To The Right Honorable And Most Vertuous Ladies, The Ladie Margaret, Countesse Of Cumberland; And The Ladie Marie*, Countesse Of Warwick. Having, In The Greener Times Of My Youth, Composed These Former Two Hymnes In The Praise Of Love And Beautie, And Finding That The Same Too Much Pleased Those Of Like Age And Disposition, Which, Being Too Vehemently Carried With That Kind Of Affection, Do Rather Sucke Out Poyson To Their Strong Passion, Then Honey To Their Honest Delight, I Was Moved, By The One Of You Two Most Excellent Ladies, To Call In The Same; But Being Unable So To Do, By Reason That Many Copies Thereof Were Formerly Scattered Abroad, I Resolved At Least To Amend, And, By Way Of Retraction, To Reforme Them, Making (Instead Of Those Two Hymnes Of Earthly Or Naturall Love And Beautie) Two Others Of Heavenly And Celestiall; The Which I Doe Dedicate Ioyntly Unto You Two Honorable Sisters, As To The Most Excellent And Rare Ornaments Of All True Love And Beautie, Both In The One And The Other Kind; Humbly Beseeching You To Vouchsafe The Patronage Of Them, And To Accept This My Humble Service, In Lieu Of The Great Graces And Honourable Favours Which Ye Dayly Shew Unto Me, Until Such Time As I May, By Better Meanes, Yeeld You Some More Notable Testimonie Of My Thankfull Mind And Dutifull Devotion. And Even So I Pray For Your Happinesse. Greenwich, This First Of September, 1596. Your Honors Most Bounden Ever, In All Humble Service, Ed. Sp. [* The Countess Of Warwick'S Name Was Anne, Not Mary. Todd.] * * * * * An Hymne In Honour Of Love. Love, That Long Since Hast To Thy Mighty Powre Perforce Subdude My Poor Captived Hart, And Raging Now Therein With Restlesse Stowre*, Doest Tyrannize In Everie Weaker Part, Faine Would I Seeke To Ease My Bitter Smart By Any Service I Might Do To Thee, Or Ought That Else Might To Thee Pleasing Bee. [* Stowre, Commotion.] And Now T'Asswage The Force Of This New Flame, And Make Thee More Propitious In My Need, I Meane To Sing The Praises Of Thy Name, And Thy Victorious Conquests To Areed*, By Which Thou Madest Many Harts To Bleed Of Mighty Victors, With Wide Wounds Embrewed, And By Thy Cruell Darts To Thee Subdewed. [* Areed, Set Forth.] Onely I Fear My Wits, Enfeebled Late Through The Sharp Sorrowes Which Thou Hast Me Bred, Should Faint, And Words Should Faile Me To Relate The Wondrous Triumphs Of Thy Great God-Hed: But, If Thou Wouldst Vouchsafe To Overspred Me With The Shadow Of Thy Gentle Wing, I Should Enabled Be Thy Actes To Sing. Come, Then, O Come, Thou Mightie God Of Love! Out Of Thy Silver Bowres And Secret Blisse, Where Thou Dost Sit In Venus Lap Above, Bathing Thy Wings In Her Ambrosial Kisse, That Sweeter Farre Than Any Nectar Is, Come Softly, And My Feeble Breast Inspire With Gentle Furie, Kindled Of Thy Fire. And Ye, Sweet Muses! Which Have Often Proved The Piercing Points Of His Avengefull Darts, And Ye, Fair Nimphs! Which Oftentimes Have Loved The Cruel Worker Of Your Kindly Smarts, Prepare Yourselves, And Open Wide Your Harts For To Receive The Triumph Of Your Glorie, That Made You Merie Oft When Ye Were Sorrie. And Ye, Faire Blossoms Of Youths Wanton Breed! Which In The Conquests Of Your Beautie Bost, Wherewith Your Lovers Feeble Eyes You Feed, But Sterve Their Harts, That Needeth Nourture Most, Prepare Your Selves To March Amongst His Host, And All The Way This Sacred Hymne Do Sing, Made In The Honor Of Your Soveraigne King. Great God Of Might, That Reignest In The Mynd, And All The Bodie To Thy Hest Doest Frame, Victor Of Gods, Subduer Of Mankynd, That Doest The Lions And Fell Tigers Tame, Making Their Cruell Rage Thy Scornfull Game, And In Their Roring Taking Great Delight, Who Can Expresse The Glorie Of Thy Might? Or Who Alive Can Perfectly Declare The Wondrous Cradle Of Thine Infancie, When Thy Great Mother Venus First Thee Bare, Begot Of Plenty And Of Penurie, Though Elder Then Thine Own Nativitie, And Yet A Chyld, Renewing Still Thy Yeares, And Yet The Eldest Of The Heavenly Peares? For Ere This Worlds Still Moving Mightie Masse Out Of Great Chaos Ugly Prison Crept, In Which His Goodly Face Long Hidden Was From Heavens View, And In Deep Darknesse Kept, Love, That Had Now Long Time Securely Slept In Venus Lap, Unarmed Then And Naked, Gan Reare His Head, By Clotho Being Waked: And Taking To Him Wings Of His Own Heat, Kindled At First From Heavens Life-Giving Fyre, He Gan To Move Out Of His Idle Seat; Weakly At First, But After With Desyre Lifted Aloft, He Gan To Mount Up Hyre*, And, Like Fresh Eagle, Made His Hardy Flight Thro All That Great Wide Wast, Yet Wanting Light. [* Hyre, Higher.] Yet Wanting Light To Guide His Wandring Way, His Own Faire Mother, For All Creatures Sake, Did Lend Him Light From Her Owne Goodly Ray; Then Through The World His Way He Gan To Take, The World, That Was Not Till He Did It Make, Whose Sundrie Parts He From Themselves Did Sever. The Which Before Had Lyen Confused Ever. The Earth, The Ayre, The Water, And The Fyre, Then Gan To Raunge Themselves In Huge Array, And With Contr?Ry Forces To Conspyre Each Against Other By All Meanes They May, Threatning Their Owne Confusion And Decay: Ayre Hated Earth, And Water Hated Fyre, Till Love Relented Their Rebellious Yre. He Then Them Tooke, And, Tempering Goodly Well Their Contrary Dislikes With Loved Meanes, Did Place Them All In Order, And Compell To Keepe Themselves Within Their Sundrie Raines*, Together Linkt With Adamantine Chaines; Yet So As That In Every Living Wight They Mix Themselves, And Shew Their Kindly Might. [* Raines, Kingdoms.] So Ever Since They Firmely Have Remained, And Duly Well Observed His Beheast; Through Which Now All These Things That Are Contained Within This Goodly Cope, Both Most And Least, Their Being Have, And Daily Are Increast Through Secret Sparks Of His Infused Fyre, Which In The Barraine Cold He Doth Inspyre. Thereby They All Do Live, And Moved Are To Multiply The Likenesse Of Their Kynd, Whilest They Seeke Onely, Without Further Care, To Quench The Flame Which They In Burning Fynd; But Man, That Breathes A More Immortall Mynd, Not For Lusts Sake, But For Eternitie, Seekes To Enlarge His Lasting Progenie. For Having Yet In His Deducted Spright Some Sparks Remaining Of That Heavenly Fyre, He Is Enlumind With That Goodly Light, Unto Like Goodly Semblant To Aspyre; Therefore In Choice Of Love He Doth Desyre That Seemes On Earth Most Heavenly To Embrace, That Same Is Beautie, Borne Of Heavenly Race. For Sure, Of All That In This Mortall Frame Contained Is, Nought More Divine Doth Seeme, Or That Resembleth More Th'Immortall Flame Of Heavenly Light, Than Beauties Glorious Beam. What Wonder Then, If With Such Rage Extreme Frail Men, Whose Eyes Seek Heavenly Things To See, At Sight Thereof So Much Enravisht Bee? Which Well Perceiving, That Imperious Boy Doth Therewith Tip His Sharp Empoisned Darts, Which Glancing Thro The Eyes With* Countenance Coy Kest Not Till They Have Pierst The Trembling Harts, And Kindled Flame In All Their Inner Parts, Which Suckes The Blood, And Drinketh Up The Lyfe, Of Carefull Wretches With Consuming Griefe. [* Qu. From? Warton.] Thenceforth They Playne, And Make Full Piteous Mone Unto The Author Of Their Balefull Bane: The Daies They Waste, The Nights They Grieve And Grone, Their Lives They Loath, And Heavens Light Disdaine; No Light But That Whose Lampe Doth Yet Remaine Fresh Burning In The Image Of Their Eye, They Deigne To See, And Seeing It Still Dye. The Whylst Thou, Tyrant Love, Doest Laugh And Scorne At Their Complaints, Making Their Paine Thy Play; Whylest They Lye Languishing Like Thrals Forlorne, The Whyles Thou Doest Triumph In Their Decay; And Otherwhyles, Their Dying To Delay, Thou Doest Emmarble The Proud Hart Of Her Whose Love Before Their Life They Doe Prefer. So Hast Thou Often Done (Ay Me The More!) To Me Thy Vassall, Whose Yet Bleeding Hart With Thousand Wounds Thou Mangled Hast So Sore, That Whole Remaines Scarse Any Little Part; Yet To Augment The Anguish Of My Smart, Thou Hast Enfrosen Her Disdainefull Brest, That No One Drop Of Pitie There Doth Rest. Why Then Do I This Honor Unto Thee, Thus To Ennoble Thy Victorious Name, Sith Thou Doest Shew No Favour Unto Mee, Ne Once Move Ruth In That Rebellious Dame, Somewhat To Slacke The Rigour Of My Flame? Certes Small Glory Doest Thou Winne Hereby, To Let Her Live Thus Free, And Me To Dy. But If Thou Be Indeede, As Men Thee Call, The Worlds Great Parent, The Most Kind Preserver Of Living Wights, The Soveraine Lord Of All, How Falles It Then That With Thy Furious Fervour Thou Doest Afflict As Well The Not-Deserver, As Him That Doeth Thy Lovely Heasts Despize, And On Thy Subiects Most Doth Tyrannize? Yet Herein Eke Thy Glory Seemeth More, By So Hard Handling Those Which Best Thee Serve, That, Ere Thou Doest Them Unto Grace Restore, Thou Mayest Well Trie If They Will Ever Swerve, And Mayest Them Make It Better To Deserve, And, Having Got It, May It More Esteeme; For Things Hard Gotten Men More Dearely Deeme. So Hard Those Heavenly Beauties Be Enfyred, As Things Divine Least Passions Doe Impresse; The More Of Stedfast Mynds To Be Admyred, The More They Stayed Be On Stedfastnesse; But Baseborne Minds Such Lamps Regard The Lesse, Which At First Blowing Take Not Hastie Fyre; Such Fancies Feele No Love, But Loose Desyre. For Love Is Lord Of Truth And Loialtie, Lifting Himself Out Of The Lowly Dust On Golden Plumes Up To The Purest Skie, Above The Reach Of Loathly Sinfull Lust, Whose Base Affect*, Through Cowardly Distrust Of His Weake Wings, Dare Not To Heaven Fly, But Like A Moldwarpe** In The Earth Doth Ly. [* Affect, Affection, Passion.] [** Moldwarpe, Mole.] His Dunghill Thoughts, Which Do Themselves Enure To Dirtie Drosse, No Higher Dare Aspyre; Ne Can His Feeble Earthly Eyes Endure The Flaming Light Of That Celestiall Fyre Which Kindleth Love In Generous Desyre, And Makes Him Mount Above The Native Might Of Heavie Earth, Up To The Heavens Hight. Such Is The Powre Of That Sweet Passion, That It All Sordid Basenesse Doth Expell, And The Refyned Mynd Doth Newly Fashion Unto A Fairer Forme, Which Now Doth Dwell In His High Thought, That Would It Selfe Excell; Which He Beholding Still With Constant Sight, Admires The Mirrour Of So Heavenly Light. Whose Image Printing In His Deepest Wit, He Thereon Feeds His Hungrie Fantasy, Still Full, Yet Never Satisfyde With It; Like Tantale, That In Store Doth Sterved Ly, So Doth He Pine In Most Satiety; For Nought May Quench His Infinite Desyre, Once Kindled Through That First Conceived Fyre. Thereon His Mynd Affixed Wholly Is, Ne Thinks On Ought But How It To Attaine; His Care, His Ioy, His Hope, Is All On This, That Seemes In It All Blisses To Containe, In Sight Whereof All Other Blisse Seemes Vaine: Thrice Happie Man, Might He The Same Possesse, He Faines Himselfe, And Doth His Fortune Blesse. And Though He Do Not Win His Wish To End, Yet Thus Farre Happie He Himselfe Doth Weene, That Heavens Such Happie Grace Did To Him Lend As Thing On Earth So Heavenly To Have Seene, His Harts Enshrined Saint, His Heavens Queene, Fairer Then Fairest In His Fayning Eye, Whose Sole Aspect He Counts Felicitye. Then Forth He Casts In His Unquiet Thought, What He May Do Her Favour To Obtaine; What Brave Exploit, What Perill Hardly Wrought, What Puissant Conquest, What Adventurous Paine, May Please Her Best, And Grace Unto Him Gaine; He Dreads No Danger, Nor Misfortune Feares, His Faith, His Fortune, In His Breast He Beares. Thou Art His God, Thou Art His Mightie Guyde, Thou, Being Blind, Letst Him Not See His Feares, But Carriest Him To That Which He Had Eyde, Through Seas, Through Flames, Through Thousand Swords And Speares; * Ne Ought So Strong That May His Force Withstand, With Which Thou Armest His Resistlesse Hand. [* The Fifth Verse Of This Stanza Appears To Have Dropped Out. C.] Witnesse Leander In The Euxine Waves, And Stout Aeneas In The Troiane Fyre, Achilles Preassing Through The Phrygian Glaives*, And Orpheus, Daring To Provoke The Yre Of Damned Fiends, To Get His Love Retyre; For Both Through Heaven And Hell Thou Makest Way, To Win Them Worship Which To Thee Obay. [* Glaives, Swords.] And If By All These Perils And These Paynes He May But Purchase Lyking In Her Eye, What Heavens Of Ioy Then To Himselfe He Faynes! Eftsoones He Wypes Quite Out Of Memory Whatever Ill Before He Did Aby*: Had It Beene Death, Yet Would He Die Againe, To Live Thus Happie As Her Grace To Gaine. [* Aby, Abide.] Yet When He Hath Found Favour To His Will, He Nath?More Can So Contented Rest, But Forceth Further On, And Striveth Still T'Approch More Neare, Till In Her Inmost Brest He May Embosomd Bee And Loved Best; And Yet Not Best, But To Be Lov'D Alone; For Love Cannot Endure A Paragone*. [* Paragone, Competitor.] The Fear Whereof, O How Doth It Torment His Troubled Mynd With More Then Hellish Paine! And To His Fayning Fansie Represent Sights Never Seene, And Thousand Shadowes Vaine, To Breake His Sleepe And Waste His Ydle Braine: Thou That Hast Never Lov'D Canst Not Beleeve Least Part Of Th'Evils Which Poore Lovers Greeve. The Gnawing Envie, The Hart-Fretting Feare, The Vaine Surmizes, The Distrustfull Showes, The False Reports That Flying Tales Doe Beare, The Doubts, The Daungers, The Delayes, The Woes, The Fayned Friends, The Unassured Foes, With Thousands More Then Any Tongue Can Tell, Doe Make A Lovers Life A Wretches Hell. Yet Is There One More Cursed Then They All, That Cancker-Worme, That Monster, Gelosie, Which Eates The Heart And Feedes Upon The Gall, Turning All Loves Delight To Miserie, Through Feare Of Losing His Felicitie. Ah, Gods! That Ever Ye That Monster Placed In Gentle Love, That All His Ioyes Defaced! By These, O Love! Thou Doest Thy Entrance Make Unto Thy Heaven, And Doest The More Endeere Thy Pleasures Unto Those Which Them Partake, As After Stormes, When Clouds Begin To Cleare, The Sunne More Bright And Glorious Doth Appeare; So Thou Thy Folke, Through Paines Of Purgatorie, Dost Beare Unto Thy Blisse, And Heavens Glorie. There Thou Them Placest In A Paradize Of All Delight And Ioyous Happy Rest, Where They Doe Feede On Nectar Heavenly-Wize, With Hercules And Hebe, And The Rest Of Venus Dearlings, Through Her Bountie Blest; And Lie Like Gods In Yvory Beds Arayd, With Rose And Lillies Over Them Displayd. There With Thy Daughter Pleasure They Doe Play Their Hurtlesse Sports, Without Rebuke Or Blame, And In Her Snowy Bosome Boldly Lay Their Quiet Heads, Devoyd Of Guilty Shame, After Full Ioyance Of Their Gentle Game; Then Her They Crowne Their Goddesse And Their Queene, And Decke With Floures Thy Altars Well Beseene. Ay Me! Deare Lord, That Ever I Might Hope, For All The Paines And Woes That I Endure, To Come At Length Unto The Wished Scope Of My Desire, Or Might Myselfe Assure That Happie Port For Ever To Recure*! Then Would I Thinke These Paines No Paines At All, And All My Woes To Be But Penance Small. [* Recure, Recover, Gain.] Then Would I Sing Of Thine Immortal Praise An Heavenly Hymne Such As The Angels Sing, And Thy Triumphant Name Then Would I Raise Bove All The Gods, Thee Only Honoring; My Guide, My God, My Victor, And My King: Till Then, Drad Lord! Vouchsafe To Take Of Me This Simple Song, Thus Fram'D In Praise Of Thee. An Hymne In Honour Of Beautie. Ah! Whither, Love! Wilt Thou Now Carry Mee? What Wontlesse Fury Dost Thou Now Inspire Into My Feeble Breast, Too Full Of Thee? Whylest Seeking To Aslake Thy Raging Fyre, Thou In Me Kindlest Much More Great Desyre, And Up Aloft Above My Strength Doth Rayse The Wondrous Matter Of My Fire To Praise. That As I Earst In Praise Of Thine Owne Name, So Now In Honour Of Thy Mother Deare An Honourable Hymne I Eke Should Frame, And, With The Brightnesse Of Her Beautie Cleare, The Ravisht Hearts Of Gazefull Men Might Reare To Admiration Of That Heavenly Light, From Whence Proceeds Such Soule-Enchanting Might. Therto Do Thou, Great Goddesse! Queene Of Beauty, Mother Of Love And Of All Worlds Delight, Without Whose Soverayne Grace And Kindly Dewty Nothing On Earth Seems Fayre To Fleshly Sight, Doe Thou Vouchsafe With Thy Love-Kindling Light T'Illuminate My Dim And Dulled Eyne, And Beautifie This Sacred Hymne Of Thyne: That Both To Thee, To Whom I Meane It Most, And Eke To Her Whose Faire Immortall Beame Hath Darted Fyre Into My Feeble Ghost, That Now It Wasted Is With Woes Extreame, It May So Please, That She At Length Will Streame Some Deaw Of Grace Into My Withered Hart, After Long Sorrow And Consuming Smart. What Time This Worlds Great Workmaister Did Cast To Make Al Things Such As We Now Behold, It Seems That He Before His Eyes Had Plast A Goodly Paterne, To Whose Perfect Mould He Fashiond Them As Comely As He Could, That Now So Faire And Seemely They Appeare As Nought May Be Amended Any Wheare. That Wondrous Paterne, Wheresoere It Bee, Whether In Earth Layd Up In Secret Store, Or Else In Heaven, That No Man May It See With Sinfull Eyes, For Feare It Do Deflore, Is Perfect Beautie, Which All Men Adore; Whose Face And Feature Doth So Much Excell All Mortal Sence, That None The Same May Tell. Thereof As Every Earthly Thing Partakes Or More Or Lesse, By Influence Divine, So It More Faire Accordingly It Makes, And The Grosse Matter Of This Earthly Myne Which Closeth It Thereafter Doth Refyne, Doing Away The Drosse Which Dims The Light Of That Faire Beame Which Therein Is Empight*. [* Empight, Placed.] For, Through Infusion Of Celestiall Powre, The Duller Earth It Quickneth With Delight, And Life-Full Spirits Privily Doth Powre Through All The Parts, That To The Lookers Sight They Seeme To Please; That Is Thy Soveraine Might, O Cyprian Queene! Which, Flowing From The Beame Of Thy Bright Starre, Thou Into Them Doest Streame. That Is The Thing Which Giveth Pleasant Grace To All Things Faire, That Kindleth Lively Fyre; Light Of Thy Lampe; Which, Shyning In The Face, Thence To The Soule Darts Amorous Desyre, And Robs The Harts Of Those Which It Admyre; Therewith Thou Pointest Thy Sons Poysned Arrow, That Wounds The Life And Wastes The Inmost Marrow. How Vainely Then Do Ydle Wits Invent That Beautie Is Nought Else But Mixture Made Of Colours Faire, And Goodly Temp'Rament Of Pure Complexions, That Shall Quickly Fade And Passe Away, Like To A Sommers Shade; Or That It Is But Comely Composition Of Parts Well Measurd, With Meet Disposition! Hath White And Red In It Such Wondrous Powre, That It Can Pierce Through Th'Eyes Unto The Hart, And Therein Stirre Such Rage And Restlesse Stowre*, As Nought But Death Can Stint His Dolours Smart? Or Can Proportion Of The Outward Part Move Such Affection In The Inward Mynd, That It Can Rob Both Sense, And Reason Blynd? [* Stowre, Commotion.] Why Doe Not Then The Blossomes Of The Field, Which Are Arayd With Much More Orient Hew, And To The Sense Most Daintie Odours Yield, Worke Like Impression In The Lookers Vew? Or Why Doe Not Faire Pictures Like Powre Shew, In Which Oft-Times We Nature See Of Art Exceld, In Perfect Limming Every Part? But Ah! Beleeve Me There Is More Then So, That Workes Such Wonders In The Minds Of Men; I, That Have Often Prov'D, Too Well It Know, And Who So List The Like Assayes To Ken Shall Find By Trial, And Confesse It Then, That Beautie Is Not, As Fond Men Misdeeme, An Outward Shew Of Things That Onely Seeme. For That Same Goodly Hew Of White And Red With Which The Cheekes Are Sprinckled, Shall Decay, And Those Sweete Rosy Leaves, So Fairly Spred Upon The Lips, Shall Fade And Fall Away To That They Were, Even To Corrupted Clay: That Golden Wyre, Those Sparckling Stars So Bright, Shall Turne To Dust, And Lose Their Goodly Light. But That Faire Lampe, From Whose Celestiall Ray That Light Proceedes Which Kindleth Lovers Fire, Shall Never Be Extinguisht Nor Decay; But, When The Vitall Spirits Doe Espyre, Unto Her Native Planet Shall Retyre; For It Is Heavenly Borne, And Cannot Die, Being A Parcell Of The Purest Skie. For When The Soule, The Which Derived Was, At First, Out Of That Great Immortall Spright, By Whom All Live To Love, Whilome Did Pas Down From The Top Of Purest Heavens Hight To Be Embodied Here, It Then Tooke Light And Lively Spirits From That Fayrest Starre Which Lights The World Forth From His Firie Carre. Which Powre Retayning Still, Or More Or Lesse, When She In Fleshly Seede Is Eft* Enraced**, Through Every Part She Doth The Same Impresse, According As The Heavens Have Her Graced, And Frames Her House, In Which She Will Be Placed, Fit For Her Selfe, Adorning It With Spoyle Of Th'Heavenly Riches Which She Robd Erewhyle. [* Eft, Afterwards.] [** Enraced, Implanted.] Thereof It Comes That These Faire Soules Which Have The Most Resemblance Of That Heavenly Light Frame To Themselves Most Beautifull And Brave Their Fleshly Bowre, Most Fit For Their Delight, And The Grosse Matter By A Soveraine Might Temper So Trim, That It May Well Be Seene A Pallace Fit For Such A Virgin Queene. So Every Spirit, As It Is Most Pure, And Hath In It The More Of Heavenly Light, So It The Fairer Bodie Doth Procure To Habit In, And It More Fairely Dight* With Chearfull Grace And Amiable Sight: For Of The Soule The Bodie Forme Doth Take; For Soule Is Forme, And Doth The Bodie Make. [* Dight, Adorn.] Therefore, Where-Ever That Thou Doest Behold A Comely Corpse*, With Beautie Faire Endewed, Know This For Certaine, That The Same Doth Hold A Beauteous Soule With Fair Conditions Thewed**, Fit To Receive The Seede Of Vertue Strewed; For All That Faire Is, Is By Nature Good; That Is A Sign To Know The Gentle Blood. [* Corpse, Body.] [** I.E. Endowed With Fair Qualities.] Yet Oft It Falles That Many A Gentle Mynd Dwels In Deformed Tabernacle Drownd, Either By Chaunce, Against The Course Of Kynd*, Or Through Unaptnesse In The Substance Fownd, Which It Assumed Of Some Stubborne Grownd, That Will Not Yield Unto Her Formes Direction, But Is Deform'D With Some Foule Imperfection. [* Kynd, Nature.] And Oft It Falles, (Ay Me, The More To Rew!) That Goodly Beautie, Albe Heavenly Borne, Is Foule Abusd, And That Celestiall Hew, Which Doth The World With Her Delight Adorne, Made But The Bait Of Sinne, And Sinners Scorne, Whilest Every One Doth Seeke And Sew To Have It, But Every One Doth Seeke But To Deprave It. Yet Nath?More Is That Faire Beauties Blame, But Theirs That Do Abuse It Unto Ill: Nothing So Good, But That Through Guilty Shame May Be Corrupt*, And Wrested Unto Will. Nathelesse The Soule Is Faire And Beauteous Still, However Fleshes Fault It Filthy Make; For Things Immortall No Corruption Take. [* Corrupt, Corrupted.] But Ye, Faire Dames! The Worlds Deare Ornaments, And Lively Images Of Heavens Light, Let Not Your Beames With Such Disparagements Be Dimd, And Your Bright Glorie Darkned Quight; But Mindfull Still Of Your First Countries Sight, Doe Still Preserve Your First Informed Grace, Whose Shadow Yet Shynes In Your Beauteous Face. Loath That Foule Blot, That Hellish Fi?Rbrand, Disloiall Lust, Fair Beauties Foulest Blame, That Base Affections, Which Your Eares Would Bland*, Commend To You By Loves Abused Name, But Is Indeede The Bondslave Of Defame; Which Will The Garland Of Your Glorie Marre, And Quench The Light Of Your Brightshyning Starre. [* Bland, Blandish.] But Gentle Love, That Loiall Is And Trew, Wil More Illumine Your Resplendent Ray, And Add More Brightnesse To Your Goodly Hew From Light Of His Pure Fire; Which, By Like Way Kindled Of Yours, Your Likenesse Doth Display; Like As Two Mirrours, By Opposd Reflection, Doe Both Expresse The Faces First Impression. Therefore, To Make Your Beautie More Appeare, It You Behoves To Love, And Forth To Lay That Heavenly Riches Which In You Ye Beare, That Men The More Admyre Their Fountaine May; For Else What Booteth That Celestiall Ray, If It In Darknesse Be Enshrined Ever, That It Of Loving Eyes Be Vewed Never? But, In Your Choice Of Loves, This Well Advize, That Likest To Your Selves Ye Them Select, The Which Your Forms First Sourse May Sympathize, And With Like Beauties Parts Be Inly Deckt; For If You Loosely Love Without Respect, It Is Not Love, But A Discordant Warre, Whose Unlike Parts Amongst Themselves Do Iarre. For Love Is A Celestiall Harmonie Of Likely* Harts Composd Of** Starres Concent, Which Ioyne Together In Sweete Sympathie, To Work Each Others Ioy And True Content, Which They Have Harbourd Since Their First Descent Out Of Their Heavenly Bowres, Where They Did See And Know Ech Other Here Belov'D To Bee. [* Likely, Similar.] [** Composd Of, Combined By.] Then Wrong It Were That Any Other Twaine Should In Loves Gentle Band Combyned Bee, But Those Whom Heaven Did At First Ordaine, And Made Out Of One Mould The More T'Agree; For All That Like The Beautie Which They See Straight Do Not Love; For Love Is Not So Light As Straight To Burne At First Beholders Sight. But They Which Love Indeede Looke Otherwise, With Pure Regard And Spotlesse True Intent, Drawing Out Of The Obiect Of Their Eyes A More Refyned Form, Which They Present Unto Their Mind, Voide Of All Blemishment; Which It Reducing To Her First Perfection, Beholdeth Free From Fleshes Frayle Infection. And Then Conforming It Unto The Light Which In It Selfe It Hath Remaining Still, Of That First Sunne, Yet Sparckling In His Sight, Thereof He Fashions In His Higher Skill An Heavenly Beautie To His Fancies Will; And It Embracing In His Mind Entyre, The Mirrour Of His Owne Thought Doth Admyre. Which Seeing Now So Inly Faire To Be, As Outward It Appeareth To The Eye, And With His Spirits Proportion To Agree, He Thereon Fixeth All His Fantasie, And Fully Setteth His Felicitie; Counting It Fairer Then It Is Indeede, And Yet Indeede Her Fairnesse Doth Exeede. For Lovers Eyes More Sharply Sighted Bee Then Other Mens, And In Deare Loves Delight See More Then Any Other Eyes Can See, Through Mutuall Receipt Of Beam?S Bright, Which Carrie Privie Message To The Spright, And To Their Eyes That Inmost Faire Display, As Plaine As Light Discovers Dawning Day. Therein They See, Through Amorous Eye-Glaunces, Annies Of Loves Still Flying Too And Fro, Which Dart At Them Their Litle Fierie Launces; Whom Having Wounded, Back Againe They Go, Carrying Compassion To Their Lovely Foe; Who, Seeing Her Faire Eyes So Sharp Effect, Cures All Their Sorrowes With One Sweete Aspect. In Which How Many Wonders Doe They Reede To Their Conceipt, That Others Never See! Now Of Her Smiles, With Which Their Soules They Feede, Like Gods With Nectar In Their Bankets Free; Now Of Her Lookes, Which Like To Cordials Bee; But When Her Words Emb?Ssade* Forth She Sends, Lord, How Sweete Musicke That Unto Them Lends! [* Emb?Ssade, Embassy.] Sometimes Upon Her Forhead They Behold A Thousand Graces Masking In Delight; Sometimes Within Her Eye-Lids They Unfold Ten Thousand Sweet Belgards*, Which To Their Sight Doe Seeme Like Twinckling Starres In Frostie Night; But On Her Lips, Like Rosy Buds In May, So Many Millions Of Chaste Pleasures Play. [* Belgards, Fair Looks.] All Those, O Cytherea! And Thousands More, Thy Handmaides Be, Which Do On Thee Attend, To Decke Thy Beautie With Their Dainties Store, That May It More To Mortall Eyes Commend, And Make It More Admyr'D Of Foe And Frend; That In Mans Harts Thou Mayst Thy Throne Enstall, 265 And Spred Thy Lovely Kingdome Over All. Then I?, Tryumph! O Great Beauties Queene, Advance The Banner Of Thy Conquest Hie, That All This World, The Which Thy Vassels Beene, May Draw To Thee, And With Dew F?Altie Adore The Powre Of Thy Great Maiestie, Singing This Hymne In Honour Of Thy Name, Compyld By Me, Which Thy Poor Liegeman Am! In Lieu Whereof Graunt, O Great Soveraine! That She Whose Conquering Beauty Doth Capt?Ve 275 My Trembling Hart In Her Eternall Chaine, One Drop Of Grace At Length Will To Me Give, That I Her Bounden Thrall By Her May Live, And This Same Life, Which First Fro Me She Reaved, May Owe To Her, Of Whom I It Receaved. And You, Faire Venus Dearling, My Dear Dread! Fresh Flowre Of Grace, Great Goddesse Of My Life, When Your Faire Eyes These Fearfull Lines Shall Read, Deigne To Let Fall One Drop Of Dew Reliefe, That May Recure My Harts Long Pyning Griefe, And Shew What Wondrous Powre Your Beauty Hath, That Can Restore A Damned Wight From Death. An Hymne Of Heavenly Love*. [* See The Sixth Canto Of The Third Book Of The Faerie Queene, Especially The Second And The Thirty-Second Stanzas; Which, With His Hymnes Of Heavenly Love And Heavenly Beauty, Are Evident Proofs Of Spenser'S Attachment To The Platonic School. Warton.] Love, Lift Me Up Upon Thy Golden Wings From This Base World Unto Thy Heavens Hight, Where I May See Those Admirable Things Which There Thou Workest By Thy Soveraine Might, Farre Above Feeble Reach Of Earthly Sight, That I Thereof An Heavenly Hymne May Sing Unto The God Of Love, High Heavens King. Many Lewd Layes (Ah! Woe Is Me The More!) In Praise Of That Mad Fit Which Fooles Call Love, I Have In Th'Heat Of Youth Made Heretofore, That In Light Wits Did Loose Affection Move; But All Those Follies Now I Do Reprove, And Turned Have The Tenor Of My String, The Heavenly Prayses Of True Love To Sing. And Ye That Wont With Greedy Vaine Desire To Reade My Fault, And, Wondring At My Flame, To Warme Your Selves At My Wide Sparckling Fire, Sith Now That Heat Is Quenched, Quench My Blame, And In Her Ashes Shrowd My Dying Shame; For Who My Passed Follies Now Pursewes, Beginnes His Owne, And My Old Fault Renewes. Before This Worlds Great Frame, In Which Al Things Are Now Containd, Found Any Being-Place, Ere Flitting Time Could Wag* His Eyas** Wings About That Mightie Bound Which Doth Embrace The Rolling Spheres, And Parts Their Houres By Space, That High Eternall Powre, Which Now Doth Move In All These Things, Mov'D In It Selfe By Love. [* Wag, Move.] [** Eyas, Unfledged.] It Lovd It Selfe, Because It Selfe Was Faire; (For Fair Is Lov'D;) And Of It Self Begot Like To It Selfe His Eldest Sonne And Heire, Eternall, Pure, And Voide Of Sinfull Blot, The Firstling Of His Ioy, In Whom No Iot Of Loves Dislike Or Pride Was To Be Found, Whom He Therefore With Equall Honour Crownd. With Him He Raignd, Before All Time Prescribed, In Endlesse Glorie And Immortall Might, Together With That Third From Them Derived, Most Wise, Most Holy, Most Almightie Spright! Whose Kingdomes Throne No Thoughts Of Earthly Wight Can Comprehend, Much Lesse My Trembling Verse With Equall Words Can Hope It To Reherse. Yet, O Most Blessed Spirit! Pure Lampe Of Light, Eternall Spring Of Grace And Wisedom Trew, Vouchsafe To Shed Into My Barren Spright Some Little Drop Of Thy Celestiall Dew, That May My Rymes With Sweet Infuse* Embrew, And Give Me Words Equall Unto My Thought, To Tell The Marveiles By Thy Mercie Wrought. [* Infuse, Infusion] Yet Being Pregnant Still With Powrefull Grace, And Full Of Fruitfull Love, That Loves To Get Things Like Himselfe And To Enlarge His Race, His Second Brood, Though Not Of Powre So Great, Yet Full Of Beautie, Next He Did Beget, An Infinite Increase Of Angels Bright, All Glistring Glorious In Their Makers Light. To Them The Heavens Illimitable Hight (Not This Round Heaven Which We From Hence Behold, Adornd With Thousand Lamps Of Burning Light, And With Ten Thousand Gemmes Of Shyning Gold) He Gave As Their Inheritance To Hold, That They Might Serve Him In Eternall Blis, And Be Partakers Of Those Ioyes Of His. There They In Their Trinall Triplicities About Him Wait, And On His Will Depend, Either With Nimble Wings To Cut The Skies, When He Them On His Messages Doth Send, Or On His Owne Dread Presence To Attend, Where They Behold The Glorie Of His Light, And Caroll Hymnes Of Love Both Day And Night. [Ver. 64.--Trinall Triplicities. See The Faerie Queene, Book I. Canto Xii. 39. H.] Both Day And Night Is Unto Them All One; For He His Beames Doth Unto Them Extend, That Darknesse There Appeareth Never None; Ne Hath Their Day, Ne Hath Their Blisse, An End, But There Their Termelesse Time In Pleasure Spend; Ne Ever Should Their Happinesse Decay, Had Not They Dar'D Their Lord To Disobay. But Pride, Impatient Of Long Resting Peace, Did Puffe Them Up With Greedy Bold Ambition, That They Gan Cast Their State How To Increase Above The Fortune Of Their First Condition, And Sit In Gods Own Seat Without Commission: The Brightest Angel, Even The Child Of Light*, Drew Millions More Against Their God To Fight. [* I.E. Lucifer.] Th'Almighty, Seeing Their So Bold Assay, Kindled The Flame Of His Consuming Yre, And With His Onely Breath Them Blew Away From Heavens Hight, To Which They Did Aspyre, To Deepest Hell, And Lake Of Damned Fyre, Where They In Darknesse And Dread Horror Dwell, Hating The Happie Light From Which They Fell. So That Next Off-Spring Of The Makers Love, Next To Himselfe In Glorio