Braue Impe of Bedford, grow apace in bountie,
And count of wisedome more than of thy Countie.
Ne may I let thy husbands sister die,
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That goodly Ladie, sith she eke did spring
Out of this stocke, and famous familie,
Whose praises I to future age doo sing,
And foorth out of her happie womb did bring
The sacred brood of learning and all honour;
280
In whom the heauens powrde all their gifts vpon her.
Most gentle spirite breathed from aboue,
Out of the bosome of the makers blis,
In whom all bountie and all vertuous loue
Appeared in their natiue propertis,
285
And did enrich that noble breast of his,
With treasure passing all this worldes worth,
Worthie of heauen it selfe, which brought it forth.
His blessed spirite full of power diuine
And influence of all celestiall grace,
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Loathing this sinfull earth and earthlie slime,
Fled backe too soone vnto his natiue place,
Too soone for all that did his loue embrace,
Too soone for all this wretched world, whom he
Robd of all right and true nobilitie.
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Yet ere his happie soule to heauen went
Out of this fleshlie goale, he did deuise
Vnto his heauenlie maker to present
His bodie, as a spotles sacrifise;
And chose, that guiltie hands of enemies
300
Should powre forth th’offring of his guiltles blood:
So life exchanging for his countries good.
O noble spirite, liue there euer blessed,
The worlds late wonder, and the heauens new ioy,
Liue euer there, and leaue me here distressed
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With mortall cares, and cumbrous worlds anoy.
But where thou dost that happines enioy,
Bid me, O bid me quicklie come to thee,
That happie there I maie thee alwaies see.
Yet whilest the fates affoord me vitall breath,
310
I will it spend in speaking of thy praise,
And sing to thee, vntill that timelie death
By heauens doome doo ende my earthlie daies:
Thereto doo thou my humble spirite raise,
And into me that sacred breath inspire,
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Which thou there breathest perfect and entire.
Then will I sing, but who can better sing,
Than thine owne sister, peerles Ladie bright,
Which to thee sings with deep harts sorrowing,
Sorrowing tempered with deare delight,
320
That her to heare I feele my feeble spright
Robbed of sense, and rauished with ioy,
O sad ioy made of mourning and anoy.
Yet will I sing, but who can better sing,
Than thou thy selfe, thine owne selfes valiance,
325
That whilest thou liuedst, madest the forrests ring,
And fields resownd, and flockes to leap and daunce,
And shepheards leaue their lambs vnto mischaunce,
To runne thy shrill Arcadian Pipe to heare:
O happie were those dayes, thrice happie were.
330
But now more happie thou, and wretched wee,
Which want the wonted sweetnes of thy voice,
Whiles thou now in Elisian fields so free,
With Orpheus, and with Linus, and the choice
Of all that euer did in rimes reioyce,
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Conuersest, and doost heare their heauenlie layes,
And they heare thine, and thine doo better praise.
And here thou liuest, being euer song
Of vs, which liuing loued thee afore,
340
And now thee worship, mongst that blessed throng
Of heauenlie Poets and Heroes strong.
So thou both here and there immortall art,
And euerie where through excellent desart.
But such as neither of themselues can sing,
345
Nor yet are sung of others for reward,
Die in obscure obliuion, as the thing
Which neuer was, ne euer with regard
Their names shall of the later age be heard,
But shall in rustie darknes euer lie,
350
Vnles they mentiond be with infamie.
What booteth it to haue been rich aliue?
What to be great? what to be gracious?
When after death no token doth suruiue,
Of former being in this mortall hous,
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But sleepes in dust dead and inglorious,
Like beast, whose breath but in his nostrels is,
And hath no hope of happinesse or blis.
How manie great ones may remembred be,
Which in their daies most famouslie did florish;
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Of whome no word we heare, nor signe now see,
But as things wipt out with a sponge do perishe,
Because they liuing, cared not to cherishe
No gentle wits, through pride or couetize,
Which might their names for euer memorize.
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Prouide therefore (ye Princes) whilst ye liue,
That of the Muses ye may friended bee,
Which vnto men eternitie do giue;
For they be daughters of Dame memorie,
And Ioue the father of eternitie,
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And do those men in golden thrones repose,
Whose merits they to glorifie do chose.
The seuen fold yron gates of grislie Hell,
And horrid house of sad Proserpina,
They able are with power of mightie spell
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To breake, and thence the soules to bring awaie
Out of dread darkenesse, to eternall day,
And them immortall make, which els would die
In foule forgetfulnesse, and nameles lie.
So whilome raised they the puissant brood
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Of golden girt Alcmena, for great merite,
Out of the dust, to which the Oetœan wood
Had him consum’d, and spent his vitall spirite:
To highest heauen, where now he doth inherite
All happinesse in Hebes siluer bowre,
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Chosen to be her dearest Paramoure.
So raisde they eke faire Ledaes warlick twinnes,
And interchanged life vnto them lent,
That when th’one dies, th’other then beginnes
To shew in Heauen his brightnes orient;
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And they, for pittie of the sad wayment,
Which Orpheus for Eurydice did make,
Her back againe to life sent for his sake.
So happie are they, and so fortunate,
Whom the Pierian sacred sisters loue,
395
That freed from bands of impacable fate,
And power of death, they liue for aye aboue,
Where mortall wreakes their blis may not remoue:
But with the Gods, for former vertues meede,
On Nectar and Ambrosia do feede.
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For deeds doe die, how euer noblie donne,
And thoughts of men do as themselues decay,
Recorded by the Muses, liue for ay;
Ne may with storming showers be washt away,
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Ne bitter breathing windes with harmfull blast,
Nor age, nor enuie shall them euer wast.
In vaine doo
earthly Princes then, in vaine
Seeke with Pyramides, to heauen aspired;
Or huge Colosses, built with costlie paine;
410
Or brasen Pillours, neuer to be fired,
Or Shrines, made of the mettall most desired;
To make their memories for euer liue:
For how can mortall immortalitie giue?
Such one Mausolus made, the worlds great wonder,
415
But now no remnant doth thereof remaine:
Such one Marcellus, but was torne with thunder:
Such one Lisippus, but is worne with raine:
Such one King Edmond, but was rent for gaine.
All such vaine moniments of earthlie masse,
420
Deuour’d of Time, in time to nought doo passe.
But fame with golden wings aloft doth flie,
Aboue the reach of ruinous decay,
And with braue plumes doth beate the azure skie,
Admir’d of base-borne men from farre away:
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Then who so will with vertuous deeds assay
To mount to heauen, on Pegasus must ride,
And with sweete Poets verse be glorifide.
For not to haue been dipt in Lethe lake,
Could saue the sonne of Thetis from to die;
430
But that blinde bard did him immortall make
With verses, dipt in deaw of Castalie:
Which made the Easterne Conquerour to crie,
O fortunate yong-man, whose vertue found
So braue a Trompe, thy noble acts to sound.
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Therefore in this halfe happie I doo read
Good Melibœ, that hath a Poet got,
To sing his liuing praises being dead,
Deseruing neuer here to be forgot,
In spight of enuie, that his deeds would spot:
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Since whose decease, learning lies vnregarded,
And men of armes doo wander vnrewarded.
Those two be those two great calamities,
That long agoe did grieue the noble spright
Of Salomon with great indignities;
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Who whilome was aliue the wisest wight.
But now his wisedome is disprooued quite;
For he that now welds all things at his will,
Scorns th’one and th’other in his deeper skill.
O griefe of griefes, O gall of all good heartes,
450
To see that vertue should dispised bee
Of him, that first was raisde for vertuous parts,
And now broad spreading like an aged tree,
Lets none shoot vp, that nigh him planted bee:
O let the man, of whom the Muse is scorned,
455
Nor aliue, nor dead be of the Muse adorned.
O vile worlds trust, that with such vaine illusion
Hath so wise men bewitcht, and ouerkest,
That they see not the way of their confusion,
O vainesse to be added to the rest,
460
That do my soule with inward griefe infest:
Let them behold the piteous fall of mee:
And in my case their owne ensample see.
And who so els that sits in highest seate
Of this worlds glorie, worshipped of all,
465
Ne feareth change of time, nor fortunes threate,
Let him behold the horror of my fall,
And his owne end vnto remembrance call;
That of like ruine he may warned bee,
And in himselfe be moou’d to pittie mee.
470
Thus hauing ended all her piteous plaint,
With dolefull shrikes shee vanished away,
That I through inward sorrowe wexen faint,
And all astonished with deepe dismay,
For her departure, had no word to say:
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But sate long time in sencelesse sad affright,
Looking still, if I might of her haue sight.
Which when I missed, hauing looked long,
My thought returned greeued home againe,
Renewing her complaint with passion strong,
480
For ruth of that same womans piteous paine;
Whose wordes recording in my troubled braine,
I felt such anguish wound my feeble heart,
That frosen horror ran through euerie part.
So inlie greeuing in my groning brest,
485
And deepelie muzing at her doubtfull speach,
Whose meaning much I labored foorth to wreste,
Being aboue my slender reasons reach;
At length by demonstration me to teach,
Before mine eies strange sights presented were,
490
Like tragicke Pageants seeming to appeare.
1
I saw an Image, all of massie gold,
Placed on high vpon an Altare faire,
That all, which did the same from farre beholde,
Might worship it, and fall on lowest staire.
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Not that great Idoll might with this compaire,
To which th’Assyrian tyrant would haue made
The holie brethren, falslie to haue praid.
But th’Altare, on the which this Image staid,
Was (O great pitie) built of brickle clay,
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That shortly the foundation decaid,
With showres of heauen and tempests worne away,
Then downe it fell, and low in ashes lay,
Scorned of euerie one, which by it went;
That I it seing, dearelie did lament.
2
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Next vnto this a statelie Towre appeared,
Built all of richest stone, that might bee found,
And nigh vnto the Heauens in height vpreared,
But placed on a plot of sandie ground:
Not that great Towre, which is so much renownd
510
For tongues confusion in holie writ,
King Ninus worke might be compar’d to it.
But O vaine labours of terrestriall wit,
That buildes so stronglie on so frayle a soyle,
As with each storme does fall away, and flit,
515
And giues the fruit of all your trauailes toyle,
To be the pray of Tyme, and Fortunes spoyle:
I saw this Towre fall sodainlie to dust,
That nigh with griefe thereof my heart was brust.
3
Then did I see a pleasant Paradize,
520
Full of sweete flowres and daintiest delights,
Such as on earth man could not more deuize,
With pleasures choyce to feed his cheerefull sprights;
Not that, which Merlin by his Magicke flights
Made for the gentle squire, to entertaine
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His fayre Belphœbe, could this gardine staine.
But O short pleasure bought with lasting paine,
Why will hereafter anie flesh delight