What time the Sunne with this day-laboring teames,
Is driuing downe vnto the West apace,
T’refresh his cauples in the Ocean streames,
And coole the feruor glowing in his face,
Which now appeares by his hic-coloured beames,
To rest him from our Hemisphere a space,
Leauing fowle darkenesse to possesse the skies,
The fittest times for bloody tragedies.
50
With torches now attempting the sad caue,
Which at their entrance seemeth in a fright,
At the reflection that the brightnesse gaue,
As till that time it neuer saw the light;
Where light and darknesse with the power they haue,
Strongly for the preheminence do fight,
And each confounding other, both appeare,
As to their owne selues they contrary were.
51
The craggy cleeues which crosse them as they go,
Make as their passage they would haue denide,
And threatning them their iourney to forslow,
As angry with the path that was their guide,
As they their griefe and discontent would show,
Cursing the hand that did them first diuide;
The combrous falls and risings seeme to say,
This wicked action could not brooke the day.
52
The gloomy lamps this troope still forward led,
Forcing shadowes follow on their backe,
Are like the mourners waiting on the dead,
And as the deede, so are they vgly blacke;
Hate goes before, confusion followed,
The sad portents of blood-shed, and of wracke;
These faint dim-burning lights as all amazed,
At those deformed shades whereon they gazed.
53
The clattering armes their maisters seeme to chide,
As they would reason wherefore they should wound,
And striking with the points from side to side,
As though euen angry with the hallow ground,
That it this vile and ruthlesse act should hide,
whose stony roofe lock’d in their dolefull sound,
And hanging in the creekes, draw backe againe,
As willing them from murther to refraine.
54
Now waxing late, and after all these things,
Vnto her chamber is the Queene withdrawne,
To whom a choice Musitian plaies and sings,
Reposing her vpon a state of Lawne,
In night attire diuinely glittering,
As th’approaching of the cheerefull dawne,
Leaning vpon the breast of Mortimer,
Whose voice more then the musick pleas’d her eare.
55
Where her faire breasts at liberty are let,
where violent veines in curious branches flow,
where Venus Swans and milkie Doues are set,
Vpon the swelling mounts of driuen snow,
where Loue whilst he to sport himselfe doth get,
Hath lost his course nor findes which way to goe,
Inclosed in this Labyrinth about,
Where let him wander still, yet ne’re get out.
56
Her loose golde haire, O gold, thou arte too base,
were it not sinne to name those silke threeds haire,
Declining downe to kisse her fairer face,
But no word faire enough for thing so faire,
O what hie wondrous epethite can grace,
Or giue the due praise to a thing so rare!
But where the pen failes, pensill cannot show it,
Nor can be knowne vnlesse the mind do know it.
57
She laies those fingers on his manly cheeke,
The gods pure Scepters, and the dartes of loue,
which with a touch might make a tygre meeke,
Or the maine Atlas from his place remoue,
So so•t, so feeling, delicate, and sleeke,
As Nature ware the lillies for a gloue,
As might beget life where was neuer none,
And put a spirite into the flinty stone.
58
The fire of precious wood the lights perfume,
whose perfect cleerenesse on the painting shone,
As eu’ry thing to sweetnes did consume,
Or eu’ry thing had sweetnes of it owne,
And to it selfe this portrayed did resume,
The smell wherewith his naturall is growne,
That light gaue colour on each thing it fell,
And to the colour the perfume gaue smell.
59
Vpon the sundry pictures they deuise,
And from one thing they to another runne,
Now they commend that body, then those eyes,
How well that bird, how well that flowre was done,
Now this part shadowed, and how that doth rise,
This top is clouded, and that traile is spunne,
The landskip mixtures, and delineatings,
And in that Arte a thousand curious things.
60
Looking vpon prowde Phaeton wrapt in fire,
The gentle Queene doth much bewaile his fall,
But Mortimer more praising his desire,
To loose a poore life, or to gouerne all;
And though he did ambitiously aspire,
And by his minde is made prowde Fortunes thrall,
Yet in despight when she her worst hath done,
He perisht in the chariot of the Sunne.
61
The Queene saith Phoebus is much forcde by Arte,
Nor can she find how his embraces be,
But Mortimer now takes the Painters part,
Why thus great Empresse, thus, and thus, quoth he,
Thus holdes the boy, thus clips his fainting hart,
Thus twine their armes, and thus their lips you sec:
You shalbe Phoebus, Hyacinthus I,
It were a life thus eu’ry houre to die.
62
By this time neere, into the vpper hall,
Is rudely entred this disordered rowt,
When they within suspecting least of all,
Dischargde the guard that should haue watcht without
O see how mischiefe sodainely doth fall,
And steales vpon vs, being freest from doubt.
How ere the life, the end is euer sure,
And oft in death fond man is most secure.
63
Whilst his lou’d Neuill, and deere Turrington,
Amongst the Ladies that attended there,
Relating things that antiently were done,
With such discourse as women loue to heare,
Staying delight, whilst time so fast doth runne,
Thus in the Lobby as they freely were,
Chargde on the sodaine by this armed traine,
Both in the entrance miserably slaine.
64
As from the snow-crownd Skidos lofty cleeues,
Som fleet wingd haggard towards the euening houre,
Stooping amongst the More-bred Mallard driues,
And th’aire of all her featherd flockes doth skowre,
when backe vnto her former pitch she striues,
The feely fowle all prostrate to her powre:
Such a sharp shreek doth ring through all the vault,
Made by the Ladies at the first assault.
65
March now vnarmde (she onely in his armes,
Too faire a shield, not made for fouler blowes)
That least of all exspected these alarmes,
And to be thus intrapped by his foes,
When he is most improuident of harmes,
O, had he had but weapons like his woes,
Either his valure had his breath redeemde,
Or in her sight dide happily esteemde.
&n
bsp; 66
Amongst the others looking for the king,
In this blacke shew that (he assures him) is,
Though much disguisde, yet him imagining
By the most perfect lineaments of his,
Quoth he, the man thee to the Crowne did bring,
Might at thy hands the least haue lookt for this,
And in this place, vnseeming of the rest,
Where onely sacred solitude is blest.
67
Her presence frees th’offender of his ill,
And as the essence makes the place diuine,
What strong Decree can countermaund the will,
That gaue to thee the power that now is thine,
And in her armes preseru’d in safety still,
As the most pure inuiolable shrine,
Though thou thus irreligiously despise,
And dar’st profane these halowed liberties.
68
But as when Illion fatally surprisde
The Grecians issuing from the woodden horse,
Their rage and fury prowdly exercisde,
Opening the wide gates, letting in their force,
Putting in act what was before deuisde,
Without all sence of pitty or remorce,
With cries, shreekes, rumors in confused sound,
words are broken off, complaints abruptly drownd.
69
Dissolu’d to drops she followes him, O teares,
Elixar like turne all to pearle you touch,
To weepe with her the building scarce forbeares,
The sorrowes that she vttereth are such,
Able to wound th’impenitrabl’st eares,
Her plaints so piercing, and her woes so much,
when with th’abundance words wold hardly come,
Her eyes in silence spake when lips were dumbe.
70
Sweete sonne (quoth she) let not that blood be spilt,
Once prizd so deere as did redeeme thy Crowne,
Whose purity if •ainted now with guilt,
The cause thereof efficiently thine owne,
That from the ruines of thy country built,
(Razde with dissentions) thy substantiall throne,
And broke those bounds thy kingdomes once confinde,
Into large France, to exercise thy minde.
71
For the deere portion of that naturall blood,
Which lends thee heate, and nutriment of life,
Be not a nigg•rd of so small a good,
Where bounty should be plentifully rife,
Begg’d on those knees at which thou oft hast stood,
In those armes circles might core this strife,
O God! that breath from such a bosome sent,
Should thus in vaine be prodigally spent.
72
When in this vproare with the sodaine fright,
Whilst eu’ry one for •afety seekes about,
And none regarding •o preserue the light,
Which being wasted sadly goeth out,
Now in the midst and terrour of the night,
At the departure of this armed rowt,
The Queene alone (at least if any neare)
Her wretched women, yet halfe dead with feare.
73
When horror, darkenes, and her present woe,
Begin to worke on her afflicted minde,
And eu’ry one his tyranny doth show,
Euen in the fulnes of his proper kinde,
In such •xsse her accusations flow,
This liberty vnto their power assignde,
Racking her conscience by this torture due,
It selfe t’accuse with whatsoere it knew.
74
O God, to thinke (that not an houre yet past)
Her greatnes, freedome, and her hopes so hie,
The sweet content wherein her thoughts were placde,
Her great respect in eu’ry humbled eye,
How now she is abused how disgracde,
Her present shame, her after misery,
When eu’ry woe could by despaire be brought,
Presents his forme to her distracted thought.
75
To London now a wretched prisner led,
London where oft he triumpht with the Queene;
And but for spite of no man followed,
Scarcely thought on, who had for many beene,
Of all regard and state impou’rished,
Where in excesse he often had bin seene:
Which at his fall doth make them wonder more,
Who sawe the pompe wherein he liu’d before.
76
O misery! where •nce thou doost infest,
How soone thy vile contagion alters kinde,
That like a Circe metamorphisest
The former habite of the humane minde,
That euen from vs doost seeme our selues to wrest,
Striking our fraile and fading glories blinde,
And with thy vicious presence in a breath,
Chain’st vs as slaues vnto pale fainting Death.
77
At Westminster a Parliment decreed,
To th’establishing the safetie of the Crowne,
Where to his end they finally proceede,
All laying hand to dig this mountaine downe,
To which Time wills they haue especiall heede,
Now whilst the Fates thus angerly doe frowne,
The blood of Edward, and the Spensers fall,
For their iust vengeance hastily doe call.
78
The death of Kent that foule and loathsome blot,
Th’assuming of the Wardes and Liueries,
With Ione the Princesse married to the Scot,
he summes oft seized to his treasuries,
And that by this might well haue beene forgot,
The signe at Stanhope to the enemies,
Or what else ript from the records of Time,
That any way might aggrauate his crime.
79
O dire Reuenge, when thou in time arte rakde,
From the r•de ashes which preseru’d thee long,
In the dry cindars where it seemde as slakde,
Matter to feed it forcde with breath of wrong,
How soone his hideous fury is awakde,
From the small sparks what flames are quickly sprong,
And to that top dooth naturally aspire,
Whose weight and greatnes once represt his fire.
80
And what auailes his answer in this case,
Which now the time doth generally distast?
Where iudgement lookes with so seuere a face,
And all his actions vtterly disgrac’d,
What fainting bosome giues him any place,
From out the faire seate of opinion cast?
With pen and incke his sorrowes to deceiue,
Thus of the faire Queene takes his latest leaue.
81
Most mighty Empresse s’daine not to peruse,
The Swan like dirges of a dying man,
Vnlike those raptures of the fluent Muse,
In that sweete season when our ioyes began,
That did my youth with glorious fire infuse,
When for thy gloue at Tilt I prowdly ran;
Whereas my start•ing Courser strongly set,
Made fire to flie from Hartfords Burgone•.
82
The King your sonne, which hastneth on my death,
(Madam) you know I tendred as mine owne,
And when I might haue grasped out his breath,
I set him gently on his fathers throne,
Which now his power too quickly witnesseth,
Which to this height and maiesty is growne;
But our desert forgot, and he forgiuen,
As after death we wish to liue in heauen.
83
And for the sole rule whereon thus he stands,
&
nbsp; Came bastard William but himselfe on shore,
Or borrowed not our fathers conqu’ring hands,
Which in the field our ancient ensignes bore,
(Guarded about with our well ordred bands)
Which his prowd Leopards for their safety wore,
Raging at Hastings like that ominous Lake,
From whose dread waues our glorious name we take
84
Had I beene chargde vpon mine armed horse,
As when I came vnto the walles of Gaunt,
Before the Belgike and Burgonian force,
There challenging, my Countries Combattant,
Borne from my seate in some robustious course,
That of my spoiles the enemy might vaunt,
Or had I falne vnder my battered shield,
And lent mine honour to some conquered field.
85
I haue not followed Fortun like a slaue,
To make her bounty any whit the lesse,
By my desert her iudgement to depraue,
Nor lent me aught I freely not confesse,
And haue returnd with intrest what she gaue,
A minde that suted with her mightinesse,
He twice offends which sinne in flattry beares,
Yet eu’ry houre he dies that euer feares.
86
I cannot feare what forceth others quake,
The times and I haue tuggd together so,
Wonting my way through sword and fire to make,
So oft constraind against the streame to rowe,
To doubt with Death a couenant to make,
When I am growne familiar with my woe:
And nothing can th’afflicted conscience grieue,
But he can pardon, that doth all forgiue.
87
And thus thou most adored in my heart,
Whose thoghts in death my humbled sprite doth raise
Lady most faire, most deere, of most desart,
Worthy of more than any mortall praise,
Condemned March, thus lastly doth depart
From her, the greatest Empresse of her dayes:
Nor in the dust mine honor I interre,
Thus Caesar dide, and thus dies Mortimer.
88
To Nottingham this Letter brought vnto her,
Which is subscribde with her Emperious stile,
Puts her in minde how once that hand did wooe her,
With this short thought to please herselfe a while,
Thus sorrow can so subtilly vndooe her,
That with such flattery doth her sence beguile.
To giue a sharper feeling to that paine,
Which her grieu’d heart was shortly to sustaine.
89
Putting her fingers to vnrip the seale,
Cleaning to keepe those sorrowes from her eyes,
As it were loth the tidings to reueale,
Whence griefe should spring in such varieties;
But strongly vrg’d doth to her will appeale,
When the soft waxe vnto her touch implies,
Collected Works of Michael Drayton Page 70
