Of former being in this mortall hous,
But sleepes in dust dead and inglorious,
Like beast, whose breath but in his nostrels is,
And hath no hope of happinesse or blis.
How manie great ones may remembered be,
Which in their daies most famouslie did florish?
Of whome no word we heare, nor signe now see,
But as things wipt out with a sponge to perishe,
Because they living, cared not to cherishe
No gentle wits, through pride or covetize,
Which might their names for ever memorize.
Provide therefore (ye Princes) whilst ye live,
That of the Muses ye may friended bee,
Which unto men eternitie do give;
For they be daughters of Dame memorie,
And Jove the father of eternitie,
And do those men in golden thrones repose,
Whose merits they to glorifie do chose.
For deeds doe die, how ever noblie donne,
And thoughts of men do as themselves decay,
But wise wordes taught in numbers for to runne,
Recorded by the Muses, live for ay;
Ne may with storming showers be washt away,
Ne bitter breathing windes with harmfull blast,
Nor age, nor envie shall them ever wast.
In vaine doo earthly Princes then, in vaine
Seeke with Pyramides, to heaven aspired;
Or huge Colosses, built with costlie paine;
Or brasen Pillours, never to be fired,
Or Shrines, made of the mettall most desired;
To make their memories for ever live:
For how can mortall immortalitie give?
Such one Mausolus made, the worlds great wonder,
But now no remnant doth thereof remaine :
Such one Marcellus, but was torne with thunder:
Such one Lisippus, but is worne with raine :
Such one King Edmond, but was rent for gaine.
All such vaine moniments to earthlie masse,
Devour'd of Time, in time to nought doo passe.
But fame with golden wings aloft doth flie,
Above the reach of ruinous decay,
And with brave plumes doth beate the azure skie,
Admir'd of base-borne men from farre away:
Then who so will with vertuous deeds assay
To mount to heaven, on Pegasus must ride,
And with sweete Poets verse be glorifide.
For not to have been dipt in Lethe lake,
Could save the sonne of Thetis from to die;
But that blinde bard did him immortall make
With verses, dipt in deaw of Castalie:
Which made the Easterne Conquerour to crie,
O fortunate yong-man, whose vertue found
So brave a Trompe, thy noble acts to sound.
Therefore in this halfe happie I doo read
Good Meliba, that hath a Poet got,
To sing his living praises being dead,
Deserving never here to be forgot,
In spight of envie, that his deeds would spot :
Since whose decease, learning lies unregarded,
And men of armes doo wander unrewarded
Those two be those two great calamities,
That long agoe did grieve the noble spright
Of Salomon with great indignities;
Who whilome was alive the wisest wight.
But now his wisedome is disprooved quite;
For he that now welds all things at his will,
Scorns th'one and th'other in his deeper skill.
O griefe of griefes, O gall of all good heartes,
To see that vertue should dispised bee
Of him, that first was raisde for vertuous parts,
And now broad spreading like an aged tree,
Lets none shoot up, that nigh him planted bee:
O let the man, of whom the Muse is scorned,
Nor alive, nor dead be of the Muse adorned.
Immortall spirite of Philisides,
Which now art made the heavens ornament,
That whilome wast the worlds chiefst riches;
Give leave to him that lov'de thee to lament
His losse, by lacke of thee to heaven hent,
And with last duties of this broken verse,
Broken with sighes, to decke thy sable Herse.
And ye faire Ladie th'honor of your daies,
And glorie of the world, your high thoughts scorne;
Vouchsafe this moniment of his last praise,
With some few silver dropping teares t'adorne :
And as ye be of heavenlie off spring borne,
So unto heaven let your high minde aspire,
And loath this drosse of sinfull worlds desire.
COLIN CLOUT'S COME HOME AGAINE
Lines 1-79: 178-211: 308-455: 660-730: 931-55
Raleigh's Visit to Spenser
THE shepheards boy (best knowen by that name
That after Tityrus first sung his lay,
Laies of sweet love, without rebuke or blame,
Sate (as his custome was) upon a day,
Charming his oaten pipe unto his peres,
The shepheard swaines that did about him play:
Who all the while with greedie listfull eares,
Did stand astonisht at his curious skill,
Like hartlesse deare, dismayd with thunders sound.
At last when as he piped had his fill,
He rested him and sitting then around,
One of those groomes (a jolly groome was he,
As ever piped on an oaten reed,
And lov'd this shepheard dearest in degree,
Hight Hobbinol) gan thus to him areed.
Colin my liefe, my life, how great a losse
Had all the shepheards nation by thy lacke ?
And I poore swaine of many greatest crosse :
That sith thy Muse first since thy turning backe
Was heard to sound as she was wont on hye,
Hast made us all so blessed and so blythe.
Whilest thou wast hence, all dead in dole did lie:
The woods were heard to waile full many a sythe,
And all their birds with silence to complaine :
The fields with faded flowers did seem to mourne,
And all their flocks from feeding to refraine:
The running waters wept for thy returne,
And all their fish with languour did lament:
But now both woods and fields, and floods revive,
Sith thou art come, their cause of meriment
That us late dead, hast made againe alive:
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