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Back to the campe, by thee that day was Nations thy wit, our mindes lay vp thy loue, brought,
Letters thy learning, thy losse, yeeres long to First thine owne death, and after thy long fame;
50 Teares to the soldiers, the proud Castilians In worthy harts sorrow hath made thy tombe, shame;
Thy soule and spright enrich the heauens Vertue exprest, and honor truly taught. 40 aboue. What hath he lost, that such great grace hath Thy liberall hart imbalmd in gratefull teares, woon,
Yoong sighs, sweet sighes, sage sighes, bewaile Yoongyeeres, forendles yeeres,and hope vnsure
thy fall, Of fortunes gifts, for wealth that still shall dure, Enuie her sting, and spite hath left her gall, Oh happie race with so great praises run. Malice her selfe, a mourning garment weares. England doth hold thy lims that bred the same, That day their Hanniball died, our Scipio fell, Flaunders thy valure where it last was tried, Scipio, Cicero, and Petrarch of our time, The Campe thy sorrow where thy bodie died, Whose vertues wounded by my worthlesse Thy friends, thy want; the world, thy vertues rime,
Let Angels speake, and heauen thy praises tell.
Another of the same.
Ilence augmenteth grief, writing encreaseth He onely like himselfe, was second vnto none, rage,
Whose deth (though life) we rue, and wrong, Stald are my thoughts, which lou'd, and lost, and al in vain do mone, the wonder of our age :
Their losse, not him waile they, that fill the Yet quickned now with fire, though dead with world with cries, frost ere now,
Death slue not him, but he made death his Enrag'd I write, I know not what: dead, quick, ladder to the skies.
I know not how. Hard harted mindes relent, and rigors teares Now sinke of sorrow I, who liue, the more the abound,
wrong, And enuie strangely rues his end, in whom no Who wishing death, whom deth denies, whose fault she found,
thred is al to long, Knowledge her light hath lost, valor hath slaine Who tied to wretched life, who lookes for no her knight,
reliefe, Sidney is dead, dead is my friend, dead is the Must spend my euer dying daies, in neuer endworlds delight.
ing griefe. Place pensiue wailes his fall, whose presence Harts ease and onely I, like parallels run on, was her pride,
Whose equall length, keep equall bredth, and Time crieth out, my ebbe is come : his life was
neuer meet in one, my spring tide,
10 Yet for not wronging him, my thoughts, my 'Fame mournes in that she lost the ground of
sorrowes cell, her reports,
Shall not run out, though leake they will, for Ech liuing wight laments his lacke, and all in
liking him so well. sundry sorts. He was (wo worth that word) to ech well think- Farewell to you my hopes, my wonted waking ing minde,
dreames, A spotlesse friend, a matchles man, whose Farewell sometimes enioyed ioy, eclipsed are vertue euer shinde,
30 Declaring in his thoughts, his life, and that he Farewell selfe pleasing thoughts, which quiet. writ,
nes brings foorth, Highest conceits,longest foresights, and deepest And farewel friendships sacred league, vniting works of wit.
minds of woorth.
And farewell mery hart, the gift of guiltlesse Now rime, the sonne of rage, which art no kin mindes,
to skill, And all sports, which for lives restore, varietie And endles griefe, which deads my life, yet assignes,
knowes not how to kill, Let all that sweete is voyd ; in me no mirth Go seeke that haples tombe, which if ye hap to
finde, Phillip, the cause of all this woe, my liues con- Salute the stones, that keep the lims, that held tent, farewell.
so good a minde. FINIS.
I 5 9 5
full Sir Robart Need
Ir, to gratulate your safe return from gentle Muse for her former perfection long thought any thing so meete, as these sweete crossing the Seas in your happy companye, conceited Sonets, the deede of that wel deseru- (though to your selfe vnknowne) seemeth to ing gentleman, maister Edmond Spenser: make choyse of you, as meetest to giue her whose name sufficiently warranting the worthi- deserued countenaunce, after her retourne: nesse of the work: I do more confidently pre-entertaine her, then, (Right worshipfull) in sume to publish it in his absence, vnder your sorte best beseeming your gentle minde, and name to whom (in my poore opinion) the her merite, and take in worth my good will patronage therof, doth in some respectes pro- herein, who seeke no more, but to shew my perly appertaine. For, besides your iudge- selfe yours in all dutifull affection. ment and delighte in learned poesie: This
G: W. senior, to the Author
life in their dead doing,
might, and weaker sights may wander soone astray : shall handle you and hold in loues soft bands, but when they see his glorious raies vn
lyke captiues trembling at the victors sight. clowded,
And happy lines, on which with starry light, with steddy steps they keepe the perfect way: So while this Muse in forraine landes doth stay,
those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to
look inuention weepes, and pens are cast aside, and reade the sorrowes of my dying spright,1 the time like night, depriud of chearefull day,
written with teares in harts close bleeding and few do write, but (ah)too soone may slide. book. Then, hie thee home, that art our perfect guide, And happy rymes bath'd in the sacred brooke, and with thy wit illustrate Englands fame,
of Helicon whence she deriued is, dawnting thereby our neighbors auncient
behold that Angels blessed looke, pride, that do for poesie, challendge cheefest name. Leaues, lines, and rymes, seeke her to please
my soules long lacked foode, my heauens blis.
• So we that liue and ages that succeede.
alone, With great applause thy learned works shall reede.
whom if ye please, I care for other none.
SONNET. II. Ah Colin, whether on the lowly plaine,
Nquiet thought, whom at the first I bred, A pyping to shepherds thy sweete roundelaies : or whether singing in some lofty vaine, andsithens haue with sighes and sorrowes fed,
heroick deedes, of past, or present daies. till greater then my wombe thou woxen art. Or whether in thy louely mistris praise, Breake forth at length out of the inner part, thou list to exercise thy learned quill,
in which thou lurkest lyke to vipers brood :thy muse hath got such grace, and power to please, and seeke some succour both to ease my smart with rare inuention bewtified by skill.
and also to sustayne thy selfe with food. As who therein can euer ioy their fill !
But if in presence of that fayrest proud O therefore let that happy muse proceede thou chance to come, fall lowly at her feet: D to clime the height of vertues sacred hill, and with meeke humblesse and afflictedmood,
where endles honor shall be made thy meede. pardon for thee, and grace for me intreat. Because no malice of succeeding daies,
Which if she graunt, then liue, and my loue can rase those records f thy lasting praise. cherish,
G.W.1. if not, die soone, and I with thee will perish.
E Thier Witnesse ayne bearity wbich Woonadmyre. Bornhugetit piersiay dhthat heb mmoued mind
the world worthy to be, still in her rebellious pride : prayzed:
such loue not lyke to lusts of baser kynd, the light wherof hath kindled heauenly fyre,
the harder wonne, the firmer will abide. in my fraile spirit by her from basenesse The durefull Oake, whose sap is not yet dride, raysed.
is long ere it conceiue the kindling fyre: That being now with her huge brightnesse dazed,
but when it once doth burne, it doth diuide, base thing I can no more endure to view : great heat, and makes his flames to heauen but looking still on her I stand amazed, aspire. at wondrous sight of so celestiall hew.
So hard it is to kindle new desire, So when my toung would speak her praises dew, in gentle brest that shall endure for euer:
it stopped is with thoughts astonishment : deepe is the wound, that dints the parts entire and when my pen would write her titles true, with chast affects, that naught but death
it rauisht is with fancies wonderment: Yet in my hart I then both speake and write Then thinke not long in taking litle paine, the wonder that my wit cannot endite.
to knit the knot, that euer shall remaine. SONNET. IIII.
Ayre eyes, the myrrour of my mazed hart, Doth seemetopromise hope of new delight:
'what and bidding th’old Adieu, his passed date
the which both lyfe and death forth from you bidsallold thoughts to die in dumpish spright.
dart And calling forth out of sad Winters night, into the obiect of your mighty view ? fresh loue, that long hath slept in cheerlesse For when ye mildly looke with louely hew, bower:
then is my soule with life and loue inspired wils him awake, and soone about him dight but when ye lowre, or looke on me askew, his wanton wings and darts of deadly power.
then doe I die, as one with lightning fyred. For lusty spring now in his timely howre, But since that lyfe is more then death desyred,
is ready to come forth him to receiue : looke euer louely, as becomes you best,
admyred, to decke hir selfe, and her faire mantle weaue. may kindle liuing fire within my brest. Then you faire flowre, in whom fresh youth Such life should be the honor of your light, doth raine,
such death the sad ensample of your might. prepare your selfe new loue to entertaine.
Kindled aboue vnto neere In finding fault with her too portly pride: no eies but ioyes, in which al powers conspire, the thing which I doo most in her admire, thattotheworld naught else be counted deare.
is of the world vnworthy most enuide. Thrugh your bright beames doth not the For in those lofty lookes is close implide,
blinded guest, scorn of base things, and sdeigne of foule dis- shoot out his darts to base affections wound: honor:
but Angels come to lead fraile mindes to rest thretning rash eies which gaze on her so wide, in chast desires on heauenly beauty bound.
that loosely they ne dare to looke vpon her. You frame my thoughts and fashion me within, Such pride is praise, such portlinesse is honor, you stop my toung, and teach my hart to
that boldned innocence beares in hir eies : speake,
strong thrugh your cause, but by your veriue spreds in defiaunce of all enemies.
weak. Was neuer in this world ought worthy tride, Dark is the world, where your light shined without some spark of such self-pleasing neuer ; pride.
well is he borne, that may behold you euer.
Rydely thou wrongest my deare harts desire, Maris diena most faire
, full of the living fire,