Philos and Licia
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GEntlemen; hauing beene (with the ouerthrow giuen to my best opposed forces) violently taken with the ouerflowing delights of hart-rauishing Poesie, the common infection of easie youth, and commending manie idle houres to these papers, and these to the Presse, I commit both to your fauorable censures. In which, if there be any thing (yet I feare I am not to attend so high a blisfulnesse) which may yeeld you the least content, my fortune hath brought forth the intended end of my labours, and I desire no other happinesse.
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Nosooner had the Sun chas'd night away,And that the Worlds discouerer, bright-eyd day,Poasting in triumph through the enameld skie,Had to the people showne this victorie,But that poorePhilos(in himselfe forlorne)Hasted to tell his Loue that it was morne.The milke-white path that leadeth vntoIoue,Whereon the Gods continually doe moue,Compar'd with that, which leadeth to her bed,Was not so white, nor so enameled.A paire of milke-white staires, whiter than white,Was the next way vnto his chiefe delight:Vp those he mounted; and as by he paste,Vpon a wall were sundry stories plaste:Sweet weepingVenus, crying out amaineFor the dear boy that by the bore was slaine:Skie-rulingIouelamenting ore a Cow,That seemd to weepe with him the sweetestIo:And there the picture of proudPhaeton,Mounting the chariot of the burning Sun,Was portraied, by whichApollostood,Who seemd to check his hot sonnes youthful blood:One hand had holde, and one legge was aduanst,To climbe his longing seat; but yet it chanst,That warned by his father so, he staidA while, to heare whose teeres might well perswade;Which with such plenty answerd his desires,As though they striu'd to quench ensuing fires:Hanging so liuely on the painted wall,That standers by haue sought to make them fall.The chamber, where his hearts delight did lie,Was all behung with richest Tapistrie;Where Troies orethrow was wrought, & therwithallThe goddesses dissent about the ball.Bloud-quaffingHectorall in compleat steele,CopingAchillesin the Troian feeld,Redoubling so his sterne stroaks on his head,That greatAchillesleft the field, and fled;Which was so liuely by the Painter done,That one would sweare the very cloth did runne.TrecherousVlyssesbringing in that horse,Which proued a fatall coffin for Troies corse.False-heartedSynongroueling on the mire,Whose oily words prou'd fewell to Troies fire.Flint-brestedPyrrhuswith an iron maceMurdring the remnants of greatPriamsrace.VertuousÆneas, with the armes of Greece,Venturing forTroyasIasonfor his fleece.And vpward if you lookt, you might beholdThe roofe of it all wrought in burnisht gold:Whereon was figur'd heauen; and there anentThe Gods in state riding to Parliament.Gold-showringIouevpon a milke-white steedRode first in ranke; on whose imperiall headA triple crowne was plac't, at which beforeTwo matchlesse diamonds for worth he wore:On whose right handIdalian GanymedA massie scepter strongly carried:But on his left, swift-wingedMercurieA dreadfull thunderbolt (earths feare) did whurrie.NextIoue,Apollocame: him followedFameBaring a lawrell, on which sweetSydneysnameIn golden letters, plainly to be read,By the Nine Muses had beene charrectred:On whose each side Eternitie and PraiseEnroll'd mens deeds, and gaue them fame to raise.Then furiousMarscame next with sulphure eies,Flashing forth fire as lightning from the skies;Whose vncontrolled crest and battered shieldGreeke-woundingHectorandÆneasheld.Light-headedBacchuswith a cup of goldeBrimfull of wine, nextMarshis place did holde;The which quaft off, one reeling on beforeFilled againe, and still supplied more.Him followed sicknesse, by excesse, being lead,With faint weake hands holding his pained head.Thus was the roofe adorn'd: but for the bed,The which those sacred limmes encanaped,I could say much: yet poised with her selfe,That gorgeous worke did seeme but drossy pelfe.All-conquering Loue inspire my weaker Muse,And with thy iocund smiles daigne to infuseHeauen-prompted praises to my vntaught story,That I may write her worth, and tell thy glory.Vpon her backe she lay (ô heauenly blisse!);Smiling likeIoue, being couzend of a kisse;The enuious pillow, which did beare her head,Was with it selfe at warre, and mutined:For if the midst receiu'd her chaste impression,Then the two ends would swell at such a blessing;And if she chanst to turne her head aside,Gracing one end with natures only pride,The rest for enuy straight would swell so much,As it would leape asunder for a touch.Her Sun-out-shining eyes were now at set,Yet somewhat sparkling through their cabinet;Her scorne white forehead was made vp by nature,To be a patterne to succeeding creatureOf her admiring skill: her louely cheeke,To Rose, nor Lyllie, will I euer leeke,Whose wondrous beautie had that boy but prou'd,Who died for loue, and yet not any lou'd,Neuer had riuer beene adorned so,To burie more then all the world could shew.Her sweetest breath from out those sweeter lips,Much like coole winde which from the valleys skipsIn parching heat of Summer, stealeth forth,Wandring amongst her haire; her wel formd mouth:No art hath left vs such proportion,To modell out so true perfection.Her smoothe moist hands the sheets kept from his sight,Lest by comparing, they should staine their white.As thus she lay likeVenusin her pride,(Tempting sweetAdon, lowring by her side)Philosapprocht, who with this sight strooke dumbeCame stealing on to see, and being come,His greedie eye, which on the sudden meetsSo many various and delicious sweets,As rackt with pleasure (neuer hauing fill)Would faine looke off, and yet would looke on still.Thus do we surfet on our sudden ioyes,And ranck-fed pleasure thus it selfe destroyes:For when his eye doth light vpon her hand,He then protests, that that is whitenesse land;But when the whitenesse of her whiter browDoth steale his eye from thence, he sweareth nowHer brow is fellowlesse without all peere;When being snatcht off vnto her fairer haire,He vowes, the Sun, which makes trees burnisht gold,Is not so faire, nor glorious to behold:The viewing the strains which through those cheeks appeare,And that pure whitenesse which triumpheth there,Mixt with those azure Saphire passing vaines,Which are insert like siluer running streames,Watring those golden apples of the brests,Where heauens delight & earths contentment rests,His full-fed eye orecome with such excesse,Sweares and forsweares, denies and doth confesse:Then doth he touch her lips, Natures rich treasure,And musing thinks which is the greatest pleasureTo kisse or see; for to resolue which doubt,Againe he kisses, whence comes stealing outSo sweet a breath as doth confound his sence;For rarest obiects hurt with excellence:Then doth he seise her hand with softest straine,Whose moist rebound doth easily detaineA willing guest, who purposely could wishNoother food, but such a well-grac't dish.Whiles thus poorePhiloskisses, feeles and sees,Heauen-stainingLiciaopes her sparkling eyes,And askt the hopelesse Louer, if mornes eyeHad out-stript night.Philosmade answer, I.And thus the Louer did continuallie:For why, such lustre glided from her eie,Which darkt the Sun, whose glory all behold,So that she knew not day, till some man told.Which office she toPhiloshad assign'd,Because she had him alwayes most in mind:Which had he knowne, he would not so haue spentThe restlesse nights in drery languishment,Tumbling and tossing in his lothsome bed,To flie from griefe, yet that still followed.Then rising vp, and running here and there,As if he could outrun or lose his care;But being vp, and finding no reliefe,Lookt in his heart, and there he found out griefe.How cam'st thou hither (then amaine he cries)To kil my heart? Griefe answerd, Through his eyes.Mine eyes (quoth he) subornd to murder me?Well, for their treason they no more shall see.With that a floud of teeres gush out amaine;But griefe sends sighs to beat them backe againe:So that the hurt he meant to do his eies,Heart-murdring griefe resists, and it denies.Whereat amazd, as one bereft of sence,His eies fixt fast on her, as if from thenceHis soule had gone, he cri'd: ôh, let this moue,Loue me for pitie, or pitie me for loue.Though I am blacke, yet do me not despise,Loue looks as sweet in blacke as faire mens eies.The world may yeeld one fairer to your view;Not all the world fairer in loue to you.A iewell dropt in mire to sight ilfauoured,Now, as before, in worth is valued;An orient pearle hung in an Indians eare,Receiues no blemish, but doth shew more faire;One Diamond, compared with another,Darks his bright lustre, & their worth doth smother;Where poised with a thing of light esteeme,Their worth is knowen, and their great beauty seene.Set white to white, and who commendeth either?Set white to blacke, and then the white's the fairer.The glorious Sunne, when in his glittring pride,Scowring the heauens, in progresse he doth ride,Who runnes to see? or who his sight doth lacke?But if he chance to shute himselfe in blacke,Then the earths people couet him to see,As if he were some wondrous prodegie.The worlds perfection, at the highest rated,Was of a blacke confused thing created.The sight, wherewith such wonders we behold,The ground of it all darke, and blacke the mold.Since then by blacke, perfection most is knowne,Loue, if not for my sake, yet for your owne.Mole gracingVenusneuer shewed so faire,When asVulcanthe black-fac'd god was there,As thou by me: the people, as we pace,By my defects shall wonder at thy grace;And seeing me so swarthie and so tawnie,Shall haue more cause for to admire thy beautie:And all shall thinke (by whom our charriots go)That tis thy beautie which hath tann'd me so.Thy dangling tresses, if compar'd with mine,Glitter like heauen with lustre from thine eine:And those immortall eies, which like the Sunne,The lookers on with his bright rayes doth burne,If mine be nie, will seeme to shine more cleere,Than glitteringVenusin her Hemisphere.So thy rich worth, compared with my pelfe,Will in excelling others match thy selfe:Euen as Merchant that hath out at seaHis wealth, the hope of his posteritie,And hauing heard by flying newes, at home,That all is lost by some tempestuous storme;Comming to after-knowledge in the bay,It is arriu'd, and nothing cast away,But with redoubled wealth is backe returnd,For whose supposed losse he oft hath mournd;Is scarse himselfe, with ioy of what he heares,And yet retaines some of his former fearesIt should proue false, recalling to his mindThe certaine tokens which some had assign'dOf his more certaine wracke: So fareth she,Possest with ioy (euen to the highest degree)Of what she heard; and yet in this extreame,Was halfe affrayd she was but in a dreame:For well she knew, that some nights did presentAs pleasing visions to her owne content;Yet in the morne, when golden sleepe had left her,Of her supposed ioyes it had bereft her.With this conceit, her iuory hand put forth,Drawes wide the curtaines which eclips'd her worth,And then she surely thinks she sees his face,(For none but his could glory of such grace)The same maiesticke courage which was wontTo place it selfe vpon his gracefull front;That speaking cheeke, and that same sparkling eie;That powrfull arme, and that same lustie thie;With all those parts, so well compact together,That Nature erd in all for him, or ratherSome higher power concurr'd to beautifieSo sweet a patterne of humanitie:For neuer Nature (since the world began)Could shew so true a perfect well shap't man.While these conceits busi'd her wit-fraught braine,PoorePhilos, who imagines through disdaineShe will not speake, in these words doth beseech,She will transforme her breath into her speech:Natures chiefe wonder, and the worlds bright eie,Which shrowdsElysiumin humanitie,Ideaof all blisse, ôh let me heareThose well tun'd accents which thy lips do beare:Pronounce my life or death: if death it be,Thrise happy death, the which proceeds from thee.O let those corall lips inricht with blisses,A while forbeare such loue-steept amourous kisses,And part themselues, to story to mine earesThe sad misfortune which my poore heart feares.If all my loue must be repayd with hate,And I ordaind to be vnfortunate;If my poore heart being consecrate to thee,(Where thy sweet image sits in maiestie)Must turne to ruine; and my teere-spent eiesWholly possest with gripple auarice,Hourding the riches of the blessed sightWhich they haue stolne from thee, must shade in nightTheir deerest chrystals of vnualued price,Since they haue glassd themselues within thine eies:Yet let me craue one happy-making boone,Though farre too worthy for so meane a groome,That thine owne voice may swanlike (ere I die)Relate the storie of my miserie.PooreLiciafain would speake, & faine would tell himHe needs not doubt, for she well doth loue him;Yet fearing he (as Chapmen vse to doo)Would hold aloofe, if Sellers gin to woo,Her tongue entreats of her vnwilling heart,She may a while forbeare, and not impartHer loue-sicke passions to his couetous minde,Lest he disdainfull proue, and so vnkinde.O wonder worker (Loue) how thou doest forceOur selues against our selues! and by that courseSeem'st to erect great Trophies in our brests,By which thou tak'st away our easefull rests,Nurse to thy passions, making seeming-hateFewell to loue, and iealousie the bateTo catch proud hearts, fearefull suspitionBeing forerunner to thy passion!Who most doth loue, must seeme most to neglect it,For he that shews most loue, is least respected.What vertue is inioyd, thats not esteemd;But what meane good we want, thats highly deemd:Which is the cause that many men do rateTheir owne wiues vertues at a meane estate;Their matchlesse beautie and vnualued worthSeemes nothing in their eyes, nor bringeth forthEffects of loue, when to a meaner farre,Whose birth nor beautie comparable are;With that he's cloid, his passions will admireThe very place whereon her footsteps were.The life of sweets is kild without varietie,One beautie still enioyd, breeds loathd satietie;And kindnesse, whose command lies in our power,We seldome relish; but if labourd for,Our very soule is rauisht with delight,It is so pleasing to our appetite.Vrg'd by these reasons, she would faine concealeThe hid affection which her heart did feele;And yet compassion of her louers state(Whose outward habit shewd his inward fate)Perswade with her to lend him some by-taste,Lest through his loues griefe she his loues life waste.Thrise happy daies (quoth she) and too soone gone,When as the deed was coupled with the tongue,And no deceitfull flattry nor guileHung on the Louers teere-commixed stile;When now-scornd vertue was the golden end,By which all actions were performd and scand;And nothing glorious held, but what was freeFrom vassall guilt and staind impietie.In those gold-times poore maidens might relie(Heauens sweetest treasure, dearer chastitie)Vpon mens words: but since that age is fled,And that the staining of a lawfull bedIs youths best grace, and all his oaths and passionMust still be taken on him as a fashion,To busie idle heads: ôh, who can blameIf maids grow chary, since slie men want shame!Say I should loue, and yet I know not whyI should make any such supposes, I;Not that I am of such relentlesse temper,Whose heart nor vowes, nor sighs, nor teeres can enter;Nor am I only she, who thinks it goodTo sprinckle Loues rites with their Louers blood.Poore women neuer yet in loue offended,But that too quicke to loue they condescended:Their fault is pitie, which beleeues too sooneMens heart void tongue-delighted passion.Could women learne but that imperiousnesse,By which men vse to stint our happinesse,When they haue purchac'd vs for to be theirsBy customary sighs and forced teeres,To giue vs bits of kindnesse lest we faint,But no abundance; so we euer want,And still are begging, which too well they knowEndeares affection, and doth make it grow.Had we these sleights, how happy were we then,That we might glory ouer loue-sicke men!But arts we know not, nor haue any skillTo faine a sower looke to a pleasing will;Nor couch our secretst loue in shew of hate:But if we like, must be compassionate.Say that thy teere-discoloured cheeke should moueRelenting pitie and that long liu'd loue.If ere thy faith should alter, and becomeStranger to that which now it oft hath sworne,How were I wrapt in woe! No time to beWould euer end my datelesse miserie.Ay me (quothPhilos) what man can despiseSuch amourous looks, sweet tongues, & most sweet eies?Or who is glutted with the sight of heauen,Where still the more we looke, the more is seene?To the world of beauties Nature lent,And in each beautie worlds of loues content,Wherein delight and state moues circuler,Pleasure being captaine to thy Hemisphere.Say that the eie, wandring through white and red,Long hauing viewd Loues tower, thy wel built head,Passing those iuory walks where gentlest aireFannes the sweet tresses of thy scorn-gold haire,Admiring oft those redder strawberries,Ript by the Sun-shine of thy loue-blest eyes,Should in this maze of pleasure, being led,Grow weary, with much time satisfied:Then might the eare be rapt with melodieSurpassing farre the seuen-spheard harmonieDeliuerd from thy pearle-enuirond tongue,Each word being sweeter then a well tun'd song.But for the touch, all ages that are past,And times to come, would steale away, and wasteEuen like a minute; and no time sufficeTo melt the Louer in such rarities:Each day would adde to other such excesseOf Nectar-flowing sweets, that HappinesseWould be too meane a word for to dilateThe enuied blisse of his vnequall state.No more (quothLicia) thou enough hast saydFo to deceiue a sillie witted maid:But to the God of Loue I will reueale,How that thou keepst a tongue maids harts to steale,Whose fatall arrow with the golden head,Which (as some write) makes all enamoured,May be compared well (without offence)Vnto thy sweet tongue guilt with eloquence,Whose powrfull accents, so constraining loue,Had they beene knowen to Thunder-dartingIoue,He neuer needed to haue vs'd such shapesFor to commit his slie stolne headdy rapes:Or toApollo, when his harebraind sonne,The proud aspiring lucklessePhaeton,Would guide the lampe of heauen he then had staid,And to his Sires graue counsels had obaid:Beast-mouingOrpheus, and stones void of sence,Ore which his musicke had preheminence,Did not inchant so by his power diuine,As doth that Adamantine tongue of thine.Iudge me not light, that I so soone do yeeldTo part from that which I so deerely held;For where a likely beautie doth request,Euen at the first, Loue ransacketh the brest:And though maids seem coy, yet the heart is strookeAt the first glancing of an amourous looke:For from the Louer to the loued eiePasseth the visuall beames, which gendred nieVnto the heart, they thither hie amaine,And there her bloud do secretly inflameWith strange desires, faint hopes, and longing feares,Vnheard of wishes, thoughts begetting teares,That ere she is aware she's farre in loue,Yet knowes no cause that should affection moue.I could be froward, techie, sullen, mute,And with loue-killing looks repell thy sute;Contemne the speaking letters which thou sends;Command thine absence, and reiect thy friends;Neglect thy presents, and thy vowes despise;And laughing at thy teeres, force teeres arise;Making thee spend a deale of precious timeTo get that heart which at the first was thine.More I could say. But he content with this,Closd vp the sentence with a sugred kisse.She seemd displeasd, till kissing her againe,Achilleslike, he tooke away her paine:And then in close coucht termes would faine desireLoues highest blisse, than which there is no higher:But yet the bashfull boy knew not what art,What termes to vse, or how for to impartHis secret meaning; for he blusht for shameTo thinke what he should aske; & then would faineHaue made his bolder hand supply the roomeOf his tongues office, which was mute and dumbe;The which he layes vpon her siluer brest,Where littleCupidslumbring takes his rest;Betweene the which an amourous streame doth run,That leads the way vntoElysium.I wonder much (quoth he) whenIouedid makeA treble night for faireAlcmenaessake,She nere perceiued that the night was long,Since all eyes wait vpon the rising sunne:But sure some melting pleasure did detaineHer willing senses, and did so enchaineHer captiue minde, that time vnthought of fled,Long nights in sweets being swiftly buried.Might I such dalliance craue, as greatIouedidOf faireAlcmena; or when he lay hidIn the swannes shape; how happy were I then,And how farre blest aboue all other men!For this, the gods themselues haue often woed,Courted, adored, kneeld vnto and sued,Left heauen, their glory, pompe and maiestie,And put aside their glittring deitie,To get this iewell, which yeelds true content.When that seuerer state perhaps gan ornamentOf inward woe, let mortals be excus'd,When deities such amourous tricks haue vs'd.O wit abusing boy (sweetLiciacried;)The gods for that were neuer deified:Though they did vse it, and obserue it well,When ere they did it (as all Poets tell)They from their godheads long before were turnd,And to some monstrous beast they were transformd,And in that shape did act lasciuiousnesse:For lust transformes vs beasts, and no whit lesseDo we than they, but yet deserue more blame,We hauing reason, whose reproofe should tameRebell-affection, and not to let it grow,To worke his owne vntimely ouerthrow.Insatiate lust as Spring-frosts nips the growthOf Natures fairest blossomes, crops the worthOf her best hopes, nay's foe vnto delight,Dulling the keene edge of our appetite,Whose rancke desire, much like the Ocean,Whose swelling ridges no bound can containe,Oreflowes whole sands, and in her emptie wombeBuries them all; Euen so doth lust intombeAll disrancke thoughts, sin-breeding interuiewes,Disordred passions, all dishonest shewesOf what may fatten vice; like thriftlesse heiresLusts champians are, which kill their dearest SiresFor their possessions, to giue both life and growthTo helborne riot. So lasciuious youth,Courting our beauties, cares not to polluteOur soules for that, though left heauens substituteTo bridle passion. Gentle boy refraine,And quench vnlawfull heat tillHymensflameWith sacred fire hath warmd vs, and her ritesFully performd do warrant those delites.By this the Soueraigne of heauens flaming beameHad got the full height of the starrie heauen,And she requests the boy, that for a whileHe will depart the roome, she may beguileThe clothes of her blest presence. He obaid,And in a chamber next to hers he staid.He being gone, the sheets away she flung,Which loth to let her go, about her clung;And as she stroue to get out from the sheet,The vpper clothes imprisond both her feet;Yet out she whips, and them away she throwes,Couering her beauties with the ioyfull clothes:Her purple veluet gowne with gold-starres mixt,And euery starre with spangles set betwixtOf purest siluer, with a twist of gold,Would much amaze the gazers to behold.This starrie garment did she first put on,Which tooke light from her face as from the Sun.Her mantle was of richest taffatie,WhereIupiterwas seruingDanae,So liuely wrought byVestaeschastest Nun,As much delighted the sweet lookers on.Her stomacher was all with diamonds set,Ore which a fall was plac'd with pearles with net,And at each pearle (which seemd to darke the skie)Hung glistring Rubies and rich Porpherie.A bracelet all of pearle her hands did grace;For to her hands all orients are but base.A scarfe of maiden-blush did seeme to hide her,WhereinDianawhenActeonspide her,Herselfe had wrought, looking with such disdaine,As witnest well his after-following paine;One end whereof had yongLeandersshape,When through the swelling main (whose waues did gape)He sought his chastestHero, beating from himThe waues, which murmuring stroue for to com nere him:And at the other, matchlesseHerostoodViewingLeandertossed by the flood,And how the churlish billowes beat that headOn which herselfe was so enamoured;Praying toNeptune, not to be so cruell,But to deliuer vp her dearest iewell:To figure to the world whose shining eiesShe set two diamonds of highest prise.Vpon her head she ware a vaile of lawne,Eclipsing halfe her eyes, through which they shoneAs doth the bright Sun, being shadowedBy pale thin clouds, through which white streaks are spred.PoorePhiloswondred why she staid so long,And oft lookt out and mus'd she did not come.What need she decke her selfe with art (quoth he)Or hide those beauties with her brauerie,Which addeth glory to the meanst attire?What if she went in her loose flagging haire,Spread at his full length, that the Easterne windeMight tie loue-knots forCupidto vntwinde,With some trasparent garment ore her skin,Through which her naked glory might be seene:Then asDianaa hunting might she goe;But she nor needs her arrowes nor a bow:For all the beasts that should but see her passe,With wōdring straight would leaue the perled grasseAnd feed their eyes, while with her snowy handShe take what beasts she please; nor more commandNeeds she to keepe them: for her iuory palmeCommandeth more than any iron chaine.But now she's come, at whose thrise radiant lightAs all amazd he shunnes her glorious sight,Like those which long in darke, chance to espieA candles glimmering, if it come but nie,Can not endure that weake and feeble shine,But straightway shut their dim and dazled eine.No maruell then, though in great extasieHis spirits are, at glittring maiestie.She feares the worst, and to her Louer skips,Claps his plumpe cheeks, and beats his corall lips,And seeing him fall breathlesse to the earth,She seeks with kisses to inspire his breath.At last his eye-lids he vp heaues againe,And feeling her sweet kisses, gins to faine;Shuts his bright eyes, and stops his rosie breath,And for her kisses counterfeits his death.With that pooreLiciaboth her hands vpholds,And those let fall, her wofull armes enfolds,With cast vp eyes in labour with her teares,Which ioy did weep for woe to leaue those sphearesWhich downe her face made paths vnto her necke,And setling there shewd like a carquenet;Anon she teares her haire, away it flings,Which twining on her fingers shewd like rings;Then she assayes to speake, but sighs and tearesEats vp her words and multiplies her feares.Why wert thou borne (quoth she) to die so soone,And leaue the world poore of perfection;Or why did high heauen frame thee such a creature,So soone to perish: ô selfe-hurting Nature,Why didst thou suffer death to steale him hence,Who was thy glory and thy excellence.What are the Roses red, now he is gone,But like the broke sparks of a diamond,Whose scattred pieces shadow to the eyeWhat the whole was, and adde to miserie?Such this faire casket of a fairer iem,Whose beautie matchlesse now, what was it thenWhen that his precious breath gaue life and sentTo those dead flowers whose feruor now is spent?O starueling Death, thou ruiner of Kings,Thou foe to youth and beautie-sealed things,Thou friend to none but sepulchers and graues,High reared monuments, lasting Epitaphs,Poore Clearks & Sextons, and some thriftlesse heires,Depriued Priests, and a few Courtiers,Who hauing liuings in reuersion,Do dayly pray for quicke possession;Who had offended thee, that blinde with rageThou strookst at him, for whom succeeding ageWill curse thy bones? Physitians be thy baine,And chase thee hence to lowest hell againe.He hearing this, from pleasing death reuiues,And drunke those teeres from her immortall eies,Which drop by drop sought other to displace,That each might kisse that sweet and daintie face.Nor doth the Soueraigne of heauens golden fires,After a storme so answer mens desires,When with a smiling countenance he orelooksThe flowrie fields and siluer streaming brooks,AsLiciain his life was comforted,Whom new before she thought for to be dead:She locks her fingers in his crisped haire,And pulles it out at length, which leauing there,The haire bands backe at it for ioy had leapt,To be a prisoner to hand so white:And then she stroaks his alabaster skin,And chucks the boy on his immortall chin,Glassing herselfe within his matchlesse eyes,Where littleCupidsconquering forces lies.Faire Deere (quoth he) to night now wil I leaue you,But in your charge my heart I will bequeath you;Securely sleepe, lest in your troubled brestIf you chance sigh, you keepe my heart from rest;Which I protest hath many a tedious nightCounted times minutes for your absent sight:What for the nuptials will seeme requisit,That to your charge (faire creature) I commit,Which ere the bright Sun with his burning beameHath twice more coold his tresses in the maine,Shall be performd. This sayd, away he's gone.Farewell (quoth she:) and at that word a groaneWaited with sighs and teeres, which to preuent,For feare his sweet heart she should discontent,Vnto her needle in all haste she goes,For to beguile her passions and her woes.She first begins a smocke, of greater costThanHelenwore that night when as she lostHer husbands fame and honour, and therebyHad almost kept our now lost dignitie:ForParisfirst, when as he came to bed,On that rich smocke was so enamoured,And so attentiuely beheld the same,That he forgot almost for what he came:For on the coller and the seame beforeWas big-bon'dHerculesand theMinetaure,Both wrought so liuely, that the bloud which cameFrom that deformed beast, did seeme to staineHer smocke below; which running here and thereWorkt in red silke, did new and fresh appeare;Which made yongParisdoubt, and thinke indeedShe was not well, and askt and she did bleed;And would needs see: but wide the curtains drawn,There was some iewell sparkled through the lawn,Which pleasd him so, that he had quite forgotThe curious working of the rich wrought smocke.But loue-blestLiciain her smocke delightsTo worke of pleasing tales and marriage rites,Of louers sweet stolne sports, and of the rapesOf gods immortall, and of maidens scapes:There might you seeMarsconqueringVenusshrowd,Sea-torneÆneasin a foggie cloudMaking for Carthage; entring all vnseeneTo the rich temple where the Tyrian Queene(Flashing forth beautie from her star-like eies)Sate in her throne to heare the Troians cries.Beneath this same she wrought a boistrous storme,Whereas the mercy-wanting winds had torneThe tops of loftie trees, and rent the rootsOf stately Cedars and of aged oakes:The horrid thunder with his dreadfull clapsMade yawn the mouth of heauen, from whose great gapsThe fearefull lightning flasht: and then againeIouesqueesd the clouds, & powrd down snow & rain.In this same storme she wrought the Tyrian QueeneAnd greatÆneas, who that day had beeneHunting the fallow deere, and thither camexTo shrowd themselues from tempest and raine.Into a bushie caue hard by they got,Which thicke set trees did couer ore the top;In which the Carthage QueeneÆneasled,Who there deceiu'd her of her maidenhead.A scarfe besides she made of cunning frame,WhereasAlcidesclub and armour throwne,His lion skin put off, in maids attireHe grad the wheele atOmphalesdesire.And all this night she banisht sleepe by worke,Who in her chamber priuily did lurke,Tempting her eye-lids to conspire with him,Who often times would winke and ope again:But now brightPhœbusin his burning carVisits each mortall eye and dimmes each star,The nights sole watch-man, when she casts asideHer curious worke, and doth in haste prouide:For the faire fountaine which not far off stands,Whose purling noise vpon the golden sandsInuites each weary wandring passengerTo see and taste those streames which are so cleare.The louing banks like armes seeme to embrace it,Vpon the which there grew (the more to grace it)All sorts of coloured flowers, which seemd to lookeAnd glasse themselues within that siluer brooke.Plentie of grasse did euery where appeare,Nurst by the moisture of the running riuer,Which euer flourishing still a beautious greene,Shewd like the palace of the Summers Queene:For neither frost nor cold did nip those flowers,Nor Sunburnt Autumne parch those leafie bowers:And as she goes to bathe, the tender grasseTwineth about her, loth to let her passe:Here loue-strucke brambles plucke her by the gown,There roses kisse her as she walks along.When being come vnto the riuer side,Looking about, for feare she should be spide,She stript her naked, standing on the brinke,When the deere water, who ten yeeres did thinkeTill she was in, conspired with the banke,That downe it fell, and all vnwares she sankeVp to the brests; then it inclos'd her round,Kisses each part, and from the purling groundThe vnder-streames made haste to come and viewThose beauties which no earth could euer shew.The slimy fishes with their watry finnesStand gazing on her, and close by her swimmes,And as she mou'd they mou'd, she needs no bait,For as whenOrpheusplaid, so do they wait.And purpleTitan, whom some fogs did shrowd,Perforce brake forth from his imprisond cloudTo gaze vpon her, whose reflecting beamesWhen hot she felt, she leaues the watry streames;Which they perceiuing, lessened her strength,To make her stay; yet out she got at length:For which the waters are at enmitieWith the Sunnes bright and glorious maiestie,And euery morning, ereApollorise,They send blacke vapours vp to his darke eies,And maske his beautie, that he be not seeneTo hinder them of such a blessed blessing.Now vp she gets, and homeward fast she goes,And by the way is musing of the ioyesTo morrowes day should yeeld, and wisht it come;But her swift wishes ouergoe the Sunne,Which to her thinking, like a tired manHeauily loaden, vp a hill doth come.Ay me (quoth she) hadThetis Daphnesgrace,Then wouldst thou ierke thy horses, and apaceScowre through the azurd skie: but for she's old,Wanting white snowy armes for to enfoldThy golden body, therefore thou doest moue(As though new parted from some amorous loue)Not like a man trudging with more than haste,That he might clip his louers melting waste.Were I the ruler of that fierie teame,Bloud would I fetch, and force them leape amaineInto the sea, and ouerspread the skieWith pitchie clouds, their darkesome liuerie.Yet home she hies in hope to finde the boyWhich soone would turne those sorrowes into ioy:But he was absent; for much time he spentTo make his horse fit for the Turnament,Which with his curtelax and drery lanceHe meant to holde her beautie to aduance:When missing him, she knew not how to spendThe weary day, nor bring it to end;But calls her maid to beare her companie,And willed her to tell some historieWhich she had read or heard, to mocke the time;Who with a sober smile did thus beginne:In Crete there dwelt a boy of so good grace,So wondrous beautie, such a louely face,An eye so liuely, such a cherrie lip,So white a belly and so strait a hip,So well shapt, faire, in euery part and lim,That Nature was in loue with making him.This boy would oft resort vnto the Lawnes,To rouse the Satyres and the nimble fawnes,That he might chase them; but the fearefull deereLoue-taken by his presence, would not stirre:So he was faine (when he would haue some play)Himselfe to run, and then they scud awayAnd follow him, and in the place he standsCome lightly tripping for to licke his hands:And if the lion chanst for to espie him,He would away, looke back, but not come nie him,Lest he should feare him, and complaine of Nature,That she had made him such a horrid creature,And wish himselfe to be the gentle hare,The timorous sheepe, or any beast that were,So he might gaze on him, and not beasts king,To be depriu'd of so endeerd a blessing.And many times the wood nymph in a ringWould girt the boy about, and being hemd in,Ere he get out, a kisse to each must giue,Or being so inchaind, so must he liue.As thus the boy did often times resortVnto the woods to finde some friendly sport,One day amongst the rest he chanst to spieA virgin huntresse comming that way by,With light thin garments tuckt vp to the knees,Buskins about her legs, through which he seesA skin so white, that neuer did his eieBeholde so chaste, so pure, so sweet a die:Her vpper bodies when he did beholde,They seemd all glistring to be made of gold,But he perceiued, being somewhat nere,It was the beautie of her dangling haire,Which from her head hung downe vnto her waste,And such a bright and orient colour cast.About her necke she ware a precious stone,A high pris'd, matchlesse, sparkling diamond,But poising it with her transpiercing eye,Shewd like a candle when the Sun is by.The louely boy was taken with the hooke,The more he gazd, the more still was he strooke;A thousand amourous glances he doth throwe,And those recoild, seconds a thousands moe.At last the boy being danted by her feature,Makes his speech prologue to so admir'd a creature:Celestiall goddesse, sprung from heauenly race,Iouessweetest offpring, shew me but what placeThou doest inhabit, where thy Temple stands,That I may offer with vnspotted handsOn thy deere Altar; and vpon thy praiseSing glorious hymnes and sweet tun'd roundelays;But ô most happy if I were thy Priest,To celebrate thy vigils and thy feast.If it bePaphosand thou loues sweet Queene,Rose cheektAdoniswould that I had beene;Or if nights gouernesse, the pale-fac'd Moone,For thy sake would I wereEndymion:But if no goddesse, yet of heauenly birth,And not disdainst poore men that liue on earth,If thou hast any Loue, would I were he,Or if thou wantst one, fix thy loue on me.With that she blusht, and smiling lookt vpon him;But here she left: forPhiloscomming in,Brake off her tale, and then they all deuiseFor state and show, how they may solemniseTheir nuptials: each minute seemes a day,Till the slow houres had stolne the night away:But morne being come, theres none can tell the blisThat they conceiu'd, without the like were his.The golden Sun did cherish vp the day,And chas'd the foggie mists and slime away,And gentleZephyrewith perfumed breathStealing the sweets from off the flowry earth,Doth mildly breathe among the enamord trees,Kissing their leafie locks, which like still seasWaue vp and downe: and on the sprigs there stoodThe feathred Quiristers of the shadowy wood,Warbling forth layes of piercing melodie,Measuring the dances of the wind-wau'd tree.Swift-wingedMercuriehearing the reportOf these same nuptials, trudg'd vnto the Court,And there vnto the bench of DeitiesVnfolds this newes, who altogether rise,And on the battlements of the azure skieThey seat themselues to see these two passe by.Afore him went a troupe of gallant youth,Of the best feature and of perfect growth;He followed in a cloake of cloth of gold,Larded with pearles, with diamonds enrold;His vpper vestment was cut out in starres,(Such wore greatMarswhen as he left the warres,And courtedVenus) vnder which was drawneCloth all of tyssue couered ore with lawne.Next came the Bride, like to the Queene of light,Drawne by her dragons to adorne the night:When she is richly dect and all things on,Going to court her sweetEndymion,Attended by a shining companieOf louely damsels, who together hieVnto the Temple, where the sacred PriestIn all his hallowed vestments being drest,With each consent, ioyning the louers hands,Knit them together inHymenssacred bands.
Pyramus and Thisbe