That is so great a shepheardesse her selfe
And hath so many shepheards in her fee, 370
To heare thee sing, a simple silly elfe?
Or be the shepheards which do serve her laesie,
That they list not their mery pipes applie?
Or be their pipes untunable and craesie,
That they cannot her honour worthylie?’ 375
‘Ah! nay,’ said Colin, ‘neither so, nor so:
For better shepheards be not under skie,
Nor better hable, when they list to blow
Their pipes aloud, her name to glorifie.
There is good Harpalus, now woxen aged 380
In faithfull service of faire Cynthia:
And there is Corydon, though meanly waged,
Yet hablest wit of most I know this day.
And there is sad Alcyon, bent to mourne,
Though fit to frame an everlasting dittie, 385
Whose gentle spright for Daphnes death doth tourn
Sweet layes of love to endlesse plaints of pittie.
Ah! pensive boy, pursue that brave conceipt,
In thy sweet Eglantine of Meriflure,
Lift up thy notes unto their wonted height, 390
That may thy Muse and mates to mirth allure.
There eke is Palin, worthie of great praise,
Albe he envie at my rustick quill:
And there is pleasing Alcon, could he raise
His tunes from laies to matter of more skill. 395
And there is old Palemon, free from spight,
Whose carefull pipe may make the hearer rew:
Yet he himselfe may rewed be more right,
That sung so long untill quite hoarse he grew.
And there is Alabaster, throughly taught 400
In all this skill, though knowen yet to few,
Yet, were he knowne to Cynthia as he ought,
His Eliseïs would be redde anow.
Who lives that can match that heroick song,
Which he hath of that mightie princesse made? 405
O dreaded Dread, do not thy selfe that wrong,
To let thy fame lie so in hidden shade:
But call it forth, O call him forth to thee,
To end thy glorie which he hath begun:
That when he finisht hath as it should be, 410
No braver poeme can be under sun.
Nor Po nor Tyburs swans so much renowned,
Nor all the brood of Greece so highly praised,
Can match that Muse when it with bayes is crowned,
And to the pitch of her perfection raised. 415
And there is a new shepheard late up sprong,
The which doth all afore him far surpasse:
Appearing well in that well tuned song
Which late he sung unto a scornfull lasse.
Yet doth his trembling Muse but lowly flie, 420
As daring not too rashly mount on hight,
And doth her tender plumes as yet but trie
In loves soft laies and looser thoughts delight.
Then rouze thy feathers quickly, Daniell,
And to what course thou please thy selfe advance: 425
But most, me seemes, thy accent will excell
In tragick plaints and passionate mischance.
And there that Shepheard of the Ocean is,
That spends his wit in loves consuming smart:
Full sweetly tempred is that Muse of his, 430
That can empierce a princes mightie hart.
There also is (ah ! no, he is not now)
But since I said he is, he quite is gone:
Amyntas quite is gone and lies full low,
Having his Amaryllis left to mone. 435
Helpe, O ye shepheards, helpe ye all in this,
Helpe Amaryllis this her losse to mourne:
Her losse is yours, your losse Amyntas is,
Amyntas, floure of shepheards pride forlorne.
He, whilest he lived, was the noblest swaine 440
That ever piped in an oaten quill:
Both did he other which could pipe maintaine,
And eke could pipe himselfe with passing skill.
And there, though last not least, is Aetion;
A gentler shepheard may no where be found; 445
Whose Muse, full of high thoughts invention,
Doth like himselfe heroically sound.
All these, and many others mo, remaine,
Now after Astrofell is dead and gone:
But while as Astrofell did live and raine, 450
Amongst all these was none his paragone.
All these do florish in their sundry kynd,
And do their Cynthia immortall make:
Yet found I lyking in her royall mynd,
Not for my skill, but for that shepheards sake.’ 455
Then spake a lovely lasse, hight Lucida:
‘Shepheard, enough of shepheards thou hast told,
Which favour thee and honour Cynthia:
But of so many nymphs which she doth hold
In her retinew, thou hast nothing sayd; 460
That seems, with none of them thou favor foundest,
Or art ingratefull to each gentle mayd,
That none of all their due deserts resoundest.’
‘Ah! far be it,’ quoth Colin Clout, ‘fro me,
That I of gentle mayds should ill deserve: 465
For that my selfe I do professe to be
Vassall to one, whom all my dayes I serve;
The beame of beautie sparkled from above,
The floure of vertue and pure chastitie,
The blossome of sweet joy and perfect love, 470
The pearle of peerlesse grace and modestie:
To her my thoughts I daily dedicate,
To her my heart I nightly martyrize:
To her my love I lowly do prostrate,
To her my life I wholly sacrifice: 475
My thought, my heart, my love, my life is shee,
And I hers ever onely, ever one:
One ever I all vowed hers to bee,
One ever I, and others never none.’
Then thus Melissa said: ‘Thrise happie mayd, 480
Whom thou doest so enforce to deifie,
That woods, and hills, and valleyes thou hast made
Her name to eccho unto heaven hie.
But say, who else vouchsafed thee of grace?’
‘They all,’ quoth he, ‘me graced goodly well, 485
That all I praise, but in the highest place,
Urania, sister unto Astrofell,
In whose brave mynd, as in a golden cofer,
All heavenly gifts and riches locked are;
More rich then pearles of Ynde, or gold of Opher, 490
And in her sex more wonderfull and rare.
Ne lesse praise worthie I Theana read,
Whose goodly beames, though they be over dight
With mourning stole of carefull wydowhead,
Yet through that darksome vale do glister bright. 495
She is the well of bountie and brave mynd,
Excelling most in glorie and great light:
She is the ornament of womankind,
And courts chief garlond with all vertues dight.
Therefore great Cynthia her in chiefest grace 500
Doth hold, and next unto her selfe advance,
Well worthie of so honourable place,
For her great worth and noble governance.
Ne lesse praise worthie is her sister deare,
Faire Marian, the Muses onely darling: 505
Whose beautie shyneth as the morning cleare,
With silver deaw upon the roses pearling.
Ne lesse praise worthie is Mansilia,
Best knowne by bearing up great Cynthiaes traine:
That same is she to whom Daphnaida 510
Upon her neeces death I did complaine.
She is the paterne of true womanhead,
> And onely mirrhor of feminitie:
Worthie next after Cynthia to tread,
As she is next her in nobilitie. 515
Ne lesse praise worthie Galathea seemes,
Then best of all that honourable crew,
Faire Galathea, with bright shining beames
Inflaming feeble eyes that her do view.
She there then waited upon Cynthia, 520
Yet there is not her won, but here with us
About the borders of our rich Coshma,
Now made of Maa the nymph delitious.
Ne lesse praisworthie faire Neæra is,
Neæra ours, not theirs, though there she be, 525
For of the famous Shure the nymph she is,
For high desert advaunst to that degree.
She is the blosome of grace and curtesie,
Adorned with all honourable parts:
She is the braunch of true nobilitie, 530
Belov’d of high and low with faithfull harts.
Ne lesse praisworthie Stella do I read,
Though nought my praises of her needed arre,
Whom verse of noblest shepheard lately dead
Hath prais’d and rais’d above each other starre. 535
Ne lesse praisworthie are the sisters three,
The honor of the noble familie
Of which I meanest boast my selfe to be,
And most that unto them I am so nie:
Phyllis, Charillis, and sweet Amaryllis: 540
Phyllis the faire is eldest of the three;
The next to her is bountifull Charillis;
But th’ youngest is the highest in degree.
Phyllis, the floure of rare perfection,
Faire spreading forth her leaves with fresh delight, 545
That, with their beauties amorous reflexion,
Bereave of sence each rash beholders sight.
But sweet Charillis is the paragone
Of peerlesse price, and ornament of praise,
Admyr’d of all, yet envied of none, 550
Through the myld temperance of her goodly raies.
Thrise happie do I hold thee, noble swaine,
The which art of so rich a spoile possest,
And it embracing deare without disdaine,
Hast sole possession in so chaste a brest. 555
Of all the shepheards daughters which there bee,
And yet there be the fairest under skie,
Or that elsewhere I ever yet did see,
A fairer nymph yet never saw mine eie:
She is the pride and primrose of the rest, 560
Made by the Maker selfe to be admired,
And like a goodly beacon high addrest,
That is with sparks of heavenlie beautie fired.
But Amaryllis, whether fortunate,
Or else unfortunate, may I aread? 565
That freed is from Cupids yoke by fate,
Since which she doth new bands adventure dread.
Shepheard, what ever thou hast heard to be
In this or that praysd diversly apart,
In her thou maist them all assembled see, 570
And seald up in the threasure of her hart.
Ne thee lesse worthie, gentle Flavia,
For thy chaste life and vertue I esteeme:
Ne thee lesse worthie, curteous Candida,
For thy true love and loyaltie I deeme. 575
Besides yet many mo that Cynthia serve,
Right noble nymphs, and high to be commended:
But if I all should praise as they deserve,
This sun would faile me ere I halfe had ended.
Therefore in closure of a thankfull mynd 580
I deeme it best to hold eternally
Their bounteous deeds and noble favours shrynd,
Then by discourse them to indignifie.’
So having said, Aglaura him bespake:
‘Colin, well worthie were those goodly favours 585
Bestowd on thee, that so of them doest make,
And them requitest with thy thinkfull labours.
But of great Cynthiaes goodnesse and high grace
Finish the storie which thou hast begunne.’
‘More eath,’ quoth he, ‘it is in such a case 590
How to begin, then know how to have donne.
For everie gift and everie goodly meed,
Which she on me bestowd, demaunds a day;
And everie day in which she did a deed
Demaunds a yeare it duly to display. 595
Her words were like a streame of honny fleeting,
The which doth softly trickle from the hive,
Hable to melt the hearers heart unweeting,
And eke to make the dead againe alive.
Her deeds were like great clusters of ripe grapes, 600
Which load the braunches of the fruitfull vine,
Offring to fall into each mouth that gapes,
And fill the same with store of timely wine.
Her lookes were like beames of the morning sun,
Forth looking through the windowes of the east, 605
When first the fleecie cattell have begun
Upon the perled grasse to make their feast.
Her thoughts are like the fume of franckincence,
Which from a golden censer forth doth rise,
And throwing forth sweet odours mounts fro thence 610
In rolling globes up to the vauted skies.
There she beholds, with high aspiring thought,
The cradle of her owne creation,
Emongst the seats of angels heavenly wrought,
Much like an angell in all forme and fashion.’ 615
‘Colin,’ said Cuddy then, ‘thou hast forgot
Thy selfe, me seemes, too much, to mount so hie:
Such loftie flight base shepheard seemeth not,
From flocks and fields to angels and to skie.’
‘True,’ answered he, ‘but her great excellence 620
Lifts me above the measure of my might:
That, being fild with furious insolence,
I feele my selfe like one yrapt in spright.
For when. I thinke of her, as oft I ought,
Then want I words to speake it fitly forth: 625
And when I speake of her what I have thought,
I cannot thinke according to her worth.
Yet will I thinke of her, yet will I speake,
So long as life my limbs doth hold together,
And when as death these vitall bands shall breake, 630
Her name recorded I will leave for ever.
Her name in every tree I will endosse,
That, as the trees do grow, her name may grow:
And in the ground each where will it engrosse,
And fill with stones, that all men may it know. 635
The speaking woods and murmuring waters fall,
Her name Ile teach in knowen termes to frame:
And eke my lambs, when for their dams they call,
Ile teach to call for Cynthia by name.
And long while after I am dead and rotten, 640
Amongst the shepheards daughters dancing rownd,
My layes made of her shall not be forgotten,
But sung by them with flowry gyrlonds crownd.
And ye, who so ye be, that shall survive,
When as ye heare her memory renewed, 645
Be witnesse of her bountie here alive,
Which she to Colin her poore shepheard shewed.’
Much was the whole assembly of those heards
Moov’d at his speech, so feelingly he spake,
And stood awhile astonisht at his words, 650
Till Thestylis at last their silence brake,
Saying: ‘Why, Colin, since thou foundst such grace
With Cynthia and all her noble crew,
Why didst thou ever leave that happie place,
In which such wealth might unto thee accrew; 655
; And back returnedst to this barrein soyle,
Where cold and care and penury do dwell,
Here to keep sheepe, with hunger and with toyle?
Most wretched he, that is and cannot tell.’
‘Happie indeed,’ said Colin, ‘I him hold, 660
That may that blessed presence still enjoy,
Of fortune and of envy uncomptrold,
Which still are wont most happie states t’ annoy:
But I, by that which little while I prooved,
Some part of those enormities did see, 665
The which in court continually hooved,
And followd those which happie seemd to bee.
Therefore I, silly man, whose former dayes
Had in rude fields bene altogether spent,
Durst not adventure such unknowen wayes, 670
Nor trust the guile of Fortunes blandishment,
But rather chose back to my sheep to tourne,
Whose utmost hardnesse I before had tryde,
Then, having learnd repentance late, to mourne
Emongst those wretches which I there descryde.’ 675
‘Shepheard,’ said Thestylis, ‘it seemes of spight
Thou speakest thus gainst their felicitie,
Which thou enviest, rather then of right
That ought in them blameworthie thou doest spie.’
‘Cause have I none,’ quoth he, ‘of cancred will 680
To quite them ill, that me demeand so well:
But selfe-regard of private good or ill
Moves me of each, so as I found, to tell,
And eke to warne yong shepheards wandring wit,
Which, through report of that lives painted blisse, 685
Abandon quiet home, to seeke for it,
And leave their lambes to losse, misled amisse.
For, sooth to say, it is no sort of life
For shepheard fit to lead in that same place,
Where each one seeks with malice and with strife, 690
To thrust downe other into foule disgrace,
Himselfe to raise; and he doth soonest rise
That best can handle his deceitfull wit
In subtil shifts, and finest sleights devise,
Either by slaundring his well deemed name, 695
Through leasings lewd and fained forgerie,
Or else by breeding him some blot of blame,
By creeping close into his secrecie;
To which him needs a guilefull hollow hart,
Masked with faire dissembling curtesie, 700
A filed toung furnisht with tearmes of art,
No art of schoole, but courtiers schoolery.
For arts of schoole have there small countenance,
Counted but toyes to busie ydle braines,
And there professours find small maintenance, 705
But to be instruments of others gaines.
Ne is there place for any gentle wit,
Complete Works of Edmund Spenser Page 155
