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that Christmas. But, as it chanceth to busy builders, so, in building this my poor schoolhouse (the rather because the form of it is somewhat new, and differing from others), the work rose daily higher and wider than 1 thought it would in the beginning. And though it appear now, and be in very deed, but a small cottage, poor for the stuff and rude for the workmanship, yet in going forward I found the site so good as I was loth to give it over, but the making so costly, outreaching my ability, as many times I wished that some one of those three my dear friends with full purses, Sir Thomas Smith, Mr. Haddon, or Mr. Watson, had had the doing of it. Yet nevertheless I myself, spending gladly that little that I gat at home by good Sir John Cheke, and that that I borrowed abroad of my friend Sturmius, beside somewhat that was left me in reversion by my old masters Plato, Aristotle, and Cicero, I have at last patched it up as I could, and as you see.

A Gentle Teaches And Pupil. From Book I.

And one example whether love or fear doth work more in a child for virtue and learning, 1 will gladly report; which may be heard with some pleasure, and followed with more profit. Before I went into Germany 1 came to Broadgate in Leicestershire, to take my leave of that noble Lady Jane Grey, to whom I was exceeding much beholuen. Her parents, the duke and duchess, with all the household, gentlemen and gentlewomen, were hunting in the park. I found her in her chamber reading "Phaedon Platonis"i in Greek, and that with as much delight as some gentlemen would read a merry tale in Bocase.2 After salutation and dutydone, with some other talk, I asked her why she would lose such pastime in the park.' Smiling she answered me, "I wis,3 all their

1 Plato's Phaetlo, on the Immortality of the Soul.

2 Boccaccio. a j -wls, certainly

sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure that I find in Plato. Alas! good folk, they never felt what true pleasure meant." "And how came you, madam," quoth I, "to this deep knowledge of pleasure, and what did chiefly allure you unto it, seeing, not many women, but very few men, have attained there unto?" "I will tell you," quoth she; "and tell you a truth which, perchance, ye will marvel at. One of the greatest benefits that ever God gave me is that he sent me so sharp and severe parents and so gentle a schoolmaster. For when I am in presence of either father or mother, whether I speak, keep silence, sit, stand, or go, eat, drink, be merry or sad, be sewing, playing, dancing, or doing anything else, I must do it, as it were, in such weight, measure, and number, even so perfectly as God made the world, or else I am so sharply taunted, so cruelly threatened, yea presently sometimes with pinches, nips, and bobs,4 and other ways which I will not name for the honor I bear them, so without measure misordered,5 that I think myself in hell till time come that I must go to Mr. Elmer, who teacheth me so gently, so Dleasantly, with such fair allure ments to learning, that I think all the time nothing whilst I am with him. And when I am called from him I fall on« weeping, because whatsoever 1 do else but learning, is full of grief, trouble, fear, and whole misliking unto me. And thus my book hath been so much ray pleasure, and bringeth daily to me more pleas ure and more, that in respect of it all other pleasures, in very deed, be but trifles and troubles unto me."

I remember this talk gladly, both because it is so worthy of memory, and because also it was the last talk that ever I had and the la«t time that ever I saw that noble and worthy lady.

4 raps « to (a-weeplng)

5 111 disciplined




The Lover Having Dreamed Of Enjoyment
Op His Love, Complaineth That The Dream
Js Not Either Longer Or Truer

Unstable dream, according to the place.t
Be steadfast once, or else at least be true.
By tasted sweetness make me not to rue
The sudden loss of thy false feigned graee.
By good respect in such a dangerous case
Thou broughtst not her into these tossing seas.
But madest my spirit to live, my care t'en-

My body in tempest her delight t 'embrace.
The body dead, the spirit had his desire;
Painless was the one, the other in delight.
Why then, alas! did it not keep it right,
But thus return to leap into the fire,
And where it was at wish, could not remain?
Such mocks of dreams do turn to deadly pain.

Op His Love That Pricked Her Finger With
A Needle

She sat and sewed, that bath done me the wrong

Whereof 1 plain, and have done many a day; And whilst she heard my plaint in piteous song,

She wished my heart the sampler', that^ it

The blind master whom I have served so long,
Grudging to hear that3 he did hear her say,
Made her own weapon do* her finger bleed,
To feel if pricking were so good indeed!

'Deedle-work pattern 3 that which

2 as 4 make

• Though Wyatt and Surrey were. In strictness.

fire-Elizabethans, their poems, first published n 1557. were manifest harbingers of the creative Impulse we associate with Elizabeth's reign. Thirty years later Sidney called th?se poets "the two chief lanterns of light to all others that have since employed their pens upon English poesy." Wyatt introduced the Pctrarchlan sonnet form Into England; Surrey devised the variation used later by Shakespeare: and Surrey was the first to employ heroic blank verse. See Eng. Lit., p. 84. tThla phrase appears to have more rhyme than reason. I'l.saibly place = fe^t. referring to i I Cor., xv, 58. =

Be Lover Complaineth The Unkindness Op His Love

My lute, awake, perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And end that» I have now begun.
And when this song is sung and past,
My lute, be still, for 1 have done.

As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave2 in marble stone,
My song may pierce her heart as soon.
Should we then sigh or sing or moanf
No, no, my lute, for I have done.

The rocks do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually,
As she my suit and affection;
So that I am past remedy,
Whereby my lute and I have done.

Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts through Loves shot,
By whom unkind thou hast them won,
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.

Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain
That makest but game on earnest pain.
Think not alone under the sun
Dnquit* to cause thy lovers plain4,
Although my lute and I have done.

May chance thee lie withered and old
in winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon;
Thy wishes then dare not be told.
Care then who list, for I have done.

And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon;
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want, as I have done.

Now cease, my lute, this is the last
Labour that thou and 1 shall waste,
And ended is that we begun.
Now is this song both sung and past,
My lute, be still, for I have done.

that which 8 unrepnld

en*, engrave -* to t t.mphiln


Description Op Spring, Wherein Each Thing Renews, Save Only The Lover

The sootei season that bud and bloom forth brings

With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale;
The nightingale with feathers new she sings;
The turtle to her make2 hath told her tale:
Summer is come, for every spray now springs;
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;
The buck in brake his winter cote he flings;
The fishes flete with new repaired scale;
The adder all her slough away she slings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale;
The busy bee her honey now she mings3.
Winter is worn, that was the flowers' bale:
And thus I see among these pleasant things
Bach care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.

A Praise Op His Love, Wherein He

Rkproveth Them That Compare Their

Ladies With His
Give place, ye lovers, here before,

That spent your boasts and brags in vain; My Lady's beauty passeth more

The best of yours, I dare well sayen,
Than doth the sun the candle light,
Or brightest day the darkest night.

And thereto hath a troth as just

As had Penelope the fair;
For what she saith, ye may it trust

As it by writing sealed were.
And virtues hath she many moe
Than I with pen have skill to show. .

I could rehearse, if that I would,
The whole effect4 of Nature's plaint

When she had lost the perfect mold,
The like to whom she could not paint.

With wringing hands how she did cry,

And what she said, I know it, I.

I know she swore with raging mind,

Her kingdom only set apart,
There was no loss, by law of kind',

That could have gone so near her heart.
And this was chiefly all her pain:
She could not make the like again.

Sith" nature thus gave her the praise
To be the chiefest work she wrought,

1 sweet 4 tenor

2 turtle-dove to her mate t> nature

3 mixes e since • See note on preceding page.

In faith, methink, some better ways

On your behalf might well be sought,
Than to compare, as ye have done,
To match the candle with the sun.

Departure Op Aeneas From Dido

Such great complaints brake forth out of her breast; Whiles Aeneas full minded to depart, All things prepared, slept in the poop on high. To whom in sleep the wonted godhead 'a form 'Gan aye appear, returning in like shape' As seemed him, and 'gan him thus advise, Like unto Mercury in voice and hue, With yellow bush2, and comely limbs of youth:

"O goddess' son, in such case canst thou sleep,

Ne yet, bestraught*, the dangers dost foresee That compass thee, nor hear'st the fair wind? blow!

Dido in mind rolls vengeance and deceit; Determ'd to die, swells with unstable ire. Wilt thou not flee whiles thou hast time of flight t

Straight shalt thou see the seas covered with sails,

The blazing brands the shore all spread with flame,

And if4 the morrow steal upon thee here.
Come off, have done, set all delay aside;
For full of change these women be alway."
This said, in the dark night he 'gan him hide.

Aeneas, of this sudden vision
Adread, starts up out of his sleep in haste,
Calls up his feres5: "Awake, get up, mj

Aboard your ships, and hoise up sail with speed.

A god me wills, sent from above again,
To haste my flight and wreathen cables cut.

0 holy god, whatso thou art, we shall
Follow thee; and all blithe obey thy will.
Be at our hand and friendly us assist;
Address' the stars with prosperous influenca"
And with that word his glistering sword un-


With which drawn he the cables cut in twain.
The like desire the rest embraced all.
All things in haste they cast, and forth they

The shores they leave; with ships the seas are spread:

Cutting the foam by the blue seas thay sweep.

(From the Translation of the Fourth
Book of Virgil's Aeneid.)

1 (as before) < an if, if

2 locks 5 comrades

3 nor yet, distracted • endue

EDMUND SPENSER (1552-1599)*


The Dedication

To The Most High,
Mightie, And Magnificent Empresse
Renowmed For Piet1e, Vertl'e.
And All Gratious Government




Lo I the man, whose Muse whilome' did maske, As time her taught, in lowly Shepheards weeds2,

Am now enforst a far unfitter taske, i formerly

s Referring to the Shepheardes Calender, a pastoral poem. See Eng. I At., 89-90.

The Faerie Queene Is an allegory designed to Bet forth "a gentleman or noble person In virtuous and gentle discipline." The central characters are Olorlana, the queen of an Imaginary ("faerie") court, who symbolizes Olory, and her suitor Prince Arthur, who stands for Magniticence (Munificence), "which virtue Is the perfection of all the rest." Besides these, the twelve moral virtues were to have been separately represented by twelve knights, each performing deeds and overcoming temptations according to bis character. But as the poet's design was never finished, only half these virtues get representation, and the central characters receive rather less prominence than the six several virtues which are set forth in the six completed books. Each of these books, consisting of twelve cantos, is practically a complete story in Itself. The Brat deals with the Knight of the Red Cross, or Holiness, who. clad in the armor of the Christian faith, is sent forth by his Queen as the champion of I'na (Truth) to deliver her parents. r-who had been by un huge dragon many years shut up In a brasen castle." Beneath the moral allegory may be read also a political ODe, according to which (Jlorlana Is Queen Elizabeth, Prince Arthur Is Lord Leicester. Duessa is Mary Queen of Scots, etc. Bnt after all. the poetry of the poem Is worth far more than the elaborate allegory. The language and spelling are deliberately and sometimes false Iv archaic. See Eng. Lit., pp. 01-94.

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The Knight Of The Red Cross And His Fight With The Monster Ereob. The Wiles or Archimago. From Book I, Canto I.


A gentle Knight was pricking1 on the plaine,
Yeladd in mightie armes and silver shielde.
Wherein old dints of deepe wounds did re-

The cruell markes of many a bloudy fielde;
Yet armes till that time did he never wield:
His angry gteede did chide his foming bitt.
As much disdayning to the curbe to yield:
Full jolly* knight he seemd, and faire did sitt,
As one for knightly giustB" and fierce en
counters fitt.


But on his brest a bloudie Crosse he bore,
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he

And dead as living ever him ador'd:
Upon his shield the like was also scor'd.
For soveraine hope, which in his helpe he had:
Right faithfull true he was in deede and word,
But of his cheere* did seeme too solemne sad;
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was


Upon a great adventure he was bond,
That greatest Gloriana to him gave,
That greatest Glorious Queene of Faerie lond,
To winne him worship8, and her grace to have,
Which of all earthly things he most did crave;
And ever as he rode, his hart did earne'
To prove his puissance in battell brave
Upon his foe, and his new force to learne;
Upon his foe, a Dragon horrible and stearne.


A lovely Ladies rode him faire beside,
Upon a lowly Asse more white then snow.
Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide
Under a vele, that wimpled was full low.
And over all a blacke rtole she did throw.
As one that inly mournd: so was she sad,
And heavie sat upon her palfrey slow;

l riding, spurring « honor

■■: handsome 7 yearn

a Jousts > Una, personification
* countenance Truth.
S dreaded

Seemed in heart some hidden care she had, And by her in a line a milke white lambe she lad.*


So pure and innocent, as that same lambe,
She was in life and every vertuous lore.
And by descent from Royall lynage came
Of ancient Kings and Queenes, that had of

Their scepters stretcht from East to Westerne shore,

And all the world in their subjection held; Till that infernal! feend with foule uprore Forwasted all their land, and them ex|>eld: Whom to avenge, she had this Knight from far compeld*.


Behind her farre away a Dwarfe did lag.
That lasie seemd in being ever last,
Or wearied10 with bearing of her bag
Of needments at his backe. Thus as they past, .
The day with cloudes was suddeine overcast,
And angry Jove an hideous storme of rainc
Did pourc into his Lemans" lap so fast,
That every wighti2 to shrowdi' it did constrain.
And this faire couple eke to shroud them-
selves were fain.



Enforst to seeke some covert nigh at hand, j A shadie grove not far away they spide. That promist ayde the tempest to withstand: Whose loftie trees yelad with sommers pride Did spred so broad, that heavens light did hide.

Not perceable with power of any starre:
And all within were pathes and alleies wide.
With footing worne, and leading inward farre:
Faire harbour that them seemes; so in they
entred arre.


And foorth they passe, with pleasure forward led,

Joying to heare the birdes sweete harmony. Which therein shrouded from the tempest dred.

ft summoned 12 person

i« Pronounce "wea-rl-ed." is shelter
11 beloved one (the

• "That lamb we never see again'. It was a thought that rose and passed away from the poet's soul; but the Image had shown us thf character of Una in her simplicity, as if it I bad been a dove that hung for a moment over

her bead, and while a voice spoke, disappeared—This Is mv beloved ilnnqhtcr. In whom I am well pleased."—Christopher North.

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