THE INDVCTION.

In that sad month, whose name at first begunFrom Rome’sAugustus, greatOctauiusson,When heau’ns fierce dog, sterne Alhahor did riseTo bait the lion in th’Olympian skies;Whose hot fier-breathing influence did crackeOur thirstie grandame Terrae’s aged backe:By wrathfull loue, thicke darted from the skieThe thunder shafts of pestilence did flie:In top of heau’n he tooke his wreakfull standOre that great towne vpon the northerne strand.Of siluer Thamisis, vpon whose towresDowne dropt his shafts, as thicke as winter’s showres,Which daily did his indignation showIn euery place, dispersing worlds of woe:Witnesse ye ghosts and spirits dolefull drerie,Vntimely sent by troopes to Charon’s ferrie,Leauing your limbes wrapt vp in sheets of clay,As dustie reliques of your liues decay:Yea, thou sweet genius of that ancient towne,Thou ladie of great Albion’s chiefe renowne;Of that sad time a witnesse maist thou bee,When death did take so many sonnes from thee;Whose funerall rites inconsolate alone,When thou vnkindly left, didst kindly mone,Who staid with thee, alas, to helpe thee mourne,And fled not from thee, leauing thee forlorne?Mongst whom, though I, strooke terror-sicke with dreadOf heau’n’s hot plague, was one that from thee fled:Yet of thy sight I daily did partake,Which of thy woes a partner did me make:Not far from off that slimie southerne strand,By which with Isis, Thames runnes hand in hand,In that high mountaine countrie’s fruitfull soile,That nere in fight of forren foes tooke foile,Where those same famous stout men-mouing wood,Against the Norman conqueror boldly stood,Was my abode: when foule infection’s breathIn Troynouant imploy’d the workes of death.There in this wofull time vpon a day,So soone as Tython’s loue-lasse gan displayHer opall colours in her easterne throne;It was my chance in walking all alone,That ancient castle-crowned hill to scale,Which proudly ouerlookes the lowly vale,Where greatElizae’sbirth-blest palace stands,Gainst which great Thames cast vp his golden sands.There when I came, from thence I might descrieThe sweetest prospects, that the curious eieOf any one did euer elsewhere see,So pleasant at that time they seem’d to mee:It is a choice selected plot of land,In which this ayrie mount doth towring stand;As if that nature’s cunning for the best,Had choicely pickt it out from all the rest:Beneath this loftie hill shot vp on high,A pleasant parke impaled round doth lie,In which the plaine so open lies to sight,That on this hill oft times with great delightThat heau’nly queene,Plantagenet’sgreat blood,The faireElizae’sselfe hath often stood,And seene the swift-foot dogs in eager chacePursue the gentle hinde from place to place.From hence recalling my weake wandring eye,I gan behold that kingly palace by,Whose loftie towres built vp of ancient timeBy worthie princes, to the stars do clime;Proud, that so many a prince to do them grace,Beneath their roofe had made their resting place.Fast by this princely house, afront beforeThames gliding waues do wash the sandie shore,Whose fruitfull streames with winding in and out,Forcing their way through hollow lands about,From th’occidentall with swift course do run,Where Hesper bright brings vp the golden sun:And on the siluer brest of this great lordOf all the deepes, that Albion’s wombe doth hoard,Downe from the easterne seas I might descrieMany swift-winged barkes, that seem’d to flie,Cutting their passage through the threatning waue,That 'bout their sides in vaine did rore and raue;With swelling sailes, not fearing sad mischance,Each after other came in stately dance,And nimblie capring on the purple waue,With loftie foretops did the welkin braue,Vntill they came vnto that stately placeFam’d for the birth of greatElizae’sgrace:To which they vail’d their towring tops before,And from their sides the thundring cannons roreFlew as a witnesse of their loyaltieAnd loue vnto that house of maiestie;From thence full fraught with many a precious priseThey sail’d along, whereas the passage liesTo Troynouant, whose pride of youthfull lustThe hand of death had smothered in the dust;The smiling heau’ns, that with sweet sunshine howresDid once vouchsafe t’adorne her hie topt towres,Now with grim lookes, which did my heart appall,Did seeme to threaten her approching fall:Downe from their cloudie browes in threatning pride,Death-darting pestilence did seeme to slide:Grim-visag’d-like the grizly dreaded night,In noysome fumes and mistie fogs bedight:The aire once pure and thin, now wing’d with deathGrewe gloomie thick, being poyson’d by her breath,In which, I thought, she took her horrid stand,And with fierce look and stiff-bent bowe in hand,She drew her shafts, impatient in her minde,From forth her quiuer at her back behinde:Then did I thinke vpon the shreekes and criesOf dying soules, that did ascend the skiesBy thousands sent vnto the gaping graue,On whom no mercie pestilence would haue:Yea then (thou glorie of great Albion)Thy sad distresse I gan to thinke vpon,Thy mournefull widowes groueling in sad swoundOn their dead husbands, on the ashie ground,Thy husbands striuing to preserue the breathOf their deare spouse from vnrelenting death;Thy orphans left poore, parentlesse, aloneThe future time’s sad miserie to mone:The thought of which, in that vnhappie seasonWith woefull passion did so maister reason,That as I stood vpon that pleasant hillTo fancie sweet delight I had no will;But seeking for some groue or gloomie wood,Where I might feede my melancholie mood:Vpon this hil’s south side at last I foundFitting my thoughts a pleasing plot of ground;It was to wit, that wel knowne happie shade,Which for delight the royall Britaine maidDid oft frequent, as former times can tell,When her sweet soule in mortall mould did dwell:It is a walke thicke set with manie a tree;Whose arched bowes ore hed combined bee,That nor the golden eye of heauen can peepeInto that place, ne yet, when heauen doth weepe,Can the thin drops of drizeling raine offendHim, that for succour to that place doth wend.Where, when alone I first did enter in,And call to minde how that truth-shielding queene,In former times the same did beautifieWith presence of her princelie maiestie;O how the place did seeme to mourne to mee,That she should thence for euer absent bee!In this sad passion, which did still abound,I sat me downe vpon the grassie ground,Wishing that heau’n into my infant museThat antique poet’s spirit would infuse,Who, when in Thracian land hee did rehearseIanthee’s wofull end in tragick verse,Did make men, birds, beasts, trees and rockes of stoneThat virgin’s timelesse tragedie to mone:For then I thought, that to that mournefull place,I might haue sung my verse with lesse disgraceTo greatElizae’sworth: for who doth bringHer deeds to light, or who her worth doth singe?O, did that Fairie Queene’s sweet singer liue,That to the dead eternitie could giue,Or if, that heauen by influence would infuseHis heauenlie spirit on mine earth-borne muse,Her name ere this a mirror should haue beenLim’d out in golden verse to th’eyes of men:But my sad muse, though willing, yet too weakIn her rude rymesElizae’sworth to speak,Must yeeld to those, whose muse can mount on high,And with braue plumes can clime the loftie skie.As thus I sat all sad vpon the greeneIn contemplation of that royall queene,And thinking, what a Mirrour she might beVnto all future time’s posteritie,Inclining downe my hed, soft fingered sleepeWith pleasing touch throughout my limbes did creepe,Who hauing seas’d vpon mee with strong hands,Bound vp my thoughts in soporiferous bands,And held mee captiue, while his seruant slieA vision strange did vnto mee descrie:For vp from Morpheus den a vision came,Which were it sent in mightie Ioue’s own name,Or by some other power, I wot not well:But as I slept, I say, thus it befell:As at that time in walking to and fro,I 'bout this pleasant place alone did goe,Each obiect of the same all suddenlieSeemd strangelie metamorphiz’d to myne eye;The Helliconian spring, that did proceedFrom th’hoofe of Pegasus that heauenlie steed,And those pure streames of virgin Castalie,The place of Ioue’s nine daughters nurserie,Did seeme to haue resign’d their proper place,Transported thither to that land’s disgrace:Where, as I thought, I heard an heauenlie sound,Of which the place did euerie where redound:Vnto the which as I attentiue stood,Descending downe from out a neighbouring wood,I might behold the sacred sisters nine,Whether from heauen or other place diuine,I am vncertaine; but their way they madeWhere as I stood beneath the leauie shade:Before them all a goodlie ladie cameIn stately portance like Ioue’s braine-borne dame,To wit, that virgin queene, the faireElize,That whilom was our England’s richest prize;In princelie station with great Iunoe’s grace(Me seem’d) she came in her maiesticke pace,Grac’d with the lookes of daunting maiestie,Mixt with the meekenesse of milde clemencie;Such haue I seene her, when in princely stateShe goddesse-like in chariot high hath sate,When troopes of people with loud shouts and cries,Haue sounded out their auies in the skies:And rid each other in the present placeWith great desire to see her heau’nly face:Mongst whom she came, as if Aurora faireOut of the east had newly made repaire,Making a sun-like light with golden shineOf her bright beauty in the gazer’s eine.Approching neere the place where I did stand,With gratious beckning of her princely hand,She seem’d to call to me; but sillie I,Daunted with presence of such maiestie,Fell prostrate downe, debasht with reuerent shameAt sudden sight of so diuine a dame;Till she with gentle speech thus mildely said:“Stand vp,” quoth she, “and be no whit dismaid;Let loyall loue and zeale to me inflameThy muse to sing the praises of my name;And let not thoughts of want, of worth, and skill,Impeach the purpose of thy forward quill;For though thy homely stile and slender verseToo humble seeme my praises to rehearse:Yet to the world, that I a Mirrour beeAmongst those many Mirrours writ by thee;Feare neither bite of doggedTheon’stooth,Nor soone-shot bolts of giddie headed youth;For th’awfull power of my sole dreaded name,Shall from thy verse auert all foule defame:And lest in any point thou chance to faile,Which may my name’s great glorie ought auaile;Loe here the cheefest of the daughters nineOf sacred Memorie and Ioue diuine,Great Clioe’s selfe, in order shall rehearseMy storie to thee in her stately verse.”This said, more swift then lightening from the skie,She on the suddaine vanisht from mine eyeWith all her nymphes, for none of all her traineExcepting Clio did with mee remaine,Who being the first borne childe of Memorie,The ladie was of noble historie,A peerelesse dame past al compare to singThe deeds, that vertue vnto light doth bring:In comelie garments, like some virgin maidOf Dian’s troope, shee trimlie was arraid,Saue goddesse-like her globe-like head aroundWith verdant wreath of sacred bay was crownd;From which downe either side her comelie face,Her golden lockes did flow with goodlie grace,And in her hand a lute diuinelie strungShe held, to which oft times she sweetlie sung;With this she sat her downe vpon the ground,And with her fingers made the strings to sound,Vnto the which her sweet voice she did frameTo sing the praises ofElizae’sname.Which hauing done, shee thus did silence break;“Would God,” quoth shee, “her prayses I could speak,Who claimes a greater power her praise to sound,Then Phœbus self, if greater could be found:Yet will I triall make with all my might,With her great fame the golden starres to smite:Which while I sing, heark thou with heedful eare,And in thy mind the same hereafter beare:”This said, she lightlie toucht each trembling string,And with sweet voice did thus diuinelie sing.

In that sad month, whose name at first begun

From Rome’sAugustus, greatOctauiusson,

When heau’ns fierce dog, sterne Alhahor did rise

To bait the lion in th’Olympian skies;

Whose hot fier-breathing influence did cracke

Our thirstie grandame Terrae’s aged backe:

By wrathfull loue, thicke darted from the skie

The thunder shafts of pestilence did flie:

In top of heau’n he tooke his wreakfull stand

Ore that great towne vpon the northerne strand.

Of siluer Thamisis, vpon whose towres

Downe dropt his shafts, as thicke as winter’s showres,

Which daily did his indignation show

In euery place, dispersing worlds of woe:

Witnesse ye ghosts and spirits dolefull drerie,

Vntimely sent by troopes to Charon’s ferrie,

Leauing your limbes wrapt vp in sheets of clay,

As dustie reliques of your liues decay:

Yea, thou sweet genius of that ancient towne,

Thou ladie of great Albion’s chiefe renowne;

Of that sad time a witnesse maist thou bee,

When death did take so many sonnes from thee;

Whose funerall rites inconsolate alone,

When thou vnkindly left, didst kindly mone,

Who staid with thee, alas, to helpe thee mourne,

And fled not from thee, leauing thee forlorne?

Mongst whom, though I, strooke terror-sicke with dread

Of heau’n’s hot plague, was one that from thee fled:

Yet of thy sight I daily did partake,

Which of thy woes a partner did me make:

Not far from off that slimie southerne strand,

By which with Isis, Thames runnes hand in hand,

In that high mountaine countrie’s fruitfull soile,

That nere in fight of forren foes tooke foile,

Where those same famous stout men-mouing wood,

Against the Norman conqueror boldly stood,

Was my abode: when foule infection’s breath

In Troynouant imploy’d the workes of death.

There in this wofull time vpon a day,

So soone as Tython’s loue-lasse gan display

Her opall colours in her easterne throne;

It was my chance in walking all alone,

That ancient castle-crowned hill to scale,

Which proudly ouerlookes the lowly vale,

Where greatElizae’sbirth-blest palace stands,

Gainst which great Thames cast vp his golden sands.

There when I came, from thence I might descrie

The sweetest prospects, that the curious eie

Of any one did euer elsewhere see,

So pleasant at that time they seem’d to mee:

It is a choice selected plot of land,

In which this ayrie mount doth towring stand;

As if that nature’s cunning for the best,

Had choicely pickt it out from all the rest:

Beneath this loftie hill shot vp on high,

A pleasant parke impaled round doth lie,

In which the plaine so open lies to sight,

That on this hill oft times with great delight

That heau’nly queene,Plantagenet’sgreat blood,

The faireElizae’sselfe hath often stood,

And seene the swift-foot dogs in eager chace

Pursue the gentle hinde from place to place.

From hence recalling my weake wandring eye,

I gan behold that kingly palace by,

Whose loftie towres built vp of ancient time

By worthie princes, to the stars do clime;

Proud, that so many a prince to do them grace,

Beneath their roofe had made their resting place.

Fast by this princely house, afront before

Thames gliding waues do wash the sandie shore,

Whose fruitfull streames with winding in and out,

Forcing their way through hollow lands about,

From th’occidentall with swift course do run,

Where Hesper bright brings vp the golden sun:

And on the siluer brest of this great lord

Of all the deepes, that Albion’s wombe doth hoard,

Downe from the easterne seas I might descrie

Many swift-winged barkes, that seem’d to flie,

Cutting their passage through the threatning waue,

That 'bout their sides in vaine did rore and raue;

With swelling sailes, not fearing sad mischance,

Each after other came in stately dance,

And nimblie capring on the purple waue,

With loftie foretops did the welkin braue,

Vntill they came vnto that stately place

Fam’d for the birth of greatElizae’sgrace:

To which they vail’d their towring tops before,

And from their sides the thundring cannons rore

Flew as a witnesse of their loyaltie

And loue vnto that house of maiestie;

From thence full fraught with many a precious prise

They sail’d along, whereas the passage lies

To Troynouant, whose pride of youthfull lust

The hand of death had smothered in the dust;

The smiling heau’ns, that with sweet sunshine howres

Did once vouchsafe t’adorne her hie topt towres,

Now with grim lookes, which did my heart appall,

Did seeme to threaten her approching fall:

Downe from their cloudie browes in threatning pride,

Death-darting pestilence did seeme to slide:

Grim-visag’d-like the grizly dreaded night,

In noysome fumes and mistie fogs bedight:

The aire once pure and thin, now wing’d with death

Grewe gloomie thick, being poyson’d by her breath,

In which, I thought, she took her horrid stand,

And with fierce look and stiff-bent bowe in hand,

She drew her shafts, impatient in her minde,

From forth her quiuer at her back behinde:

Then did I thinke vpon the shreekes and cries

Of dying soules, that did ascend the skies

By thousands sent vnto the gaping graue,

On whom no mercie pestilence would haue:

Yea then (thou glorie of great Albion)

Thy sad distresse I gan to thinke vpon,

Thy mournefull widowes groueling in sad swound

On their dead husbands, on the ashie ground,

Thy husbands striuing to preserue the breath

Of their deare spouse from vnrelenting death;

Thy orphans left poore, parentlesse, alone

The future time’s sad miserie to mone:

The thought of which, in that vnhappie season

With woefull passion did so maister reason,

That as I stood vpon that pleasant hill

To fancie sweet delight I had no will;

But seeking for some groue or gloomie wood,

Where I might feede my melancholie mood:

Vpon this hil’s south side at last I found

Fitting my thoughts a pleasing plot of ground;

It was to wit, that wel knowne happie shade,

Which for delight the royall Britaine maid

Did oft frequent, as former times can tell,

When her sweet soule in mortall mould did dwell:

It is a walke thicke set with manie a tree;

Whose arched bowes ore hed combined bee,

That nor the golden eye of heauen can peepe

Into that place, ne yet, when heauen doth weepe,

Can the thin drops of drizeling raine offend

Him, that for succour to that place doth wend.

Where, when alone I first did enter in,

And call to minde how that truth-shielding queene,

In former times the same did beautifie

With presence of her princelie maiestie;

O how the place did seeme to mourne to mee,

That she should thence for euer absent bee!

In this sad passion, which did still abound,

I sat me downe vpon the grassie ground,

Wishing that heau’n into my infant muse

That antique poet’s spirit would infuse,

Who, when in Thracian land hee did rehearse

Ianthee’s wofull end in tragick verse,

Did make men, birds, beasts, trees and rockes of stone

That virgin’s timelesse tragedie to mone:

For then I thought, that to that mournefull place,

I might haue sung my verse with lesse disgrace

To greatElizae’sworth: for who doth bring

Her deeds to light, or who her worth doth singe?

O, did that Fairie Queene’s sweet singer liue,

That to the dead eternitie could giue,

Or if, that heauen by influence would infuse

His heauenlie spirit on mine earth-borne muse,

Her name ere this a mirror should haue been

Lim’d out in golden verse to th’eyes of men:

But my sad muse, though willing, yet too weak

In her rude rymesElizae’sworth to speak,

Must yeeld to those, whose muse can mount on high,

And with braue plumes can clime the loftie skie.

As thus I sat all sad vpon the greene

In contemplation of that royall queene,

And thinking, what a Mirrour she might be

Vnto all future time’s posteritie,

Inclining downe my hed, soft fingered sleepe

With pleasing touch throughout my limbes did creepe,

Who hauing seas’d vpon mee with strong hands,

Bound vp my thoughts in soporiferous bands,

And held mee captiue, while his seruant slie

A vision strange did vnto mee descrie:

For vp from Morpheus den a vision came,

Which were it sent in mightie Ioue’s own name,

Or by some other power, I wot not well:

But as I slept, I say, thus it befell:

As at that time in walking to and fro,

I 'bout this pleasant place alone did goe,

Each obiect of the same all suddenlie

Seemd strangelie metamorphiz’d to myne eye;

The Helliconian spring, that did proceed

From th’hoofe of Pegasus that heauenlie steed,

And those pure streames of virgin Castalie,

The place of Ioue’s nine daughters nurserie,

Did seeme to haue resign’d their proper place,

Transported thither to that land’s disgrace:

Where, as I thought, I heard an heauenlie sound,

Of which the place did euerie where redound:

Vnto the which as I attentiue stood,

Descending downe from out a neighbouring wood,

I might behold the sacred sisters nine,

Whether from heauen or other place diuine,

I am vncertaine; but their way they made

Where as I stood beneath the leauie shade:

Before them all a goodlie ladie came

In stately portance like Ioue’s braine-borne dame,

To wit, that virgin queene, the faireElize,

That whilom was our England’s richest prize;

In princelie station with great Iunoe’s grace

(Me seem’d) she came in her maiesticke pace,

Grac’d with the lookes of daunting maiestie,

Mixt with the meekenesse of milde clemencie;

Such haue I seene her, when in princely state

She goddesse-like in chariot high hath sate,

When troopes of people with loud shouts and cries,

Haue sounded out their auies in the skies:

And rid each other in the present place

With great desire to see her heau’nly face:

Mongst whom she came, as if Aurora faire

Out of the east had newly made repaire,

Making a sun-like light with golden shine

Of her bright beauty in the gazer’s eine.

Approching neere the place where I did stand,

With gratious beckning of her princely hand,

She seem’d to call to me; but sillie I,

Daunted with presence of such maiestie,

Fell prostrate downe, debasht with reuerent shame

At sudden sight of so diuine a dame;

Till she with gentle speech thus mildely said:

“Stand vp,” quoth she, “and be no whit dismaid;

Let loyall loue and zeale to me inflame

Thy muse to sing the praises of my name;

And let not thoughts of want, of worth, and skill,

Impeach the purpose of thy forward quill;

For though thy homely stile and slender verse

Too humble seeme my praises to rehearse:

Yet to the world, that I a Mirrour bee

Amongst those many Mirrours writ by thee;

Feare neither bite of doggedTheon’stooth,

Nor soone-shot bolts of giddie headed youth;

For th’awfull power of my sole dreaded name,

Shall from thy verse auert all foule defame:

And lest in any point thou chance to faile,

Which may my name’s great glorie ought auaile;

Loe here the cheefest of the daughters nine

Of sacred Memorie and Ioue diuine,

Great Clioe’s selfe, in order shall rehearse

My storie to thee in her stately verse.”

This said, more swift then lightening from the skie,

She on the suddaine vanisht from mine eye

With all her nymphes, for none of all her traine

Excepting Clio did with mee remaine,

Who being the first borne childe of Memorie,

The ladie was of noble historie,

A peerelesse dame past al compare to sing

The deeds, that vertue vnto light doth bring:

In comelie garments, like some virgin maid

Of Dian’s troope, shee trimlie was arraid,

Saue goddesse-like her globe-like head around

With verdant wreath of sacred bay was crownd;

From which downe either side her comelie face,

Her golden lockes did flow with goodlie grace,

And in her hand a lute diuinelie strung

She held, to which oft times she sweetlie sung;

With this she sat her downe vpon the ground,

And with her fingers made the strings to sound,

Vnto the which her sweet voice she did frame

To sing the praises ofElizae’sname.

Which hauing done, shee thus did silence break;

“Would God,” quoth shee, “her prayses I could speak,

Who claimes a greater power her praise to sound,

Then Phœbus self, if greater could be found:

Yet will I triall make with all my might,

With her great fame the golden starres to smite:

Which while I sing, heark thou with heedful eare,

And in thy mind the same hereafter beare:”

This said, she lightlie toucht each trembling string,

And with sweet voice did thus diuinelie sing.

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