Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works

by Michael Drayton

  And to defend them nothing left,

  These Champions would not budge yet.

  Away from them their Staues they threw,

  Their cruell Swords they quickly drew,

  And freshly they the fight renew;

  They euery stroke redoubled:

  Which made Proserpina take heed,

  And make to them the greater speed, 630

  For fear lest they too much should bleed,

  Which wondrously her troubled.

  When to th’ infernall Stix she goes,

  She takes the Fogs from thence that rose,

  And in a Bagge doth them enclose;

  When well she had them blended:

  She hyes her then to Lethe spring,

  A Bottell and thereof doth bring,

  Wherewith she meant to worke the thing,

  Which onely she intended. 640

  Now Proserpine with Mab is gone

  Vnto the place where Oberon

  And proud Pigwiggen, one to one,

  Both to be slaine were likely:

  And there themselues they closely hide,

  Because they would not be espide;

  For Proserpine meant to decide

  The matter very quickly.

  And suddainly vntyes the Poke,

  Which out of it sent such a smoke, 650

  As ready was them all to choke,

  So greeuous was the pother;

  So that the Knights each other lost,

  And stood as still as any post,

  Tom Thum, nor Tomalin could boast

  Themselues of any other.

  But when the mist gan somewhat cease,

  Proserpina commanded peace:

  And that a while they should release,

  Each other of their perill: 660

  Which here (quoth she) I doe proclaime

  To all in dreadfull Plutos name,

  That as yee will eschewe his blame,

  You let me heare the quarrell,

  But here your selues you must engage,

  Somewhat to coole your spleenish rage:

  Your greeuous thirst and to asswage,

  That first you drinke this liquor:

  Which shall your vnderstanding cleare,

  As plainely shall to you appeare; 670

  Those things from me that you shall heare,

  Conceiuing much the quicker.

  This Lethe water you must knowe,

  The memory destroyeth so,

  That of our weale, or of our woe,

  It all remembrance blotted;

  Of it nor can you euer thinke:

  For they no sooner tooke this drinke,

  But nought into their braines could sinke,

  Of what had them besotted. 680

  King Oberon forgotten had,

  That he for iealousie ranne mad:

  But of his Queene was wondrous glad,

  And ask’d how they came thither:

  Pigwiggen likewise doth forget,

  That he Queene Mab had euer met;

  Or that they were so hard beset,

  When they were found together.

  Nor neither of them both had thought,

  That e’r they had each other sought; 690

  Much lesse that they a Combat fought,

  But such a dreame were lothing:

  Tom Thum had got a little sup,

  And Tomalin scarce kist the Cup,

  Yet had their braines so sure lockt vp,

  That they remembred nothing.

  Queene Mab and her light Maydes the while,

  Amongst themselues doe closely smile,

  To see the King caught with this wile,

  With one another testing: 700

  And to the Fayrie Court they went,

  With mickle ioy and merriment,

  Which thing was done with good intent,

  And thus I left them feasting.

  FINIS.

  THE QUEST OF CINTHIA

  THE QVEST OF CYNTHIA

  What time the groues were clad in greene,

  The Fields drest all in flowers,

  And that the sleeke-hayred Nimphs were seene,

  To seeke them Summer Bowers.

  Forth rou’d I by the sliding Rills,

  To finde where CYNTHIA sat,

  Whose name so often from the hills,

  The Ecchos wondred at.

  When me vpon my Quest to bring,

  That pleasure might excell, 10

  The Birds stroue which should sweetliest sing,

  The Flowers which sweet’st should smell.

  Long wand’ring in the Woods (said I)

  Oh whether’s CYNTHIA gone?

  When soone the Eccho doth reply,

  To my last word, goe on.

  At length vpon a lofty Firre,

  It was my chance to finde,

  Where that deare name most due to her,

  Was caru’d vpon the rynde. 20

  Which whilst with wonder I beheld,

  The Bees their hony brought,

  And vp the carued letters fild,

  As they with gould were wrought.

  And neere that trees more spacious roote,

  Then looking on the ground,

  The shape of her most dainty foot,

  Imprinted there I found.

  Which stuck there like a curious seale,

  As though it should forbid 30

  Vs, wretched mortalls, to reueale,

  What vnder it was hid.

  Besides the flowers which it had pres’d,

  Apeared to my vew,

  More fresh and louely than the rest,

  That in the meadowes grew:

  The cleere drops in the steps that stood,

  Of that dilicious Girle,

  The Nimphes amongst their dainty food,

  Drunke for dissolued pearle. 40

  The yeilding sand, where she had troad,

  Vntutcht yet with the winde,

  By the faire posture plainely show’d,

  Where I might Cynthia finde.

  When on vpon my waylesse walke,

  As my desires me draw,

  I like a madman fell to talke,

  With euery thing I saw:

  I ask’d some Lillyes why so white,

  They from their fellowes were; 50

  Who answered me, that Cynthia’s sight,

  Had made them looke so cleare:

  I ask’d a nodding Violet why,

  It sadly hung the head,

  It told me Cynthia late past by,

  Too soone from it that fled:

  A bed of Roses saw I there,

  Bewitching with their grace:

  Besides so wondrous sweete they were,

  That they perfum’d the place, 60

  I of a Shrube of those enquir’d,

  From others of that kind,

  Who with such virtue them enspir’d,

  It answer’d (to my minde).

  As the base Hemblocke were we such,

  The poysned’st weed that growes,

  Till Cynthia by her god-like tuch,

  Transform’d vs to the Rose:

  Since when those Frosts that winter brings

  Which candy euery greene, 70

  Renew vs like the Teeming Springs,

  And we thus Fresh are scene.

  At length I on a Fountaine light,

  Whose brim with Pincks was platted;

  The Banck with Daffadillies dight,

  With grasse like Sleaue was matted,

  When I demanded of that Well,

  What power frequented there;

  Desiring, it would please to tell

  What name it vsde to beare. 80

  It tolde me it was Cynthias owne,

  Within whose cheerefull brimmes,

  That curious Nimph had oft beene knowne

  To bath her snowy Limmes.

  Since when that Water had the power,

  Lost Mayden-heads to restore,

  And make one Twenty i
n an howre,

  Of Esons age before.

  And told me that the bottome cleere,

  Now layd with many a fett 90

  Of seed-pearle, ere shee bath’d her there:

  Was knowne as blacke as Jet,

  As when she from the water came,

  Where first she touch’d the molde,

  In balls the people made the same

  For Pomander, and solde.

  When chance me to an Arbour led,

  Whereas I might behold:

  Two blest Elizeums in one sted,

  The lesse the great enfold. 100

  The place which she had chosen out,

  Her selfe in to repose;

  Had they com’n downe, the gods no doubt

  The very same had chose.

  The wealthy Spring yet neuer bore

  That sweet, nor dainty flower

  That damask’d not, the chequer’d flore

  Of CYNTHIAS Summer Bower.

  The Birch, the Mirtle, and the Bay,

  Like Friends did all embrace; 110

  And their large branches did display,

  To Canapy the place.

  Where she like VENVS doth appeare,

  Vpon a Rosie bed;

  As Lillyes the soft pillowes weare,

  Whereon she layd her head.

  Heau’n on her shape such cost bestow’d,

  And with such bounties blest:

  No lim of hers but might haue made

  A Goddesse at the least. 120

  The Flyes by chance mesht in her hayre,

  By the bright Radience throwne

  From her cleare eyes, rich Iewels weare,

  They so like Diamonds shone.

  The meanest weede the soyle there bare,

  Her breath did so refine,

  That it with Woodbynd durst compare,

  And beard the Eglantine.

  The dewe which on the tender grasse,

  The Euening had distill’d, 130

  To pure Rose-water turned was,

  The shades with sweets that fill’d.

  The windes were husht, no leafe so small

  At all was scene to stirre:

  Whilst tuning to the waters fall,

  The small Birds sang to her.

  Where she too quickly me espies,

  When I might plainely see,

  A thousand Cupids from her eyes

  Shoote all at once at me. 140

  Into these secret shades (quoth she)

  How dar’st thou be so bold

  To enter, consecrate to me,

  Or touch this hallowed mold.

  Those words (quoth she) I can pronounce,

  Which to that shape can bring

  Thee, which the Hunter had who once

  Sawe Dian in the Spring.

  Bright Nimph againe I thus replie,

  This cannot me affright: 150

  I had rather in thy presence die,

  Then liue out of thy sight.

  I first vpon the Mountaines hie,

  Built Altars to thy name;

  And grau’d it on the Rocks thereby,

  To propogate thy fame.

  I taught the Shepheards on the Downes,

  Of thee to frame their Layes:

  T’was I that fill’d the neighbouring Townes,

  With Ditties of thy praise. 160

  Thy colours I deuis’d with care,

  Which were vnknowne before:

  Which since that, in their braded hayre

  The Nimphes and Siluans wore.

  Transforme me to what shape you can,

  I passe not what it be:

  Yea what most hatefull is to man,

  So I may follow thee.

  Which when she heard full pearly floods,

  I in her eyes might view: 170

  (Quoth she) most welcome to these Woods,

  Too meane for one so true.

  Here from the hatefull world we’ll liue,

  A den of mere dispight:

  To Ideots only that doth giue,

  Which be her sole delight.

  To people the infernall pit,

  That more and more doth striue;

  Where only villany is wit,

  And Diuels only thriue. 180

  Whose vilenesse vs shall neuer awe:

  But here our sports shall be:

  Such as the golden world first sawe,

  Most innocent and free.

  Of Simples in these Groues that growe,

  Wee’ll learne the perfect skill;

  The nature of each Herbe to knowe

  Which cures, and which can kill.

  The waxen Pallace of the Bee,

  We seeking will surprise 190

  The curious workmanship to see,

  Of her full laden thighes.

  Wee’ll suck the sweets out of the Combe,

  And make the gods repine:

  As they doe feast in Ioues great roome,

  To see with what we dine.

  Yet when there haps a honey fall,

  Wee’ll lick the sirupt leaues:

  And tell the Bees that their’s is gall,

  To this vpon the Greaues. 200

  The nimble Squirrell noting here,

  Her mossy Dray that makes,

  And laugh to see the lusty Deere

  Come bounding ore the brakes.

  The Spiders Webb to watch weele stand,

  And when it takes the Bee,

  Weele helpe out of the Tyrants hand,

  The Innocent to free.

  Sometime weele angle at the Brooke,

  The freckled Trout to take, 210

  With silken Wormes, and bayte the hooke,

  Which him our prey shall make.

  Of medling with such subtile tooles,

  Such dangers that enclose,

  The Morrall is that painted Fooles,

  Are caught with silken showes.

  And when the Moone doth once appeare,

  Weele trace the lower grounds,

  When Fayries in their Ringlets there

  Do daunce their nightly rounds. 220

  And haue a Flocke of Turtle Doues,

  A guard on vs to keepe,

  A witnesse of our honest loues,

  To watch vs till we sleepe.

  Which spoke I felt such holy fires

  To ouerspred my breast,

  As lent life to my Chast desires

  And gaue me endlesse rest.

  By Cynthia thus doe I subsist,

  On earth Heauens onely pride, 230

  Let her be mine, and let who list,

  Take all the world beside.

  FINIS.

  THE SHEPHERD’S SIRENA

  THE SHEPHEARDS SIRENA

  DORILVS in sorrowes deepe,

  Autumne waxing olde and chill,

  As he sate his Flocks to keepe

  Vnderneath an easie hill:

  Chanc’d to cast his eye aside

  On those fields, where he had scene,

  Bright SIRENA Natures pride,

  Sporting on the pleasant greene:

  To whose walkes the Shepheards oft,

  Came her god-like foote to finde, 10

  And in places that were soft,

  Kist the print there left behinde;

  Where the path which she had troad,

  Hath thereby more glory gayn’d,

  Then in heau’n that milky rode,

  Which with Nectar Hebe stayn’d:

  But bleake Winters boystrous blasts,

  Now their fading pleasures chid,

  And so fill’d them with his wastes,

  That from sight her steps were hid. 20

  Silly Shepheard sad the while,

  For his sweet SIRENA gone,

  All his pleasures in exile:

  Layd on the colde earth alone.

  Whilst his gamesome cut-tayld Curre,

  With his mirthlesse Master playes,

  Striuing him with sport to stirre,

  As in his more
youthfull dayes,

  DORILVS his Dogge doth chide,

  Layes his well-tun’d Bagpype by, 30

  And his Sheep-hooke casts aside,

  There (quoth he) together lye.

  When a Letter forth he tooke,

  Which to him SIRENA writ,

  With a deadly down-cast looke,

  And thus fell to reading it.

  DORILVS my deare (quoth she)

  Kinde Companion of my woe,

  Though we thus diuided be,

  Death cannot diuorce vs so: 40

  Thou whose bosome hath beene still,

  Th’ onely Closet of my care,

  And in all my good and ill,

  Euer had thy equall share:

  Might I winne thee from thy Fold,

  Thou shouldst come to visite me,

  But the Winter is so cold,

  That I feare to hazard thee:

  The wilde waters are waxt hie,

  So they are both deafe and dumbe, 50

  Lou’d they thee so well as I,

  They would ebbe when thou shouldst come;

  Then my coate with light should shine,

  Purer then the Vestall fire:

  Nothing here but should be thine,

  That thy heart can well desire:

  Where at large we will relate,

  From what cause our friendship grewe,

  And in that the varying Fate,

  Since we first each other knewe: 60

  Of my heauie passed plight,

  As of many a future feare,

  Which except the silent night,

  None but onely thou shalt heare;

  My sad hurt it shall releeue,

  When my thoughts I shall disclose,

  For thou canst not chuse but greeue,

  When I shall recount my woes;

  There is nothing to that friend,

  To whose close vncranied brest, 70

  We our secret thoughts may send,

  And there safely let it rest:

  And thy faithfull counsell may,

  My distressed case assist,

  Sad affliction else may sway

  Me a woman as it list:

  Hither I would haue thee haste,

  Yet would gladly haue thee stay,

  When those dangers I forecast,

  That may meet thee by the way, 80

  Doe as thou shalt thinke it best,

  Let thy knowledge be thy guide,

  Liue thou in my constant breast,

  Whatsoeuer shall betide.

  He her Letter hauing red,

  Puts it in his Scrip againe,

  Looking like a man halfe dead,

  By her kindenesse strangely slaine;

  And as one who inly knew,

  Her distressed present state, 90

  And to her had still been true,

  Thus doth with himselfe debate.

  I will not thy face admire,

  Admirable though it bee,

  Nor thine eyes whose subtile fire

  So much wonder winne in me:

  But my maruell shall be now,

  (And of long it hath bene so)