Fame expressing her preeminence in
From "The Tragicall Legend of Robert Duke of Normandie," ed. 1619. The poem was originally published in 1596.
UT I alone the Herald am of Heaven,
Divinity above Through ev'ry Coast upon the light'ning driven,
As on the Sunne-beames, gloriously I ride,
By them I mount and downe by them I slide;
Fortune, in
eight Stanzas.
Fame, in the 4 following Stanzas.
I register the Worlds long-during houres
And know the hie Will of th' immortall powers.
Men to the Starres, me guiding them, doe clime,
That all Demensions perfectly expresse;
I am alone the vanquisher of Time,
Bearing those Sweets which cure deaths bitternesse,
I all good Labours plentifully blesse,
Yea, all abstruse profoundities impart,
Leading men through the Tedious wayes of Art.
A description of My Palace, placed betwixt Earth and Skies,
the Palace of Which many a Tower ambitiously up beares,
Whereof the Windowes are glaz'd all with Eyes,
The Walls as neatly builded are of Eares,
Where ev'ry thing in Heaven and Earth appeares ;
No thing so softly whisper'd in the Round
But through my Palace presently doth sound.
And under foot floor'd all about with Drummes,
The Rafters Trumpets, admirably cleare,
Sounding alowd each Name that thither comes,
The Crannies Tongues, and Talking ev'ry where,
And all Things past in Memorie doe beare;
The Doores unlocke with ev'ry little breath,
Nay, open wide with each word which Man sayth.
And hung about with Armes and conqu'red Spoyles;
The Posts whereon the goodly Roofe doth stand
Are Pillars graven with Herculian Toyles,
Th' Atchievements great of many a Warlike Hand
As well in Christned as in Heathen Land,
Done by those Nobles that are most renown'd
That there by me immortally are crown'd.
Here in the Bodies likenesse whilst it lives
Appeare the Thoughts proceeding from the Mind,
To which the place a glorious Habit gives
When once to me they freely are resign'd
To be preserv'd here; and are so refin'd
That when the Corps by death doth lastly perish
Then doth this Place the Mind's true Image cherish.
My Beautie never fades but still new-borne,
As Yeeres increase so ever waxing young;
My Strength is not diminished nor worne;
Time weak'ning all Things only makes me strong
Nor am I subject to base Worldly Wrong
The Power of Kings I utterly defie,
Nor am I aw'd by all their Tyrannie.
The Brow of Heav'n my Monuments containe
(And is the mightie Register of Fame)
Which there in fierie Characters remaine,
The gorgeous Seeling of th' immortall Frame,
The Constellations, publishing my Name,
Where my Memorials evermore abide ;
So by th' old Poets was I glorify'd.
From the "Barons Warres," Canto V., stanzas 42-45. The text followed is that of the 1619 fol. Published originally in 1596 under the title of "Mortemeriados," this important poem was continually revised by the author-most of the corrections being for the better, but some for the worse—until it assumed its final shape in 1619.
at Berkley Castle.
HE ominous Raven often he doth heare,
Whose croking him of following Horror tells,
Begetting strange imaginarie Feare,
With heavie Ecchoes like to passing Bells;
The howling Dogge a doleful Part doth beare
As though they chym'd his last sad burying Knells;
Under his Eave the buzzing Schreech-Owle sings,
Beating the Windowes with her fatall Wings.
By Night affrighted in his fearefull Dreames
Of raging Fiends and Goblins that he meets,
Of falling downe from steepe Rocks into Streames,
Of Deaths, of Buryals and of Wynding Sheets,
Of Wand'ring Helpelesse in farre forraine Realmes,
Of strong Temptations by seducing Sprights;
Wherewith awak'd and calling out for aid
His hollow Voyce doth make himselfe afraid.
Then came the Vision of his bloudie Raigne;
Marching along with Lancaster's sterne Ghost,
Twentie eight Barons either hang'd or slaine,
Attended with the rufull mangled Hoast
That unreveng'd did all that while remayne,
At Burton Bridge and fatall Borough lost;
Threat'ning with Frownes and quaking ev'ry Lim
As though that piece-meale they would torture him.
And if it chanc'd that from the troubled Skyes
The least small Starre through any Chinke gave light.
Straightwayes on heapes the thronging Clouds did rise
As though that Heaven were angry with the Night
That it should lend that comfort to his Eyes;
Deformed Shaddowes glimpsing in his sight,
As Darkenesse, that it might more ugly bee,
Through the least Cranny would not let him see.
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