Hymns of Astræa, in Acrostic Verse
LONDON:
Printed for I. S.
1599.
[Hymns of Astræa.]
Hymn I
Of Astræa.
E arly, before the day doth spring,
L et us awake, my Muse! and sing!
I t is no time to slumber!
S o many joys this Time doth bring,
A s time will fail to number.
B ut, whereto shall we bend our Lays?
E ven up to heaven, again to raise
T he Maid! which, thence descended,
H ath brought again the Golden Days
A nd all the world amended.
R udeness itself, She doth refine!
E ven like an Alchemist divine,
G ross Times of Iron turning
I nto the purest form of Gold;
N ot to corrupt, till heaven wax old
A nd be refined with burning.
Hymn II
To Astræa.
E ternal Virgin! Goddess true!
L et me presume to sing to you!
I ove, even great Jove hath leisure
S ometimes, to hear the vulgar crew,
A nd hears them, oft, with pleasure.
B lessed Astræ! I, in part,
E njoy the blessings you impart!
T he Peace! the milk and honey!
H umanity! and civil Art!
A richer dower than money.
R ight glad am I, that now I live,
E ven in these days, whereto you give
G reat happiness and glory!
I f after you, I should be born;
N o doubt, I should my birthday scorn,
A dmiring your sweet Story.
Hymn III
To the Spring.
E arth now is green, and heaven is blue!
L ively Spring, which makes all new.
I olly Spring doth enter.
S weet young sunbeams do subdue
A ngry, agèd Winter.
B lasts are mild, and seas are calm!
E very meadow flows with balm!
T he earth wears all her riches!
H armonious birds sing such a psalm
A s ear and heart bewitches!
R eserve, sweet Spring! this Nymph of ours,
E ternal garlands of thy flowers!
G reen garlands never wasting!
I n her shall last our State’s fair Spring,
N ow and for ever flourishing,
A s long as heaven is lasting.
Hymn IV
To the month of May.
E ach day of thine, sweet month of May!
L ove makes a solemn Holy Day.
I will perform like duty!
S ince thou resemblest, every way,
A stræa, Queen of Beauty.
B oth you, fresh beauties do partake!
E ither’s aspect, doth Summer make,
T houghts of young Love awaking!
H earts you both, do cause to ache;
A nd yet be pleased with aching.
R ight dear art thou! and so is She!
E ven like attractive sympathy
G ains unto both, like dearness.
I ween this made Antiquity
N ame thee, Sweet May of Majesty!
A s being both like in clearness.
Hymn V
To the Lark.
E arly, cheerful, mounting Lark!
L ight’s gentle Usher! Morning’s Clerk!
I n merry notes delighting;
S tint awhile thy song, and hark,
A nd learn my new inditing!
B ear up this Hymn! to heaven, it bear!
E ven up to heaven, and sing it there!
T o heaven, each morning bear it!
H ave it set to some sweet sphere,
A nd let the angels hear it!
R enowned Astræa, that great name!
(E xceeding great in worth and fame,
G reat worth hath so renowned it)
I t is Astræa’s name, I praise!
N ow then, sweet Lark! do thou it raise;
A nd in high heaven resound it!
Hymn VI
To the Nightingale.
E very night, from even till morn,
L ove’s Chorister amid the thorn,
I s now so sweet a singer!
S o sweet, as for her Song, I scorn
A pollo’s voice and finger.
B ut, Nightingale! sith you delight
E ver to watch the starry night,
T ell all the stars of heaven!
H eaven never had a star so bright
A s now to earth is given!
R oyal Astræa makes our day
E ternal, with her beams! nor may
G ross darkness overcome her!
I now perceive, why some do write,
“N o country hath so short a night
A s England hath in summer.”
Hymn VII
To the Rose.
E ye of the garden! Queen of Flowers!
L ove’s cup, wherein he nectar pours!
I ngendered first of nectar.
S weet nurse-child of the Spring’s young Hours!
A nd Beauty’s fair Character!
B est jewel that the earth doth wear!
E ven when the brave young sun draws near,
T o her hot love pretending;
H imself likewise, like form doth bear,
A t rising and descending.
R ose, of the Queen of Love beloved!
E ngland’s great Kings (divinely moved)
G ave Roses in their banner:
I t shewed, that Beauty’s Rose indeed,
N ow in this Age should them succeed,
A nd reign in more sweet manner.
Hymn VIII
To all the Princes of Europe.
E urope! the Earth’s sweet Paradise!
L et all thy Kings (that would be wise
I n Politic Devotion)
S ail hither, to observe her eyes,
A nd mark her heavenly motion!
B rave Princes of this civil Age!
E nter into this pilgrimage!
T his Saint’s tongue is an Oracle!
H er eye hath made a Prince a page;
A nd works, each day, a miracle!
R aise but your looks to her, and see
E ven the true beams of Majesty!
G reat Princes, mark her duly!
I f all the world you do survey,
N o forehead spreads so bright a ray;
A nd notes a Prince, so truly!
Hymn IX
To Flora.
E mpress of Flowers! Tell, where away
L ies your sweet Court, this merry May?
I n Greenwich garden alleys!
S ince there the Heavenly Powers do play,
A nd haunt no other valleys.
B eauty, Virtue, Majesty,
E loquent Muses, three times three,
T he new fresh Hours and Graces
H ave pleasure in this place to be,
A bove all other places.
R oses and lilies did them draw,
E re they, divine Astræa saw:
G ay flowers, they sought for pleasure.
I nstead of gathering Crowns of Flowers,
N ow, gather they Astræa’s dowers,
A nd bear to heaven, that treasure.
Hymn X
To the Month of September.
E ach month hath praise in some degree,
L et May to others seem to be
I n Sense, the sweetest season;
S eptember! thou are best to me!
A nd best doth please my Reason.
B ut neither for their corn, nor wine;
E xtol I, those mild days of thine!
T hough corn and wine might praise thee;
H eaven gives thee honour more divine
A nd higher fortunes raise thee!
R enowned art thou, sweet Month! for this.
E mong thy days, her birthday is!
G race, Plenty, Peace, and Honour
I n one fair hour with her were born!
N ow since, they still her crown adorn,
A nd still attend upon her.
Hymn XI
To the Sun.
E ye of the world! Fountain of light!
L ife of day, and death of night!
I humbly seek thy kindness!
S weet! dazzle not my feeble sight,
A nd strike me not with blindness!
B ehold me mildly from that face
E ven where thou now dost run thy race,
T he sphere where now thou turnest,
H aving, like Phæton changed thy place,
A nd yet hearts only burnest.
R ed in her right cheek, thou dost rise
E xalted after, in her eyes;
G reat glory, there, thou shewest!
I n th’other cheek, when thou descendest,
N ew redness unto it thou lendest!
A nd so thy Round, thou goest!
Hymn XII
To her Picture.
E xtreme was his audacity,
L ittle his skill, that finished thee!
I am ashamed and sorry,
S o dull her counterfeit should be;
A nd She, so full of glory!
B ut here are colours, red and white;
E ach line, and each proportion right:
T hese lines, this red and whiteness,
H ave wanting yet a life and light,
A majesty and brightness.
R ude counterfeit! I then did err;
E ven now, when I would needs infer
G reat boldness in thy maker!
I did mistake! He was not bold,
N or durst his eyes, her eyes behold:
A nd this made him mistake her.
Hymn XIII
Of her Mind.
E arth, now adieu! My ravished thought
L ifted to heaven, sets thee at nought!
I nfinite is my longing,
S ecrets of angels to be taught,
A nd things to heaven belonging!
B rought down from heaven, of angels’ kind,
E ven now, do I admire her Mind!
T his is my contemplation!
H er clear sweet Spirit, which is refined
A bove humane creation!
R ich sunbeam of th’ Eternal Light!
E xcellent Soul! How shall I write?
G ood angels make me able!
I cannot see but by your eye;
N or but by your tongue, signify
A thing so admirable.
Hymn XIV
Of the Sunbeams of her Mind.
E xceeding glorious is this Star!
L et us behold her beams afar
I n a side line reflected!
S ight bears them not, when near they are
A nd in right lines directed.
B ehold her in her virtue’s beams,
E xtending sun-like to all realms!
T he sun none views too nearly.
H er well of goodness, in these streams,
A ppears right well and clearly.
R adiant virtues! if your light
E nfeeble the best judgement’s sight;
G reat splendour above measure
I s in the Mind, from whence you flow!
N o wit may have access to know
A nd view so bright a treasure.
Hymn XV
Of her Wit.
E ye of that Mind most quick and clear,
L ike heaven’s Eye, which from his sphere,
I nto all things pryeth;
S ees through all things everywhere,
A nd all their natures trieth.
B right image of an angel’s wit,
E xceeding sharp and swift like it,
T hings instantly discerning;
H aving a nature infinite,
A nd yet increased by learning.
R ebound upon thyself thy light!
E njoy thine own sweet precious sight!
G ive us but some reflection!
I t is enough for us if we,
N ow in her speech, now policy;
A dmire thine high perfection!
Hymn XVI
Of her Will.
E ver well affected Will,
L oving goodness, loathing ill!
I nestimable treasure!
S ince such a power hath power to spill,
A nd save us, at her pleasure.
B e thou our law, sweet Will! and say
E ven what thou wilt, we will obey!
T his law, if I could read it.
H erein would I spend night and day,
A nd study still to plead it.
R oyal Free Will, and only free!
E ach other will is slave to thee!
G lad is each will to serve thee!
I n thee such princely power is seen;
N o spirit but takes thee, for her Queen!
A nd thinks she must observe thee!
Hymn XVII
Of her Memory.
E xcellent jewels would you see?
L ovely ladies! Come with me!
I will (for love I owe you)
S hew you as rich a treasury
A s East or West can shew you!
B ehold! (if you can judge of it)
E ven that great Storehouse of her Wit!
T hat beautiful large table,
H er Memory! wherein is writ
A ll knowledge admirable.
R ead this fair book, and you shall learn
E xquisite skill, if you discern;
G ain heaven, by this discerning!
I n such a memory divine,
N ature did form the Muses nine,
A nd Pallas, Queen of Learning.
Hymn XVIII
Of her Phantasy.
E xquisite curiosity!
L ook on thyself, with judging eye!
I f ought be faulty, leave it!
S o delicate a Phantasy
A s this, will straight perceive it
B ecause her temper is so fine,
E ndued with harmonies divine;
T herefore if discord strike it,
H er true proportions do repine,
A nd sadly do mislike it.
R ight otherwise, a pleasure sweet,
E ver she takes in actions meet,
G racing with smiles such meetness:
I n her fair forehead beams appear,
N o Summer’s day is half so clear!
A dorned with half that sweetness!
Hymn XIX
Of the Organs of her Mind.
E clipsed She is, and her bright rays
L ie under veils; yet many ways
I s her fair form revealed!
S he diversely herself conveys,
A nd cannot be concealed.
B y instruments, her powers appear
E xceedingly well tuned and clear!
T his Lute is still in measure,
H olds still in tune, even like a sphere,
A nd yields the world sweet pleasure!
R esolve me, Muse! how this thing is?
E ver a body like to this,
G ave heaven to earthly creature?
I am but fond this doubt to make!
N o doubt, the angels, bodies take
A bove our common nature!
Hymn XX
Of the Passions of her Heart.
E xamine not th’ inscrutable Heart,
L ight Muse! of Her, though She in part
I mpart it to the subject!
S earch not! although from heaven thou art!
A nd this a heavenly object.
B ut since She hath a heart, we know
E ver some Passions thence do flow,
T hough ever ruled with honour.
H er judgement reigns! They wait below,
A nd fix their eyes upon her!
R ectified so, they, in their kind,
E ncrease each virtue of her Mind,
G overned with mild tranquility.
I n all the regions under heaven,
N o State doth bear itself so even,
A nd with so sweet facility.
Hymn XXI
Of the innumerable Virtues of her Mind.
E re thou proceed in these sweet pains,
L earn Muse! how many drops it rains
I n cold and moist December!
S um up May flowers! and August’s grains!
A nd grapes of mild September!
B ear the sea’s sand in Memory!
E arth’s grasses! and the stars in sky!
T he little moats, which mounted
H ang in the beams of Phœbus’ eye,
A nd never can be counted!
R ecount these numbers, numberless,
E re thou, her virtue canst express!
G reat wits, this count will cumber!
I nstruct thyself in numbering schools!
N ow Courtiers use to beg for fools;
A ll such as cannot number.
Hymn XXII
Of her Wisdom.
E agle-eyed Wisdom! Life’s loadstar!
L ooking near, on things afar!
I ove’s best beloved daughter!
S hews to her spirit all that are!
A s Jove himself hath taught her.
B y this straight rule, She rectifies
E ach thought, that in her heart doth rise;
T his is her clear true Mirror!
H er Looking Glass, wherein She spies
A ll forms of Truth and Error.
R ight Princely virtue, fit to reign!
E nthronised in her spirit remain,
G uiding our fortunes ever!
I f we this Star once cease to see;
N o doubt our State will shipwrecked be,
A nd torn and sunk for ever.
Hymn XXIII
Of her Justice.
E xiled Astræa is come again!
L o here She doth all things maintain
I n number, weight, and measure!
S he rules us, with delightful pain,
A nd we obey with pleasure!
B y Love, She rules more than by Law!
E ven her great Mercy breedeth awe;
T his is her sword and sceptre!
H erewith She hearts did ever draw,
A nd this guard ever kept her.
R eward doth sit in her right hand!
E ach Virtue, thence takes her garland,
G athered in Honour’s garden!
I n her left hand (wherein should be
N ought but the sword) sits Clemency!
A nd conquers Vice with pardon.
Hymn XXIV
Of her Magnanimity.
E ven as her State, so is her Mind
L ifted above the vulgar kind!
I t treads proud Fortune under!
S unlike, it sits above the wind;
A bove the storms, and thunder.
B rave Spirit! Large Heart! admiring nought!
E steeming each thing, as it ought!
T hat swelleth not, nor shrinketh!
H onour is always in her thought;
A nd of great things, She thinketh!
R ocks, pillars, and heaven’s axletree
E xemplify her Constancy!
G reat changes never change her!
I n her sex, fears are wont to rise;
N ature permits, Virtue denies,
A nd scorns the face of danger!
Hymn XXV
Of her Moderation.
E mpress of Kingdoms, though She be;
L arger is her Sovereignty,
I f She herself do govern!
S ubject unto herself is She;
A nd of herself, true Sovereign!
B eauty’s Crown, though She do wear;
E xalted into Fortune’s Chair;
T hroned like the Queen of Pleasure:
H er virtues still possess her ear,
A nd counsel her to Measure!
R eason (if She incarnate were)
E ven Reason’s self could never bear
G reatness with Moderation!
I n her, one temper still is seen.
N o liberty claims She as Queen!
A nd shows no alteration!
Hymn XXVI
E nvy, go weep! My Muse and I
L augh thee to scorn! Thy feeble eye
I s dazzled with the glory
S hining in this gay Poesy,
A nd little golden Story!
B ehold, how my proud quill doth shed
E ternal nectar on her head!
T he pomp of Coronation
H ath not such power, her fame to spread,
A s this my admiration!
R espect my pen, as free and frank;
E xpecting nor reward, nor thank!
G reat wonder only moves it!
I never made it mercenary!
N or should my Muse, this burden carry
A s hired; but that she loves it!
FINIS
SIX IDILLIA,
THAT IS,
SIX SMALL, OR PETTY, POEMS,
OR ÆGLOGUES,
chosen out of the right famous Sicilian Poet
THEOCRITUS,
And translated into English verse.
Dum defluat amnis.
E. D.
Libenter hic, et omnis exantlabitur
Labor, in tuæ spem gratiæ.
[Horace, Epodes i. 23-24.]