An Elegie, or Friends Passion, for His Astrophill

‘Was never eie, did see that face,

Was never eare, did heare that tong,

Was never minde, did minde his grace,

That ever thought the travell long,

But eies, and eares, and ev’ry thought,

Were with his sweete perfections caught.

‘O God, that such a worthy man,

In whom so rare desarts did raigne,

Desired thus, must leave us than,

And we to wish for him in vaine!

O could the stars that bred that wit

In force no longer fixed sit?

‘Then being fild with learned dew,

The Muses willed him to love;

That instrument can aptly shew

How finely our conceits will move:

As Bacchus opes dissembled harts,

So Love sets out our better parts.

‘Stella, a nymph within this wood,

Most rare and rich of heavenly blis,

The highest in his fancie stood,

And she could well demerite this:

Tis likely they acquainted soone;

He was a sun, and she a moone.

‘Our Astrophill did Stella love;

O Stella, vaunt of Astrophill,

Albeit thy graces gods may move,

Where wilt thou finde an Astrophill?

The rose and lillie have their prime,

And so hath beautie but a time.

‘Although thy beautie do exceed,

In common sight of ev’ry eie,

Yet in his poesies when we reede,

It is apparant more thereby:

He that hath love and judgement too

Sees more than any other doo.

‘Then Astrophill hath honord thee;

For when thy bodie is extinct,

Thy graces shall eternall be,

And live by vertue of his inke;

For by his verses he doth give

To short livde beautie aye to live.

‘Above all others this is hee,

Which erst approoved in his song

That love and honor might agree,

And that pure love will do no wrong.

Sweet saints! it is no sinne nor blame,

To love a man of vertuous name.

‘Did never love so sweetly breath

In any mortall brest before;

Did never Muse inspire beneath

A poets braine with finer store:

He wrote of love with high conceit,

And beautie reard above her height.

‘Then Pallas afterward attyrde

Our Astrophill with her device,

Whom in his armor heaven admyrde,

As of the nation of the skies;

He sparkled in his armes afarrs,

As he were dight with fierie starrs.

‘The blaze whereof when Mars beheld,

(An envious eie doth see afar)

“Such majestie,” quoth he, “is seeld,

Such majestie my mart may mar;

Perhaps this may a suter be,

To set Mars by his deitie.”

‘In this surmize he made with speede

An iron cane, wherein he put

The thunder that in cloudes do breede;

The flame and bolt togither shut

With privie force burst out againe,

And so our Astrophill was slaine.’

His word, ‘was slaine,’ straightway did move,

And Natures inward life strings twitch:

The skie immediately above

Was dimd with hideous clouds of pitch,

The wrastling winds from out the ground

Fild all the aire with ratling sound.

The bending trees exprest a grone,

And sigh’d the sorrow of his fall,

The forrest beasts made ruthfull mone,

The birds did tune their mourning call,

And Philomell for Astrophill

Unto her notes annext a phill.

The turtle dove with tunes of ruthe

Shewd feeling passion of his death;

Me thought she said, ‘I tell thee truthe,

Was never he that drew in breath

Unto his love more trustie found,

Than he for whom our griefs abound.’

The swan, that was in presence heere,

Began his funerall dirge to sing:

‘Good things,’ quoth he, ‘may scarce appeere,

But passe away with speedie wing:

This mortall life as death is tride,

And death gives life,’—and so he di’de.

The generall sorrow that was made

Among the creatures of Kinde

Fired the phœnix where she laide,

Her ashes flying with the winde,

So as I might with reason see,

That such a phœnix nere should bee.

Haply the cinders, driven about,

May breede an offspring neere that kinde,

But hardly a peere to that, I doubt;

It cannot sinke into my minde,

That under branches ere can bee

Of worth and value as the tree.

The egle markt with pearcing sight

The mournfull habite of the place,

And parted thence with mounting flight,

To signifie to Jove the case,

What sorrow Nature doth sustaine

For Astrophill by envie slaine.

And while I followed with mine eie

The flight the egle upward tooke,

All things did vanish by and by,

And disappeared from my looke;

The trees, beasts, birds, and grove was gone,

So was the friend that made this mone.

This spectacle had firmly wrought

A deepe compassion in my spright;

My molting hart issude, me thought,

In streames forth at mine eies aright:

And here my pen is forst to shrinke,

My teares discollors so mine inke.