Minor Poems of Michael Drayton Part 11

If his Shafts loosing, (Ill his Mark choosing) Or his Bow broken; The Moane VENVS maketh, And care that she taketh, Cannot be spoken. 30

To VULCAN commending Her loue, and straight sending Her Doues and her Sparrowes, With Kisses vnto him, And all but to woo him, To make her Sonne Arrowes.

Telling what he hath done, (Sayth she, Right mine owne Sonne) In her Armes she him closes, Sweetes on him fans, 40 Layd in Downe of her Swans, His Sheets, Leaues of Roses.

And feeds him with Kisses; Which oft when he misses, He euer is froward: The Mothers o'r-ioying, Makes by much coying, The Child so vntoward.

Yet in a fine Net, That a Spider set, 50 The Maydens had caught him; Had she not beene neere him, And chanced to heare him, More good they had taught him.

AN AMOVRET ANACREONTICK

Most good, most faire, Or Thing as rare, To call you's lost; For all the cost Words can bestow, So poorely show Vpon your prayse, That all the wayes Sense hath, come short: Whereby Report 10 Falls them vnder; That when Wonder More hath seyzed, Yet not pleased, That it in kinde Nothing can finde, You to expresse: Neuerthelesse, As by Globes small, This Mightie ALL 20 Is shew'd, though farre From Life, each Starre A World being: So wee seeing You, like as that, Onely trust what Art doth vs teach; And when I reach At Morall Things, And that my Strings 30 Grauely should strike, Straight some mislike Blotteth mine ODE.

As with the Loade, The Steele we touch, Forced ne'r so much, Yet still remoues To that it loues, Till there it stayes; So to your prayse 40 I turne euer, And though neuer From you mouing, Happie so louing.

LOVES CONQVEST

Wer't granted me to choose, How I would end my dayes; Since I this life must loose, It should be in Your praise; For there is no Bayes Can be set aboue you.

S' impossibly I loue You, And for you sit so hie, Whence none may remoue You In my cleere Poesie, 10 That I oft deny You so ample Merit.

The freedome of my Spirit Maintayning (still) my Cause, Your s.e.x not to inherit, Vrging the _Salique_ Lawes; But your Vertue drawes From me euery due.

Thus still You me pursue, That no where I can dwell, 20 By Feare made iust to You, Who naturally rebell, Of You that excell That should I still Endyte,

Yet will You want some Ryte.

That lost in your high praise I wander to and fro, As seeing sundry Waies: Yet which the right not know To get out of this Maze. 30

TO THE VIRIGINIAN VOYAGE

You braue Heroique minds, Worthy your Countries Name; That Honour still pursue, Goe, and subdue, Whilst loyt'ring Hinds Lurke here at home, with shame.

_Britans_, you stay too long, Quickly aboard bestow you, And with a merry Gale Swell your stretch'd Sayle, 10 With Vowes as strong, As the Winds that blow you.

Your Course securely steere, West and by South forth keepe, Rocks, Lee-sh.o.r.es, nor Sholes, When EOLVS scowles, You need not feare, So absolute the Deepe.

And cheerefully at Sea, Successe you still intice, 20 To get the Pearle and Gold, And ours to hold, VIRGINIA, Earth's onely Paradise.

Where Nature hath in store Fowle, Venison, and Fish, And the Fruitfull'st Soyle, Without your Toyle, Three Haruests more, All greater then your Wish. 30

And the ambitious Vine Crownes with his purple Ma.s.se, The cedar reaching hie To kisse the Sky The Cypresse, Pine And vse-full Sa.s.safras.

To whome, the golden Age Still Natures lawes doth giue, No other Cares that tend, But Them to defend 40 From Winters rage, That long there doth not liue.

When as the Lus.h.i.+ous smell Of that delicious Land, Aboue the Seas that flowes, The cleere Wind throwes, Your Hearts to swell Approaching the deare Strande.

In kenning of the Sh.o.r.e (Thanks to G.o.d first giuen,) 50 O you the happy'st men, Be Frolike then, Let Cannons roare, Frighting the wide Heauen.

And in Regions farre Such Heroes bring yee foorth, As those from whom We came, And plant Our name, Vnder that Starre Not knowne vnto our North. 60

And as there Plenty growes Of Lawrell euery where, APOLLO'S Sacred tree, You may it see, A Poets Browes To crowne, that may sing there.

Thy Voyages attend, Industrious HACKLVIT, Whose Reading shall inflame Men to seeke Fame, 70 And much commend To after-Times thy Wit.

AN ODE WRITTEN IN THE PEAKE

This while we are abroad, Shall we not touch our Lyre?

Shall we not sing an ODE?

Shall that holy Fire, In vs that strongly glow'd, In this cold Ayre expire?

Long since the Summer layd Her l.u.s.tie Brau'rie downe, The Autumne halfe is way'd, And BOREAS 'gins to frowne, 10 Since now I did behold Great BRVTES first builded Towne.

Though in the vtmost _Peake_, A while we doe remaine, Amongst the Mountaines bleake Expos'd to Sleet and Raine, No Sport our Houres shall breake, To exercise our Vaine.

What though bright PHBVS Beames Refresh the Southerne Ground, 20 And though the Princely _Thames_ With beautious Nymphs abound, And by old _Camber's_ Streames Be many Wonders found;

Yet many Riuers cleare Here glide in Siluer Swathes, And what of all most deare, _Buckston's_ delicious Bathes, Strong Ale and n.o.ble Cheare, T' a.s.swage breeme Winters scathes. 30

Those grim and horrid Caues, Whose Lookes affright the day, Wherein nice Nature saues, What she would not bewray, Our better leasure craues, And doth inuite our Lay.

In places farre or neere, Or famous, or obscure, Where wholesome is the Ayre, Or where the most impure, 40 All times, and euery-where, The Muse is still in vre.

HIS DEFENCE AGAINST THE IDLE CRITICK

The Ryme nor marres, nor makes, Nor addeth it, nor takes, From that which we propose; Things imaginarie Doe so strangely varie, That quickly we them lose.

And what 's quickly begot, As soone againe is not, This doe I truely know: Yea, and what 's borne with paine, 10 That Sense doth long'st retaine, Gone with a greater Flow.

Yet this Critick so sterne, But whom, none must discerne, Nor perfectly haue seeing, Strangely layes about him, As nothing without him Were worthy of being.

That I my selfe betray To that most publique way, 20 Where the Worlds old Bawd, Custome, that doth humor, And by idle rumor, Her Dotages applaud.

That whilst he still prefers Those that be wholly hers, Madnesse and Ignorance, I creepe behind the Time, From spertling with their Crime, And glad too with my Chance. 30

O wretched World the while, When the euill most vile, Beareth the fayrest face, And inconstant lightnesse, With a scornefull slightnesse, The best Things doth disgrace.

Whilst this strange knowing Beast, Man, of himselfe the least, His Enuie declaring, Makes Vertue to descend, 40 Her t.i.tle to defend, Against him, much preparing.

Yet these me not delude, Nor from my place extrude, By their resolued Hate; Their vilenesse that doe know; Which to my selfe I show, To keepe aboue my Fate.

TO HIS RIVALL

Her lou'd I most, By thee that 's lost, Though she were wonne with leasure; She was my gaine, But to my paine, Thou spoyl'st me of my Treasure.