^ * K it J HENRY S. PANCOAST 4-1. UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME Each $1.50 net, cloth ; $2.50 net, leather, Add 8# to the price of each volume for postage. THE POETIC NEW-WORLD Compiled by Miss L. H. HUMPHREY. A collec- tion of poems describing the scenery and historic associations of America. THE POETIC OLD-WORLD Compiled by Miss L. H. HUMPHREY. Covers Europe, including Spain, Belgium and the British Isles. THE GARLAND OF CHILDHOOD A little book for all lovers of children. Com- piled by PERCY WITHERS. THE OPEN ROAD A little book for wayfarers. Compiled by E. V. LUCAS. THE FRIENDLY TOWN A little book for the urbane. Compiled by E. V. LUCAS. LETTERS THAT LIVE Selected and edited by LAURA E. LOCKWOOD and AMY R. KELLY. HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK THE VISTA OF ENGLISH VERSE COMPILED BY HENRY S. PANCOAST REPRINTED FROM "STANDARD ENGLISH POEMS," WITH ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1911 COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY HENRY HOLT & CO. COPYRIGHT, ign, BY HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY PREFACE IN this book the reader may travel down the broad highway of English poetry, from the days of Spenser and Shakespeare to our own time. Pausing in these early years of a new century, with the songs of living poets in the air, he can look back as through a long vista over the way he has come. There are a few priceless things that cannot be too often seen or too well known; the familiar makes its peculiar appeal, as well as the novel, and if there is an exhilaration in making a new friend, there is also a gentler and perhaps a deeper satisfaction in finding an old one. Here the reader travels down the middle of the highway, resisting many temptations to turn aside and explore the less trodden ways that branch off here and there on either hand; he passes many a retreat where he might profitably linger, yet, keeping to the main track, he welcomes much that is endeared by long association, and he sees, perhaps more clearly, the course and changing character of that great spiritual thoroughfare, spanning both time and space, which is built to music and of music " and therefore built forever." The present collection is not entirely new; it is an old one in a new form. Some years ago I prepared a book of Standard English Poems for students of Eng- lish poetry. I have often been told since then that this collection, although intended primarily for school iii 2056243 iv PREFACE and college use, would be acceptable to lovers of poetry at large. I have accordingly tried to obliterate the trail of the schoolmaster, and to adapt it to the taste and needs of the general reader. The notes have been omitted, the book has been put into a more attractive and artistic form, and the Victorian period has been enlarged by the introduction of a number of poems by recent and living writers. It is a pleasant duty to add that the book in its new form owes its existence to Mr. Roland Holt, who has followed its compilation with unfailing interest, and at whose suggestion it was undertaken. ISLESFORD, MAINE, July 2nd, 1911. CONTENTS BALLADS. PAGE Chevy Chase 1 Sir Patrick Spens 11 Waly, Waly, love be bonny 13 The Twa Sisters o' Binnorie 14 Bonnie George Campbell 18 Helen of Kirconnell 19 SPENSER TO DRYDEN. The Faerie Queene ( Selections ).... Edmund Spenser 21 The Courtier " " 53 Sonnet XL.. " " 54 ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYKICS. Apelles' Song John Lyly 56 Content Robert Greene 56 The Passionate Shepherd to his Love, Christopher Marlowe 57 Sweet Content Thomas Dekker 58 Good Morrow Thomas Hey wood. 59 To Lesbia Thomas Campion 60 The Armour of Innocence " 60 Fortunati Nimium " 61 Song of the Priest of Pan John Fletcher 63 Song to Pan " " 64 On the Life of Man Francis Beaumont 65 On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey " 65 The Character of a Happy Life. . . .Sir Henry Wotton 66 The Nymph's Reply to the Passionate Shepherd, Sir Walter Raleigh (?) 67 V vi CONTENTS PAGE To the Memory of Shakspeare Ben Jonson 68 Simplex Munditiis " 70 The Triumph of Charis " 71 Song, To Cynthia " 72 Silvia William Shakespeare 73 Under the Greenwood Tree " 73 O mistress mine, where are you roaming? Take, oh, take those lips away. . Hark, Hark the Lark Dirge A Sea Dirge Ariel's Song ELIZABETHAN SONNETS. 74 74 75 75 76 76 Sonnet XXXI Sir Philip Sidney 11 Sonnet XXXIX, On Sleep " " 77 Sonnet LI, To Delia Samuel Daniel 78 Sonnet LXI Michael Dray ton 79 On Sleep William Drummond 79 Sonnet XXIX ("When, in dis- grace," etc.) William Shakespeare 80 Sonnet XXX ("When to the sessions," etc. ) " " 80 Sonnet XXXIII ("Full many a glorious morning," etc.)... " " 81 Sonnet LX ("Like as the waves," etc. )....'. " " 81 Sonnet LXXIII ("That time of year," etc. ) " " 82 Sonnet CXVI ("Let me not to the marriage," etc.) " " 82 Sonnet X, On Death John Donne 83 Agincourt Michael Drayton 84 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS AXD SONNETS. An Elegy upon the Death of the Lady Markham j h n Donne 88 A Valediction Forbidding Mourning. ... " " 90 Sng 91 A Hymn to God the Father ; . . " " 93 Corinna's Going A-Maying. To Primroses Filled with Morning Dew To the Virgins, to make much of Time To Daffodils The Hag. CONTENTS Vll PAGE Vertue George Herbert 93 The Pulley " . " 94 The Elixir " 95 .The Collar " " 96 The Retreate Henry Vaughan 97 Departed Friends " 98 The Author's Resolution in a Sonnet .. George Wither 99 A Vote Abraham Cowley 101 The Grasshopper " 102 A Dirge James Shirley 103 Disdain Returned Thomas Carew 104 Orsames' Song Sir John Suckling 104 To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars . . Richard Lovelace 105 To Althea from Prison " 106 Argument to Hesperides Robert Herrick 107 107 110 111 111 112 On a Girdle Edmund Waller 113 Song '... " 113 On the Foregoing Divine Poems " 114 L'Allegro John Milton 115 II Penseroso " " 119 Song, Sweet Echo (from Com us) " " 124 Song, Sabrina Fair (from C'omus) " " 125 Lycidas " " 126 Sonnet, On his having arrived at the age of twenty-three " " 131 Sonnet, On the Late Massacre in Pied- mont " " 132 Sonnet, On His Blindness " " 132 Sonnet, To Cyriack Skinner " " 133 The Garden Andrew Marvell 134 DRYDEN TO THOMSON. Mac-Flecknoe John Dryden 137 Achitophel (from Absalom and Achito- phel) " 143 A Song for St. Cecilia's Day " 145 Alexander's Feast; or, The Power of Music " 147 Under Mr. Milton's Picture " 153 Vlii CONTENTS PAGE To a Child of Quality Five Years Old.. Matthew Prior 154 A Hotter Answer 155 The Spacious Firmament Joseph Addison 156 Fal.lc XV I II, The Painter who Pleased Nobody and Everybody John Gay 157 < )n a Lap-dog 159 The Rape of the Lock Alexander Pope 160 Klegv to the Memory of an Unfortu- nate Lady 184 Universal Prayer 187 Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot (Selection) " " 188 THOMSON TO TENNYSON. Spring (from The Seasons) James Thomson 195 Summer (from The Seasons) " 198 Autumn (from The Seasons) " 200 Winter (from The Seasons) " 202 Rule Britannia " " 206 Ode to Evening William Collins 207 The Passions " " 209 Ode written in the beginning of the year 1746 " 213 Dirge in Cymbeline " " 213 Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton Col- lege Thomas Gray 214 Elegy written in a Country Churchyard " 217 The Bard " " 222 The Deserted Village Oliver Goldsmith 227 'I In- Minstrel's Roundelay Thomas Chatterton 240 The Balade of Charitie " " 242 The Task (Selections) William Cowper 245 On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture out of Norfolk " " 257 On the Loss of the " Royal George ". . " " 261 The Casl-away ' " " 262 To the Muses . . William Blake 264 To the Evening Star Introduction (from Songs of Innocence) The Lamb Night To the Divine Image On Another's Sorrow The Tiger 265 265 266 267 268 269 270 CONTENTS IX PAGE Ah ! Sunflower William Blake 271 The Cotter's Saturday Night Robert Burns 272 To a Mouse " 279 To a Mountain Daisy " 280 Tarn o' Shanter " 282 Bruce's Address to his Army at Ban- nockburn " 289 The Banks of Boon " 290 A Red. Red Rose " 291 Is tliere, for Honest Poverty " 291 O, wert thou in the cauld blast " 293 Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey William Wordsworth 293 Expostulation and Reply " 298 The Tables Turned " 299 Three years she grew " 300 She dwelt among the untrodden ways " 302 Michael: a pastoral poem " 302 My heart leaps up " 317 The Solitary Reaper 317 Ode, Intimations of Immortality " 318 I wandered lonely as a cloud. ... ", 324 She was a phantom of delight. . . " 325 Ode to Duty " 326 Written in London, September, 1802 " 328 London, 1802 " 328 When I have borne in memory. " 329 Composed upon Westminster Bridge, 1802 " 329 Composed upon the Beach, near Calais, 1802 " 330 " The world is too much with us " " 330 The Rime of the Ancient Mariner Samuel Taylor Coleridge 331 The Good Great Man " 353 Youth and Age " 354 Work without Hope " 355 The Battle of Blenheim Robert Southey 356 My days among the dead are past. . . " 358 Sonnet to Night Joseph Blanco White 360 Harold's Song to Rosabelle (from Lay of the Last Minstrel) Sir Walter Scott 360 CONTENTS Ballad. Alice Brand (from Lady of PAGE //,, Luke] Sir Walter Scott 362 Edmund's Song ( from Rokeby ) " 366 Song, A Weary Lot is Thine (from Rokeby) " " 368 Song, Allan-a-Dale (from Rokeby) . . 369 Song, The Cavalier (from Rokeby) . . 370 Hunting Song 372 Jock of Hazeldean Madg< Wildfire's Song ' 374 Border Ballad '>''> County Guy " 376 Vc Mariners of England Thomas Campbell 376 Hohenlinden " 378 Battle of the Baltic " 379 Song, " Men of England " " 381 Song, To the Evening Star " 382 As slow our ship Thomas Moore 383 The Harp that once through Tara's Halls " " 384 Stanzas for Music George Gordon Byron 385 She walks in beauty " " " 386 Sonnet on Chillon (Introduc- tion to The Prisoner of Chil- lon) " " " 387 Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (Se- lections) " " 388 Don Juan ( Selections ) " " 403 Ode to the West Wind Percy Bysshe Shelley 406 To a Skylark 409 The Cloud 413 Adonais 416 Time 437 To - - 437 T<> Night ' 437 A Lament ' ' ' 439 To ' ' 439 The Eve of St. Agnes John Keats 440 Ode to a Nightingale " 455 Ode on a Grecian Urn ' " 458 To Autumn ' " 460 La Belle Dame Sans Merci ' " 461 On First Looking into Chapman's Homer . . ' " 463 Sonnet ("To one who has been long," etc.) " " 464 CONTENTS XI On the Grasshopper and Cricket John Keats 464 Last Sonnet .' " " 465 To the Grasshopper and the Cricket James Henry Leigh Hunt 465 Mild is the parting year, and sweet Walter Savage Landor 466 Ah, what avails the sceptered race ' " 466 Yes ; I write verses ' " " 467 To Robert Browning ' 468 Introduction to the Last Fruit ' off an Old Tree ' 468 A Petition to Time Bryan Waller Procter 468 Song Hartley Coleridge 469 To Hester Charles Lamb 470 The Death Bed Thomas Hood 471 The Bridge of Sighs " " 472 VICTORIAN VERSE. Battle of Ivry Thomas Babington Macaulay 477 Locksley Hall Alfred Tennyson 481 Ulysses ' 493 The Epic 495 Morte d'Arthur 497 Sir Galahad 506 Break, Break, Break 509 Tears, Idle Tears (from The Princess) 509 Bugle Song (from The Princess) .... 510 In Memoriam (Selection) 511 Maud (Selection) 512 Crossing the Bar 515 My Last Duchess Robert Browning 516 Song (from Pippa Passes) 518 Home Thoughts, from Abroad 518 The Guardian-Angel ' 519 Andrea del Sarto ' 521 Prospice " 529 Rabbi Ben Ezra " 530 Epilogue (from Asolando) " 538 A Musical Instrument. . .Elizabeth Barrett Browning 539 Cheerfulness Taught by Reason 541 The Prospect 541 Work . " " " 542 xii CONTENTS Sonnet I (from Sonnets PAGE from the Portuguese) Elizabeth Barrett Browning 542 Sonnet VI (from Sonnets from the Portuguese) 543 Sonnet XXXV (from Sonnets from the Portuguese) 543 Sonnet XLIII (from Sonnets from the Portuguese) 544 Some murmur when their sky is clear Richard Chevenix Trench 544 The night has a thousand eyes Francis William Bourdillon 545 A Poet's Epitaph Ebenezer Elliott 545 Plaint " " 546 The Day of the Lord Charles Kingsley 547 The Sands of Dee " 548 Clear and Cool " 549 Evenen in the Village William Barnes 550 The Song of the Western Men Robert Stephen Hawker 551 Rubaiyat (selections) Edward Fitzgerald 552 The Private of the Buffs Sir Francis Hastings Charles Doyle 554 At the Church Gate . . . William Makepeace Thackeray 555 The End of the Play.. " 556 The Toys Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore 559 The Two Deserts... " 560 Keith of Ravelston Sydney Thompson Dobell 561 America " " 563 Homeward Bound William Allingham 564 Four Ducks on a Pond " 565 Heather " " 565 Half- Waking " " 566 Juggling Jerry George Meredith 567 Lucifer in Starlight " " 571 Love in the Valley " 572 "O May I Join the Choir Invisible "... George Eliot 573 Longing Alfred Austin 575 Now upon English soil " " 576 And wherefore feels he thus? " 576 To Marguerite Matthew Arnold 577 Absence 578 Self-Dependence 579 Dover Beach " " 580 CONTENTS xiii PAGE Shakespeare Matthew Arnold 581 Worldly Place 582 East London " 582 Geist's Grave " " 583 Lines Written in Kensington Gar- dens " 586 Qua Cursum Ventus Arthur Hugh Clough 587 " With Whom Is No Variableness, Neither Shadow of Turning " " " 588 Say Not, the Struggle Naught Availeth 589 The Stream of Life 589 Give a man a horse he can ride James Thomson 590 O mellow moonlight warm " 591 The Inner Light Frederic William Henry Myers 591 A Gentleman of the Old School. .Henry Austin Dobson 592 Before Sedan " 596 The Dying of Tanneguy du Bois " 597 Ode Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy 599 Chorus Algernon Charles Swinburne 601 Chorus " 603 The Garden of Proser- pine " 606 Pastiche " " " 609 The Blessed Damozel Dante Gabriel Rossetti 610 The Sea-Limits. . . . Sibylla Palmifera. . Silent Noon Inclusiveness A Superscription . 615 616 616 617 617 Up-hill Christina Georgina Rossetti 618 Symbols " " 619 O my heart's heart, and you who are to me . . . " " 620 Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there . . " " 620 Thou Who didst make and knowest whereof we are made " " " 621 An Apology William Morris 621 Prologue " " 623 June " " 623 L'Envoi " " 624 Drawing Near the Light " " 625 Sonnet X Eugene Lee-Hamilton 626 Sonnet XXIII.. " " 626 xiv CONTENTS PAOF The First Skylark of Spring... William Watson 627 Tlir fiivat Misgiving. " 629 Sonnet 630 To R T. H. B William Ernest Henley 631 To H. B. M. W " 631 Song ..! " " 632 A Song of the Road Robert Louis Stevenson 633 The Celestial Surgeon " " 634 The Counterblast " " 634 A Lad That Is Gone " " 637 Requiem " " 638 Hope the Horn blower Henry John Newbolt 638 When I Remember " 639 The Only Son " " " 640 A Ballad of East and West Rudyard Kipling 640 Mandalay " 645 Recessional " " 648 Down by the Salley Gardens. . . .William Butler Yeats 649 The Rose of the World " " 650 Twilight Stephen Phillips 650 The Call of the Spring Alfred Noyes 651 Unity " " 653 THE VISTA OF ENGLISH VERSE THE VISTA OF ENGLISH VERSE PART FIRST BALLADS (OF VARIOUS AND UNCERTAIN DATES) CHEVY CHASE (Sometimes called Tlie Hunting of the Cheviot) THE Perse owt off Northombarlonde, and avowe to God mayd he That he wold hunte in the mowntayns off Chyviat within days thre, 5 In the magger of doiighte Dogles, and all that ever with him be. The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat he sayd he wold kyll, and cary them away: ' Be my f eth,' sayd the dougheti Doglas agayn, ' I wyll let that hontyng yf that I may.' Then the Perse owt off Banborowe cam, with him a myghtee meany, With fifteen hondrith archares bold off blood and bone, the wear chosen owt of 'shyars thre. BALLADS This begane on a Monday at morn, in Cheviat the hillys so he; The chylde may rue that ys unborn, it vvos the more pitte. The dryvars thorowe the woodes went, for to reas the dear; Bomen byckarte uppone the bent with ther browd aros cleare. Then the wyld thorowe the woodes went, on every syde shear; Greahondes thorowe the grevis glent, for to kyll thear dear. This begane in Chyviat the hyls abone, yerly on a Monnyn-day; Be that it drewe to the oware off none, a hondrith fat harte's ded ther lay. The blewe a mort uppone the bent, the semblyde on sydis shear; To the quyrry then the Perse went, to se the bryttlynge off the deare. He sayd, 'It was the Duglas promys this day to met me hear; But I wyste he wolde f aylle, verament ; ' a great oth the Perse swear. At the laste a squyar off. Northomberlonde lokyde at his hand full ny; He was war a the doughetie Doglas commynge, with him a myghtte meany. CHEVY CHASE 3 Both with spear, bylle, and brande, yt was a myghtti sight to se; Hardyar men, both off hart nor hande, wear not in Cristiante. The wear twenti hondrith spear-men good, withoute any feale; The wear borne along be the watter a Twyde, yth bowndes of Tividale. ' Leave of the brytlyng of the dear,' he sayd, ' and to your boys lock ye tayk good hede ; For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne had ye never so mickle nede.' The dougheti Dogglas on a stede, he rode alle his men beforne; His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede; a boldar barne was never born. ' Tell me whos men ye ar', he says, ' or whos men that ye be : Who gave youe leave to hunte in this Chyviat chays, in the spyt of myn and of me.' The first mane that ever him an answear mayd, yt was the good lord Perse: ' We wyll not tell the whoys men we ar,' he says> ' nor whos men that we be ; But we wyll hounte hear in this chays, in the spyt of thyne and of the. 'The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat we have kyld, and cast to carry them away : ' ' Be my troth,' sayd the doughete Dogglas agayn, * therf or the ton of us shall de this day.' BALLADS Then sayd the doughte Doglas unto the lord Perse: ' To kyll alle thes giltles men, alas, it wear great pitte! ' But, Perse, thowe art a lord of lande, I am a yerle callyd within my centre ; Let all our men uppone a parti stande, and do the battell off the and of me.' ' Nowe Cristes core on his crowne,' sayd the lord Perse, * who-so-ever ther-to says nay ; Be my troth, doughtte Doglas,' he says, ' thow shalt never se that day. 'Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France, nor for no man of a woman horn, But, and fortune be my chance, I dar met him, on man for on.' Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde, Richard Wytharyngton was his nam; 'It shall never be told in Sothe- Ynglonde,' he says, 'to Kyng Kerry the Fourth for sham. ' I wat youe byn great lordes twaw, I am a poor squyar of lande: I wylle never se my captayne fyght on a fylde, and stande my selffe and loocke on, But whylle I may my weppone welde, I wylle not fayle both hart and hande.' CHEVY CHASE That day, that day, that dredfull day! the first fit here I fynde; And youe wyll here any mor a the hountyng a the Chyviat, yet ys ther mor behynde. The Yngglyshe men hade ther bowys yebent, ther hartes wer good yenoughe; The first off arros that the shote off, seven skore spear-men the sloughe. Yet byddys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent, a captayne good yenoughe, And that was sene verament, for he wrought horn both woo and wouche. The Dogglas partyd his ost in thre, lyk a cheffe chef ten off pryde; With suar spears off myghtte tre, the cum in on every syde: Thrughe our Yngglyshe archery gave many a wounde fulle wyde; Many a doughete the garde to dy, which ganyde them no pryde. The Ynglyshe men let ther boys be, and pulde owt brandes thet wer brighte; It was a hevy syght to se bryght swordes on basnites lyght. Thorowe ryche male and myneyeple, many sterne the strocke done streght; Many a freyke that was fulle fre, ther undar foot dyd lyght. BALLADS At last the Duglas and the Perse met, lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne; The swapte togethar tylle the both swat, with swordes that wear of fyn myllan. Thes worthe f reckys for to fyght, ther-to the wear fulle fayne, Tylle -the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente, as ever dyd heal or rayn. 'Yelde the, Perse,' sayde the Doglas, ' and i feth I shalle the brynge Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis of Jamy our Skottish kynge. ' Thou shalte have thy ransom f re, I hight the hear this thinge; For the manfullyste man yet art thowe that ever I conqueryd in filde fighttynge.' ' Nay,' sayd the lord Perse, ' I told it the bef orne, That I wolde never yeldyde be to no man of a woman born.' With that ther cam an arrowe hastely, forthe off a myghtte wane; Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas in at the brest-bane. Thorowe lyvar and longes bathe the sharpe arrowe ys gane, That never after in all his lyffe-days he spake mo wordes but ane: That was, 'Fyghte ye, my myrry men, whyllys ye may, for my lyff-days ben gan.' CHEVY CHASE 7 The Perse leanyde on his brande, and sawe the Duglas de; He tooke the dede mane by the hande, and sayd, ' Wo ys me for the ! * To have savyde thy lyffe, I wolde have partyde with my landes for years thre, For a better man, of hart nare of hande, was nat in all the north contre.' Off all that se a Skottishe knyght, was callyd Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry ; He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght, he spendyd a spear, a trusti tre. He rod uppone a corsiare throughe a hondrith archery; He never stynttyde, nar never blane, tylle he cam to the good lord Perse. He set uppone the lorde Perse a dynte that was full soare; With a suar spear of a myghtte tre clean thorow the body he the Perse ber, A the tothar syde that a man myght se a large cloth-yard and mare : Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Cristiante then that day slan wear ther. An archar off Northomberlondo say slean was the lorde Perse; He bar a bende bowe in his hand, was made off trusti tre. BALLADS An arow, that a cloth-yarde was lang, to the harde stele halyde he; A dynt that was both sad and soar he sat on Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry. The dynt yt was both sad and sar, that he of Monggomberry sete; The swane-fethars that his arrowe bar with his hart-blood the wear wete. Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle, but still in stour dyd stand, Heawyng on yche othar, whylle the myghte dre, with many a balfull brande. This battell begane in Chyviat an owar befor the none, And when even-songe bell was rang, the battell was nat half done. The tocke ... on ethar hande be the lyght off the mone ; Many hade no strenght for to stande, in Chyviat the hillys abon. Of fifteen hondrith archars of Ynglonde went away but seventi and thre; Of twenti hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde, but even five and fifti. But all wear slayne Cheviat within; the hade no strengthe to stand on hy; The chylde may rue that ys unborne, it was the mor pitte. CHEVY CHASE Thear was slayne, withe the lord Perse, Sir Johan of Agerstone, Ser Rogar, the hinde Hartly, Ser Wyllyam, the bolde Hearone. Ser Jorg, the worthe Loumle, a knyghte of great renowen, Ser Raff, the ryche Rugbe, with dyntes wear beaten dowene. For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, that ever he slayne shulde be; For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to, yet he knyled and fought on hys kny. Ther was slayne, with the dougheti Duglas, Ser Hewe the Monggombyrry, Ser Davy Lwdale, that worthe was, his sistar's son was he. Ser Charls a Murre in that place, that never a foot wolde fle; Ser Hewe Maxwelle, a lorde he was, with the Doglas dyd he dey. So on the morrowe the mayde them byears off birch and hasell so gray ; Many wedous, with wepyng tears, cam to fache ther makys away. Tivydale may carpe off care, North ombarl on d may mayk great mon, For towe such captayns as slayne wear thear, on the March-parti shall never be non. 10 BALLADS Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe, to Jamy the Skottische kynge, That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Marches, he lay slean Chyviot within. His handdes dyd he weal and wryng, he sayd, 'Alas, and woe ys me! Such an othar captayn Skotland within/ he sayd, ' ye-feth shuld never be.' Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone, till the fourth Harry our kynge, That lord Perse, leyff-tenante of the Marchis, he lay slayne Chyviat within. ' God have merci on his solle,' sayde Kyng Harry, 'good lord, yf thy will it be! I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde,' he sayd, ' as good as ever was he : But, Perse, and I brook my lyffe, thy deth well quyte shall be.' As our noble kynge mayd his avowe, lyke a noble prince of renowen, For the deth of the lord Perse he dyde the battell of Hombyll-down ; Wher syx and thritte Skottishe knyghtes on a day wear beaten down: Glendale glyterryde on ther armor bryght, over castille, towar, and town. This was the hontynge off the Cheviat, that tear begane this spurn; Old men that knowen the grounde well yenoughe call it the battell of Otterburn. SIR PATRICK SPENS 11 At Otterburn begane this spume uppone a Monnynday; Ther was the doughte Doglas slean, the Perse never went away. Ther was never a tym on the Marche-partes sen the Doglas and the Perse met, But yt ys mervele and the reda blude ronne not as the reane doys in the stret. Jhesue Crist our balys bete, and to the blys us brynge! Thus was the hountynge of the Chivyat: God send us alle good endyng! SIR PATRICK SPENS (From Percy's Ediqnes, pub. 1765. Date uncertain, but a popular ballad in 1580) The King sits in Dumferling toune, Drinking the blude-reid wine; ' O whar will I get guid sailor, To sail this schip of mine ? ' Up and spak an eldern knicht, Sat at the king's richt kne : * Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor, That sails upon the se.' The king has written a braid letter, And signed it wi his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, Was walking on the sand. 12 BALLADS The first line that Sir Patrick red, A loud lauch lauched he; The next line that Sir Patrick red The teir blinded his ee. ' O wha is this has don this deid, This ill deid don to me, To send me out this time o' the yeir, To sail upon the se! 'Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all, Our guid schip sails the morne : ' ' O say na sae, my master deir, For I feir a deadlie storme. ' Late late yestreen I saw the new moone, Wi the auld moone in hir arme, And I feir, I feir, my deir master, That we will cum to harme.' O our Scots nobles wer richt laith To weet their cork-heild schoone ; Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd, Thair hats they swam aboone. O lang, lang may their ladies sit, Wi thair fans into their hand, Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence Cum sailing to the land. O lang, lang may the ladies stand, Wi thair gold kerns in their hair, Waiting for thair ain deir lords, For they '11 se thame na mair. WALY, WALY, LOVE BE BONNIE 13 Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour, It's fiftie fadom deip, And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, Wi the Scots lords at his feit. WALY, WALY, LOVE BE BONNIE (From Allingham's Ballad Book, 1864) Waly, waly, up the bank, waly, waly, doun the brae, And waly, waly, yon burn-side, Where I and my love wer wont to gae! 1 lean'd my back unto an aik, 1 thocht it was a trustie tree, But first it bow'd and syne it brak', Sae my true love did lichtlie me. O waly, waly, but love be bonnie A little time while it is new! But when it's auld it waxeth cauld, And fadeth awa' like the morning dew. O wherefore should I busk my heid, Or wherefore should I kame my hair? For my true love has me forsook, And says he '11 never lo'e me mair. Arthur's Seat sail be my bed, The sheets sail ne'er bepress'd by me; Saint Anton's well sail be my drink; Since my true love's forsaken me. Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves off the tree? O gentle death, whan wilt thou come? For of my life I am wearie. 14 BALLADS 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, NOT blawing snaw's inclemencie, 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry; But my love's heart grown cauld to me. When we cam' in by Glasgow toun, We were a comely sicht to see; My love was clad in the black velvet, An' I mysel' in cramasie. But had I wist before I kiss'd That love had been so ill to win, I'd lock'd my heart in a case o' goud, And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. Oh, oh ! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee; And I mysel' were dead and gane, And the green grass growing over me ! THE TWA SISTERS O' BINNORIE (From the same) There were twa sisters sat in a bow'r ; (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) A knight cam' there, a noble wooer, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. He courted the eldest wi' glove and ring, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. The eldest she was vexed sair, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) And sair envied her sister fair, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. THE TWA SISTERS O' BINNORIE 15 Upon a morning fair and clear, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) She cried upon her sister dear, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. ' sister, sister, tak' my hand,' (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) ' And let's go down to the river-strand,' By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. She's ta'en her by the lily hand, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) And down they went to the river-strand By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. The youngest stood upon a stane, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) The eldest cam' and pushed her in, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. ' O sister, sister, reach your hand ! ' (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) ' And ye sail be heir o' half my land ' By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. ' O sister, reach me but your glove ! ' (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 'And sweet William sail be your love' By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) Till she cam' to the mouth o' yon mill-dam, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 16 BALLADS Out then cam' the miller's son (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) And saw the fair maid soummin' in, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. ' O father, father, draw your dam ! ' (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) ' There's either a mermaid or a swan,' By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. The miller quickly drew the dam, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) And there he found a drown'd woman, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. Round about her middle sma' (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) There went a gouden girdle bra' By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. All amang her yellow hair (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) A string o' pearls was twisted rare, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. On her fingers lily-white, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) The jewel-rings were shining bright, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. And by there cam' a harper fine, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) Harped to nobles when they dine, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. THE TWA SISTERS 0' BINNORIE 17 And when he looked that lady on, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) He sigh'd and made a heavy moan, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. He's ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) And wi' them strung his harp sae rare, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. He went into her father's hall, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) And played his harp before them all, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. And sune the harp sang loud and clear, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) ' Fareweel, my father and mither dear ! ' By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. And neist when the harp began to sing, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 'Twas ' Fareweel, sweetheart ! ' said the string, By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. And then as plain as plain could be, (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) ' There sits my sister wha drowned me ! By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.' 18 BALLADS BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL (From Mother well's Minstrelsy, 1827. Date of ballad uncertain) Hie upon Hielands, And low upon Tay, Bonnie George Campbell Rade out on a day. Saddled and bridled And gallant rade he; Hame cam his gude horse, But never cam he! Out cam his auld mither Greeting fu' sair, And out cam his bonnie bride Rivin' her hair. Saddled and bridled And booted rade he; loom hame cam the saddle But never cam he! "My meadow lies green, And my corn is unshorn; My barn is to big, And my babie's unborn." Saddled and bridled And booted rade he; Toom hame cam the saddle, But never cam he. HELEN OF KIKCONNELL 19 HELEN OF KIRCONNELL PART SECOND (From Scott's Border Minstrelsy, 1802-3) I wish I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies, On fair Kirconnell Lee! Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me! O think na ye my heart was sair, When my love dropt down and spak nae mair! There did she swoon wi' mickle care On fair Kirconnell Lee. As I went down the water-side, None but my foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide, On fair Kirconnell Lee! I lighted down, my sword did draw, I hacked him in pieces sma', I hacked him in pieces sma', For her sake that died for me. O, Helen fair, beyond compare! I'll make a garland of thy hair, Shall bind my heart for evermair, Until the day I die. BALLADS O that I were where Helen lies ! Night and day on me she cries; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, " Haste, and come to me ! " Helen fair! O Helen chaste! If I were with thee, I were blest, Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest, On fair Kirconnell Lee. 1 wish my grave were growing green, A winding-sheet drawn ower my een And I in Helen's arms lying, On fair Kirconnell Lee. I wish I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; And I am weary of the skies, For her sake that died for me. PART SECOND SPENSER TO DRYDEN. EDMUND SPENSER dr. 1553-1599 THE FAERIE QUEENE (From the First Book, which contains The Legend of the Knight of the Red Crosse, or of Holineste. published with Bks. II. and III., 1590) I. Lo! I, the man whose Muse whylome did maske, As time her taught, in lowly Shephards weeds, Am now enforst, a farre unfitter taske, For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine oaten reeds, And sing of knights and ladies gentle deeds ; Whose praises having slept in silence long, Me, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds To blazon broade emongst her learned throng: Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song. II. Helpe then, O holy virgin, chiefe of nyne, Thy weaker novice to performe thy will; Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne The antique rolles, which there lye hidden still, Of Faerie knights, and fayrest Tanaquill, Whom that most noble Briton Prince so long Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill, That I must rue his undeserved wrong: 0, helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong } 21 22 SPENSER TO DBYDEN III. And thou, most dreaded impe of highest Jove, Faire Venus sonne, that with thy crucll dart At that good knight so cunningly didst rove, That glorious fire it kindled in his hart; Lay now thy deadly heben bowe apart, And with thy mother mylde come to mine ayde; Come, both ; and with you bring triumphant Mart, In loves and gentle jollities arraid, After his murderous spoyles and bloudie rage allayd. IV. And with them eke, O Goddesse heavenly bright, Mirrour of grace, and maiestie divine, Great ladie of the greatest Isle, whose light Like Phoebus lampe throughout the world doth shine, Shed thy faire beames into my feeble eyne, And raise my thoughtes, too humble and too vile, To thinke of that true glorious type of thine, The argument of mine afflicted stile : The which to heare vouchsafe, O dearest Dread, a while. CANTO I. TJie patron of true Holinesse, Foule Errour doth defeate ; Hypocrisie, him to entrappe, Doth to his home entreate. I. A gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine, Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde, Wherein old dints of deepe woundes did remaine, The cruell markes of many a bloody fielde; EDMUND SPENSER 23 Yet armes till that time did he never wield: His angry steede did chide his foming bitt, As much disdayning to the curbe to yield : Full iolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt, As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fitt. II. And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore, The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore, And dead, as living ever, him ador'd: Upon his shield the like was also scor'd, For soveraine hope, which in his helpe he had, Eight, faithfull, true he was in deede and word; But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad; Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad. III. Upon a great adventure he was bond, That greatest Gloriana to him gave, That greatest glorious Queene of Faery lond, To winne him worshippe, and her grace to have, Which of all earthly thinges, he most did crave: And ever as he rode, his hart did earne, To prove his puissance in battell brave Upon his foe, and his new force to learne; Upon his foe, a Dragon horrible and stearne. IV. A lovely Ladie rode him faire beside, Upon a lowly asse more white then snow; Yet she much whiter; but the same did hide Under a vele, that wimpled was full low; And over all a blacke stole shee did throw: 24 SPENSER TO DRYDEN As one that inly mournd, so was she sad, And heavie sate upon her palfry slow; Seemed in heart some hidden care she had; And by her in a line a milke-white lambe she lad. v. So pure and innocent, as that same lambe, She was in life and every vertuous lore; And by descent from royall lynage came Of ancient kinges and queenes, that had of yore Their scepters stretcht from east to westerne shore, And all the world in their subiection held; Till that infernall feend with foule uprore Forwasted all their land, and them expeld; Whom to avenge she had this Knight from far compeld. VI. Behind her farre away a Dwarfe did lag, That lajie seemd, in being ever last, Or wearied with bearing of her bag Of needments at his backe. Thus as they past, The day with cloudes was 'suddeine overcast, And angry love an hideous storme of raine Did poure into his lemans lap so fast, That everie wight to shrowd it did constrain; And this faire couple eke to shroud themselves were VII. Enforst to seeke some covert nigh at hand, A shadie grove not farr away they spide, That promist ayde the tempest to withstand; Whose loftie trees, yclad with sommers pride, Did spred so broad, that heavens light did hide. EDMUND SPENSER 25 Not perceable with power of any starr: And all within were pathes and alleies wide, With footing worne, and leading inward fair: Faire harbour that them seemes; so in they entred ar. VIII. And foorth they passe, with pleasure forward led, Toying to heare the birdes sweete harmony, Which, therein shrouded from the tempest dred, Seemd in their song to scorne the cruell sky. Much can they praise the trees so straight and hy, The sayling pine ; the cedar proud and tall ; The vine-propp elme; the poplar never dry; The builder oake, sole king of forrests all; The aspine good for staves; the cypresse funerall; IX. The laurell, meed of mightie conquerours And poets sage; the firre that weepeth still; The willow, worne of forlorne paramours; The eugh, obedient to the benders will ; The birch for shaftes; the sallow for the mill; The mirrhe sweete-bleeding in the bitter wound; The warlike beech; the ash for nothing ill; The fruitfull olive; and the platane round; The carver holme; the maple seeldom inward sound. Led with delight, they thus beguile the way, Untill the blustring storme is overblowne; When, weening to returne whence they did stray, They cannot finde that path, which first was showne But wander too and fro in waies unknowne, 26 SPENSER TO DKYDEN Furthest from end then, when they neerest weene, That makes them doubt their wits be not their owne: So many pathes, so many turnings seene, That which of them to take, in diverse doubt they been. XI. At last resolving forward still to fare, Till that some end they finde, or in or out, That path they take, that beaten seemd most bare, And like to lead the labyrinth about; Which when by tract they hunted had throughout, At length it brought them to a hollowe cave, Amid the thickest woods. The Champion stout Ef tsoones dismounted from his courser brave, And to the Dwarfe a while his needlesse spere he gave. xir. " Be well aware," quoth then that Ladie milde, " Least suddaine mischief e ye too rash provoke : The danger hid, the place unknowne and wilde, Breedes dreadfull doubts: oft fire is without smoke, And perill without show : therefore your stroke, Sir Knight, withhold, till further tryall made." ''' Ah Ladie," sayd he, " shame were to revoke The forward footing for an hidden shade: Vertuc gives her selfe light through darknesse for to wade." XIII. / " Yea, but," quoth she, " the perill of this place I better wot then you : though nowe too late To wish you backe returne with foule disgrace, Yet wisedome warnes, whilst foot is in the gate, EDMUND SPENSER 27 To stay the steppe, ere forced to retrate. This is the wandring wood, this Errours den, A monster vile, whom God and man does hate: Therefore I read beware." " Fly, fly," quoth then The fearful Dwarf e; "This is no place for living men." XIV. But, full of fire and greedy hardiment, The youthf ull Knight could not for ought he staide ; But forth unto the darksom hole he went, And looked in: his glistring armor made A litle glooming light, much like a shade; By which he saw the ugly monster plaine, Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide, But th'other halfe did womans shape retaine, Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile disdaine. [The Red Cross Knight, assisted by Una, does battle with the dragon, Error. As the combat progresses, the hideous serpent-brood of Error, " deformed monsters, foul and black as ink," swarming about the Knight sorely encumber him. The poet thus compares them to a cloud of gnats.] XXIII. As gentle shepheard in sweete eventide, When ruddy Phebus gins to welke in west, High on an hill, his flocke to vewen wide, Markes which doe byte their hasty supper best; A cloud of cumbrous gnattes doe him molest, All striving to infixe their feeble stinges, That from their noyance he no where can rest ; But with his clownish hands their tender wings He brusheth oft, and oft doth mar their murmurings. 28 SPENSER TO DRYDEN XXIV. Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of shame Then of the certeine perill he stood in, Halfe furious unto his foe he came, Resolved in minde all suddenly to win, Or soone to lose, before he once would lin; And stroke at her with more then manly force, That from her body, full of filthie sin, He raft her hatefull heade without remorse: A streame of cole-black blood forth gushed from her corse. XXVII. His Lady seeing all that chaunst, from farre, Approcht in hast to greet his victorie; And saide, " Faire Knight, borne under happie starre, Who see your vanquisht foes before you lye ; Well worthie be you of that armory, Wherein ye have great glory wonne this day, And proov'd your strength on a strong enimie ; Your first adventure: Many such I pray, And henceforth ever wish that like succeed it may ! " [Having re-mounted his steed, the Red-Cross Knight and Una at length meet in the forest an " aged sire " clad in black, having a gray beard and a sober aspect. The Knight, having saluted him, is conducted to a hermitage on the skirts of the forest, where the old man tells him in pleasing words about Saints and popes: so they pass the evening in discourse.] EDMUND SPENSER 29 XXXYI. The drouping night thus creepeth on them fast; And the sad humor loading their eyeliddes, As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast Sweet slombring deaw, the which to sleep them biddes. Unto their lodgings then his guestes he riddes: Where when all drownd in deadly sleepe he findes, He to his studie goes; and there amiddes His magick bookes, and artes of sundrie kindes, He seekes out mighty charmes to trouble sleepy minds. XXXVII. Then choosing out few words most horrible, (Let none them read!) thereof did verses frame; With which, and other spelles like terrible, He bad awake blacke Plutoes griesly dame; And cursed heven; and spake reprochful shame Of highest God, the Lord of life and light. A bold bad man ! that dar'd to call by name Great Gorgon, prince of darknes and dead night; At which Cocytus quakes, and Styx is put to flight. XXXVIII. And forth he cald out of deepe darknes dredd Legions of sprights, the which, like litle flyes, Fluttring about his ever-damned hedd, Awaite whereto their service he applyes, To aide his friendes, or fray his enimies : Of those he chose out two, the falsest twoo, And fittest for to forge true-seeming lyes; The one of them he gave a message too, The other by him selfe staide other worke to doo. 30 SPENSER TO DRYDEN XXXIX. He, making speedy way through spersed ayre, And through the world of waters wide and deepe, To Morpheus house doth hastily repaire. Amid the bowels of the earth full steepe, And low, where dawning day doth never peepe, His dwelling is; there Tethys his wet bed Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth steepe In silver deaw his ever-drouping hed, Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth spred. XL. Whose double gates he findeth locked fast ; The one faire fram'd of burnisht yvory, The other all with silver overcast; And wakeful dogges before them farre doe lye, Watching to banish Care their enimy, Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleepe. By them the Sprite doth passe in quietly, And unto Morpheus comes, whom drowned deepe In drowsie fit he findes ; of nothing he takes keepe. XLI. And, more to lulle him in his slumber soft, A trickling streame from high rock tumbling downe, And ever-drizling raine upon the loft, Mixt with a murmuring winde, much like the sowne Of swarming bees, did caste him in a swowne. No other noyse, nor peoples troublous cryes, As still are wont t' annoy the walled towiic, Might there be heard ; but carelesse Quiet lyes, Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enimyes. EDMUND SPENSEE 31 XLII. The messenger approching to him spake; But his waste words retournd to him in vaine. So sound he slept, that nought mought him awake. Then rudely he him thrust, and pusht with paine, Whereat he gan to stretch : but he againe Shooke him so hard, that forced him to speake. As one then in a dreame, whose dryer braine Is tost with troubled sights and fancies weake, He mumbled soft, but would not all his silence breake. XLIII. The Sprite then gan more boldly him to wake, And threatned unto him the dreaded name Of Hecate: whereat he gan to quake, And, lifting up his lompish head, with blame Halfe angrie asked him, for what he came. " Hether," quoth he, " me Archimago sent, He that the stubborne sprites can wisely tame; He bids thee to him send for his intent A fit false dreame, that can delude the sleepers sent." XLIV. The god obayde; and, calling forth straight way A diverse dreame out of his prison darke, Delivered it to him, and downe did lay His heavie head, devoide of careful carke; Whose sences all were straight benumbd and starke. He, backe returning by the yvorie dore, Remounted up as light as chearefull larke; And on his litle winges the dreame he bore In hast unto his lord, where he him left afore. 32 SPENSER TO DRYDEN XLV. Who all this while, with charmes and hidden artes, Had made a lady of that other spright, And fram'd of liquid ayre her tender partes, So lively, and so like in all mens sight, That weaker sence it could have ravisht quight : The maker selfe, for all his wondrous witt, Was nigh beguiled with so goodly sight. Her all in white he clad, and over it Cast a black stole, most like to seeme for Una fit. XLVI. Now when that ydle Dreame was to him brought, ' Unto that Elfin Knight he bad him fly, Where he slept soundly, void of evil thought, And with false shewes abuse his fantasy, In sort as he him schooled privily. And that new creature, borne without her dew, Full of the makers guyle, with usage sly, He taught to imitate that Lady trew, Whose semblance she did carrie under feigned hew. [This phantom, in the outward semblance of Una, conducts herself with such lightness that the Knight is perplexed with doubts of her goodness and truthful- ness. At last, restless and tormented by evil delusions conjured up by Archimago, the Knight mounts his steed and flies with the dwarf. Thus parted from Una, or Truth, by the wiles of the Enchanter, the deluded Knight falls into peril in a meeting with Duessa, or Falsehood. Meanwhile the heavenly Una, his true bride, missing her Knight, sets out in search of him, alone and sor- rowful. The poet then tells how the lion comes to guard her in her need.] EDMUND SPENSER 33 CANTO III. Forsaken Truth long seeks her love, and makes the Lyon mylde ; Marres blind Devotions mart, andfals in hand of treachour vylde. I. Nought is there under heav'ns wide hollownesse, That moves more cleare compassion of mind, Then beautie brought t' unworthie wretchednesse Through envies snares, or fortunes freakes unkind, I, whether lately through her brightnes blynd, Or through alleageance and fast fealty, Which I do owe unto all woman kynd, Feele my hart perst with so great agony, When such I see, that all for pitty I could dy. II. And now it is empassioned so deepe, For fairest Unaes sake, of whom I sing, That my fraile eyes these lines with teares do steepe, To thinke how she through guileful handeling, Though true as touch, though daughter of a king, Though faire as ever living wight was fayre, Though nor in word nor deede ill meriting, Is from her Knight devorced in despayre, And her dew loves deryv'd to that vile witches shayre. III. Yet she, most faithfull ladie, all this while Forsaken, wofull, solitairie mayd, Far from all peoples preace, as in exile, In wildernesse and wastfull deserts strayd, 34 SPENSER TO DBYDEN To seeke her Knight; who subtily betrayd Through that late vision, which th' enchanter wrought Had her abandoned. She of naught affrayd, Through woods and wastness wide him daily sought ; Yet wished tydinges none of him unto her brought. IV. One day, nigh wearie of the yrksome way, From her unhastie beast she did alight ; And on the grasse her dainty limbs did lay In secrete shadow, far from all mens sight; From her fayre head her fillet she undight; And layd her stole aside. Her angels face, As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place ; Did never mortal! eye behold such heavenly grace. V. It fortuned, out of the thickest wood A ramping lyon rushed suddeinly, Hunting full greedy after salvage blood; Soone as the royall Virgin he did spy, With gaping mouth at her ran greedily, To have attonce devoured her tender corse. But to the pray when as he drew more ny, His bloody rage aswaged with remorse, And, with the sight amazd, forgat his furious forse. VI. Instead thereof he kist her wearie feet, And lickt her lilly hands with fawning tong; As he her wronged innocence did weet. O how can beautie maister the most strong, EDMUND SPENSER 35 And simple truth subdue avenging wrong! Whose yielded pryde and proud submission, Still dreading death, when she had marked long, Her hart gan melt in great compassion; And drizling teares did shed for pure affection. VII. " The lyon, lord of everie beast in field," Quoth she, "his princely puissance doth abate, And mightie proud to humble weake does yield, Forgetfull of the hungry rage, which late Him prickt, in pittie of my sad estate: But he, my lyon, and my noble lord, How does he find in cruell hart to hate Her that him lov'd, and ever most adord, As the God of my life ? why hath he me abhord ? " VIII. Redounding teares did choke th' end of her plaint, Which softly ecchoed from the neighbour wood; And, sad to see her sorrowful constraint, The kingly beast upon her gazing stood; With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry mood. At last, in close hart shutting up her payne, Arose the Virgin borne of heavenly brood, And to her snowy palfrey got agayne To seeke her strayed champion, if she might attayne. IX. The lyon would not leave her desolate, But with her went along, as a strong gard Of her chast person, and a faythfull mate Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard: 36 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and ward; And, when she wakt, he wayted diligent, With humble service to her will prepard: From her fayre eyes he took commandement, And ever by her lookes conceived her intent. [Archimago, learning of the whereabouts of Una, assumes the arms and appearance of the Red Cross Knight, and, being too fearful of the lion to join her, approaches near enough to her to be seen. Una see- ing, as she supposes, him whom she has sought through wide deserts, and with great toil and peril, goes up to him in joy and humbleness, while Archimago, feigning to be her Knight, greets her with words of welcome and vows of faithful service.] XXX. His lovely words her seemd due recompence Of all her passed paines; one loving howre For many yeares of sorrow can dispence; A dram of sweete is worth a pound of sowre. Shee has forgott how many woful stowre For him she late endurd ; she speakes no more Of past : true is, that true love hath no powre To looken backe; his eies be fixt before. Before her stands her Knight, for whom she toyld so sore. XXXI. Much like, as when the beaten marinere, That long hath wandred in the ocean wide, Ofte soust in swelling Tethys saltish teare; And long time having tand his tawney hide With blustring breath of heaven, that none can bide, EDMUND SPENSER 37 And scorching flames of fierce Orions hound; Soone as the port from far he has espide, His chearfull whistle merily doth sound, And Nereus crownes with cups ; his mates him pledge around. XXXII. Such ioy made Una, when her Knight she found; And eke th' Enchanter ioyous seemde no lesse Then the glad marchant, that does vew from ground His ship far come from watrie wildernesse; He hurles out vowes, and Neptune oft doth blesse. So forth they past; and all the way they spent Discoursing of her dreadful late distresse, In which he askt her, what the lyon ment; Who told her all that fell, in iourney as she went. XXXIII. They had not ridden far, when they might see One pricking towards them with hastie heat, Full strongly armd, and on a courser free That through his fiersenesse fomed all with sweat, And the sharpe yron did for anger eat, When his hot ryder spurd his chauffed side; His looke was sterne, and seemed still to threat Cruell revenge, which he in hart did hyde; And on his shield Sans Ioy in bloody lines was dyde. [Archimago, in the guise of the Red Cross Knight, thus journeying with Una meets a Paynim, or Saracen, named Sansloy. Sansloy attacks Archimago, who is overthrown. When he is unhelmed, Una sees to her surprise the face of Archimago instead of that of the Red Cross Knight. The Paynim, leaving Archimago dying, rudely approaches Una and drags her from her 38 SPENSER TO DRYDEN palfrey. The poet then describes the combat of the Paynim with the lion.] XLI. But her fiers servant, full of kingly aw And high disdaine, whenas his soveraiiie Dame So rudely handled by her foe he saw, With gaping iawes full greedy at him came, And, ramping in his shield, did weene the same Have reft away with his sharp rending clawes : But he was stout, and lust did now inflame His corage more, that from his griping pawes He hath his shield redeemd; and forth his sword he drawes. XLII. O then, too weake and feeble was the forse Of salvage beast, his puissance to withstand! For he was strong, and of so mightie corse, As ever wielded speare in warlike hand; And feates of armes did wisely understand. Eftsoones he perced through his chaufed chest With thrilling point of deadly yron brand, And launcht his lordly hart : with death opprest He ror'd aloud, whiles life forsooke his stubborne brest. XLIII. Who now is left to keepe the forlorne Maid From raging spoile of lawlesse victors will? Her faithful gard remov'd; her hope dismaid; Her selfe a yielded pray to save or spill! He now, lord of the field, his pride to fill, With foule reproches and disdaineful spright Her vildly entertaines; and, will or nill Beares her away upon his courser light Her prayers naught prevaile; his rage is more of might. EDMUND SPENSER 39 XLIV. And all the way, with great lamenting paine, And piteous plaintes she filleth his dull eares, That stony hart could riven have in twaine; And all the way she wetts with flowing teares ; But he, enrag'd with rancor, nothing heares. Her servile beast yet would not leave her so, But followes her far of, ne ought he feares To be partaker of her wandring woe, More mild in beastly kind, then that her beastly foe. [After many mishaps and adventures the Book ends with the happy union of the Red Cross Knight and Una; the marriage of Holiness and Truth.] BOOK II. CANTO VI. THE STORY OP SIR GUYON, OR THE KNIGHT OP TEMPERANCE Guyon is of immodest Merlh Led into loose desyre ; Fights with Chymochles, whiles his bro- ther burnes in furious fyre. I. A harder lesson to learne Continence In ioyous pleasure then in grievous paine ; For sweetnesse doth allure the weaker sence So strongly, that uneathes it can refraine From that which feeble nature covets faine; But griefe and wrath, that be her enemies, And foes of life, she better can abstainer Yet Vertue vauntes in both her victories; And Guyon in them all shewes goodly mysteries. 40 SPENSER TO DRYDEN [Cymochles having met a damsel who represents in- temperate pleasure, is tempted by her to neglect duty in inglorious idleness and self-indulgence. He falls under the spell of her blandishments and his coming under her allurements to the Idle Lake, the home of pleasure, is thus described:] XI. Whiles thus she talked, and whiles thus she toyd, They were far past the passage which he spake, And come unto an island waste and voyd, That floted in the midst of that great lake; There her small gondelay her port did make, And that gay payre, issewing on the shore, Disburdened her. Their way they forward take Into the land that lay them faire before, Whose pleasaunce she him shewde, and plentifull great store. XII. It was a chosen plott of fertile land, Emongst wide waves sett, like a little nest, As if it had by Nature's cunning hand Bene choycely picked out from all the rest, And laid forth for ensample of the best: No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, No arborett with painted blossomes drest And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al around. XIII. No tree whose braunches did not bravely spring; No braunch, whereon a fine bird did not sitt; No bird, but did her shrill notes sweetly sing; No song but did containe a lovely ditt. EDMUND SPENSER 41 Trees, braunches, birds, and songs, were framed fitt For to allure f raile mind to careless ease : Carelesse the man soone woxe, and his weake witt Was overcome of thing that did him please; So pleased did his wrathfull purpose faire appease. XIV. Thus when shoe had his eyes and sences fed With false delights, and fild with pleasures vayn, Into a shady dale she soft him led, And layd him downe upon a grassy playn; And her sweete selfe without dread or disdayn She sett beside, laying his head disarmd In her loose lap, it softly to sustayn, Where soone he slumbred fearing not be harm'd, The whiles with a love lay she thus him sweetly charmd : XV. " Behold, O man ! that toilsome paines doest take, The flowrs, the fields, and all that pleasaunt growes, How they themselves doe thine ensample make, Whiles nothing envious nature them forth throwes Out of her fruitf ull lap ; how, no man knowes, They spring, they bud, they blossome fresh and faire, And decke the world with their rich pompous showes ; Yet no man for them taketh paines or care, Yet no man to them can his carefull paines compare. XVI. " The lilly, lady of the flowring field, The flowre-de-luce, her lovely paramoure, Bid thee to them thy fruitlesse labors yield, And soone leave off this toylsome weary stoure: 42 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Loe! loe; how brave she decks her bounteous boure, With silkin curtens, and gold coverletts, Therein to shrowd her sumptuous belamoure! Yet neither spinnes nor cards, ne cares nor fretts, But to her mother Nature all her care she letts. XVII. " Why then doest thou, O man, that of them all Art lord, and eke of nature soveraine, Wilfully make thyselfe a wretched thrall, And waste thy ioyous howres in needelesse paine, Seeking for daunger and adventures vaine? What bootes it al to have, and nothing use? Who shall him rew that swimming in the maine Will die for thrist, and water doth refuse? Eefuse such fruitlesse toile, and present pleasures chuse." XVIII. By this she had him lulled fast asleepe, That of no worldly thing he care did take: Then she with liquors strong his eies did steepe, That nothing should him hastily awake. So she him lefte, and did herselfe betake Unto her boat again, with which she clefte The slouthf ull wave of that great griesy lake : Soone shee that Island far behind her lefte, And now is come to that same place where first she wefte. [Sir Guyon, who has also been assailed by the temp- tations of Pleasure, next encounters Mammon, or the temptations of Avarice.] EDMUND SPENSER 43 BOOK II CANTO VII. Guy on findes Mamon in a delve sunning his threasure hore ; Is by him tempted, and led downe To see his secret store. So Guyon, having lost his trustie guyde, Late left beyond that Ydle Lake, proceedes Yet on his way, of none accompanyde; And evermore himselfe with comfort feedes Of his own vertues and praise-worthie deedes. So, long he yode, yet no adventure found, Which Fame of her shrill trompet worthy reedes : For still he traveild through wide wastfull ground, That nought but desert wildernesse shewed all around. III. At last he came unto a gloomy glade, Cover'd with boughes and shrubs from heavens light, Whereas he sitting found in secret shade An uncouth, salvage, and uncivile wight, Of griesly hew and fowle ill-favour'd sight; His face with smoke was tand, and eies were bleard, His head and beard with sout were ill bedight, His cole-blacke hands did seeme to have ben seard In smythes fire-spitting forge, and nayles like clawes appeard. IV. His yron cote, all overgrowne with rust, Was underneath enveloped with gold; Whose glistering glosse darkened with filthy dust, Well yet appeared to have beene of old 44 SPENSER TO DRYDEN A worke of rich entayle and curious mould, Woven with antickes and wyld ymagery; And in his lap a masse of coyne he told, And turned upside downe, to feede his eye And covetous desire with his huge threasury. V. And round about him lay on every side Great hcapes of gold that never could be spent ; Of which some were rude owre, not purifide Of Mulcibers devouring element; Some others were new driven, and distent Into great Ingowes and to wedges square; Some in round plates withouten moniment; But most were stampt, and in their metal bare The antique shapes of kings and kesars stroung and rare. VI. Soone as he Guyon saw, in great affright And haste he rose for to remove aside Those pretious hils from straungers envious sight, And downe them poured through an hole full wide Into the hollow earth, them there to hide; But Guyon, lightly to him leaping, stayd His hand that trembled as one terrifyde; And though himselfe were at the sight dismayd, Fet him perforce restraynd, and to him doubtfull sayd: Til. " What art thou, Man, (if man at all thou art,) That here in desert hast thine habitaunce, And these rich hils of welth doest hide apart From the wo rides eye, and from her right usaunce ? " EDMUND SPENSER 45 Thereat, with staring eyes fixed askaunce, In great disdaine he answerd : " Hardy Elf e, That darest vew my direful countenaunce ! I read thee rash and heedlesse of thy selfe, To trouble my still seate, and heapes of pretious pelfe. VIII. " God of the world and worldlings I me call, Great Mammon, greatest god below the skye, That of my plenty poure out unto all, And unto none my graces do envye: Riches, renowme, and principality, Honour, estate, and all this worldes good, For which men swinck and sweat incessantly, Fro me do flow into an ample flood, And in the hollow earth have their eternall brood. IX. " Wherefore, if me thou deigne to serve and sew, At thy commaund lo ! all these mountaines bee ; Or if to thy great mind, or greedy vew, All these may not suffise, there shall to thee Ten times so much be nombred francke and free." " Mammon," said he, " thy godheads vaunt is vaine, And idle offers of thy golden fee; To them that covet such eye-glutting gaine Proffer thy giftes, and fitter servaunte entertaine. x. "Me ill besits, that in derdoing armes And honours suit my vowed daies do spend, Unto thy bounteous baytes, and pleasing charmes, With which weake men thou witchest, to attend ; 46 SPENSER TO DBYDEN Regard of worldly mucke doth fowly blend, And low abase the high heroicke spright, That ioyes for crownes and kingdomes to contend; Faire shields, gay steedes, bright armes, be my delight ; Those be the riches fit for an advent'rous knight." XI. "Vaine glorious Elfe," saide he, "doest not thou weet, That money can thy wantes at will supply? Shields, steeds, and armes, and all things for thee meet, It can purvay in twinckling of an eye; And crownes and kingdomes to thee multiply. Doe not I kings create, and throw the crowne Sometimes to him that low in dust doth ly, And him that raignd into his rowme thrust downe, And whom I lust do heape with glory and renowne ? " XII. " All otherwise," saide he, " I riches read, And deeme them roote of all disquietnesse ; First got with guile, and then preserv'd with dread, And after spent with pride and lavishnesse, Leaving behind them grief e and heavinesse: Infinite mischief es of them doe arize; Strife and debate, bloodshed and bitternesse, Outrageous wrong and hellish covetize, That noble heart, in great dishonour, doth despize. XIII. '*' Ne thine be Kingdomes, ne the scepters thine ; But realmes and rules thou doest both confound, And loyall truth to treason doest incline: Witnesse the guiltlesse blood pourd oft on ground; EDMUND SPENSER 47 The crowned often slaine; the slayer cround; The sacred diademe in peeces rent, And purple robe gored with many a wound, Castles surprizd, great cities sackt and brent: So mak'st thou kings, and gaynest wrongfull govern- ment ! XIV. " Long were to tell the troublous stormes that tosse The private state, and make the life unsweet: Who swelling sayles in Caspian sea doth crosse, And in frayle wood on Adrian gulf doth fleet, Doth not, I weene, so many evils meet." Then Mammon wexing wroth : " And why then," sayd, " Are mortall men so fond and undiscreet So evill thing to seeke unto their ayd ; And having not, complaine, and having it, upbrayd ? " XIX. " Me list not," said the Elfin Knight, " receave Thing offred, till I know it well be gott ; Ne wote I but thou didst these goods bereave From rightfull owner by unrighteous lott, Or that blood-guiltinesse or guile them blott." " Perdy," quoth he, " yet never eie did vew, ~Ne tong did tell, ne hand these handled not; But safe I have them kept in secret mew From hevens sight and powre of al which them pour- sew." XX. " What secret place," quoth he, " can safely hold So huge a masse, and hide from heavens eie? Or where hast thou thy wonne, that so much gold Thou canst preserve from wrong and robbery ? " 48 SPENSER TO DRYDEN " Come thou," quoth he, " and see." So by and by Through that thick covert he him led, and fownd A darksome way, which no man could descry, That deep descended through the hollow grownd, And was with dread and horror compassed arownd. XXI. At length they came into a larger space, That strecht itself e into an ample playne; Through which a beaten broad high way did trace That streight did lead to Plutoes griesly rayne: By that wayes side there sate infernall Payne, And fast beside him sat tumultuous Strife; The one in hand an yron whip did strayne, The other brandished a bloody knife; And both did gnash their teeth, and both did threten Life. XXII. On th'other side in one consort there sate Cruell Revenge, and rancorous Despight, Disloyall Treason, and hart-burning Hate; But gnawing Gealosy, out of their sight Sitting alone, his bitter lips did bight; And trembling Feare still to and fro did fly. And found no place wher safe he shroud him might : Lamenting Sorrow did in darknes lye; And Shame his ugly face did hide from living eye. XXIII. And over them sad ITorror with grim hew Did alwaies sore, beating his yron wings; And after him owles and night-ravens flew, The hatefull messengers of heavy things, EDMUND SPENSER 49 Of death and dolor telling sad tidings; Whiles sad Celeno, sitting on a clifte, A song of bale and bitter sorrow sings, That hart of flint a sender could have rifte; Which having ended, after him she flyeth swifte. XXIV. All these before the gates of Pluto lay; By whom they passing spake unto them nought ; But th' Elfin Knight with wonder all the way Did feed his eyes, and fild his inner thought. At last him to a litle dore he brought, That to the gate of hell, which gaped wide, Was next adiogning, ne them parted ought: Betwixt them both was but a litle stride, That did the house of Richesse from hell-mouth divide. XXV. Before the dore sat selfe-consuming Care, Day and night keeping wary watch and ward, For feare least Force or Fraud should unaware Breake in, and spoile the treasure there in gard: Ne would he suffer Sleepe once thether-ward Approch, albe his drowsy den were next ; For next to Death is Sleepe to be compard; Therefore his house is unto his annext: Here Sleepe, there Richesse, and Hel-gate them both betwext. XXVI. So soone as Mammon there arrivd, the dore To him did open, and affoorded way: Him followed eke Sir Guyon evermore; Ne darknesse him, ne daunger might dismay. 50 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Soone as he entred was, the dore streight way Did shutt, aud from behind it forth there lept An ugly feend, more fowle than dismall day; The which with monstrous stalke behind him stept, And ever as he went dew watch upon him kept. XXVIII. That houses forme within was rude and strong, Lyke an huge cave hewne out of rocky clifte, From whose rough vaut the ragged breaches hong Embost with massy gold of glorious guifte, And with rich metall loaded every rifte, That heavy mine they did seeme to threatt; And over them Arachne high did lifte Her cunning web, and spred her subtile nett, Enwrapped in fowle smoke and clouds more black then iett. XXIX. Both roofe, and floore, and walls, were all of gold, But overgrown with dust and old decay, And hid in darknes, that none could behold The hew thereof : for vew of cheref ull day Did never in that house it selfe display, But a faint shadow of uncertein light ; Such as a lamp, whose life does fade away; Or as the moone, cloathed with clowdy night, Does shew to him that walks in feare, and sad affright. XXX. In all that rowme was nothing to be seene But huge great yron chests, and coffers strong, All bard with double bends, that none could weene Them to efforce by violence or wrong; EDMUND SPENSER 51 On every side they placed were along. But all the grownd with sculs was scattered And dead mens bones, which round about were flong ; Whose lives, it seemed, whilome there were shed, And tht'ir vile carcases now left, unburied. XXXI. They forward passe; ne Guyon yet spoke word, Till that they came unto an yron dore, Which to them opened of his owne accord, And shewd of richesse such exceeding store, As eie of man did never see before, Ne ever could within one place be fownd, Though all the wealth which is, or was of yore, Could gathered be through all the world arownd, And that above were added to that under grownd. XXXII. The charge thereof unto a covetous spright Commaunded was, who thereby did attend, And warily awaited day and night, From other covetous feends it to defend, Who it to rob and ransacke did intend. Then Mammon, turning to that warriour, said: " Loe, here the worldes blis ! loe, here the end, To which al men doe ayme, rich to be made! Such grace now to be happy is before thee laid." XXXIII. " Certes," said he, " I n' ill thine offred grace, "Ne to be made so happy doe intend ! Another blis before mine eyes I place, Another happincs, another end. 52 SPENSER TO DRYDEN To them that list, these base regardes I lend: But I in armes, and in achievements brave, Do rather choose my flitting houres to spend, And to be lord of those that riches have, Then them to have myselfe, and be their servile sclave." XXXIV. Thereat the Feend his gnashing teeth did grate, And griev'd, so long to lacke his greedie pray; For well he weened that so glorious bayte Would tempt his guest to take thereof assay : Had he so doen, he had him snatcht away More light then culver in the f aulcoiis fist : Eternall God thee save from such decay! But, whenas Mammon saw his purpose mist, Him to entrap unwares another way he wist. [The poet then goes on to tell of the further tempta- tions to which Guyon is subjected, and of how the Knight withstands them. At length, after three days have passed, according to men's reckoning, Guyon begs to be taken back into the world, and Mammon, though loth, is constrained to comply with the request. But as soon as Guyon reaches the vital air he swoons, and lies as one dead. The next Canto (which ends with the Knight's recovery and re-union with the Palmer, his appointed guide,) begins with the follow- ing stanzas on the care of God for man, thus leading us to anticipate the happy ending.] (From Canto VIII.) I. And is there care in heaven ? And is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures bace, That may compassion of their evils move? There is: else much more wretched were the cace EDMUND SPENSEE 53 Of men then beasts. But O ! th' exceeding grace Of highest God that loves his creatures so, And all his workes with mercy doth embrace, That blessed Angels he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe. II. How oft do they their silver bowers leave, To come to succour us that succour want ! How oft do they with golden pineons cleave The flitting skyes, like flying Pursuivant, Against f owle f eendes to ayd us militant ! They for us fight, they watch and dewly ward, And their bright sqadrons round about us plant; And all for love, and nothing for reward. O ! why should hevenly God to men have such regard ? THE COURTIER (From Mother Hubberd's Tale, 1591) Most miserable man, whom wicked fate Hath brought to court, to sue for had ywist, That few have found, and manie one hath mist! Full little knowest thou that hast not tride, What hell it is in suing long to bide : To loose good dayes, that might be better spent; To wast long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to day, to be put back tomorrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow; To have thy Princes grace, yet want her Peeres; To have thy asking, yet waite manie yeeres; To fret thy soule with crosses and with cares; To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaires; 54 SPENSER TO DRYDEN To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to roime, To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne. Unhappie wight, borne to desastrous end, That doth his life in so long tendance spend ! Who ever leaves sweete home, where meane estate In safe assurance, without strife or hate, Findes all things needf ull for contentment meeke, And will to court for shadowes vaine to seeke, Or hope to gaine, himselfe will one daie crie, That curse God send unto mine enemie! SONNET XL. (From Amoretti, 1595) Mark when she smiles with amiable cheare, And tell me whereto can ye lyken it; When on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare An hundred Graces as in shade to sit. Lykest it seemeth, in my simple wit, Unto the fayre sunshine in somers day; That, when a dreadfull storm away is flit, Thrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly ray: At sight whereof, each bird that sits on spray., And every beast that to his den was fled, Comes forth afresh out of their late dismay, And to thy light lift up their drouping hed. So my storme-beaten hart likewise is cheared With that sunshine, when cloudy looks are cleared. SONNET LXXV. (From the same) One day I wrote her name upon the strand; But came the waves and washed it away: Agayne, I wrote it with a second hand; And came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray. EDMUND SPENSER 55 S( Vayne man," sayd she, " that doest in vayne assay . A mortall thing so to immortalize; For I myselve shall lyke to this decay, And eek my name bee wyped out lykewize." " Not so " (quod I) ; " let baser things devize To dy in dust, but you shall live by fame: My verse your vertues rare shall eternize, And in the hevens wryte your glorious name; Where, when as death shall all the world subdew, Our love shall live, and later life renew." ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 1553-1606 APELLES' SONG (From Alexander and Campaspe, 1584 ; acted 1581) Cupid and my Campaspe played At cards for kisses, Cupid paid; He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows: Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how) ; With these the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin: All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes; She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love, has she done this to thee? What shall, alas ! become of me ? IRobert (Breene 1560-1592 CONTENT (From Farewell to Folly, 1591) Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content. The quiet mind is richer than a crown, 56 ELIZABETHAN- SONGS AND LYRICS 57 Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent. The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown: Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss, The homely house that harbours quiet rest, The cottage that affords no pride nor care, The mean that grees with country music best, The sweet consort of mirth and modest fare, Obscured life sets down a type of bliss : A mind content both crown and kingdom is. (In The Passionate Pugrim, 1599, enlarged form in England's Helicon, 1600) Come live with me, and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, hills and fields, Woods or steepy mountains yields. And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle ; A gown made of the finest wool Which from our pretty lambs we pull; 58 SPENSEK TO DRYDEN Fair-lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold; A belt of straw and ivy-buds, With coral clasps and amber studs: An if these pictures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love. Ubomas Befcfeer dr. 1570 dr. 1637 O SWEET CONTENT (From The Patient Grissell, acted 1599) Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ? O sweet content! Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? O punishment! Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed To add to golden numbers, golden numbers? O sweet content ! O sweet O sweet content ! Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labor bears a lovely face ; Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny! Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring ? O sweet content! Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? O punishment! Then he that patiently want's burden bears ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 59 No burden bears, but is a king, a king ! O sweet content ! O sweet O sweet content ! Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labor bears a lovely face; Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny! Ubomas 1581 (?)-1640 (?) GOOD MORROW (From The Rape of Lucrece, 1608 (printed), acted dr. 1605) Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day, With night we banish sorrow; Sweet air blow soft, mount lark aloft, To give my love good-morrow. Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow; Bird prune thy wing, nightingale sing-, To give my love good-morrow, To give my love good-morrow, Notes from them both I'll borrow. Wake from thy rest, robin-redbreast, Sing birds in every furrow; And from each bill let music shrill Give my fair love good-morrow. Blackbird and thrush in every bush, Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow, You pretty elves, amongst yourselves Sing my fair love good-morrow ; To give my love good-morrow Sing birds in every furrow. 60 SPENSER TO DEYDEN Ubomas Campion D. 1619 (?) TO LESBIA (In Rosseter's Book of Airs, 1601) My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love, And though the sager sort our deeds reprove Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great do dive Into their west, and straight again revive; But soon as once set is our litle light, Then must we sleep one ever-during night. If all would lead their lives in love like me, Then bloody swords and armour should not be; No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move, Unless alarm came from the Camp of Love : But fools do live and waste their little light. And seek with pain their ever-during night. When timely death my life and fortunes ends. Let not my hearse be vext with mourning friends ; But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb ; And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light And crown with love my ever-during night. THE ARMOUR OF INNOCENCE (From the same) The man of life upright, Whose guiltless heart is free ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 61 From all dishonest deeds, Or thought of vanity; The man whose silent days In harmless joys are spent, Whom hopes cannot delude Nor sorrow discontent: That man needs neither towers Nor armour for defence, Nor secret vaults to fly From thunder's violence : He only can behold With unaffrighted eyes The horrors of the deep And terrors of the skies. Thus scorning all the cares That fate or fortune brings, He makes the heaven his book; His wisdom heavenly things; Good thoughts his only friends, His wealth a well-spent age, The earth his sober inn And quiet pilgrimage. FORTUNATI N1MIUM Jack and Joan, they think no ill, But loving live, and merry still; Do their week-day's work, and pray Devoutly on the holy-day: 62 SPENSER TO DRDYEN Skip and trip it on the green, And help to choose the Summer Queen; Lash out at a country feast Their silver penny with the best. Well can they judge of nappy ale, And tell at large a winter tale; Climb up to the apple loft, And turn the crabs till they be soft. Tib is all the father's joy, And little Tom the mother's boy : All their pleasure is, Content, And care, to pay their yearly rent. Joan can call by name her cows And deck her windows with green boughs; She can wreaths and tutties make, And trim with plums a bridal cake. Jack knows what brings gain or loss, And his long flail can stoutly toss : Makes the hedge which others break, And ever thinks what he doth speak. Now, you courtly dames and knights, That study only strange delights, Though you scorn the homespun gray, And revel in your rich array; Though your tongues dissemble deep And can your heads from danger keep; Yet, for all your pomp and train, Securer lives the silly swain! ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 63 3obn jfletcber 1579-1625 SONG OF THE PRIEST OF PAN (From The Faithful Shepherdess, Act II. sc. 1, acted 1610) Shepherds all, and maidens fair Fold your flocks up, for the air 'Gins to thicken, and the sun Already his great course hath run. See the dew-drops how they kiss Every little flower that is ; Hanging on their velvet heads. Like a rope of crystal beads; See the heavy clouds low falling. And bright Hesperus down calling The dead night from under ground; At whose rising mists unsound, Damps and vapours fly apace, Hovering o'er the wanton face Of these pastures, where they come Striking dead both bud and bloom : Therefore from such danger loek Every one his loved flock; And let your dogs lie loose without, Lest the wolf come as a scout From the mountain, and, ere day, Bear a lamb or kid away; Or the crafty thievish fox Break upon your simple flocks. To secure yourselves from these Be not too secure in ease; Let one eye his watches peep While the other eye doth sleep ; So you shall good shepherds prove, 64 SPENSER TO DRYDEN And for ever hold the love Of our great god. Sweetest slumbers, And soft silence, fall in numbers On your eyelids ! So, farewell ! Thus I end my evening's knell. SONG TO PAN (From the same, Act. V. sc. 5.) All ye woods, and trees, and bowers, All ye virtues and ye powers That inhabit in the lakes, In the pleasant springs or brakes, Move your feet To our sound, Whilst we greet All this ground With his honour and his name That defends our flocks from blame. He is great, and he is just, He is ever good, and must Thus be honoured. Daffodillies, Roses, pinks, and loved lilies, Let us fling Whilst we sing Ever holy, Ever holy, Ever honoured, ever young! Thus great Pan is ever sung*! ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 65 jf rancis Beaumont 1586(?)-1616 ON THE LIFE OF MAN (From Poems, 1640) Like to the falling of a star, Or as the flights of eagles are, Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, Or silver drops of morning dew, Or like the wind that chafes the flood, Or bubbles which on water stood; Even such is man, whose borrowed light Is straight called in and paid to-night. The wind blows out, the bubble dies, The spring entombed in autumn lies, The dew's dried up, the star is shot, The flight is past, and man forgot. ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY (From Poems, 1653) Mortality, behold and fear! What a change of flesh is here! Think how many royal bones Sleep within this heap of stones; Here they lie, had realms and lands, Who now want strength to stir their hands ; Where from their pulpits sealed with dust They preach, " In greatness is no trust." Here's an acre sown indeed With the richest, royall'st seed That the earth did e'er suck in Since the first man died for sin : Here the bones of birth have cried, " Though gods they were, as men they died ! " 66 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruined sides of kings: Here's a world of pomp and state, Buried in dust, once dead by fate. Sir Denes Motton 1568-1639 THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE (Written dr. 1614) How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought. And simple truth his utmost skill; Whose passions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death. Untied unto the world by care Of public fame or private breath; Who envies none that chance doth raise, Nor vice; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise; Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; Who hath his life from rumours freed ; Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great; Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend. ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 67 This man is fi-eed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And having nothing, yet hath all. Sir Walter 1552-1618 THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD (From England's Helicon, 1600) If all the world and Love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pleasures might my passion move, To live with thee, and be thy love. But time drives flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb, The rest complains of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancies spring but sorrows fall. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy -buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All those in me no moans can move, To come to thee, and be thy love. 68 SPENSER TO DRYDEN But could youth last, could love still breed, Had joys no date, had age no need; Then those delights my mind might move To live with thee and be thy love. 3Ben Sonson 1573-1637 TO THE MEMORY OP MY BELOVED MASTER WILLIAM 8HAKS- PEARE, AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US (From First Folio edition of Shakespeare, 1623) To draw no envy, Shakspeare, 011 thy name, Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; While I confess thy writings to be such, As neither Man nor Muse can praise too much. 'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways. Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; For silliest ignorance on these may light, Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right: Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance; Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, And think to ruin where it seemed to raise. But thou art proof against them and, indeed, Above the ill fortune of them, or the need. I therefore will begin : Soul of the age ! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My SHAKSPEARE, rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou art a monument without a tomb, ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 69 Thou art alive still while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read, and praise to give. That I not mix thee so my brain excuses, I mean with great but disproportioned Muses; For if I thought my judgment were of years, I should commit thee surely with thy peers, And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line. And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek, From thence to honour thee I would not seek For names, but call forth thund'ring /Eschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles to us, Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, To life again, to hear thy buskin tread, And shake a stage ; or when thy socks were on, Leave thee alone for a comparison Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time ! And all the Muses still were in their prime, When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm! Nature herself was proud of his designs. And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines, Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; But antiquated and deserted lie, As they were not of Nature's family. Yet must I not give Nature all; thy Art, My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part. For though the poet's matter nature be, His art doth give the fashion; and that ha 70 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Who casts to write a living line, must sweat (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat Upon the Muses' anvil, turn the same, And himself with it, that he thinks to frame; Or for the laurel he may gain a scorn ; For a good poet's made, as well as born. And such wert thou! Look, how the father's face Lives in his issue, even so the race Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightlj shines In his well turned and true filed lines, In each of which- he seems to shake a lance, As brandished at the eyes of ignorance. Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were To see thee in our waters yet appear, And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, That so did take Eliza and our James ! But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere Advanced, and made a constellation there! Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage Or influence chide or cheer the drooping stage, Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourned like night, And despairs day but for thy volume's light. SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS (From Epiccene ; or, The Silent Woman, Act I. sc. 1., 1609-10) Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast ; Still to be powdered, still perfumed: Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, AH is not sweet, all is not sound. ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS Vl Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. THE TRIUMPH OP CHARIS (From " A Celebration of Charis " in Underwoods, 1616) See the chariot at hand here of Love, Wherein my Lady rideth! Each that draws is a swan or a dove, And well the car Love guideth. As she goes, all hearts do duty Unto her beauty; And enamoured do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to run by her side, Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love's world compriseth ! Do but look on her hair, it is bright As Love's star when it riseth! Do but mark, her forehead's smoother Than words that soothe her; And from her arched brows, such a grace Sheds itself through the fac3, As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife, Have you seen but a bright lily grow Before rude hands have touched it? Have you marked but the fall o' the snow Before the soil hath smutched it? 72 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Have you felt the wool of beaver? Or swan's down ever? Or have smelt o' the bud o' the briar? Or the nard in the fire? Or have tasted the bag of the bee? O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she! SONG. TO CYNTHIA (From Cynthia's Revels, Act V. sc. 3, 1600) Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep; Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear, when day did close; Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal-shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever: Thou that makest a day of night, Goddess excellently bright. ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 73 Miiliam Sbafeespeare 1564-1616 SILVIA (From The Two Gentlemen of Verona, IV. 2, 1598 ; acted about 1592-93; Who is Silvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she, The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be. Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness: Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness; And, being help'd, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling: She excels each mortal thing, Upon the dull earth dwelling: To her let us garlands bring. UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE (From As Ton Like It, II. 5, acted 1599) Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. 74 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleas'd with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither : Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. O MISTRESS MINE, WHERE ARE YOU ROAMING (From Twelfth Right, II. 3, about 1601) O mistress mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers' meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 'Tis not hereafter: Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure : In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. TAKE, OH, TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY (From Measure for Measure, IV. 1, 1603) Take, oh take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn; 5 But my kisses bring again, bring again. Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, sealM in vain. ELIZABETHAN SONGS AND LYRICS 75 HARK, HARK, THE LARK (From Cymbeline, II. 3, 1609) Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chalic'd flowers that lies; And winking Mary -buds begin to ope their golden eyes ; With everything that pretty is My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise. DIRGE (From the same, IV. 2) Fear no more the heat of the sun Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the groat, Thou art past the tyrants' stroke; Care no more to clothe, and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak : The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the light'ning flash; Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou hast finished joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. 76 SPENSER I'D DRYDEN No exerciser harm thee! Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Ghost unlaid forbear thee! Nothing ill come near thee! Quiet consummation have; And renowned be thy grave! A SEA DIRGE (From The Tempest, I. 2, 1610) Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong. Hark! now I hear them Ding-dong bell. ARIEL'S SONG (From the same, Act V. sc. 1) Where the bee sucks, there suck I : In a cowslip's bell I lie ; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. ELIZABETHAN SONNETS Sir pbilip Stones 1554-1586 SONNET XXXI (From Astrophel and Stella, dr. 1591) With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies ! How silently, and with how wan a face! What, may it be that even in heavenly place That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eye Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case; I read it in thy looks, thy languished grace, To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. Then ev'n of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, Is constant love deemed there but want of wit? Are beauties there as proud as here they be? Do they above love to be loved, and yet Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? SONNET XXXIX ON SLEEP (From the same) Come, Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, The indifferent judge between the high and low; 78 SPENSER TO DRYDEN With shield of proof, shield me from out the prease Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw : make in me those civil wars to cease; 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed ; A chamber deaf of noise, and blind of light ; A rosy garland and a weary head: And if these things, as being thine in right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. Samuel H>amel 1562-1619 SONNET LI (From Delia, Containing certain Sonnets, 1592) Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born: Relieve my languish and restore the light; With dark forgetting of my care, return, And let the day be time enough to mourn The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth: Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn Without the torment of the night's untruth. Cease dreams, the images of day desires, To model forth the passions of the morrow; Never let rising sun approve you liars, To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow. Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, And never wake to feel the day's disdain. ELIZABETHAN SONNETS 79 1563-1681 SONNET LXI (From Idea's Mirror, 1594) Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, Nay I have done, you get no more of me ; And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free; Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, When his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes: Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over, From death to life thou might'st him yet recover. Milliam DrummonO 1585-1649 ON SLEEP (From Poems, Amorous, Funeral, etc., 1616) Sleep, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest, Prince whose approach peace to all mortals brings, Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings, Sole comforter of minds which are oppress'd; Lo, by thy charming rod, all breathing things Lie slumb'ring, with forgetfulness possess'd, And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings Thou spar'st, alas ! who cannot be thy guest. 80 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Since i am thine, O come, but with that face To inward light, which thou are wont to shew, With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe; Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace, Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath, I long to kiss the image of my death. Sbafeespeare SONNET XXIX (From Sonnets, 1595-1605) When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate: For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings. SONNET XXX When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste : Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight : ELIZABETHAN SONNETS 81 Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored and sorrows end. SONNET XXXIII Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: Even so my sun one early morn did shine With all-triumphant splendour on my brow; But, out, alack! he was but one hour mine, The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth. SONNET LX Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, 82 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. SONNET LXXIII That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. SONNET CXVI Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. ELIZABETHAN SONNETS 88 Sobn Bonne 1573-1631 SONNET X. ON DEATH (From Holy Sonmts, written before 1607) Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death; nor yet cans' t thou kill me. From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow: And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and souls' delivery. Thou art slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well, And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou, then? One short sleep pass, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. MICHAEL DRAYTON /IDicbael Drapton 1563-1631 AGINCOURT MY FRIEXD8 THE CAMBER-BRITOXS AND THEIR HARP (From Poems, Lyrics and Pastorals, 1605 ?) Fair stood the wind for France, When we our sails advance, And now to prove our chance Longer not tarry, But put unto the main, At Caux, the mouth of Seine, With all his warlike train, Landed King Harry. And taking many a fort, Furnished in warlike sort, Coming toward Agincourt In happy hour, Skirmishing day by day With those oppose his way, Where as the gen'ral lay With all his power: Which in his height of pride, As Henry to deride, His ransom to provide Unto him sending; 84 MICHAEL DRAYTON 85 Which he neglects the while, As from a nation vile, Yet with an angry smile, Their fall portending; And, turning to his men, Quoth famous Henry then, ' Though they to one be ten, Be not amazed; Yet have we well begun, Battles so bravely won Ever more to the sun By fame are raised. ' And for myself,' quoth he, ' This my full rest shall be, England ne'er mourn for me, Nor more esteem me. Victor I will remain, Or on this earth be slain, Never shall she sustain Loss to redeem me. ' Poyters and Cressy tell, When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell, No less our skill is Than when our grandsire great, Claiming the regal seat, In many a warlike feat Lopp'd the French lilies.' The Duke of York so dread, The eager vaward led; With the main Henry sped, Amongst his henchmen. 86 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Excester had the rear, A braver man not there, And now preparing were For the false Frenchman, And ready to be gone, Armor on armor shone, Drum unto drum did groan, To hear was wonder; That with the cries they make The very earth did shake, Trumpet to trumpet spake, Thunder to thunder. Well it thine age became, O noble Erpingham, Thou did'st the signal frame Unto the forces; When from a meadow by, Like a storm suddenly, The English archery Stuck the French horses. The Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long, That like to serpents stong, Piercing the wether; None from his death now starts, But playing manly parts, And like true English hearts Stuck close together. When down their bows they threw, And forth their bilbows drew, And on the French they flew: No man was tardy; MICHAEL DRAYTON 81 Arms from the shoulders sent, Scalps to the teeth were rent, Down the French peasants went, These were men hardy. When now that noble king, His broad sword brandishing, Into the host did fling, As to o'erwhelm it; Who many a deep wound lent, His arms with blood besprent, And many a cruel dent Bruised his helmet. Gloster, that duke so good, Next of the royal blood, For famous England stood, With his brave brother, Clarence, in steel most bright. That yet a maiden knight, Yet in this furious fight Scarce such another. Warwick in blood did wade, Oxford the foes invade, And cruel slaughter made, Still as they ran up; Suffolk his axe did ply, Beaumont and Willoughby Bear them right doughtily, Ferrers and Fanhope. On happy Crispin day Fought was this noble fray, Which fame did not delay To England to carry; O when shall Englishmen, With such acts fill a pen? Or England breed again Such a King Harry? SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 5obn Bonne 1573-1631 AN ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF THE LADY HABEHAJf (First published 1633; Man is the world, and death the ocean To which God gives the lower parts of man. This sea environs all, and though as yet God hath set marks and bounds 'twixt us and it, Yet doth it roar and gnaw, and still pretend To break our bank, whene'er it takes a friend: Then our land-waters (tears of passion) vent; Our waters then above our firmament Tears, which our soul doth for her sin let fall, Take all a brackish taste, and funeral. And even those tears, which should wash sin, are sin. We, after God, new drown our world again. Nothing but man of all envenom'd things, Doth work upon itself with inborn stings. Tears are false spectacles; we cannot see Through passion's mist, what we are, or what she. In her this sea of death hath made no breach; But as the tide doth wash the shining beach, And leaves embroider'd works upon the sand, So is her flesh refin'd by Death's cold hand. 88 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 89 As men of China, after an age's stay, Do take up porcelain, where they buried clay, So at this grave, her limbec (which refines The diamonds, rubies, sapphires, pearls and mines, Of which this flesh was) her soul shall inspire Flesh of such stuff, as God, when His last fire Annuls this world, to recompense it, shall Make and name them th' elixir of this all. They say the sea, when th' earth it gains, loseth too; If carnal Death, the younger brother, do Usurp the body; our soul, which subject is To th' elder Death by sin, is free by this ; They perish both, when they attempt the just; For graves our trophies are, and both Death's dust. So, unobnoxious now, she hath buried both; For none to death sins, that to sin is loath, Nor do they die, which are not loath to die; So she hath this and that virginity. Grace was in her extremely diligent, That kept her from sin, yet made her repent. Of what small spots pure white complains! Alas! How little poison cracks a crystal glass ! She sinn'd, but just enough to let us see That God's word must be true, all sinners le. So much did zeal her conscience rarify, That extreme truth lack'd little of a lie, Making omissions acts; laying the touch Of sin on things, that sometimes may be such. As Moses' cherubims, whose natures do Surpass all speed, by him are winged too, So would her soul, already in heaven, seem then To climb by tears the common stairs of men. How fit she was for God, I am content 90 SPENSER TO DEYDEN To speak, that Death his vain haste may repent; How fit for us, how even and how sweet, How good in all her titles, and how meet To have reform'd this forward heresy, That women can no parts of friendship be ; How moral, how divine, shall not be told, Lest they, that hear her virtues, think her old: And lest we take Death's part, and make him glad Of such a prey, and to his triumphs add. A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING (Sometimes called " Upon Parting from his Mistris" written, 1612?) As virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to go, Whilst some of their sad friends do say, ' Now his breath goes,' and some say, ' No ; ' So let us melt, and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move; 'Twere profanation of our joys, To tell the laity our love. Moving of th' earth brings harm and fears, Men reckon what it did, and meant ; But trepidations of the spheres, Though greater far, are innocent. Dull sublunary Lovers' love, (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence; for that it doth remove Those things which elemented it. But we, by a love so far refin'd That ourselves know not what it is, Inter-assured of the mind Careless eyes, lips, and hands, to miss. SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 91 Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two; Thy soul, the fixt foot, makes no show, To move, but doth if th' other do. And though it in the centre sit, Yet when the other far doth roam, It leans and harkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must Like th' other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end where I begun. SONG (From Poems, with Elegies on the Author's Death, 1633) Sweetest Love, I do not go For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter Love for me; But since that I Must die at last, 'tis best Thus to use myself in jest, Thus by feigned death to die. Yesternight the sun went hence, And yet is here to-day; He hath no desire nor sense, Nor half so short a way. 92 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Then fear not me; But believe that I shall make Hastier journeys, since I take More wings and spurs than he. O how feeble is man's power, That, if good fortune fall, Cannot add another hour, Nor a lost hour recall. But come bad chance, And we join to it our strength, And we teach it art and length, Itself o'er us t' advance. When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st no wind, But sigh'st my soul away; When thou weep'st, unkindly kind, My life's-blood doth decay. It cannot be That thou lov'st me as thou say'st, If in thine my life thou waste That art the best of me. Let not thy divining heart Forethink me any ill; Destiny may take thy part And may thy fears fulfil; But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep: They, who one another keep Alive, ne'er parted be. SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 93 A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER (First published 1631) Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun, Which was my sin, though it were done before? Wilt Thou forgive that sin, through which I run And do run still, though still I do deplore ? When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done; For I have more. Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won Others to sin, and made my sins their door? Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun A year or two, but wallow'd in, a score ? When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done; For I have more. I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun My last thread, I shall perish on the shore; But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son Shall shine, as He shines now and heretofore: And having done that, Thou hast done; I fear no more. iberbert 1593-1633 VERTUE (From The Temple, 1631) Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridall of the earth and skie: 'The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die. 94 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My musick shows ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and vertuous soul, Like season'd timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives. THE PULLEY (From the same) When God at first made man, Having a glasse of blessings standing by, ' Let us,' said He, * poure on him all we can ; Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, Contract into a span.' So strength first made a way; Then beautie flow'd, then wisdome, honour, pleasure ; When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that, alone of all His treasure, Rest in the bottome lay. ' For if I should,' said He, ' Bestow this Jewell also on My creature, He would adore My gifts in stead of Me, And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature: So both should losers be. SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 95 Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessnesse : Let him be rich and wearie, that at least, If goodnesse leade him not, yet wearinesse May tosse him to my breast.' THE ELIXIR (From the same) Teach me, my God and King, In all things Thee to see, And what I do in anything To do it as for Thee: Not rudely, as a beast, To runne into an action; But still to make Thee prepossest, And give it his perfection. A man that looks on glasse, On it may stay his eye; Or if he pleaseth, through it passe, And then the heav'n espie. All may of Thee partake: Nothing can be so mean, Which with his tincture ' for Thy sake,' Will not grow bright and clean. A servant with this clause Makes drudgerie divine; Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws, Makes that and th' action fine. This is the famous stone That turneth all to gold; For that which God doth touch and own Cannot for lesse be told. 96 SPENSER TO DKYDEN THE COLLAR (From the same) I struck the board, and cry'd, ' No more ; I will abroad.' What, shall I ever sigh and pine ? My lines and life are free; free as the road, Loose as the winde, as large as store. Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me bloud and not restore What I have lost with cordiall fruit ? Sure there was wine, Before my sighs did drie it ; there was corn Before my tears did drown it ; Is the yeare onely lost to me? Have I no bayes to crown it, No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted, All wasted? Not so, my heart; but there is fruit, And thou hast hands. Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures; leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit and not ; forsake thy cage, Thy rope of sands Which pettie thoughts have made; and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw, And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. Away ! take heed ; I will abroad. Call in thy death's-head there, tie up thy fears; He that forbears To suit and serve his need Deserves his load. SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 97 But as I raved and grew more fierce and wilde At every word, Methought I heard one calling, ' Childe ' ; And I reply'd, ' My Lord.' ftenrp Dauaban 1621-1695 THE RETREATE (From Silex Scintittans, Part I., 1650) Happy those early dayes, when I Shin'd in my Angell-inf ancy ! Before I understood this place Appointed for my second race, Or taught my soul to fancy ought But a white, celestiall thought; When yet I had not walkt above A mile or two from my first Love, And looking back, at that short space, Could see a glimpse of his bright face ; When on some gilded Cloud or Flowre My gazing soul would dwell an houre, And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity; Before I fought my tongue to wound My conscience with a sinfull sound, Or had the black art to dispence A sev'rall sinne to ev'ry sense, But felt through all this fleshly dresse Bright shootes of everlastingnesse. O how I long to travell back, And tread again that ancient track! That I might once more reach that plaine, Where first I left my glorious traine; 98 SPENSER TO DRYDEN From whence th' inlightened spirit sees That shady City of Palme trees. But ah ! my soul with too much stay Is drunk, and staggers in the way ! Some men a forward motion love, But I by backward steps would move; And, when this dust falls to the urn, In that state I came, return. DEPARTED FRIENDS (From Silex Scintillans, Part II., 1655) They are all gone into the world of light 1 And I alone sit ling'ring here! Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear. It glows and glitters in my cloudy brest Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest After the Sun's remove. I see them walking in an air of glory Whose light doth trample on my days; My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Meer glimmerings and decays. O holy Hope! and high Humility! High as the Heavens above; These are your walks, and you have shew'd them me To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous Death ; the Jewel of the Just ! Shining nowhere but in the dark; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark! SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 99 He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest ma;v knov- At first sight if the bird be flown; But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted theams And into glory peep. If a star were confin'd into a tomb, Her captive flames must needs burn there; But when the hand that lockt her up gives room, She'll shine through all the sphere. O Father of eternal life, and all Created glories under thee! Kesume thy spirit from this world of thrall Into true liberty! Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill My perspective still as they pass; Or else remove me hence unto that hill Where I shall need no glass. 1588-166? THE AUTHOR'S RESOLUTION IN A SONNET (From Fidelia, 1615) Shall I, wasting in despaire Dye, because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care Cause anothers Eosie are? 100 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Be she fairer than the Day Or the Howry Meads in May, If she thinke not well of me, What care I how faire she be? Shall my seely heart be pin'd Cause I see a woman kind? Or a well disposed Nature Joyned with a lovely feature? Be she Meeker, Kinder than Turtle-dove or Pellican: If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be? Shall a woman's Vertues move Me to perish for her Love? Or her wel deservings knowne Make me quite forget mine own? Be she with that Goodness blest Which may merit name of best : If she be not such to me, What care I how Good she be ? Cause her Fortune seems too high Shall I play the fool and die? She that beares a Noble mind, If not outward helpes she find, Thinks what with them he wold do, That without them dares her woe. And unlesse that Minde I see What care I how great she be? Great, or Good, or Kind, or Faire I will ne're the more despaire: If she love me (this beleeve) I will Die ere she shall grieve. SEVENTEENTH CENTURY SONGS 101 If she slight me when I woe, I can scorne and let her goe, For if she be not for me What care I for whom she be ? Hbrabam Cowles 1618-1667 A VOTE (From Poetical Blossoms, second ed., 1636) This only grant me, that my means may lie Too low for envy, for contempt too high. Some honour I would have, Not from great deeds, but good alone; The unknown are better than ill known: Rumour can ope the grave. Acquaintance I would have, but when 't depends Not on the number, but the choice of friends. Books should, not business, entertain the light, And sleep, as undisturb'd as death, the night. My house a cottage more Than palace, and should fitting be For all my use, no luxury. My garden painted o'er With nature's hand, not art's; and pleasures yield, Horace might envy in his Sabine field. Thus would I double my life's fading space, For he that runs it well, twice runs his race. And in this true delight, These unbought sports, this happy state, I would nor fear, nor wish my fate, But boldly say each night, To-morrow let my sun his beams display, Or in clouds hide them, I have liv'd to-day. 102 SPENSER TO DRYDEN THE GRASSHOPPER (From Miscellanies, 1650) Happy Insect what can be In happiness compar'd to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning's gentle wine! Nature waits upon thee still, And thy verdant cup does fill. 'Tis fill'd where ever thou dost tread, Nature selfe's thy Ganimed. Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing 5 Happier than the happiest King! All the fields which thou dost see, All the plants belong to thee, All that summer hours produce, Fertile made with early juice. Man for thee does sow and plow; Farmer he and land-lord thou! Thou doest innocently joy; Nor does thy luxury destroy; The shepherd gladly heareth thee, More harmonious than he. Thee country hindes with gladness hear, Prophet of the ripened year! Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire; Phoebus is himself thy sire. To thee of all things upon earth, Life is no longer than thy mirth, Happy insect, happy thou, Dost neither age, nor winter know, But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung, Thy fill, the flowery leaves among (Voluptuous, and wise with all, Epicurean animal!) Sated with thy summer feast, Thou retir'st to endless rest. SEVENTEENTH CENTUitY SONGS 103 3ames Sbirlep 1596-1667 A DIRGE (From The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses, 1659) The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings: Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, poor captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds : Your heads must come To the cold tomb, Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in their dust. 104 SPENSER TO DRYDEN Ubomas Carew 1589-1639 DISDAIN RETURNED (Printed, without concluding stanza, in Porter's Madrigalles and Ayrei, 1632) He that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires; Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires, As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away. But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts, with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires; Where these art not, I despise Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. No tears, Celia, now shall win, My resolved heart to Teturn ; I have searched thy soul within And find nought but pride and scorn; I have learned thy arts, and now Can disdain as much as thou ! Sir 3obn Sucfelfna 1609-1641 ORSAMES' SONG. (From