With cheerfull face, where valour lively was exprest,
But humble mynd, he said; "O Lord, if ought this fraile
And earthly carcasse have thy service sought t' advaunce;
If my desire have bene still to relieve th' opprest;
If justice to maintaine that valour I have spent
Which thou me gav'st; or if henceforth I might advaunce
Thy name, thy truth, then spare me (Lord) if thou think
best;
Forbeare these unripe yeares. But if thy will be bent,
If that prefixed time be come which thou hast set;
Through pure and fervent faith, I hope now to be plast
In th' everlasting blis, which with thy precious blood
Thou purchase didst for us." With that a sigh he set,
And straight a cloudie mist his sences overcast ;
His lips waxt pale and wan, like damaske roses bud
Cast from the stalke, or like in field to purple flowre,
Which languisheth being shred by culter as it past.
A trembling chilly cold ran throgh their veines, which were
With eies brimfull of teares to see his fatall howre,
Whose blustring sighes at first their sorrow did declare,
Next, murmuring ensude; at last they not forbeare
Plaine outcries, all against the Heav'ns that enviously
Depriv'd us of a spright so perfect and so rare.
The Sun his lightsom beames did shrowd, and hide his face
For griefe, whereby the earth feard night eternally:
The mountaines eachwhere shooke, the rivers turn'd their
streames,
And th' aire gan winterlike to rage and fret apace:
And grisly ghosts by night were seene, and fierie gleames,
Amid the clouds with claps of thunder, that did seeme
To rent the skies, and made both man and beast afeard:
The birds of ill presage this lucklesse chance foretold,
By dernfull noise; and dogs with howling made man deeme
Some mischief was at hand: for such they do esteeme
As tokens of mishap, and so have done of old.
Ah! that thou hadst but heard his lovely Stella plaine Her greevous losse, or seene her heavie mourning cheere, While she, with woe opprest, her sorrowes did unfold.
Her haire hung lose, neglect, about her shoulders twaine; And from those two bright starres, to him sometime so deere,
Her heart sent drops of pearle, which fell in foyson downe
Twixt Lilly and the Rose. She wroong her hands with paine,
And piteously gan say:
My true and faithfull pheere,
Alas, and woe is me, why should my fortune frowne
On me thus frowardly to rob me of my joy!
What cruell envious hand hath taken thee away,
And with thee my content, my comfort, and my stay?
Thou onelie wast the ease of trouble and annoy,
When they did me assaile; in thee my hopes did rest.
Alas, what now is left but grief, that night and day
Afflicts this wofull life, and with continuall rage
Torments ten thousand waies my miserable brest!
O greedie envious Heav'n, what needed thee to have
Enricht with such a Jewell this unhappie age;
To take it back againe so soone! Alas, when shall
Mine eies see ought that may content them, since thy grave,
My onely treasure, hides the joyes of my poore hart!
As here with thee on earth I liv'd, even so equall
Me thinkes it were with thee in heav'n I did abide :
And as our troubles all we here on earth did part,
So reason would that there of thy most happie state
I had my share. Alas, if thou my trustie guide
Were wont to be, how canst thou leave me thus alone
In darknesse and astray; weake, wearie, desolate,
Plung'd in a world of woe, refusing for to take
Me with thee to the place of rest where thou art gone!"
This said, she held her peace, for sorrow tide her toong;
And insteed of more words, seemd that her eies a lake
Of teares had bene, they flow'd so plenteously therefro:
And, with her sobs and sighs, th' aire round about her roong.
If Venus, when she waild her deare Adonis slaine,
Ought moov'd in thy fiers hart compassion of her woe,
His noble sisters plaints, her sighes and teares emong,
Would sure have made thee milde, and inly rue her paine:
Aurora halfe so faire her selfe did never show,
When, from old Tithons bed, shee weeping did arise.
The blinded Archer-boy, like Larke in showre of raine,
Sat bathing of his wings, and glad the time did spend
Under those cristall drops, which fell from her faire eies;
And at their brightest beames him proynd in lovely wise.
Yet sorie for her grief, which he could not amend,
The gentle boy gan wipe her eies, and clear those lights,
Those lights through which his glory and his conquests shine.
The Graces tuckt her hair, which hung like threds of gold,
Along her Yvorie brest, the treasure of delights,
All things with her to weep, it seemed, did encline,
The trees, the hills, the dales, the caves, the stones so cold.
The aire did help them mourne, with dark clouds, raine, and
mist,
Forbearing many a day to cleare it selfe againe;
Which made them eftsoones feare the daies of Pirrha shold
Of creatures spoile the earth, their fatall threds untwist.
For Phabus gladsome raies were wished for in vaine,
And with her quivering light Latonas daughter faire,
And Charles-waine eke refus'd to be the shipmans guide.
On Neptune warre was made by Aeolus and his traine,
Who, letting loose the winds, tost and tormented th' aire,
So that on ev'ry coast men shipwrack did abide,
Or else were swallowed up in open sea with waves,
And such as came to shoare were beaten with despaire.
The Medwaies silver streames, that wont so still to slide,
Were troubled now and wrothe; whose hidden hollow
Along his banks with fog then shrowded from mans eye, Ay Phillip did resownd, aie Phillip they did crie.
His Nimphs were seen no more (thogh custom stil it craves)
With haire spred to the wynd themselves to bath or sport,
Or with the hooke or net, barefooted wantonly,
The pleasant daintie fish to entangle or deceive.
The shepheards left their wonted places of resort,
Their bagpipes now were still; their loving mery layes
Were quite forgot; and now their flocks men might perceive
206 MOURNING MUSE OF THESTYLIS.
To wander and to straie, all carelesly neglect.
And, in the stead of mirth and pleasure, nights and dayes
Nought els was to be heard, but woes, complaints, and mone.
But thou (O blessed soule!) doest haply not respect
These teares we shead, though full of loving pure affect,
Having affixt thine eyes on that most glorious throne,
Where full of majestie the High Creator reignes;
In whose bright shining face thy joyes are all complete,
Whose love kindles thy spright; where, happie alwaies one,
Thou liv'st in blis that earthly passion never staines ;
Where from the purest spring the sacred Nectar sweete
Is thy continuall drinke; where thou doest gather now
Of well emploied life th' inestimable gaines.
There Venus on thee smiles, Apollo gives thee place,
And Mars in reverent wise doth to thy vertue bow,
And decks his fiery sphere, to do thee honour most.
In highest part whereof, thy valour for to grace,
A chaire of gold he setts to thee, and there doth tell
Thy noble acts anew, whereby even they that boast
Themselves of auncient fame, as Pirrhus, Hanniball,
Scipio, and Cæsar, with the rest that did excell
In martiall prowesse, high thy glory do admire.
All haile, therefore, O worthie Phillip immortall,
The flowre of Sydneyes race, the honour of thy name!
Whose worthie praise to sing, my Muses not aspire,
But sorrowfull and sad these teares to thee let fall;
Yet wish their verses might so farre and wide thy fame
Extend, that envies rage, nor time, might end the same.
UPON THE DEATH OF SIR PHILLIP SIDNEY, KNIGHT, ETC.
OLIN, well fits thy sad cheare this sad stownd, This wofull stownd, wherein all things complaine This great mishap, this greevous losse of owres. Hear'st thou the Orown? how with hollow sownd He slides away, and murmuring doth plaine, And seemes to say unto the fading flowres, Along his bankes, unto the bared trees; Phillisides is dead. Up, jolly swaine,
Thou that with skill canst tune a dolefull lay,
Help him to mourn. My hart with grief doth freese,
Hoarse is my voice with crying, else a part
Sure would I beare, though rude: But, as I
may,
With sobs and sighes I second will thy song,
And so expresse the sorrowes of my hart.
COLIN. Ah Lycon, Lycon, what need skill, to teach
A grieved mynd powre forth his plaints! how long
Hath the pore Turtle gon to school (weenest thou)
To learne to mourne her lost Make! No, no, each
Creature by nature can tell how to waile.
Seest not these flocks, how sad they wander now?
Seemeth their leaders bell their bleating tunes
In dolefull sound. Like him, not one doth faile
With hanging head to shew a heavie cheare.
What bird (I pray thee) hast thou seen, that
Himselfe of late? did any cheerfull note
Come to thine eares, or gladsome sight appeare
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