like that to undertake; 
 To set downe boldly, bravely to invent. 
 In all high knowledge surely excellent 
 
 The noble Sidney with this last arose, 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 143 
 
 That Heroe for numbers and for Prose ; 
 
 That throughly pac'd our language as to show 
 
 The plenteous English hand in hand might goe 
 
 With Greeke and Latine ; and did first reduce 
 
 Our tongue from Lilies writing then in use, 
 
 Talking of Stones, Stars, Plants, of Fishes, Flyes, 
 
 Playing with words and idle Similies, 
 
 As \}cl English Apes and very Zanies be 
 
 Of every thing that they doe heare and see ; 
 
 So imitating his ridiculous tricks 
 
 They spake and writ all like meere lunatiques. 
 
 Then Warner though his lines were not so trim'd, 
 Nor yet his Poem so exactly lim'd 
 And neatly joynted but the Criticke may 
 Easily reproove him, yet thus let me say 
 For my old friend : some passages there be 
 In him which, I protest, have taken me 
 With almost wonder ; so fine, cleere and new. 
 As yet they have bin equalled by few. 
 
 Next^ Marlow, bathed in the Thespian springs, 
 Had in him those brave translunary things 
 That the first Poets had ; his raptures were 
 All ayre and fire, which made his verses cleere ; 
 For that fine madnes still he did retaine 
 Which rightly should possesse a Poets braine. 
 
 And surely Nashe, though he a Proser were, 
 A branch of Lawrell yet deserves to beare ; 
 Sharply Satirick was he, and that way 
 He went that^ since his being to this day 
 
 • Ed. 1627, Neat. 
 
 » Ed. 1627, Since that. 
 
144 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Few have attempted ; and I surely thinke 
 Those words shall hardly be set downe with inke 
 Shall scorch and blast so as his could where hee 
 Would inflict vengeance. And be it said of thee, 
 Shakespeare, thou hadst as smooth a Comicke vaine 
 Fitting the sock, and in thy naturall braine 
 As strong conception and as cleere a rage 
 As any one that trafiqu'd with the stage. 
 
 Amongst these Samuel Daniel, whom if I 
 May speake of but to sensure doe denie, 
 Onely have heard some wise men him rehearse 
 To be too much Historian in verse : 
 His rimes were smooth, his meeters well did close. 
 But yet his maner better fitted prose. 
 Next these learn'd Jokitsvn in this List I bring, 
 Who had drunke deepe of the Pierian spring. 
 Whose knowledge did him worthily prefer 
 And long was Lord here of the Theater : 
 Who in opinion made our learn'd to sticke 
 Whether in Poems rightly dramatique 
 Strong Seneca or Plautus, he or they, 
 Should beare the Buskin or the Socke away. 
 Others againe here lived in my dayes 
 That have of us deserved no lesse praise 
 For their translations then the daintiest wit 
 That on Parnassus thinks he highst doth sit, 
 And for a chaire may mongst the Muses call 
 As the most curious maker of them all : 
 As reverent \sie\ Chapman who hath brought to us 
 Musaeus, Homer, and Hesiodus 
 Out of the Greeke, and by his skill hath rear'd 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 145 
 
 Them to that height and to our tongue endear'd 
 That, were those Poets at this day alive 
 To see their bookes thus with us to survive, 
 They would think, having neglected them so long, 
 They had bin written in the English tongue. 
 
 And Silvester who from the French more weake 
 Made Bartas of his sixe dayes labour speake 
 In naturall English, who, had he there stay'd, 
 He had done well and never had bewraid 
 His own invention to have bin so poore, 
 Who still wrote lesse in striving to write more. 
 
 Then dainty Sands that hath to English done 
 Smooth sliding Ovid and hath made him run 
 With so much sweetnesse and unusuall grace 
 As though the neatnesse of the English pace 
 Should tell the letting Lattine that it came 
 But slowly after as though stiffe and lame. 
 
 So Scotland sent us hither for our owne 
 That man whose name I ever would have knowne 
 To stand by mine, that most ingenious knight. 
 My Alexander, to whom in his right 
 I want extreamely, yet in speaking thus 
 I doe but shew the love that was twixt us. 
 And not his numbers, which were brave and hie, 
 Soe like his mind was his cleare Poesie. 
 And my deare Drummond to whom much I owe 
 For his much love, and proud I was to know 
 His poesie : for which two worthy men 
 I Menstry still shall love and Hautliorne-den. 
 Then the two Beamounts and my Browne arose, 
 My deare companions whom I freely chose 
 
146 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 My bosome friends, and in their severall wayes 
 Rightly borne Poets, and in these last dayes 
 Men of much note and no lesse nobler parts, 
 Such as have freely tould to me their hearts 
 As I have mine to them. But if you shall 
 Say in your knowledge that these be not all 
 Have writ in numbers, be inform'd that I 
 Only my selfe to these few men doe tye 
 Whose workes oft printed, set on every post. 
 To publique censure subject have been most. 
 To such whose poems, be they nere so rare. 
 In private chambers that incloistered are 
 And by transcription daintily must goe 
 As though the world unworthy were to know 
 Their rich composures, let those men that keepe 
 These wondrous reliques in their judgment deepe 
 And cry them up so, Jet such Peeces bee 
 Spoke of by those that shall come after me ; 
 I hope not for them : nor doe meane to run 
 In quest of these that them applause have wonne 
 Upon our Stages in these latter dayes. 
 That are so many ; let them have their bayes 
 That doe deserve it ; let those wits that haunt 
 Those publique circuits, let them freely chaunt 
 Their fine Composures, and their praise pursue. 
 And so, my deare friend, for this time adue. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 147 
 
 Prom " The Muses Elizium," 1630. 
 
 The Description of Elizium. 
 
 APARADICE on earth is found, 
 Though farre from vulgar sight, 
 Which with those pleasures doth abound 
 That it Elizium hight 
 
 Where in Delights that never fade 
 The Muses lulled be. 
 And sit at pleasure in the shade 
 Of many a stately tree, 
 
 Which no rough Tempest makes to reele 
 Nor their straight bodies bowes ; 
 Their lofty tops doe never feele 
 The weight of winters snowes. 
 
 In Groves that evermore are greene 
 No falling leafe is there. 
 But Philomel (of birds the Queene) 
 In Musicke spends the yeare. 
 
 The Merle upon her mertle Perch 
 There to the Mavis sings. 
 Who from the top of some curld Berch 
 Those notes redoubled rings ; 
 
148 FOEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 There Daysyes damaske every place 
 Nor once their beauties lose, 
 That when proud Phoebus hides his face 
 Themselves they scorne to close. 
 
 The Pansy and the Violet here, 
 As seeming to descend 
 Both from one Root, a very payre, 
 For sweetnesse yet contend ; 
 
 And pointing to a Pinke to tell 
 Which bears it, it is loath 
 To judge it, but replyes, for smell 
 That it excels them both ; 
 
 Wherewith displeasde they hang their heads. 
 So angry soone they grow. 
 And from their odoriferous beds 
 Their sweets at it they throw. 
 
 The winter here a Summer is. 
 No waste is made by time. 
 Nor doth the Autumne ever misse 
 The blossomes of the Prime. 
 
 The flower that July forth doth bring, 
 In Aprill here is scene, 
 The Primrose, that puts on the Spring, 
 In July decks each Greene. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL BRA YTON. 149 
 
 The sweets for soveraignty contend 
 And so abundant be, 
 That to the very Earth they bend 
 And Barke of every Tree. 
 
 Rills rising out of every Banck 
 
 In wild Meanders strayne, 
 
 And playing many a wanton pranck ■■' ' 
 
 Upon the speckled plaine, 
 
 In Gambols and lascivious Gyres 
 Their time they still bestow, 
 Nor to their Fountaines none retyres - 
 Nor on their course will- goe: 
 
 Those Brooks with Lillies bravely deckt, 
 So proud and wanton made, / 
 
 That they their courses quite neglect ' 
 And seeme as though they stayde 
 
 Faire Flora in her state to viewe 
 Which through those Lillies looks, 
 Or as those Lillies leand to shew 
 Their beauties to the brooks ; 
 
 That Phcebus in his lofty race 
 Oft layes aside his beames r , 
 
 And comes to coole his glowing face. , 
 In their delicious streames. 
 
ISO POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 Oft spreading Vines clime up the Cleeves, 
 Whose ripned clusters there 
 Their liquid purple drop, which drives 
 A Vintage through the yeere: 
 
 Those Cleeves whose craggy sides are clad 
 With Trees of sundry sutes 
 Which make continuall summer glad, 
 Even bending with their fruits ; 
 
 Some ripening, ready some to fall. 
 Some blossom'd, some to bloome, 
 Like gorgeous hangings on the wall 
 Of some rich princely Roome. 
 
 Pomegranates, Lymons, Cytrons so 
 Their laded branches bow, 
 Their leaves in number that outgoe 
 Nor roomth will them alow. 
 
 There in perpetuall Summers shade 
 Apolloes Prophets sit 
 Among the flowers that never fade 
 But flourish like their wit ; 
 
 To whom the Nimphes upon their Lyres 
 Tune many a curious lay 
 And with their most melodious Quires 
 Make short the longest day. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 151 
 
 The thrice three Virgins heavenly Cleere 
 Their trembling Timbrels sound , 
 
 Whilst the three comely Graces there 
 Dance many a dainty Round. 
 
 Decay nor Age there nothing knowes ; 
 There is continuall Youth : 
 As Time on plant or creatures growes. 
 So still their strength renewth. 
 
 The Poets Paradice is this, 
 To which but few can come; 
 The Muses onely bower of blisse, 
 Their Deare Elizium. 
 
 Here happy soules (their blessed bowers 
 Free from the rude resort 
 Of beastly people) spead the houres 
 In harmlesse mirth and sport 
 
 Then on to the Elizian plaines 
 
 Apollo doth invite you, 
 
 Where he provides with pastorall straines 
 
 In Nimphals to delight you. 
 
152 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 The Second Nimphall. 
 
 Lalus,, Cleon, and Lirope. 
 
 The Muse t^w Courtship doth devise 
 By Natures strange Varieties, 
 WJiose Rarities site Itere relates 
 Ajtd gives you Pastor all Delicates. 
 
 T ALUS, a jolly youthfull Lad, ' ; 
 "^^ With Cleon, no lesse crown d 
 With vertues, both their beings had 
 On the Elizian ground ; - - / : j, , 
 
 Both having parts so -excellent .1 i/i : 
 That it a'Squfestioh was- ;-.,., 
 
 Which should be th& most I eminent ii -\\ 
 Or did in ought surpassee. 
 This Cleo7i was ; a Mountaineer 
 And of the wilder kiade, 
 And.frfx^ ^i^ b/rth had many a yeere 
 Bin nurst up by, a Hin^Cj; ' , , ",, 
 
 And, as the sequell well did show, ^ ' ' 
 It very well might be, 
 For never Hart nor Hare nor Roe 
 We[re] halfe so swift as he. 
 But Lalus in the Vale was bred 
 Amongst the Sheepe and Neate, 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 153 
 
 And by. those Nimphes there choicely fed 
 WJth Hony, Milke and Wheate: 
 Of Stature goodly, faire of speech, 
 And of behaviour mylde, 
 Like those there in the Valley rich 
 That bred him of a chyld. 
 Of Falcony they had the skill 
 Their Halkes to feed and flye, 
 'No better Hunters ere dome Hill 
 Nor hollowed to a Cry : 
 In Dingles deepe and Mountains hore 
 Oft with the bearded Speare 
 They combated the tusky Boare, 
 And slew the angry Beare. 
 In Musicke they were wondrous quaint ; 
 Fine Aers they could devise ; 
 They very curiously could Paint 
 And neatly Poetize ; 
 That wagers many times were laid 
 On Questioijs that arose 
 Which Song the witty Labis made. 
 Which Ckon should compose. 
 The stately Steed they manag'd well ; 
 Of Fence the art they knew ; 
 For Dansing they did all excell 
 The Gerles that to them drew. 
 To throw the Sledge, to pitch the Barre, 
 To Wrestle and to Run, 
 They all the Youth exceld so farre 
 That still the Pfize they wonne. 
 These sprightly Qallants lov'd a Lasse 
 
 23 
 
154 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Cald Lirope the bright ; 
 
 In the whole world there scarcely was 
 
 So delicate a Wight. 
 
 There was no Beauty so divine 
 
 That ever Nimph did grace, 
 
 But it beyond it selfe did shine 
 
 In her more heavenly face. 
 
 What forme she pleasd each thing would take 
 
 That ere she did behold ; 
 
 Of Pebbles she could Diamonds make, 
 
 Grosse Iron turne to Gold. 
 
 Such power there with her presence came 
 
 Sterne Tempests she alayd ; 
 
 The cruell Tigar she could tame, 
 
 The raging Torrents staid. 
 
 She chid, she cherisht, she gave life, 
 
 Againe she made to dye ; 
 
 She raisd a Warre, apeasd a Strife 
 
 With turning of her eye. 
 
 Some said a God did her beget. 
 
 But much deceiv'd were they ; 
 
 Her Father was a Rivelet, 
 
 Her Mother was a Fay. 
 
 Her Lineaments, so fine that were. 
 
 She from the payrie tooke ; 
 
 Her Beauties and Complection cleere 
 
 By nature from the Brooke. 
 
 These Ryvalls wayting for the houre 
 
 (The weather calme and faire) 
 
 When as she us'd to leave her Bower. 
 
 To take the pleasant ayre. 
 
iVithout Jiorncs. 
 
 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 155^ 
 
 Accosting her, their complement 
 To her their Goddesse done, 
 By gifts they tempt her to consent : 
 When Lalus tlius begun. 
 
 Lalus. Sweet Lirope, I have a L^mbe, 
 Newly wayned from the Damme, 
 Of the right kinde ; it is netted, 
 Naturally with purple spotted : 
 Into laughter it will put you 
 To see how prettily 'twill But you. 
 When on sporting it is set 
 It will beate you a Corvet, 
 And at every nimble bound 
 Turne it selfe above the ground. 
 When tis hungry it will bleate 
 From your hand to have its meate 
 And when it hath fully fed 
 It will fetch jumpes above your head, 
 As innocently to expresse 
 Its silly sheepish thankfullnesse ; 
 When you bid it it will play, 
 Be it either night or day. 
 This, Lirope, I have for thee. 
 So thou alone wilt live with me. 
 
 Clean. From him O turn thine eare away 
 And heare me, my lov'd Lirope. 
 I have a Kid as white as milke, 
 His skin as soft ss Naples silke ; 
 His homes in length are wondrous even 
 
156 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 And curiously by nature writhen : 
 
 It is of ^Arcadian kinde ; 
 
 Ther's not the like twixt either Inde. 
 
 If you walke 'twill vvalke you by, 
 
 If you sit downe it dovvne will lye ; 
 
 It with gesture will you wooe 
 
 And counterfeit those things you doe. 
 
 Ore each hillock it will vault 
 
 And nimbly doe the Summer-sault ; 
 
 Upon the hinder Legs 'twill goe 
 
 And follow you a furlong so ; 
 
 And if by chance a Tune you roate 
 
 'Twill foote it finely to your note 
 
 Seeke the world and you may misse 
 
 To find out such a thing as this. 
 
 This, my love, I have for thee 
 
 So thou'lt leave him and goe with me 
 
 Liropa. Believe me, Youths, your gifts are rare, 
 And your offer wondrous faire; 
 Lalus for Lambe, Clean for Kyd, — 
 'Tis hard to judge which most doth bid. 
 And have you two such things in store 
 And I ne'r knew of them before ? 
 Well, yet I dare a Wag'er lay 
 That Brag my little Dog shall play 
 As dainty tricks, when I shall bid 
 As Lalus Lambe or Cleans Kid. 
 But f may fall out that I may need theiii : 
 Till when yee may doe well to feed them. 
 Your Goate and Mutton pretty be, 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 157 
 
 But, Youths, these are noe bayts for me. 
 Alasse, good men, in vaine ye wooe ; 
 'Tis not your Lambe nor Kid will doe. 
 
 Lalus. I have two Sparrowes, white as Snow, 
 Whose pretty eyes like sparkes doe show : 
 In her Bosome Venus hatcht them 
 Where her little Cupid watcht them, 
 Till they too' fledge their Nests forsooke. 
 Themselves and to the Fields betooke ; 
 Where by chance a Fowler caught them. 
 Of whom I full dearely bought them. 
 
 l^,L"lt'oith' They'll fetch you Conserve from the Hip 
 
 Bramble. And lay it softly on your Lip ; 
 
 Through their nibling bills they'll ' Chirup 
 And flutering feed you with the Sirup ; 
 And, if thence you put them by, 
 They to your white necke will flye ; 
 And, if you expulse them there. 
 They'll hang upon your braded Hayre. 
 You so long shall see them prattle 
 Till at length they fall to battle, 
 And when they have fought their iiU 
 You will smile to see them bill. 
 These Birds my Lirope's shall be 
 So thou'llt leave him and goe with me. 
 
 Clean. His Sparrowes are not worth a rush ; 
 I'le finde as good in every bush. 
 
 ■ Quy. ' Till they two, fledg'd, their Nests forsooke. 
 
158 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Of Doves I have a dainty paire 
 
 Which, when you please to take the Aier, 
 
 About your head shall gently hover 
 
 Your Cleere browe from the Sunne to cover, 
 
 And with their nimble wings Shall fan you 
 
 That neither Cold nor Heate shall tan you ; 
 
 And like Umbrellas with their feathers 
 
 Sheeld you in all sorts of weathers ; 
 
 They be most dainty coloured things. 
 
 They have Damask backs and Chequerd wings ; 
 
 Their neckes more Various Cullours showe 
 
 Than there be mixed in the Bowe. 
 
 Venus saw the lesser Dove 
 
 And therewith was farre in Love, 
 
 Offering for't her goulden Ball 
 
 For her Sonne to play withall. 
 
 These my Liropes shall be, 
 
 So shee'll leave him and goe with me. 
 
 Lirope. Then for Sparrowes and for Doves 
 I am fitted twixt my Loves. 
 But, Labis, I take noe delight 
 In Sparowes, for they'll scratch and bite ; 
 And, though joyn'd, they are ever wooing, 
 Always billing, if not doeing : 
 Twixt Venus breasts if they have lyen 
 I much feare they'll infect mine. 
 Cleon, your Doves are very dainty. 
 Tame Pidgeons else you know are plenty : 
 These may winne some of your Marrowes, 
 I am not caught with Doves nor Sparrowes, 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 159 
 
 I thanke ye kindly for your Coste ; 
 Yet your labour is but loste. 
 
 Lahis. With full-leav'd Lillies I will stick 
 Thy braded hayre all o'r so thick 
 That from it a Light shall throw 
 Like the Sunnes upon the Snow. 
 Thy Mantle shall be Violet Leaves, 
 With the fin'st the Silkeworme weaves 
 As finely Woven ; whose rich smell 
 The Ayre about thee so shall swell 
 That it shall have no power to moove. 
 A Ruffe of Pinkes thy Robe above, 
 About thy necke so neatly set 
 That Art it cannot counterfet. 
 Which still shall looke so Fresh and new 
 As if upon their Roots they grew. 
 And for thy head He have a Tyer 
 Of netting, made of Strawbery wyer. 
 And in each knot, that doth compose 
 A Mesh, shall stick a halfe blowne Rose, 
 Red, damaske, white ; in order set 
 About the sides shall run a Fret 
 Of Primroses, the Tyer throughout 
 With Thrift and Daysyes fringd about. 
 All this, faire Nimph, He doe for thee, 
 So thou'lt leave him and goe with me. 
 
 Clean. These be but weeds and Trash he brings ; 
 He give thee solid, costly things. 
 His will whither and begone 
 
i6o POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Before thou well canst put them on ; 
 
 With Currall I will have thee Crown'd, 
 
 Whose Branches, intricately wound, 
 
 Shall girt thy Temples every way ; 
 
 And on the top of every Spray 
 
 Shall stick a Pearle orient and great, 
 
 Which so the wandring Birds shall cheat 
 
 That some shall stoope to looke for Cheries 
 
 As other for tralucent Berries, 
 
 And wondring caught e'r they be ware 
 
 In the curld Tramels of thy hayre. 
 
 And for thy necke a Christall Chaine, 
 
 Whose lincks, shapt like to drops of Raine, 
 
 Upon thy panting Breast depending 
 
 Shall seeme as they were still descending. 
 
 And, as thy breath doth come and goe, 
 
 So seeming still to ebbe and flow: 
 
 With Amber Bracelets cut like Bees, 
 
 Whose strange transparency who sees. 
 
 With Silke small as the Spiders Twist 
 
 Doubled so oft about thy Wrist, 
 
 Would surely thinke alive they were. 
 
 From Lillies gathering hony there. 
 
 Thy Buskins Ivory, carv'd like Shels 
 
 Of Scallope, which, as little Bels 
 
 Made hollow, with the Ayre shall chime 
 
 And to thy steps shall keepe the time. 
 
 Leave Lalus, Lirope, for me. 
 
 And these shall thy rich dowry be. 
 
 Lirope. Lalus for Flowers, Cleoti for Jemmes ! 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. i5i 
 
 For Garlands and for Diadems 
 
 I shall be sped. Why, this is brave : 
 
 What Nimph can choicer Presents have ? 
 
 With dressing, beading, frowncing, flowring. 
 
 All your Jewels on me powring, 
 
 In this bravery being drest 
 
 To the ground I shall be prest ; 
 
 That I doubt the Nimphes will feare me 
 
 Nor will venture to come neare me. 
 
 Never Lady of the May 
 
 To this houre was halfe so gay, 
 
 All in flowers, all so sweet 
 
 From the Crowne, beneath the Feet. 
 
 Amber, Currall, Ivory, Pearle! 
 
 If this cannot winne a Gerle 
 
 Thers nothing can, and this ye wooe me. 
 
 Give me your hands and trust ye to me 
 
 (Yet to tell ye I am loth) 
 
 That rie have neither of you both. 
 
 Lalus. When thou shalt plejise to stem the flood 
 (As thou art of the watry brood) 
 I'le have twelve Swannes more white then Snow 
 Yokd for the purpose, two and two, 
 To draw thy Barge wrought of fine Reed, 
 So well that it nought else shall need. 
 The Traces by which they shall hayle 
 Thy Barge shall be the winding trayle 
 Of Woodbynd whose brave Tasseld Flowers 
 (The Sweetnesse of the Woodnimphs Bowres) 
 Shall be the Trappings to adorne 
 
 24 
 
i62 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTOA. 
 
 The Swannes by which thy Barge is borne. 
 
 Of flowred Flags I'le rob the banke, 
 
 Of water-Cans and King-cups ranck, 
 
 To be the Covering of thy Boate ; 
 
 And, on the Streame as thou do'st Floate, 
 
 The Naiades that haunt the deepe 
 
 Themselves about thy Barge shall keepe. 
 
 Recording most delightfuU Layes 
 
 By Sea Gods written in thy prayse. 
 
 And in what place thou hapst to land 
 
 There the gentle Silvery sand 
 
 Shall soften, curled with the Aier 
 
 As sensible of thy repayre. 
 
 This, my deare love, I'le doe for thee. 
 
 So Thou'lt leave him and goe with me. 
 
 Cleon. Tush, Nimphe, his Swannes will prove but Geese, 
 His Barge drinke water like a Fleece. 
 A Boat is base : I'le thee provide 
 A Chariot wherein Jove may ride ; 
 In which when bravely thou art borne 
 Thou shalt looke like the gloryous morne 
 Ushering the, Sunne, and such a one 
 As to this day was never none ; 
 Of the Rarest Indian Gummes, 
 More pretious then your Balsamummes, 
 Which I by Art have made so hard 
 That they with Tooles may well be Carv'd 
 To make a Coach of: which shall be 
 Materyalls of this one for thee ; 
 And of thy Chariot each small peece 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 163 
 
 Shall inlayd be with Amber Greece, 
 
 And guilded with the Yellow ore 
 
 Produc'd from Tagus wealthy shore: 
 
 In which along the pleasant Lawne 
 
 With twelve white Stags thou shalt be drawne, 
 
 Whose brancht palmes of a stately height 
 
 With severall nosegays shall be dight. 
 
 And as thou ryd'st, thy Coach about 
 
 For thy strong guard shall run a Rout 
 
 Of Estriges whose Curled plumes, 
 
 Sen'sd with thy Chariots rich perfumes, 
 
 The scent into the Aier shall throw ; 
 
 Whose naked Thyes shall grace the show, 
 
 Whilst the Woodnimphs and those bred 
 
 Upon the mountayns, o'r thy head 
 
 Shall beare a Canopy of flowers 
 
 Tinseld with drops of Aprill showers 
 
 Which shall make more glorious showes 
 
 Then spangles on your silver Oas. 
 
 This, bright nimph, I'le doe for thee, 
 
 So thou'lt leave him and goe with me. 
 
 Lirope. Vie and revie, like Chapmen profer'd, 
 Would't be receaved what you have offer'd : 
 Ye greater honour cannot do me 
 If not building Altars to me. 
 Both by Water and by Land, 
 Bardge and Chariot at command ; 
 Swans upon the Streame to tow me, 
 Stags upon the Land to draw me ! 
 In all this Pompe should I be seene, 
 
r64 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 What a pore thing were a Queene. 
 
 All delights in such excesse 
 
 As but yee, who can expresse ? 
 
 Thus mounted should the Nimphes me see 
 
 All the troope would follow me, 
 
 Thinking by this state that I 
 
 Would assume a Deitie. 
 
 There be some in love hav^e bin, 
 
 And I may commit that sinne ; 
 
 And if e'r I be in love. 
 
 With one of you I feare twill prove. 
 
 But with which I cannot tell : 
 
 So, my gallant Youths, farewelL 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 165 
 
 Prom " The Muses ElUium," 1630. 
 
 , The sixt Nimphall. 
 
 Silvius, Halcius, Melanthus. 
 
 A Woodman, FisJter and a Swaine 
 This NimpJtall throiigh with mirth tnaintaine, 
 Whose f leadings so tfte Nimphes doe please 
 Tltat presently tliey give them Bayes. 
 
 CLEERE had the day bin from the dawne, 
 All chequered was the Skye. 
 Thin Clouds like Scarfs of Cobweb Lawne 
 Vayld Heaven's most glorious eye. 
 The Winde had no more strength then this, 
 That leasurely it blew, 
 To make one leafe the next to kisse 
 That closly by it grew. 
 The Rils that on the Pebbles playd 
 Might now be heard at will ; 
 This world they onely Musick made. 
 Else everything was still. 
 The Flowers like bi'ave embraudred Gerles 
 Lookt as they much desired 
 To see whose head with orient Pearles 
 Most curiously was tyred ; 
 And to itself the subtle Ayre 
 Such soverainty assumes 
 
1 66 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 That it receiv'd too large a share 
 
 From nature's rich perfumes. 
 
 When the Elizian Youth were met 
 
 That were of most account, 
 
 And to disport themselves were set 
 
 Upon an easy Mount : '^■ 
 
 Neare which of stately Firre and Pine 
 
 There grew abundant store, 
 
 The tree that weepeth Turpentine 
 
 And shady Sicamore : 
 
 Amongst this merry youthful trayne 
 
 A Forrester they had, 
 
 A Fisher and a Shepheards swayne, 
 
 A lively Countrey Lad : 
 
 Betwixt which three a question grew 
 
 Who should the worthiest be, 
 
 Which violently they pursue 
 
 Nor stickled would they be ; 
 
 That it the Company doth please. 
 
 This civill strife to stay, 
 
 Freely to heare what each of these 
 
 For his brave selfe could say : 
 
 When first this Forrester (of all) 
 
 That Silvius had to name. 
 
 To whom the Lot being cast doth fall, 
 
 Doth thus begin the Game. 
 
 Silvius. For my profession then and for the life I lead 
 All others to excell thus for my selfe I plead : 
 I am the Prince of sports, the Forrest is my Fee, 
 He's not upon the Earth for pleasure lives like me. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 1 6 7 
 
 The Morne no sooner puts her Rosye Mantle on 
 But from my quyet Lodge I instantly am gone, 
 When the melodious Birds from every Bush and Bryer 
 Of the wilde spacious Wasts make a continuall quire ; 
 The motlied Meadowes then, new vernisht with the Sunne, 
 Shute up their spicy sweets upon the winds that runne 
 In easly ambling Gales and softly seeme to pace 
 That it the longer might their lushiousnesse imbrace. 
 I am clad in Youthfull Greene, I other colours scorne ; 
 My silken Bauldrick beares my Beugle or my Home, 
 Which setting to my Lips I winde so lowd and shrill 
 As makes the Ecchoes showte from every neighbouring HUl. 
 My Doghooke at my Belt, to which my Lyam's tyde, 
 My Sheafe of Arrowes by, my woodknife at my Syde^ 
 My Crosse-bow in my hand, my Gaffle or my Rack 
 To bend it when I please or if ' I list to slack ; 
 My Hound then in my Lyam, I by the Woodmans art 
 Forecast where I may lodge the goodly Hie-palm'd Hart, 
 To view the grazing Heards, so. sundry times I use, 
 When by the loftiest Head I know my Deare to chuse ; 
 And to unheard him then I gallop o'r the ground 
 Upon my well-breath'd Nag to cheer my earning Hound. 
 Sometime I pitch my Toyles the Deare alive to take. 
 Sometime I like the Cry the deepe-mouth'd Kennell make, 
 Then underneath my Horse I staulk my game to strike 
 And with a single Dog to hunt him hurt I like. 
 The Silvians are to me true subjects, I their King : 
 The stately Hart his Hind doth to my presence bring, 
 The Buck his loved doe, the Roe his tripping Mate, 
 
 ■ Old copy, "it." 
 
1 68 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 Before me to my Bower whereas I sit in State. 
 
 The Dryads, Hamadryads, the Satyres and the Fawnes 
 
 Oft play at Hyde and Seeke before me on the Lawnes ; 
 
 The frisking Fayry oft when homed Cinthia shines 
 
 Before me as I walke dance wanton Matachynes ; 
 
 The numerous feathered flocks that the wild Forrests haunt 
 
 Their Silvan songs to me in cheerefull dittyes chaunte ; 
 
 The shades like ample Sheelds defend me from the Sunne, 
 
 Through which me to refresh the gentle Rivelets runne ; 
 
 No little bubling Brook from any Spring that falls 
 
 But on the Pebbles playes me pretty Madrigals. 
 
 I' th' morne I clime the Hills, where wholsome winds do blow ; 
 
 At Noofte-tyde to the Vales and shady Groves below ; 
 
 T'wards Evening I againe the Chrystall Floods frequent : 
 
 In pleasure thus my life continually is spent. 
 
 As Princes and great Lords have Pallaces, so I 
 
 Have in the Forrests here my Hall and Gallery, 
 
 The tall and stately Woods, which underneath are Plaine ; 
 
 The Groves my Gardens are, the Heath and Downes againe 
 
 My wide and spacious walkes: then say all what ye can. 
 
 The Forrester is still your only gallant man. 
 
 He of his speech scarce made an end 
 
 But him they load with prayse, 
 
 The Nimphes most highly him commend 
 
 And vow to give him Bayes : 
 
 He's now cryde up of every one. 
 
 And who but only he? 
 
 The Forrester's the man alone. 
 
 The worthyest of the three : 
 
 When some, then th'other farre more stayd, 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 169 
 
 Wil'd them a while to pause, 
 
 For ther was more yet to be sayd 
 
 That might deserve applause : 
 
 When Halcius his turne next plyes, 
 
 And silence having wonne, 
 
 " Roome for the fisher man ! " he cryes, 
 
 And thus his Plea begunne. 
 
 Halciusi No, Forrester, it so must not be borne away, 
 But heare what for himselfe the Fisher first can say. 
 The Chrystall current- Streames continually I keepe 
 Where every Pearle-pav'd Foard and every Blew-eyd deepe 
 With me familiar are ; when in my Boate being set 
 My Oare I take in hand, my Angle and my Net 
 About me; like a/ Prince my selfe in state I steer 
 Now up, now downe the Streame, now am I here, now ther, 
 The Pilot and the Fraught my selfe ; and at my ease 
 Can land me when I list or in what place I please. 
 The Silver-scaled Sholes about me in the Streames, 
 As thick as ye discern the Atoms in the Beames ; 
 Neare to the shady Banck where slender Sallowes grow 
 And Willows their shag'd tops downe t'wards the waters bow, 
 I shove in with my Boat to sheeld me from the heat. 
 Where chusing from my Bag some prov'd especiall bayt 
 The goodly well growne Trout I with my. Angle strike. 
 And with my bearded wire I take the ravenous Pike, 
 Of whom when I have hould he seldome breakes away 
 Though at my Lynes full length soe long I let him play 
 Till by my hand I finde he Avell-nere wearyed be, • 
 When softly by degrees I drawe him up to me. 
 The lusty Samon too I oft with Angling take; 
 
 25 
 
^^o POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Which me above the rest most Lordly sport doth make. 
 Who feeling he is caught such Frisks and bounds doth fetch 
 And by his very strength my Line soe farre doth stretch 
 As drawes my floating Corcke downe to the very ground 
 And wi-esting of my Rod doth make my Boat turne round. 
 I never idle am ; some tyme I bayt my Weeles 
 With which by night I take the dainty silver Eeles ; 
 And with my Draughtnet then I sweepe the streaming Flood, 
 And to my Tramell next and Cast-net from the Mud 
 I beate the Scaly brood ; noe hower I idely spend, 
 But wearied with my worke I bring the day to end. 
 The Naiides and Nymphes that in the Rivers keepe. 
 Which take into their care the store of every deepe, 
 Amongst the Flowery flags, the Bullrushes and Reed 
 That of the Spawne have charge (abundantly to breed), 
 Well mounted upon Swans their naked bodys lend 
 To my discerning eye and on my Boate attend, 
 And dance upon the Waves before me (for my sake) 
 To th' Musick the soft Wynd upon the Reeds doth make ; 
 And for my pleasure more the rougher Gods of Seas 
 From Neptunes Court send in the blew Neriades, 
 Which from his bracky Realme upon the Billowes ride 
 And beare the Rivers backe with every streaming Tyde, 
 Those Billowes gainst my Boate borne with delightfuU Gales ; 
 Oft seeming as I rowe to tell me pretty tales. 
 Whilst Ropes of liquid Pearle still load my laboring Oares 
 As streacht upon the Streame they stryke me to the Shores ; 
 The silent medowes seeme delighted with my Layes 
 As sitting in my- Boate I sing my Lasses praise ; 
 Then let them that like the Forrester up cry; 
 Your noble Fisher is your only man, say L 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 171 
 
 This Speech oi Halcius turn'd the Tyde 
 
 And brought it so about 
 
 That all upon the Fisher cryde 
 
 That he would beare it out ; 
 
 Him, for the speech he made, to clap 
 
 Who lent him not a hand, 
 
 And said t' would be the Waters hap 
 
 Quite to put downe the Land ? 
 
 This while Melanthus silent sits 
 
 (For so the Shepheard hight) 
 
 And having heard these dainty wits 
 
 Each pleading for his right ; 
 
 To heare them honour'd in this wise 
 
 His patience doth provoke, 
 
 When " For a Shepheard roome ! " he cryes, 
 
 And for himselfe thus spoke. 
 
 Melanthus. Well, Fisher, you have done, and Forrester 
 for you 
 Your Tale is neatly tould, s'are both's to give you due ; 
 And now my turne comes next ; then heare a Shepherd speak. 
 My watchfulnesse and care gives day scarce leave to break 
 But to the Fields I haste, my folded flock to see; 
 Where when I finde nor Woolfe nor Fox hath injur'd me, 
 I't.o my Bottle straight and soundly baste my Throat, 
 Which done some Country Song or Roundelay I roate 
 So merrily, that to the musick that I make 
 I Force the Larke to sing ere she be well awake. 
 Then Baull my cuf-tayld Curre and I begin to play, 
 He o'er my Shephooke leapes now th'one, now th'other way, 
 Then on his hinder feet he doth himselfe advance; 
 
172 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 I tune, and to my note my lively Dog doth dance ; 
 
 Then whistle in my Fist, my fellow Swaynes to call ; 
 
 Downe goe our Hooks and Scrips and we to Nine-holes fall. 
 
 At Dust-point or at Quoyts else are we at it hard ; 
 
 All false and cheating Games we Shepheards are debard. 
 
 Survaying of my sheepe, if Ewe or Wether looke 
 
 As though it were amisse, or with my Curre or Crooke 
 
 I take it, and when once I finde what it doth aile 
 
 It hardly hath that hurt but that my skill can heale. 
 
 And when my carefull eye I cast upon my sheepe 
 
 I sort them in my Pens and sorted soe I keepe: 
 
 Those that are bigst of Boane I still reserve for breed. 
 
 My CuUings I put off or for the Chapman feed. 
 
 When the Evening doth approach I to my Bagpipe take. 
 
 And to my Grazing flocks such Musick then I make 
 
 That they forbeare to feed ; then me a King you see, 
 
 I playing goe before, my Subjects followe me ; 
 
 My Bell-weather most brave before the rest doth stalke. 
 
 The Father of the flocke, and after him doth walke 
 
 My writhen-headed -Ram with Posyes crownd in pride 
 
 Fast to his crooked homes with Rybands neatly ty'd. 
 
 And at our Shepheards Board that's cut out of the ground, 
 
 My fellow Swaynes and I together at it round, 
 
 With Greencheese, clouted Cream, with Flawns & Custards 
 
 stord, 
 Whig, Sider and with Whey I domineer a Lord. 
 When shering time is conie I to the River drive 
 My goodly well-fleec'd Flocks (by pleasure thus I thrive) ; 
 Which being washt at will upon the shering day 
 My wooll I foorth in Loaks fit for the wynder lay, 
 Which upon lusty heapes into my Coate I heave 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 1 7 3 
 
 That in the Handling feeles as soft as any Sleave ; 
 When every Ewe two Lambes that j'eaned hath that yeare 
 About her new shorne neck a Chaplet then doth weare, 
 My Tarboxe and my Scrip, my Bagpipe at my back, 
 My sheephooke in my hand, what can I say I lacke ? 
 He that a Scepter swayd, a sheephooke in his hand 
 Hath not disdaind to have ; for Shepheards then I stand. 
 Then, Forrester, and you, my Fisher, cease your strife, 
 I say your shepherd leads your onely merry life. 
 
 They had not cryd the Forrester 
 
 And Fisher up before 
 
 So much, but now the Nimphes preferre 
 
 The Shepherd ten tymes more ; 
 
 And all the Ging goes on his side. 
 
 Their Minion him they make, 
 
 To him themselves they all apply 
 
 And all his partie take ; 
 
 Till some in their discretion cast. 
 
 Since first the strife begunne 
 
 In all that from them there had past 
 
 None absolutely wonne ; 
 
 That equall honour they should share, 
 
 And their deserts to showe 
 
 For each a Garland they prepare 
 
 Which they on them bestowe. 
 
 Of all the choicest flowers that weare. 
 
 Which purposely they gather. 
 
 With which they Crowne them, parting there 
 
 As they came first together. 
 
174 POEMS OF MICHAkL DRAYTON. 
 
 The eight Nimphall. 
 
 Mertilla, data, Claris. 
 
 A Nimpk is marry ed to a Fay, 
 Great preparations for the Day, 
 Alt Rites of Nuptials they recite you 
 To the Brydall and invite you. 
 
 1\^ ERTILLA. But will our Tita wed this Fay ? 
 Claia. Yea, and to morrow is the day. 
 
 Mertilla. But why should she bestow her selfe 
 Upon this dwarfish Fayry Elfe ? 
 
 Claia. Why, by her smalnesse you may finde 
 That she is of the Fayry kinde. 
 And therefore apt to chuse her make 
 Whence she did her beginning take : 
 Besides he's deft and wondrous Ayrye, 
 And of the noblest of the Fayry ; 
 -Chiefe of the Crickets of much fame, 
 In Fayry a most ancient name. 
 But to be brief, 'tis cleerely done ; 
 The pretty wench is woo'd and wonne. 
 
 Cloris. If this be so let us provide 
 The Ornaments to fit our Bryde ; 
 For they knowing she doth come 
 From us in Elizium, 
 
 Queene Mab will looke she should be drest 
 In those attyres we thinke our best ; 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 175- 
 
 Therefore some curious things lets give her 
 E'r to her Spouse we her deliver. 
 
 Mertilla. He have a Jewell for her eare 
 (Which for my sake He have her weare) ; 
 'Tshall be a Dewdrop, and therein, 
 Of Cupids I will have a twinne, 
 Which struggling with their wings shall break 
 The Bubble, out of which shall leak , 
 
 So sweet a liquor as shall move 
 Each thing that smels to be in love. 
 
 Claia. Beleeve me, Gerle, this will be fine, 
 And to this Pendant then take mine : », 
 A Cup in fashion of a Fly, 
 Of the linxes piercing eye. 
 Wherein there sticks a Sunny Ray 
 Shot in through the cleerest day. 
 Whose brightnesse Venus selfe did move 
 Therein to put her drinke of Love, 
 Which for more strength she did distill ; 
 The Limbeck was a Phcenix quill. 
 At this Cups delicious brinke, 
 A Fly approching but to drinke, 
 Like Amber or some precious Gumma 
 It transparant doth become. 
 
 Claris. For Jewels for her eares she's sped ; 
 But for a dressing for her head, 
 I thinke for her I have a Tyer 
 That all Fayryes shall admyre. 
 The yellowes in the fuU-blowne Rose, 
 Which in the Top it doth inclose, 
 Like drops of gold Oare shall be hung 
 
1 76 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 Upon her tresses ; and among 
 
 Those scattered seeds (the eye to please) 
 
 The wings of the Cantharides ; 
 
 With some o' th' Rainebow that doth raile 
 
 Those Moons in the Peacocks taile : 
 
 Whose dainty colours being mixt 
 
 With th'other beauties, and so fixt, 
 
 Her lovely Tresses shall appeare 
 
 As though upon a flame they were. 
 
 And to be sure she shall be gay, 
 
 Wee'll take those feathers from the Jay, 
 
 About her eyes in Circlets set 
 
 To be our Tita's Coronet. 
 
 Mertilla. Then dainty Girles I make no doubt 
 But we shall neatly send her out. 
 But let's among our selves agree 
 Of what her wedding Gowne shall be. 
 
 Claia. Of Pansie, Pincke and Primrose leaves 
 Most curiously laid on Threaves, 
 And all embroydery to supply 
 Powthred with flowers of Rosemary. 
 A trayle about the skirt shall runne. 
 The Silke-wormes finest, newly spunne, 
 And every Seame the Nimphs shall s^Mi 
 With th' smallest of the Spinners Clue ; 
 And having done their worke, againe 
 These to the Church shall bear her Traine, 
 Which for our Tita we will make 
 Of the cast slough of a Snake, 
 Which quivering cis the winde doth blow 
 The Sunne shall it like Tinsell shew. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 1 7 7 
 
 Claris. And being led to meet her mate, 
 To make sure that she want no state, 
 Moones from the Peacockes tayle wee'U shred 
 With feathers from the Pheasants head, 
 Mixed with the plume of (so high price) 
 The precious bird of Paradice ; 
 Which to make up our Nimphes shall ply 
 Into a curious Canopy, 
 Borne o're her head (by our enquiry) 
 By Elfes, the fittest of the Faery, 
 
 Mertilla. But all this while we have forgot 
 Her Buskins, neighbours, have we not ? 
 
 Claia. We had ; for those I'le fit her now : 
 They shall be of the Lady-Cow ; 
 The dainty shell upon her backe 
 Of Crimson strew'd with spots of blacke, 
 Which as she holds as stately pace 
 Her Leg will wonderfully grace. 
 
 Claris. But then for musicke of the best? 
 This must be thought on for the feast 
 
 Mertilla. The Nightingale, of birds most choyce. 
 To doe her best shall straine her voyce, 
 And to this bird to make a Set 
 The Mavis, Merle and Robinet, 
 The Larke, the Lennet and the Thrush 
 That make a Quier of every Bush. 
 But for still musicke we will keepe 
 The Wren and Titmouse, which to sleepe 
 Shall sing the Bride when shee's alone. 
 The rest into their chambers gone ; 
 And like those upon Ropes that walke, 
 26 
 
178 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 On Gossimer from staulke to staulke 
 The tripping Fayry tricks shall play 
 The evening of the wedding day. 
 
 Claia. But for the Bride-bed what were fit ? 
 That hath not been talk'd of yet 
 
 Claris. Of leaves of Roses white and red 
 Shall be the Covering of her bed ; 
 The Curtaines, Valence, Tester, all 
 Shall be the flower Imperiall, 
 And for the Fringe it all along 
 With azure Harebels shall be hung : 
 Of Lillies shall the Pillowes be 
 With downe stuft of the Butterflee. 
 
 Mertilla. Thus farre we handsomely have gone ; 
 Now for our Prothalamion 
 Or Marriage song, of all the rest 
 A thing that much must grace our feast. 
 Let us practise then to sing it 
 Ere we before th'assembly bring it : 
 We in Dialogues must doe it ; 
 Then, my dainty Girles, set to it. 
 
 Claia. This day must Tita marryed be ; 
 Come, Nim-phs, this nuptiall let us see. 
 
 Mertilla. But is it certaine that ye say ? 
 Will she wed the noble Faye ? 
 
 Cloris. Sprinkle the dainty flowers with dewes 
 Such as tlte Gods at Banquets use: 
 Let Hearbs and Weeds turn all to Roses 
 And make proud the posts with posies : 
 Shute your sweets into the ayre. 
 Charge the morning to be fayre. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 1 79 
 
 Claia. I For our Tita is this day 
 Mertilla. \ To be married to a Faye. 
 Claia. By wliont then shall our Bride be led 
 To t/ie Temple to be wed. 
 
 Mertila. Onely by your selfe and I : 
 Who that roomth should else supply. 
 
 Cloris. Come, bright Girls, come altogetJier 
 And bring all your offrings hitlier. 
 Ye most brave and Buxome Bevye 
 All your goodly graces Levye : 
 Come in Maiestie and State 
 Our Brydal here to celebrate. 
 
 Mertilla. f For our Tita is this day 
 Claia. 1 Married to a noble Faye. 
 Claia. W/tose lot ivilt be the waye to straw 
 On which to Church our Bride must goe ? 
 Mertilla. That, I thinke, as fifst of all 
 To lively Lelipa will fall. 
 
 Cloris. Summon all the sweets that ai'e 
 To this nupfiall to repayre 
 Till with their throngs themselves they sniotJier., 
 Strongly styfling one another. 
 And at last tJuy all consume 
 And vanish in one rich perfume. 
 Martilla. f For our Tita is this day 
 Claia. I Married to a noble Faye. 
 Mertilla. By whom must Tita married be, 
 ' Tis fit we all to that sJwtdd see. 
 
 Claia. The Priest he purposely doth come, 
 Th'Arch Flamyne of Elizium. 
 Cloris. With Tapers let tlte Temples shine. 
 
i8b POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Sing to Hymen Hymnes divine ; 
 Load the Altars till there rise 
 Clouds from the burnt sacrifice : 
 With your Sensors fling aloof e . 
 Tfieir smels till they ascend the Roofe. 
 
 Mertilla. f For our Tita is this day 
 
 Cloris. I Married to a noble Fay. 
 
 Mertilla. But coming backe when she is wed. 
 Who breakes the Cake above Jier Iieadf 
 
 Claia. That shall Mertilla, for shee's tallest 
 And our Tita is the smallest. 
 
 Cloris. Violins, strike up aloud. 
 Ply the Gitteme, scoure tJte Crowd, 
 Let the nimble hand belabour 
 The Whisteling Pipe and drumbling Tabor ; 
 To the full the Bagpipe racke 
 Till the swelling leather cracke. 
 
 Mertilla. f For our Tita is this day 
 
 Claia. 1 Married to a noble Fay. 
 
 Claia. But when to dyne she takes her seate 
 What shall be our Tita's meate ? 
 
 Mertilla. The Gods this Feast as to begin, 
 Have sent of tJieir Ambrosia in. 
 
 Cloris. T/ien serve we up the strawes rich berry,. 
 The Respas and Elizian Clierry; 
 The virgin honey from the flowers 
 In Hible, wrought in Flora's Bowers ; 
 Full Bowles of Nectar, and no Girle 
 Carouse but in dissolved Pearle. 
 
 Mertilla. | For our Tita is this day 
 
 Claia. ( Married to a noble Fay. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. i8i 
 
 Claia. B^it wlien night comes and she must goe 
 To Bed, deare Nimpltes, what must we doe ? 
 
 Mertilla. In t/te Posset must be brought 
 And Poynts be from tJie Bridegroome caught. 
 
 Cloris. In Maskes, in Dances and delight, 
 And reare Banquets spend the night; 
 Then about the Roonie we ramble. 
 Scatter Nuts and for them scramble. 
 Over Stooles and Tables tumble. 
 Never thinke of noyse nor rumble. 
 
 Mertilla. / For our Tita is this day 
 
 ( 
 
 Claia. \ Married to a noble Fay. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 From "Noahs Floud," 1630. 
 
 AND now the Beasts are walking from the wood, 
 As well of Ravine as that chew the Cud ; 
 The King of Beasts his fury doth suppresse 
 And to the Arke leades downe the Lionnesse ; 
 The Bull for his beloved mate doth low 
 And to the Arke brings on the faire ey'd Cow ; 
 The stately Courser for his Mare doth nay 
 And t'wards the new Arke guideth her the v/ay ; 
 The wreath'd-horn'd Ram his safety doth pursue, 
 And to the Arke ushers the gentle Ewe ; 
 The brisly Boare who with his snowt up plow'd 
 The spacious Plaines, and with his grunting lowd 
 Rais'd rattling Ecchoes all the Woods about, 
 Leaves his dark Den and, having sented out 
 NoaJis new-built Arke, in with his Sow doth come 
 And stye themselves up in a little roome ; 
 The Hart with his deare Hind ; the Buck and Doe, 
 Leaving their wildnesse, bring the tripping Roe 
 Along with them ; and from the Mountaine steepe 
 The clambring Goat and Cony, us'd to keepe 
 Amongst the Cleeves, together get, and they 
 To this great Arke find out the ready way; 
 Th'unweildy Elke, whose skin is of much proofe. 
 Throngs with the rest t'attaine this wooden roofe,; 
 The Unicorne leaves off his pride, and closse 
 There sets him downe by the Rhinoceros ; 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 183 
 
 The Elephant there comming to imbarque 
 
 And, as he softly getteth up the Ark, 
 
 Feeling by his great weight his body sunck, 
 
 Holds by his huge Tooth and hi^ nervy Trunck ; 
 
 The crooke-backt Camel climing to the deck 
 
 Drawes up himselfe with his long sinewy neck ; 
 
 The spotted Panther, whose delicious scent 
 
 Oft causeth beasts his harbor to frequent, 
 
 But having got them once into his power 
 
 Sucketh their blood and doth their flesh devoure. 
 
 His cruelty hath quickly cast aside 
 
 And waxing courteous doth become their guide. 
 
 And brings into this universall Shop 
 
 The Ounce, the Tigar and the Antilop. 
 
 By the grim Woolfe the poore Sheepe safely lay, 
 
 And was his care which lately was his pray ; 
 
 The Asse upon the Lyon leant his head, 
 
 And to the Cat the Mouse for succour fled ; 
 
 The silly Hare doth cast aside her feare 
 
 And formes her selfe fast by the ugly Beare, 
 
 At whom the watchfull Dog did never barke 
 
 When he espyde him clambring up the Arke. 
 
 The Fox, got in, his subtilties hath left, 
 
 And as ashamed of his former theft 
 
 Sadly sits there, as though he did repent. 
 
 And in the Arke became an innocent 
 
 The fine-furd Ermin, Martern, and the Cat 
 
 That voydeth Civet there together sat 
 
 By the shrewd Muncky, Babian and the Ape, 
 
 With the Hienna, much their like in shape, 
 
 Which by their kinde are ever doing ill. 
 
1 84 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 Yet in the Arke sit civilly and still. 
 
 The skipping Squerrill of the Forrest free, 
 
 That leaps so nimbly betwixt tree and tree 
 
 It selfe into the Arke then nimbly cast 
 
 As twere a Ship-boy come to clime the Mast, 
 
 The Porcupine into the Arke doth make, 
 
 Nor his sharpe quils though angry once doth shake ; 
 
 The sharpe-fang'd Beaver, whose wyde gaping Jaw 
 
 Cutteth downe Plants as it were with a Saw, 
 
 Whose body poysed wayeth such a masse 
 
 As though his Bowels were of Lead or Brasse, 
 
 His cruell Chops, though breathlesse, he doth close 
 
 As with the rest into the Arke he goes. 
 
 Th'uneven-leg'd Badger (whose eye-pleasing skin 
 
 The Case to many a curious thing hath bin 
 
 Since that great flood) his fortresses forsakes 
 
 Wrought in the earth, and, though but halting, makes 
 
 Up to the Arke : the Otter then that keepes 
 
 In the wild Rivers, in their Bancks and. Sleeps, 
 
 And feeds on fish which under water still 
 
 He with his keld feet and keene teeth doth kill. 
 
 The other two into the Arke doth follow 
 
 Though his ill shape doth cause him but to wallow. 
 
 The Tortoyse and the Hedghog both so slow, 
 
 As in their motion scarsb discern'd to goe. 
 
 Good footmen growne, contrary to their kinde, 
 
 Lpst from the rest they should be left behinde ; 
 
 The rooting Mole, as to foretell the flood. 
 
 Comes out of th'earth and clambers up the wood ; 
 
 The little Dormouse leaves her leaden sleepe 
 
 And with the Mole up to the Arke doth creepe. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 185 
 
 With many others which were common then, 
 
 Their kind decayd but now unknowne to men : 
 
 For there was none that Adam ere did name 
 
 But to the Arke from every quarter came, 
 
 By two and two, the male and female beast, 
 
 From th' swift to th' slowest, from greatest to the least ; 
 
 And as within the strong pale of a Parke 
 
 So were they altogether in the Arke. 
 
 And as our God the Beasts had given in charge 
 To take the Arke, themselves so to imbardge 
 He bids the Fowle. The Eagle in his flight, 
 Cleaving the thin Ayre, on the deck doth light, 
 Nor are his eyes so piercing to controule 
 His lowly subjects the farre lesser Fowle 
 But the Almighty, who all Creatures fram'd 
 And them by Adam in the Garden nam'd. 
 Had given courage fast by him to sit, 
 Nor at his sharpe sight are amaz'd one whit. 
 The Swanne by his great maker taught this good 
 T'avoyd the fury of the falling flood, 
 His Boat-like breast, his wings rais'd for his sayle. 
 And Ore-like feet him nothing to avayle 
 Against the Raine which likely was to fall 
 (Each drop so great that, like a ponderous Mall, 
 Might sinke him under water and might drowne 
 Him in the Deluge) with the Crane comes downe, 
 Whose voice the Trumpet is that throw the Ayre 
 Doth summon all the other to repayre 
 To the new Arke : when with his mooned traine 
 The strutting Peacock, yawling 'gainst the raine. 
 Flutters into the Arke, by his shrill cry 
 
 27 
 
1 86 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRA YTON. 
 
 Telling the rest the Tempest to be ny. 
 The Iron-eating Estridge, whose bare thyes 
 Resembling mans, fearing the lowring Skyes 
 Walkes to the great Boat ; when the ci-owned Cock, 
 That to the village lately was the Clock, 
 Coomes to rooste by him with his Hen, foreshewing 
 The shower should quickly fall that then was brewing. 
 The swift wing'd Swallow, feeding as it flyes, ,, 
 With the fleet Martlet thrilling throw the Skyes, 
 As at their pastime sportively they were. 
 Feeling the unusuall moisture of the Aer. 
 Their feathers flag, into the Arke they come 
 As to some Rock or building, their own home. 
 The ayry Larke his Halleluiah sung, , 
 Finding a slacknesse seaze upon his tong 
 By the much moisture, and the Welkin darke, 
 Drops with his female downe into the Arke. 
 The soaring Kyte there scantled his large wings 
 And to the Arke the hovering Castrill brings ; 
 The Raven comes and croking in doth call 
 The caryon Crow, and she againe doth brail 
 Foretelling raine. By these there likewise sat 
 Tfu stcrke used The carcfull Storke, since Adam wondred at 
 Li^'es, ua^tk For thankfulnesse to those where he doth breed, 
 uZf.tt'u"'"'' '^^^^ ^'^ ^^ Parents naturally doth feed, 
 truiner. In filiall duty as instructing man. 
 
 By them there sat the loving Pellican, 
 Whose yong ones poysned by the serpents sting 
 With her owne blood to life againe doth bring. 
 The constant Turtle up her lodging tooke 
 By these good Birds, and in a little nooke - , 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 187 
 
 The Nightingale with her melodions tongue 
 
 Sadly there sits as she had never sung ; 
 
 The Merle and Mavis on the highest spray, 
 
 Who with their musick wak't the early day, 
 
 From the proud Cedars to the Arke came downe 
 
 As though forewarn'd that God the world would drowne ;■ 
 
 The prating Parret comes to them aboard 
 
 And is not heard to counterfeit a word ; 
 
 The Falcon and the Dove sit there together 
 
 And th'one of them doth prune the others feather ; 
 
 The Goshalke and the Feasant there doe twin 
 
 And in the Arke are pearcht upon one pin ; 
 
 The Partridge on the Sparhalk there doth tend. 
 
 Who entertaines her as a loving friend ; 
 
 The ravenous Vulture feeles the small Birds sit 
 
 Upon his back and is not mov'd a whit. 
 
 Amongst the thickest of these severall fowle 
 
 With open eyes still sate the broad fac'd Owle, 
 
 And not a small bird as they wonted were 
 
 Either pursude or wondred at her there. 
 
 No waylesse Desart, Heath, nor Fen, nor More 
 
 But in by couples sent some of their store : 
 
 The Ospray and the Cormorant forbeare 
 
 To fish, and thither with the rest repayre ; 
 
 The Hearon leaves watching at the Rivers brim 
 
 And brings the Snyte and Plover in with him ; 
 
 There came the Halcyon whom the Sea obeyes 
 
 When she her nest upon the water layes ; 
 
 The Goose, which doth for watchfulnesse excell. 
 
 Came for the rest to be the Sentinell ; 
 
 The charitable Robinet in came 
 
i88 
 
 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 The mighty 
 Indian Bird. 
 
 Crecl)i>Lg thiti£S 
 in the sijrt of 
 Gen : tfic 20 verse. 
 
 Tltc Aspick hath 
 a pell 0/ skin 
 ■which crrz'erelh 
 his ieeth untill 
 it le angry. 
 
 Whose nature taught the others to be tame ; 
 All feathered things yet ever knowne to men, 
 From the huge Rucke unto the little Wren. 
 From Forrests, Fields, from Rivers and from Pons, 
 All that have webs or cloven-footed ones. 
 To the Grand Arke together friendly came. 
 Whose severall species were too long to name. 
 
 The Beasts and Birds thus by the Angels brought, 
 Noe found his Arke not fully yet was fraught ; 
 To shut it up for as he did begin. 
 He still saw Serpents and their like come in ; 
 The Salamander to the Arke retyers, — 
 To flye the Floud it doth forsake the fiers ; 
 The strange Camelion comes t'augment the crue. 
 Yet in the Arke doth never change her hue. 
 To these poore silly icvf of harmelesse things 
 So were there Serpents with their teeth and stings 
 Hurtfull to man ; yet will th' Almighty have 
 That Noe their seed upon the earth should save.r 
 The watchfull Dragon comes the Arke to keepe. 
 But lul'd with murmure gently fals to sleepe ; 
 The cruell Scorpion comes to clime the pyle. 
 And, meeting with the greedy Crocodile, 
 Into the Arke together meekely goe 
 And like kinde mates themselves they there bestow. 
 The Dart and Dipsas to the Arke com'n in 
 Infold each other as they were a twinne. 
 The Cockatrice there kils not with his sight, 
 But in his object joyes and in the Light ; 
 The deadly killing .A spicke, when he seeth 
 This world of creatures, sheaths his poysoned teeth. 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 189 
 
 And with the Adder and the speckled Snake 
 Them to a corner harmelesly betake. 
 The Lisard shuts up his sharpe-sighted eyes 
 Amongst these Serpents, and there sadly lyes ; 
 The small-ey'd slowe-worme, held of many blinde, 
 Yet this great Arke it quickly out could finde, 
 And, as the Arke it was about to clime, 
 "Out of its teeth shutes the invenom'd slime. 
 These viler Creatures on the earth that creepe 
 And with their bellies the cold dewes doe sweepe, 
 All these base groveling and ground-licking sute, 
 A strfent >/ au From the large Boas to the little Neute, 
 nrs^. As well as Birds or tlie foure-footed beasts 
 
 Came to the Arke, their Hostry, as Noes guests. 
 
190 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 
 
 From "Noahs Floud," 1630. 
 
 NEVER such comfort came to mortall man, 
 Never such joy was since the world began. 
 As in the Arke when Noah and his behold 
 The Olive leafe which certainly them told 
 The flood decreas'd ; and they such comfort take 
 That with their mirth the Birds and Beasts they make 
 Sportive, which send forth such a hollow noyse 
 As said they were partakers of their joyes. 
 The Lion rores, but quickly doth forbeare 
 Lest he thereby the lesser Beasts should feare, 
 The Bull doth bellow and the Horse doth nay, 
 The Stag, the Buck and shaghayrd Goat doe bray; 
 The Boare doth grunt, the Woolfe doth howle, the Ram 
 Doth bleate, which yet so faintly from him came 
 As though for very joy he seem'd to weepe ; 
 The Ape and Muncky such a chattering keepe 
 With their thin lips, which they so well exprest- 
 As they would say. We hope to be releast ; 
 The silly Asse set open such a throat 
 That all the Arke resounded with the note ; 
 The watchfuU Dog doth play and skip and barke. 
 And leaps upon his Masters in the Arke ; 
 The Raven crokes, the caryon Crow doth squall, 
 The Pye doth chatter and the Partridge call ; 
 The jocund Cock crowes as he claps his wings, 
 The Merle doth whistle and the Mavis sings ; 
 
POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON. 191 
 
 The Nightingale straines her melodious throat, 
 Which of the small Birds being heard to roat 
 They soone set to her, each a part doth take 
 As by their musick up a Quire to make ; 
 The Parrat, lately sad, then talks and jeeres, 
 And counterfeiteth every sound he heares ; 
 The purblind Owle, which heareth all this doo, 
 T'expresse her gladnesse, cryes Too whit too whoo : 
 No Beast nor Bird was in the Arke with Noy 
 But in their kinde exprest some signe of joy. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 p. 1,1. 3. " As bold as Isenbras." The metrical romance of Sir Isumbras 
 (from an unknown French ori^nal), was printed by Copland early in 
 the l6th century. A copy firom MS. is given by Halliwell among 
 the Thornton Rotnances in the Camden Society (1844). 
 
 1. 6. The rime of Sire Thopas is in the " Canterbury Tales." Dray- 
 ' ton in this ballad has borrowed Chaucer's metre and a few of his 
 expressions. 
 
 1. 1 1. " Ycond the leire," &c. " She knew the learning belonging to 
 great courtesy " (Collier). 
 
 1. 13. March-pine, i.c., marchpane : a kind of sweet biscuit usually 
 composed of almonds and sugar. 
 PI 2, 1. 6. " As lythe as Lasse of Kent." This line is from Spenser's 
 Skepheard's Calender {JE-^oga. Secunda) : — 
 
 " Seest how brag yond bullocke beares 
 So smirke, so smoothe, his pricked eares ? 
 His homes bene as broade as rainebow bent, 
 His dewelap as lythe as lasse of Kent." 
 1.12. Setywall. Qi. ih.^ Rime of Sire Thopas : — 
 " There springen herbes grete and smale. 
 The licoris and the setewale." 
 " Setwall, or garden valerian, at the first hath broad leaves of a 
 whitish green colour" (Lyte's Herbal scpvA. Nares). 
 
 L 15. Summer hall (sometimes written somerhaule) : a summer- 
 house. 
 
 1. 20. Crancke=lustily : Spenser uses the word. " Crancke, or 
 cranke, an old word, and yet stiU in use among country people, used 
 for lustie, courageous, spiritfull " (Minshewe). The derivation is un- 
 certain. On the lucus a non lucendo principle, Minshewe derives it 
 from Dutch kranck, sick." 
 P. 3, 1. 4. Loke=lock or fleece of wooll. Cf. p. 172, 1. 26. 
 1. 6. Bauzons skin=badger's skin. 
 
194 NOTES. 
 
 1. 7. Cockers. " A kind of rustic high shoes, or half boots ; probably 
 from cocking up. 
 
 ' Now doth he inly scorn his Kendall-greene 
 And his patch'd cockers now despised beene.' 
 
 Hall, ^-a/. iv. 6"(Nares). 
 1.7. Cordiwin. Qi. Rime of Sire Thopas : — 
 
 " His here, his berde was like safiroun, 
 That to his girdle raught adoun, 
 His shoon of cordewane." 
 
 " Nomen habet a Corduba, urbe Hispanise, unde afferebantur ejusmodi 
 coria " (Minshewe). / 
 
 1. 8. Miniveere. A kind of fur. 
 
 1. 10. Tar-box. The tar was used for curing the sheep's sores. 
 
 1. II. Cointree h\\ie=^Coveniry blue. Coventry hXwt stuffs were as 
 famous as Lincoln green. 
 
 1. 27. Rosalind. In the third volume of his admirable edition of 
 Spenser (now in course of publication), Dr. Grosart discusses at length- 
 the question, " Who was Rosalind? " 
 P. 15,1. 5. So on p. 129. "One ware his Mistris garter, one her 
 glove." It was a common practice for an Elizabethan gallant to wear 
 in his hat the garters of his mistress. 
 P. 23, L 3. Ding=dash. 
 
 P. 25, 1. 15. " My Palace placed betwixt Earth and Skies," &c. Drayton 
 had in his mind Chaucer's House of Fame :—r 
 
 " His palais standeth as I shall say 
 Right even amiddes of the way, 
 Betweene Heaven, Earth and See, 
 That whatsoever in all these three 
 Is spoken prive or apert. 
 The way thereto is so overt 
 And stant eke in sojust a place 
 That every sowne mote to it pace." 
 
 P. 38, 1. 8. Breeme=sharp, severe. 
 
 P. 40, 1. I. " And one foretold," &c. Cf. 2 Henry VI,, iv. L 
 
 P. 44, 1. 19. Pawn. A part of the Royal Exchange. 
 
 P. 51, 1. 19. " Grant leam'd Agrippa," &c. Drayton got this tale from 
 
NOTES. 195 
 
 Nashe's Unfortunate Traveller, or Life of Jack Wilton, 1594. All 
 Surrey's later biographers are agreed that the whole story of his 
 romantic travels is an invention of Nashe's genius. 
 P. S3, 1. 8. Daded. A favourite word of Drayton's (for a child's first 
 attempts at waUcing), but hardly found elsewhere. Cf. Polyolbion, 
 Song I. : — 
 
 " Which nourish'd and bred up at her most bounteous pap, 
 No sooner taught to dade but from their mother trip." 
 
 P. 54, 1. 12. " Nor beautious Stanhope." " Of the Beautie of that Lady 
 he himselfe testifies in an Elegie which he writ of her refusing to dance- 
 with him, which he seemeth to allegorize under a Lion and a Wolfe." 
 (From the author's Annotations.) 
 
 P. 54- 1. 20. " And sacred Bryan." Sir Francis Bryan, a friend of 
 Surrey and Wyatt, and a contributor to Tottell's Miscellatiy. Vid. 
 Warton's Hist, of Engl. Poetry, ed. 1840, iii. 52. 
 
 P. 59, L 29. " Then, as Ulysse^ wife," &c. An allusion to the well-known 
 line of Ovid (Heroid. i. 22) : — 
 
 " Nil mihi rescribas : attamen ipse veni." 
 
 P. 63, 1. I. "An evill spirit," &c. There is some resemblance bfetween 
 this sonnet and Shakespeare's sonnet cxliv. 
 
 P. 65. " Since there's no helpe," &c. This was a favourite sonnet with 
 Rossetti. In a letter to Mr. Hall-Caine he writes : — "As for Drayton, 
 his one incomparable sonnet is the Love Parting. That is almost the 
 best in the language, if not quite" (HaU-Caine's Recollections of 
 D. G. Rossetti). 
 
 P. 68, 1. 12. Greaves=boughs : a word frequently used by Drayton. 
 1. 21. Rascalls. The technical liame for lean deer. 
 
 P. 75, L 2. " Prick, or roving sha£" Cf. the Compleat Gamester, 1674, 
 p. 205 :— " There are three Marks to shoot at, Bucks, Pricks, or Rovers. 
 The first is a level mark, and therefore you must have a strong Arrow 
 with a broad feather. The second is a mark of some compass, yet 
 most certain in the distance, therefore you must have nimble strong 
 Arrows with a middle feather, all of one weight and flying. The 
 last, which is the Rover, is uncertain, sometimes longer, sometimes 
 shorter, and therefore requires Arrows lighter or heavier, according to 
 the distance of shooting." 
 L 6. " Cleave the pin." The pin is the wooden nail of the target. 
 
196 NOTES. 
 
 There is a similar expression, to " hit the clout." I have not been able 
 to discover what method of shooting is meant by the term " Hoyles." 
 P. 78, 1. 15. Hayes. A rustic dance (Lovers Labour Lost, v. i., &c.) 
 P. 88, 1. 17. Lin=cease. 
 
 I. 22. "Thorough brake," &c. One is reminded of Midsummer 
 Night's Dream, ii. i : — 
 
 " Over hiU, over dale. 
 
 Thorough bush, thorough brier. 
 Over park, over pale. 
 Through flood, through fire." 
 P. 109, 1. 22. Fett. Nares was no doubt right in supposing this word 
 to be a corruption of " frett, which commonly means raised work or 
 protuberance." Cf. p. 71, 1. 22. 
 P. 114, 1. 14. Dray=a squirrel's nest. " In the summer time they \sc. 
 squirrel's] build them nests (which in our country are called Drayes) in 
 the tops of the trees, very artificially of stickes and mosse and such 
 other things as woods do afford them " (TopseU's Hist, of Four-footed 
 Beasts, ed. 1658, p. 509). 
 P. 120, 1. 16. Trenchmore. A famous old dance-tune. Vid. Chappell's 
 
 Popular Music of the Olden Time, pp. 82-3. 
 P. 138, 1. 26. The Guards=^& star Axtophylax. Cf. Othello, ii. i : — 
 " Seems to cast water on the biuning bear 
 And quench ^^ guards of the ever-fixed pole." 
 1. 29. From " Greet or Marcus." Crete is chosen as being the country 
 of the cunning worker, Dcedalus. By Marcus is meant, I suppose, St. 
 MarKs at Venice. 
 P. 139,1. I. The.Prodigall. The, story of the Prodigal Son was the 
 
 favourite design for tapestry and painted cloth. 
 P. 140, 1. 20. Cato. The Disticha Moralia of Dionysius Cato was a famous 
 school-book among our forefathers, but is little used in these enlightened 
 times. 
 P. 141, 1. 19. William Elderton, A well-known ballad-writer, who 
 usually signed his name in full at the foot of his ballads. Vid. Chap- 
 pell's Pop. Music, pp. 107, 121, &c. 
 P. 145, 1. 21. Alexander. William Alexander,.F.atl of Stirling, author 
 of Doomesday and a collection iof sonnets entitled Aurora^ he wrote 
 also some dull plays. North of the Tweed he has still some admirers. 
 
NOTES. 197 
 
 P. 148, 1. 3. "And by transcription dsuntily must goe.'' Perhaps Drayton 
 is alluding particularly to Donne. There is a surprising number of 
 MS. copies of Donne's poems in our National Library. 
 
 P. 150, 1. I. Cleeves= cliffs. Cf. p. 182, 1. 21. 
 
 1.9. "Some ripening, ready some to fall," &c. The poet is thinking 
 of the gardens of Alcinous {Odyssey, Book vii.) 
 
 P. 153. Bearded. A corruption of "barded," or, as the word is less 
 accurately written, "barbed." 
 
 P. 158, 1. 28. Marrowes=mates, companions. The word is still used in 
 the North. Wordsworth's "winsome marrow" wiU at once suggest 
 itself. 
 
 P. 163, 1. 6. Palmes. So on p. 167, L 20, "Hie-palm'd Hart." Cf Top- 
 sail's Hist, of Four-footed Beasts, ed. 1658, p. 89 : — " There are some 
 beasts (saith Pliny) which nature hath framed to have horns grow out 
 of their head like fingers out of the hand, and for that cause they are 
 called Platicerota : such is this vulgar Fallow Deer, being therefore 
 called Cervus Pahnatics, that is ^palmed Hart by reason of the simili- 
 tude the horn hath with the hand and fingers.'' 
 
 1. 19. Oas. The letter O was frequently usedto express anything 
 circular. Shakespeare calls the stars " Os of light," and the Cockpit a 
 "wooden O." 
 
 1.22. "Vie and revie." Terms taken from the games of primero or 
 gleek. To "vie" was to wager on a hand of cards, and to " revie" was 
 to cover the stake with a larger sum. 
 
 P. 167, 1. 13. Lyam=leash. 
 
 1. 15. "My GafHe or my Rack." I have followed the old copy in 
 reading " or," but Nares' correction " on " is perhaps right. Cotgrave 
 gives /zV^^f biche and bandage d'arbaleste as equivalents for gaffle. 
 Minshewe derives racke from " Belg., racken, sive recken, extendere, 
 quod nervus arcubalistas eo extendatur seu potius intendatur, vel a 
 raeck, rastrum, propter simiUtudinem." 
 
 1. 22. Eaming=yeaming, trembling with excitement. " Frissonner. 
 To tremble, quake, shrug, shiver, didder, shudder, ear7ie through 
 cold or feare " (Cotgrave). 
 
 P. 172, 1. 4. Dust point. "A game in which boys placed their-points in 
 a heap and threw at them with a stone. It is alluded to in Cotton's 
 Works, 1734, p. 184" (Halliwell). 
 
198 NOTES. 
 
 1. 13. CuUings. The inferior sheep picked out from the rest. 
 L 24. Flawne=a kind of custard. Whig=acidulated whey. 
 
 P. 173, 1. 14, Ging=company : it is another form of "gang." 
 
 P. 176, 1. 20. Threaves. Twelve or twenty-four sheaves of wheat The 
 form " thraves " is still used in the North. 
 1. 26. Spinners =spiders. Cf. Midsumttter Ni^hfs Dream, ii. 3. 
 
 P. 179, 1. 14. "Whose lot wilt be the way to strew," &c. For this and 
 the other marriage customs mentioned in the text, cf. Brand's Popular 
 Antiquities, ed. 1841, pp. 62-81.- 
 1. 14. Crowd = a fiddle. 
 
 P. 183, L 7. "The spotted Panther whose delicious scent," &c. John 
 Mapletjin his Greene Forest, 1567, bears quaint testimony to the panther's 
 odoriferousness : — " The Panther is everie living Creatures friend, ex- 
 cept onely the Dragon, whome he hateth deadly. He is in his colour 
 bespotted and in everie part of his skin or hide he showeth as it were 
 eies. He loveth exceedingly all other kindes, such as be like him, as 
 the Leopard, &c. . . . The Panther hir smell or breath to all things 
 living except the Dragon is most delectable and pleasant, insomuch 
 that all the other follow after hir, moved with that hir scent, so that by 
 that meanes when as she is thoroughly hungry she cometh by some of 
 them to hir pray. The Dragon flieth back and can not away with hir 
 smell." 
 
 1.20. "Formes her selfe''=squats herself i^<7r»2is the terminvenery 
 for the seat of a hare. 
 
 L 29. Babian=baboon. The word is from Dutch bavaan. "We 
 had our knowledge of this animal from the Hollanders, who found it in 
 great numbers at the Cape " (Gifford). 
 
 P. 184, 1. 19. " In their Bancks and Sleeps," i.e., and sleeps on their banks. 
 Drayton took ^ mischievous pleasure in misplacing the word "and" 
 wherever an opportunity occurred. 
 
 P. 186, L 28. "Whose yong ones poysned," &c. Old authors often allude 
 to the pelican's affection for her young. Cf. Shirley's Love in a Maze, 
 ii. 3 :— 
 
 " The pelican loves not her young so well. 
 That digs upon her breasts an hundred springs. 
 When in her blood she bathes the innocent birds." 
 
NOTES. 199 
 
 P. 188, 1. 26. "The Dart and Dipsas." "Amongst the divers kindes of 
 Serpents there is one of special note, which the Grecians call Aconitia, 
 the Latines Jaculares, or Jaculi,ox Sagitta, a dart or arrow. . . . The 
 reason of this name is taken from his swift leaping upon a man to 
 wound and kill him ; and therefore the poets say Jaculiq; volucres, 
 speaking of these kindes of Serpents. . . . The manner of this Serpent 
 is to get up into trees or hedges, and from thence to fiie like an arrow 
 upon the upper parts of men, and so to sting, bite, and kill them." 
 Topsail's Hist, of Serpents, ed. 1658, p. 696. Of the Dipsas, Topsail 
 writes : " This Dipsas hath many names from many occasions : First, 
 Dipsas in Greek signifieth thirst, as Sitis doth in Latine, and therefore 
 also it is called Situla, because whosoever is wounded by this Serpent 
 dyeth. It is also called by some Presterj and by some Catison because 
 it setteth the whole body on fire : but we shall shew afterwards that the 
 Prester is a diflferent Serpent from this. It is called likewise Melanurus, 
 because of his black tail, and Aminoatis, because it lieth in the sand 
 and there hurteth a man. It is not therefore unfitly defined by Avicen 
 to be Vipera sitim facietts, that is, A Viper causing thirst. ... It is but 
 a short serpent, and so small (as Artioldus writeth) it killeth before it be 
 espyed, the length of it not past a cubit, the fore-part being very thick, 
 except the head, which is small and so backward it groweth smaller 
 and smaller : the taiTbeing exceeding little, the colour of the forehead 
 somewhat white, but set over with black and yellow spots, the tale very 
 black " [ibid., p. 697). 
 
 UKVriN BKOTHERS, THB GRKSHAM PRESS, CHILWORTH AND LONDON.