Edmund Spenser From Amoretti

Christian Beck

16 Edmund Spenser From Amoretti

1

Happy ye leaves when as those lilly hands,

Which hold my life in theyr dead doing might

Shall handle you and hold in loves soft bands,

Lyke captives trembling at the victors sight.

And happy lines, on which with starry light,

Those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to look

And reade the sorrowes of my dying spright,

Written with teares in harts close bleeding book.

And happy rymes bath’d in the sacred brooke,

Of Helicon whence she derived is;

When ye behold that Angels bellsed looke,

My soules long-lacked foode, my heavens blis;

Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to please alone,

Whome if ye please, I care for other none!

34

Lyke a ship that through the Ocean wyde,

By conduct of some star doth make her way,

Whenas a storme hath dimmd her trusty guyde,

Out of her course doth wander far astray.

So I whose star, that wont with her bright ray,

Me to direct, with clouds is overcast,

Doe wander now in darknesse and dismay,

Through hidden perils round about me plast.

Yet hope I well, that when this storm is past

My Helice the lodestar of my lyfe,

Will shine again, and look on me at last,

With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief.

Till then I wander carefull comfortlesse,

In secret sorrow and sad pensivenesse.

37

What guyle is this, that those her golden tresses

She doth attyre under a net of gold;

And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,

That which is gold or heare, may scarse be told?

Is it that men’s frayle eyes, which gaze too bold,

She may entangle in that golden snare;

And being caught may craftily enfold,

Theyr weaker harts, which are not wel aware?

Take heed therefore, myne eyes, how ye do stare

Henceforth too rashly on that guileful net,

In which if ever ye entrapped are,

Out of her bands ye by no means shall get.

Fondnesse it were for any being free,

To covet fetters, though they golden be!

54

Of this worlds Theatre in which we stay,

My love lyke the spectator ydly sits;

Beholding me, that all the pageants play,

Disguysing diversely my troubled wits.

Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits,

And mask in mirth lyke to a Comedy:

Soone after, when my joy to sorrow flits,

I wail and make my woes a tragedy.

Yet she beholding me with constant eye,

Delights not in my merth nor rues my smart:

But when I laugh she mocks, and when I cry,

She laughs, and hardens evermore her hart.

What then can move her? if not merth nor moane,

She is no woman, but senseless stone.

64

Coming to kisse her lyps, (such grace I found,)

Me seemd, I smellt a gardin of sweet flowers,

That dainty odours from them threw around

For damsels fit to deck theyr lovers bowres.

Her lips did smell lyke unto Gillyflowers;

Her ruddy cheekes lyke unto Roses red:

Her snowy browes lyke budded Bellamores,

Her lovely eyes lyke Pinks but newly spred.

Her goodly bosom lyke a Strawberry bed,

Her neck lyke to a bunch of Cullambynes;

Her brest lyke Lillies, ere theyr leaves be shed;

Her nipples lyke young blossomed Jessemynes:

Such fragrant flowers doe give most odorous smell;

But her sweet odour did them all excell.

65

The doubt which you misdeeme, fayre love, is vaine,

That fondly feare to lose your liberty;

When loosing one, two liberties ye gaine,

And make him bond that bondage erst dyd fly.

Sweet be the bands, the which true love doth tye

Without constraynt or dread of any ill:

The gentle bird feels no captivity

Within her cagel; but singes and feeds her fill.

There pride dare not approach, nor discord spill

The league twixt them, that loyal love hath bound:

But simple truth and mutual good-will,

Seeks with sweet peace to salve each others wound:

There Fayth doth fearlesse dwell in brasen tower,

And spotlesse Pleasure builds her sacred bowre.

67

Lyke as a huntsman after weary chace,

Seeing the game from him escapt away,

Sits downe to rest him in some shady place,

With panting hounds beguiled of their pray:

So after long pursuit and vain assay,

When I all weary had the chace forsooke,

The gentle deare returned the selfe-same way,

Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke:

There she beholding me with mylder look,

Sought not to fly, but fearlesse still did bide:

Till I in hand her yet half-trembling tooke,

And with her own goodwill here fyrmely tyed.

Strange thing me seemed to see a beast so wyld,

So goodly wonne with her owne will beguyled.

68

Most glorious Lord of lyfe! that on this day,

Didst make thy triumph over death and sin;

And having harrowd hell, didst bring away

Captivity thence captive us to win:

This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin,

And grant that we for whom thou didst die

Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin,

May live for ever in felicity!

And that thy love we weighing worthily,

May lykewise love thee for the same againe;

And for thy sake that all lyke deare didst buy,

With love may one another entertayne.

So let us love, lyke as we ought:

Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

74

Most happy letters! fram’d by skillful trade,

With which that happy name was first desynd:,

The which three times thrise happy hath me made,

With guifts of body, fortune and of mind.

The first my being to me gave by kind,

From mother’s womb deriv’d by dew descent :

The second is my sovereigne Queen most kind,

That honour and large richesse to me lent:

The third my love, my life’s last ornament,

By whom my spirit out of dust was raysed:

To speak her prayse and glory excellent,

Of all alive most worthy to be praysed.

Ye three Elizabeths! for ever live,

That three such graces did unto me give.

75

One day I wrote her name upon the strand,

But came the waves and washed it away:

Again I wrote it with a second hand,

But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.

Vain man, said she, that doest in vain assay,

A mortal thing so to immortalize,

For I myself shall lyke to this decay,

And eek my name be wiped out lykewise.

No so, (quod I) let baser things devise

To die in dust, but you shall live by fame:

My verse, your virtues rare shall eternize,

And in the heavens write your glorious name.

Where whenas death shall all the world subdue,

Out love shall live, and later life renew.

79

Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it,

For that yourself ye dayly such doe see:

But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit,

And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of me:

For all the rest, how ever fayre it be,

Shall turne to nought and loose that glorious hew;

But onely that is permanent and free

From frayle corruption, that doth flesh ensue.

That is true beautie: that doth argue you

To be divine and borne of heavenly seed;

Deriv’d from that fayre Spirit, from whom al true

And perfect beauty did at first proceed:

He onely fayre, and what he fayre hath made;

All other fayre lyke flowres untymely fade.

Source:

Spenser, Edmund. Amoretti: Written Not Long Since. New York: Laurel P, 1901. HathiTrust. Web. 12 Apr. 2016. <http://hdl.handle.net/2027/nyp.33433081638151>

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