Those trusty mates, that loved thee so well;
Whom thou gav'st mirth, as they gave thee the bell.1
Yet, as thou earst with thy sweete roundelayes
Didst stirre to glee our laddes in homely bowers;
So moughtst thou now in these refyned layes
Delight the daintie eares of higher powers.
And so mought they, in their deepe skanning skill,
Allow and grace our Collyns flowing quill.
And faire befall that Faery Queene of thine!
In whose faire eyes Love linct with Vertue sittes;
Enfusing, by those bewties fyers divine,
Such high conceites into thy humble wittes,
As raised hath poore Pastors oaten reedes
From rusticke tunes, to chaunt heroique deedes.
So mought thy Redcrosse Knight with happy hand
Victorius be in that faire Ilands right,
(Which thou dost vayle in type of Faery land,)
Elizas blessed field, that Albion hight:
That shieldes her friendes, and warres her mightie foes, Yet still with people, peace, and plentie, flowes.
But, iolly shepheard, though with pleasing stile
Thou feast the humour of the courtly trayne;
Let not conceipt thy settled sence beguile,
Ne daunted be through envy or disdaine.
Subiect thy doome to her empyring spright,
From whence thy Muse, and all the world, takes light.
1 Gave thee the bell, gave you the first rank.
FAYRE Thamis streame, that from Ludds stately towne
Runst paying tribute to the ocean seas,
Let all thy Nymphes and Syrens of renowne
Be silent, whyle this Bryttane Orpheus playes :
Nere thy sweet banks there lives that sacred Crowne,
Whose hand strowes palme and never-dying bayes.
Let all at once, with thy soft murmuring sowne,
Present her with this worthy Poets prayes:
For he hath taught hye drifts in Shepherdes weedes,
And deepe conceites now singes in Faeries deedes.
GRAVE Muses, march in triumph and with prayses;
Our Goddesse here hath given you leave to land;
And biddes this rare dispenser of your graces
Bow downe his brow unto her sacred hand.
Deserte findes dew in that most princely doome,
In whose sweete brest are all the Muses bredde:
So did that great Augustus erst in Roome
With leaves of fame adorn his Poets hedde.
Faire be the guerdon of your Faery Queene,
Even of the fairest that the world hath seene!
WHEN Stout Achilles heard of Helens rape,
And what revenge the States of Greece devis'd;
Thinking by sleight the fatall warres to scape,
In womans weedes himselfe he then disguis'd:
But this devise Ulysses soone did spy,
And brought him forth, the chaunce of warre to try.
When Spenser saw the fame was spredd so large,
Through Faery land, of their renowned Queene;
Loth that his Muse should take so great a charge,
As in such haughty matter to be seene;
To seeme a Shepheard, then he made his choice;
But Sidney heard him sing, and knew his voice.
And as Ulysses brought faire Thetis sonne
From his retyred life to menage armes :
So Spenser was, by Sidney's speaches, wonne
To blaze Her fame, not fearing future harmes :
For well he knew, his Muse would soone be tyred
In her high praise, that all the world admired.
Yet as Achilles, in those warlike frayes,
Did win the palme from all the Grecian Peeres:
So Spenser now, to his immortal prayse,
Hath wonne the laurell quite from all his feeres.1
What though his taske exceed a humaine witt;
He is excus'd, sith Sidney thought it fitt.
To looke upon a worke of rare devise
The which a workman setteth out to view,
And not to yield it the deserved prise
That unto such a workmanship is dew,
Doth either prove the iudgement to be naught,
Or els doth shew a mind with envy fraught.
To labour to commend a peece of worke,
Which no man goes about to discommend,
Would raise a jealous doubt, that there did lurke
Some secret doubt whereto the prayse did tend:
For when men know the goodnes of the wyne,
"Tis needless for the Hoast to have a sygne.*
Thus then, to shew my iudgement to be such
As can discerne of colours blacke and white,
As alls to free my minde from envies tuch,
That never gives to any man his right;
I here pronounce this workmanship is such
As that no pen can set it forth too much.
And thus I hang a garland at the dore;
(Not for to shew the goodness of the ware;
But such hath beene the custome heretofore,
And customes very hardly broken are ;)
And when your tast shall tell you this is trew,
Then looke you give your Hoast his utmost dew.
"Good wine needs no bush."- PROV.
ADDRESSED, BY THE AUTHOR OF THE FAERIE QUEENE,
[Most of these noblemen, &c., are historical personages, respecting whom the curious reader will find information in common histories and biographies.]
To the Right Honourable Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord high Chauncelor of England, &c.
THOSE prudent heads, that with their counsels wise
Whylom the pillours of th' earth did sustaine,
And taught ambitious Rome to tyrannise
And in the neck of all the world to rayne;
Oft from those grave affaires were wont abstaine,
With the sweet Lady Muses for to play:
So Ennius the elder Africane ;
So Maro oft did Cæsars cares allay.
So you, great Lord, that with your counsell sway
The burdein of this kingdom mightily,
With like delightes sometimes may eke delay1
The rugged brow of carefull Policy;
And to these ydle rymes lend litle space,
Which for their titles sake may find more grace.
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