HE RULETH NOT THOUGH HE REIGN OVER REALMS
THAT IS SUBJECT TO HIS OWN LUSTS
If thou wilt mighty be, flee from the rage
Of cruel will, and see thou keep thee free
From the foul yoke of sensual bondage;
For though thine empire stretch to Indian sea,
And for thy fear trembleth the farthest Thulè,
If thy desire have over thee the power,
Subject then art thou, and no governor.
If to be noble and high thy mind be movèd,
Consider well thy ground and thy beginning;
For He That hath each star in heaven fixèd,
And gives the moon her horns and her eclipsing,
Alike hath made thee noble in His working;
So that wretched no way thou may be,
Except foul lust and vice do conquer thee.
All were it so thou had a flood of gold
Unto thy thirst, yet should it not suffice;
And though with Indian stones, a thousandfold
More precious than can thyself devise,
Ycharged were thy back; thy covetise
And busy biting yet should never let
Thy wretched life, ne do thy death profet.
HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY
DESCRIPTION OF SPRING
WHEREIN EACH THING RENEWS, SAVE ONLY THE LOVER
The soote season that bud and bloom forth brings
With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale;
The nightingale, with feathers new she sings;
The turtle to her make hath told her tale.
Summer is come, for every spray now springs;
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;
The buck, in brake his winter coat he flings;
The fishes flete with new-repairèd scale;
The adder, all her slough away she slings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale;
The busy bee, her honey now she mings.
Winter is worn, that was the flowers' bale.
And thus I see among these pleasant things
Each care decays; and yet my sorrow springs!
THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE
Martial, the things for to attain
The happy life be these, I find:
The riches left, not got with pain;
The fruitful ground; the quiet mind;
The equal friend; no grudge, nor strife;
No charge of rule, nor governance;
Without disease, the healthful life;
The household of continuance;
The mean diet, no delicate fare;
Wisdom joined with simplicity;
The night dischargèd of all care,
Where wine may bear no sovereignty;
The chaste wife, wise, without debate;
Such sleeps as may beguile the night;
Contented with thine own estate,
Neither wish Death, nor fear his might.
TRANSLATION OF THE AENEID
Whiles Laocon, that chosen was by lot
Neptunus' priest, did sacrifice a bull
Before the holy altar, suddenly
From Tenedon, behold, in circles great,
By the calm seas, come fleting adders twain,
Which plied towards the shore (I loathe to tell),
With reared breast lift up above the seas;
Whose bloody crests aloft the waves were seen;
The hinder part swam hidden in the flood;
Their grisly backs were linked manifold.
With sound of broken waves they gate the strand,
With glowing eyen, tainted with blood and fire;
Whose waltring tongues did lick their hissing mouths.
We fled away; our face the blood forsook:
But they with gait direct to Lacon ran.
And first of all each serpent doth enwrap
The bodies small of his two tender sons,
Whose wretched limbs they bit and fed thereon.
Then raught they him, who had his weapon caught
To rescue them, twice winding him about,
With folded knots and circled tails, his waist;
Their scaled backs did compass twice his neck,
With reared heads aloft and stretchèd throats.
He with his hands strave to unloose the knots
(Whose sacred fillets all besprinkled were
With filth of gory blood and venom rank),
And to the stars such dreadful shouts he sent,
Like to the sound the roaring bull forth lows,
Which from the altar wounded doth astart,
The swerving axe when he shakes from his neck.
The serpents twain, with hasted trail they glide
To Pallas' temple and her towers of height;
Under the feet of which, the goddess stern,
Hidden behind her target's boss, they crept.
But here methinks my priests begin to frown,
And say that thus they shall be overcharged,
To pray for all which seem to do amiss;
And one I hear, more saucy than the rest,
Which asketh me, "When shall our prayers end?"
I tell thee, priest, when shoemakers make shoes
That are well sewed, with never a stitch amiss,
And use no craft in utt'ring of the same;
When tailors steal no stuff from gentlemen;
When tanners are with curriers well agreed,
And both so dress their hides that we go dry;
When cutlers leave to sell old rusty blades,
And hide no cracks with solder nor deceit;
When tinkers make no more holes than they found;
When thatchers think their wages worth their work;
When colliers put no dust into their sacks;
When maltmen make us drink no fermenty;
When Davie Diker digs and dallies not;
When smiths shoe horses as they would be shod;
When millers toll not with a golden thumb;
When bakers make not barm bear price of wheat;
When brewers put no baggage in their beer;
When butchers blow not over all their flesh;
When horse-coursers beguile no friends with jades;
When weaver's weight is found in huswives' web;
(But why dwell I so long among these louts?)
When mercers make more bones to swear and lie;
When vintners mix no water with their wine;
When printers pass none errors in their books;
When hatters use to buy none old cast robes;
When goldsmiths get no gains by soldered crowns;
When upholsters sell feathers without dust;
When pewterers infect no tin with lead;
When drapers draw no gains by giving day;
When parchmentiers put in no ferret silk;
When surgeons heal all wounds without delay.
Tush! these are toys; but yet my glass showeth all.
Alas, my lord, my haste was all too hot;
I shut my glass before you gazed your fill,
And, at a glimpse, my silly self have spied
A stranger troop than any yet were seen.
Behold, my lord, what monsters muster here,
With angel's face and harmful hellish hearts,
With smiling looks and deep deceitful thoughts,
With tender skins and stony cruel minds,
With stealing steps yet forward feet to fraud.
Behold, behold, they never stand content
With God, with kind, with any help of art,
But curl their locks with bodkins and with braids,
But dye their hair with sundry subtle sleights,
But paint and slick till fairest face be foul,
But bumbast, bolster, frizzle, and perfume.
They mar with musk the balm which Nature made,
And dig for death in delicatest dishes.
The younger sort come piping on apace,
In whistles made of fine enticing wood,
Till they have caught the birds for whom they birded.
The elder sort go stately stalking on,
And on their backs they bear both land and fee,
Castles and towers, revenues and receipts,
Lordships and manors, fines, yea farms and all.
What should these be? Speak you, my lovely lord.
They be not men; for why? they have no beards.
They be no boys, which wear such side long gowns.
They be no gods, for all their gallant gloss.
They be no devils, I trow, which seem so saintish.
What be they? women? masking in men's weeds,
With Dutchkin doublets and with jerkins jagged,
With Spanish spangs, and ruffs fet out of France,
With high-copped hats, and feathers flaunt-a-flaunt?
They be so sure, even wo to men indeed.
Nay, then, my lord, let shut the glass apace!
High time it were for my poor Muse to wink,
Since all the hands, all paper, pen, and ink
Which ever yet this wretched world possessed,
Cannot describe this sex in colors due!
No, no, my lord, we gazèd have enough;
And I too much, God pardon me therefor.
Better look off than look an ace too far;
And better mum than meddle overmuch.
But if my glass do like my lovely lord,
We will espy, some sunny summer's day,
To look again and see some seemly sights.
Meanwhile my Muse right humbly doth beseech
That my good lord accept this vent'rous verse,
Until my brains may better stuff devise.
|