Collected Works of Michael Drayton

by Michael Drayton

Praise him which made that fire, which lends that light.

  Amour 6.

  In one whole world is but one Phoenix found,

  A Phoenix thou, this Phoenix then alone,

  By thy rare plume thy kind is easly knowne,

  With heauenly colours dide, with natures wonder cround,

  Heape thine own vertues seasoned by their sunne,

  On heauenlie top of thy diuine desire:

  Then with thy beautie set the same on fire,

  So by thy death, thy life shall be begunne.

  Thy selfe thus burned in this sacred flame,

  With thine owne sweetnes al the heauens perfuming,

  And stil increasing as thou art consuming,

  Shalt spring againe from th’ashes of thy fame;

  And mounting vp, shalt to the heauens ascend,

  So maist thou liue, past world, past fame, past end.

  Amour 7.

  Stay, stay, sweet Time, behold or ere thou passe

  From world to world, thou long hast sought to see,

  That wonder now wherein all wonders be,

  Where heauen beholds her in a mortall glasse.

  Nay, looke thee Time in this Celestiall glasse,

  And thy youth past, in this faire mirror see:

  Behold worlds Beautie in her infancie,

  What shee was then, and thou or ere shee was.

  Now passe on Time, to after-worlds tell this,

  Tell truelie Time what in thy time hath beene,

  That they may tel more worlds what Time hath seene

  And heauen may ioy to think on past worlds blisse.

  Heere make a Period Time, and saie for mee,

  She was, the like that neuer was, nor neuer more shalbe.

  Amour 8.

  Vnto the World, to Learning, and to Heauen,

  Three nines there are, to euerie one a nine,

  One number of the earth, the other both diuine,

  One wonder woman now makes 3. od nu¯bers euen.

  Nine orders first of Angels be in heauen,

  Nine Muses doe with learning still frequent:

  These with the Gods are euer resident:

  Nine worthy men vnto the world were giuen.

  My Worthie, one to these nine Worthies, addeth,

  And my faire Muse, one Muse vnto the nine:

  And my good Angell in my soule diuine,

  With one more order, these nine orders gladdeth.

  My Muse, my Worthy, and my Angell then,

  Makes euery one of these three nines a ten.

  Amour 9.

  Beauty sometime in all her glory crowned,

  Passing by that cleere fountaine of thine eye:

  Her sun-shine face there chaunsing to espy,

  Forgot herselfe, and thought she had been drowned.

  And thus whilst Beautie on her beauty gazed,

  Who then yet liuing, deemd she had been dying,

  And yet in death, some hope of life espying,

  At her own rare perfections so amazed;

  Twixt ioy and griefe, yet with a smyling frowning,

  The glorious sun-beames of her eyes bright shining,

  And shee on her owne destiny diuining,

  Threw in herselfe, to saue herselfe by drowning.

  The Well of Nectar, pau’d with pearle and gold,

  Where shee remaines for all eyes to behold.

  Amour 10.

  Oft taking pen in hand, with words to cast my woes,

  Beginning to account the sum of all my cares,

  I well perceiue my griefe innumerable growes,

  And styll in reckonings rise more millions of dispayres.

  And thus deuiding of my fatall howres,

  The payments of my loue I read, and reading crosse,

  And in substracting, set my sweets vnto my sowres,

  Th’arerage of my ioyes, directs me to my losse.

  And thus mine eyes, a debtor to thine eye,

  Who by extortion gaineth all theyr lookes,

  My hart hath payd such grieuous vsury,

  That all her wealth lyes in thy Beauties bookes.

  And all is which hath been due to mee,

  And I a Banckrupt quite vndone by thee.

  Amour 11.

  Thine eyes taught mee the Alphabet of loue,

  To con my Cros-rowe ere I learn’d to spell:

  For I was apt a scholler like to proue,

  Gaue mee sweet lookes when as I learned well.

  Vowes were my vowels when I then begun

  At my first Lesson in thy sacred name,

  My consonants the next when I had done,

  Words consonant, and sounding to thy fame.

  My liquids then were liquid christall teares,

  My cares my mutes so mute to craue reliefe,

  My dolefull Dypthongs were my liues dispaires,

  Redoubling sighes the accents of my griefe:

  My loues Schoole-mistris now hath taught me so,

  That I can reade a story of my woe.

  Amour 12.

  Some Athiest or vile Infidell in loue,

  When I doe speake of thy diuinitie,

  May blaspheme thus, and say, I flatter thee:

  And onely write, my skill in verse to proue.

  See myracles, yee vnbeleeuing see,

  A dumbe-borne Muse made to expresse the mind,

  A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind,

  One by thy name, the other touching thee.

  Blind were mine eyes, till they were seene of thine,

  And mine eares deafe, by thy fame healed be,

  My vices cur’d, by vertues sprung from thee,

  My hopes reuiu’d which long in graue had lyne.

  All vnclean thoughts, foule spirits cast out in mee,

  By thy great power, and by strong fayth in thee.

  Amour 13.

  Cleere Ankor, on whose siluer-sanded shore,

  My soule-shrinde Saint, my faire Idea lyes:

  O blessed Brooke, whose milk-white Swans adore

  That christall streame refined by her eyes.

  Where sweet Myrh-breathing Zephyre in the spring,

  Gently distils his Nectar-dropping showers:

  Where Nightingals in Arden sit and sing,

  Amongst those dainty dew-empearled flowers.

  Say thus fayre Brooke when thou shalt see thy Queene,

  Loe, heere thy Shepheard spent his wandring yeeres:

  And in these shades (deer Nimphe) he oft hath been,

  And heere to thee he sacrifiz’d his teares.

  Fayre Arden, thou by Tempe art alone

  And thou sweet Ankor art my Helicon.

  Amour 14.

  Looking into the glasse of my youths miseries,

  I see the vgly face of my deformed cares,

  With withered browes, all wrinckled with dispaires,

  That for my mis-spent youth the tears fel fro¯ my eyes.

  Then in these teares, the mirrors of these eyes,

  Thy fayrest youth and Beautie doe I see,

  Imprinted in my teares by looking still on thee:

  Thus midst a thousand woes, ten thousand ioyes arise.

  Yet in these ioyes, the shadowes of my good,

  In this fayre limmed ground as white as snow,

  Paynted the blackest Image of my woe,

  With murthering hands imbrud in mine own blood.

  And in thys Image darke clowdy eyes,

  My life, my youth, my loue, I heere Anotamize.

  Amour 15.

  Now Loue, if thou wilt proue a Conqueror,

  Subdue thys Tyrant euer martyring mee,

  And but appoint me for her Tormentor,

  Then for a Monarch will I honour thee.

  My hart shall be the prison for my fayre,

  Ile fetter her in chaines of purest loue,

  My sighes shall stop the passage of the ayre:

  This punishment the pittilesse may moue.

  With teares out of the Channe
ls of mine eyes,

  She’st quench her thirst as duly as they fall:

  Kinde words vnkindest meate I can deuise,

  My sweet, my faire, my good, my best of all.

  Ile binde her then with my torne-tossed haire,

  And racke her with a thousand holy wishes.

  Then on a place prepared for her there,

  Ile execute her with a thousand kisses.

  Thus will I crucifie my cruell shee,

  Thus Ile plague her which so hath plagued mee.

  Amour 16.

  Vertues Idea in virginitie,

  By inspiration, came conceau’d with thought:

  The time is come deluered she must be,

  Where first my Loue into the world was brought.

  Vnhappy Borne, of all vnhappy day,

  So luckles was my Babes natiuity:

  Saturne chiefe Lord of the Ascendant lay,

  The wandring Moone in earths triplicitie.

  Now, or by chaunce, or heauens hie prouidence,

  His Mother died, and by her Legacie,

  (Fearing the stars presaged influence,)

  Bequeath’d his wardship to my soueraignes eye;

  There hunger star•en, wanting lookes to liue,

  Still empty gorg’d, with cares consumption pynde,

  Salt luke-warme teares shee for his drinke did giue,

  And euer-more with sighes he supt and dynde.

  And thus (poore Orphan) lying in distresse,

  •yes in his pangs, God helpe the motherlesse.

  Amour 17.

  If euer wonder could report a wonder,

  Or tongue of wonder worth could tell a wonder thought,

  Or euer ioy expresse, what perfect ioy hath taught,

  Then wonder, tongue, then ioy, might wel report a wonder.

  Could all conceite conclude, which past conceite admireth,

  Or could mine eye but ayme, her obiects past perfection,

  My words might imitate my deerest thoughts direction:

  And my soule then obtaine which so my soule desireth.

  Were not Inuention stauld, treading Inuentions maze,

  Or my swift-winged Muse tyred by too hie flying,

  Did not perfection still on her perfection gaze,

  Whilst Loue (my Phoenix bird) in her own flame is dying,

  Inuention and my Muse, perfection and her loue,

  Should teach the world to know the wonder that I proue.

  Amour 18.

  Some when in ryme they of their Loues doe tell,

  With flames and lightning their exordiums paynt,

  Some inuocate the Gods, some spirits of Hell,

  And heauen, and earth, doe with their woes acquaint.

  Elizia is too hie a seate for mee,

  I wyll not come in Stixe nor Phlegiton,

  The Muses nice, the Furies cruell be,

  I lyke not Limbo, nor blacke Acheron,

  Spightfull Errinis frights mee with her lookes,

  My manhood dares not with foule Ate mell,

  I quake to looke on Hecats charming bookes,

  I styll feare bugbeares in Apollos Cell.

  I passe not for Minerua nor Astraea,

  But euer call vpon diuine Idea.

  Amour 19.

  If those ten Regions registred by Fame,

  By theyr ten Sibils haue the world controld,

  Who prophecied of Christ or ere he came,

  And of hys blessed birth before fore-told.

  That man-god now of whom they dyd diuine,

  This earth of those sweet Prophets hath bereft,

  And since the world to iudgement doth declyne,

  In steed of ten, one Sibil to vs left.

  Thys, pure Idea, vertues right Idea,

  Shee of whom Merlin long tyme did fore-tell,

  Excelling her of Delphos or Cumaea,

  Whose lyfe doth saue a thousand soules from hell:

  That life (I meane) which doth Religion teach,

  And by example, true repentance preach.

  Amour 20.

  Reading sometyme, my sorrowes to beguile,

  I find old Poets hylls and floods admire.

  One, he doth wonder monster-breeding Nyle,

  Another, meruailes Sulphure Aetnas fire.

  Now broad-brymd Indus, then of Pindus height,

  Pelion and Ossa, frosty Caucase old,

  The Delian Cynthus, then Olympus weight,

  Slow Arrer, frantick Gallus, Cydnus cold.

  Some Ganges, Ister, and of Tagus tell,

  Some whir-poole Po, and slyding Hypasis,

  Some old Pernassus, where the Muses dwell,

  Some Helycon, and some faire Simois,

  A fooles thinke I, had you Idea seene,

  Poore Brookes and Banks had no such wonders beene.

  Amour 21.

  Letters and lynes we see are soone defaced,

  Mettles doe waste, and fret with cankers rust,

  The Diamond shall once consume to dust,

  And freshest colours with foule staines disgraced.

  Paper and yncke, can paynt but naked words,

  To write with blood, of force offends the sight,

  And if with teares, I find them all too light:

  And sighes and signes a silly hope affoords.

  O sweetest shadow, how thou seru’st my turne,

  Which still shalt be as long as there is Sunne,

  Nor whilst the world is, neuer shall be done,

  Whilst Moone shall shyne by night, or any fire shall burne.

  That euery thing whence shadow doth proceede,

  May in his shadow my Loues story reade.

  Amour 22.

  My hart imprisoned in a hopeles Ile,

  Peopled with Armies of pale iealous eyes,

  The shores beset with thousand secret spyes,

  Must passe by ayre, or else dye in exile.

  He framd him wings with feathers of his thought,

  Which by theyr nature learn’d to mount the skye,

  And with the same he practised to flye,

  Till he himselfe thys Eagles art had taught.

  Thus soring still, nor looking once below,

  So neere thyne eyes celestiall sunne aspyred,

  That with the rayes his wasting py•eons fired.

  Thus was the wanton cause of hys owne woe.

  Downe fell he in thy Beauties O••an drenched,

  Yet there he burnes, in fire thats neuer quenched.

  Amour 23

  Wonder of Heauen, glasse of diuinitie,

  Rare beauty, Natures ioy, perfections Mother,

  The worke of that vnited Trinitie,

  Wherein each fayrest part excelleth other.

  Loues Methridate, the purest of perfection,

  Celestiall Image, Load-stone of desire,

  The soules delight, the sences true direction,

  Sunne of the world, thou hart reuyuing fire.

  Why should’st thou place thy Trophies in those eyes,

  Which scorne the honor that is done to thee,

  Or make my pen her name imortalize,

  Who in her pride sdaynes once to looke on mee.

  It is thy heauen within her face to dwell,

  And in thy heauen, there onely is my hell.

  Amour 24.

  Our floods-Queene Thames, for shyps & Swans is crowned,

  And stately Seuerne, for her shores is praised,

  The christall Trent, for Foords & fishe renowned,

  And Auons fame, to Albyons Cliues is raysed.

  Carlegion Chester, vaunts her holy Dee,

  Yorke, many wonders of her Ouse can tell,

  The Peake her Doue, whose bancks so fertill bee,

  And Kent will say, her Medway doth excell.

  Cotswoold commends her Isis and her Tame,

  Our Northern borders boast of Tweeds faire flood,

  Our Westerne parts extoll theyr Wilys fame,

  And old Legea brags of Danish blo
od:

  Ardens sweet Ankor let thy glory be,

  That fayre Idea shee doth liue by thee.

  Amour 25.

  The glorious sunne went blushing to his bed,

  When my soules sunne from her fayre Cabynet,

  Her golden beames had now discouered,

  Lightning the world, eclipsed by his set.

  Some muz’d to see the earth enuy the ayre,

  Which from her lyps exhald refined sweet,

  A world to see, yet how he ioyd to heare

  The dainty grasse make musicke with her feete.

  But my most meruaile was when from the skyes,

  So Comet-like each starre aduaunc’d her lyght,

  As though the heauen had now awak’d her eyes,

  And summond Angels to thys blessed sight.

  No clowde was seene, but christaline the ayre,

  Laughing for ioy vpon my louely fayre,

  Amour 26.

  Cupid, dumbe Idoll, peeuish Saint of loue,

  No more shalt thou nor Saint nor Idoll be,

  No God art thou, a Goddesse shee doth proue,

  Of all thine honour shee hath robbed thee.

  Thy Bowe halfe broke, is peec’d with olde desire,

  Her Bowe is beauty, with ten thousand strings,

  Of purest gold, tempred with vertues fire:

  The least able to kyll an hoste of Kings.

  Thy shafts be spent, and shee (to warre appointed)

  Hydes in those christall quiuers of her eyes,

  More Arrowes with hart-piercing mettel poynted,

  Then there be starres at midnight in the skyes.

  With these, she steales mens harts for her reliefe,

  Yet happy he thats robd of such a thiefe.

  Amour 27

  My Loue makes hote the fire whose heat is spent,

  The water, moysture from my teares deriueth:

  And my strong sighes, the ayres weake force reuiueth

  This loue, tears, sighes, maintaine each one his element

  The fire, vnto my loue, compare a painted fire,

  The water, to my teares, as drops to Oceans be,

  The ayre, vnto my sighes, as Eagle to the fire,