To the Right Honourable the Earl of Ormond* and Ossory.
RECEIVE, most noble Lord, a simple taste
Of the wild fruit which salvage 1 soil hath bred;
Which, being through long wars left almost waste,
With brutish barbarism is overspread:
And, in so faire a land as may be redd,2
Not one Parnassus, nor one Helicon,
Left for sweet Muses to be harboured,
But where thyself hast thy brave mansion: †
There indeed dwell fair Graces many one,
And gentle Nymphs, delights of learned wits;
And in thy person, without paragon,3
All goodly bounty and true honour sits.
Such therefore, as that wasted soil doth yield,
Receive, dear Lord, in worth, the fruit of barren field. + Patient
To the Right Honourable the Lord Charles Howard,
Lord high Admiral of England, Knight of
the Noble order of the Garter, and one of her
Majesty's privy Council, &c.
brave Lord, whose goodly personage
And noble deeds, each other garnishing,
Make you ensample, to the present age,
Of th' old heroës, whose famous offspring
The antique poets wont so much to sing;
In this same pageant have a worthy place,
Sith those huge castles of Castilian King,
That vainly threatned kingdoms to displace,
'Ormond:' lieutenant-general of the army in Ireland when Spenser wrote and transmitted to Ormond three books of the Faery Queen along with this sonnet. This nobleman lived in Ireland.
Like flying doves ye did before you chace;*
And that proud people, waxen insolent
Through many victories, didst first deface:
Thy praise's everlasting monument
Is in this verse engraven semblably,1
That it may live to all posterity.
To the Right Honourable the Lord of Hunsdon,+
high Chamberlain to her Majesty.
RENOWNED Lord, that, for your worthiness
And noble deeds, have your deserved place
High in the favour of that Emperess,
The world's sole glory and her sex's grace;
Here eke 2 of right have you a worthy place,
Both for your nearness to that Faerie Queene,‡
And for your own high merit in like case:
Of which, apparent proof was to be seen,
When that tumultuous rage and fearful deen3
Of Northern rebels ye did pacify,§
And their disloyal power defaced clean,
The record of enduring memory.
Live, Lord, for ever in this lasting verse,
That all posterity thy honour may rehearse.
* Allusion is here made to the defeat of the Spanish Armada.-'Hunsdon:' Henry, who died 1596. He figures in Kenilworth.-‡ He was cousin to Queen Elizabeth.-§ 'Pacify:' rebellion of 1569.
To the most renowned and valiant Lord, the Lord Grey of Wilton, Knight of the Noble order of the Garter, &c.
Most noble Lord, the pillar of my life,
And patron of my Muse's pupillage;
Through whose large bounty, poured on me rife
In the first season of my feeble age,
I now do live bound yours by vassalage;
(Sith 1 nothing ever may redeem, nor reave
Out of your endless debt, so sure a gage; 3)
Vouchsafe, in worth, this small gift to receive,
Which in your noble hands for pledge I leave
Of all the rest that I am tied t' account:
Rude rhymes, the which a rustic Muse did weave
In savage 5 soil, far from Parnasso Mount,
And roughly wrought in an unlearned loom:
The which vouchsafe, dear Lord, your favourable
doom.
1 Since. 2 Pluck away.
3 Pledge. 4 Patient
To the Right Honourable the Lord of Buckhurst,*
one of Her Majesty's privy Council.
In vain I think, right honourable Lord,
By this rude rhyme to memorize thy name,
Whose learned Muse hath writ her own record
In golden verse, worthy immortal fame:
Thou much more fit (were leisure to the same)
Thy gracious Soverain's praises to compile,
And her imperial Majesty to frame
In lofty numbers and heroic style.
Buckhurst' was in his youth a poet, but, betaking himself to politics,
became Lord Treasurer and Privy Councillor to the Queen.
But, sith1 thou mayst not so, give leave a while
To baser wit his power therein to spend,
Whose gross defaults thy dainty pen may file,2
And unadvised oversights amend.
But evermore vouchsafe, it to maintain
Against vile Zoilus backbitings vain.
To the Right Honourable Sir Francis Walsingham,
Knight, principal Secretary to her Majesty,
and one of her honourable privy Council.
THAT Mantuan poet's incompared spirit,
Whose garland now is set in highest place,
Had not Mecenas, for his worthy merit,
It first advanc'd to great Augustus' grace,
Might long perhaps have lien in silence base,
Ne been so much admir'd of later age.
This lowly Muse, that learns like steps to trace,
Flies for like aid unto your patronage,
(That are the great Mecenas of this age,
As well to all that civil arts profess,
As those that are inspired with martial rage,)
And craves protection of her feebleness:
Which if ye yield, perhaps ye may her raise
In bigger tunes to sound your living praise.
To the Right Noble Lord and most valiant Captain, Sir John Norris, Knight, Lord president of Munster.
WHO ever gave more honourable prize
To the sweet Muse then did the martial crew,
That their brave deeds she might immortalize
In her shrill trump, and sound their praises due?
Who then ought more to favour her than you,
Most noble Lord, the honour of this age,
And precedent of all that arms ensue?1
Whose warlike prowess and manly courage,
Temper'd with reason and advizement2 sage,
Hath fill'd sad Belgic with victorious spoil;
In France and Ireland left a famous
gage; 3
And lately shakt the Lusitanian soil.
Sith then each where thou hast dispread thy fame,
Love him that hath eternizéd your name.
To the Right Noble and Valorous Knight, Sir
Walter Raleigh, Lord Warden of the Stan-
neries, and Lieutenannt of Cornwall.
To thee, that art the summer's nightingale,
Thy sovereign Godess's most dear delight,
Why do I send this rustic madrigale,
That may thy tuneful ear unseason* quite?
Thou only fit this argument to write,
In whose high thoughts Pleasure hath built her
bower,
And dainty Love learn'd sweetly to indite.
My rhymes I know unsavoury and sour,
To taste the streams that, like a golden shower,
Flow from thy fruitful head of thy love's praise;
Fitter perhaps to thunder martial stowre,
Whenso thee list thy lofty Muse to raise:
Yet, till that thou thy poem wilt make known,
Let thy fair Cinthia's* praises be thus rudely shown.
• ́Cinthia's:' alluding to a poem by Sir Walter, entitled 'Cynthia.'
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