Ruins of Time The Ruines of Time. I T t chaunced me on day beside the shore Of siluer silver streaming Thamesis to bee, Nigh where the goodly Verlame stood of yore, Of which there now remaines no memorie, Nor anie little moniment to see, By which the trauailer travailer , that fares that way, This once was she, may warned be to say. There on the other side, I did behold A Woman sitting sorrowfullie wailing, Rending her yeolow locks, like wyrie golde, About her shoulders careleslie downe trailing, And streames of teares frõ from her faire eyes forth rai-(ling. In her right hand a broken rod she held, Which towards heauen heaven shee seemd on high to (weld. Whether she were one of that Riuers Rivers Nymphes, Which did the losse of some dere loue love lament, I doubt; or one of those three fatall Impes, Which draw the dayes of men forth in extent: Or th’auncient Genius of that Citie brent: But seeing her so piteouslie perplexed, I (to her calling) askt what her so vexed. Ah what delight (quoth she) in earthlie thing, Or comfort can I wretched creature haue have ? Whose happines the heauens heavens enuying envying , From highest staire to lowest step me draue drave , And haue have in mine owne bowels made my graue grave , That of all Nations now I am forlorne, The worlds sad spectacle, and fortunes scorne. The Ruines of Time. Where Much was I mooued mooved at her piteous plaint, And felt my heart nigh riuen riven in my brest With tender ruth to see her sore constraint, That shedding teares a while I still did rest, And after did her name of her request. Name haue have I none (quoth she) nor anie being, Bereft of both by Fates vniust unjust decreeing. I was that Citie, which the garland wore Of Britaines pride, deliuered delivered vnto unto me By Romane Victors, which it wonne of yore; Though nought at all nough at all but ruines now I bee, And lye in mine owne ashes, as ye see: Verlame I was; what bootes it that I was, Sith now I am but weedes and wastfull gras? O vaine worlds glorie, and vnstedfast unstedfast state Of all that liues lives , on face of sinfull earth, Which from their first vntill untill their vtmost utmost date Tast no one hower of happines or merth, But like as at the ingate of their berth, They crying creep out of their mothers woomb, So wailing backe go to their wofull toomb. Why then dooth flesh, a bubble glas of breath, Hunt after honour and aduauncement advauncement vaine, And reare a trophee for deuouring devouring death dearh , With so great labour and long lasting paine, As if his daies for euer ever should remaine? Sith all that in this world is great or gaie, Doth as a vapour vanish, and decaie. Looke backe, who list, vnto unto the former ages, And call to count, what is of them become: The ruines of Time. To B2 Where be those learned wits and antique Sages, Which of all wisedome knew the perfect somme: Where those great warriors, which did ouercomme overcomme The world with conquest of their might and maine, And made one meare of th’earth & and of their raine? What nowe is of th’Assyrian Lyonesse, Of whome no footing now on earth appeares? What of the Persian Beares outragiousnesse, Whose memorie is quite worne out with yeares? Who of the Grecian Libbard now ought heares, That ouerran overran the East with greedie powre wowre , And left his whelps their kingdomes to deuoure devoure ? And where is that same great seuen seven headded beast, That made all nations vassals of her pride, To fall before her feete at her beheast, And in the necke of all the world did ride? Where doth she all that wondrous welth nowe hide? With her own weight down pressed now shee lies, And by her heaps her hugenesse testifies. O Rome thy ruine I lament and rue, And in thy fall my fatall ouerthrowe overthrowe , That whilom was, whilst heauens heavens with equall vewe Deignd to behold me, and their gifts bestowe, The picture of thy pride in pompous shew: And of the whole world as thou wast the Empresse, So I of this small Northerne world was Princesse, To tell the beawtie of my buildings fayre, Adornd with purest golde, and precious stone; To tell my riches, and endowments rare That by my foes are now all spent and gone: The ruines of Time. For To tell my forces matchable to none, Were but lost labour, that few would beleeue beleeve , And with rehearsing would me more agreeue agreeve . High towers, faire temples, goodly theaters, Strong walls, rich porches, princelie pallaces, Large streetes, braue brave houses, sacred sepulchers, Sure gates, sweete gardens, stately galleries, Wrought with faire pillours, and fine imageries, All those (ô pitie) now are turnd to dust, And ouergrowen overgrowen with blacke obliuions oblivions rust. Theretoo for warlike power, and peoples store, In Britannie was none to match with mee, That manie often did abie full sore: Ne Troynouant Troynovant , though elder sister shee, With my great forces might compared bee; That stout Pendragon to his perill felt, Who in a siege seauen seaven yeres about me dwelt. But long ere this Bunduca Britonnesse Her mightie hoast against my bulwarkes brought, Bunduca, that victorious conqueresse, That lifting vp up her braue brave heroïck thought Boue Bove womens weaknes, with the Romanes fought, Fought, and in field against them thrice preuailed prevailed : Yet was she foyld, when as she me assailed. And though at last by force I conquered were Of hardie Saxons, and became their thrall; Yet was I with much bloodshed bought full deere, And prizde with slaughter of their Generall: The moniment of whose sad funerall, The Ruines of Time. There B3 For wonder of the world, long in me lasted; But now to nought through spoyle of time is wasted. Wasted it is, as if it neuer never were, And all the rest that me so honord made, And of the world admired eu’rie ev’rie where, Is turnd to smoake, that doth to nothing fade; And of that brightnes now appeares no shade, But greislie shades, such as doo haunt in hell With fearfull fiends, that in deep darknes dwell. Where my high steeples whilom vsde usde to stand, On which the lordly Faulcon wont to towre, There now is but an heap of lyme and sand, For the Shriche-owle to build her balefull bowre: And where the Nightingale wont forth to powre Her restles plaints, to comfort wakefull Louers Lovers , There now haũt haunt yelling Mewes & and whining Plouers Plovers . And where the christall Thamis wont to slide In siluer silver channell, downe along the Lee, About whose flowrie bankes on either side A thousand Nymphes, with mirthfull iollitee jollitee Were wont to play, from all annoyance free; There now no riuers rivers course is to be seene, But moorish fennes, and marshes euer ever greene. Seemes, that that gentle Riuer River for great griefe Of my mishaps, which oft I to him plained; Or for to shunne the horrible mischiefe, With which he saw my cruell foes me pained, And his pure streames with guiltles blood oft stained, From my vnhappie unhappie neighborhood farre fled, And his sweete waters away with him led. The ruines of Time. Out There also where the winged ships were seene In liquid waues waves to cut their fomie waie, And thousand Fishers numbred to haue have been, In that wide lake looking for plenteous praie Of fish, which they with baits vsde usde to betraie, Is now no lake, nor anie fishers store, Nor euer ever ship shall saile there anie more, They all are gone, and all with them is gone, Ne ought to me remaines, but to lament My long decay, which no man els doth mone, And mourne my fall with dolefull dreriment. Yet it is comfort in great languishment, To be bemoned with compassion kinde, And mitigates the anguish of the minde. But me no man bewaileth, but in game, Ne sheddeth teares from lamentable eie: Nor anie liues lives that mentioneth my name To be remembred of posteritie, Saue Save One that maugre fortunes iniurie injurie , And times decay, and enuies envies cruell tort, Hath writ my record in true-seeming sort. Cambden the nourice of antiquitie, And lanterne vnto unto late succeeding age, To see the light of simple veritie, Buried in ruines, through the great outrage Of her owne people, led with warlike rage, Cambden, though time all moniments obscure, Yet thy iust just labours euer ever shall endure, But whie ( vnhappie unhappie wight) doo I thus crie, And grieue grieve that my remembrance quite is raced The Ruines of Time. There- Out of the knowledge of posteritie, And all my antique moniments defaced? Sith I doo dailie see things highest placed, So soone as fates their vitall thred haue have shorne, Forgotten quite as they were neuer never borne. 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 Soueraine 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 loued loved deare: Scarse anie left to close his eylids neare; Scarse anie left vpon 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 selues 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 euerie everie shower will wash and wipe away, All things doo change that vnder under heauen heaven abide, And after death all friendship doth decaie. The ruines of Time. And Therefore what euer ever man bearst worldlie sway, Liuing Living , on God, and on thy selfe relie; For when thou diest, all shall with thee die. He now is dead, and all is with him dead, Saue Save what in heauens heavens storehouse he vplaid uplaid : His hope is faild, and come to passe his dread, And euill evill men now dead, his deeds vpbraid upbraid : Spite bites the dead, that liuing living neuer 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 vpon 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 reuiue revive ; Yet manie Poets honourd him aliue alive . Ne doth his Colin, carelesse Colin Cloute, Care now his idle bagpipe vp up to raise, Ne tell his sorrow to the listning rout Of shepherd groomes, which wõt wont his songs to praise: Praise who so list, yet I will him dispraise, Vntill Untill he quite him of this guiltie blame: Wake shepheards boy, at length awake for shame. And who so els did goodnes by him gaine, And who so els his bounteous minde did trie, Whether he shepheard be, or shepheards swaine, (For manie did, which doo it now denie) Awake, and to his Song a part applie: The Ruines of Time. The C And I, the whilest you mourne for his decease, Will with my mourning plaints your plaint increase. He dyde, and after him his brother dyde, His brother Prince, his brother noble Peere, That whilste he liued lived , was of none enuyde envyde , And dead is now, as liuing living , counted deare, Deare vnto unto all that true affection beare: But vnto unto thee most deare, ô dearest Dame, His noble Spouse, and Paragon of fame. He whilest he liued lived , happie was through thee, And being dead is happie now much more; Liuing Living , that lincked chaunst with thee to bee, And dead, because him dead thou dost adore As liuing living , and thy lost deare loue love deplore. So whilst that thou, faire flower of chastitie, Dost liue live , by thee thy Lord shall neuer never die. Thy Lord shall neuer never die, the whiles this verse Shall liue live , and surely it shall liue live for euer ever : For euer ever it shall liue live , and shall rehearse His worthie praise, and vertues dying neuer never , Though death his soule doo from his bodie seuer sever . And thou thy selfe herein shalt also liue live ; Such grace the heauens heavens doo to my verses giue give , Ne shall his sister, ne thy father die, Thy father, that good Earle of rare renowne, And noble Patrone of weake pouertie povertie ; Whose great good deeds in countrey and in towne Haue Have purchast him in heauen heaven an happie crowne; Where he now liueth liveth in eternall blis, And left his sonne t’ensue those steps of his. The Ruines of Time. Vnto Unto He noble bud, his Grandsires liuelie livelie hayre, Vnder Under the shadow of thy countenaunce Now ginnes to shoote vp up fast, and flourish fayre In learned artes and goodlie gouernaunce governaunce , That him to highest honour shall aduaunce advaunce . Braue Brave Impe of Bedford, grow apace in bountie, And count of wisedome more than of thy Countie. Ne may I let thy husbands sister die, That goodly Ladie, sith she eke did spring Out of this stocke, and famous familie, Whose praises I to future age doo sing, And foorth out of her happie womb did bring The sacred brood of learning and all honour; In whom the heauens heavens powrde all their gifts vpon upon her. Most gentle spirite breathed from aboue above , Out of the bosome of the makers blis, In whom all bountie and all vertuous loue love Appeared in their natiue native propertis, And did enrich that noble breast of his, With treasure passing all this worldes worth, Worthie of heauen heaven it selfe, which brought it forth. His blessed spirite full of power diuine divine And influence of all celestiall grace, Loathing this sinfull earth and earthlie slime, Fled backe too soone vnto unto his natiue native place, Too soone for all that did his loue love embrace, Too soone for all this wretched world, whom he Robd of all right and true nobilitie. Yet ere his happie soule to heauen heaven went Out of this fleshlie goale, he did deuise devise The Ruines of Time. And C2 Vnto Unto his heauenlie 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: So life exchanging for his countries good. O noble spirite, liue live there euer ever blessed, The worlds late wonder, and the heauens heavens new ioy joy , Liue Live euer ever there, and leaue leave me here distressed With mortall cares, and cumbrous worlds anoy. But where thou dost that happines enioy enjoy , Bid me, ô 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, vntill untill that timelie death By heauens 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 rauished ravished with ioy joy , O sad ioy joy made of mourning and anoy. Yet will I sing, but who can better sing, Than thou thy selfe, thine owne selfes valiance, That whilest thou liuedst livedst , madest the forrests ring, And fields resownd, and flockes to leap and daunce, The Ruines of Time. Like And shepheards leaue leave their lambs vnto 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 wetched wee, Which want the wonted sweetnes of thy voice, Whiles thou now in Elisian fields so free, With Orpheus, and with Linus, Linus and the choice Of all that euer ever did in rimes reioyce rejoyce , Conuersest Conversest , and doost heare their heauenlie heavenlie layes, And they heare thine, and thine doo better praise. So there thou liuest livest , singing euermore evermore , And here thou liuest livest , being euer ever song Of vs us , which liuing living loued loved thee afore, And now thee worship, mongst that blessed throng Of heauenlie heavenlie Poets and Heroes strong. So thou both here and there immortall art, And euerie everie where through excellent desart. But such as neither of themselues themselves can sing, Nor yet are sung of others for reward, Die in obscure obliuion oblivion , as the thing Which neuer never was, ne euer ever with regard Their names shall of the later age be heard, But shall in rustie darknes euer ever lie, Vnles Unles they mentiond be with infamie. What booteth it to haue have been rich aliue alive ? What to be great? what to be gracious? When after death no token doth suruiue survive , Of former being in this mortall hous, But sleepes in dust dead and inglorious, The Ruines of Time. So C3 Like beast, whose breath but in his nostrels is, And hath no hope of happinesse or blis. How manie great ones may remembred 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 liuing living , cared not to cherishe No gentle wits, through pride or couertize covertize , Which might their names for euer ever memorize. Prouide Provide therefore (ye Princes) whilst ye liue live , That of the Muses ye may friended bee, Which vnto unto men eternitie do giue give ; For they be daughters of Dame memorie, And Ioue Jove the father of eternitie, And do those men in golden thrones repose, Whose merits they to glorifie do chose. The seuen seven fold yron gates of grislie 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 soule 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 Oetæan wood Had him consum’d, and spent his vitall spirite: To highest heauen heaven , where now he doth inherite All happinesse in Hebes siluer silver bowre, Chosen to be her dearest Paramoure. The Ruines of Time. Such So raisde they eke faire Ledaes warlick twinnes, And interchanged life vnto unto them lent, That when th’one dies, th’other then beginnes To shew in Heauen 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 loue love , That freed from bands of impacable fate, And power of death, they liue live for aye aboue above , Where mortall wreakes their blis may not remoue remove : But with the Gods, for former vertues meede, On Nectar and Ambrosia do feede. For deeds doe die, how euer ever noblie donne, And thoughts of men do as themselues themselves decay, But wise wordes taught in numbers for to runne, Recorded by the Muses, liue live for ay; Ne may with storming showers be washt away, Ne bitter breathing windes with harmfull blast, Nor age, nor enuie envie shall them euer ever wast. In vaine doo earthly Princes then, in vaine Seeke with Pyramides, to heauen heaven aspired; Or huge Colosses, built with costlie paine; Or brasen Pillours, neuer never to be fired, Or Shrines, made of the mettall most desired; To make their memories for euer ever liue live : For how can mortall immortalitie giue give . Such one Mansolus made, the worlds great wonder, But now no remnant doth thereof remaine: The Ruines of Time. But 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, Deuour’d Devour’d of Time, in time to nought doo passe. But fame with golden wings aloft doth flie, Aboue Above the reach of ruinous decay, And with braue 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 heauen heaven , on Pegasus must ride, And with sweete Poets verse be glorifide. For not to haue have been dipt in Lethe lake, Could saue 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 braue 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 liuing living praises being dead, Deseruiug Deserviug neuer never here to be forgot, In spight of enuie envie , that his deeds would spot: Since whose decease, learning lies vnregarded unregarded , And men of armes doo wander vnrewarded unrewarded . Those two be those two great calamities, That long agoe did grieue grieve the noble spright Of Salomon with great indignities; Who whilome was aliue alive the wisest wight. The Ruines of Time. But But now his wisedome is disprooued 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, ô 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 vp up , that nigh him planted bee: O let the man, of whom the Muse is scorned, Nor aliue alive , nor dead be of the Muse adorned. O vile worlds trust, that with such vaine illusion Hath so wise men bewitcht, and ouerkest 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 vnto unto remembrance call; That of like ruine he may warned bee, And in himselfe be moou’d moov’d to pittie mee. Thus hauing 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: The Ruines of Time. Scor D But sate long time in sencelesse sad affright, Looking still, if I might of her haue have sight. Which when I missed, hauing having looked long, My thought returned greeued 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 euerie everie part. So inlie greeuing greeving in my groning brest, And deepelie muzing at her doubtfull speach, Whose meaning much I labored foorth to wreste, Being aboue 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.

1 I saw an Image, all of massie gold, Placed on high vpon 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’Assyrian tyrant would haue have made The holie brethren, falslie to haue have praid, But th’Altare, on the which this Image staid, Was (ô great pitie) built of brickle clay, That shortly the foundation decaid, With showres of heauen heaven and tempests worne away, Then downe it fell, and low in ashes lay, The Ruines of Time. Since Scorned of euerie everie one, which by it went; That I it seing, dearelie did lament. 2 Next vnto unto this a statelie Towre appeared, Built all of richest stone, that might bee found, And nigh vnto unto the Heauens Heavens in height vpreared 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 ô vaine labours of terrestriall wit, That buildes so stronglie on so frayle a soyle, As with each storme does fall away, and flit, And giues gives the fruit of all your trauailes travailes toyle, To be the pray of Tyme, and Fortunes spoyle: I saw this Towre fall sodainlie to dust, That nigh with griefe thereof my heart was brust. 3 Then did I see a pleasant Paradize, Full of sweete flowres and daintiest delights, Such as on earth man could not more deuize devize , With pleasures choyce to feed his cheerefull sprights: Not that, which Merlin by his Magicke slights Made for the gentle squire, to entertaine His fayre Belphœbe, could this gardine staine. But ô short pleasure bought with lasting paine, Why will hereafter anie flesh delight In earthlie blis, and ioy joy in pleasures vaine, The Ruines of Time. But D2 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. 4 Soone after this a Giaunt came in place, Of wondrous power, and of exceeding stature, That none durst vewe the horror of his face, Yet was he milde of speach, and meeke of nature. Not he, which in despight of his Creatour With railing tearmes defied the Iewish Jewish 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’Occæan ouerstride overstride , And reatch his hand into his enemies hoast. But see the end of pompe and fleshlie pride; One of his feete vnwares unwares from him did slide, That downe hee fell into the deepe Abisse, Where drownd with him is all his earthlie blisse. 5 Then did I see a Bridge, made all of golde, Ouer Over the Sea from one to other side, Withouten prop or pillour it t’vpholde t’upholde , But like the coulored Rainbowe arched wide: Not that great Arche, with Traian Trajan edifide, To be a wonder to all age ensuing, Was matchable to this in equall vewing. The Ruines of Time. Behold 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 braue brave a building ought remained, That griefe thereof my spirite greatly pained. 6 I saw two Beares, as white as anie milke, Lying together in a mightie caue cave , Of milde aspect, and haire as soft as silke, That saluage salvage nature seemed not to haue have , Nor after greedie spoyle of blood to craue crave : Two fairer beasts might not elswhere be found, Although the compast world were sought around. But what can long abide aboue above this ground In state of blis, or stedfast happinesse? The Caue Cave , in which these Beares lay sleeping sound, Was but earth, and with her owne weightinesse Vpon Upon them fell, and did vnwares unwares oppresse, That for great sorrow of their sudden fate, Henceforth all words felicitie I hate.

¶Much was I troubled in my heauie heavie spright, At sight of these sad spectacles forepast, That all my senses were bereaued 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. The Ruines of Time. Wylde D3 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 heauen 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?

1 ¶Vpon that famous Riuers Rivers further shore, There stood a snowie Swan of heauenly heavenly hiew, And gentle kinde, as euer ever Fowle afore; A fairer one in all the goodlie criew 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 aboue above the earth he bounded, And out of sight to highest heauen heaven mounted: Where now he is become an heauenly heavenly signe; There now the ioy joy is his, here sorrow mine. 2 Whilest thus I looked, loe adowne the Lee, I sawe an Harpe stroong all with siluer silver twyne, And made of golde and costlie yuorie yvorie , Swimming, that whilome seemed to haue have been The harpe, on which Dan Orpheus was seene The Ruines of Time. And Wylde beasts and forrests after him to lead, But was th’Harpe of Philisides now dead. At length out of the Riuer River it was reard And borne aboue above the cloudes to be diuin’d divin’d , Whilst all the way most heauenly heavenly noyse was heard Of the strings, stirred with the warbling wind, That wrought both ioy joy and sorrow in my mind: So now in heauen heaven a signe it doth appeare, The Harpe well knowne beside the Northern Beare. 3 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 worldes good: Yet through the ouerflowing overflowing of the flood It almost drowned was, and done to nought, That sight thereof much grieu’d griev’d my pensiue 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 Aboue Above the reach of anie liuing living sight: So now it is transform’d into that starre, In which all heauenly heavenly treasures locked are. 4 Looking aside I saw a stately Bed, Adorned all with costly cloth of gold, That might for anie Princes couche be red, The Ruines of Time. Enclosde And deckt with daintie flowres, as if it shold Be for some bride, her ioyous joyous night to hold: Therein a goodly Virgine sleeping lay; A fairer wight saw neuer 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 loues loves delight: With that she started vp up with cherefull sight, When suddeinly both bed and all was gone, And I in languor left there all alone. 5 Still as I gazed, I beheld where stood A Knight all arm’d, vpon upon a winged steed, The same that was bred of Medusaes blood, On which Dan Perseus borne of heauenly 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 joy to him alas) With manie garlands for his victories, And with rich spoyles, which late he did purchas Through braue brave atcheiuements atcheivements from his enemies: Fainting at last through long infirmities, He smote his steed, that straight to heauen heaven him bore, And left me here his losse for to deplore. 6 Lastly I saw an Arke of purest golde Vpon Upon a brazen pillour standing hie, Which th’ashes seem’d of some great Prince to hold, The Ruines of Time. Enclosde therein for endles memorie Of him, whom all the world did glorifie: Seemed the heauens heavens with the earth did disagree, Whether should of those ashes keeper bee. At last me seem’d wing footed Mercurie, From heauen heaven descending to appease their strife, The Arke did beare with him aboue above the skie, And to those ashes gaue gave a second life, To liue live in heauen heaven , where happines is rife: At which the earth did grieue grieve exceedingly exceedtngly , And I for dole was almost like to die.