Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ANGLORUM FERIAE, ENGLAND'S HOLIDAY, by GEORGE PEELE Poet's Biography First Line: Descend, ye sacred daughters of king jove Last Line: Dear in heaven's eye, her court and country's glory. Subject(s): Elizabeth I, Queen Of England (1533-1603 | ||||||||
DESCEND, ye sacred daughters of King Jove: Apollo, spread thy sparkling wings to mount, And try some lightsome sweet Castalian springs That warble to their silver-winding waves, Making soft music in their gentle glide: Clio, the sagest of these Sisters Nine, Conduct thy learnèd company to court, Eliza's court, Astræa's earthly heaven; There take survey of England's empress, And in her praise tune your heroic songs: Write, write, you chroniclers of time and fame That keep Remembrance' golden register, And recommend to time's eternity Her honour's height and wonders of her age, Wonders of her that reason's reach transcend, Such wonders as have set the world at gaze; Write, write, you chroniclers of time and fame, Elizabeth by miracles preserv'd From perils imminent and infinite: Clio, proclaim with golden trump and pen Her happy days, England's high holidays; O'er Europe's bounds take wing, and make thy flight Through melting air, from where the rising sun Gallops the zodiac in his fiery wain, Even to the brink where Thetis in her bower Of pumey and tralucent pebble-stones Receives the weary bridegroom of the sea, Beyond Grand Cair, by Nilus' slimy bank, Over the wild and sandy Afric plains, Along the frozen shore of Tanais, Whose icy crust Apollo cannot thaw; Even there and round about this earthly ball Proclaim the day of England's happiness, The days of peace, the days of quietness, And let her gladsome birth-day be the first, Her day of birth, beginning of our bliss; Set down the day in characters of gold, And mark it with a stone as white as milk, That cheerful sunny day. Wear eglantine, And wreaths of roses red and white put on In honour of that day, you lovely nymphs, And pans sing and sweet melodious songs; Along the chalky cliffs of Albion Lead England's lovely shepherds in a dance O'er hill and dale, and downs, and daisy-plots, And be that day England's high holiday; And holidays and high days be they all, High holidays, days, minutes, months, and hours, That multiply the number of her years; Years that for us beget this golden age, Wherein we live in safety under her, Wherein she reigns in honour over us: So may she long and ever may she so, Untouch'd of traitorous hand or treacherous foe! Her birth-day being celebrated thus, Clio, record how she hath been preserv'd, Even in the gates of death and from her youth, To govern England in the ways of truth; Record heaven's goodness to this gracious queen, Whose virtue's peer what age hath ever seen? To pass the story of her younger days, And stormy tempest happily o'erblown, Wherein by mercy and by miracle She was rescú'd for England's happiness, And comfort of the long-afflicted flock That stray'd like scatter'd sheep scar'd from the fold; To slip remembrance of those careful days, Days full of danger, happy days withal, Days of her preservation and defence; Behold the happiest day, the holiday That young and old and all don celebrate, The day of joy, the day of jollity! The best of all the days that we have seen Was wherein she was crownèd England's Queen, Elizabeth, anointed of the Highest To sit upon her kingly father's seat, And wear in honour England's diadem, To sway that massy sceptre and that sword That aw'd the world in his triumphant hand, And now in her's commands the enemy, And with dishonour drives the daring foe Back to his den, tir'd with successless arms, Wearied with wars by land and wreck by sea. Muses and Graces, gods and goddesses, Adorn, adore, and celebrate this day. The meanest with the mightiest may in this Express his love; for loyalty alike Blazons affection's force in lord and lown. In honour of this happy day, behold How high and low, the young and old in years, England, hath put a face of gladness on, And court and country carol in her praise, And in her honour tune a thousand lays! With just return of this triumphant day, And prosperous revolution of the same, Auspiciously beginning many years And golden days and infinite to come, Passing in number and in happiness The best that ever earthly prince enjoy'd By sufferance of the highest King of kings; Behold, in honour of this holiday, What pans loud triumphant London sings, What holy tunes and sacrifice of thanks England's metropolis as incense sends! And in the sound of cymbals, trumps, and shalms, In honour of his noble mistress' name, To whom his life he owes and offers up, Lo, London's shepherd, guardian of his flock, Praiseth the Mighty One of Israel, And with the strings of his unfeignèd heart Tunes his true joy for all those days of peace, Those quiet days that Englishmen enjoy Under our queen, fair queen of Brute's New Troy! With whom in sympathy and sweet accord All loyal subjects join, and hearts and hands Lift up to Heaven's high throne, and sacrifice Of praises and of hearty prayers send; Thanksgiving for our blessings and the grace, The gracious blessings on that day pour'd down On England's head; that day whereon this queen Inaugur'd was and holily install'd, Anointed of the highest King of kings, In her hereditary royal right Successively to sit enthronizèd. And in this general plaudit and applause, And celebration of this joyful day, Wherein pale Envy, vanquish'd long ago, Gave way to Virtue's great deserts in her, And wounded with remembrance of her name, Made hence amain to murmur that abroad He durst not openly disgorge at home, In his own nest fil'd with so foul a bird, And breathe his discontentments over sea Among those erring fugitives that pine At England's prosperous peace, and nothing more Do thirst than alteration of the state, And nothing less than our good queen affect; A number of unnatural Englishmen, That curse the day so happy held of us, Whose base revolt from their allegiance due To prince and country makes them infamous, Condemn'd among the Turks and Infidels, False architects of those foul practices That end in their dishonour and their shame, Those bloody stratagems, those traitorous trains, And cruel siege they lay unto her life, Precious in sight of heaven and dear to us, Her loving and her loyal subjects all, Whom Jacob's God hath many ways preserv'd, Yea, even betwixt the bridge and water's brink, Saving her as by miracle in the fall From Pharoah's rod and from the sword of Saul: Lo, in this triumph that true subjects make, Envied of none but enemies of the truth, Her enemies, that serves the living Lord And puts in him her confidence and trust, Thou, sacred Muse of History, describe, That all may see how well she is belov'd, What troop of loyal English knights in arms, Right richly mounted and appointed all, In shining arms accoutred for the war, Small number of a number numberless, Held justs in honour of her holiday, Ready to do their duties and devoir Against the mightiest enemy she hath, Under what clime soe'er his colours wave, And with keen sword and battle-axe in hand To wound his crest, whatever foe he be That any way in her dishonour braves. Among this stirring company of knights, That at the tilt in fair habiliments Gan show themselves, renownèd Cumberland, Knight of the Crown, in gilded armour dight, Mounted at Queen Elizabeth's approach, Inflam'd with honour's fire, and left his hold Kept by a dragon, laden with fair spoils: And there his duty done, and large device Made by his page known to her majesty, Whose gracious eye reflecting on this earl Was like Prometheus' life-infusing fire, Behold, he stands impatient of delay, A waiting there his friendly foe's approach! Daring he stands, true knight and challenger, And hardly brooks the time of their address That shortly came in duty all devote, To solace with their martial exercise Their princely mistress, to whose worthiness That day's device and days of all their lives Right humbly were and purely dedicate. The first that led, in cheerful colours clad, In innocent white and fair carnation, Was he whose wisdom in his younger years And love to arms make him so far renown'd, The noble Earl of Essex and of Ewe. His mute approach and action of his mutes Said that he was solicited diversely; One way to follow war and war's designs, And well he may, for skill he can full well Of war's adventures, 'larms, and stratagems; Another way t' apply him to the care Of commonweal affairs, and show the way To help to underbear with grave advice The weighty beam whereon the state depends: Well may he this way or the other take, And both shall his nobility become; The gravity and greatness of the one Shall beautify the other's worthiness; His senate-robes shall beautify his arms, His chivalry nobilitate his name. Then Sussex, seated on his champing steed, Dreadful to see, and in sad tawny dight, Came in, as if some angry man of war Had charg'd his lance and put himself in arms, Under an eben-tree or blasted yew: Such show'd his plume, or like in my conceit To ravens' feathers by the moon's reflex, Shining where night by day doth take repose. Mars in his wrath sitting upon his drum, Devising tragedies, strikes no greater fear Into the eyes and hearts of earthly men, Than did methought this champion in his way; Nor in his doings ever man-at-arms So young of years more forward than this earl: So prone, so puissant, and successful still In all his courses was this warlike knight. Then Bedford and Southampton made up five, Five valiant English earls. Southampton ran As Bevis of Southampton, that good knight, Had justed in the honour of the day; And certes Bevis was a mighty man, Valiant in arms, gentle and debonair; And such was young Wriothesley, that came As if in duty to his sovereign And honour's race for all that he had done, He would be of the noblest over-run. Like to himself and to his ancestors, Ran Bedford, to express his readiness, His love to arms, his loyalty to her Whose burning eyeballs did retain the heat That kindled honour's fire at their hearts; Bravely ran Bedford, and his staves he brake Right happily for his high mistress' sake. Compton of Compton came in shining arms, Well mounted and appointed for the field, A gallant lord; richly array'd was he, He and his train. Clio, recount his fame; Record with me his love to learning's lore, And valiant doings on this holiday: Short will I be in process of his praise; Courageously he ran, and with the best From forth the field bare honour on his crest. Carew was well-acquainted with the place, And to the tilt proudly he made approach; His steed well-taught, himself fitted in all, Fell to his noble exercise of arms, And on his courser gan himself advance, Whose neighs and plays were princely to behold: Remembrance of this day reviv'd this knight; His turn he takes, and at the trumpet's sound Breaks at the head with many a lofty bound. In bases and caparisons of cost Came three redoubted knights and men-at-arms, Old Knowles his offspring, gallant cavaliers; And such they show'd as were King Arthur's knights He whilom us'd to feast at Camelot, Or three of great King Priam's valiant sons Had left Elysium and the fields of Mars To celebrate Eliza's holiday: They ran as if three Hectors had made way To meet Achilles, Ajax, Diomede. Palm had the eldest branching of his crest: 'Tis hard to say which brother did the best. Like Venus' son in Mars his armour clad, Beset with glorious globes and golden flames, Came Dudley in; nor shall it me become To dive into the depth of his device; Rich in his thoughts and valiant in his deeds, No whit dishonour'd by his fainting horse, That cowardlike would have held his master back From honour's goal,ill-natur'd and ill-taught, To fail him foully in so great a presence. But as an archer with a bended bow The farther from the mark he draws his shaft, The farther flies it and with greater force Wounds earth and air; so did it fare in this: This lusty runner, thus restrain'd at first, Now all inflam'd, soon having chang'd his steed, And view'd the person of his princely mistress, Whose radiant beams have power to set on fire The icy ridge of snowy Rhodope, Flies like a bullet from a cannon's mouth. His armèd horse made dreadful harmony, Grating against the rails: so valiantly He justed, that unjust it were in me Not to admire young Dudley's chivalry. Young Howard, ramping lion-like, came on, Anchor of Howard's honourable house, His noble father's hope, his mother's joy. Loyal and lovely was this fair young knight, Gracious in his beginnings at the tilt, Pleasing to her to whom he did present His person and the service of that day, And all the days and minutes of his life: Bravely he bare him in his mistress' eye, And brake his staves and let the shivers fly. Drury in flames of gold embroider'd fair. Inflam'd with love of virtue and of arms, Came to the tilt like Phbus, And like a warrior there demean'd himself; Heaven's vault, earth's centre sounded of his force: So well he ran as they that do him right, For field and court held him a worthy knight. Among these runners that in virtue's race Contended, rivals of each other's praise, Nowell and Needham, gentlemen of name, Came mounted and appointed gallantly; Both nobly minded, as became them well, Resolv'd to run in honour of the day. L'éscu d'amour, the arms of loyalty, Lodg'd Skydmore in his heart; and on he came, And well and worthily demean'd himself In that day's service: short and plain to be, Nor lord nor knight more forward than was he. Then Ratcliffe, Reynolds, Blount, and Carey came, In all accoutrements fitting gentlemen; Well mounted and appointed every man; And gallantly and worthily they ran. Long may they run in honour of the day! Long may she live to do them honour's right, To grace their sports and them as she hath done, England's Astræa, Albion's shining sun! And may she shine in beauty fresh and sheen Hundreds of years, our thrice-renownèd queen! 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