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To the gay gardins his unstaid desire

And whatso Heavens in their secret doome Him wholly caried, to refresh his sprights: Ordained have, how can fraile fleshly wight There lavish Nature, in her best attire,

Forecast, but it must needs to issue come? Powres forth sweete odors and alluring sights; The sea, the aire, the fire, the day, the night, And Arte, with her contending, doth aspire, And th' armies of their creatures all and some T excell the naturall with made delights :

Do serve to them, and with importune might And all, that faire or pleasant may be found, Warre against us the vassals of their will. In riotous excesse doth there abound.

Who then can save what they dispose to spill?

There he arriving, round about doth Alie,

Not thou, O Clarion, though fairest thou
From bed to bed, from one to other border; Of all thy kinde, unhappie happie flie,
And takes survey, with curious busie eye,

Whose cruell fate is woven even now
Of every flowre and herbe there set in order; Of loves owne hand, to worke thy miserie!
Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly,

Ne may thee help the manie hartie vow,
Yet none of them he rudely doth disorder,

Which thy old sire with sacred pietie Ne with his feete their silken leaves deface; Hath powred forth for thee, and th' altars sprent: But pastures on the pleasures of each place. Nought may thee save from Heavens avengement ! And evermore with most varietie,

It fortuned (as Heavens had behight) And change of sweetnesse, (for all change is sweete) That in this gardin, where yong Clarion He casts his glutton sense to satisfie,

Was wont to solace him, a wicked wight, Now sucking of the sap of herbe most meet, The foe of faire things, th' author of confusion, Or of the deaw, which yet on them does lie, The shame of Nature, the bondslave of spight, Now in the same bathing his tender feete:

Had lately built bis hatefull inansion; And then he pearcheth on some braunch thereby, And, lurking closely, in awaite now lay, To weather him, and his moyst wings to dry. How he might any in his trap betray. And then againe he turneth to his play,

But when he spide the ioyous Butterflie
To spoyle the pleasures of that paradise;

In this faire plot dispacing to and fro,
The wholesome saulge, and lavender still gray, Feareles of foes and hidden ieopardie,
Ranke smelling rue, and cummin good for eyes, Lord! how he gan for to bestirre him tho,
The roses raigning in the pride of May,

And to his wicked worke each part applie!
Sharpe isope good for greene wounds remedies, His heart did earne against his hated foe,
Faire marigoldes, and bees-alluring thime, And bowels so with rankling poyson swelde,
Sweet marioram, and daysies decking prime: That scarce the skin the strong contagion helde.
Coole violets, and orpine growing still,

The cause, why he this fie so maliced, Embathed balme, and chearfull galingale,

Was (as in stories it is written found) Presh costmarie, and breathfull camomill,

For that his mother, which him bore and bred, Dull poppy, and drink-quickning setuale, The most fine-fingred work woman on ground, Veyne-healing verven, and hed-purging dill, Arachne, by his meanes was vanquished Sound savorie, and bazil hartie-hale,

Of Pallas, and in her owne skill confound, Fat colworts, and comforting perseline,

When she with her for excellenee contended, Cold lettuce, and refreshing rosmarine.

That wrought her shame, and sorrow never ended. And whatso else of vertue good or ill

For the Tritonian goddesse having hard Grewe in this gardin, fetcht from farre away, Her blazed fame, which all the world had fild, Of everie one he takes, and tastes at will,

Came downe to prove the truth, and due reward And on their pleasures greedily doth pray. For her praise-worthie workmanship to yield : Then when he hath both plaid, and fed his fill, But the presumptuous damzell rashly dar'd In the warme Sunne he doth himselfe embay, The goddesse selfe to chalenge to the field, And there him rests in riotous suffisaupce

And to compare with her in curious skill Of all his gladfulnes, and kingly ioyaunce. Of workes with loome, with needle, and with quill

. What more felicitie can fall to creature

Minerva did the chalenge not refuse, Then to enioy delight with libertie,

But deign'd with her the paragon to make : And to be lord of all the workes of Nature, So to their worke they sit, and each doth chuse To raigne in th' aire from th' Earth to highest skie, What storie she will for her tapet take. To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature, Arachne figur'd how love did abuse To take what ever thing doth please the eie ? Europa like a bull, and on his backe Who rests not pleased with such happines, Her through the sea did beare; so lively seene, Well worthy he to taste of wretchednes.

That it true sea, and true bull, ye would weene. But what on Earth can long abide in state? Shee seem'd still backe unto the land to looke, Or who can him assure of happy day?

And her play-fellowes ayde to call, and feare Sith morning faire may bring fowle evening late, The dashing of the waves, that up she tooke And least mishap the most blisse alter may! Her daintie feet, and garments gathered neare: For thousand perills lie in close awaite

But (Lord!) how she in everie member shooke, About us daylie, to worke our decay;

When as the land she saw no more appeare, That none, except a god, or God him guide, But a wilde wildernes of waters deepe: May them avoyde, or remedie provide.

Then gan she greatly to lament and weepe.

Before the bull she pictur'd winged Love,

This cursed creature, mindfull of that olde
With his yong brother Sport, light fluttering Enfested grudge, the which his mother felt,
Upon the waves, as each had been a dove;

So soone as Clarion he did beholde,
The one his bowe and shafts, the other spring His heart with vengefull malice inly swelt;
A burning teade about his head did move,

And weaving streight a net with manie a fold
As in their syres new love both triumphing: About the cave, in which he lurking dwelt,
And manie nymphes about them flocking round, With fine small cords about it stretched wide,
And many Tritons which their hornes did sound. So finely sponne, that scarce they could be spide.
And, round about, her worke she did empale Not anie damzell, which her vaunteth most
With a faire border wrought sundrie flowres, In skilfull knitting of soft silken twyne ;
Enwoven with an yvie-winding trayle:

Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth boast A goodly worke, full fit for kingly bowres;

In diaper, in damaske, or in lyne ; Such as dame Pallas, such as Envie pale,

Nor anie skil'd in workmanship embost; That all good things with veneinous tooth devowres, Nor anie skild in loupes of fingring fine; Could not accuse. Then gan the goddesse bright Might in their divers cunning ever dare Her selfe likewise unto her worke to dight.

With this so curious networke to compare. She made the storie of the olde debate,

Ne doo I thinke, that that same subtil gin, Which she with Neptune did for Athens trie: The which the Lemoian god framde craftily, Twelve gods doo sit around in royall state, Mars sleeping with his wife to compasse in, And love in midst with awfull maiestie,

That all the gods with common mockerie
To judge the strife betweene them stirred late: Might laugh at them, and scorne their shamefull sia,
Fach of the gods, by his like visnomie

Was like to this. This same he did applie
Eathe to be knowne; but love above them all, For to entrap the careles Clarion,
By his great lookes and power imperiall.

That rang'd each where without suspition.
Before them stands the god of seas in place, Suspition of friend, nor feare of foe,
Clayming that sea-coast citie as his right,

That hazarded his health, had he at all, And strikes the rockes with his three-forked mace; But walkt at will, and wandred to and fro, Whenceforth issues a warlike steed in sight, In the pride of his freedome principall: The signe by which he chalengeth the place;

Little wist he his fatall future woe,
That all the gods, which saw his wondrous might, But was secure; the liker be to fall.
Did surely deeme the victorie his due:

He likest is to fall into mischaunce,
But seldome seene, foreiudgement proveth true. That is regardles of his governaunce.
Then to herselfe she gives her Aegide shield, Yet still Aragnoll (so his foe was hight)
And steel-hed speare, and morion on her hedd, Lay lurking covertly him to surprise;
Such as she oft is seene in warlike field :

And all bis gins, that him entangle might,
Then sets she forth, how with ber weapon dredd Drest in good order as he could devise.
She smote the ground, the which streight foorih did | At length, the foolish fie without foresight,
A fruitfull olyve tree, with berries spredd, [yield As he that did all daunger quite despise,
That all the gods adınir'd; then all the storie Toward those parts came flyirig carelesselie,
She compast with a wreathe of olyves hoarie. Where hidden was his hatefull enemie.
Emongst these leaves she made a butterflie, Who, seeing him, with secret ioy therefore
With excellent device and wondrous slight, Did tickle inwardly in everie vaine ;
Fluttring among the olives wantoniy,

And his false hart, fraught with all treasons store, That seem'd to live, so like it was in sight: Was filld with hope his purpose to obtaine : The velvet nap which on his wings doth lie, Himselfe he close upgathered more and more The silken downe with which his backe is dight, Into his den, that his deceitfull traine His broad outstretched hornes, his hayrie thies, By his there being might not be bewraid, His glorious colours, and his glistering eies. Ne anie noyse, ne anie motion made. Which when Arachne saw, as overlaid,

Like as a wily foxe, that having spide And mastered with workmanship so rare,

Where on a sunnie banke the lambes doo play, She stood astonied long, ne ought gainesaid ; Full closely creeping by the hinder side, And with fast fixed eyes on her did stare,

Lyes in ambúshment of his hoped pray, And by her silence, signe of one dismaid,

Ne stirreth limbe; till, seeing readie tide, The victorie did yeeld her as her share;

He rusheth forth, and snatcheth quite away
Yet did she inly fret and felly burne,

One of the litle yonglings unawares :
And all her blood to poysonous rancor turne : So to his worke Aragnoll him prepares.
That shortly from the shape of womanhed, Who now shall give unto my heavie eyes
Such as she was when Pallas she attempted, A well of teares, that all may overflow?
She grew to hideous shape of dryribed,

Or where shall I find lamentable cryes,
Pined with griefe of folly late repented :

And mournfull tunes, enough my griefe to show? Eftsoones her white streight legs were altered Helpe, O thou tragick Muse, me to devise To crooked crawling shankes, of marrowe emptend; Notes sad enough, t expresse this bitter throw: And her faire face to foule and loathsome hewe, For loe, the drerie stownd is now arrived, And ber fine corpes to' a bag of venim grewe. That of all happines bath us deprived.

The luckles Clarion, whether cruell Fate

mine, (which might much prevaile with me, and Or wicked Fortune faultles him misled,

indeede commaund me) knowing with howe Or some ungracious blast ont of the gate Of Aeoles raine perforce bim drove on hed,

straight bandes of duetie I was tied to him, as Was (O sad hap and howre unfortunate !) also bound unto that noble house, (of which the With violent swift flight forth caried

chiefe hope then rested in him) have sought to Into the cursed cobweb, which his foe Had framed for his finall overthroe.

revive them by upbraiding me, for that I have

not shewed anie thankefull remembrance towards There the fond flie, entangled, strugled long,

bim or any of them ; but suffer their names to Himselfe to free thereout; but all in vaine. sleep in silence and forgetfulnesse. Whome Por, striving more, the more in laces strong chieflie to satisfie, or els to avoide that fowle blot Himselfe he tide, and wrapt his wingës twaine

of nnthankefulnesse, I have conceived this small In lymje snares the subtill loupes among; That in the ende he breathlesse did remaine, poeme, intituled by a generall name of The And, all his yongthly forces idly spent,

Worlds Ruines : yet speciallie intended to the Him to the mercie of th' avenger lent.

renowming of that noble race, from which both

you and he sprong, and to the eternizing of Which when the griesly tyrant did espie,

some of the chiefe of them late deceased. The Like a grimme lyon rushing with fierce might Out of his den, he seized greedelie

which I dedicate unto your la. as wbome it most On the resistles pray; and, with fell spight, specially concerneth ; and to whome I acknowUnder the left wing strooke bis weapon slie

ledge my selfe bounden by many singular favours Iuto his heart, tbat his deepe grøning spright In bloodie streames forth fed into the aire,

and great graces. I pray for your honourable His bodie left the spectacle of care.

happinesse : and so humbly kisse your hands.

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DEDICATED TO THE

THE

It chaunced me on day beside the shore
Of silver-streaming Thamesis to bee,

Nigh where the goodly Verlame stood of yore, RIGHT NOBLE AND BEAUTIFULL LADIE, Of which there now remaines no memorie,

Nor anje little moniment to see,
By which the travailer, that fares that way,

This once was she, may warned be to say.
LA: MARIE, COUNTESSE OF PEMBROOKE.

There, on the other side, I did behold

A woman sitting sorrowfullie wailing, Most honourable and bountifull ladie, there bee Rending her yellow locks, like wyrie gold long sithens deepe sowed in my brest the seedes About her shoulders careleslie downe trailing, of most entire love and humble affection unto that Aud streames of teares from her faire eyes forth most brave knight, your noble brother deceased; which towards Heaven she seemd on bigh to weld.

In her right hand a broken rod she held, (railing : which, taking roote, began in his life time somewhat to bud forth, and to shew themselves to him, whether she were one of that rivers nymphes, as then in the weaknes of their first spring; and which did the losse of some dere lore lament

I doubt; or one of those three fatall impes, would in their riper strength (had it pleased which draw the dayes of men forth in extent ; high God till then to drawe out his daies) spired Or th’auncient genius of that citie brent: forth fruit of more perfection. But since God But, seeing her so piteouslie perplexed, hath disdeigned the world of that most noble spi

I (to her calling) askt what her so vexed. rit, which was the hope of all learned men, and “Ah! what delight” (quotn she) “in earthlie thing, the patron of my young Moses; together with Or comfort can I, wretched creature, have? him both their hope of anie further fruit was cut Whose happines the Heavens enrying, off, and also the tender deliglıt of those their first From highest staire to lowest step me drave,

And have in mine owne bowels made my grave, hlossoms nipped and quite dead. Yet, sithens That of all cations now I am forlorne, my late cumming into England, some frends of The worlds sad spectacle, and fortunes scorne."

Bluch was I moored at her piteous plaint, “ High towers, faire temples, goodly theaters, And felt my heart nigh riven in my brest

Strong walls, rich porches, princely pallaces, With tender ruth to see her sore constraint; Large streets, brave houses, sacred sepulchers, That, shedding teares a while, I still did rest, Sure gates, sweete gardens, stately galleries, And, after, did her name of her request.

Wrought with faire pillours and fine imageries ; " Name have I none" (quoth she) “por any being, All those (O pitie !) now are turnd to dust, Bereft of both by Fates uniust decreeing.

And overgrowne with black oblivions rust. " I was that citie, which the garland wore “ Thereto for warlike power, and peoples store, Of Britaines pride, delivered unto me

In Britannie was none to match with mee, By Romane victors, which it wonne of yore; That manie often did abie full sore: Though nought at all but ruines now I bee, Ne Troynovant, though elder sister shee, And lye in mine owne ashes, as ye see :

With my great forces might compared bee; Verlame I was ; what bootes it that I was,

That stout Pendragon to his perill felt, Sith now I am but weedes and wastefull gras? Who in a siege seaven yeres about me dwelt. "O vaine worlds glorie, and unstedfast state “ But long ere this, Bunduca, Britonnesse, Of all that lives on face of sinfull Earth!

Her mightie boast against my bulwarkes brought, Which, from their first untill their utmost date, Bunduca, that victorious conqueresse, Taste no one houre of happines or merth ;

That, lifting up her brave heroick thought But like as at the ingate of their berth

Bove womens weaknes, with the Romanes fought, They crying creep out of their mothers woomb, lought, and in field against them thrice prevailed: So wailing back, go to their wofull toomb.

Yet was she foyld, whenas she me assailed. " Why then dooth flesh, a bubble-glas of breath, “ And though at last by force I conquered were Hunt after honour and advauncement vaine, Of hardie Saxons, and became their thrall; And reare a trophee of devouring death,

Yet was I with much bloodshed bought full deere, With so great labour and long lasting paine, And priz'd with slaughter of their generall : As if his daies for ever should remaine?

The moniment of whose sad funerall, Sith all, that in this world is great or gaie,

For wonder of the world, long in me lasted ; [ed. Doth as a vapour vanish, and decaie.

But now to nought, through spoyle of time, is wast“ Looke backe, who list, unto the former ages,

“ Wasted it is, as if it never were ; And call to count, what is of them become : And all the rest, that me so honord made Where be those learned wits and antique sages,

And of the world admired ev'rie where, Which of all wisedome knew the perfect somme? Is turned to smoake, that doth to nothing fade; Where those great warriors, which did overcome And of that brightnes now appeares no shade, The world with conquest of their might and maine, But grieslie shades, such as doo haunt in Hell And made one meare of th'Earth and of their raine? With fearfull fiends, that in deep darknes dwell. " What nowe is of th’ Assyrian lyonesse,

“ Where my high steeples whilom usde to stand, Of whom no footing now on Earth appeares ?

On which the lordly faulcon wont to towre, What of the Persian heares outragiousnesse,

There now is but an heap of lyme and sand Whose memorie is quite worne out with yeares?

For the shriche-owle to build her balefull bowre: Who of the Grecian libbard now ought heares,

And where the nightingale wont forth to powre That over-ran the east with greedie powre,

Her restles plaints, to comfort wakefull lovers, And left his whelps their kingdomes to devoure?

There now haunt yelling mewes and wbining plovers.
" And where is that same great seven-headed beast, “ And where the christall Thamis wont to slide
That made all nations vassals of her pride, In silver channell, downe along the lee,
To fall before her feete at her beheast,

About whose flowrie bankes on either side
And in the necke of all the world did ride ? A thousand nymphes, with mirthfull iollitee,
Where doth she all that wondrous welth nowe hide? Were wont to play, from all annoyance free;
With her owne weight downe pressed now shee lies,

There now no rivers course is to be seene,
And by her heapes her hugenesse testifies.

But moorish fennes, and marshes ever greene. " O Rome, thy ruine Ulament and rue,

“ Seemes, that that gentle river for great griefe And in thy fall my fatall overthrowe,

Of my mishaps, which oft I to him plained; That whilom was, whilst Heavens with equall vewe Or for to shunne the horrible mischiefe, Deignd to behold me and their gifts bestowe, With which he saw my cruell foes me pained, The picture of thy pride in pompous shew : And his pure streames with guiltles bloud oft stained ; And of the whole world as thou wast the empresse,

Froin my unhappie neighborhood farre fled, So I of this small northerne (world was princesse. And his sweete waters away with him led. " To tell the beawtie of my buildings fayre, “ There also, where the winged ships were seene Adornd with purest gold and precious stone ; In liquid waves to cut their fomie waie, To tell my riches, and endowments rare,

And thousand fishers numbred to have been,
That by my foes are now all spent and gone ; In that wide lake looking for plenteous praie
To tell my forces, matchable to none,

Of fish, which they with baits usde to betraie,
Were but lost labour, that few would beleeve, Is now no lake, nor anie fishers store,
And, with rehearsing, would me more agreeve.

Nor ever ship shall saile there anie more.

“ They all are gone, and all with them is gone! “ He now is dead, and all his glorie gone, Ne ought to me remaines, but to lament

And all his greatnes vapoured to pought, My long decay, which no man els doth mone, That as a glasse upon the water shone, And mourne my fall with dolefull dreriment. Which vanisht quite, so soone as it was soughts Yet it is comfort in great languishment,

His name is worne alreadie out of thought, To be bemoned with compassion kinde,

Ne anie poet seekes him to revive; And mitigates the anguish of the minde.

Yet manie poets honourd him alive. “ But me no man bewaileth, but in game, “ Ne doth his Colin, carelesse Colin Cloute, Ne sheddeth teares from lamentable eie:

Care now his idle bagpipe up to raise, Nor anie lives that mentioneth my name

Ne tell his sorrow to the listning rout [praise: To be remembred of posteritie,

Of shepheard groomes, which wont his songs to Save one, that maugre Fortunes iniurie,

Praise who so list, yet I will him dispraise, And Times decay, and Envies cruell tort,

Untill he quite him of this guiltie blame; Hath writ my record in true-seeming sort. Wake, shepheards boy, at length awake for shame. “ Cambden! the nourice of antiquitie,

“ And whoso els did goodnes by him gaine, And lanterne unto late succeding age,

And who so els his bounteous minde did trie, To see the light of simple veritie

Whether be shepheard be, or shepheards swaine, Buried in ruines, through the great outrage (For manie did, which doo it now denie) Of her owne people led with warlike rage :

Awake, and to his song a part applie: Cambden! though Time all moniments obscure, And I, the whilest you mourne for his decease, Yet thy just labours ever shall endure.

Will with my mourning plaints your plaint increase. “ But whie (unhappie wight!) doo I thus crie, “ He dyde, and after him his brother dyde, And grieve that my remembrance quite is raced His brother prince, his brother noble peere, Out of the knowledge of posteritie,

That whilest he lived was of none envyde, And all my antique moniments defaced ?

And dead is now, as living, counted deare,
Sith I doo dailie see things highest placed,

Deare unto all that true affection beare:
So soone as Fates their vitall thred have shorne, But unto thee most deare, O dearest dame,
Forgotten quite as they were never borne.

His noble spouse, and paragon of fame. “ It is not long, since these two eyes beheld “ He, whilest he lived, happie was through thee, A mightie prince, of most renowmed race,

And, being dead, is happie now much more: Whom England high in count of honour held, Living, that lincked chaunst with thee to bee, And greatest ones did sue to gaine his grace; And dead, because him dead thou dost adore Of greatest ones he greatest in his place,

As living, and thy lost deare love deplore. Sate in the bosome of his soveraine,

So whilst that thou, faire flower of chastitie, And right and loyall did his word maintaine. Dost live, by thee thy lord shall never die. " I saw him die, I saw him die, as one

“ Thy lord shall never die, the whiles this verse Of the meane people, and brought foorth on beare; Shall live, and surely it shall live for ever: I saw him die, and no man left to mone

For ever it shall live, and shall rehearse
His dolefull fate, that late him loved deare: His worthie praise, and vertues dying never,
Scarse anie left to close his eylids neare;

Though death his soule doo from his bodie serer: Scarse anie left upon his lips to laie

And thou thy selfe herein shalt also live ; The sacred sod, or requiem to saie.

Such grace the Heavens doo to my verses gire. " () trustlesse state of miserable men,

“ Ne shall his sister, ne thy father die, That builde your blis on hope of earthly thing, Thy father, that good earle of rare renowne, And vainely thinke your selves halfe happie then, And noble patrone of weake povertie ; When painted faces with smooth flattering Whose great good deeds in countrey, and in toung, Doo fawne on you, and your wide praises sing ; Have purchast him in Heaven an happie crowne: And, when the courting masker louteth lowe, Where he now liveth in eternall blis, Him true in heart and trustie to you trow! And left his sonne tensue those steps of his. “ All is but fained, and with oaker dide,

“ He, noble bud, his grandsires livelie hayre, That everie shower will wash and wipe away ; Under the shadow of thy countenaunce All things doo change that onder Heaven abide, Now ginnes to shoote up, fast, and flourish fayre And after death all friendship doth decaie.

In learned artes, and goodlie gouvernance, Therefore, what ever man bearst worldlie sway, That bim to highest honour shall advaunce. Living, on God and on thy selfe relie;

Brave impe of Bedford, grow apace in bountie, For, when thou diest, all shall with thee die. And count of wisedome more than of thy countie! “ He now is dead, and all is with him dead, “ Ne may Uet thy husbands sister die, Save what in Heavens store house he uplaid: That goodly ladie, sith she eke did spring His hope is faild, and come to passe his dread, Out of his stocke and famous familie, And evill men (now dead) his deedes upbraid: Whose praises I to future age doo sing; Spite bites the dead, that living never baid. And forth out of her happie womb did bring He now is gone, the whiles the foxe is crept The sacred brood of learning and all honour; [her. Into the hole, the which the badger swept. In whom the Heavens powrde all their gifts upon

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