From Eclogue ix

Rowland. Of her pure eyes (that now is seen)
Chorus.    Help vs to sing that be her faithful swains
Row:        O she alone the shepheards Queen,
Cho:        Her Flocke that leades,
            The goddesse of these medes,
            These mountaines and these plaines.

Row:        Those eyes of hers that are more cleere,
Cho:        Then silly shepheards can in song expresse,
Row:        Then be his beams that rule the yeare,
Cho:        Fy on that prayse,
            In striuing things to rayse:
            That doth but make them lesse.

Row:        That doe the flowery spring prolong,
Cho:        So much the earth doth in her presence ioy,
Row:        And keeps the plenteous summer young:
Cho:        And doth asswage
            The wrathfull winters rage
            That would our flocks destroy.

Row:        Ioue saw her brest that naked lay,
Cho:        A sight alone was fit for Ioue to see:
Row:        And swore it was the milkie way,
Cho:        Of all most pure,
            The path (we vs assure)
            Vnto Ioues court to be.

Row:        He saw her tresses hanging downe.
Cho:        That too and fro were mooued with the ayre,
Row:        And sayd that Ariadnes crowne,
Cho:        With those compar'd:
            The gods should not regard
            Nor Berenices hayre.

Row:        When she hath watch'd my flockes by night,
Cho:        O happie were the flockes that she did keepe:
Row:        They neuer needed Cynthia's light,
Cho:        That soone gaue place,
            Amazed with her grace,
            That did attend thy sheepe.

Row:        Aboue where heauens hie glories are,
Cho:        When as she shall be placed in the skies,
Row:        She shall be calld the shepheards starre,
Cho:        And euermore,
            We shepheards will adore,
            Her setting and her rise.

Michael Drayton

Michael Drayton was an English poet who produced a variety of work, including historical poems, sonnets, and a vast poem on the geography of England. His most significant contribution to poetry is the long historical epic "Poly-Olbion" which describes the topography and history of England and Wales. Drayton's poetry often reflects his staunch patriotism and deep scholarly interest in English history.

Michael Drayton

The Sacrifice To Apollo

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Amour 25

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Sonnets: Idea XXXVIII

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

Amour 50

Michael Drayton, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Qvest Of Cynthia

What time the groues were clad in greene,
    The Fields drest all in flowers,
And that the sleeke-hayred Nimphs were seene,
    To seeke them Summer Bowers.

Forth rou'd I by the sliding Rills,
    To finde where CYNTHIA sat,
Whose name so often from the hills,
    The Ecchos wondred at.

When me vpon my Quest to bring,
    That pleasure might excell,
The Birds stroue which should sweetliest sing,
    The Flowers which sweet'st should smell.

Long wand'ring in the Woods (said I)
    Oh whether's CYNTHIA gone?
When soone the Eccho doth reply,
    To my last word, goe on.

At length vpon a lofty Firre,
    It was my chance to finde,
Where that deare name most due to her,
    Was caru'd vpon the rynde.

Which whilst w...

Michael Drayton

From Eclogue viij

Farre in the countrey of Arden
There wond a knight hight Cassemen,
    as bolde as Isenbras:
Fell was he and eger bent,
In battell and in Tournament,
    as was the good sir Topas.
He had as antique stories tell,
A daughter cleaped Dowsabell,
    a mayden fayre and free:
And for she was her fathers heire,
Full well she was ycond the leyre,
    of mickle curtesie.
The silke wel couth she twist and twine,
And make the fine Marchpine,
    and with the needle werke,
And she couth helpe the priest to say
His Mattens on a holyday,
    and sing a Psalme in Kirke.
She ware a frocke of frolicke greene,
Might well beseeme a mayden Queene,
    which seemly was to see.
A hood to that so neat and fine,
In colour like the colombine,
    yw...

Michael Drayton

From Eclogue ix

Motto.    Tell me thou skilfull shepheards swayne,
            Who's yonder in the vally set?
Perkin. O it is she whose sweets do stayne,
            The Lilly, Rose, or violet.

Motto.    Why doth the Sunne against his kind,
            Stay his bright Chariot in the skies,
Perkin. He pawseth almost stroken blind,
            With gazing on her heauenly eies:

Motto.    Why doe thy flocks forbeare their foode,
            Which somtyme was their chiefe delight,
Perkin. Because they neede no other good,
            That liue in presence of her sight:

Motto.    How com those flowers to florish still,
            Not withering with sharpe winters breath?
Perkin. She hath robd nature of her skill,
            And comforts all things with her breath:

Michael Drayton

From Eclogue iv

Melpomine put on thy mourning Gaberdine,
And set thy song vnto the dolefull Base,
And with thy sable vayle shadow thy face,
        with weeping verse,
        attend his hearse,
Whose blessed soule the heauens doe now enshrine.

Come Nymphs and with your Rebecks ring his knell,
Warble forth your wamenting harmony,
And at his drery fatall obsequie,
        with Cypres bowes,
        maske your fayre Browes,
And beat your breasts to chyme his burying peale.

Thy birth-day was to all our ioye, the euen,
And on thy death this dolefull song we sing,
Sweet Child of Pan, and the Castalian spring,
        vnto our endless mone,
        from vs why art thou gone,
To fill vp that sweete Angels quier in heauen.

O whylome thou thy lasses dearest...

Michael Drayton

From England's Helicon

Faire Loue rest thee heere,
Neuer yet was morne so cleere,
Sweete be not vnkinde,
Let me thy fauour finde,
        Or else for loue I die.

Harke this pretty bubling spring,
How it makes the Meadowes ring,
Loue now stand my friend,
Heere let all sorrow end,
        And I will honour thee.

See where little Cupid lyes,
Looking babies in her eyes.
Cupid helpe me now,
Lend to me thy bowe,
        To wound her that wounded me.

Heere is none to see or tell,
All our flocks are feeding by,
This Banke with Roses spred,
Oh it is a dainty bed,
        Fit for my Loue and me.

Harke the birds in yonder Groaue,
How they chaunt vnto my Loue,
Loue be kind to me,
As I haue beene to thee,
        For thou hast wonne...

Michael Drayton

From Eclogue ij

Then this great Vniuerse no lesse,
Can serue her prayses to expresse:
Betwixt her eies the poles of Loue,
The host of heauenly beautyes moue,
Depainted in their proper stories,
As well the fixd as wandring glories,
Which from their proper orbes not goe,
Whether they gyre swift or slowe:
Where from their lips, when she doth speake,
The musick of those sphears do breake,
Which their harmonious motion breedeth:
From whose cheerfull breath proceedeth:
That balmy sweetnes that giues birth
To euery ofspring of the earth.
Her shape and cariage of which frame
In forme how well shee beares the same,
Is that proportion heauens best treasure,
Whereby it doth all poyze and measure,
So that alone her happy sight
Conteynes perfection and delight.

Michael Drayton