Poem III
“So oft as I record those piercing words,Which yet are deepe engraven in my brest,And those last deadly accents, which like swordsDid wound my heart and rend my bleeding chest,With those sweet sugred speeches doe compareThe which my soul first conquerd and possest,The first beginners of my endlesse care,
“And when those pallid cheekes and ashe hew,In which sad Death his pourtraiture had writ,And when those hollow eyes and deadly view,On which the cloud of ghastly night did sit,I match, with that sweete smile and chearful brow,Which all the world subdued unto it,How happie was I then, and wretched now!
“How happie was I when I saw her leadeThe shepheards daughters dauncing in a rownd!How trimly would she trace and softly treadThe tender grasse, with rosye garland crownd!And when she list advaunce her heavenly voyce,Both Nymphes and Muses nigh she made astownd,And flocks and shepheards caused to reioyce.
“But now, ye shepheard lasses! who shall leadYour wandring troupes, or sing your virelayes*?Or who shall dight** your bowres, sith she is deadThat was the lady of your holy-dayes?Let now your blisse be turned into bale,And into plaints convert your ioyous playes,And with the same fill every hill and dale.
“Let bagpipe never more be heard to shrill,That may allure the senses to delight,Ne ever shepheard sound his oaten quillUnto the many, that provoke them mightTo idle pleasance; but let ghastlinesseAnd drearie horror dim the chearfull light,To make the image of true heavinesse.
“Let birds be silent on the naked spray,And shady woods resound with dreadfull yells;Let streaming floods their hastie courses stay,And parching drouth drie up the cristall wells;Let th’earth be barren, and bring foorth no flowres,And th’ayre be fild with noyse of dolefull knells,And wandring spirits walke untimely howres.
“And Nature, nurse of every living thing,Let rest her selfe from her long wearinesse,And cease henceforth things kindly forth to bring,But hideous monsters full of uglinesse;For she it is that hath me done this wrong;No nurse, but stepdame cruell, mercilesse.Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong.
Words in this poem
- trimly adv.
- In a trim manner; nicely.
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- dight v. t.
- To prepare; to put in order; hence, to dress, or put on; to array; to adorn. [OF. dihten, AS. dihtan to dictate, command, dispose, arrange, fr. L. dictare to say often, dictate, order; cf. G. dichten to write poetry, fr. L. dictare. See D]
- sith prep.
- Since; afterwards; seeing that. [See Since.]
- oaten a.
- Consisting of an oat straw or stem; as, an oaten pipe.
- pleasance n.
- Pleasure; merriment; gayety; delight; kindness. [F. plaisance. See Please.]
- dreadfull a.
- Full of dread or terror; fearful.
- streaming a.
- Sending forth streams.
- parching a.
- Scorching; burning; drying.
- dolefull a.
- Full of dole or grief; expressing or exciting sorrow; sorrowful; sad; dismal.
- henceforth adv.
- From this time forward; henceforward.
- cruell a.
- Disposed to give pain to others; willing or pleased to hurt, torment, or afflict; destitute of sympathetic kindness and pity; savage; inhuman; hard-hearted; merciless. [F. cruel, fr. L. crudelis, fr. crudus. See Crude.]
- undersong n.
- The burden of a song; the chorus; the refrain.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Poem III is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poetical Works of Edmund Spenser, Volume 5, Project Gutenberg ebook #10602; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Edmund Spenser, Poem III, in Amoretti and Epithalamion, and Other Poems (1595), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #10602, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/spenser-amoretti/poem-iii-3.html, id L23772.
Form and metre
Poem III is 49 lines in 7 stanzas of 7 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABABCBC, complete in 6 of its 7 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%).
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-ABAB words · brestA · swords · chestA · compareB · possestA · careB
- 2 ABABCBC hewA · writB · viewA · sitB · browC · itB · nowC
- 3 ABABCBC leadeA · rowndB · treadA · crowndB · voyceC · astowndB · reioyceC
- 4 ABABCBC leadA · virelayesB · deadA · dayesB · baleC · playesB · daleC
- 5 ABABCBC shrillA · delightB · quillA · mightB · ghastlinesseC · lightB · heavinesseC
- 6 ABABCBC sprayA · yellsB · stayA · wellsB · flowresC · knellsB · howresC
- 7 ABABCBC thingA · wearinesseB · bringA · uglinesseB · wrongC · mercilesseB · undersongC
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| “So oft as I record those piercing words, | 10 | ····˘/·/˘· |
| Which yet are deepe engraven in my brest, | 10 | ·········· |
| And those last deadly accents, which like swords | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Did wound my heart and rend my bleeding chest, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| With those sweet sugred speeches doe compare | 10 | ····˘/˘·˘/ |
| The which my soul first conquerd and possest, | 10 | ········/˘ |
| The first beginners of my endlesse care, | 10 | ··˘/˘····· |
| “And when those pallid cheekes and ashe hew, | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| In which sad Death his pourtraiture had writ, | 10 | ·········· |
| And when those hollow eyes and deadly view, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| On which the cloud of ghastly night did sit, | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| I match, with that sweete smile and chearful brow, | 10 | ·········· |
| Which all the world subdued unto it, | 10 | ····˘/˘··· |
| How happie was I then, and wretched now! | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| “How happie was I when I saw her leade | 10 | ·········· |
| The shepheards daughters dauncing in a rownd! | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| How trimly would she trace and softly tread | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| The tender grasse, with rosye garland crownd! | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| And when she list advaunce her heavenly voyce, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Both Nymphes and Muses nigh she made astownd, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| And flocks and shepheards caused to reioyce. | 9 | ···/˘·˘·· |
| “But now, ye shepheard lasses! who shall lead | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Your wandring troupes, or sing your virelayes*? | 10 | ·/˘˘······ |
| Or who shall dight** your bowres, sith she is dead | 10 | ·····/···· |
| That was the lady of your holy-dayes? | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Let now your blisse be turned into bale, | 10 | ······˘··· |
| And into plaints convert your ioyous playes, | 10 | ····/˘···· |
| And with the same fill every hill and dale. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| “Let bagpipe never more be heard to shrill, | 10 | ·/·/˘····· |
| That may allure the senses to delight, | 10 | ··˘/·/˘·˘/ |
| Ne ever shepheard sound his oaten quill | 10 | ·/˘/˘··/˘· |
| Unto the many, that provoke them might | 10 | ···/˘·˘/·· |
| To idle pleasance; but let ghastlinesse | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| And drearie horror dim the chearfull light, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| To make the image of true heavinesse. | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| “Let birds be silent on the naked spray, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| And shady woods resound with dreadfull yells; | 10 | ·/˘··/·/˘· |
| Let streaming floods their hastie courses stay, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| And parching drouth drie up the cristall wells; | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Let th’earth be barren, and bring foorth no flowres, | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| And th’ayre be fild with noyse of dolefull knells, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| And wandring spirits walke untimely howres. | 10 | ·/˘/˘·˘/˘/ |
| “And Nature, nurse of every living thing, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| Let rest her selfe from her long wearinesse, | 10 | ·········· |
| And cease henceforth things kindly forth to bring, | 10 | ··//·/˘··· |
| But hideous monsters full of uglinesse; | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| For she it is that hath me done this wrong; | 10 | ·········· |
| No nurse, but stepdame cruell, mercilesse. | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong. | 10 | ·/˘····/˘˘ |
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