Oh, grief of griefs! Oh, gall of all good hearts!
To see that virtue should despised be
Of him, that first was raised for vertuous parts;
And now, broad spreading like an aged tree,
Lets none shoot up that nigh him planted be.
Oh, let the man by whom the Muse is scorn'd,
Nor alive nor dead be of the Muse adorn'd.
We have, too, a more finished portrait of an evil _minister_ who "lifted
up his lofty towers,"
That they begin to threat the neighbour sky;
in which unquestionably we find some of the deformities of Burleigh's
political physiognomy.
He no count made of nobility;
The realm's chief strength and girlond of the crown--
He made them dwell in darkness of disgrace,
For none but whom he list might come in place.
Of men of armes he had but small regard,
But kept them low, and strained very hard;
For men of learning little he esteem'd,
His wisdome he above their learning deem'd.
As for the rascal commons least he cared,
For not so common was his bounty shared.
Let God, said he, if please care for the manie,
I for myself most care before else anie.
Yet none durst speak, ne none durst of him plaine,
So great he was in grace, and rich through gaine.
The gentle bard of the "Faery Queen" now sate down to continue his great
work; but haunted by this spectral and iron-eyed monster of an
unpatronising minister, he actually violates the solemnity of his theme
by opening with another recollection, so fatal to his own repose:--
The rugged forehead that, with grave foresight,
Welds kingdoms, causes, and affairs of state,
My looser rimes I wote doth sharply wite,
For praising love as I have done of late.
Such ones ill judge of love, that cannot love,
Ne in their frozen heart feel kindly flame.