And thou alone the formost glorious star,
which lead’st the teame of that great Wagoner.
What could thy thought be, but as I doe thinke,
when thine eyes tasted, what mine eares did drinke?
A cripple King layd bedrid long before,
Yet at thy comming crept out of the dore,
T’was well he rid, he had no legs to goe,
But this thy beautie forc’d his body to;
For whom a cullice had more fitter beene,
Then in a golden bed a gallant Queene.
To vse thy beauty as the miser gold,
which hoards it vp but onely to behold,
Still looking on it with a iealous eye,
Fearing to lend, yet louing vsurie;
O Sacriledge, (if beautie be diuine,)
The prophane hand should touch the halowed shrine.
To surfet sicknes on the sound mans diet,
To rob Content, yet still to liue vnquiet,
And hauing all, to be of all beguild,
And yet still longing like a little child•
When Marques Dorset and the valiant Grayes
To purchase fame first crost the narrow Seas,
with all the Knights that my associates went,
In honour of thy nuptiall turnament,
Thinkst thou I ioy’d not in thy Beauties pride?
when thou in triumph didst through Paris ride,
where all the streets as thou didst pace along
with Arras, Bisse, and Tapestry were hong;
Ten thousand gallant Cittizens prepar’d,
In rich attire thy princely selfe to guard;
Next them, three thousand choise religious men,
In golden vestments followed on agen;
And in procession as they came along,
with Hymeneus sang thy marriage song.
Then fiue great Dukes, as did theyr places fall,
To each of these, a Princely Cardinall,
Then thou on thy imperiall Chariot set,
Crown’d with a rich imperled Coronet,
whilst the Parisian Dames, as thy traine past,
Their precious Incence in aboundance cast.
As Cinthia from the waue-embatteld shrouds,
Opening the west, comes streaming through the clouds,
with shining troupes of siluer-tressed stars
Attending on her, as her Torch-bearers,
And all the lesser lights about her throne,
With admiration stand as lookers on;
whilst shee alone in height of all her pride,
The Queene of light, along her spheare doth glide,
When on the tylt my Horse like thunder came,
No other signall had I but thy name,
Thy voyce my trumpet, and my guide thine eyes,
And but thy beautie, I esteem’d no prize.
That large• limd Almaine of the Gyants race,
which bare strength on his breast, feare in his face,
whose sinewed armes, with his steele-tempered blade,
Through plate and male, such open passage made,
Vpon whose might the French-mens glory lay,
And all the hope of that victorious day,
Thou saw’st thy Brandon beate him on his knee,
Offring his shield a conquered spoile to thee,
But thou wilt say, (perhaps) I vainely boast
And tell thee that which thou alreadie know’st,
No sacred Queene, my valour I denie,
It was thy beautie, not my chiualry;
One of thy tressed curles which falling downe,
As loth to be imprisoned in thy Crowne,
I saw the soft ayre sportiuely to take it,
To diuers shapes and sundry formes to make it,
Now parting it to foure, to three, to twaine,
Now twisting it, and then vntwist againe;
Then make the threds to dally with thine eye,
A sunny candle, for a golden flie.
At length from thence one little teare it got,
which falling downe as though a star had shot,
My vp-turnd eye pursues it with my sight,
The which againe redoubleth all my might.
Tis but in vaine, of my descent to boast,
when heauens Lampe shines, all other lights be lost,
Faulcons gaze not, the Eagle sitting by,
whose broode suruayes the sunne with open eye;
Else might my blood finde issue from his force,
In Bosworth plaine, beate Richard from his horse,
whose puissant Armes, great Richmond chose to weeld,
His glorious colours in that conquering feeld;
And with his sword in his deere soueraignes fight,
To his last breath, stood fast in Henries right.
Then beautious Empresse, thinke this safe delay,
Shall be the euen to a ioyfull day;
Fore-sight doth still on all aduantage lie,
wise-men must giue place to necessity,
To put backe ill, our good we must forbeare,
Better first feare, then after still to feare.
Twere ouer-sight in that at which we ayme,
To put the hazard on an after-game;
with patience then let vs our hopes attend,
And till I come, receiue these lines I send.
Notes of the Chronicle Historie.
When Longauile to Mary was affied,
THE Duke of Longauile which was prisoner in England vpon the peace to be concluded between England & France, was deliuered, and maried the Princesse Mary, for Lewes the French king his master•
How in a storme thy well rigg’d ships were tost,
And thou &c.
As the Queene sayled for Fraunce, a mighty storme arose at sea, so that the Nauy was in great danger, & was seuered, some driuen vpon the coast of Flanders, some on Brittaine: the ship wherin the queene was, was driuen into the Hauon at Bullen with very great danger.
When thou to Abuile heldst th’appointed day.
King Lewes met her by Abuile, neere to the Forrest of Arders, and •rought her into Abuile with great solemnitie.
Appear’dst vnto him like the Queene of Light.
Expressing the sumptuous attire of the Queene & her traine, attended by the chiefe of the Nobilitie of England, with 36. Ladies all in cloth of siluer, their horses trapped with Crimson veluet.
A cripple King laid bedrid lo•g before.
King Lewes, was a man of great yeeres, troubled much with the gout, so that he had of long time before little vse of legs.
When Marques Dorset, and the valiant Grayes.
The Duke of Suffolk when the proclamation came into England, of Iusts to be holden in Fraunce at Paris, he for the Queenes sake his Mistres, obtained of the King to goe thither: with whom went the Marques Dorcet and his foure brothers, the Lord Clynton, Sir Edward Neuell, Sir Gyles Chappell, Tho. Cheyney: which went all ouer with the Duke as his assistants.
When thou in triumph didst through Paris ride
A true description of the Queenes •ntring into Paris, after her co•onation performd at S. Dennis.
Then fiue great Dukes as did their places fall.
The Dukes of Alansoon, Burbon, Vandome, Longauile, Suffolke, with fiue Cardinals.
That large-limd Almaine of the Gyants race.
Frauncis Valoys, the Dolphin of France enuying the glory, that the Englishmen had obtained at the tilt, brought in an Almaine secretly, a man thought almost of incomparable strength, which encountred. Charles Brandon at Barriers, but the Duke grappling with him, so bea• him about the head with the pomel of his sword, that the blood came out of the sight of his Caske.
Else might my blood find issue from his force,
In Bosworth, &c.
Sir William Brandon standard-beater to the Earle of Richmond (after Henry the 7.) at Bosworth field, a braue and gallant Gentleman; who was slaine by Richard there, this was
Father to this Charles Brandon Duke of Suffolke.
FINIS.
To my most deere friend Maister Henry Lucas, sonne to Edward Lucas Esquire.
SIR, to none haue I beene more beholding, then to your kind parents, far (I must truly confesse) aboue the measure of my deserts: Many there be in England of whom for some particularitie I might iustly challenge greater merit, had I not beene borne in so euill an houre, as to be poisoned with that gaule of ingratitude: to your selfe am I ingaged for many more curtesies then I imagined could euer haue beene found in one of so few yeares: nothing doe I more desire then that those hopes of your toward and vertuous youth, may prooue so pure in the fruite as they are faire in the bloome: long may you liue to their comfort that loue you most; and may I euer wish you the encrease of all good fortunes.
Yours euer, Michaell Drayton.
Henry Howard Earle of Surrey to Geraldine.
THE ARGUMENT.
Henry Howard, that true noble Earle of Surrey, and excellent Poet, falling in loue with Geraldine; descended of the noble family of the Fitzgeralds of Ireland, a faire & modest Lady; and one of the honourable maids to Quene Katherine Dowager: eternizeth her prayses in many excellent Poems, of rare and sundrie inuentions: and after some few yeares beeing determined to see that famous Italy, the source and Helicon of all excellent Arts; first visiteth that renowned Florence, from whence the Geralds challence their descent, from the ancient familie of the Geraldi; there in honour of his mistresse be aduanceth her picture: and challengeth to maintaine her beauty by deeds of Armes against all that durst appeare in the lists, where after the proofe of his braue and incomparable valour, whose arme crowned her beauty with eternall memorie, he writeth this Epistle to his deerest Mistres.
FROM learned Florence, (long time rich in same)
From whence thy race, thy noble Grandsires came,
To famous England, that kind nurse of mine,
Thy Surrey sends to heauenly Geraldine,
Yet let not Thuscan thinke I doe her wrong,
That I from thence write in my natiue tongue,
That in these harsh-tun’d cadences I sing,
Sitting so neere the Muses sacred spring,
But rather thinke her selfe adorn’d thereby,
That England reads the praise of Italy.
Though to the Thuscans, I the smoothnes grant,
Our dialect no maiestie doth want,
To set thy prayses in as hie a key,
As Fraunce, or Spaine, or Germany, or they,
That day I quit the Fore-land of faire Kent,
And that my ship her course for Flandersbent;
Yet thinke I with how many a heauy looke,
My leaue of England and of thee I tooke,
And did intreat the tide (if it might be)
But to conuey me one sigh backe to thee,
Vp to the decke a billow lightly skips,
Taking my sigh, and downe againe it slips;
Into the gulfe it selfe, it headlong throwes,
And as a Post to England-ward it goes;
As I sit wondring how the rough seas stird,
I might far off perceiue a little bird,
which as she faine from shore to shore would flie
Hath lost her selfe in the broad vastie skie,
Her feeble wing beginning to deceiue her,
The seas, of life still gaping to bereaue her;
Vnto the ship she makes which she discouers,
And there (poore foole) a while for refuge houers,
And when at length her flagging pineon failes
Panting she hangs vpon the ratling failes,
And being forc’d to loose her hold with paine,
Yet beaten off, she straight lights on againe,
And tost with flawes, with stormes, with wind, with wether,
Yet still departing thence, still turneth thether,
Now with the Poope, now with the Prow doth beare,
Now on this side, now that, now heer•, now there,
Me thinks these stormes should be my sad depart,
The silly helpelesse bird, is my poore bart,
The ship, to which for succour it repaires,
That is your selfe, (regardlesse of my cares)
Of euery surge doth fall, or waue doth rise,
To some one thing I sit and moralize.
When for thy loue I left the Belgick shore,
Diuine Erasmus, and our famous Moore,
whose happy presence gaue me such delight
As made a minute of a winters night;
with whom a while I stai’d at Roterdame,
Now so renowned by Erasmus name.
Yet euery houre did seeme a world of time,
Till I had seene that soule-reuiuing clime,
And thought the foggy Netherlands vnfit,
A watry soyle to clog a fiery wit;
And as that wealthy Germany I past,
Comming vnto the Emperors Court at last,
Great learn’d Agrippa, so profound in Art,
who the infernall secrets doth impart,
when of thy health I did desire to know,
Me in a glasse my Geraldine did shew,
Sicke in thy bed, and for thou couldst net sleepe,
By a watch Taper set thy light to keepe;
I doe remember thou didst read that Ode,
Sent backe whilst I, in Thanet made abode,
where as thou cam’st vnto the word of loue,
Euen in thine eyes I saw how passion stroue;
That snowy Lawne which couered thy bed,
Me thought look’d white, to see thy cheeke so red,
Thy rosie cheeke, oft changing in my sight,
Yet still was red, to see the Lawne so white;
The little Taper which should giue thee light,
Me thought wax’d dim, to see thy eye so bright;
Thine eye againe supplies the Tapers turne,
And with his beames doth make the Taper burne;
The shrugging ayre about thy Temple hurles,
And wraps thy breath in little clouded curles,
And as it doth ascend, it straight doth ceaze it,
And as it sinks, it presently doth raise it;
Canst thou by sicknes banish beauty so?
Which if put from thee, knowes not where to goe;
To make her shift, and for her succour seeke,
To euery riueld face, each bankrupt cheeke,
If health preseru’d, thou beauty still doost cherish,
If that neglected, beauty soone doth perish.
Care, drawes on care, woe comforts woe againe,
Sorrow breeds sorrow, one griefe brings forth twaine,
If liue or die, as thou doost, so doe I,
If liue, I liue, and if thou die, I die,
One hart, one loue, one ioy, one griefe, one troth,
One good, one ill, one life, one death, to both,
If Howards blood, thou hold’st as but too vile,
Or not esteem’st of Norfolks Princely stile,
If Scotlands coate no marke of fame can lend,
That Lion plac’d in our bright siluer bend,
which as a Trophy beautifies our shield,
Since Scottish blood discoloured Floden field;
When the proud Cheuiot our braue Ensigne beare,
As a rich iewel in a Ladies haire,
And did faire Bramstons neighbouring valies choke,
with clouds of Canons, fire disgorged smoke,
Or Surreys Earldome insufficient be,
And not a dower so well contenting thee;
Yet am I one of great Apollos heires,
The sacred Muses challenge me for theirs;
By Princes, my immortall lines are sung,
My flowing verses grac’d with euery tung;
The little children when they learne to goe,
By painefull mothers daded to and fro,
Are taught my sugred numbers to rehearse,
And haue
their sweet lips season’d with my verse;
when heauen would striue to doe the best it can,
And put an Angels spirit into a man;
The vtmost power in that great worke doth spend,
when to the world a Poet it doth intend,
That little difference twixt the Gods and vs,
(By them confirm’d ) distinguish’d onely thus,
whom they in birth, ordaine to happie daies,
The Gods commit, their glory to our praise,
To eternall life when they dissolue that breath,
we likewise share a second power by death:
When time shall turne those Amber curles to gray,
My verse againe shall guild and make them gay,
And trick them vp in knotted curles anew,
And in the autumne giue a sommers hue;
That sacred power, that in my Inke remaines,
Shall put fresh blood into thy wither’d vaines,
And on thy red decay’d, thy whitenes dead,
Shall set a white, more white, a red, more red;
When thy dim sight thy glasse cannot discry.
Thy crazed mirrhor cannot see thine eye;
My verse to tell, what eye, what mirrhor was,
Glasse to thine eye, an eye vnto thy glasse,
where both thy mirrhor and thine eye shall see,
what once thou saw’st, in that, that saw in thee,
And to them both shall tell the simple truth,
what that in purenes was, what thou in youth.
If Florence once should loose her old renowne,
As Famous Athence, now a fisher towne,
My lines for thee a Florence shall erect,
which great Apollo euer shall protect,
And with the numbers from my pen that falls,
Bring Marble mines to recrect those walls;
Nor beauteous Stanhope, whom all tongs report,
To be the glory of the English Court,
Shall by our Nation be so much admir’d,
If euer Surrey truly were inspir’d.
And famous Wyat, who in numbers sings,
To that inchanting Thracian Harpers strings,
To whom Phoebus (the Poets God) did drinke,
A bowle of Nectar, fill’d vnto the brinke,
And sweet-tongu’d Bryan (whom the Muses kept
And in his Cradle rockt him whilst he slept,)
In sacred verses (so diuinely pend)
Vpon thy prayses euer shall attend.
What time I came vnto this famous Towne,
And made the cause of my arriuall knowne,
Great Medices a list (for triumphs) built,
Collected Works of Michael Drayton Page 56
