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337 For he so swift and nimble was of fight,

Beares in his wings so manie a changefull token.
That from this lower tract he dar'd to stie

Ah! my liege lord, forgive it unto mee,
Up to the clowdes, and thence with pineons light If ought against thine bonour I have tolde;
To mount aloft unto the cristall skie,

Yet sure those wings were fairer manifolde.
To view the workmanship of Heavens hight:
Whence down descending he along would flie

Full many a ladie faire, in court full oft
Upon the streaming rivers, sport to finde;

Beholding them, him secretly envide,
And oft would dare to tempt the troublous winde. And wisht that two such fannes, so silken soft,

And golden faire, her love would her provide;
So on a summers day, when season milde

Or that, when them the gorgeous flie had doft, With gentle calme the world had quieted,

Some one, that would with grace be gratifide, And high in Heaven Hyperion's fierie childe

From him would steale them privily away,
Ascending did his beames abroad dispred,

And bring to her so precious a pray.
Whiles all the Heavens on lower creatures smilde;
Young Clarion, with vauntfull lustiehed,

Report is that dame Venus on a day,
After his guize did cast abroad to fare;

In spring when flowres doo clothethe fruitfull ground, And thereto gan his furnitures prepare.

Walking abroad with all her nymphes to play,

Bad her faire damzels flocking her arownd His breast-plate first, that was of substance pure, To gather flowres, her forhead to array: Before bis noble heart he firmely bound,

Emongst the rest a gentle nymph was found,
That mought his life from yron death assure,

Hight Astery, excelling all the crewe
And ward his gentle corps from cruell wound : In curteous usage and unstained hewe.
For it by arte was framed, to endure
The bit of balefull steele and bitter stowud,

Who beeing nimbler ioynted then the rest,
No lesse then that which Vulcane made to shield

And more industrious, gathered more store Achilles life from fate of Troyan field.

Of the fields honour, than the others best;

Which they in secret harts envying sore,
And then about his shoulders broad he threw Tolde Venus, when her as the worthiest
An hairie hide of same will beast, whoin hee She praisd, that Cupide (as they heard before)
In salvage forrest by adventure slew,

Did lend her secret aide, in gathering
And reft the spoyle his ornament to bee;

Into her lap the children of the Spring.
Which, spredding all his backe with dreadfull view,
Made all, that him so horrible did see,

Whercof the goddesse gathering iealous feare,
Thinke him Alcides with the lyons skin,

Not yet unmindfull, how not long agoe When the Næméan conquest he did win.

Her sonne to Psyche secrete love did beare,

And long it close conceal'd, till mickle woe Upon his head his glistering burganet,

Thereof arose, and manie a rufull teare; The which was wrought by wonderous device, Reason with sudden rage did overgoe; And curiously engraven, he did set :

And, giving hastie credit to th' accuser,
The metall was of rare and passing price;

Was led away of them that did abuse her.
Not Bilbo steele, nor brasse from Corinth fet,
Nor costly oricalche from strange Phænice ; Eftsoones that damzell, by her heavenly might,
But such as could both Phæbus arrowes ward, She turn’d into a winged Butterflie,
And th' hayling darts of Heaven beating hard. In the wide aire to make her wandring flight;

And all those flowres, with which so pienteouslie
Therein two deadly weapons fixt he bore,

Her lap she filled had, that bred her spight, Strongly outlaunced towards either side,

She placed in her wings, for memorie Like two sharpe speares, his enemies to gore :

Of ber pretended crime, though crime none were :
Like as a warlike brigandine, applyde

Since which that flie them in her wings doth beare.
To fight, layes forth her threatfull pikes afore,
The engines wbich in thein sad death doo hyde: Thus the fresh Clarion, being readie dight,
So did this flie ontstretch his fearefull hornes, Unto his journey did himselfe addresse,
Yet so as him their terrour more adornes.

And with good speed began to take his flight;

Over the fields, in his franke lustinesse, Lastly his shinie wings as silver bright,

And all the champaine o're he soared light; Painted with thousand colours passing farre

And all the countrey wide he did possesse, All painters skill, he did about him dight:

Feeding upon their pleasures bounteouslie,
Not halfe so manie sundrie colours arre

That none gainsaid, nor none did him envie.
In Iris bowe; ne Heaven doth shine so bright,
Distinguished with manie a twinckling starre; The woods, the rivers, and the medowes greene,
Nor lunoes bird, in her ey-spotted traine,

With his aire-cutting wings he measured wide,
So many goodly colours doth containe.

Ne did he leave the mountaines bare unseene,

Nor the ranke grassie fennes delights antride. Ne (may it be withouten perill spoken)

But none of these, how ever sweet tney beene, The archer god, the sonne of Cytheree,

Mote please his fancie, uor him cause t' abide: That ioyes on wretched lovers to be wroken, His choicefull sense with every change doth flit. And heaped spoyles of blecding harts to sec, No common things may please a wavering wit. VOL. III.

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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 bave, how can fraile fleshly wight There lavish Nature, in her best attire,

Forecast, but it must necds 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 tlf 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 Aie,

Not thou, O Clarion, though fairest thou
From bed to bed, from one to other border; Of all thy kinde, unhappie happie fie,
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 inay 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 his hatefull mansion; 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 joyous 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 bidden 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) Fresh costmarie, and breathfull camomill,

For that his mother, which him bore and bred, Dall poppy, and drink-quickning setuale,

The most fine-fingred workwoman on ground, Veyne-healing verven, and hed-purging dill, Arachne, by his mcanes 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 shamne, and sorrow never ended. And whatso else of vertae 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 bim rests in riotous suffisauisce

And to compare with her in curious skill Of all his gładfulnes, and kingly ioyaunce. Of workes with Joome, 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 thc 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 bis 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 of 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 skild in workmanship embost; That all good things with venemous 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 wbich the Lemnian 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 sir,
Each of the gods, by his like visnomie

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

That rang'd eachwhere without saspition.
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 bazarded 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 he 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-bed speare, and morion on her hedd, Lay lurking covertly him to surprise ;
Such as she oft is seene in warlike field:

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

And his false hart, fraught with all treasons store,
That seem'd to live, so like it was in sight: Was fillid 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 bis 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 binder 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 empted ; 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 her fine corpes to' a bag of venim grewe. That of all happines hath 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 out of the gate Of Aeoles raine perforce him drove on hed,

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

chiefe hope then rested in him) bave sought to Into the cursed cobweb, which his foe

revive them by upbraiding me, for that I bave Had framed for his finall overthroe.

not shewed anie tbankefull remembrance towards There the fond fie, entangled, strugled long,

him or any of them; but suffer their names to Himselfe to free thereout; but all in vaine. sleep in silence and forgetfulnesse. Whome For, 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 unthankefulnesse, 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 lenl.

renowming of that noble race, from wbich 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 whome it most On the resist'es pray; and, with fell spight, specially concerneth ; and to whome I acknow. Under the left wing strooke his weapon slie ledge my selfe bounden by many singnlar favours Into his heart, that his deepe groning spright In bloodie streames forth fed into the aire,

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

happinesse : and so humbly kisse your hands.

Your ladiships ever humblie at commaund,

E. $.

THE

RUINES OF TIME.

THE

1591.

RUINES OF TIME.

DEDICATED TO THE

THE

It chaunded 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 anie 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

In her right hand a broken rod she held, (railing : inost brave knight, your noble brother deceased; which towards Heaven she seemd on high to weld. 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 tirst spring; and Which did the losse of some dere love 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 ont 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- 1 (to her calling) askt what her so vexed. rit, which was the hope of all learned men, and “ Ah! what delight” (quoth she) “in earthlie thing, the patron of my young Muses; together with Or comfort can I, wretched creature, have! him both their hope of anie further fruit was cut Whose happines the Heavens envying, off, and also the tender delight of those their first From highest staire to lowest step me drave,

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

Much was I mooved 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, statel , galleries, And, after, did her name of her request.

Wrought with faire pillours and tine imageries; "Name have I none” (quoth she) * nor any being, All those (O pitie !) now are turnd to dust, Bereft of both by Fatės 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 woone of yore; That manje 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. “ () 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, Fought, 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 foree 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, Ind 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

s ?

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

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

For the shriche-owle to build her balefuil 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 whining 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 I lament 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 b. hold 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, From my unhappie neighborhood farre fled, So I of this small northerne world was princesse. And bis sweete waters away with him led. “ To tell the beawtie of my buildings fayre, “ There also, where the winged sbips were seene Adornd with purest gold and precious stone ; In liquid waves to cut their fomie waje, 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.

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