The Shorter Poems

by Edmund Spenser

  Yet was by them as thing impure reiected:

  210

  Yet shee in purenesse, heauen it selfe did pas.

  In purenesse and in all celestiall grace,

  That men admire in goodlie womankinde,

  Shee did excell and seem’d of Angels race

  Liuing on earth like Angell new diuinde,

  215

  Adorn’d with wisedome and with chastitie:

  And all the dowries of a noble mind,

  Which did her beautie much more beautifie.

  No age hath bred (since fayre Astrœa left

  The sinfull world) more vertue in a wight,

  220

  And when she parted hence, with her she reft

  Great hope; and robd her race of bountie quight:

  Well may the shepheard lasses now lament,

  For dubble losse by her hath on them light;

  To loose both her and bounties ornament.

  225

  Ne let Elisa royall Shepheardesse

  The praises of my parted loue enuy,

  For she hath praises in all plenteousnesse

  Powr’d vpon her like showers of Castaly

  By her own Shepheard, Colin her owne Shepherd,

  230

  That her with heauenly hymnes doth deifie,

  Of rustick muse full hardly to be betterd.

  She is the Rose, the glorie of the day,

  And mine the Primrose in the lowly shade,

  Mine, ah not mine; amisse I mine did say:

  235

  Not mine but his, which mine awhile her made:

  Mine to be his, with him to liue for ay:

  O that so faire a flower so soone should fade,

  And through vntimely tempest fall away.

  She fell away in her first ages spring,

  240

  Whil’st yet her leafe was greene, and fresh her rinde,

  And whil’st her braunch faire blossomes foorth did bring,

  She fell away against all course of kinde:

  For age to dye is right, but youth is wrong;

  She fel away like fruit blowne downe with winde:

  245

  Weepe Shepheard weepe to make my vndersong.

  2 What hart so stony hard, but that would weepe,

  And poure foorth fountaines of incessant teares?

  What Timon, but would let compassion creepe

  Into his brest, and pierce his frosen eares?

  250

  In stead of teares, whose brackish bitter well

  I wasted haue, my heart blood dropping weares,

  To thinke to ground how that faire blossome fell.

  Yet fell she not, as one enforst to dye,

  Ne dyde with dread and grudging discontent,

  255

  But as one toyld with trauaile downe doth lye,

  So lay she downe, as if to sleepe she went,

  And closde her eyes with carelesse quietnesse;

  The whiles soft death away her spirit hent,

  And soule assoyld from sinfull fleshlinesse.

  260

  Yet ere that life her lodging did forsake,

  She all resolu’d and ready to remoue,

  Calling to me (ay me) this wise bespake;

  Alcyon, ah my first and latest loue,

  Ah why does my Alcyon weepe and mourne,

  265

  And grieue my ghost, that ill mote him behoue,

  As if to me had chanst some euill tourne?

  I, since the messenger is come for mee,

  That summons soules vnto the bridale feast

  Of his great Lord, must needes depart from thee,

  270

  And straight obay his soueraine beheast:

  Why should Alcyon then so sore lament,

  That I from miserie shall be releast,

  And freed from wretched long imprisonment?

  Our daies are full of dolor and disease,

  275

  Our life afflicted with incessant paine,

  That nought on earth may lessen or appease.

  Why then should I desire here to remaine?

  Or why should he that loues me, sorie bee

  For my deliuerance, or at all complaine

  280

  My good to heare, and toward ioyes to see?

  I goe, and long desired haue to goe,

  I goe with gladnesse to my wished rest,

  Whereas no worlds sad care, nor wasting woe

  May come their happie quiet to molest,

  285

  But Saints and Angels in celestiall thrones

  Eternally him praise, that hath them blest,

  There shall I be amongst those blessed ones.

  Yet ere I goe, a pledge I leaue with thee

  Of the late loue, the which betwixt vs past,

  290

  My yong Ambrosia, in lieu of mee

  Loue her: so shall our loue for euer last.

  Thus deare adieu, whom I expect ere long:

  So hauing said, away she softly past:

  Weep Shepheard weep, to make mine vndersong.

  295

  3 So oft as I record those piercing words,

  Which yet are deepe engrauen in my brest,

  And those last deadly accents, which like swords

  Did wound my heart and rend my bleeding chest,

  With those sweet sugred speaches doo compare,

  300

  The which my soule first conquerd and possest,

  The first beginners of my endles care;

  And when those pallid cheekes and ashy hew,

  In which sad death his pourtraicture had writ,

  And when those hollow eyes and deadly view,

  305

  On which the clowde of ghastly night did sit,

  I match with that sweet smile and chearful brow,

  Which all the world subdued vnto it;

  How happie was I then, and wretched now?

  How happie was I, when I saw her leade

  310

  The Shepheards daughters dauncing in a rownd?

  How trimly would she trace and softly tread

  The tender grasse with rosie garland crownd?

  And when she list aduance her heauenly voyce,

  Both Nimphs and Muses nigh she made astownd,

  315

  And flocks and shepheards caused to reioyce.

  But now ye Shepheard lasses, who shall lead

  Your wandring troupes, or sing your virelayes?

  Or who shall dight your bowres, sith she is dead

  That was the Lady of your holy dayes?

  320

  Let now your blisse be turned into bale,

  And into plaints conuert your ioyous playes,

  And with the same fill euery hill and dale.

  Let Bagpipe neuer more be heard to shrill,

  That may allure the senses to delight;

  325

  Ne euer Shepheard sound his Oaten quill

  Vnto the many, that prouoke them might

  To idle pleasance: but let ghastlinesse

  And drery horror dim the chearfull light,

  To make the image of true heauinesse.

  330

  Let birds be silent on the naked spray,

  And shady woods resound with dreadfull yells:

  Let streaming floods their hastie courses stay,

  And parching drougth drie vp the christall wells;

  Let th’earth be barren and bring foorth no flowres,

  335

  And th’ayre be fild with noyse of dolefull knells,

  And wandring spirits walke vntimely howres.

  And Nature nurse of euery liuing thing,

  Let rest her selfe from her long wearinesse,

  And cease henceforth things kindly forth to bring,

  340

  But hideous monsters full of vglinesse:

  For she it is, that hath me done this wrong,

  No nurse, but Stepdame cruell mercilesse,
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  Weepe Shepheard weepe to make my vnder song.

  4 My little flocke, whom earst I lou’d so well,

  345

  And wont to feede with finest grasse that grew,

  Feede ye hencefoorth on bitter Astrofell,

  And stinking Smallage, and vnsauerie Rew;

  And when your mawes are with those weeds corrupted,

  Be ye the pray of Wolues: ne will I rew,

  350

  That with your carkasses wild beasts be glutted.

  Ne worse to you my sillie sheepe I pray,

  Ne sorer vengeance wish on you to fall

  Than to my selfe, for whose confusde decay

  To carelesse heauens I doo daylie call:

  355

  But heauens refuse to heare a wretches cry,

  And cruell death doth scorne to come at call,

  Or graunt his boone that most desires to dye.

  The good and righteous he away doth take,

  To plague th’vnrighteous which aliue remaine:

  360

  But the vngodly ones he doth forsake,

  By liuing long to multiplie their paine:

  Els surely death should be no punishment,

  As the great Iudge at first did it ordaine,

  But rather riddance from long languishment.

  365

  Therefore my Daphne they haue tane away;

  For worthie of a better place was she:

  But me vnworthie willed here to stay,

  That with her lacke I might tormented be.

  Sith then they so haue ordred, I will pay

  370

  Penance to her according their decree,

  And to her ghost doo seruice day by day.

  For I will walke this wandring pilgrimage

  Throughout the world from one to other end,

  And in affliction wast my better age.

  375

  My bread shall be the anguish of my mind,

  My drink the teares which fro mine eyes do raine,

  My bed the ground that hardest I may finde;

  So will I wilfully increase my paine.

  And she my loue that was, my Saint that is,

  380

  When she beholds from her celestiall throne,

  (In which shee ioyeth in eternall blis)

  My bitter penance, will my case bemone,

  And pitie me that liuing thus doo die:

  For heauenly spirits haue compassion

  385

  On mortall men, and rue their miserie.

  So when I haue with sorowe satisfide

  Th’importune fates, which vengeance on me seeke,

  And th’heauens with long languor pacifide,

  She for pure pitie of my sufferance meeke,

  390

  Will send for me; for which I daylie long,

  And will till then my painfull penance eeke:

  Weep Shepheard, weep to make my vnder song.

  5 Hencefoorth I hate what euer Nature made,

  And in her workmanship no pleasure finde:

  395

  For they be all but vaine, and quickly fade,

  So soone as on them blowes the Northern winde,

  They tarrie not, but flit and fall away,

  Leauing behind them nought but griefe of minde,

  And mocking such as thinke they long will stay.

  400

  I hate the heauen, because it doth withhold

  Me from my loue, and eke my loue from me;

  I hate the earth, because it is the mold

  Of fleshly slime and fraile mortalitie;

  I hate the fire, because to nought it flyes,

  405

  I hate the Ayre, because sighes of it be,

  I hate the Sea, because it teares supplyes.

  I hate the day, because it lendeth light

  To see all things, and not my loue to see;

  I hate the darknesse and the drery night,

  410

  Because they breed sad balefulnesse in mee:

  I hate all times, because all times doo flye

  So fast away, and may not stayed bee,

  But as a speedie post that passeth by.

  I hate to speake, my voyce is spent with crying:

  415

  I hate to heare, lowd plaints haue duld mine eares:

  I hate to tast, for food withholds my dying:

  I hate to see, mine eyes are dimd with teares:

  I hate to smell, no sweet on earth is left:

  I hate to feele, my flesh is numbd with feares:

  420

  So all my senses from me are bereft.

  I hate all men, and shun all womankinde;

  The one because as I they wretched are,

  The other for because I doo not finde

  My loue with them, that wont to be their Starre:

  425

  And life I hate, because it will not last,

  And death I hate, because it life doth marre,

  And all I hate, that is to come or past.

  So all the world, and all in it I hate,

  Because it changeth euer too and fro,

  430

  And neuer standeth in one certaine state,

  But still vnstedfast round about doth goe,

  Like a Mill wheele, in midst of miserie,

  Driuen with streames of wretchednesse and woe,

  That dying liues, and liuing still does dye.

  435

  So doo I liue, so doo I daylie die,

  And pine away in selfe-consuming paine,

  Sith she that did my vitall powres supplie,

  And feeble spirits in their force maintaine

  Is fetcht fro me, why seeke I to prolong

  440

  My wearie daies in dolor and disdaine?

  Weep Shepheard weep to make my vnder song.

  6 Why doo I longer liue in lifes despight?

  And doo not dye then in despight of death:

  Why doo I longer see this loathsome light,

  445

  And doo in darknesse not abridge my breath,

  Sith all my sorrow should haue end thereby,

  And cares finde quiet; is it so vneath

  To leaue this life, or dolorous to dye?

  To liue I finde it deadly dolorous;

  450

  For life drawes care, and care continuall woe:

  Therefore to dye must needes be ioyeous,

  And wishfull thing this sad life to forgoe.

  But I must stay; I may it not amend,

  My Daphne hence departing bad me so,

  455

  She bad me stay, till she for me did send.

  Yet whilest I in this wretched vale doo stay,

  My wearie feete shall euer wandring be,

  That still I may be readie on my way,

  When as her messenger doth come for me:

  460

  Ne will I rest my feete for feeblenesse,

  Ne will I rest my limmes for fraïltie,

  Ne will I rest mine eyes for heauinesse.

  But as the mother of the Gods, that sought

  For faire Eurydice her daughter deere

  465

  Throghout the world, with wofull heauie thought;