LXXVII.

Was it a dreame, or did I see it playne? A goodly table of pure yvory, All spred with juncats fit to entertayne The greatest prince with pompous roialty: Mongst which, there in a silver dish did ly Two golden apples of unvalewd* price, Far passing those which Hercules came by, Or those which Atalanta did entice; Exceeding sweet, yet voyd of sinfull vice; That many sought, yet none could ever taste; Sweet fruit of pleasure, brought from Paradice By Love himselfe, and in his garden plaste. Her brest that table was, so richly spredd; My thoughts the guests, which would thereon have fedd. [* _Unvalewd_, invaluable]

LXXVIII

Lackyng my Love, I go from place to place, Lyke a young fawne that late hath lost the hynd, And seeke each where where last I sawe her face, Whose ymage yet I carry fresh in mynd. I seeke the fields with her late footing synd; I seeke her bowre with her late presence deckt; Yet nor in field nor bowre I can her fynd, Yet field and bowre are full of her aspect. But when myne eyes I therunto direct, They ydly back return to me agayne; And when I hope to see theyr trew obiect, I fynd my self but fed with fancies vayne. Cease then, myne eyes, to seeke her selfe to see, And let my thoughts behold her selfe in mee.

LXXIX

Men call you fayre, and you doe credit it, For that your selfe ye daily such doe see: But the trew fayre, that is the gentle wit And vertuous mind, is much more praysd of me. For all the rest, how ever fayre it be, Shall turne to nought and lose that glorious hew; But onely that is permanent, and free From frayle corruption that doth flesh ensew. That is true beautie: that doth argue you To be divine, and born of heavenly seed, Deriv’d from that fayre Spirit from whom all true And perfect beauty did at first proceed. He only fayre, and what he fayre hath made; All other fayre, lyke flowres, untymely fade.

LXXX

After so long a race as I have run Through Faery land, which those six books compile, Give leave to rest me being half foredonne, And gather to my selfe new breath awhile. Then, as a steed refreshed after toyle, Out of my prison I will break anew, And stoutly will that second work assoyle*, With strong endevour and attention dew. Till then give leave to me in pleasant mew** To sport my Muse, and sing my Loves sweet praise, The contemplation of whose heavenly hew My spirit to an higher pitch will rayse. But let her prayses yet be low and meane, Fit for the handmayd of the Faery Queene. [* _Assoyle_, discharge.] [** _Mew_, prison, retreat.]