Collected Works of Michael Drayton

by Michael Drayton

  Of all Woman kind that thou

  Wert ordain’d to taste of woe; 100

  To a Beauty so diuine,

  Paradise in little done,

  O that Fortune should assigne,

  Ought but what thou well mightst shun,

  But my counsailes such must bee,

  (Though as yet I them conceale)

  By their deadly wound in me,

  They thy hurt must onely heale,

  Could I giue what thou do’st craue

  To that passe thy state is growne, 110

  I thereby thy life may saue,

  But am sure to loose mine owne,

  To that ioy thou do’st conceiue,

  Through my heart, the way doth lye,

  Which in two for thee must claue

  Least that thou shouldst goe awry.

  Thus my death must be a toy,

  Which my pensiue breast must couer;

  Thy beloued to enioy,

  Must be taught thee by thy Louer. 120

  Hard the Choise I haue to chuse,

  To my selfe if friend I be,

  I must my SIRENA loose,

  If not so, shee looseth me.

  Thus whilst he doth cast about,

  What therein were best to doe,

  Nor could yet resolue the doubt,

  Whether he should stay or goe:

  In those Feilds not farre away,

  There was many a frolike Swaine, 130

  In fresh Russets day by day,

  That kept Reuells on the Plaine.

  Nimble TOM, sirnam’d the Tup,

  For his Pipe without a Peere,

  And could tickle Trenchmore vp,

  As t’would ioy your heart to heare.

  RALPH as much renown’d for skill,

  That the Taber touch’d so well;

  For his Gittern, little GILL,

  That all other did excell. 140

  ROCK and ROLLO euery way,

  Who still led the Rusticke Ging,

  And could troule a Roundelay,

  That would make the Feilds to ring,

  COLLIN on his Shalme so cleare,

  Many a high-pitcht Note that had,

  And could make the Eechos nere

  Shout as they were wexen mad.

  Many a lusty Swaine beside,

  That for nought but pleasure car’d, 150

  Hauing DORILVS espy’d,

  And with him knew how it far’d.

  Thought from him they would remoue,

  This strong melancholy fitt,

  Or so, should it not behoue,

  Quite to put him out of ‘s witt;

  Hauing learnt a Song, which he

  Sometime to Sirena sent,

  Full of Iollity and glee,

  When the Nimph liu’d neere to Trent 160

  They behinde him softly gott,

  Lying on the earth along,

  And when he suspected not,

  Thus the Iouiall Shepheards song.

  Neare to the Siluer Trent,

  Sirena dwelleth:

  Shee to whom Nature lent

  All that excelleth:

  By which the Muses late,

  And the neate Graces, 170

  Haue for their greater state

  Taken their places:

  Twisting an Anadem,

  Wherewith to Crowne her,

  As it belong’d to them

  Most to renowne her.

  Cho. On thy Bancke,

  In a Rancke,

  Let the Swanes sing her,

  And with their Musick, 180

  Along let them bring her.

  Tagus and Pactolus

  Are to thee Debter,

  Nor for their gould to vs

  Are they the better:

  Henceforth of all the rest,

  Be thou the Riuer,

  Which as the daintiest,

  Puts them downe euer,

  For as my precious one, 190

  O’r thee doth trauell,

  She to Pearl Parragon

  Turneth thy grauell.

  Cho. On thy Bancke,

  In a Rancke,

  Let thy Swanns sing her,

  And with their Musicke,

  Along let them bring her.

  Our mournefull Philomell,

  That rarest Tuner, 200

  Henceforth in Aperill

  Shall wake the sooner,

  And to her shall complaine

  From the thicke Couer,

  Redoubling euery straine

  Ouer and ouer:

  For when my Loue too long

  Her Chamber keepeth;

  As though it suffered wrong,

  The Morning weepeth. 210

  Cho. On thy Bancke,

  In a Rancke,

  Let thy Swanes sing her,

  And with their Musick,

  Along let them bring her.

  Oft have I seene the Sunne

  To doe her honour.

  Fix himselfe at his noone,

  To look vpon her,

  And hath guilt euery Groue, 220

  Euery Hill neare her,

  With his flames from aboue,

  Striuing to cheere her,

  And when shee from his sight

  Hath her selfe turned,

  He as it had beene night,

  In Cloudes hath mourned.

  Cho. On thy Bancke,

  In a Rancke,

  Let thy Swanns sing her, 230

  And with their Musicke,

  Along let them bring her.

  The Verdant Meades are seene,

  When she doth view them,

  In fresh and gallant Greene,

  Straight to renewe them,

  And euery little Grasse

  Broad it selfe spreadeth,

  Proud that this bonny Lasse

  Vpon it treadeth: 240

  Nor flower is so sweete

  In this large Cincture

  But it upon her feete

  Leaueth some Tincture.

  Cho. On thy Bancke,

  In a Rancke,

  Let thy Swanes sing her,

  And with thy Musick,

  Along let them bring her.

  The Fishes in the Flood, 250

  When she doth Angle,

  For the Hooke striue a good

  Them to intangle;

  And leaping on the Land

  From the cleare water,

  Their Scales vpon the sand,

  Lauishly scatter;

  Therewith to paue the mould

  Whereon she passes,

  So her selfe to behold, 260

  As in her glasses.

  Cho. On thy Bancke,

  In a Ranke,

  Let thy Swanns sing her,

  And with their Musicke,

  Along let them bring her.

  When shee lookes out by night,

  The Starres stand gazing,

  Like Commets to our sight

  Fearefully blazing, 270

  As wondring at her eyes

  With their much brightnesse,

  Which to amaze the skies,

  Dimming their lightnesse,

  The raging Tempests are Calme,

  When shee speaketh,

  Such most delightsome balme

  From her lips breaketh.

  Cho. On thy Banke,

  In a Rancke, &c. 280

  In all our Brittany,

  Ther’s not a fayrer,

  Nor can you fitt any:

  Should you compare her.

  Angels her eye-lids keepe

  All harts surprizing,

  Which looke whilst she doth sleepe

  Like the Sunnes rising:

  She alone of her kinde

  Knoweth true measure 290

  And her vnmatched mind

  Is Heauens treasure:

  Cho. On thy Bancke,

  In a Rancke

  Let thy Swanes sing her,

  And with their Musick,

  Along let them bring her
.

  Fayre Doue and Darwine cleere

  Boast yee your beauties,

  To Trent your Mistres here 300

  Yet pay your duties,

  My Loue was higher borne

  Tow’rds the full Fountaines,

  Yet she doth Moorland scorne,

  And the Peake Mountaines;

  Nor would she none should dreame,

  Where she abideth,

  Humble as is the streame,

  Which by her slydeth,

  Cho. On thy Bancke, 310

  In a Rancke,

  Let thy Swannes sing her,

  And with their Musicke,

  Along let them bring her.

  Yet my poore Rusticke Muse,

  Nothing can moue her,

  Nor the means I can vse,

  Though her true Louer:

  Many a long Winters night,

  Haue I wak’d for her, 320

  Yet this my piteous plight,

  Nothing can stirre her.

  All thy Sands siluer Trent

  Downe to the Humber,

  The sighes I haue spent

  Neuer can number.

  Cho. On thy Banke

  In a Ranke,

  Let thy Swans sing her

  And with their Musicke 330

  Along let them bring her.

  Taken with this suddaine Song,

  Least for mirth when he doth look

  His sad heart more deeply stong,

  Then the former care he tooke.

  At their laughter and amaz’d,

  For a while he sat aghast

  But a little hauing gaz’d,

  Thus he them bespake at last.

  Is this time for mirth (quoth he) 340

  To a man with griefe opprest,

  Sinfull wretches as you be,

  May the sorrowes in my breast,

  Light vpon you one by one,

  And as now you mocke my woe,

  When your mirth is turn’d to moane;

  May your like then serue you so.

  When one Swaine among the rest

  Thus him merrily bespake,

  Get thee vp thou arrant beast 350

  Fits this season loue to make?

  Take thy Sheephooke in thy hand,

  Clap thy Curre and set him on,

  For our fields ’tis time to stand,

  Or they quickly will be gon.

  Rougish Swinheards that repine

  At our Flocks, like beastly Clownes,

  Sweare that they will bring their Swine,

  And will wroote vp all our Downes:

  They their Holly whips haue brac’d, 360

  And tough Hazell goades haue gott;

  Soundly they your sides will baste,

  If their courage faile them not.

  Of their purpose if they speed,

  Then your Bagpypes you may burne,

  It is neither Droane nor Reed

  Shepheard, that will serue your turne:

  Angry OLCON sets them on,

  And against vs part doth take

  Euer since he was out-gone, 370

  Offring Rymes with us to make.

  Yet if so our Sheepe-hookes hold,

  Dearely shall our Downes be bought,

  For it neuer shall be told,

  We our Sheep-walkes sold for naught.

  And we here haue got vs Dogges,

  Best of all the Westerne breed,

  Which though Whelps shall lug their Hogges,

  Till they make their eares to bleed:

  Therefore Shepheard come away. 380

  When as DORILVS arose,

  Whistles Cut-tayle from his play,

  And along with them he goes.

  FINIS.

  ELEGIES UPON SUNDRY OCCASIONS

  CONTENTS

  OF HIS LADIES NOT COMMING TO LONDON.

  TO MASTER GEORGE SANDIS TREASURER FOR THE ENGLISH COLONY IN VIRGINA.

  TO. MY NOBLE FRIEND MASTER WILLIAM BROWNE, OF THE EUILL TIME.

  VPON THE THREE SONNES OF THE LORD SHEFFIELD, DROWNED IN HUMBER.

  TO THE NOBLE LADY, THE LADY I. S. OF WORLDLY CROSSES.

  AN ELEGIE VPON THE DEATH OF THE LADY PENELOPE CLIFTON.

  VPON THE NOBLE LADY ASTONS DEPARTURE FOR SPAINE.

  TO MY MOST DEARELY-LOUED FRIEND HENRY REYNOLDS ESQUIRE OF POETS AND POESIE.

  VPON THE DEATH OF HIS INCOMPARABLE FRIEND, SIR HENRY RAYNSFORD, OF CLIFFORD.

  VPON THE DEATH OF THE LADY OLIUE STANHOPE.

  TO MAISTER WILLIAM IEFFRYES, CHAPLEINE TO THE LORD AMBASSADOUR IN SPAINE.

  VPON THE DEATH OF MISTRIS ELIANOR FALLOWFIELD.

  OF HIS LADIES NOT COMMING TO LONDON.

  That ten-yeares-trauell’d Greeke return’d from Sea

  Ne’r ioyd so much to see his Ithaca,

  As I should you, who are alone to me,

  More then wide Greece could to that wanderer be.

  The winter windes still Easterly doe keepe,

  And with keene Frosts haue chained vp the deepe,

  The Sunne’s to vs a niggard of his Rayes,

  But reuelleth with our Antipodes;

  And seldome to vs when he shewes his head,

  Muffled in vapours, he straight hies to bed. 10

  In those bleake mountaines can you liue where snowe

  Maketh the vales vp to the hilles to growe;

  Whereas mens breathes doe instantly congeale,

  And attom’d mists turne instantly to hayle;

  Belike you thinke, from this more temperate cost,

  My sighes may haue the power to thawe the frost,

  Which I from hence should swiftly send you thither,

  Yet not so swift, as you come slowly hither.

  How many a time, hath Phebe from her wayne,

  With Phœbus fires fill’d vp her hornes againe; 20

  Shee through her Orbe, still on her course doth range,

  But you keep yours still, nor for me will change.

  The Sunne that mounted the sterne Lions back,

  Shall with the Fishes shortly diue the Brack,

  But still you keepe your station, which confines

  You, nor regard him trauelling the signes.

  Those ships which when you went, put out to Sea,

  Both to our Groenland, and Virginia,

  Are now return’d, and Custom’d haue their fraught,

  Yet you arriue not, nor returne me ought. 30

  The Thames was not so frozen yet this yeare,

  As is my bosome, with the chilly feare

  Of your not comming, which on me doth light,

  As on those Climes, where halfe the world is night.

  Of euery tedious houre you haue made two,

  All this long Winter here, by missing you:

  Minutes are months, and when the houre is past,

  A yeare is ended since the Clocke strooke last,

  When your Remembrance puts me on the Racke,

  And I should Swound to see an Almanacke, 40

  To reade what silent weekes away are slid,

  Since the dire Fates you from my sight haue hid.

  I hate him who the first Deuisor was

  Of this same foolish thing, the Hower-glasse,

  And of the Watch, whose dribbling sands and Wheele,

  With their slow stroakes, make mee too much to feele

  Your slackenesse hither, O how I doe ban,

  Him that these Dialls against walles began,

  Whose Snayly motion of the moouing hand,

  (Although it goe) yet seeme to me to stand; 50

  As though at Adam it had first set out

  And had been stealing all this while about,

  And when it backe to the first point should come,

  It shall be then iust at the generall Doome.

  The Seas into themselues retract their flowes.

  The changing Winde from euery quarter blowes,

  Declining Winter in the Spring doth call,

  The Starrs rise to vs
, as from vs they fall;

  Those Birdes we see, that leaue vs in the Prime,

  Againe in Autumne re-salute our Clime. 60

  Sure, either Nature you from kinde hath made,

  Or you delight else to be Retrograde.

  But I perceiue by your attractiue powers,

  Like an Inchantresse you haue charm’d the bowers

  Into short minutes, and haue drawne them back,

  So that of vs at London, you doe lack

  Almost a yeare, the Spring is scarce begonne

  There where you liue, and Autumne almost done.

  With vs more Eastward, surely you deuise,

  By your strong Magicke, that the Sunne shall rise 70

  Where now it setts, and that in some few yeares

  You’l alter quite the Motion of the Spheares.

  Yes, and you meane, I shall complaine my loue

  To grauell’d Walkes, or to a stupid Groue,

  Now your companions; and that you the while

  (As you are cruell) will sit by and smile,

  To make me write to these, while Passers by,

  Sleightly looke in your louely face, where I

  See Beauties heauen, whilst silly blockheads, they

  Like laden Asses, plod vpon their way, 80

  And wonder not, as you should point a Clowne

  Vp to the Guards, or Ariadnes Crowne;

  Of Constellations, and his dulnesse tell.

  Hee’d thinke your words were certainly a Spell;

  Or him some piece from Creet, or Marcus show,

  In all his life which till that time ne’r saw

  Painting: except in Alehouse or old Hall

  Done by some Druzzler, of the Prodigall.

  Nay doe, stay still, whilst time away shall steale

  Your youth, and beautie, and your selfe conceale 90

  From me I pray you, you haue now inur’d

  Me to your absence, and I haue endur’d

  Your want this long, whilst I haue starued bine

  For your short Letters, as you helde it sinne

  To write to me, that to appease my woe,

  I reade ore those, you writ a yeare agoe,

  Which are to me, as though they had bin made,

  Long time before the first Olympiad.

  For thankes and curt’sies sell your presence then

  To tatling Women, and to things like men, 100

  And be more foolish then the Indians are

  For Bells, for Kniues, for Glasses, and such ware,

  That sell their Pearle and Gold, but here I stay,

  So I would not haue you but come away.

  TO MASTER GEORGE SANDIS TREASURER FOR THE ENGLISH COLONY IN VIRGINA.

  Friend, if you thinke my Papers may supplie

  You, with some strange omitted Noueltie,

  Which others Letters yet haue left vntould,

  You take me off, before I can take hould

  Of you at all; I put not thus to Sea,

  For two monthes Voyage to Virginia,

  With newes which now, a little something here,

  But will be nothing ere it can come there.