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THE TEARES OF THE MVSES 483
For far more bitter storme than winters stowre
The beautie of the world hath lately wasted,
And those fresh buds, which wont so faire to
flowre,
Hath marred quite ,and all their blossoms blasted
And those yong plants, which wont with fruit
t'abound, 251
Now without fruite or leaues are to be found
A stonie coidnesse hath benumbd the sence
And liuelie spirits of each liuing wight,
And dimd with darknesse their intelligence,
Darknesse more than Cymenans dayhe night
And monstrous error flying in the ayre,
Hath mard the face of all that semed fayre
Image of hellish horrour, Ignorance,
Borne in the bosome of the black Abysse, 260
And fed with furies milke, for sustenaunce
Of his weake infancie, begot amisse
By yawning Sloth on his owne mother Night,
So hee his sonnes both Syre and brother hight
He armd with blindnesse and withboldnes stout,
(For blind is bold) hath our fayre light defaced,
And gathering vnto him a ragged rout
Of Faunes and Satyres, hath our dwellings raced
And our chast bowers, in which all vertue rained,
With brutishnesse and beasthe fil th hath stained
The sacred springs of horsefoot Helicon, 271
So oft bedeawed with our learned layes,
And speaking streames of pure Caslalion,
The famous witnesse of our wonted praise,
They trampled haue with their fowle footings
trade,
And like to troubled puddles haue them made
Our pleasant groues, which planted were with
paines,
That with our musick wont so oft to ring,
And arbors sweet, in which the Shepheards
swaines
Were wont so oft their Pastoralls to sing, 280
They haue cut downe and all their pleasaunce
mard,
That now no pastorall is to bee hard
In stead of them fowle Goblins and Shriekowles,
With fearfull howling do all places fill,
And feeble Eccho now laments and howles,
The dreadfull accents of their outcries shrill
So all is turned into wildernesse,
Whilest Ignorance the Muses doth oppresse
And I whose loy was earst with Spirit full
To teach the warbling pipe to sound aloft, 290
My spirits now dismayd with sorrow dull,
Doo mone my miserie in silence soft
Therefore I mourne and waile incessantly,
Till please the heauens affoord me remedy
Therewith shee wayled with exceeding woe
And pitious lamentation did make,
And all her sisters seeing her doo soe,
With equall plaints her sorrowe did partake
So rested shee and then the next in rew,
Began her grieuous plaint as doth ensew 300
Terpsichore
Who so hath in the lap of soft delight
Beene long time luld, and fed with pleasures
sweet,
Feareles through his own fault or Fortunes
spight,
To tumble into sorrow and regreet,
Yf chaunce him fall into calamitie,
Findes greater burthen of his miserie
So wee that earst in loyance did abound
And in the bosome of all bhs did sit,
Like virgin Queenes with laurell garlands cround,
For vertues meed and ornament of wit, 310
Sith ignorance our kingdome did confound,
Bee now become most wretched wightes on
ground
And in our royall thrones which lately stood
In th'hearts of men to rule them carefully,
He now hath placed his accursed brood,
By him begotten of fowle infamy ,
Blind Error, scornefull Follie, and base Spight,
Who hold by wrong, that wee should haue by
right
They to the vulgar sort now pipe and sing,
And make them merrie with their fooleries, 320
They cherehechaunt and rymes atrandon fling,
The
spawne of their ranke fantasies
They feede the eares of fooles with flattery,
And good men blame, and losels magnify
All places they doo with their toyes possesse,
And raigne in liking of the multitude,
The schooles they fill with fond newfanglenesse,
And sway in Court with pride and rashnes rude,
Mongst simple shepheards they do boast their
skill,
And say their musicke matcheth Phoebus quill
The noble hearts to pleasures they allure, 331
And tell their Prince that learning is but vaine,
Faire Ladies loues they spot with thoughts impure,
And gentle mindes with lewd delights distaine
Clerks they to loathly ldlenes entice,
And fill their bookes with discipline of vice
So euery where they rule and tyrannize,
For their vsurped kingdomes maintenaunce,
The whiles we silly Maides, whom they dispize,
And with reprochfull scorne discountenaunce,
From our owne natiue heritage exilde, 341
Walk through the world of euery one reuilde