Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending:
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell zeal it wants devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it is but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust:
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.

Tell age it daily wasteth;
Tell honor how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favor how it falters:
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.

Tell wit how much it wrangles

In tickle points of niceness; Tell wisdom she entangles

Herself in over-wiseness:

And when they do reply,

Straight give them both the lie.

Tell physic of her boldness;

Tell skill it is pretension;

Tell charity of coldness;

Tell law it is contention :

And as they do reply,

So give them still the lie.

Tell fortune of her blindness;

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Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
Tell justice of delay :

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Tell faith it's fled the city;

Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood shakes off pity;
Tell virtue least preferreth :
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.

So when thou hast, as I

Commanded thee, done blabbing, Although to give the lie

Deserves no less than stabbing,—

Stab at thee, he that will,

No stab the soul can kill.

EVEN SUCH IS TIME

EVEN Such is time, that takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with earth and dust;
Who, in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,

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Shuts up the story of our days:

But from this earth, this grave, this dust,

My God shall raise me up, I trust.

EDMUND SPENSER

1552?-1599

PROTHALAMION

CALME was the day, and through the trembling ayre Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play,

A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay

Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre; When I, whom sullein care,

Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay

In princes court, and expectation vayne
Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away,

Like empty shadowes, did afflict my brayne
Walkt forth to ease my payne

Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes ;
Whose rutty bancke, the which his river hemmes,
Was paynted all with variable flowers,

And all the meades adornd with daintie gemmes

Fit to decke maydens bowres,

And crowne their paramours,

Against the brydale day, which is not long:

Sweet Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my song.

There, in a meadow, by the rivers side,
A flocke of Nymphs I chauncèd to espy,
All lovely daughters of the flood thereby,
With goodly greenish locks, all loose untyde,
As each had been a bryde ;

And each one had a little wicker basket,
Made of fine twigs, entraylèd curiously,

In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket.
And with fine fingers cropt full feateously
The tender stalkes on hye.

Of every sort, which in that meadow grew
They gathered some; the violet, pallid blew,
The little dazie, that at evening closes,
The virgin lillie, and the primrose trew,

With store of vermeil roses,

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To deck their bridegroomes posies

Against the brydale day, which was not long:

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Sweet Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my song.

With that I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe
Come softly swimming downe along the lee:
Two fairer birds I yet did never see;

The snow which doth the top of Pindus strew
Did never whiter shew,

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Nor Jove himselfe when he a swan would be
For love of Leda, whiter did appear;

Yet Leda was, they say, as white as he,

Yet not so white as these, nor nothing neare:

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So purely white they were,

That even the gentle streame, the which them bare,
Seem'd foule to them, and bade his billowes spare
To wet their silken feathers, lest they might
Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre,
And marre their beauties bright,

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That shone as heavens light,

Against their brydale day, which was not long:

Sweet Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my song.

Eftsoones, the Nymphes, which now had flowers their fill,
Ran all in haste to see that silver brood,
As they came floating on the cristal flood;
Whom, when they sawe, they stood amazèd still,
Their wondring eyes to fill.

Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fayre

Of fowles so lovely, that they sure did deeme

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