"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 worldës 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;
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 gaole, he did devise Unto his heavenlie Maker to present

His bodie, as a spotles sacrifise;

And chose, that guiltie hands of enemies

"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 mentioned be with infamie.

"What booteth it to have beene rich alive?
What to be great? what to be gracious?
When after death no token doth survive
Of former beeing 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.

So life exchanging for his countries good.

"O noble spirite, live there ever blessed,
The worlds late wonder, and the Heavens new ioy;
Live ever there, and leave me here distressed
With mortall cares and cumbrous worldes anoy!
But, where thou dost that happines enioy,
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 dajes:
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 lady 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 ioy,
O sad ioy made of mourning and anoy!

"Yet will I sing; but who can better sing
Than thou thy selfe, thine owne selfes valiance,
That, whilst thou livedst, madest the forests 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 Elysian fields so free,
With Orphens, and with Linus, and the choice
Of all that ever did in rimes reioyce,
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,

And now thee worship mongst that blessed throng
Of heavenlie poets and heroes strong.
So thon both here and there immortall art,
And everie where through excellent desart.

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 love, the father of Eternitie,
And do those men in golden thrones repose,
Whose merits they to glorifie do chose.

"The seven-fold yron gates of grisly Hell,
And horrid house of sad Proserpina,
They able are with power of mightie spell
To breake, and thence the soules to bring awaie
Out of dread darkenesse to eternall day,
And them immortall make which els would die
In foule forgetfulnesse, and nameles lie.
"So whilome raised they the puissant brood
Of golden-girt Alcmena, for great merite,
Out of the dust, to which the Oetaan wood
Had him consum'd, and spent his vitall spirite,
To highest Heaven, where now he doth inherite
All happinesse in Hebes silver bowre,
Chosen to be her dearest paramoure.

"So raisde they eke faire Ledaes warlike twinnes,
And interchanged life unto them lent,
That, when th one dies, the other then beginnes
To shew in Heaven his brightnes orient;
And they, for pittie of the sad wayment,
Which Orpheus for Eurydice did make,
Her back againe to life sent for his sake.
"So happie are they, and so fortunate,
Whom the Pierian sacred sisters love,
That freed from bands of impacable fate,
And power of death, they live for aye above,
Where mortall wreakes their blis may not remove :
But with the gods, for former vertues meede,
On nectar and ambrosia do feede.

"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 of 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 Melibæ, 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!

"O vile worlds trust! that with such vaine illusion
Hath so wise men bewitcht, and overkest,
That they see not the way of their confusion:
O vainesse! to be added to the rest,
That do my soule with inward griefe infest:
Let them behold the piteous fall of mee,
And in my case their owne ensample see.

"And who so els that sits in highest seate
Of this worlds glorie, worshipped of all,
Ne feareth change of time, nor fortunes threate,
Let him behold the horror of my fall,
And his owne end unto remembrance call;
That of like ruine he may warned bee,
And in himselfe be moov'd to pittie mee."

Thus having ended all her piteous plaint,
With dolefull shrikes shee vanished away,
That I through inward sorrowe wexen faint,
And all astonished with deepe dismay
For her departure, had no word to say;
But sate long time in sencelesse sad affright,
Looking still, if I might of her have sight.
Which when I missed, having looked long,
My thought returned greeved home againe,
Renewing her complaint with passion strong,
For ruth of that same womans piteous paine;
Whose wordes recording in my troubled braine,
I felt such anguish wound my feeble heart,
That frosen horror ran through everie part.
So inlie greeving in my groning brest,
And deepelie muzing at her doubtfull speach,
Whose meaning much I labored foorth to wreste,
Being above my slender reasons reach;
At length, by demonstration me to teach,
Before mine eies strange sights presented were,
Like tragicke pageants seeming to appeare.

I.

I SAW an image, all of massie gold,
Placed on high upon an altare faire,
That all, which did the same from farre beholde,
Might worship it, and fall on lowest staire.
Not that great idoll might with this compaire,
To which th' Assyriau tyrant would have made
The holie brethren falslie to have praid.
But th' altare, on the which this image staid,
Was (O great pitie !) built of brickle clay,
That shortly the foundation decaid,

With showres of Heaven and tempests worne away;
Then downe it fell, and low in ashes lay,
Scorned of everie one, which by it went;
That I, it seeing, dearelie did lament.

II.

Next unto this a statelie towre appeared,
Built all of richest stone that might bee found,
And nigh unto the Heavens in height upreared,
But placed on a plot of sandie ground:
Not that great towre, which is so much renownd
For tongues confusion in Holie Writ,
King Ninus worke, might be compar'd to it.
But O vaine labours of terrestriall wit,
That buildes so stronglie on so frayle a soyle,
As with each storme does fall away, and flit,
And gives the fruit of all your travailes toyle,
To be the pray of Tyme, and Fortunes spoyle!
I saw this towre fall sodainelie to dust,
That nigh with griefe thereof my heart was brust.
III.

Then did I see a pleasant paradize,
Full of sweete flowres and daintiest delights,
Such as on Earth man could not more devize,
With pleasures choyce to feed his cheerefull sprigts:
Not, that, which Merlin by his magicke slights
Made for the gentle squire, to entertaine
His fayre Belphoebe, could this gardine staine.
But O short pleasure bought with lasting paine!
Why will hereafter anie flesh delight
In earthlie blis, and ioy in pleasures vaine,
Since that I sawe this gardine wasted quite,
That where it was scarce seemed anie sight?
That I, which once that beautie did beholde,
Could not from teares my melting eyes with-holde

IV.

Soone after this a giaunt came in place,
Of wondrous powre, and of exceeding stature,
That none durst vewe the horror of his face,

Yet was he milde of spach, and meeke of nature:
Not he, which in despight of his Creatour
With railing tearmes defied the lewish hoast,
Might with this mightie one in hugenes boast;
For from the one he could to th' other coast
Stretch his strong thighes, and th' ocean overstride,
And reatch his hand into his enemies hoast.
But see the end of pompe and fleshlie pride!
One of his feete unwares from him did slide,
That downe hee fell into the deepe abisse,
Where drownd with him is all his earthlie blisse.

V.

Then did I see a bridge, made all of golde,
Over the sea from one to other side,
Withouten prop or pillour it t' upholde,
But like the coulored rainbowe arched wide:
Not that great arche, with Traian edifide,
To be a wonder to all age ensuing,
Was matchable to this in equall vewing.
But (ah!) what bootes it to see earthlie thing
In glorie, or in greatnes to excell,

Sith time doth greatest things to ruine bring?
This goodlie bridge, one foote not fastned well,
Gan faile, and all the rest downe shortlie fell,
Ne of so brave a building ought remained,
That griefe thereof my spirite greatly pained.

VI.

I saw two beares, as white as anie milke,
Lying together in a mightie cave.
Of milde aspect, and haire as soft as silke,
That salvage nature seemed not to have.
Nor after greedie spoyle of bloud to crave:
Two fairer beasts might not elswhere be found,
Although the compast world were sought around.
But what can long abide above this ground
Ju state of blis, or stedfast happinesse?
The cave, in which these beares lay sleeping sound,
Was but of earth, and with her weightinesse
Upon them fell, and did unwares oppresse;
That, for great sorrow of their sudden fate,
Henceforth all worlds felicitie I hate.

¶ Much was I troubled in my heavie spright,
At sight of these sad spectacles forepast,
That all my senses were bereaved quight,
And I in minde remained sore agast,
Distraught twixt feare and pitie; when at last
I heard a voyce, which loudly to me called,
That with the suddein shrill I was appalled.
"Behold" (said it)" and by ensample see,
That all is vanitie and griefe of minde,
Ne other comfort in this world can be,
But hope of Heaven, and heart to God inclinde;
For all the rest must needs be left behinde:"
With that it bad me, to the other side

To cast mine eye, where other sights I spide.

I.

UPON that famous rivers further shore,
There stood a snowie swan of heavenly hiew,
And gentle kinde, as ever fowle afore;
A fairer one in all the goodlie crew

Of white Strimonian brood might no man view:

There he most sweetly sung the prophecie
Of his owne death in dolefull elegie.
At last, when all his mourning melodie
He ended had, that both the shores resounded,
Feeling the fit that him forewarnd to die,
With loftie flight above the Earth he bounded,
And out of sight to highest Heaven mounted,
Where now he is become an heavenly signe;
There now the ioy is his, here sorrow mine.

II.

Whilest thus I looked, loe! adowne the lee
I saw an harpe stroong all with silver twyne,
And made of golde and costlie yvorie,
Swimming, that whilome seemed to have been
The harpe, on which Dan Orpheus was seene
Wylde beasts and forrests after him to lead,
But was th' harpe of Philisides now dead.
At length out of the river it was reard
And borne above the cloudes to be divin'd,
Whilst all the way most heavenly noyse was heard
Of the strings, stirred with the warbling wind,
That wrought both ioy and sorrow in my mind:
So now in Heaven a signe it doth appeare,
The Harpe well knowne beside the Northern Beare.
III.

Soone after this I saw on th' other side,
A curious coffer made of Heben wood, -
That in it did most precious treasure hide,
Exceeding all this baser worldës good:
Yet through the overflowing of the flood
It almost drowned was, and done to nought,
That sight thereof much griev'd my pensive thought.
At length, when most in perill it was brought,
Two angels, downe descending with swift flight,
Out of the swelling streame it lightly caught,
And twixt their blessed armes it carried quight
Above the reach of anie living sight:
So now it is transform'd into that starre,
In which all heavenly treasures locked are.
IV.

Looking aside I saw a stately bed,
Adorned all with costly cloth of gold,
That might for anie princes couche be red,
And deckt with daintie flowres, as if it shold
Be for some bride, her ioyous night to hold:
Therein a goodly virgine sleeping lay;
A fairer wight saw never summers day.
I heard a voyce that called farre away,
And her awaking bad her quickly dight,
For lo! her bridegrome was in readie ray
To come to her, and seeke her loves delight:
With that she started up with cherefull sight,
When suddeinly both bed and all was gone,
And I in languor left there all alone.

V.

Still as I gazed, I beheld where stood

A knight all arm'd, upon a winged steed,
The same that was bred of Medusaes blood,
On which Dan Perseus, borne of heavenly seed,
The faire Andromeda from perill freed:
Full mortally this knight ywounded was,
That streames of blood foorth flowed on the gras:
Yet was he deckt (small ioy to him alas!)
With manie garlands for his victories,
And with rich spoyles, which late he did purchas
Through brave atcheivements from his enemies :
Fainting at last through long infirmities,

VI.

[hold,

Lastly I saw an arke of purest golde
Upon a brazen pillour standing hie,
Which th' ashes seem'd of some great prince to
Enclosde therein for endles memorie

Of him, whom all the world did glorifie :
Seemed the Heavens with the Earth did disagree,
Whether should of those ashes keeper bee.
At last me seem'd wing-footed Mercurie,
From Heaven descending to appease their strife,
The arke did beare with him above the skie,
And to those ashes gave a second life,
To live in Heaven, where happines is rife :
At which the Earth did grieve exceedingly,
And I for dole was almost like to die.

L' ENVOY.

Immortall spirite of Philisides,

Which now art made the Heavens ornament,
That whilome wast the worldës chiefst richés;
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' honour 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!

THE

TEARES OF THE MUSES.

1591.

DEDICATED TO THE

RIGHT HONORABLE THE LADIE STRANGE.

Most brave and noble ladie; the things, that make ye so much honored of the world as ye bee, are such, as (without my simple lines testimonie) are throughlie knowen to all men ; namely, your excellent beautie, your vertuous behavior, and your noble match with that most honourable lord, the very paterne of right nobilitie: but the causes, for which ye have thus deserved of me to be honoured, (if honour it be at all) are, both your particular bounties, and also some private bands of affinitie, which it hath pleased your ladiship to acknowledge. Of which whenas I found my selfe in no part woorthie, I devised this last slender meanes, both to intimate my humble af fection to your ladiship, and also to make the same universallie knowen to the world; that by

knowing me they might honor you. Vouchsafe, noble lady, to accept this simple remembrance, though not worthy of your self, yet such, as perhaps by good acceptance thereof ye may hereafter cull out a more meet and memorable evi dence of your owne excellent deserts. So recommending the same to your ladiships good liking, I humbly take leave.

For all their groves, which with the heavenly noyses
Of their sweete instruments were wont to sound,
And th' hollow hills, from which their silver voyces
Were wont redoubled echoes to rebound,
Did now rebound with nought but rufull cries,
And yelling shrieks throwne up into the skies.
The trembling streames which wont in chanels
To romble gently downe with murmur soft, [cleare
And were by them right tunefull taught to beare
A bases part amongst their consorts oft;
Now, forst to overflowe with brackish teares,
With troublous noyse did dull their daintie eares.
Which thether came to heare their musick sweet,
The joyous nymphes and lightfoote Faëries

And to the measure of their melodies
Did learne to move their nimble-shifting feete;
Now, hearing them so heavily lament,
Like heavily lamenting from them went.
And all that els was wont to worke delight
Through the divine infusion of their skill,
And all that els seemd faire and fresh in sight,
So made by nature for to serve their will,
Was turned now to dismall heavinesse,
Was turned now to dreadfull uglinesse.