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THE RVINES OF TIME 475
Then will I sing but who can better sing, Prouide therefore (ye Princes) whilst ye hue,
Than thine owne sister, peerles Ladie bright, That of the Muses ye may friended bee,
Which to thee sings with deep harts sorrowing, Which vnto men eternitie do giue,
Sorrowing tempered with deare delight For they be daughters of Dame memorie,
That her to heare I feele my feeble spright 320 And hue the father of eternitie,
Robbed of sense, and rauished with loy, And do those men m golden thrones repose,
O sad loy made of mourning and anoy Whose merits they to glonfie do chose 371
Yet will I sing but who can better sing, The seuen fold yron gates of grislie Hell,
Than thou thy selfe, thine owne selfes valiance, And horrid house of sad Proserpina,
That whilest thou liuedst, madest the forrests They able are with power of mightie spell
ring,
To breake, and thence the soules to bring awaie
And fields resownd, and flockes to leap and Out of dread darkenesse, to eternall day,
daunce,
And them immortall make, which els would die
And shepheards leaue their lambs vnto mis In foule forgetfulnesse, and nameles he
chaunce,
So whilome raised they the puissant brood
To runne thy shrill Arcadian Pipe to heare Of golden girt Alcmena, for great merite, 380
O happie were those dayes, thrice happie were Out of the dust, to which the Oetæan wood
But now more happie thou, and wretched wee, Had him consum'd, and spent his vitall spinte
Which want the wonted sweetnes of thy voice, To highest heauen, where now he doth inhente
Whiles thou now in Elision fields so free, All happinesse in Hebes siluer bowre,
With Orpheus, and with Linus, and the choice Chosen to be her dearest Paramoure
Of all that euer did in rimes reioyce, So raisde they eke faire LeJaes warlick twinnes,
Conuersest ,and doost heare their heauenhe lay es, And interchanged life vnto them lent,
And they heare thine, and thine doo better That when th'one dies, th'other then beginnes
praise
To shew in Heauen his brightnes orient,
So there thou huest, singing euermore,
And they, for pittie of the sad wayment, 390
And here thou huest, being euer song Which Orpheus for Eurydice did make,
Of vs, which liuing loued thte afore, Her back againe to life sent for his sake
And now thee worship, mongst that blessed So happie are they, and so fortunate,
throng 340 Whom the Pierian sacred sisters loue,
Of heauenhe Poets and Heroes strong That freed from bands of impacable fate,
So thou both here and there immortall art, And power of death, they hue for aye aboue,
And euerie where through excellent desart Where mortall wreakes their bhs may not
But such as neither of themselues can sing, remoue
Nor yet are sung of others for reward, But with the Gods, for former vertues meede,
Die in obscure obliuion, as the thing On 'Nectar and Ambrosia do feede
Which neuer was, ne euer with regard For deeds doe die, how euer nobhe donne, 400
Their names shall of the later age be heard, And thoughts of men do as themselues decay
But shall in rustie darknes euer he,
But wise wordes taught in numbers for to runne,
Vnles they mentioned be with infarnie 350 Recorded by the Muses, hue for ay ,
What booteth it to haue been rich aliue
Ne may with storming showers be washt away?
What to be great ? what to be gracious ?
Ne bitter breathing windes with harmfull blast,
When after death no token doth suruiue,
Nor age, nor enuie shall them euer wast
Of former being in this mortall hous, In vaine doo earthly Princes then, in vaine
But sleepes in dust dead and inglorious, Seeke with Pyramides, to heauen aspired,
Like beast, whose breath but in his nostrels is, Or huge Colosses, built with costhe paine,
And hath no hope of happinesse or blis Or brasen Pillours, neuer to be fired, 410
How manie great ones may remembred be, Or Shrines, made of the mettall most desired,
Which in their daies most famoushedid fionsh To make their memories for euer liue:
Of whome no word we heare, nor signe now see, For how can mortall immortalitie giue ?
But as things wipt out with a sponge to perishe, Such one Mausolus made, the worlds greatwonder,
Because they liuing, cared not to cherishe But now no remnant doth thereof remaine
No gentle wits, through pride or couetize, Such one Marcellus, but was torne with thunder
Which might their names for euer memorize Such one Lisippus, but is worne with raine