Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works

by Michael Drayton

  I am your King, though wanting Maiestie:

  But he who is the cause of all this teene,

  Is cruell March the Champion of the Queene.

  He hath my Crowne, he hath my Sonne, my wyfe,

  And in my throne tryumpheth in my fall,

  Is’t not inough but he will haue my lyfe?

  But more, I feare that yet this is not all,

  I thinke my soule to iudgement he will call:

  And in my death his rage yet shall not dye,

  But persecute me so, immortallie.

  And for you deadly hate me, let me liue,

  For that aduantage angrie heauen hath left,

  Fortune hath taken all that she did giue;

  Yet that reuenge should not be quite bereft,

  Shee leaues behind this remnant of her theft:

  That miserie should find that onely I,

  Am far more wretched then is miserie.

  Betwixt two beds these deuils straight enclos’d him,

  Thus done, vncouering of his secrete part,

  When for his death they fitly had disposd him,

  With burning yron thrust him to the hart.

  O payne beyond all paine, how much thou art!

  Which words, as words, may verbally confesse,

  But neuer pen precisely could expresse.

  O let his tears euen freezing as they light,

  By the impression of his monstrous payne,

  Still keepe this odious spectacle in sight,

  And shew the manner how the King was slaine,

  That it with ages may be new againe;

  That all may thether come that haue beene told it,

  And in that mirror of his griefes behold it.

  Still let the building sigh his bitter grones,

  And with a hollow cry his woes repeate,

  That sencelesse things euen mouing sencelesse stones,

  With agonizing horror still may sweat;

  And as consuming in their furious heate,

  Like boyling Cauldrons be the drops that fall,

  Euen as that blood for vengeance still did call,

  O let the wofull Genius of the place,

  Still haunt the pryson where his life was lost:

  And with torne hayre, and swolne ilfauored face,

  Become the guide to his reuengefull ghost,

  And night and day still let them walke the Coast:

  And with incessant howling terrifie,

  Or mooue with pitty all that trauell by.

  TRUE vertuous Lady, now of mirth I sing,

  To sharpen thy sweet spirit with some delight,

  And somwhat slack this mellancholie string,

  Whilst I of loue and tryumphs must indite,

  Too soone againe of passion must I write.

  Of Englands wonder, now I come to tell,

  How Mortimer first rose, when Edward fell.

  Downe lesser lights, the glorious Sunne doth clime▪

  His ioyfull rising is the worlds proude morne;

  Now is he got betwixt the wings of Tyme,

  And with the tyde of Fortune forwards borne,

  Good starrs assist his greatnes to subborne;

  Who haue, decreed his raigning for a while,

  All laugh on him, on whom the heauens doe smile.

  The pompous sinode of these earthly Gods,

  At Salsbury, appointed by their King,

  To set all euen which had been at ods,

  And into fashion, their dissignes to bring,

  That peace might now fro¯ their proceedings spring,

  And to establish what they had begun,

  Vnder whose cullour mighty things were done.

  Heere Mortimer is Earle of March created,

  Thys honor added to his Barronie,

  And vnto fame heere is he consecrated,

  That titles might his greatnes dignifie,

  As for the rest, he easely could supply▪

  Who knew a kingdom to her lap was throwne,

  Which hauing all, would neuer starue her owne.

  A pleasing calme hath smooth’d the troubled sea,

  The prime brought on with gentle falling showers,

  The misty breake yet proues a goodly day;

  And on their heads since heauen her •argesse powers,

  That onely ours, which we doe vse as ours:

  Pleasures be poore, and our delights be dead,

  When as a man doth not enioy the head.

  Tyme wanting bounds, still wanteth certainty,

  Of dangers past, in peace wee loue to heare,

  Short is the date of all extreamity,

  Long wished things a sweet delight doth beare,

  Better forgoe our ioyes then still to feare:

  Fortune her gifts in vaine to such doth gyue,

  As when they liue, seeme as they did not liue.

  Now stand they like the two starre-fixed Poles,

  Betwixt the which the circling Spheres doe moue,

  About whose Axeltree thys fayre Globe roules,

  Which that great Moouer by his strength doth shoue,

  Yet euery poynt still ending in theyr loue;

  For might is euer absolute alone,

  When of two powers there’s true coniunction.

  The King must take, what by theyr power they giue,

  And they protect what serues for theyr protection,

  They teach to rule, whilst he doth learne to liue,

  T’ whom all be subiect, liues in theyr subiection,

  Though borne to rule, yet crown’d by their election,

  Th’alegiance which to Edward doth belong,

  Doth make theyr faction absolutely strong.

  Twelue guide the King, his power theyr powers consist,

  Peers guide the King, they guide both King and Peers,

  Ill can the Brooke his owne selfe-streame resist,

  Theyr aged counsell, to his younger yeeres,

  Young Edward vowes, and all the while he steers;

  Wel might we think the man were more then blind,

  Which wanted Sea roomth, and could rule the wind.

  In lending strength, theyr strength they still retaine,

  Building his force, theyr owne they so repare,

  Vnder his raigne, in safety they doe raigne,

  They giue a kingdome, and doe keepe the care,

  They who aduenture, must the booty share,

  A Princes wealth in spending still doth spred,

  Like to a Poole with many fountaines fed.

  They sit at ease, though he sit in the throne,

  He shaddowes them who his supporters be,

  And in diuision they be two for one,

  An Empyre now must thus berul’d by three,

  What they make free, they challenge to be free;

  The King enioyeth, but what they lately gaue,

  They priuiledg’d to spend, leaue him to saue.

  Nine-score braue Knights belonging to his Court

  At Notingham, which all the Coast commaunds,

  All parts pay trybute, honor to his port,

  Much may he doe which hath so many hands,

  This rocke-built Castell, ouer-looks the Lands:

  Thus lyke a Gyant, still towards heauen doth ryse,

  And fayne would cast the Rocks against the skyes.

  Where ere he goes there pompe in tryumph goes,

  Ouer his head Fame soring still doth flye,

  Th’earth in his presence decks her selfe in showes,

  And glory sits in greatest Maiestie,

  Aboundance there doth still in Child-bed lye:

  For where Fortune her bountie will bestowe,

  There heauen and earth must pay what she doth owe.

  In Notingham, the Norths great glorious eye,

  Crowne of the beautious branch-embellish’d soyle,

  The throne emperiall of his Emperie,

  His resting place, releeuer of his •oyle,

  Here he enioyes h
is neuer-prized spoyle:

  There lyuing in a world of all delight,

  Beheld of all, and hauing all in sight.

  Here all along the flower-enameld vales,

  Cleere Trent vpon the pearly sand doth slide,

  And to the Meadowes telling wanton tales,

  Her christall lims lasciuiously in pride,

  With thousand turnes shee casts from side to side:

  As loth shee were the sweet soyle to forsake,

  And throw her selfe into the German lake.

  Whence great hart-harboring Sherwood wildly roues,

  Whose leauie Forrests garlanding her Towers,

  Shadowing the small Brooks with her Ecchoing groues,

  whose thick-plashd sides repulse the Northerne showers,

  Where Nature sporting in her secret Bowers:

  This strong built Castell hurketh in her shade,

  As to this end she onely had beene made.

  There must the glorious Parliament be held,

  Earth must come in, when awfull heauen doth send,

  For whether Ioue his powerfull selfe doth weld,

  Thether all powers them selues must wholly bend,

  Whose hand holds thunder, who dare him offend?

  And where proud conquest keepeth all in awe,

  Kings oft are forc’d in seruile yokes to drawe.

  Heere sit they both vnder the rich estate,

  Yet neither striue the vpper hand to get,

  In pompe and power both equall at a rate,

  And as they came, so are they friendly set,

  He entreth first, which first in entring met;

  A King at least the Earle of March must be,

  Or else the maker of a King is hee.

  Perhaps, he with a smyle the King will grace,

  His knees growe stiffe, they haue forgot to bow,

  And if he once haue taken vp his place,

  Edward must come, if he his will would know,

  A foote out of his seate he cannot goe;

  Thys small word subiect, pricks him like a sting,

  My Empyres Colleage, or my fellow King.

  O had felicity feeling of woe,

  Or could on meane but moderatly seede,

  Or would looke downe the way that he must goe,

  Or could abstaine from what diseases breede,

  To stop the wound before to death he bleede,

  Warre should not fill Kings Pallaces with moane,

  Nor perrill come when tis least thought vpon.

  Ambition with the Eagle loues to build,

  Nor on the Mountayne dreads the winters blast,

  But with selfe-soothing doth the humor guild,

  With arguments correcting what is past,

  Fore-casting Kingdomes, daungers vnforecast:

  Leauing this poore word of content to such,

  Whose earthly spirits haue not his fierie •uch.

  But pleasures neuer dine but on excesse,

  Whose dyet made to drawe on all delight,

  And ouercome in that sweet drunkennes,

  His appetite maintayned by his sight,

  Strengthneth desier, but euer weakneth might:

  Vntill this vlcer ripening to a head,

  Vomits the poyson which it nourished.

  Euen as a flood swelling beyond his bounds,

  Doth ouer-presse the channell where he flowd,

  And breaking forth, the neighbour Meadows drowns,

  That of him selfe, him selfe doth quite vnload,

  Dispearcing his owne greatnes all abroad:

  Spending the store he was maintayned by,

  Empties his Brooke, and leaues his Channell dry.

  Vpon this Subiect, enuie might deuise,

  Here might she prooue her mischeese-working wings,

  An obiect for her euer-waking eyes,

  Wherein to stick a thousand deadly stings,

  A ground whereon to build as many things:

  For where our actions measure no regard,

  Our lawlesse will is made his owne reward.

  Here vengeance calls destruction vp from hell,

  Coniuring mischeese to deuise a curse,

  Increasing that, which more and more did swell,

  Adding to ill, to make this euill worse,

  Whilst hatefull pride becomes ambitions nurse:

  T’is incedent to those whom many feare,

  Many to them more greeuous hate doe beare.

  And now those fewe which many tears had spent,

  And long had wept on olde King Edwards graue,

  Find some begin to pittie their lament,

  Wishing the poore yet some redresse might haue,

  Reuenge cannot denie what death doth craue:

  Opening their cares what so abhord their eyes,

  Ill will too soone regardeth enuies cryes.

  Time calls account of what before is past,

  All thrust on mallice pressing to be hard,

  Vnto misfortune all men goe too fast,

  Seldome, aduantage is in wrongs debard,

  Nor in reuenge a meane is neuer spard:

  For when once pryde but poynteth towards his fall,

  He bears a sword to wound him selfe with all.

  Edward whose shoulders now were taught to peyze,

  Briarius burthen, which opprest him so,

  His current stop’d with these outragious Seas,

  Whose gulfe receau’d the tyde should make him flowe,

  This Rocke cast in the way where he must goe:

  That honor brooks, no fellowship hath tryde,

  Nor neuer Crowne Corriuall could abyde.

  Some vrge that March, meaning by blood to rise,

  First cut off Kent, fearing he might succeed,

  Trayning the King to what he did deuise,

  Lymming in cullors this vnlawfull deed,

  And to his owne, the royall blood to weed:

  Thus euery strawe prooues fewell to the fier,

  When counsell doth concurre with our desier.

  All fence the tree which serueth for a shade,

  Whose great growne body doth repulse the wind,

  Vntill his wastfull branches doe inuade,

  The straighter plants, and them in pryson bind,

  Then lyke a foule deuower of his kind:

  Vnto his roote all put their hands to hewe,

  Whose roomth but hinder other which would grow.

  Greatnes, lyke to the Sunnes reflecting powers,

  The fen-bred vapours naturally exhales,

  And is the cause that oft the euening lowers,

  When foggie mists enlarge their duskie failes,

  That his owne beams, he in the clouds impales:

  And eyther must extinguish his owne light,

  Or by his vertue cause his propper night.

  Of winter thus whilst they prognosticate,

  He hath the Sommer, and a fruitfull yeare,

  And still is soothed by his flattering fate,

  For still the starre which guides him doth appeare;

  Hee looks far off, yet sees not daunger neare:

  For oft we see before a sodaine shower,

  The sunne shines hott’st, and hath the greatest power.

  Now sphears with Musick make a new worlds birth,

  Bring on againe olde Saturns golden raigne,

  Renewe this wearie barren-wombed earth,

  And rayse aloft the sunnes declyning wayne,

  And by your power make all things young agayne:

  Orpheus, once more to Thebes olde Forrests bring,

  Drinke Nectar, whilst the Gods are banquetting.

  Within this Castell had the Queene deuisd,

  A stately Chamber with the pensill wrought,

  Within whose compasse was imparadizd,

  What euer Arte or rare inuention taught,

  As well might seeme far to exceed all thought:

  That were the thing on earth to moue delight,

  He should n
ot want it to content his sight.

  Heere Phoebus clipping Hiacynthus stood,

  Whose lyues last drops, his snowie breast imbrewe,

  Mixing his christall tears with purple blood,

  As were it blood or tears, none scarcely knewe,

  Yet blood and tears, one from the other drewe:

  The little wood-nimphs chasing him with balme,

  To rayse this sweet Boy from this deadly qualme.

  Here lyes his Lute, his Quiuer, and his bowe,

  His golden mantle on the greene-spred ground,

  That from the things themselues none could them know,

  The sledge so shadowed, still seem’d to rebound,

  Th’wound beeing made, yet still to make a wound:

  The purple flower with letters on the leaues,

  Springing that Nature, oft her selfe deceaues.

  The milke-white Heifor, Io, Ioues faire rape,

  Viewing her new-ta’en figure in a Brooke,

  The water seeming to retayne the shape,

  Which lookes on her, as shee on it doth looke,

  That gazing eyes oft-times them selues mistooke:

  By prospectiue deuis’d that looking nowe,

  Shee seem’d a Mayden, then againe a Cowe.

  Then Mercurie amidst his sweetest ioyes,

  Sporting with Hebe by a Fountayne brim,

  Clipping each other with lasciuious toyes,

  And each to other lapped lim to lim,

  On tufts of flowers which loosely seeme to swim:

  Which flowers in sprinckled drops doe still appeare,

  As all their bodies so embraudered were.

  Heere clyffy Cynthus, with a thousand byrds,

  Whose checkerd plumes adorne his tufted crowne,

  Vnder whose shadow graze the stragling heards,

  Out of whose top, the fresh springs trembling downe,

  Duly keepe time with theyr harmonious sowne.

  The Rock so liuely done in euery part,

  As arte had so taught nature, nature arte.

  The naked Nymphes, some vp, some downe discending.

  Small scattering flowers one at another flung,

  With pretty turns their lymber bodies bending,

  Cropping the blooming branches lately sprong,

  Which on the Rocks grewe heere and there among.

  Some combe theyr hayre, some making garlands by,

  As liuing, they had done it actually.

  And for a trayle, Caisters siluer Lake,

  Whose heards of Swanns sit pruning on a row,

  By their much whitenes, such reflection make,

  As though in Sommer had been falne a snow,

  Whose streame an easie breath doth seeme to blowe;

  Which on the sparkling grauell runns in purles,

  As though the waues had been of siluer curles.

  Here falls proude Phaeton, tumbling through the clowds,

  The sunny Palfreys haue their traces broke,