Like as the dearling of the summers pryde, 235
Faire Philomele, when winters stormie wrath
The goodly fields, that earst so gay were dyde
In colours divers, quite despoyled hath,
All comfortlesse doth hide her chearlesse head
During the time of that her widowhead, 240
So we, that earst were wont in sweet accord
All places with our pleasant notes to fill,
Whilest favourable times did us afford
Free libertie to chaunt our charmes at will,
All comfortlesse upon the bared bow*, 245
Like wofull culvers**, doo sit wayling now.
[* _Bow_, bough.]
[** _Culvers_, doves.]
For far more bitter storme than winters stowre*
The beautie of the world hath lately wasted,
And those fresh buds, which wont so faire to flowre,
Hath marred quite, and all their blossoms blasted;
250
And those yong plants, which wont with fruit t’abound,
Now without fruite or leaves are to be found.
[* _Stowre_, violence.]
A stonie coldnesse hath benumbd the sence
And livelie spirits of each living wight,
And dimd with darknesse their intelligence, 255
Darknesse more than Cymerians daylie night:
And monstrous Error, flying in the ayre,
Hath mard the face of all that semed fayre.
Image of hellish horrour, Ignorance,
Borne in the bosome of the black abysse, 260
And fed with Furies milke for sustenaunce
Of his weake infancie, begot amisse
By yawning Sloth on his owne mother Night,—
So hee his sonnes both syre and brother hight,—
He, armd with blindnesse and with boldnes stout, 265
(For blind is bold,) hath our fayre light defaced;
And, gathering unto him a ragged rout
Of Faunes and Satyres, hath our dwellings raced*,
And our chast bowers, in which all vertue rained,
With brutishnesse and beastlie filth hath stained.
270
[* _Raced_, razed.]
The sacred springs of horsefoot Helicon,
So oft bedeawed with our learned layes,
And speaking streames of pure Castalion,
The famous witnesse of our wonted praise,
They trampled have with their fowle footings trade*,
And like to troubled puddles have them made. 276
[* _Trade_, tread.]
Our pleasant groves, which planted were with paines,
That with our musick wont so oft to ring,
And arbors sweet, in which the shepheards swaines
Were wont so oft their pastoralls to sing, 280
They have cut downe, and all their pleasaunce mard,
That now no pastorall is to bee hard.
In stead of them, fowle goblins and shriek-owles
With fearfull howling do all places fill,
And feeble eccho now laments and howles, 285
The dreadfull accents of their outcries shrill.
So all is turned into wildernesse,
Whilest Ignorance the Muses doth oppresse.
And I, whose ioy was earst with spirit full
To teach the warbling pipe to sound aloft, 290
My spirits now dismayd with sorrow dull,
Doo mone my miserie in silence soft.
Therefore I mourne and waile incessantly,
Till please the heavens affoord me remedy.
Therewith shee wayled with exceeding woe, 295
And pitious lamentation did make;
And all her sisters, seeing her doo soe,
With equall plaints her sorrowe did partake.
So rested shee: and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew. 300