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

shall advaunce. Brave impe* of Bedford, grow apace in bountie, And
count of wisedome more than of thy countie! [* _Impe_, graft, scion.]
"Ne may I let thy husbands sister die, That goodly ladie, sith she eke
did spring 275 Out of this stocke and famous familie Whose praises I to
future age doo sing; And foorth out of her happie womb did bring The
sacred brood of learning and all honour; In whom the heavens powrde
all their gifts upon her.
"Most gentle spirite breathed from above, 281 Out of the bosome of the
Makers blis, In whom all bountie and all vertuous love Appeared in
their native propertis, And did enrich that noble breast of his 285 With
treasure passing all this worldës worth, Worthie of heaven it selfe,
which brought it forth:
"His blessed spirite, full of power divine And influence of all celestiall
grace, Loathing this sinfull earth and earthlie slime, 290 Fled backe too
soonc unto his native place; Too soone for all that did his love embrace,
Too soone for all this wretched world, whom he Robd of all right and
true nobilitie.
"Yet, ere his happie soule to heaven went 295 Out of this fleshlie goale,
he did devise Unto his heavenlie Maker to present His bodie, as a
spotles sacrifise, And chose that guiltie hands of enemies Should powre
forth th'offring of his guiltles blood: So life exchanging for his
countries good. 300
"O noble spirite, live there ever blessed, The worlds late wonder, and
the heavens new ioy; Live ever there, and leave me here distressed

With mortall cares and cumbrous worlds anoy! 305 But, where thou
dost that happines enioy, Bid me, O bid me quicklie come to thee, That
happie there I maie thee alwaies see!
"Yet, whilest the Fates affoord me vitall breath, I will it spend in
speaking of thy praise, 310 And sing to thee, untill that timelie death
By heavens doome doo ende my earthlie daies: Thereto doo thou my
humble spirite raise, And into me that sacred breath inspire, Which
thou there breathest perfect and entire. 315
"Then will I sing; but who can better sing Than thine owne sister,
peerles ladie bright, Which to thee sings with deep harts sorrowing,
Sorrowing tempered with deare delight, That her to heare I feele my
feeble spright 320 Robbed of sense, and ravished with ioy; O sad ioy,
made of mourning and anoy!
"Yet will I sing; but who can better sing Than thou thyselfe thine owne
selfes valiance, That, whilest thou livedst, madest the forrests ring, 325
And fields resownd, and flockes to leap and daunce, And shepheards
leave their lambs unto mischaunce, To runne thy shrill Arcadian pipe to
heare: O happie were those dayes, thrice happie were!
"But now more happie thou, and wretched wee, 330 Which want the
wonted sweetnes of thy voice, Whiles thou now in Elisian fields so free,
With Orpheus, and with Linus, and the choice Of all that ever did in
rimes reioyce, Conversest, and doost heare their heavenlie layes, 335
And they heare thine, and thine doo better praise.
"So there thou livest, singing evermore, And here thou livest, being
ever song Of us, which living loved thee afore, And now thee worship
mongst that blessed throng 340 Of heavenlie poets and heroës strong.
So thou both here and there immortall art, And everie where through
excellent desart.
"But such as neither of themselves can sing, Nor yet are sung of others
for reward, 345 Die in obscure oblivion, as the thing Which never was;
ne ever with regard Their names shall of the later age be heard, But
shall in rustic darknes ever lie, Unles they mentiond be with infamie.
350
"What booteth it to have been rich alive? What to be great? what to be
gracious? When after death no token doth survive Of former being in
this mortall hous, But sleepes in dust dead and inglorious, 355 Like
beast, whose breath but in his nostrels is, And hath no hope of

happinesse or blis.
"How manie great ones may remembred be, Which in their daies most
famouslie did florish, Of whome no word we heare, nor signe now see,
360 But as things wipt out with a sponge to perishe, Because they
living cared not to cherishe No gentle wits, through pride or covetize,
Which might their names for ever memorize!
"Provide therefore, ye Princes, whilst ye live, 365 That of the Muses ye
may friended bee, Which unto men eternitie do give; For they be
daughters of Dame Memorie And love, the father of Eternitie, And do
those men in golden thrones repose, 370 Whose merits they to glorifie
do chose.
"The seven-fold yron gates of grislie Hell, And horrid house of sad
Proserpina, They