Of raging love first gan you to torment,
And launch your hearts with lamentable wounds 375
Of secret sorrow and sad languishment,
Before your loves did take you unto grace;
Those now renew, as fitter for this place.
For I that rule in measure moderate
The tempest of that stormie passion, 380
And use to paint in rimes the troublous state
Of lovers life in likest fashion,
Am put from practise of my kindlie skill,
Banisht by those that love with leawdnes fill.
Love wont to be schoolmaster of my skill, 385
And the devicefull matter of my song;
Sweete love devoyd of villanie or ill,
But pure and spotles, as at first he sprong
Out of th’ Almighties bosome, where he nests;
From thence infused into mortall brests. 390
Such high conceipt of that celestiall fire,
The base-borne brood of Blindnes cannot gesse,
Ne ever dare their dunghill thoughts aspire
Unto so loftie pitch of perfectnesse,
But rime at riot, and doo rage in love; 395
Yet little wote what doth thereto behove.
Faire Cytheree, the mother of delight
And queene of beautie, now thou maist go pack;
For lo! thy kingdome is defaced quight,
Thy scepter rent, and power put to wrack; 400
And thy gay sonne, that winged God of Love,
May now goe prune his plumes like ruffed dove.
And ye three twins, to light by Venus brought,
The sweete companions of the Muses late,
From whom what ever thing is goodly thought 405
Doth borrow grace, the fancie to aggrate,
Go beg with us, and be companions still,
As heretofore of good, so now of ill.
For neither you nor we shall anie more
Finde entertainment, or in court or schoole: 410
For that which was accounted heretofore
The learneds meed is now lent to the foole;
He sings of love, and maketh loving layes,
And they him heare, and they him highly prayse.
With that she powred foorth a brackish flood 415
Of bitter teares, and made exceeding mone;
And all her sisters, seeing her sad mood,
With lowd laments her answered all at one.
So ended she: and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew. 420
CALLIOPE.
To whom shall I my evill case complaine,
Or tell the anguish of my inward smart,
Sith none is left to remedie my paine,
Or deignes to pitie a perplexed hart;
But rather seekes my sorrow to augment 425
With fowle reproach, and cruell banishment?
For they to whom I used to applie
The faithfull service of my learned skill,
The goodly off-spring of Joves progenie,
That wont the world with famous acts to fill; 430
Whose living praises in heroïck style,
It is my chiefe profession to compyle;
They all corrupted through the rust of time,
That doth all fairest things on earth deface,
Or through unnoble sloth, or sinfull crime, 435
That doth degenerate the noble race,
Have both desire of worthie deeds forlorne,
And name of learning utterly doo scorne.
Ne doo they care to have the auncestrie
Of th’ old heroës memorizde anew; 440
Ne doo they care that late posteritie
Should know their names, or speak their praises dew:
But die forgot from whence at first they sprong,
As they themselves shalbe forgot ere long.
What bootes it then to come from glorious 445
Forefathers, or to have been nobly bredd?
What oddes twixt Irus and old Inachus,
Twixt best and worst, when both alike are dedd,
If none of neither mention should make,
Nor out of dust their memories awake? 450
Or who would ever care to doo brave deed,
Or strive in vertue others to excell,
If none should yeeld him his deserved meed,
Due praise, that is the spur of dooing well?
For if good were not praised more than ill, 455
None would choose goodnes of his owne freewill.
Therefore the nurse of vertue I am hight,
And golden trompet of eternitie,
That lowly thoughts lift up to heavens hight,
And mortall men have powre to deifie: 460
Bacchus and Hercules I raised to heaven,
And Charlemaine, amongst the starris seaven.
But now I will my golden clarion rend,
And will henceforth immortalize no more,
Sith I no more finde worthie to commend 465
For prize of value, or for learned lore:
For noble peeres, whom I was wont to raise,
Now onely seeke for pleasure, nought for praise.
Their great revenues all in sumptuous pride
They spend, that nought to learning they may spare; 470
And the rich fee which poets wont divide
Now parasites and sycophants doo share:
Therefore I mourne and endlesse sorrow make,
Both for my selfe and for my sisters sake.
With that she lowdly gan to waile and shrike, 475
And from her eyes a sea of teares did powre,
And all her sisters, with compassion like,
Did more increase the sharpnes of her showre.
So ended she: and then the next in rew
Began her plaint, as doth herein ensew. 480
URANIA.
What wrath of gods, or wicked influence
Of starres conspiring wretched men t’ afflict,
Hath powrd on earth this noyous pestilence,
That mortall mindes doth inwardly infect
With love of blindnesse and of ignorance, 485
To dwell in darkenesse without sovenance?
What difference twixt man and beast is left,
When th’ heavenlie light of knowledge is put out,
And th’ ornaments of wisdome are bereft?
Then wandreth he in error and in doubt, 490
Unweeting of the danger hee is in,
Through fleshes frailtie and deceipt of sin.
In this wide world in which they wretches stray,
It is the onelie comfort which they have,
It is their light, their loadstarre and their day; 495
But hell and darkenesse and the grislie grave
Is ignorance, the enemie of grace,
That mindes of men borne heavenlie doth debace.
Through knowledge we behold the worlds creation,
How in his cradle first he fostred was; 500
And judge of Natures cunning operation,
How things she formed of a formelesse mas:
By knowledge wee do learne our selves to knowe,
And what to man, and what to God, wee owe.
From hence wee mount aloft unto the skie, 505
And looke into the christall firmament;
There we behold the heavens great hierarchie,
The starres pure light, the spheres swift movement,
The spirites and intelligences fayre,
And angels waighting on th’ Almighties chayre. 510
And there, with humble minde and high insight,
Th’ eternall Makers majestie wee viewe,
His love, his truth, his glorie, and his might,
And mercie more than mortall men can vew.
O soveraigne Lord, O soveraigne happinesse, 515
To see thee, and thy mercie measurelesse!
The precepts of my heavenlie discipline;
But shame and sorrow and accursed case
Have they that scorne the schoole of arts divine, 520
And banish me, which do professe the skill
To make men heavenly wise through humbled will.
How ever yet they mee despise and spight,
I feede on sweet contentment of my thought,
And please my selfe with mine owne selfe-delight, 525
In contemplation of things heavenlie wrought:
So loathing earth, I looke up to the sky,
And being driven hence, I thether fly.
Thence I behold the miserie of men,
Which want the blis that wisedom would them breed, 530
And like brute beasts doo lie in loathsome den
Of ghostly darkenes, and of gastlie dreed:
For whom I mourne, and for my selfe complaine,
And for my sisters eake, whom they disdaine.
With that shee wept and waild so pityouslie, 535
As if her eyes had beene two springing wells:
And all the rest, her sorrow to supplie,
Did throw forth shrieks and cries and dreery yells.
So ended shee: and then the next in rew
Began her mournfull plaint, as doth ensew. 540
POLYHYMNIA.
A dolefull case desires a dolefull song,
Without vaine art or curious complements,
And squallid fortune, into basenes flong,
Doth scorne the pride of wonted ornaments.
Then fittest are these ragged rimes for mee, 545
To tell my sorrowes that exceeding bee.
For the sweet numbers and melodious measures,
With which I wont the winged words to tie,
And make a tunefull diapase of pleasures,
Now being let to runne at libertie 550
By those which have no skill to rule them right,
Have now quite lost their naturall delight.
Heapes of huge words uphoorded hideously,
With horrid sound, though having little sence,
They thinke to be chiefe praise of poëtry; 555
And thereby wanting due intelligence,
Have mard the face of goodly poësie,
And made a monster of their fantasie.
Whilom in ages past none might professe,
But princes and high priests, that secret skill; 560
The sacred lawes therein they wont expresse,
And with deepe oracles their verses fill:
Then was shee held in soveraigne dignitie,
And made the noursling of nobilitie.
But now nor prince nor priest doth her maintayne, 565
But suffer her prophaned for to bee
Of the base vulgar, that with hands uncleane
Dares to pollute her hidden mysterie;
And treadeth under foote hir holie things,
Which was the care of kesars and of kings. 570
One onelie lives, her ages ornament,
And myrrour of her Makers majestie;
That with rich bountie and deare cherishment
Supports the praise of noble poësie:
Ne onelie favours them which it professe, 575
But is her selfe a peereles poëtresse.
Most peereles prince, most peereles poëtresse,
The true Pandora of all heavenly graces,
Divine Elisa, sacred Emperesse:
Live she for ever, and her royall p’laces 580
Be fild with praises of divinest wits,
That her eternize with their heavenlie writs.
Some few beside this sacred skill esteme,
Admirers of her glorious excellence,
Which being lightned with her beawties beme, 585
Are thereby fild with happie influence,
And lifted up above the worldes gaze,
To sing with angels her immortall praize.
But all the rest, as borne of salvage brood,
And having beene with acorns alwaies fed, 590
Can no whit savour this celestiall food,
But with base thoughts are into blindnesse led,
And kept from looking on the lightsome day:
For whome I waile and weepe all that I may.
Eftsoones such store of teares shee forth did powre, 595
As if shee all to water would have gone;
And all her sisters, seeing her sad stowre,
Did weep and waile and made exceeding mone;
And all their learned instruments did breake:
The rest untold no living tongue can speake.
FINIS.
Virgils Gnat
LONG SINCE DEDICATED
TO THE MOST NOBLE AND EXCELLENT LORD,
THE EARLE OF LEICESTER, LATE DECEASED
WRONG’D, yet not daring to expresse my paine,
To you (great Lord) the causer of my care,
In clowdie teares my ease I thus complaine
Unto your selfe, that onely privie are:
But if that any Œdipus unware
Shall chaunce, through power of some divining spright,
To reade the secrete of this riddle rare,
And know the purporte of my evill plight,
Let him rest pleased with his owne insight,
Ne further seeke to glose upon the text:
For griefe enough it is to grieved wight
To feele his fault, and not be further vext.
But what so by my selfe may not be showen,
May by this Gnatts complaint be easily knowen.
[‘Virgil’s Gnat’ may be thought to follow close upon the latest of the sonnet series. The main period to which it belongs is, in any case, certain, for in the title it is described as ‘long since dedicated’ to the Earl of Leicester; it deals with some mishap in the personal relations of the poet with that nobleman, and such relations would seem to have been confined to the years 1577-1580. What the mishap may have been has remained, on the other hand, obscure. The curious must divine it as they best may from the sonnet of dedication and from the main allegory, always remembering that the poem is not an invention based upon the circumstances, but a mere paraphrase of the pseudo-Virgilian Culex. Of greater moment is the style, which, moving in a freer course than is natural to the sonnet, wins nearer than that of the ‘Visions’ and ‘Ruins of Rome’ to the cadences of the Faery Queen. The use of ottava rima, the stanza of the great Italian romances, points forward, too.]
VIRGILS GNAT
WE now have playde (Augustus) wantonly,
Tuning our song unto a tender Muse,
And like a cobweb weaving slenderly,
Have onely playde: let thus much then excuse
This Gnats small poeme, that th’ whole history 5
Is but a jest, though envie it abuse:
But who such sports and sweet delights doth blame,
Shall lighter seeme than this Gnats idle name.
Hereafter, when as season more secure
Shall bring forth fruit, this Muse shall speak to thee 10
In bigger notes, that may thy sense allure,
And for thy worth frame some fit poesie:
The golden ofspring of Latona pure,
And ornament of great Joves progenie,
Phœbus, shall be the author of my song, 15
Playing on yvorie harp with silver strong.
He shall inspire my verse with gentle mood,
Of poets prince, whether he woon beside
Faire Xanthus sprincled with Chimæras blood,
Or in the woods of Astery abide, 20
Or whereas Mount Parnasse, the Muses brood,
Doth his broad forhead like two hornes divide,
And the sweete waves of sounding Castaly
With liquid foote doth slide downe easily.
Wherefore ye sisters, which the glorie bee 25
Of the Pierian
streames, fayre Naiades,
Go too, and dauncing all in companie,
Adorne that god: and thou holie Pales,
To whome the honest care of husbandrie
Returneth by continuall successe, 30
Have care for to pursue his footing light,
Through the wide woods and groves with green leaves dight.
Professing thee I lifted am aloft
Betwixt the forrest wide and starrie sky:
And thou most dread (Octavius) which oft 35
To learned wits givest courage worthily,
O come (thou sacred childe) come sliding soft,
And favour my beginnings graciously:
For not these leaves do sing that dreadfull stound,
When giants bloud did staine Phlegræan ground; 40
Nor how th’ halfe horsy people, Centaures hight,
Fought with the bloudie Lapithaes at bord;
Nor how the East with tyranous despight
Burnt th’ Attick towres, and people slew with sword;
Nor how Mount Athos through exceeding might 45
Was digged downe; nor yron bands abord
The Pontick sea by their huge navy cast,
My volume shall renowne, so long since past:
Nor Hellespont trampled with horses feete,
When flocking Persians did the Greeks affray; 50
But my soft Muse, as for her power more meete,
Delights (with Phœbus friendly leave) to play
An easie running verse with tender feete.
And thou (dread sacred child) to thee alway
Let everlasting lightsome glory strive, 55
Through the worlds endles ages to survive.
And let an happie roome remaine for thee
Mongst heavenly ranks, where blessed soules do rest;
And let long lasting life with joyous glee,
As thy due meede that thou deservest best, 60
Hereafter many yeares remembred be
Amongst good men, of whom thou oft are blest;
Live thou for ever in all happinesse:
But let us turne to our first businesse.
The fiery Sun was mounted now on hight 65
Up to the heavenly towers, and shot each where
Out of his golden charet glistering light;
And fayre Aurora with her rosie heare
The hatefull darknes now had put to flight;
When as the shepheard, seeing day appeare, 70
His little goats gan drive out of their stalls,
To feede abroad, where pasture best befalls.
To an high mountaines top he with them went,
Where thickest grasse did cloath the open hills:
They, now amongst the woods and thickets ment, 75
Now in the valleies wandring at their wills,
Spread themselves farre abroad through each descent;
Some on the soft greene grasse feeding their fills;
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