A Canto vpon the Death of Eliza.1 The doore of Morne, to let abroad the Day; When sad Ocyroe sitting on a rocke, Hemmed 2 in with teares, not glassing as they say Shee woont, her damaske beuties (when to play Shee bent her looser fancie) in the streame, That sudding on the rocke, would closely seeme To imitate her whitenesse with his frothy creame. But hanging from the stone her careful head, That shewed (for griefe had made it so to shew) That those without, these streames within, did flow, 1 Originally published in 'Sorrowe's Joy, or a Lamentation for our Deceased Soveraigne Elizabeth, with a Triumph for the Prosperous succession of our Gratious King James. Printed by John Legat, printer to the University of Cambridge, 1603.' Our text is taken from Nichol's 'Progresses of James I.,' Vol. I. pp. 17-19. In the margin are variations from the reprint in Nichol's 'Progresses of Queen Elizabeth,' Vol. 111. 257-259. G. 2 Hemmd. G. 3 Query-foaming as in frothy (soap) 'suds?' G. And tearing from her head her amber haires, Whose like or none, or onely Phoebus weares, Shee strowd them on the flood to waite vpon her teares. About her many Nymphs sate weeping by, That when shee sang were woont to daunce and leape; And all the grasse that round about did lie, Hung full of teares, as if that meant to weepe; Whilst th' vndersliding streames did softly creepe, And clung about the rocke with winding wreath, To heare a Canto of Elizae's1 death; Which thus poore nymph shee sung, whilest Sorrowe lent her breath. Tell me, ye blushing currols that bunch out, To cloath with beuteous red your ragged sire 2 Make stain'd carnations fresher liueries seeke, So let your braunched armes grow crooked, smooth, and sleeke. So from your growth late be you rent away, 1 Elizaes. G. 2 Misprinted 'fire' in Prog. of King James. G. Vnto those children be you giuen to play, Where blest Eliza raign'd; so neuer ill Betide your caues, nor them with breaking spill; Tell me if some vncivill hand should teare Your branches hence, and place them otherwhere; Could you still grow, and such fresh crimson ensignes beare? Tell me, sad Philomele, that yonder sit'st Thy watchfull breast with wound, or small, or bigge, Whereon thou lean'st; so let the hissing snake, Sliding with shrinking silence, neuer take Th' vnwarie foote, whilst thou perhaps hangst half1 awake. So let the loathed lapwing, when her nest When Winter robs thy house of all her greene attire? ་ Tell me, ye veluet-headed violets That fringe the crooked banke, with gawdie blewe; 1 Halfe. G. So let with comely grace your pretie1 frets Be spread; so let a thousand 2 Zephyrs sue To kisse your willing heads, that seeme t' eschew Their wanton touch with maiden modestie ; So let the siluer dewe but lightly lie, Like little watrie worlds within your azure skie. So when your blazing leaues are broadly spread, Let wandring nymphes gather you in their lapps, And send you where Eliza lieth dead, To strow the sheete that her pale bodie wraps; Aie me, in this I enuie your good haps; Who would not die, there to be buried? Say if the sunne denie his beames to shedde Upon your lining stalkes, grow you not withered ? Tell me, thou wanton brooke, that slipst away Vnmixt with mudde, vnto the sea your king; To kisse those walls that built Elizaes Court, Drie you not when your mother springs are choakt with durt? Yes, you all say, and I say, with you all, Naught without cause of ioy can ioyous bide, 1 Prettie. G. 2 Thousand. G. 3 = forth? G. |