The Penguin Book of English Verse

by Paul Keegan

Howe every thyng

  doth passe and weare awaye,

  Eche state of lyfe,

  by comon course and trade,

  Abydes no tyme,

  but hath a passyng daye.

  For looke as lyfe,

  that pleasaunt Dame hath brought,

  The pleasaunt yeares,

  and dayes of lustynes,

  So Death our Foe,

  consumeth all to nought,

  Envyeng thefe,

  with Darte doth us oppresse,

  And that whiche is,

  the greatest gryfe of all,

  The gredye Grype,

  doth no estate respect,

  But wher he comes,

  he makes them down to fall,

  Ne stayes he at,

  the hie sharpe wytted sect.

  For if that wytt,

  or worthy Eloquens,

  Or learnyng deape,

  coulde move hym to forbeare,

  O Grimoald then,

  thou hadste not yet gon hence

  But heare hadest sene,

  full many an aged yeare.

  Ne had the Mu

  ses loste so fyne a Floure,

  Nor had Miner-

  va wept to leave thee so,

  If wysdome myght

  have fled the fatall howre,

  Thou hadste not yet

  ben suffred for to go,

  A thousande doltysh

  Geese we myght have sparde,

  A thousande wytles

  heads, death might have found

  And taken them,

  for whom no man had carde,

  And layde them lowe,

  in deepe oblivious grounde,

  But Fortune fa-

  vours Fooles as old men saye

  And lets them lyve,

  and take the wyse awaye.

  ARTHUR GOLDING from The First Four Books of Ovid 1565

  [Proserpine and Dis]

  While in this garden Proserpine was taking hir pastime,

  In gathering eyther Violets blew, or Lillies white as Lime,

  And while of Maidenly desire she fillde hir Maund and Lap,

  Endevoring to outgather hir companions there. By hap

  Dis spide hir: lovde hir: caught hir up: and all at once well neere:

  So hastie, hote, and swift a thing is Love, as may appeare.

  The Ladie with a wailing voyce afright did often call

  Hir Mother and hir waiting Maides, but Mother most of all

  And as she from the upper part hir garment would have rent,

  By chaunce she let her lap slip downe, and out the flowres went.

  And such a sillie simplenesse hir childish age yet beares,

  That even the verie losse of them did move hir more to teares.

  [Daphne and Apollo]

  I pray thee Nymph Penaeis stay, I chase not as a fo:

  Stay Nymph: the Lambes so flee the Wolves, the Stags the Lions so:

  With flittring fethers sielie Doves so from the Gossehauke flie,

  And every creature from his foe. Love is the cause that I

  Do followe thee: alas alas how woulde it grieve my heart,

  To see thee fall among the briers, and that the bloud should start

  Out of thy tender legges, I wretch the causer of thy smart.

  The place is rough to which thou runst, take leysure I thee pray,

  Abate thy flight, and I my selfe my running pace will stay.

  Yet would I wishe thee take advise, and wisely for to viewe

  What one he is that for thy grace in humble wise doth sewe.

  I am not one that dwelles among the hilles and stonie rockes,

  I am no sheepehearde with a Curre, attending on the flockes:

  I am no Carle nor countrie Clowne, nor neathearde taking charge

  Of cattle grazing here and there within this Forrest large.

  Thou doest not know poore simple soule, God wote thou dost not knowe,

  From whome thou fleest. For if thou knew, thou wouldste not flee me so.

  In Delphos is my chiefe abode, my Temples also stande

  At Glaros and at Patara within the Lycian lande.

  And in the Ile of Tenedos the people honour mee.

  The king of Gods himself is knowne my father for to bee.

  By me is knowne that was, that is, and that that shall ensue,

  By mee men learne to sundrie tunes to frame sweete ditties true.

  In shooting I have stedfast hand, but surer hand had hee

  That made this wound within my heart that heretofore was free.

  Of Phisicke and of surgerie I found the Artes for neede

  The powre of everie herbe and plant doth of my gift proceede.

  Nowe wo is me that neare an herbe can heale the hurt of love

  And that the Artes that others helpe their Lord doth helpelesse prove.

  As Phœbus would have spoken more, away Penaeis stale

  With fearefull steppes, and left him in the midst of all his tale.

  And as shee ran the meeting windes hir garments backewarde blue,

  So that hir naked skinne apearde behinde hir as she flue,

  Hir goodly yellowe golden haire that hanged loose and slacke,

  With every puffe of ayre did wave and tosse behind hir backe.

  Hir running made hir seeme more fayre. The youthfull God therefore

  Coulde not abyde to waste his wordes in dalyance any more.

  But as his love advysed him he gan to mende his pace,

  And with the better foote before the fleeing Nymph to chace.

  And even as when the greedie Grewnde doth course the sielie Hare

  Amiddes the plaine and champion fielde without all covert bare,

  Both twaine of them do straine themselves and lay on footemanship,

  Who may best runne with all his force the tother to outstrip,

  The tone for safetie of his lyfe, the tother for his pray,

  The Grewnde aye prest with open mouth to beare the Hare away,

  Thrusts forth his snoute, and gyrdeth out, and at hir loynes doth snatch,

  As though he would at everie stride betweene his teeth hir latch:

  Againe in doubt of being caught the Hare aye shrinking slips,

  Upon the sodaine from his Jawes, and from betweene his lips:

  So farde Apollo and the Mayde: hope made Apollo swift,

  And feare did make the Mayden fleete devising how to shift.

  Howebeit he that did pursue of both the swifter went,

  As furthred by the feathred wings that Cupid had him lent:

  So that he would not let hir rest, but preased at hir heele

  So neere that through hir scattred haire shee might his breathing feele.

  But when she sawe hir breath was gone and strength began to fayle,

  The colour faded in hir cheekes, and ginning for to quayle,

  Shee looked too Penœus streame, and sayde, nowe Father dere,

  And if yon streames have powre of Gods, then help your daughter here.

  O let the earth devour me quicke, on which I seeme to fayre,

  Or else this shape which is my harme by chaunging straight appayre.

  This piteous prayer scarsly sed: hir sinewes waxed starke,

  And therewithall about hir breast did grow a tender barke.

  Hir haire was turned into leaves, hir armes in boughes did growe,

  Hir feete that were ere while so swift, now rooted were as slowe.

  Hir crowne became the toppe, and thus of that she earst had beene,

  Remayned nothing in the worlde, but beautie fresh and greene.

  Which when that Phœbus did beholde (affection did so move)

  The tree to which his love was turnde he coulde no lesse but love.

  And as he softly layde his hand upon the tender plant,

  Within the barke newe overgrowne he felt hir heart yet pant.

  And in his armes embracing fast hir boughes and braunches lythe,

 
He proferde kisses too the tree: the tree did from him writhe.

  Well (quoth Apollo) though my Feere and spouse thou can not bee,

  Assuredly from this time forth yet shalt thou be my tree.

  Thou shalt adorne my golden lockes, and eke my pleasant Harpe,

  Thou shalt adorne my Quyver full of shaftes and arrowes sharpe,

  Thou shalt adorne the valiant knyghts and royall Emperours:

  When for their noble feates of armes like mightie conquerours,

  Triumphantly with stately pompe up to the Capitoll,

  They shall ascende with solemne traine that doe their deedes extoll.

  Before Augustus Pallace doore full duely shalt thou warde,

  The Oke amid the Pallace yarde aye faythfully to garde,

  And as my heade is never poulde nor never more without

  A seemely bushe of youthfull haire that spreadeth rounde about:

  Even so this honour give I thee continually to have

  Thy braunches clad from time to tyme with leaves both fresh and brave.

  Now when that Pean of this talke had fully made an ende,

  The Lawrell to his just request did seeme to condescende,

  By bowing of hir newe made boughes and tender braunches downe,

  And wagging of hir seemely toppe, as if it were hir crowne.

  1567 ARTHUR GOLDING from The Fifteen Books of Ovid

  [Medea’s Incantation]

  Before the Moone should circlewise close both hir homes in one

  Three nightes were yet as then to come. Assoone as that she shone

  Most full of light, and did behold the earth with fulsome face,

  Medea with hir haire rot trust so much as in a lace,

  But flaring on hir shoulders twaine, and barefoote, with hir gowne

  Ungirded, gate hir out of doores and wandred up and downe

  Alone the dead time of the night: both Man, and Beast, and Bird

  Were fast a sleepe: the Serpents slie in trayling forward stird

  So softly as you would have thought they still a sleepe had bene.

  The moysting Ayre was whist: no leafe ye could have moving sene.

  The starres alonly faire and bright did in the welkin shine.

  To which she lifting up hir handes did thrise hirselfe encline,

  And thrice with water of the brooke hir haire besprincled shee:

  And gasping thrise she opte hir mouth: and bowing downe hir knee

  Upon the bare hard ground, she said: O trustie time of night

  Most faithfull unto privities, O golden starres whose light

  Doth jointly with the Moone succeede the beames that blaze by day

  And thou three headed Hecaté who knowest best the way

  To compasse this our great attempt and art our chiefest stay:

  Ye Charmes and Witchcrafts, and thou Earth which both with herbe and weed

  Of mightie working furnishest the Wizardes at their neede:

  Ye Ayres and windes: ye Elves of Hilles, of Brookes, of Woods alone,

  Of standing Lakes, and of the Night approche ye everychone.

  Through helpe of whom (the crooked bankes much wondring at the thing)

  I have compelled streames to run cleane backward to their spring.

  By charmes I make the calme Seas rough, and make the rough Seas plaine

  And cover all the Skie with Cloudes, and chase them thence againe.

  By charmes I rayse and lay the windes, and burst the Vipers jaw,

  And from the bowels of the Earth both stones and trees doe drawe.

  Whole woods and Forestes I remove: I make the Mountaines shake,

  And even the Earth it selfe to grone and fearfully to quake.

  I call up dead men from their graves: and thee O lightsome Moone

  I darken oft, though beaten brasse abate thy perill soone

  Our Sorcerie dimmes the Morning faire, and darkes the Sun at Noone.

  ALEXANDER SCOTT 1568

  To luve unluvit it is ane pane

  for scho that is my soverane

  sum wantoun man so he hes set hir

  that I can get no lufe agane

  5

  bot brekis my hairt and nocht the bettir.

  Quhen that I went with that sweit may

  to dance to sing to sport and pley

  and oft times in my armis plet hir

  I do now murne both nycht and day

  10

  and brekis my hart and nocht the bettir.

  Quhair I wes wont to se hir go

  rycht trymly passand to and fro

  with cumly smylis quhen that I met hir –

  and now I leif in pane and wo

  15

  and brekis my hairt and nocht the bettir.

  Quhattane ane glaikit fule am I

  to slay my self with malancoly

  sen weill I ken I may nocht get hir

  or quhat suld be the caus and quhy

  20

  to brek my hairt and nocht the bettir.

  My hairt, sen thou may nocht hir pleis

  adew! – as gud lufe cumis as gais.

  Go chus ane udir and foryet hir.

  God gif him dolour and diseis

  25

  that brekis thair hairt and nocht the bettir.

  ANONYMOUS

  Christ was the word that spake it;

  Hee tooke the bread and brake it;

  And what that Word did make it,

  I doe beleeve and take it.

  (1960)

  1579 EDMUND SPENSER from The Shepheardes Calender

  [Roundelay]

  Perigot

  It fell upon a holly eve,

  Willye

  hey ho hollidaye,

  Per.

  When holly fathers wont to shrieve:

  Wil.

  now gynneth this roundelay.

  5

  Per.

  Sitting upon a hill so hye

  Wil.

  hey ho the high hyll,

  Per.

  The while my flocke did feede thereby,

  Wil.

  the while the shepheard selfe did spill:

  Per.

  I saw the bouncing Bellibone,

  10

  Wil.

  hey ho Bonibell,

  Per.

  Tripping over the dale alone,

  Wil.

  she can trippe it very well:

  Per.

  Well decked in a frocke of gray,

  Wil.

  hey ho gray is greete,

  15

  Per.

  And in a Kirtle of greene saye,

  Wil.

  the greene is for maydens meete:

  Per.

  A chapelet on her head she wore,

  Wil.

  hey ho chapelet,

  Per.

  Of sweete Violets therein was store,

  20

  Wil.

  she sweeter then the Violet.

  Per.

  My sheepe did leave theyr wonted foode,

  Wil.

  hey ho seely sheepe,

  Per.