Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works

by Michael Drayton

  But let’s amongst our selues agree,

  Of what her wedding Gowne shall be.

  Claia. Of Pansie, Pincke, and Primrose leaues,

  Most curiously laid on in Threaues: 70

  And all embroydery to supply,

  Powthred with flowers of Rosemary:

  A trayle about the skirt shall runne,

  The Silkewormes finest, newly spunne;

  And euery Seame the Nimphs shall sew

  With th’ smallest of the Spinners Clue:

  And hauing done their worke, againe

  These to the Church shall beare her Traine:

  Which for our Tita we will make

  Of the cast slough of a Snake, 80

  Which quiuering as the winde doth blow,

  The Sunne shall it like Tinsell shew.

  Cloris. And being led to meet her mate,

  To make sure that she want no state,

  Moones from the Peacockes tayle wee’ll shred,

  With feathers from the Pheasants head:

  Mix’d with the plume of (so high price,)

  The precious bird of Paradice.

  Which to make vp, our Nimphes shall ply

  Into a curious Canopy. 90

  Borne o’re her head (by our enquiry)

  By Elfes, the fittest of the Faery.

  Mertilla. But all this while we haue forgot

  Her Buskins, neighbours, haue we not?

  Claia. We had, for those I’le fit her now,

  They shall be of the Lady-Cow:

  The dainty shell vpon her backe

  Of Crimson strew’d with spots of blacke;

  Which as she holds a stately pace,

  Her Leg will wonderfully grace. 100

  Cloris. But then for musicke of the best,

  This must be thought on for the Feast.

  Mertilla. The Nightingale of birds most choyce,

  To doe her best shall straine her voyce;

  And to this bird to make a Set,

  The Mauis, Merle, and Robinet;

  The Larke, the Lennet, and the Thrush,

  That make a Quier of euery Bush.

  But for still musicke, we will keepe

  The Wren, and Titmouse, which to sleepe 110

  Shall sing the Bride, when shee’s alone

  The rest into their chambers gone.

  And like those vpon Ropes that walke

  On Gossimer, from staulke to staulke,

  The tripping Fayry tricks shall play

  The euening of the wedding day.

  Claia. But for the Bride-bed, what were fit,

  That hath not beene talk’d of yet.

  Cloris. Of leaues of Roses white and red,

  Shall be the Couering of her bed: 120

  The Curtaines, Valence, Tester, all,

  Shall be the flower Imperiall,

  And for the Fringe, it all along

  With azure Harebels shall be hung:

  Of Lillies shall the Pillowes be,

  With downe stuft of the Butterflee.

  Mertilla. Thus farre we handsomely haue gone,

  Now for our Prothalamion

  Or Marriage song of all the rest,

  A thing that much must grace our feast. 130

  Let vs practise then to sing it,

  Ere we before th’ assembly bring it:

  We in Dialogues must doe it,

  The my dainty Girles set to it.

  Claia. This day must Tita marryed be,

  Come Nimphs this nuptiall let vs see.

  Mertilla. But is it certaine that ye say,

  Will she wed the Noble Faye?

  Cloris. Sprinckle the dainty flowers with dewes,

  Such as the Gods at Banquets vse: 140

  Let Hearbs and Weeds turne all to Roses,

  And make proud the posts with posies:

  Shute your sweets into the ayre,

  Charge the morning to be fayre.

  Claia. } For our Tita is this day,

  Mertilla. } To be married to a Faye.

  Claia. By whom then shall our Bride be led

  To the Temple to be wed.

  Mertilla. Onely by your selfe and I,

  Who that roomth should else supply? 150

  Cloris. Come bright Girles, come altogether,

  And bring all your offrings hither,

  Ye most braue and Buxome Beuye,

  All your goodly graces Leuye,

  Come in Maiestie and state

  Our Brydall here to celebrate.

  Mertilla. } For our Tita is this day,

  Claia. } Married to a noble Faye.

  Claia. Whose lot wilt be the way to strow

  On which to Church our Bride must goe? 160

  Mertilla. That I think as fit’st of all,

  To liuely Lelipa will fall.

  Cloris. Summon all the sweets that are,

  To this nuptiall to repayre;

  Till with their throngs themselues they smother,

  Strongly styfling one another;

  And at last they all consume,

  And vanish in one rich perfume.

  Mertilla. } For our Tita is this day,

  Claia. } Married to a noble Faye. 170

  Mertilla. By whom must Tita married be,

  ’Tis fit we all to that should see?

  Claia. The Priest he purposely doth come,

  Th’ Arch Flamyne of Elizium.

  Cloris. With Tapers let the Temples shine,

  Sing to Himen, Hymnes diuine:

  Load the Altars till there rise

  Clouds from the burnt sacrifice;

  With your Sensors fling aloofe

  Their smels, till they ascend the Roofe. 180

  Mertilla. } For our Tita is this day,

  Claia. } Married to a noble Fay.

  Mertilla. But comming backe when she is wed,

  Who breakes the Cake aboue her head.

  Claia. That shall Mertilla, for shee’s tallest,

  And our Tita is the smallest.

  Cloris. Violins, strike vp aloud,

  Ply the Gitterne, scowre the Crowd,

  Let the nimble hand belabour

  The whistling Pipe, and drumbling Taber: 190

  To the full the Bagpipe racke,

  Till the swelling leather cracke.

  Mertilla. } For our Tita is this day,

  Claia. } Married to a noble Fay.

  Claia. But when to dyne she takes her seate

  What shall be our Tita’s meate?

  Mertilla. The Gods this Feast, as to begin,

  Haue sent of their Ambrosia in.

  Cloris. Then serue we vp the strawes rich berry,

  The Respas, and Elizian Cherry: 200

  The virgin honey from the flowers

  In Hibla, wrought in Flora’s bowers:

  Full Bowles of Nectar, and no Girle

  Carouse but in dissolued Pearle.

  Mertilla. } For our Tita is this day,

  Claia. } Married to a noble Fay.

  Claia. But when night comes, and she must goe

  To Bed, deare Nimphes what must we doe?

  Mertilla. In the Posset must be brought,

  And Poynts be from the Bridegroome caught. 210

  Cloris. In Maskes, in Dances, and delight,

  And reare Banquets spend the night:

  Then about the Roome we ramble,

  Scatter Nuts, and for them scramble:

  Ouer Stooles, and Tables tumble,

  Neuer thinke of noyse nor rumble.

  Mertilla. } For our Tita is this day,

  Claia. } Married to a noble Fay.

  THE NINTH NIMPHALL

  MVSES and NIMPHS.

  The Muses spend their lofty layes,

  Vpon Apollo and his prayse;

  The Nimphs with Gems his Alter build,

  This Nimphall is with Phœbus fild.

  A Temple of exceeding state,

  The Nimphes and Muses rearing,

  Which they to Phœbus dedicate,

  Elizium eu
er cheering:

  These Muses, and those Nimphes contend

  This Phane to Phœbus offring,

  Which side the other should transcend,

  These praise, those prizes proffering,

  And at this long appointed day,

  Each one their largesse bringing, 10

  Those nine faire Sisters led the way

  Thus to Apollo singing.

  The Muses. Thou youthfull God that guid’st the howres,

  The Muses thus implore thee,

  By all those Names, due to thy powers,

  By which we still adore thee.

  Sol, Tytan, Delius, Cynthius, styles

  Much reuerence that have wonne thee,

  Deriu’d from Mountaines as from Iles

  Where worship first was done thee. 20

  Rich Delos brought thee forth diuine,

  Thy Mother thither driven,

  At Delphos thy most sacred shrine,

  Thy Oracles were giuen.

  In thy swift course from East to West,

  They minutes misse to finde thee,

  That bear’st the morning on thy breast,

  And leau’st the night behinde thee.

  Vp to Olimpus top so steepe,

  Thy startling Coursers currying; 30

  Thence downe to Neptunes vasty deepe,

  Thy flaming Charriot hurrying.

  Eos, Ethon, Phlegon, Pirois, proud,

  The horses Their lightning Maynes aduancing:

  drawing the Breathing forth fire on euery cloud

  Chariot of Vpon their Iourney prancing.

  the Sunne. Whose sparkling hoofes, with gold for speed

  Are shod, to scape all dangers,

  Where they upon Ambrosia feed,

  In their celestiall Mangers. 40

  The Bright Colatina, that of hils

  mountaines Is Goddesse, and hath keeping

  first Her Nimphes, the cleere Oreades wils

  saluting the T’attend thee from thy sleeping.

  Sunne at his Great *Demogorgon feeles thy might,

  rising. His Mynes about him heating:

  * Supposed Who through his bosome dart’st thy light,

  the God of Within the Center sweating.

  earth. If thou but touch thy golden Lyre,

  Thou Minos mou’st to heare thee: 50

  One of the The Rockes feele in themselues a fire,

  Iudges of And rise vp to come neere thee.

  hell. ’Tis thou that Physicke didst deuise

  Hearbs by their natures calling:

  Of which some opening at thy Rise,

  And closing at thy falling.

  Fayre Hyacinth thy most lou’d Lad,

  That with the sledge thou sluest;

  Hath in a flower the life he had,

  Whose root thou still renewest, 60

  Thy Daphne thy beloued Tree,

  That scornes thy Fathers Thunder,

  And thy deare Clitia yet we see,

  A Nimph lou’d Not time from thee can sunder;

  of Apollo, From thy bright Bow that Arrow flew

  and by him (Snatcht from thy golden Quiver)

  changed into Which that fell Serpent Python slew,

  a flower. Renowning thee for euer.

  The Actian and the Pythian Games

  Playes or Deuised were to praise thee, 70

  Games in With all th’ Apolinary names

  honor of That th’ Ancients thought could raise thee.

  Apollo. A Shryne vpon this Mountaine hie,

  To thee we’ll haue erected,

  Which thou the God of Poesie

  Must care to haue protected:

  With thy loud Cinthus that shall share,

  With all his shady Bowers,

  Nor Licia’s Cragus shall compare

  With this, for thee, of ours. 80

  Thus hauing sung, the Nimphish Crue

  Thrust in amongst them thronging,

  Desiring they might haue the due

  That was to them belonging.

  Quoth they, ye Muses as diuine,

  Are in his glories graced,

  But it is we must build the Shryne

  Wherein they must be placed;

  Which of those precious Gemmes we’ll make

  That Nature can affoord vs, 90

  Which from that plenty we will take,

  Wherewith we here have stor’d vs:

  O glorious Phœbus most diuine,

  Thine Altars then we hallow.

  And with those stones we build a Shryne

  To thee our wise Apollo.

  The Nimphes. No Gem, from Rocke, Seas, running streames,

  (Their numbers let vs muster)

  But hath from thy most powerfull beames

  The Vertue and the Lustre; 100

  The Diamond, the King of Gemmes,

  The first is to be placed,

  That glory is of Diadems,

  Them gracing, by them graced:

  In whom thy power the most is seene,

  The raging fire refelling:

  The Emerauld then, most deepely greene,

  For beauty most excelling,

  Resisting poyson often prou’d

  By those about that beare it. 110

  The cheerfull Ruby then, much lou’d,

  That doth reuiue the spirit,

  Whose kinde to large extensure growne

  The colour so enflamed,

  Is that admired mighty stone

  The Carbunckle that’s named,

  Which from it such a flaming light

  And radiency eiecteth,

  That in the very dark’st of night

  The eye to it directeth. 120

  The yellow Iacynth, strengthening Sense,

  Of which who hath the keeping,

  No Thunder hurts nor Pestilence,

  And much prouoketh sleeping:

  The Chrisolite, that doth resist

  Thirst, proued, neuer failing,

  The purple colored Amatist,

  ‘Gainst strength of wine prevailing;

  The verdant gay greene Smaragdus,

  Most soueraine ouer passion: 130

  The Sardonix approu’d by vs

  To master Incantation.

  Then that celestiall colored stone

  The Saphyre, heauenly wholly,

  Which worne, there wearinesse is none,

  And cureth melancholly:

  The Lazulus, whose pleasant blew

  With golden vaines is graced;

  The Iaspis, of so various hew,

  Amongst our other placed; 140

  The Onix from the Ancients brought,

  Of wondrous Estimation,

  Shall in amongst the rest be wrought

  Our sacred Shryne to fashion;

  The Topas, we’ll stick here and there,

  And sea-greene colored Berill,

  And Turkesse, which who haps to beare

  Is often kept from perill,

  To Selenite, of Cynthia’s light,

  So nam’d, with her still ranging, 150

  Which as she wanes or waxeth bright

  Its colours so are changing.

  With Opalls, more then any one,

  We’ll deck thine Altar fuller,

  For that of euery precious stone,

  It doth retaine some colour;

  With bunches of Pearle Paragon

  Thine Altars vnderpropping,

  Whose base is the Cornelian,

  Strong bleeding often stopping: 160

  With th’ Agot, very oft that is

  Cut strangely in the Quarry,

  As Nature ment to show in this,

  How she her selfe can varry:

  With worlds of Gems from Mines and Seas

  Elizium well might store vs:

  But we content our selues with these

  That readiest lye before vs:

  And thus O Phœbus most diuine

  Thine Altars still we hallow, 170

  And to thy Godhead
reare this Shryne

  Our onely wise Apollo.

  THE TENTH NIMPHALL

  NAIIS, CLAIA, CORBILVS, SATYRE.

  A Satyre on Elizium lights,

  Whose vgly shape the Nimphes affrights,

  Yet when they heare his iust complaint,

  They make him an Elizian Saint.

  Corbilus.

  What; breathles Nimphs? bright Virgins let me know

  What suddaine cause constraines ye to this haste?

  What haue ye seene that should affright ye so?

  What might it be from which ye flye so fast?

  I see your faces full of pallid feare,

  As though some perill followed on your flight;

  Take breath a while, and quickly let me heare

  Into what danger ye haue lately light.

  Naijs. Neuer were poore distressed Gerles so glad,

  As when kinde, loued Corbilus we saw, 10

  When our much haste vs so much weakned had,

  That scarcely we our wearied breathes could draw,

  In this next Groue vnder an aged Tree,

  So fell a monster lying there we found,

  As till this day, our eyes did neuer see,

  Nor euer came on the Elizian ground.

  Halfe man, halfe Goate, he seem’d to vs in show,

  His vpper parts our humane shape doth beare,

  But he’s a very perfect Goat below,

  His crooked Cambrils arm’d with hoofe and hayre. 20

  Claia. Through his leane Chops a chattering he doth make

  Which stirres his staring beastly driueld Beard,

  And his sharpe hornes he seem’d at vs to shake,

  Canst thou then blame vs though we are afeard.

  Corbilus. Surely it seemes some Satyre this should be,

  Come and goe back and guide me to the place,

  Be not affraid, ye are safe enough with me,

  Silly and harmlesse be their Siluan Race.

  Claia. How Corbilus; a Satyre doe you say?

  How should he ouer high Parnassus hit? 30

  Since to these fields there’s none can finde the way,

  But onely those the Muses will permit.

  Corbilus. ’Tis true; but oft, the sacred Sisters grace

  The silly Satyre, by whose plainnesse, they

  Are taught the worlds enormities to trace,

  By beastly mens abhominable way;

  Besyde he may be banisht his owne home

  By this base time, or be so much distrest,

  That he the craggy by-clift Hill hath clome

  To finde out these more pleasant Fields of rest. 40

  Naijs. Yonder he sits, and seemes himselfe to bow

  At our approach, what doth our presence awe him?

  Me thinks he seemes not halfe so vgly now,

  As at the first, when I and Claia saw him.

  Corbilus. ’Tis an old Satyre, Nimph, I now discerne,

  Sadly he sits, as he were sick or lame,

  His lookes would say, that we may easly learne