« ForrigeFortsæt »
Were her hands as rich a prize, As her hairs, or precious eyes; If she lay them out to take Kisses for good-manners' sake, And let every lover skip From her hand unto her lip : If she seem not chaste to me, What care I how chaste she be ? No; she must be perfect show, In effect as well as show, Warming but as snow-balls do, Not like fire by burning too: But when she, by change, hath got To her heart a second lot; Then, if others share with me, Farewell her, whate'er she be!
TO HIS BOOK.
GOE, little Booke ! thy self present,
As child whose parent is unkent,
To him that is the President
Of Noblenesse and Chivalrie:
And if that Envy bark at thee,
As sure it will, for succour flee
Under the shadow of his wing.
And, asked who thee forth did bring ?
A shepeheard's swain say did thee sing,
All as his straying flocke he fedde:
And when his Honor hath thee redde,
Crave pardon for thy hardy-head.
But if that any ask thy name,
Say thou wert base begot with blame,
Forthy there of thou takest shame.
And when thou art past jeopardie,
Come tell me what was said of mee,
And I will send more after thee.
The Fate of the Butterfly.
I Sing of deadly dolorous debate,
Stirr'd up through wrathful Nemesis' despight,
Betwixt two mighty ones of great estate,
Drawn into arms and proof of mortal fight
Through proud ambition and heart swelling hate,
Whilst neither could the other's greater might
And 'sdainful scorn endure, that from small jar
Their wraths at length broke into open war.
• The Shepherd's Calendar, which is dedicated to Sir Philip Sydney
The root whereof and tragical effect
Vouchsafe, O thou the mournful'st Muse of Nine !
That wont'st the tragick stage for to direct
In funeral complaints and wailful tine,
Reveal to me, and all the means detect
Through which sad Clarion did at last decline
To lowest wretchedness. And is there then
Such rancour in the hearts of mighty men ?
Of all the race of silver-winged flies
Which do possess the empire of the air,
Betwixt the centred earth and azure skies,
Was none more favourable nor more fair,
Whilst Heaven did favour his felicities,
Than Clarion, the eldest son and heir
Of Mascarol, and in his father's sight
Of all alive did seem the fairest wight.
With fruitful hope his aged brest he fed
Of future good, which his young toward years, | Full of brave courage and bold hardy-hed,
Above th’ ensample of his equal peers,
Did largely promise, and to him fore-red
(Whilst oft his heart did melt in tender tears)
That he in time would sure prove such an one
As should be worthy of his father's throne.
The fresh young Fly, in whom the kindly fire
Of lustful youth began to kindle fast,
Did much disdain to subject his desire
To loathsome sloth, or hours in ease to waste,
But joy'd to range abroad in fresh attire,
Through the wide compass of the airy coast,
And with unwearied wings each part t' inquire
of the wide rule of his renowned sire:
For he so swift and nimble was of flight,
That from this lower tract he dar'd to fly
Up to the clouds, and thence with pinions light
To mount aloft unto the crystal sky,
To view the workmanship of heaven's hight,
Whence down descending, he along would fly
Upon the streaming rivers, sport to find,
And oft would dare to tempt the troublous wind.
So on a summer's day when season mild
With gentle calm the world hath quieted,
And high in heaven Hyperion's fiery child
Ascending, did his beams abroad disspred,
Whiles all the heavens on lower creatures smil'd,
Young Clarion with vauntful lustyhed
After his guise did cast abroad to fare,
And thereto 'gan his furnitures prepare.
His breast-plate first, that was of substance pure,
Before his noble heart he firmly bound,
That mought his life from iron death assure,
And ward his gentle corps from cruel wound,
For it by art was framed to endure
The bit of baleful steel and bitter stound,
No less than that which Vulcane made to shield
Achilles' life from fate of Trojan field.
And then about his shoulders broad he threw
An hairy hide of some wild beast, whom he
In salvage forest by adventure slew,
And reft the spoil, his ornament to be ;
Which spreading all his back with dreadful view,
Made all that him so horrible did see,
Think hini Alcides with the lyon's skin,
When the Næmean conquest he did win.
Upon his head his glistering burganet,
The which was wrought by wonderous device,
And curiously engraven, he did set:
The metal was of rare and passing price;
Not Bilbo steel, nor brass from Corinth fet,
Nor costly Oricalch from strange Phænice,
But such as could both Phæbus' arrows ward,
And th' hailing darts of heaven beating hard.
Therein two deadly weapons fixt he bore,
Strongly outlanced towards either side,
Like two sharp spears, his enemies to gore:
Like as a warlike brigandine applide
To fight, lays forth her tlıseatful pikes afore,
The engines which in them sad death do hide;
So did this Fly outstretch his fearful horns,
Yet so as him their terrour more adorns.
Lastly, his shiny wings, as silver bright,
Painted with thousand colours, passing far
All painters' skill, he did about him dight:
Not half so many sundry colours are
In Iris' bow, ne heaven doth shine so bright,
Distinguished with many a twinkling star,
Nor Juno's bird, in her eye-spotted train,
So many goodly colours doth contain.
Ne (may it be withouten peril spoken)
The archer god the son of Cytheree,
That joys on wretched lovers to be wroken,
And heaped spoils of bleeding hearts to see,
Bears in his wings so many a changeful token.
Ahl my liege Lord, forgive it unto me,
If ought against thine honour I have told;
Yet sure those wings were fairer manifold.
Full many a lady fair, in court full oft
Beholding them, him secretly envide,
And wisht that two such fans, so silken soft,
And golden fair, her love would her provide ;
Or that when them the gorgeous Fly had doft,
Some one that would with grace be gratifide,
From him would steal them privily away,
And bring to her so precious a prey.
Report is that Dame Venus, on a day
In spring, when flowres do cloath the fruitful ground,
Walking abroad with all her nymphs to play,
Bade her fair damsels, flocking her around,