XXXII.

Hope ye, my Verses, that posteritie

Of age ensuing shall you ever read? that ever immortalitie

Hope ye,

So meane Harpes worke may chalenge for her meed?
If under heaven anie endurance were,
These moniments, which not in paper writ,
But in porphyre and marble doo appeare,
Might well have hop'd to have obtained it.
Nath'les my Lute, whom Phoebus deignd to give,
Cease not to sound these olde antiquities:
For if that Time doo let thy glorie live,

Well maist thou boast, how ever base thou bee,
That thou art first, which of thy Nation song
Th' olde honour of the people gowned long.

L'Envoy.

Bellay, first garland of free Poësie

[wits,

That France brought forth, though fruitfull of brave

Well worthie thou of immortalitie,

That long hast traveld, by thy learned writs,

Olde Rome out of her ashes to revive,
And give a second life to dead decayes!
Needes must he all eternitie survive,
That can to other give eternall dayes:
Thy dayes therefore are endles, and thy prayse
Excelling all, that ever went before.
And, after thee, gins Bartas hie to rayse
His heavenly Muse, th' Almightie to adore.
Live, happie spirits, th' honour of your name,
And fill the world with never dying fame!

THE

RUINES OF TIME.

BY ED. SP.

DEDICATED TO THE RIGHT NOBLE AND BEAUTIFULL LADIE,

THE LA: MARIE,

COUNTESSE OF PEMBROOKE.

1591.

TO THE RIGHT NOBLE AND BEAUTIFULL LADIE,

THE LA: MARIE,

COUNTESSE OF PEMBROOKE.

MOST Honourable and bountifull Ladie, there bee long sithens deepe sowed in my brest the seedes of most entire love and humble affection unto that most brave Knight, your noble brother deceased; which, taking roote, began in his life time somewhat to bud forth, and to shew themselves to him, as then in the weaknes of their first spring; and would in their riper strength (had it pleased High God till then to drawe out his daies) spired forth fruit of more perfection. But since God hath disdeigned the world of that most noble Spirit, which was the hope of all learned men, and the Patron of my young Muses; together with him both their hope of anie further fruit was cut off, and also the tender delight of those their first blossoms nipped and quite dead. Yet, sithens my late cumming into England, some frends of mine, (which might much prevaile with me, and indeede commaund me,) knowing with howe straight bandes of duetie I was tied to him, as also bound unto that noble House, (of which the chiefe hope then rested in him,) have sought to revive them by upbraiding me, for that I have not shewed anie thankefull remembrance towards him or any of them; but suffer their names to sleep in silence and forgetfulnesse. Whome chieflie to satisfie, or els to avoide that fowle blot of unthankefulnesse, I have conceived this small Poeme, intituled by a generall name of The Worlds Ruines; yet speciallie intended to the renowming of that noble Race, from which both you and he sprong, and to the eternizing of some of the chiefe of them late deceased. The which I dedicate unto your La. as whome it most specially concerneth; and to whome I acknowledge my selfe bounden by many singular favours and great graces. I pray for your Honourable happinesse: and so humbly kisse your hands.

Your Ladiships ever humblie at commaund,

E. S.

THE

RUINES OF TIME.

IT chaunced me on day beside the shore
Of silver-streaming Thamesis to bee,
Nigh where the goodly Verlame stood of yore,
Of which there now remaines no memorie,
Nor anie little moniment to see,

By which the travailer, that fares that way,
This once was she, may warned be to say.
There, on the other side, I did behold
A Woman sitting sorrowfullie wailing,
Rending her yellow locks, like wyrie gold
About her shoulders careleslie downe trailing,

5

10

And streames of teares from her faire eyes forth railing: In her right hand a broken rod she held,

Which towards heaven shee seemd on high to weld.

VOL. V.

Y