| |
| THEREFORE, 1 above the rest, Ambition sat. | |
| His Court with glitterant pearl was all enwalled | |
| And round about the wall, in Chairs of State | |
| And most majestic splendour, were installed | |
| A hundred Kings: whose temples were impaled | 5 |
| In golden diadems, set here and there | |
| With diamonds, and gemmèd everywhere; | |
| And of their golden verges 2 none disceptred were | |
| |
| High over all, Panglory’s blazing throne, | |
| (In her bright turret, all of crystal wrought) | 10 |
| Like Phœbus’ lamp in the midst of heaven shone: | |
| Whose starry top (with pride infernal fraught) | |
| Self-arching columns, to uphold were taught. | |
| In which her image still reflected was, | |
| By the smooth crystal; that, most like her glass, | 15 |
| In beauty, and in frailty, did all others pass. | |
| |
| A silver wand, the Sorceress did sway: | |
| And for a crown of gold, her hair she wore; | |
| Only a garland of rosebuds did play | |
| About her locks; and in her hand she bore | 20 |
| A hollow globe of glass, that long before | |
| She full of emptiness had bladderèd, | |
| And all the world therein depicturèd; | |
| Whose colours, like the rainbow, ever vanishèd. | |
| |
| Such wat’ry orbicles 3 young boys do blow | 25 |
| Out of their soapy shells; and much admire | |
| The swimming world, which tenderly they row | |
| With easy breath, till it be wavèd higher: | |
| But if they chance but roughly once aspire, | |
| The painted bubble instantly doth fall! | 30 |
| Here, when she came, she gan for music call; | |
| And sung this Wooing Song, to welcome him withal: | |
| |
| Love is the blossom where there blows | |
| Everything that lives or grows: | |
| Love doth make the Heav’ns to move, | 35 |
| And the Sun doth burn in love: | |
| Love the strong and weak doth yoke, | |
| And makes the ivy climb the oak, | |
| Under whose shadows lions wild, | |
| Softened by love, grow tame and mild: | 40 |
| Love no med’cine can appease, | |
| He burns the fishes in the seas: | |
| Not all the skill his wounds can stench, 4 | |
| Not all the sea his fire can quench. | |
| Love did make the bloody spear | 45 |
| Once a leavy coat to wear, | |
| While in his leaves there shrouded lay | |
| Sweet birds, for love that sing and play. | |
| And of all love’s joyful flame | |
| I the bud and blossom am. | 50 |
| Only bend thy knee to me, | |
| Thy wooing shall thy winning be! | |
| |
| See, see the flowers that below | |
| Now as fresh as morning blow; | |
| And of all the virgin rose | 55 |
| That as bright Aurora shows; | |
| How they all unleavèd die, | |
| Losing their virginity! | |
| Like unto a summer shade, | |
| But now born, and now they fade. | 60 |
| Everything doth pass away; | |
| There is danger in delay: | |
| Come, come, gather then the rose, | |
| Gather it, or it you lose! | |
| All the sand of Tagus’ shore | 65 |
| Into my bosom casts his ore: | |
| All the valleys’ swimming corn | |
| To my house is yearly borne: | |
| Every grape of every vine | |
| Is gladly bruised to make me wine: | 70 |
| While ten thousand kings, as proud, | |
| To carry up my train have bowed, | |
| And a world of ladies send me | |
| In my chambers to attend me: | |
| All the stars in Heav’n that shine, | 75 |
| And ten thousand more, are mine: | |
| Only bend thy knee to me, | |
| Thy wooing shall thy winning be! | |
| |
| Thus sought the dire Enchantress, in his mind | |
| Her guileful bait to have embossomèd: | 80 |
| But He, her charms dispersèd into wind; | |
| And, of her insolence admonishèd! | |
| And all her optic glasses shatterèd! | |
| So, with her Sire, to Hell she took her flight | |
| (The starting air flew from the damnèd sprite!) | 85 |
| Where deeply both, 5 aggrieved, plunged themselves in night. | |
| |
| But to their Lord, now musing in his thought, | |
| A heavenly volley of light angels flew; | |
| And from his Father, him a banquet brought | |
| Through the fine Element: for well they knew, | 90 |
| After his Lenten Fast, he hungry grew. | |
| And as he fed, the holy quires combine | |
| To sing a Hymn of the celestial Trine: | |
| All thought to pass; and each was, past all thought, divine. | |
| |
| The birds’ sweet notes, to sonnet out their joys, | 95 |
| Attempered to the Lays Angelical! | |
| And to the birds, the winds attune their noise! | |
| And to the winds, the waters hoarsely call! | |
| And ECHO, back again revoicèd all! | |
| That the whole valley rung with Victory! | 100 |
| But now our Lord, to rest doth homeward fly. | |
| See, how the Night comes stealing from the mountains high! | |
