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Upon a crab he rode, that him did beare
With crooked, crawling steps an uncouth pase,
And backward yode, as bargemen wont to fare

Bending their force contrary to their face,
Like that ungracious crew which faines demurest grace.

Then came hot July boyling like to fire,

That all his garments he had cast away:
Upon a lyon raging yet with ire
He boldly rode, and made him to obay:
It was the beast that whylome did forray
The Nemæan forrest, till th' Amphytrionide
Him slew, and with his hide did him array:

Behinde his back a sithe, and by his side
Under his belt he bore a sickle circling wide.

The sixt was August, being rich arrayd

In garment all of gold downe to the ground:
Yet rode he not, but led a lovely mayd
Forth by the lilly hand, the which was cround
With eares of corne, and full her hand was found:
That was the righteous virgin' which of old
Lived here on earth, and plenty made abound;

But, after wrong was loved and justice solde,
She left th' unrighteous world and was to heaven extold.

Next him September marchèd eeke on foote;

Yet was he heavy laden with the spoyle
Of harvests riches, which he made his boot,
And him enricht with bounty of the soyle:
In his one hand, as fit for harvests toyle,
He held a knife-hook; and in th’ other hand
A paire of waights, with which he did assoyle

Both more and lesse, where it in doubt did stand,
And equall gave to each as justice duly scannd.

Then came October full of merry glee;

For yet his noule’ was totty of the must, 1 Astræa 2 noddle, head, brain.

3 tottering, unsteady.

Which he was treading in the wine-fats see,
And of the joyous oyle, whose gently gust
Made him so frollick and so full of lust;
Upon a dreadfull scorpion he did ride,
The same which by Dianæs doom unjust

Slew great Orion: and eeke by his side
He had his ploughing-share and coulter ready tyde.

Next was November; he full grosse and fat,

As fed with lard, and that right well might seeme;
For he had been a fatting hogs of late,
That yet his browes with sweat did reek and steem,
And yet the season was full sharp and breem;"
In planting eeke he took no small delight.
Whereon he rode, not easie was to deeme;

For it a dreadfull centaure was in sight,
The seed of Saturne and faire Nais, Chiron hight.

And after him came next the chill December:

Yet he through merry feasting which he made,
And great bonfires, did not the cold remember;
His Saviours birth his mind so much did glad:
Upon a shaggy-bearded goat he rade,
The same wherewith Dan Jove in tender yeares,
They say, was nourisht by th’ Idæan mayd;

And in his hand a broad deepe boawle he beares,
Of which he freely drinks an health to all his peeres.

Then came old January, wrappèd well

In many weeds to keep the cold away; Yet did he quake and quiver like to quell, And blowe his nayles to warme them if he may: For they were numbd with holding all the day An hatchet keene, with which he fellèd wood, And from the trees did lop the needlesse spray: Upon an huge great earth-pot steane he stood, From whose wide mouth there flowed forth the Romane floud. 4 fierce, bitter.

5 large jar.

And lastly came cold February, sitting

In an old wagon, for he could not ride;
Drawne of two fishes for the season fitting,
Which through the flood before did softly slyde
And swim away: yet had he by his side
His plough and harnesse fit to till the ground,
And tooles to prune the trees, before the pride

Of hasting Prime did make them burgein round.
So past the twelve months forth, and their dew places found.

And after these there came the Day and Night,

Riding together both with equall pase,
Th’ one on a palfrey blacke, the other white:
But Night had cover'd her uncomely face
With a blacke veile, and held in hand a mace,
On top whereof the moon and stars were pight,
And Sleep and Darknesse round about did trace:

But Day did beare, upon his scepters hight,
The goodly sun, encompast all with beamës bright.

Then came the Howres, faire daughters of high Jove

And timely Night, the which were all endewd
With wondrous beauty fit to kindly love;
But they were virgins all, and love eschewd,
That might forslack the charge to them fore-shewd
By mighty Jove, who did them porters make
Of heaven's gate (whence all the gods issued)
Which they did dayly watch, and nightly wake
By even turnes, ne ever did their charge forsake.

And after all came Life, and lastly Death:

Death with most grim and griesly visage seene,
Yet is he nought but parting of the breath;
Ne ought to see, but like a shade to weene,
Unbodièd, unsoul'd, unheard, unseene:
But Life was like a faire young lusty boy,
Such as they faine Dan Cupid to have beene,

Full of delightfull health and lively joy,
Deckt all with flowres, and wings of gold fit to employ,

When these were past, thus gan the Titanesse:

“Lo! mighty mother, now be judge, and say
Whether in all thy creatures more or lesse
Change doth not raign and beare the greatest sway:
For who sees not that Time on all doth pray?
But times do change and move continually:
So nothing here long standeth in one stay:

Wherefore, this lowere world who can deny
But to be subject still to Mutabilitie?"



WHEN I bethinke me on that speech whyl-eare

Of Mutability, and well it way,
Me seemes, that though she all unworthy were
Of the heav'ns rule, yet, very sooth to say,
In all things else she beares the greatest sway;
Which makes me loath this state of life so tickle,
And love of things so vaine, to cast away,

Whose flowring pride, so fading and so fickle,
Short Time shall soon cut down with his consuming sickle.

Then gin I thinke on that which Nature sayd,
Of that same time when no more change shall be,
But stedfast rest of all things, firmely stayd
Upon the pillours of Eternity,
That is contrayr to Mutabilitie:
For all that moveth doth in change delight:
But thence-forth all shall rest eternally

With him that is the God of Sabbaoth hight:
O that great Sabbaoth-God graunt me that Sabaoths


· Either the death of Spenser halted THE FAERIE QUEENE at this point, or the poet relinquished his design. But as Book VIII-of which these two stanzas alone seem to be all that was written-is called “Unperfite," the first is the more probable.

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CUPID and my Campaspe play'd
At cards for kisses; Cupid paid.
He stakes his quiver, bows and arrows,
His mother's doves and team of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);
With these, the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin;
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes;
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love, has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of me?


THOMAS LODGE (1558 ?–1625]



Love in my bosom, like a bee,

Doth suck his sweet;
Now with his wings he plays with me,

Now with his feet.
Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender breast;
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest:

Ah! wanton, will ye?

And if I sleep, then percheth he

With pretty flight,

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