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LONGER ENGLISH POEMS.

SPENSER.

PROTHALAMION.

CALME was the day, and through the trembling ayre
Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play,
A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay
Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre,
When I (whom sullein care,
Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay
In Princes Court, and expectation vayne
Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away,
Like empty shaddowes, did afflict my brayne,)
Walkt forth to ease my payne
Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes;
Whose rutty Bancke, the which his Riuer hemmes,
Was paynted all with variable flowers,
And all the meades adornd with daintie gemmes
Fit to decke maydens bowres
And crowne their Paramours
Against the Brydale day, which is not long.

Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song.

There, in a Meadow, by the Riuers side,
A Flocke of Nymphes I chaunced to espy,
All louely Daughters of the Flood thereby,
With goodly greenish locks, all loose vntyde,
As each had bene a Bryde;
And each one had a little wicker basket,
Made of fine twigs, entrayled curiously,
In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket,

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And with fine Fingers cropt full feateously
The tender stalkes on hye.
Of euery sort, which in that Meadow grew,
They gathered some, the Violet pallid blew,
The little Dazie, that at euening closes,
The virgin Lillie, and the Primrose trew,
With store of vermeil Roses,
To decke their Bridegromes posies
Against the Brydale day, which was not long.

Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song.

35

With that I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe
Come softly swimming downe along the Lee;
Two fairer Birds I yet did neuer see ;
The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew,
Did never whiter shew ;
Nor Joue himselfe, when he a Swan would be,
For loue of Leda, whiter did appeare ;
Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he,
Yet not so white as these, nor nothing neare;
So purely white they were,
That euen the gentle streame, the which them bare,
Seem'd foule to them, and bad his billowes spare
To wet their silken feathers, least they might
Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre,
And marre their beautics bright,
That shone as heavens light,
Against their Brydale day, which was not long.

Sweet Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song.

55

Eftsoones the Nymphes, which now had Flowers their fill,
Ran all in haste to see that siluer brood,
As they came floating on the Christal Flood;
Whom when they sawe, they stood amazed still
Their wondring eyes to fill ;
Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fayre,
Of Fowles so louely, that they sure did deeme
Them heavenly borne, or to be that same payre
Which through the Skie draw Venus silver Teen'e ;
For sure they did not seeme
To be begot of any earthly Seede,
But rather Angels, or of Angels breede;
Yet were they bred of Somers-heat, they say,

In sweetest Season, when each Flower and weede,
The earth did fresh aray;
So fresh they seem'd as day,
Euen as their Brydale day, which was not long.

Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song.

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Then forth they all out of their baskets drew
Great store of Flowers, the honour of the field,
That to the sense did fragrant odours yeild,
All which upon those goodly Birds they threw
And all the Waues did strew,
That like old Peneus Waters they did seeme,
When downe along by pleasant Tempes shore,
Scattred with Flowers, through Thessaly they streeme,
That they appeare, through Lillies plenteous store,
Like a Brydes Chamber flore.
Two of those Nymphes, meane while, two Garlands bound
Of freshest Flowres which in that Mead they found,
The which presenting all in trim Array,
Their snowie Foreheads therewithall they crownd,
Whil'st one did sing this Lay,
Prepar'd against that Day,
Against their Brydale day, which was not long :

(Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song.)

90.

“ Ye gentle Birdes ! the worlds faire ornament,
" And heauens glorie, whom this happie hower
“ Doth leade unto your lovers blissfull bower,
Joy may you haue, and gentle hearts content
“Of your loues couplement;
And let faire Venus, that is Queene of loue,
With her heart-quelling Sonne vpon you smile,
“ Whose smile, they say, hath vertue to remoue
“ All Loues dislike, and friendships faultie guile
For euer to assoile.
Let endlesse Peace your steadfast hearts accord,
“And blessed Plentie wait vpon your bord ;
“And let your bed with pleasures chast abound,
“ That fruitfull issue may to you afford,
Which may your foes confound,
“ And make your joyes redound
“ Vpon your Brydale day, which is not long."
Sweet Themmes ! runne softlie, till I end my Song.

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So ended she: and all the rest around
To her redoubled that her vndersong,
Which said their brydale daye should not be long :
And gentle Eccho from the neighbour ground
Their accents did resound.
So forth those joyous Birdes did passe along,
Adowne the Lee, that to them murmurde low,
As he would speake, but that he lackt a tong,
Yet did by signes his glad affection show,
Making his streame run slow.
And all the foule which in his flood did dwell
Gan flock about these twaine, that did excell
The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend
The lesser starres. So they, enranged well,
Did on those two attend,
And their best seruice lend
Against their wedding day, which was not long.

Sweete Themmes ! run softly, till I end my Song.

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At length they all to mery London came,
To mery London, my most kyndly Nurse,
That to me: gaue this Lifes first natiue sourse,
Though from another place I take my name,
An house of auncient fame.
There when they came, whereas those bricky towres
The which on Themmes brode aged backe doe ryde,
Where now the studious Lawyers haue their bowers,
There whylome wont the Templer Knights to byde,
Till they decayd through pride ;
Next whereunto there standes a stately place,
Where oft I gayned giftes and goodly grace
Of that great Lord, which therein wont to dwell,
Whose want too well now feeles my freendles case;
But ah! here fits not well
Olde woes, but joyes, to tell
Against the bridale daye, which is not long

Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song.

140

145

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble Peer,
Great Englands glory, and the Worlds wide wonder,
Whose dreadfull name late through all Spaine did thunder,
And Hercules two pillors standing neere
Did make to quake and feare.

Faire branch of Honor, flower of Chevalrie !
That fillest England with thy triumphes fame,
Joy haue thou of thy noble victorie,
And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name
That promiseth the same,
That through thy prowesse and victorious armes
Thy country may be freed from forraine harmes ;
And great Elisaes glorious name may ring
Through al the world, fil'd with thy wide Alarmes,
Which some braue muse may sing
To ages following
Vpon the Brydale day, which is not long.

Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song.

From those high Towers this noble Lord issuing,
Like Radiant Hesper, when his golden hayre
In th’ Ocean billowes he hath bathed fayre,
Descended to the Riuers open vewing,
With a great traine ensuing.
Aboue the rest were goodly to bee seene
Two gentle Knights of louely face and feature,
Beseeming well the bower of anie Queene,
With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature
Fit for so goodly stature,
That like the twins of Joue they seem'd in sight,
Which decke the Bauldricke of the Heauens bright.
They two, forth pacing to the Rivers side,
Receiued those two faire Brides, their Loues delight;
Which, at th' appointed tyde,
Each one did make his Bryde
Against their Brydale day, which is not long.

Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song..

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