EDMUND SPENSER.

1552-1599.

HIS LADY'S PRIDE.

RUDELY thou wrongest my dear heart's desire,

In finding fault with her too portly pride;

The thing which I do most in her admire,
Is of the world unworthy most envíed;

For in those lofty looks is close implied
Scorn of base things, and sdeign of foul dishonour
Threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide,
That loosely they ne dare to look upon her,

Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour;

That boldness innocence bears in her eyes;

And her fair countenance, like a goodly banner,

Spreads in defiance of all enemies.

Was never in this world ought worthy tried

Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride.

EDMUND
SPENSER.

1552-1599.

HIS LADY'S EYES.

ONE day as I unwarily did gaze

On those fair eyes, my Love's immortal light,

The whiles my 'stonished heart stood in amaze,
Through sweet illusion of her looks' delight,

I might perceive how in her glancing sight,
Legions of loves with little wings did fly
Darting their deadly arrows fiery bright,
At every rash beholder passing by.

One of those archers closely I did spy,
Aiming his arrow at my very heart;

When suddenly with twinkle of her eye
The Damsel broke his misintended dart.

Had she not so done, sure I had been slain,

Yet as it was I hardly 'scaped with pain.

EDMUND
SPENSER.

1552-1599.

HIS LADY'S FACE.

THE glorious portrait of that Angel's face

Made to amaze weak men's confused skill,

And this world's worthless glory to embase;
What pen, what pencil, can express her fill?
For though he colours could devise at will,
And eke his learned hand at pleasure guide,
Lest, trembling, it his workmanship should spill,
Yet many wondrous things there are beside;

The sweet eye-glances that like arrows glide ;
The charming smiles that rob sense from the heart;

The lovely pleasance, and the lofty pride

Cannot expressèd be by any art.

A greater craftsman's hand thereto doth need

That can express the life of things indeed.

EDMUND SPENSER.

1552 -159.

HIS LADY'S HAIR.

WHAT guile is this, that those her golden tresses

She doth attire under a net of gold;

And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,
That which is gold or hair may scarce be told?
Is it that men's frail eyes which gaze too bold,
She may entangle in that golden snare ;

And being caught may craftily enfold

Their weaker hearts which are not well aware?

Take heed therefore mine eyes how ye do stare

Henceforth too rashly on that guileful net,

In which if ever ye entrappèd are,

Out of her bands ye by no means shall get.
Fondness it were for any, being free,

To covet fetters, though they golden be!

HIS LADY'S SCORN OF BASE THINGS.

EDMUND THE glorious image of the Maker's beauty,

SPENSER

1552-1599. My sovereign saint, the idol of my thought,

Dare not henceforth above the bounds of duty

T'accuse of pride or rashly blame for aught.
For being as she is, divinely wrought

And of the brood of Angels heavenly born,
And with the crew of blessèd saints upbrought,
Each of which did her with their gifts adorn;
The bud of joy, the blossom of the morn,
The beam of light whom mortal eyes admire;
What reason is it then but she should scorn

Base things, that to her love too bold aspire!
Such heavenly forms ought rather worshipped be,

Than dare be loved by men of mean degree.