Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO THE QUEENES MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTIE, by AEMILIA (BASSANO) LANYER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO THE QUEENES MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTIE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Renowned empresse, and great britaines queene
Last Line: Were but t'ecclipse your fame, and make it lesse.
Alternate Author Name(s): Lanier, Emilia
Subject(s): Anne Of Denmark, Queen Of England


Renowned Empresse, and great Britaines Queene,
Most gratious Mother of succeeding Kings;
Vouchsafe to view that which is seldome seene,
A Womans writing of divinest things:
Reade it faire Queene, though it defective be,
Your excellence can grace both It and Mee.

For you have rifled Nature of her store,
And all the Goddesses have dispossest
Of those rich gifts which they enjoy'd before,
But now great Queene, in you they all doe rest.
If now they strived for the golden Ball,
Paris would give it you before them all.

From Juno you have State and Dignities,
From warlike Pallas, Wisdome, Fortitude;
And from faire Venus all her Excellencies,
With their best parts your Highnesse is indu'd:
How much are we to honor those that springs
From such rare beauty, in the blood of Kings?

The Muses doe attend upon your Throne,
With all the Artists at your becke and call;
The Sylvane Gods, and Satyres every one,
Before your faire triumphant Chariot fall:
And shining Cynthia with her nymphs attend
To honour you, whose Honour hath no end.

From your bright spheare of greatnes where you sit,
Reflecting light to all those glorious stars
That wait upon your Throane; To virtue yet
Vouchsafe that splendor which my meannesse bars:
Be like faire Phoebe, who doth love to grace
The darkest night with her most beauteous face.

Apollo's beams doe comfort every creature,
And shines upon the meanest things that be;
Since in Estate and Virtue none is greater,
I humbly wish that yours may light on me:
That so these rude unpollisht lines of mine,
Graced by you, may seeme the more divine.

Look in this Mirrour of a worthy Mind,
Where some of your faire Virtues will appeare;
Though all it is impossible to find,
Unlesse my Glasse were chrystall, or more cleare:
Which is dym steele, yet full of spotlesse truth,
And for one looke from your faire eyes it su'th.

Here may your sacred Majestie behold
That mightie Monarch both of heav'n and earth,
He that all Nations of the world controld,
Yet tooke our flesh in base and meanest berth:
Whose daies were spent in poverty and sorrow,
And yet all Kings their wealth of him do borrow.

For he is Crowne and Crowner of all Kings,
The hopefull haven of the meaner sort,
Its he that all our joyfull tidings brings
Of happie raigne within his royall Court:
Its he that in extremity can give
Comfort to them that have no time to live.

And since my wealth within his Region stands,
And that his Crosse my chiefest comfort is,
Yea in his kingdome onely rests my lands,
Of honour there I hope I shall not misse:
Though I on earth doe live unfortunate,
Yet there I may attaine a better state.

In the meane time, accept most gratious Qeene
This holy work, Virtue presents to you,
In poore apparell, shaming to be seene,
Or once t'appeare in your judiciall view:
But that faire Virtue, though in meane attire,
All Princes of the world doe most desire.

And sith all royall virtues are in you,
The Naturall, the Morall, and Divine,
I hope how plaine soever, beeing true,
You will accept even of the meanest line
Faire Virtue yeelds; by whose rare gifts you are
So highly grac'd, t'exceed the fairest faire.

Behold, great Queene, faire Eves Apologie,
Which I have writ in honour of your sexe,
And doe referre unto your Majestie,
To judge if it agree not with the Text:
And if it doe, why are poore Women blam'd,
Or by more faultie Men so much defam'd?

And this great Lady I have here attired,
In all her richest ornaments of Honour,
That you faire Queene, of all the world admired,
May take the more delight to looke upon her:
For she must entertaine you to this Feast,
To which your Highnesse is the welcom'st guest.

For here I have prepar'd my Paschal Lambe,
The figure of that living Sacrifice;
Who dying, all th'Infernall powers orecame,
That we with him t'Eternitie might rise:
This pretious Passeover feed upon, O Queene,
Let your faire Virtues in my Glasse be seene.

And she that is the pattern of all Beauty,
The very modell of your Majestie,
Whose rarest parts enforceth Love and Duty,
The perfect patterne of all Pietie:
O let my Booke by her faire eyes be blest,
In whose pure thoughts all Innocency rests.

Then shall I thinke my Glasse a glorious Skie,
When two such glittring Suns at once appeare;
The one repleat with Sov'raigne Majestie,
Both shining brighter than the clearest cleare:
And both reflecting comfort to my spirits,
To find their grace so much above my merits

Whose untun'd voyce the dolefull notes doth sing
Of sad Affliction in an humble straine;
Much like unto a Bird that wants a wing,
And cannot flie, but warbles forth her paine:
Or he that barred from the Suns bright light,
Wanting daies comfort, doth comend the night.

So I that live clos'd up in Sorrowes Cell,
Since great Elizaes favour blest my youth;
And in the confines of all cares doe dwell,
Whose grieved eyes no pleasure ever view'th:
But in Christs suffrings, such sweet taste they have,
As makes me praise pale Sorrow and the Grave.

And this great Ladie whom I love and honour,
And from my very tender yeeres have knowne,
This holy habite still to take upon her,
Still to remaine the same, and still her owne:
And what our fortunes doe enforce us to,
She of Devotion and meere Zeale doth do.

Which makes me thinke our heavy burden light,
When such a one as she will help to beare it:
Treading the paths that make our way go right,
What garment is so faire but she may weare it;
Especially for her that entertaines
A Glorious Queene, in whome all woorth remains.

Whose powre may raise my sad dejected Muse,
From this lowe Mansion of a troubled mind;
Whose princely favour may such grace infuse,
That I may spread Her Virtues in like kind:
But in this triall of my slender skill,
I wanted knowledge to performe my will.

For even as they that doe behold the Starres,
Not with the eie of Learning, but of Sight,
To find their motions, want of knowledge barres
Although they see them in their brightest light:
So, though I see the glory of her State,
Its she that must instruct and elevate.

My weake distempred braine and feeble spirits.
Which all unlearned have adventur'd, this
To write of Christ, and of his sacred merits,
Desiring that this Booke Her hands may kisse:
And though I be unworthy of that grace,
Yet let her blessed thoghts this book imbrace.

And pardon me (faire Queene) though I presume,
To doe that which so many better can;
Not that I Learning to my selfe assume,
Or that I would compare with any man:
But as they are Scholers, and by Art do write,
So Nature yeelds my Soule a sad delight.

And since all Arts at first from Nature came,
That goodly Creature, Mother of Perfection,
Whom Joves almighty hand at first did frame,
Taking both her and hers in his protection:
Why should not She now grace my barren Muse,
And in a Woman all defects excuse.

So peerelesse Princesse humbly I desire,
That your great wisedome would vouchsafe t'omit
All faults; and pardon if my spirits retire,
Leaving to ayme at what they cannot hit:
To write your worth, which no pen can expresse,
Were but t'ecclipse your Fame, and make it lesse.





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