1595
ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION

Endimion and Phoebe.

Endimion and Phoebe. Ideas Latmus.

Michael Drayton


In the conclusion of Endimion and Phoebe, Michael Drayton addresses his master, Colin: "Deare Collin, let my Muse excused be, | Which rudely thus presumes to sing by thee, | Although her straines be harsh untun'd and ill, | Nor can attayne to thy divinest skill." Drayton never reprinted this early Ovidian tale in heroic couplets, though portions were later used in his Man in the Moone.

John Payne Collier: "We soon arrive at a passage which Drayton would, perhaps, never have written, had not Spenser printed something even better in Canto 12 of Book II. of his Fairy Queen, st. 70 and 71. Drayton's lines are beautiful, and refer to the various songs of the birds: — 'The Nightingale, woods Herauld of the Spring, | The whistling Woosell, Mavis carroling, | Tuning theyr trebbles to the waters fall, | Which made the musicque more angelicall; | Whilst gentle Zephyre murmuring among | Kept tyme, and bare the burthen to the song.' It is quite needless to follow the story in which, in general, Drayton more imitates the style of Marlow than of Spenser. He seems, almost expressly, to avoid anything like a resemblance to Shakspeare, whose Venus and Adonis, it will be remembered, had come out in stanzas in the preceding year, and whose Lucrece, also in stanzas though of a different form, was printed in the same year as Drayton's Endimion and Phoebe.... We have already stated that Lodge in his Fig for Momus, 1595, expressly cites Endimion and Phoebe; and the Epistle where he does so is addressed "to Master Michael Drayton," whom he has also called Rowland in an Eclogue between Wagrin and Golde, — Golde being only the letters of Lodge transposed. The most interesting part of Endimion and Phoebe, on some accounts is the latter end, where Drayton bestows high praise upon Lodge, by the name of Goldey, upon Spenser, by the name of Collin, and upon Daniel, by reference to his Delia. It may be thought somewhat singular that he does not speak of Shakspeare; but he also omits Marlow, who was then recently dead, and of whose Hero and Leander Drayton's effusion most reminds us" Bibliographical and Critical Account (1866) 1:280, 282.

Thomas Corser: "This very rare volume, which was entirely unknown to bibliographers until notices by Mr. Collier in his Bridgewater Catalogue p. 108, and of which only two copies, one of them imperfect, are believed to exist, was, for some unknown reason, never reprinted by Drayton, but he has introduced portions of it in the Man in the Moon; and it has been entirely reprinted by Mr. Collier in his valuable and highly interesting volume of the Poems of Drayton, who supposes it to be written on the model in some sort of Marlowe's Hero and Leander, or Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis, 1593, and had previously introduced a passage from it of great interest which closed the Poem, containing an Address by Drayton to his fellow poets, Spenser, Daniel, and Lodge" Collectanea Anglo-Poetica 6 (1877) 283.

Sidney Colvin: "In early life he wrote a poem in heroic couplets called Endimion and Phoebe. This he never reprinted, but introduced some passages from it into a later piece in the same metre called the Man in the Moone. The volume containing Drayton's earlier Endimion and Phoebe became so rare that when Payne Collier reprinted it in 1856 only two copies were known to exist. It is unlikely that Keats should have seen either of these. But he possessed of his own a copy of Drayton's poems in Smethwick's edition of 1636 (one of the prettiest of seventeenth century books). The Man in the Moone is included in that volume, and that Keats was familiar with it is evident. In it, as in the earlier version, but with a difference, the poet, having enthroned his shepherd prince beside Cynthia in her kingdom of the moon, weaves round him a web of mystical disquisition and allegory, in which popular fancies and superstitions are queerly jumbled up with the then current conceptions of the science of astronomy and the traditions of mediaeval theology as to the number and order of the celestial hierarchies. In Drayton's earlier poem all this is highly serious and written in a rich and decorated vein of poetry intended, it might seem, to rival Marlowe's Hero and Leander: in his later, where the tale is told by a shepherd to his mates at the feast of Pan, the narrator lets down his theme with a satiric close in the vein of Lucian, recounting the human delinquencies nightly espied by Cynthia and her lover from their sphere" John Keats (1887; 1925) 168-69.

Oliver Elton: "Thomas Lodge, so well-known to the author as to be nicknamed by him in the piece under the anagram of Goldey, refers to it in a fragile work of his called a Fig for Momus, 1595; naming especially some Pythagorean jargon of 'nines and threes' with which Drayton unhappily tarnished his bright and silvery love-story. There is in fact in the poem too much pedantry, too much desire to show information. Platonic abstractions, which have passed through Spenser's Four Hymns, interrupt the tale. But Marlowe's influence — it was his special privilege — could sway and for a moment purify a talent widely unlike his own, such as that of his continuator Chapman, or of Drayton" Introduction to Michael Drayton (1895) 17.

Louis R. Zocca: "Much of this neo-platonic lore was derived from the popular handbook by Natalis Comes, although Drayton might have been influenced by the French Protestant poet, Du Bartas, whose religious epics were very popular in England. The latter's Uranie could very easily have served as the model for Phoebe, even though much of the material was, in reality, poetic commonplace. Spenser's very potent influence also must have contributed to his choice and treatment of the subject. Indeed, the whole poem might be termed in Drayton's own words a 'gorgeous arras in rich colours wrought | With silks from Affricke or from Indies brought'" Elizabethan Narrative Poetry (1950) 264.



In I-ONIA whence sprang old Poets fame,
From whom that Sea did first derive her name,
The blessed bed whereon the Muses lay,
Beauty of Greece, the pride of Asia,
Whence Archelaus whom times historifie,
First unto Athens brought Phylosophie.
In this faire Region on a goodly Plaine,
Stretching her bounds unto the bordring Maine,
The Mountaine Latmus over-lookes the Sea,
Smiling to see the Ocean billowes play:
Latmus, where young Endimion usd to keepe
His fairest flock of silver-fleeced sheepe.
To whom Silvanus often would resort,
At barly-breake to see the Satyres sport;
And when rude Pan his Tabret list to sound,
To see the faire Nymphes foote it in a round,
Under the trees which on this Mountaine grew,
As yet the like Arabia never knew:
For all the pleasures Nature could devise,
Within this plot she did imparadize;
And great Diana of her speciall grace,
With Vestall rytes had hallowed all the place:
Upon this Mount there stood a stately Grove,
Whose reaching armes, to clip the Welkin strove,
Of tufted Cedars, and the branching Pine,
Whose bushy tops themselves doe so intwine,
As seem'd when Nature first this work begun,
Shee then conspir'd against the piercing Sun;
Under whose covert (thus divinely made)
Phoebus greene Laurell florisht in the shade:
Faire Venus Mirtile, Mars his warlike Fyrre,
Minervas Olive, and the weeping Myrhe,
The patient Palme, which thrives in spite of hate,
The Popler, to Alcides consecrate;
Which Nature in such order had disposed,
And there-withall these goodly walkes inclosed,
As serv'd for hangings and rich Tapestry,
To beautifie this stately Gallery:
Imbraudring these in curious trailes along,
The clustred Grapes, the golden Citrons hung,
More glorious then the precious fruite were these,
Kept by the Dragon in Hesperides;
Or gorgious Arras in rich colours wrought,
With silk from Affrick, or from Indie brought:
Out of thys soyle sweet bubling Fountains crept,
As though for joy the sencelesse stones had wept;
With straying channels dauncing sundry wayes,
With often turnes, like to a curious Maze:
Which breaking forth, the tender grasse bedewed,
Whose silver sand with orient Pearle was strewed,
Shadowed with Roses and sweet Eglantine,
Dipping theyr sprayes into this christalline:
From which the byrds the purple berries pruned,
And to theyr loves their small recorders tuned.
The Nightingale, woods Herauld of the Spring,
The whistling Woosell, Mavis carroling,
Tuning theyr trebbles to the waters fall,
Which made the musicque more angelicall:
Whilst gentle Zephyre murmuring among,
Kept tyme, and bare the burthen to the song.
About whose brims, refresht with dainty showers,
Grew Amaranthus, and sweet Gilliflowers,
The Marigold, Phoebus beloved frend,
The Moly, which from sorcery doth defend:
Violet, Carnation, Balme and Cassia,
Ideas Primrose, coronet of May.
Above this Grove a gentle faire ascent,
Which by degrees of Milk-white Marble went:
Upon the top, a Paradise was found,
With which, Nature this miracle had crownd;
Empald with Rocks of rarest precious stone,
Which like the flames of Aetna brightly shone;
And serv'd as Lanthornes furnished with light,
To guide the wandring passengers by night:
For which fayre Phoebe sliding from her Sphere,
Used oft times to come and sport her there.
And from the Azure starry-painted Sky,
Embalmd the bancks with precious lunary:
That now her Menalus shee quite forsooke,
And unto Latmus wholy her betooke,
And in this place her pleasure us'd to take,
And all was for her sweet Endimions sake:
Endimion, the lovely Shepheards boy,
Endimion, great Phoebes onely joy,
Endimion, in whose pure-shining eyes,
The naked Faries daunst the heydegies.
The shag-haird Satyrs Mountain-climing race,
Have been made tame by gazing in his face.
For this boyes love, the water-Nymphs have wept
Stealing oft times to kisse him whilst he slept:
And tasting once the Nectar of his breath,
Surfet with sweet, and languish unto death;
And Jove oft-times bent to lascivious sport,
And comming where Endimion did resort,
Hath courted him, inflamed with desire,
Thinking some Nymph was cloth'd in boyes attire.
And often-times the simple rural Swaines,
Beholding him in crossing or'e the Plaines,
Imagined, Apollo from above
Put on this shape, to win some Maidens love.
This Shepheard, Phoebe ever did behold,
Whose love already had her thoughts controld;
From Latmus top (her stately throne) shee rose,
And to Endimion downe beneath shee goes.
Her Brothers beames now had shee layd aside,
Her horned cressent, and her full-fac'd pride:
For had shee come adorned with her light,
No mortall eye could have endur'd the sight;
But like a Nymph, crown'd with a flowrie twine,
And not like Phoebe, as herselfe divine.
An Azur'd Mantle purfled with a vaile,
Which in the Ayre puft like a swelling saile,
Embosted Rayne-bowes did appeare in silk,
With wavie streames as white as mornings Milk:
Which ever as the gentle Ayre did blow,
Still with the motion seem'd to ebb and flow:
About her neck a chayne twise twenty fold,
Of Rubyes, set in lozenges of gold;
Trust up in trammels, and in curious pleats,
With spheary circles falling on her teats.
A dainty smock of Cipresse, fine and thin,
Or'e cast with curls next to her Lilly skin:
Throgh which the purenes of the same did show
Lyke Damaske-roses strew'd with flakes of snow,
Discovering all her stomack to the waste,
With branches of sweet circling veynes enchaste.
A Coronet she ware of Mirtle bowes,
Which gave a shadow to her Ivory browes.
No smother beauty maske did beauty smother
"Great lights dim lesse yet burn not one another,"
Nature abhorrs to borrow from the Mart,
"Simples fit beauty, fie on drugs and Art."

Thus came shee where her love Endimion lay,
Who with sweet Carrols sang the night away;
And as it is the Shepheards usuall trade,
Oft on his pype a Roundelay he playd.
As meeke he was as any Lambe might be,
Nor never lyv'd a fayrer youth then he:
His dainty hand, the snow it selfe dyd stayne,
Or her to whom Jove showr'd in golden rayne:
From whose sweet palme the liquid Pearle dyd swell,
Pure as the drops of Aganippas Well:
Cleere as the liquor which fayre Hebe spylt;
Hys sheephooke silver, damask'd all with gilt.
The staffe it selfe, of snowie Ivory,
Studded with Currall, tipt with Ebony;
His tresses, of the Ravens shyning black,
Stragling in curles along his manly back.
The balls which nature in his eyes had set,
Lyke Diamonds inclosing Globes of Jet:
Which sparkled from their milky lids out-right,
Lyke fayre Orions heaven-adorning light.

The stars on which her heavenly eyes were bent,
And fixed still with lovely blandishment,
For whom so oft disguised shee was seene,
As shee Celestiall Phoebe had not beene:
Her dainty Buskins lac'd unto the knee,
Her pleyted Frock, tuck'd up accordingly:
A Nymph-like huntresse, arm'd with bow and dart
About the woods she scoures the long-liv'd Hart.
She climes the mountains with the light-foot Fauns
And with the Satyrs scuds it or'e the Launes.
In Musicks sweet delight shee shewes her skill,
Quavering the Cithron nimbly with her quill,
Upon each tree she carves Endimions name
In Gordian knots, with Phoebe to the same:
To kill him Venson now she pitch'd her toyles,
And to this lovely Raunger brings the spoyles;
And thus whilst she by chaste desire is led
Unto the Downes where he his fayre Flocks fed,
Neere to a Grove she had Endimion spide,
Where he was fishing by a River side
Under a Popler, shadowed from the Sun,
Where merrily to court him she begun:
Sweet boy (qd. she) take what thy hart can wish,
When thou doost angle would I were a fish,
When thou art sporting by the silver Brooks,
Put in thy hand thou need'st no other hooks;
Hard harted boy Endimion looke on mee,
Nothing on earth I hold too deere for thee:
I am a Nimph and not of humaine blood,
Begot by Pan on Isis sacred flood:
When I was borne upon that very day,
Phoebus was seene the Reveller to play:
In Joves hye house the Gods assembled all,
And Juno held her sumptuous Festivall,
Oceanus that hower was dauncing spy'de,
And Tython seene to frolick with his Bride,
The Halcions that season sweetly sang,
And all the shores, with shouting Sea-Nymphes rang,
And on that day, my birth to memorize,
The Shepheards hold a solemne sacrifice:
The chast Diana nurst mee in her lap,
And I suckt Nectar from her Downe-soft pap.
The Well wherein this body bathed first,
Who drinks thereof, shall never after thirst;
The water hath the Lunacie appeased,
And by the vertue, cureth all diseased;
The place wherein my bare feete touch the mold,
Made up in balls, for Pomander is sold.
See, see, these hands have robd the Snow of white,
These dainty fingers, organs of delight:
Behold these lyps, the Load-stones of desire,
Whose words inchant, like Amphyons well-tun'd lyre,
This foote, Arts just proportion doth reveale,
Signing the earth with heavens own manuel seale.
Goe, play the wanton, I will tend thy flock,
And wait the howres as duly as a clock;
Ile deck thy Ram with bells, and wreathes of Bay,
And gild his hornes upon the sheering day;
And with a garlond crown thee Shepheards king,
And thou shalt lead the gay Gyrles in a ring;
Birds with their wings shall fan thee in the Sun,
And all the fountaynes with pure Wine shall run,
I have a Quier of dainty Turtle-doves,
And they shall sit and sweetly sing our loves:
Ile lay thee on the Swans soft downy plume,
And all the Winde shall gently breath perfume,
Ile plat thy locks with many a curious pleate,
And chafe thy temples with a sacred heate;
The Muses still shall keepe thee company,
And lull thee with inchaunting harmony;
If not all these, yet let my vertues move thee,
A chaster Nymph Endimion cannot love thee.

But he imagin'd she some Nymph had been,
Because shee was apparrelled in greene;
Or happily, some of fayre Floras trayne,
Which oft did use to sport upon the Plaine:
He tels her, he was Phoebes servant sworne,
And oft in hunting had her Quiver borne,
And that to her virginity he vowed,
Which in no hand by Venus was alowed;
Then unto her a Catalogue recites
Of Phoebes Statutes, and her hallowed Rites,
And of the grievous penalty inflicted,
On such as her chast lawes had interdicted:
Now, he requests, that shee would stand aside,
Because the fish her shadow had espide;
Then he intreats her that she would be gone,
And at this time to let him be alone;
Then turnes him from her in an angry sort,
And frownes and chafes that shee had spoil'd his sport.
And then he threatens her, if she did stay,
And told her, great Diana came this way.
But for all this, this Nymph would not forbeare,
But now she smoothes his crispy-curled haire,
And when hee (rudely) will'd her to refrayne,
Yet scarcely ended, she begins agayne:
Thy Ewes (qd. she) with Milk shall daily spring,
And to thy profit yeerely Twins shall bring,
And thy fayre flock, (a wonder to behold)
Shall have their fleeces turn'd to burnisht gold;
Thy batefull pasture to thy wanton Thewes,
Shall be refresht with Nectar-dropping dewes,
The Oakes smooth leaves, sirropt with hony fall,
Trickle down drops to quench thy thirst withall:
The cruell Tygar will I tame for thee,
And gently lay his head upon thy knee;
And by my spells, the Wolves jawes will I lock,
And (as good Sheepheards) make them gard thy flock,
Ile mount thee bravely on a Lyons back,
To drive the fomy-tusked Bore to wrack:
The brazen-hoofed yelling Bulls Ile yoke,
And with my hearbs, the scaly Dragon choke.
Thou in great Phoebes Ivory Coche shalt ride,
Which drawne by Eagles, in the ayre shall glide:
Ile stay the time, it shall not steale away,
And twenty Moones as seeming but one day.
Behold (fond boy) this Rozen-weeping Pine,
This mournfull Larix, dropping Turpentine,
This mounting Teda, thus with tempests torne,
With incky teares continually to mourne;
Looke on this tree, which blubbereth Amber gum,
Which seemes to speak to thee, though it be dumb,
Which being senceles blocks, as thou do'st see,
Weepe at my woes, that thou might'st pitty mee:
O thou art young, and fit for loves profession,
Like wax which warmed quickly takes impression,
Sorrow in time, with floods those eyes shall weare,
Whence pitty now cannot extort a teare.
Fond boy, with words thou might'st be overcome,
"But love surpriz'd the hart, the tongue is dumbe,"
But as I can, Ile strive to conquer thee;
Yet teares, and sighes, my weapons needs must bee.
My sighs move trees, rocks melting with my tears,
But thou art blind; and cruell stop'st thine eares:
Looke in this Well, (if beautie men alow)
Though thou be faire, yet I as fayre as thou;
I am a Vestall, and a spotles Mayd,
Although by love to thee I am betrayd:
But sith (unkinde) thou doost my love disdayne,
To rocks and hills my selfe I will complaine.

Thus with a sigh, her speeches of she broke,
The whilst her eyes to him in silence spoke;
And from the place this wanton Nymph arose,
And up to Latmus all in hast shee goes;
Like to a Nymph on shady Citheron,
The swift Ismaenos, or Thirmodoon,
Gliding like Thetis, on the fleet waves borne,
Or she which trips upon the eares of Corne;
Like Swallowes when in open ayre they strive,
Or like the Foule which towring Falcons drive.
But whilst the wanton thus pursu'd his sport,
Deceitfull Love had undermin'd the Fort,
And by a breach (in spight of all deniance,)
Entred the Fort which lately made defiance:
And with strong siedge had now begirt about
The mayden Skonce which held the souldier out.
"Love wants his eyes, yet shoots he passing right,"
His shafts our thoughts, his bowe hee makes our sight.
His deadly piles are tempred by such Art,
As still directs the Arrowe to the hart:
He cannot love, and yet forsooth he will,
He sees her not, and yet he sees her still,
Hee goes unto the place shee stood upon,
And asks the poore soyle whether she was gon;
Fayne would he follow her, yet makes delay,
Fayne would he goe, and yet fayne would he stay,
Hee kist the flowers depressed with her feete,
And swears from her they borrow'd all their sweet.
Faine would he cast aside this troublous thought,
But still like poyson, more and more it wrought,
And to himselfe thus often would he say,
Heere my Love sat, in this place did shee play,
Heere in this Fountaine hath my Goddesse been,
And with her presence hath she grac'd this green.

Now black-brow'd Night plac'd in her chaire of Jet,
Sat wrapt in clouds within her Cabinet,
And with her dusky mantle over-spred,
The path the Sunny Palfrayes us'd to tred;
And Cynthia sitting in her Christall chayre,
In all her pompe now rid along her Spheare,
The honnied dewe descended in soft showres,
Drizled in Pearle upon the tender flowers;
And Zephyre husht, and with a whispering gale,
Seemed to harken to the Nightingale,
Which in the thorny brakes with her sweet song,
Unto the silent Night bewrayd her wrong.

Now fast by Latmus neere unto a Grove,
Which by the mount was shadowed from above,
Upon a banck Endimion sat by night,
To whom fayre Phoebe lent her frendly light:
And sith his flocks were layd them downe to rest,
Thus gives his sorrowes passage from his brest;
Sweet leaves (qd. he) which with the ayre do tremble,
Oh how your motions do my thoughts resemble,
With that milde breath, by which you onely move,
Whisper my words in silence to my Love:
Convay my sighes sweet Civet-breathing ayre,
In dolefull accents to my heavenly fayre;
You murmuring Springs, like doleful Instruments
Upon your gravell sound my sad laments,
And in your silent bubling as you goe,
Consort your selves like Musick to my woe.
And lifting now his sad and heavy eyes
Up, towards the beauty of the burnisht skies,
Bright Lamps (qd. he) the glorious Welkin bears,
Which clip about the Plannets wandring Sphears,
And in your circled Maze doe ever role,
Dauncing about the never-mooving Pole:
Sweet Nymph, which in fayre Elice doost shine,
Whom thy surpassing beauty made divine,
Now in the Artick constellation,
Smyle sweet Calisto on Endimion:
And thou brave Perseus in the Northern ayre,
Holding Medusa by the snaky hayre,
Joves showre-begotten Son, whose valure tryed,
In seaventeene glorious lights are stellified;
Which won'st thy love, left as a Monsters pray;
And thou the lovely fayre Andromida,
Borne of the famous Etheopian lyne,
Darting these rayes from thy transpiercing eyne,
To thee the bright Cassiopey, with these,
Whose beauty strove with the Neriedes,
With all the troupe of the celestiall band,
Which on Olimpus in your glory stand;
And you great wandring lights, if from your Sphears
You have regard unto a Sheepeheards teares,
Or as men say, if over earthly things
You onely rule as Potentates and Kings,
Unto my loves event sweet Stars direct,
Your kindest revolution and aspect,
And bend your cleere eyes from your Thrones above
Upon Endimion pyning thus in love.

Now, ere the purple dauning yet did spring,
The joyfull Lark began to stretch her wing,
And now the Cock the mornings Trumpeter,
Playd hunts-up for the day starre to appeare,
Downe slydeth Phoebe from her Christall chayre,
Sdayning to lend her light unto the ayre,
But unto Latmus all in haste is gon,
Longing to see her sweet Endimion;
At whose departure all the Plannets gazed,
As at some seld-seene accident amazed,
Till reasoning of the same, they fell at ods,
So that a question grew amongst the Gods,
Whether without a generall consent
She might depart their sacred Parliament?
But what they could doe was but all in vaine,
Of liberty they could her not restraine:
For of the seaven sith she the lowest was,
Unto the earth she might the easiest passe;
Sith onely by her moysty influence,
Of earthly things she hath preheminence,
And under her, mans mutable estate,
As with her changes doth participate;
And from the working of her waning source,
Th' uncertaine waters held a certaine course,
Throughout her kingdome she might walk at large
Wherof as Empresse she had care and charge,
And as the Sunne unto the Day gives light,
So is she onely Mistris of the Night;
Which whilst shee in her oblique course dooth guide,
The glittering stars apeare in all their pride,
Which to her light their frendly Lamps do lend,
And on her trayne as Hand-maydes doe attend,
And thirteene times she through her Sphere doth run,
Ere Phoebus full his yearly course have don:
And unto her of women is assign'd,
Predominance of body and of mind,
That as of Plannets shee most variable,
So of all creatures they most mutable,
But her sweet Latmus which she lov'd so much,
No sooner once her dainty foote doth touch,
But that the Mountaine with her brightnes shone
And gave a light to all the Horizon:
Even as the Sun which darknes long did shroud,
Breakes suddainly from underneath a clowd,
So that the Nimphs which on her still attended,
Knew certainly great Phoebe was discended;
And all aproched to this sacred hill,
There to awayt their soveraigne Goddesse will,
And now the little Birds whom Nature taught,
To honour great Diana as they ought,
Because she is the Goddesse of the woods,
And sole preserver of their hallowed floods,
Set to their consort in their lower springs,
That with the Musicke all the mountaine rings;
So that it seemd the Birds of every Grove
Which should excell and passe each other strove,
That in the higher woods and hollow grounds,
The murmuring Eccho every where resounds,
The trembling brooks their slyding courses stayd,
The whilst the waves one with another playd,
And all the flocks in this rejoycing mood,
As though inchaunted do forbeare their food:
The heards of Deare downe from the mountains flew,
As loth to come within Dianas view,
Whose piercing arrowes from her Ivory bowe,
Had often taught her powerfull hand to knowe;
And now from Latmus looking towards the plains
Casting her eyes upon the Sheepheards swaines,
Perceiv'd her deare Endimions flock were stray'd
And he himselfe upon the ground was layd;
Who late recald from melancholy deepe,
The chaunting Birds had lulled now asleepe:
For why the Musick in this humble kinde,
As it first found, so doth it leave the minde;
And melancholy from the Spleene begun,
By passion moov'd, into the veynes doth run;
Which when this humor as a swelling Flood
By vigor is infused in the blood;
The vitall spirits doth mightely apall;
And weakeneth so the parts organicall,
And when the sences are disturbd and tierd,
With what the hart incessantly desierd,
Like Travellers with labor long opprest,
Finding release, eft-soones they fall to rest.

And comming now to her Endimion,
Whom heavy sleepe had lately ceas'd upon,
Kneeling her downe, him in her armes she clips,
And with sweet kisses sealeth up his lips,
Whilst from her eyes, teares streaming downe in showrs
Fell on his cheekes like dew upon the flowrs,
In globy circles like pure drops of Milk,
Sprinckled on Roses, or fine crimson silk:
Touching his brow, this is the seate (quoth she)
Where Beauty sits in all her Majestie,
She calls his eye-lids those pure Christall covers
Which do include the looking Glasse of Lovers,
She calls his lips the sweet delicious folds
Which rare perfume and precious incense holds,
Shee calls his soft smooth Allablaster skin,
The Lawne which Angels are attyred in,
Sweet face (qd. she) but wanting words I spare thee
Except to heaven alone I should compare thee:
And whilst her words she wasteth thus in vayne,
Sporting herselfe the tyme to entertayne,
The frolick Nymphes with Musicks sacred sound,
Entred the Meddowes dauncing in a round:
And unto Phoebe straight their course direct,
Which now their joyfull comming did expect,
Before whose feet their flowrie spoyles they lay,
And with sweet Balme his body doe imbay.
And on the Laurels growing there along,
Their wreathed garlonds all about they hung:
And all the ground within the compasse load,
With sweetest flowers, wheron they lightly troad.
With Nectar then his temples they be dew,
And kneeling softly kisse him all arew;
Then in brave galiards they themselves advaunce,
And in the Tryas Bacchus stately daunce;
Then following on fayre Floras gilded trayne,
Into the Groves they thus depart agayne,
And now to shew her powerfull deitie,
Her sweet Endimion more to beautifie,
Into his soule the Goddesse doth infuse,
The fiery nature of a heavenly Muse,
Which in the spyrit labouring by the mind
Pertaketh of celestiall things by kind:
For why the soule being divine alone,
Exempt from vile and grosse corruption,
Of heavenly secrets comprehensible,
Of which the dull flesh is not sensible,
And by one onely powerfull faculty,
Yet governeth a multiplicity,
Being essentiall, uniforme in all;
Not to be sever'd nor dividuall,
But in her function holdeth her estate,
By powers divine in her ingenerate,
And so by inspiration conceaveth
What heaven to her by divination breatheth;
But they no sooner to the shades were gone,
Leaving their Goddesse by Endimion,
But by the hand the lovely boy shee takes,
And from his sweet sleepe softly him awakes,
Who being struck into a sodayne feare,
Beholding thus his glorious Goddesse there,
His hart transpiersed with this sodayne glance,
Became as one late cast into a trance:
Wiping his eyes not yet of perfect sight,
Scarcely awak'd amazed at the light,
His cheekes now pale then lovely blushing red,
Which oft increasd, and quickly vanished,
And as on him her fixed eyes were bent,
So to and fro his colour came and went;
Like to a Christall neere the fire set,
Against the brightnes rightly opposet,
Now doth reteyne the colour of the flame,
And lightly moved againe, reflects the same;
For our affection quickned by her heate,
Alayd and strengthned by a strong conceit,
The minde disturbed forth-with doth convart,
To an internall passion of the hart,
By motion of that sodaine joy or feare,
Which we receive either by the eye or eare,
For by retraction of the spirit and blood,
From those exterior parts where first they stood,
Into the center of the body sent,
Returnes againe more strong and vehement:
And in the like extreamitie made cold,
About the same, themselves doe closely hold,
And though the cause be like in this respect,
Works by this meanes a contrary effect.

Thus whilst this passion hotely held his course,
Ebbing and flowing from his springing source,
With the strong fit of this sweet Fever moved,
At sight of her which he intirely loved,
Not knowing yet great Phoebe this should be,
His soveraigne Goddesse, Queene of Chastitie,
Now like a man whom Love had learned Art,
Resolv'd at once his secrets to impart:
But first repeats the torments he had past,
The woes indur'd since tyme he saw her last;
Now he reports he noted whilst she spake,
The bustling windes their murmure often brake,
And being silent, seemd to pause and stay,
To listen to her what she ment to say:
Be kind (quoth he) sweet Nymph unto thy lover,
My soules sole essence, and my sences mover,
Life of my life, pure Image of my hart,
Impressure of Conceit, Invention, Art,
My vitall spirit, receves his spirit from thee,
Thou art that all which ruleth all in me,
Thou art the sap, and life whereby I live,
Which powerfull vigor doost receive and give;
Thou nourishest the flame wherein I burne,
The North wherto my harts true tuch doth turne.
Pitty my poore flock, see their wofull plight,
Theyr Maister perisht living from thy sight,
Theyr fleeces rent, my tresses all forlorne,
I pyne, whilst they theyr pasture have forborne;
Behold (quoth he) this little flower belowe,
Which heere within this Fountayne brim dooth grow;
With that, a solemne tale begins to tell
Of this fayre flower, and of this holy Well,
A goodly legend, many Winters old,
Learn'd by the Sheepheards sitting by their folde,
How once this Fountayne was a youthfull swaine,
A frolick boy and kept upon the playne,
Unfortunate it hapt to him (quoth he)
To love a fayre Nymph as I nowe love thee,
To her his love and sorrow he imparts,
Which might dissolve a rock of flinty harts;
To her he sues, to her he makes his mone,
But she more deafe and hard then steele or stone;
And thus one day with griefe of mind opprest,
As in this place he layd him downe to rest,
The Gods at length uppon his sorrowes looke,
Transforming him into this pirrling Brooke,
Whose murmuring bubles softly as they creepe,
Falling in drops, the Channell seems to weepe,
But shee thus careles of his misery,
Still spends her dayes in mirth and jollity;
And comming one day to the River side,
Laughing for joy when she the same espyde,
This wanton Nymph in that unhappy hower,
Was heere transformd into this purple flower,
Which towards the water turnes it selfe agayne,
To pitty him by her unkindnes slayne.

She, as it seemd, who all this time attended,
Longing to heare that once his tale were ended,
Now like a jealous woman she repeats,
Mens subtilties, and naturall deceyts;
And by example strives to verifie,
Their ficklenes and vaine inconstancie:
Their hard obdurate harts, and wilfull blindnes,
Telling a storie wholy of unkindnes;
But he, who well perceived her intent,
And to remove her from this argument,
Now by the sacred Fount he vowes and sweares,
By Lovers sighes, and by her halowed teares,
By holy Latmus now he takes his oath,
That all he spake was in good fayth and troth;
And for no frayle uncertayne doubt should move her,
Vowes secrecie, the crown of a true Lover.

She hearing this, thought time that she reveald,
That kind affection which she long conceald,
Determineth to make her true Love known,
Which shee had borne unto Endimion;
I am no Huntresse, nor no Nymph (quoth she)
As thou perhaps imagin'st me to be,
I am great Phoebe, Latmus sacred Queene,
Who from the skies have hether past unseene,
And by thy chast love hether was I led,
Where full three yeares thy fayre flock have I fed,
Upon these Mountaines and these firtile plaines,
And crownd thee King of all the Sheepheards swaines:
Nor wanton, nor lacivious is my love,
Nor never lust my chast thoughts once could move;
But sith thou thus hast offerd at my Shrine,
And of the Gods hast held me most divine,
Mine Altars thou with sacrifice hast stord,
And in my Temples hast my name ador'd,
And of all other, most hast honor'd mee,
Great Phoebes glory thou alone shalt see.

Thys spake, she putteth on her brave attire,
As being burnisht in her Brothers fire,
Purer then that Celestiall shining flame
Wherein great Jove unto his Lemmon came,
Which quickly had his pale cheekes over-spred,
And tincted with a lovely blushing red.
Which whilst her Brother Titan for a space,
Withdrew himselfe, to give his sister place,
Shee now is darkned to all creatures eyes,
Whilst in the shadow of the earth she lyes,
For that the earth of nature cold and dry,
A very Chaos of obscurity,
Whose Globe exceeds her compasse by degrees,
Fixed upon her Superficies;
When in his shadow she doth hap to fall,
Dooth cause her darknes to be generall.

Thus whilst he layd his head upon her lap,
Shee in a fiery Mantle doth him wrap,
And carries him up from this lumpish mould,
Into the skyes, whereas he might behold,
The earth in perfect roundnes of a ball
Exceeding globes most artificiall:
Which in a fixed poynt Nature disposed,
And with the sundry Elements inclosed,
Which as the Center permanent dooth stay,
When as the skies in their diurnall sway,
Strongly maintaine the ever-turning course,
Forced alone by their first moover sourse,
Where he beholds the ayery Regions,
Whereas the clouds and strange impressions,
Maintaynd by coldnes often doe appeare,
And by the highest Region of the ayre,
Unto the cleerest Element of fire,
Which to her silver foot-stoole doth aspire,
Then dooth she mount him up into her Sphere,
Imparting heavenly secrets to him there,
Where lightned by her shining beames hee sees,
The powerfull Plannets, all in their degrees,
Their sundry revolutions in the skies,
And by their working how they simpathize;
All in theyr circles severally prefixt,
And in due distance each with other mixt:
The mantions which they hold in their estate,
Of which by nature they participate;
And how those signes their severall places take,
Within the compasse of the Zodiacke:
And in their severall triplicities consent,
Unto the nature of an Element,
To which the Plannets do themselves disperce,
Having the guidance of this univers,
And do from thence extend their severall powers,
Unto this little fleshly world of ours:
Wherin her Makers workmanship is found,
As in contriving of this mighty round,
In such strange maner and such fashion wrought,
As doth exceede mans dull and feeble thought,
Guiding us still by their directions;
And that our fleshly frayle complections,
Of Elementall natures grounded bee,
With which our dispositions most agree,
Some of the fire and ayre participate,
And some of watry and of earthy state,
As hote and moyst, with chilly cold and dry,
And unto these the other contrary;
And by their influence powerfull on the earth,
Predominant in mans fraile mortall bearth,
And that our lives effects and fortunes are,
As is that happy or unlucky Starre,
Which reigning in our frayle nativitie,
Seales up the secrets of our destinie,
With frendly Plannets in conjunction set,
Or els with other meerely opposet:
And now to him her greatest power she lent,
To lift him to the starry Firmament,
Where he beheld that milky stayned place,
By which the Twynns and heavenly Archers trace,
The dogge which doth the furious Lyon beate,
Whose flaming breath increaseth Titans heate,
The teare-distilling mournfull Pliades,
Which on the earth the stormes and tempests raise,
And all the course the constellations run,
When in conjunction with the Moone or Sun,
When towards the fixed Articke they arise,
When towards the Antaricke, falling from our eyes;
And having impt the wings of his desire,
And kindled him, with this coelestiall fire,
She sets him downe, and vanishing his sight,
Leaves him inwrapped in this true delight:
Now wheresoever he his fayre flock fed,
The Muses still Endimion followed;
His sheepe as white as Swans or driven snow,
Which beautified the soyle with such a show,
As where hee folded in the darkest Night,
There never needed any other light;
If that he hungred and desired meate,
The Bees would bring him Honny for to eate,
Yet from his lyps would not depart away,
Tyll they were loden with Ambrosia;
And if he thirsted, often there was seene
A bubling Fountaine spring out of the greene,
With Christall liquor fild unto the brim,
Which did present her liquid store to him.
If hee would hunt, the fayre Nymphs at his will,
With Bowes and Quivers, would attend him still:
And what-soever he desierd to have,
That he obtain'd if hee the same would crave.

And now at length, the joyful tyme drew on,
Shee meant to honor her Endimion,
And glorifie him on that stately Mount
Whereof the Goddesse made so great account.
Shee sends Joves winged Herauld to the woods,
The neighbour Fountains, and the bordring floods,
Charging the Nymphes which did inhabit there,
Upon a day appoynted to appeare,
And to attend her sacred Majestie
In all theyr pompe and great solemnity.
Having obtaynd great Phoebus free consent,
To further her divine and chast intent,
Which thus imposed as a thing of waight,
In stately troupes appeare before her straight,
The Faunes and Satyres from the tufted Brakes,
Theyr brisly armes wreath'd al about with snakes;
Their sturdy loynes with ropes of Ivie bound,
Theyr horned heads with Woodbine Chaplets crownd,
With Cipresse Javelens, and about their thyes,
The flaggy hayre disorder'd loosely flyes:
Th' Oriades like to the Spartan Mayd,
In Murrie-scyndall gorgiously arayd:
With gallant greene Scarfes girded in the wast,
Theyr flaxen hayre with silken fillets lac'd,
Woven with flowers in sweet lascivious wreathes,
Mooving like feathers as the light ayre breathes,
With crownes of Mirtle, glorious to behold,
Whose leaves are painted with pure drops of gold:
With traines of fine Bisse checker'd al with frets
Of dainty Pincks and precious Violets,
In branched Buskins of fine Cordiwin,
With spangled garters downe unto the shin,
Fring'd with fine silke, of many a sundry kind,
Which lyke to pennons waved with the wind.
The Hamadriads from their shady Bowers,
Deckt up in Garlonds of the rarest flowers,
Upon the backs of milke-white Bulls were set,
With horne and hoofe as black as any Jet,
Whose collers were great massy golden rings,
Led by their swaynes in twisted silken strings;
Then did the lovely Driades appeare,
On dapled Staggs, which bravely mounted were,
Whose velvet palmes with nosegaies rarely dight,
To all the rest bred wonderfull delight;
And in this sort accompaned with these,
In tryumph rid the watry Niades,
Upon Sea-horses, trapt with shining finns,
Arm'd with their male impenitrable skinns,
Whose scaly crests like Raine-bowes bended hye;
Seeme to controule proud Iris in the skye;
Upon a Charriot was Endimion layd,
In snowy Tissue gorgiously arayd,
Of precious Ivory covered or'e with Lawne,
Which by foure stately Unicornes was drawne,
Of ropes of Orient pearle their traces were,
Pure as the path which dooth in heaven appeare,
With rarest flowers in chaste and over-spred,
Which serv'd as Curtaynes to this glorious bed,
Whose seate of Christal in the Sun-beames shone,
Like thunder-breathing Joves celestiall Throne,
Upon his head a Coronet instald,
Of one intire and mighty Emerald,
With richest Bracelets on his lilly wrists,
Of Hellitropium, linckt with golden twists;
A bevy of fayre Swans, which flying over,
With their large wings him from the Sun do cover,
And easily wafting as he went along,
Doe lull him still with their inchaunting song,
Whilst all the Nimphes on solemne Instruments,
Sound daintie Musick to their sweet laments.

And now great Phoebe in her tryumph came,
With all the tytles of her glorious name,
Diana, Delia, Luna, Cynthia,
Virago, Hecate, and Elythia,
Prothiria, Dictinna, Proserpine,
Latona, and Lucina, most divine;
And in her pompe began now to approch,
Mounted aloft upon her Christall Coach,
Drawn or'e the playnes by foure pure milk-white Hinds,
Whose nimble feete seem'd winged with the winds,
Her rarest beauty being now begun,
But newly borrowed from the golden Sun,
Her lovely cressant with a decent space,
By due proportion beautifi'd her face,
Till having fully fild her circled side,
Her glorious fulnes now appeard in pride;
Which long her changing brow could not retaine,
But fully waxt, began againe to wane;
Upon her brow (like meteors in the ayre)
Twenty and eyght great gorgious lamps shee bare;
Some, as the Welkin, shining passing bright,
Some not so sumptuous, others lesser light,
Some burne, some other, let theyr faire lights fall,
Composd in order Geometricall;
And to adorne her with a greater grace,
And ad more beauty to her lovely face,
Her richest Globe shee gloriously displayes,
Now that the Sun had hid his golden rayes:
Least that his radiencie should her suppresse,
And so might make her beauty seeme the lesse;
Her stately trayne layd out in azur'd bars,
Poudred all thick with troopes of silver stars:
Her ayrie vesture yet so rare and strange,
As every howre the colour seem'd to change,
Yet still the former beauty doth retaine,
And ever came unto the same againe.
Then fayre Astrea, of the Titans line,
Whom equity and justice made divine,
Was seated heer upon the silver beame,
And with the raines guides on this goodly teame,
To whom the Charites led on the way,
Aglaia, Thalia, and Euphrozine,
With princely crownes they in the triumph came,
Imbellished with Phoebes glorious name:
These forth before the mighty Goddesse went,
As Princes Heraulds in a Parliament.
And in their true consorted symphony,
Record sweet songs of Phoebes chastity;
Then followed on the Muses, sacred nyne,
With the first number equally divine,
In Virgins white, whose lovely mayden browes,
Were crowned with tryumphant Lawrell bowes;
And on their garments paynted out in glory,
Their offices and functions in a story,
Imblazoning the furie and conceite
Which on their sacred company awaite;

For none but these were suffered to aproch,
Or once come neere to this celestiall Coach,
But these two of the numbers, nine and three,
Which being od include an unity,
Into which number all things fitly fall,
And therefore named Theologicall:
And first composing of this number nine,
Which of all numbers is the most divine,
From orders of the Angels dooth arise,
Which be contayned in three Hirarchies,
And each of these three Hirarchies in three,
The perfect forme of true triplicity;
And of the Hirarchies I spake of erst,
The glorious Epiphania is the first,
In which the hie celestiall orders been,
Of Thrones, Chirrup, and the Ciraphin;
The second holds the mighty Principates,
The Dominations and the Potestates,
The Ephionia, the third Hirarchie,
Which Vertues Angels and Archangels be;
And thus by threes we aptly do define,
And do compose this sacred number nyne,
Yet each of these nyne orders grounded be,
Upon some one particularity,
Then as a Poet I might so infer,
An other order when I spake of her.
From these the Muses onely are derived,
Which of the Angels were in nyne contrived;
These heaven-inspired Babes of memorie,
Which by a like attracting Sympathy,
Apollos Prophets in theyr furies wrought,
And in theyr spirit inchaunting numbers taught,
To teach such as at Poesie repine,
That it is onely heavenly and divine,
And manifest her intellectual parts,
Sucking the purest of the purest Arts;
And unto these as by a sweet consent,
The Sphery circles are equivalent,
From the first Moover, and the starry heaven,
To glorious Phoebe lowest of the seaven,
Which Jove in tunefull Diapazons fram'd,
Of heavenly Musick of the Muses nam'd,
To which the soule in her divinitie,
By her Creator made of harmony,
Whilst she in frayle and mortall flesh dooth live,
To her nyne sundry offices doe give,
Which offices united are in three,
Which like the orders of the Angels be,
Prefiguring thus by the number nyne,
The soule, like to the Angels is divine:
And from these nines those Conquerers renowned,
Which with the wreaths of triumph oft were crowned.
Which by their vertues gain'd the worthies name
First had this number added to their fame,
Not that the worthiest men were onely nine,
But that the number of it selfe divine,
And as a perfect patterne of the rest,
Which by this holy number are exprest;
Nor Chivalrie this title onely gaynd;
But might as well by wisedome be obtaynd,
Nor in this number men alone included,
But unto women well might be aluded,
Could wit, could worlds, coulde times, could ages find,
This number of Elizas heavenly kind;
And those rare men which learning highly prized
By whom the Constellations were devised,
And by their favours learning highly graced,
For Orpheus harpe nine starres in heaven placed:
This sacred number to declare thereby,
Her sweet consent and solid harmony,
And mans heroique voyce, which doth impart,
The thought conceaved in the inward hart,
Her sweetnes on nine Instruments doth ground,
Else doth she fayle in true and perfect sound.
Now of this three in order to dispose,
Whose trynarie doth justly nyne compose.
First in the forme of this triplicitie
Is shadowed that mighty Trinitie,
Which still in stedfast unity remayne,
And yet of three one Godhead doe containe;
From this eternall living deitie,
As by a heaven-inspired prophecy,
Divinest Poets first derived these,
The fayrest Graces Jove-borne Charites;
And in this number Musick first began,
The Lydian, Dorian, and the Phrigian,
Which ravishing in their soule-pleasing vaine,
They made up seaven in a higher strayne;
And all those signes which Phoebus doth ascend,
Before he bring his yearely course to end,
Their several natures mutually agree,
And doe concurre in thys triplicitie;
And those interior sences with the rest,
Which properly pertaine to man and Beast,
Nature herselfe in working so devised,
That in this number they should be comprized.

But to my tale I must returne againe,
Phoebe to Latmus thus convayde her swayne,
Under a bushie Lawrells pleasing shade,
Amongst whose boughs the Birds sweet Musick made,
Whose fragrant branch-imbosted Cannapy,
Was never pierst with Phoebus burning eye;
Yet never could thys Paradise want light,
Elumin'd still with Phoebes glorious sight:
She layd Endimion on a grassy bed,
With sommers Arras ritchly over-spred,
Where from her sacred Mantion next above,
She might descend and sport her with her love,
Which thirty yeeres the Sheepheards safely kept,
Who in her bosom soft and soundly slept;
Yet as a dreame he thought the tyme not long,
Remayning ever beautifull and yong,
And what in vision there to him be fell,
My weary Muse some other time shall tell.

Deare Collin, let my Muse excused be,
Which rudely thus presumes to sing by thee,
Although her straines be harsh untun'd and ill,
Nor can attayne to thy divinest skill.

And thou the sweet Museus of these times,
Pardon my rugged and unfiled rymes,
Whose scarce invention is too meane and base,
When Delias glorious Muse dooth come in place.

And thou my Goldey which in Sommer dayes,
Hast feasted us with merry roundelayes,
And when my Muse scarce able was to flye,
Didst imp her wings with thy sweete Poesie.

And you the heyres of ever-living fame,
The worthy titles of a Poets name,
Whose skill and rarest excellence is such,
As spitefull Envy never yet durst tuch,
To your protection I this Poem send,
Which from proud Momus may my lines defend,

And if sweet mayd thou deign'st to read this story,
Wherein thine eyes may view thy vertues glory,
Thou purest spark of Vesta's kindled fire,
Sweet Nymph of Ankor, crowne of my desire,
The plot which for their pleasure heaven devis'd,
Where all the Muses be imparadis'd,
Where thou doost live, there let all graces be,
Which want theyr grace if onely wanting thee,
Let stormy winter never touch the Clyme,
But let it florish as in Aprils prime,
Let sullen night, that soyle nere over-cloud,
But in thy presence let the earth be proud,
If ever Nature of her worke might boast,
Of thy perfection she may glory most,
To whom fayre Phoebe hath her bow resign'd,
Whose excellence doth lyve in thee refin'd,
And that thy praise Time never should impayre,
Hath made my hart thy never moving Spheare.
Then if my Muse give life unto thy fame,
Thy vertues be the causers of the same.
And from thy Tombe some Oracle shall rise,
To whom all pens shall yearely sacrifice.

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