Complete Works of Edmund Spenser
Page 139
Out of these mountaines, now consum’d to pouder:
In which the foule that serves to beare the lightning
Is now no more seen flying, nor alighting.
XVIII
These heapes of stones, these old wals which ye see,
Were first enclosures but of salvage soyle; 240
And these brave pallaces, which maystred bee
Of Time, were shepheards cottages some-while.
Then tooke the shepheards kingly ornaments,
And the stout hynde arm’d his right hand with steele:
Eftsoones their rule of yearely presidents 245
Grew great, and sixe months greater a great deele;
Which, made perpetuall, rose to so great might,
That thence th’ imperiall eagle rooting tooke,
Till th’ heaven it selfe, opposing gainst her might,
Her power to Peters successor betooke; 250
Who, shepheardlike, (as Fates the same foreseeing)
Doth shew that all things turne to their first being.
XIX
All that is perfect, which th’ heaven beautefies;
All that ‘s imperfect, borne belowe the moone;
All that doth feede our spirits and our eies; 255
And all that doth consume our pleasures soone;
All the mishap, the which our daies out-weares;
All the good hap of th’ oldest times afore,
Rome in the time of her great ancesters,
Like a Pandora, locked long in store. 260
But destinie this huge chaos turmoyling,
In which all good and evill was enclosed,
Their heavenly vertues from these woes assoyling,
Caried to heaven, from sinfull bondage losed:
But their great sinnes, the causers of their paine, 265
Under these antique ruines yet remaine.
XX
No otherwise than raynie cloud, first fed
With earthly vapours gathered in the ayre,
Eftsoones in compas arch’t, to steepe his hed,
Doth plonge himselfe in Tethys bosome faire; 270
And mounting up againe, from whence he came,
With his great bellie spreds the dimmed world,
Till at the last, dissolving his moist frame,
In raine, or snowe, or haile he forth is horld;
This citie, which was first but shepheards shade, 275
Uprising by degrees, grewe to such height,
That queene of land and sea her selfe she made.
At last, not able to beare so great weight,
Her power, disperst, through all the world did vade;
To shew that all in th’ end to nought shall fade. 280
XXI
The same which Pyrrhus and the puissunce
Of Afrike could not tame, that same brave citie,
Which, with stout courage arm’d against mischaunce,
Sustein’d the shocke of common enmitie;
Long as her ship, tost with so manie freakes, 285
Had all the world in armes against her bent,
Was never seene that anie fortunes wreakes
Could breake her course begun with brave intent.
But when the object of her vertue failed,
Her power it selfe against it selfe did arme; 290
As he that having long in tempest sailed,
Faine would arive, but cannot for the storme,
If too great winde against the port him drive,
Doth in the port it selfe his vessell rive.
XXII
When that brave honour of the Latine name, 295
Which mear’d her rule with Africa and Byze,
With Thames inhabitants of noble fame,
And they which see the dawning day arize,
Her nourslings did with mutinous uprore
Harten against her selfe, her conquer’d spoile, 300
Which she had wonne from all the world afore,
Of all the world was spoyl’d within a while.
So, when the compast course of the universe
In sixe and thirtie thousand yeares is ronne,
The bands of th’ elements shall backe reverse 305
To their first discord, and be quite undonne:
The seedes, of which all things at first were bred,
Shall in great Chaos wombe againe be hid.
XXIII
O warie wisedome of the man that would
That Carthage towres from spoile should be forborne, 310
To th’ end that his victorious people should
With cancring laisure not be overworne!
He well foresaw, how that the Romane courage,
Impatient of pleasures faint desires,
Through idlenes would turne to civill rage, 315
And be her selfe the matter of her fires.
For in a people given all to ease,
Ambition is engendred easily;
As in a vicious bodie, grose disease
Soone growes through humours superfluitie. 320
That came to passe, when, swolne with plenties pride,
Nor prince, nor peere, nor kin, they would abide.
XXIV
If the blinde Furie, which warres breedeth oft,
Wonts not t’ enrage the hearts of equall beasts,
Whether they fare on foote, or flie aloft, 325
Or armed be with clawes, or scalie creasts,
What fell Erynnis, with hot burning tongs,
Did grype your hearts, with noysome rage imbew’d,
That, each to other working cruell wrongs,
Your blades in your owne bowels you embrew’d? 330
Was this, ye Romanes, your hard destinie?
Or some old sinne, whose unappeased guilt
Powr’d vengeance forth on you eternallie?
Or brothers blood, the which at first was spilt
Upon your walls, that God might not endure 335
Upon the same to set foundation sure?
XXV
O that I had the Thracian poets harpe,
For to awake out of th’ infernall shade
Those antique Cæsars, sleeping long in darke,
The which this auncient citie whilome made! 340
Or that I had Amphions instrument,
To quicken with his vitall notes accord
The stonie joynts of these old walls now rent,
By which th’ Ausonian light might be restor’d!
Or that at least I could with pencill fine 345
Fashion the pourtraicts of these palacis,
By paterne of great Virgils spirit divine!
I would assay with that which in me is
To builde, with levell of my loftie style,
That which no hands can evermore compyle. 350
XXVI
Who list the Romane greatnes forth to figure,
Him needeth not to seeke for usage right
Of line, or lead, or rule, or squaire, to measure
Her length, her breadth, her deepnes, or her hight;
But him behooves to vew in compasse round 355
All that the ocean graspes in his long armes;
Be it where the yerely starre doth scortch the ground,
Or where colde Boreas blowes his bitter stormes.
Rome was th’ whole world, and al the world was Rome,
And if things nam’d their names doo equalize, 360
When land and sea ye name, then name ye Rome,
And naming Rome, ye land and sea comprize:
For th’ auncient plot of Rome, displayed plaine,
The map of all the wide world doth containe.
XXVII
Thou that at Rome astonisht dost behold 365
The antique pride, which menaced the skie,
These haughtie heapes, these palaces of olde,
These wals, these arcks, these baths, these temples hie,
Judge, by these ample ruines vew, the rest
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The which injurious time hath quite outworne, 370
Since, of all workmen helde in reckning best,
Yet these olde fragments are for paternes borne:
Then also marke, how Rome, from day to day,
Repayring her decayed fashion,
Renewes herselfe with buildings rich and gay; 375
That one would judge that the Romaine Dæmon
Doth yet himselfe with fatall hand enforce,
Againe on foote to reare her pouldred corse.
XXVIII
He that hath seene a great oke drie and dead,
Yet clad with reliques of some trophees olde, 380
Lifting to heaven her aged hoarie head,
Whose foote in ground hath left but feeble holde,
But halfe disbowel’d lies above the ground,
Shewing her wreathed rootes, and naked armes,
And on her trunke, all rotten and unsound, 385
Onely supports herselfe for meate of wormes,
And though she owe her fall to the first winde,
Yet of the devout people is ador’d,
And manie yong plants spring out of her rinde;
Who such an oke hath seene, let him record 390
That such this cities honour was of yore,
And mongst all cities florished much more.
XXIX
All that which Aegypt whilome did devise,
All that which Greece their temples to embrave,
After th’ Ionicke, Atticke, Doricke guise, 395
Or Corinth skil’d in curious workes to grave,
All that Lysippus practike arte could forme,
Apelles wit, or Phidias his skill,
Was wont this auncient citie to adorne,
And the heaven it selfe with her wide wonders fill. 400
All that which Athens ever brought forth wise,
All that which Afrike ever brought forth strange,
All that which Asie ever had of prise,
Was here to see. O mervelous great change!
Rome, living, was the worlds sole ornament, 405
And dead, is now the worlds sole moniment.
XXX
Like as the seeded field greene grasse first showes,
Then from greene grasse into a stalke doth spring,
And from a stalke into an eare forthgrowes,
Which eare the frutefull graine doth shortly bring; 410
And as in season due the husband mowes
The waving lockes of those faire yeallow heares,
Which, bound in sheaves, and layd in comely rowes,
Upon the naked fields in stackes he reares:
So grew the Romane Empire by degree, 415
Till that barbarian hands it quite did spill,
And left of it but these olde markes to see,
Of which all passers by doo somewhat pill,
As they which gleane, the reliques use to gather,
Which th’ husbandman behind him chanst to scater. 420
XXXI
That same is now nought but a champianwide,
Where all this worlds pride once was situate.
No blame to thee, whosoever dost abide
By Nyle, or Gange, or Tygre, or Euphrate;
Ne Afrike thereof guiltie is, nor Spaine, 425
Nor the bolde people by the Thamis brincks,
Nor the brave warlicke brood of Alemaine,
Nor the borne souldier which Rhine running drinks.
Thou onely cause, O Civill Furie, art:
Which, sowing in th’ Aemathian fields thy spight, 430
Didst arme thy hand against thy proper hart;
To th’ end that when thou wast in greatest hight
To greatnes growne, through long prosperitie,
Thou then adowne might’st fall more horriblie.
XXXII
Hope ye, my verses, that posteritie 435
Of age ensuing shall you ever read?
Hope ye that ever immortalitie
So meane harpes worke may chalenge for her meed?
If under heaven anie endurance were,
These moniments, which not in paper writ, 440
But in porphyre and marble doo appeare,
Might well have hop’d to have obtained it.
Nath’les, my lute, whom Phoebus deigned to give,
Cease not to sound these olde antiquities:
For if that Time doo let thy glorie live, 445
Well maist thou boast, how ever base thou bee,
That thou art first which of thy nation song
Th’ olde honour of the people gowned long.
L’ENVOY
Bellay, first garland of free poësie
That France brought forth, though fruitfull of brave wits, 450
Well worthie thou of immortalitie,
That long hast traveld by thy learned writs,
Olde Rome out of her ashes to revive,
And give a second life to dead decayes:
Needes must he all eternitie survive, 455
That can to other give eternall dayes.
Thy dayes therefore are endles, and thy prayse
Excelling all that ever went before;
And, after thee, gins Bartas hie to rayse
His heavenly Muse, th’ Almightie to adore. 460
Live happie spirits, th’ honour of your name,
And fill the world with never dying fame.
FINIS.
Muiopotmos, or the Fate of the Butterflie
MUIOPOTMOS,
OR
THE FATE OF THE BUTTERFLIE
BY ED. SP.
DEDICATED TO THE MOST FAIRE AND VERTUOUS LADIE: THE LADIE CAREY
LONDON
IMPRINTED FOR WILLIAM PONSONBIE, DWELLING IN PAULES CHURCHYARD AT THE SIGNE OF THE BISHOPS HEAD
1590
TO THE RIGHT WORTHY AND VERTUOUS LADIE; THE LADIE CAREY
MOST brave and bountifull Lady: for so excellent favours as I have received at your sweet handes, to offer these fewe leaves as in recompence, should be as to offer flowers to the gods for their divine benefites. Therefore I have determined to give my selfewholy to you, as quite abandoned from my selfe, and absolutely vowed to your services: which in all right is ever held for full recompence of debt or damage to have the person yeelded. My person I wot wel how little worth it is. But the faithfull minde and humble zeale which I beare unto your Ladiship may perhaps be more of price, as may please you to account and use the poore service thereof; which taketh glory to advance your excellent partes and noble vertues, and to spend it selfe in honouring you: not so much for your great bounty to my self, which yet may not be unminded; nor for name or kindrerds sake by you vouchsafed, beeing also regardable; as for that honorable name, which yee have by your brave deserts purchast to your self, and spred in the mouths of al men: with which I have also presumed to grace my verses, and under your name to commend to the world this smal poeme; the which beseeching your Ladiship to take in worth, and of all things therein according to your wonted graciousnes to make a milde construction, I humbly pray for your happines.
Your Ladiships ever
humbly;
E. S.
[‘Muiopotmos’ cannot be dated with certainty. In style it would seem to be more mature than the work of the Calendar period; it may have been written in Ireland; one rather associates it with that period of delight in London while the poet was seeing his Faery Queen through the press. If the date upon its separate titlepage, 1590, is to be trusted, it must have been written, at latest, not long after his arrival in England.
By contrast to the motley and impressive mediævalism of ‘Mother Hubberd’s Tale,’ this poem would seem to be conspicuously Renaissance Italian. Its subject is a mere nothing: it tells no story that could not be told in full in a stanza, it presents no situation for the delicate rhetoric of the emotions: it is a mere running frieze of images and scenes, linked in fanciful continuity. It is organized as a mockheroic poem, but its appeal is e
ssentially to the eye. Myths, invented or real, that seem to form themselves spontaneously into pictures, the landscape of the gardens, fantastic armor, the figured scenes of tapestry richly bordered, these are of a poetry akin to the plastic arts, such as one finds in the Stanze of Poliziano. Yet the temper of ‘Muiopotmos’ is not that of the Stanza and their like. It is rather of the air than of the earth. One might think it an emanation of the theme itself and fancy that the frail wings of the butterfly had been spread for the style, delicately colored, ethereal. The poet of the Faery Queen never more happily escaped into ‘delight with liberty’ than here.]
MUIOPOTMOS: OR
THE FATE OF THE BUTTERFLIE
I SING of deadly dolorous debate,
Stir’d up through wrathfull Nemesis despight,
Betwixt two mightie ones of great estate,
Drawne into armes, and proofe of mortall fight,
Through prowd ambition and hartswelling hate, 5
Whilest neither could the others greater might
And sdeignfull scorne endure; that from small jarre
Their wraths at length broke into open warre.
The roote whereof and tragicall effect,
Vouchsafe, O thou the mournfulst Muse of nyne, 10
That wontst the tragick stage for to direct,
In funerall complaints and waylfull tyne,
Reveale to me, and all the meanes detect
Through which sad Clarion did at last declyne
To lowest wretchednes: And is there then 15
Such rancour in the harts of mightie men?
Of all the race of silver-winged flies
Which doo possesse the empire of the aire,
Betwixt the centred earth and azure skies,
Was none more favourable, nor more faire, 20
Whilst heaven did favour his felicities,
Then Clarion, the eldest sonne and haire
Of Muscaroll, and in his fathers sight
Of all alive did seeme the fairest wight.
With fruitfull hope his aged breast he fed 25
Of future good, which his yong toward yeares,
Full of brave courage and bold hardyhed,
Above th’ ensample of his equall peares,
Did largely promise, and to him forered
(Whilst oft his heart did melt in tender teares) 30
That he in time would sure prove such an one,
As should be worthie of his fathers throne.
The fresh yong flie, in whom the kindly fire
Of lustfull yongth began to kindle fast,
Did much disdaine to subject his desire 35
To loathsome sloth, or houres in ease to wast,
But joy’d to range abroad in fresh attire,
Through the wide compas of the ayrie coast,