Part 17
Now had the cole-blacke steedes, of pitchie Night, (Breathing out Darknesse) banisht cheerfull Light, And sleepe (the shaddowe of eternall rest) My seuerall senses, wholy had possest. When loe, there was presented to my view, A vision strange, yet not so strange, as true. _Conscience_ (me thought) appeared vnto mee, Cloth'd with good Deedes, with Trueth and Honestie, Her countinance demure, and sober sad, Nor any other Ornament shee had. Then _Couetousnesse_ did incounter her, Clad in a Cassock, lyke a Vsurer, The Cassock, it was made of poore-mens skinnes, Lac'd here and there, with many seuerall sinnes: Nor was it furd, with any common furre; Or if it were, himselfe hee was the _fur_. A Bag of money, in his hande he helde, The which with hungry eie, he still behelde. The place wherein this vision first began, (A spacious plaine) was cald _The Minde of Man_. The Carle no sooner, _Conscience_ had espyde, But swelling lyke a Toade, (puft vp with pryde) He straight began against her to inuey: These were the wordes, which _Couetise_ did sey. _Conscience_ (quoth hee) how dar'st thou bee so bold, To claime the place, that I by right doe hold? Neither by right, nor might, thou canst obtaine it: By might (thou knowst full well) thou canst not gaine it. The greatest Princes are my followars, The King in Peace, the Captaine in the Warres: The Courtier, and the simple Countrey-man: The Iudge, the Merchant, and the Gentleman: The learned Lawyer, and the Politician: The skilfull Surgeon, and the fine Physician: In briefe, all sortes of men mee entertaine, And hold mee, as their Soules sole Soueraigne, And in my quarrell, they will fight and die, Rather then I should suffer iniurie. And as for title, interest, and right, Ile proue its mine by that, as well as might, Though _Couetousnesse_, were vsed long before, Yet _Iudas_ Treason, made my Fame the more; When _Christ_ he caused, crucifyde to bee, For thirtie pence, man solde his minde to mee: And now adaies, what tenure is more free, Than that which purchas'd is, with Gold and fee?
_Conscience._
With patience, haue I heard thy large Complaint, Wherein the Diuell, would be thought a Saint: But wot ye what, the Saying is of olde? One tale is good, vntill anothers tolde. Truth is the right, that I must stand vpon, (For other title, hath poore _Conscience_ none) First I will proue it, by Antiquitie, That thou art but an vp-start, vnto mee; Before that thou wast euer thought vpon, The minde of Man, belongd to mee alone. For after that the Lord, hath Man created, And him in blisse-full Paradice had seated; (Knowing his Nature was to vice inclynde) God gaue me vnto man, to rule his mynde, And as it were, his Gouernour to bee, To guide his minde, in Trueth, and Honestie. And where thou sayst, that man did sell his soule; That Argument, I quicklie can controule: It is a fayned fable, thou doost tell, That, which is not his owne, he cannot sell; No man can sell his soule, altho he thought it: Mans soule is _Christs_, for hee hath dearely bought it. Therefore vsurping _Couetise_, be gone. For why, the minde belongs to mee alone.
_Couetousnesse._
Alas poore _Conscience_, how thou art deceav'd? As though of senses, thou wert quite bereaud. What wilt thou say (that thinkst thou canst not erre) If I can proue my selfe the ancienter? Though into _Adams_ minde, God did infuse thee, Before his fall, yet man did neuer vse thee. What was it else, but _Aurice_ in _Eue_, (Thinking thereby, in greater Blisse to liue) That made her taste, of the forbidden fruite? Of her Desier, was not I the roote? Did she not couet? (tempted by the Deuill) The Apple of the Tree, of good and euill? Before man vsed _Conscience_, she did couet: Therefore by her Transgression, here I proue it, That _Couetousnesse_ possest the minde of man, Before that any _Conscience_ began.
_Conscience._
Euen as a counterfeited precious stone, Seemes to bee far more rich, to looke vpon, Then doeth the right: But when a man comes neere, His baseness then, doeth euident appeere: So _Couetise_, the Reasons thou doost tell, Seeme to be strong, but being weighed well, They are indeed, but onely meere Illusions, And doe inforce but very weake Conclusions. When as the Lord (fore-knowing his offence) Had giuen man a Charge, of Abstinence, And to refraine, the fruite of good and ill: Man had a _Conscience_, to obey his will, And neuer would be tempted thereunto, Vntill the Woeman, shee, did worke _man woe_. And make him breake, the Lords Commaundement, Which all Mankinde, did afterward repent: So that thou seest, thy Argument is vaine, And I am prov'd, the elder of the twaine.
_Couetousnesse._
Fond Wretch, it was not _Conscience_, but feare, That made the first man (Adam) to forbeare To tast the fruite, of the forbidden Tree, Lest, if offending hee were found to bee, (According as _Iehouah_ saide on hye, For his so great Transgression, hee should dye.) Feare curbd his minde, it was not _Conscience_ then, (For _Conscience_ freely, rules the harts of men) And is a godly motion of the mynde, To euerie vertuous action inclynde, And not enforc'd, through feare of Punishment, But is to vertue, voluntary bent: Then (simple Trul) be packing presentlie, For in this place, there is no roome for thee.
_Conscience._
Aye mee (distressed Wight) what shall I doe? Where shall I rest? Or whither shall I goe? Vnto the rich? (woes mee) they, doe abhor me: Vnto the poore? (alas) they, care not for me: Vnto the Olde-man? hee; hath mee forgot: Vnto the Young-man? yet hee, knowes me not: Vnto the Prince? hee; can dispence with me: Vnto the Magistrate? that, may not bee: Vnto the Court? for it, I am too base: Vnto the Countrey? there, I haue no place: Vnto the Citty? thence; I am exilde: Vnto the Village? there; I am reuilde: Vnto the Barre? the Lawyer there, is bribed? Vnto the Warre? there, _Conscience_ is derided: Vnto the Temple? there, I am disguised: Vnto the Market? there, I am dispised: Thus both the young and olde, the rich and poore, Against mee (silly Creature) shut their doore. Then, sith each one seekes my rebuke and shame, Ile goe againe to Heauen (from whence I came.) This saide (me thought) making exceeding mone, She went her way, and left the Carle alone, Who vaunting of his late-got victorie, Aduanc'd himselfe in pompe and Maiestie: Much like a Cocke, who hauing kild his foe, Brisks vp himselfe, and then begins to crow. So _Couetise_, when _Conscience_ was departed, Gan to be proud in minde, and hauty harted: And in a stately Chayre of state he set him, (For _Conscience_ banisht) there are none to let him. And being but one entrie, to this Plaine, (Whereof as king and Lord, he did remaine) _Repentance_ cald, he causd that to be kept, Lest _Conscience_ should returne, whilst as he slept: Wherefore he causd it, to be watcht and warded Both night and Day, and to be strongly guarded: To keepe it safe, these three he did intreat, _Hardnesse of hart_, with _Falshood_ and _Deceat:_ And if at any time, she chaunc'd to venter, _Hardnesse of hart_, denide her still to enter. When _Conscience_ was exilde the minde of Man, Then _Couetise_, his gouernment began. This once being seene, what I had seene before, (Being onely seene in sleepe) was seene no more; For with the sorrowe, which my Soule did take At sight hereof, foorthwith I did awake.
_FINIS._
Poems:
In diuers humors.
_Trahit sua quemque voluptas._ Virgil.
LONDON,
Printed by G. S. for Iohn Iaggard, and are to be solde at his shoppe neere Temple-barre, at the Signe of the Hand and starre. 1598.
To the learned, and accomplisht Gentleman,
Maister _Nicholas Blackleech_, of Grayes Inne.
To you, that know the tuch of true Conceat; (Whose many gifts I neede not to repeat) I vvrite these Lines; fruits of vnriper yeares; Wherein my Muse no harder censure feares: Hoping in gentle Worth, you will them take; Not for the gift, but for the giuers sake.
_SONNET._ I.
To his friend Maister R. L. In praise of Musique and Poetrie.
If Musique and sweet Poetrie agree, As they must needes (the Sister and the Brother) Then must the Loue be great, twixt thee and mee, Because thou lou'st the one, and I the other. _Dowland_ to thee is deare; whose heauenly tuch Vpon the Lute, doeth rauish humaine sense: _Spenser_ to mee; whose deepe Conceit is such, As passing all Conceit, needs no defence. Thou lou'st to heare the sweete melodious sound, That _Phœbus_ Lute (the Queene of Musique) makes: And I in deepe Delight am chiefly drownd, When as himselfe to singing he betakes. One God is God of Both (as Poets faigne) One Knight loues Both, and Both in thee remaine.
_SONNET._ II.
_Against the Dispraysers of Poetrie._
_Chaucer_ is dead; and _Gower_ lyes in grave; The Earle of _Surrey_, long agoe is gone; Sir _Philip Sidneis_ soule, the Heauens haue; _George Gascoigne_ him beforne, was tomb'd in stone, Yet, tho their Bodies lye full low in ground, (As euery thing must dye, that earst was borne) Their liuing fame, no Fortune can confound; Nor euer shall their Labours be forlorne. And you, that discommend sweete Poetrie, (So that the Subiect of the same be good) Here may you see, your fond simplicitie; Sith Kings haue fauord it, of royall Blood. The King of _Scots_ (now liuing) is a Poet, As his _Lepanto_, and his _Furies_ shoe it.
A Remembrance of some English Poets.
Liue _Spenser_ euer, in thy _Fairy Queene:_ Whose like (for deepe Conceit) was neuer seene. Crownd mayst thou bee, vnto thy more renowne, (As King of Poets) with a Lawrell Crowne.
And _Daniell_, praised for thy sweet-chast Verse: Whose Fame is grav'd on _Rosamonds_ blacke Herse. Still mayst thou liue: and still be honored, For that rare Worke, _The White Rose and the Red_.
And _Drayton_, whose wel-written Tragedies, And sweete Epistles, soare thy fame to skies. Thy learned Name, is æquall with the rest; Whose stately Numbers are so well addrest.
And _Shakespeare_ thou, whose hony-flowing Vaine, (Pleasing the World) thy Praises doth obtaine. Whose _Venus_, and whose _Lucrece_ (sweete, and chaste) Thy Name in fames immortall Booke haue plac't. Liue euer you, at least in Fame liue euer: Well may the Bodye dye, but Fame dies neuer.
An Ode.
As it fell vpon a Day, In the merrie Month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade, Which a groue of Myrtles made, Beastes did leape, and Birds did sing, Trees did grow, and Plants did spring: Euery thing did banish mone, Saue the Nightingale alone. Shee (poore Bird) as all forlorne, Leand her Breast vp-till a Thorne, And there sung the dolefulst Ditty, That to heare it was great Pitty. _Fie_, _fie_, _fie_, now would she cry _Teru Teru_, by and by: That to heare her so complaine, Scarce I could from Teares refraine: For her griefes so liuely showne, Made me thinke vpon mine owne. Ah (thought I) thou mournst in vaine; None takes Pitty on thy paine: Senslesse Trees, they cannot heere thee; Ruthlesse Beares, they wil not cheer thee. King _Pandion_, hee is dead: All thy friends are lapt in Lead. All thy fellow Birds doe singe, Carelesse of thy sorrowing. Whilst as fickle Fortune smilde, Thou and I, were both beguilde. Euerie one that flatters thee, Is no friend in miserie: Words are easie, like the winde; Faithfull friends are hard to finde: Euerie man will bee thy friend, Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend: But if store of Crownes be scant, No man will supply thy want. If that one be prodigall, Bountifull, they will him call. And with such-like flattering, Pitty but hee were a King. If hee bee adict to vice, Quickly him, they will intice. If to Woemen hee be bent, They haue at Commaundement. But if Fortune once doe frowne, Then farewell his great renowne: They that fawnd on him before, Vse his company no more. Hee that is thy friend indeed, Hee will helpe thee in thy neede: If thou sorrowe, hee will weepe; If thou wake, hee cannot sleepe: Thus of euerie griefe, in hart, Hee, with thee, doeth beare a Part. These are certaine Signes, to knowe Faithfull friend, from flatt'ring foe.
Written, at the Request of a Gentleman,
vnder a Gentlewoman's Picture.
Euen as _Apelles_ could not paint _Campaspes_ face aright: Because _Campaspes_ Sun-bright eyes did dimme _Apelles_ sight: Euen so, amazed at her sight, her sight, all sights excelling, Like _Nyobe_ the Painter stoode, her sight his sight expelling, Thus Art and Nature did contend, who should the Victor bee, Till Art by Nature was supprest, as all the worlde may see.
An Epitaph vpon the Death, of Sir Philip
Sidney, Knight; Lord-gouernour of Vlissing.
That _England_ lost, that Learning lov'd, that euery mouth commended, That fame did prayse, that Prince did rayse, that Countrey do defended, Here lyes the man: lyke to the Swan, who knowing shee shall die, Doeth tune her voice vnto the Spheares, and scornes Mortalitie. Two worthie Earls his vncles were; a Lady was his Mother; A Knight his father; and himselfe a noble Countesse Brother. Belov'd, bewaild; aliue, now dead; of all, with Teares for euer; Here lyes Sir _Philip Sidneis_ Corps, whom cruell Death did seuer, He liv'd for her, hee dyde for her; for whom he dyde, he liued: O graunt (O God) that wee of her, may neuer be depriued.
An Epitaph vpon the Death of his Aunt,
Mistresse Elizabeth Skrymsher.
Loe here beholde the certaine Ende, of euery liuing wight: No Creature is secure from Death, for Death will haue his Right. He spareth none: both rich and poore, both young and olde must die; So fraile is flesh, so short is Life, so sure Mortalitie. When first the Bodye liues to Life, the soule first dies to sinne: And they that loose this earthly Life, a heauenly Life shall winne, If they liue well: as well she liv'd, that lyeth Vnder heere; Whose Vertuous Life to all the Worlde, most plainly did appeere. Good to the poore, friend to the rich, and foe to no Degree: A President of modest Life, and peerelesse Chastitie. Who louing more, Who more belov'd of euerie honest mynde? Who more to Hospitalitie, and Clemencie inclinde Then she? that being buried here, lyes wrapt in Earth below; From whence we came, to whom wee must, and bee as shee is now, A Clodd of Clay: though her pure soule in endlesse Blisse doeth rest; Ioying all Ioy, the Place of Peace, prepared for the blest: Where holy Angells sit and sing, before the King of Kings; Not mynding worldly Vanities, but onely heavenly Things. Vnto which Ioy, Vnto which Blisse, Vnto which Place of Pleasure, God graunt that wee may come at last, t' inioy that heauenly Treasure. Which to obtaine, to liue as shee hath done let us endeuor; That wee may liue with Christ himselfe, (above) that liues for euer.
A Comparison of the Life of Man.
Mans life is vvell compared to a feast, Furnisht with choice of all Varietie: To it comes Tyme; and as a bidden guest Hee sets him downe, in Pompe and Maiestie; The three-folde Age of Man, the Waiters bee, Then with an earthen voyder (made of clay) Comes Death, and takes the table clean away.
FINIS.
ASTROPHEL.
A Pastoral Elegy upon the death of the most noble and valorous Knight, Sir PHILIP SIDNEY.
_Dedicated to the most beautiful and virtuous Lady the Countess of ESSEX._
[By EDMUND SPENSER, the Countess of PEMBROKE, and others.]
[Printed as an Appendix to _COLIN CLOUT's come home again_, first printed in 1595; but the epistle of which is dated "From my house of Kilcolman, the 27 of December, 1591."]
Astrophel.
_Shepherds that wont, on pipes of oaten reed,_ _Ofttimes to plain your love's concealèd smart;_ _And with your piteous lays have learned to breed_ _Compassion in a country lass's heart:_ _Hearken, ye gentle shepherds, to my song!_ _And place my doleful plaint, your plaints emong._
_To you alone, I sing this mournful verse,_ _The mournful'st verse that ever man heard tell:_ _To you whose softened hearts it may empierce_ _With dolour's dart, for death of ASTROPHEL._ _To you I sing, and to none other wight,_ _For well I wot my rhymes been rudely dight._
_Yet as they been, if any nicer wit_ _Shall hap to hear, or covet them to read:_ _Think he, that such are for such ones most fit,_ _Made not to please the living but the dead:_ _And if in him, found pity ever place;_ _Let him be moved to pity such a case._
_ASTROPHEL._
_A Pastoral Elegy upon the death of_
_the most noble and valorous Knight,_
_Sir PHILIP SIDNEY._
A gentle shepherd born in Arcady, Of gentlest race that ever shepherd bore; About the grassy banks of Hæmony, Did keep his sheep, his little stock and store. Full carefully he kept them day and night In fairest fields; and ASTROPHEL he hight.
Young ASTROPHEL! the pride of shepherds' praise. Young ASTROPHEL! the rustic lasses' love. Far passing all the pastors of his days In all that seemly shepherd might behove. In one thing only failing of the best; That he was not so happy as the rest.
For from the time that first the nymph his mother Him forth did bring; and taught, her lambs to feed: A slender swain, excelling far each other In comely shape, like her that did him breed: He grew up fast in goodness and in grace; And doubly fair wox both in mind and face.
Which daily more and more he did augment With gentle usage and demeanour mild; That all men's hearts with secret ravishment He stole away, and wittingly beguiled. Ne Spite itself--that all good things doth spill-- Found ought in him, that she could say was ill.
His sports were fair, his joyance innocent, Sweet without sour, and honey without gall; And he himself seemed made for merriment, Merrily masking both in bower and hall. There was no pleasure nor delightful play When ASTROPHEL so ever was away.
For he could pipe, and dance, and carol sweet; Emongst the shepherds in their shearing feast: As summer's lark that with her song doth greet The dawning day, forth coming from the East. And lays of love he also would compose. Thrice happy she! whom he to praise did choose.
Full many maidens often did him woo, Them to vouchsafe, emongst his rhymes to name: Or make for them, as he was wont to do, For her that did his heart with love inflame; For which they promised to dight for him, Gay chaplets of flowers and garlands trim.
And many a nymph, both of the wood and brook, Soon as his oaten pipe began to shrill; Both crystal wells and shady groves forsook, To hear the charms of his enchanting skill: And brought him presents; flowers, if it were prime: Or mellow fruit, if it were harvest time.
But he for none of them did care a whit; Yet wood-gods for them oft sighed sore: Ne for their gifts unworthy of his wit, Yet not unworthy of the country's store. For One alone he cared, for One he sighed His life's treasure, and his dear love's delight.
STELLA the fair! the fairest star in sky: As fair as VENUS, or the fairest fair. A fairer star saw never living eye, Shot her sharp pointed beams through purest air. Her, he did love; her, he alone he did honour; His thoughts, his rhymes, his songs were all upon her.
To her, he vowed the service of his days; On her, he spent the riches of his wit; For her, he made hymns of immortal praise: Of only her; he sang, he thought, he writ. Her, and but her, of love he worthy deemed: For all the rest, but little he esteemed.
Ne her with idle words alone he vowed, And verses vain--yet verses are not vain: But with brave deeds, to her sole service vowed; And bold achievements, her did entertain. For both in deeds and words he nurtured was. Both wise and hardy--too hardy, alas!
In wrestling, nimble; and in running, swift; In shooting, steady; and in swimming, strong: Well made to strike, to throw, to leap, to lift, And all the sports that shepherds are emong. In every one, he vanquished every one, He vanquished all, and vanquished was of none.
Besides, in hunting such felicity Or rather infelicity, he found; That every field and forest far away He sought, where savage beasts do most abound. No beast so savage, but he could it kill: No chase so hard, but he therein had skill.
Such skill, matched with such courage as he had, Did prick him forth with proud desire of praise; To seek abroad, of danger nought y'drad, His mistress' name and his own fame to raise. What need, peril to be sought abroad? Since round about us, it doth make abode.
It fortuned as he, that perilous game In foreign soil pursued, far away; Into a forest wide and waste, he came, Where store he heard to be of savage prey. So wide a forest and so waste as this, Nor famous Ardenne, nor foul Arlo is.
There his well-woven toils and subtle trains He laid, the brutish nation to enwrap: So well he wrought with practice and with pains, That he of them, great troops did soon entrap. Full happy man! misweening much, was he; So rich a spoil within his power to see.
Eftsoons, all heedless of his dearest hale, Full greedily into the herd he thrust To slaughter them and work their final bale, Lest that his toil should of their troops be burst. Wide wounds emongst them, many one he made; Now with his sharp boar spear, now with his blade.
His care was all, how he them all might kill; That none might 'scape, so partial unto none. Ill mind! so much to mind another's ill, As to become unmindful of his own. But pardon that unto the cruel skies, That from himself to them, withdrew his eyes.
So as he raged emongst that beastly rout; A cruel beast of most accursèd brood, Upon him turned--despair makes cowards stout; And with fell tooth, accustomèd to blood, Launched his thigh with so mischievous might, That it both bone and muscle rivèd quite.
So deadly was the dint, and deep the wound, And so huge streams of blood thereout did flow; That he endurèd not the direful stound But on the cold dear earth, himself did throw. The whiles the captive herd his nets did rend, And having none to let; to wood did wend.