Astrophel
A
Pastorall
Elegie
vpon
the
death
of
the
most
Noble
and
valorous
Knight,
Sir
Philip
Sidney.
Dedicated
To
the
most
beautifull
and
vertuous
Ladie,
the
Countesse
of
Essex.
Shepheards,
that
wont,
on
pipes
of
oaten
reed,
Oft
times
to
plaint
your
loues
concealed
smart:
And
with
your
piteous
layes
haue
learnd
to
breed
Compassion
in
a
countrey
lasses
hart.
Hearken
ye
gentle
shepheards
to
my
song,
And
place
my
dolefull
plaint
your
plaints
emong.
To
you
alone
I
sing
this
mournfull
verse,
The
mournfulst
verse
that
euer
man
heard
tell:
To
you
whose
softened
hearts
it
may
empierse,
VVith
dolours
dart
for
death
of
Astrophel.
To
you
I
sing
and
to
none
other
wight,
For
well
I
wot
my
rymes
bene
rudely
dight.
Yet
as
they
been,
if
any
nycer
wit
Shall
hap
to
heare,
or
couet
them
to
read:
Thinke
he,
that
such
are
for
such
ones
most
fit,
Made
not
to
please
the
liuing
but
the
dead.
And
if
in
him
found
pity
euer
place,
Let
him
be
moou'd
to
pity
such
a
case.
Astrophel.
A
Gentle
Shepheard
borne
in
Arcady,
Of
gentlest
race
that
euer
shepheard
bore:
About
the
grassie
bancks
of
Hæmony,
Did
keepe
his
sheep,
his
litle
stock
and
store.
Full
carefully
he
kept
them
day
and
night,
In
fairest
fields,
and
Astrophel
he
hight.
Young
Astrophel
the
pride
of
shepheards
praise,
Young
Astrophel
the
rusticke
lasses
loue:
Far
passing
all
the
pastors
of
his
daies,
In
all
that
seemly
shepheard
might
behoue.
In
one
thing
onely
fayling
of
the
best,
That
he
was
not
so
happie
as
the
rest.
For
from
the
time
that
first
the
Nymph
his
mother
Him
forth
did
bring,
and
taught
her
lambs
to
feed:
A
sclender
swaine
excelling
far
each
other,
In
comely
shape,
like
her
that
did
him
breed.
He
grew
vp
fast
in
goodnesse
and
in
grace,
And
doubly
faire
wox
both
in
mynd
and
face.
Which
daily
more
and
more
he
did
augment,
With
gentle
vsage
and
demeanure
myld:
That
all
mens
hearts
with
secret
rauishment
He
stole
away,
and
weetingly
beguyld.
Ne
spight
it
selfe
that
all
good
things
doth
spill,
Found
ought
in
him,
that
she
could
say
was
ill.
His
sports
were
faire,
his
ioyance
innocent,
Sweet
without
sowre,
and
honny
without
gall:
And
he
himselfe
seemd
made
for
meriment,
Merily
masking
both
in
bowre
and
hall.
There
was
no
pleasure
nor
delightfull
play,
When
Astrophel
so
euer
was
away.
For
he
could
pipe
and
daunce,
and
caroll
sweet,
Emongst
the
shepheards
in
their
shearing
feast:
As
Somers
larke
that
with
her
song
doth
greet,
The
dawning
day
forth
comming
from
the
East.
And
layes
of
loue
he
also
could
compose,
Thrise
happie
she,
whom
he
to
praise
did
chose.
Full
many
Maydens
often
did
him
woo,
Them
to
vouchsafe
emongst
his
rimes
to
name,
Or
make
for
them
as
he
was
wont
to
doo,
For
her
that
did
his
heart
with
loue
inflame.
For
which
they
promised
to
dight
for
him,
Gay
chapelets
of
flowers
and
gyrlonds
trim.
And
many
a
Nymph
both
of
the
wood
and
brooke,
Soone
as
his
oaten
pipe
began
to
shrill:
Both
christall
wells
and
shadie
groues
forsooke,
To
heare
the
charmes
of
his
enchanting
skill.
And
brought
him
presents,
flowers
if
it
were
prime,
Or
mellow
fruit
if
it
were
haruest
time.
But
he
for
none
of
them
did
care
a
whit,
Yet
wood
Gods
for
them
oft[en]
sighed
sore:
Ne
for
their
gifts
vnworthie
of
his
wit,
Yet
not
vnworthie
of
the
countries
store.
For
one
alone
he
cared,
for
one
he
sight,
His
lifes
desire,
and
his
deare
loues
delight.
Stella
the
faire,
the
fairest
star
in
skie,
As
faire
as
Venus
or
the
fairest
faire:
A
fairer
star
saw
neuer
liuing
eie,
[S]hot
her
sharp
pointed
beames
through
purest
aire.
Her
he
did
loue,
her
he
alone
did
honor,
His
thoughts,
his
rimes,
his
songs
were
all
vpõn
her.
To
her
he
vowd
the
seruice
of
his
daies,
On
her
he
spent
the
riches
of
his
wit:
For
her
he
made
hymnes
of
immortall
praise,
Of
onely
her
he
sung,
he
thought,
he
writ.
Her,
and
but
her
of
loue
he
deemed,
For
all
the
rest
but
little
he
esteemed.
Ne
her
with
ydle
words
alone
he
wowed,
And
verses
vaine
(yet
verses
are
not
vaine)
But
with
braue
deeds
to
her
sole
seruice
vowed,
And
bold
achieuements
her
did
entertaine.
For
both
in
deeds
and
words
he
nourtred
was,
Both
wise
and
hardie
(too
hardie
alas!)
In
wrestling
nimble,
and
in
renning
swift,
In
shooting
steddie,
and
in
swimming
strong:
Well
made
to
strike,
to
throw,
to
leape,
to
lift,
And
all
the
sports
that
shepheards
are
emong.
In
euery
one
he
vanquisht
euery
one,
He
vanquist
all,
and
vanquisht
was
of
none.
Besides,
in
hunting
such
felicitie,
Or
rather
infelicitie
he
found:
That
euery
field
and
forest
far
away,
He
sought,
where
saluage
beasts
do
most
abound.
No
beast
so
saluage
but
he
could
it
kill,
No
chace
so
hard,
but
he
therein
had
skill.
Such
skill
matcht
with
such
courage
as
he
had,
Did
prick
him
foorth
with
proud
desire
of
praise:
To
seek
abroad,
of
daunger
nought
y'drad,
His
mistresse
name,
and
his
owne
fame
to
raise.
What
need[eth]
perill
to
be
sought
abroad,
Since
round
about
us,
it
doth
make
abroad!
It
fortuned
as
he,
that
perlous
game
In
forreine
soyle
pursued
far
away:
Into
a
forest
wide,
and
waste
he
came
Where
store
he
heard
to
be
of
saluage
pray.
So
wide
a
forest
and
so
waste
as
this,
Nor
famous
Ardeyn,
nor
fowle
Arlo,
is.
There
his
welwouen
toyles
and
subtil
traines,
He
laid
the
brutish
nation
to
enwrap:
So
well
he
wrought
with
practise
and
with
paines,
That
he
of
them
great
troups
did
soone
entrap.
Full
happie
man
(misweening
much)
was
hee,
So
rich
a
spoile
within
his
power
to
see.
Eftsoones
all
heedlesse
of
his
dearest
hale,
Full
greedily
into
the
heard
he
thrust:
To
slaughter
them,
and
work
their
finall
bale,
Least
that
his
tolye
should
of
their
troups
be
brust.
Wide
wounds
emongst
them
many
a
one
he
made,
Now
with
his
sharp
borespeare,
now
with
his
blade.
His
care
was
all
how
he
them
all
might
kill,
That
none
might
scape
(so
partiall
vnto
none)
Ill
mynd
so
much
to
mynd
anothers
ill,
As
to
become
vnmyndfull
of
his
owne.
But
pardon
that
vnto
the
cruell
skies,
That
from
himselfe
to
them
withdrew
his
eies.
So
as
he
rag'd
emongst
that
beastly
rout,
A
cruell
beast
of
most
accursed
brood:
Vpon
him
turnd
(despeyre
makes
cowards
stout)
And
with
fell
tooth
accustomed
to
blood,
Launched
his
thigh
with
so
mischieuous
might,
That
it
both
bone
and
muscles
ryued
quight.
So
deadly
was
the
dint
and
deep
the
wound,
And
so
huge
streames
of
blood
thereout
did
flow:
That
he
endured
not
the
direfull
stound,
But
on
the
cold
deare
earth
himselfe
did
throw.
The
whiles
the
captiue
heard
his
nets
did
rend,
And
hauing
none
to
let,
to
wood
did
wend.
Ah
where
were
ye
this
while
his
shepheard
peares,
To
whom
aliue
was
nought
so
deare
as
hee:
And
ye
faire
Mayds
the
matches
of
his
yeares,
Which
in
his
grace
did
boast
you
most
to
bee!
Ah
where
were
ye,
when
he
of
you
had
need,
To
stop
his
wound
that
wondrously
did
bleed!
Ah
wretched
boy
the
shape
of
dreryhead,
And
sad
ensample
of
mans
suddein
end:
Full
litle
faileth
but
thou
shalt
be
dead,
Vnpitied,
vnplaynd,
of
foe
or
frend.
Whilest
none
is
nigh,
thine
eylids
vp
to
close,
And
kisse
thy
lips
like
faded
leaues
of
rose.
A
sort
of
shepheards
sewing
of
the
chace,
As
they
the
forest
raunged
on
a
day:
By
fate
or
fortune
came
vnto
the
place,
Where
as
the
lucklesse
boy
yet
bleeding
lay.
Yet
bleeding
lay,
and
yet
would
still
haue
bled,
Had
not
good
hap
those
shepheards
thether
led.
They
stopt
his
wound
(too
late
to
stop
it
was)
And
in
their
armes
they
softly
did
him
reare:
Tho
(as
he
wild)
vnto
his
loued
lasse,
His
dearest
loue
him
dolefully
did
beare.
The
dolefulst
beare
that
euer
man
did
see,
Was
Astrophel,
but
dearest
vnto
mee!
She
when
she
saw
her
loue
in
such
a
plight,
With
crudled
blood
and
filthie
gore
deformed:
That
wont
to
be
with
flowers
and
gyrlonds
dight,
And
her
deare
fauours
dearly
well
adorned
Her
face,
the
fairest
face
that
eye
mote
see,
She
likewise
did
deforme
like
him
to
bee.
Her
yellow
locks
that
shone
so
bright
and
long,
As
Sunny
beames
in
fairest
somers
day:
She
fiersly
tore,
and
with
outragious
wrong
From
her
red
cheeks
the
roses
rent
away.
And
her
faire
brest
the
threasury
of
ioy,
She
spoyld
therof,
and
filled
with
annoy.
His
palled
face
impictured
with
death,
She
bathed
oft
with
teares
and
dried
oft:
And
with
sweet
kisses
suckt
the
wasting
breath,
Out
of
his
lips
like
lillies
pale
and
soft.
And
oft
she
cald
to
him,
who
answerd
nought,
But
onely
by
his
lookes
did
tell
his
thought.
The
rest
of
her
impatient
regret,
And
piteous
mone
the
which
she
for
him
made:
No
toong
can
tell,
nor
any
forth
can
set,
But
he
whose
heart
like
sorrow
did
inuade.
At
last
when
paine
his
vitall
powres
had
spent,
His
wasted
life
her
weary
lodge
forwent.
Which
when
she
saw,
she
staied
not
a
whit,
But
after
him
did
make
vntimely
haste:
Forth
with
her
ghost
out
of
her
corpse
did
flit,
And
followed
her
make
like
Turtle
chaste.
To
proue
that
death
their
hearts
cannot
diuide,
Which
liuing
were
in
loue
so
firmly
tide.
The
Gods
which
all
things
see,
this
same
beheld,
And
pittying
this
paire
of
louers
trew:
Transformed
them
there
lying
on
the
field,
Into
one
flowre
that
is
both
red
and
blew.
It
first
growes
red,
and
then
to
blew
doth
fade,
Like
Astrophel,
which
thereinto
was
made.
And
in
the
midst
thereof
a
star
appeares,
As
fairly
formd
as
any
star
in
skyes:
Resembling
Stella
in
her
freshest
yeares,
Forth
darting
beames
of
beautie
from
her
eyes,
And
all
the
day
it
standeth
full
of
deow,
Which
is
the
teares,
that
from
her
eyes
did
flow.
That
hearbe
of
some,
Starlight
is
cald
by
name,
Of
others
Penthia,
though
not
so
well:
But
thou
where
euer
thou
dost
finde
the
same,
From
this
day
forth
do
call
it
Astrophel.
And
when
so
euer
thou
it
vp
doest
take,
Do
pluck
it
softly
for
that
shepheards
sake.
Hereof
when
tydings
far
abroad
did
passe,
The
shepheards
all
which
loued
him
full
deare:
And
sure
full
deare
of
all
he
loued
was,
Did
thether
flock
to
see
what
they
did
heare.
And
when
that
pitteous
spectacle
they
vewed,
The
same
with
bitter
teares
they
all
bedewed.
And
euery
one
did
make
exceeding
mone,
With
inward
anguish
and
great
griefe
opprest:
And
euery
one
did
weep
and
waile
and
mone,
And
meanes
deuiz'd
to
shew
his
sorrow
best.
That
from
that
houre
since
first
on
grassie
greene,
Shepheards
kept
sheep,
was
not
like
mourning
seen.
But
first
his
sister
that
Clorinda
hight,
The
gentlest
shepheardesse
that
lives
this
day,
And
most
resembling
both
in
shape
and
spright
Her
brother
deare,
began
this
dolefull
lay.
Which,
least
I
marre
the
sweetnesse
of
the
vearse,
In
sort
as
she
it
sung
I
will
rehearse.
Edmund Spenser
Edmund Spenser (born 1552/53, London, England—died January 13, 1599, London) English poet whose long allegorical poem The Faerie Queene is one of the greatest in the English language. It was written in what came to be called the Spenserian stanza. In 1598 rebels attacked and burned Kilcolman Castle, forcing Spenser and his family to flee to Cork. In December he returned to England, where he delivered a report on the Irish crisis at Whitehall on Christmas Eve. Three weeks later, on 13 January 1599, he died, perhaps of illness brought on by exhaustion. He was buried soon after in the south transept of Westminster Abbey in the Poets’ Corner.