The fruits of age grew ripe in thy first prime,
Thy will, thy words; thy words the seales of
truth.

Great gifts and wisedom rare imployd thee
thence,
[kings;
To treat from kings with those more great than
Such hope men had to lay the highest things
On thy wise youth, to be transported hence!
Whence to sharpe wars sweet honor did thee
call,

Thy countries love, religion, and thy friends:
Of worthy men the marks, the lives, and
ends,

And her defence, for whom we labor all.

What hath he lost, that such great grace hath
woon?
[sure
Yoong yeeres for endles yeeres, and hope un-
Of fortunes gifts for wealth that still shall
dure;
Oh! happie race with so great praises run.
England doth hold thy lims that bred the

same,

Flaunders thy valure where it last was tried,
The Campe thy sorrow where thy bodie died;
Thy friends, thy want; the world, thy vertues
fame.

Nations thy wit, our mindes lay up thy love;
Letters thy learning, thy losse, yeeres long to

come;

There didst thou vanquish shame and tedious In worthy harts sorrow hath made thy tombe; [might: Thy soule and spright enrich the heavens above.

age,
Griefe, sorrow, sicknes, and base fortunes
Thy rising day saw never wofull night,
But past with praise from of this worldly

stage.

Thy liberall hart imbalmed in gratefull teares,
Yoong sighes, sweet sighes, sage sighes, be-
waile thy fall:

Envie her sting, and spite hath left her gall;
Malice her selfe a mourning garment weares.
That day their Hanniball died, our Scipio fell;
Scipio, Cicero, and Petrarch of our time! [rine,
Whose vertues, wounded by my worthlesse
Let Angels speake, and heaven thy praises tell.

ANOTHER OF THE SAME.

SILENCE augmenteth grief, writing encreaseth He, onely like himselfe, was second unto none, the wonder of our age; Whose deth (though life) we rue, and wrong, Stald are my thoughts, which lov'd, and lost, and al in vain do mone:

rage,

Yet quickned now with fire, though dead with Their losse, not him, waile they, that fill the frost ere now, [quick, I know not how. world with cries; [ladder to the skies. Enrag'de I write, I know not what: dead, Death slue not him, but he made death his Hard harted mindes relent, and rigors teares Now sinke of sorrow I, who live; the more the abound, [no fault she found;' wrong; [thred is al to long, And envie strangely rues his end, in whom Who wishing death, whom deth denies, whose Knowledge her light hath lost, valor hath Who tied to wretched life, who lookes for no slaine her knight; [worlds delight. reliefe, [ending griefe. Sidney is dead, dead is my friend, dead is the Must spend my ever dying daies in never Place pensive wailes his fall, whose presence Harts ease and onely I, like parallels run on, was her pride; [my spring tide: Whose equall length keep equall bredth, and Time crieth out, My ebbe is come; his life was [sorrowes cell, Fame mournes in that she lost the ground of Yet for not wronging him, my thoughts, my her reports; [sundry sorts. Shall not run out, though leake they will, fo Ech living wight laments his lacke, and all in liking him so well. He was (wo worth that word!) to ech well thinking minde [vertue ever shinde, A spotlesse friend, a matchles man, whose Declaring in his thoughts, his life, and that he writ, [deepest works of wit. Highest conceits, longest foresights, and

never meet in one;

Farewell to you, my hopes, my wonted waking
dreames;
[thy beames!
Farewell, sometimes enjoyed joy; eclipsed are
Farewell selfe pleasing thoughts which quiet-
nes brings foorth; [minds of woorth.
And farewel friendships sacred league, uniting

to skill,

And farewell mery hart, the gift of guiltlesse Now rime, the sonne of rage, which art no kin mindes, [assignes; [knowes not how to kill, And all sports, which, for lives restore, varietie And endlese griefe, which deads my life, yet Let all, that sweete is, voyd; in me no mirth Go, seeke that haples tombe; which if ve hap may dwell: [content, farewell! to finde, [so good a minde. Phillip, the cause of all this woe, my lives Salute the stones, that keep the lims that held

SIR, to gratulate your safe return from Ire- her former perfection long wished for in land, I had nothing so readie, nor thought any Englande, nowe at the length crossing the thing so meete, as these sweete conceited Seas in your happy companye, (though to Sonets, the deede of that wel deserving gen- your selfe unknowne) seemeth to make choyse tleman, maister Edmond Spenser: whose name of you, as meetest to give her deserveu sufficiently warranting the worthinesse of the countenaunce, after her retourne: entertaine work, I do more confidently presume to her, then, (Right worshipfull) in sorte best bepublish it in his absence, under your name, to seeming your gentle minde, and her merite, whom (in my poore opinion) the patronage and take in worth my good will herein, who therof doth in some respectes properly apper- secke no more but to shew my selfe yours in taine. For, besides your judgement and e- all dutifull affection. lighte in learned poesie, this gentle Muse, for

TO THE AUTHOR.

DARKE is the day, when Phabus face is
shrowded,

And weaker sights may wander soone astray:
But, when they see his glorious raies unclowded,
With steddy steps they keepe the perfect way:
So, while this Muse in forraine landes doth stay,
Invention weepes, and pens are cast aside;
The time, like night, deprivd of chearefull day;
And few do write, but (ah !) too soone may slide.
Then, hie thee home, that art our perfect guide,
And with thy wit illustrate Englands fame,
Dawnting thereby our neighboures auncient pride.
That do, for poesie, challendge cheefest name:
So we that live, and ages that succeede,
With great applause thy learned works shall
reede,
G. W. SENIOR,

W. P.

Ah! Colin, whether on the lowly plaine,
Pyping to shepherds thy sweete roundelaies:
Or whether singing, in some lofty vaine,
Heroick deedes of past or present daies;
Or whether in thy lovely mistris praise,
Thou list to exercise thy learned quill;
Thy muse hath got such grace and power to
please,

With rare invention, bewtified by skill,
As who therein can ever joy their fill!
O! therefore let that happy muse proceede
To clime the height of Vertues sacred hill,
Where endles honour shall be made thy meede:
Because no malice of succeeding daies
Can ruse those records of thy lasting praise.
G. W. I.c

573

I

Fresh Love, that long hath slept in cheeriesse bower,

HAPPY, ye leaves! when as those lilly hands,
Which hold my life in their dead-doing might, Wils him awake, and soone about him dight
Shall handle you, and hold in loves soft bands, His wanton wings and darts of deadly power.
Lyke captives trembling at the victors sight. For lusty Spring now in his timely howre
And happy lines! on which, with starry light, Is ready to come forth, him to receive;
Those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to And warnes the Earth with divers-colord flowre
look,
To decke hir selfe, and her faire mantle weave.
Then you, faire flowre! in whom fresh youth
doth raine,

And reade the sorrowes of my dying spright,
Written with teares in harts close-bleeding
book.

And happy rymes! bath'd in the sacred brooke
Of Helicon, whence she derived is;
When ye behold that Angels blessed looke,
My soules long-lacked foode, my heavens blis;
Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to please
alone,

Whom if ye please, I care for other noue!

II

Unquiet thought! whom at the first I bred
Of th' inward bale of my love-pined hart;
And sithens have with sighes and sorrowes fed,
Till greater then my wombe thou woxen art:
Breake forth at length out of the inner part,
In which thou lurkest lyke to vipers brood;
And seeke some succour both to ease my smart,
And also to sustayne thy selfe with food.
But, if in presence of that fayrest proud
Thou chance to come, fall lowly at her feet;
And, with meeke humblesse and afflicted mood,
Pardon for thee, and grace for me, intreat:
Which if she graunt, then live, and my love
If not, die soone; and I with thee will
[perish.

cherish :

III

Prepare your selfe new love to entertaine.

V

In finding fault with her too portly pride:
Rudely thou wrongest my deare harts desire,
The thing which I doo most in her admire,
Is of the world unworthy most envide:
For in those lofty lookes is close implide,
Scorn of base things, and sdeigne of foule dis-

honor:

Thretning rash eies which gaze on her so wide,
That loosely they ne dare to looke upon her.
Such pride is praise; such portlinesse is
honor;

That boldned innocence beares in hir eies;
And her faire countenance, like a goodly ban-
Spreds in defiaunce of all enemies.
Was never in this world ought worthy tride,
[ner,
Without some spark of such self-pleasing
pride.

VI

[aspire.

Be nought dismayd that her unmoved mind Such love, not lyke to lusts of baser kynd, Doth still persist in her rebellious pride: The harder wonne, the firmer will abide. The soverayne beauty which I doo admyre, The durefull Oake, whose sap is not yet dride, Witnesse the world how worthy to be prayzed! But, when it once doth burne, it doth divide Is long ere it conceive the kindling fyre; The light whereof hath kindled heavenly fyre Great heat, and makes his flames to heaven In my fraile spirit, by her from basenesse So hard it is to kindle new desire raysed; That, being now with her huge brightnesse Deepe is the wound, that dints the parts entire [dazed, In gentle brest, that shall endure for ever: Base thing I can no more endure to view: But, looking still on her, I stand amazed With chast affects that naught but death can At wondrous sight of so celestiall hew. [dew, So when my toung would speak her praises It stopped is with thoughts astonishment; And, when my pen would write her titles true, It ravisht is with fancies wonderment:

Yet in my hart I then both speake and write
The wonder that my wit cannot endite.

IV

New yeare, forth looking out of Janus gate,
Doth seeme to promise hope of new delight:
And, bidding th' old Adieu, his passed date
Bids all old thoughts to die in dumpish spright:
And, calling forth out of sad Winters night

sever;

Then thinke not long in taking litle paine
To knit the knot, that ever shall remaine.

VII

What wondrous vertue is contaynd in you,
Fayre eyes! the myrrour of my mazed hart,

The which both lyfe and death forth from you
Into the object of your mighty view? [dart,
Then is my soule with life and love inspired:
For, when ye mildly looke with lovely hew,
Then doe I die, as one with lightning fyred.
But when ye lowre, or looke on me askew,
But, since that lyfe is mere then death desyred,

Locke ever lovely, as becomes you best;
That your bright beams, of my weak eies
admyred,

May kindle living fire within my brest.
Such life should be the honor of your light,
Such death the sad ensample of your might.

VIII

That I may laugh at her in equall sort,
As she doth laugh at me, and makes my
pain her sport.

XI

Davly when I do seeke and sew for peace,
And hostages doe offer for my truth;
She, cruell warriour, doth herselfe addresse
More then most faire, full of the living fire,
To battell, and the weary war reuew'th;
Kindled above unto the Maker neere;
Ne wilbe moov'd with reason, or with rewth,
No eies but joyes, in which al powers conspire, To graunt small respit to my restlesse toile;
That to the world naught else be counted But greedily her fell intent poursewth,
[guest Of my poore life to make unpittied spoile.
Yet my poore life, all sorrowes to assoyle,
would her yield, her wrath to pacify:
But then she seeks, with torment and turmoyle,
To force me live, and will not let me dy.

deare;

Thrugh your bright beams doth not the blinded
Shoot out his darts to base affections wound;
But Angels come to lead fraile mindes to rest
In chast desires, on heavenly beauty bound.
You frame my thoughts, and fashion me
within;
[speake;

I

All paine hath end, and every war hath
peace;

But mine, no price nor prayer may surcease.

XII

You stop my toung, and teach my hart to
You calme the storme that passion did begin,
Strong thrugh your cause, but by your vertue One day I sought with her hart-thrilling ei s
weak.
[never; To make a truce, and termes to entertaine :
Dark is the world, where your light shined All fearelesse then of so false enimies,
Well is he borne, that may behold you ever. Which sought me to entrap in treasons traine.
So, as I then disarmed did remaine,
A wicked ambush which lay hidden long
In the close covert of her guilefull eyen,
Thence breaking forth, did thick about me
throng.

IX

Long-while I sought to what I might com-
pare
[spright;
Those powrefull eies, which lighten my dark
Yet find I nought on earth, to which I dare
Resemble th' ymage of their goodly light.
Not to the Sun; for they doo shine by night;
Nor to the Moone; for they are changed never;
Nor to the Starres; for they have purer sight;
Nor to the Fire; for they consume not ever;
Nor to the Lightning; for they still persever;
Nor to the Diamond; for they are more tender;
Nor unto Cristall; for nought may them sever;
Nor unto Glasse; such basenesse mought

offend her.

Too feeble I t'abide the brunt so strong,
Was forst to yeeld my selfe into their hands;
Who, me captiving streight with rigorous
wrong,

Have ever since me kept in cruell bands.
So, Ladie, now to you I doo complaine,
Against your cies, that justice I may gaine.

XIII

In that proud port, which her so goodly graceth,
Whiles her faire face she reares up to the skie,
Most goodly temperature ye may desery;
And to the ground her eie-lids low embaseth,
Myld humblesse, mixt with awfull majesty.
For, looking on the earth whence she was
Her minde remembreth her mortalitie. [borne,
Whatso is fayrest shall to earth returne.
But that same lofty countenance seemes to
[clime;
Base thing, and thinke how she to heaven may
Treading downe earth as lothsome and for-
That hinders heavenly thoughts with drossy
lorne,
[slime.
Yet lowly still vouchsafe to looke on me;
Such lowlinesse shall make you lofty be.

scorne

XIV

Retourne agayne, my forces late dismayd,
Unto the siege by you abandon'd quite.

Great shame it is to leave, like one afrayd,
So fayre a peece, for one repulse so light.
Gaynst such strong castles needeth greater
might

575

Yet many wondrous things there are beside: The sweet eye-glaunces, that like arrowes glide; Then those small forts which ye were wont The lovely pleasance; and the lofty pride; [belay: The charming smiles, that rob sence from the [hart; Such haughty mynds, enur'd to hardy fight, Cannot expressed be by any art. Disdayne to yield unto the first assay. Bring therefore all the forces that ye may, A greater craftes mans hand thereto doth [neede, And lay incessant battery to her heart; That can expresse the life of things indeed. Playnts, prayers, vowes, ruth, sorrow, and dismay;

Those engins can the proudest love convert: And, if those fayle, fall downe and dy before her;

So dying live, and living do adore her.

XV

XVIII

The rolling wheele that runneth often round,
And drizling drops, that often doe redound,
The hardest steele, in tract of time doth teare:
The firmest flint doth in continuance weare:
Yet cannot I, with many a dropping teare
And long intreaty, soften her hard hart;
That she will once vouchsafe my plaint to
heare,
But, when I pleade, she bids me play my part;
[gain; Or looke with pitty on my payneful smart ;
And, when I weep, she sayes, Teares are but

Ye tradefull Merchants, that, with weary
toyle,

Do seeke most pretious things to make your
And both the Indias of their treasure spoile;
What needeth you to seeke so farre in vaine?
For loe, my love doth in her selfe containe
All this worlds riches that may farre be found:
If Saphyres, loe, her eies be Saphyres plaine;
If Rubies, loe, hir lips be Rubies sound;
If Pearles, hir teeth be Pearles, both pure and
If Yvorie, her forehead Yvory weene; [round;|
If Gold, her locks are finest Gold on ground;
If Silver, her faire hands are Silver sheene:

But that which fairest is, but few behold,
Her mind adornd with vertues manifold.

XVI

One day as I unwarily did gaze
On those fayre eyes, my loves immortall
[light;
The whiles my stonisht hart stood in amaze,
Through sweet illusion of her lockes delight;
I mote perceive how, in her glauncing sight,
Legions of loves with little wings did fly;
Darting their deadly arrowes, fyry bright,
At every rash beholder passing by.
One of those archers closely I did
Ayming his arrow at my very hart:
spy,
When suddenly, with twincle of her eye,
The Damzell broke his misintended dart.
Had she not so doon, sure I had bene slayne;
Yet as it was, I hardly scap't with paine.

XVII

water,

And, when I waile, she turnes hir selfe to
And, when I sigh, she sayes, I know the art;
laughter.
Whiles she as steele and itint doth still re-
So do I weepe, and wayle, and pleade in
[vaine,

mayne.

XIX

The merry Cuckow, messenger of Spring,
His trompet shrill hath thrise already sounded,
That warnes al lovers wayt upon their king,
Who now is comming forth with girland
crouned.

With novse whereof the quyre of Byrds re-
sounded,

That all the woods theyr ecchoes back reTheir anthemes sweet, devized of loves prayse, bounded,

As if they knew the meaning of their layes.
But mongst them all, which did Loves honor
rayse,

No word was heard of her that most it ought;
But she his precept proudly disobayes,
And doth his ydie message set at nought.
Therefore, O Love, unlesse she turne to thee
Ere Cuckow end, let her a rebell be!

ΧΧ

In vaine I seeke and sew to her for grace,
And doe myne humbled hart before her poure;
The whiles her foot she in my necke doth place,
And yet the Lyon that is Lord of power,
And tread my life downe in the lowly floure.
And reigneth over every beast in field,
In his most pride disdeigneth to devoure

The glorious pourtraict of that Angels face,
Made to amaze weake mens confused skil,
And this worlds worthlesse glory to embase,
What pen, what pencill, can expresse her till?
For though he colours could devize at will,
And eke his learned hand at pleasure guide,
Least, trembling, it his workmanship should The silly lambe that to his might doth yield.

spill;

But she, more cruell, and more salvage wylde,