The lion would not leave her desolate,
But with her went along, as a strong guard
Of her chaste person, and a faithful mate
Of her sad troubles and misfortune hard:
Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and ward;
And, when she waked, he waited diligent,
With humble service to her will prepared:
From her fair eyes he took commandement,
And ever by her looks conceived her intent.
THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS.
AND is there care in Heaven? And is there love
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base,
That may compassion of their evils move?
There is: else much more wretched were the case
Of men than beasts: But O, the exceeding grace
Of highest God, that loves his creatures so,
And all his works with mercy doth embrace,
That blessed angels he sends to and fro,
To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe!
How oft do they their silver bowers leave
To come to succour us that succour want!
How oft do they with golden pinions cleave
The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant,
Against foul fiends to aid us militant!
They for us fight, they watch and duly ward,
And their bright squadrons round about us plant;
And all for love, and nothing for reward:
O, why should heavenly God to men have such regard
FROM THE RUINS OF TIME.
I WAS that city, which the garland wore
Of Britain's pride, delivered unto me
By Roman victors, which it won of yore,
Though nought at all but ruins now I be,
And lie in mine own ashes as ye see:
Verlame I was; what boots it what I was,
Since now I am but woods and wasteful grass?
Oh, vain world's glory, and unsteadfast state
Of all that lives on face of sinful earth,
Which, from their first until their utmost date,
Taste no one hour of happiness or mirth,
But like as, at the ingate of their birth,
They crying creep out of their mother's womb,
So, wailing, back go to their woeful tomb.
Why then doth flesh, a bubble glass of breath,
Hunt after honour and advancement vain,
And rear a trophy for devouring death,
With so great labour and long-lasting pain,
As if his days for ever should remain ?
Sith all that in this world is great or gay,
Doth as a vapour vanish and decay.
Look back who list unto the former ages,
And call to count what is of them become;
Where be those learned wits and antique sages,
Which of all wisdom knew the perfect sum?
Where those great warriors which did overcome
The world with conquest of their might and main, And made one meer of th' earth and of their reign?
What now is of the Assyrian Lioness,
Of whom no footing now on earth appears?
What of the Persian Bear's outrageousness,
Whose memory is quite worn out with years?
Who of the Grecian Libbard now ought hears,
That overran the East with greedy power,
And left his whelps their kingdoms to devour?
And where is that same great Seven-headed beast, That made all nations vassals of her pride,
To fall before her feet at her behest,
And in the neck of all the world did ride?
Where doth she all that wondrous wealth now hide? With her own weight down pressed now she lies, And by her heaps her hugeness testifies.
Oh Rome! thy ruin I lament and rue,
And, in thy fall, my fatal overthrow,
That whilom was, whilst Heavens with equal view
Deigned to behold me, and their gifts bestow,
The picture of thy pride in pompous show;
And of the whole world, as thou wast the Empress,
So I of this small northern world was Princess.
To tell the beauty of my buildings fair,
Adorned with purest gold and precious stone;
To tell my riches and endowments rare,
That by my foes are now all spent and gone;
To tell my forces matchable to none,
Were but lost labour, that few would believe,
And with rehearsing would me more aggrieve.
High towers, fair temples, goodly theatres,
Strong walls, rich porches, princely palaces,
Large streets, brave houses, sacred sepulchres,
Sure gates, sweet gardens, stately galleries,
Wrought with fair pillars and fine imageries;
All those, oh pity! now are turned to rust,
And overgrown with black oblivion's dust!
Lo! where she comes along with portly pace,
Like Phoebe from her chamber of the east,
Arising forth to run her mighty race,
Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best.
So well it her beseems, that ye would ween
Some angel she had been.
Her long, loose yellow locks, like golden wire,
Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween,
Do like a golden mantle her attire;
And being crowned with a garland green,
Seem like some maiden queen.
Her modest eyes, abashed to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,
Upon the lowly ground affixed are;
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold,
But blush to hear her praises sung so loud,
So far from being proud.
Nathless do ye still loud her praises sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.
Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see
So fair a creature in your town before!
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,
Adorned with Beauty's grace and Virtue's store?
Her goodly eyes like sapphires, shining bright,
Her forehead ivory white,
Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath rudded,
Her lips like cherries charming men to bite,
Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded, paps like lilies budded,
Her snowy neck like to a marble tower;
And all her body like a palace fair,
Ascending up with many a stately stair
To Honour's seat and Chastity's sweet bower.
Why stand ye still, ye virgins, in amaze,
Upon her so to gaze,
Whilst ye forget your former lay to sing,
To which the woods did answer, and your echo ring?
But if ye saw that which no eyes can see,
The inward beauty of her lively sprite,
Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degree,
Much more, then, would ye wonder at that sight,
And stand astonished, like to those which read
Medusa's mazeful head.
There dwells sweet Love and constant Chastity,
Unspotted Faith, and comely Womanhood,
Regard of Honour, and mild Modesty.
There Virtue reigns as queen in royal throne,
And giveth laws alone,
The which the base affections do obey,
And yield their services unto her will;
Ne thought of things uncomely ever may
Thereto approach, to tempt her mind to ill.
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