Thus charged he; nor Argicides denied, But to his feet his fair wing'd shoes he tied, Ambrosian, golden; that in his command Put either sea, or the unmeasured land, With pace as speedy as a puft of wind. Then up his rod went, with which he declined The eyes of any waker, when he pleased, And any sleeper, when he wish'd, diseased. This took; he stoop'd Pieria, and thence Glid through the air, and Neptune's confluence, Kiss'd as he flew, and check'd the waves as light
As any sea-mew in her fishing flight
Her thick wings sousing in the savoury seas. Like her, he pass'd a world of wilderness; But when the far-off isle he touch'd, he went 15 Up from the blue sea to the continent, And reach'd the ample cavern of the Queen, Whom he within found; without seldom seen. A sun-like fire upon the hearth did flame; The matter precious, and divine the frame; 20
Of cedar cleft and incense was the pile, That breathed an odour round about the isle. Herself was seated in an inner room, Whom sweetly sing he heard, and at her loom, About a curious web, whose yarn she threw In with a golden shittle. A grove grew In endless spring about her cavern round, With odorous cypress, pines, and poplars, crown'd,
Where hawks, sea-owls, and long-tongued bittours bred,
And other birds their shady pinions spread; 30 All fowls maritimal; none roosted there, But those whose labours in the waters were. A vine did all the hollow cave embrace, Still green, yet still ripe bunches gave it brace. Four fountains, one against another, pour'd 35 Their silver streams; and meadows all enflour'd With sweet balm-gentle, and blue violets hid, That deck'd the soft breasts of each fragrant mead.
Should any one, though he immortal were, Arrive and see the sacred objects there, He would admire them, and be over-joy'd; And so stood Hermes' ravish'd powers em- ploy'd.
And with how free an eye doth he look down Upon these lower regions of turmoil? Where all the storms of passions mainly beat On flesh and blood: where honour, power, renown,
Are only gay afflictions, golden toil; Where greatness stands upon as feeble feet As frailty doth; and only great doth seem To little minds, who do it so esteem.
He looks upon the mightiest monarch's wars But only as on stately robberies; Where evermore the fortune that prevails Must be the right: the ill-succeeding mars The fairest and the best-fac'd enterprise. Great pirate Pompey lesser pirates quails: Justice, he sees (as if seduced) still
Conspires with power, whose cause must not be ill.
He sees the face of right t' appear as manifold 25 As are the passions of uncertain man; Who puts it in all colours, all attires,
To serve his ends, and make his courses hold. He sees, that let deceit work what it can, Plot and contrive base ways to high desires; 30 That the all-guiding Providence doth yet All disappoint, and mocks the smoke of wit. Nor is he mov'd with all the thunder-cracks Of tyrant's threats, or with the surly brow Of Pow'r, that proudly sits on others' crimes: 35 Charg'd with more crying sins than those he checks.
The storms of sad confusion, that may grow Up in the present for the coming times, Appal not him; that hath no side at all,
But of himself, and knows the worst can 40 fall.
And whereas none rejoice more in revenge; Than women use to do; yet you well know, That wrong is better check'd by being con- temn'd,
Than being pursu'd; leaving him t' avenge, To whom it appertains. Wherein you show 45 How worthily your clearness hath condemn'd Base malediction, living in the dark, That at the rays of goodness still doth bark.
Knowing the heart of man is set to be The centre of this world, about the which These revolutions of disturbances Still roll; where all th' aspects of misery Predominate: whose strong effects are such, As he must bear, being pow'rless to redress: And that unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing is man.
And how turmoil'd they are that level lie With earth, and cannot lift themselves from thence;
That never are at peace with their desires, But work beyond their years; and ev'n deny 60 Dotage her rest, and hardly will dispense With death. That when ability expires, Desire lives still-So much delight they have, To carry toil and travel to the grave.
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, Nay I have done, you get no more of me; And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free; Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, When his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, 10 When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes:
Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou might'st him yet re
Which he neglects the while, As from a nation vile, Yet with an angry smile,
Their fall portending;
And, turning to his men, Quoth famous Henry then, Though they to one be ten, Be not amazèd;
Yet have we well begun, Battles so bravely won Ever more to the sun
By fame are raised.
"And for myself," quoth he, "This my full rest shall be, England ne'er mourn for me, Nor more esteem me.
Victor I will remain, Or on this earth be slain, Never shall she sustain
Loss to redeem me.
"Poyters and Cressy tell,
When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell,
No less our skill is
Than when our grandsire great, Claiming the regal seat, In many a warlike feat
Lopp'd the French lilies."
The Duke of York? so dread, The eager vaward led; With the main Henry sped,
Amongst his henchmen.3 Excester had the rear, A braver man not there, And now preparing were
For the false Frenchman,
And ready to be gone, Armor on armor shone, Drum unto drum did groan,
To hear was wonder;
That with the cries they make The very earth did shake, Trumpet to trumpet spake, Thunder to thunder.
Well it thine age became, O noble Erpingham,' Thou did'st the signal frame Unto the forces;
When from a meadow by,
With those oppose his way,
Like a storm suddenly, The English archery
The Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stong,
Piercing the wether;
2 Edward, second Duke of York, and grandson of Edward III.
4 Sir Thomas Erpingham, "who threw up his truncheon as a signal to the English forces, who lay in ambush, to advance."
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