There liveth he in everlasting bliss,
Sweet spirit, never fearing more to die ;
Nor dreading harm from any foes of his,
Nor fearing savage beasts' more cruelty.
Whilst we here, wretches, wail his private lack,
And with vain vows do often call him back.
But live thou there still happy, happy spirit,
And give us leave thee here thus to lament,
Not thee that doest thy heaven's joy inherit,
But our own selves that here in dole are drent.
Thus do we weep and wail, and wear our eyes,
Mourning, in others', our own miseries.
In Praise of Astræa:'
A Dialogue between two
Shepherds, Thenot and Piers.
THENOT. I sing divine Astræa's praise;
O Muses! help my wits to raise,
And heave my verses higher.
PIERS. Thou need'st the truth but plainly tell,
Which much I doubt thou canst not well,
Thou art so oft a liar.
THENOT. If in my song no more I show
Than Heaven, and earth, and sea do know,
Then truly I have spoken.
Sufficeth not no more to name,
But being no less, the like, the same,
Else laws of truth be broken.
1 Astrea Queen Elizabeth,
In the first edition of his Poetical Rhapsody (in which it originally appeared) Davison appends the following note to this "Made by the Excellent Lady, the Lady Mary, Countess of Pembroke, at the Queen Majesty's being at her house atAnno 15**.'
THENOT. Then say, she is so good, so fair,
With all the earth she may compare,
Not Momus' self denying ;
Compare may think where likeness holds,
Nought like to her the earth enfolds;
I looked to find you lying.
THENOT. Astræa sees with Wisdom's sight;
Astræa works by Virtue's might;
And jointly both do stay in her.
Nay, take from them her hand, her mind,-
The one is lame, the other blind:
Shall still your lying stain her?
THENOT. Soon as Astræa shows her face,
Straight every ill avoids the place,
And every good aboundeth.
PIERS. Nay, long before her face doth show,
The last doth come, the first doth go:
How loud this lie resoundeth !
THENOT. Astræa is our chiefest joy,
Our chiefest guard against annoy,
Our chiefest wealth, our treasure.
Where chiefest are, there others be,
To us none else, but only she:
When wilt thou speak in measure?
THENOT. Astræa may be justly said
A field in flowery robe arrayed,
In season freshly springing.
That Spring endures but shortest time,
This never leaves Astræa's clime:
Thou liest, instead of singing.
THENOT. As heavenly light that guides the day,
Right so doth shine each lovely ray
That from Astræa flieth.
Nay, darkness oft that light enclouds ;
Astræa's beams no darkness shrouds:
How loudly Thenot lieth!
THENOT. Astræa rightly term I may
A manly palm, a maiden bay,
Her verdure never dying.
Palm oft is crooked, bay is low;
She still upright, still high doth grow:
Good Thenot, leave thy lying.
THENOT. Then, Piers, of friendship tell me why, My meaning true, my words should lie, And strive in vain to raise her? PIERS. Words from conceit do only rise; Above conceit her honour flies :
But, silence! nought can praise her.
Friend's Passion for his
Astrophel
Written upon the death of the Right Honourable
Sir Philip Sidney, Knight,
Lord Governor of Flushing
As then, no wind at all there blew,
No swelling clouds accloyed the air ;
The sky, like glass of watchet hue,
Reflected Phoebus' golden hair;
The garnished tree no pendent stirred,
No voice was heard of any bird.
There might you see the burly bear,
The lion king, the elephant,
The maiden unicorn was there,
So was Acteon's hornèd plant,
And what of wild or tame are found
Were couched in order on the ground.
Alcides' speckled poplar tree,
The palm that monarchs do obtain,
With love-juice stained the mulberry,
The fruit that 'dews the poet's brain;
And Phyllis' filbert there away
Compared with myrtle and the bay.
The tree that coffins doth adorn,
With stately height threat'ning the sky,
And, for the bed of love forlorn,
The black and doleful ebony :
All in a circle compassed were
Like to an amphitheatre.
Upon the branches of those trees
The aery-winged people sat,
Distinguished in odd degrees;
One sort is this, another that:
Here Philomel, that knows full well
What force in wit and love doth dwell.
The sky-bred eagle, royal bird,
Perched there upon an oak above;
The turtle by him never stirred,
Example of immortal love.
The swan that sings about to die,
Leaving Meander, stood thereby.
And that which was of wonder most-
The Phoenix left sweet Araby;
And, on a cedar in this coast,
Built up her tomb of spicery,
As I conjecture, by the same
Prepared to take her dying flame.
In midst and centre of this plot,
I saw one grovelling on the grass;
A man or stone, I knew not that:
No stone ;-of man the figure was;
And yet I could not count him one
More than the image made of stone.
|