Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works
Page 21
Hence sprong that griefe, wc neuer gaue him rest,
This was the spirit wher-with he was possest.
26
This, had commission to commaund his crowne,
In all his course, conducted by this star,
This, with a smile could cleere each clowdy frown,
This, conquered him, which conquered al in war,
This, calm’d his thoughts in many a bloody iar:
This, taught his eyes their due attendance still,
This, held the raines which rul’d his princly wil.
27
Controuling Loue, proud Fortunes busie Factor,
The gaule of wit, sad Melancholies schoole,
Hart-killing corsiue, golden times detractor,
Life-fretting Canker, mischiefes poysoned toole,
The Ideots Idoll, but the wisemans foole:
A foe to friendship, enemie to truth,
The wrong misleader of our pleasing youth.
28
MY vertuous Father, famous then in Court,
Who liu’d in pompe, & Lorded with the best,
Whose mind was trobled with this strange report,
As one enshrining honor in his brest,
And as a man who euer lou’d mee best,
Foresaw the danger by such secret spyes,
Who still attended on the Princes eyes.
29
And he, who in the Kings own bosome slept,
Experience taught his deepest thoughts to sound,
Yet in his brest, the same he secret kept,
Nor would disclose the thing which he had found,
Who being hurt, must needs conceale the wound.
For why, he knew it was a dangerous thing,
In rule, or loue, but once to crosse a King.
30
And finding lust had kindled all this fire,
And his affection in extreams consisted,
He greatly fear’d his youthfull vaine desire,
Might grow impatient, being once resisted:
Yet in his humor, sith he still persisted,
With me his child, thought fittest to perswade,
Ere further he into the deepe durst wade.
31
SWEET gyrle (quoth he) the glory of my life,
The blessed and sole obiect of mine eyes,
For whom the Heauens with Nature fell at strife,
On whom the hope of all my fortune lies,
Whose youth, my age with comfort still supplies,
Whose very sight, my drouping hart doth raise,
And doth prolong thy aged fathers dayes.
32
Thou seest, a world vpon thy youth awaite,
That Paradice, where all delights do growe,
Thy peerlesse Beautie made so faire a baite,
The Bursle where Nature sets her ware to show,
Where blushing Roses, sleep in beds of snow,
The heaues haue fring’d thy fore-head with their gold;
That glasse wher heaue her-selfe may wel behold.
33
All gaze at Comets, choysest things be best,
The rarest pearles are euer dearest prized,
Seldom wants guests, where Beautie bids the feast,
Mens eyes with wonders neuer are suffised,
At fairest signes, best welcome is surmised.
The shrine of Loue, doth seldom offrings want.
Nor with such counsell, Clyents neuer scant.
34
Honor is grounded on the tickle Ice,
The purest Lawne, most apt for euery spot,
The path to hell, doth seeme a paradice,
Vices be noted, vertues oft forgot,
Thy fame once foild, incurable the blot.
Thy name defac’d, if toucht with any staine,
And once supplanted, neuer growes againe.
35
The Lechors tongue is neuer voyd of guile,
Nor Crocodile wants teares to win his pray,
The subtil’st Temptor hath the sweetest stile,
With rarest musick Syrens soon’st betray
Affection, will like fire himselfe bewray.
Time offers still each hower to do amisse,
And greatest dangers, promise greatest blisse.
36
Deceit, still with a thousand sleights is fraught,
Art, hath a world of secrets in her power,
Who hopes a Conquest, leaues no means vnsought,
Soft golden drops once peirc’d the brazen tower,
Care and Suspition is faire Beauties dower.
Guile, (like a Traytor) euer goes disguis’d,
Lust, oft is fild, but neuer is suffic’d.
37
This wanton Prince, whose soule doth swim in vice,
Whose lawlesse youth time neuer hath restrained,
He leaues no meanes vnprou’d, which may entice,
The rytes of wedlock wantonly profained;
His hands with blood of innocents distained.
This Lyon, would thy chastity deuoure,
Which kept by Vertue, lyes not in his power.
38
Laciuious will, the sences doth abuse,
Birth is no shaddow vnto tyranny,
No scepter serues dishonor to excuse,
Nor kinglie vaile can couer villanie,
Fame is not subiect to authoritie.
No plaister heales a deadly poysoned sore,
No secret hid, where slaunder keepes the dore.
39
No subtile plea reuokes dishonors error,
No law can quite, where Fame is once endited,
No armour proofe, against the conscience terror,
Gainst open shame, no Text can well be cyted,
The blow once giuen, cannot be euited.
If once the fire be to the powder got,
Tis then too late to seeke to flie the shot.
40
His youthfull loue, is like a sudden fire,
Whose heate extreame, of force decay it must,
The cause, proceeding from his lewd desire,
Is quickly out, and sooner turn’d to dust,
Yet frets the life, as iron frets with rust.
Sinne in a chaine, leads on her sister Shame,
And both in Giues, fast fettered to Defame.
41
The stately Eagle on his pitch doth stand,
And from the maine the fearfull foule doth smite,
Yet scornes to touch it lying on the land,
When he hath felt the sweet of his delite,
But leaues the same a pray to euery Kite.
With much we surfet, plenty makes vs poore,
The wretched Indian spurns the golden Ore.
42
Kings vse their Loues, as garments they haue worne
Weake stomacks loath, if once but fully fed,
The Saint once stolne, who doth the shrine adorne?
Or what is Nectar if it once be shed?
What Princes wealth can prize thy Maiden-head?
Which should be held as precious as thy breath,
Which once dissolu’d of force ensueth death.
43
Loe, here he makes a period with his teares,
Which from his eyes now make a sudden breach,
By which the weight of all his speech appeares,
In words so graue as seemed still to preach,
This Idioma with such power doth teach.
Whose tuned cadence doth such rules impart,
As deepely fixt each sentence in my hart.
44
O sacred counsell, true hart suppling balme,
Soule-curing plaster, time preseruing blisse,
Water of life, in euery suddaine qualme,
The heauens rich store-house, where all treasure is,
True guide, by whom foule Errors den we misse.
Night-burning Beacon, watch against mishaps,
Fore-sight, auoyding m
any after claps.
45
The King deluded in his loue the while,
His soule tormented in this quenchlesse fire,
With flattering hope his sences doth beguile,
Quickning the coales vnto his fond desire;
Affection growne too head-strong to retire,
Controles his silence, hating to be mute,
And still doth vrge him to commence his sute.
46
Thus carried on by his vnbridled thought,
He leaues no baite vnprou’d that might allure,
Deceit, a schoole of common fleights hath taught,
Desire, hath philters which desires procure,
Lust, puts most vnlawfull things in vre:
Nor yet in limmets euer could be bounded,
Till he himselfe, himselfe haue quite consounded.
47
But still perceiuing all deuises faile,
His traines in Court yet neuer tooke effect,
Now with his tongue determin’d to assaile,
And to this end doth all his thoughts direct,
Too much abused by his vaine suspect:
Too further daies, no longer would be posted,
But finding time, me brauely thus accosted.
48
GODDESSE, quoth he, when Nature thee engrayned,
With colours fetcht fro heauens eternall spring,
Little thought she, herselfe she could haue stayned.
Or grae’d the world with so diuine a thing.
But as a gyft to gratifie a King,
Seal’d thee this Charter, dated at thy birth,
To be the fair’st that euer liu’d on earth.
49
Locke not thy treasure, heauen doth giue the store,
A thousand Graces at thine eyes are fed,
Thy bosome, is the Angels secret dore,
Thy breast, the pillowes of faire Venus bed:
Regards of honour on thy browes are red.
Thy cheeks, the banquet where sweet Loue doth feast,
The royall Pawne of Beauties interest.
50
Thy lips, ye Bath where sorrows wounds are healed,
Where abstinence keepes Vertue in a diet,
And in thy wit, all wonders are reuealed,
Wisedom growne welthy, liueth there at quiet:
Thy modest eye controles Loues wanton ryot.
Thine eye, that planet clearer then the seauen,
Whose radient spledour lights ye world to heauen.
51
Fro thy sweet looks such streams of lightning glide,
As through the eyes do wound the very hart,
Killing, and curing, as they are applide,
Hurting, and healing, like Achilles Dart:
Which to the world do heauenly things impart.
And thou alone, the spirit of all delight,
Which like the sun, ioy’st all things with thy sight.
52
Could heauen allowe wher-with to lim thee forth,
Or earth afford things of esteeme to praise thee,
Were words sufficient to expresse thy worth,
Or could inuention to thy glory raise thee,
Could art deuise a waight wherby to peize thee:
But thy surpassing excellence is such,
As eyes may gaze, but nothing els can tuch.
53
Hee is thy King, who is becom thy subiect,
Thy soueraigne Lord, who onely seekes thy loue,
Thy beauty is his eyes commaunding obiect,
Who for thy sake, a thousand deaths would proue:
Sweet Maid let prayers some compassion moue.
Let Wolues, & Beares, be cruell in their kinds,
But women meeke, and haue relenting minds.
54
Loue forc’d the Gods, to things for Gods vnmeet,
Behold a Monarch kneeling to a maide,
Apollo, prostrate at his Daphnes feete,
Great Atlas bowes, on whom the heauen is staide;
Thy Ioue his Scepter on thy lap hath laide,
Thou in his throne doest sit as Chancellor.
And he become thy daylie Orator.
55
Looke on these browes, the perfect Map of care,
The truest mirrour of my miserie,
In wrinkled lines where sorrowes written are,
Where Time still reades on Loues Anotomy,
My bloodlesse vaines with greefes Phlebotomy:
A stanchlesse hart, dead-wounded, euer bleeding,
On who that nere-fild vulture Loue sits seeding.
56
Pitty this soule-euaporating smoke,
The purest incense of most perfect zeale,
These deep-fetcht sighes, confounding words halfe spoke,
Where swoln-ey’d passion doth her selfe reueale:
That ragefull fier, no reason can conceale.
Where torments last, & ioyes are still diluded,
Where all infernall torture is included.
57
Behold, the brim-full Cesterns of these eyes,
With surging Tydes of brackist teares frequented,
Where foodlesse Hope, still hunger-staruen lies,
In burning Pooles eternally tormented:
Which to betray, my hart at first consented.
Where as the spirit of woe, hath euer being,
Blinded in teares, yet in teares only seeing.
58
Shyne thou, like Cynthia vnder mine estate,
Thy tresses deckt with Ariadnes Crowne,
In pompe redubling costly Iunos rate,
And cloud the world in sable with a frowne:
Aduance thy friends, & throw the mighty downe.
Be thou admir’d through all this famous Ile,
Thy name enrol’d with neuer-dated stile.
59
Great troupes of Ladies shall attend my Gerle,
Thou on thy braue tryumphing Chariot borne,
Thy drinke shall be dissolued orient Pearle,
Thy princely Cup of rarest Vnicorne:
Then liue at ease, and laugh the world to scorne.
And if our musick cannot like thine eares,
Thy Ioue shall fetch thee musick from the Spheres.
60
Thy name, as my Empreza will I beare,
My well tun’d rymes, shall glory in thy praise,
Vpon my Crowne, thy fauors will I weare,
Figuring thy loue a thousand sundry wayes,
My power shall be thy shield at all assayes.
And thou my Saint, Kings offering to thy shrine.
Wondring thy beautie, as a thing diuine.
61
What if my Queene, Detractor of our blisse,
Thee by her hundreth-eyed Heardsman keepe,
Ile bring to passe, she shall her purpose misse,
My Mercurie shall lull him till he sleepe;
Loue euer laughs, when I clousie dooth weepe.
My prouidence, shall keepe her stomack vnder,
She may raise storms, but Ioue doth rule ye thunder
62
Thus hauing broke the Ice fro whence might spring
Sweet streames of loue in calme and fairer time,
And afterward, might ioyfull tydings bring,
The staire begun by which he thought to clyme,
Hoping due howres, now he had sed the chyme;
Leaues me, not knowing now wc way to turne me
Warm’d with ye fire, wc vnawars might burne me.
57
Behold, the brim-full Cesterns of these eyes,
With surging Tydes of brackist teares frequented,
Where foodlesse Hope, still hunger-staruen lies,
In burning Pooles eternally tormented:
Which to betray, my hart at first consented.
Where as the spirit of woe, hath euer being,
Blinded in teares, yet in teares only seeing.
58
> Shyne thou, like Cynthia vnder mine estate,
Thy tresses deckt with Ariadnes Crowne,
In pompe redubling costly Iunos rate,
And cloud the world in sable with a frowne:
Aduance thy friends, & throw the mighty downe.
Be thou admir’d through all this famous Ile,
Thy name enrol’d with neuer-dated stile.
59
Great troupes of Ladies shall attend my Gerle,
Thou on thy braue tryumphing Chariot borne,
Thy drinke shall be dissolued orient Pearle,
Thy princely Cup of rarest Vnicorne:
Then liue at ease, and laugh the world to scorne.
And if our musick cannot like thine eares,
Thy Ioue shall fetch thee musick from the Spheres.
60
Thy name, as my Empreza will I beare,
My well tun’d rymes, shall glory in thy praise,
Vpon my Crowne, thy fauors will I weare,
Figuring thy loue a thousand sundry wayes,
My power shall be thy shield at all assayes.
And thou my Saint, Kings offering to thy shrine,
Wondring thy beautie, as a thing diuine.
61
What if my Queene, Detractor of our blisse,
Thee by her hundreth-eyed Heardsman keepe,
Ile bring to passe, she shall her purpose misse,
My Mercurie shall lull him till he sleepe;
Loue euer laughs, when Ielousie dooth weepe.
My prouidence, shall keepe her stomack vnder,
She may raise storms, but Ioue doth rule ye thunder
62
Thus hauing broke the Ice fro whence might spring
Sweet streames of loue in calme and fairer time,
And afterward, might ioyfull tydings bring,
The staire begun by which he thought to clyme,
Hoping due howres, now he had sed the chyme;
Leaues me, not knowing now wc way to turne me
Warm’d with ye fire, wc vnawars might burne me.
63
Forth-with began strange factions in my thought,
And in my soule a sudden mutinie,
Feare and Desire, a doubtfull combat fought,
The tytle stands vpon extremitie:
My force was great, and strong mine enemie;
Till Resolution, seeing all begun,
Sent Succors in, by whom the field was won.
64
As thus mine honour in the Ballance hung,
Betwixt the worlds preferment and my fame,
This in mine eares, like Syrens sweetly sung,
That wisely still fore-warned me of shame:
Till Grace diuine from highest heaven came.
Now must I loose the prize, or win the Crown,
Till Vertue (currant) lastly way’d me down.
65
The time is come I must receiue my tryall,
His protestations subtilly accuse me,
My Chastitie sticks still to her deniall,
His promises false witnes do abuse me,