And in that place the swarty clowdes were hong,
Downe from the West the half-fac’d Cynthia flong
As shee had posted forth to tell the Sonne,
What in his absence in her Court was done.
The glymmering starr’s like Sentinels in warre,
Behind the Clowdes as thieues doe stand to pry,
And through false loope-holes looking out a farre,
To see him skirmish with his destenie,
As they had held a counsell in the Sky,
And had before consulted with the night,
Shee should be darke, and they would hide their light.
In deadly silence all the shores are hush’d,
Onely the Shreechowle sounds to the assault,
And Isis with a troubled murmure rush’d,
As shee had done her best to hide the fault,
A little whispering moou’d within the vault,
Made with his tuching softly as he went,
Which seem’d to say it furthered his intent.
This wondrous Queene, whom care from rest had kept,
Now for his speed to heauen holds vp her hands,
A thousand thoughts within her bosome heap’d,
Now in her Closset listning still she stands,
And though deuided as in sundry strands,
Yet absent, present in desires they bee,
For minds discerne, where eyes could neuer see.
Loe now he thinks he vaulteth in her sight,
Still taking courage, strengthned by her words,
Imagining shee sported with delight,
To see his strong armes stretch the tackling coards,
And oft a smyle vnto his toyle affords:
And when shee doubted danger, might her heare,
Call him her soule, her life, her Mortimer.
Nowe doth shee wooe the walls, intreat and kisse,
And then protests to memorize the place,
And to adorne it with a Piramis,
Whose glory wrack of time should not deface.
Then to the cord shee turnes her selfe a space,
And promiseth, if that should set him free,
A sacred relique it should euer bee.
Shee saith, the small clowds issuing from his breath,
Seasond with sweet from whence they lately came,
Should cleere the ayre from pestilence and death,
And like Promethian life-begetting flame,
Pure bodies in the element should frame;
And to what part of heauen they hapt to stray,
There should they make another milkie way.
Attaind the top his tyred lymm’s to breath,
Mounted in tryumph on his miseries,
The gentle earth salutes him from beneath:
And couer’d with the comfortable skyes,
Lightned with beames of Isabella’s eyes,
Downe from the Turret desperatly doth slide;
Now for a kingdome, Fortune be his guide.
As hee descends, so doe her eyes ascend,
As feare had fixt them to behold his fall;
Then from the sight, away her sight doth bend,
When chilly coldnes doth her hart appall,
Then out for helpe shee suddainly doth call;
Silent againe, watching if ought should hap,
Her selfe might be the ground, his graue her lap.
Now doth she court the gentle calmie ayre,
And then againe shee doth coniure the winde;
Now doth she try to stop the night by prayer,
And then with spells the heauy sence to binde;
Then by the burning Tapers shee diuinde;
Now shee intreats faire Thames that hee might passe
The Hellespont where her Leander was.
The brushing murmure stills her like a song,
Yet fearing least the streame should fall in loue,
Enuies the drops which on his tresses hong,
Imagining the waues to stay him stroue;
And when the billowes with his brest he droue,
Grieued there-with, shee turnes away her face,
Iealous least hee the billowes should embrace.
Shee likneth him to the transformed Bull,
Which curll’d the fayre flood with his Iuory flanck,
When on his backe he bare the louely trull,
Floting along vnto the Cretan banck,
Comparing this to that lasciuious pranck,
And swears then hee, no other Ioue there were,
If shee Europa had been present there.
Thus seekes he life, encourag’d by his loue,
Yet for his loue his life he doth eschue,
Danger in him a deadly feare doth moue,
And feare enuits him danger to pursue,
Rage stirr’s reuenge, reuenge doth rage renue:
Danger and feare, rage and reuenge at strife,
Life warr’s with loue, and loue contends with life.
Thys angry Lyon hauing slypp’d his chayne,
Now like a Quartain, makes King Edward quake,
Who knew too well, ere he was caught againe,
Some of his flock his bloody thirst must slake;
And vnawares intangled in this brake,
Sawe further vengeance hanging in the wind,
Knowing too well, the greatnes of his mind.
Thys once againe the world begins to worke,
Theyr hopes (at length) vnto thys issue brought,
Whilst yet the Serpent in his Den doth lurke,
Of whom God knowes, the King full little thought,
The instrument which these deuises wrought.
For ther’s no treason woundeth halfe so deepe,
As that which doth in Princes bosoms sleepe.
Now must the Cleargie serue them for a cloke,
The Queene her state vnto the time must fit,
But tis the Church-man which must strike the stroke,
Now must thys Prelate shew a statesmans wit,
They cast the plot, and March must manage it;
They both at home together lay on load,
And he the Agent to effect abroad.
Who sweetly tunes his well-perswading tong,
In pleasing musick to the French-kings ears,
The sad discourse of Isabellas wrong,
With tragick action forcing silent tears,
Moouing to pitty euery one that hears,
That by discouery of thys foule reproch,
Old mischiefes so, might new be set abroch.
Whilst they are tempring in these home-bred iarres,
How for the Scot fit passage might be made,
To lay the ground of these succesfull warrs,
That hope might giue him courage to inuade,
And from the King the Commons to perswade;
That whilst at home his peace he would assure,
His further plague in Fraunce he might procure.
By these reports, all circumstances knowne,
Sounds Charles of Fraunce into the lists againe,
To ceaze on Guyen by Armes to clayme his owne,
Which Edward doth vnlawfully detaine,
Homage for Pontieu, and for Aquitaine,
Reuoking this dishonorable truce,
Vrg’d by his wrongs, and Isabels abuse.
The spirits thus rayz’d which haunt him day and night,
And on his fortune heauen doth euer lower,
Danger at hand, and mischiefe still in sight,
Ciuill sedition weakning still his power,
No ease of paine one minute in the hower:
T’ intreat of peace with Charles, he now must send,
Else all his hopes in Fraunce were at an end.
Heere is the poynt wherein all poynts must end,
Which must be handled with no meane regard,
The prop whereon this building must depend,
Which must by leuell curiouslie be squard,
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The cunningst descant that had yet beene hard.
Heere close conueyance must a meane prouide,
Else might the ambush easely be discride.
Or this must helpe, or nothing serues the turne,
This way, or no way, all must come about,
To blowe the fier which now began to burne,
Or tind the strawe before the brand went out,
This is the lot which must resolue the doubt,
To walke the path where Edward bears the light,
And take their ayme by leuell of his sight.
This must a counsell seriously debate,
In grauest iudgements fit to be discust,
Beeing a thing so much consernes the state,
Edward in this, must to their wisedomes trust,
No whit suspecting but that all were iust.
Especially the Church whose mouth shoud be,
The Oracle of truth and equitie.
Torlton whose tongue, mens eares in chaines could tye,
Whose words, euen like a thunderbolt could pearce,
And were alowd of more aucthoritie,
Then was the Sibills olde diuining verse,
Which were of force a iudgement to reuerse:
Now for the Queene, with all his power doth stand,
To lay this charge on her well-guiding hand.
What helpes her presence to the cause might bring,
First as a wife, a sister, and a mother,
A Queene to deale, betwixt a King, and King,
To right her sonne, her husband, and her brother,
And each to her indifferent as the other:
Which colour serues to worke in these extreames,
That which (God knowes) King Edward neuer dreames.
Torlton is this thy spirituall pretence?
Would God thy thoughts were more spirituall,
Or lesse perswasiue were thy eloquence,
But ô thy actions are too temporall,
Thy reasons subtill and sophisticall:
Would all were true thy suposition sayth,
Thy arguments lesse force, or thou more fayth.
Thus is the matter managed with skill,
To his desires, their meanes thus to deuise,
To thrust him on, to drawe them vp the hill,
That by his strength, they might get power to rise,
This great Archmaster of all policies:
In the beginning wisely had forcast,
How ere things went, which way they must at last.
With sweetest hony, thus he baytes the snare,
And clawes the beast till he be in the yoke,
In golden cups he poyson doth prepare,
And tickles where he meanes to strike the stroke,
Giuing the bone whereas he meant to choke:
And by all helpes of Arte doth smooth the way,
To send his foe, downe head-long to decay.
Shee which thus fitly had both winde and tide,
And sawe her passage serue the hower so right,
Whilst things thus fadge are quicke dispatch applide,
To take her time whilst yet the day is light,
Who hath beene tyerd in trauell feares the night:
And finding all too much to change inclind,
And euery toy soone altering Edwards mind.
Her followers such as frendlesse else had stood,
Supprest and troden with the Spensers pride,
Whose howses Edward branded had with blood,
And but with blood could not be satisfi’d,
Who for reuenge did but the hower abide;
And knew all helpes, that mischiefe could inuent,
To shake the state, and further her intent.
Thus on the wronged, she her wrongs doth rest,
And vnto poyson, poyson doth applie,
Her selfe oprest, to harden the oprest,
And with a spye, to intercept a spye,
An Enemie, against an Enemie.
Hee that will gaine what policie doth heede,
By Mercurie must deale, or neuer speede.
Now Mortimer, whose mayne was fully set,
Seeing by fortune all his hopes were crost,
His strugling still how he againe might get,
That which before his disaduantage lost,
Not once dismayd though in these tempests tost:
Nor in affliction is he ouerthrowne,
To Mortimer all Countries are his owne.
Englands an Ile where all his youth he spent,
Enuiron’d valure in it selfe is drownd,
But now he liues within the continent,
Which being boundlesse, honour hath no bound,
Here through the world, doth endlesse glory sound:
To fames rich treasure Time vnlocks the dore,
Which angry Fortune had shut vp before.
What wayes he of his wealth, our Wigmore left,
Let builded heapes, let Rocks and Mountaines stand,
Goods oft be held by wrong, first got by theft,
Birds haue the ayre, Fish water, Men the land,
Alcides pitch’d his pillers in the sand.
Men looke vp to the starres thereby to knowe,
As they doe progresse heauen, he earth should doe.
And to this end, did Nature part the ground,
Else had not man beene King vpon the Sea,
Nor in depths her secrets had beene found,
If to all parts on firme had layne his way,
But she to shewe him where her wonders lay:
To passe the floods, this meane for him inuents,
To trample on these baser elements.
Neuer sawe France, no neuer till this day,
A mind more great, more free, more resolute,
Let all our Edwards say, what Edwards may,
Our Henries, Talbot, or our Mountacute,
To whom our royall conquests we impute:
That Charles him selfe, oft to the Peers hath sworne,
This man alone, the Destinies did scorne.
Vertue can beare, what can on Vertue fall,
Who cheapeneth honour, must not stand on price,
Who beareth heauen (they say) can well beare all,
A yeelding mind doth argue cowardize,
Our haps doe turne as chaunces on the dice.
Nor neuer let him from his hope remoue,
That vnder him hath mould, the starres aboue.
Let dull-braynd slaues contend for mud and earth,
Let blocks and stones, sweat but for blocks and stones,
Let peasants speake of plenty and of dearth,
Fame neuer lookes so lowe as on these drones,
Let courage manage Empiers, sit on thrones.
And he that Fortune at commaund will keepe,
He must be suer, he neuer let her sleepe.
Who wins her grace, must with atchiuements wooe her,
As shee is blind, so neuer had shee eares,
Nor must with puling eloquence goe to her,
Shee vnderstands not sighes, she heares not prayers,
Flatterd shee flyes, controld shee euer feares;
And though a while shee nicely doe forsake it,
Shee is a woman, and at length will take it.
Nor neuer let him dreame once of a Crowne,
For one bad cast, that will giue vp his game,
And though by ill hap he be ouerthrowne,
Yet let him manage her, till shee be tame,
The path is set with danger leads to fame:
When Minos did the Graecians flight denie,
He made him wings, and mounted through the skie.
THE cheerefull morning cleeres her cloudie browes,
The vaporie mists are all disperst and spred,
Now sleepie Time his lazie lims doth rouze,
And once beginneth to hold vp his head,
Hope bloometh faire, whose roote was wel nere dead,
The clue of
sorrowe to the end is ronne,
The bowe appeares to tell the flood is donne.
Nature lookes backe to see her owne decay,
Commaunding age to slacke her speedy pace,
Occasion forth her golden loake doth lay,
Whilst sorrowe paynts her wrinckle-withered face,
Day lengthneth day, and ioyes doe ioyes imbrace.
Now is she comming yet till she be heere,
My pen runnes slowe, each comma seemes a yeere.
She’s now imbarck’d, slide billowes for her sake,
Whose eyes can make your aged Neptune yong,
Sweet Syrens from the chaulkie cleeus awake,
Rauish her eares with some inchaunting song,
Daunce the Lauoltos all the sands along:
It is not Venus on your floods doth passe,
But one more fayre then euer Venus was.
You scalie Dolphins gaze vpon her eyes,
And neuer after with your kind make warre,
O steale the Musicke from her lips that flyes,
Whose accents like the tunes of Angels are,
Compard with whom Arions did but iarre.
Hugge them sweet ayre, and when the Seas doe rage,
Vse them as charmes thy tempests to aswage.
Sweet Sea-nymphs flock in sholes vpon the shores,
Fraunce kisse those feete whose steps thou first didst guide,
Present thy Queene with all thy gorgious store,
Now mayst thou reuell in thy greatest pride:
Shyp mount to heauen, and be thou stellified,
And next that starr-fix’d Argosie alone,
There take thou vp thy constellation.
Th’ exceeding ioy conceued by the Queene,
Or his content, to them I leaue to gesse
Who but the subiect of their thoughts haue seene,
Who I am sure, if they the truth confesse,
Will say that silence onely can expresse:
And when with honor shee fit time could take,
With sweet embraces thus shee him bespake.
O Mortimer, great Mortimer quoth shee,
What angry power such mischiefe could deuise,
To separate thy deerest Queene and thee,
Whom loues eternall vnion strongly tyes?
But seeing thee, vnto my longing eyes
(Though guiltlesse they,) this penance is assignd,
To gaze vpon thee vntill they be blind.
Sweet face, quoth shee, how art thou changed thus,
Since beauty on this louely front thou bor’st,
Like the yong Hunter fresh Hipolitus,
When in these curles my fauors first thou wor’st?
Now like great Ioue thy Iuno thou ador’st;
The Muses leaue theyr double-topped throne,
And on thy temples make theyr Helicon.
Come tell mee now what griefe and danger is,
Of paine and pleasure in imprisonment,
Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works Page 30