SAMUEL DANIEL 
 
 AND 
 
 MICHAEL DRAYTON

 
 A SELECTION 
 
 FROM THE POETRY OF 
 
 SAMUEL DANIEL 
 
 MICHAEL DRAYTON 
 
 With an Introduction and Notes by 
 The Rev. H. C. Beeching, M.A. 
 
 LONDON 
 J. M. DENT & CO. 
 
 29 AND 30 BEDFORD STREET 
 1899
 
 p/e THE LIBRARY 
 
 '■^,, J UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 ^^S^/ SANTA BARBARA 
 
 TO 
 MY OXFORD PUPILS
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Introduction 
 
 A SELECTION FROM THE POEMS OF 
 SAMUEL DANIEL 
 
 Sonnets to Delia ..... 1 
 
 From the Complaint of Rosamond . . .16 
 
 From the Tragedy of Cleopatra . . .20 
 
 From the Civil Wars ..... 27 
 Epistle to the Lady Margaret, Countess of Cumberland 33 
 From Musophilus . . . . .38 
 
 From the Epistle to Sir Thomas Egerton . . 41 
 
 From the Tragedy of Philotas . . .44 
 
 Ulysses and the Siren 
 From the Queen's Arcadia 
 
 From Tethys' Festival 
 From Hymen's Triumph 
 An Ode 
 
 i- 
 
 A SELECTION FROM THE POEMS OF 
 MICHAEL DRAYTON 
 
 Daffadill ...... 57 
 
 From Endymion and Phoebe . . . .60
 
 Contents 
 
 From England's Heroical Epistlea 
 
 The Tower of Mortimer — From the Baron's Wars 
 
 PAOX 
 
 62 
 
 69 
 
 Idea (Sonnets) 
 To the New Year 
 
 
 
 
 77 
 88 
 
 To His Valentine 
 
 
 
 
 92 
 
 The Heart 
 
 
 
 
 95 
 
 To Master John Savage 
 The Crier 
 
 
 
 
 97 
 99 
 
 To his Coy Love 
 
 
 
 
 100 
 
 To his Rival . 
 
 
 
 
 101 
 
 Ballad of Agincourt . 
 To the Virginian Voyage 
 An Ode "Written in the Peak 
 
 
 
 
 103 
 107 
 110 
 
 From Poly-Olbion (Milford Haven) 
 
 ,, (Guy of Warwick) 
 An Elegy 
 
 
 
 112 
 114 
 118 
 
 N3rmphidia — The Court of Fairy 
 The Shepherd's Sirena 
 From the Muses' Elysium 
 
 
 
 125 
 148 
 160 
 
 ,, The Second 
 „ The Sixth ] 
 
 Nymp 
 *^ymph£ 
 
 lal 
 il 
 
 165 
 176 
 
 t
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 If any apology be required for bringing within 
 the covers of a single volume a selection from 
 both Daniel and Drayton, it must be offered in 
 the circumstance that occasioned it. Having to 
 lecture for the Oxford School of Literature upon 
 the minor Elizabethan poets, I could find no text 
 of either Daniel or Drayton to put into my pupils' 
 hands. Of Drayton indeed Mr A. H. Bullen 
 issued an excellent selection in 1883, but his 
 book is now as scarce as the early copies, and 
 almost as expensive. The only other modern 
 texts I know are Hooper's reprint of the Poly- 
 Olbion, and Morley's of the Barons' JVars and a 
 few other pieces, a useful book, but neither re- 
 presentative nor discriminating enough for my 
 purpose. Of Daniel there has been no edition ^ 
 since the two little volumes of 1718, and no 
 selection but that of Mr John Morris in 1855 
 issued to subscribers at Bath. Under these cir- 
 cumstances, Mr Dent generously came to my 
 help, and consented to publish a small book 
 containing the choice poems of both writers. 
 
 The association of the two is thus avowedly 
 fortuitous, but it will not, I venture to think, be 
 
 1 Dr Grosart in 1885 issued an edition of 150 copies for private 
 circulation, in which an attempt was made to collate texts. 
 But the notes at the end of this volume will make clear that a 
 satisfactory collation is still wanting.
 
 X Introduction 
 
 found unreasonable or without a special interest. 
 They were contemporaries, born within a year of 
 each other, and both reflect, with characteristic 
 peculiarities, the influences to Avhich poetry was 
 subject at the end of the sixteenth century. A 
 glance at the table which follows this introduction 
 will show that in 1592-3 they were both writing 
 sonnets ; a little later they were both writing 
 *' Legends," on the model set by the Mirror for 
 Magistrates, Daniel taking the story of Fair 
 Rosamond, and Drayton those of Piers Gaveston 
 and Matilda the Chaste. Later again both suc- 
 cumbed to the impulse to write Chronicle 
 History, Daniel choosing the Wars of the Roses, 
 and Drayton the JFars of the Barons under 
 Edward II. After this the parallel, though it 
 continues, is less close. Both wrote plays, but 
 while Drayton, in an unexplained period of poverty 
 at the end of Elizabeth's reign, became a stage 
 hack, Daniel, under the patronage of the Herberts, 
 wrote classical tragedies, with chorus, in the 
 manner of Seneca. Both again had a taste for 
 pastoral ; but Daniel, who held a post at Court, 
 wrote stately masks for the Queen ; while Drayton, 
 after experimenting in the style of the Shepheards 
 Calender, broke away from convention altogether 
 and wrote what are perhaps the only genuine 
 pastorals in the language. Finally we may note that 
 both wrote verse epistles to their contemporaries ; 
 and if Daniel compiled a History of England in 
 prose, Drayton wrote a Geography of England — 
 the Poly-Olhion — in what cannot, without stretch- 
 ing the term, be called poetry. 
 
 To the general reader, Daniel, if he is known
 
 Introduction xi 
 
 at all, is known by his Sonnets. But his Sonnets 
 are not his most distinguishing productions. 
 They are written in good language and correct 
 metre, and the sonnet rhythm — as the Eliza- 
 bethans understood it — is well preserved. Also 
 they usually open well, e.g. " Still in the trace of 
 one perplexed thought," and it is perhaps due to 
 this fact that they are occasionally mentioned in 
 the same sentence with Shakespeare's. Perhaps 
 a few like " And yet I cannot reprehend the 
 flight," or "Look, Delia, how we esteem the 
 half-blown rose," or, " Let others sing of knights 
 and paladins," might indeed pass muster in the 
 second Shakespearean rank. But for the most 
 part the thought is commonplace — a criticism 
 that cannot be made on anything Daniel wrote 
 later, and the excellence is the excellence of 
 single lines, like the address to Apollo : 
 
 " clear-eyed Rector of the holy hill ! " 
 or the description of Delia as 
 
 "A modest maid decked with a blush of honour. 
 Whose feet do ti'ead green paths of youth and love " ; 
 
 or the forecast of old age as a time 
 
 "When thou, surcharged with burden of thy years, 
 Shall bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth." 
 
 When Daniel published in the same volume his 
 Sonnets to Delia and his Complaint of Rosamond, 
 Spenser gave the book a warm welcome, but 
 hinted that the new poet's strength lay in the 
 "tragical" rather than the amatory poems. ^ The 
 modern reader, even if he must judge from the 
 few extracts here given, is likely to agree with 
 
 1 See the passage in Colin Olmit's come home again.
 
 xii Introduction 
 
 Spenser. The poet seems to have had no love 
 affair of his own to draw upon in the sonnets, 
 while in the Rosamond there was at any rate a 
 real experience to rouse his passion. 
 
 When we turn from Daniel's sonnets to Dray- 
 ton's, two points at once strike us. Drayton's 
 are less finished, and the images he employs are 
 apt to be more conventional ; but, on the other 
 hand, there is evident in many of them the 
 warmth of a real affection. The splendid sonnet 
 that some critics would ftxin steal for Shakespeare, 
 " Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part," 
 reads like all Drayton's later work, as though 
 struck out at a heat. It is as admirable as it 
 is, not from any subtlety of thought or expression, 
 but because it is the simple and passionate render- 
 ing of a sincere and passionate mood. It is inter- 
 esting to know that Drayton began sonneteering 
 as a disciple of Daniel, and then broke away 
 into his freer style, suj^pressing in 1605 the greater 
 number of the sonnets he had published in 1594. 
 The contrast between the two styles will be plain 
 if the reader will compare in this collection the 
 preciosity of the first and eighth sonnets, 
 
 ' ' Whei'e nightingales in Arden sit and sing 
 Among the dainty dew-empearled flowers," 
 
 with the almost blunt simplicity of the rest. These 
 later sonnets usually treat with great freedom and 
 vigour a single idea.^ More than usually successful 
 
 1 In printing the sonnets in this volume I have followed the 
 form of the early copies. Daniel prints in quatrains, Drayton 
 marks no division till the final couplet. The arrangement in 
 each case seems characteristic ; or at least it may be regarded 
 as symbolical.
 
 Introduction xiii 
 
 examples are those to Humour (p. 81) and to 
 Proverb (p. 86). But it is only on the rare 
 occasions when the idea is itself passionate that 
 they give the reader much delight. Then the 
 passion is certainly heightened by the apparent 
 spontaneity and lack of fastidiousness in the ex- 
 pression ; as in the " Dear, why should you com- 
 mand me to my rest," and the unequalled, " Since 
 there's no help." Critics are undoubtedly right 
 in recognising that this latter sonnet touches 
 Drayton's high-water mark ; but it is blindness 
 not to see that it is as certainly in Drayton's 
 own characteristic manner as its less happy 
 fellows. Whether Drayton had read Shake- 
 speare's sonnets is a question that would be worth 
 discussing. He had undoubtedly read Sidney's, 
 and read them with care.^ 
 
 To pass to the second phase of our poets' 
 literary activity. Daniel's Complaint of Rosamond 
 was published in 1592, and his First four books 
 of the Civil Wars in 1595 ; the first was written 
 in seven-line, the latter in eight-line stanzas. 
 Drayton in 159G issued his Mortimeriados in 
 seven-line stanzas, and in 1603 re-issued it in 
 eight-line as The Barons' Wars. The connexion 
 of which events would seem to be this, that 
 Drayton was stimulated by the success of 
 Daniel's Rosamond to attempt a similar " tragical " 
 theme, and chose the fall of Mortimer, which 
 he wrote in the same metre ; a perfectly familiar 
 
 _^ In a sonnet prefixed to the edition of 1605 he mentions 
 Sidney, Constable, and Daniel as the masters in the art. See 
 quotation in note to page 122. Collier pointed out that the 
 line in which Drayton professed his own originality, ' ' I am no 
 pickpurse of another's wit," was borrowed from Sidney.
 
 xiv Introduction 
 
 metre known as rime-royal, and admirably adapted 
 for pathetic monologue. When, however, Daniel's 
 historical poem appeared, Drayton, who though 
 less of an original artist than Daniel was an 
 apt scholar, saw at once how much more suitable 
 the eight-line stanza was for historical narrative ; 
 and as his Mortimeriados inevitably contained a 
 good deal of narrative, he re-wrote it, simplifying 
 the expression throughout and purging it of much 
 of the poetry. It was perhaps not to be expected 
 that in the preface he wrote to account for the 
 change he should refer to Daniel. The passages 
 here selected from the two poems are such as shew 
 each writer at his best. Neither is a good story- 
 teller ; Daniel excels in reflective, Drayton in 
 descriptive passages ; even when Daniel is most 
 descriptive, there is an undertone of reflection, as 
 when by way of describing the pageants in the 
 London streets to grace Bolingbroke's entry, he 
 says : 
 
 " Approaching near the city he was met 
 With all the sumptuons shows joy could devise, 
 Where neiv desire to please did not forget 
 To pass the usual pomp of former guise." 
 
 Drayton is more directly narrative, and his purple 
 patches are frankly purple patches, such as the 
 fine description of Mortimer's Tower (p. 69). 
 
 It may be interesting to compare their handling 
 of a similar theme. Take for this purpose the 
 passages where each poet describes the night his 
 dethroned monarch spends after his fall. Thus 
 Daniel upon Eichard : 
 
 " To Flint from thence unto a restless bed 
 That miserable night he comes conveyed ;
 
 Introduction xv 
 
 Poorly provided, poorly followed, 
 
 Uncourted, unrespected, unobeyed : 
 
 Where if uncertain sleep hut hovered 
 
 Over the drooping cares that heavy weighed, 
 
 Millions of figures fantasy presents 
 
 Unto that sorrow wakened gi'ief augments. 
 
 " His new misfortune makes deluding sleep 
 Say 'twas not so, false dreams the truth deny : 
 Wherewith he starts ; feels waking cares do creep 
 Upon his soul, and give his dream the lie : 
 Then sleeps again, and then again as deep 
 Deceits of darkness mock his misery : 
 So hard believed %vas sorrov^ in her youth, 
 That he thinks truth was dreams and dreams vxre truth." 
 
 With this compare Drayton upon Edward : 
 
 " By night affrighted in his fearful dreams 
 Of raging fiends and goblins that he meets, 
 Of falling doion frorii steep rocks into streams, 
 Of death, of burials, and of winding-sheets, 
 Of wandering helpless in far foreign rea[l,']ms. 
 Of strong temptations by seducing sprights, 
 Wherewith awaked, and calling out for aid, 
 His hollow voice doth make himself afraid. 
 
 Then came the vision of his bloody reign : — 
 Marching along with Lancaster's stern ghost, 
 Twenty-eight Barons, either hanged or slain," etc. 
 
 The passage from Drayton is the more picturesque 
 and clearly defined ; and the italicised lines in the 
 first stanza are finely descriptive ; then with the 
 procession of twenty-eight barons the dream be- 
 comes too realistic. Daniel leaves the dreams to 
 the reader's imagination, but produces far more 
 efl'ect by the pendulous movement of the stanza to 
 and fro between sleep and waking, and by the char- 
 acteristic touch of reflection with which he closes. 
 
 Drayton had displayed the fertility, which was 
 one of his most marked characteristics, by follow-
 
 xvi Introduction 
 
 ing up his Mortimeriados'^ by two other tragical 
 legends in the same manner and metre. Then 
 he struck out a new line of his own. Taking a 
 hint from Ovid, he put together a series of 
 England's Heroical Epistles,- all written with great 
 rhetorical skill and with occasional flashes of 
 poetical imagination and feeling. They were long 
 popular, and editions were frequent down to the 
 end of the last century. Mr Elton well parallels 
 them, both as to their conspicuous merits and 
 their defects, with Macaulay's Lays.^ The Heroical 
 Epistles were not Drayton's first attempt in the 
 heroic metre; already in 1595, before writing 
 Mortlmeriados, he had written a poem in couplets, 
 after the manner of Marlowe, on the subject of 
 Endymion and Phoebe. A short passage from the 
 opening of this poem is given on page 60. 
 
 After the publication of the historical poems 
 the paths of the two poets diverge. Each had 
 now developed his own peculiar powers, and they 
 were strikingly different. Daniel's tendency was 
 to meditation. He was an original and subtle 
 thinker, and he exercised himself on great matters. 
 But abstract thought is a dangerous occupation 
 for a poet, because he is apt to speak with his 
 tongue before the fire of his imagination is 
 kindled. Everyone must admire the thought 
 
 1 Drayton's title proves him to have been no Greek scholar, 
 and all his virtues and vices are unclassical. Daniel, on the 
 other hand, is the most Greek of our elder poets. 
 
 - In this case it would seem that Daniel imitated Drayton. 
 Eiiglands Heroicall Epistles were published in 1597. In 1599 
 appeared Daniel's A Letter sent from Octaria to her hushand 
 Marcus Antonius into Aegypt. 
 
 ■* See his indispensable "Introduction to Michael Drayton," 
 p. 23.
 
 Introduction xvii 
 
 of Musophilus, but its greatest admirer must 
 admit that the passages where the thought takes 
 flame are short and far between. There is 
 more sustained vitality in the Epistles, especially 
 in that to the Countess of Cumberland, which 
 was a favourite poem with Words worth. ^ But 
 we feel, as we read and admire, that poetry of 
 this sort approaches very near the confines of 
 prose ; and lovers of Daniel may also feel that 
 it was not the work to which the Muses had 
 called him. We are inclined to quote to him 
 the lines of Matthew Arnold, whom he not a 
 little resembles, lines that have been quoted 
 against that very unequal poet himself upon his 
 excursions into criticism : 
 
 "Not here, Apollo, 
 Are haunts meet for thee, 
 But where Helicon breaks down 
 In clift' to the sea." 
 
 When Daniel can keep near the springs of 
 Helicon, and forget criticism, his style at once 
 becomes limpid, and his imagination warm and 
 clear. Hymen's Triumph — which is Daniel's triumph 
 — is full from first to last of beautiful thought and 
 beautiful writing. In a copy of Daniel's poems in 
 my possession, that once belonged to Wordsworth, 
 I find the following note in his hand : 
 
 " This poem of Hymen's Triumph is far superior 
 to the Queen's Arcadia. The story, it is true, is 
 grossly improbable, but the piece, although sadly 
 injured by the underplot of Montanus, has 
 sufficient unity of interest, and is everywhere 
 scattered over with beautiful touches of passion 
 
 1 See passages quoted in notes, p. 188.
 
 xviii Introduction 
 
 and description written with true simplicity. 
 The language is throughout admirable, though 
 not altogether without conceits, and the senti- 
 ments, where they are pleasing themselves, are 
 sometimes unsuited to the characters." 
 
 To the passages which will be found quoted in 
 the sequel, one or two shorter pieces may be added 
 here, as the play is not easily procurable. Here 
 are two beautiful expressions, one of anticipated 
 joy, one of the inexpressible secret of loveliness : 
 
 " ' Methouglit the Sun 
 Arose this day with far more cheerful rays, 
 Witli brighter beams, than usually it did ; 
 As if it would bring something of release 
 Unto my cares ; or else my spirit hath had 
 Some manner of intelligence with Hope 
 Wherewith my Heart is unacquainted yet.' (iii. 3.) 
 
 ' ' ' Think not it was those colours, white and red, 
 Laid but on flesh, that could affect me so, 
 But something else, which thought holds under lock, 
 And liatli no key of words to open it. 
 They are the smallest pieces of the mind 
 That pass this narrow organ of the voice ; 
 The great remain behind in that vast orb 
 Of th' apprehension, and are never born.' (iii. 5.)" 
 
 Coleridge^ was at one with Wordsworth in 
 praising Daniel's "natural language," and they 
 do but echo the judgment of the poet's contem- 
 poraries, who spoke of him as " well-languaged," 
 " choice in word," " in English very pure and 
 
 1 "Read Daniel — the admirable Daniel — inhis Civil Wars and 
 Triumphs of Hymen. The style and language are just such as 
 any very pure and manly writer of the present day — Words- 
 worth, for example — would use." And again, " His diction is 
 pre-eminently pure " (Table Talk). See also the passage quoted 
 in the notes to page 51.
 
 Introduction xix 
 
 copious." And the praise is richly deserved. But 
 it needs qualifying in two ways. The praise of 
 Daniel's language must not be allowed to disguise 
 the fact that the thought, which it clothes so fitly, 
 is no less choice, or that there are frequent flashes 
 of illuminating imagination. 
 
 "And even now at this instant I confess, 
 Palffimon, I do feel a certain touch 
 Of comfort, which I fear to entertain, 
 Lest it should he some spy sent as a train 
 To make discovery of what strength I am.'''' 
 
 {H. T., iii. 4.) 
 
 " And then to see how soon example will 
 Disperse itself, being met with our desire ; 
 How soon it will enkindle others' ill, 
 Like naphtha that takes fire by sight oj fire." 
 
 (Q. A., ii. 4.) 
 
 '* For Honour never brought Unworthiness 
 Further than to the grave." {Funeral Poem.) 
 
 Of Daniel's tragedies and their relation to the 
 contemporary drama it would be out of place 
 to speak here, as the plays themselves are not 
 in evidence ; it must be sufficient to point in 
 passing to the peculiar solemnity and weight given 
 to the speeches by Daniel's practice of writing in 
 quatrains (see p. 23). But a word may be said 
 upon the lyrical choruses in Cleopatra, one of which 
 is given at length on pp. 20-22. Most cultivated 
 readers will feel their charm, though they will 
 possibly find it difficult to explain where precisely 
 the charm lies. Partly, no doubt, it may be due 
 to the unusual and effective six-syllable metre, 
 partly to the unusual and no less eftective arrange- 
 ment of rhymes, but beyond that there is little to
 
 XX Introduction 
 
 which attention can be called unless it be the 
 simple dignity of the thought and the simple 
 dignity of the language in which it is clothed. 
 
 Entirely unlike the delicate finish of Daniel's 
 work is the broad and free sweep of Drayton's 
 mature style. It is no question with him of 
 nuances whether of idea or expression. His Muse 
 has no pallor of thought. His sentiments are 
 those of the average healthy Englishman, and 
 the form into which they are cast impresses by 
 the vigour and raciness of the whole rather than 
 by any peculiar felicity of individual parts. The 
 spirit and movement of the Ballad of Agiiicourt, 
 and, in less degree, of the Virginia Voyage, have 
 long been recognised, and his love poems, though 
 more loosely put togethei", have not a little of 
 the rollicking ease that we associate with the 
 Cavalier poets. This is one of Drayton's claims 
 to recognition. Another is his fairy-poem, 
 Nymphidia, which has many of the qualities 
 necessary for success in so perilous a following 
 of the great master — invention, grace, and 
 humour. Finally, he deserves high praise for 
 daring to turn his back on the Spenserian con- 
 vention, and to write, in the Muses Elysium, 
 pastoral poems which, like those of Theocritus, 
 deal with the lives and pursuits of simple 
 country folk. Of the Poly-Olbion I would 
 speak with respect, for it was admired by 
 Charles Lamb. And I would admit that it 
 is much easier reading than might be thought 
 before attempting it. It has buoyancy and a 
 fine flowing line, and the reader soon covers the 
 ground. But the exercise is pretty much its own
 
 Introduction xxi 
 
 reward ; there are few beauties on the road to 
 justify one in taking that particular journey. 
 
 A word may be added as to the Editor's share 
 in the following pages. V^ery great pains have 
 been spent to make the text as accurate as 
 possible. For the most part it has been tran- 
 scribed from the best of the early copies; and 
 as the spelling had to be modernised, and the 
 punctuation adapted to the sense, the labour 
 has not been light ; and it can hardly be hoped 
 that all inconsistency has been avoided. A re- 
 ference to the notes will show that to several 
 passages in Daniel the Editor has been fortunate 
 in restoring the long-lost sense. The portrait of 
 Daniel is from that by Cockson, prefixed to the 
 1609 edition of the Civile JFars. The woodcut 
 of Drayton is from Hole's engraving in the 
 Poems of 1613 ; the mezzotint is, by permis- 
 sion, from that prefixed to Dr Garnett's reprint 
 of the Battaile of Agincoiirt. 
 
 Yattendon Rectory, 
 January 1899.
 
 A COMPARA 
 DANIEL. 
 
 1562. Samuel Daniel, born near Taunton, the son of John 
 Daniel, a music-master. 
 
 1579. Goes as a commoner to Magdalen Hall, but leaves 
 Oxford without a degree. 
 
 1585. Publishes a translation of Impresc, i.e. emblems, by 
 Paulus Jovius, Bishop of Nocera. 
 — -1591. Twenty-seven of his sonnets printed at the end of 
 Nash's edition of Astrophel and Stella. 
 
 1592. Delia, contayning certaine sonnets [50]. Dedi- 
 cated to Mary, Countess of Pembroke, "Sidney's 
 sister," at whose house at Wilton he was staying 
 as tutor to William Herbert. The book was 
 reprinted the same year with four additional 
 sonnets, and Tlie Comphiynt of PMsnmond. 
 
 1594. Cleopatra, added to an augmented reprint of Delia 
 
 and llosamond. 
 
 1595. Tlie Civile Wars between the two Houses of Lancaster 
 
 and Yorke ; first four books, and then five. 
 
 1599. Musophilus, or a General Defence of Learning. A 
 
 Letter from Octavia. to Marcus Antonius. 
 
 1600. Becomes tutor to Lady Anne Clifford, daughter of the 
 
 Countess of Cumberland. 
 
 1 602. Tlic Defence of Rym e. 
 
 1603. A Pancgyricke Congratulatorie. Poetical Epistles 
 
 (to Sir Thomas Egerton, Lord Henry Howard, 
 the Countess of Cumberland, the Countess of 
 Bedford, Lady Anne CliflTord, the Earl of 
 Southampton). 
 
 1604. Made censor of plays to the Queen's "children of 
 
 the revels." The Vision of the Twelve Goddesses, a 
 mask. The Queens Arcctdia, a pastoral play. 
 
 1605. The Tragedy of PMlotas, Ulisses and the Syren. 
 1607. Made one of the gi-ooms of the Queen's privy chamber. 
 
 1609. Eight books of the Civill Warres. 
 
 1610. Tethys Festival, a mask. 
 
 1612-1617. Collection of the Historic of England, in prose. 
 
 1615. Hymens Triumph, a pastoral play. 
 
 1619. Oct. , Daniel died at Beckingtou, where he had retired 
 
 to farm. 
 1623. His brother published The Whole Works of Samuel 
 
 Daniel, Esquire, in poetrie.
 
 TIVE TABLE. 
 
 DRAYTON. 
 
 1563. Michael Drayton, born at Hartshill, near Ather- 
 stone, Wanvickshire ; of uncertain parentage ; 
 patronised in early boyhood by Sir Henry Goodere 
 of Polesworth Hall, on the river Ancor, whose- 
 daughter Anne is certainly his "Idea." She 
 married Sir Henry Rainsford. 
 "1591. The Harmonic of the Church, paraphrases of Biblical 
 songs. The edition was seized and burnt ; why is 
 not known. D. reprinted it in 1610. 
 
 1593. Idea, the Shepherds Garland fashioned in nine Eglogs. 
 
 [The finest, containing the daifodil song, was added 
 in 1606.] Legend of Piers Gaveston. 
 
 1594. The Legend of Matilda. Ideas Mirrour : Amours in 
 
 Quatorzaiyis. (53 Sonnets.) 
 
 1595. Endiniioii and Phcehe, Ideeis Latmus. 
 
 1596. Morliiiuriados, The lamentable Civcll JFarres of 
 
 Edward the Second a.nd the Barrons, \\Titten in 
 rime-royal. The Tragicall Legend of Robert, Duke 
 of Normandy. 
 
 1597. Enejlands Heroicall Epistles. 
 
 1600. The History of Sir John Oldcastlc, a play in which 
 D. collaborated. 
 
 1603. To the Majestie of King James, a gratulatoric poem. 
 
 Tlie Barrons Wars in the Raigne of Edicard the 
 Second, a re-WTitten version of Mortimcriados in 
 ottava rima. 
 
 1604. The Oivl. 
 
 1606. Pocmes Lyrick and Pastorall ; Odes aiid Eglogs. 
 Seven more odes were added in the collected 
 volume of 1619. 
 
 1612. First eighteen songs of the Poly-Olbion. 
 
 1622. Poly-Olbian complete. 
 
 1627. A volume containing The Battaile of Agincourt, 
 The Miseries of Queene Margarete, Niinphidia, 
 the Court of Fayric, The Quest of Cynthia, The 
 Shepheards Sirena, The Moonecalf, and Elegies. 
 
 1630. The Muses Eliziiim, in ten " nimphalls," in a volume 
 
 with Noahs Floud, Moses his Birth and Miracles, 
 and David and Goliah. 
 
 1631. Dec. 23 [?], Drayton died. 
 
 r
 
 S(i/nuil Diniu'l.
 
 A SELECTION FROM THE 
 POEMS OF SAMUEL DANIEL 
 
 SONNETS TO DELIA 
 
 Unto the boundless ocean of thy beauty- 
 Runs this poor river, charged with streams of 
 
 zeal, 
 Returning thee the tribute of my duty. 
 Which here my love, my youth, my plaints 
 reveal. 
 Here I unclasp the book of my charged soul. 
 
 Where I have cast th' accounts of all my 
 
 care ; 
 Here have I summed my sighs ; here I enroll 
 How they were spent for thee ; look what they 
 are. 
 Look on the dear expences of my youth, 
 
 And see how just I reckon with thine eyes ; 
 Examine well thy beauty with my truth, 
 And cross my cares, ere greater sums arise. 
 Read it, sweet maid, though it be done but slightly ; 
 Who can show all his love, doth love but lightly.
 
 2 Sonnets to Delia 
 
 If so it hap this offspring of my care, 
 
 These fatal anthems, lamentable songs, 
 Come to their view who like afflicted are. 
 Let them sigh for their own, and moan my 
 wrongs. 
 
 But untouched hearts, with unaffected eye. 
 Approach not to behold my heaviness : 
 Clear-sighted you soon note what is awry. 
 While blinded souls mine errors never guess. 
 
 You blinded souls whom Youth and Error lead ! 
 You out-cast Eaglets, dazzled with your sun ! 
 Do you, ar.d none but you, my sorrows read ; 
 You best can judge the wrongs that she hath 
 done. 
 
 That she hath done ! — the motive of my pain : 
 
 Who, whilst I love, doth kill me with disdain. 
 
 These plaintive verse, the posts of my desire, 
 Which haste for succour to her slow regard. 
 Bear not report of any slender fire. 
 Forging a grief to win a fame's reward. 
 
 Nor are my passions limned for outward hue. 
 For that no colours can depaint my sorrows ; 
 Delia herself, and all the world, may view 
 Best in ray face where cares have till'd deep 
 furrows. 
 
 No bays I seek to deck my mourning brow, 
 clear-eyed Rector of the holy hill ! 
 My humble accents bear the olive bough 
 Of intercession, but to move her will. 
 
 These lines I use to unburden mine own heart ; 
 
 My love affects no fame, nor steams of art.
 
 Sonnets to Delia 3 
 
 Whilst Youth and Error led my wandering mind, 
 And set my thoughts in heedless ways to range, 
 All unawares a goddess chaste I find, 
 Diana-like, to work my sudden change. 
 
 For her no sooner had mine eyes bewrayed. 
 But with disdain to see me in that place 
 With fairest hand the sweet unkindest maid 
 Cast water-cold disdain upon my face. 
 
 Which turned my sport into a heart's despair. 
 Which still is chaced, while I have any breath, 
 By mine own thoughts set on me by my fair : 
 My thoughts, like hounds, pursue me to my death. 
 
 Those that I fostered of mine own accord 
 
 Are made by her to murder thus their lord. 
 
 Fair is my love, and cruel as she 's fair ; 
 
 Her brow-shades frown, although her eyes are 
 sunny ; 
 
 Her smiles are lightning though her pride 
 despair ; 
 
 And her disdains are gall, her favours honey. 
 A modest maid, decked with a blush of honour. 
 
 Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and 
 love ! 
 
 The wonder of all eyes that look upon her ; 
 
 Sacred on earth, designed a saint above ! 
 Chastity and Beauty, which were deadly foes, 
 
 Live reconciled friends within her brow ; 
 
 And had she Pity to conjoin with those 
 
 Then who had heard the plaints I utter now 1 
 For had she not been fair, and thus unkind. 
 My Muse had slept, and none had known my mind.
 
 Sonnets to Delia 
 
 If this be love, to draw a weary breath, 
 
 Paint on floods till the shore cry to the air ; 
 With downward looks, still reading on the earth 
 The sad memorials of my love's despair : 
 
 If this be love, to war against my soul. 
 
 Lie down to wail, rise up to sigh and grieve, 
 
 This never-resting stone of care to roll, 
 
 Still to complain my griefs whilst none relieve. 
 
 If this be love to clothe me with dark thoughts. 
 Haunting untrodden paths to wail apart ; 
 My pleasures horror, music tragic notes. 
 Tears in mine eyes and sorrow at my heart. 
 
 If this be love, to live a living death : — 
 
 Then do I love and draw this weary breath. 
 
 My spotless love hovers with purest wings 
 About the temple of the proudest frame, 
 Where blaze those lights, fairest of earthly 
 
 things. 
 Which clear our clouded world with brightest 
 flame. 
 
 My ambitious thoughts, confined in her face. 
 Affect no honour but what she can give : 
 My hopes do rest in limits of her grace ; 
 I weigh no comfort, unless she relieve. 
 
 For she, that can my heart imparadise, 
 
 Holds in her fairest hand what dearest is ; 
 My fortune's-wheel's the circle of her eyes. 
 Whose rolling grace deign once a turn of bliss ! 
 
 All my life's sweet consists in her alone, 
 
 So much I love the most unloving one.
 
 Sonnets to Delia 
 
 Behold what hap Pygmalion had to frame 
 And carve his proper grief upon a stone ! 
 My heavy fortune is much like the same ; 
 I work on flint, and that's the cause I moan. 
 
 For hapless, lo ! even with mine own desires 
 I figured on the table of mine heart 
 The fairest form that all the world admires ; 
 And so did perish by my proper art. 
 
 And still I toil, to change the marble breast 
 Of her, whose sweetest grace I do adore ; 
 Yet cannot find her breathe unto my rest : 
 Hard is her heart, and woe is me therefore ! 
 
 But happy he that joyed his stone and art : 
 
 Unhappy I, to love a stony heart. 
 
 Why should I sing in verse, why should I frame 
 These sad neglected notes for her dear sake 1 
 Why should I ofi"er up unto her name 
 The sweetest sacrifice my youth can make 1 
 
 Why should I strive to make her live for ever 
 That never deigns to give me joy to live 1 
 Why should my afflicted Muse so much en- 
 deavour 
 Such honour unto cruelty to give 1 
 
 If her defects have purchased her this fame 
 
 What should her virtues do, her smiles, her 
 
 love? 
 If this her worst, how should her best inflame ] 
 What passions would her milder favours move 1 
 
 Favours, I think, would sense quite overcome, 
 
 And that makes happy lovers ever dumb.
 
 Sonnets to Delia 
 
 Since the first look that led me to this error, 
 
 To this thoughts' maze, to my confusion tending, 
 Still have I lived in grief, in hope, in terror, 
 The circle of my sorrows never ending. 
 
 Yet cannot leave her love that holds me hateful ; 
 Her eyes exact it, though her heart disdains me : 
 See what reward he hath that serves the un- 
 grateful ! 
 So true and loyal love no favour gains me. 
 
 Still must I whet my young desires abated 
 Upon the flint of such a heart rebelling, 
 And all in vain ; her pride is so innated. 
 She yields no place at all for Pity's dwelling. 
 
 Oft have I told her that my soul dicl love her, 
 
 And that with tears, yet all this will not move her. 
 
 Restore thy tresses to the golden ore ; 
 
 Yield Cytherea's son those arcs of love : 
 Bequeath the heavens the stars that I adore ; 
 And to the orient do thy pearls remove. 
 
 Yield thy hands' pride unto the ivory white ; 
 To Arabian odours give thy breathing sweet i 
 Restore thy blush unto Aurora bright ; 
 To Thetis give the honour of thy feet. 
 
 Let Venus have thy graces her resigned ; 
 
 And thy sweet voice give back unto the spheres : 
 But yet restore thy fierce and cruel mind 
 To Hyrcan tigers and to ruthless bears. 
 
 Yield to the marble thy hard heart again ; 
 
 So shalt thou cease to plague and I to pain.
 
 Sonnets to Delia 
 
 Time, cruel Time, come and subdue that brow, 
 Which conquers sll but thee ; and thee too stays 
 As if she were exempt from Scythe or Bow, 
 From Love or Years, unsubject to decays. 
 
 Or art thou grown in league with those fair eyes. 
 That they may help thee to consume our days? 
 Or dost thou spare her for her cruelties, 
 Being merciless like thee, that no man weighs 1 
 
 And yet thou see'st thy power she disobeys ; 
 
 Cares not for thee but lets thee waste in vain ; 
 And prodigal of hours and years, betrays 
 Beauty and Youth to Opinion and Disdain. 
 
 Yet spare her, Time ; let her exempted be ; 
 
 She may become more kind to thee or me. 
 
 Eeign in my thoughts, fair hand, sweet eye, rare 
 voice. 
 Possess me whole, my heart's triumvirate : 
 Yet heavy heart to make so hard a choice, 
 Of such as spoil thy poor, afflicted state. 
 
 For whilst they strive which shall be lord of all. 
 All my poor life by them is trodden down ; 
 They all erect their trophies on my fall. 
 And yield me nought, that gives them their 
 renown. 
 
 When back I look I sigh my freedom past, 
 And wail the state wherein I present stand, 
 And see my fortune ever like to last, 
 Finding me reined with such a heavy hand. 
 
 What can I do but yield 1 — And yield I do. 
 
 And serve all three ; nnd yet they spoil me too.
 
 Sonnets to Delia 
 
 Still in the trace of one perplexed thought, 
 My ceaseless cares continually run on ; 
 Seeking in vain, what I have ever sought, 
 One in my love and her hard heart still one. 
 
 I who did never joy in other sun, 
 
 And have no stars but those that must fulfil 
 The work of rigour, fatally begun 
 Upon this heart, whom cruelty will kill. 
 
 Injurious Delia, yet I love thee still ; 
 
 And will, whilst I shall draw this breath of mine: 
 I'll tell the world, that I deserved but ill, 
 And blame myself to excuse that heart of thine. 
 
 See then who sins the greater of us twain ; 
 
 I in my love, or thou in thy disdain. 
 
 And yet I cannot reprehend the flight, 
 
 Or blame the attempt presuming so to soar ; 
 The mounting venture for a high delight 
 Did make the honour of the fall the more. 
 
 For who gets wealth that puts not from the shore ? 
 Danger hath honour, great designs their fame ; 
 Glory doth follow, courage goes before. 
 And though the event oft answers not the same, 
 Suffice that high attempts have never shame. 
 
 The mean observer, whom base safety keeps. 
 Lives without honour, dies without a name, 
 And in eternal darkness ever sleeps. 
 
 And therefore, Delia, 'tis to me no blot 
 
 To have attempted though attained thee not.
 
 Sonnets to Delia 9 
 
 Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose 
 The image of thy blush, and summer's honour ! 
 Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose 
 That full of beauty Time bestows upon her. 
 
 No sooner spreads her gloiy in the air 
 
 But strait her wide-blown pomp comes to 
 
 decline ; 
 She then is scorn'd that late adorned the fair ; 
 So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine. 
 
 No April can revive thy ^vithered flowers 
 
 Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now ; 
 Swift, speedy Time, feathered with flying hours, 
 Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow. 
 
 Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain. 
 
 But love now, whilst thou mayst be loved again. 
 
 But love whilst that thou mayst be lov'd again, 
 Now whilst thy May hath filled thy lap with 
 
 flowers ; 
 Now whilst thy beauty bears without a stain 
 Now use the summer smiles ere winter lowers. 
 
 And whilst thou spread'st unto the rising sun 
 The fairest flower that ever saw the light. 
 Now joy thy time before thy sweet be done ; 
 And, Delia, think thy morning must have night, 
 
 And that thy brightness sets at length to west 
 When thou wilt close up that which now thou 
 
 show'st, 
 And think the same becomes thy fading best. 
 Which then shall most enveil and shadow most. 
 
 Men do not weigh the stalk for that it was. 
 
 When once they find her flower, her glory, pass.
 
 10 Sonnets to Delia 
 
 When men shall find thy flower, thy glory, pass, 
 And thou with careful brow sitting alone 
 Eeceived hast this message from thy glass 
 That tells the truth and says that all is gone ; 
 
 Fresh shalt thou see in me the wounds thou mad'st, 
 Though spent thy flame, in me the heat remain- 
 ing ; 
 I that have loved thee thus before thou fad'st 
 My faith shall wax, Avhen thou art in thy waning. 
 
 The world shall find this miracle in me, 
 
 That fire can burn when all the matter's spent : 
 Then what my faith hath been thy self shalt see, 
 And that thou wast unkind thou mayst repent. 
 
 Thou mayst repent that thou hast scorned my tears 
 
 When winter snows upon thy sable hairs. 
 
 When winter snows upon thy sable hairs, 
 
 And frost of age hath nipt thy beauties near ; 
 
 When dark shall seem thy day that never clears, 
 
 And all lies withered that was held so dear ; 
 Then take this picture which I here present thee 
 
 Limned with a pencil not all unworthy ; 
 
 Here see the gifts that God and Nature lent thee; 
 
 Here read thyself and what I suffered for thee. 
 This may remain thy lasting monument. 
 
 Which happily posterity may cherish ; 
 
 These colours with thy fading are not spent ; 
 
 These may remain Avhen thou and I shall perish 
 If they remain, then thou shalt live thereby ; 
 They will remain, and so thou canst not die.
 
 Sonnets to Delia 11 
 
 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable iS'ight, 
 Brother to Death, in silent darkness born : 
 Eelieve my languish, and restore the light ; 
 With dark forgetting of my care, return ! 
 
 And let the day be time enough to mourn 
 The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth : 
 Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, 
 Without the torment of the night's untruth. 
 
 Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, 
 
 To model forth the passions of the morrow ; 
 Never let rising sun approve you liars, 
 To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow. 
 
 Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain ; 
 
 And never wake to feel the day's disdain. 
 
 Most fair and lovely maid, look from the shore. 
 See thy Leander striving in these waves ! 
 Poor soul quite sj^ent whose force can do no 
 
 more 
 
 Now send forth hope, for now calm pity saves. 
 And waft him to thee with those lovely eyes, 
 
 A happy convoy to a holy laud : 
 
 Now show thy power, and where thy virtue lies ; 
 
 To save thine own, stretch out the fairest hand. 
 Stretch out the fairest baud, a pledge of peace. 
 
 That hand that darts so right and never misses. 
 
 I shall forget old wrongs, my griefs shall cease, 
 
 And that which gave me wounds, I'll give it 
 kisses. 
 Once let the Ocean of my cares find shore. 
 That thou be pleased, and I may sigh no more.
 
 12 Sonnets to Delia 
 
 Read in my face a volume of despairs, 
 The wailing Iliads of my tragic woe, 
 Drawn with my blood and painted with my 
 
 cares, 
 Wrought by her hand that I have honoured so. 
 
 Who whilst I burn, she sings at my soul's wrack, 
 Looking aloft from turret of her pride ; 
 There my soul's tyrant joys her in the sack 
 Of her own seat, whereof I made her guide. 
 
 There do these smokes that from affliction rise 
 Serve as an incense to a cruel dame, 
 A sacrifice thrice grateful to her eyes. 
 Because their power serve to exact the same. 
 
 Thus ruins she, to satisfy her will, 
 
 The temple where her name was honoured still. 
 
 I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes would read 
 Lines of delight, whereon her youth might 
 
 smile ; 
 Flowers have a time before they come to seed 
 And she is young, and now must sport the 
 while. 
 
 And sport, sweet maid, in season of these years 
 And learn to gather flowers before they wither ; 
 And where the sweetest blossom first appears 
 Let Love and Youth conduct thy pleasures 
 thither. 
 
 Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air 
 
 And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise : 
 Pity and smiles do best become the fair ; 
 Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise. 
 
 Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone, 
 
 Happy the heart that sighed for such a one.
 
 Sonnets to Delia 13 
 
 Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew, 
 Whose short refresh upon the tender green 
 Cheers for a time, but till the sun doth shew, 
 And straight 'tis gone as it had never been. 
 
 Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish ; 
 Short is the glory of the blushing rose : 
 The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish, 
 Yet which at length thou must be forced to 
 lose. 
 
 When thou, surcharged with burden of thy years, 
 Shalt bend thy wrinkles homeward to the 
 
 earth. 
 And that in beauty's lease expired appears 
 The date of age, the calends of our death ; — 
 
 But ah ! no more ; this must not be foretold : 
 
 For women grieve to think they must be old. 
 
 At the Author's Going into Italy 
 
 And whither, poor forsaken, wilt thou go. 
 To go from sorrow and thine own distress, 
 When every place presents like face of woe 
 And no remove can make thy sorrows less 1 
 
 Yet go, forsaken ; leave these woods, these plains, 
 Leave her and all, and all for her, that leaves 
 Thee and thy love forlorn, and both disdains ; 
 And of both wrongful deems and ill conceives. 
 
 Seek out some place ; and see if any place 
 Can give the least release unto thy grief. 
 Convey thee from the thought of thy disgrace, 
 Steal from thyself, and be thy care's own thief. 
 
 But yet what comforts shall I hereby gain 1 
 
 Bearing the wound, I needs must feel the pain.
 
 14 Sonnets to Delia 
 
 At the Author's Being in Italy. 
 
 Drawn with the attractive virtue of her eyes, 
 My touched heart turns it to that happy coast — 
 My joyful North, where all my fortune lies, 
 The level of my hopes desired most : 
 
 There where my Delia fairer than the sun. 
 
 Decked with her youth whereon the world doth 
 
 smile, 
 Joys in that honour which her eyes have Avon, 
 The eternal wonder of our happy isle ! 
 
 Flourish, fair Albion, glory of the North ! 
 
 Neptune's best darling, held between his arms: 
 Divided from the world as better worth ; 
 Kept for himself, defended from all harms. 
 
 Still let disarmed Peace deck her and thee ; 
 
 And Muse-foe Mars abroad far fostered be. 
 
 Let others sing of Knights and Paladins 
 In aged accents and untimely words ; 
 Paint shadows in imaginary lines 
 Which well the reach of their high wits records : 
 
 But I must sing of thee, and those fair eyes 
 Authentic shall my verse in time to come ; 
 When yet th' unborn shall say,Lo where she lies, 
 Whose beauty made him speak that else was 
 dumb. 
 
 These are the arcs, the trophies I erect, 
 That fortify thy name against old age ; 
 And these thy sacred virtues must protect 
 Against the dark, and Time's consuming rage. 
 
 Though the error of my youth in them appear, 
 
 Suffice they shew I lived and loved thee dear.
 
 Sonnets to Delia 15 
 
 As to the Eoman that would free his land 
 His error was his honour and renown, 
 And more the fame of his mistaking hand 
 Than if he had the tyrant overthrown ; 
 
 So, Delia, hath mine error made me known, 
 
 And my deceived attempt deserved more fame 
 
 Than if I had the victory mine own, 
 
 And thy hard heart had yielded up the same. 
 
 And so likewise renowned is thy blame ; 
 Thy cruelty, thy glory. O strange case, 
 That errors should be graced, that merit shame, 
 And sin of frowns bring honour to the face ! 
 
 Yet happy, Delia, that thou wast unkind. 
 
 Though happier far, if thou wouldst change thy 
 mind.
 
 From THE COMPLAINT OF 
 ROSAMOND 
 
 EosAMOND Complains 
 
 I WOULD to God my foot had never moved 
 From country-safety, from the fields of rest ; 
 To know the danger to be highly loved, 
 And live in pomp to brave among the best ; 
 Happy for me, better had I been blest, 
 If I unluckily had never strayed. 
 But lived at home a happy country-maid ; 
 
 Whose unaflfected innocency thinks 
 
 No guileful fraud as doth the courtly liver ; 
 
 She's decked with truth ; the river where she 
 drinks 
 
 Doth serve her for her glass, her counsel-giver ; 
 
 She loves sincerely and is loved ever. 
 
 Her days are peace, and so she ends her breath, — 
 True life that knows not what's to die till death. 
 
 King Heney meets the Bier 
 
 Amazed he stands, nor voice nor body stirs ; 
 Words had no passage, tears no issue found ; 
 For sorrow shut up words, wrath kept in tears ; 
 Confused affects each other do confound ; 
 Opprest vnih grief, his passions had no bound. 
 
 Striving to tell his woes, words would not come ; 
 
 For light cares speak when mighty griefs are 
 dumb.
 
 The Complaint of Rosamond 17 
 
 At length extremity breaks out a way 
 
 Through which th' imprisoned voice, with tears 
 
 attended, 
 Wails out a sound that sorrows do bewray; 
 With arms across, and eyes to heaven bended. 
 Vapouring out sighs that to the skies ascended ; 
 Sighs (the poor ease calamity affords) 
 Which serve for speech when soitow wanteth 
 words. 
 
 " heavens," quoth he, " why do mine eyes behold 
 The hateful rays of this unhappy sun ? 
 Why have I light to see my sins controlled 
 With blood of mine own shame thus vildly done ! 
 How can my sight endure to look thereon 1 
 Why doth not black eternal darkness hide 
 That from mine eyes my heart cannot abide ? 
 
 " What saw my life wherein my soul might joy ? 
 
 What had my days, whom troubles still afflicted, 
 
 But only this, to counterjDoise annoy ? 
 
 This joy, this hope, which Death hath interdicted ; 
 
 This sweet, whose loss hath all distress inflicted ; 
 This, that did season all my sour of life. 
 Vexed still at home with broils, abroad in strife ? 
 
 " Vexed still at home with broils, abroad in strife, 
 Dissension in my blood, jars in my bed ; 
 Distrust at board, suspecting still my life. 
 Spending the night in horror, days in dread, 
 Such life hath Tyrants and this life I led ; 
 
 These miseries go masked in glittering shows, 
 Which wise men see, the vulgar little knows." 
 B
 
 18 The Complaint of Rosamond 
 
 Thus, as these passions do him overwhelm, 
 He draws him near the body to behold it : 
 And as the vine married unto the elm 
 With strict embraces, so doth he enfold it; 
 And as he in his careful arms doth hold it, 
 
 Viewing the face that even Death commends, 
 On senseless lips millions of kisses spends. 
 
 " Pitiful mouth," saith he, " that living gavest 
 The sweetest comfort that my soul could wish ; 
 be it lawful now that dead thou havest 
 This sorrowing farewell of a dying kiss. 
 And you fair eyes, containers of my bliss, 
 Motives of love, born to be matched never. 
 Entombed in your sweet circles sleep for ever. 
 
 "Ah, how methinks I see Death dallying seeks 
 To entertain itself in Love's sweet place ; 
 Decayed roses of discoloured cheeks 
 Do yet retain dear notes of former grace ; 
 And ugly death sits fair within her face ; 
 Sweet remnants resting of vermilion red, 
 That Death itself doubts whether she be dead. 
 
 *' Wonder of beauty, oh, receive these plaints. 
 These obsequies, the last that I shall make thee ', 
 For lo, my soul that now already faints 
 (That loved thee living, dead will not forsake thee) 
 Hastens her speedy course to overtake thee. 
 
 I'll meet my death, and free myself thereby ; 
 
 For, ah, what can he do that cannot die 1
 
 The Complaint of Rosamond 19 
 
 " Yet ere I die thus much my soul doth vow, 
 Kevenge shall sweeten death Avith ease of mind ; 
 And I Avill cause posterity shall know 
 How fair thou Avert above all women-kind ; 
 And after ages monuments shall find 
 
 Shewing thy beauty's title (not thy name) 
 Rose of the world that sweetened so the same."
 
 From THE TRAGEDY OF 
 CLEOPATRA 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Then thus we have beheld 
 Th' accomplishment of woes, 
 The full of ruin and 
 The worst of worst of ills : 
 And seen all hope expelled, 
 That ever sweet repose 
 Shall repossess the land 
 That Desolation fills ; 
 And where Ambition spills 
 With uncontrolled hand 
 All th' issue of all those 
 That so long rule have held : 
 To make us no more us, 
 But clean confound us thus. 
 
 And can'st, Nilus, thou 
 Father of floods, endure 
 That yellow Tiber should 
 With sandy streams rule thee 1 
 Wilt thou be pleased to bow 
 To him those feet so pure, 
 Whose unknown head we hold 
 A power divine to be ?
 
 The Tragedy of Cleopatra 21 
 
 Thou that did'st ever see 
 Thy free banks uncontrolled, 
 Live under thine own cure ; 
 Ah, wilt thou bear it now ? 
 And now wilt yield thy streams 
 A prey to other reams ? ^ 
 
 Draw back thy waters' flow 
 To thy concealed head ; 
 Eocks strangle up thy waves. 
 Stop cataracts thy fall, 
 And turn thy courses so 
 That sanrly deserts dead 
 (The world of dust that craves 
 To swallow thee up all) 
 May drink so much as shall 
 Eevive from vasty graves 
 A living green, which spread 
 Far flourishing may grow 
 On that wide face of death, 
 Where nothing now draws breath. 
 
 Fatten some people there, 
 Even as thou us hast done, 
 With plenty's wanton store, 
 And feeble luxury ; 
 And them as us prepare 
 Fit for the day of moan. 
 Respected not before. 
 Leave levelled Egypt dry, 
 A barren prey to lie. 
 Wasted for evermore ; 
 
 ^ i.e. realms.
 
 22 The Tragedy of Cleopatra 
 
 Of plenties yielding none 
 
 To recompense the care 
 
 Of victor's greedy lust, 
 
 And bring forth nought but dust. 
 
 And so, leave to be, 
 Sith thou art what thou art ; 
 Let not our race possess 
 The inheritance of shame. 
 The fee of sin, that we 
 Have left them for their part. 
 The yoke of whose distress 
 Must still upbraid our blame, 
 Telling from whom it came. 
 Our weight of wantonness 
 Lies heavy on their heart, 
 Who nevermore shall see 
 The glory of that worth 
 They left, who brought us forth. 
 
 O then, all-seeing light. 
 High President of heaven. 
 You Magistrates, the stars, 
 Of that eternal court 
 Of Providence and Eight, — 
 Are these the bounds ye have given 
 Th' untranspassable bars 
 That limit pride so short 'i 
 Is greatness of this sort. 
 That greatness greatness mars. 
 And wracks itself, self-driven 
 On rocks of her own might 1 
 Doth Order order so 
 Disorder's overthrow 1
 
 The Tragedy of Cleopatra 23 
 
 The Death of Cleopatra 
 
 Well, in I went, where brighter than the sun 
 Glittering in all her pompous rich array 
 Great Cleopatra sat, as if she had won 
 Csesar, and all the world beside, this day : 
 Even as she was when on thy crystal streams, 
 Clear Cydnus, she did shew what earth could shew, 
 When Asia all amazed in wonder deems 
 Venus from heaven was come on earth below. 
 Even as she went at first to meet her love, 
 So goes she now [at last] again to find him ; 
 But that first did her greatness only prove, 
 This last her love that could not live behind him. 
 Yet as she sat, the doubt of my good speed 
 Detracts much from the sweetness of her look ; 
 Cheer-marrer Care did then such passions breed 
 That made her eye bewray the grief she took. 
 But she no sooner sees me in the place, 
 But straight her sorrow-clouded brow she cleai s. 
 Lightening a smile from out a stormy face. 
 Which all her tempest-beaten senses cheers. 
 Look how a strayed perplexed traveller 
 When chased by thieves, and even at point of 
 
 taking. 
 Descrying suddenly some town not far, 
 Or some unlooked-for aid to him-ward making ; 
 Cheers up his tired spirits, thrusts forth his strength, 
 To meet that good that comes in so good hour : 
 Such was her joy, perceiving now at length 
 Her honour was to escape so proud a power. 
 Forth from her seat she hastes to meet the present 
 And as one over-joyed she caught it straight
 
 24 The Tragedy of Cleopatra 
 
 And with a smiling cheer in action pleasant 
 Looking among the figs, finds the deceit. 
 And seeing there the ugly, venomous beast, 
 Nothing dismayed, she stays and views it well ; 
 At length the extremest of her passion ceased 
 When she began with words her joy to tell : 
 
 "0 rarest beast," saith she, "that Afric breeds 
 How dearly welcome art thou unto me ! 
 The fairest creature that fair Nilus feeds 
 Methinks I see, in now beholding thee. 
 What though the ever-erring world doth deem 
 That angered Nature framed thee but in spite, 
 Little they know what they so light esteem, 
 That never learned the wonder of thy might. 
 Better than Death Death's office thou dischargest, 
 That with one gentle touch canst free our breath. 
 And in a pleasing sleep our soul enlargest, 
 Making ourselves not privy to our death. 
 If Nature erred, then how happy error ! 
 Thinking to make thee worst, she made thee best ; 
 Sith thou best free'st us from our live's worst terror, 
 In sweetly bringing souls to quiet rest. 
 Therefore come thou, of wonders wonder chief, 
 That open canst with such an easy key 
 The door of life, — come, gentle cunning thief, 
 That from ourselves so steal'st ourselves away." 
 
 With that she bares her arm, and offer makes 
 To touch her death, yet at the touch withdraws, 
 And, seeming more to speak, occasion takes, 
 Willing to die, and willing too to pause. 
 
 Look how a mother at her son's departing, 
 For some far voyage bent to get him fame. 
 Doth entertain him with an idle parling, 
 And still doth speak, and still speaks but the same ;
 
 The Tragedy of Cleopatra 25 
 
 Now bids farewell, and now recalls him back, 
 Tells what was told, and bids again farewell, 
 And yet again recalls ; for still doth lack 
 Something that Love would fain, and cannot, tell. 
 Pleased he should go, yet cannot let him go. — 
 So she, although she knew there was no way 
 But this, yet this she could not handle so 
 But she must shew that life desired delay. 
 Fain would she entertain the time as now. 
 And now would fain that Death should seize upon 
 
 her 
 Whilst I might see presented in her brow 
 The doubtful combat tried 'twixt Life and Honour. 
 [Till] sharply blaming of her rebel powers, 
 
 "False Flesh," saith she, "and what! dost 
 thou conspire 
 With Ca3sar too, as thou wert none of ours, 
 To work my shame, and hinder my desire 1 
 Wilt thou retain in closure of thy veins 
 That enemy base Life, to let my good ? 
 No, know there is a greater power constrains 
 Than can be counter-checked with fearful blood. 
 For to the mind that's great nothing seems great : 
 And seeing death to be the last of woes. 
 And life lasting disgrace, which I shall get, 
 What do I lose that have but life to lose ! " 
 
 This having said, strengthened in her own heart 
 And union of herself, senses in one 
 Charging together, she performs that part 
 That hath so great a part of glory won • 
 And so receives the deadly poisoning touch, 
 That touch that tried the gold of her love pure ; 
 And hath confirmed her honour to be such 
 As must a wonder to all worlds endure.
 
 26 The Tragedy of Cleopatra 
 
 Chorus 
 
 The scene is broken down 
 And all uncovered lies ; 
 The purple actors known 
 Scarce ruen, whom men despise. 
 
 The complots of the wise 
 Prove imperfection's smoke : 
 And all what wonder gave 
 To pleasure-gazing eyes 
 Lies scattered, dashed, all broke. 
 Thus much begixiled have 
 Poor unconsiderate Avights 
 These momentary pleasures, fugitive delights.
 
 From THE CIVIL WARS 
 
 King Eichard II. led to London 
 
 Straight toAvards London, in this heat of pride, 
 They forward set, as they had fore-decreed ; 
 With whom the captive King, constrain'd, must 
 
 ride. 
 Most meanly mounted on a simple steed : 
 Degraded of all grace and ease beside, 
 Thereby neglect of all respect to breed. 
 For th' over-spreading pomp of prouder might 
 Must darken weakness, and debase his sight. 
 
 Approaching near the city he was met 
 
 AVith all the sumptuous shews joy could devise ; 
 
 Where new desire to please did not forget 
 
 To pass the usual pomp of former guise. 
 
 Striving applause, as out of prison let, 
 
 Euns on, beyond all bounds, to novelties ; 
 
 And voice, and hands, and knees, and all do now 
 
 A strange deformed form of welcome show. 
 
 And manifold confusion running greets, 
 
 Shouts, cries, claps hands, thrusts, strives, and 
 
 presses near : 
 Houses impov'rish'd were to enrich the streets, 
 And streets left naked, that (unhappy) were 
 Plac'd from the sight where joy with wonder meets ; 
 Where all of all degrees strive to appear ; 
 Where divers- speaking zeal one murmiu" finds. 
 In undistinguish'd voice to tell their minds.
 
 28 The Civil Wars 
 
 He that in glory of his fortune sat, 
 Admiring what he thought could never be, 
 Did feel his blood within salute his state. 
 And lift up his rejoicing soul, to see 
 So many hands and hearts congratulate 
 Th' advancement of his long-desir'd degree j 
 When, prodigal of thanks, in passing by, 
 He re-salutes them all with cheerful eye. 
 
 Behind him, all aloof, came pensive on 
 The unregarded King ; that drooping went 
 Alone, and (but for spite) scarce look'd upon : 
 Judge, if he did more envy, or lament ! 
 See what a wondrous work this day is done ! 
 Which th' image of both fortunes doth present ; 
 In th' one to shew the best of glory's face, 
 In th' other worse than worst of all disgrace. 
 
 His Foreboding of Death 
 
 Whether the soul receives intelligence 
 By her near genius, of the body's end. 
 And so imimrts a sadness to the sense, 
 Fore-going ruin, whereto it doth tend : 
 Or whether nature else hath conference 
 With profound sleep, and so doth warning send 
 By prophetizing dreams, what hurt is near, 
 And gives the heavy careful heart to fear ; 
 
 However, so it is the now sad King 
 (Toss'd here and there, his quiet to confound) 
 Feels a strange weight of sorrows gathering 
 Upon his trembling heart, and sees no ground ;
 
 The Civil Wars 29 
 
 Feels sudden terror bring cold shivering : 
 Lists not to eat ; still muses ; sleeps unsound : 
 His senses droop, his steady eyes unquick ; 
 And much he ails, and yet he is not sick. 
 
 The morning of that day which was his last. 
 
 After a weary rest rising to pain, 
 
 Out at a little grate his eyes he cast 
 
 Upon those bord'ring hills, and open plain. 
 
 And views the town, and sees how people pass'd ; 
 
 Where others' liberty makes him complain 
 
 The more his own, and grieves his soul the more ; 
 
 Conferring captive crowns with freedom poor. 
 
 " happy man," saith he, " that lo I see 
 Grazing his cattle in those pleasant fields ! 
 If he but knew his good, how blessed he, 
 That feels not what affliction greatness yields ! 
 Other than what he is he would not be, 
 Nor change his state with him that sceptres wields. 
 Thine, thine, is that true life . . . That is to live 
 To rest secure, and not rise up to grieve. 
 
 " Thou sitt'st at home safe by thy quiet fire. 
 And hear'st of others' harms, but feelest none ; 
 And there thou tell'st of kings, and who aspire. 
 Who fall, who rise, who triumphs, who do moan. 
 Perhaps thou talk'st of me, and dost enquire 
 Of my restraint ; why here I live alone ; 
 And pitiest this my miserable fall : 
 For pity must have part ; envy not all. 
 
 " Thrice happy you, that look as from the shore, 
 And have no venture in the wreck you see ; 
 No interest, no occasion to deplore 
 Other men's travels, while yourselves sit free.
 
 30 The Civil Wars 
 
 How much doth your sweet rest make us the more 
 To see our misery, and what we be ! 
 Whose blinded greatness ever in turmoil, 
 Still seeking hapjiy life, makes life a toil." 
 
 The Death of Talbot 
 
 To whom th' aggrieved son (as if disgrac'd) — 
 
 " Ah ! Father, have you then selected me 
 
 To be the man, whom you would have displac'd 
 
 Out of the roll of immortality ^ 
 
 What have I done this day, that hath defac'd 
 
 My worth ; that my hands' work despis'd should be 1 
 
 God shield I should bear home a coward's name : 
 
 He long enough hath liv'd, who dies with fame." 
 
 At which the father, touch'd with sorrowing joy, 
 Turn'd him about (shaking his head) and says, 
 " my dear son, worthy a better day, 
 To enter thy first youth in hard assays ! " 
 And now hath wrath, impatient of delay, 
 Begun the fight, and farther speeches stays. 
 Fury thrusts on ; striving whose sword should be 
 First warmed in the wounds of th' enemy. 
 
 Hotly these small (but mighty-minded) bands 
 (As if ambitious now of death) do strain 
 Against innumerable armed hands. 
 And gloriously a wondrous fight maintain ; 
 Kushing on all whatever strength withstands. 
 Whetting their wrath on blood, and on disdain ; 
 And so far thrust, that hard 'twere to descry, 
 Whether they more desire to kill, or die.
 
 The Civil Wars 31 
 
 Frank of their own, greedy of others' blood, 
 No stroke they give but wounds, no wound but kills: 
 Near to their hate, close to their work they stood ; 
 Hit where they would, their hand obeys their wills ; 
 Scorning the blow from far that doth no good, 
 Loathing the crack, unless some blood it spills : 
 No wounds could let out life that wrath held in. 
 Till others' wounds reveng'd did first begin. 
 
 So much true resolution wrought in those 
 Who had made covenant with death before. 
 That their small number (scorning so gi-eat foes) 
 Made France most happy, that there were no more ; 
 And fortune doubt to Avhom she might dispose 
 That Aveary day ; or unto whom restore 
 The glory of a conquest dearly bought. 
 Which scarce the conqueror could think well got. 
 
 For as with equal rage, and equal might, 
 Two adverse winds combat, with billows proud, 
 And neither yield : seas, skies maintain like fight, 
 Wave against wave oppos'd, and cloud to cloud : 
 So war both sides with obstinate despite. 
 With like revenge ; and neither party bow'd : 
 Fronting each other with confounding blows. 
 No wound one sword unto the other owes. 
 
 Whilst Talbot (whose fresh ardour having got 
 A marvellous advantage of his years) 
 Carries his unfelt age as if forgot, 
 WTiirling about where any need appears. 
 His hand, his eye, his wits all present, wrought 
 The function of the glorious part he bears : 
 Now urging here, now cheering there, he flies ; 
 Unlocks the thickest troops, where most force lies.
 
 32 The Civil Wars 
 
 In midst of wrath, of wounds, of blood and death 
 There is he most, where as he may do best ; 
 And there the closest ranks he severeth. 
 Drives back the stoutest pow'rs that forward press'd: 
 There makes his sword his way — there laboureth 
 Th' infatigable hand that never ceas'd ; 
 Scorning unto his mortal wounds to yield. 
 Till death became best master of the field. 
 
 Then like a sturdy oak, that having long 
 Against the wars of fiercest winds made head, 
 When with some forc'd tempestuous rage more 
 
 strong 
 His down-borne top comes over-mastered, 
 All the near bord'ring trees, he stood among, 
 Crush'd with his weighty fall, lie ruined : 
 So lay his spoils, all round about him slain 
 To adorn his death, that could not die in vain.
 
 EPISTLE TO THE LADY MARGARET, 
 COUNTESS OF CUMBERLAND 
 
 He that of such a height hath built his mind, 
 And rear'd the dwelling of his thoughts so strong, 
 As neither fear nor hope can shake the frame 
 Of his resolved pow'rs ; nor all the wind 
 Of vanity or malice pierce to wrong 
 His settled peace, or to disturb the same : 
 What a fair seat hath he, from whence he may 
 The boundless wastes and wilds of man survey 1 
 
 And with how free an eye doth he look down 
 Upon these lower regions of turmoil ? 
 Where all the storms of passions mainly beat 
 On flesh and blood : where honour, pow'r, renown 
 Are only gay afflictions, golden toil ; 
 Where greatness stands upon as feeble feet 
 As frailty doth ; and only great doth seem 
 To little minds, who do it so esteem. 
 
 He looks upon the mightiest monarchs' wars 
 But only as on stately robberies ; 
 Where evermore the fortune that prevails 
 ]\Iust be the right : the ill-succeeding mars 
 The fairest and the best-fac'd enterprize. 
 Great pirate Pompey lesser pirates quails :
 
 34 Epistle to Countess of Cumberland 
 
 Justice, he sees (as if seduced), still 
 
 Conspires with pow'r, whose cause must not be ill. 
 
 He sees the face of Right t' appear as manifold 
 As are the passions of uncertain man ; 
 Who puts it in all colours, all attires, 
 To serve his ends, and make his courses hold. 
 He sees, that let deceit work what it can. 
 Plot and contrive base ways to high desires, 
 That the all-guiding Providence doth yet 
 All flisappoint, and mocks this smoke of wit. 
 
 Nor is he mov'd with all the thunder-cracks 
 Of tyrants' threats, or with the surly brow 
 Of pow'r, that proudly sits on others' crimes ; 
 Charg'd with more crying sins than those he checks. 
 The storms of sad confusion, that may grow 
 Up in the present for the coming times, 
 Appal not him ; that hath no side at all. 
 But of himself, and knows the worst can fall. 
 
 Altho' his heart, so near allied to earth, 
 Cannot but pity the perplexed state 
 Of troublous and distress'd mortality, 
 That thus make way unto the ugly birth 
 Of their own sorrows, and do still beget 
 Affliction upon imbecility : 
 Yet seeing thus the course of things must run, 
 He looks thereon not strange, but as fore-done. 
 
 And whilst distraught ambition compasses, 
 And is encompass'd ; whilst as craft deceives, 
 And is deceiv'd ; whilst man doth ransack man, 
 And builds on blood, and rises by distress ; 
 And th' inheritance of desolation leaves 
 To great-expecting hopes : he looks thereon, 
 As from the shore of peace, with unwet eye, 
 And bears no venture in impiety.
 
 Epistle to Countess of Cumberland 35 
 
 Thus, Madam, fares the man that hath prepar'd 
 A rest for his desires ; and sees all things 
 Beneath him ; and hath learn'd this book of man, 
 Full of the notes of frailty ; and compar'd 
 The best of glory with her sufferings : 
 By whom, I see, you labour all you can 
 To plant your heart ; and set your thoughts as near 
 His glorious mansion, as your pow'rs can bear. 
 
 Which, Madam, are so soundly fashioned 
 By that clear judgment, that hath carried you 
 Beyond the feeble limits of your kind. 
 As they can stand against the strongest head 
 Passion can make ; inur'd to any hue 
 The world can cast ; that cannot cast that mind 
 Out of her form of goodness, that doth see 
 Both what the best and worst of earth can be. 
 
 Which makes, that Avhatsoever here befals, 
 You in the region of yourself remain : 
 Where no vain breath of th' impudent molests. 
 That hath secur'd within the brazen walls 
 Of a clear conscience, that without all stain 
 Eises in peace, in innocency rests ; 
 Whilst all what malice from without procures. 
 Shews her own ugly heart, but hurts not yours. 
 
 And whereas none rejoice more in revenge 
 Than women use to do ; yet you well know, 
 That wrong is better check'd by being contemn'd, 
 Than being pursu'd ; leaving to him to avenge, 
 To whom it appertains. Wherein you show. 
 How worthily your clearness hath condemn'd 
 Base malediction, living in the dark, 
 That at the rays of goodness still doth bark. 
 
 Knowing the heart of man is set to be 
 The centre of his world, about the which
 
 36 Epistle to Countess of Cumberland 
 
 These revolutions of disturbances 
 Still roll ; where all th' aspects of misery 
 Predominate ; whose strong effects are such, 
 As he must bear, being powerless to redress : 
 And that unless above himself he can 
 Erect himself, how poor a thing is man ! 
 
 And how turmoil'd they are that level lie 
 With earth, and cannot lift themselves from thence ; 
 That never are at peace with their desires. 
 But work beyond their years ; and ev'n deny 
 Dotage her rest, and hardly will dispense 
 With death. That when ability expires, 
 Desire lives still — so much delight they have, 
 To carry toil and travail to the grave. 
 
 Whose ends you see ; and what can be the best 
 They reach unto, when they have cast the sum 
 And reck'nings of their glory. And you know. 
 This floating life hath but this port of rest, 
 A heart prepared, that fears no ill to come. 
 And that man's greatness rests but in his show. 
 The best of all whose days consumed are. 
 Either in war, or peace conceiving war. 
 
 This concord. Madam, of a well-tun'd mind 
 Hath been so set by that all-working hand 
 Of heav'n, that tho' the world hath done his 
 
 worst 
 To put it out by discords most unkind ; 
 Yet doth it still in perfect union stand 
 With God and man ; nor ever will be forc'd 
 From that most sweet accord ; but still agree. 
 Equal in fortune's inequality. 
 
 And this note. Madam, of your worthiness 
 Remains recorded in so many hearts. 
 As time nor malice cannot wrong your right,
 
 Epistle to Countess of Cumberland 37 
 
 In th' inheritance of fame you must possess : 
 You that have built you by your great deserts, 
 Out of small means, a far more exquisite 
 And glorious dwelling for your honour'd name, 
 Than all the gold of leaden minds can frame.
 
 From MUSOPHILUS 
 
 NON OMNIS MORIAR 
 
 Short-breathed Mortality would yet extend 
 That span of life so far forth as it may ; 
 And rob her fate, seek to beguile her end 
 Of some few lingering days of after-stay ; 
 That all this Little-all might not descend 
 Into the dark an universal prey : 
 A.nd give our labours yet this poor delight 
 That when our days do end, they are not done ; 
 And though we die, we shall not perish quite, 
 But live two lives where others have but one. 
 
 Literature 
 
 blessed Letters, that combine in one 
 All ages past, and make one live with all ! 
 By you we do confer with who are gone, 
 And the dead-living unto council call : 
 By you the unborn shall have communion 
 Of what we feel and what doth us befall. 
 
 Soul of the World, Knowledge, without thee 
 What hath the earth that truly glorious is ] 
 Why should our pride make such a stir to be, 
 To be forgot 1 What good is like to this, 
 To do worthy the writing, and to write 
 Worthy the reading, and the world's delight !
 
 Musophilus 39 
 
 Religion 
 
 ^- Sacred Religion ! Mother of Form and Fear ! 
 How gorgeously sometimes dost thou sit decked ! 
 What pompous vestures do we make thee wear, 
 What stately piles we prodigal erect, 
 How sweet perfumed thou art, how shining clear, 
 How solemnly observed, with what respect ! 
 
 Another time all plain, all quite thread-bare ; 
 Thou must have all within, and nought without ; 
 Sit poorly without light, disrobed, — no care 
 Of outward grace, to amuse the poor devout ; 
 Powerless, unfollowed ; scarcely men can spare 
 The necessary rites to set thee out ! 
 
 (jiwvavTa avveTolcri 
 
 And for the few that only lend their ear, 
 That few is all the world ; which with a few 
 Do ever live, and move, and work, and stir. 
 
 This is the heart doth feel, and only know 
 The rest of all that only bodies bear. 
 Roll up and down, and fill but up the row ; 
 
 And serves as others' members, not their own, 
 The instruments of those that do direct. 
 Then what disgrace is this, not to be known 
 To those know not to give themselves respect ? 
 And though they swell with pomp of folly blown, 
 They live ungraced, and die but in neglect. 
 
 And for my part, if only one allow 
 The care my labouring spirits take in this ; 
 He is to me a theatre large enow, 
 And his applause only sufficient is ; 
 All my respect is bent but to his brow ; 
 That is my all, and all I am is his.
 
 40 Musophilus 
 
 English Poetry 
 
 Power above Powers ! heavenly Eloquence ! 
 That with the strong rein of commanding words 
 Dost manage, guide, and master the eminence 
 Of men's affections, more than all their swords ! 
 Shall we not offer to thy excellence 
 The richest treasure that our wit affords 1 
 
 Thou that can'st do much more with one poor pen, 
 Than all the powers of Princes can effect, 
 And draw, divert, dispose, and fashion men. 
 Better than force or rigour can direct ! 
 Should we this ornament of glory, then, 
 As the unmaterial fruits of shades, neglect 1 
 
 Or should we careless come behind the rest 
 In power of words, that go before in worth ; 
 Whenas our accent's equal to the best. 
 Is able greater wonders to bring forth 1 
 When all that ever hotter spirits exprest 
 Comes bettered by the patience of the North.
 
 From THE EPISTLE TO SIR 
 THOMAS EGERTON 
 
 Laay 
 
 Xow when we see the most combining band, 
 The strongest fastening of Society, 
 Law, whei-eon all this frame of men doth stand, 
 Eemain concussed with uncertainty ; 
 Aud se«rm to foster, rather than withstand, 
 Contention, and embrace obscurity. 
 Only to afflict, and not to fashion us, 
 Making her cure far worse than the disease : 
 
 As if she had made covenant with wrong 
 To part the prey made on our weaknesses ; 
 And suffered falsehood to be armed as strong 
 Unto the combat as is righteousness ; 
 Or suited her, as if she did belong 
 Unto our passions, and did even profess 
 Contention, as her only mystery. 
 Which she restrains not, but doth multiply ; — 
 
 Was she the same she is now in ages past, 
 
 Or was she less when she was used less 1 
 
 And grows as malice grows, and so comes cast 
 
 Just to the form of our unquietness 1 
 
 Or made more slow the more that strife runs fast, 
 
 Staying to undo us ere she will redress ?
 
 42 Epistle to Sir Thomas Egerton 
 
 That the ill she checks seems suffered to be ill, 
 When it yields greater gain than goodness will. 
 
 Must there be still some discord mixt among 
 The harmony of men whose mood accords 
 Best with contention, tuned to a note of wrong, 
 That when war fails, peace must make war with 
 
 words, 
 And be armed unto destruction even as strong 
 As were in ages past our civil swords ; 
 Making as deep although unbleeding wounds 
 That whenas fury fails, wisdom confounds. 
 
 If it be wisdom and not cunning this 
 
 Which so embroils the state of Truth with brawls, 
 
 And wraps it up in strange confvisedness 
 
 As if it lived immured within the walls 
 
 Of hideous terms, framed out of barbarousness 
 
 And foreign customs, the memorials 
 
 Of our subjection, and could never be 
 
 Delivered but by wrangling subtilty. 
 
 Whereas it dwells free in the open plain 
 
 Uncurious, gentle, easy of access : 
 
 Certain vnito itself ; of equal vein ; 
 
 One face, one colour, one assuredness. 
 
 It's falsehood that is intricate and vain, 
 
 And needs these labyrinths of subtleness : 
 
 For where the cunning'st coverings most appear, 
 
 It arc;ues still that all is not sincere.
 
 Epistle to Sir Thomas Egerton 43 
 
 Justice 
 
 All glory else besides ends with our breath, 
 And men's respects scarce brings us to our grave : 
 But this of doing good must outlive death 
 And have a right out of the right it gave. 
 Though th' act but few, th' example profiteth 
 Thousands that shall thereby a blessing have. 
 The world's respect grows not but on deserts ; 
 Power may have knees, but Justice hath our hearts.
 
 From THE TRAGEDY OF PHILOTAS 
 
 Chorus 
 
 How dost thou wear and weary out thy days, 
 Restless ambition, never at an end ! 
 Whose travels no Herculean pillar stays. 
 But still beyond thy rest thy labours tend ; 
 Above good fortune thou thy hopes dost raise, 
 Still climbing, and yet never canst ascend : 
 For when thou hast attained unto the top 
 Of thy desires, thou hast not yet got up. 
 
 That height of fortune either is controlled 
 By some more powerful overlooking eye. 
 That doth the fulness of thy grace withhold. 
 Or counter-checked with some concurrency ; 
 That it doth cost far more ado to hold 
 The height attained, than was to get so high ; 
 \Yhere stand thou canst not but with careful toil, 
 ISTor loose thy hold without thy utter spoil. 
 
 There dost thou struggle with thine own distrust 
 And others' jealousies ; there counterplot 
 Against some underworking pride, that must 
 Supplanted be, or else thou standest not ; 
 There wrong is played with wrong, and he that 
 
 thrust 
 Down others comes himself to have that lot. 
 The same concussion doth afflict his breast 
 That others shook ; oppression is opjaressed.
 
 The Tragedy of Philotas 45 
 
 That either Happiness dwells not so high, 
 Or else above, whereto Pride cannot rise : 
 And that the highest of man's felicity 
 But in the region of Affliction lies : 
 And that we climb but up to misery. 
 High fortunes are but high calamities ! 
 
 It is not in that sphere where Peace doth move ; 
 
 Rest dwells below it, Happiness above.
 
 ULYSSES AND THE SIREN 
 
 Siren 
 
 Come, worthy Greek ! Ulysses, come ; 
 Possess these shores with me ! 
 The Avinds and seas are troublesome 
 And here we may be free ! 
 
 Here may we sit and view their toil 
 That travail on the deep, 
 And joy the day in mirth the while 
 And spend the night in sleep. 
 
 Ulysses 
 
 Fair nymph, if fame or honour were 
 To be attained with ease, 
 Then would I come and rest [me there] 
 And leave such toils as these. 
 
 But here it dwells, and here must I 
 With danger seek it forth : 
 To spend the time luxuriously 
 Becomes not men of worth. 
 
 Siren 
 
 Ulysses, be not deceived 
 With that unreal name ; 
 This honour is a thing conceived 
 And rests on others' fame ; 
 46
 
 Ulysses and the Siren 47 
 
 Begotten only to molest 
 Our peace, and to beguile 
 The best thing of our life — our rest, 
 And give us up to toil. 
 
 Ulysses 
 
 Delicious nymph, suppose there were 
 Nor honour nor report, 
 Yet manliness would scorn to wear 
 The time in idle sport ; 
 
 For toil doth give a better touch 
 To make us feel our joy, 
 And ease finds tediousness as much 
 As labour yields annoy. 
 
 Siren 
 
 Then pleasure likewise seems the shore 
 Whereto tends all your toil, 
 Which you forgo to make it more. 
 And perish oft the while. 
 
 Who may disport them diversely 
 Find never tedious day. 
 And ease may have variety 
 As well as action may. 
 
 Ulysses 
 
 But natures of the noblest frame 
 These toils and dangers please ; 
 And they take comfort in the same 
 As much as you in ease ; 
 
 And with the thought of actions past 
 Are recreated still ; 
 W^hen Pleasure leaves a touch at last 
 To shew that it was ill.
 
 48 Ulysses and the Siren 
 
 Siren 
 
 That doth Opinion only cause 
 That's out of Custom bred, 
 Which makes us many other laws 
 Than ever Nature did. 
 
 No widows wail for our delights, 
 Our sports are without blood ; 
 The world we see by warlike wights 
 Receives more hurt than good. 
 
 Ulysses 
 
 But yet the state of things require 
 These motions of unrest ; 
 And these great spirits of high desire 
 Seem born to turn them best ; 
 
 To purge the mischiefs that increase 
 And all good order mar, 
 For oft we see a wicked peace 
 To be well changed for war. 
 
 Siren 
 
 Well, well, Ulysses, then I see 
 I shall not have thee here ; 
 And therefore I will come to thee 
 And take my fortune there. 
 
 I must be won that cannot win 
 Yet lost were I not won, 
 For beauty hath created been 
 To undo, or be undone.
 
 From THE QUEEN'S ARCADIA 
 
 Beauty 
 
 SoiMETHiNG there is peculiar and alone 
 To every beauty, that doth give an edge 
 To our desires, and more we Avill conceive 
 Iq that we have not, than in that we have. 
 And I have heard abroad, where best experience 
 And wit is learned, tliat all the fairest choice 
 Of women in the world serve but to make 
 One perfect beauty, whereof each brings part. 
 One hath a pleasing smile, and nothing else : 
 Another but some silly mole to grace 
 The area of a disproportioned face ; 
 Another pleases not but when she speaks. 
 And some in silence only graceful are : 
 Some till they laugh, we see, seem to be fair ; 
 Some have their bodies good, their gestures ill. 
 Some please in motion, some in sitting still ; 
 Some are thought lovely that have nothing fair, 
 Some again fair that nothing lovely are. 
 So that we see how beauty doth consist 
 Of divers pieces, and yet all attract. 
 
 (Act II. Scene hi.) 
 
 49
 
 From TETHYS' FESTIVAL 
 
 Pleasure and Imagination 
 
 Are they shadows that we see ? 
 And can shadows pleasure give 1 
 Pleasures only shadows be, 
 Cast by bodies we conceive, 
 And are made the things we deem 
 In those figures which they seem. 
 
 But these pleasures vanish fast, 
 Which by shadows are exprest ; 
 Pleasures are not, if they last ; 
 In their passing is their best. 
 Glory is most bright and gay 
 In a flash and so away. 
 
 Feed apace, then, greedy eyes 
 On the wonder you behold ; 
 Take it sudden as it flies, 
 Though you take it not to hold. 
 AVhen your eyes have done their part, 
 Thought must length it in the heart.
 
 From HYMEN'S TRIUMPH 
 
 Thirsis Describes His First Love for Silvia 
 
 Ah, I remember Avell (and how can I 
 But evermore remember well) when first 
 Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was 
 The flame we felt ; when as we sat and sighed 
 And looked upon each other, and conceived 
 Not what we ailed, yet something we did ail ; 
 And yet were well, and yet we were not well ; 
 And what was our disease we could not tell. 
 Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look : And thus 
 In that first garden of our simpleness 
 We spent our childhood : but when years began 
 To reap the fruit of knowledge, ah, how then 
 Would she with graver looks, with sweet stern brow, 
 Check my presumption and my forwardness ; 
 Yet still would give me flowers, still would me show 
 What she would have me, yet not have me, know. 
 
 Thiesls' Song 
 
 Eyes hide my love and do not show 
 
 To any but to her my notes, 
 Who only doth that cipher know, 
 
 Wherewith we pass our secret thoughts : 
 Bely your looks in others' sight ; 
 
 And wrong yourselves to do her right.
 
 52 Hymen's Triumph 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Love is a sickness full of woes 
 
 All remedies refusing : 
 A plant that with most cutting grows, 
 Most barren with best using. 
 Why so 1 
 More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 
 If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 
 Heyho. 
 
 Love is a torment of the mind, 
 
 A tempest everlasting : 
 And Jove hath made it of a kind, 
 Not well, nor full, nor fasting. 
 AYhy so 1 
 More we enjoy it, more it dies, 
 If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 
 Heyho. 
 
 The Eecovery of Thirsis and Silvia 
 
 Good news, my friends, and I will tell it you ! 
 Silvia and Thirsis being to my cottage brought. 
 The skilful Lamia comes and searched the wound 
 Which Silvia had received of this rude swain. 
 And finding it not deadly, she applied 
 Those remedies she knew of best effect. 
 And binds it up and pours into her mouth 
 Such cordial waters as revive the spirits : 
 And so much wrought, as she at length perceived 
 Life Avas not quite gone out, but lay oppressed. 
 
 With like endeavours we on Thirsis work. 
 And ministered like cordials unto him : 
 At length we might hear Silvia fetch a groan. 
 And therewithal Thirsis perceived to move ;
 
 Hymen's Triumph 53 
 
 Then Thirsis fetched a groan, and Silvia moved, 
 As if their lives were made both of one piece. 
 Whereat we joyed and then reiiioved, and set 
 Each before other, and held up their heads, 
 And chafed their temples, rubbed and stroked their 
 cheeks. 
 
 Wherewith first Silvia cast up her dim eyes 
 And presently did Thirsis lift up his. 
 And then again they both together sighed 
 And each on other Hxed an unseeing eye : 
 For yet 'twas scarce the twilight of their new 
 Eeturning day, out of the night of death. 
 And though they saw, they did not yet perceive 
 Each other, and yet both turned to one point, 
 As touched alike, and held their looks direct. 
 At length we might perceive, as life began 
 To appear, and make the morning in their eyes ; 
 Their beams were clearei", and their opener looks 
 Did shew as if they took some little note 
 Of each the other : ytt not so as they 
 Could thoroughly discern who themselves were. 
 
 And then we took and joined their hands in one. 
 And held them so a while, until we felt 
 How ev'n each other's touch the motion gave 
 Unto their feeling, and they trembling wrung 
 Their hands together, and so held them locked, 
 Looked still upon each other, but no words at all. 
 
 Then we called out to Thirsis, "Thirsis, look. 
 It is thy Silvia thou here hold'st, she is 
 Returned, revived, and safe ; Silvia, behold thou hast 
 Thy Thirsis, and sbalt ever have liim thine." 
 
 Then did we set them both upon their feet 
 And there they stood in act, ev'n as before. 
 Looking upon each other, hand in hand :
 
 54 Hymen's Triumph 
 
 At last we saw a blushing red appear 
 In both their cheeks, which sense set as a lamp 
 To light their understanding. And forthwith 
 The tears gushed forth their eyes, which hindered 
 
 them 
 A while from seeing each other, till they had 
 Cleared them again. And then as if new waked 
 From out a fearful dream, they stand and doubt 
 Whether they were awake indeed, or else 
 Still in a dream, distrusting their own eyes. 
 Their long-endured miseries would not 
 Let them believe their sudden happiness 
 Although they saw it : till with much ado 
 They had confirmed their credit, and had kissed 
 Each other, and embraced, and kissed again, 
 And yet still dumb ; their joy now seemed to be 
 Too busy with their thoughts, to allow them words. 
 
 And then they walked a little, then stood still, 
 Then walked again, and still held other fast, 
 As if they feared they should be lost again. 
 
 And when at last they spake, it was but this, 
 Silvia and Thirsis, and there stopped. 
 
 We, lest our sight and presence (being there 
 So many) hinder might the passage of 
 Their modest, simple and unpractised love, 
 Came all our way, and only Lamia left. 
 Whose spirit, and that sufficient skill she hath, 
 Will serve, no doubt, to see they shall do well.
 
 AN ODE 
 
 Now each creature joys the other 
 Passing happy days and hours, 
 
 One bird reports unto another 
 In the fall of silver showers, 
 
 Whilst the earth (our common mother) 
 Hath her bosom decked with flowers. 
 
 Whilst the greatest torch of heaven, 
 With bright rays warms Flora's lap, 
 
 Making nights and days both even, 
 Cheering plants with fresher sap ; 
 
 My field, of flowers quite bereaven, 
 Wants refresh of better hap. 
 
 Echo, daughter of the Air, 
 
 Babbling guest of rocks and hills, 
 Knows the name of my fierce Fair, 
 
 And sounds the accents of my ills. 
 Each thing pities my despair. 
 
 Whilst that she her lover kills.
 
 56 An Ode 
 
 Whilst that she, O cruel maid, 
 Doth me and my ^ love despise, 
 
 My life's flourish is decayed 
 That depended on her eyes : 
 
 But her Avill must be oheyed. 
 
 And well he ends for love who dies. 
 
 ^ First edition reads viy true love. 
 
 ■k
 
 Jitr. Mdrts(mlldHln 0-VarmciyviHa . t^ neons. 
 V, jrrfe fiias Quatis^ oDsitti)^iimctfuit. 
 
 (y^ ^ain'o, rcsonantn^imn^irifl) antra '
 
 A SELECTION FROM THE 
 POEMS OF MICHAEL DRAYTON 
 
 From THE NINTH ECLOGUE 
 
 Daffadill 
 
 Batte. Gorbo as thou cam'st this way 
 By yonder little hill, 
 Or as thou through the fields didst stray 
 Saw'st thou my Daffadill ? 
 
 She's in a frock of Lincoln green, 
 Which colour likes her sight, 
 And never hath her beauty seen 
 But through a veil of white. 
 
 Than roses richer to behold 
 That trim up lovers' bowers, 
 The pansy and the marigold, 
 Though Phoebus' paramours.
 
 58 Daffadill 
 
 Gorho. Thou well describ'st the daffadill ; 
 It is not full an hour 
 Since by the spring near yonder hill 
 I saw that lovely flower. 
 
 Batte. Yet my fair flower thou didst not meet 
 Nor news of her didst bring, 
 And yet my Dafi'adiU's more sweet 
 Than that by yonder spring. 
 
 Gorho. I saw a shepherd, that doth keep 
 In yonder field of lilies, 
 Was making (as he fed his sheep) 
 A wreath of daffadilies, 
 
 Batte. Yet, Gorbo, thou delud'st me still ; 
 My flower thou didst not see, 
 For, know, my pretty Dafiadill 
 Is worn of none but me. 
 
 To show itself but near her feet 
 No lily is so bold. 
 Except to shade her from the heat 
 Or keej) her from the cold. 
 
 Goi-ho. Through yonder vale as I did pass, 
 Descending from the hill, 
 I met a smirking bonny lass ; 
 They call her Daffadill. 
 
 Whose presence as along she went 
 
 The pretty flowers did greet 
 
 As though their heads they downward bent 
 
 With homacre to her feet.
 
 Daffadill 59 
 
 And all the shepherds that were nigh 
 From top of every hill 
 Unto the valleys loud did cry 
 " There goes sweet Daffadill." 
 
 Batte. Ay, gentle shepherd, now with joy 
 Thou all my flocks dost fill ; 
 That's she alone, kind shepherd's boy ; 
 Let us to Daffadill.
 
 From ENDYMION AND PHCEBE 
 
 Diana's Grove at Latmos 
 
 Upon this mount there stood a stately grove, 
 Whose reaching arms to clip the welkin strove, 
 Of tufted Cedars and the branching Pine 
 Whose bushy tops themselves do so entwine 
 As seemed when Nature first this work begun 
 She then conspired against the piercing Sun : 
 Under whose covert thus divinely made 
 Phoebus' green Laurel flourished in the shade, 
 Fair Venus' JNIyrtle, ]\Iars' his warlike Fir, 
 Minerva's Olive, and the weeping Myrrh, 
 The patient Palm which thrives in spite of hate, 
 The Poplar to Ai:)ollo consecrate. 
 Which Nature in such order had disposed, 
 And therewithal these goodly walks enclosed, 
 As served for hangings and rich tapestry 
 To beautify this stately gallery. 
 Embroidring these in curious trails along 
 The clustred grapes, the golden citrons hung ; 
 More glorious than the precious fruit were these 
 Kept by the dragon in Hesperides, 
 Or gorgeous arras in rich colours wrought 
 With silk from Afric or from India brought. 
 Out of this soil sweet bubbling fountains crept. 
 As though for joy the senseless stones had wept ;
 
 Endymion and Phoebe 61 
 
 "With straying channels dancing sundry ways, 
 With often turns, like to a curious maze ; 
 Which breaking forth the tender grass bedewed, 
 Whose silver sand with orient pearl was strewed ; 
 Shadowed with roses and sweet eglantine 
 Dipping their sprays into this crystalline ; 
 From which the birds the purple berries pruned 
 And to their loves their small recorders tuned ; 
 The nightingale, wood's herald of the spring. 
 The whistling ousel, mavis carolling, 
 Tuning their trebles to the water's fall ; — 
 Which made the music more angelical. 
 Whilst gentle zephyr, murmuring among. 
 Kept time, and bare the burden to the song.
 
 From ENGLAND'S HEROICAL 
 EPISTLES 
 
 Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, to 
 Mary, the French Queen 
 
 But that my faith commands me to forbear. 
 The fault's your own if I impatient were ; 
 Were my despatch such as should be my speed, 
 I should Avant time your loving lines to read. 
 Here in the Court, chameleon-like I fare. 
 And as that creature only feed on air. 
 All day I wait and all the night I watch, 
 And starve mine ears to hear of my despatch. 
 
 If Dover were th' Abydos of my rest. 
 Or pleasant Calais were my Mary's Sest, 
 You should not need, bright Queen, to blamd'me so, 
 Did not the distance to desire say no ; 
 No tedious night from travel sliould be free, 
 Till through the seas, with swimming still to thee, 
 A snowy path I made unto thy bay 
 So bright as is that nectar-stained way 
 The restless sun by travelling doth Avear 
 Passing his course to finish up the year. 
 But Paris locks my love Avithin the main, 
 And London yet thy Brandon doth detain. 
 
 Of thy firm love thou put'st me still in mind, 
 But of my faith not one word can I find. 
 
 62
 
 England's Heroical Epistles 63 
 
 When Longaville to Mary was affied 
 And thou by him wast made King Lewis' bride, 
 Oft have I wished that thou a prize might'st be 
 That I in arms might combat him for thee ! 
 And in the madness of my love distraught 
 A thousand times his murder have forethought 
 But that th' all-seeing Povvers, which sit above, 
 Kegard not madmen's oaths, nor faults in love ; 
 And have confirmed it by the grant of heaven 
 That lovers' sins on earth should be forgiven. 
 For never man is half so much distressed 
 As he that loves, to see his love possessed. 
 
 Coming to Richmond after thy depart, 
 Richmond where first thou stol'st away my heart, 
 Methought it looked not as it did of late. 
 But, wanting thee, forlorn and desolate ; 
 In whose fair walks thou often hast been seen 
 To sport with Kath'rine, Henry's beauteous cjueen, 
 Astonishing sad winter with thy sight, 
 So that for thee the day hath put back night ; 
 And the small birds, as in the pleasant spring. 
 Forget themselves and have begun to sing. 
 
 So oft as I by Thames go and return 
 Methinks for thee the river yet doth mourn ; 
 Whom I have seen to let his stream at large 
 Which, like an handmaid, waited on thy barge, 
 And if thou hap'st against the flood to row. 
 Which way it ebb'd it presently would flow, 
 Weeping in drops upon the labouring oars 
 For joy that it had got thee from the shores. 
 The swans, with music that the rudders make, 
 Ruffling their plumes came gliding on the lake, 
 As the swift dolphins by Arion's strings 
 Were brought to land with siren ravishings.
 
 64 England's Heroical Epistles 
 
 The flocks and herds that pasture near the flood 
 To gaze on thee have oft forborne their food, 
 And sat down sadly mourning by the brim 
 That they by nature were not made to swim. 
 
 How should I joy of thy arrive to hear 1 
 
 But as a poor sea-faring passenger 
 
 After long travel, tempest-torn and wracked, 
 
 By some unpitying pirate that is sacked. 
 
 Hears the false robber that hath stol'n his wealth 
 
 Landed in some safe harbour, and in health, 
 
 Enriched with the invaluable store 
 
 For which he long had travelled before ! 
 
 When Marquess Dorset and the valiant Grays 
 To purchase fame first crossed the narrow seas, 
 With all the knights that my associates went 
 In honmir of thy nuptial tournament, 
 Think'st thou I joy'd not in thy beauty's pride 
 AYhen thou in triumph did'st through Paris ride, 
 Wheie all the streets as thou did'st {)ass along 
 With arras, biss, and tapestry Avas hung 1 
 Ten thousami gallant citizens prepared 
 In rich attire thy princely selt to guard : 
 Next them, three thousand choice religious men 
 In golden vestments followed on agen. 
 And in procession as they came along 
 With Hi/men sweetly sang the marriage song : 
 Next these, five Dukes, as did their places fall, 
 AVith each of them a princely Cardinal : 
 Then thou, on thy imperial chariot set. 
 Crowned with a rich impearled coronet ; 
 Wliilst the Parisian dames, as thy train past. 
 Their precious incense in abundance cast.
 
 England's Heroical Epistles 65 
 
 As Cynthia, from her wave-embattled shrouds, 
 Opening the west, comes streaming through the 
 
 clouds, 
 With shining troops of silver-tressed stars 
 Attending on her as her torch-bearers ; 
 And all the lesser lights about her throne 
 With admiration stand as lookers-on ; 
 Whilst she alone in height of all her pride 
 The Queen of Light along her sphere doth glide. 
 
 When on the tilt my horse like thunder came 
 No other signal had I but thy name ; 
 Thy voice my trumpet and my guide thine eyes, 
 And but thy beauty I esteemed no prize. 
 That large-limbed Almain of the Giant's race. 
 Which bare strength on his breast, fear in his 
 
 face, 
 Whose sinewed arms with his steel-tempered blade 
 Through plate and mail such open passage made. 
 Upon whose might the Frenchmen's glory lay, 
 And all the hope of that victorious day ; 
 Thou saw'st thy Brandon beat him on his knee, 
 Offering his shield a conquered spoil to thee. 
 But thou wilt say perhaps, I vainly boast 
 And tell thee that which thou already know'st. 
 No, sacred Queen, my valour I deny. 
 It was thy beauty not my chivalry. 
 One of thy tressed curls there falling down 
 As loath to be imprisoned in thy crown, 
 I saw the soft air sportively to take it, 
 And into strange and sundry forms to make it ; 
 Now parting it to four, to three, to twain. 
 Now twisting it, then it untwist again ; 
 Then make the threads to dally with thine eye, 
 A sunny candle for a golden fly. 
 
 E
 
 66 England's Heroical Epistles 
 
 At length from thence one little tear it got, 
 Which falling down as though a star had shot, 
 My up-turned eye pursued it with my sight, 
 The which again redoubled all my might. 
 
 'Tis but in vain of my descent to boast ; 
 When Heaven's lamp shines, all other lights be lost. 
 Falcons seem poor, the eagle sitting by, 
 Whose brood surveys the sun with open eye. 
 Else might my blood find issue from his force 
 Who beat the tyrant Kichard from his horse 
 On Bosworth plain, whom Richmond chose to wield 
 His glorious ensign in that conquering field ; 
 And with his sword, in his dear sovereign's fight. 
 To his last breath stood fast in Henry's right. 
 
 Then, beauteous Empress, think this safe delay 
 Shall be the even to a joyful day. 
 Foresight doth still on all advantage lie ; 
 Wise men must give place to necessity ; 
 To put hack ill our good we must forbear ; 
 Better first fear than after still to fear. 
 'Twere oversight in that, at which we aim, 
 To put the hazard on an after-game ; 
 With patience then let us our hopes attend ; 
 And, till I come, receive these lines I send. 
 
 A Passion of King Henry to Fair Rosamond 
 
 Fatal my birth, unfortunate my life, 
 Unkind my children, most unkind my wife. 
 Grief, cares, old age, suspicion, to torment me ; 
 Nothing on earth to quiet or content me ; 
 So many woes, so many plagues to find — 
 Sickness of body, discontent of mind.
 
 England's Heroical Epistles 67 
 
 Hopes left, helps reft, life wronged, joy interdicted, 
 Banished, distressed, forsaken and afflicted. 
 Of all relief hath Fortune quite bereft me ; 
 Only my love yet to my comfort left me. 
 And is one beauty thought so great a thing 
 To mitigate the sorrows of a king ? 
 Barred of that choice the vulgar often prove. 
 Have we than they less privilege in love 1 
 Is it a king the woful widoAv hears? 
 Is it a king dries up the orphan's tears ? 
 Is it a king regards the client's cry 1 
 Gives life to him by law condemned to die ? 
 Is it his care the commonwealth that keeps, 
 As doth the nurse her baby whilst it sleej^s ? — 
 And that poor king of all those hopes prevented, 
 Unheard, unhelped, unpitied, unlamented ! 
 Yet let me be with poverty oppressed, 
 Of earthly blessings robbed and dispossessed. 
 Let me be scorned, rejected, and reviled, 
 And from my kingdom let me live exiled ; 
 Let the world's curse upon me still remain. 
 And let the last bring on the first again. 
 All miseries that wretched man may wound ; — 
 Leave for my comfort only Rosamund. 
 Thy presence hath repaired in one day 
 What many years with sorrow did decay, 
 And made fresh beauty in her flower to spring 
 'Out of the wrinkles of Time's ruining. 
 Even as the hungry winter-starved earth 
 "When she by nature labours towards her birth. 
 Still as the day upon the dark world creeps. 
 One blossom forth after another peeps, 
 Till the small flower, whose root at last unbound 
 Gets from the frosty prison of the ground,
 
 68 England's Heroical Epistles 
 
 Spreading the leaves unto the powerful noon, 
 Decked in fresh colours smiles upon the sun. 
 
 Princes like Suns 
 Princes, like suns, be evermore in sight ; 
 All see the clouds betwixt them and their light ; 
 Yet they which lighten all, down from their skies, 
 See not the clouds offending others' eyes. 
 And deem their noontide is desired of all. 
 When all expect clear changes from their fall. 
 
 Love's September 
 My breast which once was mirth's imperial throne 
 A vast and desert wilderness is grown : 
 Like that cold region from the world remote, 
 On whose breem seas the icy mountains float ; 
 Where those poor ci-eatures, banished from the light, 
 Do live imprisoned in continual night. 
 No object greets my soul's internal eyes 
 But divinations of sad tragedies ; 
 And care takes up her solitary inn 
 Where youth and joy their court did once begin. 
 As in September, when our year resigns 
 The glorious sun to the cold watery signs 
 Which through the clouds looks on the earth in 
 
 scorn. 
 The little bird yet to salute the morn 
 Upon the naked branches sets her foot, 
 The leaves then lying on the mossy root, 
 And there a silly chirriping doth keep 
 As though she fain would sing, yet fain would weep, 
 Praising fair summer that too soon is gone. 
 Or sad for Winter too fast coming on : 
 In this strange plight I mourn for thy depart 
 Because that weeping cannot ease my heart.
 
 THE TOWER OF MORTIMER 
 
 From the Barons' Wars 
 
 Within the Castle had the Queen devised, 
 Long about which she busied had her thought, 
 A chamber, wherein she imparadised 
 What shapes for her could anywhere be sought ; 
 Which in the same were curiously comprised, 
 By skilful painters excellently wrought : 
 And in the place of greatest safety there, 
 Which she had named the Tower of Mortimer. 
 
 A room prepared with pilasters she chose, 
 That to the roof their slender points did rear, 
 Arching the top, whereas they all did close. 
 Which from below showed like an hemisphere ; 
 In whose concavity she did compose 
 The constellations that to us appear 
 
 In their corporeal shapes, with stars enchased. 
 As by the old poets they on Heaven were placed. 
 
 About which lodging, towards the upper face, 
 Ran a fine border, circularly led, 
 As equal 'twixt the zenith and the base, 
 Which as a zone the waist engirdled. 
 That lent the sight a breathing, by the space 
 'Twixt things near hand and those far overhead. 
 Upon the plain wall of which lower part 
 Painting expressed the utmost of her art. 
 
 69
 
 70 The Barons' Wars 
 
 There Phoebus clipping Hyacinthus stood, 
 Whose life's last drops did the god's breast imbrue, 
 His tears so mixed with the young boy's blood, 
 That whether was the more no eye could view ; 
 And though together lost as in a flood, 
 Yet here and there the one from the other drew : 
 The pretty wood-nymphs chafing him with balm, 
 Proving to wake liim from his deadly qualm. 
 
 Apollo's quiver and far-killing bow, 
 His gold-fringed mantle on the grassful ground, 
 To express whose act Art even her best did show, 
 The sledge so shadowed still as to rebound, 
 As it had scarce d<»ne giving of the blow, 
 Lending a lasting freshness to the wound ; 
 
 The purple flower from the boy's blood begun, 
 That since ne'er spreads but to t he rising sun. 
 
 There Mercury was like a shepherd's boy. 
 Sporting with Hebe by a fountain brim. 
 With many a sweet glance, many an amorous toy; 
 He sprinkling drops at her, and she at him : 
 Wherein the painter so explained their joy 
 As he had meant the very life to limn : 
 
 For on their brows he made the drops so clear 
 That through each drop their fair skins did 
 appear. 
 
 By them in landscape rocky Cynthus reared, 
 With the clouds leaning on his lofty crown. 
 On his sides showing many a straggling herd, 
 And from his top the clear springs creeping down 
 By the old rocks, each with a hoary beard, 
 With moss and climbing ivy overgrown :
 
 The Tower of Mortimer 71 
 
 So done that the beholders with the skill 
 Never enough their longing eyes could fill. 
 
 The half-naked nymphs, some climbing, some 
 descending, 
 The sundry tlowers at one another flung, 
 In postures strange their limber bodies bending ; 
 Some cropping branches that seemed lately sprung, 
 Upon the brakes their coloured mantles rending, 
 Which on the mount grew here and there among ; 
 Combingtheir hair some, some made garlands by : 
 So strove the painter to content the eye. 
 
 In one part, Phaeton cast amongst the clouds 
 By Phoebus' palfreys, that their reins had broke, 
 His chariot tumbling from the welked shrouds, 
 And the fierce steeds flew madding from their yoke ; 
 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 for the light to this brave lodging lent, 
 The workman, who as wisely could direct, 
 Did for the same the windows so invent 
 That they should artificially reflect 
 The day alike on every lineament 
 To their proportion, and had such respect 
 
 As that the beams, condensated and grave, 
 
 To every figure a sure colour gave. 
 
 In part of which, under a golden vine. 
 Which held a curious canopy through all.
 
 72 The Barons' Wars 
 
 Stood a rich bed, quite covered with the twine, 
 Shadowing the same in the redoubling fall, 
 Whose clusters drew the branches to decline, 
 'Mongst which did many a naked Cupid sprawl : 
 Some at the sundry-coloured birds did shoot, 
 And some about to pluck the purple fruit. 
 
 On which a tissue counterpane was cast, 
 Arachne's web did not the same surpass, 
 Wherein the story of his fortunes past 
 In lively pictures neatly handled was, — 
 How he escaped the Tower, in France how graced, — 
 With stones embroidered of a wondrous mass ; 
 About the border, in a fiue-wrought fret, 
 Emblems, impresses, hieroglyphics set. 
 
 This flattering sunshine had begot the shower, 
 And the black clouds with such abundance fed, 
 That for a wind they waited but the hour 
 With force to let their fury on his head ; 
 Which when it came, it came with such a power 
 As he could hardly have imagined : 
 
 But when men think they most in safety stand, 
 Their greatest peril often is at hand. 
 
 For to that largeness they increased were, 
 That Edward felt March heavy on his throne, 
 Whose props no longer both of them could bear. 
 Two for one seat that over-great were grown, 
 Preposterously that moved in one sphere, 
 And to the like predominancy prone. 
 
 That the young King down Mortimer must cast, 
 If he himself would e'er hope to sit fast.
 
 The Tower of Mortimer 73 
 
 Who finding the necessity was such 
 That urged him still the assault to undertake, 
 And yet his person it might nearly touch 
 Should he too soon his sleeping power awake ; 
 The attempt, wherein the danger was so much, 
 Drove him at length a secret means to make 
 Whereby he might the enterprise effect, 
 And hurt him most where he did least suspect. 
 
 Without the castle, in the earth is found 
 A cave, resembling sleepy Morpheus' cell, 
 In strange meanders winding underground, 
 Where darkness seeks continually to dwell. 
 Which with such fear and horror doth abound 
 As though it were an entrance into hell : 
 By architects to serve the castle made 
 Whenas the Danes this island did invade. 
 
 Now, on along the crankling path doth keep, 
 Then by a rock turns up another way, 
 Rising towards day, then falling towards the deep, 
 On a smooth level then itself doth lay. 
 Directly then, then obliquely doth creep. 
 Nor in the course keeps any certain stay. 
 Till in the castle, in an odd by-place, 
 It casts the foul mask from its dusky face. 
 
 By which the King, ^with. a selected crew 
 Of such as he with his intent acquainted. 
 Which he affected to the action knew, 
 And in revenge of Edward had not fainted, 
 That to their utmost would the cause pursue, 
 And with those treasons that had not been tainted, 
 Adventured the labyrinth to essay, 
 To rouse the beast which kept them all at bay.
 
 74 The Barons' Wars 
 
 Long after Phoebus took his labouring team 
 To his pale sister and resigned his place, 
 To wash his cauples in the ocean stream, 
 And cool the fervour of his glowing face ; 
 And Phcebe, scanted of her brother's beam, 
 Into the West went after him apace, 
 
 Leaving black darkness to possess the sky, 
 To fit the time of that black tragedy. 
 
 What time by torchlight they attempt the cave, 
 Which at their entrance seemed in a fright 
 With the reflection that their armour gave, 
 As it till then had ne'er seen any light ; 
 Which striving their pre-eminence to have, 
 Darkness therewith so daringly doth fight 
 That each confounding other, both appear 
 As darkness light, and light but darkness were. 
 
 And by the lights as they along were led. 
 Their shadows then them following at their back, 
 Were like to mourners carrying forth their dead, 
 And as the deed so were they ugly black, 
 Or like the fiends that them had followed, 
 Pricking them on to bloodshed and to wrack ; 
 Whilst the light looked as it had been amazed 
 At their deformed shapes whereon it gazed. 
 
 The night waxed old (not dreaming of these 
 things). 
 And to her chamber is the Queen withdrawn. 
 To whom a choice musician plays and sings 
 Whilst she sat under an estate of lawn, 
 In night attire more godlike glittering 
 Than any eye had seen the cheerful dawn.
 
 The Tower of Mortimer 75 
 
 Leaning upon her most loved Mortimer, 
 Whose voice, more than the music, pleased 
 her ear. 
 
 Where her fair breasts at liberty were let, 
 Whose violet veins in branched rivorets flow, 
 And Venus' swans and milky doves were set 
 Upon those swelling mounts of driven snow; 
 Whereon, whilst Love to sport himself doth get. 
 He lost his way, nor back again could go. 
 But with those banks of beauty set about 
 He wandered still, yet never could get out. 
 
 Her loose hair lookcil like gold (0 word too base ! 
 Nay, more than sin but so to name her hair) 
 Declining, as to kiss her fairer face, 
 No word is fair enough for thing so fair, 
 Nor ever was there epithet could grace 
 That by much praising which we much impair ; 
 And where the pen fails, pencils cannot show it, 
 Only the soul may be supposed to know it. 
 
 She laid her fingers on his manly cheek, 
 The god's pure sceptres and the darts of love. 
 That with their touch might make a tiger meek 
 Or might great Atlas from his seat remove ; 
 So white, so soft, so delicate, so sleek. 
 As she had worn a lily 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 sweetness on each thing it shone,
 
 76 The Barons' Wars 
 
 As everything did to itself assume 
 The scent from them, and made the same their own : 
 So that the painted flowers within the room 
 Were sweet, as if they naturally had grown ; 
 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 piece they to another run, 
 Commend that face, that arm, that hand, those eyes, 
 Show how that bird, how well that flower was done, 
 How this part shadowed, and how that did rise, 
 This top was clouded, how that trail was spun, 
 
 The landscape, mixture, and delineatings. 
 
 And in that art a thousand curious things. 
 
 Looking upon proud Phaeton wrapped in fire, 
 The gentle Queen did much bewail his fall ; 
 But Mortimer commended his desire 
 To lose one poor life or to govern all : 
 " What though," quoth he, " he madly did aspire, 
 And his great mind made him proud Fortune's 
 thrall 1 
 Yet in despite, when she her worst had done. 
 He perished in the chariot of the sun." 
 
 When by that time into the Castle hall 
 Was rudely entered that well-armed rout, 
 And they within suspecting nought at all. 
 Had then no guard to watch for them without : 
 See how mischances suddenly do fall. 
 And steal upon us, being farth'st from doubt : 
 Our life's uncertain and our death is sure. 
 And towards most peril man is most secure.
 
 IDEA 
 
 If chaste and pure devotion of my youth, 
 
 Or glory of my April-springing years, 
 
 Unfeigned love in naked, simple truth, 
 
 A thousand vows, a thousand sighs and tears ; 
 
 Or if a world of faithful service done, 
 
 Words, thoughts, and deeds devoted to her honour, 
 
 Or eyes that have beheld her as their sun, 
 
 With admiration ever looking on her ; 
 
 A life that never joyed but in her love, 
 
 A soul that ever hath adored her name, 
 
 A faith that Time nor Fortune could not move, 
 
 A Muse that unto heaven hath raised her fame ; 
 
 Though these, nor these, deserve to be em- 
 braced. 
 
 Yet, fair unkind, too good to be disgraced. 
 
 My heart was slain, and none but you and I ; 
 Who should I think the murder should commit 
 Since but yourself there was no creature by, 
 But only I, guiltless of murdering it. 
 It slew itself ; the verdict on the view 
 Do quit the dead, and me not accessory : 
 Well, well, I fear it "will be proved by you, 
 The evidence so great a proof doth carry. 
 But 0, see, see, we need enquire no further. 
 Upon your lips the scarlet drops are found,
 
 78 Idea 
 
 And in your eye the boy that did the murder, 
 Your cheeks yet pale, since first he gave the wound. 
 By this I see, however things be past, 
 Yet Heaven will still have murder out at last. 
 
 Nothing but No and I,^ and I and No : 
 How falls it out so strangely you reply ? 
 I tell you, fair, I'll not be answered so, 
 With this affirming No, denying I. 
 I say, I love, you slightly answer I : 
 I say, you love, you pule me out a No : 
 I say, I die, you echo me with I : 
 Save me ! I cry, you sigh me out a No. 
 Must woe and I have nought but No and I ? 
 No, I am I, if I no more can have ; 
 Answer no more, with silence make reply, 
 And let me take myself what I do crave : 
 Let No and I with I and you be so : 
 Then answer No and I, and I and No. 
 
 How many paltry, foolish, painted things 
 That now in coaches trouble every street, 
 Shall be forgotten, whom no poet sings. 
 Ere they be well wrapped in their winding-sheet ? 
 Where I to thee eternity shall give 
 When nothing else remaineth of these days. 
 And Queens hereafter shall be glad to live 
 Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise. 
 Virgins and matrons reading these my rhymes, 
 Shall be so much delighted with thy story. 
 That they shall grieve they lived not in these times, 
 To have seen thee, their sex's only glory : 
 So shalt thou fly above the vulgar throng, 
 Still to survive in my immortal song. 
 
 ^ i.e., aye.
 
 Idea 79 
 
 To nothing fitter can I thee compare 
 
 Than to the son of some rich penny -father, 
 
 Who having now brought on his end with care, 
 
 Leaves to his son all he had heaped together ; 
 
 This new rich novice, lavish of his chest, 
 
 To one man gives, doth on another spend, 
 
 Then here he riots, yet amongst the rest 
 
 Haps to lend some to one true honest friend. 
 
 Thy gifts thou in obscurity dost waste, 
 
 False friends thy kindness, born but to deceive 
 
 thee; 
 Thy love, that is on the nn worthy placed ; 
 Time hath thy beauty, which with age will leave 
 thee ; 
 Only that little which to me was lent 
 I give thee back when all the rest is spent. 
 
 If he from Heaven that filched that living fire 
 Condemned by Jove to endless torment be, 
 I gi'eatly marvel how you still go free 
 That far beyond Prometheus did aspire : 
 The fire he stole, although of heavenly kind, 
 Which from above he craftily did take, 
 Of lifeless clods us living men to make. 
 He did bestow in temper of the mind : 
 But you broke into Heaven's immortal store, 
 Where virtue, honour, wit, and beauty lay ; 
 Which taking thence you have escaped away, 
 Yet stand as free as e'er you did before ; 
 
 Yet old Prometheus punished for his rape : 
 Thus poor thieves suffer when the greater 
 scape.
 
 80 Idea 
 
 To Time 
 
 Stay, speedy Time, behold before thou pass, 
 From age to age Avhat thou hast sought to see, 
 One in whom all the excellences be, 
 In whom Heaven looks itself as in a glass ; 
 Time, look thou too in this translucent glass, 
 And thy youth past in this pure mirror see. 
 As the world's beauty in his infancy, 
 What it was then, and thou before it was. 
 Pass on, and to posterity tell this, 
 Yet see thou tell but truly what hath been ; 
 Say to our nephews that thou once hast seen 
 In perfect human shape all heavenly bliss ; 
 
 And bid them mourn, nay more, despair with 
 thee. 
 
 That she is gone, her like again to see. 
 
 The glorious Sun went blushing to his bed ; 
 When my soul's sun from her fair cabinet 
 Her golden beams had now discovered. 
 Lightening the world eclipsed by his set. 
 Some mused to see the earth envy the air. 
 Which from her lips exhaled refined sweet ; 
 A world to see, yet how he joyed to hear 
 The dainty grass make music with her feet. 
 But my most marvel was when from the skies 
 So comet-like each star advanced her light. 
 As though the heaven had now awaked her eyes, 
 And summoned angels to this blessed sight. 
 No cloud was seen, but crystalline the air. 
 Laughing for joy upon my lovely fair.
 
 Idea 81 
 
 To Humour 
 
 You cannot love, my pretty heai't, and why ? 
 
 There was a time you told me that you would : 
 
 But now again you will the same deny, 
 
 If it might please you, would to God you could. 
 
 What, will you hate ? nay, that you will not neither ; 
 
 Nor love, nor hate, how then ] what will you do ? 
 
 What, will you keep a mean then betwixt either 1 
 
 Or will you love me, and yet hate me too 1 
 
 Yet serves not this : what next, what other shift ? 
 
 You will and will not, what a coil is here ! 
 
 I see your craft now I perceive your drift, 
 
 And all this while I was mistaken there ; 
 
 Your love and hate is this, I now do prove you, 
 You love in hate, by hate to make me love you. 
 
 Love, banished Heaven, in earth was held in scorn, 
 Wandering abroad in need and beggary ; 
 And wanting friends, though of a goddess born. 
 Yet craved the alms of such as passed by : 
 I, like a man devout and charitable. 
 Clothed the naked, lodged this Avandering guest, 
 With sighs and tears still furnishing his table, 
 With what might make the miserable blest ; 
 But this ungrateful, for my good desert, 
 Enticed my thoughts against me to conspire, 
 Who gave consent to steal away my heart. 
 And set my breast, his lodging, on a fire. 
 
 Well, well, my friends, when beggars grow thus 
 bold. 
 
 No marvel then though charity grow cold.
 
 82 Idea 
 
 I hear some say, " This man is not in love : 
 Who can he love? a likely thin^," they say; 
 " Read but his verse, and it will easily prove." 
 O, judge not rashly, gentle Sir, I pray. 
 Because I loosely trifle in this sort 
 As one that fain his sorrows would beguile, 
 You now suppose me all this time in sport. 
 And please yourself with this conceit the while. 
 Ye shallow censures, sometimes see ye not 
 In greatest perils some men pleasant be. 
 Where fame by death is only to be got, 
 They resolute ? So stands the case with me ; 
 Where other men in depth of passion cry, 
 I laugh at Fortune, as in jest to die. 
 
 To THE Senses 
 
 When conquering love did first my heart assail, 
 Unto mine aid I summoned every sense. 
 Doubting, if that proud tyrant should prevail. 
 My heart should sufier for mine eyes' offence ; 
 But he with beauty first corrupted sight, 
 My hearing bribed with her tongue's harmony, 
 My taste by her sweet lips drawn with delight, 
 My smelling won with her breath's spicery : 
 But when my touching came to play his part 
 (The king of senses, greater than the rest). 
 He yields love up the keys unto my heart, 
 And tells the other how they should be- blest : 
 And thus by those of whom I hoped for aid, 
 To cruel love my soul was first betrayed.
 
 Idea 83 
 
 To Miracle 
 
 Some, misbelieving and profane in love, 
 When I do speak of miracles by thee, 
 May say that thon art flattered by me, 
 Who only write my skill in verse to prove ; 
 See miracles, ye unbelieving, see, 
 A dumb-born Muse made to express the mind, 
 A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind, 
 One by thy name, the other touching thee ; 
 Blind were mine eyes till they were seen of thine, 
 And mine ears deaf, by thy fame healed be, 
 My vices cured by virtues sprung from thee. 
 My hopes revived, which long in grave had lain : 
 All unclean thoughts, foul spirits, cast out in me, 
 Only by virtue that proceeds from thee. 
 
 Cupid Conjured 
 
 Thou purblind boy, since thou hast been so slack 
 To wound her heart whose eyes have wounded me, 
 And suff"ered her to glory in my wrack, 
 Thus to my aid I lastly conjure thee ; 
 By hellish Styx, by which the Thunderer swears. 
 By thy fair mother's unavoided power. 
 By Hecate's names, by Proserpine's sad tears 
 When she was rapo to the infernal bower ; 
 By thine own lov6d Psyche, by the fires 
 Spent on thine altars, flaming up to Heaven ; 
 By all true lovers' sighs, vows, and desires, 
 By all the wounds that ever thou hast given ; 
 I conjure thee by all that I have named 
 To make her love, or Cupid, be thou damned.
 
 84 Idea 
 
 Dear, why should you command me to my rest, 
 When now the night doth summon all to sleep ? 
 Methinks this time becometh lovers best ; 
 Night was ordained together friends to keep : 
 How happy are all other living things, 
 Which though the day disjoin by several flight, 
 The quiet evening yet together brings, 
 And each returns unto his love at night 1 
 O thou that art so courteous else to all, 
 Why shouldst thou. Night, abuse me only thus, 
 That eveiy creature to his kind dost call, 
 And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us 1 
 
 Well could I wish it would be ever day. 
 If, when night comes, you bid me go away. 
 
 Why should your fair eyes with such sovereign grace 
 Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit. 
 Whilst I in darkness in the self-same place 
 Get not one glance to recompense my merit ? 
 So doth the ploughman gaze the wandering star, 
 And only rest contented with the light, 
 That never learned what constellations are. 
 Beyond the bent of his unknowing sight. 
 O, why should beauty, custom to obey, 
 To their gross sense apply herself so ill ! 
 Would God I were as ignorant as they, 
 When I am made unhappy by my skill ; 
 
 Only compelled on this poor good to boast, 
 Heavens are not kind to them that know them 
 most. 
 
 Plain-pathed Experience, the unlearned's guide, 
 Her simple followers evidently shows
 
 Idea 85 
 
 Sometimes what schoolmen scarcely can decide, 
 
 Nor yet wise reason absolutely knows : 
 
 In making trial of a murder wrought, 
 
 If the vile actors of the heinous deed 
 
 Near the dead body happily be brought, 
 
 Oft 't hath been proved the breathless corse will 
 
 bleed ; 
 She coming near, that my poor heart hath slain, 
 Long since departed, to the world no more, 
 The ancient wounds no longer can contain. 
 But fall to bleeding, as they did before : 
 
 But what of this ? Should she to death be led, 
 It furthers justice, but helps not the dead. 
 
 Thou leaden brain, which censurest what I write, 
 And sayst my lines be dull and do not move ; 
 I marvel not thou feel'st not my delight, 
 Which never felt'st my fiery touch of love. 
 But thou, whose pen hath like a pack-horse served, 
 Whose stomach unto gall hath turned thy food. 
 Whose senses, like poor prisoners, hunger-starved. 
 Whose grief hath parched thy body, dried thy blood ; 
 Thou which hast scorned life and hated death. 
 And in a moment mad, sober, glad, and sorry : 
 Thou which hast banned thy thoughts, and cursed 
 
 thy birth 
 With thousand plagues more than in Purgatory : 
 Thou, thus whose spirit Love in his fire refines, 
 Come thou and read, admire, applaud my lines. 
 
 As in some countries far remote from hence. 
 The wretched creature destined to die, 
 Having the judgment due to his offence. 
 By surgeons begged, their art on him to try.
 
 86 Idea 
 
 Which on the living work without remorse, 
 First make incision on each mastering vein, 
 Then stanch the bleeding, then transpierce the corse, 
 And with their balms recure the wounds again, 
 Then poison and Avith physic him restore : 
 Not that they fear the hopeless man to kill. 
 But their experience to increase the more : 
 Even so my mistress works upon my ill ; 
 By curing me and killing me each hour. 
 Only to show her beauty's sovereign power. 
 
 To Proverb 
 
 As Love and I late harboured in one inn. 
 With proverbs thus each other entertain ; 
 " In love there is no lack," thus I begin ; 
 " Fair words make fools," replieth he again : 
 " Who spares to speak doth spare to speed," quoth I ; 
 "As well," saith he, "too forward as too slow" : 
 " Fortune assists the boldest," I reply ; 
 " A hasty man," quoth he, " ne'er wanted woe " : 
 " Labour is light where love," quoth I, " doth pay " ; 
 Saith he, "Light burthen's heavy, if far borne" : 
 Quoth I, " The main lost, cast the bye away " ; 
 "You have spun a fair thread," he replies in scorn. 
 And having thus a while each other thwarted, 
 Fools as we met, so fools again we parted. 
 
 Since there's no help, 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 myself can free ; 
 Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 
 And when we meet at any time again.
 
 Idea 87 
 
 Be it not seen in either of our brows 
 That we one jot of former love retain ; 
 Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, 
 When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, 
 When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, 
 And Innocence is closing up his eyes. 
 
 Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him 
 
 over, 
 From death to life thou might'st him yet 
 
 recover.
 
 ODES 
 
 TO THE NEW YEAR 
 
 Rich statue, double-fac'd, 
 With marble temples grac'd, 
 
 To raise thy godhead higher ; 
 In flames where altars shining, 
 Before thy priests divining, 
 
 Do odorous fumes expire ; 
 
 Great Janus, I thy pleasure, 
 With all the Thespian treasure, 
 
 Do seriously pursue ; 
 To the pass'd year returning, 
 As though the old adjourning, 
 
 Yet bringing in the new. 
 
 Thy ancient vigils yearly 
 I have observed clearly, 
 
 Thy feasts yet smoking be ; 
 Since all thy store abroad is. 
 Give something to my goddess. 
 
 As hath been us'd by thee. 
 
 88
 
 To the New Year 89 
 
 Give her th' Eoan brightness, 
 Wing'd with that subtle lightness, 
 
 That doth transpierce the air ; 
 The roses of the morning 
 The rising heav'n adorning, 
 
 To mesh with tiames of hair ; 
 
 Those ceaseless sounds, above all. 
 Made by those orbs that move all, 
 
 And ever swelling there, 
 Wrap'd up in numbers flowing. 
 Them actually bestowing, 
 
 For jewels at her ear. 
 
 rapture great and holy, 
 Do thou transport me wholly. 
 
 So well her form to vary ; 
 That I aloft may bear her, 
 Whereas I will insphere her 
 
 In regions high and starry. 
 
 And in my choice composures 
 The soft and easy closures 
 
 So amorously shall meet ; 
 That every lively ceasure 
 Shall tread a perfect measure, 
 Set on so equal feet. 
 
 That spray to fame so fertile. 
 The lover-crowning myrtle, 
 
 In wreaths of mixed boughs. 
 Within whose shades are dwelling 
 Those beauties most excelling, 
 
 Inthron'd upon her brows.
 
 90 To the New Year 
 
 Those parallels so even, 
 Drawn on the face of heaven, 
 
 That curious art supposes 
 Direct those gems, whose clearness 
 Far off amaze by nearness ; 
 
 Each globe such fire encloses. 
 
 Her bosom full of blisses, 
 By nature made for kisses, 
 
 So pure and wond'rous clear. 
 Whereas a thousand Graces 
 Behold their lovely faces. 
 
 As they are bathing there. 
 
 0, tbou self -little blindness, 
 The kindness of unkindness, 
 
 Yet one of those divine, — 
 Thy brands to me were liever 
 Thy fascia, and thy quiver. 
 
 And thou this quill of mine. 
 
 This heart so freshly bleeding, 
 Upon its own self feeding, 
 
 Whose wounds still dropping be ; 
 O Love, thy self confounding : 
 Her coldness so abounding. 
 
 And yet such heat in me. 
 
 Yet if I be inspired, 
 
 I'll leave thee so admired 
 
 To all that shall succeed. 
 That were they more than many, 
 'Mongst all there is not any 
 
 That Time so oft shall read.
 
 To the New Year 91 
 
 Nor adamant engraved, 
 
 That hath been choiceliest saved, 
 
 Ideals name outwears ; 
 So large a dower as this is, 
 The greatest often misses, 
 
 The diadem that bears.
 
 TO HIS VALENTINE 
 
 Muse bid the morn awake, 
 Sad winter now declines, 
 Each bird doth choose a make, 
 This day's Saint Valentine's ; 
 For that good bishop's sake 
 Gret up, and let us see, 
 What beauty it shall be 
 That fortune us assigns, 
 
 But lo, in happy hour. 
 
 The place wherein she lies, 
 In yonder climbing tow'r, 
 
 Gilt by the glitt'ring rise ; 
 Jove ! that in a show'r. 
 
 As once that thund'rer did. 
 When he in drops lay hid, 
 That I could her surprise ! 
 
 Her canopy I'll draw, 
 
 With spangled plumes bedight, 
 No mortal ever saw 
 
 So ravishing a sight ; 
 That it the gods might awe. 
 
 And powerfully transpierce 
 The globy universe, 
 Out-shooting ev'ry light. 
 
 93
 
 To his Valentine 93 
 
 My lips I'll softly lay 
 
 Upon her heavenly cheek, 
 Dyed like the dawning day, 
 
 As polish'd ivory sleek : 
 And in her ear I'll say : 
 
 0, thou bright morning star, 
 Tis I that come so far, 
 My Valentine to seek. 
 
 Each little bird, this tide, 
 
 Doth choose her loved pheer, 
 Which constantly abide 
 
 In wedlock all the year, 
 As nature is their guide : 
 So may we two be true 
 This year nor change for new. 
 As turtles coupled were. 
 
 The sparrow, swan, the dove, 
 Tho' Venus' birds they be, 
 Yet are they not for love 
 
 So absolute as we : 
 For reason us doth move ; 
 
 They but by billing woo : 
 
 Then try what we can do. 
 
 To whom each sense is free. 
 
 AATiich we have more than they, 
 
 By livelier organs sway'd, 
 Our appetite each way 
 
 More by our sense obey'd : 
 Our passions to display 
 
 This season us doth fit ; 
 Then let us follow it, 
 As nature us doth lead.
 
 94 To his Valentine 
 
 One kiss in two let's break, 
 
 Confounded with the touch ; 
 But half words let us speak, 
 
 Our lips employed so much, 
 Until we both grow weak ; 
 
 With sweetness of thy breath, 
 smother me to death ; 
 Long let our joys be such. 
 
 Let's laugh at them that choose 
 
 Their Valentines by lot ; 
 To wear their names that use, 
 Whom idly they have got : 
 Such poor choice we refuse ; 
 Saint Valentine befriend. 
 We thus this morn may spend, 
 Else, Muse, awake her not.
 
 THE HEART 
 
 If thus we needs must go, 
 What shall our one heart do, 
 This one made of our two ? 
 
 Madam, two hearts we brake 
 And from them both did take 
 The best, one heart to make. 
 
 Half this is of your heart. 
 Mine in the other part, 
 Join'd by our equal art. 
 
 Were it cemented, or sewn. 
 By shreds or pieces known. 
 We each might find our own. 
 
 But 'tis dissolved, and fix'd. 
 And with such cunning mix'd, 
 No diff rence that betwixt. 
 
 But how shall we agree. 
 By whom it kept shall be, 
 Whether by you, or me ? 
 
 It cannot two breasts fill, 
 One must be heartless still, 
 Until the other will. 
 
 9S
 
 96 The Heart 
 
 It came to me to-day, 
 When I will'd it to say, 
 With whether it would stay ? 
 
 It told me : In your breast, 
 Where it might hope to rest : 
 For if it were my guest, 
 
 For certainty it knew, 
 That I would still anew 
 Be sending it to you. 
 
 Never, I think had two 
 Such work, so much to do, 
 A unity to woo. 
 
 Yours was so cold and chaste 
 Whilst mine with zeal did waste, 
 Like fire with water plac'd. 
 
 How did my heart intreat, 
 How pant, how did it beat. 
 Till it could give your's heat ! 
 
 Till to that temper brought, 
 Through our perfection wrought, 
 That blessing cither's thought, 
 
 In such a height it lies. 
 
 From this base world's dull eyes, 
 
 That heaven it not envies. 
 
 All that this earth can show, 
 Our heart shall not once know, 
 For it too vile and low.
 
 TO MY WORTHY FRIEND 
 MASTER JOHN SAVAGE 
 
 OF THE INNER TEMPLE 
 
 Upon this sinful earth 
 If man can happy be, 
 And higher than his birth, 
 Friend, take him thus from me. 
 
 Whom promise not deceives 
 That he the breach should rue, 
 Nor constant reason leaves 
 Opinion to pursue. 
 
 To raise his mean estate 
 That soothes no wanton's sin ; 
 Doth that preferment hate 
 That virtue doth not win. 
 
 Nor bravery doth admire, 
 Nor doth more love profess 
 To that he doth desire 
 Than that he doth possess. 
 
 Loose humour nor to please 
 That neither spares nor spends, 
 But by discretion weighs 
 What is to needful ends. 
 G
 
 98 Master John Savage 
 
 To him, deserving not, 
 Not yielding, nor doth hold 
 What is not his, doing what 
 He ought, not what he could. 
 
 Whom the base tyrants' will 
 So much could never awe, 
 As him for good or ill 
 From honesty to draw. 
 
 Whose constancy doth rise 
 'Bove undeserved spite, 
 Whose valour's to despise 
 That most doth him delight. 
 
 That early leave doth take 
 Of th' world, though to his pain, 
 For virtue's only sake, 
 And not till need constrain. 
 
 No man can be so free. 
 Though in imperial seat. 
 Nor eminent as he 
 That deemeth nothing great.
 
 THE CRIER 
 
 Good folk, for gold or hire, 
 
 But help me to a crier ; 
 
 For my poor heart is run astray 
 
 After two eyes, that pass'd this way. 
 
 yes, yes, yes, 
 
 If there be any man, 
 
 In town or country, can 
 
 Bring me my heart again, 
 
 I'll please him for his pain ; 
 And by these marks I will you show, 
 That only I this heart do 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 dear, 
 
 And never us'd to roam ; 
 But having got this haunt, I fear 
 
 'Twill hardly stay at home. 
 For God's sake, walking by the way, 
 
 If you my heart do see, 
 Either impound it for a stray, 
 
 Or send it back to me.
 
 TO HIS COY LOVE 
 
 A Canzonet 
 
 I PRAY thee, leave, love me no more, 
 
 Call home the heart you gave me, 
 I but in vain that saint adore, 
 
 That can, but will not save me : 
 These poor half kisses kill me quite ; 
 
 Was ever man thus served ] 
 Amidst an ocean of delight, 
 
 For pleasure to be starved. 
 
 Shew me no more those snowy breasts 
 
 With azure riverets branched, 
 Where whilst mine eye with plenty feasts, 
 
 Yet is my thirst not stanched. 
 Tantalus, thy pains ne'er 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 dear arms, 
 
 Nor thy life's comfort call me ; 
 0, these are but too powerful charms, 
 
 And do but more enthrall me. 
 But see how patient I am grown, 
 
 In all this coil about thee ; 
 Come, nice thing, let thy heart alone ; 
 
 I cannot live without thee.
 
 TO HIS RIVAL 
 
 Her lov'd I most, 
 
 By thee that's lost, 
 Though she were won with leisure ; 
 
 She was my gain, 
 
 But to my pain 
 Thou spoil'st me of my treasure. 
 
 The ship full fraught 
 
 With gold, far sought, 
 Though ne'er so wisely helmed. 
 
 May suffer wrack 
 
 In sailing back 
 By tempest overwhelmed. 
 
 But she, good sir, 
 
 Did not j^refer 
 You, for that I was ranging ; 
 
 But for that she 
 
 Found faith in me, 
 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.
 
 102 To his Rival 
 
 None stands so fast 
 
 But may be cast 
 By fortune, and disgraced : 
 
 Once did I Avear 
 
 Her garter there 
 Where you her glove have placed. 
 
 I had the vow 
 
 That thou hast now 
 And glances to discover 
 
 Her love to me, 
 
 And she to thee 
 Eeads but old lessons over. 
 
 She hath no smile 
 
 That can beguile, 
 But as my thought I know it ; 
 
 Yea, to a hair, 
 
 Both when and Avhere 
 And how she will bestow it. 
 
 What now is thine 
 
 Was only mine, 
 And first to me was given ; 
 
 Thou laugh'st at me, 
 
 I laugh at thee, 
 And thus we two are even. 
 
 But I'll not mourn. 
 
 But stay my turn. 
 The wind may come about, sir, 
 
 And once again 
 
 May bring me in 
 And help to bear you out, sir.
 
 BALLAD OF AGINCOURT 
 
 Fair stood the wind for France, 
 When we our sails advance, 
 Nor now to prove our chance 
 
 Longer will tarry ; 
 But putting to the main 
 At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, 
 With all his martial train 
 
 Landed King Harry. 
 
 And taking many a fort 
 Furnish 'd in warlike sort, 
 Marcheth towards Agincourt 
 
 In happy hour ; 
 Skirmishing day by day 
 With those that stopp'd his way 
 Where the French Gen'ral lay 
 
 With all his power. 
 
 Which in his height of pride 
 King Henry to deride, 
 His ransom to provide 
 
 To the King sending ; 
 Which he neglects the while 
 As from a nation vile, 
 Yet with an angry smile 
 
 Their fall portending.
 
 104 Ballad of Agincourt 
 
 And turning to his men 
 Quoth our brave Henry then : 
 "Though they to one be ten. 
 
 Be not amazed : 
 Yet have we well begun, 
 Battles so bravely won 
 Have ever to the sun 
 
 By fame been raised. 
 
 "And for myself (quoth he) 
 This my full rest shall be, 
 England ne'er mourn for me 
 
 Nor more esteem me : 
 Victor I will remain 
 Or on this earth lie slain, 
 Never shall she sustain 
 
 Loss to redeem me. 
 
 " Poitiers and Cressy tell, 
 When most their pride did swell, 
 Under our swords they fell : 
 
 No less our skill is 
 Than when our grandsire great. 
 Claiming the regal seat, 
 By many a warlike feat 
 
 Lopp'd the French Lilies." 
 
 The Duke of York so dread 
 The eager vaward led ; 
 With the main Henry sped 
 
 Amongst his henchmen ; 
 Exeter had the rear, 
 A braver man not there, — 
 Lord, how hot they were 
 
 On the false Frenchmen !
 
 Ballad of Agincourt 105 
 
 They now to fight are gone : 
 Armour on armour shone, 
 Drum now to drum did groan, — 
 
 To hear was wonder. 
 That with the cries they make 
 The very earth did shake • 
 Trumpet to trumpet spake, 
 
 Thunder to thunder. 
 
 Well it thine age became, 
 O noble Erpingham, 
 Which did'st the signal aim 
 
 To our hid forces ; 
 When from a meadow by. 
 Like a storm suddenly. 
 The English archery 
 
 Stuck the French horses, 
 
 With Spanish yew so strong. 
 Arrows 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 down their bows they threw 
 And forth their bilboes drew 
 And on the French they flew, 
 
 Not one was tardy ; 
 Arms were from shoulders sent. 
 Scalps to the teeth were rent, 
 Down the French peasants went 
 
 Our men were hardy.
 
 106 Ballad of Agincourt 
 
 This while our noble King, 
 His broad-sword brandishing, 
 Down the French host did ding, 
 
 As to o'erwhelm it; 
 And many a deep wound lent, 
 His arms with blood besprent, 
 And many a cruel dent 
 
 Bruised his helmet. 
 
 Gloster, that Duke so good, 
 Next of the Royal 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 blood did wade, 
 Oxford the foe invade, 
 And cruel slaughter made 
 
 Still as they ran up : 
 Suffolk his axe did ply, 
 Beaumont and Willoughbj^ 
 Bare them right doughtily, 
 
 Ferrers and Fanhope. 
 
 Upon Saint Crispin's day 
 Fought was this noble fray 
 Which fame did not delay 
 
 To England to carry : 
 when shall English men 
 With such acts fill a pen. 
 Or England breed again 
 
 Such a King Harry !
 
 TO THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE 
 
 You brave heroic minds, 
 Worthy your country's name, 
 
 That honour still pursue ; 
 
 Go and subdue. 
 Whilst loit'ring hinds 
 Lurk here at home with shame. 
 
 Britons, you stay too long ; 
 
 Quickly aboard bestow you, 
 And with a merry gale 
 Swell your stretch'd sail, 
 
 With vows as strong 
 
 As the winds that blow you. 
 
 Your course securely steer. 
 West and by south forth keep ; 
 
 Rocks, lee-sh«-res, nor shoals. 
 
 When Eolus scowls, 
 You need not fear ; 
 So absolute the deep. 
 
 And cheerfully at sea 
 Success you still entice 
 
 To get the pearl and gold. 
 
 And ours to hold 
 Virginia, 
 Earth's only Paradise.
 
 108 To the Virginian Voyage 
 
 Where nature hath in store 
 Fowl, venison, and fish, 
 And the fruitful'st soil, 
 Without your ^il, 
 Three harvests more, 
 All greater than your wish. 
 
 And the ambitious vine 
 Crowns with his purple mass 
 
 The cedar reaching high 
 
 To kiss the sky. 
 The cypress, pine, 
 And useful sassafras. 
 
 To whom the golden age 
 Still nature's laAvs doth give, 
 No other cares attend 
 But them to defend 
 From winter's rage, 
 That long there doth not live. 
 
 When as the luscious smell 
 Of that delicious land, 
 
 Above the seas that flows, 
 The clear wind throws 
 Your hearts to swell 
 Ap])roaching the dear strand ; 
 
 In kenning of the shore 
 (Thanks bo God first given) 
 
 you, the happiest men, 
 
 Be frolic then ; 
 Let cannons roar, 
 Frishtino; the wide heaven.
 
 To the Virginian Voyage 109 
 
 And ia regions far, 
 
 Such heroes bring ye forth, 
 
 As those from whom we came ; 
 
 And plant our name 
 Under that star 
 Not known unto our North. 
 
 And as there plenty grows 
 Of Laurel everywhere, 
 
 Apollo's sacred tree, 
 
 You it may see, 
 A poet's brows 
 To crown, that may sing there. 
 
 Thy voyages attend 
 - Industrious Hackluit, 
 
 Whose reading shall inflame 
 
 Men to seek fame, 
 And much commend 
 To after-times thy wit.
 
 AN ODE WRITTEN IN THE PEAK 
 
 This while we are abroad, 
 Shall we not touch our lyre ? 
 
 Shall Ave not sing an ode ? 
 Shall that holy fire, 
 
 In us that strongly glow'd, 
 In this cold air expire 1 
 
 Long since the summer laid 
 
 Her lusty brav'ry down, 
 The autumn half is way'd, 
 
 And Boreas 'gins to frown. 
 Since now I did behold 
 -^ Great Brute's fiirst builded town. 
 
 Though in the utmost Peak 
 
 A Avhile we do remain, 
 Amongst the mountains bleak 
 
 Exposed to sleet and rain, 
 No sport our hours shall break. 
 
 To exercise our vein. 
 
 What though bright Phoebus' beams 
 Refresh the southern ground, 
 
 And though the princely Thames 
 With beauteous nymphs abound, 
 
 And by old Camber's streams 
 Be many wonders found ;
 
 An Ode Written in the Peak 111 
 
 Yet many rivers clear 
 
 Here glide in silver swathes ; 
 
 And what of all most dear, 
 Buxton's delicious baths, 
 
 Strong ale and noble cheer, 
 To assuage breem winter's scathes. 
 
 Those grim and horrid caves, 
 Whose looks affright the day, 
 
 Wherein nice nature saves 
 What she would not bewray, 
 
 Our better leisure craves. 
 And doth invite our lay. 
 
 In places far or near, 
 
 Or famous or obscure. 
 Where wholesome is the air, 
 
 Or where the most impure. 
 All times and everywhere. 
 
 The muse is still in ure.
 
 From POLY-OLBION 
 MILFORD HAVEN 
 
 You goodly sister floods, how happy is your state ! 
 Or should I more commend your features or your 
 
 fate, 
 That Milford, which this isle her greatest port doth 
 
 call, 
 Before your equal floods is lotted to your fall ] 
 Where was sail ever seen, or wind hath ever blown, 
 Whence Pembroke yet hath heard of haven like her 
 
 own? 
 She bids Dungleddy dare Iberia's proudest road 
 And chargeth her to send her challenges abroad 
 Along the coast of France, to prove if any be 
 Her Milford that dare match : so absolute is she. 
 So highly Milford is in every mouth renowned, 
 j^o haven hath aught good in her that is not found. 
 Whereas the swelling surge, that with his foamy 
 
 head 
 The gentler-looking land with fury menaced. 
 With his encountering wave no longer there con- 
 tends ; 
 But sitting mildly down like perfect ancient friends, 
 Unmoved of any wind which way soe'er it blow 
 And rather seem to smile than knit an angry brow. 
 The ships with shattered ribs scarce creeping from 
 the seas.
 
 Milford Haven 113 
 
 On her sleek bosom ride with such deliberate ease, 
 As all her passed storms she holds but mean and 
 
 base 
 So she may reach at length this most delightful 
 
 place, 
 By nature with proud cliffs environed about. 
 
 (Song v.)
 
 GUY OF WARWICK 
 
 Thus, whilst in crowds they throng, 
 Led by the king himself the champion comes along ; 
 A man well strook in years, in homely palmer's gray 
 And in his hand his staff, his reverend steps to stay, 
 Holding a comely pace, which at his passing by 
 In every censuring tongue, as every serious eye. 
 Compassion mixed with fear, distrust and courage 
 
 bred. 
 Then Colebrond for the Danes came forth in 
 
 ireful red ; 
 Before him, from the camp, an ensign first displayed 
 Amidst a guard of gleaves : then sumptuously 
 
 arrayed 
 Were twenty gallant youths that to the warlike 
 
 sound 
 Of Danish brazen drums, with many a lofty bound. 
 Came with their country's march, as they to Mars 
 
 should dance. 
 Thus forward to the fight both champions them 
 
 advance : 
 And each without respect doth resolutely choose 
 The weapon that he brought, nor doth his foe's 
 
 refuse : 
 The Dane prepares his axe, that ponderous was to 
 
 feel, 
 Whose squares were laid with plates, and riveted 
 
 with steel,
 
 Guy of Warwick 115 
 
 And armed down along with pikes, whose hardened 
 
 points, 
 Forced with the weapon's weight, had power to tear 
 
 the joints 
 Of cuirass or of mail, or whatsoe'er they took : 
 Which caused him at the knight disdainfully to look. 
 When our stout palmer soon, unknown for 
 
 valiant Guy, 
 The cord from his straight loins doth presently 
 
 untie, 
 Puts oiT his palmer's weed unto his truss, which bore 
 The stains of ancient arms, but showed it had before 
 Been costly cloth of gold ; and off his hood he threw : 
 Out of his hermit's staff his two-hand sword he drew 
 (The unsuspected sheath which long to it had been) 
 Which till that instant time the people had not seen: 
 A sword so often tried. Then to himself quoth he : 
 "Arms, let me crave your aid, to set my country free, 
 And never shall my heart your help again require, 
 But only to my God to lift you up in prayer." 
 Here Colebrond forward made, and soon the 
 
 Christian knight 
 Encounters him again with equal power and spite : 
 
 Where strength still answered strength, on courage 
 
 courage grew. 
 Look how two lions fierce, both hungry, both 
 
 pursue 
 One sweet and self-same prey, at one another fly, 
 And with their armed paws engrappled dreadfully, 
 The thunder of their rage and boisterous struggling 
 
 make 
 The neighbouring forests round affrightedly to 
 
 quake :
 
 116 Guy of Warwick 
 
 Their sad encounter such. The mighty Colebrond 
 
 struck 
 A cruel blow at Guy : which though he finely broke 
 Yet with the Aveapon's weight his ancient hilt it 
 
 split, 
 And, thereby lessened much, the champion lightly 
 
 hit 
 Upon the reverend brow : immediately from whence 
 The blood dropt softly down, as if the wound had 
 
 sense 
 Of their much inward woe that it with grief should 
 
 see. 
 The Danes, a deadly blow supposing it to be, 
 Sent such an echoing shout that rent the troubled 
 
 air. 
 The English at the noise waxed all so wan with 
 
 fear 
 As though they lost the blood their aged champion 
 
 shed. 
 Yet were not these so pale but the other were as 
 
 red : 
 As though the blood that fell upon their cheeks 
 
 had staid. 
 Here Guy, his better spirits recalling to his aid, 
 Came fresh upon his foe, when mighty Colebrond 
 
 makes 
 Another desperate stroke ; which Guy of Warwick 
 
 takes 
 Undauntedly aloft ; and followed with a blow 
 Upon his shorter ribs, that the excessive flow 
 Streamed up iinto his hilts : the wound so gaped 
 
 withal 
 As though it meant to say. Behold your champion's 
 
 fall
 
 Guy of Warwick 117 
 
 By this proud palmer's hand. Such claps again 
 
 and cries 
 The joyful English gave as cleft the very skies. 
 Which coming on along from these that were with- 
 out, 
 When those within the town received this cheerful 
 
 shout 
 They answered then with like ; as those their joy 
 
 that knew. 
 Then with such eager blows each other they 
 
 pursue, 
 As every ofier made should threaten imminent 
 
 death : 
 Until, through heat and toil both hardly drawing 
 
 breath. 
 They desperately do close. Look how two boars 
 
 being set 
 Together side to side their threatening tusks do 
 
 whet, 
 And with their gnashing teeth their angry foam 
 
 do bite, 
 Whilst still they shouldering seek each other where 
 
 to smite ; 
 Thus stood those ireful Knights ; till flying back 
 
 at length 
 The palmer, of the two the first recovering strength. 
 Upon the left arm lent great Colebrond such a 
 
 wound, 
 That whilst his weapon's point fell well near to the 
 
 ground, 
 And slowly he it raised, the valiant Guy again 
 Sent through his cloven scalp his blade into his 
 
 brain. (Song xii.)
 
 xf, AN ELEGY 
 
 TO MY MOST DEARLY LOVED FrIEND, 
 
 Henry Reynolds, Esquire 
 
 Of Poets and Poesie 
 
 My dearly loved friend, how oft have we 
 
 In winter evenings, meaning to be free, 
 
 To some well-chosen place used to retire, 
 
 And there, with moderate meat and wine and fire, 
 
 Have passed the hours contentedly with chat, 
 
 Now talked of this, and then discoursed of that, 
 
 Spoke our own verses 'twixt ourselves ; if not, 
 
 Other men's 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 ago to hear. 
 
 As well as of those of these latter times 
 
 Who have enriched our language Avith 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 inclined to noble poesy. 
 
 And when that once Pueriles I had read, 
 
 And newly had my Cato construed, 
 
 In my small, self I greatly marvelled then, 
 
 Amongst all other, what strange kind of men
 
 An Elegy 119 
 
 These poets were ; and, pleased with the name, 
 
 To my mild tutor merrily I came, 
 
 (For I was then a proper goodly page. 
 
 Much like a pigmy, scarce ten years of age) 
 
 Clasping my slender arms about his thigh, 
 
 " 0, my dear master ! cannot you," quoth I, 
 
 " Make me a poet 1 Do it if you can, 
 
 And you shall see I'll quickly be a man." 
 
 Who me thus answered, smiling, " Boy," quoth he, 
 
 " If you'll not play the wag, but I may see 
 
 You ply your learning, I will shortly read 
 
 Some poets to you." Phoebus be my speed. 
 
 To 't hard went I, when shortly he began, 
 
 And first read to me honest Mantuan, 
 
 Then Virgil's Eclogues ; being entered thus, 
 
 Methought I straight had mounted Pegasus, 
 
 And in his full career could make him stop 
 
 And bound upon Parnassus bi-clift top. 
 
 I scorned your ballad then, though it were done 
 
 And had for finis AVilliam Elder ton. 
 
 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 : 
 
 JoA^e and Apollo for the Muses stand ! 
 
 That noble Chaucer in those former times, 
 The first enriched 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 coin for current, and as much as then 
 The English language could express to men 
 He made it do, and by his wondrous skill 
 Gave us much light from his abundant quill.
 
 120 An Elegy 
 
 And honest Gower, who in respect of him 
 Had only sipped at Aganippe's brim, 
 And though in years this last was him before, 
 Yet fell he far sliort of the other's store. 
 
 When after those, four ages very near, 
 They with the Muses which conversed were 
 That princely Surrey, early in the time 
 Of the Eighth Henry, who was then the prime 
 Of England's noble youth ; with him there came 
 Wyat, with reverence whom we still do name 
 Amongst our poets ; Brian had a share 
 With the two former, which accounted are 
 That time's best makers, and the authors were 
 Of those small poems which the title bear 
 Of songs and sonnets, wherein oft they hit 
 On many dainty passages of wit. 
 
 Gascoigne and Churchyard after them again, 
 In the beginning of Eliza's reign, 
 Accounted were great meterers many a day. 
 But not inspired with brave fire ; had they 
 Lived but a little longer, they had seen 
 Their works before them to have buried been. 
 
 Grave, moral Spenser after these came on, 
 Than whom I am persua<le(1 there was none, 
 Since the blind bard liis Iliads up did make, 
 Fitter a task like that to uudertake ; 
 To set down boldly, bravely to invent. 
 In all high knowle^'ge surely excellent. 
 
 The noble Sidney with this last arose. 
 That heroe for numbers and for prose, 
 That throughly paced our language, as to show 
 The plenteous English hand in hand might go 
 With Greek and Latin, and did first reduce 
 •^'- Our tongue from Lyly's writing then in use ;
 
 An Elegy 121 
 
 Talking of stones, stars, plants, of fishes, flies, 
 
 Playing with words and idle similes ; 
 
 As the English apes and very zanies be 
 
 Of everything that they do hear and see, 
 
 So imitating his ridiculous tricks. 
 
 They spake and writ all like mere lunatics. 
 
 Then Warner, though his lines were not so 
 trimmed, 
 Nor yet his poem so exactly limned 
 And neatly jointed but the critic may 
 Easily reprove him, yet thus let me say 
 For my old friend, some passages there be 
 In him, which I protest have taken me 
 With almost Avunder, so fine, clear and new, 
 As yet they have been equalled by few. 
 
 Neat Marlowe, bathed in the Thespian springs, 
 Had in him those brave translunary things 
 That the first poets had, his raptures were 
 All air and fire, which made his verses clear ; 
 For that fine madness still he did retain 
 Which rightly should possess a poet's brain. 
 
 And surely Nash, though he a proser were, 
 A branch of laurel yet deserves to bear ; 
 Sharply satiric was he, and that way 
 He went, since that his being to this day, 
 Few have attempted ; and I surely think 
 Those words shall hardly be set down with ink 
 Shall scorch and blast so as his could, where he 
 Would inflict vengeance ; and be it said of thee, 
 •^.Shakespeare, thou hadst as smooth a comic 
 vein, 
 Fitting the sock, and in thy natural brain 
 As strong conception and as clear a rage. 
 As any one that trafficked with the stage.
 
 122 An Elegy 
 
 Amongst these Samuel Daniel, whom if I 
 May speak of, but to censure do deny, 
 Only have heard some wise men him rehearse 
 To be too much historian in verse ; 
 His rimes were smooth, his metres well did close, 
 But yet his manner better fitted prose. 
 Next these, learned Jonson in this list I bring, 
 Who had drunk deep of the Pierian spring, 
 Whose knowledge did him worthily prefer. 
 And long was lord here of the theatre ; 
 Who in opinion made our learn'dst to stick 
 Whether in poems rightly dramatic 
 ■ Strong Seneca or Plautus, he or they, 
 Should bear the buskin or the sock away. 
 Others again here lived in my days. 
 That have of us deserved no less praise 
 For their translations, than the daintiest wit 
 That on Parnassus thinks he high'st doth sit, 
 And for a chair may 'mongst the Muses call, 
 As the most curious maker of them all ; 
 As reverend Chapman, who hath brought to us 
 Musoeus, Homer, and Hesiodus 
 Out of the Greek; and by his skill hath reared 
 Them to that height, and to our tongue endeared, 
 That were those poets at this day alive, 
 To see their books thus with us to survive. 
 They would think, having neglected them so long. 
 They had been written in the English tongue. 
 
 And Silvester who from the French more weak 
 Made Bartas of his six days' labour speak 
 In natural English, who, had he there stayed 
 He had done well, and never had bewrayed 
 His own invention to have been so poor, 
 Who still Avrote less in striving to write more.
 
 An Elegy 123 
 
 Then dainty Sandys, that hath to English done 
 Smooth sliding Ovid, and hath made him run 
 With so much sweetness and unusual grace, 
 As though the neatness of the English pace 
 Should tell the jetting Latin that it oame 
 But slowly after, as though stiff and lame. 
 
 So Scotland sent us hither for our own 
 That man, whose name I ever would have known 
 To stand by mine, that most ingenious knight, 
 IMy Alexander, to whom in his right 
 I want extremely, yet in speaking thus 
 I do but show the love that was 'twixt us, 
 And not his numbers, which were brave and high, 
 So like his mind was his clear poesie ; 
 And my dear Drummond, to whom much I owe 
 For his much love, and proud I was to know 
 His poesy ; for which tAvo worthy men, 
 I Menstry still shall love, and Hawthornden. 
 Then the two Beaumonts and my Browne arose, 
 v^-My dear companions, whom I freely chose 
 My bosom friends ; and in their several ways 
 Rightly born poets, and in these last days 
 Men of much note, and no less nobler parts, 
 Such as have freely told 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 informed that I 
 Only myself to these few men do tie. 
 Whose works oft printed, set on every post, 
 To public censure subject have been most. 
 For such whose poems, be they ne'er so rare, 
 In private chambers that encloistered are, 
 And by transcription daintily must go ; 
 As though the world unworthy were to know
 
 124 An Elegy 
 
 Their rich composures, let those men that keep 
 These wondrous relics in their judgment deep, 
 And cry them up so, let such pieces be 
 Spoke of by those that shall come after me, 
 I pass not for them ; nor do mean to run 
 In quest of these that them applause have won 
 -(• Upon our stages in these latter days, 
 
 That are so many ; let them have their bays 
 That do deserve it ; let those wits that haunt 
 Those public circuits, let them freely chaunt 
 Their fine composures and their praise pursue ; 
 And so, my dear friend, for this time adieu.
 
 NYMPHIDIA 
 
 The Court of Fairy 
 
 Old Chaucer doth of Topas tell, 
 Mad Eabelais of Pantagruel, 
 A later third of Dowsabel, 
 
 With such poor 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 be, that will 
 Be talking of the Fairies 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 fain would make, 
 
 Knew they the way to do them. 
 
 Then since no Muse hath been so bold. 
 Or of the later, or the old, 
 Those elvish secrets to unfold, 
 
 Which lie from others' reading ; 
 My active Muse to light shall bring 
 The Court of that proud Fairy King, 
 And tell there of the revelling. 
 
 Jove prosper my proceeding !
 
 126 Nymphidia 
 
 And thou, Nymphidia, gentle Fay, 
 Which, meeting me upon the way, 
 These secrets didst to me bewray, 
 
 Which now I am in telling ; 
 My pretty, light, fantastic maid, 
 I here invoke thee to my aid, 
 That I may speak what thon hast said. 
 
 In numbers smoothly swelling. 
 
 This palace standeth in the air. 
 By necromancy plac6d there. 
 That it no tempests needs to fear, 
 
 Which way soe'er it blow it. 
 And somewhat southward tow'rd the noon. 
 Whence lies a way up to the moon. 
 And thence the Fairy can as soon 
 
 Pass to the earth below it. 
 
 The walls of spiders' legs are made 
 Well mortised and finely laid ; 
 He was the master of his trade 
 
 It curiously that builded ; 
 The windows of the eyes of cats, 
 And for the roof, instead of slats, 
 Is covered with the skins of bats. 
 
 With moonshine that are gilded. 
 
 Hence Oberon him sport to make. 
 Their rest when weary mortals take. 
 And none but only fairies w^ake, 
 
 Descendeth for his pleasure ; 
 And Mab, his merry Queen, by night 
 Bestrides young folks that lie upright, 
 (In elder times, the mare that hight,) 
 
 Which i^lagues them out of measure.
 
 Nymphidia 127 
 
 Hence shadows, seeming idle shapes, 
 
 Of little frisking elves and apes 
 
 To earth do make their wanton scapes, 
 
 As hope of pastime hastes them ; 
 Which maids think on the hearth they see 
 When fires well-near consumed be, 
 There dancing hays by two and three. 
 
 Just as their fancy casts them. 
 
 These make our girls their sluttery rue. 
 By pinching them both black and blue. 
 And put a penny in their shoe 
 
 The house for cleanly sweeping ; 
 And in their coiu^ses make that round 
 In meadows and in marshes found, 
 Of them so called the Fairy Ground, 
 Of which they have the keeping. 
 
 These when a child haps to be got 
 Which after proves an idiot 
 When folk perceive it thriveth not, 
 
 The fault therein to smother. 
 Some silly, doting, brainless calf 
 That understands things by the half, 
 Say that the Fairy left this oaf 
 
 And took away the other. 
 
 But listen, and I shall you tell 
 A chance in Faery that befell, 
 Which certainly may please some well 
 
 In love and arms delighting, 
 Of Oberon that jealous grew 
 Of one of his own Fairy crew. 
 Too well, he feared, his Queen that knew, 
 
 His love but ill requiting.
 
 128 Nymphidia 
 
 Pigwiggin was this Fairy Knight, 
 
 One wondrous gracious in the sight 
 
 Of fair Queen Mab, which day and night 
 
 He amorously observed ; 
 Which made King Oberon suspect 
 His service took too good effect, 
 His sauciness and often checkt, 
 
 And could have wished him starved. 
 
 Pigwiggin gladly would commend 
 Some token to Queen Mab to send, 
 If sea or land could ought him lend 
 
 "Were worthy of her wearing ; 
 At length this lover doth devise 
 A bracelet made of emmet's eyes, 
 A thing he thought that she Avould prize. 
 
 No whit her state impaii-ing. 
 
 And to the Queen a letter writes, 
 Which he most curiously indites. 
 Conjuring her by all the rites 
 
 Of love, she would be pleased 
 To meet him, her true servant, where 
 They might, without sixspect or fear, 
 Themselves to one another clear 
 
 And have their poor hearts eased. 
 
 " At midnight the appointed hour ; 
 And for the Queen a fitting bower," 
 Quoth he, " is that fair cowslip flower 
 
 On Hipcut hill that bloweth : 
 In all your train there's not a fay 
 That ever went to gather may 
 But she hath made it, in her way ; 
 
 The tallest there that crroweth."
 
 Nymphidia 129 
 
 When by Tom Thumb, a Fairy Page, 
 He sent it, and doth him engage 
 By promise of a mighty wage 
 
 It secretly to carry ; 
 Which done, the Queen her maids doth call, 
 And bids them to be ready all : 
 She would go see her summer hall, 
 
 She could no longer tarry. 
 
 Her chariot ready straight is made 
 Each thing therein is fitting laid. 
 That she by nothing might be stayed, 
 
 For nought must her be letting'; 
 Four nimble gnats the horses were. 
 Their harnesses of gossamer. 
 Fly Cranion her charioteer 
 
 Upon the coach-box getting. 
 
 Her chariot of a snail's fine shell, 
 Which for the colours did excel. 
 The fair Queen Mab becoming well, 
 
 So lively was the limning ; 
 The seat the soft wool of the bee, 
 The cover, gallantly to see. 
 The wing of a pied butterfiee ; 
 
 I trow 'twas simple trimming. 
 
 The wheels composed of crickets' bones, 
 And daintily made for the nonce, 
 For fear of rattling on the stones 
 
 With thistle-down they shod it ; 
 For all her maidens much did fear 
 If Oberon had chanc'd to hear 
 That Mab his Queen should have been there, 
 
 He would Hot have abode it. 
 I
 
 130 Nymphidia 
 
 She mounts her chariot with a trice, 
 Nor would she stay, for no advice, 
 Until her maids that were so nice 
 
 To wait on her were fitted ; 
 But ran herself away alone, 
 Which when they heard, there was not one 
 But hasted after to be gone. 
 
 As she had been diswitted. 
 
 Hop and Mop and Drop so clear, 
 Pip and Trip and Skip that were 
 To Mab, their sovereign, ever dear. 
 
 Her special maids of honour ; 
 Fib and Tib and Pink and Pin, 
 Tick and Quick and Jill and Jin, 
 Tit and Nit and Wap and Win, 
 
 The train that wait upon her. 
 
 Upon a grasshopper 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 thf^ wind if it should blow, 
 Themselves they wisely could bestow 
 
 Lest any should espy them. 
 
 But let us leave Queen Mab awhile, 
 (Through many a gate, o'er many a stile, 
 That now had gotten by this wile), 
 
 Her dear Pigwiggin kissing ; 
 And tell how Oberon doth fare, 
 Who grew as mad as any hare 
 When he had sought each place with care 
 
 And found his Queen was missing.
 
 Nymphidia 131 
 
 By grisly Pluto he doth swear, 
 
 He rent his clothes and tore his hair, 
 
 And as he runneth here and there 
 
 An acorn cup he greeteth, 
 Which soon he taketh by the stalk, 
 About his head he lets it walk. 
 Nor doth he any creature balk. 
 
 But lays on all he meeteth. 
 
 The Tuscan Poet doth advance 
 The frantic Paladin of France, 
 And those more ancient do enhance 
 
 Alcides in his fury, 
 And others Ajax Telamon, 
 But to this time there hath been none 
 So Bedlam as our Oberon, 
 
 Of which I dare assure ye. 
 
 And first encountering with a Wasp, 
 
 He in his arms the fly doth clasp 
 
 As though his breath he forth would grasp, 
 
 Him for Pigwiggin taking : 
 " Where is my wife, thou rogue 1 " quoth he ; 
 " Pigwiggin, she is come to thee ; 
 Restore her, or thou diest by me ! " 
 
 Whereat the poor Wasp quaking 
 
 Cries, " Oberon, great Fairy King, 
 Content thee, I am no such thing : 
 I am a Wasp, behold my sting ! " 
 
 At which the Fairy started ; 
 When soon away the Wasp doth go, 
 Poor wretch, was never frighted so ; 
 He thought his wings were much too slow, 
 
 O'erjoyed they so were parted.
 
 132 Nymphidia « 
 
 He next u]5on a Glow-worm light, 
 (You must suppose it now was night), 
 Which, for her hinder part was bright, 
 
 He took to be a devil, 
 And furiously doth her assail 
 For carrying fire in her tail ; 
 He thrashed her rough coat with his flail ; 
 
 The mad King feared no evil. 
 
 " Oh !" quoth the Glow-worm, "hold thy hand, 
 
 Thou puissant King of Fairy-land ! 
 
 Thy mighty strokes who may withstand 1 
 
 Hold, or of life despair I ! " 
 Together then herself doth roll. 
 And tumbling down into a hole 
 She seemed as black as any coal ; 
 
 Which vext away the Fairy. 
 
 From thence he ran into a hive : 
 Amongst the bees he letteth drive, 
 And down their combs begins to rive, 
 
 All likely to have spoiled, 
 Which with their Avax his face besmeared. 
 And with their honey daubed his beard : 
 It would have made a man afeared 
 
 To see how he was moiled. 
 
 A new adventure him betides ; 
 
 He met an Ant, which he bestrides, 
 
 And post thereon away he rides. 
 
 Which with his haste doth stumble, 
 And came full over on her snout ; 
 Her heels so threw the dirt about. 
 For she by no means could get out, 
 
 But over him doth tumble.
 
 Nymphidia 133 
 
 And being in this piteous case, 
 And all be-slurred head and face, 
 On runs he in this wild-goose chase, 
 
 As here and there he rambles ; 
 Half blind, against a molehole hit. 
 And for a mountain taking it, 
 For all he was out of his wit 
 
 Yet to the top he scrambles. 
 
 And being gotten to the top, 
 
 Yet there himself he could not stop, 
 
 Eut down on the other side doth chop, 
 
 And to the foot came rumbling ; 
 So that the grubs, therein that bred. 
 Hearing such turmoil overhead. 
 Thought surely they had all been dead ; 
 
 So fearful was the jumbling. 
 
 And falling down into a lake, 
 Which him up to 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 boat. 
 And in his oaken cup doth float. 
 
 As safe as in a wherry. 
 
 Men talk of the adventures strange 
 Of Don Quixote, and of their change 
 Through which he armed oft did range, 
 
 Of Sancho Pancha's travel ; 
 But should a man tell everything 
 Done by this frantic Fairy King, 
 And them in lofty numbers sing, 
 
 It well his wits might gravel.
 
 134 Nymphidia 
 
 Scarce set on shore, but therewithal 
 He meeteth Puck, which most men call 
 Hobgoblin, and on him doth fall 
 
 With words from frenzy spoken : 
 " Oh, oh," quoth Hob, " God save thy grace ! 
 Who drest thee in this piteous case 1 
 He thus that spoiled my sovereign's face, 
 
 I would his neck were broken ! " 
 
 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 winter's nights, out of the way ; 
 And when we stick in mire and clay, 
 
 Hob doth with laughter leave us. 
 
 " Dear Puck," quoth he, " my wife is gone : 
 As e'er thou lov'st King Oberon, 
 Let everything but this atone. 
 
 With vengeance and pursue her ; 
 Bring her to me alive or dead, 
 Or that vile thief, Pigwiggin's head, 
 That villain hath my Queen misled ; 
 
 He to this folly drew her." 
 
 Quoth Puck, " My liege, I'll never lin. 
 But I will thorough thick and thin. 
 Until at length I bring her in ; 
 
 My dearest lord, ne'er doubt it. 
 Thorough brake, thorough briar, 
 Thorough muck, thorough mire. 
 Thorough water, thorough fire ; 
 
 And thus goes Puck about it. '
 
 Nymphidia 135 
 
 This thing Nymphidia overheard, 
 That on this mad king had a guard, 
 Not doubting of a great reward 
 
 For first this business broaching ; 
 And through the air away doth go. 
 Swift as an arrow from the bow, 
 To let her sovereign Mab to know 
 
 What peril was approaching. 
 
 The Queen bound with Love's powerful'st charm 
 
 Sate with Pigwiggin arm in arm ; 
 
 Her merry maids, that thought no harm, 
 
 About the room were skipping ; 
 A humble-bee, their minstrel, played 
 Upon his hautboy, every maid 
 Fit for this revel was arrayed, 
 
 The hornpipe neatly tripping. 
 
 In comes Nymphidia, and doth cry, 
 "My sovereign, for your safety fly, 
 For there is danger but too nigh ; 
 
 I posted to forewarn you : 
 The King hath sent Hobgoblin out. 
 To seek you all the fields about, 
 And of your safety you may doubt, 
 
 If he but once discern you." 
 
 When, like an uproar in a town, 
 Before them everything went down ; 
 Some tore a ruff, and some a gown, 
 
 'Gainst one another justling ; 
 They flew about like chaff i' th' wind ; 
 For haste some left their masks behind ; 
 Some could not stay their gloves to find ; 
 
 There never was such bustling.
 
 136 Nymphidia 
 
 Forth ran they, by a secret way, 
 Into a brake that near them lay ; 
 Yet much they doubted there to stay, 
 
 Lest Hob should hap to find them ; 
 He had a sharp and piercing sight, 
 All one to him the day and night ; 
 And therefore were resolved by flight 
 
 To leave this place behind them. 
 
 At length one chanced to find a nut, 
 In the end of which a hole was cut, 
 Which lay upon a hazel root. 
 
 There scattered by a squirrel 
 Which out the kernel gotten had ; 
 When quoth this Fay, " Dear Queen, be glad ; 
 Let Oberon be ne'er so mad, 
 
 I'll set you safe from peril. 
 
 " Come all into this nut," quoth she, 
 " Come closely in ; be ruled by me ; 
 Each one may here a chooser be, 
 
 For room ye need not wrastle : 
 Nor need ye be together heaped ; " 
 So one by one therein they crept. 
 And lying down they soundly slept. 
 
 And safe as in a castle. 
 
 Nymphidia, that this while doth watch, 
 Perceived if Puck the Queen should catch 
 That he should be her over-match. 
 
 Of which she well bethought her ; 
 Found it must be some powerful charm, 
 The Queen against him that must arm, 
 Or surely he would do her harm. 
 
 For throughly he had sought her.
 
 Nymphidia 137 
 
 And listening if she aught could hear, 
 That her might hinder, or might fear ; 
 But finding sDill the coast was clear ; 
 
 Nor creature had descried her ; 
 Each circumstance and having scanned, 
 She came thereby to understand, 
 Puck would be with them out of hand ; 
 
 When to her charms she hied her. 
 
 And first her fern-seed doth bestow, 
 
 The kernel of the mistletoe ; 
 
 And here and there as Puck should go. 
 
 With terror to afi"right him, 
 She night-shade strews to work him ill. 
 Therewith her vervain and her dill. 
 That hindereth witches of their will, 
 
 Of purpose to despite him. 
 
 Then sprinkles she the juice of rue. 
 That groweth underneath the yew; 
 With nine drops of the midnight dew, 
 
 From lunary distilling : 
 The mole warp's brain mixed therewithal ; 
 And with the same the pismire's gall : 
 For she in nothing short woidd fall, 
 
 The Fairy was so willing. 
 
 Then thrice 'under a briar doth creep, 
 Which at both ends was rooted deep. 
 And over it three times she leap ; 
 
 Her magic much availing : 
 Then on Proserpina doth call, 
 And so upon her spell doth fall, 
 Which here to you repeat I shall, 
 
 Not in one tittle failing.
 
 138 Nymphidia 
 
 " By the croaking of the frog ; 
 By the howling of the dog ; 
 By the crying of the hog 
 
 Against the storm arising ; 
 By the evening curfeAv bell, 
 By the doleful dying knell, 
 
 let this my direful spell, 
 
 Hob, hinder thy surprising ! 
 
 " By the mandrake's dreadful groans ; 
 By the lubrican's sad moans ; 
 By the noise of dead men's bones 
 
 In charnel-houses rattling ; 
 By the hissing of the snake, 
 The rustling of the fire-drake, 
 
 1 charge thee thou this place forsake, 
 
 Nor of Queen Mab be prattling ! 
 
 " By the whirlwind's hollow sound, 
 By the thunder's dreadful stound. 
 Yells of spirits underground, 
 
 I charge thee not to fear us ; 
 By the screech-owl's dismal note. 
 By the black night-raven's throat, 
 I charge thee. Hob, to tear thy coat 
 
 With thorns, if thou come near us ! " 
 
 Her spell thus spoke, she stept aside, 
 And in a chink herself doth hide, 
 To see thereof what would betide. 
 
 For she doth only mind him : 
 When presently she Puck espies. 
 And well she marked his gloating eyes, 
 How under every leaf he pries, 
 
 In seekins; still to find them.
 
 Nymphidia 139 
 
 But once the circle got within, 
 
 The charms to work do straight begin, 
 
 And he was caught as in a gin ; 
 
 For as he thus was busy, 
 A pain he in his head-piece feels, 
 Against a stubbed tree he reels, 
 And up went poor Hobgoblin's heels ; 
 
 Alas ! his brain was dizzy ! 
 
 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 ; 
 Down comes poor Hob upon his face, 
 And lamentably tore his case, 
 
 Amongst the briars and brambles. 
 
 " A plague upon Queen Mab ! " quoth he, 
 " And all her maids where'er they be : 
 I think the devil guided me, 
 
 To seek her so provoked ! " 
 When stumbling at a piece of wood. 
 He fell into a ditch of mud, 
 Where to the very chin he stood. 
 
 In danger to be choked. 
 
 Now worse than e'er he was before, 
 
 Poor Puck doth yell, poor Puck doth roar, 
 
 That waked Queen Mab, who doubted sore 
 
 Some treason had been wrought her ; 
 Until ISTymphidia told the Queen, 
 What she had done, what she had seen. 
 Who then had well-near cracked her spleen 
 
 With very extreme laughter.
 
 140 Nymphidia 
 
 But leave we Hob to clamber out, 
 Queen Mab and all her Fairy rout, 
 And come again to have a bout 
 
 With Oberon yet madding : 
 And with Pigwiggin now distraught, 
 Who much was troubled in his thought, 
 That he so long the Queen had sought. 
 
 And through the fields was gadding. 
 
 And as he runs he still doth cry, 
 
 "King Oberon, I thee defy, 
 
 And dare thee here in arms to try, 
 
 For my dear lady's honour : 
 For that she is a Queen right good, 
 In Avhose defence I'll shed my blood. 
 And that thou in this jealous mood 
 
 Hast laid this slander on her." 
 
 And quickly arms him for the field, 
 A little cockle-shell his shield, 
 Which he could very bravely wield : 
 
 Yet could it not be pierced : 
 His spear a bent both stiif and strong, 
 And well near of two inches long : 
 The pile was of a horse-fly's tongue, 
 
 Whose sharj^ness nought reversed. 
 
 And puts him on a coat of mail. 
 
 Which was of a fish's scale, 
 
 That when his foe should him assail, 
 
 No point should be prevailing : 
 His rapier was a hornet's sting ; 
 It was a very dangerous thing, 
 For if he chanced to hurt the King, 
 
 It would be long in healintc.
 
 Nymphidia 141 
 
 His helmet was a beetle's 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 horse's hair 
 Which, being tossed with the air, 
 Had force to strike his foe with fear. 
 
 And turn his weapon from him. 
 
 Himself he on an earwig set. 
 
 Yet scarce he on his back could get, 
 
 So oft and high he did curvet. 
 
 Ere he himself could settle : 
 He made him turn, 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 soon he met with Tomalin, 
 One that a valiant knight had been, 
 And to King Oberon of kin ; 
 
 Quoth he, " Thou manly Fairy, 
 Tell Oberon I come prepared. 
 Then bid him stand upon his guard ; 
 This hand his baseness shall reward. 
 
 Let him be ne'er so wary. 
 
 " Say to him thus, that I defy 
 His slanders and his infamy, 
 And as a mortal enemy 
 
 Do publicly proclaim him : 
 Withal that if I had mine own. 
 He should not wear the Fairy crown, 
 But with a vengeance should come down^ 
 
 Nor we a king should name him."
 
 142 Nymphidia 
 
 This Tomalin could not abide 
 To hear his sovereign vilified ; 
 But to the Fairy Court him hied, 
 
 (Full furiously he posted,) 
 With everything Pigwiggin said : 
 How title to the crown he laid, 
 And in what arms he was arrayed, 
 
 As how himself he boasted. 
 
 'Twixt head and foot, from point to point, 
 He told the arming of each joint. 
 In every piece liow neat and quaint. 
 
 For Tomalin could do it : 
 How fair he sat, how sure he rid, 
 As of the courser he bestrid 
 How managed, and how well he did ; 
 
 The King which listened to it. 
 
 Quoth he, "Go, Tomalin, with speed, 
 Provide me arms, provide my steed, 
 And everything that I shall need ; 
 
 By thee I will be guided ; 
 To straight account call thou thy wit ; 
 See there be wanting not a whit, 
 In everything see thou me fit, 
 
 Just as my foe's provided." 
 
 Soon flew this news through Fairy-land, 
 Which gave Queen Mab to understand 
 The combat that was then in hand 
 
 Betwixt those men so mighty : 
 Which greatly she began to rue. 
 Perceiving that all Faery knew 
 The first occasion from her grew 
 
 Of these affairs so weighty.
 
 Nymphidia 143 
 
 Wherefore attended with her maids, 
 Through fogs, and mists, and damps she wades, 
 To Proserpine the Queen of Shades, 
 
 To treat, that it would please her 
 The cause into her hands to take, 
 For ancient love and friendship's sake, 
 And soon thereof an end to make. 
 
 Which of much care would ease her. 
 
 A while there let we JNlab alone. 
 And come we to King Oberon, 
 Who, armed to meet his foe, is gone. 
 
 For proud Pigwiggin crying : 
 Who sought the Fairy King as fast, 
 And had so well his journeys cast. 
 That he arrived at the last, 
 
 His puissant foe espying. 
 
 Stout Tomalin came with the King, 
 Tom Thumb doth on Pigwiggin bring 
 That perfect were in everything 
 
 To single fights belonging : 
 And therefore they themselves engage 
 To see them exercise their rage 
 With fair and comely equipage. 
 
 Not one the other wronging. 
 
 So like in arms these champions were, 
 
 As they had been a very pair. 
 
 So that a man would almost swear 
 
 That either had been either ; 
 Their furious steeds began to neigh. 
 That they were heard a mighty way ; 
 Their staves upon their rests they lay 
 
 Yet ere they flew together
 
 144 Nymphidia 
 
 Their seconds minister an oath, 
 Which was indifferent to them both, 
 That on their knightly faith and troth 
 
 No magic them supplied ; 
 And sought them that they had no charms 
 Wherewith to work each other's harms, 
 But came with simple open arms 
 
 To have their causes tried. 
 
 Together furiously they ran. 
 
 That to the ground came horse and man, 
 
 The blood out of their helmets span, 
 
 So sharp were their encounters ; 
 And though they to the earth were thrown, 
 Yet quickly they regained their own, 
 Such nimbleness was never shown, 
 
 They were two gallant mounters. 
 
 When in a second course again. 
 
 They forward came with might and main, 
 
 Yet which had better of the twain. 
 
 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. 
 
 Away from them their staves they threw. 
 Their cruel 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 fear lest they too much should bleed. 
 
 Which wondrously her troubled.
 
 Nymphidia 145 
 
 When to the infernal Styx she goes, 
 She takes the fogs from thence that rose, 
 And in a bag doth them enclose, 
 
 When well she had them blended. 
 She hies her then to Lethe spring, 
 A bottle and thereof doth bring, 
 Wherewith she meant to work the thing 
 
 Which only she intended. 
 
 Now Proserpine with Mab is gone 
 Unto the place where Oberon 
 And proud Pigwiggin, one to one, 
 
 Both to be slain were likely : 
 And there themselves they closely hide. 
 Because they would not be espied ; 
 For Proserpine meant to decide 
 
 The matter very quickly. 
 
 And suddenly unties 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 peril : 
 " Which here," quoth she, "I do proclaim 
 To all in dreadful Pluto's name, 
 That as ye \W11 eschew his blame, 
 
 You let me hear the quarrel : 
 K
 
 146 Nymphidia 
 
 " But here yourselves you must engage, 
 Somewhat to cool your spleenish rage ; 
 Your grievous thirst and to assuage 
 
 That iirst you drink this liquor, 
 Which shall your understanding clear. 
 As plainly shall to you appear ; 
 Those things from me that you shall hear 
 
 Conceiving much the quicker." 
 
 This Lethe water, you must know, 
 The memory destroyeth so, 
 That of our weal, or of our woe. 
 
 Is all remembrance blotted ; 
 Of it nor can you ever think ; 
 For they no sooner took this drink. 
 But nought into their brains could sink 
 
 Of what had them besotted. 
 
 King Oberon forgotten had 
 
 That he for jealousy ran mad. 
 
 But of his Queen was wondrous glad, 
 
 And asked how they came thither : 
 Pigwiggin likewise doth forget 
 That he Queen 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'er they had each other sought. 
 Much less that they a combat fought, 
 
 But such a dream were loathing. 
 Tom Thumb had got a little sup. 
 And Tomalin scarce kissed the cup, 
 Yet had their brains so sure locked up, 
 
 That they remembered nothing.
 
 Nymphidia 147 
 
 Queen Mab and her light maids, the while, 
 Amongst themselves do closely smile, 
 To see the King caught with this wile, 
 
 With one another jesting : 
 And to the Fairy Court they went 
 With mickle joy and merriment, 
 Which thing was done with good intent, 
 
 And thus I left them feastinsr.
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S SIRENA 
 
 DORILUS in sorrows deep, 
 Autumn waxing old and chill, 
 As he sat his flocks to keep 
 Underneath an easy hill, 
 Chanc'd to cast his eye aside 
 On those fields where he had seen 
 Bright Sirena, nature's pride. 
 Sporting on the pleasant green ; 
 To whose walks the shepherds oft 
 Came, her godlike foot to find, 
 And in places that were soft 
 Kissed the print there left behind : 
 Where the path which she had trod 
 Hath, thereby more glory gain'd 
 Than in Heav'n that milky road 
 Which with nectar Hebe stain'd. 
 But bleak winter's boist'rous blasts 
 Now their fading pleasures chid, 
 And so fill'd them with his wastes 
 That from sight her steps were hid. 
 Silly shepherd sad the Avhile 
 For his sweet Sirena gone. 
 All his pleasures in exile. 
 Laid on the cold earth alone ; 
 Whilst his gamesome cut-tailed cur 
 
 With his mirthless master plays 
 
 14S
 
 The Shepherd's Sirena 149 
 
 Striving him with sport to stir 
 As in his more youthful days. 
 Dorilus his dog doth chide, 
 Lays his well-tun'd bagpipe by, 
 And his sheep-hook casts aside ; 
 There (quoth he) together lie. 
 When a letter forth he took. 
 Which to him Sirena writ, 
 With a deadly down-cast look, 
 And thus fell to reading it. 
 
 Dorilus, my dear (quoth she). 
 Kind companion of my woe. 
 Though we thus divided be. 
 Death cannot divorce us so. 
 Thou whose bosom hath been still 
 Th' only closet of my care, 
 And in all my good and ill 
 Ever had thy equal share ; 
 Might I win thee from thy fold, 
 Thou should'st come to visit me. 
 But the winter is so cold 
 That I fear to hazard thee. 
 The wild waters are waxed high, 
 So they are both deaf and dumb, 
 Lov'd they thee so well as I 
 They would ebb when thou should'st come ; 
 Then my cot with ligtit should shine. 
 Purer than the vestal fire ; 
 Nothing here but should be thine 
 That thy heart can well desire : 
 Where at large we will relate 
 From what cause our friendship grew, 
 And in that the varying fate 
 Since we first each other knew ;
 
 150 The Shepherd's Sirena 
 
 Of my heavy passed plight, 
 As of many a future fear, 
 Which except the silent night 
 None but only thou shalt hear. 
 My sad heart it shall relieve 
 When my thoughts I shall disclose. 
 For thou can'st not choose but grieve 
 When I shall recount my woes : 
 There is nothing to that friend 
 To whose close uncrannied breast 
 We our secret thoughts may send, 
 And there safely let it rest. 
 And thy faithful counsel may 
 My distressed case assist ; 
 Sad affliction else may sway 
 Me a woman as it list. 
 Hither I would have thee haste, 
 Yet would gladly have thee stay. 
 When those dangers I forecast 
 That may meet thee by the way 
 Do as thou shalt think it best ; 
 Let thy knowledge be thy guide ; 
 Live thou in my constant breast 
 Whatsoever shall betide. 
 
 He her letter having read 
 Puts it in his scrip again, 
 Looking like a man half-dead. 
 By her kindness strangely slain ; 
 And as one who inly knew 
 Her distressed present state, 
 And to her had still been true. 
 Thus doth with himself debate. 
 
 I will not thy face admire, 
 Admirable though it be,
 
 The Shepherd's Sirena 151 
 
 Nor thine eyes whose subtile fire 
 So much wonder win in me ; 
 But my marvel shall be now 
 (And of long it hath been so) 
 Of all womankind that thou 
 Wert ordain'd to taste of woe. 
 To a beauty so divine, 
 Paradise in little done, 
 
 that fortune should assign 
 
 Ought but what thou well mightst shun. 
 But my counsels such must be 
 (Though as yet I them conceal) 
 By their deadly wound in me 
 They thy hurt must only heal. 
 Could I give what thou do'st crave, 
 To that pass thy state is grown 
 
 1 thereby thy life may save 
 But am sure to lose mine own. 
 To that joy thou dost conceive. 
 Through my heart the way doth lie ; 
 Which in two for thee must cleave, 
 Lest that thou shouldst go awry. 
 Thus my death must be a toy 
 Which my pensive breast must cover ; 
 Thy beloved to enjoy 
 
 Must be taught thee by thy lover. 
 Hard the choice I have to choose ; 
 To myself if friend I be 
 I must my Sirena lose ; 
 If not so, she loseth me. 
 
 Thus whilst he doth cast about 
 What therein were best to do, 
 Nor could yet resolve the doubt 
 Whether he should stay or go ;
 
 152 The Shepherd's Sirena 
 
 In those fields not far away 
 
 There was many a frolic swain 
 
 In fresh russets day by day 
 
 That kept revels on the plain : 
 
 Nimble Tom, sirnam'd the Tup, 
 
 For his pipe without a peer, 
 
 And could tickle Trenchmore up 
 
 As 'twould joy your heart to hear ; 
 
 Ralph, as much renown'd for skill, 
 
 That the Tabor touch 'd so well ; 
 
 For his Gittern little Gill, 
 
 That all other did excel ; 
 
 Rock and Rollo every way 
 
 Who still led the rustic ging, 
 
 And could troll a roundelay 
 
 That would make the fields to ring ; 
 
 Colin on his shawm so clear 
 
 Many a high-pitcht note that had 
 
 And could make the echos near 
 
 Shout as they were waxen mad. 
 
 Many a lusty swain beside, 
 
 That for nought but pleasure car'd. 
 
 Having Dorilus espi'd 
 
 And with him knew how it far'd. 
 
 Thought from him they would remove 
 
 This strong melancholy fit. 
 
 Or so, should it not behove, 
 
 Quite to put him out of 's wit ; 
 
 Having learnt a song which he 
 
 Sometime to Sirena sent. 
 
 Full of jollity and glee. 
 
 When the nymph liv'd near to Trent; 
 
 They behind him softl}'' got. 
 
 Lying on the earth along.
 
 The Shepherd's Sirena 153 
 
 And when he suspected not 
 Thus the jovial shepherds sung. 
 Near to the silver Trent 
 
 Sirena dwelleth, 
 She to whom nature lent 
 
 all that excelleth ; 
 By which the Muses late 
 
 and the neat Graces 
 Have for their greater state 
 
 taken their places : 
 Twisting an Anadem 
 
 wherewith to crown her, 
 As it belong'd to them 
 most to renown her, 
 Chorus. — On thy bank 
 In a rank 
 
 Let thy swans sing her. 
 And with their music 
 along let them bring her. 
 
 Tagus and Pactolus 
 
 are to thee debter, 
 Nor for their gold to us, 
 
 are they the better : 
 Henceforth of all the rest 
 
 be thou the river, 
 Which as the daintiest 
 
 puts them down ever ; 
 For as my precious one 
 
 o'er thee doth travel 
 She to pearl paragon 
 
 turneth thy gravel. 
 Chorus. — On thy bank 
 In a rank
 
 154 The Shepherd's Sirena 
 
 Let thy swans sing her, 
 And with their music 
 along let them bring her. 
 
 Our mournful Philomel 
 
 that rarest tuner, 
 Henceforth in Aperil 
 
 shall wake the sooner. 
 And to her shall complain 
 
 from the thick cover, 
 Redoubling every strain 
 
 over and over ; 
 For when my love too long 
 
 her chamber keepeth, 
 As though it suffered wrong 
 the morning weepeth. 
 CJiorus. — On thy bank 
 In a rank 
 
 Let thy swans sing her, 
 And with their music 
 along let them bring her. 
 
 Oft have I seen the sun, 
 
 to do her honour, 
 Fix himself, at his noon, 
 
 to look upon her. 
 And hath gilt every grove 
 
 every hill near her 
 With his flames from above 
 
 striving to cheer her ; 
 And when she from his sight 
 
 hath herself turned, 
 He as it had been night 
 
 in clouds hath mourned.
 
 The Shepherd's Sirena 155 
 
 Chorus. — On thy bank 
 In a rank 
 
 Let thy swans sing her, 
 And with their music 
 along let them bring her. 
 
 The verdant meads are seen, 
 when she doth view them. 
 In fresh and gallant green 
 straight to renew them ; 
 And every little grass 
 
 broad itself spreadeth. 
 Proud that this bonny lass 
 
 upon it treadeth ; 
 Nor flower is so sweet 
 
 in this large cincture, 
 But it upon her feet 
 leaveth some tincture. 
 Chorus. — On thy bank 
 In a rank 
 
 Let thy swans sing her, 
 And with their music 
 along let them bring her. 
 
 The fishes in the flood, 
 
 when she doth angle 
 For the hook strive a good 
 
 them to entangle. 
 And leaping on the land 
 
 from the clear water 
 Their scales upon the sand 
 
 lavishly scatter ; 
 Therewith to pave the mould 
 
 whereon she passes
 
 156 The Shepherd's Sirena 
 
 So herself to behold 
 as in her glasses. 
 
 Chorus. — On thy bank 
 In a rank 
 
 Let thy swans sing her, 
 And with their music 
 along let them bring her. 
 
 When she looks out by night 
 
 the stars stand gazing, 
 Like comets to our sight 
 
 fearfully blazing, 
 As wondering at lur eyes 
 
 with their much brightness, 
 Which so amaze the skies, 
 dimming their lightness ; 
 The raging tempests are calm, 
 
 when she speaketh, 
 Such most delightsome balm 
 from her lips breaketh. 
 Chorus. — On thy bank, 
 In a rank 
 
 Let thy swans sing her. 
 And with their music 
 along let them bring her. 
 
 In all our Brittany 
 
 there's not a fairer, 
 Nor can you fit any 
 
 should you compare her ; 
 Angels her eye-lids keep, 
 
 all hearts surprising, 
 Which look, whilst she doth sleep, 
 
 like the sun's rising :
 
 The Shepherd's Sirena 157 
 
 She alone of her kind 
 
 knoweth true measure, 
 And her unmatched mind 
 is heavens treasure. 
 Chorus. — On thy bank 
 In a rank 
 
 Let thy swans sing her, 
 And with their music 
 along let them bring her. 
 
 Fair Dove and Darwen clear, 
 
 boast ye your beauties, 
 To Trent your mistress here 
 
 yet pay your duties ; 
 My love was higher born, 
 
 towards the full fountains. 
 Yet she doth moorland scorn 
 
 and the Peak mountains ; 
 Nor would she none should dream 
 
 where she abideth, 
 Humble as is the stream 
 which by her slideth. 
 Chwus. — On thy bank 
 In a rank 
 
 Let the swans sing her, 
 And with their music 
 
 along let them bring her. 
 
 Yet my poor rustic muse 
 
 nothing can move her, 
 Nor the means I can use 
 
 though her true lover : 
 Many a long winter's night 
 
 have I wak'd for her,
 
 158 The Shepherd's Sirena 
 
 Yet this my piteous plight 
 
 nothing can stir her : 
 All thy sands, silver Trent, 
 
 down to the Humber, 
 The sighs that I have spent 
 never can number. 
 
 Chorus. — On thy bank 
 In a rank 
 
 Let thy swans sing her, 
 And with their music 
 along let them bring her. 
 
 Taken with this sudden song, 
 Least for mirth when he doth look, 
 His sad heart more deeply stung 
 Than the former care he took ; 
 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 Avith grief opprest, 
 Sinful wretches as you be, 
 May the sorrows in my breast 
 Light upon you one by one, 
 And as now you mock my woe, 
 When your mirth is turn'd to moan 
 May your like then serve you so. 
 
 When one swain among the rest 
 Thus him merrily bespake : 
 Get thee up, thou arrant beast ; 
 Fits this season love to make 1 
 Take thy sheep-hook in thy hand, 
 Clap thy cur and set him on ;
 
 The Shepherd's Sirena 159 
 
 For our fields 'tis time to stand, 
 
 Or they quickly will be gone. 
 
 Eoguish swineherds that repine 
 
 At our flocks, like beastly clowns. 
 
 Swear that they will bring their swine 
 
 And will root up all our downs. 
 
 They their holly Avhips have brac'd. 
 
 And touiih hazel goads have got ; 
 
 Soundly they your sides will baste 
 
 If their courage fail them not. 
 
 Of their purpose if they speed 
 
 Then your bagpipes you may burn ; 
 
 It is neither drone nor reed, 
 
 Shepherd, that will serve your turn. 
 
 Angry Olcon sets them on 
 
 And against us part doth take, 
 
 Ever since he Avas out-gone 
 
 OflTring rhymes with us to make. 
 
 Yet, if so our sheep-hooks hold, 
 
 Dearly shall our downs be bought ; 
 
 For it never shall be told 
 
 We our sheep-walks sold for naught. 
 
 And we here have got us dogs 
 
 Best of all the Western breed, 
 
 Which, though whelps, shall lug their hogs 
 
 Till they make their ears to bleed : 
 
 Therefore, shepherd, come away. 
 
 Whenas Dorilus arose 
 
 Whistles cut-tail from his play, 
 
 And along with them he goes.
 
 From THE MUSES' ELYSIUM 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF ELYSIUM 
 
 A PARADISE on earth is found 
 Though far from vulgar sight, 
 Which with those pleasures doth abound 
 That it Elysium 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 reel, 
 Nor their straight bodies bows ; 
 Their lofty tops do never feel 
 The weight of winter's snows. 
 
 In groves that evermore are green, 
 No falling leaf is there, 
 But Philomel (of birds the queen) 
 In music spends the year. 
 
 The Merle upon her myrtle perch 
 There to the Mavis sings, 
 Who from the top of some curled birch 
 Those notes redoubled rings.
 
 Description of Elysium 161 
 
 There daisies damask every place, 
 Nor once their beauties lose, 
 That when proud Phoebus hides his face, 
 Themselves they scorn to close. 
 
 The pansy and the violet here, 
 As seeming to descend 
 Both from one root, a very pair. 
 For sweetness yet contend. 
 
 And pointing to a pink to tell 
 Which bears it, it is loath 
 To judge it, but replies for smell 
 That it excels them both. 
 
 Wherewith displeased they hang their heads^ 
 
 So angry soon 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 autumn ever miss 
 The blossoms of the prime. 
 
 The flower that July forth doth bring 
 In April here is seen ; 
 The primrose that puts on the spring 
 In July decks each green. 
 
 The sweets for sovereigaty contend. 
 And so abundant be. 
 That to the very earth they lend 
 And bark of every tree. 
 L
 
 162 Description of Elysium 
 
 Rills rising out of every bank 
 In wild meanders strain, 
 And playing many a wanton prank 
 Upon the speckled plain, 
 
 In gambols and lascivious gyres 
 Their time they still bestow, 
 Nor to their fountains none retires 
 Nor on their course will go : 
 
 Those brooks with lilies bravely decked 
 So proud and wanton made, 
 That they their courses quite neglect 
 And seem as though they stayed, 
 
 Fair Flora in her state to view. 
 Which through those lilies looks. 
 Or as those lilies lean'd to shew 
 Their beauties to the brooks ; 
 
 That Phoebus in his lofty race 
 Oft lays aside his beams. 
 And comes to cool his glowing face 
 In these delicious streams. 
 
 Oft spreading vines climb up the cleeves 
 Whose ripened clusters there 
 Their liquid purple drop, which drives 
 A vintage through the year : 
 
 Those cleeves whose craggy sides are clad 
 With trees of sundry suits, 
 Which make continual summer glad. 
 Even bending with their fruits ;
 
 Description of Elysium 163 
 
 Some ripening, ready some to fall, 
 Some blossom'd, some to bloom. 
 Like gorgeous hangings on the wall 
 Of some rich, princely room. 
 
 Pomegranates, lemons, citrons so 
 Their laded branches bow. 
 Their leaves in number that outgo 
 Nor roomth will them allow. 
 
 There in perpetual summer's shade 
 Apollo's Prophets sit 
 Among the flowers that never fade 
 But flourish like their wit ; 
 
 To whom the nymphs upon their lyres 
 Tune many a curious lay, 
 And with their most melodious choirs 
 Make short the longest day. 
 
 The thrice three virgins heavenly clear 
 Their trembling timbrels sound 
 Whilst the three comely graces there 
 Dance many a dainty round. 
 
 Decay nor age there nothing knows ; 
 There is continual youth : 
 As time on plant or creatures grows, 
 So still their strength renewth. 
 
 The Poets' paradise this is. 
 To which but few can come ; 
 The Muses' only bower of bliss. 
 Their dear Elysium.
 
 164 Description of Elysium 
 
 Here happy souls (their blessed bowers 
 Free from the rude resort 
 Of beastly people) spend the hours 
 In harmless mirth and sport. 
 
 Then on to the Elysian plains 
 Apollo doth invite you, 
 Where he provides with pastoral strains 
 In Nymphals to delight you.
 
 THE SECOND NYMPHAL 
 Lalus, Cleon and Lirope 
 
 TJie Muse new courtship doth devise 
 By iiature^s strange varieties 
 IVTiose rarities she here relates, 
 And gives you pastoral delicates. 
 
 Lalus, a jolly, youthful lad, 
 
 With Cleon, no less crown'd 
 
 With virtues, both their beings had 
 
 On the Elisian ground ; 
 
 Both having parts so excellent 
 
 That it a question was 
 
 Which should be the most eminent 
 
 Or did in ought surpass. 
 
 This Cleon was a mountaineer 
 
 And of the wilder kind. 
 
 And from his birth had many a year 
 
 Been nursed up by a hind ; 
 
 And, as the sequel well did show, 
 
 It very well might be. 
 
 For never hart nor hare nor roe 
 
 Were half so swift as he. 
 
 But Lalus in the vale was bred 
 
 Amongst the sheep and neat, 
 
 And by those nymphs there choicely fed 
 
 With honey, milk and wheat : 
 
 165
 
 166 The Muses' Elysium 
 
 Of stature goodly, fair of speech, 
 
 And of behaviour mild 
 
 Like those there in the valley rich 
 
 That bred him of a child. 
 
 Of falconry they had the skill 
 
 Their hawks to feed and fly, 
 
 No better hunters ere clomb hill 
 
 Nor hoUoa'd to a cry : 
 
 In dingles deep and mountains hoar 
 
 Oft with the bearded spear 
 
 They combated the tusky boar, 
 
 And slew the angry bear. 
 
 In music they were w^ondrous quaint ; 
 
 Fine airs they could devise ; 
 
 They veiy curiously could paint 
 
 And neatly poetise : 
 
 That wagers many time were laid 
 
 On questions that arose 
 
 Which song the witty Lalus made. 
 
 Which Cleon should compose. 
 
 The stately steed they manag'd well , 
 
 Of fence the art they knew ; 
 
 For dancing they did all excel 
 
 The girls that to them drew^ 
 
 To throw the sledge, to pitch the bar, 
 
 To wrestle and to run, 
 
 They all the youth excelled so far 
 
 That still the prize they won. 
 
 These sprightly gallants lov'd a lass, 
 
 Called Lirope the bright ; 
 
 In the whole world there scarcely was 
 
 So delicate a wight. 
 
 There was no beauty so divine 
 
 That ever nymph did grace,
 
 The Second Nymphal 167 
 
 But it beyond itself did shine 
 
 In hei^ more heavenly face. 
 
 What form she pleased each thing would take 
 
 That ere she did behold ; 
 
 Of pebbles she could diamonds make, 
 
 Gross iron turn to gold. 
 
 Such power there with her presence came 
 
 Stern tempests she allayed ; 
 
 The cruel tiger she could tame, 
 
 The raging torrents staid. 
 
 She chid, she cherished, she gave life, 
 
 Again she made to die ; 
 
 She raised a war, appeased a strife 
 
 With turning of her eye. 
 
 Some said a god did her beget, 
 
 But much deceived were they ; 
 
 Her Father was a Rivulet 
 
 Her Mother was a Fay. 
 
 Her lineaments, so fine that were, 
 
 She from the fairy took ; 
 
 Her beauties and complexion clear 
 
 By nature from the brook. 
 
 These rivals waiting for the hour 
 
 (The weather calm and fair) 
 
 When as she us'd to leave her bower 
 
 To take the pleasant air, 
 
 Accosting her, their compliment 
 
 To her their goddess done. 
 
 By gifts they tempt her to consent : 
 
 When Lalus thus begun. 
 
 Lalus. Sweet Lirope, I have a lamb, 
 Newly weaned from the dam, 
 Of the right kind, it is notted, 
 Naturally with purple spotted :
 
 168 The Muses' Elysium 
 
 Into laughter it will put you 
 
 To see how prettily 'twill butt you, 
 
 When on sporting it is set 
 
 It will beat you a curvet, 
 
 And at every nimble bound 
 
 Turn itself above the ground. 
 
 When 'tis hungry it will bleat 
 
 From your hand to have its meat 
 
 And when it hath fully fed 
 
 It will fetch jumps above your head, 
 
 As innocently to express 
 
 Its silly sheepish thankfulness ; 
 
 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. 
 
 Cleon. From him, turn thine ear away 
 And hear me, my lov'd Lirope, 
 I have a kid as white as milk, 
 His skin as soft as Naples silk ; 
 His horns in length are wondrous even 
 And curiously by nature writhen ; 
 It is of th' Arcadian kind ; 
 There's not the like 'twixt either Inde. 
 If you walk 'twill walk you by. 
 If you sit down it down will lie ; 
 It with gesture will you woo 
 And counterfeit those things you do ; 
 O'er each hillock it will vault 
 And nimbly do the somersault ; 
 Upon the hinder legs 'twill go 
 And follow you a furlong so ; 
 And if by chance a tune you rote 
 'Twill foot it finely to your rote.
 
 The Second Nymphal 169 
 
 Seek the world and you may miss 
 To find out such a thing as this. 
 This, my love, I have for thee 
 So thou'lt leave him and go with me. 
 
 Lirope. Believe me, youths, your gifts are rare, 
 And you offer wondrous fair ; 
 Lalus for lamb, Cleon for kid, — 
 'Tis hard to judge which most doth bid. 
 And have you two such things in store 
 And I ne'er knew of them before ? 
 Well, yet I dare a wager lay 
 That Brag my little dog shall play 
 As dainty tricks when I shall bid 
 As Lalus' lamb or Cleon's kid. 
 But t'may tall out that I may need them : 
 Till when ye may do well to feed them. 
 Your goat and mutton pretty be. 
 But, youths, these are no baits for me. 
 Alas, good men, in vain ye woo ; 
 'Tis not your lamb nor kid will do. 
 
 Lalus. I have two sparrows white as snow, 
 Whose pretty eyes like sparks do show : 
 In her bosom Venus hatched them 
 Where her little Ctipid watched them, 
 Till they two fledge their nests forsook, 
 Themselves and to the fields betook ; 
 Where by chance a fowler caught them, 
 Of whom 1 full dearly bought them. 
 They'll fetch you conserve from the hip 
 And lay it softly on your lip ; 
 Through their nibbling bills they'll chirrup 
 And fluttering feed you with the sirrup ; 
 And, if thence you put them by 
 They to your white neck will fly ;
 
 170 The Muses' Elysium 
 
 And, if you expulse them there, 
 They'll hang upon your braided hair. 
 You so long shall see them prattle 
 Till at length they'll fall to battle, 
 And when they have fought their fill 
 You will smile to see them bill. 
 These birds my Lirope's shall be 
 So thou'lt leave him and go with me. 
 
 Cleon. His sparrows are not worth a rush ; 
 I'll find as fiood in every bush. 
 Of doves I have a dainty pair 
 Which, when you please to take the air. 
 About your head shall gently hover 
 Your clear brow from the sun to cover. 
 And with their nimble wings shall fan you 
 That neither cold nor heat shall tan you ; 
 And like umbrellas with their feathers 
 Shield you in all sorts of weathers ; 
 They be most dainty coloured things, 
 They have damask backs and chequered wings ; 
 Their necks more various colours show 
 Than thei'e be mixed in the bow, 
 Venus saw the lesser dove 
 And therewith was far in love. 
 Offering for't her golden ball 
 For her son to play withal. 
 These my Lirope's shall be. 
 So she'll leave him and go with me. 
 
 Lirope. Then for sparrows and for doves 
 I am fitted 'twixt my loves. 
 But, Lalus, I take no delight 
 In sparrows, for they'll scratch and bite 
 'Twixt Venus' breasts if they have lain 
 I much fear they'll infect mine.
 
 The Second Nymphal 171 
 
 Cleon, your doves are very dainty, 
 Tame pigeons else you know are plenty : 
 These may win some of your marrows, 
 I am not caught with doves nor sparrows. 
 I thank ye kindly for your cost, 
 Yet your labour is but lost. 
 
 Lalus. AVith full-leav'd lilies I will stick 
 Thy braided hair all o'er so thick 
 That from it a light shall throw 
 Like the sun's upon the snow. 
 Thy mantle shall be violet-leaves. 
 With the fin'st the silkworm weaves 
 As finely woven, whose rich smell 
 The air about thee so shall swell 
 That it shall have no power to move. 
 A ruff of pinks thy robe above, 
 About thy neck so neatly set 
 That art it cannot counterfeit, 
 Which still shall look so fresh and new 
 As if upon their roots they grew. 
 And for thy head I'll have a tire 
 Of netting, made of strawberry wire, 
 And in each knot, that doth compose 
 A mesh, shall stick a half-blown rose, 
 Eed, damask, white ; in order set 
 About the sides shall run a fret 
 Of primroses, the tire throughout 
 With thrift and daisies fringed about. 
 All this, fair nymph, I'll do for thee 
 . So thou'lt leave him and go with me. 
 
 Cleon. These be but weeds and trash he brings 
 I'll give thee solid, costly things. 
 His will wither and be gone 
 Before thou well canst put them on ;
 
 172 The Muses' Elysium 
 
 With coral I will have thee crowned, 
 Whose branches, intricately wound. 
 Shall girt thy temples every way ; 
 And on the top of every spray 
 Shall stick a pearl orient and great, 
 Which so the wandring birds shall cheat 
 That some shall stoop to look for cherries 
 As other for tralucent berries. 
 And wondririg caught ere they be ware 
 In the curl'd trammels of thy hair. 
 And for thy neck a crystal chain, 
 Whose links, shap'd like to drops of rain. 
 Upon thy panting breast depending 
 Shall seem as they were still descending. 
 And, as thy breath doth come and go. 
 So seeming still to ebb and flow : 
 With amber bracelets cut like bees, 
 Whose strange transparency who sees. 
 With silk small as the spider's twist 
 Doubled so oft about thy wrist. 
 Would surely think alive they were. 
 From lilies gathering honey there. 
 Thy buskins ivory, carv'd like shells 
 Of scollop, which, as little bells 
 Made hollow, with the air shall chime 
 And to thy steps shall keep the time. 
 Leave Lalus, Lirope, for me, 
 And these shall thy rich dowry be. 
 
 Lirope. Lalus for flowers, Cleon for gems ! 
 P^'or garlands and for diadems 
 I shall be sped. AVhy, this is brave : 
 What nymph can choicer presents have 1 
 With dressing, braiding, frowncing, flowering, 
 All your jewels on me pouring.
 
 The Second Nymphal 173 
 
 In this bravery being dressed 
 
 To the ground I shall be pressed ; 
 
 That I doubt the nymphs will fear me 
 
 Kor will venture to come near me. 
 
 Never Lady of the May 
 
 To this hour was half so gay, 
 
 All in flowers, all so sweet 
 
 From the crown, beneath the feet. 
 
 Amber, coral, ivory, pearl ! 
 
 If this cannot win a girl 
 
 There's nothing can, and this ye woo me. 
 
 Give me your hands and trust ye to me 
 
 (Yet to tell ye I am loth) 
 
 That I'll have neither of you both. 
 
 Lalus. When thou shalt please to stem the flood 
 (As thou art of the wat'ry brood) 
 I'll have twelve swans more white than snow 
 Yok'd 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 hale 
 Thy barge shall be the winding trail 
 Of woodbind whose brave tassel'd flowers 
 (The sweetness of the woodnymphs' bowers) 
 Shall be the trappings to adorn 
 The swans by which thy barge is borne. 
 Of flowered flags I'll rob the bank. 
 Of water cans and king-cups rank, 
 To be the covering of thy boat ; 
 And, on the stream as thou dost floa^. 
 The Naiades that haunt the deep 
 Themselves about thy barge shall keep, 
 Recording most delightful lays 
 By sea-gods written in thy praise.
 
 174 The Muses' Elysium 
 
 And in what place thou hapst to land, 
 There the gentle, silvery sand 
 Shall soften, curled with the air 
 As sensible of thy repair. 
 This, my dear love, I'll do for thee 
 So thou'lt leave him and go with me. 
 
 Cleon. Tush, nymph, his swans will prpve but 
 geese, 
 His barge drink water like a fleece. 
 A boat is base : I'll thee provide 
 A chariot wherein Jove may ride : 
 In which when bravely thou art borne 
 Thou shalt look like the glorious morn 
 Ushering the sun, and such a one 
 As to this day was never none ; 
 Of the rarest Indian gums 
 More precious than your balsamums 
 Which I by art have made so hard 
 That they with tools may well be carv'd 
 To make a coach of ; which shall be 
 Materials of this one for thee ; 
 And of thy chariot each small piece 
 Shall inlaid be with amber-gris 
 And gilded with the yellow ore 
 Produc'd from Tagus' wealth}^ shore : 
 In which along the pleasant lawn 
 With twelve white stags thou shalt be drawn, 
 Whose branched palms of a stately height 
 With several nosegays shall be dight, 
 And as thou rid'st thy coach about 
 For thy strong guard shall run a rout 
 Of estriges, whose curled plumes 
 Sens'd with thy chariot's inch perfumes 
 The scent into the air shall throw ;
 
 The Second Nymphal 175 
 
 Whose naked thighs shall grace the show, 
 Whilst the woodnymphs and those bred 
 Upon the mountains, o'er thy head 
 Shall bear a canopy of flowers 
 Tinseled with drops of April showers 
 Which shall make more glorious shows 
 Than spangles or your silver oes. 
 This, bright nymph, I'll do for thee. 
 So thou'lt leave him and go with me. 
 
 Lirope. Vie and revie, like chapmen profer'd 
 Would't be received what you have off"er'd : 
 Ye greater honour cannot do me, 
 If not building altars to me. 
 Both by water and by land. 
 Barge and chariot at command ; 
 Swans upon the stream to tow me, 
 Stags upon the land to draw me ! 
 In all this pomp should I be seen, 
 What a poor thing were a queen. 
 All delights in such excess 
 As but ye, who can express ? 
 Thus mounted should the nymphs me see, 
 All the troop would follow me, 
 Thinking by this state that I 
 Would assume a deity. 
 There be some in love have been. 
 And I may commit that sin ; 
 And if e'er I be in love. 
 With one of you I fear 'twill prove. 
 But with which I cannot tell : 
 So, my gallant youths, farewell.
 
 176 The Muses' Elysium 
 
 THE SIXTH NYMPHAL 
 
 SiLvius, Halcius, Melanthus 
 
 A woodman, fisher, and a swain 
 This nyrnphal through with viirth maintain, 
 JVhose pleadings so the Nymphs do please, 
 That presently they gave them hays. 
 
 Clear had the day been from the dawn, 
 
 All chequered was the sky, 
 
 Thin clouds like scarfs of cobweb lawn 
 
 Veiled heaven's most glorious eye. 
 
 The wind had no more strength than this, 
 
 That leisurely it blew, 
 
 To make one leaf the next to kiss 
 
 That closely by it grew. 
 
 The rills that on the pebbles played 
 
 Might now be heard at will ; 
 
 This world they only music made, 
 
 Else everything was still. 
 
 The flowers like brave embroidered girls 
 
 Looked as they much desired 
 
 To see whose head with orient pearls 
 
 Most curiously was tired ; 
 
 And to itself the subtle air 
 
 Such sovereignty assumes 
 
 That it receiv'd too large a share 
 
 From nature's rich perfumes.
 
 The Sixth Nymphal 177 
 
 When the Elysian youth were met 
 
 That were of most account. 
 
 And to disport themselves were set 
 
 Upon an easy mount : 
 
 Near which of stately fir and pine 
 
 There gi-ew abundant store, 
 
 The tree that weepeth turpentine, 
 
 And shady sycamore : 
 
 Amongst this merry youthful train 
 
 A forester they had, 
 
 A fisher, and a shepherd's swain, 
 
 A lively country 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 civil strife to stay, 
 
 Freely to hear what each of these 
 
 For his brave self could say : 
 
 When first this forester (of all) 
 
 That Silvius had to name, , 
 
 To Avhom 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 excel, thus for myself I plead ! 
 I am the prince of sports, the forest is my fee. 
 He's not upon the earth for pleasure lives like me. 
 The morn no sooner puts her rosy mantle on 
 But from my quiet lodge I instantly am gone. 
 When the melodious birds from every bush and 
 
 briar 
 Of the wild spacious wastes make a continual choir ; 
 M
 
 178 The Muses' Elysium 
 
 The motlied meadows then, new varnisht with the 
 
 sun, 
 Shoot lip their spicy sweets upon the winds that 
 
 run 
 In easily ambling gales and softly seem to pace 
 That it the longer might their lusciousness embrace. 
 I am clad in youthful green, I other colours scorn ; 
 My silken baldrick bears my bugle or my horn. 
 Which setting to my lips I wind so loud and 
 
 shrill 
 As makes the echos shout from every neighbour- 
 ing hill. 
 My dog-hook at my belt, to which my lyam's tied, 
 My sheaf of arrows by, my woodknife at my side, 
 My crossbow in my hand, my gafSe on my rack 
 To bend it when I please, or, if I list, to slack ; 
 My hound then in my lyam, I by the woodman's 
 
 art 
 Forecast where I may lodge the goodly high-palm'd 
 
 hart. 
 To view the grazing herds, so sundry times I use. 
 Where by the loftiest head I know my deer to 
 
 choose ; 
 And to unherd him then I gallop o'er the ground 
 Upon my well-breath'd nag to cheer my earning 
 
 hound. 
 Sometime I pitch my toils the deer alive to take. 
 Sometime I like the cry the deep-mouth'd kennel 
 
 make. 
 Then underneath my horse I stalk 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 i^resence bring,
 
 The Sixth Nymphal 179 
 
 The buck his loved doe, the roe his tripping mate, 
 Before me to my bower whereas I sit in state. 
 The Dryads, Hamadryads, the Satyrs and the 
 
 Fawns 
 Oft play at hide and seek before me on the lawns ; 
 The frisking fairy oft when horned Cynthia shines 
 Before me as I walk dance wanton Matachynes ; 
 The numerous feathered flocks that the wild forests 
 
 haunt 
 Their silvan songs to me in cheerful ditties chant ; 
 The shades like ample shields defend me from the 
 
 sun 
 Through which me to refresh the gentle rivulets 
 
 run : 
 No little bubbling brook from any spring that falls 
 But on the pebbles plays me pretty madrigals. 
 I' th' morn I climb the hills, where wholesome 
 
 winds do blow ; 
 At noontide to the vales and shady groves below ; 
 T'wards evening I again the crystal floods frequent : 
 In pleasure thus my life continually is spent. 
 As princes and great lords have palaces, so I 
 Have in the forests here my hall and gallery. 
 The tall and stately woods, which underneath are 
 
 plain ; 
 The groves my gardens are, the heath and downs 
 
 again 
 My Avide and spacious walks : then say all what 
 
 ye can, 
 The forester is still yoiu: only gallant man. 
 He of his speech scarce made an end 
 But him they load with pi'aise. 
 The nymphs most highly him commend 
 And vow to give him bays :
 
 180 The Muses' Elysium 
 
 He's now cried up of every one, 
 And who but only he 1 
 The forester's the man alone, 
 The worthiest of the three : 
 When some than the other far more staid, 
 AVill'd them a while to pause 
 For there was more yet to be said 
 That might deserve applause : 
 When Halcius his turn next plies, 
 And silence having won, 
 " Room for the fisher man ! " he cries. 
 And thus his plea begun. 
 Halcius. No, forester, it so must not be borne 
 away, 
 But hear what for himself the fisher first can say. 
 The crystal current streams continually I keep 
 Where every pearl-pav'd ford and every blue-eyed 
 
 deep 
 With me familiar are ; when in my boat being set 
 My oar I take in hand, my angle and ray net 
 About me ; like a prince myself in state I steer 
 Now up, now down the stream, now am I here, 
 
 now there, 
 The pilot and the fraught myself ; and at my ease 
 Can land me when I list or in what place I please. 
 The silver-scaled shoals about me in the streams, 
 As thick as ye discern the atoms in the beams. 
 Near to the shady bank where slender sallows grow 
 And willows their shag'd tops down t'wards the 
 
 waters bow 
 I shove in with ray boat to shield me from the 
 
 heat, 
 Where choosing from my bag some prov'd especial 
 bait,
 
 The Sixth Nymphal 181 
 
 The goodly well gi'own trout I with my angle strike, 
 And with my bearded wire I take the ravenous 
 
 pike, 
 Of whom when I have hold he seldom breaks 
 
 away 
 Though at my line's full length so long I let him 
 
 play 
 Till by my hand I find he well-near wearied be. 
 When softly by degrees I draw him up to me. 
 The lusty salmon too I oft with angling take, 
 Whichme 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 so far doth stretch 
 As draws my floating cork down to the very ground 
 And wresting of my rod doth make my boat turn 
 
 round. 
 I never idle am ; sometime I bait my wheels 
 With which by night I take the dainty silver eels; 
 And with my draught-net then I sweep the stream- 
 ing flood. 
 And to my trammel next and cast-net from the mud 
 I beat the scaly brood ; no hour I idly spend, 
 But wearied with my work I bring the day to end. 
 The Naiades and Nymphs that in the rivers keep, 
 Which take into their care the store of every deep, 
 Amongst the flowery flags, the bulrushes and reed 
 That of thespawn have charge (abundantly to breed) 
 Well mounted upon swans their naked bodies lend 
 To my discerning eye and on my boat attend. 
 And dance upon the waves before me (for my sake) 
 To th'music the soft wind upon the reeds doth make ; 
 And for my pleasure more the rougher gods of seas 
 From Neptune's Court send in the blue Neriades,
 
 182 The Muses' Elysium 
 
 Which from his bracky realm upon the billows ride 
 And bear the rivers back with every streaming tide ; 
 Those billows 'gainst my boat borne with delight- 
 ful gales 
 Oft seeming as 1 row to tell me pretty tales, 
 Whilst ropes of liquid pearl still load my labouring 
 
 oars 
 As stretch'd upon the stream they strike me to the 
 
 shores ; 
 The silent meadows seem delighted with my lays 
 As sitting in my boat I sing my lass's praise. 
 Then let them that like the forester up cry ; 
 Your noble fisher is your only man, say I. 
 
 This speech of Halcius turn'd the tide 
 
 And brought it so about 
 
 That all upon the fisher cried 
 
 That he would bear it out ; 
 
 Him, for the speech he made, to clap 
 
 Who lent him not a hand, 
 
 And said 'twould be the waters' hap 
 
 Quite to put down the land 1 
 
 This while Melanthus silent sits 
 
 (For so the shepherd hight) 
 
 And having heard these dainty wits 
 
 Each pleading for his right ; 
 
 To hear them honour'd in this wise 
 
 His patience doth provoke, 
 
 When " For a shepherd room," he cries, 
 
 And for himself thus spoke. 
 Melanthus. Well, fisher, you have done, and 
 forester for you 
 Your tale is neatly told, s'are both, to give you due, 
 And now my turn comes next ; then hear a shepherd 
 speak.
 
 The Sixth Nymphal 183 
 
 My watchfulness and care gives day scarce kave to 
 
 break 
 But to the fields I haste, my folded flock to see ; 
 Where when I find nor wolf nor fox hath injur'd me, 
 I to my bottle straight and soundly baste my throat, 
 Which done some country song or roundelay I roat 
 So merrily, that to the music that I make 
 I force the lark to sing ere she be well awake. 
 Then Ball my cut-tailed cur and I begin to play, 
 He o'er my sheep-hook leaps now th' one, now th" 
 
 other way 
 Then on his hinder feet he doth himself advance ; 
 I tune, and to my note my lively dog doth dance ; 
 Then whistle in my fist, my fellow swains to call ; 
 Down go our hooks and scrips and we to nine holes 
 
 fall. 
 At du?t-point or at quoits else are we at it hard ; 
 All false and cheating games we shepherds are 
 
 debarred. 
 Surveying of my sheep, if ewe or wether look 
 As though it were amiss, or with my cur or crook 
 I take it, and when once T find what it doth ail 
 It hardly hath that hurt but that my skill can heal. 
 And when my careful eye I cast upon my sheep 
 I sort them in my pens and sorted so I keep : 
 Those that are big'st of bone I still reserve for breed, 
 My cullings I put off or for the chapman feed. 
 When the evening doth approach I to my bagpipe 
 
 take. 
 And to my grazing flocks such music then I make 
 That they forbear to feed ; then me a king you see, 
 I playing go before, my subjects follow me ; 
 My bell-wether most brave before the rest doth 
 
 stalk.
 
 184 The Muses' Elysium 
 
 The father of the flock, and after him doth walk 
 My writhen-headed ram with posies crowned in 
 
 pride 
 Fast to his crooked horns Avith ribands neatly tied. 
 And at our shepherds' board that's cut out of the 
 
 ground, 
 My fellow swains and I together at it round, 
 With greencheese, clotted cream, with flawns and 
 
 custards stored, 
 Whig, cider and with whey I domineer a lord. 
 When shearing time is come I to the river drive 
 My goodly well-tleec'd flocks (by pleasure thus I 
 
 thrive) ; 
 Which being washed at will upon the shearing day 
 My wool I forth in locks fit for the winder lay, 
 Which upon lusty heaps into my cot I heave 
 That in the handling feels as soft as any sleeve ; 
 When every ewe two lambs that yeaned hath that 
 
 year 
 About her new-shorn neck a chaplet then doth 
 
 wear. 
 My tarbox and my scrip, my bagpipe at my back, 
 My sheep-hook in my hand, what can I say I lack ? 
 He that a sceptre swayed, a sheep-hook in his hand 
 Hath not disdained to have ; for shepherds then I 
 
 stand. 
 Then, forester, and you, my fisher, cease your strife, 
 I say your shepherd leads your only merry life. 
 They had not cried the forester 
 And fisher up before 
 So much, but now the nymphs prefer 
 The shepherd ten times more ; 
 And all the song goes on his side, 
 Their minion him they make,
 
 The Sixth Nymphal 185 
 
 To him themselves they all apply 
 
 And all his party take ; 
 
 Till some in their discretion cast, 
 
 Since first the strife begun 
 
 In all that from them there had passed 
 
 None absolutely won ; 
 
 That equal honour they should share, 
 
 And their deserts to show 
 
 For each a garland they prepare 
 
 Which they on them bestow, 
 
 Of all the choicest flowers that were, 
 
 Which purposely they gather ; 
 
 With which they crown them, parting there 
 
 As they came first together.
 
 NOTES 
 
 Page 4, 1. 2. Paint on floods till the shore cry to tJie air. I 
 do not grasp the poet's imagery. That ' paint ' is 
 what Daniel wrote seems certain from what looks 
 like an expansion of the line in Drayton's Idea, 
 sonnet 45. 
 
 " Muses which sadly sit about my chair, 
 Drown'd in the tears extorted tiy my lines, 
 With heavy sighs while thus I break the air, 
 Painting my passions in these sad designs." 
 
 Moreover, the Errata in 1611 corrects a misprint in 
 this line but says nothing about 'paint.' The 
 word is frequently used simply for 'utter,' and 
 probably is so here, and the meaning may be no 
 more than this, that the poet as he sits by the 
 waterside infects the shore with his passion. Cf. 
 Civil War, ii. 129 [ed. 1595]— 
 
 " Nor had I then at solitary brook 
 Sat framing bloody accents of these times " 
 
 [altered in 1602 to 'Nor had my Muse so sad a 
 subject took,' and omitted in 1623]. Whether the 
 ' floods ' are caused by the lover's tears, and the 
 shore cries out in fear of being submerged, is more 
 than I can say. 
 
 p. 6, 1. 16. arcs of love, i.e. eyebrows. 
 
 p. 14, 1. 23. arcs, i.e. triumphal arches. 
 
 p. 15, 1. 1. the Roman. Q. Mucins Scsevola. 
 
 p. 23, 1. 10. at last. I have supplied these words to fill out 
 the metre and the sense. 
 
 p. 26, 1. 6. smoke. So 1602. Every edition I have seen sub- 
 sequent to this, including Grosart's, reads smoakt, 
 which gives no sense. Cf. Epistle to Countess of 
 Cuinberlatid, p. 34 — 
 
 " The all-gniding Providence doth yet 
 All disappoint, and mocks this smoke of wit." 
 
 187
 
 188 Notes 
 
 p. 30. This passage of the ' Death of Talbot ' was a great 
 favourite with Coleridge, especially the stanza 
 beginning, 'Whilst Talbot, whose fresh ardour,' 
 etc. In a letter to Charles Lamb he says : " You 
 must read over these Civil Wars again. Gravely 
 sober in all ordinary affairs, and not easily excited 
 by any — yet there is one on which his Blood boils 
 — whenever he speaks of English valour exerted 
 against a foreign Enemy. . . . Thousands even of 
 educated men would become more sensible, fitter 
 to be members of Parliament or ministers, by 
 reading Daniel — and even those few, who quoad 
 infellectum only gain refreshment of notions 
 already their own, must become better English- 
 men." (Quoted by Morris.) 
 
 p. 35, 1. 33. Knoicivri the heart of man, etc. This stanza 
 was quoted by Wordsworth in the Fourth Book of 
 the Excursion. In a note he transcribes the four 
 stanzas beginning, ' Nor is he moved with all the 
 thunder-cracks,' as containing "an admirable pic- 
 ture of the state of a wise man's mind in a time 
 of public commotion." 'The whole poem,' he 
 adds, 'is very beautiful.' In a letter to Lady 
 Beaumont he speaks of it as "composed in a 
 strain of meditative morality more dignified and 
 affecting than any thing of the kind I ever read." 
 The modern reader is apt to miss the imagery here. 
 It is a comparison of man to the universe. All 
 the terms, revolution, aspect, predominate, etc., are 
 borrowed from the Ptolemaic system of astronomy. 
 In line 2 I have restored the correct reading ' his 
 world,' which Grosart does not note, from 1602 ed. 
 For the familiar thought of man as the microcosm, 
 cf. p. 38, 1. 5. ' 
 
 p. 36, 1. 11. dispense irith, come to terms with, a favourite 
 word with Daniel. 
 
 p. 37, 1. 5, of, 1602. Texts usually read that, Grosart does 
 not even note the true reading. Probably by the 
 ' gold of leaden minds ' Daniel means panegyric. 
 
 p. 39, 1. 1. Wordsworth borrowed this line for the opening 
 of the 18th sonnet to the river Duddon ; but omitted 
 the first two words from his quotation marks.
 
 Notes 189 
 
 p. 46, 1. 11. All the editions read 'rest with me;' which 
 both spoils the rhyme and supplies no antithesis 
 to the ' here ' two lines below. 
 
 p. 49, 1. 11. area. I take credit for restoring the true 
 reading from the edition of 1611. Every edition 
 since, that I have seen, including Grosart's, reads 
 ' air,' which neither scans uor makes sense. 
 
 p. 51. Hymen's Triumph richly deserves a reprint. Cole- 
 ridge said of it: " Hymen's Triumi^h exhibits a 
 continued series of first-rate beauties in thought, 
 passion, and imagery ; and in language and metre 
 is so faultless, that the style of that poem may, 
 without extravagance, be declared to be imperish- 
 able English " (Literary Remains, ii. 360). 
 
 ]}. 55. The Ode was first published in Daniel's volume of 
 1594 at the end of the Sonnets. In the collected 
 volume of 1623 it is printed twice. As Daniel's 
 happiest song, I give it theplace of honour at the 
 end of this selection. 
 
 p. 57. Daffadill. I leave Drayton's spelling of this word, 
 as he uses it for a proper name. Moreover, his 
 spelling is recognised by Skeat. 
 
 p. 62, 1. 10. Best. Sestos. 
 
 p. 63, 1. 1. "The Duke of Longaville, which was Prisoner 
 in England, upon the Peace to be concluded be- 
 tween England and France, was delivered ; and 
 mai'ried the Princess Mary, for Lewes the French 
 King his master." — Drayton's Note. 
 
 p. 64, 1. 13. "The Duke of Suffolk, when the Pi'oclama- 
 tion came into England of jousts to be holden 
 in France at Paris, he for the Queen's sake, his 
 Mistress, obtained of the King to go thither : 
 with whom went the Marquess Dorset and his four 
 brothers, the Lord Clinton, Sir Edward Nevill, 
 Sii- Giles Campbell, Thomas Cheyney, which went 
 all over with the Duke as his assistants."— 
 Drayton's Note. 
 1. 20. Uss, silk. 
 
 p. 65, 1. 13. "Francis Valoys, the Dolphin of France, 
 envying the glory that the English men had ob- 
 tained at the Tilt, brought in an Almain secretly, 
 a man thought almost of incomparable strength.
 
 190 Notes 
 
 which encountred Charles Brandon at the barriers ; 
 but the Duke, grappling with him, so beat him 
 about the head with the pommel of his sword, 
 that the blood came out of the sight of his 
 casque." — Drayton's Note. 
 
 p. 66, 1. 9. " Sir William Brandon, standard-bearer to the 
 Earl of Richmond (after Henry the Seventh) at 
 Bos worth Field, a brave and gallant gentleman, 
 who was slain by Richard there ; this was father 
 to this Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk." — 
 Drayton's Note. 
 
 p. 68. Princes like Suns. From ' Queen Isabel to Richard 
 II.' 
 Love's September. From ' Queen Margaret to 
 
 William de la Poole, Duke of Suffolk.' 
 1. 12. hreem, stormy; a word 'taken from Lydgate 
 by Spenser, and echoed by later poets,' Murray, s.v. 
 
 p. 69. From the Barons' Wars, Book vi., 30-63. 
 
 p. 70, 1. 12. sledge, sledge-hammer. 
 
 1. 25. landscape, a painter's word for the background 
 of a picture. This is the earliest instance of its 
 use that I remember to have met. It does not 
 come in the first version ; of which I give three 
 stanzas here for the sake of comparison : — 
 
 " Here clifify Cynthus, ■with a thousand birds 
 Whose checkered plumes adorn his tufted crown, 
 Under whose shadow graze the straggling herds, 
 Out of whose top the fresh springs tumbling down 
 
 Duly keep time with their harmonious soun[d]; 
 The rock so lively done In every part 
 As Art hai so taught Nature, Natiu'e Art. 
 
 " Here falls proud Phaeton, tumbling through the clouds 
 The sunny palfreys have their traces broke, 
 And setting fire upon the welked shrouds 
 Now through the heaven fly gadding from the yoke, 
 
 The Spheres all reeking with a misty smoke, 
 Drawn with such life, as some did much desire 
 To warm themselves, some frighted with the fire. 
 
 " Upon the sundry pictures they devise. 
 And from one thing they to another run ; 
 Now they commend that body, then those eyes, 
 How Well that bird, how well that flower was done. 
 
 The lively counterfeiting of that sun; 
 The colours, the conceits, the shadowings. 
 And in that art a thousand sundry things."
 
 Notes 191 
 
 p. 73, 1. 17. cranlcling, windiug. 
 
 p. 74, 1. 3. cauples, horses ; from low latin caballus 
 (Murray). 
 
 p. 76. Drayton first printed sonnets in a book called ' Ideas 
 Mirrour. Amours in Quatorzains ' (1594), re- 
 printed by Collier in 1856. These (51 in number) 
 were added to, corrected, and selected from, in 
 various editions, until in the collected poems of 
 1619 there were 63, including for the first time 
 the famous sonnet, 'Since there's no help,' etc. 
 Mr Elton in his masterly 'Introduction to Drayton' 
 (printed for the Spenser Society) has a very full 
 bibliography, with a special appendix on the 
 Sonnets. He calls attention to two which Drayton 
 did not reprint (the first and eighth of this selec- 
 tion) as being ' of a rare and excellent Spenserian 
 vintage. ' 
 
 p. 77, 1. 14. too good to be disgrnced. Supply ' they are.' 
 
 p. 88. Odes. Mr Collier notes that ' the application of the 
 word Ode at this date [1606] was nearly new in our 
 language.' Daniel had employed it in 1592 (see 
 page 55). Drayton writes a preface defending the 
 name, and instancing classical authorities, such as 
 Pindar, Anacreon, and Horace. He calls his own a 
 ' mixed ' style of Ode like that of Horace, ' little 
 partaking of the high dialect of Pindar, nor alto- 
 gether of Anacreon, the arguments being amorous, 
 moral, or what else the Muse pleaseth.' Some of 
 them are in the manner of Skelton. The intro- 
 ductory Ode ' To himself and the harp,' in which 
 he gives a history and defence of the Ode form, 
 concludes thus : 
 
 " Nor is't the Verse doth make, 
 That giveth or doth take; 
 
 'Tis possible to climb, 
 To kindle or to slake, 
 Although in Skelton's rime." 
 
 ' All matter and no art ' is dangerous doctrine, and 
 the Skeltoniads, though it is certainly possible to 
 climb them with an eflbrt, the modern reader finds 
 intolerably rugged. The smoothest may be quoted 
 here, as a confession of Drayton's poetical faith :
 
 192 Notes 
 
 " The Muse should be sprightly 
 Yet not handling lightly 
 Things grave; as much loth 
 Things that be slight to clothe 
 Curiously ; to retain 
 The comeliness in mean 
 Is true knowledge and wit. 
 Nor nie forced rage doth fit 
 That I thereto should lack 
 Tobacco, or the sack, 
 Which to the colder tirain 
 Is the true Hippocrene. 
 Nor did I ever care 
 For great fools nor great fare : 
 Virtue though neglected 
 Is not so dejected 
 As vilely to descend 
 To low baseness, their end. 
 Neither each rhyming slave 
 Deserves the name to have 
 Of poet : so the rabble 
 Of fools for the table, 
 That have their jests by heart, 
 As an actor his part, 
 Might assume them chairs 
 Amongst the Muse's heirs. 
 Parnassus is not clomb 
 By every such nome ; 
 Up whose steep side who swerves 
 It behoves have strong nerves. 
 My resolution such, 
 How well, and not how much, 
 I write : thus do I fare 
 Like some few good, that care 
 (The evil sort among) 
 How well to live, and not how long." 
 
 p. 89, 1. 1. JEoan. Eos is the dawn. 
 
 1. 22. ceasure, i.e. ccesura, defined by Sidney as 'the 
 breathing place in the midst of a verse.' The word 
 is used by Spenser (F. Q., 11. x. 68). 
 
 ' There abruptly it did end, 
 Without full point, or other ceasure right.' 
 
 p. 90, 1. 13. This and the next stanza are an address to 
 
 Cupid. 
 1. 17. fascia, fillet, 
 p. 92, 1. 3. make, mate. 
 
 p. 95, 1. 8. mine in the other part. Perhaps in should be is. 
 p. 103. The original title of this poem is "To my friends 
 
 the Camber-britons and theyr Harp." In 1619 it
 
 Notes 1 93 
 
 was altered to "To the Cambro-Britans and their 
 Harpe, his Ballad of Agincourt." In the preface 
 to both editions he thus speaks of it : " [I] would 
 at this time also gladly let thee understand what 
 I think above the rest, of the last Ode of this 
 number (or if thou wilt Ballad) in my Book : for 
 both the great master of Italian rymes, Petrarch, 
 and our Chaucer, and other of the upper house of 
 the Muses, have thought their canzons honoured 
 in the title of a Ballad ; which for that I labour 
 to meet truly therein with the old English garb, 
 I hope as able to justify as the learned Colin Clout 
 [i.e. Spenser] his roundelay." 
 
 p. 105, 1. 26. bilboes. Swords were so called, as coming from 
 Bilboa. Thus both the English weapons, sword and 
 bow, were from Spain. 
 
 p. 107. There are many variations in this and the previous 
 poem between the editions of 1606 and 1619. For 
 the most part the later text has been followed. 
 
 p. 108, 1. 12. Sassafras. A laurel formerly much used in 
 medicine. 
 
 p. 109, 1. 14. Hackluit, Rev. Richard, the famous geo- 
 grapher, author of ' The Principall Navigations, 
 Voiages, and Discoveries of the English Nation 
 made by sea or over land to the most remote and 
 farthest distant quarters of the earth, at any time 
 within the compass of these 1500 yeares' (1589, aug- 
 mented 1590). 
 
 p. Ill, 1. 18. ure, use. 
 
 p. 118, 1. 19. Pueriles, i.e. 'Sententiae Pueriles,' a well- 
 known Latin phrase-book. 
 
 1. 20. Cato, i.e. Dionysius Cato, who wrote Z)is<tc/ia 
 de moribus, once a famous school-book. 
 
 p. 119, 1. 20. William Elderton, a wTiter of ballads. 
 
 p. 120, 1. 11. Brian, Sir Francis, the favourite of Henry 
 VIII., called ' Sacred Brian ' in the Heroical 
 Epistles, wrote in Tottell's Miscellany but with- 
 out signing his pieces, which are therefore now 
 not distinguishable. 
 
 p. 121, 1. 15. Neat Marlowe, I should conjecture next, were 
 it not for the phrase ' neatly poetise ' in the ' Second 
 Nymphal,' p. 166, 1. 16. Cf. also Barons' Wars, 
 N
 
 194 Notes 
 
 iii. 39. ' In my verse, transparent, neat and 
 clear. ' 
 p. 122,1. 1. Samuel Daniel. In his Matilda (1594), Dray- 
 ton had been much more complimentary : — 
 
 "Fair Rosamond, of all so highly graced 
 Recorded in the lasting book of fame, 
 
 And in our Sainted Legendary placed 
 By him who strives to stellify her name ; 
 Yet will some matrons say she was to blame : 
 Though all the world bewitched with his rime, 
 Vet all his skill cannot excuse her crimii." 
 
 And so, too, at the end of his Endimion and Phoebe 
 (1595) he apologises to him, next after Spenser, 
 thus : 
 
 " And thou, the sweet Muskus of these times, 
 Pardon my rugged and unfiled rimes, 
 Whose scarce invention is too mean and base 
 When Delia's glorious Muse doth come in place." 
 
 In a prefatory sonnet to his Idea (1605) he says : 
 
 "Many there be excelling in this kind, 
 Whose well trick'd rimes with all invention swell: 
 Let each commend, as best shall like his mind, 
 Some Sidney, Constable, some Daniel. 
 That thus their names familiarly I sing, 
 Let none think them disparaged to be; 
 Poor men with reverence may speak of a King, 
 And so may these be spoken of by me." 
 
 I suspect, too, that Daniel is the Melibceus of the 
 Sixth Eclogue : 
 
 " Thou that down from the goodly Western waste 
 To drink at Avon driv'st thy sunned sheep. 
 Good Melibwus, that so wisely hast 
 Guided the fioeks delivered thee to keep." 
 
 Daniel's Delia dwelt by the Avon. 
 
 p. 123, 1. 10. Alexander, Sir William, of Menstry, Earl 
 of Stirling, the friend of Drummond of Hawthorn- 
 den, and author of a portentous epic called 
 ' Doomsday. ' 
 
 p. 127, 1. 7. Hays, country dances. 
 
 p. 128, 1. 7. and. Drayton frequently misplaces this con- 
 junction for metrical reasons ; see p. 134, 1, 20 ; 
 p. 137, 1. 5 ; perhaps most curious of all, p. 145, 
 1. 6.
 
 Notes 195 
 
 p. 129, 1. 1. when. Drayton not uncommonly uses the 
 relative for the demonstrative ; see p. 135, 1. 25 ; 
 p. 145, 1. 1. 
 
 p. 134, 1. 25. lin, cease. 
 
 p. 138, 1. 10. luhrican "it seems was a spirit, but of his 
 properties we are not fully informed." — Nares. 
 
 p. 152, 1. 7. Trenchmore, "a boisterous sort of dance to a 
 lively tune in triple time." — Halliwell. 
 1. 14. (jing, company. 
 
 p. 167, 1. 33. notted, without horns. 
 
 p. 176, 1. 15. Something is wrong with this line. Perhaps 
 we should read ' the only music ' ; but what does 
 ' this world ' mean ? The world of waters ? 
 
 p. 178, 1, 9. lyam, a leash. 
 
 1. 11. ^ny gaffle on my rack. This is Nares' correc- 
 tion for ' or my rack, ' the gaffle being the steel 
 lever for bending the cross-bow. 
 1. 18, earning, same word as 'yearning.' 
 
 p. 179, 1. 6. Matachynes, a Spanish dance with swords. 
 Nares says that Drayton, by calling them ' wanton,' 
 mistook their nature. 
 
 p, 183, 1. 23. culliiujs, the residue. 
 
 p. 184, 1. 6. Jiawns, custards. 
 
 1. 7. whig, a thin liquor made from whey. 
 1. 13. sleeve, silk.
 
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