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THE TEARS OF THE MUSES.

To the right honourable

THE LADY STRANGE.

Most brave and noble Lady! the things that make ye fo much honoured of the world as ye be, are fuch as (without my fimple lines' teftimony) are throughly known to all men, namely, your excellent beauty, your vertuous behaviour, and your noble match with that most honourable lord the very pattern of right nobility: but the causes for which ye have deserved of me to be honoured (if honour it be at all) are both your particular bounties, and alfo fome private bands of affinity which it hath pleased your Ladyfhip to acknowledge; of which whenas I found my self in no part worthy, I devised this last flender means, both to intimate my humble affection to your Ladyfhip, and alle to make the fame univerfally known to the world, that by honouring you they might know me, and by knowing me they might honour you.

Vouchsafe, noble Lady! to accept this fimple remembrance, though not worthy of your felf, yet fuch as, perhaps, by good acceptance thereof, ye may hereafter cull out a more meet and memorable evidence of your own excellent deferts. So, recommending the fame to your Ladyship's good liking, I humbly take leave.

Your Ladyfhip's humbly ever,

EDMUND SPENSER.

REUERSE to me, ye facred Sifters Nine!
The golden brood of great Apollo's wit,
Thofe piteous plaints and forrowful fad tine
Which late you poured forth as ye did fit
Befide the filver fprings of Helicone,
Making your musick of heart-breaking mone:

For fince the time that Phoebus' foolish fon
Ythundered, through Jove's avengeful wrath,
For traverfing the charret of the fun
Beyond the compafs of the pointed path,
Of you his mournful fifters was lamented,
Such mournful tunes were never fince invented,

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Behold the foul reproach and open shame
The which is day by day unto us wrought,
By fuch as hate the honour of our name,
The foes of learning, and each gentle thought;
They, not contented us themselves to fcorn,
Do feek to make us of the world forlorn.

Ne only they that dwell in lowly dust,
The fons of Darkness and of Ignorance,
But they whom thou, great Jove! by doom
unjust,

Didft to the type of honour earst advance;
They now, puft up with 'fdeignful infolence,
Despise the brood of blessed Sapience

The fectaries of my celeftial skill,

That wont to be the world's chief ornament;
And learned inips that wont to shoot up still,
And grow to height of kingdom's government,
'They under keep, and with their spreading arms
Do beat their buds, that perish through their

harms.

It most behoves the honourable race
Of mighty peers true wisdom to sustain,
And with their noble countenance to grace
The learned foreheads without gift or gain;
Or rather learn'd themselves behoves to be,
That is the girlond of nobility.

But (ah!) all otherwise they do esteem
Of th' heavenly gift of wifdom's influence,
And to be learned it a bafe thing deem;
Bafe minded they that want intelligence;
For God himfelf for wifdom is praif'd,
And men to God thereby are nighest raif'd.

But they do only ftrive themselves to raise
Through pompous pride and foolish vanity;
In th' eyes of people they put all their praise,
And only boaft of arms and ancestry;

But vertuous deeds, which did thofe arms first give

To their grandfires, they care not to atchieve.

So I, that do all noble feats profess
To register, and found in trump of gold,
Through their bad doings or base flothfulness
Find nothing worthy to be writ or told;
For better far it were to hide their names,
Than telling them to blazon out their blames.

So fhall fuccecding ages have no light
Of things forepaft, nor monuments of time,
And all that in this world is worthy hight
Shall die in darknefs, and lie hid in flime;
Therefore I mourn with deep heart's forrowing,
Because I nothing noble have to fing.

With that the rain'd fuch ftore of ftreaming

tears,

That could have made a ftony heart to weep,

And all her fifters rent their golden hears, And their fair faces with falt humour steep. So ended the; and then the next in rew Began her grievous plaint, as doth enfue.

MELPOMENE.

O who fhall pour into my swollen cyes
A fea of tears that never may be dride!
A brazen voice that may with fhrilling cries
Pierce the dull heavens, and fill the air fo
wide!

And iron fides, tha fighing may endure,
To wail the wretchednefs of world impure?

Ah! wretched world the den of wickedness,
Deform'd with filth and foul iniquity;
Ah! wretched World! the house of heaviness,
Fill'd with the wrecks of mortal misery;
Ah! wretched World! and all that is therein,
The vaffals of God's wrath, and flaves of fin.

Moft miferable creature under fky
Man without understanding doth appear,
For all this world's affliction he thereby, .
And Fortune's freaks, is wifely taught to bear;
Of wretched life the only joy the is,
And the only comfort in calamities.

She arms the breast with conftant patience
Against the bitter throws of Dolour's darts;
She folaceth with rules of fapience

The gentle minds, in midft of worldly fmarts:
When he is fad fhe feeks to make him merry,
And doth refresh his fprights when they be
weary.

But he that is of reafon's fkill bereft,
And wants the ftaff of wisdom him to flay,
Is like a fhip in midft of tempeft left,
Withouten helm or pilot her to fway:
Full fad and dreadful is that fhip's event;
So is the man that wants entendiment.

Why then do foolish men fo much despise
The precious ftore of these celeftial riches?
Why do they banish us, that patronize
The name of learning? Moft unhappy wretches!
The which lie drowned in deep wretchednefs,
Yet do not fee their own unhappiness.

My part it is, and my profeffed skill,
The stage with tragick buskins to adorn,
And fill the scene with plaints and outcries fhrill
Of wretched persons to misfortune born;
But none more tragick matter I can find
Than this, of men depriv'd of fenfe and mind.

For all man's life me feems a tragedy
Full of fad fights and fore catastrophees;
First coming to the world with weeping eye,
Where all his days, like dolorous trophees,

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All these, and all that elfe the comick stage
With feafon'd wit and goodly pleafance grac'd,
By which man's life, in his likeft image,
Was limned forth, are wholly now defac'd;
And those sweet wits, which wont the like
frame.

Are now despif'd, and made a laughing game.

And he, the man whom Nature felf had made
To mock her self, and truth to intimate,
With kindly counter under mimick shade,
Our pleasant Willy, ah! is dead of late;
With whom all joy and jolly merriment
Is alfo deaded, and in dolour drent.

In ftead thereof, fcoffing Scurrility,

And fcorning Folly with Contempt is crept, Rolling in rimes of shameless ribaudry la Without regard, or due decorum kept; Each idle wit at will perfumes to make, t. And doth the learned's talk upon him take.

But that fame gentle fpirit, from whose pen
Large ftreams of honey and fweet nectar flow,
Scorning the boldness of such base-born men,
Which dare their follics forth fo rafhly throw,
Doth rather choofe to fit in idle cell,
Than fo himself to mockery to fell.

So am I made the fervant of the many,
And laughing-ftock of all that lift to fcorn,
Not honoured nor cared for of any,
But loath'd of lofels as a thing forlorn;
Therefore I mourn and forrow with the reft,
Until my caufe of forrow be redreft.

Therewith fhe loudly did lament and fhrike,
Pouring forth ftreams of tears abundantly,
And all her fifters, with compaflion like,
The breaches of her fingults did fupply.
So refted fhe; and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doch enfew.

EUTERPE.

LIKE as the dearling of the fummer's pride,
Fair Philomele! when winter's ftormy wrath
The goodly fields, that era fo gay were dy'd
In colours divers, quite defpoiled hath,
All comfortlefs doth hide her cheerlefs head
During the time of that her widowhead;

So we, that earft were wont in fweet accord
All places with our pleafant notes to fill,
Whilft favourable times did us afford
Free liberty to chaunt our charms at will,
All comfort fs upon the bared how,
Like woful culvers, do fit wailing now,

For far more bitter ftorm than winter's ftower,
The beauty of the world hath lately wafted,
And thofe fresh buds, which wont fo fair to
flower,

Hath marred quite, and all their blossoms blasted;
And thofe young plants, which wont with fruit

abound,

Now without fruit or leaves are to be found.

A ftony coldness hath benumb'd the fenfe
And lively fpirits of each living wight,
And dimm'd with darkness their intelligence,
Darkness more than Cymmerians' daily night;
And monftrous Error, flying in the air,
Hath marr'd the face of all that seemed fair.

Image of hellifh horror, Ignorance,
Born in the bofom of the black abyss,
And fed with Furies' milk for fuftenance
Of his weak infancy, begot amifs

By yawning Sloth on his own mother Night, So he is ions both fire and brother hight:

He, arm'd with blindnefs and with boldness ftout, (For blind is bold) hath our fair light defaced, And gathering unto him a ragged rout Of Fauns and Satyrs, hath our dwellings raced, And our chafte bowers, in which all vertue reign'd,

With brutishness and beaftly filth had stain’d.

The facred fprings of horfe-foot Helicon,
So oft hedewed with our learned layes,
And speaking streams of pure Caftalion,
The famous witnefs of our wonted praise,
They trampled have with their foul footing's
tread,

And like to troubled puddles have them made.

Our pleasant groves, which planted were with plains,

That with our mufick wont fo oft to ring, And arbours fweet, in which the fhepherds fwains

Were wont fo oft their paftorals to fing, They have cut down, and all their pleasures marr'd,

That now no paftoral is to be heard.

In ftead of them, foul goblins and fhriek-owls,
With fearful howling do all places fill,
And feeble Eccho now laments and howls
The dreadful accents of their out-cries fhrill:
So all is turned into wilderness,

Whilt Ignorance the Mufes doth opprefs.

And I, whofe joy was earft with spirit full
To teach the warbling pipe to found aloft,
My fpirits, now difmay'd with forrow dull,
Do mone my mifery with filence foft;
Therefore I mourn and wail inceffantly,
Till please th' Heavens afford me remedy.
Therewith the wailed with exceeding wo,
And piteous lamentation did make,
And all her fifters feeing her do so,
With equal plaints her forrow did partake.
So refted the; and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth enfue.

TERPSICHORE.

WHOSO hath in the lap of foft Delight

Been long time lull'd, and fed with pleasures fweet,

Fearless through his own fault or Fortune's fpright

To ftumble into forrow and regret,
If chance him fall into calamity,
Finds greater burthen of his mifery.

So we, that earft in joyance did abound,
And in the bofom of all blifs did fit,

Like virgin queens, with laurel garlands crown'd,

For vertue's meed and ornament of wit,

Sith Ignorance our kingdom did confound,
Be now become moft wretched wights on ground,

And in our royal thrones, which lately stood
In th' hearts of men to rule them carefully,
He now hath placed his accurfed brood,
By him begotten of foul Infamy;

Blind Error, fcornful Folly, and bafe Spright, Who hold by wrong that we should have by right.

They to the vulgar fort now pipe and fing,
And make them merry with their fooleries;
They chearly chant, and rimes at random fling,
The fruitful fpawn of their rank tantafies:
They feed the ears of fools with flattery,
And good men blame, and lofels magnify.

All places they do with their toys possess,
And reign in liking of the multitude;
The fchools they fill with fond new-fangleness,
And fway in court with pride and rafhnefs rude:
'Mongft fimple fhepherds they do boaft their skill,
And fay their mufick matcheth Phoebus' quill.

The noble hearts to pleasures they allure,
And tell their prince that learning is but vain;
Fair ladies loves they spot with thoughts impure,
And gentle minds with leud delights diftain:
Clerks they to loathly idlenefs intice,
And fill their books with difcipline of vice.

So every where they rule and tyranize,
For their ufurped ki gdom's maintenance,
The whiles we filly maids, whom they defpize,
And with reproachful fcorn discountenance,
From our own native heritage exil'd,
Walk through the world, of every one revil'd.

Nor any one doth care to call us in,
Or once vouchfafeth us to entertain,
Unless fome one, perhaps of gentle kin,
For pities fake compaffion our pain,
And yield as fome relief in this diftrefs;
Yet to be fo reliev'd is wretchedness.

So wander we all careful comfortless,
Yet none doth care to comfort us at all;
So feek we help our forrow to redress,
Yet none vouchfafes to answer to our call;
Therefore we mourn and pitiless complain,
Becaufe none living pitieth our pain.

With that fhe wept and wofully lamented,
That nought on earth her grief might pacify,
And all the rest her doleful din augmented
With fhricks, and groans, and grievous agony.
So ended the; and then the next in rew
Began her piteous plaint, as doth ensue.

ERATO.

YE gentle Spirits! breathing from above, Where ye in Venus' filver bowre were bred,

Thoughts half divine, full of the fire of love,
With beauty kindled, and with pleasure fed,
Which ye now in fecurity poffefs,
Forgetful of your former heavinefs;

Now change the tenor of your joyous layes,
With which ye ufe your loves to deify,
And blazon forth an earthly beauty's praife
Above the compass of the arched sky:
Now change your praifes unto piteous cries,
And eulogies turn into elegies.

Such as ye wont, whenas those bitter stounds
Of raging love first 'gan me to torment,
And launce your hearts with lamentable wounds
Of fecret forrow and fad languishment,
Before your loves did take you unto grace;
Those now renew, as fitter for this place.

For I, that rnle in measure moderate
The tempeft of that ftormy paffion,
And ufe to paint in rimes the troublous state
Of lover's life in likest fashion,

Am put from practife of my kindly skill,
Banifh'd by thofe that love with lewdness fill

Love wont to be school-master of my skill,
And the deviceful matter of my fong;
Sweet Love! devoid of villany or ill,
But
purc and spotlefs, as at firft he fprong
Out of th' Almighty's bofom where he nefts,
From thence infufed into mortal breasts.

Such high conceit of that celeftial fire,
The bafe-born brood of Blindness cannot ghef
Ne never dare their dunghill thoughts afpire
Unto fo lofty pitch of perfectness,

But rime at riot, and do rage in love,
Yet little wote what doth thereto behove.

Fair Cytheree the mother of Delight,
And Queen of Beauty, now thou may'ft go pack,
For lo! thy kingdom is defaced quight,
Thy fceptre rent, and power put to wrack;
And thy gay fon, the winged God of Love,
May now go prune his plumes like ruffed dove.

ye

And three Twins to light by Venus brought,
The fweet companions of the Mufes late,
From whom what-ever thing is goodly thought,
Doth borrow grace, the fancy to aggrate,
Go beg with us, and be companions ftill,
As heretofore of good, so now of ill.

For neither you nor we fhall any more
Find entertainment or in court or school;
For that which was accounted heretofore
'The learned's meed, is now lent to the fool:
He fings of love, and maketh loving lays,
And they him hear, and they him highly prakt

With that the poured forth a brackish flood
Of bitter tears, and made exceeding more;
And all her fifters feeing her fad mood,
With loud laments her anfwer'd all at one.

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