Book of English Verse 1250-1900 (eBook)

Edmund Spenser. 1552-1599

79. Whilst it is prime

FRESH Spring, the herald of loves mighty king,

In whose cote-armour richly are displayd

All sorts of flowers, the which on earth do spring,

In goodly colours gloriously arrayd--

Goe to my love, where she is carelesse layd,

Yet in her winters bowre not well awake;

Tell her the joyous time wil not be staid,

Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take;

Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready make,

To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew;

Where every one, that misseth then her make,

Shall be by him amearst with penance dew.

    Make hast, therefore, sweet love, whilest it is prime;

    For none can call againe the passed time.

make] mate.

Edmund Spenser. 1552-1599

80. A Ditty

In praise of Eliza, Queen of the Shepherds

SEE where she sits upon the grassie greene,

        (O seemely sight!)

Yclad in Scarlot, like a mayden Queene,

        And ermines white:

Upon her head a Cremosin coronet

With Damaske roses and Daffadillies set:

        Bay leaves betweene,

        And primroses greene,

Embellish the sweete Violet.

Tell me, have ye seene her angelick face

        Like Phoebe fayre?

Her heavenly haveour, her princely grace,

        Can you well compare?

The Redde rose medled with the White yfere,

In either cheeke depeincten lively chere:

        Her modest eye,

        Her Majestie,

Where have you seene the like but there?

I see Calliope speede her to the place,

        Where my Goddesse shines;

And after her the other Muses trace

        With their Violines.

Bene they not Bay braunches which they do beare,

All for Elisa in her hand to weare?

        So sweetely they play,

        And sing all the way,

That it a heaven is to heare.

Lo, how finely the Graces can it foote

        To the Instrument:

They dauncen deffly, and singen soote,

        In their meriment.

Wants not a fourth Grace to make the daunce even?

Let that rowme to my Lady be yeven.

        She shal be a Grace,

        To fyll the fourth place,

And reigne with the rest in heaven.

Bring hether the Pincke and purple Cullambine,

        With Gelliflowres;

Bring Coronations, and Sops-in-wine

        Worne of Paramoures:

Strowe me the ground with Daffadowndillies,

And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and loved Lillies:

        The pretie Pawnce,

        And the Chevisaunce,

Shall match with the fayre flowre Delice.

Now ryse up, Elisa, decked as thou art

        In royall aray;

And now ye daintie Damsells may depart

        Eche one her way.

I feare I have troubled your troupes to longe:

Let dame Elisa thanke you for her song:

        And if you come hether

        When Damsines I gether,

I will part them all you among.

medled] mixed.  yfere] together.  soote] sweet.  coronations]

carnations.  sops-in-wine] striped pinks.  pawnce]

pansy.  chevisaunce] wallflower.  flowre delice] iris.

Edmund Spenser. 1552-1599

81. Prothalamion

CALME was the day, and through the trembling ayre

Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play

A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay

Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre;

When I, (whom sullein care,

Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay

In Princes Court, and expectation vayne

Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away,

Like empty shaddowes, did afflict my brayne,)

Walkt forth to ease my payne

Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes;

Whose rutty Bancke, the which his River hemmes,

Was paynted all with variable flowers,

And all the meades adornd with daintie gemmes

Fit to decke maydens bowres,

And crowne their Paramours

Against the Brydale day, which is not long:

  Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

There, in a Meadow, by the Rivers side,

A Flocke of Nymphes I chaunced to espy,

All lovely Daughters of the Flood thereby,

With goodly greenish locks, all loose untyde,

As each had bene a Bryde;

And each one had a little wicker basket,

Made of fine twigs, entrayl`d curiously,

In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket,

And with fine Fingers cropt full feateously

The tender stalkes on hye.

Of every sort, which in that Meadow grew,

They gathered some; the Violet, pallid blew,

The little Dazie, that at evening closes,

The virgin Lillie, and the Primrose trew,

With store of vermeil Roses,

To decke their Bridegromes posies

Against the Brydale day, which was not long:

  Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

With that I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe

Come softly swimming downe along the Lee;

Two fairer Birds I yet did never see;

The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew,

Did never whiter shew;

Nor Jove himselfe, when he a Swan would be,

For love of Leda, whiter did appeare;

Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he,

Yet not so white as these, nor nothing neare;

So purely white they were,

That even the gentle streame, the which them bare,

Seem'd foule to them, and bad his billowes spare

To wet their silken feathers, least they might

Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre,

And marre their beauties bright,

That shone as heavens light,

Against their Brydale day, which was not long:

  Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

Eftsoones the Nymphes, which now had Flowers their fill,

Ran all in haste to see that silver brood,

As they came floating on the Christal Flood;

Whom when they sawe, they stood amazed still,

Their wondring eyes to fill;

Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fayre,

Of Fowles, so lovely, that they sure did deeme

Them heavenly borne, or to be that same payre

Which through the Skie draw Venus silver Teeme;

For sure they did not seeme

To be begot of any earthly Seede,

But rather Angels, or of Angels breede;

Yet were they bred of Somers-heat, they say,

In sweetest Season, when each Flower and weede

The earth did fresh aray;

So fresh they seem'd as day,

Even as their Brydale day, which was not long:

  Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

Then forth they all out of their baskets drew

Great store of Flowers, the honour of the field,

That to the sense did fragrant odours yield,

All which upon those goodly Birds they threw

And all the Waves did strew,

That like old Peneus Waters they did seeme,

When downe along by pleasant Tempes shore,

Scattred with Flowres, through Thessaly they streeme,

That they appeare, through Lillies plenteous store,

Like a Brydes Chamber flore.

Two of those Nymphes, meane while, two Garlands bound

Of freshest Flowres which in that Mead they found,

The which presenting all in trim Array,

Their snowie Foreheads therewithall they crownd,

Whil'st one did sing this Lay,

Prepar'd against that Day,

Against their Brydale day, which was not long:

  Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

'Ye gentle Birdes! the worlds faire ornament,

And heavens glorie, whom this happie hower

Doth leade unto your lovers blisfull bower,

Joy may you have, and gentle hearts content

Of your loves couplement;

And let faire Venus, that is Queene of love,

With her heart-quelling Sonne upon you smile,

Whose smile, they say, hath vertue to remove

All Loves dislike, and friendships faultie guile

For ever to assoile.

Let endlesse Peace your steadfast hearts accord,

And blessed Plentie wait upon your bord;

And let your bed with pleasures chast abound,

That fruitfull issue may to you afford,

Which may your foes confound,

And make your joyes...