self; a fault that great masters in this art strive to avoid.

Concerning the division which I use in this poem, I am not ignorant that antiquity hath used to distinguish works into books, and every one to bear the number of their order. Homer's Iliads and Odysses indeed are distinguished by several letters of the Greek alphabet, as all the world knows, and not by the numeral letters only, which to lota are digit, and afterwards compound, the Alpha being our unit; for the Greeks had no figures nor cyphers in their arithmetic. Virgil's Eneis, Statius's Thebais, Silius's work of the Carthaginian war, Illyricus's Argonautics, Vida's Christeis, are all divided into books. The Italians use cantos, and so does our first great reformer Spenser. That I assume another name for the sections in this volume cannot be disgracious,

nor unavowable.

Lastly, if I have not already exceeded the length of an epistle, I am to entreat, that he who will (as any man may that will) make himself a party to this of ours, would be pleased to remember that Spartan prince, who being found by certain ambassadors playing among his children, requested them to forbear to censure till also they had some of their own. To such I give as ample power and privilege as ever jus liberorum could in Rome, craving back again at their hands by a regrant, the like of that which I impart! for great reason there is that they should undergo the license which themselves challenge; and suffer that in their fames which they would wrongly put upon others, according to the most indifferent law of the Talio. Fare you well.

VERSES TO MR. DRAYTON.

TO MR. MICHAEL DRAYTON.

WHAT Ornament might I devise to fit
Th' aspiring height of thy admired spirit?
Or what fair garland worthy is to sit

On thy blest brows, that compass in all merit?
Thou shalt not crowned be with common bays,
Because for thee it is a crown too low;
Apollo's tree can yield thee simple praise,
It is too dull a vesture for thy brow:

But with a wreath of stars shalt thou be crown'd,
Which when thy working temples do sustain,
Will, like the spheres, be ever moving round
After the royal music of thy brain.

Thy skill doth equal Phoebus, not thy birth;

He to Heaven gives music, thou to Earth.

THOMAS GREENE.

TO MR. MICHAEL DRAYTON.

Nor through the awe of an imperious king,
But that thy verses their deep wounds might sing.

JOHN BEAUMONT,

TO HIS FRIEND THE AUTHOR.

HAD I not lov'd thee and thy poesy, Dear friend, my theme should of thy praises be: But in weak brains it both suspicion move, When, who is seen to praise, is known to love. For tho' that first and virgin birth of thine Be so articulate, so masculine, So truly limb'd, so sinewy, so compact, So sweetly fair, so every way exact, As may endure the most judicious touch, And give thy friends just reason to avouch It, spite of Envy's teeth, a living birth: Though second, third, fourth, fifth, of equal worth, Though all be good; yet since affection In judgment may, as shadow and projection In landscape, make that which is low seem high, That's shallow deep, small great, and far that's nigh; So as it well may just suspicion move, When, who is seen to praise, is known to love. Yet thus my censure, this my doom shall be, I'll always love thee and thy poesy.

E. HEYWARD

TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND MICHAEL DRAYTON.

I MUST admire thee, but to praise were vain, What every tasting palate so approves, Thy martial Pyrrhic and thy epic strain, Digesting wars with heart-uniting loves, The two first authors of what is compos'd In this round system all; its ancient lore, All arts in discords and concents are clos'd. (And when unwinged souls the fates restore To th' Earth for reparation of their flights, The first musicians, scholars, lovers make; The next rank destinate to Mars his knights; The following rabble meaner titles take.) I see thy temples crown'd with Phoebus' rites, Thy bay's to th' eye with lilly mixt and rose, As to the ear a diapason close.

THE BARONS' WARS,

BOOK I.

THE ARGUMENT.

J. SELDEN,

And view the causes of unconstant strife,
Do tremble lest the universe expire
Through lasting jars, the enemies of life.
On earthly signs let not such sages look,
Nor on the clear aspects of hopeful stars,

But learn the world's continuance from thy book,
Which frames past Nature's force eternal wars;
Wherein the Muses showing perfect glory,
Adorn it so with graceful harmony,
That all the acts of this lamented story
Seem not perform'd for people's liberty,

What cause to yield the Mortimers pretend, And their commitment perfecting the end.

THE bloody factions, and rebellious pride,
Of a strong nation, whose unmanag'd might
Them from their natural sovereign did divide,
Their due subjection, and his lawful right,
Whom their light errour loosely doth misguide,
Urg'd by loose minions' tyrannous despight;

Me from the soft lays and tender loves doth bring,
Of dreadful fights and horrid wars to sing.

What hellish fury poison'd your high blood,
Or should bewitch you with accursed charms,
That, by pretending of the general good,
Rashly extrudes you to tumultuous arms,
And from the safety wherein late you stood,
Reft of all taste, and feeling of your harms,
That France and Belgia, with affrighted eyes,
Were sad beholders of your miseries?

Th' inveterate rancour in their bosoms bred,
Who for their charter wag'd a former war,
Or through your veins this raging venom spred,
Whose next succeeding nephews now you are,
Or that hot gore your bows in conquest shed,
Having enlarg'd your country's bounds so far,
Ensign to ensign furiously oppose,

With blades of Bilboa dealing English blows.

O! thou, the great Director of my Muse,
On whose free bounty all my powers depend,
Into my breast a sacred fire infuse,
Ravish my spirit this great work t' attend;
Let the still night my labour'd lines peruse,
Then, when my poems gain their wished end,

They whose sad eycs shall read this tragic story
In my weak hand, shall see thy might and glory.
What care would plot, dissensions quickly cross,
Which like an earthquake rends the tott'ring state,
By which abroad we bear a public loss,
Betray'd at home by means of private hate;
Whilst us these strange calamities do toss,
(The daily nurse of mutinous debate)

Confusion still our country's peace confounds,
No help at hand, and mortal all our wounds.

Thou Church, then swelling in thy mightiness,
Tending the care and safety of the soul;
O nurse not factions flowing in excess,
That with thy members should'st their grief con-
dole !

In thee rests pow'r this outrage to repress,
Which might thy zeal and sanctity enroll;
Come thou in pureness meekly with the word,
Lay not thy hand to the unhallow'd sword.
Blood-thirsting War, arising first from Hell,
And in progression seizing on this isle,
Where it before near forty years did dwell,
And with pollution horribly defile,
By which so many a worthy English fell,
By our first Edward banished awhile,

Transferr'd by fortune to the Scottish meer,
To ransack that, as it had ravin'd here.
Where hovering still, with inauspicious wings,
About the verge of these distemper'd climes,
Returning now, new errour hither brings,
To stir us up to these disastrous crimes,
Weak'neth our power by oft diminishings;
And taking hold on these unsettled times,

Forcing our frailty sensually at length,
Crack'd the stiff nerves that knit our ancient
strength.

Whose frightful vision, at the first approach,
With violent madness struck that desp'rate age,
So many sundry miseries abroach,
Giving full speed to their unbridled rage,
That did our ancient liberty encroach,
And in these strong conspiracies engage

The worthiest blood, the subjects' loss to bring,
By unnatural wrongs, unto their natural king,

When in the North, whilst horrour yet was young,
These dangerous seasons swiftly coming on,
Whilst o'er our heads portentous meteors hung,
And in the skies stern comets brightly shone,
Prodigious births oft intermixt among,
Such as before to times had been unknown,

In bloody issues forth the Earth doth break,
Weeping for us, whose woes it could not speak.
When, by the rankness of contagious air,
A mortal plague invadeth man and beast,
Which soon disperst and raging every where,
In doubt the same too quickly should have ceas'd,
More to confirm the certainty of fear,

By cruel famine haplessly increas'd,

As though the Heavens, in their remissful doom, Took those best-lov'd from worser days to come. The level course that we propose to go, Now to th' intent you may more plainly see, And that we every circumstance may show, The state of things, and truly what they be, And with what skill or project we bestow, As our occurrents happen in degree;

From these portents we now divert our view,
To bring to birth the horrours that ensue.
The calling back of banish'd Gaveston,
'Gainst which the barons were to Longshanks sworn,
That insolent, lascivious minion,

A sovereign's blemish, and a country's scorn,
The signiories and great promotion,
Him in his lawless courses to suborn,

Stirs up that hateful and outragious strife,
That cost, e'er long, so many an English life.

O worthy Lacy! had'st thou spar'd that breath,
Which shortly after Nature thee deny'd,
To Lancaster deliver'd at thy death,
To whom thy only daughter was affy'd,
That this stern war too quickly publisheth,
To aid the barons 'gainst that minion's pride,
Thy earldoms, lands, and titles of renown,
Had not so soon return'd unto the crown.
The lordships Bruce unto the Spensers past,
Crossing the barons' vehement desire,
As from Jove's hand that fearful lightning cast,
When fifty towns lay spent in envious fire,
Alas! too vain and prodigal a waste,
The strong effects of their conceived ire;

Urging the weak king, with a violent hand, [land.
Tabjure those false lords from the troubled
When the fair queen', that progressing in Kent,
Lastly deny'd her entrance into Leeds 2,
Whom Badlesmere unkindly doth prevent,
Who 'gainst his sovereign in this course proceeds,
As adding farther to this discontent,
One of the springs which this great mischief feeds,
Heaping on rage and horrour more and more,
To thrust on that which went too fast before.
Which more and more a kingly rage increas'd,
Mov'd with the wrongs of Gaveston degraded,
Which had so long been settled in his breast,
That all his powers it wholly had invaded,
Giving the Spensers an assured rest,
By whom his reasons chiefly are persuaded,
By whose lewd counsels he is only led
To leave his true queen, and his lawful bed.

That now herself, who, while she stood in grace,
Apply'd her powers these discords to appease,
When yet confusion had not fully place,
Nor former times so dangerous as these,
A party now in their afflicted case,
A willing hand to his destruction lays;

That time, whose soft palm heals the wound of

war,

May cure the sore, but never close the scar.
In all this heat, his greatness first began
The serious subject of our sadder vein,
Brave Mortimer, that ever-matchless man,
Of the old heroes' great and godlike strain;
For whom invention doing best it can,
His weight of honour hardly can sustain,

Bearing his name immortaliz'd and high,
When he in earth unnumber'd times shall lie.
That uncle now (whose name this nephew bare,
The only comfort of the woful queen)
Who from his cradle held him as his care,
In whom the hope of that great name was seen,
For this young lord now wisely doth prepare,
Whilst yet this deep heart-goring wound is green,
And on this fair advantage firmly wrought,
To place him highly in her princely thought.

At whose deliberate and unusual birth,
The Heavens were said to council to retire,
And, in aspects of happiness and mirth,
Breath'd him a spirit insatiably t'aspire,
That took no mixture of the pond'rous earth,
But all compress'd of clear ascending fire,

So well made up, that such an one as he,
Jove, in a man, like Mortimer would be.
The temper of that nobler-moving part,
With such rare pureness rectify'd his blood,
Raising the powers of his resolved heart,
Too proud to be lock'd up within a flood,
That no misfortune possibly could thwart,
Which from the native greatness where it stood,
Even by the virtue of a piercing eye,
Show'd that his pitch was boundless as the
sky.

Worthy the grandchild of so great a lord,
Who, whilst first Edward fortunately reign'd,
Re-edify'd great Arthur's ancient board,
The seat at goodly Kennelworth ordain'd,
The order of old knighthood there restor❜d,
To which an hundred duly appertain❜d,

With all the grace and beauties of a court,
As best became that brave and martial sport.

The heart-swoln lords, with fury set on fire,
Who Edward's wrongs to vengeance still provoke,
With Lancaster and Hartford now conspire
No more to bear the Spensers' servile yoke.
And thus, whilst all a mutual change desire,
The ancient bonds of their allegiance broke,

Resolv'd with blood their liberty to buy,
And in this quarrel vow'd to live and die.
"What privilege hath our free birth," say they,
"Or in our blood what virtue doth remain,
To each lascivious minion made a prey,
That us and our nobility disdain,
Whilst they triumphant boast of our decay?
Either those spirits we do not now retain,
That were our fathers, or by fate we fall
Both from their greatness, liberty, and all.

"Honour, dejected from that sovereign state,
From whence at first it challenged a being,
Now prostitute to infamy and hate,
As with itself in all things disagreeing,
So out of order, disproportionate,
From her fair course preposterously flying;
Whilst others as themselves, and only we
Are not held those we would but seem to be.
"Then to what end hath our great conquest
serv'd,

Those acts achieved by the Norman sword,
Our charters, patents, or our deeds reserv'd,
Our offices and titles to record,

The crests that on our monuments are carv'd,
If they to us no greater good afford?"

Thus do they murmur ev'ry one apart,
With many a vext soul, many a grieved heart.
This while the queen, to depth of sorrow thrown,
Wherein she wastes her flow'r of youth away,
Beyond belief, to all but Heaven unknown,
This quick'ning spark, where yet it bury'd lay,
By the sharp breath of desp'rate faction blown,
Converts her long night to the wished day,

Her woful winter of misfortune cheering,
As the dark world at the bright Sun's appearing.
Yet ill perplex'd amid these hard extremes,
All means depress'd her safety to prefer,
Depriv'd of those late comfortable beams,
Whose want might make her the more easily err,
Her hopes relinquish'd like deceitful dreams,
Which in her breast such sundry passions stir,
Where struggling which each other should
control,

Work strange confusion in her troubled soul.
That now disabled of all sovereign state,
That to her graces rightly did belong,
To be rejected, and repudiate,

So true a lady, goodly, fair, and young,
Which with more fervour still doth intimate
Her too-deep settled and inveterate wrong;

What wisdom would, a woman's will denies,
With arguments of her indignities.

When to effect the angry fates pursue

In Heaven's high court, that long time did depend,
When these full mischiefs to a ripeness grew,
And now the harvest hast'ning in the end,
And all these lines into one centre drew,
Which way soe'er they seemingly extend;
All these together in proportion laid,

Each breath of hope a gale of certain aid.
Now is the time when Mortimer doth enter,
Of great employment in this tragic act,

His youth and courage boldly bid him venture,
And tell him still how strongly he was back'd;
And at this instant in due season sent her,
When the straight course to her desire is track'd,
(And but upon more certainty doth stay)
By a direct, what though a dangerous way.
This dreadful comet drew her wond'ring eye,
Which now began his golden head to rear,
Whose glorious fixure in so fair a sky
Strikes the beholder with a chilly fear,
And in a region elevate and high,
And by the form wherein it did appear,
As the most skilful seriously divine,
Foreshow'd a kingdom shortly to declines

Yet still, recoiling at the Spensers' power,

As often check'd with their intemp❜rate pride,
Th' inconstant barons wavering every hour,
The fierce encounter of this boisterous tide,
That easily might their livelihood devour,
Had she not those that skilfully could guide;
She from suspicion craftily retires,
Careless, in show, of what she most desires.
Dissembling grief, as one that knew not ill,
So can she rule the greatness of her mind,
As a most perfect rectoress of her will,
Above the usual weakness of her kind;
For all this storm, immoveable and still,
Her secret drift the wisest miss to find;

Nor will she know what (yet) these factions meant,

With a pleas'd eye to soothe sad discontent.

The least suspicion cunningly to heal,
Still in her looks humility she bears,
The safest way with mightiness to deal,
So policy religion's habit wears;
'Tis now no time her grievance to reveal,
He's mad who takes a lion by the ears:

This knew the queen, exampled by the wise;
This must they learn who rightly temporize.
The bishop Torleton, learned'st in the land,
Upon a text of politics to preach,
Which he long studying, well did understand,
And by a method could as aptly teach;
He was a prelate of a potent hand,
Wise was the man could go beyond his reach:
This subtile tutor Isabel had taught,

In nicer points than ever England sought.
Rage, which no longer limits can contain,
Lastly breaks forth into a public flame,
Their slipp'd occasion better to regain,
When to their purpose things so fitly frame,
And now discerned visibly and plain,
When treason boldly dare itself proclaim,
Casting aside all secular disguise,

Doth with proud legions furiously arise.
As Severn lately in her ebbs that sank,
Vast and forsaken leaves th' uncover'd sands,
Fetching full tides, luxurious, high and rank,
Seems in her pride t' invade the neighb'ring
lands,

Breaking her limits, cov'ring all her banks,
Threat'ning the proud hills with her watʼry hands,
As though she meant her empery to have,
Where e'en but lately she beheld her grave.
Through all the land, from places far and near,
Led to the field as fortune lots their side
(With th' ancient weapons us'd in war to bear)
As those directed whom they chose their guide;
Or else, perhaps, as they affected were,
Or as by friendship, or by duty, ty'd;
Sway'd by the strength and motion of their blood,
No cause examin'd, be it bad or good.
From Norfolk and the countries of the East,
That with the pike most skilfully could fight;
Then those of Kent, unconquer'd of the rest,
That to this day maintain their ancient right;
For courage no whit second to the best,
The Cornishmen, most active, bold, and light;
Those near the plain, the pole-ax best that wield,
And claim for theirs the vaward of the field.

chance,

O noble nation! furnished with arms,
So full of spirit, as almost match'd by none!
Had Heaven but blest thee to foresee thy harms,
And, as thy valiant nephews did, have gone,
Roan, Orleance, Paris, shaking with alarms,
As the bright Sun thy glory then had shone;
To other realms thou hadst transferr'd this
[France.
Nor had your sons been first that conquer'd
And thus on all hands setting up their rest,
And all make forward for this mighty day,
Where every one prepares to do his best,
When at the stake their lives and fortunes lay,
No eross event their purposes to wrest,
Being now on in so direct a way:

[game,

Yet whilst they play this strange and doubtful The queen stands off, and secretly gives aim. But Mortimer his foot had scarcely set Into the road where Fortune had to deal, But she, dispos'd his forward course to let, Her lewd condition quickly doth reveal, Glory to her vain deity to get

By him, whose strange birth bare her ominous seal: Taking occasion, from that very hour,

In him to prove and manifest her pow'r.

As when we see the early-rising Sun
With his bright beams to emulate our sight;
But when his course yet newly is begun,
The hum'rous fogs deprive us of his light,
Till through the clouds he his clear forehead run,
Climbing the noon-tide in his glorious height:
His clear beginning Fortune cloudeth thus,
To make his mid-day great and glorious.
The king, discreetly that considered
The space of earth whereon the barons stand,
As what the powers to them contributed,
Then being himself but partner of his land;
Of the small strength and army that he led
'Gainst them, which did so great a pow'r command,
Wisely about him doth begin to look :
Great was the task which now he undertook.
And, warn'd by danger to misdoubt the worst,
In equal scales whilst either's fortunes hung,
He must perform the utmost that he durst,
Or undergo intolerable wrong:

As good to stir, as after be enforc'd;
To stop the source whence all these mischiefs
sprung,

He with the Marchers thinks best to begin,
Which first must lose, ere he could hope to win.