The Shorter Poems

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by Edmund Spenser


  And mongst all Cities florished much more.

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  All that which Aegypt whilome did deuise,

  All that which Greece their temples to embraue,

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  After th’Ionicke, Atticke, Doricke guise,

  Or Corinth skil’d in curious workes to graue;

  All that Lysippus practike arte could forme,

  Apelles wit, or Phidias his skill,

  Was wont this auncient Citie to adorne,

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  And the heauen it selfe with her wide wonders fill;

  All that which Athens euer brought forth wise,

  All that which Afrike euer brought forth strange,

  All that which Asie euer had of prise,

  Was here to see. O meruelous great change:

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  Rome liuing, was the worlds sole ornament,

  And dead, is now the worlds sole moniment.

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  Like as the seeded field greene grasse first showes,

  Then from greene grasse into a stalke doth spring,

  And from a stalke into an eare forth-growes,

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  Which eare the frutefull graine doth shortly bring;

  And as in season due the husband mowes

  The wauing lockes of those faire yeallow heares,

  Which bound in sheaues, and layd in comely rowes,

  Vpon the naked fields in stackes he reares:

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  So grew the Romane Empire by degree,

  Till that Barbarian hands it quite did spill,

  And left of it but these olde markes to see,

  Of which all passers by doo somewhat pill:

  As they which gleane, the reliques vse to gather,

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  Which th’husbandman behind him chanst to scater.

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  That same is now nought but a champian wide,

  Where all this worlds pride once was situate.

  No blame to thee, whosoeuer dost abide

  By Nyle, or Gange, or Tygre, or Euphrate,

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  Ne Afrike thereof guiltie is, nor Spaine,

  Nor the bolde people by the Thamis brincks,

  Nor the braue warlicke brood of Alemaine,

  Nor the borne Souldier which Rhine running drinks:

  Thou onely cause, O Ciuill furie, art

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  Which sowing in th’Aemathian fields thy spight,

  Didst arme thy hand against thy proper hart;

  To th’end that when thou wast in greatest hight

  To greatnes growne, through long prosperitie,

  Thou then adowne might’st fall more horriblie.

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  Hope ye my verses that posteritie

  Of age ensuing shall you euer read?

  Hope ye that euer immortalitie

  So meane Harpes worke may chalenge for her meed?

  If vnder heauen anie endurance were,

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  These moniments, which not in paper writ,

  But in Porphyre and Marble doo appeare,

  Might well haue hop’d to haue obtained it.

  Nath’les my Lute, whom Phœbus deignd to giue,

  Cease not to sound these olde antiquities:

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  For if that time doo let thy glorie liue,

  Well maist thou boast, how euer base thou bee,

  That thou art first, which of thy Nation song

  Th’olde honour of the people gowned long.

  L’Envoy.

  Bellay, first garland of free Poësie

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  That France brought forth, though fruitfull of braue wits,

  Well worthie thou of immortalitie,

  That long hast traueld by thy learned writs,

  Olde Rome out of her ashes to reuiue,

  And giue a second life to dead decayes:

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  Needes must he all eternitie suruiue,

  That can to other giue eternall dayes.

  Thy dayes therefore are endles, and thy prayse

  Excelling all, that euer went before;

  And after thee, gins Bartas hie to rayse

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  His heauenly Muse, th’Almightie to adore.

  Liue happie spirits, th’honour of your name,

  And fill the world with neuer dying fame.

  FINIS.

  To the right worthy and vertuous Ladie; the La: Carey.

  Most braue and bountifull La: for so excellent fauours as I haue

  receiued at your sweet handes, to offer these fewe leaues as in

  recompence, should be as to offer flowers to the Gods for their

  diuine benefites. Therefore I haue determined to giue my selfe

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  wholy to you, as quite abandoned from my selfe, and absolutely

  vowed to your seruices: which in all right is euer held for full

  recompence of debt or damage to haue the person yeelded. My

  person I wot wel how little worth it is. But the faithfull minde

  and humble zeale which I beare vnto your La: may perhaps be

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  more of price, as may please you to account and vse the poore

  seruice thereof; which taketh glory to aduance your excellent

  partes and noble vertues, and to spend it selfe in honouring you:

  not so much for your great bounty to my self, which yet may not

  be vnminded; nor for name or kindreds sake by you vouchsafed,

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  beeing also regardable; as for that honorable name, which yee

  haue by your braue deserts purchast to your self, and spred in the

  mouths of al men: with which I haue also presumed to grace my

  verses, and vnder your name to commend to the world this smal

  Poëme, the which beseeching your La: to take in worth, and of

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  all things therein according to your wonted graciousnes to make

  a milde construction, I humbly pray for your happines.

  Your La: euer

  humbly;

  E: S.

  Muiopotmos: or The Fate of the Butterflie.

  I sing of deadly dolorous debate,

  Stir’d vp through wrathfull Nemesis despight,

  Betwixt two mightie ones of great estate,

  Drawne into armes, and proofe of mortall fight,

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  Through prowd ambition, and hartswelling hate,

  Whilest neither could the others greater might

  And sdeignfull scorne endure; that from small iarre

  Their wraths at length broke into open warre.

  The roote whereof and tragicall effect,

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  Vouchsafe, O thou the mournfulst Muse of nyne,

  That wontst the tragick stage for to direct,

  In funerall complaints and waylfull tyne,

  Reueale to me, and all the meanes detect,

  Through which sad Clarion did at last declyne

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  To lowest wretchednes; And is there then

  Such rancour in the harts of mightie men?

  Of all the race of siluer-winged Flies

  Which doo possesse the Empire of the aire,

  Betwixt the centred earth, and azure skies,

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  Was none more fauourable, nor more faire,

  Whilst heauen did fauour his felicities,

  Then Clarion, the eldest sonne and haire

  Of Muscaroll, and in his fathers sight

  Of all aliue did seeme the fairest wight.

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  With fruitfull hope his aged breast he fed

  Of future good, which his yong toward yeares,

  Full of braue courage and bold hardyhed,

  Aboue th’ensample of his equall peares,

  Did largely promise, and to him forered

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  (Whilst oft his heart did melt in tender teares)

  That he in tim
e would sure proue such an one,

  As should be worthie of his fathers throne.

  The fresh yong flie, in whom the kindly fire

  Of lustfull yougth began to kindle fast,

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  Did much disdaine to subiect his desire

  To loathsome sloth, or houres in ease to wast;

  But ioy’d to range abroad in fresh attire,

  Through the wide compas of the ayrie coast,

  And with vnwearied wings each part t’inquire

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  Of the wide rule of his renowmed sire.

  For he so swift and nimble was of flight,

  That from this lower tract he dar’d to stie

  Vp to the clowdes, and thence with pineons light,

  To mount aloft vnto the Christall skie,

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  To vew the workmanship of heauens hight:

  Whence downe descending he along would flie

  Vpon the streaming riuers, sport to finde;

  And oft would dare to tempt the troublous winde.

  So on a Summers day, when season milde

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  With gentle calme the world had quieted,

  And high in heauen Hyperions fierie childe

  Ascending, did his beames abroad dispred,

  Whiles all the heauens on lower creatures smilde;

  Yong Clarion with vauntfull lustie head,

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  After his guize did cast abroad to fare;

  And theretoo gan his furnitures prepare.

  His breastplate first, that was of substance pure,

  Before his noble heart he firmely bound,

  That mought his life from yron death assure,

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  And ward his gentle corpes from cruell wound:

  For it by arte was framed, to endure

  The bit of balefull steele and bitter stownd,

  No lesse than that, which Vulcane made to sheild

  Achilles life from fate of Troyan field.

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  And then about his shoulders broad he threw

  An hairie hide of some wilde beast, whom hee

  In saluage forrest by aduenture slew,

  And reft the spoyle his ornament to bee:

  Which spredding all his backe with dreadfull vew,

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  Made all that him so horrible did see,

  Thinke him Alcides with the Lyons skin,

  When the Nœmean Conquest he did win.

  Vpon his head his glistering Burganet,

  The which was wrought by wonderous deuice,

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  And curiously engrauen, he did set:

  The mettall was of rare and passing price;

  Not Bilbo steele, nor brasse from Corinth fet,

  Nor costly Oricalche from strange Phœnice;

  But such as could both Phoebus arrowes ward,

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  And th’hayling darts of heauen beating hard.

  Therein two deadly weapons fixt he bore,

  Strongly outlaunced towards either side,

  Like two sharpe speares, his enemies to gore:

  Like as a warlike Brigandine, applyde

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  To fight, layes forth her threatfull pikes afore,

  The engines which in them sad death doo hyde:

  So did this flie outstretch his fearefull homes,

  Yet so as him their terrour more adornes.

  Lastly his shinie wings as siluer bright,

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  Painted with thousand colours, passing farre

  All Painters skill, he did about him dight:

  Not halfe so manie sundrie colours arre

  In Iris bowe, ne heauen doth shine so bright,

  Distinguished with manie a twinckling starre,

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  Nor Iunoes Bird in her ey-spotted traine

  So manie goodly colours doth containe.

  Ne (may it be withouten perill spoken)

  The Archer God, the sonne of Cytheree,

  That ioyes on wretched louers to be wroken,

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  And heaped spoyles of bleeding harts to see,

  Beares in his wings so manie a changefull token.

  Ah my liege Lord, forgiue it vnto mee,

  If ought against thine honour I haue tolde;

  Yet sure those wings were fairer manifolde.

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  Full manie a Ladie faire, in Court full oft

  Beholding them, him secretly enuide,

  And wisht that two such fannes, so silken soft,

  And golden faire, her Loue would her prouide;

  Or that when them the gorgeous Flie had doft,

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  Some one that would with grace be gratifide,

  From him would steale them priuily away,

  And bring to her so precious a pray.

  Report is that dame Venus on a day,

  In spring when flowres doo clothe the fruitful ground,

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  Walking abroad with all her Nymphes to play,

  Bad her faire damzels flocking her arownd,

  To gather flowres, her forhead to array:

  Emongst the rest a gentle Nymph was found,

  Hight Astery, excelling all the crewe

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  In curteous vsage, and vnstained hewe.

  Who being nimbler ioynted than the rest,

  And more industrious, gathered more store

  Of the fields honour, than the others best;

  Which they in secret harts enuying sore,

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  Tolde Venus, when her as the worthiest

  She praisd’, that Cupide (as they heard before)

  Did lend her secret aide, in gathering

  Into her lap the children of the spring.

  Whereof the Goddesse gathering iealous feare,

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  Not yet vnmindfull, how not long agoe

  Her sonne to Psyche secrete loue did beare,

  And long it close conceal’d, till mickle woe

  Thereof arose, and manie a rufull teare;

  Reason with sudden rage did ouergoe,

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  And giuing hastie credit to th’accuser,

  Was led away of them that did abuse her.

  Eftsoones that Damzel by her heauenly might,

  She turn’d into a winged Butterflie,

  In the wide aire to make her wandring flight;

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  And all those flowres, with which so plenteouslie

  Her lap she filled had, that bred her spight,

  She placed in her wings, for memorie

  Of her pretended crime, though crime none were:

  Since which that flie them in her wings doth beare.

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  Thus the fresh Clarion being readie dight,

  Vnto his iourney did himselfe addresse,

  And with good speed began to take his flight:

  Ouer the fields in his franke lustinesse,

  And all the champion he soared light,

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  And all the countrey wide he did possesse,

  Feeding vpon their pleasures bounteouslie,

  That none gainsaid, nor none did him enuie.

 

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