« НазадПродовжити »
Erc Chrysalus had barr'd the common boxe, Would'st thou the tongues that erst were learned Which oft he pick'd to store his private ftocks;
hight, But now hath all with vantage paid againe, Though our wise age hath wip'd them of their And locks and plates what doch behind remaine ;
right; When erst our dry soul'd fires so lavish were, Would'nt thou the courtly three in most request, To charge whole boots-full to their friends welfare; Or the iwo barbarous neighbours of the West ? Vow shalt thou never see the Salt beret
Bibinus felfe can have ten tongues in one, With a big-bellied gallon Hagonet.
Though in all ten not one good tongue alone. fan ebbe cruise must thirsty Silen sip,
And can deep skill lie smothering within, Chat's all forestalled by his upper lip;
Whiles neither finoke nor flame discerned bin ? omewhat it was that made his paunch so peare,
Shall it not be a wild fig in a wall, lis girdle fell ten inches in a yeare.
Or fired brimstone in a minerall ? fr when old gouty bed-rid Euclio
Do thou disdain, O ever-learned age! o his officious factor fair could shew
The tongue-ey'd filence of that Samian fage : lis name in margent of some old cast bill,
fine wits and rush into the presse, .nd say, Lo! whom I named in my will, And for the cloyed world your works addresse, Thiles he believes, and looking for the share Is not a gnat, nor fly, nor feely ant, eodeth his cumbrous charge with busy care But a fine wit can make an elephant. or but a while ; for now he sure will die, Should Bandell's throttle dic without a song, ✓ his strange qualme of liberality.
Or Adamantius, my deg, be laid along, reat thanks he gives--but God him shield and Downe in some ditch without his excquies, save
Or epitaphs, or mournful elegies? om ever gaining by his master's grave:
Folly äfelf, and baldnesle may be prais'd, ily live long and he is well repaid,
And sweet conceits from filthy objects rais'd. d wets his forced cheeks while thus he faid; What do not fine wits dare to undertake? me strong smellid onion shall ftir his eyes What dare not fine wits do for honcur's fake? ther than no falt teares shall then arise, But why doth Balbus his dead doing quill looks he like a marble toward raine,
Parch in his rusty scabbard all the while ; d wrings and snites, and weeps, and wipes His golden fleece o'ergrownc with mouldy hoare again :
And though he had his witty works for wore ! en turns his back and smiles, and looks askance, Belike of late now Balbus hath no need, s'ning again his forrow'd countenance ; Nor now belike his shrinking shoulders dread viles yet he wearies heav'n with daily cries, The catch-poll's fift-The presse may still remaing d backward death with devout sacrifice, And breathe, till Balbus be in debt againe. at they would now his tedious ghost bereav'n, Soon may that be! so I had silent beene, d wishes well, that wish'd no worse than heav'n. And not this rak'd up quiet crimes unseen. en Zoylus was sicke, he knew not where, Silence is safe, when saying stirreth fore, e his wrough nigt-cap, and lawy pillowbear. And makes the stirred puddle stink the more. d fooles! they made him fick that made him Shall the controller of proud Nemesis
In lawlesse rage upbraid each other's vice, e those away, and there's his medicine. While no man seeketh to reflect the wrong, Gellia wore a velvet mastick-parch
And curb the raunge of his misruly congue ? on ber temples when no tooth did ache; By the two crownes of Parnasse ever-green, len beauty was her sheume I fonn efpy'd, And by the cloven head of Hippocrene · could her plaifter cure her of her pride. As I true poet am, I here avow se vices were, but now they ceas'd off long: (So solemnly kiss'd he his laurell bough) o why did I a righteous age that wrong? li that bold satire unrevenged be zuld repent me were it not too late,
For this so saucy and foule injury. * not the angry world prejudicate.
So Labeo weens it my eternal shame I the seven penitential
To prove I never carn'd a poet's nanie, boufand white wands might me ought availe; But would I be a poet if I might, rent or Thames could scoure my foule offence To rub my browes three days and wake three fet me in my former innocence,
nights, uld at last repent me of my rage:
And bite my nails, and scratch my dullard head, , bear my wrong, I thine, O righteous age. And curse the backward Muses on my bed or fine wits, an hundred thousand fold About one peevith syllable; which ou:-Sought Eth our age whatever times of old.
| cake up Tales joy, lave for fore-thought * that puisne world, our fires of long How it shall please cach ale-knight's censuring eye, d hardly wag their too unwieldy tongue. And hang'd my head for fear they decm awry: ned crowes and parrots can do now,
While thread-bare Martiall curns his merry note hoary age did bend their wrinkled brow : To beg of Rufus a cast winter coate; now of lace did many a learned man
While hungry Marot leapeth at a beane, = thirty years prenticeship with Priscian; And dieth like a starved Cappuchcin; how can every novice spcake with ease Go Ariost, and gape for what may fall ar-fetch's language of th' Antipod.cs.
Tiom trercher of a flattering cardinall;
And if thou getteft but a pedant's fee,
He knowes the grace of that new clipzene, Thy bed, thy board, and courser livery,
Which sweet Phililides fetch'd of late trea ima, O honour far beyond a brazcn fhrine,
That well beseeni'd his high-til'd Aready, To fit with Tarleton on an ale poft's figne! Though others marre it with much hauty, Who had but lived in Augustus' dayes,
In epithets to joine two wordes in one
As a great poet could of Bacchus say,
Now hath not Labeo done woodrvus wel?
Her arma virum goes by two degrees,
The sheepe-cote first hach beene her ccriery
Following Virgil, and he Theocrite;
To coniment well upon a beauteous face,
As witty Pontan in great earbest laid,
Her grinders like two chalk-Itones in a
Which shall with time and wearing ware a]
Her bands mud hide her mouth if he bumi
Her eyes like silver saucers faire bele! Though Labeo reaches right (who can deay?) With thining amber, and with thady let, 'The true strains of heroick poesy :
Her lids like Cupid's bow cafe, where he was For he can tell how fury reft his sense,
The weapons that doth wound the wind And Phæbus fill'd him with intelligence.
Her chin like Pindus, or Parnafsus hill, He can implore the heathen deities
Where down descends th'o'erfoxing areas To guide his beld and busy enterprize;
fill Or filch whole pages at a clap for need
The well of her faire mouth. Ead be from honest Petrarch, clad in English woed;
praise. Wile big but ob's! each stanza can begin, Who wouid not but wed poets now ! Whose tņunk and taile Duttish and beartlelse been.
ELEGY ON DR. WHITAKER*
Bind ye my
browes with mourning cyparisse,
I loath the laurel-bandes I loved best,
Religions hold, Earth's choice, and Peaven's love,
All these and more were Whitaker's alone,
Now they in him, and he and all are gone.
If ever breath dissolv'd the world to teares,
Be mine the breach, the teares, the shrikes, che
Yet fill my griefe upscene, unfounded lies.
And never more rise from the ocean,
Heare we no bird of day, or dawning morne,
And all ye barking foules yet never seene,
That fill the moonlelle night with hideous din.
Religion. Vertue, Muses, holie mirth
Earth takes one part, when forced Nature sendes
Deftinie by Death spoyl'd feeble Natures frame,
How have ye all conspir'd our hopelesse spight,
And wrapt us up in Griefes eternall night.
The senceleffe corpes corrupts in sweeter clay,
The Prince of Darknesle gins to tyrannize, Now ginne your triumphes, Death and Definies, And reare up cruel trophees of his rage : And let the trembling world witnefse your walt : Faint earth through her despairing cowardice Now let blacke Orphney raise his gastly neighes, Yields up herselle to endlefle vallalage: (Hell, And trample high, and hellish fonic outcast: Whac Champion now shall tanie the power of
Shake he the earth and reare the hollow skies, And the unrulie spirits overquell ?
That all may feele and feare your victories. The world's praise, the pride of Nature's proofc, And after your triumphant chariot, Amaze of times, hope of our faded age :
Drag the paie corpes that thus you did to die, * King's profesos, and malter of St. John's College. To hew what goodly conquells ye have got, Canibudge; he did'in 1595. This elecy was annexed To fright the world, and fill the woondring cie: t the "Carmen Funebre Ciroli Horn, 1506," and is now reprouted from Nichols's “ Select yol.cuius ut fueins,
Millions of lives, of deaths no conquest were, $iole, ismo, Lond. 1785.
Compared with one onely Whitakise,
But thou, O soule, shalt laugh at their despite, Seldomc had ever foule such entertaires,
With such sweet hymnes, and such a giacima
There now he lives, and fees his Savioer's box, And cuts the solid fkie with spirituall might. And ever sings sweet songs unto his grace. Open ye golden gatos of Paradise,
Meanewhile, the memorie of his mightie cane, Open ye wide unto a welcome ghost :
Shal live as long as aged earth fhal laf: Enter, O soule, into thy boure of blisse,
Enrolled on berill walles of fame, Through all the throng of Heaven's hoast : Ay ming'd, ay mourn'd: and wished oft in z Which shall with triumph gard thee as thou Is this to die, to live for evermore. go'st
[cost. A double life : that neither liv'd afore? With psalmes of conques and with crownes of
CO N T E N T S.
WORKS OF SPENSER.
To the Right Noble Lord, and Most Valiant
President of Mounfter,
Dedication to Queen Elisabeth,
Sir Walter Raleigh, Lord Wardein of the
Stanneryes, and Lieftenaunt of Corncwaile, ib.
ous Lady, the Countesse of Pembroke, ib.
Book III. contayning the Legend of Beito-