Each doth against the others bodie bend
His cursed steele, of neither well withstood,
And with wide wounds their carcases doth rend;
That yet they both doe mortall foes remaine, 415
Sith each with brothers bloudie hand was slaine.
‘Ah (waladay!) there is no end of paine,
Nor chaunge of labour may intreated bee:
Yet I beyond all these am carried faine,
Where other powers farre different I see, 420
And must passe over to th’ Elisian plaine:
There grim Persephone, encountring mee,
Doth urge her fellow Furies earnestlie,
With their bright firebronds me to terrifie.
‘There chast Alceste lives inviolate, 425
Free from all care, for that her husbands daies
She did prolong by changing fate for fate:
Lo! there lives also the immortall praise
Of womankinde, most faithfull to her mate,
Penelope; and from her farre awayes 430
A rulesse rout of youngmen, which her woo’d,
All slaine with darts, lie wallowed in their blood.
‘And sad Eurydice thence now no more
Must turne to life, but there detained bee,
For looking back, being forbid before: 435
Yet was the guilt thereof, Orpheus, in thee.
Bold sure he was, and worthie spirite bore,
That durst those lowest shadowes goe to see,
And could beleeve that anie thing could please
Fell Cerberus, or Stygian powres appease. 440
‘Ne feard the burning waves of Phlegeton,
Nor those same mournfull kingdomes, compassed
With rustie horrour and fowle fashion,
And deep digd vawtes, and Tartar covered
With bloodie night, and darke confusion, 445
And judgement seates, whose judge is deadlie dred,
A judge that, after death, doth punish sore
The faults which life hath trespassed before.
‘But valiant fortune made Dan Orpheus bolde:
For the swift running rivers still did stand, 450
And the wilde beasts their furie did withhold,
To follow Orpheus musicke through the land:
And th’ okes, deep grounded in the earthly molde,
Did move, as if they could him understand;
And the shrill woods, which were of sense bereav’d, 455
Through their hard barke his silver sound receav’d.
‘And eke the Moone her hastie steedes did stay,
Drawing in teemes along the starrie skie;
And didst (O monthly virgin) thou delay
Thy nightly course, to heare his melodie? 460
The same was able, with like lovely lay,
The Queene of Hell to move as easily,
To yeeld Eurydice unto her fere,
Backe to be borne, though it unlawfull were.
‘She (ladie) having well before approoved, 465
The feends to be too cruell and severe,
Observ’d th’ appointed way, as her behooved,
Ne ever did her ey-sight turne arere,
Ne ever spake, ne cause of speaking mooved:
But cruell Orpheus, thou much crueller, 470
Seeking to kisse her, brok’st the gods decree,
And thereby mad’st her ever damn’d to be.
‘Ah! but sweete love of pardon worthie is,
And doth deserve to have small faults remitted;
If Hell at least things lightly done amis 475
Knew how to pardon, when ought is omitted:
Yet are ye both received into blis,
And to the seates of happie soules admitted,
And you beside the honourable band
Of great heroës doo in order stand. 480
‘There be the two stout sonnes of Aeacus,
Fierce Peleus, and the hardie Telamon,
Both seeming now full glad and joyeous
Through their syres dreadfull jurisdiction,
Being the judge of all that horrid hous: 485
And both of them, by strange occasion,
Renown’d in choyce of happie marriage
Through Venus grace, and vertues cariage.
‘For th’ one was ravisht of his owne bondmaide,
The faire Ixione, captiv’d from Troy; 490
But th’ other was with Thetis love assaid,
Great Nereus his daughter and his joy.
On this side them there is a youngman layd,
Their match in glorie, mightie, fierce and coy,
That from th’ Argolick ships, with furious yre, 495
Bett back the furie of the Trojan fyre.
‘O who would not recount the strong divorces
Of that great warre, which Trojanes oft behelde,
And oft beheld the warlike Greekish forces,
When Teucrian soyle with bloodie rivers swelde, 500
And wide Sigæan shores were spred with corses,
And Simois and Xanthus blood outwelde,
Whilst Hector raged with outragious minde,
Flames, weapons, wounds in Greeks fleete to have tynde?
‘For Ida selfe, in ayde of that fierce fight, 505
Out of her mountaines ministred supplies,
And like a kindly nourse, did yeeld (for spight)
Store of firebronds out of her nourseries
Unto her foster children, that they might
Inflame the navie of their enemies, 510
And all the Rhætean shore to ashes turne,
Where lay the ships which they did seeke to burne.
‘Gainst which the noble sonne of Telamon
Opposd’ himselfe, and thwarting his huge shield,
Them battell bad; gainst whom appeard anon 515
Hector, the glorie of the Trojan field:
Both fierce and furious in contention
Encountred, that their mightie strokes so shrild
As the great clap of thunder, which doth ryve
The ratling heavens, and cloudes asunder dryve. 520
‘So th’ one with fire and weapons did contend
To cut the ships from turning home againe
To Argos; th’ other strove for to defend
The force of Vulcane with his might and maine.
Thus th’ one Aeacide did his fame extend: 525
But th’ other joy’d, that, on the Phrygian playne
Having the blood of vanquisht Hector shedd,
He compast Troy thrice with his bodie dedd.
‘Againe great dole on either partie grewe,
That him to death unfaithfull Paris sent; 530
And also him that false Ulysses slewe,
Drawne into danger through close ambushment:
Therefore from him Laërtes sonne his vewe
Doth turne aside, and boasts his good event
In working of Strymonian Rhæsus fall, 535
And efte in Dolons slye surprysall.
‘Againe the dreadfull Cycones him dismay,
And blacke Læstrigones, a people stout:
Then greedie Scilla, under whom there bay
Manie great bandogs, which her gird about: 540
Then doo the Aetnean Cyclops him affray,
And deep Charybdis gulphing in and out:
Lastly the squalid lakes of Tartarie,
And griesly feends of hell him terrifie.
‘There also goodly Agamemnon bosts, 545
The glorie of the stock of Tantalus,
And famous light of all the Greekish hosts,
Under whose conduct most victorious,
The Dorick flames consum’d the Iliack posts.
Ah! but the Greekes themselves more dolorous, 550
To thee, O Troy, paid penaunce for thy fall,
In th’ Hellespont being nigh drowned all.
‘Well may appeare, by proofe of the
ir mischaunce,
The chaungfull turning of mens slipperie state,
That none, whom fortune freely doth advaunce, 555
Himselfe therefore to heaven should elevate:
For loftie type of honour, through the glaunce
Of envies dart, is downe in dust prostrate;
And all that vaunts in worldly vanitie
Shall fall through fortunes mutabilitie. 560
‘Th’ Argolicke power returning home againe,
Enricht with spoyles of th’ Ericthonian towre,
Did happie winde and weather entertaine,
And with good speed the fomie billowes scowre:
No signe of storme, no feare of future paine, 565
Which soone ensued them with heavie stowre.
Nereïs to the seas a token gave,
The whiles their crooked keeles the surges clave.
‘Suddenly, whether through the gods decree,
Or haplesse rising of some froward starre, 570
The heavens on everie side enclowded bee:
Black stormes and fogs are blowen up from farre,
That now the pylote can no loadstarre see,
But skies and seas doo make most dreadfull warre;
The billowes striving to the heavens to reach, 575
And th’ heavens striving them for to impeach.
‘And, in avengement of their bold attempt,
Both sun and starres and all the heavenly powres
Conspire in one to wreake their rash contempt,
And downe on them to fall from highest towres: 580
The skie, in pieces seeming to be rent,
Throwes lightning forth, and haile, and harmful showres,
That death on everie side to them appeares,
In thousand formes, to worke more ghastly feares.
‘Some in the greedie flouds are sunke and drent; 585
Some on the rocks of Caphareus are throwne;
Some on th’ Euboick cliffs in pieces rent;
Some scattred on the Hercæan shores unknowne;
And manie lost, of whom no moniment
Remaines, nor memorie is to be showne: 590
Whilst all the purchase of the Phrigian pray,
Tost on salt billowes, round about doth stray.
‘Here manie other like heroës bee,
Equall in honour to the former crue,
Whom ye in goodly seates may placed see, 595
Descended all from Rome by linage due,
From Rome, that holds the world in sovereigntie,
And doth all nations unto her subdue:
Here Fabii and Decii doo dwell,
Horatii that in vertue did excell. 600
‘And here the antique fame of stout Camill
Doth ever live; and constant Curtius,
Who, stifly bent his vowed life to spill
For countreyes health, a gulph most hideous
Amidst the towne with his owne corps did fill, 605
T’ appease the powers; and prudent Mutius,
Who in his flesh endur’d the scorching flame,
To daunt his foe by ensample of the same.
‘And here wise Curius, companion
Of noble vertues, lives in endles rest; 610
And stout Flaminius, whose devotion
Taught him the fires scorn’d furie to detest;
And here the praise of either Scipion
Abides in highest place above the best,
To whom the ruin’d walls of Carthage vow’d, 615
Trembling their forces, sound their praises lowd.
‘Live they for ever through their lasting praise:
But I, poore wretch, am forced to retourne
To the sad lakes, that Phœbus sunnie rayes
Doo never see, where soules doo alwaies mourne; 620
And by the wayling shores to waste my dayes,
Where Phlegeton with quenchles flames doth burne;
By which just Minos righteous soules doth sever
From wicked ones, to live in blisse for ever.
‘Me therefore thus the cruell fiends of hell, 625
Girt with long snakes and thousand yron chaynes,
Through doome of that their cruell judge, compell,
With bitter torture and impatient paines,
Cause of my death and just complaint to tell.
For thou art he whom my poore ghost complaines 630
To be the author of her ill unwares,
That careles hear’st my intollerable cares.
‘Them therefore as bequeathing to the winde,
I now depart, returning to thee never,
And leave this lamentable plaint behinde. 635
But doo thou haunt the soft downe rolling river,
And wilde greene woods, and fruitful pastures minde,
And let the flitting aire my vaine words sever.’
Thus having said, he heavily departed
With piteous crie, that anie would have smarted. 640
Now, when the sloathfull fit of lifes sweete rest
Had left the heavie shepheard, wondrous cares
His inly grieved minde full sore opprest;
That balefull sorrow he no longer beares
For that Gnats death, which deeply was imprest, 645
But bends what ever power his aged yeares
Him lent, yet being such as through their might
He lately slue his dreadfull foe in fight.
By that same river lurking under greene,
Eftsoones he gins to fashion forth a place, 650
And squaring it in compasse well beseene,
There plotteth out a tombe by measured space:
His yron headed spade tho making cleene,
To dig up sods out of the flowrie grasse,
His worke he shortly to good purpose brought, 655
Like as he had conceiv’d it in his thought.
An heape of earth he hoorded up on hie,
Enclosing it with banks on everie side,
And thereupon did raise full busily
A little mount, of greene turffs edifide; 660
And on the top of all, that passers by
Might it behold, the toomb he did provide
Of smoothest marble stone in order set,
That never might his luckie scape forget.
And round about he taught sweete flowres to growe, 665
The rose engrained in pure scarlet die,
The lilly fresh, and violet belowe,
The marigolde, and cherefull rosemarie,
The Spartan mirtle, whence sweet guml does flowe,
The purple hyacinthe, and fresh cost-marie, 670
And saffron, sought for in Cilician soyle,
And lawrell, th’ ornament of Phœbus toyle:
Fresh rhododaphne, and the Sabine flowre,
Matching the wealth of th’ auncient frank-incence,
And pallid yvie, building his owne bowre, 675
And box, yet mindfull of his olde offence,
Red amaranthus, lucklesse paramour,
Oxeye still greene, and bitter patience;
Ne wants there pale Narcisse, that, in a well
Seeing his beautie, in love with it fell. 680
And whatsoever other flowre of worth,
And whatso other hearb of lovely hew
The joyous Spring out of the ground brings forth,
To cloath her selfe in colours fresh and new,
He planted there, and reard a mount of earth, 685
In whose high front was writ as doth ensue:
To thee, small Gnat, in lieu of his life saved,
The Shepheard hath thy deaths record engraved.
FINIS.
Prosopopoia, or Mother Hubberds Tale
PROSOPOPOIA
OR
MOTHER HUBBERDS TALE
BY ED. SP.
DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE
THE LADIE COMPTON AND MOUNTEGLE
LONDON
IMPR
INTED FOR WILLIAM PONSONBLE, DWELLING IN PAULES CHURCHYARD AT THE SIGNE OF THE BISHOPS HEAD
1591
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, THE LADIE COMPTON AND MOUNTEGLE
MOST faire and vertuous Ladie: having often sought opportunitie by some good meanes to make knowen to your Ladiship the humble affection and faithfull duetie which I have alwaies professed, and am bound to beare, to that house from whence yee spring, I have at length found occasion to remember the same, by making a simple present to you of these my idle labours; which having long sithens composed in the raw conceipt of my youth, I lately amongst other papers lighted upon, and was by others, which liked the same, mooved to set them foorth. Simple is the device, and the composition meane, yet carrieth some delight, even the rather because of the simplicitie and meannesse thus personated. The same I beseech your Ladiship take in good part, as a pledge of that profession which I have made to you, and keepe with you untill, with some other more worthie labour, I do redeeme it out of your hands, and discharge my utmost dutie. Till then, wishing your Ladiship all increase of honour and happinesse, I humblie take leave.
Your Ladiships ever
humbly,
Ed. Sp.
[‘Mother Hubberd’s Tale’ is of the same period with ‘Virgil’s Gnat.’ In the dedicatory letter of 1591 it is said to have been ‘long sithens composed in the raw conceipt of my youth,’ and ‘long sithens’ is limited by the satire on court life to the years from 1577 to 1580. A probable glance at the disgrace of Leicester in 1579 (l. 628) may limit it still more. Yet beside this very reference is one, equally probable, to events of ten years later, and other such insertions may be found. It would appear, therefore, that when, during his second sojourn at court, Spenser ‘lighted upon’ this early poem and was ‘mooved to set it foorth,’ he to some extent revised and enlarged it.
The most obvious characteristic of ‘Mother Hubberd’s Tale’ is the range of its satire. The career of the Ape and the Fox is a kind of rogues’ progress through the three estates to the crown. They begin among the common people, rise from thence to the clergy and from thence to the court, among the nobility; in the end they cap the climax of their villainies by making themselves king and prime minister. The satire is mainly concentrated, to be sure, upon life at the court and the intrigues of those in power, topics of direct personal concern to Spenser, yet the poem as a whole does survey, however imperfectly and unsymmetrically, some of the main conditions of life in the nation at large. In this it harks back unmistakably to Piers Plowman. Though the satiric scope is of Langland, however, there is much in the style to suggest the vein of Chaucer, and the dramatis personœ and stage-setting are those of Reynard the Fox. The combination results at times in curious contrasts. In their first sojourn at court, the Fox and the Ape are among lords and ladies, suitors, a world of men, from the midst of which emerges the figure of the ‘brave courtier:’ in their second sojourn there, this world is suddenly transformed; for lords and ladies, suitors, men, we have the animals of Caxton’s book, the Wolf, the Sheep, the Ass, and their like; it is the court of King Lion. Yet so spontaneous and creative are the acts of the poet’s imagination that at no point in the long range of this satire are we checked by the sense of incongruity. The strange succession of scenes and figures, all admirably alive, the variety of artistic effects ranging from grotesqueness to romantic beauty, the sudden eruptions of strong personal feeling from levels of cool satire, the fluctuations of the style from crudity to masterliness, produce, in a small way, the sense of a world almost as real as that of the Faery Queen. This is mediæval satire at its best. The Italians, with whom Spenser was at this time rapidly becoming familiar, had already, for at least two generations, been cultivating the classic Roman form, and their lead had been followed by the head of the new English school, Sir Thomas W yatt: one might expect that Spenser, who from boyhood had been steeped in the classics, should also adopt this revived form. Nothing shows better the independence of his artistic eclecticism, his gift for taking here, there, and everywhere whatever appeals to his imagination, than the mediævalism of this his one satire.]
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 133
