Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  That after we may favour seeke to win?’

  ‘How els,’ said he, ‘but with a good bold face, 645

  And with big words, and with a stately pace,

  That men may thinke of you, in generall,

  That to be in you, which is not at all:

  For not by that which is, the world now deemeth,

  (As it was wont) but by that same that seemeth. 650

  Ne do I doubt, but that ye well can fashion

  Your selves theretoo, according to occasion:

  So fare ye well; good courtiers may ye bee.’

  So, proudlie neighing, from them parted hee.

  Then gan this craftie couple to devize, 655

  How for the court themselves they might aguize:

  For thither they themselves meant to addresse,

  In hope to finde there happier successe.

  So well they shifted, that the Ape anon

  Himselfe had cloathed like a gentleman, 660

  And the slie Foxe, as like to be his groome;

  That to the court in seemly sort they come.

  Where the fond Ape, himselfe uprearing hy

  Upon his tiptoes, stalketh stately by,

  As if he were some great magnifico, 665

  And boldlie doth amongst the boldest go;

  And his man Reynold, with fine counterfesaunce,

  Supports his credite and his countenaunce.

  Then gan the courtiers gaze on everie side,

  And stare on him, with big lookes basen wide, 670

  Wondring what mister wight he was, and whence:

  For he was clad in strange accoustrements,

  Fashion’d with queint devises never seene

  In court before, yet there all fashions beene:

  Yet he them in newfanglenesse did pas. 675

  But his behaviour altogether was

  Alla Turchesca, much the more admyr’d,

  And his lookes loftie, as if he aspyr’d

  To dignitie, and sdeign’d the low degree;

  That all which did such strangenesse in him see 680

  By secrete meanes gan of his state enquire,

  And privily his servant thereto hire:

  Who, throughly arm’d against such coverture,

  Reported unto all, that he was sure

  A noble gentleman of high regard, 685

  Which through the world had with long travel far’d,

  And seene the manners of all beasts on ground;

  Now here arriv’d, to see if like he found.

  Thus did the Ape at first him credit gaine,

  Which afterwards he wisely did maintaine 690

  With gallant showe, and daylie more augment

  Through his fine feates and courtly complement;

  For he could play, and daunce, and vaute, and spring,

  And all that els pertaines to reveling,

  Onely through kindly aptnes of his joynts. 695

  Besides he could doo manie other poynts,

  The which in court him served to good stead:

  For he mongst ladies could their fortunes read

  Out of their hands, and merie leasings tell,

  And juggle finely, that became him well: 700

  But he so light was at legier demaine,

  That what he toucht came not to light againe;

  Yet would he laugh it out, and proudly looke,

  And tell them that they greatly him mistooke.

  So would he scoffe them out with mockerie, 705

  For he therein had great felicitie;

  And with sharp quips joy’d others to deface,

  Thinking that their disgracing did him grace:

  So whilst that other like vaine wits he pleased

  And made to laugh, his heart was greatly eased. 710

  But the right gentle minde would bite his lip,

  To heare the javell so good men to nip:

  For though the vulgar yeeld an open eare,

  And common courtiers love to gybe and fleare

  At everie thing, which they heare spoken ill, 715

  And the best speaches with ill meaning spill;

  Yet the brave courtier, in whose beauteous thought

  Regard of honour harbours more than ought,

  Doth loath such base condition, to backbite

  Anies good name for envie or despite. 720

  He stands on tearmes of honourable minde,

  Ne will be carried with the common winde

  Of courts inconstant mutabilitie,

  Ne after everie tattling fable flie;

  But heares and sees the follies of the rest, 725

  And thereof gathers for himselfe the best.

  He will not creepe, nor crouche with fained face,

  But walkes upright with comely stedfast pace,

  And unto all doth yeeld due curtesie;

  But not with kissed hand belowe the knee, 730

  As that same apish crue is wont to doo:

  For he disdaines himselfe t’ embase there-too.

  He hates fowle leasings, and vile flatterie,

  Two filthie blots in noble gentrie;

  And lothefull idlenes he doth detest, 735

  The canker worme of everie gentle brest;

  The which to banish with faire exercise

  Of knightly feates, he daylie doth devise:

  Now menaging the mouthes of stubborne steedes,

  Now practising the proofe of warlike deedes, 740

  Now his bright armes assaying, now his speare,

  Now the nigh aymed ring away to beare:

  At other times he casts to sew the chace

  Of swift wilde beasts, or runne on foote a race,

  T’ enlarge his breath (large breath in armes most needfull) 745

  Or els by wrestling to wex strong and heedfull,

  Or his stiffe armes to stretch with eughen bowe,

  And manly legs, still passing too and fro,

  Without a gowned beast him fast beside;

  A vaine ensample of the Persian pride, 750

  Who after he had wonne th’ Assyrian foe,

  Did ever after scorne on foote to goe.

  Thus when this courtly gentleman with toyle

  Himselfe hath wearied, he doth recoyle

  Unto his rest, and there with sweete delight 755

  Of musicks skill revives his toyled spright;

  Or els with loves and ladies gentle sports,

  The joy of youth, himselfe he recomforts:

  Or lastly, when the bodie list to pause,

  His minde unto the Muses he withdrawes; 760

  Sweete Ladie Muses, ladies of delight,

  Delights of life, and ornaments of light:

  With whom he close confers, with wise discourse,

  Of Natures workes, of heavens continuall course,

  Of forreine lands, of people different, 765

  Of kingdomes change, of divers government,

  Of dreadfull battailes of renowmed knights;

  With which he kindleth his ambitious sprights

  To like desire and praise of noble fame,

  The onely upshot whereto he doth ayme. 770

  For all his minde on honour fixed is,

  To which he levels all his purposis,

  And in his princes service spends his dayes,

  Not so much for to gaine, or for to raise

  Himselfe to high degree, as for his grace, 775

  And in his liking to winne worthie place,

  Through due deserts and comely carriage,

  In whatso please employ his personage,

  That may be matter meete to gaine him praise;

  For he is fit to use in all assayes, 780

  Whether for armes and warlike amenaunce,

  Or else for wise and civill governaunce.

  For he is practiz’d well in policie,

  And thereto doth his courting most applie:

  To learne the enterdeale of princes strange, 785

  To marke th’ in
tent of counsells, and the change

  Of states, and eke of private men somewhile,

  Supplanted by fine falshood and faire guile;

  Of all the which he gathereth what is fit

  T’ enrich the storehouse of his powerfull wit, 790

  Which through wise speaches and grave conference

  He daylie eekes, and brings to excellence.

  Such is the rightfull courtier in his kinde:

  But unto such the Ape lent not his minde;

  Such were for him no fit companions, 795

  Such would descrie his lewd conditions:

  But the yong lustie gallants he did chose

  To follow, meete to whom he might disclose

  His witlesse pleasance and ill pleasing vaine.

  A thousand wayes he them could entertaine, 800

  With all the thriftles games that may be found;

  With mumming and with masking all around,

  With dice, with cards, with balliards farre unfit,

  With shuttelcocks, misseeming manlie wit,

  With courtizans, and costly riotize, 805

  Whereof still somewhat to his share did rize:

  Ne, them to pleasure, would he sometimes scorne

  A pandares coate (so basely was he borne);

  Thereto he could fine loving verses frame,

  And play the poet oft. But ah! for shame, 810

  Let not sweete poets praise, whose onely pride

  Is vertue to advaunce, and vice deride,

  Be with the worke of losels wit defamed,

  Ne let such verses poetrie be named.

  Yet he the name on him would rashly take, 815

  Maugre the sacred Muses, and it make

  A servant to the vile affection

  Of such as he depended most upon,

  And with the sugrie sweete thereof allure

  Chast ladies eares to fantasies impure. 820

  To such delights the noble wits he led

  Which him reliev’d, and their vaine humours fed

  With fruitles follies and unsound delights.

  But if perhaps into their noble sprights

  Desire of honor or brave thought of armes 825

  Did ever creepe, then with his wicked charmes

  And strong conceipts he would it drive away,

  Ne suffer it to house there halfe a day.

  And whenso love of letters did inspire

  Their gentle wits, and kindly wise desire, 830

  That chieflie doth each noble minde adorne,

  Then he would scoffe at learning, and eke scorne

  The sectaries thereof, as people base

  And simple men, which never came in place

  Of worlds affaires, but, in darke corners mewd, 835

  Muttred of matters, as their bookes them shewd,

  Ne other knowledge ever did attaine,

  But with their gownes their gravitie maintaine.

  From them he would his impudent lewde speach

  Against Gods holie ministers oft reach, 840

  And mocke divines and their profession:

  What else then did he by progression,

  But mocke High God himselfe, whom they professe?

  But what car’d he for God, or godlinesse?

  All his care was himselfe how to advaunce, 845

  And to uphold his courtly countenaunce

  By all the cunning meanes he could devise;

  Were it by honest wayes, or otherwise,

  He made small choyce: yet sure his honestie

  Got him small gaines, but shameles flatterie, 850

  And filthie brocage, and unseemly shifts,

  And borowe base, and some good ladies gifts:

  But the best helpe, which chiefly him sustain’d,

  Was his man Raynolds purchase which he gain’d.

  For he was school’d by kinde in all the skill 855

  Of close conveyance, and each practise ill

  Of coosinage and cleanly knaverie,

  Which oft maintain’d his masters braverie.

  Besides, he usde another slipprie slight,

  In taking on himselfe, in common sight, 860

  False personages fit for everie sted,

  With which he thousands cleanly coosined:

  Now like a merchant, merchants to deceave,

  With whom his credite he did often leave

  In gage, for his gay masters hopelesse dett: 865

  Now like a lawyer, when he land would lett,

  Or sell fee-simples in his masters name,

  Which he had never, nor ought like the same:

  Then would he be a broker, and draw in

  Both wares and money, by exchange to win: 870

  Then would he seeme a farmer, that would sell

  Bargaines of woods, which he did lately fell,

  Or corne, or cattle, or such other ware,

  Thereby to coosin men not well aware;

  Of all the which there came a secret fee 875

  To th’ Ape, that he his countenaunce might bee.

  Besides all this, he usd’ oft to beguile

  Poore suters, that in court did haunt some while:

  For he would learne their busines secretly,

  And then informe his master hastely, 880

  That he by meanes might cast them to prevent,

  And beg the sute the which the other ment.

  Or otherwise false Reynold would abuse

  The simple suter, and wish him to chuse

  His master, being one of great regard 885

  In court, to compas anie sute not hard,

  In case his paines were recompenst with reason:

  So would he worke the silly man by treason

  To buy his masters frivolous good will,

  That had not power to doo him good or ill. 890

  So pitifull a thing is suters state.

  Most miserable man, whom wicked fate

  Hath brought to court, to sue for had ywist,

  That few have found, and manie one hath mist!

  Full little knowest thou that hast not tride, 895

  What hell it is, in suing long to bide:

  To loose good dayes, that might be better spent;

  To wast long nights in pensive discontent;

  To speed to day, to be put back to morrow;

  To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow; 900

  To have thy Princes grace, yet want her Peeres;

  To have thy asking, yet waite manie yeeres;

  To fret thy soule with crosses and with cares;

  To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaires;

  To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne, 905

  To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne.

  Unhappie wight, borne to desastrous end,

  That doth his life in so long tendance spend!

  Who ever leaves sweete home, where meane estate

  In safe assurance, without strife or hate, 910

  Findes all things needfull for contentment meeke,

  And will to court, for shadowes vaine to seeke,

  Or hope to gaine, himselfe will a daw trie:

  That curse God send unto mine enemie!

  For none but such as this bold Ape unblest 915

  Can ever thrive in that unluckie quest;

  Or such as hath a Reynold to his man,

  That by his shifts his master furnish can.

  But yet this Foxe could not so closely hide

  His craftie feates, but that they were descride 920

  At length, by such as sate in justice seate,

  Who for the same him fowlie did entreate;

  And having worthily him punished,

  Out of the court for ever banished.

  And now the Ape, wanting his huckster man, 925

  That wont provide his necessaries, gan

  To growe into great lacke, ne could upholde

  His countenaunce in those his garments olde;

  Ne new ones could he e
asily provide,

  Though all men him uncased gan deride, 930

  Like as a puppit placed in a play,

  Whose part once past all men bid take away:

  So that he driven was to great distresse,

  And shortly brought to hopelesse wretchednesse.

  Then, closely as he might, he cast to leave 935

  The court, not asking any passe or leave;

  But ran away in his rent rags by night,

  Ne ever stayd in place, ne spake to wight,

  Till that the Foxe, his copesmate, he had found;

  To whome complayning his unhappy stound, 940

  At last againe with him in travell joynd,

  And with him far’d some better chaunce to fynde.

  So in the world long time they wandered,

  And mickle want and hardnesse suffered;

  That them repented much so foolishly 945

  To come so farre to seeke for misery,

  And leave the sweetnes of contented home,

  Though eating hipps and drinking watry fome.

  Thus as they them complayned too and fro,

  Whilst through the forest rechlesse they did goe, 950

  Lo! where they spide, how in a gloomy glade

  The Lyon sleeping lay in secret shade,

  His crowne and scepter lying him beside,

  And having doft for heate his dreadfull hide:

  Which when they sawe, the Ape was sore afrayde, 955

  And would have fled with terror all dismayde.

  But him the Foxe with hardy words did stay,

  And bad him put all cowardize away:

  For now was time (if ever they would hope)

  To ayme their counsels to the fairest scope, 960

  And them for ever highly to advaunce,

  In case the good, which their owne happie chaunce

  Them freely offred, they would wisely take.

  Scarse could the Ape yet speake, so did he quake;

  Yet, as he could, he askt how good might growe, 965

  Where nought but dread and death do seeme in show.

  ‘Now,’ sayd he, ‘whiles the Lyon sleepeth sound,

  May we his crowne and mace take from the ground,

  And eke his skinne, the terror of the wood,

  Wherewith we may our selves (if we thinke good) 970

  Make kings of beasts, and lords of forests all,

  Subject unto that powre imperiall.’

  ‘Ah! but,’ sayd the Ape, ‘who is so bold a wretch,

  That dare his hardy hand to those out stretch,

  When as he knowes his meede, if he be spide, 975

  To be a thousand deathes, and shame beside?’

  ‘Fond Ape!’ sayd then the Foxe, ‘into whose brest

  Never crept thought of honor nor brave gest,

  Who will not venture life a king to be,

  And rather rule and raigne in soveraign see, 980

  Than dwell in dust inglorious and bace,