Seven Minor Epics of the English Renaissance (1596-1624)
by Dunstan Gale
Previous Part     1  2  3  4     Next Part
Home - Random Browse

TO THE WORSHIPFVLL his veric friend, D.B.H. Dvnstan Gale, wisheth all happinesse.

The worthinesse (good Captaine) of your demerits, with the benefit of your friendly curtesies, incites mee to make profer vnto you of this my vnpolished Pamphlet, humbly intreating you to vouchsafe it acceptance, in that amongst many whom I haue knowne, I could finde none more meete for the patronizing it then your self. Which if it please you, I hope it wil be the better welcom to others for your sake: and if vnconstant fortune do but once more enable me for better, then shall you find a gratefull minde ready to requite you with a double guerdeon for your former kindnesse. Thus crauing pardon for this my rash attempt, I humbly take my leaue this 25. of Nouember, 1596.

Your Worships euer devoted,

Dunstan Gale.


Neere to the place where Nilus channels runne, There stood a town by loue long since vndone; For by a chance that hapned in the same, The town's forgot, & with the towne the name. Within which towne (for then it was a towne) Dwelt two commanders of no small renowne, Daughter to one, was Thisbe smooth as glasse: Fairer then Thisbe never woman was. Sonne to the other, Pyramus the bright: Yong Thisbes play-feare, Thisbe his delight: Both firme in loue, as constant and were any, Both crost in loue, as proud Loue crosseth many.


For in the pride of sommers parching heat, When children play and dally in the street, Yong Thisbe seuerd from the common sort, As gentle nurture lothes each rusticke sport, Went to an arbour, arbours then were greene, Where all alone, for feare she should be seene, She gatherd violets and the Damaske rose, And made sweet nosegaies, from the which she chose, One of the sweetest. Sweet were all the rest, But that which pleasd her wanton eye the best. And this (quoth she) shall be my true loues fauor: Her tender nonage did of true love sauor.


No sooner spake, but at her speech she blusht: For on the sudden Pyramus in rusht, Hauing but newly cropt the spredding pine, And other branches that were greene and fine, Of which to passe his idle time away, The boy made wreaths and garlands that were gay, And spying Thisbe, Thisbe made him start, And he her blush, so tender was her heart: She blusht, because another was so neere, He started, for to finde another there; Yet looking long, at last they knew each other, For why, they lov'd like sister and like brother.


When they left looking, for they lookt awhile, First Pyramus, last Thisbe gan to smile, I was afraide, thus Thisbe straight began: Faint (he replied) a maid and feare a man? I feard (quoth she) but now my feare is past. Then welcome me (quoth Pyramus) at last. Welcome (quoth she) and then she kist his lips, And he from her, sweet Nectar drops out sips: She pats his lips, he puls her milke white skin. Thus children sport, and thus true loue begins: But they as children, not as louers gamed, For loue (alas) twixt them was neuer named.


Oft would he take her by the lillie hand, Cirkling her middle, straight as any wand, And cast her downe, but let her lye alone, For other pastime Pyramus knew none. Then vp she starts and takes him by the necke, And for that fall giues Pyramus a checke: Yet at the length she chanst to cast him downe, Though on the green she neuer gaind a gowne, But rose againe, and hid her in the grasse, That he might tract the place where Thisbe was, And finding her (as children vse) imbrace her, For being children nothing could disgrace her.


But marke the issue, of their sportiue play, As this sweet couple in the coole shade lay, Faire Venus posting whom to Paphos Ile, Spied their sports, nor could she chuse but smile, Wherefore she straight vnyok't her siluer teame, And walkt on foot along the Chrystall streame, And enuying that these louers were so bold, VVith iealous eyes she did them both behold. And as she lookt, casting her eye awry, It was her chance (vnhappy chance) to spy, VVhere squint-eyd Cupid sate vpon his quiuer, Viewing his none-eyd body in the riuer.


Him straight she cald, being cald he made no stay, But to his mother tooke the neerest way. Yet ere he came, she markt the tother two, Playing as oft tofore th'er wont to do: And then she sware, yong Pyramus was faire, Thisbe but browne, as common women are: Anon she wisht yong Pyramus was neere, That she might bind loue in his golden haire, And loue him too, but that she cald to mind, That yong Adonis proued so vnkinde. But Cupid came, his comming causd her hate them, And in a heat, proud Venus gan to rate them.


Seest thou my sonne (quoth she) and then she fround, Those brattish elues, that dally on the ground? They scorne my kingdome, and neglect my minde, Contemne me as inconstant as the winde. Then shoot (quoth she) and strike them so in loue, As nought but death, their loue-dart may remoue. At this he lookt, the boy was loth to shoot, Yet strucke them both so neere the hearts sweet root, As that he made them both at once to cry (Quoth he) I loue, for loue (quoth she) I die. Of this both Venus, and her blind boy bosted, And thence to Paphos Isle in triumph posted.


Now was the time, when shepheards told their sheep, And weary plow-men ease themselues with sleepe, When loue-prickt Thisbe no where could be found, Nor Pyramus, though seruants sought them round. But newes came straight, that Pyramus was seene, Sporting with Thisbe lately in the euen: Like newes to both their Parents soone was brought; Which newes (alas) the louers downfals wrought. For though they lov'd, as you haue heard of yore, Their angry parents hate was ten times more, And hearing that their children were together, Both were afraide least each had murthered other.


When they came home, as long they staid not forth, Their storming parents fround vpon them both, And charged them neuer so to meet againe, Which charge to them, God knows was endles paine: For yeres came on, and true loue tooke such strength, That they were welnigh slaine for loue at length: For though their parents houses ioynd in one, Yet they poore peats, were ioynd to liue alone. So great and deadly was the daring hate, Which kept their moody parents at debate, And yet their hearts as houses ioynd together, Though hard constraint, their bodies did disseuer.


At length they found, as searching louers find, A shift (though hard) which somwhat easd their mind: For Io a time worne creuis in the wall, Through this the louers did each other call, And often talke, but softly did they talke, Least busie spy-faults should find out their walke: For it was plast in such a secret roome, As thither did their parents seldome come. Through this they kist, but with their breath they kist, For why the hindring wall was them betwixt, Somtimes poor souls, they talkt till they were windles And all their talke was of their friends vnkindnes.


When they had long time vsd this late found shift, Fearing least some should vndermine their drift, They did agree, but through the wall agreed, That both should hast vnto the groue with speed, And in that arbour where they first did meet, With semblant loue each should the other greet, The match concluded, and the time set downe, Thisbe prepar'd to get her forth the towne, For well she wot, her loue would keepe his houre, And be the first should come vnto the bowre: For Pyramus had sworne there for to meete her, And like to Venus champion there to greet her.


Thisbe and he, for both did sit on bryers, Till they enioyd the height of their desires: Sought out all meanes they could to keep their vow, And steale away, and yet they knew not how. Thisbe at last (yet of the two the first) Got out, she went to coole loues burning thirst, Yet ere she went (yet as she went) she hide, She had a care to decke her vp in pride, Respecting more his loue to whom she went, Then parents feare, though knowing to be shent, And trickt her selfe so like a willing louer, As purblind Cupid tooke her for his mother.


Her vpper garment was a robe of lawne, On which bright Venus siluer doues were drawne: The like wore Venus, Venus robe was white, And so was Thisbes not so faire to sight, Nor yet so fine, yet was it full as good, Because it was not stain'd with true loues bloud. About her waste, she wore a scarfe of blew, In which by cunning needle-worke she drew Loue-wounded Venus in the bushie groue, VVhere she inheated, Adon scornd her loue. This scarfe she wore, (Venus wore such another) And that made Cupid take her for his mother.


Nymph-like attyr'd (for so she was attyr'd) She went to purchase what true loue desyr'd, And as she trode vpon the tender grasse, The grasse did kisse her feet as she did passe: And when her feet against a floure did strike, The bending floures did stoope to doe the like: And when her feet did from the ground arise, The ground she trod on, kist her heele likewise. Tread where she would, faire Thisbe could not misse, For euery grasse would rob her of a kisse. And more the boughs wold bend, for ioy to meet her And chanting birds, with madrigals would greet her.


Thus goes this maidlike Nimph, or Nimphlike maid, Vnto the place afore appointed laid, And as she past the groues and fountaines cleere, Where Nymphs vsd hunting, for Nymphs hunted there, They sware she was Diana, or more bright. For through the leauie boughs they tooke delight, To view her daintie footing as she tript: And once they smil'd, for once faire Thisbe slipt, Yet though she slipt, she had so swift a pace, As that her slipping wrought her no disgrace. For of the Nymphs (whose coy eyes did attend her) Of all was none, of all that could amend her.


VVhen she had past Dianes curious traine, The crooked way did bending turne againe, Vpon the left hand by a forrest side, Where (out alas) a woe chance did betide: For loue-adoring Thisbe was so faire, That bruitish beasts at her delighted are: And from the rest as many beasts did rome, A lamb deuouring Lion forth did come, And hauing lately torne a sillie Lambe, The full gorg'd Lion sported as it came, To him a sport, his sport made Thisbe hie her, For why, she durst not let the beast come nie her.


Yet still it came, to welcome her it came, And not to hurt, yet fearefull is the name, The name more then the Lion, her dismayd, For in her lap the Lion would haue playd. Nor meant the beast to spill her guilelesse bloud, Yet doubtfull Thisbe in a fearefull moode, Let fall her mantle, made of purest white, And tender heart, betooke her straight to flight, And neere the place where she should meet her loue, Shee slipt, but quickely slipt into a groue, And lo a friendly Caue did entertaine her, For feare the bloudy Lion should haue slaine her.


Thisbe thus scap't, for thus she scap't his force, Although (God wot) it fell out farther worse: The Lion came yet meant no harme at all, And comming found the mantle she let fall, Which now he kist, he would haue kist her too, But that her nimble footmanship said no. He found the robe, which quickly he might find, For being light, it houered in the winde: VVith which the game-some Lion long did play, Till hunger cald him thence to seeke his prey: And hauing playd, for play was all his pleasure, He left the mantle, Thisbes chiefest treasure.


Yet ere he left it, being in a mood, He tore it much, and stain'd it ore with bloud, Which done, with rage he hasted to his prey, For they in murther passe their time away. And now time-telling, Pyramus at last, (For yet the houre of meeting was not past) Got forth (he would haue got away before) But fate and fortune sought to wrong him more: For euen that day, more fatall then the rest, He needs must giue attendance at a feast, Ere which was done (swift time was shrewdly wasted) But being done, the louely stripling hasted.


In hast he ran, but ran in vaine God wot, Thisbe he sought, faire Thisbe found he not, And yet at last her long loue robe he found All rent and torne vpon the bloody ground. At which suspicion told him she was dead, And onely that remained in her stead: Which made him weepe, like mothers, so wept he, That with their eyes their murthered children see; And gathering vp the limbes in peecemeale torne, Of their deare burthen murtherously forlorne: So Pyramus sicke thoughted like a mother, For Thisbes losse, more deare then any other.


Or who hath seene a mournefull Doe lament For her young Kid, in peecemeale torne and rent, And by the poore remainders sit and mourne, For loue of that which (out alas) is gone? Let him behold sad Pyramus, and say, Her losse, his loue, doth equall euery way. For as a man that late hath lost his wits, Breakes into fury and disaster fits, So Pyramus in griefe without compare, Doth rend his flesh, and teare his golden haire, Making the trees to tremble at his mourning, And speechlesse beasts to sorrow with his groaning.


Alas (quoth he) and then he tore his flesh, Gone is the sunne that did my Zone refresh, Gone is the life, by which I wretch did liue, Gone is my heauen, which hopefull blisse did giue, To giue me heat, her selfe lyes nak't and cold, To giue me life, to death her selfe she sold, To giue me ioy, she bale alas did gaine, My heat, life, ioy, procur'd her death, bale, paine: Had I beene here, my loue had not beene dead, At least the beasts had torne me in her stead, Or would they yet teare me for company, Their loue to me would slacke their tyranny.


And then he cast his eyes vpon the ground, And here and there where bloudie grasse he found; Sweet bloud (quoth he) and then he kist the bloud, And yet that kisse God wot did little good, Couldst thou being powr'd into my halfe slaine brest, Reuiue againe, or purchase Thisbes rest, This hand should teare a passage through the same, And yet that bloud from Thisbe neuer came, And then be gatherd vp the bloudie grasse, And looking grieu'd, and grieuing cryde alas, Where shall I hide this bloud of my deare louer, That neither man nor beast may it discouer?


Then in the mantle he the grasse vp tide, And laid it close vnto his naked side: Lie there (quoth he) deare to me as my hart, Of which thy mistresse had the greater part. Tut she is dead, and then he vow'd and swore, He would not liue to murther loue no more: Which spoke, he drew his Rapier from his side, Of which the loue-slaine youth would then haue dy'd, But that he thought, that pennance too too small, To pacifie faire Thisbes Ghost withall: Wherefore he rag'd, and ragingly exclaimed, That he true loue, and true loue him had maimed.


And then his Rapier vp againe he tooke, Then on the mantle cast a grieuous looke. For me (quoth he) faire Thisbe lost this bloud, She dead, my life would doe me little good, And well he thought he could endure the smart Of death, and yet he could not harme his heart: For why his hand being guiltlesse of the deed, Deny'd to make his harmelesse heart to bleed, And like a trembling executioner, Constrain'd to slay a guiltelesse prisoner, His hand retired still, further backe and further, As lothing to enact so vile a murther.


But Pyramus like to a raging Iudge, Seeing his executioner flinch, and grudge To do the duty he enioyn'd him do, Reply'd, dispatch, or Ile cut thee off too: At which the trembling hand tooke vp the blade, But when the second profer it had made, It threw it downe, and boldly thus replyed, He was not cause that louely Thisbe dyed, Nor would I slay thee, knew I she were dead: Then be the bloud vpon thy guiltie head. Of these last words young Pyramus dispences, And cald a synodie of all his seuer'd sences.


His conscience told him, he deserv'd not death, For he deprav'd not Thisbe of her breath: But then suspicion thought, he causd her dye, But conscience swore, suspition told a lye. At this suspicion prompted loue in th'eare, And bad him shew his verdict, and come neare, Which soone he did, and fate among the rest, As one whom Pyramus esteemed best: For when proud Loue gaue in his faultie plea, He askt if he were guiltie, Loue said yea, And with the youth, fond youth by loue entangled, Agreed his guiltlesse body should be mangled.


Resolv'd to die, he sought the pointed blade, Which erst his hand had cast into the shade, And see, proud Chance, fell Murthers chiefest frend, Had pitcht the blade right vpwards on the end, Which being loth from murther to depart, Stood on the hilt, point-blanke against his hart: At which he smil'd, and checkt his fearefull hand, That stubbornely resisted his command. And though (quoth he) thou scorn'd to doe my will, What lets me now my minde for to fulfill? Both Fate and Fortune to my death are willing, And be thou witnesse of my minds fulfilling.


With that he cast himselfe vpon the sword, And with the fall his tender brest through gor'd: The angry bloud, for so his bloud was sheed, Gusht out, to finde the author of the deed, But when it none but Pyramus had found, Key cold with feare it stood vpon the ground, And all the bloud, I meane that thus was spilt, Ran downe the blade, and circled in the hilt, And presently congeald about the same, And would haue cald it by some murtherous name, Could it haue spoke, nere sought it any further, But did arrest the Rapier of the murther.


And as the child that seeth his father slaine, Will runne (alas) although he runne in vaine, And hug about the shedder of his bloud, Although God wot, his hugging do small good, Euen so his bloud, the ofspring of his heart, Ran out amaine, to take his fathers part, And hung vpon the rapier and the hilt, As who should say, the sword his bloud had spilt: Nor would depart, but cleaue about the same, So deare it lov'd the place from whence it came: For sure it was poore Pyramus was murthered, Nor by pursute, could his poore bloud be furthred.


When this was done, as thus the deed was done, Begun, alas, and ended too too soone, Faire Thisbe strucken pale with cold despaire, Came forth the Caue into the wholsome aire: And as she came, the boughs would giue her way, Thinking her Venus in her best array. But she (alas) full of suspicious feare, Least that the late feard Lion should be there, Came quaking forth, and then start backe againe, Fearing the beast, and yet she fear'd in vaine. She fear'd the Lion, Lions then were feeding, And in this feare, her nose gusht out a bleeding.


Her sudden bleeding argued some mischance, Which cast her doubtfull senses in a trance, But of the Lion troubled Thisbe thought, And then of him, whom fearefully she sought: Yet forth she went, replete with iealous feare, Still fearing, of the Lion was her feare: And if a bird but flew from forth a bush, She straightwaies thought, she heard the Lion rush. Her nose left bleeding, that amaz'd her more Then all the troublous feare she felt before: For sudden bleeding argues ill ensuing, But sudden leauing, is fell feares renewing.


By this she came into the open wood, Where Pyramus had lost his dearest bloud, And round about she rolles her sun bright eyes For Pyramus, whom no where she espies; Then forth she tript, and nearly too she tript, And ouer hedges oft this virgin skipt. Then did she crosse the fields, and new mown grasse, To find the place whereas this arbour was: For it was seated in a pleasant shade, And by the shepheards first this bowre was made. Faire Thisbe made more haste into the bower, Because that now was iust the meeting hower.


But comming thither, as she soone was there, She found him not, which did augment her feare: But straight she thought (as true loue thinks the best) He had beene laid downe in the shade to rest, Or of set purpose hidden in the reeds, To make her seeke him in the sedgie weeds, For so of children they had done before, Which made her thoughts seeme true so much the more: But hauing sought whereas she thought he was, Shee could not finde her Pyramus (alas) Wherefore she back return'd vnto the arbor, And there reposd her after all her labor.


To one that's weary drowsie sleepe will creepe, Weary was Thisbe, Thisbe fell asleepe, And in her sleepe she dreamt she did lament, Thinking her heart from forth her brest was rent, By her owne censure damn'd to cruell death, And in her sight bereft of vitall breath. When she awak't, as long she had not slept, She wept amaine, yet knew not why she wept: For as before her heart was whole and sound, And no defect about her could be found, She dreamt she hurt, no hurt could she discouer, Wherefore she went to seeke her late lost louer.


Suspicious eyes, quick messengers of wo, Brought home sad newes ere Thisbe farre could go: For lo, vpon the margent of the wood, They spy'd her loue, lye weltring in his bloud, Hauing her late lost mantle at his side, Stained with bloud, his hart bloud was not dry'd. VVisty she lookt, and as she lookt did cry, See, see, my hart, which I did iudge to dye: Poore hart (quoth she) and then she kist his brest, VVert thou inclosd in mine, there shouldst thou rest: I causd thee die poore heart, yet rue thy dying, And saw thy death, as I asleepe was lying.


Thou art my hart, more deare then is mine owne, And thee sad death in my false sleepe was showne: And then she pluckt away the murtherous blade, And curst the hands by whom it first was made, And yet she kist his hand that held the same, And double kist the wound from whence it came. Him selfe was author of his death she knew, For yet the wound was fresh, and bleeding new, And some bloud yet the ill-made wound did keepe, VVhich when she saw, she freshly gan to weepe, And wash the wound with fresh tears down distilling, And view'd the same (God wot) with eyes vnwilling.


She would haue spoke, but griefe stopt vp her breath, For me (quoth she) my Loue is done to death, And shall I liue, sighes stopt her hindmost word, When speechlesse vp she tooke the bloudy sword, And then she cast a looke vpon her Loue, Then to the blade her eye she did remoue. And sobbing cride, since loue hath murthred thee, He shall not chuse but likewise murther me: That men may say, and then she sigh'd againe, I him, he me, loue him and me hath slaine. Then with resolue, loue her resolue did further: With that same blade, her selfe, her selfe did murther.


Then with a sigh, she fell vpon the blade, And from the bleeding wound the sword had made, Her fearefull bloud ran trickling to the ground, And sought about, till Pyramus it found: And hauing found him, circled in his corse, As who should say, Ilegard thee by my force. And when it found his bloud, as forth it came, Then would it stay, and touch, and kisse the same, As who should say, my mistresse loue to thee, Though dead in her, doth still remaine in me, And for a signe of mutuall loue in either, Their ill shed bloud congealed both together.


Diella, Certaine Sonnets, adioyned to the amorous Poeme of Dom Diego and Gineura.

By R. L. Gentleman.

Benballa, a chi fortuna suona.

AT LONDON, Printed for Henry Olney, and are to be sold at his shop in Fleetstreete, neer the Middle-temple gate. 1596.

THE LOVE OF DOM Diego and Gyneura.

In Catheloygne, o'repeerd by Pyren Mountaines, (a Prouince seated in the East of Spaine, Famous for hunting sports & cleerest fountains) a young heroyck gallant did remaine; Hee, Signior Dom Diego had to name, Who for his constant faith had got such fame.

Nature had tryde her deepest skill on him, (for so the heauen-borne powers had her desired) With such perfection framed shee each lim, that at her owne worke shee herselfe admired. Maiestick Ioue gaue him a Princely grace, Apollo wit, and Venus gaue his face.

This loue-some youth, kinde Natures fairest child, what for his beautious loue-alluring face, And for he was so gracious and so milde; was deem'd of all to be of heauenly race; Men honord him, and Maydens gaue him loue, To make him famous Men and Maydens stroue.

Hunting he lou'd, nor did he scorne to loue, (a truer-louing hart was neuer knowne) Which well his Mistres cruelly did proue, whose causelesse rigor Fame abroad hath blowne. But now lets tell, how hee on hunting went, And in what sports such pleasant time he spent.

Soone as the sunne had left his watry bed. (blushing for shame that he so long had slept) Reuiuing those which duskie Night made dead, when for his welcom Lambes on mountains lept. Vp starts Diego, and with shrill-voyc'd horne. Tells hounds & huntsmen of a cleere-fac'd morne.

Cloth'd all in Greene, (Syluanus lyuery) he wore a low-crown'd hat of finest silke, Whose brim turnd vp, was fastned with a Ruby, and vnderneath, a Pearle as white as milke, A sleeueles coate of Damaske, richly laced With Indian pearle, as thicke as could be placed.

A glistring Cutlax pendent by his side, (he much esteem'd y^t beast-dismembring blade) And halfe-leg'd Buskins curiously ytide with loopes of burnisht gold full finely made, Thus goes Diego, chiefest of his name, With siluer-headed speare to finde some game.

Long while it was ere any sport began, at last a Hart his big-growne hornes did shew, VVhich (winding straight the huntsmen) gan to run as fast as arrow from a Parthyan bow: In whose pursute (by wil of powreful Fates) Diego lost himfelfe, and all his mates.

Left thus alone in midst of vnknowne place, he inuocates the fauourable ayde Of Ariadne, who with smalest lace, freed Monster-killing Theseus, so dismaid, In worser Laborinth did he now remaine, For none saue trees or beasts, could heare him plain.

In these Meanders, stragling heere and there, goes faire Diego, listning to each sound, Musing twixt purple hope, and palish feare, he thought to rest him (wearied) on the ground, But see, he heares a farre some forced noyse, A horne, a hound, or els some human voyce.

VVith that, Desire, which scornes least tedious let, directed him vnto that very place, Where loe to hunt the tymerous Hare, were met as Knights, so Ladies, fittest for that chase: Mongst which, there came a Grace of heauēly faire, Her name Gyneura, with the golden hayre.

Her hayre of such corruscant glitterous shine, as are the smallest streames of hottest sunne, Like starres in frostie night, so looke her eyne, within whose Arches Christall springs doe run, Her cheekes faire show of purest Porphyrie, Full curiously were typt with roseall die.

Her lips like ripened Cherries seem'd to be, from out whose concaue Corrall-seeming Fount, Came sweeter breath then muske of Araby, whose teeth y^e white of blanched pearle surmount Her necke the Lillies of Lyguria Did much exceed; Thus looked fayre Gyneura.

These Dryades Diego then bespake, with sugred tearmes of mildest curtesie, And crau'd to know which way he best might take with shortest cut, to such a Signiory, Whereat he nam'd himselfe; when presently The Ladies knew him (as a Neyghbour by.)

Gyneuras Mother (cheefe of all the rest) (for that shee knew his birth and his discent) Desir'd him home, he grants her such request, and thanks the Fates that him such hap had lent, For still on faire Gyneura were his eyes, And shee reciprocally on his replyes.

These dumbe Embassadors, Loues chiefe combatants tell (softly whispring in each others hart) Her of humble seruice; him of acceptance; his craued loue, hers wisht they nere might part, Much talk they had w^t tongues, more w^t their eyes, But (oh) most with their harts, where true loue lies.

Now were they come whereas the good old Lady might boldly welcome her inuited guest, Where after little talke, (Hunters are hungry) they all sat downe vnto a soone-made feast, The Louers fed on glaunces of their eyes, Tis heauenly food when both do simpathize.

At last, the Lady of the house espied the intercourse of those bright Messengers, Who inwardly reioycing, as fast plied hers on her daughter, fittest Harbengers, To bid her keepe the fairest and the best Place in her hart, to entertaine this guest.

Word back againe was sent by her faire light, how that was done already; and replied, The Land-lord o're his Tennant hath such might, that he to enter in is nere denied. I, in a little corner of my hart Doe liue, (quoth she) he hath the greatest part.

Diego wisht thys supper nere would end, (and yet he long'd to be in priuate place, To ruminate vpon his fairest friend, and to recount the beauties of her face) So wisht Gyneura, were neuer such two, That lou'd so deerely as these Louers doe.

The gloomy Curtaines of the tongue-lesse night, were drawne so close as day could not be seene, Now leaden-thoughted Morpheus dyms each sight, now, murder, rapes, and robberies begin: Nature crau'd rest, but restlesse Loue would none, Diego, Loues young prentice, thus gan mone.

Oh heauens, what new-founde griefes possesse my mind, what rare impassionated fits be these? Cold-burning Feuers in my hart I find, whose opposite effects worke mee no ease, Then loue assailes the hart with hotest fight, VVhen beauty makes her conqust at first sight.

I little dreamed of thys strange euent, (this harts-inthraller, mindes-disturbing Loue, VVhen with my Huntsmen to the woods I went, Oh neere till now did I his greatnes proue, Whose first impression in the Louers hart, Till then nere tainted, bringeth deepest smart.

Thus lay Diego tossing in his bed, bound to the will of all commaunding beauty, Whom angry Cupid now in tryumph led, expecting from his slaue all seruile duty, Hee might haue freed his prysoner so dismaid, For sighes and grones had double ransome paide.

In like extreames, (Loue loues extremity) did faire Gyneura passe the long-thought night, Shee raild against fell Cupids crueltie, that so would tyrannize o're a Maydens spright. There needes no blowes, quoth she, when foes doe yield, Oh cease, take thou the honor of the field.

The valiant Greekes (faire Ilyons fatall Foes) their tedious ten yeres siedge for Spartaes Queen Nere thought so long; (yet long it was) as those loue-scorcht enamored (so restles) now ween This night to be; A night if spent in care, Seemes longer then a thousand pleasant are.

Thus lay they sleeplesse, thoughtfull, euer thinking on sluggish humor of expected Morne, They thought that Louers eyes were neuer winking nor sleepe they e're in whom Loues newly borne. Hee vow'd, when day was come, to woo his deere, Shee swore such wooing she would gladly heare.

At last, the guyder of the firie Coach, drying his locks wet in Eurotas floud, Gan resalute the world with bright approch, angry he seem'd, for all his face was bloud: Auroraes hast had made him looke so red, For loath he was to leaue faire Thetis bed.

Scarce were his horses put in readines, and he himselfe full mounted on his seate, VVhen Dom Diego full of heauines, abroade did walke, his night talke to repeate Some two howres spent, he in againe retires, And sees his Mistres, whom he now admires.

Whereat inflam'd, (loue brookes no base delay, whose fruite is danger, whose reward is paine) With fine-fil'd termes he giues her the good day, and blushing, she returnes it him againe. Endimeons blush her beauty did eclypse, His causd by Cynthiaes, hers Adonis lyps.

Boldly encourag'd by her milde aspect, he told her that which Louers vse to tell, How he did liue by her faire eyes reflect, and how his hart in midst of hers did dwell. Much eloquence he vsd, twas needles done, To win that hart which was already won.

Ne're did the dungeon thiefe condemn'd to dye with greater pleasure heare his pardon read, Then did Gyneura heare his Oratorie, (of force sufficient to reuiue the dead) Shee needes must yield; for sure he had the Art, VVith amorous heate to fixe Dianaes hart.

These Louers (thus in this both-pleasing parly) were interrupted by Geneuraes Mother VVho newly vp, (age seldome ryseth early) gan straight salute her guest, so did he her, Some termes of kindnes mutually past, Shee friendly leades him in, to breake his fast.

VVhich done, (as all good manners did require) hee thankt his Hostis for her curtesie, And now at length went home for to retire, where hee was looked for so earnestly, The Lady crau'd if ere hee came that way, To see her house, and there to make some stay.

Then heauily, and with a dying eye, (ioylesse) hee takes his leaue of his faire Loue, VVho for to fauour him, full graciously, with louing count'nance gaue to him her Gloue. Keepe this (quoth shee) till better fortune fall, My Gloue, my Loue, my hand, my hart, and all.

At this large offer, bashfull modestie, with pure Vermilion stain'd her all faire face, So lookt Calystone at her great bellie, when chast Ilythia spi'd her in such case; Let Louers iudge how grieuous tis to part, From two, twixt whom, there lyueth but one hart.

Nowe is hee gone, who after little travell attain'd his house (not pleasing thought desired) At whose late absence each one much did maruell, but (come) at his sad lookes they more admired, Great Cupids power, such sadnes in him bred, VVho (erst) all louing harts in tryumph led.

One month (consum'd in pensiuenes) expir'd; to recreate and reuiue his tyred spright, Hee now on hunting goes, which hee desir'd, not for the (once well-pleasing) sports delight; But for he might some fit occasion finde, To see his Loue, on whom was all his minde.

Where being come (suppose his sports prou'd bad) Gyneura gaue him welcome from her hart, The Sea-tost Lord of Ithica ne're had, after his twentie yeares turmoile and smart, More ioyfull welcome by his constant wife Then had Diego from his loue, his lyfe.

Two dayes he stay'd, whence he would ne're depart but custome wil'd that he should now returne, Yet though he went he left with her his hart, which for their parting heauily gan mourne, But for worse newes had it poore hart to greeue, In that Gyneura would so soone beleeue.

For sooner was hee not departed thence but straight there comes a Riuall of his Loue, VVho vnder true fidellities pretence wrought wondrous hard Diego to remoue, Nor could at first his oaths or vowes preuaile, To make Gyneuraes loue one whit to faile.

For yet they lyu'd fast bound in Fancies chaines, stryuing to passe each other in pure loue, But (as there's nothing that for aye remaines without some change.) so do these Louers proue, That hottest loue hath soon'st the cold'st disdaine, And greatest pleasures, haue their greatest paine.

For now no longer could shee so perseuer, shee turnes to deadly hate her former kindnes, Which still had lasted; but that Nature euer strikes into womens eyes such dim-sight blindnes, And such obdurate hardnes in their harts, They see, nor knowe, not truest loues desarts.

Gyneura this confirmes against her Louer, whom now (all guiltlesse) she condemnes to die, That in his deede or thought did nere offend her, vnlesse by louing her so wondrous deerelie. Such Loue, such hate, such lyking, such disdains, Was neuer knowne in one hart to remaine.

Thus twas; Diego had an enemie, (immortall vertue euer lincked is, With that pale leane-fac'd meager-hewed enuie) who secretly (so falsely) tells his Mis. How shee was mockt; Diego lou'd another, And storm'd & rag'd what madnes so should moue her.

To dote on him that else where sets his Loue, hee makes you thinke (quoth he) what ere he list, That this is true, you easily may proue for still he weares her fauour on his fist, A Hawke it is; which shee (so stands the Mart) Giues him, he you faire words, but her his hart.

VVith this incenst, (that sex will soone beleeue) soonest when enuies broode to them display it, I'st true (quoth shee) for true loue doth he giue, such smooth-fac'd flattry, doth he thus repay it? Shee neuer scan'd, the truth of this her griefe, Loue in such cases, is of quicke beliefe.

Her loue to him was neuer halfe so great, (though once shee lou'd him) as is now her hate, This Momus breath (like bellowes) to her heate, did kindle firie coales of hote debate. Hee plyes her; and exasperates his spight, And sweares, and vowes, hee tells her but the right.

Shee (like a franticke Froe of Thessaly madded with Bacchus brayne-distempring liquor) Runs here, and there, exclayming furiously with hideous, vncouth mind-affrighting terror. Swearing reuenge on false Diegoes head, VVhose lying lookes in her such madnes bred.

VVherewith shee inuocates great Nemesis, and begs the power of her deitie, Shee tells her case, to Iustice-doing Themis, and shewes how shee is wronged mightily. Shee leaues no power vnsought for, or vnpraide, That vse to helpe distressed with their aide.

VVronged Diego (little this suspecting) now thought it time to see his deerest faire, And (other matters of import neglecting, hee presently to her makes his repaire. VVhere being come, such welcome he did finde, As at the first did much disturbe his minde.

For faire Gyneura would not now be seene, she sent him word she scorn'd his fauning flattrie, And much did greeue that shee so fond had beene, to yield her hart to such deceitfull battrie: Bid him (quoth shee) goe flatter where he list, I like not I, that fauour on his fist.

Such hap it was, Diego then had brought his Hawke; (the author of this fell debate) Which well confirm'd her euer doubtfull thought, that nowe shee was resolu'd on deadly hate, Bid him (quoth she) depart hence from my sight, His loath-some presence brings me irksome spight.

Twas hard; that he whose loue was neuer tainted whose sincere faith was kept inuiolate, Nay, in whose face all truest loue was painted, should for his spotlesse truth be paid with hate, Hee stone-astonied, like a Deare at gaze, Admir'd these speeches in a wondrous maze.

At last hee crau'd this fauour he might haue, that shee her selfe would heare what he could say, So Neptunes Towne (quoth shee) such lycense gaue to smooth-fac'd Synon (Ilions lost decay) So Syrens sing vntill they haue their will, Some poore mistrustlesse Passenger to kill.

Shee would not heare him speake (oh cruell shee) that causelesse this would kill him with disdaine, Hee sweares he's guiltlesse, vowes innocencie, & in such vowes, tears down his cheeks did raine, Those cheeks which staine the blushing of ye morne Gyneura now most hatefully doth scorne.

Tis strange that Maides should ere be so abused, to credit each malicious-tongued slaue, And to condemne a man (if once accused) before or proofe, or tryall, hee may haue. Too many such there be; wo's mee therefore, Such light credulitie, I must deplore.

When sighes, salt tears, & vowes could do no good, nor sighes, nor teares, nor vowes could pierce her hart, In which, disdaine triumphant victor stood holding in eyther hand a sable dart, VVherewith he strikes true loue, & stainlesse truth, Condemning them vnto eternall ruth.

Home goes Diego with a cheereless face, whose steps were led by leaden-footed griefe, VVho neuer goes but with a dead-slowe pace, vntill hee finde some ease, or some reliefe; Twould melt a marble hart to see that man, (Earst, fresh as a new-blowne Rose) so ashie wan.

VVhere being come, he straight for four daies space, locks him in his chamber, and there did poure Huge shewers of christall rayne adowne his face, (for sure he lou'd her deerely at this howre) All ouerwhelm'd in waues of sea-salt teares, Some fatall shipwrack of his life he feares.

Wherewith he calls for paper, pen, and ynck, and for his Hawke, which presently he kild, Die thou (quoth he) so shall my loue nere thinke, that for thy sake to any else I yield. And plucking of her head, straight way hee writes, VVho (sending it as token) thus indites.

Loe heere (thou cruell faire) that gracious fauour, the Ensigne (as thou saist) of my vntruth, Behold in what high-priz'd esteeme I haue her that gaue me it, the cause of all my ruth: Looke as this Hawke, faire Loue, so is my hart, Mangled and torne; cause thou so cruell art.

I sweare to thee by all the rites of loue, by heauens faire head, by earth, & black-fac'd hel, I nere meant other loue but thine to proue, nor in my hart that any else should dwell; Let this suffize, my ioy, my deere, my chiefe, My griefes are too too long, though letter briefe.

Twas time to ende, for floods gusht out amaine, out came the springtide of his brinish teares, VVhich whatsoere hee writ blot out againe all blubred so to send it scarce hee dares: And yet hee did; goe thou (quoth hee) vnto her, And for thy maister, treate, sollicite, woo her.

And pray thee (if thy Fortune be so good as to be viewd by sunshine of her eyes) Bid her take heede in spilling guiltlesse blood, tell her there's danger in such cruelties: VVith this, hee gaue it to the messenger, Who (making speed) in short time brought it her.

Shee, when shee heard from whom the Letter came, returnes it backe againe, and straight replied, My friend (quoth she) hadst thou not told his name perhaps thy Letter, had not beene denied: VVhereat shee paus'd; but yet ile see (quoth shee) With what perswading termes, he flatters mee.

Twas quickly read; (God knowes it was but short) griefe would not let the wryter tedious be, Nor would it suffer him fit words to sort, but pens it (chaos-like) confusedly. Yet had it passion to haue turn'd hard stones To liquid moisture, if they heard his moanes.

But cruell shee, more hard then any flint, worse then a Tygresse of Hyrcania, Would not be mou'd, nor could his lines take print in her hard hart, so cruell was Gyneura. Shee which once lou'd him deerly, (too too well) Now hates him more then any tongue can tell.

Oh Nature, chiefest Mother of vs all, why did you giue such apt-beleeuing harts To women-kind, that thus poore men inthrall, and will not dulie waie true loues desarts? O had their harts been like vnto their face, They sure had been of some celestiall race.

Shee pittiles, sends backe to Dom Diego, and sayes, his words cannot inchant her hart, Vlisses-like, shee will not heare Calypso, nor lend her eares to such intising arte. Bid him (quoth she) frō henceforth cease to write, Tell him his Letters agrauate my spight.

Full heauie newes it was to stainelesse loue, to him that had enshrin'd her in his thought, And in his hart had honor'd her aboue the world; to whō all else saue her seem'd nought. Nay, vnto him, whose person, wit, and faire, Might surely with the best make iust compare.

But (blinded as shee was) shee steemes him not, hate and disdaine doe neuer brooke respect, Shee did not knowe that beauties foulest blot consisted in true-louing harts neglect. No, she (more stubborne thē the North-east wind) VVould not admit such knowledge in her mind.

Let those who guiltleslie haue felt disdaine, whose faithfull loue hath beene repaid with hate, Giue rightfull iudgement of Diegoes paine who bought his fauours at the highest rate. This newes such pleasure in his soule had bred, As hath the thiefe that heares his iudgement read.

After some time, hee writes againe vnto her, hee could not thinke shee would perseuer so, But when hee sawe her aunswere like the other hee then surceas'd to send her any moe. But did resolue to seeke some vncouth place, VVhere he might (vnfound out) bewaile his case.

Thinking indeede shee by his absence might at length intenerate her flintfull hart, And metamorphize her conceaued spight into true loue regardaunt of his smart; Hee seekes all meanes (poore Louer) how to gaine His rigorous Lady from such fell disdaine.

At last, hee calls to mind the Pyren Mountaines, those far-fam'd, woody hills of wealthy Spaine, Which for wild Beasts, & siluer visag'd Fountaines, hath got the praise of all that there remaine; Hether postes Dom Diego fraught with griefe, Hoping those woods would yield him some reliefe.

VVhere, being come, all Pilgrim-like attir'd, hee pryes about to see if hee could finde, Some house-like Caue, for rest hee much desir'd, his body now was wearie, as his minde. O Gods (quoth hee) if youth finde such distresse, VVhat hope haue I, of future happines.

VVith that hee sees a Rocke made like a Cabin all tapistred with Natures mossie greene, VVrought in a frizled guise, as it had been made for Napaea, Mountaines chiefest Queene, At mouth of which grew Cedars, Pines, & Firs, And at the top grew Maple, Yough, and Poplers.

So, heere (quoth hee) ile rest my wearied bodie in thee (delightfull place of Natures building) VVill I erect a griefe-fram'd Monasterie, where night & day my prayers ile ne're cease yielding, To thee my deere; (no other Saint I haue) Oh lend thine eares, to him that his hart gaue.

Two dayes were spent in this so pleasant seate, (this stone-built Pallace of the King content) Before Diego tasted any meate, or once did drinke, more then his eyes had lent. O irresisted force of purest Loue, Whom paines, thirst, hunger, can no whit remoue.

Sometimes, when as he scans her crueltie, & feeles his paines (like Hydreas head) increasing, Hee wisht the Scithian Anthropophagie did haunt these woods that liue by mans flesh eating; Or else the Thracian Bessi, so renound, For cruell murdring, whom in woods they found.

That so the Gordyon knot of his paine indissoluble e'rewhiles he did lyue, Might be vntide when as his hart were slaine, when he (o restfull time) shold cease to grieue; But yet the Sisters kept his vitall breath, They would not let him dye so base a death.

Some other times when as he waies her beautie, her Venus-stayning face so wondrous faire, Hee then doth thinke to waile tis but his dutie sith caus'd by her that is without compaire, And in this moode vnto high Ioue hee prayes, And praying so, hee thus vnto him sayes.

Great Gouernour of (wheele-resembling) Heauen, commaund thy vnder Princes to mayntaine, Those heauēly parts which to my loue th'aue giuen, o let her ne're feele death, or deaths fell paine. And first vpon thy Sister lay thy mace, Bid her maintayne my Loues maiestick grace.

Inioyne the strange-borne mother-lesse Mynerua, and her to whom the fomie Sea was Mother, Still to vphold their giftes in my Gyneura: let wit and beautie lyue vnited with her; With sweete mouth'd Pytho I may not suspence, Great Goddesse; still increase her eloquence.

Thou musicall Apollo gau'st her hand, and thou her feete (great Sun-Gods deerest loue) To such your rare-knowne gyfts all gracious stand; and now at last this doe I craue great Ioue, That when they dye (perhaps they dye aboue) Thou wilt bequeath these gyfts vnto my Loue.

On euery neighbour Tree, on euery stone (hee durst not far range from his secure Caue) VVould he cut out the cause of all his moane, and curiouslie with greatest skill ingraue: There needed no Leontius, his Art, Griefe carueth deepest, if it come from th'hart.

VVhen some stone would not impression take hee straight compares it to his Mistris hart, But stay, (quoth he) my working teares shall make thee penetrable with the least skil'd art. Oh had my teares such force to pierce her mind, These sorrowes I should loose, and new ioyes find.

Thou euer-memorable stone (quoth hee) tell those whom fate or fortune heere shall lead, How deerely I haue lou'd the cruel'st shee that euer Nature or the world hath bred. Tell them her hate, and her disdaine was causelesse, Oh, leaue not out to tell how I was guiltlesse.

Whereat, the very stone would seeme to weepe, whose wrinkled face wold be besmeard with tears O man what ere thou be, thy sorrowes keepe vnto thy selfe, quoth hee; ile heare no cares. Tell them that care not, tell Gyneura of thee, We stones are ruthfull, & thy plaints haue pierc'd mee.

VVith this, hee seekes a russet-coated Tree, & straight disclothes him of his long-worne weed And whilest hee thus disroabes him busilie, hee felt his halfe-dead hart a fresh to bleed. Greeuing that hee should vse such crueltie, To turne him naked to his foe, windes furie.

But now vncas'ed, hee gins to carue his cares, his passions, his constant-lyuing Loue, When (loe) there gushes out cleere sap like teares which to get forth from pryson mainly stroue, Since pitty dwells (quoth hee) in trees and stone, Them will I loue; Gyneura, thou hast none.

Yet needs I must confesse thou once didst loue mee, thy loue was hotter then Nimphaeum hill, But now whē time affords me, means to proue thee, thy loue then Caucase is more cold and chill, And in thy cold, like Aethiopyan hue, Thou art not to be chang'd from false to true.

O looke (faire Loue) as in the springing Plant one branch intwines and growes within another, So growe my griefes; which makes my hart to pant when thicke-fetcht sighes my vitall breath doth smother, I spoild my cruelty am adiudg'd to death, Thus all alone to yield my lyuing breath.

Thou hast the fayrest face that e're was seene, but in thy breast (that Alablaster Rocke) Thou hast a fouler hart; disdaine hath beene accounted blacker then the Chimnies stocke. O purifie thy soule my dearest Loue, Dislodge thy hate, and thy disdaine remoue.

But all in vaine I speake vnto the wind, then should they carry these my plaints vnto her, Mee thinks thou still shouldst beare a gentle mind, (deere-louing Zephire) pray, intreate, & woo her; Tell her twere pittie I should dye alone, Here in these woods wher non can heare me mone.

But tis no matter, shee is pittylesse like the Scycilian stone that more tis beate Doth waxe the harder; stones are not so ruthlesse, which smallest drops doe pierce though nere so great: If Seas of teares would weare into her hart, I had ere this beene eased of my smart.

Thus in these speeches would Diego sit bathing his siluer cheekes with trickling teares, VVhich (often running downe) at last found fit channells to send them to their standing meares, VVho at his feete (before his feete there stood A poole of teares) receau'd the smaller flood.

Ne're had the world a truer louing hart, Abydos cease to speake of constant loue, Por sure (thou Sygnior Dom Diego) art the onely man that e're hates force did proue; Thy changelesse loue hath close inrol'd thy name, In steele-leau'd booke of euer-lyuing fame.

That wide-mouth'd time wc swallows good desarts shall shut his iawes, & ne're deuoure thy name, Thou shalt be crown'd with bayes by louing harts, and dwell in Temple of eternall Fame; There, is a sacred place reseru'd for thee, There, thou shalt liue with perpetuitie.

So long liu'd poore Diego in this case that at the length hee waxed somwhat bold, To search the woods where hee might safely chase, (necessitie, thy force cannot be told) The fearefull Hare, the Connie, and the Kid, Time made him knowe the places where they bid.

This young-year'd Hermit, one day mong the rest as hee was busilie prouiding meate, VVhich was with Natures cunning almost drest, dri'd with the Sunne new readie to be eate, Inrag'd vpon a suddaine throwes away His hard-got foode; and thus began to say.

O cruell starres, Step-mothers of my good, & you, you ruthlesse Fates what meane you thus, So greedely to thirst for my harts blood, why ioy you so in vnuniting vs? Great powres infuse some pitty in her hart That thus hath causelesse caus'd in me this smart.

I ne're was wont to vse such Cookerie, to drudge & toile whē pesants take their pleasure, My noble birth scornes base-borne slauerie, this easelesse lyfe hath neither end nor measure; Thou great Sosipolis looke vpon my state, Be of these nere-hard griefes compassionate.

I feele my long-thought life begin to melt as doth the snowe gainst midday heate of Sunne, (Faire loue) thy rigour I haue too much felt, oh, at the last with crueltie haue done, If teares thy stonie hart could mollifie, My brinish springs should floe eternallie.

Sweet loue, behold those pale cheekes washt in woe that so my teares may as a mirror be, Thine owne faire shaddowe liuely for to shoe, and portraite forth thy Angel-hued beautie. Narcissus-lyke then shouldst thou my face kisse, More honny sweete, then Venus gaue Adonis.

Feare not Gyneura, faire Narcissus hap; thy necke, thy breast, thy hand is Lilly-white, They all are Lillies tane from Floraes lap; ne're be thou chang'd vnlesse to loue from spite, Oh that thou wer't but then transformed so, My Sommers blisse, would change my winters woe.

If thou did'st knowe in what a loathsome place, I spend my dayes sad and disconsolate, VVhat foggie Stigian mists hang o re my face, thou would'st exile this thy conceaued hate; This Hemisphere is darke, for Sol him shroudes, My sighes doe so conglomerate the cloudes.

I tolde thee, I, (thou cruell too seuere) when hate first gan to rise how I was guiltlesse, Thine eares were deaffe, ye wouldst not harken ere thy hart was hardned, rockie, pittilesse. Oh had mine eyes been blind whē first they view'd thee, Would God I had been tonglesse whē I sew'd thee.

But thou wast then as readie to receaue as I to craue; o great inconstancie, O twas that fatall houre did so bereaue my blisfull soule of all tranquillitie: Thou then didst burne in loue, now froz'd in hate, Yet pittie mee, sweete mercy ne're comes late.

Looke as the crazen tops of armelesse Trees or latest down-fall of some aged building, Doe tell thee of the North-windes boistrous furies, and how that Eolus lately hath beene stirring; So in my thin-cheekt face thou well maist see, The furious storme of thy black crueltie.

But thou inexorable art, ne're to be wone, though Lyons, Bears, & Tigers haue been tam'd, Thy wood borne rigour neuer will be done, which thinks for this thou euer shalt be fam'd; True, so thou shalt, but fam'd in infamie, Is worse then lyuing in obscuritie.

If thou didst knowe howe greeuous tis to me to lyue in this vnhabited aboade, Where none (but sorrowe) keepes me companie, I know thou wouldst thy harts hate then vnload, Oh, I did ne're deserue this miserie, For to denie the truth were heresie.

I tell thee (Loue) when secret-tongued night puts on her mistie sable-coloured vayle, My wrangling woes, within them selues do fight, they murder hope, which makes their Captaine wayle, And wailing so, can neuer take his rest, That keepes such vnrul'd Souldiers in his brest.

So when the cleere nights-faults-disclosing day peepes forth her purple head, from out the East, These woes (my Souldiers) crie out for their pay, (and if deni'd) they stab mee, with vnrest; My teares are pay, but all my teares are dride Therefore I must their fatall blowes abide.

In these laments did Dom Diego liue long time; till at the last by pourefull fate, A wandring Huntsman ignorance did driue vnto the place whence hee return'd but late; Who viewing well the print of humaine steps Directly followed them, and for ioy leaps.

At last hee came vnto Diegoes Caue in which he sawe a sauadge man (hee thought) Who much did looke like the Danubyan slaue, such deep-worn furrows in his face were wrought, Diego much abashed at this sight Came running forth, him in his armes to plight.

For glad hee was (God knowes) to see a man, who (wretch) in two yeres space did ne're see any Such gladnes, ioy, such mirth, such triumph can not be set downe, suppose them to be many. But see, long had they not confer'd together, When (happie time) each one did know the other.

VVith that Diego shewes him all his loue, his pennance, her first loue, & now her hate, But hee requested him hence to remoue, and at his house the rest hee should dilate, Which hee deni'd, onely hee now doth write By this his friend, vnto his harts delight.

Deere Loue (quoth he) when shall I home returne, whē will the coales of hate be quencht with loue, VVhich now in raging flames my hart do burne, oh, when wilt thou this thy disdaine remoue; Aske of this bearer, be inquisitiue, And hee will tell thee in what case I liue.

Inquire of her, whose Hawke hath caus'd this woe, if for that fauour euer I did loue her, And shee will curse mee that did vse her so, and shee will tell thee how I lou'd another; Twas thee Gyneura, twas thy fairest selfe, I hel'd thee as a Pearle, her drossie pelfe.

Then, when thou hast found out the naked truth, thinke of thy Diego, and his hard hap, Let it procure in thee some mouing ruth, that thus hast causelesse cast him from thy lap: Fare-well my deere, I hope this shall suffize, To ad a period to thy cruelties.

The Messenger to spurre forth her desires, and hasten her vnto his well-lou'd friend, Tells her, how hee lyes languishing in fires of burning griefes, which neuer will haue end: Bids her to flye to him with wings of zeale, And thus Diegoes paines hee doth reueale.

Oh Adamantick-minded Mayde (quoth hee) why linger you in this ambiguous thought, Open thine eyes, no longer blinded bee, those wounding lookes, thy Louer, deere hath bought. Vnbolt thy harts strong gate of hardest steele, O let him nowe the warmth of pittie feele.

Oh let him now the warmth of pittie feele, that long hath knockt cold-staruen at thy dore; Wanting loues foode hee here & there doth reele lyke to a storme-tost Ship that's far from shore. Feede him with loue that long hath fed on cares, Be Anchor to his soule that swims in teares.

Gyneura, let him harbour in thy hart rig and amend his trouble-beaten face, O calme thy hate, whose winds haue rais'd his smart see him not perrish in this wofull case. And for in Sea-salt teares hee long hath liu'd, Let him by thy fresh water be relieu'd.

Oh, shall I tell thee how I found him there, his house wherein hee liu'd (if lyue hee did, Or rather spend his time in dying feare) was built within the ground, all darksom hid. From Phoebus light, so vgly, hell-lyke Caue, In all the world againe you cannot haue.

All made of rug'd hard-fauour'd stones, whose churlish lookes afford the eye no pleasure, In whose concauity winds breath'd horce grones, to which sad musicke Sorrow daunc'd a measure. O'regrowne it was with mighty shadefull Trees, VVhere poore Diego Sun nor Moone nere sees.

To this black place repaired euery morne, The fayre Oreades pitty-moued gerles, Bringing the poore Diego so forlorne, Mosse to dry vp his teares, those liquid pearles: Full loath they were to loose such christall springs, Therfore this Spunge-like Mosse each of thē brings.

Here dry (say they) thou loue-forsaken man, those glassy Conduits, which do neuer cease On this soft-feeling weede; and if you can, we all intreate, your griefes you would appease, Else wilt thou make vs pine in griefe-full woe, That nere knewe care, or loue, or friend, or foe.

Straight (like a shooting Commet in the ayre) away depart these sorrow-peirced maydes, Leauing Diego in a deepe dispaire, who now, his fortune, now his fate vp-braides. O heauens (quoth he) how happy are these trees, That know not loue, nor feele his miseries.

Melts not thy hart (Gyneura) at his cares? are not thy bright transparent eyes yet blinde VVith monstrous diluge of o'reflowing teares? remaines there yet disdaines within thy mind? Disgorge thy hate, O hate him not that loues thee, Maids are more milde thē men, yet pitty moues me.

Breake, breake in peeces that delicious chest, whiter then snow on Hyperboreall hyll, Chase out disdaine, depriue him of his rest, murder and mangle him that rules thy will. Be it nere sayd that faire Gyneuraes beauty, Was ouer-peiz'd by causelesse cruelty.

Cruell to him that merrits curtesie, loathed of thee that doth deserue all loue, Basely reiected, scorn'd most churlishly, that honors thee aboue the Saints aboue. True loue is pricelesse, rare, and therefore deere, VVe feast not royall Kings with homely cheere.

Too long it were to tell thee all his merits, for in delay consists his long-lookt death, Post-hast of thine must now reuiue his spirits, or shortly he will gaspe his latest breath; Speake faire Gyneura, speake as I desire, Or let thy vaine-breath'd speeches back retyre.

Looke, as a man late taken from a trance, standes gazing heere and there in sencelesse wise, Not able of himselfe his head t'aduance, but standeth like a stone in death-like guise, So lookt Gyneura, hanging downe her head, Shaming that folly her so much had led.

Repentant sorrow would not let her speake, the burning flames of griefe did dry her teares, Yet at the last, words out of prison breake, that long'd to vtter her harts inward cares: And stealingly there glides with heauy pace A Riuolet of Pearle along her face.

O cease (quoth she) to wound me any more, with oft repeating of my cruelties, Thou of thy teares (kind man) hast shed great store, when I (vnkinder mayde) scarce wet mine eyes. O let me now bewaile him once for all, Twas none but I that causd his causelesse thrall.

Eternall Ioue, rayne showers of vengeance on me, plague me for this blacke deed of wrongful hate, Be blind mine eyes, they shall not looke vpon thee Diego, till thou be compassionate: And when thou doost forgiue what I haue done, Then shall they shine like shortest-shaded sunne.

O slacke thy swift-pac'd gallop winged Tyme, turne backe, and register this my disdaine; Bid Poets sing my hate in ruthfull ryme, and pen sad Iliads of Diegoes paine: Let them be writ in plain-seene lines of glasse, To shew how louing he, I, cruell was.

Hereat shee pausd, tell me sweet sir quoth shee, how I might see my deere-embosom'd friend, That now (if what is past may pardned be) vnto his griefes I may impose an end; Where-with they both agreed, that the next day, They would eniourney them without more stay.

Long were they not, Desire still goes on Ice, and nere can stay tell that he hath his wish, Mens willing mindes each thing doth soone intice, to hast to yt which they would faine accomplish. But that they came (as hauing a good guide) Vnto the place where they Diego spide.

Sacred Pymplaeides endip my quill within the holy waters of your spring, Infuze into my braine some of your skill, that ioyfully of these I now may sing: These Louers now twixt whom late dwelt annoy, Swymming in seas of ouer-whelming ioy.

But, pardon mee you Dames of Helycon, for thus inuoking your diuinest ayde, Which was by me (vnworthy) call'd vpon, at your rare knowledge I am much dismaide; My barren-witted braines are all too base, To be your sacred learnings resting place.

Thus, of themselues, in pleasures extasie, these Louers now embrace them in theyr armes, Speechlesse they are, eye counterfixt on eye, like two that are coniur'd by magique charmes. So close their armes were twin'd, so neer they came As if both man and woman were one frame.

In th'end, (as doth a Current lately stayd, rush mainly forth his long-imprisoned flood) So brake out words; and thus Dyego sayd, what my Gyneura? O my harts chiefe good, Ist possible that thou thy selfe should'st daigne In seeing me to take so wondrous paine.

Oh, speake not of my paine (my deerest loue) all paine is pleasure that I take for thee, Thou that so loyall and so true doost proue, might scorne mee now, so credulous to be: Then sweet Diego, let vs now returne, And banish all things that might make vs mourne.

Twere infinite to tell of their great gladnes, theyr amorous greetings, & their soules delight, Diego now had exil'd griefe and sadnes, rauisht with ioy whilst he enioyde her sight. Let it suffise, they homeward now retire, Which suddaine chance both men & maids admire.

Gyneura now delights but in his presence, shee cannot once endure him from her sight, His loue-ful face is now her soules sole essence, and on his face shee dotes both day and night. She nere did once disdaine him halfe so much, As now she honors him, loues force is such.

Diego now wrapt in a world of pleasure, imparadiz'd in hauing his desire, Floting in Seas of ioy aboue all measure, sought means to mittigate loues burning fire, VVho walking with his loue alone one day, Discharg'd his minde, and thus began to say.

O faire Gyneura, how long wil't be ere safron-robed Hymen doe vnite vs? My soule doth long that happy howre to see. O let the angry Fates no longer spight vs, Lingring delays will teare my greeued hart, Let me no longer feele so painefull smart.

Gyneura, which desir'd it as her life, tells him that paine shall shortly haue a cure, Shortly quoth she, Ile be thy married wife, ty'de in those chaynes which euer wil endure, Be patient then, and thou shalt plainly see, In working it, how forward I will be.

And so she was; no time dyd she mispend, wherein shee gets not things in readines, That might to Hymens rites full fitly tend, or once conduce to such theyr happines, All things prepar'd, these Louers now are chayned In marriage bands, in which they long remained.

These, whilst they liu'd, did liue in all content, contending who should loue each other most, To w^c pure loue, proude Fame her eares down lent, and through the world, of it doth highly boast. O happy he to whom loue comes at last, That will restore what hate before did wast. { Then (deerest loue) Gyneuryze at the last, } { And I shall soone forget what ere is past. }

And now farewel, when I shal fare but ill, flourish & ioy, whē I shal droope and languish, All plentious good awaite vpon thy will, whē extreame want shal bring my soule deaths anguish. Forced by thee (thou mercy-wanting mayd) must I abandon this my natiue soyle, Hoping my sorrowes heate will be allayd by absence, tyme, necessity or toyle. So, nowe adiew; the winds call my depart. Thy beauties excellence, my rudest quill Shall neuer-more vnto the world impart, so that it know thy hate, I haue my will; And when thou hear'st that I for thee shall perrish, Be sorrowfull. And henceforth true loue cherrish.


Poco senno basta a chi Fortuna suona.

MIRRHA THE Mother of Adonis: OR, Lustes Prodegies.

By William Barksted.

Horrace. Nansicetur enim pretium, nomenque Poeta.

Whereunto are added certaine Eglogs.

By L.M.


Printed by E.A. for Iohn Bache, and are to be sold at his shop in the Popes-head Palace, nere the Royall Exchange. 1607.

To his belooued; the Author.

Praise where so er't be found, if it be due, Shall no vaine cullour neede to set it foorth: Why should I idely then extoll the worth, Which heere (dere friend) I finde belong to you. And if I er'd, full well the learned knewe, How wide, amisse my mark I taken had, Since they distinguish can the good from bad. And through the varnish well discerne the hewe Be glad therefore, this makes for you, and knowe, When wiser Readers, heere shall fixe their sight, For vertues sake, they will doe vertue right. So shalt thou not (Friend) vnrewarded goe, Then boldly on, good fortune to thy Muse, Should all condemne, thou canst as well excuse.


To his Louing friend and Kinsman: W.B.

Thamis nere heard a Song equall to this, Although the Swan that ow'd this present quill Sung to that Eccho, her owne Epitaph As proude to die, and render up her wing To Venus Swan, who doth more pleasing sing, Produce thy worke & tell the powerfull tale. Of naked Cupid, and his mothers will My selfe I doe confine from Helicon, As loath to see the other Muses nine, So imodestlie eye shoot, and gaze uppon Their new borne enuie: this tenth Muse of thine, Which in my selfe I doe in thee admire, As Aesops Satire the refulgent fire, Which may me burn, (I mean with amorous flame In reading, as the kissing that did him. And happie Mirrha that he rips thy shame, Since he so queintly doth expresse thy sin, Many would write, but see mens workes so rare, That of their owne they instantly dispaire.

Robert Glouer.

To his esteemed friend. W.B.

Not for our friendship, or for hope of gaine Doth my pen run so swiftly in thy praise: Court-seruile flatterie I doe disdaine, "Enuie like Treason, stil it selfe betraies. This worke Detractions sting, doth disinherit: He that giues thee all praise, giues but thy merrit.

Lewes Machin.

To his respected friend. W.B.

Poet, nor art thou without due desert, stil'd by that name: Though folly smile, and enuy frowne, to heare the same. Yet those who read thy worke with due respect, Will place thee with the worthiest of that sect. Then let not ignorance, nor enuie mooue thee Thou hast done well, they do not that reproue thee: Yet some (true worth nere wants an opposite) will Carpers be: Grieue not at this, not vertues selfe can scape their obloquie, But giue the raynes vnto these baser spirits, Whose Iudgements cannot paralell thy merrits, Such fooles (to seeme iudicious) take in hand, To censure what they doe not vnderstand. Yet cannot they detract, or wrong thy worth, maugre their spight: For thou doost chaunt incestuous Myrrha forth, with such delight, And with such gouldē phrase gild'st ore her crime That what's moste diabolicall, seemes deuine. and who so but begins the same to reade Each powerfull line, attracts him to proceede. Then since he best deserues the Palme to weare, Who wins the same: Doe thou alone injoy those sweets, which beare thy Mirrhas name. And euer weare in memorie of her, an anademe of odoriferous Mirrhe, and let Apollo, thinke it no dispraise, To weare thy Mirrhe, & ioyne it with his bayes.

William Bagnall.

Mirrha, The Mother of A- donis.

I sing the ruine of a beautious Maide, White as my paper, or loues fairest Doue, shine bright Apollo, Muse be not affraide, Although thou chauntest of vnnaturall loue. Great is my quill, to bring foorth such a birth, as shall abash the Virgins of our earth. smoake Goulden censors vpon Paphos shrine, drinke deep Leneus to this worke of mine.

Cupid to Thracia went to heare a Song of Orpheus, to whome euen Tygers came, And left their sauage Nature, if there long they did with his sweet Melodie remaine. Wolues lost their preyes, and by signes praid him sing Beasts left the Lyon, and chose him their King. Cecropian Apes did on his musicke waite, Yet of them all, not one could immitate.

Tis saide when Orpheus dyed, he did descend To the infernall, so the Furies boast: Where now they giue him leaue his eies to bend without all feare, on her whome he once lost, By a regardant looke, but tis not so: Ioue not reseru'd such musicke for belowe, But placed him amongst celestiall stars, To keep the Scorpion, Lyon, Beare from Iars.

For euer since the fall of Phaeton, that then displaced, them they were at strife For their degrees, till his alluring Tone. who though in death hath the office of his life. Though more diuinely: and where he attracts, More glorious bodies to admire his actes. Faire stranger shape of creature, and of beast, With his concordant tunes, plac'd them in rest.

The Dittie was (and Cupid lent an eare) Vpon the death of his Euridice: Which still he sung, as if his former feare, Of loosing her was now, or else would be. The Eccho beate the noyse vp to the Spheares, And to his passionate song, Gods bent their eares. It was a signe, he was new come from hell, Their tunes so sad, he immitates so well.

Such passion it did strike vpon the earth, that Daphnes roote groan'd for Apollo's wrong: Hermophrodite wept shewers and wisht his birth had neuer bin, or that he more had clung To Salmacis, and Clitie grieued in vaine: Leueothoes wrong, the occasion of her baine, my wilful eie (this should the burthen be) Hath rob'd me of, twice slaine Euridice.

Cicnus stil proud though he confuted be, for Phaetons losse, would needs afresh complaine Thinking therewith to singe as sweet as he, but pittiles he sung and dyed in vaine. Eccho was pleas'd with voice resounding brim as proud to loose her shape to answer him. Hether resorted more then wel could heare, but on my Muse, & speake what chansed there.

Amongst the rest of Vesta-vowed Girles, came Mirrha (whose thoughts no guile then knew) Like a bright diamond circled with pearls, whose radiant eye delt lustre to the hew Of all the dames; whose face so farre aboue though the rest (beautious all) vnwounded made loue, loue for neuer since Spiches was made a star did he see nature excel art so far.

He chāg'd his shape, his wings he oft hath torne, and like a hunter to this nimph he came: With gold tipt Iauelin and a bugle Horne, such as they beare to make the Lyon tame: First did he kisse hir hand, which then did melt with loue's impression, Cupid the like felt: Stroke dumbe, he stood in an vnwonted guise, such magicke beawtie carries in her eies.

At length (quoth he) should I not say I loue, I should both Cupid and his Mother wrong: By thee faire Maid a power farre aboue, My heart is the true index of my tongue. And by my naked wordes you may discouer, I am not traded like a common Louer. Rare obiects, rare amazements bred, tis true: And their effects are tryed in me by you.

My barren braine, can bless me with no store Of able Epithits, so what praise I giue Makes not you ritcher though it makes me poore therefore in vaine against the streame I striue, Th'ore curious painter, meaning to excell, Oft marres the worke, the which before was well, And he shall dazeled be, and tyred soone, That leuelleth his shafts to hit the Moone.

With this, she turnd her blushing head aside, & vail'd her face with lawne, not halfe so white That euen the blending roses were espyed despight the cloudes, that hid them in despight She threw her thin breath through the lawne, and said Leaue gentle youth, do not thus snare a maid I came to Orpheus Song, good then forbeare, It is his tune, nor yours can charme mine eare.

Let Orpheus learne (quoth he) of thee to sing, Bid him charme men Mirrha as thou canst doe: Let him tame Man, that is the Lyons King, And lay him prostrate at his feete belowe, As thou canst doe: nor Orpheus nor the spheares Haue Tones like thee, to rauish mortall eares, Yea, were this Thracian Harper Iudge to tell, (As thee) hee'd sweare he sung not halfe so wel.

Nor dying Swans, nor Phebus when he loue's, equals thy voice (though he in musicke courts) and as the God whose voice the firm earth moues making the terrors of the great, his sports, Whose first word strooke into the Chaos light; so if that contrary thou take delight, at thy word, darknes would or'e-cloude the ayre and the fayrest day giue place to thee more faire.

Fame hath resing'd her lasting Trump to thee, as to the worthyer, then thy fame display: Tell Venus thou art fairer farre then she, For thine own worth becomes thee best to say, Time will stand still ,the sunne in motion stay, Sirens be mute to heare thee speake of Mirrha, Thy voice, if heard in the low shades should be Would a third time fetch back Euridice.

Giue eare eternall wonder to a swaine, Twas writ in starres that I should see that face; And seeing loue, and in that loue be slaine, if beautie pittie not my wretched case. Fortune and loue, the starres and powers diuine, Haue all betraide me to those eyes of thine. O proue not then more crueller thē they, Loues shaftes & fates wheeles, who hath power to stay.

Stay there (quoth she) giue backe those powers their owne or not impose their powerful force on me: Haue I the least word or the least glance thrown To make you attribute what's destinie Vnto my beautie: if loue and fate you wound, Throw vowes to thē, their altars are soone found. Wouldst thou haue me pittie before they doe? Loue's blinde, and fortun's deafe, so am I too.

I know not loue, sure tis a subtle thing, I, by these blushes that thy charmes haue raisd, T'allay more quiet' tell loues little king, I serue a Mistres he himselfe hath praisd Though he enuy, a rare and sacred floure, Whom he had will to wrong, but never power. Now Cupid hangs the head, and melts in shame, for she did vtter Vestas holy name.

And as you see a woman teeming young, bearing the growing burthen of her wounb: Missing the dainty she hath lookt for long, falls straight in pastionate sicknes pale & dumb (for seeing she hath lost it) will not tell, for what she in this forced pastion fell. So when his hopes were lost, he would not say, what was the cause, but this to her did laye.

Virgin beware that fire within thy brest, to Vesta dedicate do not expire: as she must warie be that is the best to keepe it, it is knowne no lasting fier. The fuell cold fruitelesse Virginitie, which if zeale blow not violent, wil so one die: This stricts a virgins life, and who but knowes, that loue and chastitie, were euer foes.

And if ere loue assaile those virgins forts, those Iuory bulwarkes that defend your heart: Though he be king of sportes he neuer sports, when as he wounds, but playes the Tirants part And so much more he wil triūph oure thee, by how much thou contents his deitie: I know you to be chaste, but yet faire Mayd, if ere you loue youle finde what I haue sayd.

Sir (quoth she) when I loue you shall be mine: but know the time, when you shall claime me your's When as the fire extinct as Vestaes shrine: and Venus leaues to haunt the Papheon bowres, When men are perfect friendes Tigers at peace, Discord in heauen, and powers diuine doe cease, when Fortune sleeps & the north star doth moue whē Turtles leaue to mourne their mates, ile loue.

Ere this was ended, Orpheus song was done, And all the Virgins fell into their rankes, Each tooke their leaue of him, so did the sunne, who now was poasting to the westerne banckes and the wild beasts, who he had made more tame, seem'd to depart with reuerence at his name. Each one gaue place to Mirrha as their duetie, She being preferr'd in state, first as in beautie.

Now Cupid of her his last leaue doth take, so haue I seene a soule and body part: He begs a chaste kisse for her mothers sake, and vowes she shall be soueraigne of his heart. But whether he disembling did it, or twa's fate, (As extream'st loue, turnes to the direst hate) Being repulst, but this kisse did inspire, her brest with an infernall and vnnam'd desire.

Night like a masque was entred heauens greate hall with thousand torches vshering the way: The complements of parting were done all, & homewards Orpheus chaunteth many a lay; Venus had sent her coach, drawn by a Doue, For little Cupid the great God of loue. & this hath sprung (as men haue sayen of yore) For Mirrhas sake he vow'd to loue no more.

Blacke as my inck now must my verse commence You blushing girles, and parents siluer-gray: As farre as Trace from vs, so farre from hence goe, that you may not heare me say, A daughter did with an adulterous head, And heauie lust, presse downe her fathers bed, such Songs as these more fit the Tartars cares, had Orpheus sung it, beasts had pour'd out teares.

Vnhallowed lust, for loues lies drownd in poison in what blacke ornament shall I attire thee? Since I must write of thy so sad confusion, shall I say Cupid with his brand did fire thee? Accuse the Fates, or thee shall I accuse? Mirrha weepes yet, onely say this my Muse: wise destinie, true loue and mortall thought, would nere confirme this, the furies brought this.

She loues her Father, Daughter nere lou'd so, for as her mother lou'd so lou'd she him: Thirsting in fire those softer sweetes to know, Amidst whose waues, Uenus in pride doth swim So young she was, yet that her father kist her. Which she so duely lookes for he nere mist her, Yet could he haue conceiu'd as he did after those kisses rellish much vnlike a daughter.

Giue to her golde of Ophire Indian shels, Cloath her with Tirian purple skin of beast: Perfurme her waies with choice Arabian smells, Present her with the Phoenix in her nest, Delight her eare with song of poets rare, All these with Cyneas might naught compare, "The comfort of the minde being tane away, "Nectar not pleaseth, nor Ambrosia.

The feast of Bacchus at this present time, Was by the giddie Menades intended There Mirrha daunc'd, and Orpheus sung in rime crownd with green thirses, now yet yūhes ended with praise to Bacchus all depart with spright, vnto their feastes, feasts that deuoure the night, for loe, the stars, in trauaile in the skie, brought forth their brightnes to each waking eye.

High midnight came, and she to bedward hies, pretending rest, to beguile natures rest: Anon the gloomy gallerie she spies, toward her chamber, and she first that blest, Her care-fild eyes, her fathers picture was Arm'd but the face, although it dumbe, alasse, she ask'd and if he call'd, seeing no reply, she answer'd for her father, and said I.

Daughter (quoth she) why art thou thus alone? Let Doues so mourn girle, yt hath lost their mates Thine is to come, then prethee cease thy mone, Care shold not dwel with great & high estates. Let her that needs and is not faire at all, Repine at fortune, loue shall be thy thrall, wing'd as he is, and armed thou shalt see, (I haue the power to giue) & giue him thee.

Father (quoth she) and spoke with smaller voice, Nature hath made me yours, yours I must be: You choose my choice, for in you lies my choice, Hereat shee starts as what not feares the guiltie: Thinking the shadowe knew her double sence, and blushing, in strange feare departeth thence blaming her selfe, for vttering her blacke fault to him who armed stood gainst her assault.

Anon she spies many a youthfull Lord, In seuerall Tables, each in seuerall guise; Whose pictures they had sent with one accord, To shew their manly features to her eyes, Whose dumb'd perswasiue images were plac'd, To see if any in her lookes were grac'd: But heere in vaine, their faire assayes doe proue for had they spake they could not win her loue.

Ouer her Mothers shape a vaile she drew, and weeping, saide: may I nere see thee more: Poore abus'd image, doost not turne thy hew, to see so foule an obiect thee before? Didst thou but know, what's sprung from out thy wombe, thy shap cold speak, whilst yt thy self stodst dūbe. Art would claime Nature in thy heauie woes, thy shape haue limbs, thy limbs be stiff as those.

Anon she leapt on it with ardent heate, and full of teares, yet falles vppon her backe: Wishing euen in that griefe the lustfull feate, Were now perform'd (woemen oft longings lack down sunck the down, and with so deep impresse that had Hermaphroditus bin there he might ges Salmacis were aganie his prostitute, or one more farte, then to denie her suite.

A strange conceite, had now possest hir braine, nie equall to her lust, thought innocent: She gaue vp to desire and leapes amaine, From the bruisd bed, with bloodie fram'd intēt To hang her selfe O, me moste wofull theame. She now espide an hie and sturdie beame: Many staue liu'd to an vnpittied death, who might haue dyed sometimes with famed breath.

Yet doth she thinke what terror death would be and on her heart, imprints his Character: Faine would she die, yet first would pleased be with damned lust, which death could not deter O sinne (saies she) thou must be Natures slaue, In spight of Fate, goe to a pleasing graue. When I haue sin'd, send Ioue a thunder stroake and spare thy chosen tree, the harmlesse Oake.

She thinkes againe, and sees nor time nor place, to quench the thirstines of her parched blood: Time still ranne on, with an auerted face, and nothing but her passions did her good. This thought confoundes her, and she is resoul'd In deathes bleake azure armes to be inuoul'd. Fates, you are women, saue your modesties: sheele kill her selfe, you neede but close her eies.

And like as when some suddaine extasie, seisth the nature of a sicklie man, When hee's discernd to swoune, straite by and by folke by his helpe confusedly haue ran, And seeking with their art to fetch him backe: so many throng, that he the ayre doth lacke, so Mirrha's thoughts confusedly did stound her. some adding cōfort, whilst the rest confound her.

Like to a fountaines head, so shew'd her head, from whence since passion first tooke hold of hir Two springs did run thorow each flowr-fil'd mead & at her lips staid, where shee wisht Cynir Would so haue done: her face with teares run ore, Like Hebaes Nectar shew'd, spilt on heauens flore. or as the blomes in May the dewe drops beares, so Mirrha's cheeks look'd sprinkl'd with her tears.

Previous Part     1  2  3  4     Next Part
Home - Random Browse