Of all Woman kind that thou
Wert ordain’d to taste of woe; 100
To a Beauty so diuine,
Paradise in little done,
O that Fortune should assigne,
Ought but what thou well mightst shun,
But my counsailes such must bee,
(Though as yet I them conceale)
By their deadly wound in me,
They thy hurt must onely heale,
Could I giue what thou do’st craue
To that passe thy state is growne, 110
I thereby thy life may saue,
But am sure to loose mine owne,
To that ioy thou do’st conceiue,
Through my heart, the way doth lye,
Which in two for thee must claue
Least that thou shouldst goe awry.
Thus my death must be a toy,
Which my pensiue breast must couer;
Thy beloued to enioy,
Must be taught thee by thy Louer. 120
Hard the Choise I haue to chuse,
To my selfe if friend I be,
I must my SIRENA loose,
If not so, shee looseth me.
Thus whilst he doth cast about,
What therein were best to doe,
Nor could yet resolue the doubt,
Whether he should stay or goe:
In those Feilds not farre away,
There was many a frolike Swaine, 130
In fresh Russets day by day,
That kept Reuells on the Plaine.
Nimble TOM, sirnam’d the Tup,
For his Pipe without a Peere,
And could tickle Trenchmore vp,
As t’would ioy your heart to heare.
RALPH as much renown’d for skill,
That the Taber touch’d so well;
For his Gittern, little GILL,
That all other did excell. 140
ROCK and ROLLO euery way,
Who still led the Rusticke Ging,
And could troule a Roundelay,
That would make the Feilds to ring,
COLLIN on his Shalme so cleare,
Many a high-pitcht Note that had,
And could make the Eechos nere
Shout as they were wexen mad.
Many a lusty Swaine beside,
That for nought but pleasure car’d, 150
Hauing DORILVS espy’d,
And with him knew how it far’d.
Thought from him they would remoue,
This strong melancholy fitt,
Or so, should it not behoue,
Quite to put him out of ‘s witt;
Hauing learnt a Song, which he
Sometime to Sirena sent,
Full of Iollity and glee,
When the Nimph liu’d neere to Trent 160
They behinde him softly gott,
Lying on the earth along,
And when he suspected not,
Thus the Iouiall Shepheards song.
Neare to the Siluer Trent,
Sirena dwelleth:
Shee to whom Nature lent
All that excelleth:
By which the Muses late,
And the neate Graces, 170
Haue for their greater state
Taken their places:
Twisting an Anadem,
Wherewith to Crowne her,
As it belong’d to them
Most to renowne her.
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let the Swanes sing her,
And with their Musick, 180
Along let them bring her.
Tagus and Pactolus
Are to thee Debter,
Nor for their gould to vs
Are they the better:
Henceforth of all the rest,
Be thou the Riuer,
Which as the daintiest,
Puts them downe euer,
For as my precious one, 190
O’r thee doth trauell,
She to Pearl Parragon
Turneth thy grauell.
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swanns sing her,
And with their Musicke,
Along let them bring her.
Our mournefull Philomell,
That rarest Tuner, 200
Henceforth in Aperill
Shall wake the sooner,
And to her shall complaine
From the thicke Couer,
Redoubling euery straine
Ouer and ouer:
For when my Loue too long
Her Chamber keepeth;
As though it suffered wrong,
The Morning weepeth. 210
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swanes sing her,
And with their Musick,
Along let them bring her.
Oft have I seene the Sunne
To doe her honour.
Fix himselfe at his noone,
To look vpon her,
And hath guilt euery Groue, 220
Euery Hill neare her,
With his flames from aboue,
Striuing to cheere her,
And when shee from his sight
Hath her selfe turned,
He as it had beene night,
In Cloudes hath mourned.
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swanns sing her, 230
And with their Musicke,
Along let them bring her.
The Verdant Meades are seene,
When she doth view them,
In fresh and gallant Greene,
Straight to renewe them,
And euery little Grasse
Broad it selfe spreadeth,
Proud that this bonny Lasse
Vpon it treadeth: 240
Nor flower is so sweete
In this large Cincture
But it upon her feete
Leaueth some Tincture.
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swanes sing her,
And with thy Musick,
Along let them bring her.
The Fishes in the Flood, 250
When she doth Angle,
For the Hooke striue a good
Them to intangle;
And leaping on the Land
From the cleare water,
Their Scales vpon the sand,
Lauishly scatter;
Therewith to paue the mould
Whereon she passes,
So her selfe to behold, 260
As in her glasses.
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Ranke,
Let thy Swanns sing her,
And with their Musicke,
Along let them bring her.
When shee lookes out by night,
The Starres stand gazing,
Like Commets to our sight
Fearefully blazing, 270
As wondring at her eyes
With their much brightnesse,
Which to amaze the skies,
Dimming their lightnesse,
The raging Tempests are Calme,
When shee speaketh,
Such most delightsome balme
From her lips breaketh.
Cho. On thy Banke,
In a Rancke, &c. 280
In all our Brittany,
Ther’s not a fayrer,
Nor can you fitt any:
Should you compare her.
Angels her eye-lids keepe
All harts surprizing,
Which looke whilst she doth sleepe
Like the Sunnes rising:
She alone of her kinde
Knoweth true measure 290
And her vnmatched mind
Is Heauens treasure:
Cho. On thy Bancke,
In a Rancke
Let thy Swanes sing her,
And with their Musick,
Along let them bring her
.
Fayre Doue and Darwine cleere
Boast yee your beauties,
To Trent your Mistres here 300
Yet pay your duties,
My Loue was higher borne
Tow’rds the full Fountaines,
Yet she doth Moorland scorne,
And the Peake Mountaines;
Nor would she none should dreame,
Where she abideth,
Humble as is the streame,
Which by her slydeth,
Cho. On thy Bancke, 310
In a Rancke,
Let thy Swannes sing her,
And with their Musicke,
Along let them bring her.
Yet my poore Rusticke Muse,
Nothing can moue her,
Nor the means I can vse,
Though her true Louer:
Many a long Winters night,
Haue I wak’d for her, 320
Yet this my piteous plight,
Nothing can stirre her.
All thy Sands siluer Trent
Downe to the Humber,
The sighes I haue spent
Neuer can number.
Cho. On thy Banke
In a Ranke,
Let thy Swans sing her
And with their Musicke 330
Along let them bring her.
Taken with this suddaine Song,
Least for mirth when he doth look
His sad heart more deeply stong,
Then the former care he tooke.
At their laughter and amaz’d,
For a while he sat aghast
But a little hauing gaz’d,
Thus he them bespake at last.
Is this time for mirth (quoth he) 340
To a man with griefe opprest,
Sinfull wretches as you be,
May the sorrowes in my breast,
Light vpon you one by one,
And as now you mocke my woe,
When your mirth is turn’d to moane;
May your like then serue you so.
When one Swaine among the rest
Thus him merrily bespake,
Get thee vp thou arrant beast 350
Fits this season loue to make?
Take thy Sheephooke in thy hand,
Clap thy Curre and set him on,
For our fields ’tis time to stand,
Or they quickly will be gon.
Rougish Swinheards that repine
At our Flocks, like beastly Clownes,
Sweare that they will bring their Swine,
And will wroote vp all our Downes:
They their Holly whips haue brac’d, 360
And tough Hazell goades haue gott;
Soundly they your sides will baste,
If their courage faile them not.
Of their purpose if they speed,
Then your Bagpypes you may burne,
It is neither Droane nor Reed
Shepheard, that will serue your turne:
Angry OLCON sets them on,
And against vs part doth take
Euer since he was out-gone, 370
Offring Rymes with us to make.
Yet if so our Sheepe-hookes hold,
Dearely shall our Downes be bought,
For it neuer shall be told,
We our Sheep-walkes sold for naught.
And we here haue got vs Dogges,
Best of all the Westerne breed,
Which though Whelps shall lug their Hogges,
Till they make their eares to bleed:
Therefore Shepheard come away. 380
When as DORILVS arose,
Whistles Cut-tayle from his play,
And along with them he goes.
FINIS.
ELEGIES UPON SUNDRY OCCASIONS
CONTENTS
OF HIS LADIES NOT COMMING TO LONDON.
TO MASTER GEORGE SANDIS TREASURER FOR THE ENGLISH COLONY IN VIRGINA.
TO. MY NOBLE FRIEND MASTER WILLIAM BROWNE, OF THE EUILL TIME.
VPON THE THREE SONNES OF THE LORD SHEFFIELD, DROWNED IN HUMBER.
TO THE NOBLE LADY, THE LADY I. S. OF WORLDLY CROSSES.
AN ELEGIE VPON THE DEATH OF THE LADY PENELOPE CLIFTON.
VPON THE NOBLE LADY ASTONS DEPARTURE FOR SPAINE.
TO MY MOST DEARELY-LOUED FRIEND HENRY REYNOLDS ESQUIRE OF POETS AND POESIE.
VPON THE DEATH OF HIS INCOMPARABLE FRIEND, SIR HENRY RAYNSFORD, OF CLIFFORD.
VPON THE DEATH OF THE LADY OLIUE STANHOPE.
TO MAISTER WILLIAM IEFFRYES, CHAPLEINE TO THE LORD AMBASSADOUR IN SPAINE.
VPON THE DEATH OF MISTRIS ELIANOR FALLOWFIELD.
OF HIS LADIES NOT COMMING TO LONDON.
That ten-yeares-trauell’d Greeke return’d from Sea
Ne’r ioyd so much to see his Ithaca,
As I should you, who are alone to me,
More then wide Greece could to that wanderer be.
The winter windes still Easterly doe keepe,
And with keene Frosts haue chained vp the deepe,
The Sunne’s to vs a niggard of his Rayes,
But reuelleth with our Antipodes;
And seldome to vs when he shewes his head,
Muffled in vapours, he straight hies to bed. 10
In those bleake mountaines can you liue where snowe
Maketh the vales vp to the hilles to growe;
Whereas mens breathes doe instantly congeale,
And attom’d mists turne instantly to hayle;
Belike you thinke, from this more temperate cost,
My sighes may haue the power to thawe the frost,
Which I from hence should swiftly send you thither,
Yet not so swift, as you come slowly hither.
How many a time, hath Phebe from her wayne,
With Phœbus fires fill’d vp her hornes againe; 20
Shee through her Orbe, still on her course doth range,
But you keep yours still, nor for me will change.
The Sunne that mounted the sterne Lions back,
Shall with the Fishes shortly diue the Brack,
But still you keepe your station, which confines
You, nor regard him trauelling the signes.
Those ships which when you went, put out to Sea,
Both to our Groenland, and Virginia,
Are now return’d, and Custom’d haue their fraught,
Yet you arriue not, nor returne me ought. 30
The Thames was not so frozen yet this yeare,
As is my bosome, with the chilly feare
Of your not comming, which on me doth light,
As on those Climes, where halfe the world is night.
Of euery tedious houre you haue made two,
All this long Winter here, by missing you:
Minutes are months, and when the houre is past,
A yeare is ended since the Clocke strooke last,
When your Remembrance puts me on the Racke,
And I should Swound to see an Almanacke, 40
To reade what silent weekes away are slid,
Since the dire Fates you from my sight haue hid.
I hate him who the first Deuisor was
Of this same foolish thing, the Hower-glasse,
And of the Watch, whose dribbling sands and Wheele,
With their slow stroakes, make mee too much to feele
Your slackenesse hither, O how I doe ban,
Him that these Dialls against walles began,
Whose Snayly motion of the moouing hand,
(Although it goe) yet seeme to me to stand; 50
As though at Adam it had first set out
And had been stealing all this while about,
And when it backe to the first point should come,
It shall be then iust at the generall Doome.
The Seas into themselues retract their flowes.
The changing Winde from euery quarter blowes,
Declining Winter in the Spring doth call,
The Starrs rise to vs
, as from vs they fall;
Those Birdes we see, that leaue vs in the Prime,
Againe in Autumne re-salute our Clime. 60
Sure, either Nature you from kinde hath made,
Or you delight else to be Retrograde.
But I perceiue by your attractiue powers,
Like an Inchantresse you haue charm’d the bowers
Into short minutes, and haue drawne them back,
So that of vs at London, you doe lack
Almost a yeare, the Spring is scarce begonne
There where you liue, and Autumne almost done.
With vs more Eastward, surely you deuise,
By your strong Magicke, that the Sunne shall rise 70
Where now it setts, and that in some few yeares
You’l alter quite the Motion of the Spheares.
Yes, and you meane, I shall complaine my loue
To grauell’d Walkes, or to a stupid Groue,
Now your companions; and that you the while
(As you are cruell) will sit by and smile,
To make me write to these, while Passers by,
Sleightly looke in your louely face, where I
See Beauties heauen, whilst silly blockheads, they
Like laden Asses, plod vpon their way, 80
And wonder not, as you should point a Clowne
Vp to the Guards, or Ariadnes Crowne;
Of Constellations, and his dulnesse tell.
Hee’d thinke your words were certainly a Spell;
Or him some piece from Creet, or Marcus show,
In all his life which till that time ne’r saw
Painting: except in Alehouse or old Hall
Done by some Druzzler, of the Prodigall.
Nay doe, stay still, whilst time away shall steale
Your youth, and beautie, and your selfe conceale 90
From me I pray you, you haue now inur’d
Me to your absence, and I haue endur’d
Your want this long, whilst I haue starued bine
For your short Letters, as you helde it sinne
To write to me, that to appease my woe,
I reade ore those, you writ a yeare agoe,
Which are to me, as though they had bin made,
Long time before the first Olympiad.
For thankes and curt’sies sell your presence then
To tatling Women, and to things like men, 100
And be more foolish then the Indians are
For Bells, for Kniues, for Glasses, and such ware,
That sell their Pearle and Gold, but here I stay,
So I would not haue you but come away.
TO MASTER GEORGE SANDIS TREASURER FOR THE ENGLISH COLONY IN VIRGINA.
Friend, if you thinke my Papers may supplie
You, with some strange omitted Noueltie,
Which others Letters yet haue left vntould,
You take me off, before I can take hould
Of you at all; I put not thus to Sea,
For two monthes Voyage to Virginia,
With newes which now, a little something here,
Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works Page 147