The Shorter Poems

by Edmund Spenser

  Mought not liue ylike, as men of the laye:

  With them it sits to care for their heire,

  Enaunter their heritage doe impaire:

  They must prouide for meanes of maintenaunce,

  80

  And to continue their wont countenaunce.

  But shepheard must walke another way,

  Sike worldly souenance he must foresay.

  The sonne of his loines why should he regard

  To leaue enriched with that he hath spard?

  85

  Should not thilke God, that gaue him that good,

  Eke cherish his child, if in his wayes he stood?

  For if he misliue in leudnes and lust,

  Little bootes all the welth and the trust,

  That his father left by inheritaunce:

  90

  All will be soone wasted with misgouernaunce.

  But through this, and other their miscreaunce,

  They maken many a wrong cheuisaunce,

  Heaping vp waues of welth and woe,

  The floddes whereof shall them ouerflowe.

  95

  Sike mens follie I cannot compare

  Better, then to the Apes folish care,

  That is so enamoured of her young one,

  (And yet God wote, such cause hath she none)

  That with her hard hold, and straight embracing,

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  She stoppeth the breath of her youngling.

  So often times, when as good is meant,

  Euil ensueth of wrong entent.

  The time was once, and may againe retorne,

  (For ought may happen, that hath bene beforne)

  105

  When shepeheards had none inheritaunce,

  Ne of land, nor fee in sufferaunce:

  But what might arise of the bare sheepe,

  (Were it more or lesse) which they did keepe.

  Well ywis was it with shepheards thoe:

  110

  Nought hauing, nought feared they to forgoe.

  For Pan himselfe was their inheritaunce,

  And little them serued for their mayntenaunce.

  The shepheards God so wel them guided,

  That of nought they were vnprouided,

  115

  Butter enough, honye, milke, and whay,

  And their flockes fleeces, them to araye.

  But tract of time, and long prosperitie:

  That nource of vice, this of insolencie,

  Lulled the shepheards in such securitie,

  120

  That not content with loyall obeysaunce,

  Some gan to gape for greedie gouernaunce,

  And match them selfe with mighty potentates,

  Louers of Lordship and troublers of states:

  Tho gan shepheards swaines to looke a loft,

  125

  And leaue to liue hard, and learne to ligge soft:

  Tho vnder colour of shepeheards, somewhile

  There crept in Wolues, ful of fraude and guile,

  That often deuoured their owne sheepe,

  And often the shepheards, that did hem keepe.

  130

  This was the first sourse of shepheards sorowe,

  That now nill be quitt with baile, nor borrowe.

  PALINODE.

  Three thinges to beare, bene very burdenous,

  But the fourth to forbeare, is outragious.

  Wemen that of Loues longing once lust,

  135

  Hardly forbearen, but haue it they must:

  So when choler is inflamed with rage,

  Wanting reuenge, is hard to asswage:

  And who can counsell a thristie soule,

  With patience to forbeare the offred bowle?

  140

  But of all burdens, that a man can beare,

  Moste is, a fooles talke to beare and to heare.

  I wene the Geaunt has not such a weight,

  That beares on his shoulders the heauens height.

  Thou findest faulte, where nys to be found,

  145

  And buildest strong warke vpon a weake ground:

  Thou raylest on right withouten reason,

  And blamest hem much, for small encheason.

  How shoulden shepheardes liue, if not so?

  What? should they pynen in payne and woe?

  150

  Nay sayd I thereto, by my deare borrowe,

  If I may rest, I nill liue in sorrowe.

  Sorrowe ne neede be hastened on:

  For he will come without calling anone.

  While times enduren of tranquillitie,

  155

  Usen we freely our felicitie.

  For when approchen the stormie stowres,

  We mought with our shoulders beare of the sharpe showres.

  And sooth to sayne, nought seemeth sike strife,

  That shepheardes so witen ech others life,

  160

  And layen her faults the world beforne,

  The while their foes done eache of hem scorne.

  Let none mislike of that may not be mended:

  So conteck soone by concord mought be ended.

  PIERS.

  Shepheard, I list none accordaunce make

  165

  With shepheard, that does the right way forsake.

  And of the twaine, if choice were to me,

  Had leuer my foe, then my freend he be.

  For what concord han light and darke sam?

  Or what peace has the Lion with the Lambe?

  170

  Such faitors, when their false harts bene hidde,

  Will doe, as did the Foxe by the Kidde.

  PALINODE.

  Now Piers, of felowship, tell vs that saying:

  For the Ladde can keepe both our flocks from straying.

  PIERS.

  Thilke same Kidde (as I can well deuise)

  175

  Was too very foolish and vnwise.

  For on a tyme in Sommer season,

  The Gate her dame, that had good reason,

  Yode forth abroade vnto the greene wood,

  To brouze, or play, or what shee thought good.

  180

  But for she had a motherly care

  Of her young sonne, and wit to beware,

  Shee set her youngling before her knee,

  That was both fresh and louely to see,

  And full of fauour, as kidde mought be:

  185

  His Vellet head began to shoote out,

  And his wreathed homes gan newly sprout:

  The blossomes of lust to bud did beginne,

  And spring forth ranckly vnder his chinne.

  My sonne (quoth she) (and with that gan weepe:

  190

  For carefull thoughts in her heart did creepe)

  God blesse thee poore Orphane, as he mought me,

  And send thee ioy of thy iollitee.

  Thy father (that word she spake with payne:

  For a sigh had nigh rent her heart in twaine)

  195

  Thy father, had he liued this day,

  To see the braunche of his body displaie,

  How would he haue ioyed at this sweete sight?

  But ah false Fortune such ioy did him spight,

  And cutte of hys dayes with vntimely woe,

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  Betraying him into the traines of hys foe.

  Now I a waylfull widdowe behight,

  Of my old age haue this one delight,

  To see thee succeede in thy fathers steade,

  And florish in flowres of lusty head.

  205

  For euen so thy father his head vpheld,

  And so his hauty homes did he weld.

  Tho marking him with melting eyes,

  A thrilling throbbe from her hart did aryse,

  And interrupted all her other speache,

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  With some old sorowe, that made a newe breache:

  Seemed shee sawe in the young
lings face

  The old lineaments of his fathers grace.

  At last her solein silence she broke,

  And gan his newe budded beard to stroke.

  215

  Kiddie (quoth shee) thou kenst the great care,

  I haue of thy health and thy welfare,

  Which many wyld beastes liggen in waite,

  For to entrap in thy tender state:

  But most the Foxe, maister of collusion:

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  For he has voued thy last confusion.

  For thy my Kiddie be ruld by mee,

  And neuer giue trust to his trecheree.

  And if he chaunce come, when I am abroade,

  Sperre the yate fast for feare of fraude:

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  Ne for all his worst, nor for his best,

  Open the dore at his request.

  So schooled the Gate her wanton sonne,

  That answerd his mother, all should be done,

  Tho went the pensife Damme out of dore,

  230

  And chaunst to stomble at the threshold flore:

  Her stombling steppe some what her amazed,

  (For such, as signes of ill luck bene dispraised)

  Yet forth shee yode thereat halfe aghast:

  And Kiddie the dore sperred after her fast.

  235

  It was not long, after shee was gone,

  But the false Foxe came to the dore anone:

  Not as a Foxe, for then he had be kend,

  But all as a poore pedler he did wend,

  Bearing a trusse of tryfles at hys backe,

  240

  As bells, and babes, and glasses in hys packe.

  A Biggen he had got about his brayne,

  For in his headpeace he felt a sore payne.

  His hinder heele was wrapt in a clout,

  For with great cold he had gotte the gout.

  245

  There at the dore he cast me downe hys pack,

  And layd him downe, and groned, Alack, Alack.

  Ah deare Lord, and sweete Saint Charitee,

  That some good body woulde once pitie mee.

  Well heard Kiddie al this sore constraint,

  250

  And lengd to know the cause of his complaint:

  Tho creeping close behind the Wickets clinck,

  Preuelie he peeped out through a chinck:

  Yet not so preuilie, but the Foxe him spyed:

  For deceitfull meaning is double eyed.

  255

  Ah good young maister (then gan he crye)

  Iesus blesse that sweete face, I espye,

  And keepe your corpse from the carefull stounds,

  That in my carrion carcas abounds.

  The Kidd pittying hys heauinesse,

  260

  Asked the cause of his great distresse,

  And also who, and whence that he were.

  Tho he, that had well ycond his lere,

  Thus medled his talke with many a teare,

  Sicke, sicke, alas, and little lack of dead,

  265

  But I be relieued by your beastlyhead.

  I am a poore Sheepe, albe my coloure donne:

  For with long traueile I am brent in the sonne.

  And if that my Grandsire me sayd, be true,

  Sicker I am very sybbe to you:

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  So be your goodlihead doe not disdayne

  The base kinred of so simple swaine.

  Of mercye and fauour then I you pray,

  With your ayd to forstall my neere decay.

  Tho out of his packe a glasse he tooke:

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  Wherein while kiddie vnwares did looke,

  He was so enamored with the newell,

  That nought he deemed deare for the iewell.

  Tho opened he the dore, and in came

  The false Foxe, as he were starke lame.

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  His tayle he clapt betwixt his legs twayne,

  Lest he should be descried by his trayne.

  Being within, the Kidde made him good glee,

  All for the loue of the glasse he did see.

  After his chere the Pedler can chat,

  285

  And tell many lesings of this, and that:

  And how he could shewe many a fine knack.

  Tho shewed his ware, and opened his packe,

  All saue a bell, which he left behind

  In the bas-ket for the Kidde to fynd.

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  Which when the Kidde stooped downe to catch,

  He popt him in, and his basket did latch,

  Ne stayed he once, the dore to make fast,

  But ranne awaye with him in all hast.

  Home when the doubtfull Damme had her hyde,

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  She mought see the dore stand open wyde.

  All agast, lowdly she gan to call

  Her Kidde: but he nould answere at all.

  Tho on the flore she sawe the merchandise,

  Of which her sonne had sette to dere a prise.

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  What helpe? her Kidde shee knewe well was gone:

  Shee weeped, and wayled, and made great mone.

  Such end had the Kidde, for he nould warned be

  Of craft, coloured with simplicitie:

  And such end perdie does all hem remayne,

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  That of such falsers freendship bene fayne.

  PALINODIE.

  Truly Piers, thou art beside thy wit,

  Furthest fro the marke, weening it to hit,

  Now I pray thee, lette me thy tale borrowe

  For our sir Iohn, to say to morrowe

  310

  At the Kerke, when it is holliday:

  For well he meanes, but little can say.

  But and if Foxes bene so crafty, as so,

  Much needeth all shepheards hem to knowe.

  Of their falshode more could I recount.

  315

  But now the bright Sunne gynneth to dismount:

  And for the deawie night now doth nye,

  I hold it best for vs, home to hye.

  Palinodes Embleme.

  Πς μv πιστος πιστεī.

  320

  Piers his Embleme.

  Tς δ’ α πστις πστω;

  GLOSSE.

  [1] Thilke) this same moneth. It is applyed to the season of the moneth, when all menne delight them selues with pleasaunce of fieldes, and gardens, and garments.

  [5] Bloncket liueries) gray coates. [6] Yclad) arrayed, Y, redoundeth, as before.

  [9] In euery where) a straunge, yet proper kind of speaking.

  [10] Buskets) a Diminutiue .s. little bushes of hauthorne. [12] Kirke) church. [15] Queme) please.

  [20] A shole) a multitude; taken of fishe, whereof some going in great companies, are sayde to swimme in a shole.

  [22] Yode) went. [25] Iouyssance) ioye. [36] Swinck) labour. [38] Inly) entirely. [39] Faytours) vagabonds.

  [54] Great pan) is Christ, the very God of all shepheards, which calleth himselfe the greate and good shepherd. The name is most rightly (me thinkes) applyed to him, for Pan signifieth all or omnipotent, which is onely the Lord Iesus. And by that name (as I remember) he is called of Eusebius in his fifte booke de Preparat. Euang; who thereof telleth a proper storye to that purpose. Which story is first recorded of Plutarch, in his booke of the ceasing of oracles, and of Lauetere translated, in his booke of walking sprightes. who sayth, that about the same time, that our Lord suffered his most bitter passion for the redemtion of man, certein passengers sayling from Italy to Cyprus and passing by certain lies called Paxæ, heard a voyce calling alowde Thamus, Thamus, (now Thamus was the name of an Ægyptian, which was Pilote of the ship,) who giuing eare to the cry, was bidden, when he came to Palodes, to tel, that the great Pan was dead: which he doubting to doe, yet for that when he came to Palodes, there sodeinly was such a calme of winde, that the shippe stoode still in the sea vnmoued, he was fo
rced to cry alowd, that Pan was dead: wherewithall there was heard suche piteous outcryes and dreadfull shriking, as hath not bene the like. By whych Pan, though of some be vnderstoode the great Satanas, whose kingdome at that time was by Christ conquered, the gates of hell broken vp, and death by death deliuered to eternall death, (for at that time, as he sayth, all Oracles surceased, and enchaunted spirits, that were wont to delude the people, thenceforth held theyr peace) and also at the demaund of the Emperoure Tiberius, who that Pan should be, answere was made him by the wisest and best learned, that it was the sonne of Mercurie and Penelope, yet I think it more properly meant of the death of Christ, the onely and very Pan, then suffering for his flock.