Immortall myrrhour) Beauty, which is an excellent object of Poeticall spirites, as appeareth by the worthy Petrachs saying. Fiorir faceva il mio debile ingegno

A la sua ombra, et crescer ne gli affanni.

A caytive corage) a base and abject minde.

For lofty love) I think this playing with the letter to be rather a fault then a figure, aswel in our English tongue, as it hath bene alwayes in the Latine, called Cacozelon.

A vacant) imitateth Mantuanes saying. vacuum curis divína cerebrum Poscit.

Lavish cups) Resembleth that comen verse Fæcundi calices quem non fecere disertum.

O if my) He seemeth here to be ravished with a Poetical furie. For (if one rightly mark) the numbers rise so ful, and the verse groweth so big, that it seemeth he hath forgot the meanenesse of shepheards state and stile.

Wild yvie) for it is dedicated to Bacchus and therefore it is sayd that the Mænades (that is Bacchus franticke priestes) used in theyr sacrifice to carry Thyrsos, which were pointed staves or Javelins, wrapped about with yvie.

270

280 In buskin) it was the maner of Poetes and plaiers in tragedies to were buskins, as also in Comedies to use stockes and light shoes. So that the buskin in Poetry is used for tragical matter, as is said in Virgile. Sola sophocleo tua carmina digna cothurno. And the like in Horace, Magnum loqui, nitique cothurno. Queint) strange Bellona; the goddesse of battaile, that is Pallas, which may therefore wel be called queint for that (as Lucian saith) when Jupiter hir father was in traveile of her, he caused his sonne Vulcane with his axe to hew his head. Out of which leaped forth lustely a valiant damsell armed at all poyntes, 290 whom seeing Vulcane so faire and comely, lightly leaping to her, proferred her some cortesie, which the Lady disdeigning, shaked her speare at him, and threatned his saucinesse. Therefore such straungenesse is well applyed to her. Equipage.) order.

Tydes) seasons.

Charme) temper and order. For Charmes were wont to be made
by verses as Ovid sayth.
Aut si carminibus.

Embleme.

Hereby is meant, as also in the whole course of this Æglogue, that Poetry is a divine instinct and unnatural rage passing the reache 300 of comen reason. Whom Piers answereth Epiphonematicos as admiring the excellencye of the skyll whereof in Cuddie hee hadde alreadye hadde a taste.

52

THE RUINES OF TIME

Lines 183-231: 281-371: 400-55: 673-86

It is not long, since these two eyes beheld
A mightie Prince, of most renowmed race,
Whom England high in count of honour held,
And greatest ones did sue to gaine his grace;
Of greatest ones he greatest in his place,
Sate in the bosome of his Soveraine,

And Right and loyall did his word maintaine.

I saw him die, I saw him die, as one

Of the meane people, and brought foorth on beare.
I saw him die, and no man left to mone

His dolefull fate, that late him loved deare:
Scarce anie left to close his eylids neare;
Scarce anie left upon his lips to laie
The sacred sod, or Requiem to saie.

O trustlesse state of miserable men,

That builde your blis on hope of earthly thing,
And vainly thinke your selves halfe happie then,
When painted faces with smooth flattering
Doo fawne on you, and your wide praises sing,
And when the courting masker louteth lowe,
Him true in heart and trustie to you trow.

All is but fained, and with oaker dide,
That everie shower will wash and wipe away,
All things doo change that under heaven abide,
And after death all friendship doth decaie.
Therefore what ever man bearst worldlie sway,
Living, on God, and on thy selfe relie;

For when thou diest, all shall with thee dic.

190

200

210

He now is dead, and all is with him dead,
Save what in heavens storehouse he uplaid :
His hope is faild, and come to passe his dread,
And evill men, now dead, his deeds upbraid :
Spite bites the dead, that living never baid.
He now is gone, the whiles the Foxe is crept
Into the hole, the which the Badger swept.

He now is dead, and all his glorie gone,
And all his greatnes vapoured to nought,
That as a glasse upon the water shone,
Which vanisht quite, so soone as it was sought.
His name is worne alreadie out of thought,
Ne anie Poet seekes him to revive;
Yet manie Poets honourd him alive.

Ne doth his Colin, carelesse Colin Cloute,
Care now his idle bagpipe up to raise,
Ne tell his sorrow to the listning rout

220

Of shepherd groomes, which wont his songs to praise :
Praise who so list, yet I will him dispraise,
Untill he quite him of this guiltie blame :

230

Wake shepheards boy, at length awake for shame.

Most gentle spirite breathed from above,
Out of the bosome of the makers blis,
In whom all bountie and all vertuous love
Appeared in their native propertis,

And did enrich that noble breast of his,

With treasure passing all this worldes worth,

Worthie of heaven it selfe, which brought it forth.

His blessed spirite full of power divine
And influence of all celestiall grace,

Loathing this sinfull earth and earthlie slime,
Fled backe too soone unto his native place,

290

Too soone for all that did his love embrace,

Too soone for all this wretched world, whom he
Robd of all right and true nobilitie.

Yet ere his happie soule to heaven went
Out of this fleshlie goale, he did devise
Unto his heavenlie maker to present
His bodie, as a spotles sacrifise ;

And chose, that guiltie hands of enemies
Should powre forth th'offring of his guiltles blood: 300
So life exchanging for his countries good.

O noble spirite, live there ever blessed,

The worlds late wonder, and the heavens new joy,
Live ever there, and leave me here distressed
With mortall cares, and cumbrous worlds anoy.
But where thou dost that happines enjoy,
Bid me, O bid me quicklie come to thee,
That happie there I maie thee alwaies see.

Yet whilest the fates affoord me vitall breath,
I will it spend in speaking of thy praise,
And sing to thee, untill that timelie death
By heavens doome doo ende my earthlie daies:
Thereto doo thou my humble spirite raise,
And into me that sacred breath inspire,
Which thou there breathest perfect and entire.

Then will I sing but who can better sing,
Than thine owne sister, peerles Ladie bright,
Which to thee sings with deep harts sorrowing,
Sorrowing tempered with deare delight,
That her to heare I feele my feeble spright
Robbed of sense, and ravished with joy,
O sad joy made of mourning and anoy.

310

320

but who can better sing,

Yet will I sing
Than thou thy selfe, thine owne selfes valiance,
That whilest thou livedst, madest the forrests ring,
And fields resownd, and flockes to leap and daunce,
And shepheards leave their lambs unto mischaunce,
To runne thy shrill Arcadian Pipe to heare:
O happie were those dayes, thrice happie were.

But now more happie thou, and wretched wee,
Which want the wonted sweetnes of thy voice,
Whiles thou now in Elisian fields so free,
With Orpheus, and with Linus, and the choice
Of all that ever did in rimes rejoyce,
Conversest, and doost heare their heavenlie layes,
And they heare thine, and thine doo better praise.

So there thou livest, singing evermore,
And here thou livest, being ever song

Of us, which living loved thee afore,

330

And now thee worship, mongst that blessed throng 340
Of heavenlie Poets and Heroes strong.

So thou both here and there immortall art,
And everie where through excellent desart.

But such as neither of themselves can sing,
Nor yet are sung of others for reward,
Die in obscure oblivion, as the thing
Which never was, ne ever with regard
Their names shall of the later age be heard,
But shall in rustie darknes ever lie,
Unles they mentiond be with infamie.

What booteth it to have been rich alive?
What to be great? what to be gracious?
When after death no token doth survive,

350