L.

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFULL, MY SINGULAR GOOD FREND, M. GABRIELL HARVEY, DOCTOR OF THE LAWES

HARVEY, the happy above happiest men

I read; that, sitting like a Looker-on

Of this worldes stage, doest note with critique pen
The sharpe dislikes of each condition :
And, as one carelesse of suspition,

Ne fawnest for the favour of the great;
Ne fearest foolish reprehension

Of faulty men, which daunger to thee threat:
But freely doest, of what thee list, entreat,
Like a great lord of peerelesse liberty;
Lifting the Good up to high Honours seat,
And the Evill damning evermore to dy:

For Life, and Death, is in thy doomeful writing!
So thy renowme lives ever by endighting.
Your devoted friend, during life,
EDMUND SPENCER.

Dublin, this xviij. of July, 1586.

* III.

"UPON THE HISTORIE OF GEORGE CASTRIOT, ALIAS SCANDER BEG, KING OF THE EPIROTS, TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH.

WHEREFORE doth vaine Antiquitie so vaunt
Her ancient monuments of mightie peeres,
And old heroes, which their world did daunt [eares!
With their great deedes and fild their childrens
Who, rapt with wonder of their famous praise,
Admire their statues, their colossoes great:
Their rich triumphall arcks which they did raise,
Their huge pyramids, which do heaven threat.
Lo! one, whom Later Age hath brought to light,
Matchable to the greatest of those great;
Great both by name, and great in power and might,
And meriting a meere triumphant seate.

The scourge of Turkes, and plague of infidels,
Thy acts, O Scanderbeg, this volume tels.
ED. SPENSER.

* II.

WHOSO wil seeke, by right deserts, t' attaine
Unto the type of true Nobility;
And not by painted shewes, and titles vaine,
Derived farre from famous Auncestrie:
Behold them both in their right visnomy
Here truly pourtray'd, as they ought to be,
And striving both for termes of dignitie,
To be advanced highest in degree.
And, when thou doost with equall insight see
The ods twixt both, of both the deem aright,
And chuse the better of them both to thee;
But thanks to him, that it deserves, behight;

To Nenna first, that first this worke created,
And next to Jones, that truely it translated.
ED. SPENSER.

*1. From "Foure Letters, and certaine Sonnets, especially touching Robert Greene, and other parties by him abused, &c. 1592." TODD.

*II. Prefixed to "Nennio, or A Treatise of Nobility, &c. Written in Italian by that famous Doctor and worthy Knight Sir Iohn Baptista Nenna of Bari. Done into English by William Iones, Gent. 1595." TODD.

* IV.

THE antique Babel, Empresse of the East,
Upreard her buildinges to the threatned skie :
And second Babell, Tyrant of the West,
Her ayry towers upraised much more high.
But, with the weight of their own surquedry,
They both are fallen, that all the earth did feare,
And buried now in their own ashes ly;
Yet shewing, by their heapes, how great they were.
But in their place doth now a third appeare,
Fayre Venice, flower of the last worlds delight;
And next to them in beauty draweth neare,
But farre exceedes in policie of right.

Yet not so fayre her buildinges to behold
As Lewkenors stile that hath her beautie told.
EDM. SPENCER.

POEM I.

IN youth, before I waxed old,
The blynd boy, Venus baby,

For want of cunning made me bold,
In bitter hyve to grope for honny:
But, when he saw me stung and cry,
He tooke his wings and away did fly.

POEM II.

As Diane hunted on a day,

She chaunst to come where Cupid lay,
His quiver by his head:

One of his shafts she stole away,
And one of hers did close convay
Into the others stead:

With that Love wounded my Loves hart,
But Diane beasts with Cupids dart.

POEM III.

I SAW, in secret to my Dame
How little Cupid humbly came,
And said to her; " All hayle, my mother!"
But, when he saw me laugh, for shame
His face with bashfull blood did flame,
Not knowing Venus from the other.
"Then, never blush, Cupid, quoth I,
For many have err'd in this beauty.

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 lyke 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 alas, he cryde, and welaway,

I wounded am full sore:

The fl, that I so much did scorne,

Hath hurt me with his little horne."

Unto his mother straight he weeping came,

And of his griefe complayned:

Who could not chuse but laugh at his fond game, Though sad to see him pained.

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"Think now (quoth she) my son, how great the

smart

Of those whom thou dost wound:

Full many thou hast pricked to the hart,
That pitty never found:

Therefore, henceforth some pitty take,
When thou doest spoy.e 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 well
With salve of soveraigne might:

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POEM IV.

UPON a day, as Love lay sweetly slumbring
All in his mothers lap;

A gentle Bee, with his loud trumpet murm'ring,
About him flew by hap.

Whereof when he was wakened with the noyse, And saw the beast so small;

"Whats this (quoth he) that gives so great a voyce, That wakens men withall?"

In angry wize he flies about,

And threatens all with corage stout.

To whom his mother closely smiling sayd, "Twixt earnest and 'twixt game :

"See! thou thy selfe likewise art lyttle made, If thou regard the same.

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 ?

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The wanton boy was shortly wel recured Of that his malady:

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So now I languish, till he please

My pining anguish to appease.

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YE learned Sisters, which have oftentimes
Beene to the ayding, others to adorne,
Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes,
That even the greatest did not greatly scorne
To heare theyr names sung in your simple layes, 5
But ioyed in theyr praise;

And when ye list your own mishaps to mourne,
Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck did rayse,
Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne,
And teach the woods and waters to lament
Your dolefull dreriment:

Now lay those sorrow full 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;

The woods shall to me answer, and my eccho ring.

EARLY, before the worlds light-giving lampe
His golden beame upon the hils doth spred,
Having disperst the nights unchearfull dampe,
Doe ye awake; and, with fresh lustyhed,
Go to the bowre of my beloved Love,
My truest turtle dove;

Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake,

And long since ready forth his maske to move,
With his bright tead that flames with many a flake,
And many a bachelor to waite on him,
In theyr fresh garments trim.

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Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight,
For loe! 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 ioy and solace sing,

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Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt,
For she will waken strayt;

The whiles do 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 do tend full well,

And greedy pikes which use therein to feed ;
(Those trouts and pikes all others doe excell ;)
And ye likewise, which keepe the rushy lake,
Where none doo fishes take;

Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd light.
And in his waters, which your mirror mask,
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 dors That on the hoary mountayne use to towre

And the wylde wolves, which seeke them to devoure, With your steele darts doe chace from coming

Which doe the seasons of the year allot, And all, that ever in this world is fayre, Do make and still repayre:

And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian Queene, The which doe still adorn her beauties pride, Helpe to adorne my beautifullest bride

And, as ye her array, still throw betweene

Some graces to be seene;

And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing,

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The whiles the woods shal answer, and your 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 Groome,
Prepare your selves; for he is comming strayt.
Set all your things in seemely good aray,
Fit for so ioyful! day:

The ioyfullst day that ever Sunne did see.
Fair Sun! shew forth thy favourable ray,
And let thy lifull heat not fervent 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 mine;
Let all the rest be thine.

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And, being crowned with a girland greene,
Seem 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,

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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: 170
Her goodly eyes lyke saphyres shining bright,
Her forehead yvory white,

Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath rudded,
Her lips lyke cherries charming men to byte,

Her brest like to a bowl of creame uncrudded, 175
Her paps lyke lyllies budded,

Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre;
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,

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To which the woods did answer, and your eccho

ring.

And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet, That all the sences they doe ravish quite;

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There dwells sweet Love, and constant Chastity, Unspotted Fayth, and comely Womanhood, Regard of Honour, and mild Modesty ;

There Vertue raynes as Queene in royal throne, And giveth lawes alone,

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As if it were one voyce,

The which the base affections doe obay,

The whyles the Boyes run up and downe the street, Crying aloud with strong confused noyce,

Hymen, ïo 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 all 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 seems a Virgin best.
So well it her beseems, that ye would weene
Some Angell she had beene.

And let the roring organs loudly play The praises of the Lord in lively notes; The whiles, with hollow throates,

The choristers the ioyous antheme sing,

2:20

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 ioyance bring her and with iollity.
Never had man more joyfull day than this,
Whom heaven would heape with blis.
Make feast therefore now all this live-long day;
This day for ever to me holy is.

Poure out the wine without restraint or stay,
Poure not by cups, but by the belly full,
Poure out to all that wull,

And sprinkle all the posts and wals with wire,
That they may sweat, and drunken be withall,
Crowne ye god Bacchus with a coronall,

And Hymen also crowne with wreaths of vine;
And let the Graces daunce unto the rest,
For they can doo it best:

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The whiles the Maydens doe theyr carroll sing, To which the woods shall answer, and theyr eccho ring.

RING ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne,
And leave your wonted labors for this day:
This day is holy; doe ye write it downe,
That ye for ever it remember may.
This day the Sunne is in his chiefest hight,
With Barnaby the bright,

From whence declining daily by degrees,
He somewhat loseth of his heat and light,
When once the Crab behind his back he sees.
But for this time it ill ordained was,
To choose the longest day in all the yeare,
And shortest night, when longest fitter weare:
Yet never day so long, but late would passe.
Ring ye the bels, to make it weare away,
And bonefiers make all day:

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And daunce about them, and about them sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho
ring.

AH! when will this long weary day have end,
Ad ende me leave to come unto my Love?

Long though it be, at last I see it gloome,
And the bright Evening-star with golden creast
Appeare out of the East.

Fayre childe of beauty! glorious lampe of Love!
That all the host of heaven in rankes doost lead,
And guidest Lovers through the nights sad dread,
How chearefully thou lookest from above,
And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling light,
As ioying in the sight

Of these glad many, which for ioy do sing,
That all the woods them answer, and their eccho
ring.

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But let the night be calme, and quietsome,
Without tempestuous storms or sad afray:
Lyke as when Love with fayre Alemena lay,
When he begot the great Tirynthian groome :
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie,
And begot Majesty.

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And let the Mayds and Yongmen cease to sing; Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho ring.