Of that most goodly[416] mayd
That Placebo hath sayd,
And for her sparow prayd
In lamentable wyse,
Now wyll I enterpryse,
Thorow the grace dyuyne
Of the Muses nyne,
Her beautye to commende,
If Arethusa wyll send 860
Me enfluence to endyte,
And with my pen to wryte;
If Apollo wyll promyse
Melodyously it to[417] deuyse
His tunable harpe stryngges
With armony that synges
Of princes and of kynges
And of all pleasaunt thynges,
Of lust and of delyght,
Thorow his godly myght; 870
To whom be the laude ascrybed
That my pen hath enbybed
With the aureat droppes,
As verely my hope is,
Of Thagus, that golden flod,
That passeth all[418] erthly good;
And as that flode doth pas
Al floodes that euer was
With his golden sandes,
Who so that vnderstandes 880
Cosmography, and the stremys
And the floodes in straunge remes,
Ryght so she doth excede
All other of whom we rede,
Whose fame by me shall sprede
Into Perce and Mede,
From Brytons Albion
To[419] the Towre of Babilon.
I trust it is no shame,
And no man wyll me blame, 890
Though I regester her name
In the courte of Fame;
For this most goodly floure,
This blossome of fresshe coulour,
So Jupiter me socour,
She floryssheth new and new
In bewte and vertew:
Hac claritate gemina
O gloriosa fœmina,
Retribue servo tuo, vivifica me! 900
Labia mea laudabunt te.
But enforsed am I
Openly to askry,
And to make an[420] outcri
Against odyous Enui,
That euermore wil ly,
And say cursedly;
With his ledder ey,
And chekes dry;
With vysage wan, 910
As swarte[421] as tan;
His bones crake,
Leane as a rake;
His gummes rusty
Are full vnlusty;
Hys herte withall
Bytter as gall;
His lyuer, his longe[422]
With anger is wronge;
His serpentes tonge 920
That many one hath stonge;
He frowneth euer;
He laugheth neuer,
Euen nor morow,
But other mennes sorow
Causeth him to gryn
And reioyce therin;
No slepe can him catch,
But euer doth watch,
He is so bete 930
With malyce, and frete
With angre and yre,
His foule desyre
Wyll suffre no slepe
In his hed to crepe;
His foule[423] semblaunt
All displeasaunte;[424]
Whan other ar glad,
Than is he sad;
Frantyke and mad; 940
His tong neuer styll
For to say yll,
Wrythyng and wringyng,
Bytyng and styngyng;
And thus this elf
Consumeth himself,
Hymself doth slo
Wyth payne and wo.
This fals Enuy
Sayth that I 950
Vse great folly
For to endyte,
And for to wryte,
And spend my tyme
In prose and ryme,
For to expres
The noblenes
Of my maistres,
That causeth me
Studious to be 960
To[425] make a relation
Of her commendation;
And there agayne
Enuy doth complayne,
And hath disdayne;
But yet certayne
I wyll be[426] playne,
And my style dres
To this prosses.
Now Phebus me ken 970
To sharpe my pen,
And lede my fyst
As hym best lyst,
That I may say
Honour alway
Of womankynd!
Trouth doth me bynd
And loyalte
Euer