After so long a race as I have run
Through Faery land, which those six books
compile,
Give leave to rest me being halfe fordonne,
And gather to myselfe new breath awhile.
Then, as a steed refreshed after toyle,
Out of my prison I will breake anew;
And stoutly will that second worke assoyle,
With strong endevour and attention dew.
Till then give leave to me, in pleasant mew
To sport my muse, and sing my loves sweet
praise;
The contemplation of whose heavenly hew,
My spirit to an higher pitch will rayse,
But let her prayses yet be low and meane,
Fit for the handmayd of the Faery Queene.
Fayre is my love, when her fayre golden heares
But since ye deignd so goodly to relent
To me your thrall, in whom is little worth;
That little, that I am, shall all be spent
In setting your immortall prayses forth:
Whose lofty argument, uplifting me,
Shall lift you up unto an high degree.
Let not one sparke of filthy lustfull fyre
Breake out, that may her sacred peace mo-
lest;
Ne one light glance of sensuall desyre
Attempt to work her gentle mindes unrest?
But pure affections bred in spotlesse brest,
And modest thoughts breathd from wel-
tempred sprites,
Goe visit her in her chast bowre of rest
Accompanyde with angelick delightes.
There fill your selfe with those most joyous
sights,
The which my selfe could never yet attayne:
But speake no word to her of these sad
plights,
Which her too constant stiffenesse doth con-
strayn.
Onely behold her rare perfection,
And blesse your fortunes fayre election.
With the loose wynd ye waving chance to The world that cannot deeme of worthy Fayre, when the rose in her red cheekes
When I doe praise her, say I doe but flatter: Or in her eyes the fyre of love does sparke. So does the Cuckow, when the Mavis sings, Fayre, when her brest, lyke a rich laden barke, Begin his witlesse note apace to clatter. With pretious merchandize she forth doth lay; But they that skill not of so heavenly matter, Fayre, when that cloud of pryde, which oft doth All that they know not envy or admyre; Rather then envy, let them wonder at her, Deepe, in the closet of my parts entyre, But not to deeme of her desert aspyre. Her worth is written with a golden quill, That me with heavenly fury doth inspire, And my glad mouth with her sweet prayses fill. [shal thunder, Which when as Fame in her shrill trump Let the world chose to envy or to wonder.
Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away.
But fayrest she, when so she doth display
The gate with pearles and rubyes richly dight:
Throgh which her words so wise do make
To beare the message of her gentle spright.
The rest be works of natures wonderment:
But this the worke of harts astonishment.
The sparkes whereof let kindle thine own fyre, And, catching hold on thine owne wicked hed, Consume thee quite, that didst with guile conspire
In my sweet peace such breaches to have bred! Shame be thy meed, and mischiefe thy reward,
Dew to thy selfe, that it for me prepard!
Since I did leave the presence of my love,
Many long weary dayes I have outworne;
And many nights, that slowly seemd to more
Theyr sad protract from evening untill morne.
For, when as day the heaven doth adorne,
I wish that night the noyous day would end:
And, when as night hath us of light forlorne,
I wish that day would shortly reascend.
Thus I the time with expectation spend,
And faine my griefe with chaunges to be-
guile,
That further seemes his terme still to extend,
And maketh every minute seeme a myle.
So sorrow still doth seeme too long to last;
But joyous houres doe fly away too fast.
Ne ought I sce, though in the clearest day, When others gaze upon theyr shadowes vayne, But th' onely image of that heavenly ray, Whereof some glance doth in mine eie re
Of which beholding the Idæa playne,
Through contemplation of my purest part,
With light thereof I doe my selfe sustayne,
And thereon feed my love-affamisht hart.
But, with such brightnesse whylest I fill
my mind,
I starve my body, and mine eyes doe blynd.
Lyke as the Culver, on the bared bough,
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate;
And, in her songs, sends many a wishfull vow
For his returne that seemes to linger late:
So I alone, now left disconsolate,
Mourne to my selfe the absence of my love;
And, wandring here and there all desolate,
Seek with my playnts to match that mournful
dove.
Ne joy of ought that under heaven doth hove
Can comfort me, but her owne joyous sight:
Whose sweet aspect both God and man can
In her unspotted pleasauns to delight.
Dark is my day, whyles her fayre light I mis,
And dead my life that wants such lively blis,
'See! thou thyselfe likewise art lyttle made,
If thou regard the same.
And yet thou suffrest neyther gods in sky,
Nor men in earth, to rest:
But, when thou art disposed cruelly,
Theyr sleepe thou doost molest.
Then eyther change thy cruelty.
Or give like leave unto the fly,'
Nathelesse, the cruell boy, not so content,
Would needs the fly pursue;
And in his hand, with heedlesse hardiment,
Him caught for to subdue.
But, when on it he hasty hand did lay,
The Bee him stung therefore :
'Now out alasse, he cryde, and wel-away!
I wounded am full sore:
The Fly, that I so much did scorne,
Hath hurt me with his little horne.'
Full many thou hast pricked to the hart,
That pitty never found:
Therefore, henceforth some pitty take,
When thou doest spoyle of lovers make.'
She tooke him streight full pitiously lamenting,
And wrapt him in her smock:
She wrapt him softly, all the while repenting
That he the fly did mock.
She drest his wound, and it embaulmed wel
With salve of soveraigne might:
And then she bath'd him in a dainty well,
The well of deare delight.
Who would not oft be stung as this,
To be so bath'd in Venus blis?
The wanton boy was shortly wel recured
Of that his malady:
But he, soone after, fresh againe enured
His former cruelty.
And since that time he wounded hath my
With his sharpe dart of love:
[selfe
And now forgets the cruell carelesse elfe
[game, His mothers heast to prove.
how great So now I languish, till he please
[the smart My pining anguish to appease.
Unto his mother straight he weeping came,
And of his griefe complayned:
Who could not chose but laugh at his fond
Though sad to see him pained.
'Think now (quod she) my sonne,
Of those whom thou dost wound:
YE learned sisters, which have oftentimes
Beene to me ayding, others to adorne, [rymes, Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake,
Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull And long since ready forth his maske to move,
That even the greatest did not greatly scorne With his bright Tead that flames with many
To heare theyr names sung in your simple
But joyed in theyr praise;
[layes, And many a bachelor to waite on him,
And when ye list your owne mishaps to mourne, In theyr fresh garments trim.
Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck did Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight,
For lo! the wished day is come at last,
That shall, for all the paynes and sorrowes past,
Pay to her usury of long delight:
And, whylest she doth her dight,
Doe ye to her of joy and solace sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your
eccho ring.
Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne,
And teach the woods and waters to lament
Your dolefull dreriment:
Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside;
And, having all your heads with girlands
crownd,
Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to resound;
Ne let the same of any be envide:
So Orpheus did for his owne bride!
So I unto my selfe alone will sing; [ring.
The woods shall to me answer, and my Eccho
Early, before the worlds light-giving lampe
His golden beame upon the hils doth spred,
Having disperst the nights unchearefull dampe,
Doe ye awake; and, with fresh lusty-hed,
Go to the bowre of my beloved love,
Bring with you all the Nymphes that you can
Both of the rivers and the forrests greene,
And of the sea that neighbours to her neare:
Al with gay girlands goodly wel beseene.
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay girland,
For my fayre love, of lillyes and of roses,
Bound truelove wize, with a blew silke riband.
And let them make great store of bridale poses,
And let them eeke bring store of other flowers, My love is now awake out of her dreames, To deck the bridale bowers. [tread, And her fayre eyes, like stars that 'dimmed
And let the ground whereas her foot shall
For feare the stones her tender foot should
wrong,
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along,
And diapred lyke the discolored mead.
Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt,
For she will waken strayt;
The whiles doe ye this song unto her sing,
The woods shall to you answer, and your Eccho
ring.
Ye Nymphes of Mulla, which with carefull
heed
The silver scaly trouts doe tend full well,
And greedy pikes which use therein to feed;
With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly
More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere.
Come now, ye damzels, daughters of delight,
Helpe quickly her to dight:
But first come ye fayre houres, which were
[begot,
In Joves sweet paradice of Day and Night;
Which doe the seasons of the yeare allot,
And al, that ever in this world is fayre,
Doe make and still repayre: [Queene,
And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian
The which doe still adorne her beauties pride,
Helpe to addorne my beautifullest bride:
And, as ye her array, still throw betweene
Some graces to be seene;
(Those trouts and pikes all others doo ex-And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing, The whiles the woods shal answer, and your eccho ring.
And ye likewise, which keepe the rushy lake,
Where none doo fishes take;
[light,
Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd
And in his waters, which your mirror make,
Behold your faces as the christall bright,
That when you come whereas my love doth lie,
No blemish she may spie.
And eke, ye lightfoot mayds, which keepe the
dore,
That on the hoary mountayne used to towre;
And the wylde wolves, which seeke them to
devoure,
[neer;
With your steele darts doo chace from comming
Be also present heere,
To helpe to decke her, and to help to sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your
eccho ring.
Wake now, my love, awake! for it is time;
The Rosy Morne long since left Tithones bed,
All ready to her silver coche to clyme;
And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed.
Hark! how the cheerefull birds do chaunt
theyr laies
And carroll of Loves praise.
The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft;
The Thrush replyes; the Mavis descant playes:
The Ouzell shrills; the Ruddock warbles soft;
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,
To this dayes merriment.
deere love, why doe ye sleepe thus long, When meeter were that ye should now awake, Tawayt the comming of your joyous make, And hearken to the birds love-learned song, The deawy leaves among!
Nor they of joy and pleasance to you sing, That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring.
Now is my love all ready forth to come:
Let all the virgins therefore well awayt:
And ye fresh boyes, that tend upon her
Prepare your selves; for he is comming strayt.
Set all your things in seemely good ȧray,
Fit for so joyfull day:
The joyfulst day that ever sunne did see.
Faire Sun! shew forth thy favourable ray,
And let thy lifull heat not fervert be,
For feare of burning her sunshyny face,
Her beauty to disgrace.
O fayrest Phoebus! father of the Muse!
If ever I did honour thee aright,
Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight,
Doe not thy servants simple boone refuse;
But let this day, let this one day, be myne;
Let all the rest be thine.
Then I thy soverayne prayses loud wil sing,
That all the woods shal answer, and theyr
eccho ring.
Harke: how the Minstrils gin to shrill aloud
Their merry Musick that resounds from far,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling Croud.
That well agree withouten breach or jar.
But, most of all, the Damzels doe delite
When they their tymbrels smyte,
And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet,
That all the sences they doe ravish quite;
The whyles the boyes run up and downe the
street,
Crying aloud with strong confused noyce,
As if it were one voyce,
Hymen, iö Hymen, Hymen, they do shout;
That even to the heavens theyr shouting shrill
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill;
To which the people standing all about,
As in approvance, doe thereto applaud,
And loud advaunce her laud;
And evermore they Hymen, Hymen sing,
That al the woods them answer, and theyr
eccho ring.
Loe! where she comes along with portly pace,
Lyke Phoebe, from her chamber of the East,
Arysing forth to run her mighty race,
Clad all in white, that seemes a virgin best.
So well it her beseemes, that ye would weene
Some angell she had beene.
Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre,
Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres
Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre;
And, being crowned with a girland greene,
Seeme lyke some mayden Queene.
Her modest eyes, abashed to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,
Upon the lowly ground affixed are;
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold,
But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud,
So farre from being proud.
Nathlesse doe ye still loud her prayses sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho
ring.
Tell me, ye merchants daughters, did ye see
So fayre a creature in your towne before;
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,
Adornd with beautyes grace and vertues store?
Her goodly eyes lyke Saphyres shining bright,
Her forehead yvory white,
There vertue raynes as Queene in royal throne,
And giveth lawes alone,
The which the base affections doe obay,
And yeeld theyr services unto her will;
Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may
Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill.
Had ye once seene these her celestial threa-
And unrevealed pleasures,
[sures,
Then would ye wonder, and her prayses sing,
That al the woods should answer, and your
echo ring.
Open the temple gates unto my love,
Open them wide that she may enter in,
And all the postes adorne as doth behove,
And all the pillours deck with girlands trim,
For to receyve this Saynt with honour dew,
That commeth in to you.
With trembling steps, and humble reverence,
She commeth in, before th' Almighties view;
Of her ye virgins learne obedience,
When so ye come into those holy places,
To humble your proud faces :
Bring her np to th' high altar, that she may
The sacred ceremonies there partake,
The which do endlesse matrimony make;
And let the roring Organs loudly play
The praises of the Lord in lively notes;
The whiles, with hollow throates,
The Choristers the joyous Antheme sing,
That al the woods may answere, and their
eccho ring.
Behold, whiles she before the altar stands, Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes, Her lips lyke cherryes charming men to byte, And blesseth her with his two happy hands, Her brest like to a bowle of creame uncrudded, How the red roses flush up in her cheekes, Her paps lyke lyllies budded, And the pure snow, with goodly vermill stayne Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre; Like crimsin dyde in grayne: And all her body like a pallace fayre, Ascending up, with many a stately stayre, To honors seat and chastities sweet bowre. Why stand ye still ye virgins in amaze, Upon her so to gaze,
Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing,
To which the woods did answer, and your
eccho ring?
But if ye saw that which no eyes can see,
The inward beauty of her lively spright,
Garnisht with heavenly guifts of high degree,
Much more then would ye wonder at that
sight,
And stand astonisht lyke to those which red
Medusaes mazeful hed.
There dwels sweet love, and constant chastity,
Unspotted fayth, and comely womanhood,
Regard of honour, and mild modesty ;
That even th' Angels, which continually
About the sacred Altare doe remaine,
Forget their service and about her fly,
Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more fayre,
The more they on it stare.
But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,
Are governed with goodly modesty,
That suffers not one looke to glaunce awry,
Which may let in a little thought unsownd.
Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand,
The pledge of all our band!
Sing, ye sweet Angels, Alleluya sing,
That all the woods may answere, and your
eccho ring.
Now al is done: bring home the bride againe;
Bring home the triumph of our victory:
Bring home with you the glory of her gaine
With joyance bring her and with jollity.
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