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Much richer then that vessell seem'd to bee, Which did to that sad Florentine appeare, 170 Casting mine eyes farre off, I chaunst to see, Vpon the Latine Coast herselfe to reare:

But suddenly arose a tempest great, Bearing close enuie to these riches rare, Which gan assaile this ship with dreadfull threat,

This ship, to which none other might compare.
And finally the storme impetuous
Sunke vp these riches, second vnto none,
Within the gulfe of greedie Nereus.
I saw both ship and mariners each one,

180

And all that treasure drowned in the maine:

But I the ship saw after raisd' againe.

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Long hauing deeply gron'd these visions sad, I saw a Citie like vnto that same, Which saw the messenger of tidings glad ; But that on sand was built the goodly frame:

It seem'd her top the firmament did rayse, And no lesse rich than faire, right worthie

sure

(If ought here worthie) of immortall dayes, Or if ought vnder heauen might firme endure.

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As much it grieueth me to thinke thereon.
At my right hand a Hynde appear'd to mee,
So faire as mote the greatest God delite;
Two eager dogs did her pursue in chace,
Of which the one was blacke, the other
white:

With deadly force so in their cruell race

They pincht the haunches of that gentle beast,

That at the last, and in short time I spide, 10
Vnder a Rocke where she alas opprest,
Fell to the ground, and there vntimely dide.
Cruell death vanquishing so noble beautie,
Oft makes me wayle so hard a destenie.

2

After at sea a tall ship did appeare, Made all of Heben and white Yuorie, The sailes of golde, of silke the tackle were, Milde was the winde, calme seem'd the sea to

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Then heauenly branches did I see arise Out of the fresh and lustie Lawrell tree, 30 Amidst the yong greene wood: of Paradise Some noble plant I thought my selfe to see : Such store of birds therein yshrowded were, Chaunting in shade their sundrie melodie, That with their sweetnes I was rauish't nere. While on this Lawrell fixed was mine eie,

The skie gan euerie where to ouercast, And darkned was the welkin all about, 38 When sudden flash of heauens fire out brast, And rent this royall tree quite by the roote, Which makes me much and euer to complaine: For no such shadow shalbe had againe.

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I saw a Phœnix in the wood alone, With purple wings, and crest of golden hewe; Strange bird he was, whereby I thought anone, That of some heauenly wight I had the vewe; Vntill he came vnto the broken tree, And to the spring, that late deuoured was. What say I more? each thing at last we see Doth passe away: the Phoenix there alas

rest,

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And ye faire Ladie, in whose bounteous brest All heauenly grace and vertue shrined is, When ye these rythmes doo read, and vew the Loath this base world, and thinke of heauens blis:

And though ye be the fairest of Gods creatures, Yet thinke, that death shall spoyle your goodly

features.

Daphnaïda.

An Elegie vpon the

death of the noble and vertuous
Douglas Howard, Daughter and
heire of Henry Lord Howard, Vif-
count Byndon, and wife of Ar-
thure Gorges Esquier.

Dedicated to the Right honorable the Lady
Helena, Marqueffe of Northampton.

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AT LONDON

Printed for William Ponsonby, dwelling in Paules Churchyard at the signe of the Bishops head 1591.

I

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND VER

tuous Lady Helena Marquesse of
North-hampton.

Haue the rather presumed humbly to offer vnto your Honour the dedication of this little Poëme, for that the noble and vertuous Gentlewoman of whom it is written, was by match neere alied, and in affection greatly deuoted unto your Ladiship. The occasion why I wrote the same, was aswell the great good fame which I heard of her deceassed, as the particular goodwill which I beare vnto her husband Master Arthur Gorges, a louer of learning and vertue, whose house, as your Ladiship by mariage hath honoured, so doe I find the name of them by many notable records, to be of great antiquitie in this Realme; and such as haue euer borne themselues with honourable reputation to the world, and unspotted loyaltie to their Prince and Countrey: besides

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so lineally are they descended from the Howards, as that the Lady Anne Howard, eldest daughter to Iohn Duke of Norfolke, was wife to Sir Edmund, mother to Sir Edward, and grandmother to Sir William and Sir Thomas Gorges Knightes. And therefore I doe assure my selfe, that no due honour done to the white Lyon but will be most gratefull to your Ladiship, whose husband and children do so neerely participate with the bloud of that noble family. So in all dutie I recommende this Pamphlet, and the good acceptance thereof, to your honourable fauour and protection. London this first of Ianuarie. 1591. Your Honours humbly euer. Ed. Sp.

Daphnaïda.

7 Hat euer man he be, whose heauie minde
of mournefull great mishap
opprest,

Fit matter for his cares increase would finde:
Let reade the rufull plaint herein exprest
Of one (I weene) the wofulst man aliue;
Euen sad Alcyon, whose empierced brest
Sharpe sorrowe did in thousand peeces riue.
But who so else in pleasure findeth sense,
Or in this wretched life dooth take delight,
Let him be banisht farre away from hence:
Ne let the sacred Sisters here be hight,
Though they of sorrowe heauilie can sing ;
For euen their heauie song would breede delight:
But herenotunes, saue sobs and gronesshallring.
In stead of them, and their sweete harmonie,
Let those three fatall Sisters, whose sad hands
Doo weaue the direfull threds of destinie,

II

And in their wrath breake off the vitall bands, Approach hereto: and let the dreadfull Queene Of darkenes deepe come from the Stygian strands,

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And grisly Ghosts to heare this dolefull teene.
In gloomie euening, when the wearie Sun
After his dayes long labour drew to rest,
And sweatie steeds now hauing ouer run
The compast skie, gan water in the west,

I walkt abroade to breath the freshing ayre In open fields, whose flowring pride opprest With early frosts, had lost their beautie faire.

There came vnto my minde a troublous thought, Which dayly dooth my weaker wit possesse, Ne lets it rest, vntill it forth haue brought 31 Her long borne Infant, fruit of heauinesse, Which she conceiued hath through meditation Of this worlds vainnesse and lifes wretched

nesse,

That yet my soule it deepely doth empassion.

So as I muzed on the miserie,

In which men liue, and I of many most,
Most miserable man; I did espie
Where towards me a sory wight did cost,
Clad all in black, that mourning did bewray :
And Iaakob staffe in hand deuoutlie crost, 41
Like to some Pilgrim come from farre away.
His carelesse locks, vncombed and vnshorne,
Hong long adowne, and beard all ouer growne,
That well he seemd to be sum wight forlorne;
Downe to the earth his heauie eyes were

throwne

As loathing light: and euer as he went, He sighed soft, and inly deepe did grone, As if his heart in peeces would haue rent.

50 Whilome I vsde (as thou right well doest know) My little flocke on westerne downes to keepe, Not far from whence Sabrinaes streame doth flow, And flowrie bancks with siluer liquor steepe : Nought carde I then for worldly change or chaunce,

Approaching nigh, his face I vewed nere,
And by the semblant of his countenance,
Me seemd I had his person seene elsewhere,
Most like Alcyon seeming at a glaunce;
Alcyon he, the iollie Shepheard swaine,
That wont full merrilie to pipe and daunce,
And fill with pleasance euery wood and plaine.
Yet halfe in doubt because of his disguize,
I softlie sayd Alcyon? There with all
He lookt a side as in disdainefull wise,
Yet stayed not: till I againe did call.
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Then turning back he saide with hollow sound,
Who is it, that dooth name me, wofull thrall,
The wretchedst man that treades this day on
ground?

One, whome like wofulnesse impressed deepe,
Hath made fit mate thy wretched case to heare,
And giuen like cause with thee to waile and

weepe:

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Then stay Alcyon, gentle shepheard stay,
(Quoth I) till thou haue to my trustie eare
Committed, what thee dooth so ill apay.
Cease foolish man (saide he halfe wrothfully)
To seeke to heare that which cannot be told :
For the huge anguish, which dooth multiplie
My dying paines, no tongue can well vnfold :
Ne doo I care, that any should bemone
My hard mishap, or any weepe that would,
But seeke alone to weepe, and dye alone.
Then be it so (quoth I) that thou art bent
To die alone, vnpitied, vnplained,
Yet ere thou die, it were conuenient

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To tell the cause, which thee theretoo constrained:

Least that the world thee dead accuse of guilt, And say, when thou of none shalt be maintained, That thou for secret crime thy blood hast spilt. Who life dooes loath, and longs to bee vnbound From thestrongshackles of fraile flesh (quothhe) Nought cares at all, what they that liue on ground

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Deeme the occasion of his death to bee:
Rather desires to be forgotten quight,
Than question made of his calamitie,
For harts deep sorrow hates both life and light.
Yet since so much thou seemst to rue my griefe,
And carest for one that for himselfe cares nought,
(Signe of thy loue, though nought for my reliefe:
For my reliefe exceedeth liuing thought)
I will to thee this heauie case relate.

Then harken well till it to ende be brought,
For neuer didst thou heare more haplesse fate.

For all my ioy was on my gentle sheepe, And to my pype to caroll and to daunce.

ΙΟΙ

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It there befell, as I the fields did range
Fearelesse and free, a faire young Lionesse,
White as the natiue Rose before the chaunge,
Which Venus blood did in her leaues impresse,
I spied playing on the grassie playne
Her youthfull sports and kindlie wantonnesse,
That did all other Beasts in beawtie staine.
Much was I moued at so goodly sight;
Whose like before mine eye had seldome seene,
And gan to cast, how I her compasse might,
And bring to hand, that yet had neuer beene :
So well I wrought with mildnes and with paine,
That I her caught disporting on the grene,
And brought away fast bound with siluer chaine.
And afterwards I handled her so fayre,
That though by kind shee stout and saluage
were,

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For being borne an auncient Lions haire,
And of the race, that all wild beastes do feare;
Yet I her fram'd and wan so to my bent,
That shee became so meeke and milde of cheare,
As the least lamb in all my flock that went.
For shee in field, where euer I did wend,
Would wend with me, and waite by me all day:
And all the night that I in watch did spend,
If cause requir'd, or els in sleepe, if nay, 130
Shee would all night by mee or watch, or sleepe;
And euermore when I did sleepe or play,
She of my flock would take full warie keepe.
Safe then and safest were my sillie sheepe,
Ne fear'd the Wolfe, ne fear'd the wildest beast:
All were I drown'd in carelesse quiet deepe:
My louelie Lionesse without beheast
So carefull was for them and for my good,
That when I waked, neither most nor least
I found miscaried or in plaine or wood.
Oft did the Shepeheards, which my hap did
heare,

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And oft their lasses which my luck enuide,
Daylie resort to me from farre and neare,
To see my Lyonesse, whose praises wide
Were spred abroad; and when her worthinesse
Much greater than the rude report they tri'de,
They her did praise, and my good fortune blesse.

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