The Poetical Works of Edmund Spenser, Volume 5 | Page 2

prevaile with me, and indeede commaund me, knowing with
howe straight bandes of duetie I was tied to him, as also bound unto
that noble house, of which the chiefs hope then rested in him, have
sought to revive them by upbraiding me, for that I have not shewed
anie thankefull remembrance towards him or any of them, but suffer
their names to sleep in silence and forgetfulnesse. Whome chieflie to
satisfie, or els to avoide that fowle blot of unthankefulnesse, I have
conceived this small Poeme, intituled by a generall name of _The
Worlds Ruines;_ yet speciallie intended to the renowming of that noble
race from which both you and he sprong, and to the eternizing of some
of the chiefe of them late deceased. The which I dedicate unto your La.
as whome it most speciallie concerneth, and to whome I acknowledge
my selfe bounden by manie singular favours and great graces. I pray for
your honourable happinesse, and so humblie kisse your handes.
Your Ladiships ever
humblie at commaund,
E.S.

* * * * *
THE RUINES OF TIME.
It chaunced me on* day beside the shore Of silver streaming Thamesis
to bee, Nigh where the goodly Verlame stood of yore, Of which there
now remaines no memorie, Nor anie little moniment to see, 5 By which
the travailer that fares that way This once was she may warned be to
say. [* _On_, one.]
There, on the other side, I did behold A Woman sitting sorrowfullie
wailing, Rending her yeolow locks, like wyrie golde 10 About her
shoulders careleslie downe trailing, And streames of teares from her
faire eyes forth railing*: In her right hand a broken rod she held, Which
towards heaven shee seemd on high to weld, [* _Railing_, flowing.]
Whether she were one of that rivers nymphes, 15 Which did the losse
of some dere Love lament, I doubt; or one of those three fatall impes
Which draw the dayes of men forth in extent; Or th'auncient genius of
that citie brent*; But, seeing her so piteouslie perplexed, 20 I, to her
calling, askt what her so vexed. [* _Brent_, burnt.]
"Ah! what delight," quoth she, "in earthlie thing, Or comfort can I,
wretched creature, have? Whose happines the heavens envying, From
highest staire to lowest step me drave, 25 And have in mine owne
bowels made my grave, That of all nations now I am forlorne*, The
worlds sad spectacle, and Fortunes scorne." [* _Forlorne_, forsaken.]
Much was I mooved at her piteous plaint, And felt my heart nigh riven
in my brest 30 With tender ruth to see her sore constraint; That,
shedding teares, a while I still did rest, And after did her name of her
request. "Name have I none," quoth she, "nor anie being, Bereft of both
by Fates uniust decreeing. 35
"I was that citie which the garland wore Of Britaines pride, delivered
unto me By Romane victors which it wonne of yore; Though nought at
all but ruines now I bee, And lye in mine owne ashes, as ye see, 40
VERLAME I was; what bootes it that I was, Sith now I am but weedes
and wastfull gras?
"O vaine worlds glorie, and unstedfast state Of all that lives on face of
sinfull earth! Which, from their first untill their utmost date, 45 Tast no
one hower of happines or merth; But like as at the ingate* of their berth
They crying creep out of their mothers woomb, So wailing backe go to
their wofull toomb. [* _Ingate_, entrance, beginning.]

"Why then dooth flesh, a bubble-glas of breath, 50 Hunt after honour
and advauncement vaine, And reare a trophee for devouring death With
so great labour and long-lasting paine, As if his daies for ever should
remaine? Sith all that in this world is great or gaie 55 Doth as a vapour
vanish and decaie.
"Looke backe, 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 wisedome knew the perfect somme? 60 Where those great
warriors, which did overcome The world with conquest of their might
and maine, And made one meare* of th'earth and of their raine? [*
_Meare_, boundary.]
"What nowe is of th'Assyrian Lyonesse, Of whome no footing now on
earth appeares? 65 What of the Persian Beares outragiousnesse, Whose
memorie is quite worne out with yeares? Who of the Grecian Libbard*
now ought heares, That over-ran the East with greedie powre, And left
his whelps their kingdomes to devoure? 70 [* _Libbard_, leopard]
"And where is that same great seven-headded beast, That made all
nations vassals of her pride, To fall before her feete at her beheast, And
in the necke of all the world did