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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 this25.ofNouember, 1596.Your Worships euer devoted,Dunstan Gale.
1Neere to the place whereNiluschannels 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, wasThisbesmooth as glasse:Fairer thenThisbenever woman was.Sonne to the other,Pyramusthe bright:YongThisbesplay-feare,Thisbehis delight:Both firme in loue, as constant and were any,Both crost in loue, as proud Loue crosseth many.2For in the pride of sommers parching heat,When children play and dally in the street,YongThisbeseuerd 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.3No sooner spake, but at her speech she blusht:For on the suddenPyramusin 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 spyingThisbe,Thisbemade 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.4When they left looking, for they lookt awhile,FirstPyramus, lastThisbegan to smile,I was afraide, thusThisbestraight began:Faint (he replied) a maid and feare a man?I feard (quoth she) but now my feare is past.Then welcome me (quothPyramus) at last.Welcome (quoth she) and then she kist his lips,And he from her, sweetNectardrops 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.5Oft 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 pastimePyramusknew none.Then vp she starts and takes him by the necke,And for that fall giuesPyramusa 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 whereThisbewas,And finding her (as children vse) imbrace her,For being children nothing could disgrace her.6But marke the issue, of their sportiue play,As this sweet couple in the coole shade lay,FaireVenusposting whom toPaphosIle,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-eydCupidsate vpon his quiuer,Viewing his none-eyd body in the riuer.7Him 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, yongPyramuswas faire,Thisbebut browne, as common women are:Anon she wisht yongPyramuswas neere,That she might bind loue in his golden haire,And loue him too, but that she cald to mind,That yongAdonisproued so vnkinde.ButCupidcame, his comming causd her hate them,And in a heat, proudVenusgan to rate them.8Seest 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 bothVenus, and her blind boy bosted,And thence toPaphosIsle in triumph posted.9Now was the time, when shepheards told their sheep,And weary plow-men ease themselues with sleepe,When loue-pricktThisbeno where could be found,NorPyramus, though seruants sought them round.But newes came straight, thatPyramuswas seene,Sporting withThisbelately 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.10When 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.11At 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 windlesAnd all their talke was of their friends vnkindnes.12When 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,Thisbeprepar'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:ForPyramushad sworne there for to meete her,And like toVenuschampion there to greet her.13Thisbeand 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.Thisbeat 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 purblindCupidtooke her for his mother.14Her vpper garment was a robe of lawne,On which brightVenussiluer doues were drawne:The like woreVenus,Venusrobe was white,And so wasThisbesnot 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 drewLoue-woundedVenusin the bushie groue,VVhere she inheated,Adonscornd her loue.This scarfe she wore, (Venuswore such another)And that madeCupidtake her for his mother.15Nymph-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, faireThisbecould not misse,For euery grasse would rob her of a kisse.And more the boughs wold bend, for ioy to meet herAnd chanting birds, with madrigals would greet her.16Thus 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 wasDiana, 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 faireThisbeslipt,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.17VVhen she had pastDianescurious 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-adoringThisbewas 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 madeThisbehie her,For why, she durst not let the beast come nie her.18Yet 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 doubtfullThisbein 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.19Thisbethus 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,Thisbeschiefest treasure.20Yet 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,Pyramusat 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.21In hast he ran, but ran in vaine God wot,Thisbehe sought, faireThisbefound he not,And yet at last her long loue robe he foundAll 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:SoPyramussicke thoughted like a mother,ForThisbeslosse, more deare then any other.22Or who hath seene a mournefull Doe lamentFor 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 sadPyramus, 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,SoPyramusin 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.23Alas (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.24And 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 purchaseThisbesrest,This hand should teare a passage through the same,And yet that bloud fromThisbeneuer 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?25Then 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 faireThisbesGhost withall:Wherefore he rag'd, and ragingly exclaimed,That he true loue, and true loue him had maimed.26And then his Rapier vp againe he tooke,Then on the mantle cast a grieuous looke.For me (quoth he) faireThisbelost this bloud,She dead, my life would doe me little good,And well he thought he could endure the smartOf 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.27ButPyramuslike to a raging Iudge,Seeing his executioner flinch, and grudgeTo 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 louelyThisbedyed,Nor would I slay thee, knew I she were dead:Then be the bloud vpon thy guiltie head.Of these last words youngPyramusdispences,And cald a synodie of all his seuer'd sences.28His conscience told him, he deserv'd not death,For he deprav'd notThisbeof 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 whomPyramusesteemed 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.29Resolv'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.30With 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 butPyramushad 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.31And 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 poorePyramuswas murthered,Nor by pursute, could his poore bloud be furthred.32When this was done, as thus the deed was done,Begun, alas, and ended too too soone,FaireThisbestrucken pale with cold despaire,Came forth the Caue into the wholsome aire:And as she came, the boughs would giue her way,Thinking herVenusin 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.33Her sudden bleeding argued some mischance,Which cast her doubtfull senses in a trance,But of the Lion troubledThisbethought,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 moreThen all the troublous feare she felt before:For sudden bleeding argues ill ensuing,But sudden leauing, is fell feares renewing.34By this she came into the open wood,WherePyramushad lost his dearest bloud,And round about she rolles her sun bright eyesForPyramus, 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.FaireThisbemade more haste into the bower,Because that now was iust the meeting hower.35But 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 herPyramus(alas)Wherefore she back return'd vnto the arbor,And there reposd her after all her labor.36To one that's weary drowsie sleepe will creepe,Weary wasThisbe,Thisbefell 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.37Suspicious eyes, quick messengers of wo,Brought home sad newes ereThisbefarre 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.38Thou 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.39She 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.40Then 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, tillPyramusit 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.
Dom Diego and Ginevra
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Dom Diego and Ginevra
InCatheloygne, o'repeerd byPyrenMountaines,(a Prouince seated in the East of Spaine,Famous for hunting sports & cleerest fountains)a young heroyck gallant did remaine;Hee, SigniorDom Diegohad 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.MaiestickIouegaue him a Princely grace,Apollowit, andVenusgaue 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 startsDiego, and with shrill-voyc'd horne.Tells hounds & huntsmen of a cleere-fac'd morne.Cloth'd all in Greene, (Syluanuslyuery)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 lacedWith Indian pearle, as thicke as could be placed.A glistring Cutlax pendent by his side,(he much esteem'd ytbeast-dismembring blade)And halfe-leg'd Buskins curiously ytidewith loopes of burnisht gold full finely made,Thus goesDiego, 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 runas fast as arrow from a Parthyan bow:In whose pursute (by wil of powreful Fates)Diegolost himfelfe, and all his mates.Left thus alone in midst of vnknowne place,he inuocates the fauourable aydeOfAriadne, who with smalest lace,freed Monster-killingTheseus, 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 faireDiego, 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 metas Knights, so Ladies, fittest for that chase:Mongst which, there came a Grace of heauēly faire,Her nameGyneura, 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 yewhite of blanched pearle surmountHer necke the Lillies ofLyguriaDid much exceed; Thus looked fayreGyneura.These DryadesDiegothen bespake,with sugred tearmes of mildest curtesie,And crau'd to know which way he best might takewith shortest cut, to such a Signiory,Whereat he nam'd himselfe; when presentlyThe Ladies knew him (as a Neyghbour by.)GyneurasMother (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 faireGyneurawere his eyes,And shee reciprocally on his replyes.These dumbe Embassadors, Loues chiefe combatantstell (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 wttongues, more wttheir eyes,But (oh) most with their harts, where true loue lies.Now were they come whereas the good old Ladymight 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 espiedthe intercourse of those bright Messengers,Who inwardly reioycing, as fast pliedhers on her daughter, fittest Harbengers,To bid her keepe the fairest and the bestPlace 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 hartDoe liue, (quoth she) he hath the greatest part.Diegowisht 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 wishtGyneura, 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-thoughtedMorpheusdyms 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 layDiegotossing in his bed,bound to the will of all commaunding beauty,Whom angryCupidnow 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 faireGyneurapasse the long-thought night,Shee raild against fellCupidscrueltie,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 QueenNere thought so long; (yet long it was) as thoseloue-scorcht enamored (so restles) now weenThis night to be; A night if spent in care,Seemes longer then a thousand pleasant are.Thus lay they sleeplesse, thoughtfull, euer thinkingon sluggish humor of expected Morne,They thought that Louers eyes were neuer winkingnor 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 inEurotasfloud,Gan resalute the world with bright approch,angry he seem'd, for all his face was bloud:Auroraeshast had made him looke so red,For loath he was to leaue faireThetisbed.Scarce were his horses put in readines,and he himselfe full mounted on his seate,VVhenDom Diegofull of heauines,abroade did walke, his night talke to repeateSome 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.Endimeonsblush her beauty did eclypse,His causd byCynthiaes, hersAdonislyps.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 dyewith greater pleasure heare his pardon read,Then didGyneuraheare his Oratorie,(of force sufficient to reuiue the dead)Shee needes must yield; for sure he had the Art,VVith amorous heate to fixeDianaeshart.These Louers (thus in this both-pleasing parly)were interrupted byGeneuraesMotherVVho 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 looktCalystoneat her great bellie,when chastIlythiaspi'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 travellattain'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,GreatCupidspower, 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)Gyneuragaue him welcome from her hart,The Sea-tost Lord ofIthicane're had,after his twentie yeares turmoile and smart,More ioyfull welcome by his constant wifeThen hadDiegofrom his loue, his lyfe.Two dayes he stay'd, whence he would ne're departbut 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 thatGyneurawould so soone beleeue.For sooner was hee not departed thencebut straight there comes a Riuall of his Loue,VVho vnder true fidellities pretencewrought wondrous hardDiegoto remoue,Nor could at first his oaths or vowes preuaile,To makeGyneuraesloue 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 remaineswithout 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 euerstrikes into womens eyes such dim-sight blindnes,And such obdurate hardnes in their harts,They see, nor knowe, not truest loues desarts.Gyneurathis 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;Diegohad 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;Diegolou'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 prouefor 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,ThisMomusbreath (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 ofThessalymadded withBacchusbrayne-distempring liquor)Runs here, and there, exclayming furiouslywith hideous, vncouth mind-affrighting terror.Swearing reuenge on falseDiegoeshead,VVhose lying lookes in her such madnes bred.VVherewith shee inuocates greatNemesis,and begs the power of her deitie,Shee tells her case, to Iustice-doingThemis,and shewes how shee is wronged mightily.Shee leaues no power vnsought for, or vnpraide,That vse to helpe distressed with their aide.VVrongedDiego(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 faireGyneurawould 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,Diegothen had broughthis 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 taintedwhose 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,SoNeptunesTowne (quoth shee) such lycense gaueto smooth-fac'dSynon(Ilionslost decay)SoSyrenssing 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 yemorneGyneuranow 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 stoodholding in eyther hand a sable dart,VVherewith he strikes true loue, & stainlesse truth,Condemning them vnto eternall ruth.Home goesDiegowith 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 poureHuge 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 herthat 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 againeall 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 goodas 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 nameperhaps 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 stonesTo 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 printin her hard hart, so cruell wasGyneura.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 hartsTo 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 toDom Diego,and sayes, his words cannot inchant her hart,Vlisses-like, shee will not heareCalypso,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 abouethe 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 blotconsisted 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 ofDiegoespainewho 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 otherhee 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 mightat length intenerate her flintfull hart,And metamorphize her conceaued spightinto true loue regardaunt of his smart;Hee seekes all meanes (poore Louer) how to gaineHis 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 postesDom Diegofraught 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 Cabinall tapistred with Natures mossie greene,VVrought in a frizled guise, as it had beenmade forNapæa, 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 bodiein 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)BeforeDiegotasted 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 (likeHydreashead) increasing,Hee wisht the ScithianAnthropophagiedid haunt these woods that liue by mans flesh eating;Or else the ThracianBessi, so renound,For cruell murdring, whom in woods they found.That so theGordyonknot of his paineindissoluble e'rewhiles he did lyue,Might be vntide when as his hart were slaine,when he (ô 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,herVenus-stayning face so wondrous faire,Hee then doth thinke to waile tis but his dutiesith caus'd by her that is without compaire,And in this moode vnto highIouehee 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,ô 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-lesseMynerua,and her to whom the fomie Sea was Mother,Still to vphold their giftes in myGyneura:let wit and beautie lyue vnited with her;With sweete mouth'dPythoI may not suspence,Great Goddesse; still increase her eloquence.Thou musicallApollogau'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 greatIoue,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 noLeontius, his Art,Griefe carueth deepest, if it come from th'hart.VVhen some stone would not impression takehee straight compares it to his Mistris hart,But stay, (quoth he) my working teares shall makethee 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 sheethat 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 tearsO man what ere thou be, thy sorrowes keepevnto thy selfe, quoth hee; ile heare no cares.Tell them that care not, tellGyneuraof 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 weedAnd 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 teareswhich 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 thenNimphæumhill,But now whē time affords me, means to proue thee,thy loue thenCaucaseis 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 Plantone branch intwines and growes within another,So growe my griefes; which makes my hart to pantwhen 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 beeneaccounted 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-louingZephire) 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 pittylesselike the Scycilian stone that more tis beateDoth 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 wouldDiegositbathing his siluer cheekes with trickling teares,VVhich (often running downe) at last found fitchannells to send them to their standing meares,VVho at his feete (before his feete there stoodA poole of teares) receau'd the smaller flood.Ne're had the world a truer louing hart,Abydoscease to speake of constant loue,Por sure (thou SygniorDom Diego) artthe 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 wcswallows good desartsshall 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 pooreDiegoin this casethat 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 restas 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 awayHis 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 hartThat 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 greatSosipolislooke vpon my state,Be of these nere-hard griefes compassionate.I feele my long-thought life begin to meltas 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 woethat 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, thenVenusgaueAdonis.Feare notGyneura, faireNarcissushap;thy necke, thy breast, thy hand is Lilly-white,They all are Lillies tane fromFloraeslap;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, forSolhim 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, yewouldst not harken erethy 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 receaueas I to craue; ô great inconstancie,O twas that fatall houre did so bereauemy 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 Treesor latest down-fall of some aged building,Doe tell thee of the North-windes boistrous furies,and how thatEoluslately 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 meto 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 nightputs 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 daypeepes 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 drideTherefore I must their fatall blowes abide.In these laments didDom Diegoliuelong time; till at the last by pourefull fate,A wandring Huntsman ignorance did driuevnto the place whence hee return'd but late;Who viewing well the print of humaine stepsDirectly followed them, and for ioy leaps.At last hee came vntoDiegoesCauein which he sawe a sauadge man (hee thought)Who much did looke like theDanubyanslaue,such deep-worn furrows in his face were wrought,Diegomuch abashed at this sightCame 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 anySuch gladnes, ioy, such mirth, such triumph cannot 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 thatDiegoshewes 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 writeBy 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 theeGyneura, 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 thyDiego, 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 firesof burning griefes, which neuer will haue end:Bids her to flye to him with wings of zeale,And thusDiegoespaines 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 reelelyke 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 hartrig and amend his trouble-beaten face,O calme thy hate, whose winds haue rais'd his smartsee 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.FromPhœbuslight, 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 pooreDiegoSun nor Moone nere sees.To this black place repaired euery morne,The fayreOreadespitty-moued gerles,Bringing the pooreDiegoso 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 ceaseOn 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,LeauingDiegoin 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 blindeVVith 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 faireGyneuraesbeauty,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 faireGyneura, 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 looktGyneura, 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 paceA 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.EternallIoue, rayne showers of vengeance on me,plague me for this blacke deed of wrongful hate,Be blind mine eyes, they shall not looke vpon theeDiego, 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 ofDiegoespaine: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 ytwhich they would faine accomplish.But that they came (as hauing a good guide)Vnto the place where theyDiegospide.SacredPymplæidesendip my quillwithin 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 cameAs 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 thusDyegosayd,what myGyneura? O my harts chiefe good,Ist possible that thou thy selfe should'st daigneIn 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 sweetDiego, 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,Diegonow 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.Gyneuranow 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.Diegonow 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 faireGyneura, how long wil't beere safron-robedHymendoe 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 toHymensrites full fitly tend,or once conduce to such theyr happines,All things prepar'd, these Louers now are chaynedIn 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 wcpure 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)Gyneuryzeat 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 allaydby absence, tyme, necessity or toyle.So, nowe adiew; the winds call my depart.Thy beauties excellence, my rudest quillShall 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.