And iudge of Natures cunning operation,
How things she formed of a formlesse mas;
By knowledge wee do learne our selves to knowe,
And what to man, and what to God, wee owe.
From hence wee' mount aloft into the skie, 505 And looke into the crystall firmament;
There we behold the heavens great hierarchie, The starres pure light, the spheres swift movement, The spirites and intelligences fayre,
And angels wayting on th' Almighties chayre. 510
And there, with humble minde and high insight,
Th' Eternall Makers maiestie, wee viewe,
His love, his truth, his glorie, and his might,
And mercio, more than mortall men can vew.
O soveraigne Lord! O soveraigne happinesse! 515
To see thee and thy mercie measurelesse!
Such happines have they that do embrace
The precepts of my heavenlie discipline;
But shame and sorrow, and accursed ease,
Have they, that scorne the schoole of arts divine,
And banish me, which do professe the skill 521
To make men heavenly-wise through humbled will.
However yet they mee despise and spight,
I feede on sweet contentment of my thought,524 And please my selfe with mine own selfe delight, In contemplation of things heavenlie wrought:
So, loathing earth, I looke up to the sky,
And, being driven hence, I thether fly.
Thence I behold the miserie of men,
Which want the bliss that wisedome would them And like brute beasts doo lie in loathsome den 531 Of ghostly darknes and of ghastlie dreed:
For whom I mourne, and for my self complaine, And for my sisters sake, whom they disdaine.
With that she wept and waild so piteouslie, 535
As if her eyes had beene two springing wells;
And all the rest, her sorrow to supplie,
Did throw forth shriekes, and cries, and dreery yells..
So ended shee, and then the next in rew
Began her mournfull plaint, as doth ensew. 540
A DOLEFULL case desires a dolefull song,
Without vaine art or curious complements;
And squallid fortune, into basenes flong,
Doth scorne the pride of wonted ornaments.
Then fittest are these ragged rimes for mee, 545
To tell my sorrowes, that exceeding bee.
For the sweet numbers and melodious measures
With which I wont the winged words to tie,
And make a tuneful diapase of pleasures,
Now being let to run at libertie
By those which have no skill to rule them right, Have now quite lost their naturall delight.
Heapes of huge words uphoorded hideously,
With horrid sound, though having little sence,
They thinke to be chiefe praise of poëtry;
And, thereby wanting due intelligence,
Have marr'd the face of goodly Poësie,
And made a monster of their fantasie.
Whilom in ages past none might professe,
But princes and high priests, that secret skill; 560
The sacred lawes therein they wont expresse,
And with deepe oracles their verses fill;
Then was she held in sovereigne dignitie,
And made the noursling of nobilitie.
But now nor prince nor priest doth her maintayne,
But suffer her prophaned for to bee
Of the base vulgar, that with hands uncleane
Dares to pollute her hidden mysterie;
And treadeth under foote her holy things,
Which was the care of kesars and of kings. 570
One onelie lives, her ages ornament,
And myrrour of her Makers maiestie,
That with rich bountie and deare cherishment,
Supports the praise of noble Poësie;
Ne onlie favours them which it professe,
But is her selfe a peereless poëtresse.
Most peerelesse prince, most peerelesse poëtresse! The true Pa dora of all heavenly graces,
Divine Elisa, sacred Emperesse!
Live she for ever, and her royall places 580 Be fild with praises of divinest wits,
That her enternize with their heavenlie writs!
Some few beside this sacred skill esteme,
Admirers of her glorious excellence;
Which, being lightned with her beawties beme,
Are thereby fild with happie inquence;
And lifted up above the worldës gaze,
To sing with angels her immortall praize.
But all the rest, as borne of salvage brood,
And having beene with acorns alwaies fed, 590
Can no whit savour this celestiall food,
But with base thoughts are into blindnesse led,
And kept from looking on the lightsome day:
For whome waile and weepe all that I may:-
Eftsoones such store of teares she forth did powre,
As if shee all to water would have gone;
And all her sisters, seeing her sad stowre,
Did weep and waile, and made exceeding mone,
And all their learned instruments did breake;
The rest untold, no living tongue can speake. 600
YE heavenly Spirites! whose ashie cinders lie
Under deep ruines, with huge walls opprest,
But not your praise, the which shall never die
Through your fair verses, ne in ashes rest;
If so be shrilling voyce of wight alive
May reach from hence to depth of darkest hell,
Then let those deep abysses open rive,
That ye may understand my shreiking yell!
Thrice having seene, under the heaven's veale,
Your tombs devoted compasse over all,
Thrice unto you with lowd voyce 1 appeale,
And for your antique furie here doo call,
The whiles that 1 with sacred horror sing
Your glorie, fairest of all earthly thing!
Great Babylon her haughtie walls will praise,
And sharped steeples high shot up in ayre;
Greece will the olde Ephesian buildings blaze,
And Nylus nurslings their pyramides faire;
The same yet vaunting Greece will tell the storie
Of loves great image in Olympus placed,
Mausolus worke will be the Carians glorie,
And Crete will boast the Labyrinth, now raced:
The antique Rhodian will likewise set forth
The great Colosse, erect to memorie;
And what els in the world is of like worth,
Some greater learned wit will magnifie :
But I will sing, above all moniments, [ments.
Seven Romane hills, the worlds seven wonder
|