Full many Maydens often did him woo,
Them to vouchsafe emongst his rimes to name,
Or make for them as he was wont to doo
For her that did his heart with love inflame.
For which they promised to dight for him
Gay ohapelets of flowers and gyrlonds trim.
And many a Nymph both of the wood and
brooke,
Soone as his oaten pipe began to shrill,
Both christall wells and shadie groves forsooke,
To heare the charmes of his enchanting skill;
And brought him presents, flowers if it were
prime,
Or mellow fruit if it were harvest time.
But he for none of them did care a whit,
Yet woodgods for them often sighed sore:
Ne for their gifts unworthie of his wit,
Yet not unworthie of the countries store.
For one alone he cared, for one he sigh't,
His lifes desire, and his deare loves delight.
Stella the faire, the fairest star in skie,
As faire as Venus or the fairest faire,
(A fairer star saw never living eie,)
Shot her sharp pointed beames through purest
Her he did love, her he alone did honor, His thoughts, his rimes, his songs were all upon her.
To her he vowd the service of his daies,
On her he spent the riches of his wit:
'For her he made hymnes of immortall praise,
Of onely her he sung, he thought, he writ.
Her, and but her, of love he worthie deemed;
For all the rest but litle he esteemed.
Ne her with ydle words alone he wowed,
And verses vaine, (vet verses are not vaine,)
But with brave deeds to her sole service vowed,
And bold atchievements her did entertaine.
For both in deeds and words he nourtred was,
Both wise and hardie, (too hardie, alas !)
In wrestling nimble, and in renning swift,
In shooting steddie, and in swimming strong:
Well made to strike, to throw, to leape, to lift,
And all the sports that shepheards are emong.
In every one he vanquisht every one,
He vanquisht all, and vanquisht was of none.
Besides, in hunting such felicitie,
Or rather infelicitie, he found,
That every field and forest far away
No beast so salvage but he could it kill;
No chace so hard, but he therein had skill.
Such skill, matcht with such courage as he had,
Did prick him foorth with proud desire of
praise
To seek abroad, of daunger nought ydrad,
His mistresse name, and his owne fame to
raise.
What needeth perill to be sought abroad,
Since round about us it doth make aboad!
It fortuned as he that perilous game
In forreine soyle pursued far away,
Into a forest wide and waste he came,
Where store he heard to be of salvage pray.
So wide a forest and so waste as this,
Nor famous Ardeyn, nor fowle Arlo, is.
There his welwoven toyles, and subtil traines,
He laid the brutish nation to enwrap:
So well he wrought with practise and with paines,
That he of thêm great troups did soone entrap.
Full happie man (misweening much) was hee,
So rich a spoile within his power to see.
Eftsoones, all heedlesse of his dearest hale,
Full greedily into the heard he thrust,
To slaughter them, and worke their finall bale,
Least that his toyle should of their troups be
Wide wounds emongst them many one he made,
Now with his sharp bore-spear, now with his
blade.
His care was all how he them all might kill,
That none might scape, (so partiall unto none:)
Ill mynd so much to mynd anothers ill,
As to become unmyndfull of his owne.
But pardon that unto the cruell skies,
That from himselfe to them withdrew his eies.
So as he rag'd emongst that beastly rout,
A cruell beast of most accursed brood [stout,)
Upon him turnd, (despeyre makes cowards
And, with fell tooth accustomed to blood,
Launched his thigh with so mischievous might,
That it both bone and muscles ryved quight.
So deadly was the dint and deep the wound,
And so huge streames of blood thereout did
That he endured not the direfull stound, [flow,
But on the cold deare earth himselfe did throw;
The whiles the captive heard his nets did rend,
And, having none to let, to wood did wend.
Ah! where were ye this while his shepheard
To whom alive was nought so deare as hee:
He sought, where salvage beasts do most And ye fayre Mayds, the matches of his yeares,
Which in his grace did boast you most to bee!
Ah! where were ye, when he of you had need,
To stop his wound that wondrously did bleed!
Ah! wretched boy, the shape of dreryhead,
And sad ensample of mans suddein end:
Full litle faileth but thou shalt be dead,
Unpitied, unplaynd, of foe or frend:
Whilest none is nigh, thine eylids up to close,
And kisse thy lips like faded leaves of rose.
A sort of shepheards, sewing of the chace,
As they the forest raunged on a day,
By fate or fortune came unto the place,
"Where as the lucklesse boy yet bleeding lay;
Yet bleeding lay, and yet would still have bled.
Had not good hap those shepheards thether led.
They stopt his wound, (too late to stop it was!)
And in their armes then softly did him reare:
Tho (as he wild) unto his loved lasse,
His dearest love, him dolefully did beare.
The dolefulst beare that ever man did see,
Was Astrophel, but dearest unto mee!
She, when she saw her love in such a plight,
With crudled blood and filthie gore deformed,
That wont to be with flowers and gyrlonds
dight,
And her deare favours dearly well adorned;
Her face, the fairest face that eye mote see,
She likewise did deforme, like him to bee.
Her yellow locks that shone so bright and long,
As Sunny beames in fairest somers day,
She fiersly tore, and with outragious wrong
From her red cheeks the roses rent away;
And her faire brest, the threasury of joy,
She spoyld thereof, and filled with annoy.
His palled face, impictured with death,
She bathed oft with teares, and dried oft:
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And, pittying this paire of lovers trew,
Transformed them, there lying on the field,
Into one flowre that is both red and blew;
It first growes red, and then to blew doth fade,
Like Astrophel, which thereinto was made.
And in the midst thereof a star appeares,
As fairly formd as any star in skyes;
Resembling Stella in her freshest yeares,
Forth darting beames of beautie from her eyes:
And all the day it standeth full of deow,
Which is the teares, that from her eyes did flow.
That hearbe of some Starlight is cald by name,
Of others Penthia, though not so well:
But thou, where ever thou doest finde the same,
From this day forth do call it Astrophel:
And, when so ever thou it up doest take,
Do pluck it softly for that shepheards sake.
Hereof when tydings far abroad did passe,
The shepheards all which loved him full deare,
And sure full deare of all he loved was,
Did thether flock to see what they did heare.
And when that pitteous spectacle they vewed,
The same with bitter teares they all bedewed.
And every one did make exceeding mone,
With inward anguish and great griefe opprest:
And every one did weep and waile, and mone,
And meanes deviz'd to shew his sorrow best.
[seen. Shepheards kept sheep, was not like mourning But first his sister that Clorinda hight, The gentlest shepheardesse that lives this day, And most resembling both in shape and spright Her brother deare, began this dolefull lay. Which, least I marre the sweetnesse of the
And with sweet kisses suckt the wasting breath | That from that houre, since first on grassie
Out of his lips like lilies pale and soft:
And oft she cald to him, who answerd nought,
But onely by his lookes did tell his thought.
The rest of her impatient regret,
And piteous mone the which she for him made,
No toong can tell, nor any forth can set,
But he whose heart like sorrow did invade.
At last, when paine his vitall powres had spent,
His wasted life her wearie lodge forwent.
In sort as she it sung I will rehearse.
THE DOLEFULL LAY OF CLORINDA.
(These verses are supposed to have been written by Mary Countess of Pembroke,
sister to Sir Philip Sidney.)
Ay me, to whom shall I my case complaine,
That may compassion my impatient griefe !
Or where shall I unfold my inward paine,
That my euriven heart may find reliefe!
Shall I unto the heavenly powres it show?
Or unto earthly men that dwell below?
To heavens? ah! they alas! the authors were,
And workers of my unremédied wo:
For they foresee what to us happens here,
And they foresaw, yet suffred this be so.
From them comes good, from them comes
also il;
[to spill?
That which they made, who can them warne
To men? ah! they alas! like wretched bee,
And subject to the heavens ordinance:
Bound to abide whatever they decree,
Their best redresse is their best sufferance.
How then can they, like wretched, comfort
mee,
The which no lessé need comforted to bee?
Then to my selfe will I my sorrow mourne,
Sith none alive like sorrowfull remaines:
And to my selfe my plaints shall back retourne,
To pay their usury with doubled paines.
The woods, the hills, the rivers, shall resound
The mournfull accent of my sorrowes ground.
Woods, hills, and rivers, now are desolate,
Sith he is gone the which them all did grace:
And all the fields do waile their widow state,
Sith death their fairest flowre did late deface.
The fairest flowre in field that ever grew,
Was Astrophel; that was, we all may rew.
What cruell hand of cursed foe unknowne,
Hath cropt the stalke which bore so faire a
flowre?
Untimely cropt, before it well were growne,
And cleane defaced in untimely howre.
Great losse to all that ever him did see,
Great losse to all, but greatest losse to mee!
The flowre, which them adornd, is gone to ashes,
Never againe let lasse put gyrlond on.
In stead of gyrlond, weare sad Cypres nowe,
And bitter Elder, broken from the bowe.
Ne ever sing the love-layes which he made;
Who ever made such layes of love as hee?
Ne ever read the riddles, which he sayd
Unto your selves, to make you mery glée.
Your mery glee is now laid all abed,
Your mery maker now alasse! is dead.
Death, the devourer of all worlds delight,
Hath robbed you, and reft fro me my joy :
Both you and me, and all the world he quight
Hath robd of joyance, and left sad annoy.
Joy of the world, and shepheards pride was
hee!
Shepheards, hope never like againe to see!
Oh Death! thou hast us of such riches reft,
Tell us at least, what hast thou with it done?
What is become of him whose flowre here left
Is but the shadow of his likenesse gone?
Searse like the shadow of that which he was,
Nought like, but that he like a shade did
pas.
But that immortall spirit, which was deckt
With all the dowries of celestiall grace,
By soveraine choyce from th' hevenly quires
And lineally deriv'd from Angels race,
select,
O! what is now of it become aread.
Ay me! can so divine a thing be dead?
Ah! no: it is not dead, ne can it die,
But lives for aie, in blisfull Paradise:
Where like a new-borne babe it soft doth he,
In bed of lillies wrapt in tender wise;
And compast all about with roses sweet,
And daintie violets from head to feet.
There thousand birds, all of celestiall brood, To him do sweetly caroll day and night; Breake now your gyrlonds, O ye shepheards And with straunge notes, of him well under
lasses, Sith the fayre flowre, which them adornd, is Lull him asleep in Angelick delight;
Immortall beauties, which no eye may see.
But he them sees, and takes exceeding pleasure
Of their divine aspects, appearing plaine,
And kindling love in him above all measure;
Sweet love, still joyous, never feeling paine:
For what so goodly forme he there doth see,
He may enjoy from jealous rancor free
There liveth he in everlasting blis,
Sweet spirit never fearing more to die:
Ne dreading harme from any foes of his,
Ne fearing salvage beasts more crueltie.
Whilest we here, wretches, waile his private
lack,
And with vaine vowes do often call him back.
But live thou there, still happie, happie spirit,
And give us leave thee here thus to lament!
Not thee that doest thy heavens joy inherit,
But our owne selves that here in dole are drent
Thus do we weep and waile, and wear our
eies,
Mourning, in others, our own miseries,
THE MOURNING MUSE OF THESTYLIS.
(This and the succeeding Poem are supposed to have been written by Lodowick Bryskett.)
COME forth, ye Nymphes, come forth, forsake | Fame and renowme to us for glorious martiall your watry bowres, Forsake your mossy caves, and help me to la- But now thy ireful bemes have chill'd our Help me to tune my dolefull notes to gurgling harts with cold; [our land: [teares of ours Thou hast estrang'd thy self, and deignest not Of Liffies tumbling streames: Come, let salt Farre off to others now thy favour honour Mix with his waters fresh. O come, let one breeds, [clime, (I feare ;) consent [deadly wound And high disdaine doth cause thee shun our Joyne us to mourne with wailfull plaints the For hadst thou not bene wroth, or that time
Which fatall clap hath made, decreed by higher
neare at hand, [England made; [yrent Thou wouldst have heard the cry that woful The dreery day in which they have from us Eke Zelands piteous plaints, and Hollands
The noblest plant that might from East to
West be found. Mourne, mourn, great Philips fall, mourn we his wofull end, [from the tree,
toren heare, [mynd: Would haply have appeas'd thy divine angry Thou shouldst have seen the trees refuse to yeeld their shade,
Whom spitefull Death hath pluct untimely And wailing to let fall the honor of their head; Whiles yet his yeares in flowre did promise And birds in mournfull tunes lamenting in worthie frute.
Ah dreadful Mars, why didst thou not thy Up from his tombe the mightie Corineus rose. What wrathfull mood, what fault of ours, hath Who, cursing oft the fates that this mishap had moved thee bred, {unkinde. Of such a shining light to leave us destitute? His hoary locks he tare, calling the heavens Thou with benigne aspect sometime did t us The Thames was heard to roare, the Seyne behold, [old, and eke the Mose, [chance did rue, Thou hast in Britons valour tane delight of The Schald, the Danow selfe, this great misAnd with thy presence oft vouchsaft to attri- With torment and with grief: their fountains bute
Were troubled, and with swelling flouds de- Which languisheth being shred by culter as it clar'd their woes. [veines, which were The Muses comfortles, the Nymphs with A trembling chilly cold ran throgh their paled hue, [and neere, With eies brimfull of teares to see his fatall The Silvan Gods likewise, eame running farre howre, [declare, And all with teares bedeawd, and eyes cast Whose blustring sighes at first their sorrow did up on hie; [to crie. Next, murmuring ensude; at last they not forbeare
requests no more.
No humble speech, nor mone, Of destinie or death: Such is paints
O help, O help, ye Gods, they ghastly gan [ enviously O chaunge the cruell fate of this so rare a Plaine outcries, all against the heav'ns that wight, [out his age. Depriv'd us of a spright so perfect and so And graunt that natures course may measure [hide his face The beasts their foode forsooke, and, trembling The sun his lightsom beames did shrowd, and fearfully, [so fright. For griefe, whereby the earth feard night Each sought his cave or den, this cry did them eternally: [turn'd their streames, Out from amid the waves, by storme then The mountaines eachwhere shooke, the rivers stirr'd to rage, [Ocean hoare, And th' aire gan winterlike to rage and fret This erie did cause to rise th' old father apace: [fierie gleames, Who grave with eld, and full of majestie in And grisly ghosts by night were seene, and sight, [teares and plaints, Amid the clouds with claps of thunder, that Spake in this wise. 'Refrain (quoth he) your did seeme [beast afeard: Cease these, your idle words, make vaine To rent the skies, and made both man and [fixed stint The birds of ill presage this lucklesse chance may move the foretold, [made man deeme His will that By dernfull noise; and dogs with howling [with store Some mischief was at hand: for such they do The earth with colours fresh; the darkest skies Of starry lights: And though your teares a As tokens of mishap, and so have done of old. hart of flint [will prevaile.' Ah! that thou hadst but heard his lovely Might tender make, yet nought herein they Stella plaine [ing cheere, Whiles thus he said, the noble knight, who Her greevous losse, or seene her heavie mourn[dint While she, with woe opprest, her sorrowes did His vitall force to faint, and death with cruell unfold. [shoulders twaine Of direfull dart his mortall bodie to assaile, Her haire hung lose, neglect, about her With eyes lift up to heav'n, and courage And from those two bright starres to him somefranke as steele, [exprest, time so deere, [foyson downe With cheerfull face, where valour lively was Her heart sent drops of pearle, which fell in But humble mynd, he said: 'O Lord, if ought Twixt lilly and the rose. She wroong her hands this fraile [t' advaunce; with paine, [pheere, And earthly carcasse have thy service sought And piteously gan say: 'My true and faithfull If my desire have bene still to relieve th' Alas, and woe is me! why should my fortune opprest; If justice to maintaine that valour I have On me thus frowardly to rob me of my joy? Which thou me gav'st; or if henceforth I What cruell envious hand hath taken thee might advaunce [if thou think best; [stay? Thy name, thy truth, then spare me (Lord) And with thee my content, my comfort, and my Forbeare these unripe yeares. But if thy will Thou onelie wast the ease of trouble and annoy, be bent, [set; When they did me assaile; in thee my hopes If that prefixed time be come which thou hast did rest. [day Through pure and fervent faith, I hope now Alas, what now is left but grief, that night and [blood Afflicts this wofull life, and with continuall
In th' everlasting blis, which with thy precious
Thou purchase didst for us.' With that a Torments ten thousand waies my miserable
O greedie envious heav'n, what needed thee to
have
And straight a cloudie mist his sences overcast; His lips waxt pale and wan, like damaske roses bud
Cast from the stalke, or like in field to purple] flowre,
Enricht with such a jewell this unhappie age;
To take it back againe so soone! Alas, when
shall
[since thy grave,
Mine eies see ought that may content them,
|