A Fragment

And by that mansion's western side there stoode
An ancient bowre enwrapte in darkest shade
Of sacred elde, and wide-encircling woode;
Seemed it was for saintlye abbesse made.
Strong were the doors with yron barrs arraide
For fear of foe that them enharmen myghte,
Ne any durst that fort for to invade,
For by the wicket grate, bothe daye and nyghte,
A snowy gaurdian sate, of old that Bunny highte.

And all withinne were books of various lore,
St. Leon's toils, and Bible nothinge newe,
And needle-work, and artists' busie store
Of crumbling chalke, and tyntes of everie hue;
And on the ground, most terrible to view,
Dame Venus' mangled limbs were strewed around;
For soothe to tell, the goddess envyous grewe
When here she saw myght fairer forms be found,
And dashed in pieces small her statue on the ground.

Such is that bowre, but who shall dare pourtraye
What sister fairies there their spells combine?
She, whose younge charms the rugged harte cold swaye
Of prelate olde, and never tamed divine.
She, limneresse of Spenser (master mine),
Angelic limneresse, in whose darke eye
Dothe wit's wilde glance and playful beauty shine,
And she of shapeliest form and stature highe,
And meeke unconscious state, and winning majestic.