I press to bear no haughty sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies: Lo, thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring.
Some have too much, yet still do crave;
I little have, and seek no more. They are but poor, though much they have, And I am rich with little store:
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; They lack, I leave; they pine, I live.
I laugh not at another's loss;
I grudge not at another's pain;
No worldly waves my mind can toss; My state at one doth still remain:
I loathe not life, nor dread my end.
No harm to you but this I crave That your new Love may you deceive,
I fear no foc, I fawn no friend;
For light's the love that's quickly won." "Kind and fair Sweet, once believe me! Jest I did, but not to grieve thee; Words and sighs and what I spent In show to her, to you were meant. Fond I was, your love to cross, Jesting love oft brings this loss! Forget this fault! and love your friend, Which vows his truth unto the end!" "Content," She said, "if this you keep!" Thus both did kiss, and both did weep.
A cloaked craft their store of skill: But all the pleasure that I find Is to maintain a quiet mind.
My wealth is health and perfect ease; My conscience clear my chief defence;
I neither seck by bribes to please, Nor by deceit to breed offence: Thus do I live; thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I!
EDMUND SPENSER (1552?-1599)
More than most fair, full of the living fire Kindled above unto the Maker near;
No eyes but joys, in which all powers conspire That to the world naught else be counted dear; Through your bright beams doth not the blinded guest
Shoot out his darts to base affections wound;
But angels come to lead frail minds to rest In chaste desires, on heavenly beauty bound. You frame my thoughts, and fashion me within; You stop my tongue, and teach my heart to speak; You calm the storm that passion did begin, Strong through your cause, but by your virtue weak.
Dark is the world, where your light shined
Well is he born that may behold you ever.
Like as a ship, that through the ocean wide, By conduct of some star doth make her way, Whenas a storm hath dimmed her trusty guide, Out of her course doth wander far astray; So I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray Me to direct, with clouds is overcast, Do wander now, in darkness and dismay, Through hidden perils round about me placed; Yet hope I well that, when this storm is past, My Helicë, the lodestar of my life, Will shine again, and look on me at last, With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief: Till then I wander careful, comfortless, In secret sorrow, and sad pensiveness.
Fresh Spring, the herald of love's mighty king, In whose coat-armour richly are displayed All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring In goodly colours gloriously arrayed; Go to my love, where she is careless laid,
Yet in her winter's bower not well awake;
Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be For love of Leda, whiter did appear; Yet Leda was, they say, as white as he, Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near; So purely white they were,
That even the gentle stream, the which them bare, Seemed foul to them, and bade his billows spare To wet their silken feathers, lest they might Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair, And mar their beauties bright, That shone as heaven's light, Against their bridal day, which was not long: Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.
"Ye gentle birds! the world's fair ornament, And heaven's glory whom this happy hour Doth lead unto your lover's blissful bower, Joy may you have, and gentle hearts' content Of your love's couplement;
And let fair Venus, that is queen of love, With her heart-quelling son upon you smile, Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile For ever to assoil;
Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord, And blessed plenty wait upon your board; And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound, That fruitful issue may to you afford, Which may your foes confound, And make your joys redound Upon your bridal day, which is not long:" Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.
The which on Thames' broad, aged back do ride, Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers, There whilom wont the Templar Knights to bide, Till they decayed through pride:
Next whereunto there stands a stately place, Where oft I gained gifts and goodly grace Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell, Whose want too well now feels my friendless case; But ah! here fits not well Old woes, but joys, to tell Against the bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.
Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, Great England's glory, and the world's wide wonder,
Whose dreadful name late through all Spain did thunder,
And Hercules' two pillars standing near Did make to quake and fear:
Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry! 150 That fillest England with thy triumph's fame, Joy have thou of thy noble victory, And endless happiness of thine own name, That promiseth the same;
That through thy prowess, and victorious arms, Thy country may be freed from foreign harms; And great Elisa's glorious name may ring Through all the world, filled with thy wide alarms, Which some brave muse may sing To ages following,
Upon the bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.
From those high towers this noble lord issuing, Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair In th' ocean billows he hath bathed fair, Descended to the river's open viewing, With a great train ensuing.
Above the rest were goodly to be seen
Early, before the world's light-giving lamp His golden beam upon the hills doth spread, 20 Having dispersed the night's uncheerful damp Do ye awake, and, with fresh lustihed,' Go to the bower of my beloved love, My truest turtle dove;
Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake,
And long since ready forth his mask to move, With his bright tead 2 that flames with many a flake, And many a bachelor to wait on him, In their fresh garments trim,
Bid her awake therefore, and soon her dight, 30 For lo the wished day is come at last, . That shall, for all the pains and sorrows past, Pay to her usury of long delight:
And, whilst she doth her dight,
Do ye to her of joy and solace sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your echo
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