Edmund Spenser

Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound.

And all for love, and nothing for reward.

How oft do they their silver bowers leave To come to succour us that succour want!

And is there care in Heaven? And is there love In heavenly spirits to these Creatures bace?

No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd, No arborett with painted blossoms drest And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd.

Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease, And layes the soul to sleepe in quiet grave? Sleepe after toyle, port after stormie seas, Ease after warre, death after life does greatly please.

That darksome cave they enter, where they find That cursed man, low sitting on the ground, Musing full sadly in his sullein mind.

Entire affection hateth nicer hands.

As when in Cymbrian plaine An heard of bulles, whom kindly rage doth sting, Doe for the milky mothers want complaine, And fill the fieldes with troublous bellowing.

Ay me, how many perils doe enfold The righteous man, to make him daily fall!

As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.

A bold bad man, that dar'd to call by name Great Gorgon, Prince of darknesse and dead night.

The noblest mind the best contentment has.

But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad; Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.

A Gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine.

Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song.

For all that faire is, is by nature good; That is a signe to know the gentle blood.

So every spirit, as it is most pure, And hath in it the more of heavenly light, So it the fairer bodie doth procure To habit in, and it more fairely dight With cheerful grace and amiable sight: For of the soule the bodie forme doth take;

That beauty is not, as fond men misdeem, An outward shew of things, that only seem.

At length they all to mery London came, To mery London, my most kindly Nurse, That to me gave this lifes first native sourse.

So purely white they were, That even the gentle streame, the which them bare, Seem’d foule to them, and bad his billowes spare To wet their silken feathers, least they might Soyle their fair plumes with water not so fayre, And mar their …

With that I saw two swans of goodly hue Come softly swimming down along the Lee: Two fairer birds I yet did never see; The snow which doth the top of Pindus strow Did never whiter show, Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be

There, in a Meadow, by the Rivers side, A flocke of Nymphes I chaunced to espy, All lovely Daughters of the Flood thereby, With goodly greenish locks all loose untyde, As each had bene a Bryde.

Sweete Themmes runne softly, till I end my Song.