"But such as neither of themselves can sing, Nor yet are sung of others for reward, Die in obscure oblivion, as the thing Which never was, ne ever with regard Their names shall of the later age be heard, But shall in rustie darknes ever lie, Unles they mentioned be with infamie.
"What booteth it to have beene rich alive? What to be great? what to be gracious? When after death no token doth survive Of former beeing in this mortall hous, But sleepes in dust dead and inglorious, Like beast, whose breath but in his nostrels is, And hath no hope of happinesse or blis.
"How manie great ones may remembred be, Which in their daies most famouslie did florish; Of whome no word we heare, nor signe now see, But as things wipt out with a sponge do perishe, Because they living cared not to cherishe No gentle wits, through pride or covetize, Which might their names for ever memorize!
For how can mortall immortalitie give?
With showres of heaven and tempests worne away; Then downe it fell, and low in ashes lay, Scorned of everie one, which by it went; That I, it seeing, dearelie did lament.
Next unto this a statelie Towre appeared,
Built all of richest stone that might bee found, And nigh unto the Heavens in height upreared, But placed on a plot of sandie ground:
Not that great Towre, which is so much renownd For tongues confusion in Holie Writ, King Ninus worke, might be compar'd to it. But O vaine labours of terrestriall wit, That buildes so stronglie on so frayle a soyle, As with each storme does fall away, and flit, And gives the fruit of all your travailes toyle, To be the pray of Tyme, and Fortunes spoyle! I saw this Towre fall sodainelie to dust, That nigh with griefe thereof my heart was brust
Soone after this a Giaunt came in place,
Of wondrous powre, and of exceeding stature, That none durst vewe the horror of his face, Yet was he milde of speach, and meeke of nature: Not he, which in despight of his Creatour With railing tearmes defied the Iewish hoast, Might with this mightie one in hugenes boast; For from the one he could to th' other coast Stretch his strong thighes, and th' ocean overstride, And reatch his hand into his enemies hoast. But see the end of pompe and fleshlie pride! One of his feete unwares from him did slide, That downe hee fell into the deepe abisse, Where drownd with him is all his earthlie blisse.
Then did I see a Bridge, made all of golde, Over the sea from one to other side, Withouten prop or pillour it t'upholde,
But like the coulored rainbowe arched wide: 550 Not that great Arche, which Traian edifide, To be a wonder to all age ensuing, Was matchable to this in equall vewing. But (ah!) what bootes it to see earthlie thing In glorie, or in greatnes to excell, Sith time doth greatest things to ruine bring? This goodlie Bridge, one foote not fastned well, Gan faile, and all the rest downe shortlie fell, Ne of so brave a building ought remained, That griefe thereof my spirite greatly pained. 560
Much was I troubled in my heavie spright, At sight of these sad spectacles forepast, That all my senses were bereaved quight, And I in minde remained sore agast, Distraught twixt feare and pitie; when at last I heard a voyce, which loudly to me called, That with the suddein shrill I was appalled. Behold (said it) and by ensample see, That all is vanitie and griefe of minde, Ne other comfort in this world can be, But hope of heaven, and heart to God inclinde; For all the rest must needs be left behinde : With that it bad me, to the other side To cast mine eye, where other sights I spide.
UPON that famous Rivers further shore, There stood a snowie Swan of heavenly hiew, And gentle kinde, as ever Fowle afore; A fairer one in all the goodlie criew Of white Strimonian brood might no man view : There he most sweetly sung the prophecie Of his owne death in dolefull Elegie. At last, when all his mourning melodie He ended had, that both the shores resounded, Feeling the fit that him forewarnd to die, With loftie flight above the earth he bounded, And out of sight to highest heaven mounted, Where now he is become an heavenly signe; There now the ioy is his, here sorrow mine.
Whilest thus I looked, loe! adowne the lee I saw an Harpe stroong all with silver twyne, And made of golde and costlie yvorie, Swimming, that whilome seemed to have been The Harpe, on which Dan Orpheus was seene Wylde beasts and forrests after him to lead, But was th' Harpe of Philisides now dead. At length out of the river it was reard And borne above the cloudes to be divin'd, Whilst all the way most heavenly noyse was heard Of the strings, stirred with the warbling wind, That wrought both ioy and sorrow in my mind: So now in heaven a signe it doth appeare, The Harpe well knowne beside the Northern Beare.
Soone after this I saw on th' other side,
A curious Coffer made of Heben wood,
th' Harpe of Philisides] Of Sir Philip
That in it did most precious treasure hide, Exceeding all this baser worldës good : Yet through the overflowing of the flood It almost drowned was, and done to nought, That sight thereof much griev'd my pensive thought. At length, when most in perill it was brought, Two Angels, downe descending with swift flight, Out of the swelling streame it lightly caught, And twixt their blessed armes it carried quight Above the reach of anie living sight: So now it is transform'd into that starre, In which all heavenly treasures locked are.
Looking aside I saw a stately Bed, Adorned all with costly cloth of gold, That might for anie Princes couche be red, And deckt with daintie flowres, as if it shold Be for some Bride, her ioyous night to hold: Therein a goodly Virgine sleeping lay; A fairer wight saw never summers day. I heard a voyce that called farre away, And her awaking bad her quickly dight, For lo! her Bridegrome was in readie ray To come to her, and seeke her loves delight: With that she started up with cherefull sight, When suddeinly both Bed and all was gone, And I in languor left there all alone.
Still as I gazed, I behield where stood A Knight all arm'd, upon a winged steed, The same that was bred of Medusaes blood, On which Dan Perseus, borne of heavenly seed, The faire Andromeda from perill freed: Full mortally this Knight ywounded was, That streames of blood foorth flowed on the gras: Yet was he deckt (small ioy to him alas !) With manie gar.ands for his victories, And with rich spoyles, which late he did purchas Through brave atcheivements from his enemies : Fainting at last through long infirmities, He smote his steed, that straight to heaven him And left me here his losse for to deplore. [bore,
Most brave and noble Ladie; the things, that make ye so much honored of the world as ye bee, are such, as (without my simple lines testimonie) are throughlie knowen to all men; namely, your excellent beautie, your vertuous behavior, and your noble match with that most honourable Lord, the very Paterne of right Nobilitie: But the causes, for which ye have thus deserved of me to be honoured, (if honour it be at all,) are, both your particular bounties, and also some private bands of affinitie, which it hath pleased your Ladiship to acknowledge. Of which whenas I found my selfe in no part wocrthie, I devised this last slender meanes, both to intimate my humble affection to your Ladiship, and also to make the same universallie knowen to the world; that by honouring you they might know me, and by knowing me they might honor you. Vouchsafe, noble Lady, to accept this simple remembrance, though not worthy of your self, yet such, as perhaps by good acceptance thereof ye may hereafter cull out a more meet and memorable evidence of your owne excellent deserts. So recommending the same to your Ladiships good liking, I humbly take leave. Your La: humbly ever.
Ay me! what thing on earth that all thing breeds, Might be the cause of so impatient plight? What furie, or what feend, with felon deeds Hath stirred up so mischievous despight? Can griefe then enter into heavenly harts, And pierce immortall breasts with mortall smarts?
Vouchsafe ye then, whom onely it concernes, To me those secret causes to display; For none but you, or who of you it learnes, Can rightfully aread so dolefull lay. Begin, thou eldest Sister of the crew, And let the rest in order thee ensew.
HEARE, thou great Father of the gods on hie, That most art dreaded for thy thunder darts; And thou our Sire, that raignst in Castalie And Mount Parnasse, the god of goodly Arts: Heare, and behold the miserable state Of us thy daughters, dolefull desolate.
Behold the fowle reproach and open shame, The which is day by day unto us wrought By such as hate the honour of our namie, The foes of learning and each gentle thought; They, not contented us themselves to scorne, Doo seeke to make us of the world forlorne.
Ne onely they that dwell in lowly dust, The sonnes of darknes and of ignoraunce; But they, whom thou, great love, by doome uniust Didst to the type of honour earst advaunce; They now, puft up with sdeignfull insolence, Despise the brood of blessed Sapience.
The sectaries of my celestiall skill,
That wont to be the worlds chiefe ornament, And learned Impes that wont to shoote up still, 75 And grow to height of kingdomes government, They underkeep, and with their spreading armes Do beat their buds, that perish through their harmes.
It most behoves the honorable race
Of mightie Peeres true wisedome to sustaine, And with their noble countenaunce to grace The learned forheads, without gifts or gaine : Or rather learnd themselves behoves to bee; That is the girlond of Nobilitie.
But (ah !) all otherwise they doo esteeme Of th' heavenly gift of wisdomes influence, And to be learned it a base thing deeme; Base minded they that want intelligence: For God himselfe for wisedome most is praised, And men to God thereby are nighest raised.
O! WHO shall powre into my swollen eyes A sea of teares that never may be dryde, A brasen voice that may with shrilling cryes Pierce the dull heavens and fill the ayer wide, And yron sides that sighing may endure, To waile the wretchednes of world impure?
Ah! wretched world, the den of wickednesse, Deformd with filth and fowle iniquitie; Ah! wretched world, the house of heavinesse, Fild with the wreaks of mortall miserie ; Ah! wretched world, and all that is therein, The vassals of Gods wrath, and slaves to sin.
And Fortunes freakes, is wisely taught to beare: 130 Of wretched life the onely ioy Shee is,
And th' only comfort in calamities.
But they doo onely strive themselves to raise Through pompous pride, and foolish vanitie; In th' eyes of people they put all their praise, And onely boast of Armes and Auncestrie : But vertuous deeds, which did those armes first give To their grandsyres, they care not to atchive.
So I, that doo all noble feates professe To register, and sound in trump of gold; Through their bad dooings, or base slothfulnesse, Finde nothing worthie to be writ, or told: For better farre it were to hide their names,
And fill the Scene with plaint and outcries shrill Of wretched persons, to misfortune borne : But none more tragick matter I can finde Then this, of men depriv'd of sense and minde.
For all mans life me seemes a tragedy, Full of sad sights and sore catastrophees;
steep.] Here is one of Spenser's ellipses;
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