ITt chaunced me on day beside the shore
Of siluersilver 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 trauailertravailer, 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 frõfrom her faire eyes forth
In her right hand a broken rod she held,
Which towards heauenheaven shee seemd on high to weld.
Whether she were one of that RiuersRivers Nymphes,
Which did the losse of some dere louelove 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 hauehave?
Whose happines the heauensheavens
From highest staire to lowest step me drauedrave,
And hauehave in mine owne bowels made my grauegrave,
That of all Nations now I am forlorne,
The worlds sad spectacle, and fortunes scorne.
Much was Imoouedmooved at her piteous plaint,
And felt my heart nigh riuenriven 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 hauehave I none (quoth she) nor anie being,
Bereft of both by Fates vniustunjust decreeing.
I was that Citie, which the garland wore
Of Britaines pride, deliuereddelivered
By Romane Victors, which it wonne of yore;
nought at allnough 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 vnstedfastunstedfast state
Of all that liueslives, on face of sinfull earth,
Which from their first vntilluntill their vtmostutmost 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 aduauncementadvauncement vaine,
And reare a trophee for deuouringdevouring
With so great labour and long lasting paine,
As if his daies for euerever should remaine?
Sith all that in this world is great or gaie,
Doth as a vapour vanish, and decaie.
Looke backe, who list, vntounto the former ages,
And call to count, what is of them become:
Where be those learned wits and antique Sages,
Which of all wisedome knew the perfect somme:
Where those great warriors, which did ouercommeovercomme
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 ouerranoverran the East with greedie
And left his whelps their kingdomes to deuouredevoure?
And where is that same great seuenseven 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 ouerthroweoverthrowe,
That whilom was, whilst heauensheavens 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:
To tell my forces matchable to none,
Were but lost labour, that few would beleeuebeleeve,
And with rehearsing would me moreagreeueagreeve.
High towers, faire temples, goodly theaters,
Strong walls, rich porches, princelie pallaces,
Large streetes, brauebrave 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 ouergrowenovergrowen with blacke obliuionsoblivions rust.
Theretoo for warlike power, and peoples store,
In Britannie was none to match with mee,
That manie often did abie full sore:
, though elder sister shee,
With my great forces might compared bee;
That stout Pendragon to his perill felt,
Who in a siegeseauenseaven yeres about me dwelt.
But long ere this Bunduca Britonnesse
Her mightie hoast against my bulwarkes brought,
Bunduca, that victorious conqueresse,
That lifting vpup her brauebrave heroïck thought
BoueBove womens weaknes, with the Romanes fought,
Fought, and in field against them thrice preuailedprevailed:
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,
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 neuernever were,
And all the rest that me so honord made,
And of the world admired eu’rieev’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 vsdeusde 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 LouersLovers,
There now haũthaunt yelling Mewes &and whining PlouersPlovers.
And where the christall Thamis wont to slide
In siluersilver channell, downe along the Lee,
About whose flowrie bankes on either side
A thousand Nymphes, with mirthfull iolliteejollitee
Were wont to play, from all annoyance free;
There now no riuersrivers course is to be seene,
But moorish fennes, and marshes euerever greene.
Seemes, that that gentle RiuerRiver 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 vnhappieunhappie neighborhood farre fled,
And his sweete waters away with him led.
There also where the winged ships were seene
In liquid waueswaves to cut their fomie waie,
And thousand Fishers numbred to hauehave been,
In that wide lake looking for plenteous praie
Of fish, which they with baits vsdeusde to betraie,
Is now no lake, nor anie fishers store,
Nor euerever 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 liueslives that mentioneth my name
To be remembred of posteritie,
SaueSave One that maugre fortunes iniurieinjurie,
And times decay, and enuiesenvies cruell tort,
Hath writ my record in true-seeming sort.
Cambden the nourice of antiquitie,
And lanterne vntounto 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 iustjust labours euerever shall endure,
But whie (vnhappieunhappie wight) doo I thus crie,
And grieuegrieve that my remembrance quite is raced
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 hauehave shorne,
Forgotten quite as they were neuernever 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 SoueraineSoveraine,
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 louedloved deare:
Scarse anie left to close his eylids neare;
Scarse anie left vponupon 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 seluesselves 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 euerieeverie shower will wash and wipe away,
All things doo change that vnderunder
And after death all friendship doth decaie.
Therefore what euerever man bearst worldlie sway,
LiuingLiving, 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,
SaueSave what in heauensheavens storehouse he vplaiduplaid:
His hope is faild, and come to passe his dread,
And euillevill men now dead, his deeds vpbraidupbraid:
Spite bites the dead, that liuingliving
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 vponupon 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 reuiuerevive;
Yet manie Poets honourd him aliuealive.
Ne doth his Colin, carelesse Colin Cloute,
Care now his idle bagpipe vpup to raise,
Ne tell his sorrow to the listning rout
Of shepherd groomes, which wõtwont his songs to praise:
Praise who so list, yet I will him dispraise,
VntillUntill 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:
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 liuedlived, was of none enuydeenvyde,
And dead is now, as liuingliving, counted deare,
Deare vntounto all that true affection beare:
But vntounto thee most deare, ô dearest Dame,
His noble Spouse, and Paragon of fame.
He whilest he liuedlived, happie was through thee,
And being dead is happie now much more;
LiuingLiving, that lincked chaunst with thee to bee,
And dead, because him dead thou dost adore
As liuingliving, and thy lost deare louelove deplore.
So whilst that thou, faire flower of chastitie,
Dost liuelive, by thee thy Lord shall neuernever die.
Thy Lord shall neuernever die, the whiles this verse
Shall liuelive, and surely it shall liuelive for euerever:
For euerever it shall liuelive, and shall rehearse
His worthie praise, and vertues dying neuernever,
Though death his soule doo from his bodie seuersever.
And thou thy selfe herein shalt also liuelive;
Such grace the heauensheavens doo to my verses giuegive,
Ne shall his sister, ne thy father die,
Thy father, that good Earle of rare renowne,
And noble Patrone of weake pouertiepovertie;
Whose great good deeds in countrey and in towne
HaueHave purchast him in heauenheaven an happie crowne;
Where he now liuethliveth in eternall blis,
And left his sonne t’ensue those steps of his.
He noble bud, his Grandsires liuelielivelie hayre,
VnderUnder the shadow of thy countenaunce
Now ginnes to shoote vpup fast, and flourish fayre
In learned artes and goodlie gouernauncegovernaunce,
That him to highest honour shall aduaunceadvaunce.
BraueBrave 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 heauensheavens powrde all their gifts vponupon her.
Most gentle spirite breathed from aboueabove,
Out of the bosome of the makers blis,
In whom all bountie and all vertuous louelove
Appeared in their natiuenative propertis,
And did enrich that noble breast of his,
With treasure passing all this worldes worth,
Worthie of heauenheaven it selfe, which brought it forth.
His blessed spirite full of power diuinedivine
And influence of all celestiall grace,
Loathing this sinfull earth and earthlie slime,
Fled backe too soone vntounto his natiuenative place,
Too soone for all that did his louelove embrace,
Too soone for all this wretched world, whom he
Robd of all right and true nobilitie.
Yet ere his happie soule to heauenheaven went
Out of this fleshlie goale, he did deuisedevise
VntoUnto his heauenlieheavenlie 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, liuelive there euerever blessed,
The worlds late wonder, and the heauensheavens new ioyjoy,
euerever there, and leaueleave me here distressed
With mortall cares, and cumbrous worlds anoy.
But where thou dost that happines enioyenjoy,
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, vntilluntill that timelie death
By heauensheavens 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 rauishedravished with ioyjoy,
O sad ioyjoy 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 liuedstlivedst, madest the forrests ring,
And fields resownd, and flockes to leap and daunce,
And shepheards leaueleave their lambs vntounto mischaunce,
To runne thy shrill Arcadian Pipe to heare:
O happie were those dayes, thrice happie were.
But now more happie thou, and wretchedwetched wee,
Which want the wonted sweetnes of thy voice,
Whiles thou now in Elisian fields so free,
With Orpheus, and with
and the choice
Of all that euerever did in rimes reioycerejoyce,
ConuersestConversest, and doost heare their heauenlieheavenlie layes,
And they heare thine, and thine doo better praise.
So there thou liuestlivest, singing euermoreevermore,
And here thou liuestlivest, being euerever song
Of vsus, which liuingliving
louedloved thee afore,
And now thee worship, mongst that blessed throng
Of heauenlieheavenlie Poets and Heroes strong.
So thou both here and there immortall art,
And euerieeverie where through excellent desart.
But such as neither of themseluesthemselves can sing,
Nor yet are sung of others for reward,
Die in obscure obliuionoblivion, as the thing
Which neuernever was, ne euerever with regard
Their names shall of the later age be heard,
But shall in rustie darknes euerever lie,
VnlesUnles they mentiond be with infamie.
What booteth it to hauehave been rich aliuealive?
What to be great? what to be gracious?
When after death no token doth suruiuesurvive,
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 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 liuingliving, cared not to cherishe
No gentle wits, through pride or couertizecovertize,
Which might their names for euerever memorize.
ProuideProvide therefore (ye Princes) whilst ye liuelive,
That of the Muses ye may friended bee,
Which vntounto men eternitie do giuegive;
For they be daughters of Dame memorie,
the father of eternitie,
And do those men in golden thrones repose,
Whose merits they to glorifie do chose.
The seuenseven 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 heauenheaven, where now he doth inherite
All happinesse in Hebes
Chosen to be her dearest Paramoure.
So raisde they eke faire Ledaes warlick twinnes,
And interchanged life vntounto them lent,
That when th’one dies, th’other then beginnes
To shew in HeauenHeaven 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 louelove,
That freed from bands of impacable fate,
And power of death, they liuelive for aye aboueabove,
Where mortall wreakes their blis may not remoueremove:
But with the Gods, for former vertues meede,
On Nectar and Ambrosia do feede.
For deeds doe die, how euerever noblie donne,
And thoughts of men do as themseluesthemselves decay,
But wise wordes taught in numbers for to runne,
Recorded by the Muses, liuelive for ay;
Ne may with storming showers be washt away,
Ne bitter breathing windes with harmfull blast,
Nor age, nor enuieenvie shall them euerever wast.
In vaine doo earthly Princes then, in vaine
Seeke with Pyramides, to heauenheaven aspired;
Or huge Colosses, built with costlie paine;
Or brasen Pillours, neuernever to be fired,
Or Shrines, made of the mettall most desired;
To make their memories for euerever
For how can mortall immortalitie giuegive.
Such one Mansolus 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,
Deuour’dDevour’d of Time, in time to nought doo passe.
But fame with golden wings aloft doth flie,
AboueAbove the reach of ruinous decay,
And with brauebrave 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 heauenheaven, on Pegasus must ride,
And with sweete Poets verse be glorifide.
For not to hauehave been dipt in Lethe lake,
Could sauesave 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 brauebrave 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 liuingliving praises being dead,
neuernever here to be forgot,
In spight of enuieenvie, that his deeds would spot:
Since whose decease, learning lies vnregardedunregarded,
And men of armes doo wander vnrewardedunrewarded.
Those two be those two great calamities,
That long agoe did grieuegrieve the noble spright
Of Salomon with great indignities;
Who whilome was aliuealive the wisest wight.
But now his wisedome isdisprooueddisprooved 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 vpup, that nigh him planted bee:
O let the man, of whom the Muse is scorned,
Nor aliuealive, nor dead be of the Muse adorned.
O vile worlds trust, that with such vaine illusion
Hath so wise men bewitcht, and ouerkestoverkest,
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 vntounto remembrance call;
That of like ruine he may warned bee,
And in himselfe bemoou’dmoov’d to pittie mee.
Thus hauinghaving 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 hauehave sight.
Which when I missed, hauinghaving looked long,
My thought returned greeuedgreeved 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 euerieeverie part.
So inlie greeuinggreeving in my groning brest,
And deepelie muzing at her doubtfull speach,
Whose meaning much I labored foorth to wreste,
Being aboueabove 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 saw an Image, all of massie gold,
Placed on high vponupon 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 hauehave made
The holie brethren, falslie to hauehave 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 heauenheaven and tempests worne away,
Then downe it fell, and low in ashes lay,
Scorned of euerieeverie one, which by it went;
That I it seing, dearelie did lament.
Next vntounto this a statelie Towre appeared,
Built all of richest stone, that might bee found,
And nigh vntounto the HeauensHeavens in height vprearedupreared,
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 giuesgives the fruit of all your trauailestravailes 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.
Then did I see a pleasant Paradize,
Full of sweete flowres and daintiest delights,
Such as on earth man could not more deuizedevize,
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 ioyjoy 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.
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 IewishJewish 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 ouerstrideoverstride,
And reatch his hand into his enemies hoast.
But see the end of pompe and fleshlie pride;
One of his feete vnwaresunwares from him did slide,
That downe hee fell into the deepe Abisse,
Where drownd with him is all his earthlie blisse.
Then did I see a Bridge, made all of golde,
OuerOver the Sea from one to other side,
Withouten prop or pillour itt’vpholdet’upholde,
But like the coulored Rainbowe arched wide:
Not that great Arche, with
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 brauebrave a building ought remained,
That griefe thereof my spirite greatly pained.
I saw two Beares, as white as anie milke,
Lying together in a mightie cauecave,
Of milde aspect, and haire as soft as silke,
That saluagesalvage nature seemed not to hauehave,
Nor after greedie spoyle of blood to crauecrave:
Two fairer beasts might not elswhere be found,
Although the compast world were sought around.
But what can long abide aboueabove this ground
In state of blis, or stedfast happinesse?
The CaueCave, in which these Beares lay sleeping sound,
Was but earth, and with her owne weightinesse
VponUpon them fell, and did vnwaresunwares oppresse,
That for great sorrow of their sudden fate,
Henceforth all words felicitie I hate.
¶Much was I troubled in my heauieheavie spright,
At sight of these sad spectacles forepast,
That all my senses were bereauedbereaved 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 heauenheaven, 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?
¶Vpon that famous RiuersRivers further shore,
There stood a snowie Swan of heauenlyheavenly hiew,
And gentle kinde, as euerever 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 aboueabove the earth he bounded,
And out of sight to highest heauenheaven mounted:
Where now he is become an heauenlyheavenly signe;
There now the ioyjoy is his, here sorrow mine.
Whilest thus I looked, loe adowne the Lee,
I sawe an Harpe stroong all with siluersilver twyne,
And made of golde and costlie yuorieyvorie,
Swimming, that whilome seemed to hauehave 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 RiuerRiver it was reard
And borne aboueabove the cloudes to be diuin’ddivin’d,
Whilst all the way most heauenlyheavenly noyse was heard
Of the strings, stirred with the warbling wind,
That wrought both ioyjoy and sorrow in my mind:
So now in heauenheaven a signe it doth appeare,
The Harpe well knowne beside the Northern Beare.
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 ouerflowingoverflowing of the flood
It almost drowned was, and done to nought,
That sight thereof much grieu’dgriev’d my pensiuepensive 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
AboueAbove the reach of anie liuingliving sight:
So now it is transform’d into that starre,
In which all heauenlyheavenly treasures locked are.
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 ioyousjoyous night to hold:
Therein a goodly Virgine sleeping lay;
A fairer wight saw neuernever 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 louesloves delight:
With that she started vpup with cherefull sight,
When suddeinly both bed and all was gone,
And I in languor left there all alone.
Still as I gazed, I beheld where stood
A Knight all arm’d, vponupon a winged steed,
The same that was bred of Medusaes blood,
On which Dan Perseus borne of heauenlyheavenly 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 ioyjoy to him alas)
With manie garlands for his victories,
And with rich spoyles, which late he did purchas
atcheiuementsatcheivements from his enemies:
Fainting at last through long infirmities,
He smote his steed, that straight to heauenheaven him bore,
And left me here his losse for to deplore.
Lastly I saw an Arke of purest golde
VponUpon a brazen pillour standing hie,
Which th’ashes seem’d of some great Prince to hold,
Enclosde therein for endles memorie
Of him, whom all the world did glorifie:
Seemed the heauensheavens with the earth did disagree,
Whether should of those ashes keeper bee.
At last me seem’d wing footed Mercurie,
From heauenheaven descending to appease their strife,
The Arke did beare with him aboueabove the skie,
And to those ashes gauegave a second life,
To liuelive in heauenheaven, where happines is rife:
At which the earth did grieuegrieve
And I for dole was almost like to die.