V.

But peacefull was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His raign of peace upon the earth began; The windes, with wonder whist,{15} Smoothly the waters kist, Whispering new joyes to the milde ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.

VI.

The stars, with deep amaze, Stand fixt in stedfast gaze, Bending one way their precious influence,{16} And will not take their flight For{17} all the morning light Or Lucifer{18} that often warn'd them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Untill their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

VII.

And, though the shady Gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferiour flame The new-enlightn'd world no more should need; He saw a greater sun appear Than his bright throne or burning axle-tree{19} could bear.

VIII.

The shepherds on the lawn{20} Or ere{21} the point of dawn Sate simply chatting in a rustick row; Full little thought they than That the mighty Pan{22} Was kindly com to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly{23} thoughts so busie keep.

IX.

When such musick sweet Their hearts and ears did greet As never was by mortall finger strook,{24} Divinely warbled voice Answering the stringed noise{25} As all their souls in blissfull rapture took; The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echo's still prolongs each heav'nly close.{26}

X.

Nature that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round{27} Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was don, And that her raign had here its{28} last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heav'n and Earth in happier union.

XI.

At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, That with long beams the shame-fac't Night array'd; The helmed Cherubim,{29} The sworded Seraphim Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displaied, Harping in loud and solemn quire With unexpressive{30} notes to Heav'n's new-born Heir.

XII.

Such musick (as 'tis said) Before was never made But when of old the sons of Morning sung,{31} While the Creator great His constellation set, And the well-ballanc't world on hinges{32} hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltring{33} waves their oozy channel keep.

XIII.

Ring out, ye crystall sphears;{34} Once bless our humane ears (If ye have power to touch our senses so), And let your silver chime Move in melodious time, And let the base of Heav'ns deep organ blow, And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort{35} to th' angelike symphony.

XIV.

For, if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back and fetch the age of Gold;{36} And speckl'd Vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould;{37} And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her{38} dolorous mansions to the peering day.

XV.

Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will set between, Thron'd in celestiall sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down stearing; And Heav'n, as at som festivall, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.{39}

XVI.

But wisest Fate sayes no; This must not yet be so; The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy, That on the bitter cross{40} Must redeem our loss, So both himself and us to glorifie; Yet first to those ychain'd{41} in sleep The wakefull trump{42} of doom must thunder through the deep.

XVII.

With such a horrid clang As on Mount Sinai rang,{43} While the red fire and smould'ring clouds out brake; The aged Earth, agast, With terrour of that blast, Shall from the surface to the center shake; When at the worlds last session{44} The dreadfull Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.

XVIII.

And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for from this happy day, Th' old Dragon{45} under ground, In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway; And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swindges{46} the scaly horrour of his foulded tail.

XIX.

The oracles are dumm;{47} No voice or hideous humm Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shreik the steep of Delphos{48} leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-ey'd Priest from the prophetic cell.

XX.

The lonely mountains o'er And the resounding shore A voice of weeping{49} heard and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale Edged with poplar pale The parting{50} Genius is with sighing sent; With floure-inwov'n tresses torn The nimphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.

XXI.

In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth{51} The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint In urns and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamins{52} at their service quaint And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power forgoes{53} his wonted seat.

XXII.

Peor and Balim{54} Forsake their temples dim, With that twise batter'd god{55} of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heav'ns queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers holy shine; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn; In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn;{56}

XXIII.

And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dred{57} His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals ring They call the grisly{58} King In dismall dance about the furnace blue; The brutish{59} gods of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis last.

XXIV.

Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green Trampling the unshowr'd grass{60} with lowings loud, Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; Naught but profoundest hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrel'd anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark.

XXV.

He feels from Judas land The dredded Infants hand; The rayes of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn;{61} Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands controul the damned crew.

XXVI.

So, when the Sun in bed,{62} Curtain'd with cloudy red Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to th' infernal jail; Each fetter'd ghost slips to his severall grave; And the yellow-skirted Fayes Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lov'd maze.

XXVII.

But see the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is our tedious song should here have ending; Heav'ns youngest teemed{63} star Hath fixt her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending; And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness'd angels sit in order serviceable.{64}

NOTES.

This poem was begun by Milton on Christmas day, 1629. He had then just completed his twenty-first year, and was still an undergraduate at Christ's College, Cambridge. From certain fragments and other evidence, it is believed that he contemplated writing a series of poems on great Christian events in a similar way. This is the first poem of importance which he wrote. Hallam speaks of it as perhaps the finest lyric of its kind in the English language. "A grandeur, a simplicity, a breadth of manner, an imagination at once elevated and restrained by the subject, reign throughout it. If Pindar is a model of lyric poetry, it would be hard to name any other ode so truly Pindaric; but more has naturally been derived from the Scriptures."

1. our deadly forfeit should release. Should remit the penalty of death pronounced against us. Shakespeare has a similar use of the word "forfeit."

"Thy slanders I forgive, and therewithal Remit thy other forfeits." —Measure for Measure, Act v, sc. 1.

2. wont. The past tense of the A.-S. verb wunian, to persist, to continue, to be accustomed. Now used only in connection with some form of the auxiliary verb be.

3. Explain the meaning of each word in this line, and of the whole line. The next two stanzas comprise an invocation to the Muse of Poetry. See note 1, page 153.

4. Wisards. Wizards. Wise men. The word was originally used in this sense, and not with the depreciatory meaning of "magician," as at present. Spenser says:

"Therefore the antique wizards well invented That Venus of the fomy sea was bred,"

meaning by "antique wizards" ancient philosophers.

5. prevent. Go before; the original meaning of the word, from Lat. pr, before, and venio, to go or come.

"I prevented the dawning of the morning."—Psalm cxix. 147.

"I will have nothing to hinder me in the morning, for I will prevent the sun rising."—Izaak Walton, Compleat Angler.

6. angel quire. "And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God."—Luke ii, 13.

7. paramour. See note 9, page 80.

8. maiden. Pure, innocent, unpolluted. Compare

"When I am dead, strew me o'er With maiden flowers." —Shakespeare, Henry VIII, Act iv, sc. 2.

9. turning sphear. The Ptolemaic system of astronomy taught that the earth was the centre of the universe, and that all the heavenly bodies revolved about it, being fixed in a complicated framework, or series of hollow crystalline spheres moving one within the other. The "turning sphear" is here this entire system of revolving spheres. See note 34, below.

10. harbinger. One who provides a resting-place for a superior person. It was the duty of the king's harbinger, when the court removed from one place to another, to provide lodgings for the king's retinue. Derived from harbor, harborage. The word "harbor" is from A.-S. here, army, and beorg, a refuge. Others derive the word from har, a message, and bringer—hence, one who brings a message, a herald.

Parkes's Topography of Hampstead, 1818, contains the following:

"The office of harbinger still exists in the Royal Household, the nominal duty of the officer being to ride one stage onward before the king on his progress, to provide lodging and provision for the court."

The last knight-harbinger was Sir Henry Rycroft (appointed in 1816, died October, 1846, aged eighty). The office became extinct at his death.

11. turtle. Commonly turtle-dove. For history of the word as now applied to the tortoise, see Worcester's Dictionary.

12. universall peace. About the time of the birth of Christ there was peace throughout the Roman Empire, and the temple of Janus was shut.

13. hooked chariot. The war-chariot armed with scythes, a Celtic invention adopted by the Romans.

14. awfull eye. We would say, "awe-filled eyes."

sovran. Old French souverain. Some derive it from Lat. supra, above, and regno, to reign.

15. whist. Hushed. This word, now used as a sort of interjection commanding silence, seems to have had in earlier English more of a verbal meaning, as Spenser in "The Faerie Queene," VII, vii, 59:

"So was the Titaness put downe and whist."

It also meant to keep silent, as in Surrey's "Virgil":

"They whisted all, with fixed face intent."

A game of cards in which the players are supposed to keep silent is called whist.

birds of calm. Halcyons. See note 1, page 78.

16. influence. From Lat. in, into, and fluo, to flow. This word, until a comparatively modern date, was always used with respect to the supposed mysterious rays or aspects flowing from the stars to the earth, and thus having a strange power over the fortunes of men. "Canst thou bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades?"—Job xxviii. 31.

"Happy constellations on that hour Shed their selectest influences." —Paradise Lost, VIII, 512.

17. For. Notwithstanding.

18. Lucifer. The morning star. The idea of Lucifer appearing to warn the stars of the approach of the sun is a happy figure. See note 7, page 80.

19. axle-tree. Axis. Tree in O. E. is used to signify beam. We still have single-tree, double-tree, whiffle-tree, etc. Compare "Comus," 95:

"The gilded car of day His glowing axle doth allay."

20. lawn. Used in its original sense of a pasture, or open, grassy space. Formerly laund. Similarly we have lane, an open passage between houses or fields.

21. Or ere. Or is here used in its old sense, meaning before, from A.-S. r. Ere = e'er, ever. Compare Ecclesiastes xii. 6: "Or ever the silver cord be loosed." Also "King Lear," Act ii, sc. 4:

"But this heart Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws Or ere I'll weep."

22. Pan. See note, page 72. The application of the name Pan to Christ is evidently derived from Spenser. See "Shepheards Calendar," July:

"And such, I ween, the brethren were That came from Canan, The brethren Twelve, that kept yfere The flocks of mightie Pan."

In the Glosse to the Calendar for May it is said that "Great Pan is Christ, the very God of all shepheards, which calleth himselfe the great and good shepheard. The name is most rightly (methinks) applied to him; for Pan signifieth all, or omnipotent, which is only the Lord Iesus. And by that name (as I remember) he is called of Eusebius in his fifth booke, De Preparat. Evange."

23. silly. From A.-S. saelig, blessed, happy. Spenser uses the word in the sense of innocent, as in "Faerie Queene," III, viii, 27:

"The silly virgin strove him to withstand."

Chaucer, in the "Reves Tale," uses it in the more modern sense of simple, or foolish:

"These sely clerkes han ful fast yronne."

But in the "Legend of Good Women" it has another meaning:

"O sely woman, full of innocence."

The meaning of this word has completely changed.

24. strook. Caused to sound as on a stringed instrument. Compare Dryden in "Alexander's Feast":

"Now strike the golden lyre again."

25. noise. A company of musicians under a leader. Used in this sense by both Shakespeare and Ben Jonson.

26. close. Cadence. See Dryden, "Fables":

"At every close she made, th' attending throng Replied, and bore the burden of the song."

27. hollow round. The sphere in which the moon has its motion. See notes 9 and 34.

Cynthia. The moon. In the ancient mythology applied to Artemis, from Mount Cynthus in the island of Delos, her birthplace.

28. its. In all his poetry, Milton uses this word only three times. The other examples are in "Paradise Lost," I, 254, and IV, 814. This possessive form of the pronoun it was never used until the time of Shakespeare, who employs it five times in "A Winter's Tale," and once in "Measure for Measure"; it does not occur anywhere in the authorized version of the Bible.

29. Why are the Cherubim "helmed," while the Seraphim are "sworded"? Addison says, "Some of the rabbins tell us that the cherubims are a set of angels who know most, and the seraphims a set of angels who love most." Observe that the plural of cherub or of seraph may be formed in three ways: viz. cherubs, cherubim, cherubims; seraphs, seraphim, seraphims.

30. unexpressive. Inexpressible. See Shakespeare, "As You Like It":

"The fair, the chaste, the unexpressive she."

Also Milton, "Lycidas," 176:

"And hears the unexpressive nuptiall song."

31. the sons of Morning sung. See Job xxxviii. 4-7, the oldest reference to the "music of the spheres." See note 34, below.

32. hinges. Literally, a hinge is anything for hanging something upon. From A.-S. hangian.

33. weltring. Rolling, wallowing. See "Lycidas," 13.

34. Ring out. An allusion to the music of the spheres. See note 27, above. The theory of Pythagoras was that the distances between the heavenly bodies were determined by the laws of musical concord. "These orbs in their motion could not but produce a certain sound or note, depending upon their distances and velocities; and as these were regulated by harmonic laws, they necessarily formed as a whole a complete musical scale." "In the whorl of the distaff of necessity there are eight concentric whorls. These whorls represent respectively the sun and moon, the five planets, and the fixed stars. On each whorl sits a siren singing. Their eight tones make one exquisite harmony." Milton added a ninth whorl,—"that swift nocturnal and diurnal rhomb,"—and then spoke of the "ninefold harmony," as just below. This was a favorite idea with the poets.

"Sure she was nigher to heaven's spheres, Listening the lordly music flowing from The illimitable years." —Tennyson, Ode to Memory.

"The music of the spheres! list, my Mariana!" —Shakespeare, Pericles, Act v, sc. 1.

"There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims." —Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, Act v, sc. 1.

"If Nature thunder'd in his opening ears, And stunn'd him with the music of the spheres, How would he wish that Heaven had left him still The whispering zephyr and the purling rill!" —Pope, Essay on Man, I.

"Her voice, the music of the spheres, So loud, it deafens mortals' ears, As wise philosophers have thought, And that's the cause we hear it not." —Butler's Hudibras, II, i, 617.

See, also, Montaigne, Essays, I, xxii; Sir Thomas Browne's Religio Medici, II, 9; Plato's Republic, VI; Dryden's "Ode to Mrs. Anne Killigrew," etc.

35. consort. Accompaniment. This word, so written until Milton's time, has now given place to concert, whenever used as here.

36. age of Gold. The fabled primeval age of universal happiness.

"A blisful lyfe, a peseable, and so swete, Ledde the peplis in the former age."—Chaucer.

37. mould. Matter, substance. The word is used in the old Romances to denote the earth itself. Milton elsewhere says:

"Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine, enchanting ravishment?"

38. her. Observe what has already been said (note 28, above) about the pronoun its. Hell, in the Anglo-Saxon language, is feminine. But, just above, observe the expression it self. See, in the last line of stanza xv, the pronoun her with heaven as its antecedent. Heofon, in the Anglo-Saxon, is also feminine.

39. This stanza is a fine example of word-painting. What idea is conveyed to your mind by the expressions, "orb'd in a rainbow," "like glories wearing," "thron'd in celestiall sheen," "the tissued clouds down stearing," etc.? What kind of glories will Mercy wear? Where will she sit? How will she be enthroned? What are radiant feet? Why are Mercy's feet radiant? Does she steer the tissued clouds "with radiant feet," or does she steer herself down the tissued clouds? Why will the opening of Heaven's high palace wall be "as at some festivall"?

40. bitter cross. Compare Shakespeare, "1 Henry IV," Act i, sc. 1, 27:

"Those blessed feet Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage, on the bitter cross."

41. ychain'd. The y is a corruption of the prefix ge, anciently used in connection with the past participle, and still retained in many German words. Often used by Chaucer and Spenser, as in yblessed, yburied, ybrent, yfonden, ygeten, yclad, yfraught, etc.

42. trump. "For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first."—1 Thessalonians iv. 16.

wakefull. Awakening.

43. rang. See Exodus xix.

44. session. Assize. Both words were originally from the same root, Lat. sedeo, sessum.

spread. Prepare, make ready. A similar use of the word survives in the idiom "to spread the table."

45. Dragon. See Revelation xii. 9.

46. Swindges. Swings about violently. This is the only case in which Milton uses this word. It is used several times by Shakespeare in the sense of to whip, to scourge.

47. oracles are dumm. Keightly says: "This was a frequent assertion of the Fathers, who ascribed to the coming of Christ what was the effect of time. They regarded the ancient oracles as having been the inspiration of the devil."

Spenser, quoting the story which Plutarch relates in "his Booke of the ceasing of miracles," says, "For at that time, as hee sayth, all Oracles surceased, and enchaunted spirites that were woont to delude the people thenceforth held their peace."—Glosse to Shepheards Calendar, May.

48. Delphos. The medival form of the word Delphi. The temple where was the chief oracle of Apollo was at Delphi, built at the foot of a precipitous cliff two thousand feet high. This oracle was suppressed by the Emperor Theodosius.

49. weeping. Compare Matthew ii. 19, and Jeremiah xxxi. 15.

Spenser, in the same Glosse, quoted from above, says, "About the same time that our Lorde suffered his most bitter passion for the redemption of man, certaine persons sailing from Italie to Cyprus and passing by certaine iles called Pax, heard a voice calling aloud Thamus, Thamus, (now Thamus was the name of an Egyptian which was pylote of the ship), who, giving ear to the crie, was bidden, when he came to Palodes to tell that great Pan was dead: which hee doubting to doe, yet for that when hee came to Palodes, there suddenly was such a calme of winde that the ship stoode still in the sea unmooved, he was forced to crie aloude that Pan was dead: wherewithall there was heard such piteous outcries, and dreadfull shriking as hath not beene the like."

50. parting. Departing. Frequently used in Old English.

Genius. Spirit. See "Lycidas," 182:

"Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore."

51. consecrated earth—holy hearth. Referring to the places specially haunted by the Lars and Lemures. The Lemures were the spirits of the dead, and were said to wander about at night, frightening the living. The Lares were the household gods, sometimes referred to as the spirits of good men. The former frequented the graveyards; the latter, the hearths.

52. Flamins. Priests.

53. forgoes. Goes from, gives up, abandons.

54. Peor and Balim. Compare the proper names which occur in this and the following stanzas with those in "Paradise Lost," I, 316-352.

Peor. The name of a mountain of Palestine is here used as one of the titles of Baal, who was worshipped there.

Balim. Plural of Baal, meaning that god in his various modifications.

Ashtaroth. The Syrian goddess Astarte. But her worship was identified rather with the planet Venus than with the moon.

Hammon. A Libyan deity, represented as a ram or as a man with ram's horns.

55. twise batter'd god. Dagon. See 1 Samuel v.

56. mourn. In Phoenicia, in the ancient city of Byblos, a festival of two days was held every year in honor of Adonis, or Thammuz, as the Phoenicians called him. The first day was observed as a day of mourning for the death of the god; the second, as a day of rejoicing because of his return to the earth. The principal participants were young women. The prophet Ezekiel alludes to this subject: "Then he brought me to the door of the gate of the Lord's house which was toward the north; and, behold, there sat women weeping for Tammuz."—Ezekiel viii. 14.

Milton, in "Paradise Lost," says:

"Thammuz came next behind, Whose annual wound in Lebanon allur'd The Syrian damsels to lament his fate In amorous ditties all a summer's day."

57. Compare with "Paradise Lost," I, 392-405. In Sandys's Travels, published in 1615, and a popular book in Milton's time, the following description is given of the sacrifices made to Moloch: "Therein the Hebrews sacrificed their children to Moloch, an idol of brass, having the head of a calf, the rest of a kingly figure, with arms extended to receive the miserable sacrifice seared to death with his burning embracements. For the idol was hollow within and filled with fire."

58. grisly. Frightful, hideous. Probably from A.-S. agrisan, to dread.

59. brutish. Shaped like a brute; animal.

Isis. The Egyptian earth-goddess, afterwards worshipped as the goddess of the moon.

Orus. The Egyptian god of the sun.

the dog Anubis. Juvenal says, "Whole towns worship the dog."—Sat., XV, 8.

60. unshowr'd. A reference to the general, though erroneous, idea that it does not rain in Egypt.

Osiris, or Apis, one of the chief gods of the Egyptians, was represented by a bull.

=sacred chest= = =worshipt ark=, below.

61. eyn. The old plural form of eyes. This form of the plural survives in oxen, children, brethren, kine, swine.

Typhon. A monster among the gods, variously described by the poets. He was a terror to all the other deities.

62. in bed. The sun has not yet risen.

63. youngest teemed. Referring to the Star of Bethlehem.

64. Compare Milton's "Sonnet on his Blindness":

"They also serve who only stand and wait."

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.

JOHN MILTON was born in Bread Street, Cheapside, London, in the year 1608, eight years before the death of Shakespeare. From his boyhood he showed the possession of more than ordinary powers of mind. He was educated first under private tutors, and at St. Paul's School, and finally at Christ's College, Cambridge, where in 1632 he received the degree of "Master of Arts." His first considerable work was the "Hymn on the Morning of the Nativity," written in 1629. Within the next seven years he wrote the most noteworthy of his shorter poems: the masque, "Comus"; the pastoral piece entitled "Arcades"; the beautiful descriptive poems, "L'Allegro" and "II Penseroso"; and the elegy, "Lycidas." In 1639 he made a tour upon the Continent, visited the famous seats of learning in France and Italy, and made the acquaintance of many of the great poets and scholars of his time. Upon hearing, however, that civil war was about to break out in England, he hastened home, resolved to devote himself to what he regarded as his country's best interests. Poetry was abandoned for politics, and for the next twenty years he wrote little except prose—political tracts and controversial essays. When Cromwell became Lord Protector of England, Milton was appointed Latin Secretary of State, a position which he continued to hold until towards the downfall of the Commonwealth. But after the Restoration he quietly withdrew into retirement, resolved to devote the remainder of his life to the writing of the great poem which he had been contemplating for many years. Through unceasing study he had lost his sight; the friends of his youth had deserted him; the fortune which he had received from his father was gone. And so it was in darkness, and disappointment, and poverty, that in 1667 he gave to the world the great English epic, "Paradise Lost." It was in that same year that Dryden published his "Annus Mirabilis." Milton shortly afterward wrote "Paradise Regained"; and, in 1671, he produced "Samson Agonistes," a tragedy modelled after the masterpieces of the Greek drama. On the 8th of November, 1674, at the age of sixty-six years, his strangely eventful life came to a close.

WORDSWORTH'S SONNET TO MILTON.

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee; she is a fen Of stagnant waters; altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart; Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea; Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

Other Poems to be Read: L'Allegro; Il Penseroso; Comus; Lycidas; selections from Paradise Lost.

REFERENCES: Masson's Life and Times of John Milton; Milton (Classical Writers), by Stopford Brooke; Milton (English Men of Letters), by Mark Pattison; Macaulay's Essay on Milton; De Quincey, Milton vs. Southey and Landor; Coleridge's Literary Remains; Johnson's Lives of the Poets; Hazlitt's English Poets.



Robert Herrick.



TO PHILLIS.

Live, live with me, and thou shalt see The pleasures I'll prepare for thee: What sweets the country can afford Shall bless thy bed, and bless thy board. The soft sweet moss shall be thy bed, With crawling woodbine over-spread: By which the silver-shedding streams Shall gently melt thee into dreams. Thy clothing next, shall be a gown Made of the fleeces' purest down. The tongue of kids shall be thy meat; Their milk thy drink; and thou shalt eat The paste of filberts for thy bread With cream of cowslips butterd: Thy feasting-table shall be hills With daisies spread, and daffadils; Where thou shalt sit, and Red-breast by, For meat, shall give thee melody. I'll give thee chains and carcanets Of primroses and violets. A bag and bottle thou shalt have, That richly wrought, and this as brave; So that as either shall express The wearer's no mean shepherdess. At shearing-times, and yearly wakes, When Themilis his pastime makes, There thou shalt be; and be the wit, Nay more, the feast, and grace of it. On holydays, when virgins meet To dance the heys with nimble feet, Thou shalt come forth, and then appear The Queen of Roses for that year. And having danced ('bove all the best) Carry the garland from the rest. In wicker-baskets maids shall bring To thee, my dearest shepherdling, The blushing apple, bashful pear, And shame-faced plum, all simp'ring there. Walk in the groves, and thou shalt find The name of Phillis in the rind Of every straight and smooth-skin tree; Where kissing that, I'll twice kiss thee. To thee a sheep-hook I will send, Be-prank'd with ribbons, to this end, This, this alluring hook might be Less for to catch a sheep, than me. Thou shalt have possets, wassails fine, Not made of ale, but spicd wine; To make thy maids and self free mirth, All sitting near the glitt'ring hearth. Thou shalt have ribbands, roses, rings, Gloves, garters, stockings, shoes, and strings Of winning colors that shall move Others to lust, but me to love. —These, nay, and more, thine own shall be, If thou wilt love, and live with me.



THE MAD MAID'S SONG.

Good morrow to the day so fair; Good morning, sir, to you; Good morrow to mine own torn hair, Bedabbled with the dew.

Good morning to this primrose too; Good morrow to each maid; That will with flowers the tomb bestrew Wherein my Love is laid.

Ah! woe is me, woe, woe is me, Alack and well-a-day! For pity, sir, find out that bee, Which bore my Love away.

I'll seek him in your bonnet brave; I'll seek him in your eyes; Nay, now I think they've made his grave I' th' bed of strawberries.

I'll seek him there; I know, ere this, The cold, cold earth doth shake him; But I will go, or send a kiss By you, sir, to awake him.

Pray hurt him not; though he be dead, He knows well who do love him; And who with green turfs rear his head, And who do rudely move him.

He's soft and tender, pray take heed, With bands of cowslips bind him, And bring him home;—but 'tis decreed That I shall never find him.



A THANKSGIVING TO GOD.

Lord, thou hast given me a cell, Wherein to dwell; A little house, whose humble roof Is weather proof; Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry; Where thou, my chamber for to ward, Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me, while I sleep. Low is my porch, as is my fate; Both void of state; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by th' poor, Who thither come, and freely get Good words, or meat. Like as my parlor, so my hall And kitchen's small; A little buttery, and therein A little bin, Which keeps my little loaf of bread Unchipt, unflead; Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar Make me a fire, Close by whose living coal I sit, And glow like it. Lord, I confess too, when I dine, The pulse is thine, And all those other bits that be There placed by thee; The worts, the purslain, and the mess Of water-cress, Which of thy kindness thou hast sent; And my content Makes those, and my belovd beet, To be more sweet. 'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth, And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink, Spiced to the brink. Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand That soils my land, And giv'st me, for my bushel sown, Twice ten for one; Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay Her egg each day; Besides, my healthful ewes to bear Me twins each year; The while the conduits of my kine Run cream, for wine: All these, and better, thou dost send Me, to this end,— That I should render, for my part, A thankful heart; Which, fired with incense, I resign, As wholly thine; —But the acceptance, that must be, My Christ, by Thee.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.

ROBERT HERRICK was born in Cheapside, London, August 20, 1591. He was educated at Cambridge, and in 1629, having taken orders, was presented to the vicarage of Dean Prior in Devonshire. From this living he was ejected by the Long Parliament in 1648, and, going up to London, he united himself with some of his former associates and entered upon a career not altogether creditable to his profession of parson. At the restoration of Charles II. he was returned to his vicarage, where he remained until his death in 1674. His best poems are included in the collection entitled "Hesperides, or Works Humane and Divine," published in 1648, and dedicated to "the most illustrious and most hopeful Prince Charles." The "Argument" prefixed to this collection very prettily describes the character of the pieces which it contains:

"I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers; I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, Of bride-grooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes. I write of Youth, of Love;—and have access By these, to sing of cleanly wantonness; I sing of dews, of rains, and, piece by piece, Of balm, of oil, of spice, of ambergris. I sing of times trans-shifting; and I write How roses first came red, and lilies white. I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing The court of Mab, and of the Fairy King; I write of Hell; I sing, and ever shall Of Heaven,—and hope to have it after all."

"Herrick's best things," says Robert Buchanan, "are his poems in praise of the country life, and his worst things are his epigrams. His gladsome, mercurial temper had a great deal to do with the composition of his best lyrics; for the parson of Dean Prior was no philosopher, and his lightest, airiest verses are the best. His was a happy, careless nature, throwing off verses out of the fulness of a joyous heart, rioting in a pleasant, sunny element."



Edmund Waller.



SONG.

Go, lovely Rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows When I resemble her to thee How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That had'st thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.

Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, How small a part of time they share Who are so wondrous sweet and fair.



OF ENGLISH VERSE.

Poets may boast, as safely vain, Their works shall with the world remain: Both bound together, live or die, The verses and the prophecy.

But who can hope his line should long Last, in a daily-changing tongue? While they are new, envy prevails; And as that dies our language fails.

When architects have done their part, The matter may betray their art: Time, if we use ill-chosen stone, Soon brings a well-built palace down.

Poets, that lasting marble seek, Must carve in Latin or in Greek: We write in sand, our language grows, And, like the tide, our work o'erflows.

Chaucer his sense can only boast, The glory of his numbers lost! Years have defac't his matchless strain, And yet he did not sing in vain.

The beauties which adorn'd that age, The shining subjects of his rage, Hoping they should immortal prove, Rewarded with success his love.

This was the gen'rous poet's scope, And all an English pen can hope; To make the fair approve his flame, That can so far extend their fame.

Verse thus design'd has no ill fate, If it arrive but at the date Of fading beauty, if it prove But as long-liv'd as present love.



ON A GIRDLE.

That which her slender waist confin'd Shall now my joyful temples bind; No monarch but would give his crown His arms might do what this has done.

It was my heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer: My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move!

A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that's good and all that's fair: Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.

EDMUND WALLER, whose poetry is noticeable because he was the first English versifier to adopt the French fashion of writing in couplets, was born in Warwickshire in 1605. He was elected to Parliament at the age of seventeen, and was a member of that body during the greater part of his life. At the beginning of the difficulties between the king and the Parliament, he gained some notoriety by his opposition to the former, but when the Civil War broke out he attached himself to the Royalist cause. In 1643, being convicted of complicity in a plot against Parliament, he was fined 10,000 and imprisoned for twelve months. After his release he went to France; but in 1653 he returned to England and became reconciled to the new government, writing, soon afterward, "A Panegyric to my Lord Protector, of the present Greatness and joint Interest of his Highness and this Nation." At the Restoration he eagerly declared allegiance to Charles II., and wrote a congratulatory ode on that monarch's return. He became a court favorite, noted for his wit, was made provost of Eton, and returned to his old place in Parliament. He died October 21, 1687. The first edition of his poems was published in 1645, and from that time to the close of the seventeenth century he was quite generally regarded as the greatest of English poets. At the present time there are few writers so little considered as he.

Waller may be regarded as the founder of the classical school of English poetry, in which Dryden and Pope excelled, and which remained in the ascendency for more than a century after his death. "The excellence and dignity of rhyme," says Dryden, "were never fully known till Mr. Waller taught it; he first made writing easily an art, first showed us to conclude the sense, most commonly, in distichs, which in the verse of those before him runs on for so many lines together, that the reader is out of breath to overtake it."

And Dr. Johnson says: "He certainly very much excelled in smoothness most of the writers who were living when his poetry commenced. But he was rather smooth than strong: of the 'full resounding line' which Pope attributes to Dryden, he has given very few examples. The general character of his poetry is elegance and gaiety. He seems neither to have had a mind much elevated by nature, nor amplified by learning. His thoughts are such as a liberal conversation and large acquaintance with life would easily supply."



Ben Jonson.



AN ODE TO HIMSELF.

Where dost Thou careless lie Buried in ease and sloth? Knowledge that sleeps, doth die; And this security, It is the common moth That eats on wits and arts, and [so] destroys them both.

Are all the Aonian{1} springs Dried up? lies Thespia waste? Doth Clarius'{2} harp want strings, That not a nymph now sings; Or droop they as disgrac'd, To see their seats and bowers by chattering pies{3} defac'd?

If hence{4} thy silence be, As 'tis too just a cause, Let this thought quicken thee: Minds that are great and free Should not on fortune pause; 'Tis crown enough to virtue{5} still, her own applause.

What though the greedy fry Be taken with false baits Of worded balladry, And think it poesy? They die with their conceits, And only piteous scorn upon their folly waits.

Then take in hand thy lyre; Strike in thy proper strain; With Japhet's line,{6} aspire Sol's chariot for new fire, To give the world again: Who aided him, will thee, the issue of Jove's brain.{7}

And, since our dainty age Cannot endure reproof, Make not thyself a page To that strumpet the stage; But sing high and aloof, Safe from the wolf's black jaw, and the dull ass's hoof.{8}

NOTES.

This poem is found in the collection of miscellaneous pieces, by Ben Jonson, entitled "Underwoods." The poet reproaches himself for his own indolence.

1. Aonian springs. The fountain Aganippe, situated in Aonia, was much frequented by the Muses, who were therefore sometimes called "Aonides." They were also called Thespiades, because Mount Helicon, one of their favored resorts, was in the vicinity of Thespia, and was itself named "Thespia rupes."

2. Clarius. The name applied to the celebrated oracle of Apollo at Clarus, on the Ionian coast.

3. pies. Magpies, "who make sound without sense."

4. hence. For this reason.

5. virtue . . . her own applause. Compare:

"Virtue is her own reward."—Dryden, Tyrannic Love.

"Virtue, a reward to itself."—Walton, Compleat Angler.

"Virtue is its own reward."—Prior, Imitations of Horace.

6. Japhet's line. The line of Iapetus, the father of Prometheus, who stole fire from the chariot of the sun.

7. issue of Jove's brain. Athene, or Minerva.

8. "Safe from the slanderer and the fool."



TO CYNTHIA.

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep; Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep; Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear, when day did close; Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal-shining quiver; Give unto the flying heart Space to breathe, how short soever; Thou that mak'st a day of night, Goddess excellently bright.



TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US.

To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, Am I thus ample to thy book and fame;{1} While I confess thy writings to be such, As neither Man nor Muse can praise too much. 'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; For seeliest{2} ignorance on these may light, Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right; Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance; Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, And think to ruin where it seemed to praise. But thou art proof against them and, indeed, Above the ill fortune of them, or the need. I therefore will begin: Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My SHAKESPEARE rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room:{3} Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read, and praise to give. That I not mix thee so my brain excuses,— I mean with great, but disproportioned Muses; For if I thought my judgment were of years, I should commit thee surely with thy peers, And tell how far thou didst our Lyly{4} outshine, Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line. And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek, From thence to honor thee I would not seek For names, but call forth thund'ring schylus,{5} Euripides, and Sophocles to us, Pacuvius, Accius,{6} him of Cordova dead, To life again, to hear thy buskin tread, And shake a stage; or when thy socks{7} were on, Leave thee alone for a comparison Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time! And all the Muses still were in their prime, When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm! Nature herself was proud of his designs, And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines, Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus,{8} now not please; But antiquated and deserted lie, As they were not of Nature's family. Yet must I not give Nature all; thy Art, My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part. For though the poet's matter nature be, His art doth give the fashion; and that he{9} Who casts to write a living line, must sweat (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat Upon the Muses' anvil, turn the same, And himself with it, that he thinks to frame; Or for the laurel he may gain to scorn; For a good poet's made, as well as born. And such wert thou! Look, how the father's face Lives in his issue, even so the race Of Shakespeare's mind and manners brightly shines In his well-turnd and true fild lines, In each of which he seems to shake a lance, As brandished at the eyes of ignorance. Sweet Swan of Avon!{10} what a sight it were To see thee in our waters yet appear, And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, That so did take Eliza and our James! But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere{11} Advanced, and made a constellation there! Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage Or influence chide or cheer the drooping stage, Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourned like night, And despairs day but for thy volume's light.

NOTES.

This poem was prefixed to the first folio edition of Shakespeare, 1623, and is also printed in Ben Jonson's "Underwoods."

1. The meaning of these two lines would seem to be: "To show that I am not envious, Shakespeare, of thy name, I thus write fully of thy works and fame."

2. seeliest. Silliest, simplest. From A.-S. saelig, foolish. See note 23, page 190.

3. In allusion to W. Basse's elegy on Shakespeare, beginning:

"Renownd Spenser, lie a thought more nigh To learned Chaucer; and rare Beaumont, lie A little nearer Spenser, to make room For Shakespear in your threefold, fourfold tomb."

4. Lyly, Kyd, Marlowe. Contemporaries of Shakespeare. See Biographical Dictionary.

5. schylus, Euripides, and Sophocles. The founders of the Greek tragical drama.

6. Pacuvius, Accius. Celebrated Roman tragic poets.

him of Cordova. Seneca, the great rhetorician, was born at Cordova, in Spain, B.C. 61.

7. socks were on. The socks indicated comedy, and the buskins tragedy. Compare Milton's "L'Allegro," 131:

"Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-note wild."

Also, "Il Penseroso," 97. See note on buskin, page 139.

8. Aristophanes, Terence, Plautus. Ancient writers of comedy.

9. that he. That man.

10. Swan of Avon. So Cowper calls Virgil "the Mantuan swan."

11. hemisphere. The celestial hemisphere.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.

BEN JONSON was born in Westminster, in 1573. His early life was full of hard and varied experiences. He was educated at Westminster School, and entered St. John's College, Cambridge. Being obliged to leave his university course unfinished, he worked for a time with his step-father as a brick-layer. At the age of eighteen he enlisted as a volunteer in the Low Countries; but in 1596 he settled in London, as a playwright. His first comedy, "Every Man in his Humour," did not meet with immediate success. It was remodelled, at Shakespeare's suggestion, and when afterwards presented was received with marked favor. His first tragedy, "Sejanus," was acted in 1603. His masques, of which there are thirty-six, were written during the reign of James I. His miscellaneous works, embracing a variety of odes, elegies, epigrams, and other lyrics and epistles, are included in two collections, the first of which, called The Forest, was published in 1616, and the second posthumously, in 1641. He died in London, August 6, 1637.

One of the last and most beautiful of Jonson's dramas is the unfinished pastoral comedy, "The Sad Shepherd." It was written while in the sick-chamber, with a keen sense and remembrance of the disappointments which had followed him through life; and to these he touchingly refers in the prologue:

"He that hath feasted you these forty years, And fitted fables for your finer ears, Although at first he scarce could hit the bore; Yet you, with patience, hearkening more and more, At length have grown up to him, and made known The working of his pen is now your own: He prays you would vouchsafe, for your own sake, To hear him this once more, but sit awake. And though he now present you with such wool As from mere English flocks his muse can pull, He hopes when it is made up into cloth, Not the most curious head here will be loth To wear a hood of it, it being a fleece, To match or those of Sicily or Greece. His scene is Sherwood, and his play a tale Of Robin Hood's inviting from the vale Of Belvoir, all the shepherds to a feast; Where, by the casual absence of one guest, The mirth is troubled much, and in one man As much of sadness shown as passion can."

Robert Herrick wrote of him thus:

"Ah Ben! Say how or when Shall we, thy guests, Meet at those lyric feasts, Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun; Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad? And yet each verse of thine Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine.

"My Ben! Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it, Lest we that talent spend; And having once brought to an end That precious stock,—the store Of such a wit the world should have no more."



The Sixteenth Century.

"In fifty-two years, without counting the drama, two hundred and thirty-three poets are enumerated, of whom forty have genius or talent. . . . What is this condition which gives rise to so universal a taste for poetry? What is it breathes life into their books? How happens it, that amongst the least, in spite of pedantrie, awkwardnesses, we meet with brilliant pictures and genuine love-cries? How happens it, that when this generation was exhausted, true poetry ended in England, as true painting in Italy and Flanders? It was because an epoch of the mind came and passed away,—that, namely, of instinctive and creative conception. These men had new senses, and no theories in their heads. . . . They are happy in contemplating beautiful things, and wish only that they should be the most beautiful possible. They do not excite themselves to express moral or philosophical ideas. They wish to enjoy through the imagination, through the eyes, like those Italian nobles, who, at the same time, were so captivated by fine colors and forms, that they covered with paintings not only their rooms and their churches, but the lids of their chests and the saddles of their horses. . . . Think what poetry was likely to spring from them, how superior to common events, how free from literal imitation, how smitten with ideal beauty, how capable of creating a world beyond our sad world."—TAINE.

Poets of the Sixteenth Century.

Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542). See biographical note, page 252.

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey (1517-1547). See biographical note, page 252.

George Gascoigne (1536-1577). "The Steel Glass"; "The Tragedy of Iocaste."

Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst (1536-1608). "The Induction to the Mirror for Magistrates"; "The Tragedy of Gorboduc."

Edmund Spenser (1552-1598). See biographical note, page 245.

Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586). "Astrophel and Stella"; sonnets and short poems.

Thomas Watson (1557-1592). "The Hecatompathia or Passionate Century of Love"; "Meliboeus"; "The Tears of Fancie."

John Lyly (1554-1606). Lyrical poems; "Alexander and Campaspe"; "Love's Metamorphosis."

Robert Greene (1560-1592). Dramas and lyrical poems.

Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593). Dramas and lyrical poems.

Thomas Lodge (1556-1625). Dramas and lyrical poems.

William Warner (1550-1609). "Albion's England"; "Pan, his Syrinx or Pipe."

William Shakespeare (1564-1616). See note, page 221.

Samuel Daniel (1562-1619). "History of the Civil Wars between the two Houses of York and Lancaster."

Sir Walter Raleigh (1552-1618). Short poems.

George Chapman (1559-1634). Translations of "Homer's Iliad" and "Homer's Odyssey."

Michael Drayton (1563-1631). "Polyolbion"; "The Barons' Wars"; "The Battle of Agincourt."

Joseph Hall (1574-1656). "Virgidemiarum"; satires.

Sir John Davies ( -1626). "Nosce Teipsum."

John Donne (1573-1631). Short poems.



William Shakespeare.



VENUS'S ADVICE TO ADONIS ON HUNTING.

[FROM "VENUS AND ADONIS."]

"Thou hadst been gone," quoth she, "sweet boy, ere this, But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar. O, be advised! thou know'st not what it is With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore, Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still, Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill.

"On his bow-back he hath a battle set Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret; His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes; Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way, And when he strikes his crooked tushes slay.

"His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd, Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter; His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd; Being ireful, on the lion he will venture: The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.

"Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine, To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes; Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and crystal eyne, Whose full perfection all the world amazes; But having thee at vantage,—wondrous dread! Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.

"O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still; Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends: Come not within his danger by thy will; They that thrive well take counsel of their friends. When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.

"But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me; Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, Or at the fox which lives by subtlety, Or at the roe which no encounter dare: Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs, And on thy well-breathed horse keep with thy hounds.

"And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles How he outruns the wind and with what care He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles: The many musets through the which he goes Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.

"Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep, To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, To stop the loud pursuers in their yell, And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer: Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:

"For there his smell with others being mingled, The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled With much ado the cold fault cleanly out; Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies, As if another chase were in the skies.

"By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, To hearken if his foes pursue him still: Anon their loud alarums he doth hear; And now his grief may be compared well To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.

"Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch Turn, and return, indenting with the way; Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch, Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay: For misery is trodden on by many, And being low never relieved by any."



A MORNING SONG FOR IMOGEN.

[FROM "CYMBELINE."]

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With everything that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise.



SIGH NO MORE, LADIES.

[FROM "MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING."]

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever, One foot in sea and one on shore, To one thing constant never: Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, Of dumps so dull and heavy; The fraud of men was ever so, Since summer first was leafy: Then sigh not so, but let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny.



SUNSHINE AND CLOUD.

[SONNET XXXIII.]

Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: Even so my sun one early morn did shine With all-triumphant splendor on my brow; But out, alack! he was but one hour mine; The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth.



THE WORLD'S WAY.

[SONNET LXVI.]

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,— As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honor shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, And captive Good attending captain Ill: Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,— Save that, to die, I leave my Love alone.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE was born at Stratford-on-Avon in April, 1564, and died there April 23, 1616. His fame rests chiefly upon his dramatic compositions. His two narrative poems, "Venus and Adonis" and "The Rape of Lucrece," were published in 1593 and 1594, before any of his plays had been printed. They may be regarded as companion pieces, written in the same style and distinguished by similar characteristics.

"A couple of ice-houses," says Dowden, "these two poems of Shakespeare have been called by Hazlitt; 'they are,' he says, 'as hard, as glittering, as cold.' Cold indeed they will seem to any one who listens to hear in them the natural cry of human passion. But the paradox is true, that for a young poet of Elizabeth's age to be natural, direct, simple, would have been indeed unnatural. He was most happy when most fantastical; he spun a shining web to catch conceits inevitably as a spider casts his thread; the quick-building wit was itself warm while erecting its ice-houses." Coleridge says of the "Venus and Adonis" that its most obvious excellence "is the perfect sweetness of the versification; its adaptation to the subject; and the power displayed in varying the march of the words without passing into a loftier and more majestic rhythm than was demanded by the thoughts, or permitted by the propriety of preserving a sense of melody predominant."

Shakespeare's "Sonnets" were published in 1609. Concerning the origin, purpose, and interpretation of these poems, many widely different theories have been proposed, "Some have looked on them as one poem." says Fleay; "some as several poems—of groups of sonnets; some as containing a separate poem in each sonnet. They have been supposed to be written in Shakespeare's own person, or in the character of another, or of several others; to be autobiographical or heterobiographical or allegorical; to have been addressed to Lord Southampton, to Sir William Herbert, to his own wife, to Lady Rich, to his child, to himself, to his Muse." The safest and wisest course seems to be, first to regard each of the one hundred and fifty-four sonnets as a poem complete in itself, and after studying whatever it may contain of art, or beauty, or truth, then to discover, if possible, its relationship to those which precede or follow it in the series.

Of the other poems written by Shakespeare, mention should be made of "The Passionate Pilgrim" (1559), "The Phoenix and the Turtle" (1601), "A Lover's Complaint," published in the same volume with the "Sonnets," and the few exquisite little songs scattered through his plays.



Edmund Spenser.



THE CAVE OF MAMMON.

Guyon findes Mammon in a delve{1} Sunning his threasure hore{2}; Is by him tempted, and led downe To see his secrete store.

As Pilot well expert in perilous wave, That to a stedfast starre{3} his course hath bent, When foggy mistes or cloudy tempests have The faithfull light of that faire lampe yblent,{4} And cover'd heaven with hideous dreriment,{5} Upon his card and compas firmes{6} his eye, The maysters of his long experiment, And to them does the steddy helme apply, Bidding his winged vessell fairely forward fly:

So Guyon having lost his trustie guyde, Late left beyond that Ydle lake, proceedes Yet on his way, of none accompanyde; And evermore himselfe with comfort feedes Of his own vertues and praise-worthie deedes. So, long he yode,{7} yet no adventure found, Which fame of her shrill trumpet worthy reedes{8}; For still he traveild through wide wastfull ground, That nought but desert wildernesse shewed all around.

At last he came unto a gloomy glade, Cover'd with boughes and shrubs from heavens light, Whereas he sitting found in secret shade An uncouth, salvage,{9} and uncivile wight, Of griesly hew and fowle ill-favour'd sight; His face with smoke was tand, and eies were bleard, His head and beard with sout were ill bedight,{10} His cole-blacke hands did seeme to have been seard In smythes fire-spitting{11} forge, and nayles like clawes appear.

His yron cote, all overgrowne with rust, Was underneath enveloped with gold; Whose glistring glosse, darkned with filthy dust, Well yet appeared to have beene of old A worke of rich entayle{12} and curious mould, Woven with antickes{13} and wyld ymagery; And in his lap a masse of coyne he told, And turned upside downe, to feede his eye And covetous desire with his huge threasury.

And round about him lay on every side Great heapes of gold that never could be spent; Of which some were rude owre, not purifide Of Mulcibers{14} devouring element; Some others were new driven, and distent Into great Ingowes and to wedges square; Some in round plates withouten moniment{15}; But most were stampt, and in their metal bare The antique shapes of kings and kesars straunge and rare.

Soone as he Guyon saw, in great affright And haste he rose for to remove aside Those pretious hils from straungers envious sight, And downe them poured through an hole full wide Into the hollow earth, them there to hide. But Guyon, lightly to him leaping, stayd His hand that trembled as one terrifyde; And though himselfe were at the sight dismayd, Yet him perforce restraynd, and to him doubtfull sayd:

"What art thou, man, (if man at all thou art) That here in desert hast thine habitaunce, And these rich hils of welth doest hide apart From the worldes eye, and from her right usaunce?" Thereat, with staring eyes fixed askaunce, In great disdaine he answerd: "Hardy Elfe, That darest view my direfull countenaunce, I read thee rash and heedlesse of thy selfe, To trouble my still seate, and heapes of pretious pelfe.

"God of the world and worldlings I me call, Great Mammon, greatest god below the skye, That of my plenty poure out unto all, And unto none my graces do envye: Riches, renowme, and principality, Honour, estate, and all this worldes good, For which men swinck{16} and sweat incessantly, Fro me do flow into an ample flood, And in the hollow earth have their eternall brood.

"Wherefore, if me thou deigne to serve and sew,{17} At thy commaund lo! all these mountaines bee: Or if to thy great mind, or greedy vew, All these may not suffise, there shall to thee Ten times so much be nombred francke and free." "Mammon," (said he) "thy godheads vaunt is vaine, And idle offers of thy golden fee; To them that covet such eye-glutting gaine Proffer thy giftes, and fitter servaunts entertaine.

"Me ill besits,{18} that in derdoing, armes And honours suit my vowd daies do spend, Unto thy bounteous baytes and pleasing charmes, With which weake men thou witchest, to attend; Regard of worldly mucke{19} doth fowly blend, And low abase the high heroicke spright,{20} That joyes for crownes and kingdomes to contend: Faire shields, gay steedes, bright armes be my delight; Those be the riches fit for an advent'rous knight."

"Vaine glorious Elfe," (saide he) "doest not thou weet,{21} That money can thy wantes at will supply? Sheilds, steeds, and armes, and all things for thee meet, It can purvay in twinckling of an eye; And crownes and kingdomes to thee multiply. Do not I kings create, and throw the crowne Sometimes to him that low in dust doth ly, And him that raignd into his rowme thrust downe, And whom I lust do heape with glory and renowne?"

"All otherwise" (saide he) "I riches read, And deeme them roote of all disquietnesse; First got with guile, and then preserv'd with dread, And after spent with pride and lavishnesse, Leaving behind them griefe and heavinesse: Infinite mischiefes of them doe arize, Strife and debate, bloodshed and bitternesse, Outrageous wrong, and hellish covetize, That noble heart as great dishonour doth despize.

"Ne thine be kingdomes, ne the scepters thine; But realmes and rulers thou doest both confound, And loyall truth to treason doest incline: Witnesse the guiltlesse blood pourd oft on ground, The crowned often slaine, the slayer cround; The sacred Diademe in peeces rent, And purple robe gored with many a wound, Castles surprizd, great cities sackt and brent; So mak'st thou kings, and gaynest wrongfull government.

"Long were to tell the troublous stormes that tosse The private state, and make the life unsweet: Who swelling sayles in Caspian sea doth crosse, And in frayle wood on Adrian gulf doth fleet, Doth not, I weene, so many evils meet." Then Mammon wexing wroth: "And why then," sayd, "Are mortall men so fond{22} and undiscreet So evill thing to seeke unto their ayd, And having not complaine, and having it upbrayd?"

"Indeede," (quoth he) "through fowle intemperaunce Frayle men are oft captiv'd to covetise; But would they thinke with how small allowaunce Untroubled Nature doth herselfe suffise, Such superfluities they would despise, Which with sad cares empeach{23} our native joyes. At the well-head the purest streames arise; But mucky filth his braunching armes annoyes, And with uncomely weedes the gentle wave accloyes.{24}

"The antique world, in his first flowring youth, Fownd no defect in his Creators grace; But with glad thankes, and unreproved truth,{25} The gifts of soveraine bounty did embrace: Like Angels life was then mens happy cace; But later ages pride, like corn-fed steed, Abusd her plenty and fat swolne encreace To all licentious lust, and gan exceed The measure of her meane and naturall first need.

"Then gan a cursed hand the quiet wombe Of his great Grandmother{26} with steele to wound, And the hid treasures in her sacred tombe With Sacriledge to dig. Therein he fownd Fountaines of gold and silver to abownd, Of which the matter of his huge desire And pompous pride eftsoones he did compownd; Then avarice gan through his veines inspire His greedy flames, and kindled life-devouring fire."

"Sonne," (said he then) "lett be{27} thy bitter scorne, And leave the rudenesse of that antique age To them that liv'd therein, in state forlorne: Thou, that doest live in later times, must wage{28} Thy workes for wealth, and life for gold engage. If then thee list my offred grace to use, Take what thou please of all this surplusage; If thee list not, leave have thou to refuse: But refused doe not afterward accuse."

"Me list{29} not" (said the Elfin knight) "receave Thing offred, till I know it well be gott; Ne wote but thou didst these goods bereave From rightfull owner by unrighteous lott, Or that bloodguiltinesse or guile them blott." "Perdy,"{30} (quoth he) "yet never eie did vew, Ne tong did tell, ne hand these handled not; But safe I have them kept in secret mew From hevens sight, and powre of al which them poursew.

"What secret place" (quoth he) "can safely hold So huge a masse, and hide from heaven's eie? Or where hast thou thy wonne,{31} that so much gold Thou canst preserve from wrong and robbery?" "Come thou," (quoth he) "and see." So by and by Through that thick covert he him led, and fownd A darkesome way, which no man could descry, That deep descended through the hollow grownd, And was with dread and horror compassed arownd.

At length they came into a larger space, That stretcht itselfe into an ample playne; Through which a beaten broad high way did trace, That streight did lead to Plutoes griesly rayne.{32} By that wayes side there sate internall Payne, And fast beside him sat tumultuous Strife: The one in hand an yron whip did strayne, The other brandished a bloody knife; And both did gnash their teeth, and both did threten life.

On thother side in one consort there sate Cruell Revenge, and rancorous Despight, Disloyall Treason, and hart-burning Hate; But gnawing Gealousy, out of their sight Sitting alone, his bitter lips did bight; And trembling Feare still to and fro did fly, And found no place wher safe he shroud him might: Lamenting Sorrow did in darknes lye, And Shame his ugly face did hide from living eye.

And over them sad Horror with grim hew Did alwaies sore, beating his yron wings; And after him Owles and Night-ravens flew, The hatefull messengers of heavy things, Of death and dolor telling sad tidings, Whiles sad Celeno, sitting on a clifte, A song of bale and bitter sorrow sings, That hart of flint asonder could have rifte; Which having ended after him she flyeth swifte.

All these before the gates of Pluto lay, By whom they passing spake unto them nought; But th' Elfin knight with wonder all the way Did feed his eyes, and fild his inner thought. At last him to a little dore he brought, That to the gate of Hell, which gaped wide, Was next adjoyning, ne them parted ought: Betwixt them both was but a little stride, That did the house of Richesse from hell-mouth divide.

Before the dore sat selfe-consuming Care, Day and night keeping wary watch and ward, For feare least Force or Fraud should unaware Breake in, and spoile the treasure there in gard: Ne would he suffer Sleepe once thither-ward Approch, albe his drowsy den were next; For next to Death is Sleepe to be compard;{33} Therefore his house is unto his annext: Here Sleep, ther Richesse, and Hel-gate them both betwext.

So soon as Mammon there arrivd, the dore To him did open and affoorded way: Him followed eke Sir Guyon evermore, Ne darknesse him, ne daunger might dismay. Soone as he entred was, the dore streight way Did shutt, and from behind it forth there lept An ugly feend, more fowle then dismall day, The which with monstrous stalke behind him stept, And ever as he went dew watch upon him kept.

Well hoped hee, ere long that hardy guest, If ever covetous hand, or lustfull eye, Or lips he layd on thing that likte him best, Or ever sleepe his eie-strings did untye, Should be his pray. And therefore still on hye He over him did hold his cruell clawes, Threatning with greedy gripe to doe him dye, And rend in peeces with his ravenous pawes, If ever he transgrest the fatal Stygian lawes.

That houses forme within was rude and strong, Lyke an huge cave hewne out of rocky clifte, From whose rough vaut the ragged breaches hong Embossed with massy gold of glorious guifte, And with rich metall loaded every rifte, That heavy ruine they did seeme to threatt; And over them Arachne high did lifte Her cunning web, and spred her subtile nett, Enwrapped in fowle smoke and clouds more black than Jett.

Both roofe, and floore, and walls, were all of gold, But overgrowne with dust and old decay, And hid in darkenes, that none could behold The hew thereof; for vew of cherefull day Did never in that house it selfe display, But a faint shadow of uncertain light: Such as a lamp, whose life does fade away, Or as the Moone, cloathed with clowdy night, Does show to him that walkes in feare and sad affright.

In all that rowme was nothing to be seene But huge great yron chests, and coffers strong, All bard with double bends, that none could weene Them to efforce by violence or wrong: On every side they placed were along; But all the grownd with sculs was scattered, And dead mens bones, which round about were flong; Whose lives, it seemed, whilome{34} there were shed, And their vile carcases now left unburied.

NOTES.

This is a selection from Spenser's great poem, "The Faerie Queene," being a part of the seventh canto of book second. "The Faerie Queene" was published in 1590, and comprises six books of twelve cantos each. The first book is the Legend of the Red Cross Knight, or Holiness; the second, of Sir Guyon, or Temperance; the third, of Britomartis, or Chastity; the fourth, of Cambel and Triamond, or Friendship; the fifth, of Artegall, or Justice; the sixth, of Sir Calidore, or Courtesy. It was Spenser's design that the complete work should contain twelve books, but of the remaining part only a fragment of one book, the "Legend of Constance," is in existence.

The versification of the "Faerie Queene" is based upon the ottava rima, made so popular in Italian poetry by Tasso and Ariosto. Instead of eight lines to a stanza, however, there are nine. The first eight lines are iambic pentameters, and the ninth a hexameter, the stanza thus closing with a lingering cadence which adds greatly to the melody of the verse. This is the "Spenserian stanza," a form of versification very popular with many of our later poets.

"If you love poetry well enough to enjoy it for its own sake," says Leigh Hunt, "let no evil reports of his allegory deter you from an acquaintance with Spenser, for great will be your loss. His allegory itself is but one part allegory and nine parts beauty and enjoyment; sometimes an excess of flesh and blood. His wholesale poetical belief, mixing up all creeds and mythologies, but with less violence, resembles that of Dante and Boccaccio. His versification is almost perpetual honey."

1. delve. Dell. From A.-S. delfan, delve, to dig. Each canto of the "Faerie Queene" is introduced by a four-line doggerel like this, containing the argument, or a brief summary of the narrative,—in imitation, probably, of Ariosto's "Orlando Furioso."

2. hore. Sordid, miserly. Probably from A.-S. harian, to become mouldy or musty. The word hoard may be traced to a similar root.

3. stedfast starre. The pole-star. See "Faerie Queene," I, ii, 1:

"By this the northerne wagoner had set His sevenfold teme behind the stedfast starre That was in ocean waves yet never wet, But firme is fixt, and sendeth light from farre To all that in the wide deepe wandring arre."

4. yblent. Blinded.

5. dreriment. Darkness.

6. firmes. Fixes, makes firm.

7. yode. Went. The past participle of the old verb yede, from A.-S. gangead, to go, to proceed.

8. reedes. Considers. From A.-S. rd, counsel, advice; O. E. rede.

9. salvage. Savage, wild. Fr. sauvage. From Lat. silva, forest. See "Faerie Queene," IV, v, 19:

"For all his armour was like salvage weed With woody mosse bedight, and all his steed With oaken leaves attrapt, that seemed fit For salvage wight, and thereto well agreed His word, which on his ragged shield was writ, Salvagesse sans finesse,[233:1] shewing secret wit."

wight. Person. From A.-S. wiht.

"For every wight that loved chevalrie." —Chaucer, Canterbury Tales, 2105.

griesly. Dreadful. From A.-S. grislic; agrisan, to dread. Grisly.

10. bedight. Covered. From dight, to dress, to deck. A.-S. dihtan.

11. fire-spitting. "Spett seems anciently to have more simply signified disperse, without the low idea which we at present affix to it."—Warton.

12. entayle. Sculpture, carving. Compare intaglio.

13. antickes. Odd, or fantastic, forms. From Lat, antiquus, ancient.

14. of Mulcibers devouring element. By fire. Mulciber is a surname of Vulcan, "which seems to have been given him as an euphemism, that he might not consume the habitations and property of men, but kindly aid them in their pursuits."

15. withouten moniment. Without superscription.

16. swinck. Labor, drudge. A.-S. swincan, to toil.

17. sew. Follow. From Fr. suivre.

deigne. From Fr. daigner, to consider worthy. Opposed to disdain.

18. Me ill besits. It ill becomes me.

derdoing. Dare-doing; doing daring deeds.

19. worldly mucke. "Filthy lucre."

20. spright. Spirit.

21. weet. Understand. From A.-S. witan, to know.

22. fond. Foolish.

23. empeach. Hinder. Fr. empcher.

24. accloyes. Chokes or clogs up. Observe how the poet carries out his metaphor of the "well-head," "the purest streames," "his braunching armes," and "the gentle wave."

25. unreproved truth. Sincerity.

26. great Grandmother. Mother Earth.

27. lett be. Leave off; make an end of.

28. wage. Pledge. Observe the relationship between this word and both wager and wages.

29. Me list. I wish. Compare methinks, meseems. From A.-S. lystan, to choose.

"The wind bloweth where it listeth."—John iii. 8.

wote. Understood. See note 21 above.

30. Perdy. An old oath used to give emphasis to an assertion. From Fr. par dieu.

31. wonne. Habitation. From A.-S. wunian, to dwell.

32. rayne. Reign. The word is frequently used in the older poets for realm, or region.

33. next to Death is Sleepe.

"How wonderful is Death! Death and his brother Sleep!" —Shelley, Queen Mab, I.

34. whilome. At some time.

FOOTNOTES:

[233:1] Wildness without art.



PROTHALAMION; OR, A SPOUSALL VERSE.

IN HONOUR OF THE DOUBLE MARRIAGE OF THE TWO HONORABLE AND VERTUOUS LADIES, THE LADY ELIZABETH AND THE LADY KATHERINE SOMERSET, DAUGHTERS TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE EARLE OF WORCESTER, AND ESPOUSED TO THE TWO WORTHIE GENTLEMEN, M. HENRY GILFORD AND M. WILLIAM PETER, ESQUYERS.

Calme was the day, and through the trembling ayre Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titans{1} beames, which then did glyster fayre; When I, (whom sullein care, Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay In princes court,{2} and expectation vayne Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away Like empty shadows, did afflict my brayne,) Walkt forth to ease my payne Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes{3}; Whose rutty{4} bank, the which his river hemmes, Was paynted all with variable flowers, And all the meades adorned with dainty gemmes Fit to decke maydens bowres, And crown their paramours Against{5} the brydale-day, which is not long; Sweet 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{6} thereby, With goodly greenish locks, all loose untyde,{7} As each had been a bryde; And each one had a little wicker basket, Made of fine twigs, entrayled{8} curiously, In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket,{9} And with fine fingers cropt{10} full feateously The tender stalkes on hye.{11} Of every sort which in that meadow grew, They gathered some; the violet, pallid{12} blew, The little dazie that at evening closes, The virgin lillie, and the primrose trew,{13} With store{14} of vermeil roses, To deck their bridegroomes posies{15} Against the brydale-day, which was not long: Sweet Themmes! runne softly till I end my song.

With that{16} I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe Come softly swimming downe along the lee{17}; 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 near{18}: So purely white they were, That even the gentle stream, 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: Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.

Eftsoones{19} the Nymphes, which now had flowers their fill, Ran all in haste to see that silver brood, As they came floating on the cristal 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,{20} they say, In sweetest season, when each flower and weede The earth did fresh array; So fresh they seem'd as day, Even as their brydale day, which was not long: Sweet 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 yeild, All which upon those goodly birds they threw, And all the waves did strew, That like old Peneus{21} 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 chambre 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 Whilst one did sing this lay, Prepar'd against that day, Against their brydale day, which was not long: Sweet 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 blissfull bower, "Ioy may you have, and gentle hearts content "Of your loves couplement;{22} "And let faire Venus, that is Queene of Love, "With her heart-quelling Sonne{23} upon you smile, "Whose smile, they say, hath vertue to remove "All loves dislike, and friendships faultie guile "Forever to assoile.{24} "Let endlesse peace your steadfast hearts accord, "And blessed plentie wait upon your bord{25}; "And let your bed with pleasures chast abound, "That fruitfull issue may to you afford, "Which may your foes confound "And make your ioyes redound "Upon your brydale day, which is not long." Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.

So ended she; and all the rest around To her redoubled{26} that her undersong, Which said, their brydale day should not be long: And gentle Eccho from the neighbour{27} ground Their accents did resound. So forth those joyous Birdes did passe along Adowne the lee, that to them murmurde low, As he would speake, but that he lackt a tong, Yet did by signes his glad affection show, Making his streame run slow. And all the foule which in his flood did dwell Gan flock about these twaine, that did excell The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend{28} The lesser stars. So they, enranged well, Did on those two attend, And their best service lend Against their wedding day, which was not long: Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.