One hastes to clime, another doth ensue,
One fals, another for promotion gapes:
Flockmell they swarme like flies about the brim,
Some drowne whilst others with great danger swim.
And some on whome the Sunne shon passing fayre,
Yet of their summer nothing seeme to vaunte,
They sawe their fall presaged by the ayre,
If once this planet were predominant:
Thus in their gate they flew with wings of feare,
And still with care doe purchase honor deere.
Thus restles Time that neuer turnes againe,
Whose winged feete are sliding with the Sunne,
Brings Fortune in to act another scene
By whome the plot alreadie is begunne,
The argument of this same tragedie,
Is Virtues fall to raise vp infamie.
The brute is blowne, the King doth now pretend,
A long-look’d voyage to the Holy-land,
For which his subiects mightie sums doe lend,
And whilst the thing is hotly thus in hand,
Blinde Fortune turnes about her fickle wheele,
And breaks the prop which makes the building reele.
I feare to speake, yet speake I must perforce,
My wordes be turn’d to teares euen as I write,
Mine eyes doe yet behold his dying corse,
And on his hearse me thinkes I still indyte:
My paper is hard sable Ebon wood,
My pen of Iron, and my inke is blood.
Loe here, the time drue on of Edwards death,
Loe here, the dolefull period of his yeares,
O now he yeeldeth vp that sacred breath,
For whom the Heauens do shower down fluds of teares
For whom the Sunne, euen mourning hides his face,
For whom the earth was all to vile and base.
May I reporte his dolefull obsequie,
When as my Ghost doth tremble at his name?
Faine would I write, but as I write I die,
My ioyntes apald with feare, my hand is lame,
I leaue it to some sacred muse to tell,
Vpon whose life a Poets pen might dwell.
No sooner was his body wrapt in lead
And that his mournfull funerals were done,
But that the Crowne was set on Edwards head,
Sing I-o now my ghost, the storme is gone:
The winde blowes right, loe yonder breakes my day,
Caroll my muse, and now sing care away.
Carnaruan now cals home within a while
Whom worthie Long-shankes hated to the death,
Whom Edward swore should dye in his exile,
He was as deere to Edward as his breath,
This Edward lou’d that Edward loued not,
Kings wils performd: and dead mens words forgot.
Now waft me winde vnto the blessed Ile,
Rock me my ioyes, loue sing me with delight,
Now sleepe my thoughts, cease sorrowe for a while,
Now end my care, come day, farwell my night:
Sweet sences now act euery one his part,
Loe here the balme that hath recur’d my hart.
Loe now my Ioue in his ascendant is
In the aestiuall solstice of his glorie,
Now all the Stars prognosticate my blis,
And in the Heauen all eyes may reade my storie,
My comet now worlds wonder thus appeers
Foretelling troubles of insuing yeeres.
Now am I mounted with fames golden wings,
And in the Tropick of my fortunes height,
My flood maintayned with a thousand springs,
Now on my back supporting Atlas weight:
All tongues and pens attending on my prayse,
Sur-named now, the wonder of our dayes.
Who euer sawe the kindest romane dame
With extreame ioye yeeld vp her latest breath,
When from the warres her sonne triumphing came,
When stately Rome had mourned for his death:
Her passion here might haue exprest aright,
When once I came into the Princes sight.
Who euer had his Ladie in his armes,
That hath of loue but felt the miserie,
Touching the fire that all his sences warmes,
Now clips with ioy her blushing Iuorie.
Feeling his soule in such delights to melt,
Ther’s none but he can tell the ioye, we felt.
Like as when Phoebus darteth forth his rayes,
Gliding along the swelling Ocean streames,
Now whilst one billowe with another playes,
Reflecteth back his bright translucent beames:
Such was the conflict then betwixt our eyes
Sending forth lookes as teares doe fall and rise.
It seem’d the ayre deuisde to please my sight,
The whistling winde makes musick to my tale,
All things on earth now feast me with delight,
The world to me sets all her wealth to sale:
Who now rules all in courte but I alone,
Who highly grac’d but onely Gaueston?
Now like to Mydas all I touch is gould,
The cloudes doe shower downe gould into my lap,
If I but winke the mightiest are controulde,
Plac’d on the turret of my highest hap:
My cofers now, euen like to Oceans are,
To whom all floods by course doe still repayre.
With bountie now he franckly seales his loue,
And to my hands yeelds vp the Ile of Man,
By such a gifte his kingly minde to proue,
This was the earnest wherewith he began:
Then Walingford Queene Elnors stately dower,
With many a towne, and many a goodly tower.
And all those sums his father had preparde
By way of taxes for the holy land,
He gaue me francklie as my due rewarde:
In bountie thus, it seemd he pleasd his hand,
Which made the worlde to wonder euery houre,
To see me drowned in this golden showre.
Determin’d now to hoyst my sayle amaine,
The Earle of Cornewall he created me,
Of England then the Lord high Chamberlaine,
Chiefe Secretarie to his Maiestie:
What I deuisd, his treasure euer wrought,
His bountie still so answered to my thought.
Yet more to spice my ioyes with sweete delight,
Bound by his loue aprentice to my pleasure,
Whose eyes still leuel’d how to please my sight,
Whose kindnes euer so exceeded measure,
Deuis’d to quench my thirst with such a drinke
As from my quill drops Nectar to my inke.
O sacred Bountie mother of content,
Prop of renowne, the nourisher of arts,
The Crowne of hope, the roote of good euent,
The trumpe of Fame, the ioye of noble harts,
Grace of the Heauens, diuinitie in nature,
Whose excellence doth so adorne the creature.
He giues his Neece in mariage vnto me
Of Royall blood, for bewtie past compare,
Borne of his sister was this Bellamie,
Daughter to Gilbert thrice renowned Clare,
Chiefe of his house the Earle of Glocester,
For Princely worth that neuer had his peere.
Like Heauen-di’d Andromeda the fayre,
In her embrodered mantle richly dight,
With Starrie traine inthronis’d in the ayre,
Adorns the Welken with her glittering light,
Such one she was, which in my bosome rested,
With whose deare loue, my youthful yeres were feasted.
As when fayre Ver dight in her flowrie rayle,
In her new-coloured liueries decks the eart
h,
And glorious Tytan spreads his sun-shine vaile,
To bring to passe her tender infants birth:
Such was her bewtie which I then possest,
With whose imbracings all my youth was blest.
Whose purest thoughts and spotles chaste desire,
To my affections still so pleasing were,
Neuer yet toucht with sparke of Venus fier,
As but her breast I thought no Heauen but there:
To none more like then fayre Idea she,
The very image of all chastitie.
O chastitie, that guifte of blessed soul’s,
Comfort in death, a crowne vnto the life,
Which all the passions of the minde controul’s
Adornes the mayde, and bewtifies the wife:
That grace, the which nor death, nor time attaints,
Of earthly creatures making heauenly Saints.
O Virtue which no muse can poetize
Fayre Queene of England which with thee doth rest,
Which thy pure thoughts doe onely exercize,
And is impressed in thy royall breast,
Which in thy life disciphered is alone,
Whose name shall want a fit Epitheton.
The Heauens now seeme to frolick at my feaste,
The Stars as handmayds, seruing my desiers,
Now loue full fed with bewtie takes his rest,
To whom content, for saftie thus retiers:
The grounde was good, my footing passing sure,
My dayes delightsome, and my life secure.
Loe thus ambition creepes into my breast,
Pleasing my thoughts with this emperious humor,
And with this diuell being once possest,
Mine eares are fild with such a buzzing rumor,
As onely pride my glorie doth awaite,
My sences sooth’d with euerie selfe-conceite.
Selfe-loue, prides thirst, vnsatisfied desier,
A flood that neuer yet had any boundes,
Times pestilence, thou state-consuming fier,
A mischiefe which all common weales confoundes,
O Plague of plagues, how many kingdomes rue thee,
O happie Empiers that yet neuer knew thee!
And now reuenge which had been smoothered long,
Like piercing lightning flasheth from mine eyes,
This word could sound so sweetely on my tonge,
And with my thoughts such Stratagems deuise,
Tickling mine eares with many a pleasing storie,
Which promist wonders and a world of glorie.
For now began the bloodie-rayning broyles
Betweene the barons of the land and me,
Labouring the state with Ixion-endles toyles
Twixt my ambition and their tyrannie,
Such was the storme this diluge first begun,
With which this Ile was after ouerrun.
O cruell discord foode of deadly hate,
O mortall corsiue to a common weale,
Death-lingring consumption to a state,
A poysoned sore that neuer salue could heale:
O foule contagion deadly killing feuer,
Infecting oft, but to be cured neuer.
By courage now imboldned in my sinne,
Finding my King so surely linkt to me,
By circumstance I finely bring him in
To be an actor in this tragedie,
Perswading him the Barons sought his blood,
And on what tearmes these earth-bred giants stood.
And so aduancing to my Princes Grace
The baser sorte of factious qualitie,
As being raised vnto such a place
Might counterpoyse the proude Nobilitie,
And as my agents on my part might stand,
Still to support what ere I tooke in hand.
Suborning gesters still to make me mirth,
Vile Sycophants at euery word to sooth me,
Time-fawning Spaniels, Mermaydes on the earth,
Trencher-fed fools with flattering words to smooth me
Base Parasites, these elbowe-rubbing mates,
A plague to all lasciuious wanton states.
O filthie monkies vile and beastly kinde,
Foule pratling Parats berds of Harpie broode,
A corasiue to euery noble minde,
Vipers that suck your mothers deerest blood,
Mishapen monster, worst of any creature,
A foe to art, an enemy to nature.
His presence grac’t what ere I went about,
His chiefe content was that which liked mee,
What ere I did, his power still bare mee out,
And where I was, there euer-more was hee:
By byrth my Soueraigne, but by loue my thrall,
King Edwards Idoll all men did mee call.
Oft would he sette his crowne vpon my head,
And in his chayre sit downe vpon my knee,
And when his eyes with loue were fully fed,
A thousand times he sweetly kissed mee:
When did I laugh? and he not seene to smile?
If I but frownd, hee silent all the while.
But Fortune now vnto my ouer-throwe,
Intic’t mee on with her alluring call,
And still deuising how to worke my woe,
One bayte tan’e vp, she let another fall.
Thus Syren-like, she brings me to the bay
Where long before shee plotted my decay.
For now the King to Fraunce doth him prepare,
For marriage with the Princesse Isabel,
Daughter to Phillip then surnam’d the faire,
Who like to him in beauty did excell;
Of Tilts and tryumphs euery man reports,
And the vniting of these famous Courts.
And now the King to rayse me higher yet,
Makes me the Lord-protector of the Land,
And in the Chayre of his estate I sit,
Hee yeelds his Scepter vp into mine hand.
Deuising still how he to passe might bring,
That if he died, I might succeed as King.
His treasure now stood absolute to mee,
I dranck my pleasures in a golden cup,
I spent a world, I had aboundantly,
As though the earth had cast her bowels vp.
My reckonings cast, my summs were soone enroled,
I was by no man once to be controled.
Now being got as high as I could clyme,
And Fortune made my foote-cloth as I gest,
I paynt me braue with Tagus golden slyme,
Because I would enioy what I possest.
Aluding stil, that he is mad and worse,
Which playes the nyggard with a Princes purse.
And now the King returning with his trayne,
I summond all the chiefe Nobilitie,
And in my pompe, went foorth to entertayne
The Peers of Fraunce in all thys ioylitie.
Where, in my carridge were such honours placed,
As with my presence, all the showes were graced.
Guarded with troupes of Gallants as I went,
The people crouching still with cap and knee,
My port and personage so magnificent,
That (as a God) the Commons honored mee.
And in my pryde, loe thus I could deuise,
To seeme a wonder vnto all mens eyes.
In ritchest Purple rode I all alone,
With Diamonds imbroidered and bedight,
Which lyke the stars in Gallixia shone,
Whose lucter still reflecting with the light,
Presented heauen to all that euer gazed:
Of force to make a world of eyes amazed.
Vpon a stately Iennet forth I rode,
Caparisond with Pearle-enchased plumes,
Trotting as though the Measures he had trode,
Breathing Arabian Ciuit-sweet perfumes;
&
nbsp; Whose rarenes seemd to cast men in a traunce,
Wondred of England, and admir’d of Fraunce.
Like trident-maced Neptune in his pride,
Mounted vpon a Dolphin in a storme,
Vpon the tossing billowes forth doth ride,
About whose trayne a thousand Trytons swarme,
When Phoebus seemes to set the waues on fire,
To shew his glory and the gods desire.
Or like vnto the fiery-faced Sunne
Vpon his wagon prauncing in the West,
Whose blushing cheeks with flames seeme ouer-runne
Whilst sweating thus he gallops to his rest.
Such was the glory wherin now I stood,
Which makes the Barrons sweat their deerest blood.
Thus when these gallant companies were met,
The King heer present with his louely Queene,
And all the Nobles in due order set,
To heare and see what could be hard or seene:
Loe heer that kindnes easely is discride,
That faithful loue which hee nor I could hide.
Euen like as Castor when a calme begins,
Beholding then his starry-tressed brother,
With mirth and glee these Swan-begotten twins
Presaging ioy, the one embrace the other:
Thus one the other in our armes wee fold,
Our breasts for ioy, our harts could scarcely hold.
Or like the Nimphe beholding in a Well,
Her deerest loue, & wanting words to wooe him,
About his necke with clipped armes she fell,
Where by her fayth the gods conioynd her to him.
Such was the loue which now by signes we breake,
When ioy had tied our tongues, we could not speak.
Thus arme in arme towards London on wee rid,
And like two Lambes we sport in euery place,
Where neither ioy nor loue could well be hid
That might be seal’d with any sweet embrace:
So that his Queene, might by our kindnes proue,
Though shee his Wife, yet I alone his loue.
The Barrons now ambitious at my raigne,
As one that stoode betwixt them and the Sunne.
They vnderhand pursue me with disdaine,
And play the game which I before had wonne:
And malice now so hard the bellowes blew,
That through myne eares the sparks of fier flew.
Where in reuenge, the tryumphes they deuisd
To entertaine the King with wondrous cost,
Were by my malice suddainly surprisd,
The charge, their summons, and their honours lost;
Which in their thoughts reuenge so deeply raysed,
As with my blood they vow’d should be appeased.
As when within the soft and spungie soyle,
The wind doth peirce the intrals of the earth,
Where hurly burly with a restlesse coile
Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works Page 13