The Works of Edmund Spenser/Prothalamion
PROTHALAMION:
OR,
A SPOUSALL VERSE.
MADE BY
EDM. SPENSER,
In honour of the double marriage of the two honorable and vertuous ladies, the Ladie Elizabeth, and toe Ladie Katherine Somerset, daughters to the right honorable the Earle of Worcester, and espoused to the two worthie gentlemen, M. Henry Gilford and M. William Peter, Esquyers.
Calme was the day, and through the trembling ayreSweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly playA gentle spirit, that lightly did delayHot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre;When I (whom [whose] sullein care, 5Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stayIn princes court, and expectation vayneOf idle hopes, which still doe fly away,Like empty shaddowes, did aflict my brayne,)Walkt forth to ease my payne 10Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes;Whose rutty bank, the which his River hemmes,Was paynted all with variable flowers,And all the meades adornd with daintie gemmesFit to decke maydens bowres, 15And crowne their paramoursAgainst the brydale day, which is not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.
There, in a meadow, by the rivers side,A flocke of nymphes I chaunced to espy, 20All lovely daughters of the flood thereby,With goodly greenish locks, all loose untyde,As each had bene a bryde;And each one had a little wicker basket,Made of fine twigs, entrayled curiously, 25In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket,And with fine fingers cropt full feateouslyThe tender stalkes on hye.Of every sort, which in that meadow grew, They gathered some; the violet, pallid blew, 30The little dazie, that at evening closes,The virgin lillie, and the primrose trew,With store of vermeil roses,To deck their bridegroomes posiesAgainst the brydale day, which was not long: 35 Sweete themmes! Runne softly, till I end my song.
With that I saw two swannes of goodly heweCome softly swimming downe along the lee;Two fairer birds I yet did never see;The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew, 40Did never whiter shew,Nor Jove himselfe, when he a swan would beFor love of Leda, whiter did appeare;Yet Leda was (the say) as white as he,Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near; 45So purely white they were,That even the gentle stream, the which them bare,Seem'd foule to them, and bad his billowes spareTo wet their silken feathers, least they mightSoyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre, 50And marre their beauties bright,That shone as heavens light,Against their brydale day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.
Eftsoones the nymphes, which now had Flowers their fill,Ran all in haste, to see that silver brood,As they came floating on the cristal flood; 57Whom when they sawe, they stood amazed still,Their wondering eyes to fill;Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fayre, 60Of fowles, so lovely, that they sure did deemeThem heavenly borne, or to be that same payreWhich through the skie draw Venus silver teeme;For sure they did not seemeTo be begot of any earthly seede, 65But rather angels, or of angels breede;Yet were they bred of somers-heat, they say,In sweetest season, when each flower and weedeThe earth did fresh aray;So fresh they seem'd as day,Even as their brydale day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.
Then forth they all out of their baskets drewGreat store of flowers, the honour of the field,That to the sense did fragrant odours yield, 75All which upon those goodly birds they threwAnd all the waves did strew,That like old Peneus waters they did seeme,When downe along by pleasant Tempes shore,Scattred with flowres, through Thessaly they streeme,That they appeare, through lilies plenteous store, 81Like a brydes chamber flore.Two of those nymphes, meane while, two garlands bound Of freshest flowres which in that mead they found, The which presenting all in trim array, 85Their snowie foreheads therewithall they crownd,Whilst one did sing this lay, Prepar'd against that day,Against their brydale day, which was not long: Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.
"Ye gentle birdes! the worlds faire ornament, 91And heavens glorie, whom this happie bowerDoth leade unto your lovers blissfull hower, loy may you have, and gentle hearts contentOf your loves complement; 95And let faire Venus, that is queene of love,With her heart-quelling sonne upon you smile,Whose smile, they say, hath vertue to removeAll loves dislike, and friendships faultie guileFor ever to assoile. 100Let endlesse peace your steadfast hearts accord,And blessed plentie wait upon your bord;And let your bed with pleasures chast abound, That fruitfull issue may to you afford,Which may your foes confound, 105And make your ioys redoundUpon your brydale day, which is not long! Sweet Themmes! runne softlie, till I end my song."
So ended she; and all the rest around To her redoubled that her undersong, 110Which said their brydale daye should not be long: And gentle eccho from the neighbour ground Their accents did resound.So forth those ioyous birds did passe along Adowne the lee, that to them murmurde low, 115 As he would speake, but that he lackt a tong, Yet did by signes his glad affection show, Making his streame run slow.And all the foule which in his flood did dwell Gan flock about these twaine, that did excell 120 The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend The lesser stars. So they, enranged well,Did on those two attend.And their best service lend 124Against their wedding day, which was not long: Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.
At length they all to mery London came,To mery London, my most kyndly nurse,That to me gave this lifes first native sourse, Though from another place I take my name, 130 An house of auncient fame:There when they came, whereas those bricky towres The which on Themmes brode aged backe doe rvde, Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers, There whylome wont the Templer Knights to byde, Till they decayd through pride: 136Next whereunto there standes a stately place, Where oft I gayned giftes and goodly grace Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell, Whose want too well now feels my freendles case; But ah! here fits not well 141Olde woes, but ioyes, to tell Against the bridale daye, which is not long: Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.
Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, 145Great Englands glory, and the worlds wide wonder, Whose dreadfull name late through all Spaine did thunder,And Hercules two pillors standing neere Did make to quake and feare:Faire branch of honor, flower of chevalrie! 150That fillest England with thy triumphs fame, Ioy have thou of thy noble victorie, And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name That promiseth the same;That through thy prowesse, and victorious armes, Thy country may be freed from forraine harmes; 156 And great Elisaes glorious name may ringThrough al the world, fill'd with thy wide alarmes, Which some brave muse may sing To ages following, 160Upon the brydale day, which is not long: Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.
From those high towers this noble lord issuing, Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hayre In th' ocean billowes he hath bathed fayre, 165Descended to the rivers open vewing, With a great traine ensuing.Above the rest were goodly to bee scene Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature, Beseeming well the bower of any queene, 170With gifts of wit, and ornaments of nature,Fit for so goodly stature,That like the twins of love they seem'd in sight, Which decke the bauldricke of the heavens bright; They two, forth pacing to the rivers side, 175 Receiv'd those two faire brides, their loves delight; Which, at th' appointed tyde,Each one did make his brydeAgainst their brydale day, which is not long: 179 Sweet Themmes! runne softly, till I end my song.