Hymnes to Astrœa.

E arly before the day doth spring, L et us awake my Muse, and sing; I t is no time to slumber, S o many ioyes this time doth bring, A s Time will faile to number. B ut whereto shall we bend our layes? E uen vp to Heauen, againe to raise[169] T he Mayd, which thence descended; H ath brought againe the golden dayes, A nd all the world amended. R udenesse it selfe she doth refine, E uen like an Alchymist diuine; G rosse times of yron turning I nto the purest forme of gold; N ot to corrupt, till heauen waxe old, A nd be refined with burning.

E ternall Virgin, Goddesse true, L et me presume to sing to you. I oue, euen great Ioue hath leasure S ometimes to heare the vulgar crue, A nd heares them oft with pleasure. B lessèd Astræa, I in part E nioy the blessings you impart; T he Peace, the milke and hony, H umanitie, and civil Art, A richer dower then money. R ight glad am I that now I liue, E uen in these dayes whereto you giue G reat happinesse and glory; I f after you I should be borne, N o doubt I should my birth-day scorne, A dmiring your sweet storie.

E arth now is greene, and heauen is blew, L iuely Spring which makes all new, I olly Spring, doth enter; S weete yong sun-beames doe subdue A ngry, agèd Winter. B lasts are milde, and seas are calme, E uery meadow flowes with balme, T he Earth weares all her riches; H armonious birdes sing such a psalme, A s eare and heart bewitches. R eserue (sweet Spring) this Nymph of ours, E ternall garlands of thy flowers, G reene garlands neuer wasting; I n her shall last our State's faire Spring, N ow and for euer flourishing, A s long as Heauen is lasting.

E ach day of thine, sweet moneth of May, L oue makes a solemne holy-day. I will performe like duty, S ith thou resemblest euery way A stræa, Queen of beauty, B oth you fresh beauties do pertake, E ither's aspect doth Summer make, T houghts of young Loue awaking; H earts you both doe cause to ake, A nd yet be pleas'd with akeing. R ight deare art thou, and so is shee, E uen like attractiue sympathy, G aines vnto both like dearenesse; I weene this made Antiquitie N ame thee, sweet May of Maiestie, A s being both like in clearnesse.

E arley, cheerfull, mounting Larke, L ight's gentle vsher, Morning's clark, I n merry notes delighting; S tint awhile thy song, and harke, A nd learne my new inditing. B eare vp this hymne, to heau'n it beare, E uen vp to heau'n, and sing it there, T o heau'n each morning beare it; H aue it set to some sweet sphere, A nd let the Angels heare it. R enownd Astræa, that great name, E xceeding great in worth and fame, G reat worth hath so renownd it; I t is Astræa's name I praise, N ow then, sweet Larke, do thou it raise, A nd in high Heauen resound it.

E uery night from euen till morne, L oue's Quirister amidde the thorne I s now so sweet a singer; S o sweet, as for her song I scorne A pollo's voice, and finger. B ut Nightingale, sith you delight E uer to watch the starry night; T ell all the starres of heauen, H eauen neuer had a starre so bright, A s now to Earth is giuen. R oyall Astræa makes our day E ternall with her beames, nor may G rosse darknesse ouercome her; I now perceiue why some doe write, N o countrey hath so short a night, A s England hath in Summer.

E ye of the Garden, Queene of flowres, L ove's cup wherein he nectar powres, I ngendered first of nectar; S weet nurse-child of the Spring's young howres, A nd Beautie's faire character. B est iewell that the Earth doth weare, E uen when the braue young sunne draws neare, /span> T o her hot Loue pretending;[170] H imselfe likewise like forme doth beare, A t rising and descending. R ose of the Queene of Loue belou'd; E ngland's great Kings diuinely mou'd, G ave Roses in their banner; I t shewed that Beautie's Rose indeed, N ow in this age should them succeed, A nd raigne in more sweet manner.

E urope, the earth's sweet Paradise, L et all thy kings that would be wise, I n politique deuotion; S ayle hither to obserue her eyes, A nd marke her heaunly motion. B raue Princes of this ciuill age, E nter into this pilgrimage; T his saint's tongue is an oracle, H er eye hath made a Prince a page, A nd works each day a miracle. R aise but your lookes to her, and see E uen the true beames of maiestie, G reat Princes, marke her duly; I f all the world you doe suruey, N o forehead spreades so bright a ray, A nd notes a Prince so truly.

E mpresse of flowers, tell where away L ies your sweet Court this merry[171] May, I n Greenewich Garden allies?[172] S ince there the heauenly powers do play A nd haunt no other vallies. B eautie, vertue, maiestie, E loquent Muses, three times three, T he new fresh Houres and Graces, H aue pleasure in this place to be, A boue all other places. R oses and lillies did them draw, E re they diuine Astræa saw; G ay flowers they sought for pleasure: I nstead of gathering crownes of flowers, N ow gather they Astræa's dowers, A nd beare to heauen that treasure,

E ach moneth hath praise in some degree; L et May to others seeme to be I n sense the sweetest Season; S eptember thou art best to me, A nd best dost please my reason. B ut neither for thy corne nor wine E xtoll I those mild dayes of thine, T hough corne and wine might praise thee; H eauen giues thee honour more diuine, A nd higher fortunes raise thee. R enown'd art thou (sweet moneth) for this, E mong thy dayes her birth-day is;[173] G race, plenty, peace and honour I n one faire hour with her were borne; N ow since they still her crowne adorne, A nd still attend vpon her.

E ye of the world, fountaine of light, L ife of Day, and death of Night; I humbly seek thy kindnesse: S weet, dazle not my feeble sight, A nd strike me not with blindnesse. B ehold me mildly from that face, E uen where thou now dost run thy race, T he spheare where now thou turnest; H auing like Phaeton chang'd thy place, A nd yet hearts onely burnest. R ed in her right cheeke thou dost rise, E xalted after in her eyes, G reat glory there thou shewest; I n th' other cheeke when thou descendest, N ew rednesse vnto it thou lendest, A nd so thy round thou goest.

E xtreame was his audacitie, L ittle his skill, that finisht thee; I am asham'd and sorry, S o dull her counterfeit should bee, A nd she so full of glory. B ut here are colours red and white, E ach line, and each proportion right; T hese lines, this red and whitenesse, H aue wanting yet a life and light, A maiestie, and brightnesse. R ude counterfeit, I then did erre, E uen now when I would needs inferre G reat boldnesse in thy maker; I did mistake, he was not bold, N or durst his eyes her eyes behold: A nd this made him mistake her.

E arth, now adiew, my rauisht thought L ifted to Heau'n sets thee at nought; I nfinite is my longing, S ecrets of angels to be taught, A nd things to Heau'n belonging. B rought downe from heau'n of angels kind, E uen now doe I admire her mind; T his is my contemplation, H er cleare sweet spirit, which is refin'd A boue humane creation. R ich sun-beame of th' Æternall light, E xcellent Soule, how shall I wright?[174] G ood angels make me able; I cannot see but by your eye, N or, but by your tongue, signifie A thing so admirable.

E xceeding glorious is the starre, L et vs behold her beames afarre I n a side line reflected; S ight bears them not, when neere they are, A nd in right lines directed. B ehold her in her vertues' beames, E xtending sun-like to all realmes; T he sunne none viewes too neerly: H er well of goodnes in these streames, A ppeares right well and clearely. R adiant vertues, if your light E nfeeble the best iudgement's sight, G reat splendor aboue measure I s in the mind from whence you flow; N o wit may haue accesse to know, A nd view so bright a treasure.

E ye of that mind most quicke and cleere,— L ike Heauen's eye, which from his spheare I nto all things prieth; S ees through all things euery where, A nd all their natures trieth. B right image of an angel's wit, E xceeding sharpe and swift like it, T hings instantly discerning; H auing a nature infinit, A nd yet increas'd by learning. R ebound vpon thy selfe thy light, E nioy thine own sweet precious sight G iue us but some reflection; I t is enough for vs if we N ow in her speech, now policie, A dmire thine high perfection.

E uer well affected will, L ouing goodnesse, loathing ill, I nestimable treasure! S ince such a power hath power to spill,[175] A nd save vs at her pleasure. B e thou our law, sweet will, and say E uen what thou wilt, we will obay T his law, if I could reade it; H erein would I spend night and day, A nd study still to plead it. R oyall free-will, and onely free, E ach other will is slaue to thee; G lad is each will to serue thee: I n thee such princely power is seene, N o spirit but takes thee for her Queene, A nd thinkes she must obserue thee.

E xcellent iewels would you see, L ouely ladies? come with me, I will (for loue I owe you). S hew you as rich a treasurie, A s East or West can shew you. B ehold, if you can iudge of it, E uen that great store-house of her wit: T hat beautiful large Table, H er Memory; wherein is writ A ll knowledge admirable. R eade this faire book, and you shall learne E xquisite skill; if you discerne, G aine heau'n by this discerning; I n such a memory diuine, N ature did forme the Muses nine, A nd Pallas Queene of Learning.

E xquisite curiositie, L ooke on thy selfe with iudging eye, I f ought be faultie, leaue it; S o delicate a phantasie A s this, will straight perceiue it. B ecause her temper is so fine, E ndewèd with harmonies diuine; T herefore if discord strike it, H er true proportions doe repine, A nd sadly do[176] mislike it. R ight otherwise a pleasure sweet E uer she takes in actions meet, G racing with smiles such meetnesse; I n her faire forehead, beames appeare, N o Summer's day is halfe so cleare, A dorn'd with halfe that sweetnesse.

E clipsed she is, and her bright rayes. L ie under vailes, yet many wayes I s her faire forme reuealed; S he diuersly her selfe conueyes, A nd cannot be concealed. B y instruments her powers appeare E xceedingly well tun'd and cleare: T his lute is still in measure, H olds still in tune, euen like a spheare, A nd yeelds the world sweet pleasure. R esolue me, Muse, how this thing is, E uer a body like to this G aue Heau'n to earthly creature? I am but fond[177] this doubt to make N o doubt the angels bodies take, A bove our common nature.

E xamine not th' inscrutable heart, L ight Muse of her, though she in part I mpart it to the subiect; S earch not, although from Heau'n thou art, A nd this an heauenly obiect. B ut since she hath a heart, we know, E uer some passions thence doe flow, T hough euer rul'd with Honor; H er judgment raignes, they waite below, A nd fixe their eyes vpon her. R ectified so, they in their kind E ncrease each vertue of her mind, G ouern'd with mild tranquilitie; I n all the regions vnder heau'n, N o State doth beare it selfe so euen, A nd with so sweet facilitie.

E re thou proceed in this sweet paines, L earne Muse how many drops it raines I n cold and moist December; S um up May flowres, and August graines, A nd grapes of mild September. B eare the Sea's sand in memory, E arth's grasses, and the starres in skie; T he little moates which mounted, H ang, in the beames of Phœbus' eye, A nd neuer can be counted. R ecount these numbers numberlesse,[178] E re thou her vertue canst expresse, G reat wits this count will, cumber. I nstruct thy selfe in numbring Schooles; N ow courtiers vse to begge for fooles, A ll such as cannot number.

E [a]gle-eyed Wisdome, life's loadstarre, L ooking neere on things afarre; I oue's best beloued daughter, S howes to her spirit all[179] that are, A s Ioue himselfe hath taught her. B y this straight rule she rectifies E ach thought that in [her] heart doth rise: T his is her cleane true mirror, H er looking-glasse, wherein she spies A [ll] forms of Truth and Error. R ight princely vertue fit to raigne, E nthroniz'd in her spirit remaine, G uiding our fortunes euer; I f we this starre once cease to see, N o doubt our State will shipwrackt bee, A nd torne and sunke for euer.

E xil'd Astræa is come againe, L o here she doth all things maintaine I n number, weight, and measure: S he rules vs with delightfull paine, A nd we obey with pleasure. B y Loue she rules more then by Law, E uen her great mercy breedeth awe; T his is her sword and scepter: H erewith she hearts did euer draw, A nd this guard euer kept her. R eward doth sit in her right-hand, E ach vertue thence taks her garland G ather'd in Honor's garden; I n her left hand (wherein should be N ought but the sword) sits Clemency A nd conquers Vice with pardon.

E uen as her State, so is her mind, L ifted aboue the vulgar kind; I t treades proud Fortune vnder: S un-like it sits aboue the wind, A boue the stormes, and thunder. B raue spirit, large heart, admiring nought, E steeming each thing as it ought, T hat swelleth not, nor shrinketh; H onour is alwayes in her thought, A nd of great things she thinketh. R ocks, pillars, and heauen's axeltree, E xemplifie her constancy; G reat changes neuer change her: I n her sexe, feares are wont to rise, N ature permits, Vertue denies, A nd scornes the face of Danger.

E mpresse of kingdomes though she be, L arger is her soueraigntie I f she her selfe doe gouerne; S ubiect vnto her self is she, A nd of her selfe true soueraigne. B eautie's crowne though she do weare, E xalted into Fortune's chaire, T hron'd like the Queene of Pleasure; H er vertues still possesse her eare, A nd counsell her to measure. R eason, if shee incarnate were, E uen Reason's selfe could neuer beare G reatnesse with moderation; I n her one temper still is seene, N o libertee claimes she as Queene, A nd showes no alteration.

E nuy, goe weepe; my Muse and I L augh thee to scorne: thy feeble eye I s dazeled with the glory S hining in this gay poesie, A nd little golden story. B ehold how my proud quill doth shed E ternall nectar on her head; T he pompe of coronation H ath not such power her fame to spread, A s this my admiration. R espect my pen as free and franke E xpecting not reward nor thanke, G reat wonder onely moues it; I never made it mercenary, N or should my Muse this burthen carrie A s hyr'd, but that she loues it.