Yet farre more faire be those bright Cherubins, Which all with golden wings are overdight, And those eternall burning Seraphins, Which from their faces dart out fierie light; Yet fairer then they both, and much more bright, Be th' Angels and Archangels, which attend On Gods owne person, without rest or end.
These thus in faire each other farre excelling, As to the Highest they approach more near, Yet is that Highest farre beyond all telling, Fairer then all the rest which there appeare, Though all their beauties ioyn'd together were; How then can mortall tongue hope to expresse The image of such endlesse perfectnesse ?
But we, fraile wights! whose sight cannot sustaine The suns bright beames when he on us doth shyne, But that their points rebutted backe againe Are duld, how can we see with feeble eyne The glorie of that Maiestie Divine,
In sight of whom both sun and moone are darke, 125 Compared to His least resplendent sparke ?
The meanes, therefore, which unto us is lent Him to behold, is on His workes to looke, Which He hath made in beauty excellent, And in the same, as in a brasen booke, To read enregistred in every nooke His goodnesse, which His Beautie doth declare; For all thats good is beautifull and faire.
Light, farre exceeding that bright blazing sparke Which darted is from Titans flaming head, That with his beames enlumineth the darke And dampish air, wherby al things are red; Whose nature yet so much is marvelled Of mortall wits, that it doth much amaze The greatest wisards which thereon do gaze.
But that immortall light, which there doth shine, Is many thousand times more bright, more cleare, More excellent, more glorious, more divine, Through which to God all mortall actions here, And even the thoughts of men, do plaine appeare ; For from th' Eternall Truth it doth proceed, Through heavenly vertue which her beames doe
With the great glorie of that wondrous light His throne is all encompassed around, And hid in His owne brightnesse from the sight Of all that looke thereon with eyes unsound; And underneath His feet are to be found
Thunder, and lightning, and tempestuous fyre, The instruments of His avenging yre.
And on her head a crown of purest gold
Is set, in signe of highest soverainty; And in her hand a scepter she doth hold, With which she rules the house of God on hy, And menageth the ever-moving sky, And in the same these lower creatures all Subiected to her powre imperiall.
Both heaven and earth obey unto her will, And all the creatures which they both containe; For of her fulnesse which the world doth fill They all partake, and do in state remaine As their great Maker did at first ordaine, Through observation of her high beheast, By which they first were made, and still increast The fairnesse of her face no tongue can tell; For she the daughters of all wemens race, And angels eke, in beautie doth excell, Sparkled on her from Gods owne glorious face, And more increast by her owne goodly grace, That it doth farre exceed all humane thought, Ne can on earth compared be to ought.
wisards] Wise men. T. WARTON.
How then dare I, the novice of his art, Presume to picture so divine a wight, Or hope t' expresse her least perfections part, Whose beautie filles the heavens with her light, And darkes the earth with shadow of her sight? Ah, gentle Muse! thou art too weake and faint 230 The pourtraict of so heavenly hew to paint.
Let angels, which her goodly face behold And see at will, her soveraigne praises sing, And those most sacred mysteries unfold Of that faire love of Mightie Heavens King; Enough is me t' admyre so heavenly thing, And, being thus with her huge love possest, In th' only wonder of her selfe to rest.
But whoso may, thrise happie man him hold, Of all on earth whom God so much doth grace, And lets his owne Beloved to behold; For in the view of her celestiall face All ioy, all blisse, all happinesse, have place; Ne ought on earth can want unto the wight Who of her selfe can win the wishfull sight.
For she, out of her secret threasury, Plentie of riches forth on him will powre, Even heavenly riches, which there hidden ly Within the closet of her chastest bowre, Th' eternall portion of her precious dowre, Which Mighty God hath given to her free, And to all those which thereof worthy bee.
None thereof worthy be, but those whom shee Vouchsafeth to her presence to receave,
that sweete Teian poet,] Anacreon.
And letteth them her lovely face to see, Whereof such wondrous pleasures they conceave, And sweete contentment, that it doth bereave Their soul of sense, through infinite delight, And them transport from flesh into the spright.
In which they see such admirable things, As carries them into an extasy,
And heare such heavenly notes and carolings Of Gods high praise, that filles the brasen sky; And feele such ioy and pleasure inwardly, That maketh them all worldly cares forget, And onely thinke on that before them set.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR THOMAS WALKLEY,
THE RIGHT NOBLE LADY, MARY, DAUGHTER TO THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE, GEORGE, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
MOST noble Lady! I have presumed to present this Poëm to your honourable hand, encouraged onel by the worth of the famous Author, (for I am certainely assured, by the ablest and most knowing men. that it must be a worke of Spencers, of whom it were pitty that any thing should bee lost,) and doubting not but your Lady-ship will graciously accept, though from a meane hand, this humble present, since the man that offers it is a true honourer and observer of your selfe and your princely family, and shall ever remaine The humblest of your devoted servants,
*The printer's assertion is the only authority on which this Poem has been admitted into the editions of Spenser's Works, since its first publication in 1628. The criticks agree in believing that it was not written by Spenser. TODD.
Among the rest, that all the rest excel'd,
A dainty boy there wonn'd, whose harmlesse yeares Now in their freshest budding gently sweld; His nimph-like face nere felt the nimble sheeres, Youth's downy blossome through his checke
His lovely limbes (but love he quite discarded) Were made for play (but he no play regarded) And fit love to reward, and with love be rewarded.
High was his fore-head, arch't with silver mould, (Where never anger churlish rinkle dighted,) His auburne lockes hung like darke threds of gold, That wanton aires (with their faire length incited} To play among their wanton curles delighted;
His smiling eyes with simple truth were stor'd Ah! how should truth in those thiefe eyes be stor❜d, Which thousand loves had stol'n, and never one restor❜d?
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