Giles Fletcher in his Purple Island (a poem which reminds us of the Faery Queen by the supreme tediousness of its allegory, but in nothing else) set the example in the best verse he ever wrote:—
Poorly, poor man, he lived; poorly, poor man, he died. Gradually this poetical tradition established itself firmly as authentic history.
Spenser could never have been poor, except by comparison.
The whole story of his later days has a strong savor of legend.
He must have had ample warning of Tyrone's rebellion, and would probably have sent away his wife and children to Cork, if he did not go thither himself.
I am inclined to think that he did, carrying his papers with him, and among them the two cantos of Mutability, first published in 1611.
These, it is most likely, were the only ones he ever completed, for, with all his abundance, he was evidently a laborious finisher.
When we remember that ten years were given to the elaboration of the first three books, and that five more elapse