Complaints. Containing sundry small Poems of the World's Vanity.  
Whereof the next Page maketh mention.  
By ED. SP.  
LONDON. Imprinted for William Ponsonbie, dwelling in Paul's Churchyard at the sign of the Bishop's head.  
1591.   

A note of the sundry Poems contained in this Volume.  

1 The Ruins of Time.  
2 The Tears of the Muses.  
3 Virgil's Gnat.  
4 Prosopopoia, or Mother Hubberds Tale.  
5 The Ruins of Rome: by Bellay.  
6 Muiopotmos, or The Tale of the Butterfly.  
7 Visions of the World's vanity.  
8 Bellayes visions.  
9 Petrarches visions.    

The Printer to the Gentle Reader.  
SINCE my late setting forth of the Fairy Queen, finding that it hath found a favourable passage amongst you; I have sithence endeavoured by all good means (for the better increase and accomplishment of your delights,) to get into my hands such small Poems of the same Authors; as I heard were dispersed abroad in sundry hands, and not easy to be come by, by himself; some of them having been diversly imbeziled and purloined from him, since his departure over Sea. Of the which I have by good means gathered together these few parcels present, which I have caused to be imprinted altogether, for that they all seem to contain like matter of argument in them: being all complaints and meditations of the world's vanity; very grave and profitable. To which effect I understand that he beside wrote sundry others, namely Ecclesiastes, & Canticum canticorum translated, A senights' slumber, The hell of lovers, his Purgatory, being all dedicated to Ladies; so as it may seem he meant them all to one volume. Besides some other Pamphlets loosely scattered abroad: as The dying Pelican, The hours of the Lord, The sacrifice of a sinner, The seven Psalms, etc. which when I can either by himself, or otherwise attain too, I mean likewise for your favour sake to set forth. In the mean time praying you gently to accept of these, & graciously to entertain the new Poet. I take leave.   

Dedicated To the right Noble and beautiful Lady, the La. Marry Countess of Pembroke.  
MOST Honourable and bountiful Lady, there be long sithence deep sowed in my breast, the seed of most entire love & humble affection unto that most brave Knight your noble brother deceased; which taking root began in his life time somewhat to bud forth: and to show themselves to him, as then in the weakness of their first spring: And would in their riper strength (had it pleased high God till then to draw out his days) spired forth fruit of more perfection. But since God hath disdained the world of that most noble Spirit, which was the hope of all learned men, and the Patron of my young Muses; together with him both their hope of any further fruit was cut off: and also the tender delight of those their first blossoms nipped and quite dead. Yet sithence my late coming into England, some friends of mine (which might much prevail with me, and indeed command me) knowing with how strait bands of duty I was tied to him: as also bound unto that noble house, (of which the chief hope then rested in him) have sought to revive them by upbraiding me: for that I have not showed any thankful remembrance towards him or any of them; but suffer their names to sleep in silence and forgetfulness. Whom chiefly to satisfy, or else to avoid that foul blot of unthankfulness, I have conceived this small Poem, entitled by a general name of the world's Ruins: yet specially intended to the renowming of that noble race, from which both you and he sprung, and to the eternising of some of the chief of them late deceased. The which I dedicate unto your La. as whom it most specially concerneth: and to whom I acknowledge myself bounden, by many singular favours & great graces. I pray for your Honourable happiness: & so humbly kiss your haudes.  
Your Ladyships ever humbly at command. E. S.   

The Ruins of Time.  

IT chanced me on day beside the shore  
Of silver streaming Thamesis to be,  
Nigh where the goodly Verlame stood of yore,  
Of which there now remains no memory,  
Nor any little monument to see,  
By which the travailer, that fares that way,  
This once was she, may warned be to say.   

There on the other side, I did behold  
A Woman sitting sorrowfully wailing,  
Rending her yellow locks, like wyrie gold,  
About her shoulders carelessly down trailing,  
And streams of tears from her fair eyes forth railing.  
In her right hand a broken rod she held,  
Which towards heaven she seemed on high to wield.   

Whether she were one of that rivers Nymphs,  
Which did the loss of some dear love lament,  
I doubt; or one of those three fatal Imps,  
Which draw the days of men forth in extent;  
Or th'ancient Genius of that City brent:  
But seeing her so piteously perplexed,  
I (to her calling) asked what her so vexed.   

Ah what delight (quoth she) in earthly thing,  
Or comfort can I wretched creature have?  
Whose happiness the heavens envying,  
From highest stair to lowest step me drove,  
And have in mine own bowels made my grave,  
That of all Nations now I am forlorn,  
The world's sad spectacle, and fortunes scorn.   

Much was I moved at her piteous plaint,  
And felt my heart nigh riven in my breast  
With tender ruth to see her sore constraint,  
That shedding tears a while I still did rest,  
And after did her name of her request.  
Name have I none (quoth she) nor any being,  
Bereft of both by Fates unjust decreeing.   

I was that City, which the garland wore  
Of Britain's pride, delivered unto me  
By Roman Victors, which it won of yore;  
Though nought at all but ruins now I be,  
And lie in mine own ashes, as ye see:  
Verlame I was; what boots it that I was,  
Sith now I am but weeds and wasteful grass?   

O vain world's glory, and unsteadfast state  
Of all that lives, on face of sinful earth,  
Which from their first until their utmost date  
Taste no one hour of happiness or mirth,  
But like as at the ingate of their birth,  
They crying creep out of their mother's woomb,  
So wailing back go to their woeful tomb.   

Why then doth flesh, a bubble glass of breath,  
Hunt after honour and advancement vain,  
And rear a trophy for devouring death,  
With so great labour and long lasting pain,  
As if his days for ever should remain?  
Sith all that in this world is great or gay,  
Doth as a vapour vanish, and decay.   

Look back, who list, unto the former ages,  
And call to count, what is of them become:  
Where be those learned wits and antic Sages,  
Which of all wisdom knew the perfect somme:  
Where those great warriors, which did overcome  
The world with conquest of their might and main,  
And made one mere of th'earth & of their rain?   

What now is of th' Assyrian Lioness,  
Of whom no footing now on earth appears?  
What of the Persian bears outrageousness,  
Whose memory is quite worn out with years?  
Who of the Grecian Libbard now ought hears,  
That overran the East with greedy power,  
And left his whelps their kingdoms to devour?   

And where is that same great seven headed beast,  
That made all nations vassals of her pride,  
To fall before her feet at her behest,  
And in the neck of all the world did ride?  
Where doth she all that wondrous wealth now hide?  
With her own weight down pressed now she lies,  
And by her heaps her hugeness testifies.   

O Rome thy ruin I lament and rue,  
And in thy fall my fatal overthrow,  
That whilom was, whilst heavens with equal view  
Deigned to behold me, and their gifts bestow,  
The picture of thy pride in pompous show:  
And of the whole world as thou wast the Empress,  
So I of this small Northern world was Princess,   

To tell the beauty of my buildings fair,  
Adorned with purest gold, and precious stone;  
To tell my riches, and endowments rare  
That by my foes are now all spent and gone:  
To tell my forces matchable to none,  
Were but lost labour, that few would believe,  
And with rehearsing would me more agreeve.   

High towers, fair temples, goodly theatres,  
Strong walls, rich porches, princely palaces,  
Large streets, brave houses, sacred sepulchres,  
Sure gates, sweet gardens, stately galleries,  
Wrought with fair pillars, and fine imageries,  
All those (o pity) now are turned to dust,  
And overgrown with black oblivions rust.   

Thereto for warlike power, and people's store,  
In Britanny was none to match with me;  
That many often did abye full sore:  
Ne Troynovant, though elder sister she,  
With my great forces might compared be;  
That stout Pendragon to his peril felt,  
Who in a siege seven years about me dwelled.   

But long ere this Bunduca Britonnesse  
Her mighty host against my bulwarks brought,  
Bunduca, that victorious conqueress,  
That lifting up her brave heroïck thought  
'Bove women's weakness, with the Romans fought,  
Fought, and in field against them thrice prevailed:  
Yet was she foiled, when as she me assailed.   

And though at last by force I conquered were  
Of hardy Saxons, and became their thrall;  
Yet was I with much bloodshed bought full dear,  
And prized with slaughter of their General:  
The monument of whose sad funeral,  
For wonder of the world, long in me lasted;  
But now to nought through spoil of time is wasted.   

Wasted it is, as if it never were,  
And all the rest that me so honoured made,  
And of the world admired every where,  
Is turned to smoke, that doth to nothing fade;  
And of that brightness now appears no shade,  
But grisly shades, such as do haunt in hell  
With fearful fiends, that in deep darkness dwell.   

Where my high steeples whilom used to stand,  
On which the lordly Falcon wont to tower,  
There now is but an heap of lime and sand,  
For the Shriche-owle to build her baleful bower:  
And where the Nightingale want forth to power  
Her restless plaints, to comfort wakeful Lovers,  
There now haunt yelling Mews & whining Plovers.   

And where the crystal Thamis wont to slide  
In silver channel, down along the Lee,  
About whose flowery banks on either side  
A thousand Nymphs, with mirthful jollity  
Were wont to play, from all annoyance free;  
There now no rivers course is to be seen,  
But moorish fens, and marshes ever green.   

Seems, that that gentle River for great grief  
Of my mishaps, which oft I to him plained;  
Or for to shun the horrible mischief,  
With which he saw my cruel foes me pained,  
And his pure streams with guiltless blood oft stained,  
From my unhappy neighbourhood far fled,  
And his sweet waters away with him led.   

There also where the winged ships were seen  
In liquid waves to cut their foamy way,  
And thousand Fishers numbered to have been,  
In that wide lake looking for plenteous pray  
Of fish, which they with baits used to betray,  
Is now no lake, nor any fisher's store,  
Nor ever ship shall sail there any more,   

They all are gone, and all with them is gone,  
Ne ought to me remains, but to lament  
My long decay, which no man else doth moan,  
And mourn my fall with doleful dreariment.  
Yet it is comfort in great languishment,  
To be bemoaned with compassion kind,  
And mitigates the anguish of the mind.   

But me no man bewaileth, but in game,  
Ne sheddeth tears from lamentable eye:  
Nor any lives that mentioneth my name  
To be remembered of posterity,  
Save One that maugre fortune's injury,  
And times decay, and envies cruel tort,  
Hath writ my record in true-seeming sort.   

Cambden the nurse of antiquity,  
And lantern unto late succeeding age,  
To see the light of simple verity,  
Buried in ruins, through the great outrage  
Of her own people, led with warlike rage,  
Cambden, though time all monuments obscure,  
Yet thy just labours ever shall endure,   

But why (unhappy wight) do I thus cry,  
And grieve that my remembrance quite is razed  
Out of the knowledge of posterity,  
And all my antic monuments defaced?  
Sith I do daily see things highest placed,  
So soon as fates their vital thread have shorn,  
Forgotten quite as they were never borne.   

It is not long, since these two eyes beheld  
A mighty Prince, of most renowned race,  
Whom England high in count of honour held,  
And greatest ones did sue to gain his grace;  
Of greatest ones he greatest in his place,  
Sat in the bosom of his Sovereign,  
And Right and loyal did his word maintain.   

I saw him die, I saw him die, as one  
Of the mean people, and brought forth on bear,  
I saw him die, and no man left to moon  
His doleful fate, that late him loved dear:  
Scarce any left to close his eyelids near;  
Scarce any left upon his lips to lay  
The sacred sod, or Requiem to say.   

O trustless state of miserable men,  
That build your bliss on hope of earthly thing,  
And vainly think yourselves half happy then,  
When painted faces with smooth flattering  
Doo fawn on you, and your wide praises sing,  
And when the courting masker louteth low,  
Him true in heart and trusty to you trow.   

All is but feigned, and with oaker died,  
That every shower will wash and wipe away,  
All things do change that under heaven abide,  
And after death all friendship doth decay.  
Therefore what ever man bear'st worldly sway,  
Living, on God, and on thyself rely;  
For when thou diest, all shall with thee die.   

He now is dead, and all is with him dead,  
Save what in heavens store house he uplaid:  
His hope is failed, and come to pass his dread,  
And evil men now dead, his deeds upbraid:  
Spite bites the dead, that living never baid.  
He now is gone, the whiles the Fox is crept  
Into the hole, the which the Badger swept.   

He now is dead, and all his glory gone,  
And all his greatness vapoured to nought,  
That as a glass upon the water shone,  
Which vanished quite, so soon as it was sought:  
His name is worn already out of thought,  
Ne any Poet seeks him to revive;  
Yet many Poets honoured him alive.   

Ne doth his Colin, careless Colin Clout,  
Care now his idle bagpipe up to raise,  
Ne tell his sorrow to the listening rout  
Of shepherd grooms, which want his songs to praise:  
Praise who so list, yet I will him dispraise,  
Until he quite him of this guilty blame:  
Wake shepherds boy, at length awake for shame.   

And who so else did goodness by him gain,  
And who so else his bounteous mind did try,  
Whether he shepherd be, or shepherds swain,  
(For many did, which do it now deny)  
Awake, and to his Song a part apply:  
And I, the whilst you mourn for his decease,  
Will with my mourning plaints your plaint increase.   

He died, and after him his brother died,  
His brother Prince, his brother noble Peer,  
That whilst he lived, was of none envied,  
And dead is now, as living, counted dear,  
Dear unto all that true affection bear:  
But unto thee most dear, o dearest Dame,  
His noble Spouse, and Paragon of fame.   

He whilst he lived, happy was through thee,  
And being dead is happy now much more;  
Living, that linked chanced with thee to be,  
And dead, because him dead thou dost adore  
As living, and thy lost dear love deplore.  
So whilst that thou, fair flower of chastity,  
Dost live, by thee thy Lord shall never die.   

Thy Lord shall never die, the whiles this verse  
Shall live, and surely it shall live for ever:  
For ever it shall live, and shall rehearse  
His worthy praise, and virtues dying never,  
Though death his soul do from his body sever.  
And thou thyself herein shalt also live;  
Such grace the heavens do to my verses give,   

Ne shall his sister, ne thy father die,  
Thy father, that good Earl of rare renown,  
And noble Patron of weak poverty;  
Whose great good deeds in country and in town  
Have purchased him in heaven an happy crown;  
Where he now liveth in eternal bliss,  
And left his sont' ensue those steps of his.   

He noble bud, his Grandsire's lively hair,  
Under the shadow of thy countenance  
Now gins to shoot up fast, and flourish fair  
In learned arts and goodly governance,  
That him to highest honour shall advance.  
Brave Imp of Bedford, grow apace in bounty,  
And count of wisdom more than of thy County.   

Ne may I let thy husband's sister die,  
That goodly Lady, sith she eke did spring  
Out of this stock, and famous family,  
Whose praises I to future age do sing,  
And forth out of her happy womb did bring  
The sacred brood of learning and all honour;  
In whom the heavens powered all their gifts upon her.   

Most gentle spirit breathed from above,  
Out of the bosom of the maker's bliss,  
In whom all bounty and all virtuous love  
Appeared in their native propertis,  
And did enrich that noble breast of his,  
With treasure passing all this worlds worth,  
Worthy of heaven itself, which brought it forth.   

His blessed spirit full of power divine  
And influence of all celestial grace,  
Loathing this sinful earth and earthly slime,  
Fled back too soon unto his native place,  
Too soon for all that did his love embrace,  
Too soon for all this wretched world, whom he  
Robbed of all right and true nobility.   

Yet ere his happy soul to heaven went  
Out of this fleshly goal, he did devise  
Unto his heavenly maker to present  
His body, as a spotless sacrifice;  
And chose, that guilty hands of enemies  
Should power forth th'offering of his guiltless blood:  
So life exchanging for his country's good.   

O noble spirit, live there ever blessed,  
The world's late wonder, and the heavens new joy,  
Live ever there, and leave me here distressed  
With mortal cares, and cumbrous world's annoy.  
But where thou dost that happiness enjoy,  
Bid me, o bid me quickly come to thee,  
That happy there I may thee always see.   

Yet whilst the fates afford me vital breath,  
I will it spend in speaking of thy praise,  
And sing to thee, until that timely death  
By heavens doom do end my earthly days:  
Thereto do thou my humble spirit raise,  
And into me that sacred breath inspire,  
Which thou there breathest perfect and entire.   

Then will I sing, but who can better sing,  
Than thine own sister, peerless Lady bright,  
Which to thee sings with deep heart's sorrowing,  
Sorrowing tempered with dear delight,  
That her to hear I feel my feeble sprite  
Rob of sense, and ravished with joy,  
O sad joy made of mourning and annoy.   

Yet will I sing, but who can better sing,  
Than thou thyself, thine own selves valiance,  
That whilst thou livedst, madest the forests ring,  
And fields resound, and flocks to leap and dance,  
And shepherds leave their lambs unto mischance,  
To run thy shrill Arcadian Pipe to hear:  
O happy were those days, thrice happy were.   

But now more happy thou, and wretched we,  
Which want the wont sweetness of thy voice,  
Whiles thou now in Elysian fields so free,  
With Orpheus, and with Linus, and the choice  
Of all that ever did in rhymes rejoice,  
conversest, and dost hear their heavenly lays,  
And they hear thine, and thine do better praise.   

So there thou livest, singing evermore,  
And here thou livest, being ever sung  
Of us, which living loved thee afore,  
And now thee worship, 'mongst that blessed throng  
Of heavenly Poets and Heroes strong.  
So thou both here and there immortal art,  
And every where through excellent desert.   

But such as neither of themselves can sing,  
Nor yet are sung of others for reward,  
Die in obscure oblivion, as the thing  
Which never was, ne ever with regard  
Their names shall of the later age be heard,  
But shall in rusty darkness ever lie,  
Unless they mentioned be with infamy.   

What booteth it to have been rich alive?  
What to be great? what to be gracious?  
When after death no token doth survive,  
Of former being in this mortal house,  
But sleeps in dust dead and inglorious,  
Like beast, whose breath but in his nostrils is,  
And hath no hope of happiness or bliss.   

How many great ones may remembered be,  
Which in their days most famously did flourish;  
Of whom no word we hear, nor sign now see,  
But as things wiped out with a sponge to perish,  
Because they living, cared not to cherish  
No gentle wits, through pride or covertize,  
Which might their names for ever memorise.   

Provide therefore (ye Princes) whilst ye live,  
That of the Muses ye may friended be,  
Which unto men eternity do give;  
For they be daughters of Dame memory,  
And jove the father of eternity,  
And do those men in golden thrones repose,  
Whose merits they to glorify do chose.   

The seven fold iron gates of grisly Hell,  
And horrid house of sad Proserpina,  
They able are with power of mighty spell  
To break, and thence the souls to bring away  
Out of dread darkness, to eternal day,  
And them immortal make, which else would die  
In foul forgetfulness, and nameless lie.   

So whilom raised they the puissant brood  
Of golden girt Alcmena, for great merit,  
Out of the dust, to which the Oetaean wood  
Had him consumed, and spent his vital spirit:  
To highest heaven, where now he doth inherit  
All happiness in Hebe's silver bower,  
Chosen to be her dearest Paramour.   

So raised they eke fair Leda's warlike twins,  
And interchanged life unto them lent,  
That when th'one dies, th'other then begins  
To show in Heaven his brightness orient;  
And they, for pity of the sad wayment,  
Which Orpheus for Eurydice did make,  
Her back again to life sent for his sake.   

So happy are they, and so fortunate,  
Whom the Pierian sacred sisters love,  
That freed from bands of impacable fate,  
And power of death, they live for aye above,  
Where mortal wreaks their bliss may not remove:  
But with the Gods, for former virtues meed,  
On Nectar and Ambrosia do feed.   

For deeds do die, how ever nobly done,  
And thoughts of men do as themselves decay,  
But wise words taught in numbers for to run,  
Recorded by the Muses, live for ay;  
Ne may with storming showers be washed away,  
Ne bitter breathing winds with harmful blast,  
Nor age, nor envy shall them ever waste.   

In vain do earthly Princes then, in vain  
Seek with Pyramids, to heaven aspired;  
Or huge Colossuses, built with costly pain;  
Or brazen Pillours, never to be fired,  
Or Shrines, made of the metal most desired;  
To make their memories for ever live:  
For how can mortal immortality give.   

Such one Mansolus made, the world's great wonder,  
But now no remnant doth thereof remain:  
Such one Marcellus, but was torn with thunder:  
Such one Lisippus, but is worn with rain:  
Such one King Edmond, but was rend for gain.  
All such vain monuments of earthly mass,  
Devoured of Time, in time to nought do pass.   

But fame with golden wings aloft doth fly,  
Above the reach of ruinous decay,  
And with brave plumes doth beat the azure sky,  
Admired of base-born men from far away:  
Then who so will with virtuous deeds assay  
To mount to heaven, on Pegasus must ride,  
And with sweet Poet's verse be glorified.   

For not to have been dipped in Lethe lake,  
Can save the son of Thetis from to die;  
But that blind bard did him immortal make  
With verses, dipped in dew of Castalie:  
Which made the Eastern Conqueror to cry,  
O fortunate youngman, whose virtue found  
So brave a Trump, thy noble acts to sound.   

Therefore in this half happy I do read  
Good Melibae, that hath a Poet got,  
To sing his living praises being dead,  
Deseruiug never here to be forgot,  
In spite of envy, that his deeds would spot:  
Since whose decease, learning lies unregarded,  
And men of arms do wander unrewarded.   

Those two be those two great calamities,  
That long ago did grieve the noble sprite  
Of Solomon with great indignities;  
Who whilom was alive the wisest wight.  
But now his wisdom is disproved quiter;  
For he that now wields all things at his will,  
Scorns th'one and th'other in his deeper skill.   

O grief of griefs, o gall of all good hearts,  
To see that virtue should despised be  
Of him, that first was raised for virtuous parts,  
And now broad spreading like an aged tree,  
Let's none shoot up, that nigh him planted be:  
O let the man, of whom the Muse is scorned,  
Nor alive, nor dead be of the Muse adorned.   

O vile world's trust, that with such vain illusion  
Hath so wise men bewitched, and overkest,  
That they see not the way of their confusion,  
O vainess to be added to the rest,  
That do my soul with inward grief infest:  
Let them behold the piteous fall of me:  
And in my case their own ensample see.   

And who so else that sits in highest seat  
Of this world's glory, worshipped of all,  
Ne feareth change of time, nor fortune's threat,  
Let him behold the horror of my fall,  
And his own end unto remembrance call;  
That of like ruin he may warned be,  
And in himself be moved to pity me.   

Thus having ended all her piteous plaint,  
With doleful shrieks she vanished away,  
That I through inward sorrow wexen faint,  
And all astonished with deep dismay,  
For her departure, had no word to say:  
But sat long time in senseless sad affright,  
Looking still, if I might of her have sight.   

Which when I miss, having looked long,  
My thought returned grieved home again,  
Renewing her complaint with passion strong,  
For ruth of that same woman's piteous pain;  
Whose words recording in my troubled brain,  
I felt such anguish wound my feeble heart,  
That frozen horror ran through every part.   

So inly grieving in my groaning breast,  
And deeply musing at her doubtful speech,  
Whose meaning much I laboured forth to wrest,  
Being above my slender reasons reach;  
At length by demonstration me to teach,  
Before mine eyes strange sights presented were,  
Like tragic Pageants seeming to appear.   

1  

I saw an Image, all of massy gold,  
Placed on high upon an Altar fair,  
That all, which did the same from far behold,  
Might worship it, and fall on lowest stair.  
Not that great Idol might with this compare,  
To which th' Assyrian tyrant would have made  
The holy brethren, falsely to have prayed,   

But th'altar, on the which this Image stayed,  
Was (o great pity) built of brickle clay,  
That shortly the foundation decayed,  
With showers of heaven and tempests worn away,  
Then down it fell, and low in ashes lay,  
Scorned of every one, which by it went;  
That I it seeing, dearly did lament.    

2  

Next unto this a stately Tower appeared,  
Built all of richest stone, that might be found,  
And nigh unto the Heavens in height upreared,  
But placed on a plot of sandy ground:  
Not that great Tower, which is so much renowned  
For tongues confusion in holy writ,  
King Ninus work might be compared to it.   

But o vain labours of terrestrial wit,  
That builds so strongly on so frail a soil,  
As with each storm does fall away, and flit,  
And gives the fruit of all your travails toil,  
To be the pray of Time, and Fortune's spoil:  
I saw this Tower fall suddenly to dust,  
That nigh with grief thereof my heart was burst.    

3  

Then did I see a pleasant Paradise,  
Full of sweet flowers and daintiest delights,  
Such as on earth man could not more devise,  
With pleasure's choice to feed his cheerful sprights:  
Not that, which Merlin by his Magic flights  
Made for the gentle squire, to entertain  
His fair Belphoebe, could this garden stain.   

But o short pleasure bought with lasting pain,  
Why will hereafter any flesh delight  
In earthly bliss, and joy in pleasures vain,  
Since that I saw this garden wasted quite,  
That where it was scarce seemed any sight?  
That I, which once that beauty did behold,  
Can not from tears my melting eyes withhold.    

4  

Soon after this a Giant came in place,  
Of wondrous power, and of exceeding stature,  
That none durst view the horror of his face,  
Yet was he mild of speech, and meek of nature  
Not he, which in despite of his Creator  
With railing terms defied the jewish host,  
Might with this mighty one in hugeness boast.   

For from the one he could to th'other coast,  
Stretch his strong thighs, and th' Occaean overstride,  
And reach his hand into his enemy's host.  
But see the end of pomp and fleshly pride;  
One of his feet unwares from him did slide,  
That down he fell into the deep Abyss,  
Where drowned with him is all his earthly bliss.    

5  

Then did I see a Bridge, made all of gold,  
Over the Sea from one to other side,  
Withouten prop or pillar it t'uphold,  
But like the coloured Rainbow arched wide:  
Not that great Arch, with trajan edifide,  
To be a wonder to all age ensuing,  
Was matchable to this in equal viewing.   

But (ah) what boots it to see earthly thing  
In glory, or in greatness to excel,  
Sith time doth greatest things to ruin bring?  
This goodly bridge, one foot not fastened well,  
'Gan fail, and all the rest down shortly fell,  
Ne of so brave a building ought remained,  
That grief thereof my spirit greatly pained.    

6  

I saw two Bears, as white as any milk,  
Lying together in a mighty cave,  
Of mild aspect, and hair as soft as silk,  
That salvage nature seemed not to have,  
Nor after greedy spoil of blood to crave:  
Two fairer beasts might not elsewhere be found,  
Although the compassed world were sought around.   

But what can long abide above this ground  
In state of bliss, or steadfast happiness?  
The Cave, in which these Bears lay sleeping sound,  
Was but earth, and with her own weightiness  
Upon them fell, and did unwares oppress,  
That for great sorrow of their sudden fate,  
Henceforth all words felicity I hate.   

¶ Much was I troubled in my heavy sprite,  
At sight of these sad spectacles forepast,  
That all my senses were bereaved quite,  
And I in mind remained sore aghast,  
Distraught twixt fear and pity; when at last  
I heard a voice, which loudly to me called,  
That with the sudden shrill I was appalled.   

Behold (said it) and by ensample see,  
That all is vanity and grief of mind,  
Ne other comfort in this world can be,  
But hope of heaven, and heart to God inclined;  
For all the rest must needs be left behind:  
With that it bade me, to the other side  
To cast mine eye, where other sights I spied?    

1  

¶ Upon that famous Rivers further shore,  
There stood a snowy Swan of heavenly hue,  
And gentle kind, as ever Fowl afore;  
A fairer one in all the goodly crew  
Of white Strimonian brood might no man view:  
There he most sweetly sung the prophecy  
Of his own death in doleful Elegy.   

At last, when all his mourning melody  
He ended had, that both the shores resounded,  
Feeling the fit that him forewarned to die,  
With lofty flight above the earth he bounded,  
And out of sight to highest heaven mounted:  
Where now he is become an heavenly sign;  
There now the joy is his, here sorrow mine.    

2  

Whilst thus I looked, lo adown the Lee,  
I saw an Harp stroong all with silver twine,  
And made of gold and costly ivory,  
Swimming, that whilom seemed to have been  
The harp, on which Dan Orpheus was seen  
Wild beasts and forests after him to lead,  
But was th'harp of Philisides now dead.   

At length out of the River it was reared  
And borne above the clouds to be divined,  
Whilst all the way most heavenly noise was heard  
Of the strings, stirred with the warbling wind,  
That wrought both joy and sorrow in my mind:  
So now in heaven a sign it doth appear,  
The Harp well known beside the Northern Bear.    

3  

Soon after this I saw on th'other side,  
A curious Coffer made of Ebony wood,  
That in it did most precious treasure hide,  
Exceeding all this base worlds good:  
Yet through the overflowing of the flood  
It almost drowned was, and done to nought,  
That sight thereof much grieved my pensive thought.   

At length when most in peril it was brought,  
Two Angels down descending with swift flight,  
Out of the swelling stream it lightly caught,  
And twixt their blessed arms it carried quite  
Above the reach of any living sight:  
So now it is transformed into that star,  
In which all heavenly treasures locked are.    

4  

Looking aside I saw a stately Bed,  
Adorned all with costly cloth of gold,  
That might for any Prince's couch be red,  
And decked with dainty flowers, as if it should  
Be for some bride, her joyous night to hold:  
Therein a goodly Virgin sleeping lay:  
A fairer wight saw never summer's day.   

I heard a voice that called far away  
And her awaking bade her quickly dight,  
For lo her Bridegroom was in ready ray  
To come to her, and seek her loves delight:  
With that she started up with cheerful sight,  
When suddenly both bed and all was gone,  
And I in languor left there all alone.    

5  

Still as I gazed, I beheld where stood  
A Knight all armed, upon a winged steed,  
The same that was bred of Medusa's blood,  
On which Dan Perseus borne of heavenly seed,  
The fair Andromeda from peril freed:  
Full mortally this Knight ywounded was,  
That streams of blood forth flowed on the grass.   

Yet was he decked (small joy to him alas)  
With many garlands for his victories,  
And with rich spoils, which late he did purchas  
Through brave achievements from his enemies:  
Fainting at last through long infirmities,  
He smote his steed, that strait to heaven him bore,  
And left me here his loss for to deplore.    

6  

Lastly I saw an Ark of purest gold  
Upon a brazen pillar standing high,  
Which th'ashes seemed of some great Prince to hold,  
Enclosed therein for endless memory  
Of him, whom all the world did glorify:  
Seemed the heavens with the earth did disagree,  
Whether should of those ashes keeper be.   

At last me seemed wing footed Mercury,  
From heaven descending to appease their strife,  
The Ark did bear with him above the sky,  
And to those ashes gave a second life,  
To live in heaven, where happiness is rife:  
At which the earth did grieve exceedingly,  
And I for dole was almost like to die.    

L: Envoy.  

Immortal spirit of Philisides,  
Which now art made the heavens ornament,  
That whilom waste the worlds chiefst riches;  
Give leave to him that loved thee to lament  
His loss, by lack of thee to heaven hent,  
And with last duties of this broken verse,  
Broken with sighs, to deck thy sable Hearse.   

And ye fair Lady th'honour of your days,  
And glory of the world, your high thoughts scorn;  
Vouchsafe this monument of his last praise,  
With some few silver dropping tears t'adorn:  
And as ye be of heavenly offspring borne,  
So unto heaven let your high mind aspire,  
And loathe this dross of sinful world's desire.    
FINIS.   

THE Tears of the Muses.  
By ED. SP.  
LONDON. Imprinted for William Ponsonbie, dwelling in Paul's Churchyard at the sign of the Bishop's head.  
1591.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE the Lady Strange.  
MOst brave and noble Lady, the things that make ye so much honoured of the world as ye be, are such, as (without my simple lines testimony) are throughlie known to all men; namely, your excellent beauty, your virtuous behaviour, & your noble match with that most honourable Lord the very Pattern of right Nobility: But the causes for which ye have thus deserved of me to be honoured (if honour it be at all) are, both your particular bounties, and also some private bands of affinity, which it hath pleased your Ladyship to acknowledge. Of which when as I found myself in no part worthy, I devised this last slender means, both to intimate my humble affection to your Ladyship and also to make the same universally known to the world; that by honouring you they might know me, and by knowing me they might honour you. Vouch safe noble Lady to accept this simple remembrance, though not worthy of yourself, yet such, as perhaps by good acceptance thereof, ye may hereafter cull out a more meet & memorable evidence of your own excellent deserts. So recommending the same to your ladyships good liking, I humbly take leave.  
Your La: humbly ever. Ed. Sparke   

The Tears of the Muses.  

REhearse to me ye sacred Sisters nine:  
The golden brood of great Apollo's wit,  
Those piteous plaints and sorrowful sad tine,  
Which late ye powered forth as ye did sit  
Beside the silver Springs of Helicone,  
Making your music of hart-breaking moan.   

For since the time that Phoebus' foolish son  
Ythundered through Ioues avengefull wrath,  
For traversing the charet of the Sun  
Beyond the compass of his pointed path,  
Of you his mournful Sisters was lamented,  
Such mournful tunes were never since invented.   

Nor since that fair Calliope did lose  
Her loved Twins, the darlings of her joy,  
Her Palici, whom her unkindly foes  
The fatal Sisters, did for spite destroy,  
Whom all the Muses did bewail long space;  
Was ever heard such wailing in this place.   

For all their groves, which with the heavenly noises  
Of their sweet instruments were wont to sound,  
And th' hollow hills, from which their silver voices  
Were wont redoubled Echoes to rebound,  
Did now rebound with nought but rueful cries,  
And yelling shrieks thrown up into the skies.   

The trembling streams which wont in channels clear  
To rumble gently down with murmur soft,  
And were by them right tuneful taught to bear  
A Bases part amongst their consorts oft;  
Now forced to overflow with brackish tears,  
With troublous noise did dull their dainty ears.   

The joyous Nymphs and lightfoot Fairies  
Which thither came to hear their music sweet,  
And to the measure of their melodies  
Did learn to move their nimble shifting feet;  
Now hearing them so heavily lament,  
Like heavily lamenting from them went.   

And all that else was wont to work delight  
Through the divine infusion of their skill,  
And all that else seemed fair and fresh in sight,  
So made by nature for to serve their will,  
Was turned now to dismal heaviness,  
Was turned now to dreadful ugliness.   

Ay me, what thing on earth that all thing breeds,  
Might be the cause of so impatient plight?  
What fury, or what fiend with fellow deeds  
Hath stirred up so mischievous despite?  
Can grief then enter into heavenly hearts,  
And pierce immortal breasts with mortal smarts?   

Vouchsafe ye then, whom only it concerns,  
To me those secret causes to display;  
For none but you, or who of you it learns  
Can rightfully aread so doleful lay.  
Begin thou eldest Sister of the crew,  
And let the rest in order thee ensue.   

Clio.  

Hear thou great Father of the Gods on high  
That most art dreaded for thy thunder darts:  
And thou our Sire that raignst in Castalie  
And mount Parnasse, the God of goodly Arts:  
Hear and behold the miserable state  
Of us thy daughters, doleful desolate.   

Behold the fowl reproach and open shame,  
The which is day by day unto us wrought  
By such as hate the honour of our name,  
The foes of learning, and each gentle thought;  
They not contented us themselves to scorn,  
Do seek to make us of the world forlorn.   

Ne only they that dwell in lowly dust,  
The sons of darkness and of ignorance;  
But they, whom thou great jove by doom unjust  
Didst to the type of honour erst advance;  
They now puffed up with sdeignfull insolence,  
Despise the brood of blessed Sapience.   

The sectaries of my celestial skill,  
That wont to be the world's chief ornament,  
And learned Imps that wont to shoot up still,  
And grow to height of kingdoms government  
They underkeep, and with their spreading arms  
Do beat their buds, that perish through their harms.   

It most behoves the honourable race  
Of mighty Peers, true wisdom to sustain,  
And with their noble countenance to grace  
The learned foreheads, without gifts or gain:  
Or rather learned themselves behoves to be;  
That is the garland of Nobility.   

But (ah) all otherwise they do esteem  
Of th'heavenly gift of wisdoms influence,  
And to be learned it a base thing deem;  
Base minded they that want intelligence:  
For God himself for wisdom most is praised,  
And men to God thereby are nighest raised.   

But they do only strive themselves to raise  
Through pompous pride, and foolish vanity;  
In th'eyes of people they put all their praise,  
And only boast of Arms and Ancestry:  
But virtuous deeds, which did those Arms first give  
To their Grandsires, they care not to achieve.   

So I, that do all noble feats profess  
To register, and sound in trump of gold;  
Through their bad doings, or base slothfulness,  
Find nothing worthy to be writ, or told:  
For better far it were to hide their names,  
Than telling them to blazon out their blames.   

So shall succeeding ages have no light  
Of things forepast, nor monuments of time,  
And all that in this world is worthy height  
Shall die in darkness, and lie hid in slime:  
Therefore I mourn with deep hearts sorrowing,  
Because I nothing noble have to sing.   

With that she reigned such store of streaming tears,  
That could have made a stony heart to weep,  
And all her Sisters rend their golden hears,  
And their fair faces with salt humour steep.  
So ended she: and then the next anew,  
Began her grievous plaint as doth ensue.    

Melpomene.  

O who shall power into my swollen eyes  
A sea of tears that never may be dried,  
A brazen voice that may with shrilling cries  
Pierce the dull heavens and fill the air wide,  
And iron sides that sighing may endure,  
To wail the wretchedness of world impure?   

Ah wretched world the den of wickedness,  
Deformed with filth and fowl iniquity;  
Ah wretched world the house of heaviness,  
Filled with the wreaks of mortal misery;  
Ah wretched world, and all that is therein  
The vassals of God's wrath, and slaves of sin.   

Most miserable creature under sky  
Man without understanding doth appear,  
For all this world's affliction he thereby,  
And Fortune's freaks is wisely taught to bear:  
Of wretched life the only joy she is,  
And th'only comfort in calamities.   

She arms the breast with constant patience,  
Against the bitter throws of dolours darts,  
She solaceth with rules of Sapience  
The gentle minds, in midst of worldly smarts:  
When he is sad, she seeks to make him merry,  
And doth refresh his sprights when they be weary.   

But he that is of reason's skill bereft,  
And wants the staff of wisdom him to stay,  
Is like a ship in midst of tempest left  
Withouten helm or Pilot her to sway,  
Full sad and dreadful is that ships event:  
So is the man that wants intendiment.   

Why then do foolish men so much despize  
The precious store of this celestial riches?  
Why do they banish us, that patronize  
The name of learning? Most unhappy wretches,  
The which lie drowned in deep wretchedness,  
Yet do not see their own unhappiness.   

My part it is and my professed skill  
The Stage with Tragic buskin to adorn,  
And fill the Scene with plaint and outcries shrill  
Of wretched persons, to misfortune borne:  
But none more tragic matter I can find  
Than this, of men deprived of sense and mind.   

For all man's life me seems a Tragedy,  
Full of sad sights and sore Catastrophees;  
First coming to the world with weeping eye,  
Where all his days like dolorous Trophies,  
Are heaped with spoils of fortune and of fear,  
And he at last laid forth on baleful bear.   

So all with rueful spectacles is filled  
Fit for Megaera or Persephone;  
But I that in true Tragedies am skilled,  
The flower of wit, find nought to busy me  
Therefore I mourn, and pitifully moon,  
Because that mourning matter I have none.   

Then 'gan she woefully to wail, and wring  
Her wretched hands in lamentable wise;  
And all her Sisters thereto answering.  
Threw forth loud shrieks and dreary doleful criest.  
So rested she: and then the next in rew,  
Began her grievous plaint as doth ensue.    

Thalia.  

Where be the sweet delights of learning's treasure,  
That wont with Comic sock to beautify  
The painted theatres, and fill with pleasure  
The listeners eyes, and ears with melody;  
In which I late was wont to rain as Queen,  
And mask in mirth with Graces well be seen?   

O all is gone, and all that goodly glee,  
Which want to be the glory of gay wits,  
Is laid a-bed, and no where now to see;  
And in her room unseemly Sorrow sits,  
With hollow brows and grisly countenance,  
Marring my joyous gentle dalliance.   

And him beside sits ugly Barbarism,  
And brutish Ignorance, ycrept of late  
Out of dredd darkness of the deep Abysm,  
Where being bred, he light and heaven does hate:  
They in the minds of men now tyrannize,  
And the fair Scene with rudeness foul disguise.   

All places they with folly have possessed,  
And with vain toys the vulgar entertain;  
But me have banished, with all the rest  
That whilom wont to wait upon my train,  
Fine Counterfesaunce and unhurtful Sport,  
Delight and Laughter decked in seemly sort.   

All these, and all that else the Comic Stage  
With seasoned wit and goodly pleasance graced;  
By which man's life in his likest image  
Was limned forth, are wholly now defaced;  
And those sweet wits which want the like to frame,  
Are now despizd, and made a laughing game.   

And he the man, whom Nature self had made  
To mock herself, and Truth to imitate,  
With kindly counter under Mimic shade,  
Our pleasant Willy, ah is dead of late:  
With whom all joy and jolly merriment  
Is also deadened, and in dolour drent.   

In stead thereof scoffing Scurrility,  
And scornful Folly with Contempt is crept,  
Rolling in rhymes of shameless ribaldry  
Without regard, or due Decorum kept,  
Each idle wit at will presumes to make,  
And doth the Learneds task upon him take.   

But that same gentle Spirit, from whose pen  
Large streams of honey and sweet Nectar flow,  
Scorning the boldness of such base-born men,  
Which dare their follies forth so rashly throw;  
Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell,  
Than so himself to mockery to sell.   

So am I made the servant of the many,  
And laughing stock of all that list to scorn,  
Not honoured nor cared for of any;  
But loathed of losels as a thing forlorn:  
Therefore I mourn and sorrow with the rest,  
Until my cause of sorrow be redressed.   

Therewith she loudly did lament and shriek,  
Pouring forth streams of tears abundantly,  
And all her Sisters with compassion like,  
The breaches of her singults did supply.  
So rested she: and then the next in rew  
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensue.    

Euterpe.  

Like as the darling of the Summer's pride,  
Fair Philomele, when winters stormy wrath  
The goodly fields, that erst so gay were died  
In colours divers, quite despoiled hath,  
All comfortless doth hide her chearlesse head  
During the time of that her widowhood:   

So we, that erst were wont in sweet accord  
All places with our pleasant notes to fill,  
Whilst favourable times did us afford  
Free liberty to chant our charms at will:  
All comfortless upon the bared bow,  
Like woeful culvers do sit wailing now.   

For far more bitter storm than winter's stowre  
The beauty of the world hath lately wasted,  
And those fresh buds, which want so fair to flower,  
Hath marred quite, and all their blossoms blasted:  
And those young plants, which want with fruit t'abound,  
Now without fruit or leaves are to be found.   

A stony coldness hath benumbed the sense  
And lively spirits of each living wight,  
And dimmed with darkness their intelligence,  
Darkness more than Cymerians daily night?  
And monstrous error flying in the air,  
Hath marred the face of all that seemed fair.   

Image of hellish horror Ignorance,  
Borne in the bosom of the black Abyss,  
And fed with fury's milk, for sustenance  
Of his weak infancy, begot amiss  
By yawning Sloth on his own mother Night;  
So he his sons both Sire and brother hight.   

He armed with blindness and with boldness stout,  
(For blind is bold) hath our fair light defaced;  
And gathering unto him a ragged rout  
Of Fauns and satires, hath our dwellings razed  
And our chaste bowers, in which all virtue reigned,  
With brutishness and beastly filth hath stained.   

The sacred springs of horsefoot Helicon,  
So oft bedeawed with our learned lays,  
And speaking streams of pure Castalion,  
The famous witness of our wont praise,  
They trampled have with their fowl footings trade,  
And like to troubled puddles have them made.   

Our pleasant groves, which planted were with pains,  
That with our music want so oft to ring,  
And arbours sweet, in which the shepherds swains  
Were wont so oft their Pastorals to sing,  
They have cut down and all their pleasance marred,  
That now no pastoral is to be hard.   

In stead of them fowl Goblins and Shriekowles,  
With fearful howling do all places fill;  
And feeble Echo now laments and howls,  
The dreadful accents of their outcries shrill.  
So all is turned into wilderness,  
Whilst ignorance the Muses doth oppress.   

And I whose joy was erst with Spirit full  
To teach the warbling pipe to sound aloft,  
My spirits now dismayed with sorrow dull,  
Do moon my misery in silence soft.  
Therefore I mourn and wail incessantly,  
Till please the heavens afford me remedy.   

Therewith she wailed with exceeding woe  
And piteous lamentation did make,  
And all her sisters seeing her do so,  
With equal plaints her sorrow did partake.  
So rested she: and then the next in rew,  
Began her grievous plaint as doth ensue.    

Terpsichore.  

Who so hath in the lap of soft delight  
Been long time lulled, and fed with pleasures sweet,  
Fearless through his own fault or Fortune's spite,  
To tumble into sorrow and regreet,  
If chance him fall into calamity,  
Finds greater burden of his misery.   

So we that erst in joyance did abound  
And in the bosom of all bliss did sit,  
Like virgin Queens with laurel garlands crowned,  
For virtues meed and ornament of wit.  
Sith ignorance our kingdom did confound,  
Be now become most wretched wights on ground:   

And in our royal thrones which lately stood  
In th'hearts of men to rule them carefully,  
He now hath placed his accursed brood,  
By him begotten of fowl infamy;  
Blind Error, scornful Follie, and base Spite,  
Who hold by wrong, that we should have by right.   

They to the vulgar sort now pipe and sing,  
And make them merry with their fooleries,  
They cheerly chant and rhymes at random fling,  
The fruitful spawn of their rank fantasies:  
They feed the ears of fools with flattery,  
And good men blame, and losels magnify:   

All places they do with their toys possess,  
And reign in liking of the multitude,  
The schools they fill with fond new-fangledness,  
And sway in Court with pride and rashness rude;  
'mongst simple shepherds they do boast their skill,  
And say their music matcheth Phoebus' quill.   

The noble hearts to pleasures they allure,  
And tell their Prince that learning, is but vain,  
Fair Ladies loves they spot with thoughts impure,  
And gentle minds with lewd delights distain:  
Clerks they to loathly idleness entice,  
And fill their books with discipline of vice.   

So every where they rule and tyrannize,  
For their usurped kingdoms maintenance,  
The whiles we silly Maids, whom they dispize,  
And with reproachful scorn discountenance,  
From our own native heritage exiled,  
Walk through the world of every one reviled.   

Nor any one doth care to call us in,  
Or once vouchsafeth us to entertain,  
Unless some one perhaps of gentle kin,  
For pities sake compassion our pain:  
And yield us some relief in this distress,  
Yet to be so relieved is wretchedness.   

So wander we all careful comfortless,  
Yet none doth care to comfort us at all;  
So seek we help our sorrow to redress,  
Yet none vouchsafes to answer to our call:  
Therefore we mourn and pitiless complain,  
Because none living pitieth our pain.   

With that she wept and woefully waymented,  
That nought on earth her grief might pacify;  
And all the rest her doleful din augmented,  
With shrieks and groans and grievous agony.  
So ended she: and then the next in rew,  
Began her piteous plaint as doth ensue.    

Erato  

Ye gentle Spirits breathing from above,  
Where ye in Venus' silver bower were bred,  
Thoughts half divine full of the fire of love,  
With beauty kindled and with pleasure fed,  
Which ye now in security possess,  
Forgetful of your former heaviness:   

Now change the tenor of your joyous lays,  
With which ye use your loves to deify,  
And blazon forth an earthly beauty's praise,  
Above the compass of the arched sky:  
Now change your praises into piteous cries,  
And Eulogies turn into Elegies.   

Such as ye wont whenas those bitter stounds  
Of raging love first 'gan you to torment,  
And launch your hearts with lamentable wounds  
Of secret sorrow and sad languishment,  
Before your Loves did take you unto grace;  
Those now renew as fit for this place.   

For I that rule in measure moderate  
The tempest of that stormy passion,  
And use to paint in rimes the troublous state  
Of lovers life in likest fashion,  
Am put from practice of my kindly skill,  
Banished by those that love with lewdness fill.   

love wont to be schoolmaster of my skill,  
And the devicefull matter of my song;  
Sweet Love devoid of villainy or ill,  
But pure and spotless, as at first he sprung  
Out of th'Almighties bosom, where he nests;  
From thence infused into mortal breasts.   

Such high conceit of that celestial fire,  
The base-born brood of blindness cannot guess,  
Ne ever dare their dunghill thoughts aspire  
Unto so lofty pitch of perfectness,  
But rhyme at riot, and do rage in love;  
Yet little wot what doth thereto behove.   

Fair Cytheree the Mother of delight,  
And Queen of beauty, now thou mayst go pack,  
For lo thy Kingdom is defaced quite,  
Thy sceptre rend, and power put to wrack;  
And thy gay Son, that winged God of Love,  
May now go prune his plumes like ruffed Dove.   

And ye three Twins to light by Venus brought,  
The sweet companions of the Muses late,  
From whom whatever thing is goodly thought  
Doth borrow grace, the fancy to aggrate;  
Go beg with us, and be companions still  
As heretofore of good, so now of ill.   

For neither you nor we shall any more  
Find entertainment, or in Court or School:  
For that which was accounted heretofore  
The learneds meed, is now lent to the fool,  
He sings of love, and maketh loving lays,  
And they them hear, and they them highly praise.   

With that she powered forth a brackish flood  
Of bitter tears, and made exceeding moan;  
And all her Sisters seeing her sad mood,  
With loud laments her answered all at one.  
So ended she: and then the next in rew  
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensue.    

Calliope.  

To whom shall I my evil case complain,  
Or tell the anguish of my inward smart,  
Sith none is left to remedy my pain,  
Or deigns to pity a perplexed heart;  
But rather seeks my sorrow to augment  
With fowl reproach, and cruel banishment.   

For they to whom I used to apply  
The faithful service of my learned skill,  
The goodly offspring of Ioues progeny,  
That want the world with famous acts to fill;  
Whose living praises in heroïck style,  
It is my chief profession to compile.   

They all corrupted through the rust of time,  
That doth all fairest things on earth deface,  
Or through unnoble sloth, or sinful rain,  
That doth degenerate the noble race;  
Have both desire of worthy deeds forlorn,  
And name of learning utterly do scorn.   

Ne do they care to have the ancestry  
Of th'old Heroes memorizde anew,  
Ne do they care that late posterity  
Should know their names, or speak their praises dew:  
But die forgot from whence at first they sprung,  
As they themselves shallbe forgot ere long.   

What boots it then to come from glorious  
Forefathers, or to have been nobly bred?  
What odds twixt Irus and old Inachus?  
Twixt best and worst, when both alike are ded;  
If none of neither mention should make,  
Nor out of dust their memories awake.   

Or who would ever care to do brave deed,  
Or strive in virtue others to excel;  
If none should yield him his deserved meed,  
Due praise, that is the spur of doing well?  
For if good were not praised more than ill,  
None would choose goodness of his own free-will.   

Therefore the nurse of virtue I am height,  
And golden Trumpet of eternity,  
That lowly thoughts lift up to heavens height,  
And mortal men have power to deify:  
Bacchus and Hercules I raised to heaven,  
And Charlemagne, amongst the Starris seven.   

But now I will my golden Clarion rend,  
And will henceforth immortalize no more:  
Sith I no more find worthy to commend  
For prise of value, or for learned lore:  
For noble Peers whom I was wont to raise,  
Now only seek for pleasure, nought for praise.   

Their great revenues all in sumptuous pride  
They spend, that nought to learning they may spare;  
And the rich fee which Poets want divide,  
Now Parasites and Sycophants do share:  
Therefore I mourn and endless sorrow make,  
Both for myself and for my Sister's sake.   

With that she loudly 'gan to wail and shriek,  
And from her eyes a sea of tears did power,  
And all her sisters with compassion like,  
Did more increase the sharpness of her shower.  
So ended she: and then the next in rew  
Began her plaint, as doth herein ensue.    

Urania.  

What wrath of Gods, or wicked influence  
Of Stars conspiring wretched men t'afflict,  
Hath powered on earth this noyous pestilence,  
That mortal minds doth inwardly infect  
With love of blindness and of ignorance,  
To dwell in darkness without soverance?   

What difference twixt man and beast is left,  
When th' heavenly light of knowledge is put out,  
And th'ornaments of wisdom are bereft?  
Then wandereth he in error and in doubt,  
Unwitting of the danger he is in,  
Through flesh's frailty and deceit of sin.   

In this wide world in which they wretches stray,  
It is the only comfort which they have,  
It is their light, their lodestar and their day;  
But hell and darkness and the grisly grave  
Is ignorance, the enemy of grace,  
That minds of men borne heavenly doth debace.   

Through knowledge we behold the world's creation,  
How in his cradle first he fostered was;  
And judge of Nature's cunning operation,  
How things she form of a formless mass:  
By knowledge we do learn ourselves to know,  
And what to man, and what to God we owe.   

From hence we mount aloft unto the sky,  
And look into the crystal firmament,  
There we behold the heavens great Hierarchy,  
The Stars pure light, the Spheres swift movement,  
The Spirits and Intelligences fair,  
And Angel's weighting on th'Almighties chair.   

And there with humble mind and high insight,  
Th'eternal Maker's majesty we view,  
His love, his truth, his glory, and his might,  
And mercy more than mortal men can view.  
O sovereign Lord, o sovereign happiness  
To see thee, and thy mercy measureless:   

Such happiness have they that do embrace  
The precepts of my heavenly discipline,  
But shame and sorrow and accursed case  
Have they, that scorn the school of arts divine.  
And banish me which do profess the skill  
To make men heavenly wise, through humbled will.   

How ever yet they me despise and spite,  
I feed on sweet contentment of my thought,  
And please myself with mine own selfe-delight,  
In contemplation of things heavenly wrought:  
So loathing earth, I look up to the sky,  
And being driven hence I thither fly.   

Thence I behold the misery of men  
Which want the bliss that wisdom would then breed,  
And like brute beasts do lie in loathsome den,  
Of ghostly darkness, and of ghastly dread:  
For whom I mourn and for myself complain,  
And for my Sisters eke whom they disdain.   

With that she wept and wailed so pityouslie,  
As if her eyes had been two springing wells:  
And all the rest her sorrow to supply,  
Did throw forth shrieks and cries and dreary yells.  
So ended she, and then the next in rew,  
Began her mournful plaint as doth ensue.    

Polyhymnia.  

A doleful case desires a doleful song,  
Without vain art or curious compliments,  
And squalid Fortune into baseness flung,  
Doth scorn the pride of wont ornaments.  
Then fittest are these ragged rhymes for me,  
To tell my sorrows that exceeding be:   

For the sweet numbers and melodious measures,  
With which I want the winged words to tie,  
And make a tuneful Diapase of pleasures,  
Now being let to run at liberty  
By those which have no skill to rule them right,  
Have now quite lost their natural delight.   

Heaps of huge words uphoorded hideously,  
With horrid sound though having little sense,  
They think to be chief praise of Poëtry;  
And thereby wanting due intelligence,  
Have marred the face of goodly Poesy,  
And made a monster of their fantasy:   

Whilom in ages past none might profess  
But Princes and high Priests that secret skill,  
The sacred laws therein they want express,  
And with deep Oracles their verses fill:  
Then was she held in sovereign dignity,  
And made the noursling of Nobility.   

But now nor Prince nor Priest doth her maintain,  
But suffer her profaned for to be  
Of the base vulgar, that with hands unclean  
Dares to pollute her hidden mystery.  
And treadeth under foot her holy things,  
Which was the care of Kaisers and of Kings.   

One only lives, her age's ornament,  
And mirror of her Maker's majesty;  
That with rich bounty and dear cherishment,  
Supports the praise of noble Poesy:  
Ne only favours them which it profess,  
But is herself a peerless Poëtresse.   

Most peerless Prince, most peerless Poëtresse,  
The true Pandora of all heavenly graces,  
Divine Elisa, sacred Empress:  
Live she for ever, and her royal P'laces  
Be filled with praises of divinest wits,  
That her eternize with their heavenly writs.   

Some few beside, this sacred skill esteem,  
Admirers of her glorious excellence,  
Which being lightened with her beauties beme,  
Are thereby filled with happy influence:  
And lifted up above the worlds gaze,  
To sing with Angels her immortal praise.   

But all the rest as borne of salvage brood,  
And having been with Acorns always fed;  
Can no whit savour this celestial food,  
But with base thoughts are into blindness led,  
And kept from looking on the lightsome day:  
For whom I wail and weep all that I may.   

eftsoons such store of tears she forth did power,  
As if she all to water would have gone;  
And all her sisters seeing her sad stowre,  
Did weep and wail and made exceeding moan:  
And all their learned instruments did break,  
The rest untold no loving tongue can speak.    
FINIS.   

Virgil's Gnat. Long since dedicated To the most noble and excellent Lord, the Earl of Leicester, late deceased.  

Wronged, yet not daring to express my pain,  
To you (great Lord) the causer of my care,  
In cloudy tears my case I thus complain  
Unto yourself, that only privy are:  
But if that any Oedipus unware  
Shall chance, through power of some divining sprite,  
To read the secret of this riddle rare,  
And know the purport of my evil plight,  
Let him rest pleased with his own insight,  
Ne further seek to gloze upon the text:  
For grief enough it is to grieved wight  
To feel his fault, and not be further vexed.  
But what so by myself may not be shown,  
May by this Gnatts' complaint be easily known.   

We now have played (Augustus) wanton,  
Tuning our song unto a tender Muse,  
And like a cobweb weaving slenderly,  
Have only played: let thus much then excuse  
This Gnats small Poem, that th'whole history  
Is but a jest, though envy it abuse:  
But who such sports and sweet delights doth blame,  
Shall lighter seem than this Gnats idle name.   

Hereafter, when as season more secure  
Shall bring forth fruit, this Muse shall speak to thee  
In bigger notes, that may thy sense allure,  
And for thy worth frame some fit Poesy,  
The golden offspring of Latona's pure,  
And ornament of great Ioues progeny,  
Phoebus shall be the author of my song,  
Playing on ivory harp with silver strong.   

He shall inspire my verse with gentle mood  
Of Poet's Prince, whether he won beside  
Fair Xanthus' sprinkled with Chimeras blood;  
Or in the woods of Astery abide;  
Or whereas mount Parnasse, the Muse's brood,  
Doth his broad forehead like two horns divide,  
And the sweet waves of sounding Castaly  
With liquid foot doth slide down easily.   

Wherefore ye Sisters which the glory be  
Of the Pierian streams, fair Naiads,  
Go too, and dancing all in company,  
Adorn that God: and thou holy Pales,  
To whom the honest care of husbandry  
Returneth by continual success,  
Have care for to pursue his footing light;  
Through the wide woods, & groves, with green leaves dight.   

Professing thee I lifted am aloft  
Betwixt the forest wide and starry sky:  
And thou most dread (Octavius) which oft  
To learned wits givest courage worthily,  
O come (thou sacred child) come sliding soft,  
And favour my beginnings graciously:  
For not these leaves do sing that dreadful stound,  
When Giants blood did stain Phlegraean ground.   

Nor how th'half horsy people, centaurs height,  
Fought with the bloody lapitha's at board,  
Nor how the East with tyrannous despite  
Burnt th' Attic towers, and people slew with sword's;  
Nor how mount Athos through exceeding might  
Was digged down, nor iron bands aboard  
The Pontic sea by their huge Navy cast,  
My volume shall renown, so long since past.   

Nor Hellespont trampled with horses feet,  
When flocking Persians did the Greeks affrays;  
But my soft Muse, as for her power more meet,  
Delights (with Phoebus' friendly leave) to play  
An easy running verse with tender feet.  
And thou (dread sacred child) to thee always,  
Let everlasting lightsome glory strive,  
Through the world's endless ages to survive.   

And let an happy room remain for thee  
'mongst heavenly ranks, where blessed souls do rest;  
And let long lasting life with joyous glee,  
As thy due meed that thou deservest best,  
Hereafter many years remembered be  
Amongst good men, of whom thou oft are blest;  
Live thou for ever in all happiness:  
But let us turn to our first business.   

The fiery Sun was mounted now on hight  
Up to the heavenly towers, and shot each where  
Out of his golden Chariot glistering light;  
And fair Aurora with her rosy hear,  
The hateful darkness now had put to flight,  
When as the shepherd seeing day appear,  
His little Goats 'gan drive out of their stalls,  
To feed abroad, where pasture best befalls.   

To an high mountains top he with them went,  
Where thickest grass did clothe the open hills:  
They now amongst the woods and thickets meant,  
Now in the valleys wandering at their wills,  
Spread themselves far abroad through each descent;  
Some on the soft green grass feeding their fills;  
Some clambering through the hollow cliffs on hy,  
Nibble the bushy shrubs, which grow thereby.   

Others the utmost boughs of trees do crop,  
And bronze the woodbine twigs, that freshly bud;  
This with full bit doth catch the utmost top  
Of some soft Willow, or new grown stud;  
This with sharp teeth the bramble leaves doth lop,  
And chaw the tender prickles in her Cud;  
The whiles another high doth overlook  
Her own like image in a crystal brook.   

O the great happiness, which shepherds have,  
Who so loathes not too much the poor estate,  
With mind that ill use doth before deprave,  
Ne measures all things by the costly rate  
Of riotise, and semblants outward brave;  
No such sad cares, as wont to macerate  
And rend the greedy minds of covetous men,  
Do ever creep into the shepherds den.   

Ne cares he if the fleece, which him arrays,  
Be not twice steeped in Assyrian dye,  
Ne glistering of gold, which underlayes  
The summer beams, do blind his gazing eye.  
Ne pictures beauty, nor the glancing rays  
Of precious stones, whence no good cometh by;  
Ne yet his cup embossed with Imagery  
Of Baetus or of Alcons' vanity.   

Ne ought the whelky pearls esteemeth he,  
Which are from Indian seas brought far away:  
But with pure breast from careful sorrow free,  
On the soft grass his limbs doth oft display,  
In sweet spring time, when flowers variety  
With sundry colours paints the sprinkled lay;  
There lying all at ease, from guile or spite,  
With pipe of fenny reeds doth him delight.   

There he, Lord of himself, with palm bedight,  
His loser locks doth wrap in wreath of vine:  
There his milk dropping Goats be his delight,  
And fruitful Pales, and the forest green,  
And darksome caves in pleasant valleys pight,  
Whereas continual shade is to be seen,  
And where fresh springing wells, as crystal neat,  
Do always flow, to quench his thirsty heat.   

O who can lead then a more happy life,  
Than he, that with clean mind and heart sincere,  
No greedy riches knows nor bloody strife,  
No deadly fight of warlike fleet doth fear,  
Ne runs in peril of foes cruel knife,  
That in the sacred temples he may rear,  
A trophy of his glittering spoils and treasure,  
Or may abound in riches above measure.   

Of him his God is worshipped with his sith,  
And not with skill of craftsman polished:  
He joys in groves, and makes himself full blithe,  
With sundry flowers in wild fields gathered;  
Ne frankincens he from Panchaea buyth,  
Sweet quiet harbours in his harmless head,  
And perfect pleasure builds her joyous bower,  
Free from sad cares, that rich men's hearts devour.   

This all his care, this all his whole endeavour,  
To this his mind and senses he doth bend,  
How he may flow in quiets matchless treasure,  
Content with any food that God doth send;  
And how his limbs, resolved through idle leisour,  
Unto sweet sleep he may securely lend,  
In some cool shadow from the scorching heat,  
The whiles his flock their chawed cuds do eat,   

O flocks, O Fauns, and O ye pleasant springs  
Of Tempe, where the country Nymphs are rife,  
Through whose not costly care each shepherd sings  
As merry notes upon his rustic Fife,  
As that Astraean bard, whose fame now rings  
Through the wide world, and leads as joyful life.  
Free from all troubles and from worldly toil,  
In which fond men do all their days turmoil.   

In such delights whilst thus his careless time  
This shepherd drives, upleaning on his bat,  
And on shrill reeds chanting his rustic rhyme,  
Hyperion throwing forth his beams full hot,  
Into the highest top of heaven 'gan climb,  
And the world parting by an equal lot,  
Did shed his whirling flames on either side,  
As the great Ocean doth himself divide.   

Then 'gan the shepherd gather into one  
His straggling Goats, and drove them to a ford,  
Whose caerule stream, rambling in Bible stone,  
Crept under moss as green as any gourd.  
Now had the Sun half heaven overgone,  
When he his heard back from that water ford,  
Drove from the force of Phoebus' boiling ray,  
Into thick shadows, there themselves to lay.   

Soon as he them placed in thy sacred wood  
(O Delian Goddess) saw, to which of yore  
Came the bad daughter of old Cadmus' brood,  
Cruel Agave, flying vengeance sore  
Of king Nictileus for the guilty blood,  
Which she with cursed hands had shed before;  
There she half frantic having slain her son,  
Did shroud herself like punishment to shun.   

Here also playing on the grassy green,  
Woodgods, and satires, and swift Dryads,  
With many Fairies oft were dancing seen.  
Not so much did Dan Orpheus repress,  
The streams of Hebrus with his songs I ween,  
As that fair troop of woody Goddesses  
Stayed thee, (O Peneus) pouring forth to thee,  
From cheerful looks great mirth & gladsome glee.   

The very nature of the place, resounding  
With gentle murmur of the breathing air,  
A pleasant bower with all delight abounding  
In the fresh shadow did for them prepare,  
To rest their limbs with weariness redounding.  
For first the high Palm trees with branches fair,  
Out of the lowly valleys did arise,  
And high shoot up their heads into the skies.   

And them amongst the wicked Lotos grew,  
Wicked, for holding guilefully away  
Ulysses' men, whom rapt with sweetness new,  
Taking to host, it quite from him did stay,  
And eke those trees, in whose transformed hue  
The suns sad daughters waylde the rash decay  
Of Phaeton, whose limbs with lightning rend,  
They gathering up, with sweet tears did lament.   

And that same tree, in which Demophoon,  
By his disloyalty lamented sore,  
Eternal hurt left unto many one:  
Whom als accompanied the Oak, of yore  
Through fatal charms transformed to such an one:  
The Oak, whose Acorns were our food, before  
That Ceres seed of mortal men were known,  
Which first Triptoleme taught how to be sown.   

Here also grow the rougher rinded Pine,  
The great Argoan ships brave ornament  
Whom golden Fleece did make an heavenly sign;  
Which coveting, with his high tops extent,  
To make the mountains touch the stars divine,  
Decks all the forest with embellishment,  
And the black Holme that loves the watery vale,  
And the sweet cypress sign of deadly bale.   

Amongst the rest the clambering ivy grew,  
Knitting his wanton arms with grasping hold,  
Lest that the Poplar happily should rue  
Her brother's strokes, whose boughs she doth enfold  
With her lieth twigs, till they the top survew,  
And paint with pallid green her buds of gold.  
Next did the Myrtle tree to her approach,  
Not yet unmindful of her old reproach.   

But the small Birds in their wide boughs embowring,  
Chanted their sundry tunes with sweet consent,  
And under them a silver Spring forth pouring  
His trickling streams, a gentle murmur sent;  
Thereto the frogs, bred in the slimy scouring  
Of the moist moors, their jarring voices bend;  
And shrill grasshoppers chirped them around:  
All which the airy Echo did resound.   

In this so pleasant place this shepherds flock  
Lay every where, their weary limbs to rest,  
On every bush, and every hollow rock  
Where breath on them the whistling wind moat best;  
The whiles the Shepherd self tending his stock,  
Sat by the fountain side, in shade to rest,  
Where gentle slumbering sleep oppressed him,  
Displayed on ground, and seized every limb.   

Of treachery or trains nought took he keep,  
But loosely on the grassy green dispredd,  
His dearest life did trust to careless sleep;  
Which weighing down his drooping drowsy head,  
In quiet rest his molten heart did steep,  
Devoid of care, and fear of all falshedd:  
Had not inconstant fortune, bend to ill,  
Bid strange mischance his quietness to spill.   

For at his wont time in that same place  
An huge great Serpent all with speckles pied,  
To drench himself in moorish slime did trace,  
There from the boiling heat himself to hide:  
He passing by with rolling wreathed pace,  
With brandished tongue the empty air did gride,  
And wrapped his scaly boughts with fell despite,  
That all things seemed appalled at his sight.   

Now more and more having himself enrolled,  
His glittering breast he lifteth up on high,  
And with proud vaunt his head aloft doth hold;  
His crest above spotted with purple die,  
On every side did shine like scaly gold,  
And his bright eyes glancing full dreadfully,  
Did seem to flame out flakes of flashing fire,  
And with stern looks to threaten kindled ire.   

Thus wise long time he did himself dispace  
There round about, when as at last he spied  
Lying along before him in that place,  
That flocks grand Captain, and most trusty guide:  
eftsoons more fierce in visage, and in pace,  
Throwing his fiery eyes on every side,  
He cometh on, and all things in his way  
Full stearnly rends, that might his passage stay.   

Much he disdains, that any one should dare  
To come unto his haunt; for which intent  
He inly burns, and 'gins strait to prepare  
The weapons, which Nature to him hath lent;  
Felly he hisseth, and doth fiercely stare,  
And hath his jaws with angry spirits rend,  
That all his tract with bloody drops is stained,  
And all his folds are now in length outstrained.   

Whom thus at point prepared, to prevent,  
A little noursling of the humid air,  
A Gnat unto the sleepy Shepherd went,  
And marking where his eyelids twinkling rare,  
Showed the two pearls, which sight unto him lent,  
Through their thin coverings appearing fair,  
His little needle there infixing deep,  
Warned him awake, from death himself to keep.   

Wherewith enraged, he fiercely 'gan upstart,  
And with his hand him rashly bruising, slew  
As in avengement of his heedless smart,  
That straight the spirit out of his senses flew,  
And life out of his members did departed:  
When suddenly casting aside his view,  
He spied his foe with felonous intent,  
And fervent eyes to his destruction bend.   

All suddenly dismayed, and heartless quite,  
He fled aback, and catching hasty hold  
Of a young alder hard beside him pight,  
It rend, and straight about him 'gan behold,  
What God or Fortune would assist his might.  
But whether God or Fortune made him bold  
Its hard to read: yet hardy will he had  
To overcome, that made him less adread.   

The scaly back of that most hideous snake  
Enwrapped round, oft feigning to retire,  
And oft him to assail, he fiercely struck  
Whereas his temples did his crest front tire;  
And for he was but slow, did sloth off shake,  
And gazing ghastly on (for fear and ire  
Had blended so much his sense, that less he feared;)  
Yet when he saw him slain, himself he cheered.   

By this the night forth from the darksome bower  
Of Herebus her teemed steeds 'gan call,  
And lazy Vesper in his timely hour  
From golden Oeta 'gan proceed withal;  
Whenas the Shepherd after this sharp stowre,  
Seing the doubled shadows low to fall,  
Gathering his straying flock, does homeward far,  
And unto rest his weary joints prepare.   

Into whose sense so soon as lighter sleep  
Was entered, and now losing every limb,  
Sweet slumbering dew in carelessness did steep,  
The Image of that Gnat appeared to him,  
And in sad terms 'gan sorrowfully weep,  
With grisly countenance and visage grim,  
Wailing the wrong which he had done of late,  
In steed of good hastening his cruel fate.   

Said he, what have I wretch deserved, that thus  
Into this bitter bale I am outcast,  
Whilst that thy life more dear and precious  
Was than mine own, so long as it did last?  
I now in am of pains so gracious,  
Am tossed in th'air with every windy blast:  
Thou safe delivered from sad decay,  
Thy careless limbs in lose sleep dost display.   

So livest thou, but my poor wretched ghost  
Is forced to ferry over Lethe's River,  
And spoiled of Charon too and fro am tossed.  
Seest thou, how all places quake and quiver  
Lightened with deadly lamps on every post?  
Tisiphone each where doth shake and shiver  
Her flaming fire brand, encountering me,  
Whose locks uncombed cruel adders be.   

And Cerberus, whose many mouths do bay,  
And bark out flames, as if on fire he fed;  
Adown whose neck in terrible array,  
Ten thousand snakes crawling about his head  
Do hang in heaps, that horribly affray,  
And bloody eyes do glister fiery red;  
He oftentimes me dreadfully doth threaten,  
With painful torments to be sorely beaten.   

Ay me, that thanks so much should fail of meed,  
For that I thee restored to life again,  
Even from the door of death and deadly dread.  
Where then is now the guerdon of my pain?  
Where the reward of my so piteous deed?  
The praise of pity vanished is in vain,  
And th'antic faith of justice long agone  
Out of the land is fled away and gone.   

I saw another's fate approaching fast,  
And left mine own his safety to tendered;  
Into the same mishap I now am cast,  
And shunned destruction doth destruction render:  
Not unto him that never hath trespassed,  
But punishment is due to the offender.  
Yet let destruction be the punishment,  
So long as thankful will may it relent,   

I carried am into waste wilderness,  
Waste wilderness, amongst Cimmerian shades,  
Where endless pains and hideous heaviness  
Is round about me heaped in darksome glades.  
For there huge Otho's sits in sad distress,  
Fast bound with serpents that him oft invades;  
Far of beholding Ephialtes tide,  
Which once assayed to burn this world so wide.   

And there is mournful Tityus' mindful yet  
Of thy displeasure, O Latona fair;  
Displeasure too implacable was it,  
That made him meat for wild fowls of the air:  
Much do I fear among such fiends to sit;  
Much do I fear back to them to repair,  
To the black shadows of the Stygian shore,  
Where wretched ghosts sit wailing evermore.   

There next the utmost brinck doth he abide,  
That did the banquets of the Gods bewray,  
Whose threat through thirst to nought nigh being dried  
His sense to seek for ease turns every way:  
And he that in avengement of his pride,  
For scorning to the sacred Gods to pray,  
Against a mountain rolls a mighty stone,  
Calling in vain for rest, and can have none.   

Go ye with them, go cursed damosels,  
Whose bridal torches foul Erynnis tind,  
And Hymen at your Spousalls sad, foretells  
Tidings of death and massacre unkind:  
With them that cruel Colchid mother dwells,  
The which conceived in her revengeful mind,  
With bitter wounds her own dear babes to slay,  
And murdered troops upon great heaps to lay.   

There also those two Pandionian maids,  
Calling on Itis, Itis evermore,  
Whom wretched boy they slew with guilty blades;  
For whom the Thracian king lamenting sore,  
Turned to a Lapwing, foully them upbraydes,  
And flattering round about them still does sore;  
There now they all eternally complain  
Of others wrong, and suffer endless pain.   

But the two brethren borne of Cadmus' blood,  
Whilst each does for the Sovereignty contend,  
Blind through ambition, and with vengeance would  
Each doth against the others body bend  
His cursed steel, of neither well withstood,  
And with wide wounds their carcases doth rend;  
That yet they both do mortal foes remain,  
Sith each with brother's bloody hand was slain.   

Ah (waladay) there is no end of pain,  
Nor change of labour may entreated be:  
Yet I beyond all these am carried feign,  
Where other powers far different I see,  
And must pass over to th' Elysian plain:  
There grim Persephone encountering me,  
Doth urge her fellow Furies earnestly,  
With their bright firebronds me to terrify.   

There chaste Alceste lives inviolate,  
Free from all care, for that her husband's days  
She did prolong by changing fate for fate,  
Lo there lives also the immortal praise  
Of womankind, most faithful to her mate,  
Penelope: and from her far aways  
A rulesse rout of youngmen, which her wooed  
All slain with darts, lie wallowed in their blood.   

And sad Eurydice thence now no more  
Must turn to life, but there detained be,  
For looking back, being forbid before:  
Yet was the guilt thereof, Orpheus, in thee.  
Bold sure he was, and worthy spirit bore,  
That durst those lowest shadows go to see,  
And could believe that any thing could please  
Fell Cerberus, or Stygian powers appease.   

Ne feared the burning waves of Phlegeton,  
Nor those same mournful kingdoms, compassed  
With rusty horror and fowl fashion,  
And deep digged vaults, and Tartar covered  
With bloody night, and dark confusion,  
And judgement seats, whose judge is deadly dread,  
A judge, that after death doth punish sore  
The faults, which life hath trespassed before.   

But valiant fortune made Dan Orpheus bold:  
For the swift running rivers still did stand,  
And the wild beasts their fury did withhold,  
To follow Orpheus' music through the land:  
And th' Okes deep grounded in the earthly mould  
Did move, as if they could him understand;  
And the shrill woods, which were of sense bereaved,  
Through their hard bark his silver sound received.   

And eke the Moon her hasty steeds did stay,  
Drawing in teems along the starry sky,  
And didst (o monthly Virgin) thou delay  
Thy nightly course, to hear his melody?  
The same was able with like lovely lay  
The Queen of hell to move as easily,  
To yield Eurydice unto her fere,  
Back to be borne, though it unlawful were.   

She (Lady) having well before approved,  
The fiends to be too cruel and severe,  
Observed th'appointed way, as her behoved,  
Ne ever did her eye sight turn arere,  
Ne ever spoke, ne cause of speaking moved:  
But cruel Orpheus, thou much crueler,  
Seeking to kiss her, brok'st the God's decree,  
And thereby mad'st her ever damned to be.   

Ah but sweet love of pardon worthy is,  
And doth deserve to have small faults remitted;  
If Hell at least things lightly done amiss  
Knew how to pardon, when aught is omitted:  
Yet are ye both received into bliss,  
And to the seats of happy souls admitted.  
And you, beside the honourable band  
Of great Heroës do in order stand.   

There be the two stout sons of Aeacus,  
Fierce Peleus, and the hardy Telamonius,  
Both seeming now full glad and joyous  
Through their Sires dreadful jurisdiction,  
Being the judge of all that horrid house:  
And both of them by strange occasion,  
Renowned in choice of happy marriage  
Through Venus' grace, and virtues carriage.   

For th'one was ravished of his own bondmaid,  
The fair Ixione captived from Troy:  
But th'other was with Thetis love assayed,  
Great Nereus his daughter, and his joy.  
On this side them there is a youngman laid,  
Their match in glory, mighty, fierce and coy;  
That from th' Argolic ships, with furious ire,  
Bet back the fury of the Trojan fire.   

O who would not recount the strong divorces  
Of that great war, which Trojans oft beheld,  
And oft beheld the warlike Greekish forces,  
When Teucrian soil with bloody rivers swelled,  
And wide Sigaean shores were spread with corpses,  
And Simois and Xanthus' blood outwelde,  
Whilst Hector raged with outrageous mind,  
Flames, weapons, wounds in Greeks fleet to have tind.   

For Ida self, in aid of that fierce fight,  
Out of her mountains ministered supplies,  
And like a kindly nurse, did yield (for spite)  
Store of firebronds out of her nourseries,  
Unto her foster children, that they might  
Inflame the Navy of their enemies,  
And all the Rhetaean shore to ashes turn,  
Where lay the ships, which they did seek to burn.   

'Gainst which the noble son of Telamonius  
opposed ' himself, and thwarting his huge shield,  
Them battle bad, 'gainst whom appeared anon  
Hector, the glory of the Trojan field:  
Both fierce and furious in contention  
Encountered, that their mighty strokes so shrilled,  
As the great clap of thunder, which doth rive  
The rattling heavens, and clouds asunder drive.   

So th'one with fire and weapons did contend  
To cut the ships, from turning home again  
To Argos, th'other strove for to defend  
The force of Vulcan with his might and main.  
Thus th'one Aeacide did his fame extend:  
But th'other joyed, that on the Phrygian plain  
Having the blood of vanquished Hector shed,  
He compassed Troy thrice with his body dedd.   

Again great dole on either party grew,  
That him to death unfaithful Paris sent;  
And also him that false Ulysses slew,  
Drawn into danger through close ambushment:  
Therefore from him Laertes son his view  
Doth turn aside, and boasts his good event  
In working of Strymonian Rhaesus fall,  
And eft in Dolon's sly surprysall.   

Again the dreadful Cycones him dismay,  
And black Laestrigones, a people stout:  
Then greedy Scylla, under whom there bay  
Many great bandogs, which her gird about:  
Then do the Aetnean Cyclops him affray,  
And deep Charybdis gulphing in and out:  
Lastly the squalid lakes of Tartary,  
And grisly Fiends of hell him terrify.   

There also goodly Agamemnon boasts,  
The glory of the stock of Tantalus,  
And famous light of all the Greekish hosts,  
Under whose conduct most victorious,  
The Doric flames consumed the iliac posts.  
Ah but the Greeks' themselves more dolorous,  
To thee, o Troy, paid penance for thy fall,  
In th' Hellespont being nigh drowned all.   

Well may appear by proof of their mischance,  
The chaungfull turning of men's slippery state,  
That none, whom fortune freely doth advance,  
Himself therefore to heaven should elevate:  
For lofty type of honour through the glance  
Of envies dart, is down in dust prostrate;  
And all that vaunts in worldly vanity,  
Shall fall through fortune's mutability.   

Th' Argolicke power returning home again,  
Enriched with spoils of th' Ericthonian tower,  
Did happy wind and weather entertain,  
And with good speed the foamy billows scour:  
No sign of storm, no fear of future pain,  
Which soon ensued them with heavy stowre.  
Nereis to the Seas a token gave,  
The whiles their crooked keels the surges clave.   

Suddenly, whether through the God's decree,  
Or hapless rising of some froward star,  
The heavens on every side enclowded Bee:  
Black storms and fogs are blown up from far,  
That now the Pilot can no lodestar see,  
But skies and seas do make most dreadful war;  
The billow striving to the heavens to reach,  
And th'heavens striving them for to impeach.   

And in avengement of their bold attempt,  
Both Sun and stars and all the heavenly powers  
Conspire in one to wreak their rash contempt,  
And down on them to fall from highest towers:  
The sky in pieces seeming to be rend,  
Throws lightning forth, & hail, & harmful showers  
That death on every side to them appears  
In thousand forms, to work more ghastly fears.   

Some in the greedy floods are sunk and drent,  
Some on the rocks of Caphareus are thrown;  
Some on th' Euboick Cliffs in pieces rend;  
Some scattered on the Hercaean shores unknown;  
And many lost, of whom no monument  
Remains, nor memory is to be shown:  
Whilst all the purchase of the Phrygian pray  
Tossed on salt billows, round about doth stray.   

Here many other like Heroës' Bee,  
Equal in honour to the former crew,  
Whom ye in goodly seats may placed see,  
Descended all from Rome by lineage due,  
From Rome, that holds the world in sovereignty,  
And doth all Nations unto her subdue:  
Here Fabiuses and Decii do dwell,  
Horatij that in virtue did excel.   

And here the antic fame of stout Camill  
Doth ever live, and constant Curtius,  
Who stiffly bent his vowed life to spill  
For countries health, a gulf most hideous  
Amidst the Town with his own corpse did fill,  
T'appease the powers; and prudent Mutius,  
Who in his flesh endured the scorching flame,  
To daunt his foe by ensample of the same.   

And here wise Curius, companion  
Of noble virtues, lives in endless rest;  
And stout Flaminius, whose devotion  
Taught him the fires scorned fury to detest;  
And here the praise of either Scipion  
Abides in highest place above the best,  
To whom the ruin'd walls of Carthage vowed,  
Trembling their forces, sound their praises loud.   

Live they for ever through their lasting praise:  
But I poor wretch am forced to return  
To the sad lakes, that Phoebus' sunny rays  
Do never see, where souls do always mourn,  
And by the wailing shores to waste my days,  
Where Phlegeton with quenchless flames doth burn;  
By which just Minos righteous souls doth sever  
From wicked ones, to live in bliss for ever.   

Me therefore thus the cruel fiends of hell  
Girt with long snakes, and thousand iron chains,  
Through doom of that their cruel judge, compel  
With bitter torture and impatient pains,  
cause of my death, and just complaint to tell.  
For thou art he, whom my poor ghost complains  
To be the author of her ill unwares,  
That careless hearest my intolerable cares.   

Them therefore as bequeathing to the wind,  
I now departed, returning to thee never,  
And leave this lamentable plaint behind.  
But do thou haunt the soft down rolling river,  
And wild green woods, and fruitful pastures mind,  
And let the flitting air my vain words sever.  
Thus having said, he heavily departed  
With piteous cry, that any would have smarted.   

Now, when the slothful fit of life's sweet rest  
Had left the heavy Shepherd, wondrous cares  
His inly grieved mind full sore oppressed;  
That baleful sorrow he no longer bears,  
For that Gnats death, which deeply was impressed:  
But bends what ever power his aged years  
Him lent, yet being such, as through their might  
He lately slew his dreadful foe in fight.   

By that same River lurking under green,  
eftsoons he 'gins to fashion forth a place,  
And squaring it in compass well beseen,  
There plotteth out a tomb by measured space:  
His iron headed spade though making clean,  
To dig up sods out of the flowery grass,  
His work he shortly to good purpose brought,  
Like as he had conceived it in his thought.   

An heap of earth he hoardward up on high,  
Enclosing it with banks on every side,  
And thereupon did raise full busily  
A little mount, of green turffs edifide;  
And on the top of all, that passers by  
Might it behold, the tomb he did provide  
Of smoothest marble stone in order set,  
That never might his lucky escape forget.   

And round about he taught sweet flowers to grow,  
The Rose engrained in pure scarlet dye,  
The Lily fresh, and Violet below,  
The Marigold, and cheerful Rosemary,  
The Spartan Myrtle, whence sweet gumb does flow,  
The purple Hyacinth, and fresh costmary,  
And Saffron sought for in Cilician soil,  
And Laurel th'ornament of Phoebus' toil.   

Fresh Rhododaphne, and the Sabine flower  
Matching the wealth of th'ancient Frankincense.  
And pallid Ivy building his own bower,  
And Box yet mindful of his old offence,  
Red Amaranthus, luckless Paramour,  
Oxeye still green, and bitter Patience;  
Ne wants there pale Narcisse, that in a well  
Seeing his beauty, in love with it fell.   

And whatsoever other flower of worth,  
And whatso other herb of lovely hue  
The joyous Spring out of the ground brings forth,  
To clothe herself in colours fresh and new;  
He planted there, and reared a mount of earth,  
In whose high front was writ as doth ensue.   

To thee, small Gnat, in am of his life saved,  
The Shepherd hath thy deaths record engraved.   
FINIS.   

PROSOPOPOIA. Or Mother Hubberds Tale.  
By ED. SP.  
Dedicated to the right Honourable the Lady Compton and Mountegle.  
LONDON. Imprinted for William Ponsonbie, dwelling in Paul's Churchyard at the sign of the Bishop's head.  
1591.   

To the right Honourable, the Lady Compton and Mountegle.  
MOst fair and virtuous Lady; having often sought opportunity by some good means to make known to your Ladyship, the humble affection and faithful duty, which I have always professed, and am bound to bear to that House, from whence ye spring, I have at length found occasion to remember the same, by making a simple present to you of these my idle labours; which having long sithence composed in the raw conceit of my youth, I lately amongst other papers lighted upon, and was by others, which liked the same, moved to set them forth. Simple is the device, and the composition mean, yet carrieth some delight, even the rather because of the simplicity & meanness thus personated. The same I beseech your Ladyship take in good part, as a pledge of that profession which I have made to you, and keep with you until with some other more worthy labour, I do redeem it out of your hands, and discharge my utmost duty. Till then wishing your Ladyship all increase of honour and happiness, I humbly take leave.  
Your La: ever humbly; Ed. Sp.   

Prosopopoia: or Mother Hubberds Tale.  
IT was the month, in which the righteous Maid,  
That for disdain of sinful worlds upbraid,  
Fled back to heaven, whence she was first conceived,  
Into her silver bower the Sun received;  
And the hot Syrian Dog on him awaiting,  
After the chafed Lions cruel baiting,  
Corrupted had th'air with his noisome breath,  
And poured on th'earth plague, pestilence, and death.  
Amongst the rest a wicked malady  
Reigned amongst men, that many did to die,  
Deprived of sense and ordinary reason;  
That it to Leaches seemed strange and geason.  
My fortune was 'mongst many others more,  
To be partaker of their common woe;  
And my weak body set on fire with grief,  
Was robbed of rest, and natural relief.  
In this ill plight, there came to visit me  
Some friends, who sorry my sad case to see,  
Began to comfort me in cheerful wise,  
And means of gladsome solace to devise.  
But seeing kindly sleep refuse to do  
His office, and my feeble eyes forego,  
They sought my troubled sense how to deceive  
With talk, that might unquiet fancies reave;  
And sitting all in seats about me round,  
With pleasant tales (fit for that idle stound)  
They cast in course to waste the weary hours:  
Some told of Ladies, and their Paramoures;  
Some of brave Knights, and their renowned Squires;  
Some of the Fairies and their strange attires;  
And some of Giants hard to be believed,  
That the delight thereof me much relieved.  
Amongst the rest a good old woman was,  
hight Mother Hubberd, who did far surpas  
The rest in honest mirth, that seemed her well:  
She when her turn was come her tale to tell,  
Told of a strange adventure, that betided  
Betwixt the Fox and th'Ape by him misguided;  
The which for that my sense it greatly pleased,  
All were my spirit heavy and diseased,  
I'll write in terms, as she the same did say,  
So well as I her words remember may.  
No Muses aid me needs here too to call;  
Base is the style, and matter mean withal.  
¶ Whilom (said she) before the world was civil,  
The Fox and th'Ape disliking of their evil  
And hard estate, determined to seek  
Their fortunes far abroad, lyeke with his lyeke:  
For both were crafty and unhappy witted;  
Two fellows might no where be better fitted.  
The Fox, that first this cause of grief did find,  
'Gan first thus plain his case with words unkind.  
Neighbour Ape, and my Goship eke beside,  
(Both two sure bands in friendship to be tide,)  
To whom may I more trustily complain  
The evil plight, that doth me sore constrain,  
And hope thereof to find due remedy?  
Hear then my pain and inward agony.  
Thus many years I now have spent and worn,  
In mean regard, and basest fortunes scorn,  
Doing my Country service as I might,  
No less I dare say than the proudest wight;  
And still I hoped to be up advanced,  
For my good parts; but still it hath mischaunced.  
Now therefore that no longer hope I see,  
But froward fortune still to follow me,  
And losels lifted up on high, where I did look,  
I mean to turn the next leaf of the book.  
Yet ere that any way I do betake,  
I mean my Gossip privy first to make.  
Ah my dear Gossip, (answered then the Ape,)  
Deeply do your sad words my wit's awhape,  
Both for because your grief doth great appear,  
And eke because myself am touched near:  
For I likewise have wasted much good time,  
Still waiting to preferment up to climb,  
Whilst others always have before me stepped,  
And from my beard the fat away have swept;  
That now unto despair I gi'en to grow  
And mean for better wind about to throw.  
Therefore to me, my trusty friend, aread  
Thy council: two is better than one head.  
Certes (said he) I mean me to disguise  
In some strange habit, after uncouth wise,  
Or like a Pilgrim, or a Lymiter,  
Or like a Gipsen, or a juggeler,  
And so to wander to the world's end,  
To seek my fortune, where I may it mend:  
For worse than that I have, I cannot meet.  
Wide is the world I wot, and every street  
Is full of fortunes, and adventures strange,  
Continually subject unto change.  
Say my fair brother now, if this device  
Doth like you, or may you to like entice,  
Surely (said th' Ape) it likes me wondrous well;  
And would ye not poor fellowship expel,  
Myself would offer you t'accompany  
In this adventures chanceful jeopardy.  
For to wax old at home in idleness,  
Is disadventurous, and quite fortunelesse:  
Abroad where change is, good may gotten be.  
The Fox was glad, and quickly did agree:  
So both resolved, the morrow next ensuing,  
So soon as day appeared to people's vowing,  
On their intended journey to proceed;  
And over night, whatso thereto did need,  
Each did prepare, in readiness to be.  
The morrow next, so soon as one might see  
Light out of heavens windows forth to look,  
Both their habiliments unto them took,  
And put themselves (a God's name) on their way.  
Whenas the Ape beginning well to weigh  
This hard adventure, thus began t'advise;  
Now read Sir Reynold, as ye be right wise,  
What course ye ween is best for us to take,  
That for ourselves we may a living make.  
Whether shall we profess some trade or skill?  
Or shall we vary our device at will,  
Even as new occasion appears?  
Or shall we tie ourselves for certain years  
To any service, or to any place?  
For it behoves ere that into the race  
We enter, to resolve first hereupon.  
Now surely brother (said the Fox anon)  
Ye have this matter motioned in season:  
For every thing that is begun with reason  
Will come by ready means unto his end;  
But things miscounseled must needs miswend.  
Thus therefore I advise upon the case,  
That not to any certain trade or place,  
Nor any man we should ourselves apply;  
For why should he that is at liberty  
Make himself bond? sith than we are free borne,  
Let us all servile base subjection scorn;  
And as we be sons of the world so wide,  
Let us our father's heritage divide,  
And challenge to ourselves our portions dew  
Of all the patrimony, which a few  
Now hold in in their hand,  
And all the rest do rob of good and land.  
For now a few have all and all have nought,  
Yet all be brethren ylike dearly bought:  
There is no right in this partition,  
Ne was it so by institution  
Ordained first, ne by the law of Nature,  
But that she gave like blessing to each creature  
As well of worldly livelihood as of life,  
That there might be no difference nor strife,  
Nor aught called mine or thine: thrice happy than  
Was the condition of mortal men.  
That was the golden age of Saturn old,  
But this might better be the world of gold:  
For without gold now nothing willbe got.  
Therefore (if please you) this shallbe our plot,  
We will not be of any occupation,  
Let such vile vassals borne to base vocation  
Drudge in the world, and for their living droyle  
Which have no wit to live withouten toil.  
But we will walk about the world at pleasure  
Like two free men, and make our ease a treasure.  
Free men some beggars call, but they be free,  
And they which call them so more beggars be:  
For they do swink and sweat to feed the other,  
Who live like Lords of that which they do gather,  
And yet do never thank them for the same,  
But as their due by Nature do it claim.  
Such will we fashion both ourselves to be,  
Lords of the world, and so will wander free  
Where so us listeth, uncontrolled of any  
Hard is our hap, if we (amongst so many)  
Light not on some that may our state amend;  
Seldom but some good cometh ere the end.  
Well seemed the Ape to like this ordinance:  
Yet well considering of the circumstance,  
As pausing in great doubt a while he stayed,  
And afterwards with grave advizement said;  
I cannot my lief brother like but well  
The purpose of the complot which ye tell:  
For well I wots (compared to all the rest  
Of each degree) that beggars life is best:  
And they that think themselves the best of all,  
Oft-times to begging are content to fall.  
But this I wots withal that we shall run  
Into great danger like to be undone.  
Thus wildly to wander in the world's eye,  
Without passport or good warranty,  
For fear lest we like rogues should be reputed,  
And for ear marked beasts abroad be bruited:  
Therefore I read, that we our counsels call,  
How to prevent this mischief ere it fall,  
And how we may with most security,  
Beg amongst those that beggars do defy.  
Right well dear Gossip ye aduized have,  
(Said then the Fox) but I this doubt will save:  
For ere we farther pass, I will devise  
A passport for us both in fittest wise,  
And by the names of Soldiers us protect;  
That now is thought a civil begging sect.  
Be you the Soldier, for you likest are  
For manly semblance, and small skill in war:  
I will but wait on you, and as occasion  
Falls out, myself fit for the same will fashion.  
The Passport ended, both they forward went,  
The Ape clad Soldierlike, fit for th'intent,  
In a blue jacket with a cross of red  
And many slits, as if that he had shed  
Much blood through many wounds therein received,  
Which had the use of his right arm bereaved;  
Upon his head an old Scotch cap he wore,  
With a plume feather all to pieces tore:  
His breeches were made after the new cut,  
All Portugese, lose like an empty gut;  
And his hose broken high above the heeling,  
And his shoes beaten out with traveling.  
But neither sword nor dagger he did bear,  
Seems that no foes revengement he did fear;  
In stead of them a handsome bat he held,  
On which he leaned, as one far in eld.  
Shame light on him, that through so false illusion,  
Doth turn the name of Soldiers to abusion,  
And that, which is the noblest mystery,  
Brings to reproach and common infamy.  
Long they thus travailed, yet never met  
Adventure, which might them a working set:  
Yet many ways they sought, and many tried;  
Yet for their purposes none fit espied.  
At last they chanced to meet upon the way  
A simple husbandman in garments grey;  
Yet though his vesture were but mean and base,  
A good yeoman he was of honest place,  
And more for thrift did care than for gay clothing:  
Gay without good, is good hearts greatest loathing.  
The Fox him spying, bade the Ape him dight  
To play his part, for lo he was in sight,  
That (if he erred not) should them entertain,  
And yield them timely profit for their pain.  
eftsoons the Ape himself 'gan up to rear,  
And on his shoulders high his bat to bear,  
As if good service he were fit to do;  
But little thrift for him he did it too:  
And stoutly forward he his steps did strain,  
That like a handsome swain it him became:  
When as they nigh approached, that good man  
Seeing them wander loosely, first began  
T'inquire of custom, what and whence they were?  
To whom the Ape, I am a Souldiere,  
That late in wars have spent my dearest blood,  
And in long service lost both limbs and good,  
And now constrained that trade to overgive,  
I driven am to seek some means to live:  
Which might it you in pity please t'afford.  
I would be ready both in deed and word,  
To do you faithful service all my days.  
This iron world (that same he weeping says)  
Bring down the stoutest hearts to lowest state:  
For misery doth bravest minds abate,  
And make them seek for that they want to scorn,  
Of fortune and of hope at once forlorn.  
The honest man, that heard him thus complain,  
Was grieved, as he had felt part of his pain;  
And well disposed him some relief to show,  
Asked if in husbandry he ought did know,  
To plough, to plant, to reap, to rake, to sow,  
To hedge, to ditch, to thrash, to thetch, to mow;  
Or to what labour else he was prepared?  
For husband's life is labourous and hard.  
Whenas the Ape him hard so much to talk  
Of labour that did from his liking baulk,  
He would have slipped the collar handsomely,  
And to him said; good Sir, full glad am I,  
To take what pains may any living wight:  
But my late maimed limbs lack wont might  
To do their kindly services, as needeth:  
Scarce this right hand the mouth with diet feedeth,  
So that it may no painful work endure,  
Ne to strong labour can it self enure.  
But if that any other place you have,  
Which asks small pains, but thriftiness to save,  
Or care to overlook, or trust to gather,  
Ye may me trust as your own ghostly father.  
With that the husbandman 'gan him avize  
That it for him were fittest exercise  
cattle to keep, or grounds to oversee;  
And asked him, if he could willing be  
To keep his sheep, or to attend his swine,  
Or watch his mares, or take his charge of kine?  
Gladly (said he) what ever such like pain  
Ye put on me, I will the same sustain:  
But gladliest I of your fleecy sheep  
(Might it you please) would take on me the keep.  
For ere that unto arms I me betook,  
Unto my father's sheep I used to look,  
That yet the skill thereof I have not lost:  
Thereto right well this Curdog by my cost  
(Meaning the Fox) will serve, my sheep to gather,  
And drive to follow after their Belwether.  
The Husbandman was meanly well content,  
Trial to make of his endevourment,  
And home him leading, lent to him the charge  
Of all his flock, with liberty full large,  
Giving account of th' annual increase  
Both of their lambs, and of their woolley fleece.  
Thus is this Ape become a shepherd swain  
And the false Fox his dog (God give them pain)  
For ere the year have half his course outrun,  
And do return from whence he first begun,  
They shall him make an ill account of thrift.  
Now whenas Time flying with wings swift,  
Expired had the term, that these two iavels  
Should render up a reckoning of their travels  
Unto their master, which it of them sought,  
Exceedingly they troubled were in thought,  
Ne witted what answer unto him to frame,  
Ne how to scape great punishment, or shame,  
For their false treason and vile thievery.  
For not a lamb of all their flocks supply  
Had they to show: but ever as they bred,  
They slew them, and upon their flesh's fed:  
For that disguised Dog loved blood to spill,  
And drew the wicked Shepherd to his will.  
So twixt them both they not a lambkin left,  
And when lambs failed, the old sheeps lives they reft;  
That how t'acquit themselves unto their Lord,  
They were in doubt, and flatly set aboard.  
The Fox then counseled th'ape, for to require  
Respite till morrow, t'answer his desire:  
For times delay new hope of help still breeds.  
The goodman granted, doubting nought their deeds,  
And bad, next day that all should ready be.  
But they more subtle meaning had than he:  
For the next morrows meed they closely meant,  
For fear of afterclaps for to prevent.  
And that same evening, when all shrouded were  
In careless sleep, they without care or fear,  
Cruelly fell upon their flock in fold,  
And of them slew at pleasure what they would:  
Of which whenas they feasted had their fill,  
For a full complement of all their ill,  
They stole away, and took their hasty flight,  
Carried in clouds of all-concealing night.  
So was the husbandman left to his loss,  
And they unto their fortunes change to toss.  
After which sort they wandered long while,  
Abusing many through their cloaked guile;  
That at the last they 'gan to be descried  
Of every one, and all their sleights espied.  
So as their begging now them failed quite;  
For none would give, but all men would them wite:  
Yet would they take no pains to get their living,  
But seek some other way to gain by giving,  
Much like to begging but much better named;  
For many beg, which are thereof ashamed.  
And now the Fox had gotten him a gown,  
And th' Ape a cassock sidelong hanging down;  
For they their occupation meant to change,  
And now in other state abroad to range:  
For since their soldiers pass no better sped,  
They forged another, as for Clerks booke-redd.  
Who passing forth, as their adventures fell,  
Through many haps, which needs not here to tell;  
At length chanced with a formal Priest to meet,  
Whom they in civil manner first did greet,  
And after asked an alms for Gods dear love.  
The man strait way his choler up did move,  
And with reproachful terms 'gan them revile,  
For following that trade so base and vile;  
And asked what licence, or what Pass they had?  
Ah (said the Ape as sighing wondrous sad)  
It's an hard case, when men of good deserving  
Must either driven be perforce to starving,  
Or asked for their pas by every squib,  
That list at will them to revile or snib:  
And yet (God wot) small odds I often see  
Twixt them that ask, and them that asked be.  
nevertheless because you shall not us misdeem,  
But that we are as honest as we seem,  
Ye shall our passport at your pleasure see,  
And then ye will (I hope) well moved be.  
Which when the Priest beheld, he viewed it near,  
As if therein some text he studying were,  
But little else (God wot) could thereof skill:  
For read he could not evidence, nor will,  
Ne tell a written word, ne write a letter  
Ne make one title worse, ne make one better:  
Of such deep learning little had he need,  
Ne yet of Latin, ne of Greek, that breed  
Doubts 'mongst Divines, and difference of texts,  
From whence arise diversity of sects,  
And hateful heresies, of God abhorred:  
But this good Sir did follow the plain word,  
Ne meddled with their controversies vain,  
All his care was, his service well to sane,  
And to read Homilies upon holidays:  
When that was done, he might attend his plays;  
An easy life, and fit high God to please.  
He having overlooked their pas at ease,  
'Gan at the length them to rebuke again,  
That no good trade of life did entertain,  
But lost their time in wandering lose abroad,  
Seeing the world, in which they bootless bode,  
Had ways enough for all therein to live;  
Such grace did God unto his creatures give.  
Said then the Fox; who hath the world not tried.  
From the right way full each may wander wide.  
We are but Novices, new come abroad,  
We have not yet the tract of any troad,  
Nor on us taken any state of life,  
But ready are of any to make preife.  
Therefore might please you, which the world have proved,  
Us to advise, which forth but lately moved,  
Of some good course, that we might undertake;  
Ye shall for ever us your bondmen make.  
The Priest 'gan wax half proud to be so prayed,  
And thereby willing to afford them aid;  
It seems (said he) right well that ye be Clerks,  
Both by your witty words, and by your werks.  
Is not that name enough to make a living  
To him that hath a whit of Nature's giving?  
How many honest men see ye arise  
Daily thereby, and grow to goodly prize?  
To Deans, to Archdeacon's, to Commissaries,  
To Lords, to Principals, to Prebendaries;  
All jolly Prelates, worthy rule to bear,  
Who ever them envy: yet spite bites near.  
Why should ye doubt then, but that ye likewise  
Might unto some of those in time arise?  
In the mean time to live in good estate,  
Loving that love, and hating those that hate;  
Being some honest Curate, or some Vicker  
Content with little in condition sicker.  
Ah but (said th'ape) the Charge is wondrous great,  
To feed men's souls, and hath an heavy threat.  
To feed men's souls (quoth he) is not in man:  
For they must feed themselves, do what we can.  
We are but charged to lay the meat before:  
Eat they that list, we need to do no more.  
But God it is that feeds them with his grace,  
The bread of life poured down from heavenly place.  
Therefore said he, that with the budding rod  
Did rule the jews, All shallbe taught of God.  
That same hath jesus Christ now to him reached,  
By whom the flock is rightly fed, and taught:  
He is the Shepherd, and the Priest is he;  
We but his shepherd swains ordained to be.  
Therefore herewith do not yourself dismay;  
Ne is the pains so great, but bear ye may;  
For not so great as it was wont of yore,  
It's now a days, ne half so straight and sore:  
They whilom used duly every day  
Their service and their holy things to say,  
At morn and even, besides their Anthems sweet,  
Their penny Masses, and their Complynes meet,  
Their Dirges, their Trentals, and their shrifts,  
Their memories, their sing, and their gifts.  
Now all those needless works are laid aways;  
Now once a week upon the Sabbath day,  
It is enough to do our small devotion,  
And then to follow any merry motion.  
Ne are we tied to fast, but when we list,  
Ne to wear garments base of woollen twist,  
But with the finest silks us to array,  
That before God we may appear more gay,  
Resembling Aaron's glory in his place:  
For far unfit it is, that person base  
Should with vile clothes approach God's majesty,  
Whom no uncleanness may approachen nie:  
Or that all men, which any master serve,  
Good garments for their service should deserve;  
But he that serves the Lord of hosts most high,  
And that in highest place, t'approach him nigh,  
And all the people's prayers to present  
Before his throne, as on embassage sent  
Both too and fro, should not deserve to wear  
A garment better, than of wool or hear.  
Beside we may have lying by our sides  
Our lovely Lasses, or bright shining Brides:  
We be not tied to wilful chastity,  
But have the Gospel of free liberty.  
By that he ended had his ghostly sermon,  
The Fox was well induced to be a Parson;  
And of the Priest eftsoons 'gan to inquire,  
How to a Benefice he might aspire.  
Marry there (said the Priest) is art indeed.  
Much good deep learning one thereout may read,  
For that the groundwork is, and end of all,  
How to obtain a Beneficial.  
First therefore, when ye have in handsome wise  
Yourself attired, as you can devise,  
Then to some Noble man yourself apply,  
Or other great one in the worlds eye,  
That hath a zealous disposition  
To God, and so to his religion:  
There must thou fashion eke a godly zeal,  
Such as no carpers may contrayre reveal:  
For each thing feigned, aught more wary be.  
There thou must walk in sober gravity,  
And seem as Saintlike as Saint Radegund:  
Fast much, pray oft, look lowly on the ground,  
And unto every one do courtesy meek:  
These looks (nought saying) do a benefice seek,  
And be thou sure one not to lack or long.  
But if thee list unto the Court to throng,  
And there to hunt after the hoped prey,  
Then must thou thee dispose another way:  
For there thou needs must learn, to laugh, to lie,  
To face, to forge, to scoff, to company,  
To crouch, to please, to be a beetle stock  
Of thy great master's will, to scorn, or mock:  
So mayst thou chance mock out a Benefice,  
Unless thou canst one conjure by device,  
Or cast a figure for a Bishopric:  
And if one could, it were but a schooltrick.  
These be the ways, by which without reward  
livings in Court be gotten, though full hard.  
For nothing there is done without a fee:  
The Courtier needs must recompensed be  
With a Benevolence, or have in gage  
The Primitias of your Parsonage:  
Scarce can a Bishopric forpas them by,  
But that it must be gelt in privity.  
Do not thou therefore seek a living there,  
But of more private persons seek elsewhere,  
Whereas thou mayst compound a better penny,  
Ne let thy learning questioned be of any.  
For some good Gentleman that hath the right  
Unto his Church for to present a wight,  
Will cope with thee in reasonable wise;  
That if the living yearly do arise  
To forty pound, that then his youngest son  
Shall twenty have, and twenty thou hast won:  
Thou hast it won, for it is of frank gift,  
And he will care for all the rest to shift;  
Both that the Bishop may admit of thee,  
And that therein thou mayst maintained be.  
This is the way for one that is unlearned  
Living to get, and not to be discerned.  
But they that are great Clerks, have nearer ways,  
For learning sake to living them to raise:  
Yet many eke of them (God wot) are driven,  
T' accept a Benefice in pieces riven.  
How sayst thou (friend) have I not well discoursed  
Upon this Common place (though plain, not wourst)?  
Better a short tale, than a bad long shriving.  
Needs any more to learn to get a living?  
Now sure and by my halidom (quoth he)  
Ye a great master are in your degree:  
Great thanks I yield you for your discipline,  
And do not doubt, but duly to incline  
My wits thereto, as ye shall shortly hear.  
The Priest him wished good speed, and well to far.  
So parted they, as either's way them led.  
But th'Ape and Fox ere long so well them sped,  
Through the Priests wholesome counsel lately taught,  
And through their own fair handling wisely wrought,  
That they a Benefice twixt them obtained;  
And crafty Reynold was a Priest ordained;  
And th' Ape his Parish Clarke procured to be.  
Then made they revel rout and goodly glee.  
But ere long time had passed, they so ill  
Did order their affairs, that th'evil will  
Of all their Parishners they had constrained;  
Who to the Ordinary of them complained,  
How foully they their offices abused,  
And them of crimes and heresies accused;  
That pursuivants he often for them sent:  
But they neglected his commandment.  
So long persisted obstinate and bold,  
Till at the length he published to hold  
A Visitation, and them cited thither:  
Then was high time their wits about to gather;  
What did they then, but made a composition  
With their next neighbour Priest for light condition,  
To whom their living they resigned quite  
For a few pence, and ran away by night.  
So passing through the Country in disguise,  
They fled far off, where none might them surprise,  
And after that long strayed here and there,  
Through every field and forest far and near;  
Yet never found occasion for their turn,  
But almost starved, did much lament and mourn.  
At last they chanced to meet upon the way  
The Mule, all decked in goodly rich array,  
With bells and bosses, that full loudly rung,  
And costly trappings, that to ground down hung.  
Lowly they him saluted in meek wise,  
But he through pride and fatness 'gan despise  
Their meanness; scarce vouchsafed them to requite.  
Whereat the Fox deep groaning in his spirit,  
Said, Ah sir Mule, now blessed be the day,  
That I see you so goodly and so gay  
In your attires, and eke your silken hide  
Filled with round flesh, that every bone doth hide.  
Seems that in fruitful pastures ye do live,  
Or fortune doth you secret favour give.  
Foolish Fox (said the Mule) thy wretched need  
Praiseth the thing that doth thy sorrow breed.  
For well I ween, thou canst not but envy  
My wealth, compared to thine own misery,  
That art so lean and meager waxed late,  
That scarce thy legs uphold thy feeble gate.  
Ay me (said then the Fox) whom evil hap  
Unworthy in such wretchedness doth wrap,  
And makes the scorn of other beasts to be:  
But read (fair Sir, of grace) from whence come ye?  
Or what of tidings you abroad do hear?  
News may perhaps some good unwitting bear.  
From royal Court I lately came (said he)  
Where all the bravery that eye may see,  
And all the happiness that heart desire,  
Is to be found; he nothing can admire,  
That hath not seen that heavens portraiture:  
But tidings there is none I you assure,  
Save that which common is, and known to all,  
That Courtiers as the tide do rise and fall.  
But tell us (said the Ape) we do you pray,  
Who now in Court doth bear the greatest sway.  
That if such fortune do to us befall,  
We may seek favour of the best of all.  
Marry (said he) the highest now in grace,  
Be the wild beasts, that swiftest are in chase;  
For in their speedy course and nimble flight  
The Lion now doth take the most delight:  
But chiefly, joys on foot them to behold,  
Enchaste with chain and circulet of gold:  
So wild a beast so tame ytaught to be,  
And buxom to his bands is joy to see.  
So well his golden Circlet him beseemeth:  
But his late chain his Liege unmeet esteemeth;  
For so brave beasts she loveth best to see,  
In the wild forest ranging fresh and free.  
Therefore if fortune thee in Court to live,  
In case thou ever there wilt hope to thrive,  
To some of these thou must thyself apply:  
Else as a thistle-down in th'air doth fly,  
So vainly shalt thou too and fro be tossed,  
And lose thy labour and thy fruitless cost.  
And yet full few, which follow them I see,  
For virtues bare regard advanced be,  
But either for some gainful benefit,  
Or that they may for their own turns be fit.  
Nath'les' perhaps ye things may handle so,  
That ye may better thrive than thousands more.  
But (said the Ape) how shall we first come in,  
That after we may favour seek to win?  
How else (said he) but with a good bold face,  
And with big words, and with a stately pace,  
That men may think of you in general,  
That to be in you, which is not all:  
For not by that which is, the world now deemeth,  
(As it was wont) but by that same that seemeth.  
Ne do I doubt, but that ye well can fashion  
Yourselves thereto, according to occasion:  
So far ye well, good Courtiers may ye be;  
So proudly neighing from them parted he.  
Then 'gan this crafty couple to devise,  
How for the Court themselves they might aguize:  
For thither they themselves meant to address,  
In hope to find there happier success,  
So well they shifted, that the Ape anon  
Himself had clothed like a Gentleman,  
And the sly Fox, as like to be his groom,  
That to the Court in seemly sort they come.  
Where the fond Ape himself uprearing hy  
Upon his tiptoes, stalketh stately by,  
As if he were some great Magnifico,  
And boldly doth amongst the boldest go.  
And his man Reynold with fine counterfesaunce  
Supports his credit and his countenance.  
Then 'gan the Courtiers gaze on every side,  
And stare on him, with big looks basin wide,  
Wondering what mister wight he was, and whence:  
For he was clad in strange accoutrements,  
Fashioned with quaint devices never seen  
In Court before, yet there all fashions been:  
Yet he them in new-fangledness did pass:  
But his behaviour altogether was  
Alla Turchesca, much the more admired,  
And his looks lofty, as if he aspired  
To dignity, and sdeigned the low degree;  
That all which did such strangeness in him see,  
By secret means 'gan of his state inquire,  
And privily his servant thereto hire:  
Who thoroughly armed against such coverture,  
Reported unto all, that he was sure  
A noble Gentleman of high regard,  
Which through the world had with long travel fared,  
And seen the manners of all beasts on ground;  
Now here arrived, to see if like he found.  
Thus did the Ape at first him credit gain,  
Which afterwards he wisely did maintain  
With gallant show, and daily more augment  
Through his fine feats and Courtly complement;  
For he could play, and dance, and vault, and spring,  
And all that else pertains to reveling,  
Only through kindly aptness of his joints.  
Besides he could do many other points,  
The which in Court him served to good stead:  
For he 'mongst Ladies could their fortunes read  
Out of their hands, and merry leasings tell,  
And juggle finely, that became him well:  
But he so light was at legier demain,  
That what he touched, came not to light again;  
Yet would he laugh it out, and proudly look,  
And tell them, that they greatly him mistook.  
So would he scoff them out with mockery,  
For he therein had great felicity:  
And with sharp quips joyed others to deface,  
Thinking that their disgrace did him grace:  
So whilst that other like vain wits he pleased,  
And made to laugh, his heart was greatly eased.  
But the right gentle mind would bite his lip,  
To hear the javel so good men to nip:  
For though the vulgar yield an open ear.  
And common Courtiers love to gibe and fleare  
At every thing, which they hear spoken ill,  
And the best speeches with ill meaning spill;  
Yet the brave Courtier, in whose beauteous thought  
Regard of honour harbours more than aught,  
Doth loath such base condition, to backbite  
Any's good name for envy or despite:  
He stands on terms of honourable mind,  
Ne will be carried with the common wind  
Of Courts inconstant mutability,  
Ne after every tattling fable fly;  
But hears, and sees the follies of the rest,  
And thereof gathers for himself the best:  
He will not creep, nor crouch with feigned face,  
But walks upright with comely steadfast pace,  
And unto all doth yield due courtesy;  
But not with kissed hand below the knee,  
As that same Apish crew is wont to do:  
For he disdains himself t'embase thereto,  
He hates foul leasings, and vile flattery,  
Two filthy blots in noble Gentry;  
And lothefull idleness he doth detest,  
The canker worm of every gentle breast;  
The which to banish with fair exercise  
Of knightly feats, he daily doth devise:  
Now managing the mouths of stubborn steeds,  
Now practising the proof of warlike deeds,  
Now his bright arms assaying, now his spear,  
Now the nigh aimed ring away to bear;  
At other times he casts to sew the chase  
Of swift wild beasts, or run on foot a race,  
T'enlarge his breath (large breath in arms most needful  
Or else by wrestling to wax strong and heedful,  
Or his stiff arms to stretch with Eughen bow,  
And manly legs, still passing too and fro,  
Without a gowned beast him fast beside;  
A vain ensample of the Persian pride,  
Who after he had won th' Assyrian foe,  
Did ever after scorn on foot to go.  
Thus when this Courtly Gentleman with toil  
Himself hath wearied, he doth recoil  
Unto his rest, and there with sweet delight  
Of musics skill revives his toiled sprite,  
Or else with Loves, and Ladies gentle sports,  
The joy of youth, himself he recomforts:  
Or lastly, when the body list to pause,  
His mind unto the Muses he withdraws;  
Sweet Lady Muses, Ladies of delight,  
Delights of life, and ornaments of light:  
With whom he close confers with wise discourse,  
Of Nature's works, of heavens continual course,  
Of foreign lands, of people different,  
Of kingdoms change, of divers government,  
Of dreadful battles of renowned Knights;  
With which he kindleth his ambitious sprights  
To like desire and praise of noble fame,  
The only upshot whereto he doth aim:  
For all his mind on honour fixed is,  
To which he levels all his purposes,  
And in his Prince's service spends his days,  
Not so much for to gain, or for to raise  
Himself to high degree, as for his grace,  
And in his liking to win worthy place;  
Through due deserts and comely carriage,  
In whatso please employ his parsonage,  
That may be matter meet to gain him praise;  
For he is fit to use in all assays,  
Whether for Arms and warlike amenaunce,  
Or else for wise and civil governance.  
For he is practised well in policy,  
And thereto doth his Courting most apply:  
To learn the enterdeale of Princes strange,  
To mark th'intent of Counsels, and the change  
Of states, and eke of private men somewhile,  
Supplanted by fine falsehood and fair guile;  
Of all the which he gathereth, what is fit  
T'enrich the storehouse of his powerful wit,  
Which through wise speeches, and grave conference  
He daily eekes, and brings to excellence.  
Such is the rightful Courtier in his kind:  
But unto such the Ape lent not his mind;  
Such were for him no fit companions,  
Such would descry his lewd conditions:  
But the young lusty gallants he did chose  
To follow, meet to whom he might disclose  
His witless pleasance, and ill pleasing vain.  
A thousand ways he them could entertain,  
With all the thriftless games, that may be found  
With mumming and with masking all around,  
With dice, with cards, with balliards far unfit,  
With shuttelcocks. misseeming manly wit,  
With courtesans, and costly riotize,  
Whereof still somewhat to his share did rise:  
Ne, them to pleasure, would he sometimes scorn  
A Pandares' coat (so basely was he borne);  
Thereto he could fine loving verses frame,  
And play the Poet oft. But ah, for shame  
Let not sweet Poet's praise, whose only pride  
Is virtue to advance, and vice deride,  
Be with the work of losels wit defamed,  
Ne let such verses Poetry be named:  
Yet he the name on him would rashly take,  
Maugre the sacred Muses, and it make  
A servant to the vile affection  
Of such, as he depended most upon,  
And with the sugary sweet thereof allure  
chaste Lady's ears to fantasies impure.  
To such delights the noble wits he led  
Which him relieved, and their vain humours fed  
With fruitless follies, and unsound delights.  
But if perhaps into their noble sprights  
Desire of honour, or brave thought of arms  
Did ever creep, then with his wicked charms  
And strong conceits he would it drive away,  
Ne suffer it to house there half a day.  
And whenso love of letters did inspire  
Their gentle wits, and kindly wise desire,  
That chiefly doth each noble mind adorn,  
Then he would scoff at learning, and eke scorn  
The Sectaries thereof, as people base  
And simple men, which never came in place  
Of world's affairs, but in dark corners mewed,  
muttered of matters, as their books them showed,  
Ne other knowledge ever did attain,  
But with their gowns their gravity maintain.  
From them he would his impudent lewd speech  
Against God's holy Ministers oft reach,  
And mock Divines and their profession:  
What else then did he by progression,  
But mock high God himself, whom they profess?  
But what cared he for God, or godliness?  
All his care was himself how to advance,  
And to uphold his courtly countenance  
By all the cunning means he could devise;  
Were it by honest ways, or otherwise,  
He made small choice: yet sure his honesty  
Got him small gains, but shameless flattery,  
And filthy brocage, and unseemly shifts,  
And borrow base, and some good Lady's gifts:  
But the best help, which chief him sustained,  
Was his man Raynolds purchase which he gained.  
For he was schooled by kind in all the skill  
Of close conveyance, and each practice ill  
Of cousinage and cleanly knavery,  
Which oft maintained his master's bravery.  
Besides he used another slippery slight,  
In taking on himself in common sight,  
False personages fit for every stead,  
With which he thousands cleanly cozened:  
Now like a Merchant, Merchants to deceive,  
With whom his credit he did often leave  
In gage, for his gay Masters hopeless debt:  
Now like a Lawyer, when he land would let,  
Or sell fee-simples in his Master's name,  
Which he had never, nor ought like the same:  
Then would he be a Broker, and draw in  
Both wares and money, by exchange to win:  
Then would he seem a Farmer, that would sell  
Bargains of woods, which he did lately fell,  
Or corn, or cattle, or such other ware,  
Thereby to cousin men not well aware;  
Of all the which there came a secret fee  
To th' Ape, that he his countenance might be.  
Besides all this, he used oft to beguile  
Poor suitors, that in Court did haunt some while:  
For he would learn their business secretly,  
And then inform his Master hastily,  
That he by means might cast them to prevent,  
And beg the suit, the which the other meant.  
Or otherwise false Reynold would abuse  
The simple Suitor, and wish him to choose  
His Master, being one of great regard  
In Court, to compass any suit not hard,  
In case his pains were recompensed with reason's:  
So would he work the silly man by treason  
To buy his Masters frivolous good will,  
That had not power to do him good or ill.  
So pitiful a thing is suitors state.  
Most miserable man, whom wicked fate  
Hath brought to Court, to sue for had ywist,  
That few have found, and many one hath missed;  
Full little knowest thou that hast not tried,  
What hell it is, in suing long to bide:  
To lose good days, that might be better spent;  
To waste long nights in pensive discontent;  
To speed to day, to be put back to morrow;  
To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow;  
To have thy Prince's grace, yet want her Peers;  
To have thy ask, yet wait many years;  
To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares;  
To eat thy heart through comfortless despairs;  
To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run,  
To spend, to give, to want, to be undone.  
Unhappy wight, borne to disastrous end,  
That doth his life in so long tendance spend.  
Who ever leaves sweet home, where mean estate  
In safe assurance, without strife or hate,  
Finds all things needful for contentment meek;  
And will to Court for shadows vain to seek,  
Or hope to gain, himself will a daw try:  
That curse God send unto mine enemy.  
For none but such as this bold Ape unblessed,  
Can ever thrive in that unlucky quest;  
Or such as hath a Reynold to his man,  
That by his shifts his Master furnish can.  
But yet this Fox could not so closely hide  
His crafty feats, but that they were descried  
At length, by such as sat in justice seat,  
Who for the same him foully did entreat;  
And having worthily him punished,  
Out of the Court for ever banished.  
And now the Ape wanting his huckster man,  
That want provide his necessaries, 'gan  
To grow into great lack, ne could uphold  
His countenance in those his garments old;  
Ne new ones could he easily provide,  
Though all men him uncased 'gan deride,  
Like as a Puppet placed in a play,  
Whose part once past all men bid take away:  
So that he driven was to great distress,  
And shortly brought to hopeless wretchedness.  
Then closely as he might he cast to leave  
The Court, not ask any pass or leave;  
But ran away in his rend rags by night,  
Ne ever stayed in place, ne spoke to wight,  
Till that the Fox his copesmate he had found,  
To whom complaining his unhappy stound,  
At last again with him in travel joined,  
And with him fared some better chance to find.  
So in the world long time they wandered,  
And much want and hardness suffered;  
That them repent much so foolishly  
To come so far to seek for misery,  
And leave the sweetness of contented home,  
Though eating hips, and drinking watery foam.  
Thus as they them complained too and fro,  
Whilst through the forest reckless they did go,  
Lo where they spied, how in a gloomy glade,  
The Lion sleeping lay in secret shade,  
His Crown and Sceptre lying him beside,  
And having doffed for heat his dreadful hide:  
Which when they saw, the Ape was sore afraid,  
And would have fled with terror all dismayed.  
But him the Fox with hardy words did stay,  
And bade him put all cowardice away:  
For now was time (if ever they would hope)  
To aim their counsels to the fairest scope,  
And them for ever highly to advance,  
In case the good which their own happy chance  
Them freely offered, they would wisely take.  
Scarce could the Ape yet speak, so did he quake,  
Yet as he could, he asked how good might grow,  
Where nought but dread & death do seem in show.  
Now (said he) whiles the Lion sleepeth sound,  
May we his Crown and Mace take from the ground,  
And eke his skin the terror of the wood,  
Wherewith we may ourselves (if we think good)  
Make Kings of Beasts, and Lords of forests all,  
Subject unto that power imperial.  
Ah but (said the Ape) who is so bold a wretch,  
That dare his hardy hand to those outstretch:  
When as he knows his meed, if he be spied,  
To be a thousand deaths, and shame beside?  
Fond Ape (said then the Fox) into whose breast  
Never crept thought of honour, nor brave gest,  
Who will not venture life a King to be,  
And rather rule and reign in sovereign see,  
Than dwell in dust inglorious and base,  
Where none shall name the number of his place?  
One joyous hour in blissful happiness,  
I chose before a life of wretchedness.  
Be therefore counseled herein by me,  
And shake off this vile hearted cowardree.  
If he awake, yet is not death the next,  
For we may colour it with some pretext  
Of this, or that, that may excuse the crime:  
Else we may fly; thou to a tree mayst climb,  
And I creep under ground; both from his reach:  
Therefore be ruled to do as I do teach.  
The Ape, that erst did nought but i'll and quake,  
Now 'gan some courage unto him to take,  
And was content to attempt that enterprise,  
Tickled with glory and rash covetise.  
But first 'gan question, whither should assay  
Those royal ornaments to steal away?  
Marry that shall yourself (quoth he thereto)  
For ye be fine and nimble it to do;  
Of all the beasts which in the forests be,  
Is not a fit for this turn than ye:  
Therefore, mine own dear brother take good heart,  
And ever think a Kingdom is your part.  
Loath was the Ape, though praised, to adventure,  
Yet faintly 'gan into his work to enter,  
Afraid of every leaf, that stirred him by,  
And every stick, that underneath did lie;  
Upon his tiptoes nicely he up went,  
For making noise, and still his ear he lent  
To every sound, that under heaven blue,  
Now went, now stepped, now crept, now backward drew,  
That it good sport had been him to have eyed:  
Yet at the last (so well he him applied,)  
Through his fine handling, and cleanly play,  
He all those royal signs had stolen away,  
And with the Foxes help them borne aside,  
Into a secret corner unespide.  
Whether whenas they came, they fell at words,  
Whether of them should be the Lord of Lords:  
For th'Ape was stryfull, and ambitious;  
And the Fox guileful, and most covetous,  
That neither pleased was, to have the rain  
Twixt them divided into even twain,  
But either (algates) would be Lords alone:  
For Love and Lordship bide no paragon.  
I am most worthy (said the Ape) sith I  
For it did put my life in jeopardy:  
Thereto I am in person, and in stature  
Most like a man, the Lord of every creature;  
So that it seemeth I was made to reign,  
And borne to be a Kingly sovereign.  
Nay (said the Fox) Sir Ape you are astray:  
For though to steal the Diadem away  
Were the work of your nimble hand, yet I  
Did first devise the plot by policy;  
So that it wholly springeth from my wit:  
For which also I claim myself more fit  
Than you, to rule: for government of state  
Will without wisdom soon be ruinated.  
And where ye claim yourself for outward shape  
Most like a man, Man is not like an Ape  
In his chief parts, that is, in wit and spirit;  
But I therein most like to him do merit  
For my sly wiles and subtle craftiness,  
The title of the Kingdom to possess.  
Nath'les (my brother) since we passed are  
Unto this point, we will appease our jar,  
And I with reason meet will rest content,  
That ye shall have both crown and government,  
Upon condition, that ye ruled be  
In all affairs, and counseled by me;  
And that ye let none other ever draw  
Your mind from me, but keep this as a law:  
And hereupon an oath unto me plight.  
The Ape was glad to end the strife so light,  
And thereto swore: for who would not oft swear,  
And oft unswear a Diadem to bear?  
Then freely up those royal spoils he took,  
Yet at the lions skin he inly quooke;  
But it dissembled, and upon his head  
The Crown, and on his back the skin he did,  
And the false Fox him helped to array.  
Then when he was all dight he took his way  
Into the forest, that he might be seen  
Of the wild beasts in his new glory sheen.  
There the two first, whom he encountered, were  
The Sheep and th'ass, who stricken both with fear  
At sight of him, 'gan fast away to fly,  
But unto them the Fox aloud did cry,  
And in the King's name bade them both to stay,  
Upon the pain that thereof follow may.  
Hardly naythles were they restrained so,  
Till that the Fox forth toward them did go,  
And there dissuaded them from needless fear,  
For that the King did favour to them bear;  
And therefore dreadless bade them come to Corte:  
For no wild beasts should do them any torte  
There or abroad, ne would his majesty  
Use them but well, with gracious clemency,  
As whom he knew to him both fast and true;  
So he persuaded them, with homage due  
Themselves to humble to the Ape prostrate,  
Who gently to them bowing in his gate,  
received them with cheerful entertain.  
Thenceforth proceeding with his princely train,  
He shortly met the Tiger, and the Boar,  
Which with the simple Camel raged sore  
In bitter words, seeking to take occasion,  
Upon his fleshly corpse to make invasion:  
But soon as they this mock-King did espy,  
Their troublous strife they stinted by and by,  
Thinking indeed that it the Lion was:  
He then to prove, whether his power would pass  
As currant, sent the Fox to them straight way,  
Commanding them their cause of strife bewray;  
And if that wrong on either side there were,  
That he should warn the wronger to appear  
The morrow next at Court, it to defend;  
In the mean time upon the King t'attend.  
The subtle Fox so well his message said,  
That the proud beasts him readily obeyed:  
Whereby the Ape in wondrous stomach wox,  
Strongly encorag'd by the crafty Fox;  
That King indeed himself he shortly thought,  
And all the Beasts him feared as they ought:  
And followed unto his palace high,  
Where taking Couge, each one by and by  
Departed to his home in dreadful awe,  
Full of the feared sight, which late they saw.  
The Ape thus seized of the Regal throne,  
eftsoons by counsel of the Fox alone,  
'Gan to provide for all things in assurance,  
That so his rule might longer have endurance.  
First to his Gate he pointed a strong guard,  
That none might enter but with issue hard:  
Then for the safeguard of his parsonage,  
He did appoint a warlike equipage  
Of foreign beasts, not in the forest bred,  
But part by land, and part by water fed;  
For tyranny is with strange aid supported.  
Then unto him all monstrous beasts resorted  
Bred of two kinds, as Griffons, Minotaures,  
Crocodiles, Dragons, Beavers, and Centaurs:  
With those himself he strengthened mightily,  
That fear he need no force of enemy.  
Then 'gan he rule and tyrannize at will,  
Like as the Fox did guide his graceless skill,  
And all wild beasts made vassals of his pleasures,  
And with their spoils enlarged his private treasures.  
No care of justice, nor no rule of reason,  
No temperance, nor no regard of season  
Did thenceforth ever enter in his mind,  
But cruelty, the sign of currish kind,  
And sdeignfull pride, and wilful arrogance;  
Such follows those whom fortune doth advance.  
But the false Fox most kindly played his part:  
For whatsoever mother wit, or art  
Can work, he put in proof: no practice sly,  
No counterpoint of cunning policy,  
No reach, no breach, that might him profit bring,  
But he the same did to his purpose wring.  
Nought suffered he the Ape to give or grant,  
But through his hand must pass the fiant.  
All offices, all leases by him leapt,  
And of them all whatso he liked, he kept.  
justice he sold injustice for to buy,  
And for to purchase for his progeny.  
Ill might it prosper, that ill gotten was,  
But so he got it, little did he pass.  
He fed his cubs with fat of all the soil,  
And with the sweet of others sweeting toil,  
He crammed them with crumbs of Benefices,  
And filled their mouths with meeds of malefices,  
He clothed them with all colours save white,  
And loaded them with lordships and with might,  
So much as they were able well to bear,  
That with the weight their backs nigh broken were;  
He chaffred Chairs in which Churchmen were set,  
And breach of laws to privy farm did let;  
No statute so established might be,  
Nor ordinance so needful, but that he  
Would violate, though not with violence,  
Yet under colour of the confidence  
The which the Ape reposed in him alone,  
And reckoned him the kingdoms corner stone.  
And ever when he ought would bring to pass,  
His long experience the platform was:  
And when he ought not pleasing would put by,  
The cloak was care of thrift, and husbandry,  
For to increase the common treasures store;  
But his own treasure he increased more  
And lifted up his lofty towers thereby,  
That they began to threat the neighbour sky;  
The whiles the Prince's palaces fell fast  
To ruin: (for what thing can ever last?)  
And whilst the other Peers, for poverty  
Were forced their ancient houses to let lie,  
And their old Castles to the ground to fall,  
Which their forefathers famous over all  
Had founded for the kingdoms ornament,  
And for their memories long monument.  
But he no count made of Nobility,  
Nor the wild beasts whom arms did glorify,  
The realms chief strength & garland of the crown.  
All these through feigned crimes he thrust adown,  
Or made them dwell in darkness of disgrace:  
For none, but whom he list might come in place.  
Of men of arms he had but small regard,  
But kept them low, and streigned very hard.  
For men of learning little he esteemed;  
His wisdom he above their learning deemed.  
As for the rascal Commons lest he cared;  
For not so common was his bounty shared;  
Let God (said he) if please, care for the many,  
I for myself must care before else any:  
So did he good to none, to many ill,  
So did he all the kingdom rob and pill,  
Yet none durst speak, ne none durst of him plain;  
So great he was in grace, and rich through gain.  
Ne would he any let to have access  
Unto the Prince, but by his own address:  
For all that else did come, were sure to fail,  
Yet would he further none but for avail.  
For on a time the Sheep, to whom of yore  
The Fox had promised of friendship store,  
What time the Ape the kingdom first did gain,  
Came to the Court, her case there to complain,  
How that the Wolf her mortal enemy  
Had sithence slain her Lamb most cruelly;  
And therefore craved to come unto the King,  
To let him know the order of the thing.  
Soft Goody Sheep (than said the Fox) not so:  
Unto the King so rash ye may not go,  
He is with greater matter busied,  
Than a Lamb, or the Lambs own mother's head.  
Ne certes may I take it well in part,  
That ye my cousin Wolf so foully thwart,  
And seek with slander his good name to blot:  
For there was cause, else do it he would not.  
Therefore surcease good Dame, and hence departed.  
So went the Sheep away with heavy heart.  
So many more, so every one was used,  
That to give largely to the box refused.  
Now when high jove, in whose almighty hand  
The care of Kings, and power of Empires stand,  
Sitting one day within his turret high,  
From whence he views with his blacklidded eye,  
Whatso the heaven in his wide vault contains,  
And all that in the deepest earth remains,  
And troubled kingdom of wild beasts beheld,  
Whom not their kindly Sovereign did weld,  
But an usurping Ape with guile suborned,  
Had all subverst, he sdeignfully it scorned  
In his great heart, and hardly did refrain,  
But that with thunder bolts he had him slain,  
And driven down to hell, his dewest meed:  
But him avizing, he that dreadful deed  
Forbore, and rather chose with scornful shame  
Him to avenge, and blot his brutish name  
Unto the world, that never after any  
Should of his race be void of infamy:  
And his false counsellor, the cause of all,  
To damn to death, or dole perpetual,  
From whence he never should be quit, nor staled.  
Forthwith he Mercury unto him called,  
And bade him fly with never resting speed  
Unto the forest, where wild beasts do breed,  
And there inquiring privily, to learn,  
What did of late chance to the Lion stern,  
That he ruled not the Empire, as he ought;  
And whence were all those plaints unto him brought  
Of wrongs and spoils, by salvage beasts committed;  
Which done, he bade the Lion be remitted  
Into his seat, and those same treachours vile  
Be punished for their presumptuous guile.  
The Son of Maia soon as he received  
That word, straight with his azure wings he cleaved  
The liquid clouds, and lucid firmament;  
Ne stayed, till that he came with steep descent  
Unto the place, where his prescript did show.  
There stooping like an arrow from a bow,  
He soft arrived on the grassy plain,  
And fairly paced forth with easy pain,  
Till that unto the Palace nigh he came.  
Then 'gan he to himself new shape to frame,  
And that fair face, and that Ambrosial hue,  
Which wonts to deck the Gods immortal crew,  
And beautify the shinie firmament,  
He doffed, unfit for that rude rabblement.  
So standing by the gates in strange disguise,  
He 'gan inquire of some in secret wise,  
Both of the King, and of his government,  
And of the Fox, and his false blandishment:  
And evermore he heard each one complain  
Of foul abuses both in realm and rain.  
Which yet to prove more true, he meant to see,  
And an eyewitness of each thing to be.  
though on his head his dreadful hat he dight,  
Which maketh him invisible in sight,  
And mocketh th'eyes of all the lookers on,  
Making them think it but a vision.  
Through power of that, he runs through enemy's swords;  
Through power of that, he passeth through the herds  
Of ravenous wild beasts, and doth beguile  
Their greedy mouths of the expected spoil;  
Through power of that, his cunning thieveries  
He wonts to work, that none the same espies;  
And through the power of that, he putteth on,  
What shape he list in apparition.  
That on his head he wore, and in his hand  
He took Caduceus his snaky wand,  
With which the damned ghosts he governeth,  
And furies rules, and Tartarus tempereth.  
With that he causeth sleep to seize the eyes,  
And fear the hearts of all his enemies;  
And when him list, an universal night  
Throughout the world he makes on every wight;  
As when his Sire with Alcumena lay.  
Thus dight, into the Court he took his way,  
Both through the guard, which never him descried,  
And through the watchmen, who him never spied:  
Thenceforth he passed into each secret part,  
Whereas he saw, that sorely grieved his heart;  
Each place abounding with fowl injuries,  
And filled with treasure racked with robberies:  
Each place defiled with blood of guiltless beasts,  
Which had been slain, to serve the Ape's behests;  
Gluttony, malice, pride, and covetise,  
And lawlessness reigning with riotize;  
Besides the infinite extortions,  
Done through the Foxes great oppressions,  
That the complaints thereof could not be told.  
Which when he did with lothfull eyes behold,  
He would no more endure, but came his way,  
And cast to seek the Lion, where he may,  
That he might work the avengement for this shame,  
On those two caitiffs, which had bred him blame.  
And seeking all the forest busily,  
At last he found, where sleeping he did lie:  
The wicked weed, which there the Fox did lay,  
From underneath his head he took away,  
And then him waking, forced up to rise.  
The Lion looking up 'gan him avize,  
As one late in a trance, what had of long  
Become of him: for fantasy is strong.  
Arise (said Mercury) thou sluggish beast,  
That here liest senseless, like the corpse deceased,  
The whilst thy kingdom from thy head is rend,  
And thy throne royal with dishonour blended:  
Arise, and do thyself redeem from shame,  
And be avenged on those that breed thy blame.  
Thereat enraged, soon he 'gan upstart,  
Grinding his teeth, and grating his great heart,  
And rousing up himself, for his rough hide  
He 'gan to reach; but no where it espied.  
Therewith he 'gan full terribly to roar,  
And chafed at that indignity right sore.  
But when his Crown and sceptre both he wanted,  
Lord how he fumed, and swelled, and raged, and panted;  
And threatened death, & thousand deadly dolours  
To them that had purloined his Princely honours.  
With that in haste, disrobed as he was,  
He toward his own Palace forth did pass;  
And all the way he roared as he went,  
That all the forest with astonishment  
Thereof did tremble, and the beasts therein  
Fled fast away from that so dreadful din.  
At last he came unto his mansion,  
Where all the gates he found fast locked anon,  
And many warders round about them stood:  
With that he roared aloud, as he were wood,  
That all the Palace quaked at the stound,  
As if it quite were riven from the ground,  
And all within were dead and heartless left;  
And th' Ape himself, as one whose wits were reft,  
Fled here and there, and every corner sought,  
To hide himself from his own feared thought.  
But the false Fox when he the Lion heard,  
Fled closely forth, straightway of death afeard,  
And to the Lion came, full lowly creeping,  
With feigned face, and watery eyen half weeping,  
T'excuse his former treason and abusion.  
And turning all unto the Ape's confusion:  
Nath'les the royal Beast forbore believing,  
But bade him stay at ease till further preeving.  
Then when he saw no entrance to him granted,  
Roaring yet louder that all hearts it daunted,  
Upon those gates with force he fiercely flew,  
And rending them in pieces, felly slew  
Those warders strange, and all that else he met.  
But th' Ape still flying, he no where might get:  
From room to room, from beam to beam he fled  
All breathless, and for fear now almost ded:  
Yet him at last the Lion spied, and caught,  
And forth with shame unto his judgement brought.  
Then all the beasts he caused assembled be,  
To hear their doom, and sad ensample see:  
The Fox, first Author of that treachery,  
He did uncase, and then away let fly.  
But th' Apes long tail (which then he had) he quite  
Cut off, and both ears pared of their height;  
Since which, all Apes but half their ears have left,  
And of their tails are utterly bereft.  
So Mother Hubberd her discourse did end:  
Which pardon me, if I amiss have penned,  
For weak was my remembrance it to hold,  
And bad her tongue that it so bluntly told.  
FINIS.   

Ruins of Rome: by Bellay.  

1  
YE heavenly spirits, whose ashy cinders lie  
Under deep ruins, with huge walls oppressed,  
But not your praise, the which shall never die  
Through your fair verses, ne in ashes rest;  
If so be shrilling voice of wight alive  
May reach from hence to depth of darkest hell,  
Then let those deep Abysses open rive,  
That ye may understand my shreiking yell.  
Thrice having seen under the heavens veal  
Your tombs devoted compass over all,  
Thrice unto you with loud voice I appeal,  
And for your antic fury here do call,  
The while that I with sacred horror sing  
Your glory, fairest of all earthly thing.   

2  
Great Babylon her haughty walls will praise,  
And sharped steeples high shot up in air;  
Greece will the old Ephesian buildings blaze;  
And Nilus' nurslings their Pyramids fair;  
The same yet vaunting Greece will tell the story  
Of Ioues great Image in Olympus placed,  
mausolus' work will be the Carians glory.  
And Crete will boast the Labyrinth, now razed;  
The antic Rhodian will likewise set forth  
The great coloss, erect to Memory;  
And what else in the world is of like worth,  
Some greater learned wit will magnify.  
But I will sing above all monuments  
Seven Roman Hills, the world's 7. wonderments.   

3  
Thou stranger, which for Rome in Rome here seekest,  
And nought of Rome in Rome perceivest at all,  
These same old walls, old arches, which thou seest,  
Old Palaces is that, which Rome men call.  
Behold what wreak, what ruin, and what waste,  
And how that she, which with her mighty power  
Tamed all the world, hath tamed herself at last,  
The pray of time, which all things doth devour.  
Rome now of Rome is th'only funeral,  
And only Rome of Rome hath victory;  
Ne ought save Tiber hastening to his fall  
Remains of all: O world's inconstancy.  
That which is firm doth flit and fall away,  
And that is flitting, doth abide and stay.   

4  
She, whose high top above the stars did sore,  
One foot on Thetis, th'other on the Morning,  
One hand on Scythia, th'other on the More,  
Both heaven and earth in roundness compassing,  
jove fearing, lest if she should greater grow,  
The old Giants should once again uprise,  
Her whelmed with hills, these 7. hills, which be now  
Tombs of her greatness, which did threat the skies:  
Upon her head he heaped Mount Saturnal,  
Upon her belly th'antic Palatine,  
Upon her stomach laid Mount Quirinal,  
On her left hand the noisome Esquiline,  
And Caelian on the right; but both her feet  
Mount Viminal and Aventine do meet.   

5  
Who lists to see, what ever nature, art,  
And heaven could do, O Rome, thee let him see,  
In case thy greatness he can guess in heart,  
By that which but the picture is of thee.  
Rome is no more: but if the shade of Rome  
May of the body yield a seeming sight,  
It's like a corpse drawn forth out of the tomb  
By Magic skill out of eternal night:  
The corpses of Rome in ashes is entombed,  
And her great spirit rejoined to the spirit  
Of this great mass, is in the same enwombed;  
But her brave writings, which her famous merit  
In spite of time, out of the dust doth rear,  
Do make her Idol through the world appear.   

6  
Such as the Berecynthian Goddess bright  
In her swift charet with high turrets crowned,  
Proud that so many Gods she brought to light;  
Such was this City in her good days found:  
This City, more than that great Phrygian mother  
Renowned for fruit of famous progeny,  
Whose greatness by the greatness of none other,  
But by herself her equal match could see:  
Rome only might to Rome compared be,  
And only Rome could make great Rome to tremble:  
So did the Gods by heavenly doom decree,  
That other earthly power should not resemble  
Her that did match the whole earth's puissance,  
And did her courage to the heavens advance.   

7  
Ye sacred ruins, and ye tragic sights,  
Which only do the name of Rome retain,  
Old monuments, which of so famous sprights  
The honour yet in ashes do maintain:  
Triumphant Arcks, spires neighbours to the sky,  
That you to see doth th'heaven itself appall,  
Alas, by little ye to nothing fly,  
The people's fable, and the spoil of all:  
And though your frames do for a time make war  
'Gainst time, yet time in time shall ruinated  
Your works and names, and your last relics mar.  
My sad desires, rest therefore moderate:  
For if that time make end of things so sure,  
It alswill end the pain, which I endure.   

8  
Through arms & vassals Rome the world subdued,  
That one would ween, that one sole Cities strength  
Both land and sea in roundness had surviewed,  
To be the measure of her breadth and length:  
This people's virtue yet so fruitful was  
Of virtuous nephews, that posterity  
Striving in power their grandfathers to pass,  
The lowest earth, joined to the heaven hie;  
To th'end that having all parts in their power,  
Nought from the Roman Empire might be quite,  
And that though time doth Commonwealths devour,  
Yet no time should so low embase their height,  
That her head earthed in her foundations deep,  
Should not her name and endless honour keep.   

9  
Ye cruel stars, and eke ye Gods unkind,  
Heaven envious, and bitter stepdame Nature,  
Be it by fortune, or by course of kind  
That ye do wield th'affairs of earthly creature;  
Why have your hands long sithence travailed  
To frame this world, that doth endure so long?  
Or why were not these Roman palaces  
Made of some matter no less firm and strong?  
I say not, as the common voice doth say,  
That all things which beneath the Moon have being  
Are temporal, and subject to decay:  
But I say rather, though not all agreeing  
With some, that ween the contrary in thought;  
That all this whole shall one day come to nought.   

10  
As that brave son of Aeson, which by charms  
Achieved the golden Fleece in Colchid land,  
Out of the earth engendered men of arms  
Of Dragon's teeth, sown in the sacred sand;  
So this brave Town, that in her youthly days  
An Hydra was of warriors glorious,  
Did fill with her renowned nourslings praise  
The fiery suns both one and other house:  
But they at last, there being then not living  
An Hercules, so rank seed to repress;  
Amongst themselves with cruel fury striving,  
Mowed down themselves with slaughter merciless;  
Renewing in themselves that rage unkind,  
Which whilom did those earthborn brethren blind.   

11  
Mars shaming to have given so great head  
To his offspring, that mortal puissance  
Puffed up with pride of Roman hardiehead,  
Seemed above heavens power itself to advance;  
Cooling again his former kindled heat;  
With which he had those Roman spirits filled,  
Did blow new fire, and with inflamed breath,  
Into the Gothicke cold hot rage instilled:  
Then 'gan that Nation, th'earth's new Giant brood,  
To dart abroad the thunder bolts of war,  
And beating down these walls with furious mood  
Into her mother's bosom, all did mar;  
To th'end that none, all were it jove his sire  
Should boast himself of the Roman Empire.   

12  
Like as whilom the children of the earth  
Heaped hills on hills, to scale the starry sky,  
And fight against the Gods of heavenly birth,  
Whiles jove at them his thunderbolts let fly:  
All suddenly with lightning overthrown,  
The furious squadrons down to ground did fall,  
That th'earth under her children's weight did groan,  
And th'heavens in glory triumphed over all:  
So did that haughty front which heaped was  
On these seven Roman hills, itself uprear  
Over the world, and lift her lofty face  
Against the heaven, that 'gan her force to fear.  
But now these scorned fields bemoan her fall,  
And Gods secure fear not her force at all.   

13  
Nor the swift fury of the flames aspiring,  
Nor the deep wounds of victors raging blade,  
Nor ruthless spoil of soldiers blood-desiring,  
The which so oft thee (Rome) their conquest made;  
Ne stroke on stroke of fortune variable,  
Ne rust of age hating continuance,  
Nor wrath of Gods, nor spite of men unstable,  
Nor thou opposed against thine own puissance;  
Nor th' horrible uproar of winds high blowing,  
Nor swelling streams of that God snaky-paced,  
Which hath so often with his overflowing  
Thee drenched, have thy pride so much abased;  
But that this nothing, which they have thee left,  
Makes the world wonder, what they from thee reft.   

14  
As men in Summer fearles pass the Ford,  
Which is in Winter lord of all the plain,  
And with his tumbling streams doth bear aboard  
The ploughman's hope, and shepherds labour vain:  
And as the coward beasts use to despise  
The noble Lion after his lives end,  
Whetting their teeth, and with vain foolhardise  
Daring the foe, that cannot him defend:  
And as at Troy most dastards of the Greeks'  
Did brave about the corpses of Hector cold;  
So those which whilom wont with pallid cheeks  
The Roman triumphs glory to behold,  
Now on these ashy tombs show boldness vain,  
And conquered dare the Conqueror disdain.   

15  
Ye pallid spirits, and ye ashy ghosts,  
Which joying in the brightness of your day,  
Brought forth those signs of your presumptuous boasts  
Which now their dusty relics do bewray;  
Tell me ye spirits (sith the darksome river  
Of Styx, not passable to souls returning,  
Enclosing you in thrice three wards for ever,  
Do not restrain your images still mourning)  
Tell me then (for perhaps some one of you  
Yet here above him secretly doth hide)  
Do ye not feel your torments to accrue,  
When ye sometimes behold the ruin'd pride  
Of these old Roman works built with your hands,  
To become nought else, but heaped sands?   

16  
Like as ye see the wrathful Sea from far,  
In a great mountain heaped with hideous noise,  
eftsoons of thousand billows shouldered narre,  
Against a Rock to break with dreadful poised:  
Like as ye see fell Boreas with sharp blast,  
Tossing huge tempests through the troubled sky,  
eftsoons having his wide wings spent in waist,  
To stop his weary career suddenly:  
And as ye see huge flames spread diversly,  
Gathered in one up to the heavens to spire,  
eftsoons consumed to fall down feebily:  
So whilom did this Monarchy aspire  
As waves, as wind, as fire spread over all,  
Till it by fatal doom adown did fall.   

17  
So long as Ioues great Bird did make his flight,  
Bearing the fire with which heaven doth us fray,  
Heaven had not fear of that presumptuous might,  
With which the Giants did the God's assay.  
But all so soon, as scorching Sun had brent  
His wings, which want the earth to overspredd,  
The earth out of her massy womb forth sent  
That antic horror, which made heaven adredd.  
Then was the German Raven in disguise  
That Roman Eagle seen to cleave asunder,  
And towards heaven freshly to arise  
Out of these mountains, now consumed to powder.  
In which the foul that serves to bear the lightning,  
Is now no more seen flying, nor alighting.   

18  
These heaps of stones, these old walls which ye see,  
Were first enclosures but of salvage soil;  
And these brave Palaces which maystred be  
Of time, were shepherds cottages somewhile.  
Then took the shepherds Kingly ornament  
And the stout hind armed his right hand with steel:  
eftsoons their rule of yearly Precedents  
Grew great, and six months greater a great devil;  
Which made perpetual, rose to so great might,  
That thence th'imperial Eagle rooting took,  
Till th'heaven itself opposing 'gainst her might,  
Her power to Peter's successor betook;  
Who shepheardlike, (as fates the same foreseeing)  
Doth show, that all things turn to their first being.   

19  
All that is perfect, which th'heaven beautefies;  
All that's imperfect, borne below the Moon;  
All that doth feed our spirits and our eyes;  
And all that doth consume our pleasures soon;  
All the mishap, the which our days outweares,  
All the good hap of th' oldest times afore,  
Rome in the time of her great ancestors,  
Like a Pandora, locked long in store.  
But destiny this huge Chaos turmoiling,  
In which all good and evil was enclosed,  
Their heavenly virtues from these woes assoiling,  
Carried to heaven, from sinful bondage loosed:  
But their great sins, the causers of their pain,  
Under these antic ruins yet remain.   

20  
No otherwise than rainy cloud, first fed  
With earthly vapours gathered in the air,  
eftsoons in compass arched, to steep his head,  
Doth plunge himself in Tethys' bosom fair;  
And mounting up again, from whence he came,  
With his great belly spreads the dimmed world,  
Till at the last dissolving his moist frame,  
In rain, or snow, or hail he forth is horld;  
This City, which was first but shepherds shade,  
Uprising by degrees, grew to such height,  
That Queen of land and sea herself she made.  
At last not able to bear so great weight,  
Her power dispersed, through all the world did vade;  
To show that all in th'end to nought shall fade.   

21  
The same which Pyrrhus, and the puissance  
Of Africa could not tame, that same brave City,  
Which with stout courage armed against mischance,  
Sustained the shock of common enmity;  
Long as her ship tossed with so many freaks,  
Had all the world in arms against her bent,  
Was never seen, that any fortunes wreaks  
Can break her course begun with brave intent.  
But when the object of her virtue failed,  
Her power itself against itself did arm;  
As he that having long in tempest sailed,  
Feign would arrive, but cannot for the storm,  
If too great wind against the port him drive,  
Doth in the port itself his vessel rive.   

22  
When that brave honour of the Latin name,  
Which mear'd her rule with Africa, and Byze,  
With Thames inhabitants of noble fame,  
And they which see the dawning day arise;  
Her nourslings did with mutinous uproar  
Harten against herself, her conquered spoil,  
Which she had won from all the world afore,  
Of all the world was spoiled within a while.  
So when the compassed course of the universe  
In six and thirty thousand years is run,  
The bands of th'elements shall back reverse  
To their first discord, and be quite undone:  
The seeds, of which all things at first were bred,  
Shall in great Chaos womb again be hid.   

23  
O wary wisdom of the man, that would  
That Carthage towers from spoil should be forborn,  
To th'end that his victorious people should  
With cancring leisure not be overworn;  
He well foresaw, how that the Roman courage,  
Impatient of pleasures faint desires,  
Through idleness would turn to civil rage,  
And be herself the matter of her fires.  
For in a people given all to ease,  
Ambition is engendered easily;  
As in a vicious body, gross disease  
Soon grows through humours superfluity.  
That came to pass, when swollen with plenty's pride,  
Nor prince, nor peer, nor kin they would abide.   

24  
If the blind fury, which wars breedeth oft,  
Wonts nott' enrage the hearts of equal beasts,  
Whether they far on foot, or fly aloft,  
Or armed be with claws, or scaly crests;  
What fell Erynnis with hot burning tongues,  
Did gripe your hearts, with noisome rage embued,  
That each to other working cruel wrongs,  
Your blades in your own bowels you imbrued?  
Was this (ye Romans) your hard destiny?  
Or some old sin, whose unappeased guilt  
Poured vengeance forth on you eternally?  
Or brother's blood, the which at first was spilled  
Upon your walls, that God might not endure,  
Upon the same to set foundation sure?   

25  
O that I had the Thracian Poets harp,  
For to awake out of th'infernal shade  
Those antic Caesars, sleeping long in dark,  
The which this ancient City whilom made:  
Or that I had Amphion's instrument,  
To quicken with his vital notes accord,  
The stony joints of these old walls now rend,  
By which th' Ausonian light might be restored:  
Or that at least I could with pencil fine,  
Fashion the pourtraicts of these Palacis,  
By pattern of great Virgil's spirit divine;  
I would assay with that which in me is,  
To build with level of my lofty style,  
That which no hands can evermore compile.   

26  
Who list the Roman greatness forth to figure,  
Him needeth not to seek for usage right  
Of line, or lead, or rule, or squaire, to measure  
Her length, her breadth, her deepness, or her height,  
But him behooves to view in compass round  
All that the Ocean grasps in his long arms;  
Be it where the yearly star doth scorch the ground,  
Or where cold Boreas blows his bitter storms.  
Rome was th'whole world, & all the world was Rome,  
And if things named their names do equalize,  
When land and sea ye name, then name ye Rome;  
And naming Rome ye land and sea comprise:  
For th'ancient Plot of Rome displayed plain,  
The map of all the wide world doth contain.   

27  
Thou that at Rome astonished dost behold  
The antic pride, which menaced the sky,  
These haughty heaps, these palaces of old,  
These walls, these arcks, these baths, these temples hie;  
judge by these ample ruins view, the rest  
The which injurious time hath quite outworn,  
Since of all workmen held in reckoning best,  
Yet these old fragments are for patterns borne:  
Then also mark, how Rome from day to day,  
Repairing her decayed fashion,  
Renews herself with buildings rich and gay;  
That one would judge, that the Roman Daemon  
Doth yet himself with fatal hand enforce,  
Again on foot to rear her powdered corpse.   

28  
He that hath seen a great Oak dry and dead,  
Yet clad with relics of some Trophies old,  
Lifting to heaven her aged hoary head,  
Whose foot in ground hath left but feeble hold;  
But half disbowelled lies above the ground,  
Showing her wreathed roots, and naked arms,  
And on her trunk all rotten and unsound  
Only supports herself for meat of worms;  
And though she own her fall to the first wind,  
Yet of the devout people is adored,  
And many young plants spring out of her rind;  
Who such an Oak hath seen, let him record  
That such this City's honour was of yore,  
And 'mongst all Cities flourished much more.   

29  
All that which Egypt whilom did devise,  
All that which Greece their temples to embrave,  
After th'ionicke, Attic, Doric guise,  
Or Corinth skilled in curious works to grave;  
All that Lysippus practic art could form,  
Apelles wit, or Phidias his skill,  
Was wont this ancient City to adorn,  
And the heaven itself with her wide wonders fill;  
All that which Athens ever brought forth wise,  
All that which Africa ever brought forth strange,  
All that which Asie ever had of prize,  
Was here to see. O marvelous great change:  
Rome living, was the world's sole ornament,  
And dead, is now the world's sole monument.   

30  
Like as the seeded field green grass first shows,  
Then from green grass into a stalk doth spring,  
And from a stalk into an ear forth-growes,  
Which ear the fruitful grain doth shortly bring;  
And as in season due the husband mows  
The waving locks of those fair yellow hears,  
Which bound in sheaves, and laid in comely rows,  
Upon the naked fields in stalks he rears:  
So grew the Roman Empire by degree,  
Till that Barbarian hands it quite did spill,  
And left of it but these old marks to see,  
Of which all passers by do somewhat pill:  
As they which glean, the relics use to gather,  
Which th'husbandman behind him chanced to scatter.   

31  
That same is now nought but a champain wide,  
Where all this world's pride once was situate.  
No blame to thee, whosoever dost abide  
By Nile, or Ganges, or Tiger, or Euphrate,  
Ne Africa thereof guilty is, nor Spain,  
Nor the bold people by the Thamis brinks,  
Nor the brave warlike brood of Alemaine,  
Nor the born Soldier which Rhine running drinks:  
Thou only cause, o Civil fury, art  
Which sowing in th' Aemathian fields thy spite,  
Didst arm thy hand against thy proper heart;  
To th'end that when thou wast in greatest height  
To greatness grown, through long prosperity,  
Thou then adown mightst fall more horribly.   

32  
Hope ye my verses that posterity  
Of age ensuing shall you ever read?  
Hope ye that ever immortality  
So mean haps work may challenge for her meed?  
If under heaven any endurance were,  
These monuments, which not in paper writ,  
But in Porphyre and Marble do appear,  
Might well have hoped to have obtained it.  
Nath'les my Lute, whom Phoebus deigned to give,  
Cease not to sound these old antiquities:  
For if that time do let thy glory live,  
Well mayst thou boast, how ever base thou be,  
That thou art first, which of thy Nation song  
Th'old honour of the people gowned long.   

L'Envoy.  
Bellay, first garland of free Poesy  
That France brought forth, though fruitful of brave wits,  
Well worthy thou of immortality,  
That long hast traveled by thy learned writs,  
Old Rome out of her ashes to revive,  
And give a second life to dead decays:  
Needs must he all eternity survive,  
That can to other give eternal days.  
Thy days therefore are endless, and thy praise  
Excelling all, that ever went before;  
And after thee, 'gins Bartas high to raise  
His heavenly Muse, th'almighty to adore.  
Live happy spirits, th'honour of your name,  
And fill the world with never dying fame.   
FINIS.   

MVIOPOTMOS, Or The Fate of the Butterfly.  
By ED. SP.  
Dedicated to the most fair and virtuous Lady: the Lady Carey.  
LONDON. Imprinted for William Ponsonbie, dwelling in Paul's Churchyard at the sign of the Bishop's head.  
1590.   

To the right worthy and virtuous Lady; the La: Carey.  
MOst brave and bountiful La: for so excellent favours as I have received at your sweet hands, to offer these few leaves as in recompense, should be as to offer flowers to the Gods for their divine benefits. Therefore I have determined to give myself wholly to you, as quite abandoned from myself, and absolutely vowed to your services: which in all right is ever held for full recompense of debt or damage to have the person yielded. My person I wots well how little worth it is. But the faithful mind & humble zeal which I bear unto your La: may perhaps be more of price, as may please you to account and use the poor service thereof; which taketh glory to advance your excellent parts and noble virtues, and to spend itself in honouring you: not so much for your great bounty to myself, which yet may not be unminded; nor for name or kindred's sake by you vouchsafed, being also regardable; as for that honourable name, which ye have by your brave deserts purchased to yourself, & spread in the mouths of all men: with which I have also presumed to grace my verses, & under your name to commend to the world this small poem, the which beseeching your La: to take in worth, and of all things therein according to your wont graciousness to make a mild construction, I humbly pray for your happiness.  
Your La: ever humbly; E. S.   

Muiopotmos: or The Fate of the Butterfly.  

I Sing of deadly dolorous debate,  
Stirred up through wrathful Nemesis despite,  
Betwixt two mighty ones of great estate,  
Drawn into arms, and proof of mortal fight,  
Through proud ambition, and hartswelling hate,  
Whilst neither could the others greater might  
And sdeignfull scorn endure; that from small jar  
Their wraths at length broke into open war.   

The root whereof and tragical effect,  
Vouchsafe, O thou the mournfullest Muse of nine.  
That wontst the tragic stage for to direct,  
In funeral complaints and waylfull tyne,  
Reveal to me, and all the means detect,  
Through which sad Clarion did at last decline  
To lowest wretchedness; And is there then  
Such rancour in the hearts of mighty men?   

Of all the race of siluer-winged Flies  
Which do possess the Empire of the air,  
Betwixt the centred earth, and azure skies,  
Was none more favourable, nor more fair,  
Whilst heaven did favour his felicities,  
Then Clarion, the eldest son and hair  
Of Muscaroll, and in his father's sight  
Of all alive did seem the fairest wight.   

With fruitful hope his aged breast he fed  
Of future good, which his young toward years,  
Full of brave courage and bold hardyhed,  
Above th'ensample of his equal pears,  
Did largely promise, and to him forered  
(Whilst oft his heart did melt in tender tears)  
That he in time would sure prove such an one,  
As should be worthy of his father's throne.   

The fresh young fly, in whom the kindly fire  
Of lustful yonght began to kindle fast,  
Did much disdain to subject his desire  
To loathsome sloth, or hours in ease to waste,  
But joyed to range abroad in fresh attire;  
Through the wide compass of the airy coast,  
And with unwearied wings each part t'inquire  
Of the wide rule of his renowned sire.   

For he so swift and nimble was of flight,  
That from this lower tract he dared to sty  
Up to the clouds, and thence with pinions light,  
To mount aloft unto the crystal sky,  
To view the workmanship of heavens height:  
Whence down descending he along would fly  
Upon the streaming rivers, sport to find;  
And oft would dare to tempt the troublous wind.   

So on a Summer's day, when season mild  
With gentle calm the world had quieted,  
And high in heaven Hyperions fiery child  
Ascending, did his beams abroad dispred,  
Whiles all the heavens on lower creatures smiled;  
Young Clarion with vauntfull lusty head,  
After his guise did cast abroad to far;  
And thereto 'gan his furnitures prepare.   

His breastplate first, that was of substance pure,  
Before his noble heart he firmly bound,  
That mought his life from iron death assure,  
And ward his gentle corpses from cruel wound:  
For it by art was framed, to endure  
The bit of baleful steel and bitter stound,  
No less than that, which Vulcan made to shield  
Achilles' life from fate of Trojan field.   

And then about his shoulders broad he threw  
An hairy hide of some wild beast, whom he  
In salvage forest by adventure slew,  
And rest the spoil his ornament to be:  
Which spreading all his back with dreadful view,  
Made all that him so horrible did see,  
Think him Alcides with the lions skin,  
When the Naemean Conquest he did win.   

Upon his head his glistering Burganet,  
The which was wrought by wondrous device,  
And curiously engraven, he did set:  
The metal was of rare and passing price;  
Not Bilbo steel, nor brass from Corinth fet,  
Nor costly Oricalche from strange Phoenicia;  
But such as could both Phoebus' arrows ward,  
And th' hailing darts of heaven beating hard.   

Therein two deadly weapons fixed he bore,  
Strongly outlaunced towards either side,  
Like two sharp spears, his enemies to gore:  
Like as a warlike Brigandine, applied  
To fight, lays forth her threatfull pikes afore,  
The engines which in them sad death do hide:  
So did this fly outstretch his fearful horns,  
Yet so as him their terror more adorns.   

Lastly his shinie wings as silver bright,  
Painted with thousand colours, passing far  
All Painter's skill, he did about him dight:  
Not half so many sundry colours are  
In Iris bow, ne heaven doth shine so bright,  
Distinguished with many a twinkling star,  
Nor juno's Bird in her ey-spotted train  
So many goodly colours doth contain.   

Ne (may it be withouten peril spoken)  
The Archer God, the son of Cytheree,  
That joys on wretched lovers to be wroken,  
And heaped spoils of bleeding hearts to see,  
Bears in his wings so many a changeful token.  
Ah my liege Lord, forgive it unto me,  
If aught against thine honour I have told;  
Yet sure those wings were fairer manifold.   

Full many a Lady fair, in Court full oft  
Beholding them, him secretly envied,  
And wished that two such fans, so silken soft,  
And golden fair, her Love would her provide;  
Or that when them the gorgeous Fly had doffed,  
Some one that would with grace be gratified,  
From him would steal them privily away,  
And bring to her so precious a prey.   

Report is that dame Venus on a day,  
In spring when flowers do cloth the fruitful ground,  
Walking abroad with all her Nymphs to play,  
Bad her fair damsels flocking her arownd,  
To gather flowers, her forehead to array:  
Amongst the rest a gentle Nymph was found,  
hight Astery, excelling all the crew  
In courteous usage, and unstained hew.   

Who being nimbler jointed than the rest,  
And more industrious, gathered more store  
Of the fields honour, than the others best;  
Which they in secret hearts envying sore,  
Told Venus, when her as the worthiest  
She praised, that Cupid (as they heard before)  
Did lend her secret aid, in gathering  
Into her lap the children of the spring.   

Whereof the Goddess gathering jealous fear,  
Not yet unmindful, how not long ago  
Her son to Psyche secret love did bear,  
And long it close concealed, till much woe  
Thereof arose, and many a rueful tear;  
Reason with sudden rage did overgo,  
And giving hasty credit to th'accuser,  
Was led away of them that did abuse her.   

eftsoons that Damsel by her heavenly might,  
She turned into a winged Butterfly,  
In the wide air to make her wandering flight;  
And all those flowers, with which so plenteously  
Her lap she filled had, that bred her spite,  
She placed in her wings, for memory  
Of her pretended crime, though crime none were:  
Since which that fly them in her wings doth bear.   

Thus the fresh Clarion being ready dight,  
Unto his journey did himself address,  
And with good speed began to take his flight:  
Over the fields in his frank lustiness,  
And all the champion he soared light,  
And all the country wide he did possess,  
Feeding upon their pleasures bounteously,  
That none gainsaid, nor none did him envy.   

The woods, the rivers, and the meadows green,  
With his aire-cutting wings he measured wide,  
Ne did he leave the mountains bore unseen,  
Nor the rank grassy fens delights untried.  
But none of these, how ever sweet they been,  
Mote please his fancy, nor him cause t'abide:  
His choicefull sense with every change doth flit.  
No common things may please a wavering wit.   

To the gay gardens his unstaid desire  
Him wholly carried, to refresh his sprights:  
There lavish Nature in her best attire,  
Powers forth sweet odours, and alluring sights;  
And Art with her contending, doth aspire  
T'excel the natural, with made delights:  
And all that fair or pleasant may be found,  
In riotous excess doth there abound.   

There he arriving, round about doth fly,  
From bed to bed, from one to other border,  
And takes survey with curious busy eye,  
Of every flower and herb there set in order;  
Now this, now that he tasteth tenderly,  
Yet none of them he rudely doth disorder,  
Ne with his feet their silken leaves deface;  
But pastures on the pleasures of each place.   

And evermore with most variety,  
And change of sweetness (for all change is sweet)  
He casts his glutton sense to satisfy,  
Now sucking of the sap of herb most meet,  
Or of the dew, which yet on them does lie,  
Now in the same bathing his tender feet:  
And then he percheth on some branch thereby,  
To weather him, and his moist wings to dry.   

And then again he turneth to his play,  
To spoil the pleasures of that Paradise:  
The wholesome Saulge, and Lavender still grey,  
Rank smelling Rue, and Cummin good for eyes,  
The Roses reigning in the pride of May,  
Sharp Isope, good for green wounds remedies,  
Fair Marigolds, and Bees alluring Thime,  
Sweet Marjoram, and Daisies decking prime.   

Cool Violets, and Orpine growing still,  
Embathed Balm, and cheerful Galingale,  
Fresh Costmarie, and breathfull Camomile,  
Poppy, and drink-quickning Setuale,  
Veyne-healing Veruen, and hed-purging Dill,  
Sound Savoury, and Bazill hartie-hale,  
Fat coleworts, and comforting Perseline,  
Cold Lettuce, and refreshing Rosmarine.   

And whatso else of virtue good or ill  
Grew in this Gardin, fetched from far away,  
Of every one he takes, and tastes at will,  
And on their pleasures greedily doth pray.  
Then when he hath both played, and fed his fill,  
In the warm Sun he doth himself embay,  
And there him rests in riotous suffisance  
Of all his gladfulness, and kingly ioyaunce.   

What more felicity can fall to creature,  
Than to enjoy delight with liberty,  
And to be Lord of all the works of Nature,  
To rain in th'air from earth to highest sky,  
To feed on flowers, and weeds of glorious feature,  
To take what ever thing doth please the eye?  
Who rests not pleased with such happiness,  
Well worthy he to taste of wretchedness.   

But what on earth can long abide in state?  
Or who can him assure of happy day;  
Sith morning fair may bring fowl evening late,  
And least mishap the most bliss alter may?  
For thousand perils lie in close await  
About us daily, to work our decay;  
That none, except a God, or God him guide,  
May them avoid, or remedy provide.   

And whatso heavens in their secret doom  
Ordained have, how can frail fleshly wight  
Forecast, but it must needs to issue come?  
The sea, the air, the fire, the day, the night,  
And th'armies of their creatures all and some  
Do serve to them, and with importune might  
War against us the vassals of their will.  
Who then can save, what they dispose to spill?   

Not thou, O Clarion, though fairest thou  
Of all thy kind, unhappy happy Fly,  
Whose cruel fate is woven even now  
Of Ioues own hand, to work thy misery:  
Ne may thee help the many hearty vow,  
Which thy old Sire with sacred piety  
Hath powered forth for thee, and th'altars sprent:  
Nought may thee save from heavens avengement.   

It fortuned (as heavens had behight)  
That in this gardin, where young Clarion  
Was wont to solace him, a wicked wight  
The foe of fair things, th'author of confusion,  
The shame of Nature, the bondslave of spite,  
Had lately built his hateful mansion,  
And lurking closely, in a wait now lay.  
How he might any in his trap betray.   

But when he spied the joyous Butterfly  
In this fair plot displacing too and fro,  
Fearless of foes and hidden jeopardy,  
Lord how he 'gan for to bestir him tho,  
And to his wicked work each part apply:  
His heart did earn against his hated foe,  
And bowels so with rankling poison swelled,  
That scarce the skin the strong contagion held.   

The cause why he this Fly so maliced,  
Was (as in stories it is written found)  
For that his mother which him bore and bred,  
The most fine fingered workwoman on ground,  
Arachne, by his means was vanquished  
Of Pallas, and in her own skill confound,  
When she with her for excellence contended,  
That wrought her shame, and sorrow never ended.   

For the Tritonian Goddess having hard  
Her blazed fame, which all the world had filled,  
Came down to prove the truth, and due reward  
For her praiseworthy workmanship to yield  
But the presumptuous Damsel rashly dared  
The Goddess self to challenge to the field,  
And to compare with her in curious skill  
Of works with loom, with needle, and with quill.   

Minerva did the challenge not refuse,  
But deigned with her the paragon to make:  
So to their work they sit, and each doth choose  
What story she will for her tapet take.  
Arachne figured how jove did abuse  
Europa like a Bull, and on his back  
Her through the sea did bear; so lively seen,  
That it true Sea, and true Bull ye would ween.   

She seemed still back unto the land to look,  
And her play-fellows aid to call, and fear  
The dashing of the waves, that up she took  
Her dainty feet, and garments gathered near:  
But (Lord) how she in every member shook,  
When as the land she saw no more appear,  
But a wild wilderness of waters deep:  
Then 'gan she greatly to lament and weep.   

Before the Bull she pictured winged Love,  
With his young brother Sport, light fluttering  
Upon the waves, as each had been a Dove;  
The one his bow and shafts, the other Spring  
A burning Teade about his head did move,  
As in their Sires new love both triumphing:  
And many Nymphs about them flocking round,  
And many Tritons, which their horns did sound.   

And round about, her work she did impale  
With a fair border wrought of sundry flowers,  
enwoven with an Ivy winding trail:  
A goodly work, full fit for Kingly bowers,  
Such as Dame Pallas, such as envy pale,  
That all good things with venomous tooth devowres,  
Can not accuse. Then 'gan the Goddess bright  
Herself likewise unto her work to dight.   

She made the story of the old debate,  
Which she with Neptune did for Athens try:  
Twelve Gods do sit around in royal state,  
And jove in midst with awful Majesty,  
To judge the strife between them stirred late:  
Each of the Gods by his like physiognomy  
Each to be known; but jove above them all,  
By his great looks and power imperial.   

Before them stands the God of Seas in place,  
Claiming that sea-coast City as his right,  
And strikes the rocks with his threeforked mace;  
Whenceforth issues a warlike steed in sight,  
The sign by which he challengeth the place,  
That all the Gods, which saw his wondrous might  
Did surely deem the victory his due:  
But seldom seen, forejudgement proveth true.   

Then to herself she gives her Aegide shield,  
And steelhed spear, and morion on her head,  
Such as she oft is seen in warlike field:  
Then sets she forth, how with her weapon dredd  
She smote the ground, the which straight forth did yield  
A fruitful olive tree, with berries spread,  
That all the Gods admired; then all the story  
She compassed with a wreath of olives hoary.   

Amongst those leaves she made a Butterfly,  
With excellent device and wondrous slight,  
Fluttring among the Olives wanton,  
That seemed to live, so like it was in sight:  
The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie,  
The silken down with which his back is dight,  
His broad outstretched horns, his hairy thighs,  
His glorious colours, and his glistering eyes.   

Which when Arachne saw, as overlaid,  
And mastered with workmanship so rare,  
She stood astonished long, ne aught gainsaid,  
And with fast fixed eyes on her did stare,  
And by her silence, sign of one dismayed,  
The victory did yield her as her share:  
Yet did she inly fret, and felly burn,  
And all her blood to poisonous rancour turn.   

That shortly from the shape of womanhood  
Such as she was, when Pallas she attempted.  
She grew to hideous shape of dryrihed,  
Pined with grief of folly late repent:  
eftsoons her white straight legs were altered  
To crooked crawling shanks, of marrow empted,  
And her fair face to fowl and loathsome hew,  
And her fine corpses to a bag of venom grew.   

This cursed creature, mindful of that old  
Enfested grudge, the which his mother felt,  
So soon as Clarion he did behold,  
His heart with vengeful malice inly swelled;  
And weaving strait a net with many a fold  
About the cave, in which he lurking dwelled,  
With fine small cords about it stretched wide,  
So finely spun, that scarce they could be spied.   

Not any damsel, which her vaunteth most  
In skilful knitting of soft silken twine;  
Nor any weaver, which his work doth boast  
In diaper, in damask, or in line;  
Nor any skilled in workmanship embossed;  
Nor any skilled in loupes of fingering fine,  
Might in their divers cunning ever dare,  
With this so curious network to compare.   

Ne do I think, that that same subtle gin,  
The which the Lemnian God framed craftily,  
Mars sleeping with his wife to compass in,  
That all the Gods with common mockery  
Might laugh at them, and scorn their shameful sin,  
Was like to this. This same he did apply,  
For to entrap the careless Clarion,  
That ranged each where without suspicion.   

Suspicion of friend, nor fear of foe,  
That hazarded his health, had he at all,  
But walked at will, and wandered too and fro,  
In the pride of his freedom principal:  
Little witted he his fatal future woe,  
But was secure, the liker he to fall.  
He likest is to fall into mischance,  
That is regardless of his governance.   

Yet still Aragnoll (so his foe was height)  
Lay lurking covertly him to surprise,  
And all his gins that him entangle might,  
Dressed in good order as he could devise.  
At length the foolish Fly without foresight,  
As he that did all danger quite despise,  
Toward those parts came flying carelessly,  
Where hidden was his hateful enemy.   

Who seeing him, with secret joy therefore  
Did tickle inward in every vain,  
And his false heart fraught with all treason's store,  
Was filled with hope, his purpose to obtain:  
Himself he close upgathered more and more  
Into his den, that his deceitful train  
By his there being might not be bewrayed,  
Ne any noise, ne any motion made.   

Like as a wily Fox, that having spied,  
Where on a sunny bank the Lambs do play,  
Full closely creeping by the hinder side,  
Lies in ambushment of his hoped prey,  
Ne stirreth limb, till seeing ready tide,  
He rusheth forth, and snatcheth quite away  
One of the little younglings unawares:  
So to his work Aragnoll him prepares.   

Who now shall give unto my heavy eyes  
A well of tears, that all may overflow?  
Or where shall I find lamentable cries,  
And mournful tunes enough my grief to show?  
help O thou Tragic Muse, me to devise  
Notes sad enough, t'express this bitter throw:  
For lo, the dreary stound is now arrived,  
That of all happiness hath us deprived.   

The luckless Clarion, whether cruel Fate,  
Or wicked Fortune faultless him misled,  
Or some ungracious blast out of the gate  
Of Aeolus rain perforce him drove on head,  
Was (O sad hap and hour unfortunate)  
With violent swift flight forth carried  
Into the cursed cobweb, which his foe  
Had framed for his final overthrow.   

There the fond Fly entangled, struggled long,  
Himself to free thereout; but all in vain.  
For striving more, the more in laces strong  
Himself he tied, and wrapped his wings twain  
In lymie snares the subtle loupes among;  
That in the end he breathless did remain,  
And all his yougthly forces idly spent,  
Him to the mercy of th'avenger lent.   

Which when the grisly tyrant did espy,  
Like a grim Lion rushing with fierce might  
Out of his den, he seized greedily  
On the resistless prey, and with fell spite,  
Under the left wing struck his weapon sly  
Into his heart, that his deep groaning sprite  
In bloody streams forth fled into the air,  
His body left the spectacle of care.   
FINIS.   

Visions of the world's vanity.  

1  
ONe day, whiles that my daily cares did sleep,  
My spirit, shaking off her earthly prison,  
Began to enter into meditation deep  
Of things exceeding reach of common reason;  
Such as this age, in which all good is geason,  
And all that humble is and mean debased,  
Hath brought forth in her last declining season,  
Grief of good minds, to see goodness disgraced.  
On which when as my thought was throughly placed,  
Unto my eyes strange shows presented were,  
Picturing that, which I in mind embraced,  
That yet those sights empassion me full near.  
Such as they were (fair Lady) take in worth,  
That when time serves, may bring things better forth.   

2  
In Summers' day, when Phoebus fairly shone,  
I saw a Bull as white as driven snow,  
With gilded horns embowed like the Moon,  
In a fresh flowering meadow lying low:  
Up to his ears the verdant grass did grow,  
And the gay flowers did offer to be eaten;  
But he with fatness so did overflow,  
That he all wallowed in the weeds down beaten,  
Ne cared with them his dainty lips to sweeten:  
Till that a Breeze, a scorned little creature,  
Through his fair hide his angry sting did threaten,  
And vexed so sore, that all his goodly feature,  
And all his plenteous pasture nought him pleased:  
So by the small the great is oft diseased.   

3  
Beside the fruitful shore of muddy Nile,  
Upon a sunny bank outstretched lay  
In monstrous length, a mighty Crocodile,  
That crammed with guiltless blood, and greedy pray  
Of wretched people travailing that way,  
Thought all things less than his disdainful pride.  
I saw a little Bird, called Tedula,  
The least of thousands which on earth abide,  
That forced this hideous beast to open wide  
The grisly gates of his devouring hell,  
And let him feed, as Nature doth provide,  
Upon his jaws, that with black venom swell.  
Why then should greatest things the least disdain,  
Sith that so small so mighty can constrain?   

4  
The kingly Bird, that bears Ioues thunderclap,  
One day did scorn the simple Scarabee,  
Proud of his highest service, and good hap,  
That made all other Fowls his thralls to be:  
The silly Fly, that no redress did see,  
Spied where the Eagle built his towering nest,  
And kindling fire within the hollow tree,  
Burnt up his young ones, and himself distressed;  
Ne suffered him in any place to rest,  
But drove in Ioues own lap his eggs to lay;  
Where gathering also filth him to infest,  
Forced with the filth his eggs to fling away:  
For which when as the Fowl was wroth, said jove,  
Lo how the least the greatest may reprove.   

5  
Toward the sea turning my troubled eye,  
I saw the fish (if fish I may it clepe)  
That makes the sea before his face to fly,  
And with his flaggie fins doth seem to sweep  
The foamy waves out of the dreadful deep,  
The huge Leviathan, dame Nature's wonder,  
Making his sport, that many makes to weep:  
A swordfish small him from the rest did sunder,  
That in his throat him pricking softly under,  
His wide Abyss him forced forth to spew,  
That all the sea did roar like heavens thunder,  
And all the waves were stained with filthy hew.  
Hereby I learned have, not to despise,  
What ever thing seems small in common eyes.   

6  
An hideous Dragon, dreadful to behold,  
Whose back was armed against the dint of spear,  
With shields of brass, that shone like burnished gold,  
And forkhed sting, that death in it did bear,  
strove with a Spider his unequal pear:  
And bad defiance to his enemy.  
The subtle vermin creeping closely near,  
Did in his drink shed poison privily;  
Which through his entrails spreading diversly,  
Made him to swell, that nigh his bowels burst,  
And him enforced to yield the victory,  
That did so much in his own greatness trust.  
O how great vainness is it then to scorn  
The weak, that hath the strong so oft forlorn.   

7  
High on a hill a goodly Cedar grew,  
Of wondrous length, and straight proportion,  
That far abroad her dainty odours threw;  
'mongst all the daughters of proud Libanon,  
Her match in beauty was not any one.  
Shortly within her inmost pith there bred  
A little wicked worm, perceived of none,  
That on her sap and vital moisture fed:  
Thenceforth her garland so much honoured  
Began to die, (O great ruth for the same)  
And her fair locks fell from her lofty head,  
That shortly bald, and bared she became.  
I, which this sight beheld, was much dismayed,  
To see so goodly thing so soon decayed.   

8  
Soon after this I saw an Elephant,  
Adorned with bells and bosses gorgeously,  
That on his back did bear (as batteilant)  
A gilded tower, which shone exceedingly;  
That he himself through foolish vanity,  
Both for his rich attire, and goodly form,  
Was puffed up with passing surquedry,  
And shortly 'gan all other beasts to scorn.  
Till that a little Ant, a silly worm,  
Into his nostrils creeping, so him pained,  
That casting down his towers, he did deform  
Both borrowed pride, and native beauty stained.  
Let therefore nought that great is, therein glory,  
Sith so small thing his happiness may vary.   

9  
Looking far forth into the Ocean wide,  
A goodly ship with banners bravely dight,  
And flag in her top-gallant I espied,  
Through the main sea making her merry flight:  
Fair blew the wind into her bosom right;  
And th' heavens looked lovely all the while,  
That she did seem to dance, as in delight,  
And at her own felicity did smile.  
All suddenly there clove unto her keel  
A little fish, that men call Remora,  
Which stopped her course, and held her by the heel,  
That wind nor tide could move her thence away.  
Strange thing me seemeth, that so small a thing  
Should able be so great an one to wring.   

10  
A mighty Lion, Lord of all the wood,  
Having his hunger thoroughly satisfied,  
With pray of beasts, and spoil of living blood,  
Safe in his dreadless den him thought to hide:  
His sternness was his praise, his strength his pride,  
And all his glory in his cruel claws.  
I saw a wasp, that fiercely him defied,  
And bade him battle even to his jaws;  
Sore he him stung, that it the blood forth draws,  
And his proud heart is filled with fretting ire:  
In vain he threats his teeth, his tail, his paws,  
And from his bloody eyes doth sparkle fire;  
That dead himself he wisheth for despite.  
So weakest may annoy the most of might.   

11  
What time the Roman Empire bore the rain  
Of all the world, and flourished most in might,  
The nations 'gan their sovereignty disdain,  
And cast to quit them from their bondage quite:  
So when all shrouded were in silent night,  
The Galls were, by corrupting of a maid,  
Possessed nigh of the Capitol through slight,  
Had not a Goose the treachery bewrayed.  
If then a Goose great Rome from ruin stayed,  
And jove himself, the patron of the place,  
Preserved from being to his foes betrayed,  
Why do vain men mean things so much deface,  
And in their might repose their most assurance,  
Sith nought on earth can challenge long endurance?   

12  
When these sad sights were overpast and gone,  
My sprite was greatly moved in her rest,  
With inward ruth and dear affection,  
To see so great things by so small distressed:  
Thenceforth I 'gan in my engrieved breast  
To scorn all difference of great and small,  
Sith that the greatest often are oppressed,  
And unawares do into danger fall.  
And ye, that read these ruins tragical  
Learn by their loss to love the low degree,  
And if that fortune chance you up to call  
To honour's seat, forget not what you be:  
For he that of himself is most secure,  
Shall find his state most fickle and unsure.   
FINIS.   

The Visions of Bellay.  

1  
IT was the time, when rest soft sliding down  
From heavens height into men's heavy eyes,  
In the forgetfulness of sleep doth drown  
The careful thoughts of mortal miseries:  
Then did a Ghost before mine eyes appear,  
On that great rivers bank, that runs by Rome,  
Which calling me by name, bade me to rear  
My looks to heaven whence all good gifts do come,  
And crying loud, lo now behold (quoth he)  
What under this great temple placed is:  
Lo all is nought but flying vanity.  
So I that know this world's inconstancies.  
Sith only God surmounts all times decay,  
In God alone my confidence do stay.   

2  
On high hills top I saw a stately frame,  
An hundred cubits high by just assize,  
With hundredth pillars fronting fair the same,  
All wrought with Diamond after Doric wise:  
Nor brick, nor marble was the wall in view,  
But shining Crystal, which from top to base  
Out of her womb a thousand rayons threw,  
One hundred steps of Africa golds enchase:  
Gold was the parget, and the ceiling bright  
Did shine all scaly with great plates of gold;  
The floor of jasp and emerald was dight.  
O worlds vainess. Whiles thus I did behold,  
An earthquake shook the hill from lowest seat,  
And overthrew this frame with ruin great.   

3  
Then did a sharped spire of Diamond bright,  
Ten feet each way in square, appear to me,  
justly proportioned up unto his height,  
So far as Archer might his level see:  
The top thereof a pot did seem to bear,  
Made of the metal, which we most do honour,  
And in this golden vessel couched wear  
The ashes of a mighty Emperor:  
Upon four corners of the base were pight,  
To bear the frame, four great Lions of gold;  
A worthy tomb for such a worthy wight.  
Alas this world doth nought but grievance hold.  
I saw a tempest from the heaven descend,  
Which this brave monument with flash did rend.   

4  
I saw raised up on ivory pillows tall,  
Whose bases were of richest metals work,  
The chapters Alabaster, the friezes crystal,  
The double front of a triumphal Ark:  
On each side purtraid was a Victory,  
Clad like a Nymph, that wings of silver wears,  
And in triumphant chair was set on high,  
The ancient glory of the Roman Pears.  
No work it seemed of earthly craftsmans' wit,  
But rather wrought by his own industry,  
That thunder-dartes for jove his sire doth fit.  
Let me no more see fair thing under sky,  
Sith that mine eyes have seen so fair a sight  
With sudden fall to dust consumed quite.   

5  
Then was the fair Dodonian tree far seen,  
Upon seven hills to spread his gladsome gleam,  
And conquerors bedecked with his green,  
Along the banks of the Ausonian stream:  
There many an ancient Trophy was addressed.  
And many a spoil, and many a goodly show,  
Which that brave races greatness did attest,  
That whilom from the Trojan blood did flow.  
ravished I was so rare a thing to view,  
When lo a barbarous troop of clownish fone  
The honour of these noble boughs down threw,  
Under the wedge I heard the tronck to groan;  
And since I saw the root in great disdain  
A twin of forked trees send forth again.   

6  
I saw a Wolf under a rocky cave  
Nursing two whelps; I saw her little ones  
In wanton dalliance the teat to crave,  
While she her neck wreathed from them for the nonce:  
I saw her range abroad to seek her food,  
And roaming through the field with greedy rage  
T' embrew her teeth & claws with lukewarm blood  
Of the small herds, her thirst for to assuage.  
I saw a thousand huntsmen, which descended  
Down from the mountains bordering Lombardie,  
That with an hundred spears her flank wide rended.  
I saw her on the plain outstretched lie,  
Throwing out thousand throbs in her own soil:  
Soon on a tree vphanged I saw her spoil.   

7  
I saw the Bird that can the Sun endure,  
With feeble wings assay to mount on height.  
By more and more she 'gan her wings t' assure,  
Following th' ensample of her mother's sight:  
I saw her rise, and with a larger flight  
To pierce the clouds, and with wide pinneons  
To measure the most haughty mountains hight,  
Until she reached the Gods own mansions:  
There was she lost, when sudden I beheld,  
Where tumbling through the air in fiery fold;  
All flaming down she on the plain was field,  
And soon her body turned to ashes cold.  
I saw the foul that doth the light despise,  
Out of her dust like to a worm arise.   

8  
I saw a river swift, whose foamy billows  
Did wash the ground work of an old great walls  
I saw it covered all with grisly shadows,  
That with black horror did the air appall:  
Thereout a strange beast with seven heads arose,  
The towns and castles under her breast did coure,  
And seemed both milder beasts and fiercer foes  
Alike with equal ravin to devour.  
Much was I amazed, to see this monsters kind  
In hundred forms to change his fearful hue,  
When as at length I saw the wrathful wind,  
Which blows cold storms, burst out of Scythian mew  
That spersed these clouds, and in so short as thought,  
This dreadful shape was vanished to nought.   

9  
Then all astoined with this mighty ghost,  
An hideous body big and strong I saw,  
With side long beard, and locks down hanging lost,  
Stern face, and front full of Saturnlike awe;  
Who leaning on the belly of a pot.  
Poured forth a water, whose out gushing flood  
Ran bathing all the creakie shore aflot,  
Whereon the Trojan prince spilled Turnus blood;  
And at his feet a bitch wolf suck did yield  
To two young babes: his left the Palm three stout,  
His right hand did the peaceful Olive wield,  
And head with Laurel garnished was about.  
Sudden both Palm and Olive fell away,  
And fair green Laurel branch did quite decay.   

10  
Hard by a rivers side a virgin fair,  
Folding her arms to heaven with thousand throbs,  
And outraging her cheeks and golden hair,  
To falling rivers sound thus tuned her sobs.  
Where is (quoth she) this whilom honoured face?  
Where the great glory and the ancient praise,  
In which all world's felicity had place,  
When Gods and men my honour up did raise?  
Suffisd it not that civil wars me made  
The whole world's spoil, but that this Hydra new,  
Of hundred Hercules to be assayed,  
With seven heads, budding monstrous crimes anew,  
So many nero's and Caligula's  
Out of these crooked shores must daily raise.   

11  
Upon an hill a bright flame I did see,  
Waving aloft with triple point to sky,  
Which like incense of precious Cedar tree,  
With balmy odours filled th' air far and nigh.  
A Bird all white, well feathered on each wing,  
Hereout up to the throne of Gods did fly,  
And all the way most pleasant notes did sing,  
Whilst in the smoke she unto heaven did sty.  
Of this fair fire the scattered rays forth threw  
On every side a thousand shining beams:  
When sudden dropping of a silver dew  
(O grievous chance) 'gan quench those precious flames;  
That it which erst so pleasant sent did yield,  
Of nothing now but noyous sulphur smelled.   

12  
I saw a spring out of a rock forth rail,  
As clear as Crystal 'gainst the Sunny beams,  
The bottom yellow, like the golden grayle  
That bright Pactolus washeth with his streams;  
It seemed that Art and Nature had assembled  
All pleasure there, for which man's heart could long;  
And there a noise alluring sleep soft trembled,  
Of many accords more sweet than Mermaids song:  
The seats and benches shone as ivory,  
And hundred Nymphs sat side by side about;  
When from nigh hills with hideous outcry,  
A troop of satires in the place did rout,  
Which with their villeine feet the stream did ray,  
Threw down the seats, & drove the Nymphs away.   

13  
Much richer than that vessel seemed to be,  
Which did to that sad Florentine appear,  
Casting mine eyes far off, I chanced to see,  
Upon the Latin Coast herself to rear:  
But suddenly arose a tempest great,  
Bearing close envy to these riches rare,  
Which 'gan assail this ship with dreadful threat,  
This ship, to which none other might compare.  
And finally the storm impetuous  
Sunk up these riches, second unto none,  
Within the gulf of greedy Nereus.  
I saw both ship and mariners each one,  
And all that treasure drowned in the main:  
But I the ship saw after raised again.   

14  
Long having deeply groaned these visions sad,  
I saw a City like unto that same,  
Which saw the messenger of tidings glad;  
But that on sand was built the goodly frame:  
It seemed her top the firmament did raise,  
And no less rich than fair, right worthy sure  
(If aught here worthy) of immortal days,  
Or if ought under heaven might firm endure.  
Much wondered I to see so fair a wall:  
When from the Northern coast a storm arose,  
Which breathing fury from his inward gall  
On all, which did against his course oppose,  
Into a cloud of dust spersed in the air  
The weak foundations of this City fair.   

15  
At length, even at the time, when Morpheus  
Most truly doth unto our eyes appear,  
Weary to see the heavens still wavering thus,  
I saw Typhaeus sister coming near;  
Whose head full bravely with a morion hid,  
Did seem to match the Gods in Majesty.  
She by a rivers bank that swift down 'slid,  
Over all the world did raise a Trophy high;  
An hundred vanquished Kings under her lay,  
With arms bound at their backs in shameful wise;  
Whilst I thus mazed was with great affray,  
I saw the heavens in war against her rize:  
Then down she stricken fell with clap of thunder,  
That with great noise I waked in sudden wonder.   
FINIS.   

The Visions of Petrarch formerly translated.  

1  
BEing one day at my window all alone,  
So many strange things happened me to see,  
As much it grieveth me to think thereon.  
At my right hand a Hind appeared to me,  
So fair as might the greatest God delight;  
Two eager dogs did her pursue in chase,  
Of which the one was black, the other white:  
With deadly force so in their cruel race  
They pinched the haunches of that gentle beast,  
That at the last, and in short time I spied,  
Under a Rock where she alas oppressed,  
Fell to the ground, and there untimely died.  
Cruel death vanquishing so noble beauty,  
Oft makes me wail so hard a destiny.   

2  
After at sea a tall ship did appear,  
Made all of Ebony and white Ivory,  
The sails of gold, of silk the tackle were,  
Mild was the wind, calm seemed the sea to be,  
The sky each where did show full bright and fair;  
With rich treasures this gay ship freighted was:  
But sudden storm did so turmoil the air,  
And tumbled up the sea, that she (alas)  
Strake on a rock, that under water lay,  
And perished past all recovery.  
O how great ruth and sorrowful assay,  
Doth vex my spirit with perplexity,  
Thus in a monent to see lost and drowned,  
So great riches, as like cannot be found.   

3  
The heavenly branches did I see arise  
Out of the fresh and lusty Laurel tree,  
Amidst the young green wood: of Paradise  
Some noble plant I thought myself to see:  
Such store of birds therein yshrowded were,  
Chanting in shade their sundry melody,  
That with their sweetness I was ravished near.  
While on this Laurel fixed was mine eye,  
The sky 'gan every where to overcast,  
And darkened was the welkin all about,  
When sudden flash of heavens fire out braced,  
And rend this royal tree quite by the root,  
Which makes me much and ever to complain:  
For no such shadow shallbe had again.   

4  
Within this wood, out of a rock did rise  
A spring of water, mildly rumbling down,  
Whereto approached not in any wise  
The homely shepherd, nor the ruder clown;  
But many Muses, and the Nymphs withal,  
That sweetly in accord did tune their voice  
To the soft sounding of the waters fall,  
That my glad heart thereat did much rejoice.  
But while herein I took my chief delight,  
I saw (alas) the gaping earth devour  
The spring, the place, and all clean out of sight.  
Which yet aggreeves my heart even to this hour,  
And wounds my soul with rueful memory,  
To see such pleasures gone so suddenly.   

5  
I saw a Phoenix in the wood alone,  
With purple wings, and crest of golden hew;  
Strange bird he was, whereby I thought anon,  
That of some heavenly wight I had the view;  
Until he came unto the broken tree,  
And to the spring, that late devoured was.  
What say I more? each thing at last we see  
Doth pass away: the Phoenix there alas  
Spying the tree destroyed, the water dried,  
Himself smote with his beak, as in disdain,  
And so forth with in great despite he died:  
That yet my heart burns in exceeding pain,  
For ruth and pity of so hapless plight.  
O let mine eyes no more see such a sight.   

6  
At last so fair a Lady did I spy,  
That thinking yet on her I burn and quake;  
On herbs and flowers she walked pensively,  
Mild, but yet love she proudly did forsake:  
White seemed her robes, yet woven so they were,  
As snow and gold together had been wrought.  
Above the waste a dark cloud shrouded her,  
A stinging Serpent by the heel her caught;  
Wherewith she languished as the gathered flower,  
And well assured she mounted up to joy.  
Alas, on earth so nothing doth endure,  
But bitter grief and sorrowful annoy:  
Which make this life wretched and miserable,  
Tossed with storms of fortune variable.  
When I beheld this tickle trustless state  
Of vain world's glory, flitting too and fro,  
And mortal men tossed by troublous fate  
In restless seas of wretchedness and woe,  
I wish I might this weary life forego,  
And shortly turn unto my happy rest,  
Where my free spirit might not any more  
Be vexed with sights, that do her peace molest.  
And ye fair Lady, in whose bounteous breast  
All heavenly grace and virtue shrined is,  
When ye these rhythms do read, and view the rest,  
Loath this base world, and think of heavens bliss:  
And though ye be the fairest of God's creatures,  
Yet think, that death shall spoil your goodly features.   
FINIS.