Collected Works of Michael Drayton

by Michael Drayton

  Which is the subiect, that I now pursue;

  For from my cradle, (you must know that) I,

  Was still inclin’d to noble Poesie,

  And when that once Pueriles I had read,

  And newly had my Cato construed, 20

  In my small selfe I greatly marueil’d then,

  Amonst all other, what strange kinde of men

  These Poets were; And pleased with the name,

  To my milde Tutor merrily I came,

  (For I was then a proper goodly page,

  Much like a Pigmy, scarse ten yeares of age)

  Clasping my slender armes about his thigh.

  O my deare master! cannot you (quoth I)

  Make me a Poet, doe it if you can,

  And you shall see, Ile quickly bee a man, 30

  Who me thus answered smiling, boy quoth he,

  If you’le not play the wag, but I may see

  You ply your learning, I will shortly read

  Some Poets to you; Phœbus be my speed,

  Too’t hard went I, when shortly he began,

  And first read to me honest Mantuan,

  Then Virgils Eglogues, being entred thus,

  Me thought I straight had mounted Pegasus,

  And in his full Careere could make him stop,

  And bound vpon Parnassus’ by-clift top. 40

  I scornd your ballet then though it were done

  And had for Finis, William Elderton.

  But soft, in sporting with this childish iest,

  I from my subiect haue too long digrest,

  Then to the matter that we tooke in hand,

  Ioue and Apollo for the Muses stand.

  Then noble Chaucer, in those former times,

  The first inrich’d our English with his rimes,

  And was the first of ours, that euer brake,

  Into the Muses treasure, and first spake 50

  In weighty numbers, deluing in the Mine

  Of perfect knowledge, which he could refine,

  And coyne for currant, and as much as then

  The English language could expresse to men,

  He made it doe; and by his wondrous skill,

  Gaue vs much light from his abundant quill.

  And honest Gower, who in respect of him,

  Had only sipt at Aganippas brimme,

  And though in yeares this last was him before,

  Yet fell he far short of the others store. 60

  When after those, foure ages very neare,

  They with the Muses which conuersed, were

  That Princely Surrey, early in the time

  Of the Eight Henry, who was then the prime

  Of Englands noble youth; with him there came

  Wyat; with reuerence whom we still doe name

  Amongst our Poets, Brian had a share

  With the two former, which accompted are

  That times best makers, and the authors were

  Of those small poems, which the title beare, 70

  Of songs and sonnets, wherein oft they hit

  On many dainty passages of wit.

  Gascoine and Churchyard after them againe

  In the beginning of Eliza’s raine,

  Accoumpted were great Meterers many a day,

  But not inspired with braue fier, had they

  Liu’d but a little longer, they had seene,

  Their works before them to have buried beene.

  Graue morrall Spencer after these came on

  Then whom I am perswaded there was none 80

  Since the blind Bard his Iliads vp did make,

  Fitter a taske like that to vndertake,

  To set downe boldly, brauely to inuent,

  In all high knowledge, surely excellent.

  The noble Sidney with this last arose,

  That Heroe for numbers, and for Prose.

  That throughly pac’d our language as to show,

  The plenteous English hand in hand might goe

  With Greek or Latine, and did first reduce

  Our tongue from Lillies writing then in vse; 90

  Talking of Stones, Stars, Plants, of fishes, Flyes,

  Playing with words, and idle Similies,

  As th’ English, Apes and very Zanies be,

  Of euery thing, that they doe heare and see,

  So imitating his ridiculous tricks,

  They spake and writ, all like meere lunatiques.

  Then Warner though his lines were not so trim’d,

  Nor yet his Poem so exactly lim’d

  And neatly ioynted, but the Criticke may

  Easily reprooue him, yet thus let me say; 100

  For my old friend, some passages there be

  In him, which I protest haue taken me,

  With almost wonder, so fine, cleere, and new

  As yet they haue bin equalled by few.

  Neat Marlow bathed in the Thespian springs

  Had in him those braue translunary things,

  That the first Poets had, his raptures were,

  All ayre, and fire, which made his verses cleere,

  For that fine madnes still he did retaine,

  Which rightly should possesse a Poets braine. 110

  And surely Nashe, though he a Proser were

  A branch of Lawrell yet deserues to beare,

  Sharply Satirick was he, and that way

  He went, since that his being, to this day

  Few haue attempted, and I surely thinke

  Those wordes shall hardly be set downe with inke;

  Shall scorch and blast, so as his could, where he,

  Would inflict vengeance, and be it said of thee,

  Shakespeare, thou hadst as smooth a Comicke vaine,

  Fitting the socke, and in thy naturall braine, 120

  As strong conception, and as Cleere a rage,

  As any one that trafiqu’d with the stage.

  Amongst these Samuel Daniel, whom if I

  May spake of, but to sensure doe denie,

  Onely haue heard some wisemen him rehearse,

  To be too much Historian in verse;

  His rimes were smooth, his meeters well did close

  But yet his maner better fitted prose:

  Next these, learn’d Johnson, in this List I bring,

  Who had drunke deepe of the Pierian spring, 130

  Whose knowledge did him worthily prefer,

  And long was Lord here of the Theater,

  Who in opinion made our learn’st to sticke,

  Whether in Poems rightly dramatique,

  Strong Seneca or Plautus, he or they,

  Should beare the Buskin, or the Socke away.

  Others againe here liued in my dayes,

  That haue of vs deserued no lesse praise

  For their translations, then the daintiest wit

  That on Parnassus thinks, he highst doth sit, 140

  And for a chaire may mongst the Muses call,

  As the most curious maker of them all;

  As reuerent Chapman, who hath brought to vs,

  Musæus, Homer and Hesiodus

  Out of the Greeke; and by his skill hath reard

  Them to that height, and to our tongue endear’d,

  That were those Poets at this day aliue,

  To see their bookes thus with vs to suruiue,

  They would think, hauing neglected them so long,

  They had bin written in the English tongue. 150

  And Siluester who from the French more weake,

  Made Bartas of his sixe dayes labour speake

  In naturall English, who, had he there stayd,

  He had done well, and neuer had bewraid

  His owne inuention, to haue bin so poore

  Who still wrote lesse, in striuing to write more.

  Then dainty Sands that hath to English done,

  Smooth sliding Ouid, and hath made him run

  With so much sweetnesse and vnusuall grace,

  As though the neatnesse of the English pace, 160r />
  Should tell the Ietting Lattine that it came

  But slowly after, as though stiff and lame.

  So Scotland sent vs hither, for our owne

  That man, whose name I euer would haue knowne,

  To stand by mine, that most ingenious knight,

  My Alexander, to whom in his right,

  I want extreamely, yet in speaking thus

  I doe but shew the loue, that was twixt vs,

  And not his numbers which were braue and hie,

  So like his mind, was his clear Poesie, 170

  And my deare Drummond to whom much I owe

  For his much loue, and proud I was to know,

  His poesie, for which two worthy men,

  I Menstry still shall loue, and Hauthorne-den.

  Then the two Beamounts and my Browne arose,

  My deare companions whom I freely chose

  My bosome friends; and in their seuerall wayes,

  Rightly borne Poets, and in these last dayes,

  Men of much note, and no lesse nobler parts,

  Such as haue freely tould to me their hearts, 180

  As I have mine to them; but if you shall

  Say in your knowledge, that these be not all

  Haue writ in numbers, be inform’d that I

  Only my selfe, to these few men doe tye,

  Whose works oft printed, set on euery post,

  To publique censure subiect haue bin most;

  For such whose poems, be they nere so rare,

  In priuate chambers, that incloistered are,

  And by transcription daintyly must goe;

  As though the world vnworthy were to know, 190

  Their rich composures, let those men that keepe

  These wonderous reliques in their iudgement deepe;

  And cry them vp so, let such Peeces bee

  Spoke of by those that shall come after me,

  I passe not for them: nor doe meane to run,

  In quest of these, that them applause haue wonne,

  Vpon our Stages in these latter dayes,

  That are so many, let them haue their bayes

  That doe deserue it; let those wits that haunt

  Those publique circuits, let them freely chaunt 200

  Their fine Composures, and their praise pursue

  And so my deare friend, for this time adue.

  VPON THE DEATH OF HIS INCOMPARABLE FRIEND, SIR HENRY RAYNSFORD, OF CLIFFORD.

  Could there be words found to expresse my losse,

  There were some hope, that this my heauy crosse

  Might be sustained, and that wretched I

  Might once finde comfort: but to haue him die

  Past all degrees that was so deare to me;

  As but comparing him with others, hee

  Was such a thing, as if some Power should say

  I’le take Man on me, to shew men the way

  What a friend should be. But words come so short

  Of him, that when I thus would him report, 10

  I am vndone, and hauing nought to say,

  Mad at my selfe, I throwe my penne away,

  And beate my breast, that there should be a woe

  So high, that words cannot attaine thereto.

  T’is strange that I from my abundant breast,

  Who others sorrowes haue so well exprest:

  Yet I by this in little time am growne

  So poore, that I want to expresse mine owne.

  I thinke the Fates perceiuing me to beare

  My worldly crosses without wit or feare: 20

  Nay, with what scorne I euer haue derided,

  Those plagues that for me they haue oft prouided,

  Drew them to counsaile; nay, conspired rather,

  And in this businesse laid their heads together

  To finde some one plague, that might me subuert,

  And at an instant breake my stubborne heart;

  They did indeede, and onely to this end

  They tooke from me this more then man, or friend.

  Hard-hearted Fates, your worst thus haue you done,

  Then let vs see what lastly you haue wonne 30

  By this your rigour, in a course so strict,

  Why see, I beare all that you can inflict:

  And hee from heauen your poore reuenge to view;

  Laments my losse of him, but laughes at you,

  Whilst I against you execrations breath;

  Thus are you scorn’d aboue, and curst beneath.

  Me thinks that man (vnhappy though he be)

  Is now thrice happy in respect of me,

  Who hath no friend; for that in hauing none

  He is not stirr’d as I am, to bemone 40

  My miserable losse, who but in vaine,

  May euer looke to find the like againe.

  This more then mine own selfe; that who had seene

  His care of me where euer I had beene,

  And had not knowne his actiue spirit before,

  Vpon some braue thing working euermore:

  He would haue sworne that to no other end

  He had been borne: but onely for my friend.

  I had been happy if nice Nature had

  (Since now my lucke falls out to be so bad) 50

  Made me vnperfect, either of so soft

  And yeelding temper, that lamenting oft,

  I into teares my mournefull selfe might melt;

  Or else so dull, my losse not to haue felt.

  I haue by my too deare experience bought,

  That fooles and mad men, whom I euer thought

  The most vnhappy, are in deede not so:

  And therefore I lesse pittie can bestowe

  (Since that my sence, my sorrowe so can sound)

  On those in Bedlam that are bound, 60

  And scarce feele scourging; and when as I meete

  A foole by Children followed in the Streete,

  Thinke I (poor wretch) thou from my griefe art free,

  Nor couldst thou feele it, should it light on thee;

  But that I am a Christian, and am taught

  By him who with his precious bloud me bought,

  Meekly like him my crosses to endure,

  Else would they please me well, that for their cure,

  When as they feele their conscience doth them brand,

  Vpon themselues dare lay a violent hand; 70

  Not suffering Fortune with her murdering knife,

  Stand like a Surgeon working on the life,

  Deserting this part, that ioynt off to cut,

  Shewing that Artire, ripping then that gut,

  Whilst the dull beastly World with her squint eye,

  Is to behold the strange Anatomie.

  I am persuaded that those which we read

  To be man-haters, were not so indeed,

  The Athenian Timon, and beside him more

  Of which the Latines, as the Greekes haue store; 80

  Nor not did they all humane manners hate,

  Nor yet maligne mans dignity and state.

  But finding our fraile life how euery day,

  It like a bubble vanisheth away:

  For this condition did mankinde detest,

  Farre more incertaine then that of the beast.

  Sure heauen doth hate this world and deadly too,

  Else as it hath done it would neuer doe,

  For if it did not, it would ne’re permit

  A man of so much vertue, knowledge, wit, 90

  Of naturall goodnesse, supernaturall grace,

  Whose courses when considerately I trace

  Into their ends, and diligently looke,

  They serue me for Oeconomike booke.

  By which this rough world I not onely stemme,

  In goodnesse but grow learn’d by reading them.

  O pardon me, it my much sorrow is,

  Which makes me vse this long Parenthesis;

  Had heauen this world not hated as I say,

  In height of life it ha
d not, tane away 100

  A spirit so braue, so actiue, and so free,

  That such a one who would not wish to bee,

  Rather then weare a Crowne, by Armes though got,

  So fast a friend, so true a Patriot.

  In things concerning both the worlds so wise,

  Besides so liberall of his faculties,

  That where he would his industrie bestowe,

  He would haue done, e’re one could think to doe.

  No more talke of the working of the Starres,

  For plenty, scarcenesse, or for peace, or Warres: 110

  They are impostures, therefore get you hence

  With all your Planets, and their influence.

  No more doe I care into them to looke,

  Then in some idle Chiromantick booke,

  Shewing the line of life, and Venus mount,

  Nor yet no more would I of them account,

  Then what that tells me, since what that so ere

  Might promise man long life: of care and feare,

  By nature freed, a conscience cleare, and quiet,

  His health, his constitution, and his diet; 120

  Counting a hundred, fourscore at the least,

  Propt vp by prayers, yet more to be encreast,

  All these should faile, and in his fiftieth yeare

  He should expire, henceforth let none be deare,

  To me at all, lest for my haplesse sake,

  Before their time heauen from the world them take,

  And leaue me wretched to lament their ends

  As I doe his, who was a thousand friends.

  VPON THE DEATH OF THE LADY OLIUE STANHOPE.

  Canst thou depart and be forgotten so,

  STANHOPE thou canst not, no deare STANHOPE, no:

  But in despight of death the world shall see,

  That Muse which so much graced was by thee

  Can black Obliuion vtterly out-braue,

  And set thee vp aboue thy silent Graue.

  I meruail’d much the Derbian Nimphes were dumbe,

  Or of those Muses, what should be become,

  That of all those, the mountaines there among,

  Not one this while thy Epicediumsung; 10

  But so it is, when they of thee were reft,

  They all those hills, and all those Riuers left,

  And sullen growne, their former seates remoue,

  Both from cleare Darwin, and from siluer Doue,

  And for thy losse, they greeued are so sore,

  That they haue vow’d they will come there no more;

  But leaue thy losse to me, that I should rue thee,

  Vnhappy man, and yet I neuer knew thee:

  Me thou didst loue vnseene, so did I thee,

  It was our spirits that lou’d then and not wee; 20

  Therefore without profanenesse I may call

  The loue betwixt vs, loue spirituall: