Complete Works of Edmund Spenser

by Edmund Spenser

  Suspition of friend, nor feare of foe,

  That hazarded his health, had he at all,

  But walkt at will, and wandred too and fro,

  In the pride of his freedome principall: 380

  Litle wist he his fatall future woe,

  But was secure; the liker he to fall.

  He likest is to fall into mischaunce,

  That is regardles of his governaunce.

  Yet still Aragnoll (so his foe was hight) 385

  Lay lurking covertly him to surprise,

  And all his gins, that him entangle might,

  Drest in good order as he could devise.

  At length the foolish flie, without foresight,

  As he that did all daunger quite despise, 390

  Toward those parts came flying careleslie,

  Where hidden was his hatefull enemie.

  Who, seeing him, with secrete joy therefore

  Did tickle inwardly in everie vaine,

  And his false hart, fraught with all treasons store, 395

  Was fil’d with hope his purpose to obtaine:

  Himselfe he close upgathered more and more

  Into his den, that his deceiptfull traine

  By his there being might not be bewraid,

  Ne anie noyse, ne anie motion made. 400

  Like as a wily foxe, that, having spide

  Where on a sunnie banke the lambes doo play,

  Full closely creeping by the hinder side,

  Lyes in ambushment of his hoped pray,

  Ne stirreth limbe, till, seeing readie tide, 405

  He rusheth forth, and snatcheth quite away

  One of the litle younglings unawares:

  So to his worke Aragnoll him prepares.

  Who now shall give unto my heavie eyes

  A well of teares, that all may overflow? 410

  Or where shall I finde lamentable cryes,

  And mournfull tunes enough my griefe to show?

  Helpe, O thou Tragick Muse, me to devise

  Notes sad enough, t’ expresse this bitter throw:

  For loe! the drerie stownd is now arrived, 415

  That of all happines hath us deprived.

  The luckles Clarion, whether cruell Fate

  Or wicked Fortune faultles him misled,

  Or some ungracious blast out of the gate

  Of Aeoles raine perforce him drove on hed, 420

  Was (O sad hap and howre unfortunate!)

  With violent swift flight forth caried

  Into the cursed cobweb, which his foe

  Had framed for his finall overthroe.

  There the fond flie, entangled, strugled long, 425

  Himselfe to free thereout; but all in vaine.

  For, striving more, the more in laces strong

  Himselfe he tide, and wrapt his winges twaine

  In lymie snares the subtill loupes among;

  That in the ende he breathelesse did remaine, 430

  And all his yougthly forces idly spent

  Him to the mercie of th’ avenger lent.

  Which when the greisly tyrant did espie,

  Like a grimme lyon rushing with fierce might

  Out of his den, he seized greedelie 435

  On the resistles pray, and with fell spight,

  Under the left wing stroke his weapon slie

  Into his heart, that his deepe groning spright

  In bloodie streames foorth fled into the aire,

  His bodie left the spectacle of care.

  FINIS.

  Visions of the Worlds Vanitie

  [This series of original ‘visions’ is manifestly of kin to those translated from Petrarch and Du Bellay and, more distantly, to ‘Ruins of Rome.’ It is unquestionably of later composition, but how much later has been disputed. Some critics, observing that, whereas the sonnets of the three earlier series are in the common Elizabethan form, the sonnets of this are in the special form that Spenser devised for himself, have argued that the interval of time must be considerable. In the first place, however, we have no proof that Spenser may not have devised his own sonnet-form early (we meet it in the dedication to ‘Virgil’s Gnat,’ of Calendar days); in the second place, for the three series that were translations he might naturally choose the looser and therefore easier Elizabethan form, when, for original sonnets, he would adopt his own more complicated scheme. This point set aside, there is nothing in the series to denote a much later period: the style is, indeed, distinctly immature. One may plausibly conclude that ‘Visions of the World’s Vanity’ was suggested by the earlier ‘Visions’ and executed not long after them.

  The noteworthy fact about these various early poems is that they show Spenser, at the outset of his career, driving full on allegory. Partly by accident and partly by choice, he has committed himself to a special form of the art, from which he later progresses to others more comprehensive. This form is the literary counterpart of a mixed type, in which poetry and the graphic arts are combined, the so-called ‘emblem.’ The essence of both consists in the expression of an idea by means of a complete image or picture. Thus Du Bellay, having composed in his Antiquitez de Rome (‘Ruins of Rome’) a series of meditations upon the transitoriness of human grandeur, went on, in his supplementary Songe (‘Visions of Bellay’), to express those same ideas in a series of poetic pictures. These, when borrowed by Van der Noot for the Théâtre of 1568, were made into emblems proper by the addition of engravings that rendered them to the eye. Such emblem books, of engravings and poetry combined, were enormously popular through most of the sixteenth century. They affected the imagination of that period incalculably. Book followed book, edition edition. Mythology, fable, natural history, history were ransacked for themes and illustrations, which were repeated in a dozen forms. Poetry, which, as the ‘Visions of Petrarch’ show, had long since practised a variety of this art, was stimulated to it afresh. Spenser, in his turn, wrote ‘Visions of the World’s Vanity,’ among which the sonnets on the Scarabee and the Remora, adapted from the first great emblem-writer Alciati, sufficiently declare his indebtedness. The influence may be thought to extend even to the allegory of the Faery Queen; for the figures in the procession at the House of Pride and in the Masque of Cupid, with others of their kind, are in a way but figures from the emblem books glorified by a larger art. At this point, however, the emblem as a special type merges in the more common forms of allegory.]

  I

  ONE day, whiles that my daylie cares did sleepe,

  My spirit, shaking off her earthly prison,

  Began to enter into meditation deepe

  Of things exceeding reach of common reason;

  Such as this age, in which all good is geason, 5

  And all that humble is and meane debaced,

  Hath brought forth in her last declining season,

  Griefe of good mindes, to see goodnesse disgraced.

  On which when as my thought was throghly placed,

  Unto my eyes strange showes presented were, 10

  Picturing that which I in minde embraced,

  That yet those sights empassion me full nere.

  Such as they were (faire Ladie) take in worth,

  That when time serves, may bring things better forth.

  II

  In summers day, when Phœbus fairly shone, 15

  I saw a bull as white as driven snowe,

  With gilden hornes embowed like the moone,

  In a fresh flowring meadow lying lowe:

  Up to his eares the verdant grasse did growe,

  And the gay floures did offer to be eaten; 20

  But he with fatnes so did overflowe,

  That he all wallowed in the weedes downe beaten,

  Ne car’d with them his daintie lips to sweeten:

  Till that a brize, a scorned little creature,

  Through his faire hide his angrie sting did threaten, 25

  And vext so sore, that all his goodly feature

  And all his plenteous pasture nought him pleas
ed:

  So by the small the great is oft diseased.

  III

  Beside the fruitfull shore of muddie Nile,

  Upon a sunnie banke outstretched lay, 30

  In monstrous length, a mightie crocodile,

  That, cram’d with guiltles blood and greedie pray

  Of wretched people travailing that way,

  Thought all things lesse than his disdainfull pride.

  I saw a little bird, cal’d Tedula, 35

  The least of thousands which on earth abide,

  That forst this hideous beast to open wide

  The greisly gates of his devouring hell,

  And let him feede, as Nature doth provide,

  Upon his jawes, that with blacke venime swell. 40

  Why then should greatest things the least disdaine,

  Sith that so small so mightie can constraine?

  IV

  The kingly bird, that beares Joves thunderclap,

  One day did scorne the simple scarabee,

  Proud of his highest service and good hap, 45

  That made all other foules his thralls to bee:

  The silly flie, that no redresse did see,

  Spide where the eagle built his towring nest,

  And kingling fire within the hollow tree,

  Burnt up his yong ones, and himselfe distrest; 50

  Ne suffred him in anie place to rest,

  But drove in Joves owne lap his egs to lay;

  Where gathering also filth him to infest,

  Forst with the filth his egs to fling away:

  For which when as the foule was wroth, said Jove, 55

  ‘Lo! how the least the greatest may reprove.’

  V

  Toward the sea turning my troubled eye,

  I saw the fish (if fish I may it cleepe)

  That makes the sea before his face to flye,

  And with his flaggie finnes doth seeme to sweepe 60

  The fomie waves out of the dreadfull deep,

  The huge Leviathan, Dame Natures wonder,

  Making his sport, that manie makes to weep:

  A sword-fish small him from the rest did sunder,

  That, in his throat him pricking softly under, 65

  His wide abysse him forced forth to spewe,

  That all the sea did roare like heavens thunder,

  And all the waves were stain’d with filthie hewe.

  Hereby I learned have, not to despise

  What ever thing seemes small in common eyes. 70

  VI

  An hideous dragon, dreadfull to behold,

  Whose backe was arm’d against the dint of speare

  With shields of brasse, that shone like burnisht golde,

  And forkhed sting, that death in it did beare,

  Strove with a spider, his unequall peare, 75

  And bad defiance to his enemie.

  The subtill vermin, creeping closely neare,

  Did in his drinke shed poyson privilie;

  Which, through his entrailes spredding diversly,

  Made him to swell, that nigh his bowells brust, 80

  And him enforst to yeeld the victorie,

  That did so much in his owne greatnesse trust.

  O how great vainnesse is it then to scorne

  The weake, that hath the strong so oft forlorne!

  VII

  High on a hill a goodly cedar grewe, 85

  Of wondrous length and streight proportion,

  That farre abroad her daintie odours threwe;

  Mongst all the daughters of proud Libanon,

  Her match in beautie was not anie one.

  Shortly within her inmost pith there bred 90

  A litle wicked worme, perceiv’d of none,

  That on her sap and vitall moysture fed:

  Thenceforth her garland so much honoured

  Began to die, (O great ruth for the same!)

  And her faire lockes fell from her loftie head, 95

  That shortly balde and bared she became.

  I, which this sight beheld, was much dismayed,

  To see so goodly thing so soone decayed.

  VIII

  Soone after this I saw an elephant,

  Adorn’d with bells and bosses gorgeouslie, 100

  That on his backe did beare (as batteilant)

  A gilden towre, which shone exceedinglie;

  That he himselfe through foolish vanitie,

  Both for his rich attire and goodly forme,

  Was puffed up with passing surquedrie, 105

  And shortly gan all other beasts to scorne:

  Till that a little ant, a silly worme,

  Into his nosthrils creeping, so him pained,

  That, casting downe his towres, he did deforme

  Both borrowed pride, and native beautie stained. 110

  Let therefore nought, that great is, therein glorie,

  Sith so small thing his happines may varie.

  IX

  Looking far foorth into the ocean wide,

  A goodly ship with banners bravely dight,

  And flag in her top-gallant, I espide, 115

  Through the maine sea making her merry flight:

  Faire blew the winde into her bosome right,

  And th’ heavens looked lovely all the while,

  That she did seeme to daunce, as in delight,

  And at her owne felicitie did smile. 120

  All sodainely there clove unto her keele

  A little fish, that men call Remora,

  Which stopt her course, and held her by the heele,

  That winde nor tide could move her thence away.

  Straunge thing me seemeth, that so small a thing 125

  Should able be so great an one to wring.

  X

  A mighty lyon, lord of all the wood,

  Having his hunger throughly satisfide

  With pray of beasts and spoyle of living blood,

  Safe in his dreadles den him thought to hide: 130

  His sternesse was his prayse, his strength his pride,

  And all his glory in his cruell clawes.

  I saw a wasp, that fiercely him defide,

  And bad him battaile even to his jawes;

  Sore he him stong, that it the blood forth drawes, 135

  And his proude heart is fild with fretting ire:

  In vaine he threats his teeth, his tayle, his pawes,

  And from his bloodie eyes doth sparkle fire;

  That dead himselfe he wisheth for despight.

  So weakest may anoy the most of might. 140

  XI

  What time the Romaine Empire bore the raine

  Of all the world, and florisht most in might,

  The nations gan their soveraigntie disdaine,

  And cast to quitt them from their bondage quight:

  So, when all shrouded were in silent night, 145

  The Galles were, by corrupting of a mayde,

  Possest nigh of the Capitol through slight,

  Had not a goose the treachery bewrayde.

  If then a goose great Rome from ruine stayde,

  And Jove himselfe, the patron of the place, 150

  Preservd from being to his foes betrayde,

  Why do vaine men mean things so much deface,

  And in their might repose their most assurance,

  Sith nought on earth can chalenge long endurance?

  XII

  When these sad sights were overpast and gone, 155

  My spright was greatly moved in her rest,

  With inward ruth and deare affection,

  To see so great things by so small distrest:

  Thenceforth I gan in my engrieved brest

  To scorne all difference of great and small, 160

  Sith that the greatest often are opprest,

  And unawares doe into daunger fall.

  And ye, that read these ruines tragicall,

  Learne by their losse to love the low degree,

  And if that Fortune chaunce
you up to call 165

  To honours seat, forget not what you be:

  For he that of himselfe is most secure

  Shall finde his state most fickle and unsure.

  FINIS.

  The Visions of Bellay

  [‘The Visions of Bellay’ and ‘The Visions of Petrarch,’ which belong together, are presumably the earliest poems of the volume. They are but a remodelling of Spenser’s first known literary work, the translation done in 1569 for Van der Noot’s Theatre: it is more than likely, therefore, that they were executed while that work was still of interest to him, during his early days at Cambridge. The object of the youthful poet in these rifacimenti was apparently not to better his translation, but, for merely artistic effect, to turn the irregular stanzas of the Petrarch group and the blank verse poems of the Bellay group into formal sonnets. He does not seem to have consulted his foreign originals afresh, except that he here renders for the first time four sonnets out of Du Bellay which Van der Noot, in transferring the Frenchman’s series to his book, had dropped. The version of 1569 will be found in the Appendix.]

  I

  IT was the time when rest, soft sliding downe

  From heavens hight into mens heavy eyes,

  In the forgetfulnes of sleepe doth drowne

  The carefull thoughts of mortall miseries.

  Then did a ghost before mine eyes appeare, 5

  On that great rivers banck, that runnes by Rome,

  Which, calling me by name, bad me to reare

  My lookes to heaven, whence all good gifts do come,

  And crying lowd, ‘Loe now, beholde,’ quoth hee,

  ‘What under this great temple placed is: 10

  Lo, all is nought but flying vanitee!’

  So I, that know this worlds inconstancies,

  Sith onely God surmounts all times decay,

  In God alone my confidence do stay.

  II

  On high hills top I saw a stately frame, 15

  An hundred cubits high by just assize,

  With hundreth pillours fronting faire the same,

  All wrought with diamond after Dorick wize:

  Nor brick, nor marble was the wall in view,

  But shining christall, which from top to base 20

  Out of her womb a thousand rayons threw

  On hundred steps of Afrike golds enchase:

  Golde was the parget, and the seeling bright

  Did shine all scaly with great plates of golde;

  The floore of jasp and emeraude was dight. 25

  O worlds vainesse! Whiles thus I did behold,

  An earthquake shooke the hill from lowest seat,

  And overthrew this frame with ruine great.