It was of a young maid which sat pulling out a thorn out of a lamb’s foot, with her look so attentive upon it, as if that little foot could have been the circle of her thoughts; her apparel so poor, as it had nothing but the inside to adorn it; a sheep-hook lying by her with a bottle upon it. But with all that poverty, beauty played the prince and commanded as many hearts as the greatest queen there did. Her beauty and her estate made her quickly to be known to be the fair shepherdess Urania, whom a richknight called Lacemon, far in love with her, had unluckily defended.
The last of all in place, because last in the time of her being captive, was Zelmane, daughter to the King Plexirtus, who at the first sight seemed to have some resembling of Philoclea, but with more marking, comparing it to the present Philoclea, who indeed had no paragon but her sister, they might see it was but such a likeness as an unperfect glass doth give, answerable enough in some features and colours, but erring in others. But Zelmane sighing, turning to Basilius, “Alas! Sir,” said she, “here be some pictures which might better become the tombs of their mistresses than the triumph of Artesia.” “It is true sweetest lady,” said Basilius, “some of them be dead, and some other captive; but that hath happened so late, as it may be the knights that defended their beauty knew not so much: without we will say, as in some other hearts I know it would fall out, that death itself could not blot out the image which love hath engraven in them. But divers besides those,” said Basilius, “hath Phalantus, won, but he leaves the rest, carrying only such who either for greatness of estate, or of beauty, may justly glorify the glory of Artesia’s triumph.”
Thus talked Basilius with Zelmane, glad to make any matter subject to speak of with his mistress, while Phalantus, in this pompous manner, brought Artesia with her gentlewoman into one tent, by which he had another, where they both waited who would first strike upon the shield, while Basilius the judge appointed sticklers and trumpets, to whom the other should obey. But none that day appeared, nor the next, till already it had consumed half his allowance of light; but then there came in a knight, protesting himself as contrary to him in mind, as he was in apparel. For Phalantus was all in white, having in his bases and caparison embroidered a waving water, at each side whereof he had nettings cast over, in which were divers fishes naturally made, and so prettily that as the horse stirred, the fishes seemed to strive and leap in the net.
But the other knight, by name Nestor, by birth an Arcadian, and in affection vowed to the fair shepherdess, was all in black, with fire burning both upon his armour and horse. His impresa in his shield was a fire made of juniper, with this word, “More easy and more sweet.” But this hot knight was cooled with a fall, which at the third course he received of Phalantus, leaving his picture to keep company with the other of the same stamp; he going away remedilessly chafing at his rebuke. The next was Polycetes, greatly esteemed in Arcadia for deeds he had done in arms, and much spoken of for the honourable love he had long borne to Gynecia, which Basilius himself was content not only tosuffer, but to be delighted with, he carried it in so honourable and open plainness, setting to his love no other mark than to do her faithful service. But neither her fair picture, nor his fair running, could warrant him from overthrow, and her from becoming as then the last of Artesia’s victories, a thing Gynecia’s virtues would little have reckoned at another time, nor then, if Zelmane had not seen it. But her champion went away as much discomforted, as discomfited. Then Telamon for Polixena, and Eurileon for Elpine, and Leon for Zoana, all brave knights, all fair ladies, with their going down, lifted up the balance of his praise for activity, and hers for fairness.
Upon whose loss, as the beholders were talking, there comes into the place where they ran, a shepherd stripling (for his height made him more than a boy, and his face would not allow him a man) brown of complexion, whether by nature or by the sun’s familiarity, but very lovely withal, for the rest so perfect proportioned that nature showed she doth not like men who slubber up matters of mean account. And well might his proportion be judged, for he had nothing upon him but a pair of slops, and upon his body a goat skin which he cast over his shoulder, doing all things with so pretty a grace that it seemed ignorance could not make him do amiss, because he had a heart to do well; holding in his right hand a long staff, and so coming with a look full of amiable fierceness, as in whom choler could not take away the sweetness, he came towards the king, and making a reverence (which in him was comely, because it was kindly). “My liege lord,” said he, “I pray you hear a few words, for my heart will break if I say not my mind to you: I see here the picture of Urania, which I cannot tell how nor why these men when they fall down, they say is not so fair as yonder gay woman. But pray God I may never see my old mother alive, if I think she be any more matched to Urania, than a goat is to a fine lamb; or than the dog that keeps our flock at home, is like your white greyhound that pulled down the stag last day.
“And therefore I pray you let me be dressed as they be, and my heart gives me I shall tumble him on the earth: for indeed he might as well say that a cowslip is as white as a lily: or else I care not, let him come with his great staff, and I with this in my hand, and you shall see what I can do to him.” Basilius saw it was the fine shepherd Lalus, whom once he had afore him in pastoral sports, and had greatly delighted in his wit full of pretty simplicity, and therefore laughing at his earnestness, he bade him be content, since he saw the pictures of so great queens were fain to follow their champions’ fortune. But Lalus, even weeping ripe, went among the rest, longing to see somebody that would revenge Urania’swrong; and praying heartily for everybody that ran against Phalantus, then beginning to feel poverty that he could not set himself to that trial. But by and by, even when the sun, like a noble heart, began to show his greatest countenance in his lowest estate, there came in a knight, called Phebilus, a gentleman of that country, for whom hateful fortune had borrowed the dart of love, to make him miserable by the sight of Philoclea. For he had even from her infancy loved her, and was stricken by her before she was able to know what quiver of arrows her eyes carried; but he loved and despaired, and the more he despaired, the more he loved. He saw his own worthiness, and thereby made her excellency have more terrible aspect upon him: he was so secret therein, as not daring to be open, that to no creature he ever spoke of it, but his heart made such silent complaints within itself that, while all his senses were attentive thereto, cunning judges might perceive his mind, so that he was known to love, though he denied, or rather was the better known, because he denied it. His armour and his attire was for a sea colour; his impresa, the fish called Sepia, which being in the net, casts a black ink about itself, that in the darkness thereof it may escape: his word was, “Not so.” Philoclea’s picture with almost an idolatrous magnificence was borne in by him. But straight jealousy was a harbinger for disdain in Zelmane’s heart, when she saw any but herself should be avowed a champion for Philoclea, insomuch that she wished his shame, till she saw him shamed. For at the second course he was stricken quite from out of the saddle, so full of grief and rage withal that he would fain with the sword have revenged it, but that being contrary to the order set down, Basilius would not suffer: so that wishing himself in the bottom of the earth, he went his way, leaving Zelmane no less angry with his loss than she would have been with his victory. For if she though before a rival’s praise would have angered her, her lady’s disgrace did make her much more forget what she then thought, while that passion reigned so much the more as she saw a pretty blush in Philoclea’s cheeks betray a modest discontentment. But the night commanded truce for those sports, and Phalantus, though entreated, would not leave Artesia, who in no case would come into the house, having, as it were, sucked of Cecropia’s breath a mortal mislike against Basilius.
But the night, measured by the short ell of sleep, was soon passed over, and the next morning had given the watchful stars leave to take their rest, when a trumpet summoned Basilius to play his judge’s part, which he did, taking his wife and daughters with him; Zelmane having locked her door, so as they could not trouble her for that time: for already there was a knight in the field, ready to prove Helen of Corinth had received great injury, both by theerring judgment of the challenger, and the unlucky weakness of her former defender. The new knight was quickly known to be Clitophon, Kalander’s son of Basilius’s sister, by his armour which, all gilt, was so well handled that it showed like a glittering sand and gravel interlaced with silver rivers. His device he had put in the picture of Helen which he defended; it was the Ermion with a speech that signified, “Rather dead than spotted.” But in that armour since he had parted from Helen, who would no longer his company, finding him to enter into terms of affection, he had performed so honourable actions, still seeking for his two friends by the names of Palladius and Daiphantus, that though his face were covered, his being was discovered, which yet Basilius, who had brought him up in his court, would not seem to do, but glad to see the trial of him, of whom he had heard very well, he commanded the trumpets to sound, to which the two brave knights obeying, they performed their courses, breaking their six staves, with so good, both skill in the hitting and grace in the manner, that it bred some difficulty in the judgment. But Basilius in the end gave sentence against Clitophon, because Phalantus had broken more staves, upon the head, and that once Clitophon had received such a blow that he had lost the reins of his horse with his head well-nigh touching the crupper of the horse. But Clitophon was so angry with the judgment, wherein he thought he had received wrong, that he omitted his duty to his prince, and uncle, and suddenly went his way still in the quest of them, whom as then he had left seeking, and so yielded the field to the next comer.
Who, coming in about two hours after, was no less marked than all the rest before, because he had nothing worth the marking. For he had neither picture nor device, his armour of as old a fashion, besides the rusty poorness, that it might better seem a monument of his grandfather’s courage: about his middle he had, instead of bases, a long cloak of silk, which as unhandsomely, as it needs must, became the wearer, so that all that looked on, measured his length on the earth already, since he had to meet one who had been victorious of so many gallants. But he went on towards the shield, and with a sober grace struck it, but as he let his sword fall upon it, another knight, all in black, came rustling in, who struck the shield almost as soon as he, and so strongly that he broke the shield in two: the ill-apparelled knight, for so the beholders called him, angry with that, as he accounted, insolent injury to himself, hit him such a sound blow that they that looked on said it well became a rude arm. The other answered him again in the same case, so that lances were put to silence, the swords were so busy.
But Phalantus, angry of this defacing shield, came upon the black knight, and with the pommel of his sword set fire to his eyes, which presently was revenged, not only by the black, but the ill-apparelled knight, who disdained another should enter into his quarrel, so as, who ever saw a matachin dance to imitate fighting, this was a fight that did imitate the matachin: for they being but three that fought, everyone had two adversaries, striking him, who struck the third, and revenging perhaps that of him which he had received of the other. But Basilius rising himself came to part them, the stickler’s authority scarcely able to persuade choleric hearers; and part them he did.
But before he could determine, comes in a fourth, halting on foot, who complained to Basilius, demanding justice on the black knight, for having by force taken away the picture of Pamela from him, which in little form he wore in a tablet, and covered with silk had fastened it to his helmet, purposing, for want of a bigger, to paragon the little one with Artesia’s length, not doubting but even in that little quantity, the excellency of that would shine through the weakness of the other, as the smallest star doth through the whole element of fire. And by the way he had met with this black knight, who had, as he said, robbed him of it. The injury seemed grievous, but when it came fully to be examined, it was found that the halting knight meeting the other, asking the cause of his going thitherward, and finding it was to defend Pamela’s divine beauty against Artesia’s, with a proud jollity commanded him to leave that quarrel only for him, who was only worthy to enter into it. But the black knight obeying no such commandments, they fell to such a bickering that he got a halting, and lost his picture. This understood by Basilius, he told him he was now fitter to look to his own body than another’s picture, and so, uncomforted therein, sent him away to learn of Aesculapius that he was not fit for Venus. But then the question arising, who should be the former against Phalantus, of the black or the ill-apparelled knight, who now had gotten the reputation of some sturdy lout, he had so well defended himself; of the one side, was alleged the having a picture which the other wanted; of the other side, the first striking the shield, but the conclusion was, that the ill-apparelled knight should have the precedence, if he delivered the figure of his mistress to Phalantus, who asking him for it, “Certainly,” said he, “her liveliest picture, if you could see it, is in my heart, and the best comparison I could make of her is of the sun and all the other heavenly beauties. But because perhaps all eyes cannot taste the divinity of her beauty, and would rather be dazzled than taught by the light, if it be not clouded by some meaner thing, know ye then, that I defend that same lady, whose image Phebilus so feebly lostyesternight, and, instead of another, if you overcome me, you shall have me your slave to carry that image in your mistress’ triumph.” Phalantus easily agreed to the bargain, which readily he made his own.
But when it came to the trial, the ill-apparelled knight, choosing out the greatest staves in all the store, at the first course gave his head such a remembrance that he lost almost his remembrance, he himself receiving the encounter of Phalantus, without any extraordinary motion; and at the second, gave him such a counterbuff, that because Phalantus was so perfect a horseman, as not to be driven from the saddle, the saddle with broken girths was driven from the horse; Phalantus remaining angry and amazed, because now being come almost to the last of his promised enterprise, that disgrace befell him, which he had never before known.
But the victory being by the judges given, and the trumpets witnessed to the ill-apparelled knight; Phalantus’ disgrace was ingrieved in lieu of comfort of Artesia, who telling him she never looked for other, bade him seek some other mistress. He excusing himself, and turning over the fault to fortune, “Then let that be your ill fortune too,” said she, “that you have lost me.”
“Nay, truly madam,” said Phalantus, “it shall not be so, for I think the loss of such a mistress will prove a great gain,” and so concluded, to the sport of Basilius, to see young folks’ love, that came in masked with so great pomp, go out with so little constancy. But Phalantus first professing great service to Basilius for his courteous intermitting his solitary course for his sake, would yet conduct Artesia to the castle of Cecropia, whither she desired to go, vowing in himself that neither heart nor mouth love should ever any more entangle him, and with that resolution he left the company. Whence all being dismissed (among whom the black knight went away repining at his luck that had kept him from winning the honour, as he knew he should have done to the picture of Pamela) the ill-apparelled knight (who was only desired to stay, because Basilius meant to show him to Zelmane) pull’d off his helmet, and then was known himself to be Zelmane, who that morning, as she told, while the others were busy, had stolen out of the prince’s stable, which was a mile off from the lodge, had gotten a horse, they knowing it was Basilius’s pleasure she should be obeyed, and borrowing that homely armour for want of a better, had come upon the spur to redeem Philoclea’s picture, which, she said, she could not bear, being one of that little wilderness-company, should be in captivity, if the cunning she had learned in her country of the noble Amazons, could withstand it; and under that pretext fain she would have given a secret passport to her affection. But this act painted at one instant redness in Philoclea’s face, and palenessin Gynecia’s, but brought forth no other countenances but of admiration, no speeches but of commendations: all those few, besides love, thinking they honoured themselves in honouring so accomplished a person as Zelmane, whom daily they fought with some or other sports to delight; for which purpose Basilius had, in a house not far off, servants, who though they came not uncalled, yet at call were ready.
And so many days were spent, and many ways used, while Zelmane was like one that stood in a tree waiting a good occasion to shoot, and Gynecia a blancher, which kept the dearest deer from her. But the day being come, on which according to an appointed course, the shepherds were to assemble and make their pastoral sports before Basilius, Zelmane, fearing lest many eyes, and coming divers ways, might hap to espy Musidorus, went out to warn him thereof.
But before she could come to the arbour, she saw walking from her-ward, a man in shepherdish apparel, who being in the sight of the lodge, it might seem he was allowed there. A long cloak he had on, but that cast under his right arm, wherein he held a sheep hook so finely wrought, that it gave a bravery to poverty, and his raiments though they were mean, yet received they handsomeness by the grace of the wearer, though he himself went but a kind of languishing pace, with his eyes sometimes cast up to heaven as though his fancies strove to mount higher; sometimes thrown down to the ground, as if the earth could not bear the burden of his sorrows; at length, with a lamentable tune, he sung those few verses.
Come shepherd’s weeds, become your master’s mind:Yield outward show, what inward change he tries:Nor be abash’d, since such a guest you find,Whose strongest hope in your weak comfort lies.Come shepherd’s weeds, attend my woeful cries:Disuse yourselves from sweet Menalcas’ voice:For other be those tunes which sorrow ties,From those clear notes which freely may rejoice.Then pour out plaint, and in one word say this:Helpless is plaint, who spoils himself of bliss.
Come shepherd’s weeds, become your master’s mind:
Yield outward show, what inward change he tries:
Nor be abash’d, since such a guest you find,
Whose strongest hope in your weak comfort lies.
Come shepherd’s weeds, attend my woeful cries:
Disuse yourselves from sweet Menalcas’ voice:
For other be those tunes which sorrow ties,
From those clear notes which freely may rejoice.
Then pour out plaint, and in one word say this:
Helpless is plaint, who spoils himself of bliss.
And having ended, he struck himself on the breast, saying, “O miserable wretch, whither do thy destinies guide thee?” The voice made Zelmane hasten her pace to overtake him, which having done, she plainly perceived that it was her dear friend Musidorus; whereat marvelling not a little, she demanded of him whether the goddess of those woods had such a power to transformevery body, or whether, as in all enterprises else he had done, he meant thus to match her in this new alteration. “Alas,” said Musidorus, “what shall I say, who am loth to say, and yet fain would have said? I find indeed, that all is but lip-wisdom, which wants experience. I now, woe is me, do try what love can do. O Zelmane, who will resist it must either have no wit, or put out his eyes: can any man resist his creation? certainly by love we are made, and to love we are made. Beasts only cannot discern beauty, and let them be in the roll of beasts that do not honour it.” The perfect friendship Zelmane bare him, and the great pity she, by good trial, had of such cases, could not keep her from smiling at him, remembering how vehemently he had cried out against the folly of lovers; and therefore a little to punish him, “Why how now dear cousin,” said she, “you that were last day so high in the pulpit against lovers, are you now become so mean an auditor? remember that love is a passion, and that a worthy man’s reason must ever have the masterhood.” “I recant, I recant,” cried Musidorus, and withal falling down prostrate, “O thou celestial or infernal spirit of love, or what other heavenly or hellish title thou list to have, for effects of both I find in myself, have compassion of me and let thy glory be as great in pardoning them that be submitted to thee as in conquering those that were rebellious.” “No, no,” said Zelmane, “I see you well enough; you make but an interlude of my mishaps, and do but counterfeit thus to make me see the deformity of my passions; but take heed, that this jest do not one day turn to earnest.” “Now I beseech thee,” said Musidorus, taking her fast by the hand, “even for the truth of our friendship, of which, if I be not altogether an unhappy man, thou has some remembrance, and by those secret flames which I know have likewise nearly touched thee, make no jest of that which hath so earnestly pierced me through, nor let that be light unto thee, which is to me so burdenous, that I am not able to bear it.” Musidorus, both in words and behaviour, did so lively deliver out his inward grief that Zelmane found indeed he was throughly wounded: but there rose a new jealousy in her mind, lest it might be with Philoclea, by whom, as Zelmane thought, in right, all hearts and eyes should be inherited. And therefore desirous to be cleared of that doubt, Musidorus shortly, as in haste and full of passionate perplexedness, thus recounted his case unto her.
“The day,” said he, “I parted from you, I being in mind to return to a town from whence I came hither, my horse being before tired, would scarce bear me a mile hence, where being benighted, the sight of a candle, I saw a good way off, guided me to a young shepherd’s house, by name Menalcas, who seeing me to be astraying stranger, with the right honest hospitality which seems to be harboured in the Arcadian breasts, and, though not with curious costliness, yet cleanly sufficiency entertained me; and having by talk with him found the manner of the country something more in particular than I had by Kalander’s report, I agreed to sojourn with him in secret, which he faithfully promised to observe. And so hither to your arbour divers times repaired, and here by your means had the fight, O that it had never been so, nay, O that it might ever be so, of the goddess, who in a definite compass can set forth infinite beauty.” All this while Zelmane was racked with jealousy. But he went on, “For,” said he, “I lying close, and in truth thinking of you, and saying thus to myself, ‘O sweet Pyrocles, how art thou bewitched? where is thy virtue? where is the use of thy reason? how much am I inferior to thee in that state of mind? and yet know I that all the heavens cannot bring me such a thraldom.’ Scarcely, think I, had I spoken this word, when the ladies came forth; at which sight, I think the very words returned back again to strike my soul; at least, an unmeasurable sting I felt in myself that I had spoken such words.” “At which sight,” said Zelmane, not able to bear him any longer. “O,” said Musidorus, “I know your suspicion; No, no, banish all such fear, it was, it is, and must be Pamela.” “Then all is safe,” said Zelmane, “proceed dear Musidorus.” “I will not,” said he, “impute it to my late solitary life, which yet is prone to affections, nor to the much thinking of you (though that called the consideration of love into my mind, which before I ever neglected) not to the exaltation of Venus, nor revenge of Cupid, but even to her, who is the planet, nay, the goddess, against which the only shield must be my sepulchre. When I first saw her I was presently stricken, and I (like a foolish child, that when anything hits him, will strike himself again upon it) would needs look again, as though I would persuade mine eyes, that they were deceived. But alas, well have I found, that love to a yielding heart is a king; but to a resisting, is a tyrant. The more with arguments I shaked the stake, which he had planted in the ground of my heart, the deeper still it sank into it. But what mean I to speak of the causes of my love, which is as impossible to describe, as to measure the back-side of heaven? let this word suffice, I love.
“And that you may know I do so, it was I that came in black armour to defend her picture, where I was both prevented and beaten by you. And so, I that waited here to do you service, have now myself most need of succour.” “But whereupon got you yourself this apparel?” said Zelmane. “I had forgotten to tell you,” said Musidorus, “though that were one principal matter of my speech; so much am I now master of my ownmind. But thus it happened: being returned to Menalcas’ house, full of tormenting desire, after a while fainting under the weight, my courage stirred up my wit to seek for some relief before I yielded to perish. At last this came into my head, that every evening, that I had to no purpose last used my horse and armour. I told Menalcas, that I was a Thessalian gentleman, who by mischance having killed a great favourite of the prince of that country, was pursued so cruelly, that in no place but either by favour or corruption, they would obtain my destruction, and that therefore I was determined, till the fury of my persecutors might be assuaged, to disguise myself among the shepherds of Arcadia, and, if it were possible, to be one of them that were allowed the prince’s presence, because if the worst should fall that I were discovered, yet having gotten the acquaintance of the prince, it might happen to move his heart to protect me. Menalcas, being of an honest disposition, pitied my case, which my face, thro’ my inward torment, made credible; and so, I giving him largely for it, let me have this raiment, instructing me in all particularities, touching himself, or myself, which I desired to know; yet not trusting so much to his constancy as that I would lay my life, and life of my life upon it, I hired him to go into Thessalia to a friend of mine, and to deliver him a letter from me; conjuring him to bring me as speedy an answer as he could, because it imported me greatly to know whether certain of my friends did yet possess any favour, whose intercessions I might use for my restitution. He willingly took my letter, which being well sealed, indeed contained other matter. For I wrote to my trusty servant Calodoulus, whom you know as soon as he had delivered the letter, he should keep him prisoner in his house, not suffering him to have conference with any body, till he knew my further pleasure, in all other respects that he should use him as my brother. And is Menalcas gone, and I here a poor shepherd; more proud of this estate than of any kingdom, so manifest it is, that the highest point outward things can bring one unto, is the contentment of the mind, with which no estate; without which, all estates be miserable. Now have I chosen this day, because, as Menalcas told me, the other shepherds are called to make their sports, and hope that you will with your credit find means to get me allowed among them.” “You need not doubt,” answered Zelmane, “but that I will be your good mistress: marry, the best way of dealing must be by Dametas, who since his blunt brain hath perceived some favour the prince doth bear unto me (as without doubt the most servile flattery is lodged most easily in the grossest capacity, for their ordinary conceit draweth a yielding to their greater, and then have they not wit to discern the right degrees of duty) is much moreserviceable unto me, than I can find any cause to wish him. And therefore despair not to win him, for every present occasion will catch his senses, and his senses are masters of his silly mind; only reverence him, and reward him, and with that bridle and saddle you shall well ride him.” “O heaven and earth,” said Musidorus, “to what a pass are our minds brought that from the right line of virtue are wried to these crooked shifts? but O love, it is thou that doest it; thou changest name upon name; thou disguisest our bodies, and disfigurest our minds. But indeed thou hast reason; for though the ways be foul, the journey’s end is most fair and honourable.”
“No more sweet Musidorus,” said Zelmane, “of these philosophies; for here comes the very person of Dametas.” And so he did indeed, with a sword by his side, a forest-bill on his neck, and a chopping-knife under his girdle: in which well provided sort, he had ever gone since the fear Zelmane had put him in. But he no sooner saw her, but with head and arms he laid his reverence afore her, enough to have made any man forswear all courtesy. And then in Basilius’s name he did invite her to walk down to the place where that day they were to have the pastorals.
But when he espied Musidorus to be none of the shepherds allowed in that place he would fain have persuaded himself to utter some anger, but that he durst not; yet muttering and champing, as though his cud troubled him, he gave occasion to Musidorus to come near him, and feign his tale of his own life: that he was a younger brother of the shepherd Menalcas, by name Dorus, sent by his father in his tender age to Athens, there to learn some cunning more than ordinary, that he might be the better liked of the prince; and that after his father’s death, his brother Menalcas lately gone thither to fetch him home, was also deceased, where, upon his death, he had charged him to seek the service of Dametas, and to be wholly and ever guided by him, as one in whose judgment and integrity the prince had singular confidence. For token whereof, he gave to Dametas a good sum of gold in ready coin: which Menalcas had bequeathed unto him, upon condition he should receive this poor Dorus into his service, that his mind and manners might grow the better by his daily example. Dametas, that of all manners of style could best conceive of golden eloquence, being withal tickled by Musidorus’s praises, had his brain so turned, that he became slave to that which he that sued to be his servant offered to give him, yet, for countenance sake, he seemed very squeamish, in respect of the charge he had of the princess Pamela. But such was the secret operation of the gold, helped with the persuasion of the Amazon, Zelmane (who said it was pity so handsome a young man should be anywhere else thanwith so good a master) that in the end he agreed (if that day he behaved himself so to the liking of Basilius, as he might be contented) that then he would receive him into his service.
And thus went they to the lodge, where they found Gynecia and her daughters ready to go to the field, to delight themselves there a while until the shepherds coming: whither also taking Zelmane with them, as they went, Dametas told them of Dorus, and desired he might be accepted there that day instead of his brother Menalcas. As for Basilius, he stayed behind to bring the shepherds, with whom he meant to confer, to breed the better Zelmane’s liking, which he only regarded, while the other beautiful band came to the fair field appointed for the shepherdish pastimes. It was indeed a place of delight; for through the midst of it there ran a sweet brook which did both hold the eye open with her azure streams, and yet seek to close the eye with the purling noise it made upon the pebble stones it ran over: the field itself being set in some places with roses, and in all the rest constantly preserving a flourishing green: the roses, added such a ruddy show unto it, as though the field were bashful at his own beauty: about it, as if it had been to enclose a theatre, grew such sort of trees as either excellency of fruit, stateliness of growth, continual greenness, or poetical fancies, have made at any time famous. In most part of which there had been framed by art such pleasant arbours, that, one answering another, they became a gallery aloft from tree to tree almost round about, which below gave a perfect shadow; a pleasant refuge then from the choleric look of Phoebus.
In this place while Gynecia walked hard by them, carrying many unquiet contentions about her, the ladies sat them down, enquiring divers questions of the shepherd Dorus; who keeping his eye still upon Pamela, answered with such a trembling voice, and abashed countenance, and oftentimes so far from the matter, that it was some sport to the young ladies, thinking it want of education which made him so discountenanced with unwonted presence. But Zelmane that saw in him the glass of her own misery, taking the hand of Philoclea, and with burning kisses setting it close to her lips (as if it should stand there like a hand in the margin of a book, to note some saying worthy to be marked) began to speak those words: “O love, since thou art so changeable in men’s estates, how art thou so constant in their torments?” when suddenly there came out of a wood a monstrous lion, with a she-bear not far from him, of a little less fierceness, which, as they guessed, having been hunted in forests far off, were by chance come thither, where before such beast had never been seen. Then care, not fear, or fear, not for themselves, altered something the countenances of the two lovers; but so, as any man might perceive, was rather anassembling of powers, than dismayedness of courage. Philoclea no sooner espied the lion, but, that obeying the commandment of fear, she leaped up, and ran to the lodge-ward, as fast as her delicate legs could carry her, while Dorus drew Pamela behind a tree, where she stood quaking like a partridge on which the hawk is even ready to seize. But the lion, seeing Philoclea run away, bent his race to her-ward, and was ready to seize himself on the prey when Zelmane (to whom danger then was a cause of dreadlessness, all the composition of her elements being nothing but fiery) with swiftness of desire crossed him, and with force of affection struck him such a blow upon his chine, that she opened all his body: wherewith the valiant beast turning her with open jaws, she gave him such a thrust through his breast, that all the lion could do, was with his paw to tear off the mantle and sleeve of Zelmane with a little scratch, rather than a wound, his death-blow having taken away the effect of his force: but therewithal he fell down, and gave Zelmane leisure to take off his head, to carry it for a present to her lady Philoclea, who all this while, not knowing what was done behind her, kept on her course like Arethusa when she ran from Alpheus; her light apparel being carried up with the wind, that much of those beauties she would at another time have willingly hidden, was presented to the sight of the twice wounded Zelmane. Which made Zelmane not follow her over-hastily, lest she should too soon deprive herself of that pleasure, but carrying the lion’s head in her hand, did not fully overtake her till they came to the presence of Basilius. Neither were they long there, but that Gynecia came thither also, who had been in such a trance of musing that Zelmane was fighting with the lion, before she knew of any lion’s coming: but then affection resisting, and the soon ending of the fight preventing all extremity of fear she marked Zelmane’s fighting: and when the lion’s head was off, as Zelmane ran after Philoclea, so she could not find in her heart but run after Zelmane: so that it was a new sight Fortune had prepared to those woods, to see those great personages thus run one after the other, each carried forward with an inward violence; Philoclea with such fear that she thought she was still in the lion’s mouth; Zelmane with an eager and impatient delight; Gynecia with wings of love, flying she neither knew nor cared to know whither. But now being all come before Basilius, amazed with this sight, and fear having such possession in the fair Philoclea that her blood durst not yet come to her face to take away the name of paleness from her most pure whiteness, Zelmane kneeled down and presented the lion’s head unto her: “Only lady,” said she, “here see you the punishment of that unnatural beast, which contrary to his own kind would have wronged prince’s blood, guided with such traitorouseyes, as durst rebel against your beauty.” “Happy am I, and my beauty both (answered the sweet Philoclea then blushing, for fear had bequeathed his room to his kinsman bashfulness) that you, excellent Amazon, were there to teach him good manners.” “And even thanks to that beauty,” answered Zelmane, “which can give an edge to the bluntest swords.”
There Philoclea told her father how it had happened; but as she had turned her eyes in her tale to Zelmane she perceived some blood upon Zelmane’s shoulder, so that starting with the lovely grace and pity she showed it to her father and mother, who, as the nurse sometimes with over-much kissing may forget to give the babe suck, so had they with too much delighting, in beholding and praising Zelmane, left off to mark whether she needed succour. But then they ran both unto her, like a father and mother to an only child, and, though Zelmane assured them it was nothing, would needs see it, Gynecia having skill in chirurgery, an art in those days much esteemed because it served to virtuous courage, which even ladies would, ever with the contempt of cowards, seem to cherish. But looking upon it (which gave more inward bleeding wounds to Zelmane, for she might sometimes feel Philoclea’s touch while she helped her mother) she found it was indeed of no importance; yet applied she a precious balm unto it of power to heal a greater grief.
But even then, and not before, they remembered Pamela, and therefore Zelmane, thinking of her friend Dorus, was running back to be satisfied, when they might all see Pamela coming between Dorus and Dametas, having in her hand the paw of a bear, which the shepherd Dorus had newly presented unto her, desiring her to accept it, as of such a beast, which though she deserved death for her presumption, yet was her wit to be esteemed, since she could make so sweet a choice. Dametas for his part came piping and dancing, the merriest man in a parish: but when he came so near as he might be heard of Basilius, he would needs break through his ears with this joyful song of their good success.
Now thanked be the great god Pan,Which thus preserves my loved life:Thanked be I that keep a man,Who ended hath this bloody strife:For if my Man must praises have,What then must I, that keep the knave?For as the Moon the eye doth please,With gentle beams not hurting sight:Yet hath sir Sun the greatest praise,Because from him doth come her light:So if my man must praises have,What then must I, that keep the knave?
Now thanked be the great god Pan,
Which thus preserves my loved life:
Thanked be I that keep a man,
Who ended hath this bloody strife:
For if my Man must praises have,
What then must I, that keep the knave?
For as the Moon the eye doth please,
With gentle beams not hurting sight:
Yet hath sir Sun the greatest praise,
Because from him doth come her light:
So if my man must praises have,
What then must I, that keep the knave?
Being all now come together, and all desirous to know each other’s adventures, Pamela’s noble heart would needs gratefully make known the valiant means of her safety, which, directing her speech to her mother, she did in this manner: “As soon,” said she, “as ye were all run away, and that I hoped to be in safety, there came out of the same woods a horrible foul bear, which (fearing belike to deal while the lion was present as soon as he was gone) came furiously towards the place where I was, and this young shepherd left alone by me, I truly (not guilty of any wisdom, which since they lay to my charge, because they say it is the best refuge against that beast, but even pure fear bringing forth that effect of wisdom) fell down flat on my face, needing not counterfeit being dead, for indeed I was little better. But this young shepherd with a wonderful courage, having no other weapon but that knife you see, standing before the place where I lay, so behaved himself that the first sight I had, when I thought myself already near Charon’s ferry, was the shepherd showing me his bloody knife in token of victory.” “I pray you (said Zelmane speaking to Dorus, whose valour she was careful to have manifested) in what sort, so ill weaponed, could you achieve this enterprise?” “Noble lady,” said Dorus, “the manner of those beasts fighting with any man, is to stand up upon their hinder feet, and so this did, and being ready to give me a shrewd embracement, I think the god Pan, ever careful of the chief blessing of Arcadia, guided my hand so just to the heart of the beast that neither she could once touch me nor (which is the only matter in this worthy remembrance) breed any danger to the princess. For my part, I am rather, with all subjected humbleness, to thank her excellencies, since the duty thereunto gave me heart to save myself than to receive thanks for a deed which was her only aspiring.” And this Dorus spoke, keeping affection as much as he could back from coming into his eyes and gestures. But Zelmane, that had the same character in her heart, could easily decipher it, and therefore to keep him the longer in speech, desired to understand the conclusion of the matter, and how the honest Dametas was escaped. “Nay,” said Pamela, “none shall take that office from myself, being so much bound to him as I am for my education.” And with that word, scorn borrowing the countenance of mirth, somewhat she smiled, and thus spoke on: “When,” said she, “Dorus made me assuredly perceive that all cause of fear was passed, the truth is, I was ashamed to find myself alone with this shepherd, and therefore looking about me, if I could see anybody, at length we both perceived the gentle Dametas, lying with his head and breast as far as he could thrust himself into a bush, drawing up his legs as close unto him as he could: for, like a man of a very kind nature,soon to take pity on himself, he was fully resolved not to see his own death. And when this shepherd pushed him, bidding him to be of good cheer, it was a great while ere we could persuade him that Dorus was not the bear, so that he was fain to pull him out by the heels, and show him the beast as dead as he could wish it: which, you may believe me, was a very joyful sight unto him. But then he forgot all courtesy, for he fell upon the beast, giving it many a manful wound, swearing by much, it was not well such beasts should be suffered in a commonwealth. And then my governor, as full of joy, as before of fear, came dancing and singing before, as even now you saw him.” “Well, well,” said Basilius, “I have not chosen Dametas for his fighting, nor for his discoursing but for his plainness and honesty, and therein I know he will not deceive me.” But then he told Pamela (not so much because she should know it, as because he would tell it) the wonderful act Zelmane had performed, which Gynecia likewise spoke of, both in such extremity of praising, as was easy to be seen, the construction of their speech might best be made by the grammar rules of affection. Basilius told with what a gallant grace she ran with the lion’s head in her hand, like another Pallas with the spoils of Gorgon. Gynecia swore she saw the very face of the young Hercules killing the Nemean lion; and all with a grateful assent confirmed the same praises; only poor Dorus (though of equal desert, yet not proceeding of equal estate) should have been less forgotten, had not Zelmane again with great admiration begun to speak of him; asking whether it were the fashion or no in Arcadia that shepherds should perform such valorous enterprises.
This Basilius, having the quick sense of a lover, took, as though his mistress had given him a secret reprehension, that he had not showed more gratefulness to Dorus; and therefore as nimbly as he could, enquired of his estate, adding promise of great rewards, among the rest, offering to him, if he would exercise his courage in soldiery, he would commit some charge unto him under his lieutenant Philanax. But Dorus, whose ambition climbed by another stair, having first answered touching his estate that he was brother to the shepherd Menalcas, who among other was wont to resort to the prince’s presence, and excused his going to soldiery by the unaptness he found in himself that way, he told Basilius that his brother in his last testament had willed him to serve Dametas, and therefore, for due obedience thereunto, he would think his service greatly rewarded if he might obtain by that means to live in the sight of the prince and yet practice his own chosen vocation. Basilius, liking well his goodly shape and handsome manner, charged Dametas to receive him like a son into his house, saying, that his valour, and Dametas’s truth would begood bulwarks against such mischiefs, as, he sticked not to say, were threatened to his daughter Pamela.
Dametas, no whit out of countenance with all that had been said, because he had no worse to fall into than his own, accepted Dorus; and withal telling Basilius that some of the shepherds were come, demanded in what place he would see their sports, who first was curious to know whether it were not more requisite for Zelmane’s hurt to rest than sit up at those pastimes: and she, that felt no wound but one, earnestly desired to have the pastorals. Basilius commanded it should be at the gate of the lodge, where the throne of the prince being, according to the ancient manner, he made Zelmane sit between him and his wife therein, who thought herself between drowning and burning, and the two young ladies of either side the throne, and so prepared their eyes and ears to be delighted by the shepherds.
But, before all of them were assembled to begin their sports, there came a fellow who being out of breath, or seeming so to be for haste, with humble hastiness told Basilius, that his mistress, the lady Cecropia, had sent him to excuse the mischance of her beast ranging in that dangerous sort, being happened by the folly of the keeper, who thinking himself able to rule them, had carried them abroad, and so was deceived: whom yet, if Basilius would punish for it, she was ready to deliver. Basilius made no other answer, but that his mistress, if she had any more such beasts, should cause them to be killed: and then he told his wife and Zelmane of it, because they should not fear those woods, as though they harboured such beasts where the like had never been seen. But Gynecia took a further conceit of it, mistrusting greatly Cecropia, because she had heard much of the devilish wickedness of her heart, and that particularly she did her best to bring up her son Amphialus, being brother’s son to Basilius, to aspire to the crown as next heir male after Basilius, and therefore saw no reason but that she might conjecture, it proceeded rather of some mischievous practice, than of misfortune. Yet did she only utter her doubt to her daughters, thinking, since the worst was past, she would attend a further occasion, lest overmuch haste might seem to proceed of the ordinary mislike between sisters-in-law only they marvelled that Basilius looked no further into it, who, good man, thought so much of his late conceived commonwealth, that all other matters were but digressions unto him. But the shepherds were ready, and with well handling themselves, called their senses to attend their pastimes.
Basilius, because Zelmane so would have it, used the artificial day of torches, to lighten the sports their invention could minister: and because many of the shepherds were but newly come, he didin a gentle manner chastise their negligence, with making them, for that night the torch bearers; and the others he willed with all freedom of speech and behaviour to keep their accustomed method, which while they prepared to do, Dametas, who much disdained, since his late authority, all his old companions, brought his servant Dorus in good acquaintance and allowance of them, and himself stood like a director over them, with nodding, gaping, winking, or stamping, showing how he did like or mislike those things he did not understand. The first sports the shepherds showed were full of such leaps and gambols as being according to the pipe which they bore in their mouths, even as they danced, made a right picture of their chief god Pan, and his companions the Satyrs. Then would they cast away their pipes, and holding hand in hand dance as it were in a brawl, by the only cadence of their voices, which they would use in singing some short couplets, whereto the one half beginning, the other half should answer as the one half, saying:
We love, and have our loves rewarded.
We love, and have our loves rewarded.
The other would answer,
We love, and are no whit regarded.
We love, and are no whit regarded.
The first again,
We find most sweet affection’s snare.
We find most sweet affection’s snare.
With like tune it should be as in a choir sent back again,
That sweet, but sour, despairful care.
That sweet, but sour, despairful care.
A third time likewise thus:
Who can despair, whom hope doth bear?
Who can despair, whom hope doth bear?
The answer,
And who can hope that feels despair?
And who can hope that feels despair?
Then joining all their voices, and dancing a faster measure, they would conclude with some such words:
As without breath no pipe doth move,No music kindly without love.
As without breath no pipe doth move,
No music kindly without love.
Having thus varied both their song and dances into divers sorts of inventions, their last sport was, one of them to provoke another to a more large expressing of his passions: which Thyrsis (accounted one of the best singers amongst them) having marked in Dorus’s dancing, no less good grace and handsome behaviour than extreme tokens of a troubled mind, began first with his pipe, and then with his voice, thus to challenge Dorus, and was by him answered in the under-written sort.
THYRSIS and DORUSTHYRSISCome Dorus, come, let songs thy sorrows signify,And if for want of use thy mind ashamed is,That very shame with love’s high title dignify.No style is held for base where love well named is:Each ear sucks up the words a true-love scattereth,And plain speech oft, than quaint phrase better framed is.DORUSNightingales seldom sing, the pie still chattereth,The wood cries most, before it thoroughly kindled be,Deadly wounds inward bleed, each slight sore mattereth.Hardly they heard, which by good hunters singled be:Shallow brooks murmur most, deep, silent slide away,Nor true-love, his love with others mingled be.THYRSISIf thou wilt not be seen, thy face go hide away,Be none of us, or else maintain our fashion:Who frowns at others’ feasts, doth better bide away.But if thou hast a love, in that love’s passion,I challenge thee by show of her perfection,Which of us two deserveth most compassion.DORUSThy challenge great, but greater my protection:Sing then, and see (for now thou hast inflamed me)Thy health too mean a match for my infection.No, though the heaven’s for high attempts have blamed me,Yet high is my attempt. O Muse historifyHer praise, whose praise to learn your skill hath framed me.THYRSISMuse hold your peace, but thou my god Pan glorifyMy Kala’s gifts, who with all good gifts filled is.Thy pipe, O Pan, shall help, though I sing sorrily.A heap of sweets she is, where nothing spilled is;Who though she be no Bee, yet full of honey is:A Lily-field, with plough of Rose which tilled is:Mild as a lamb, more dainty than a coney is:Her eyes my eye-sight is, her conversationMore glad to me than to a miser money is.What coy account she makes of estimation?How nice to touch? how all her speeches poised be?A nymph thus turned, but mended in translation.DORUSSuch Kala is: but ah my fancies raised beIn one, whose name to name were high presumption,Since virtue’s all, to make her title pleased be.O happy gods, which by inward assumptionEnjoy her soul, in body’s fair possession,And keep it join’d, fearing your seat’s consumption.How oft with rain of tears skies make confession,Their dwellers wrapt with sight of her perfection,From heav’nly throne to her heav’n use digression?Of best things then what world shall yield confectionTo liken her? deck yours with your comparison:She is herself of best things the collection.THYRSISHow oft my doleful sire cry’d to me, “Tarry son,”When first he spied my love! how oft he said to me,“Thou art no soldier fit for Cupid’s garrison?My son keep this, that my long toil hath laid to me:Love well thine own, methinks wool’s whiteness passeth all:I never found long love such wealth hath paid to me.”This wind he spent: but when my Kala glasseth allMy sight in her fair limbs, I then assure myself,Not rotten sheep, but high crowns she surpasseth all.Can I be poor, that her gold hair procure myself?Want I white wool, whose eyes her white skin garnished?’Till I get her, shall I to keep inure myself?DORUSHow oft, when reason saw, love of her harnessedWith armour of my heart, he cried, “O vanity!To set a pearl in steel so meanly varnished?Look to thyself, reach not beyond humanity.Her mind, beams, state, far from the weak wings banished;And love which lover hurts is inhumanity.”Thus reason said: but she came, reason vanished;Her eyes so mastering me, that such objectionSeem’d but to spoil the food of thoughts long famished.Her peerless height my mind to high erectionDraws up; and if hope-failing end life’s pleasure,Of fairer death how can I make election?THYRSISOnce my well-waiting eyes espy’d my treasure,With sleeves turn’d up, loose hair, and breasts enlarged,Her father’s corn, moving her fair limbs, measure.“O,” cried I, “if so mean work be discharged:Measure my case how by thy beauty’s filling,With seed of woes my heart brim-full is charg’d.Thy father bids thee save, and chides for spilling;Save then my soul, spill not my thoughts well heap’d,No lovely praise was ever got by killing.”Those bold words she did bear, this fruit I reaped,That she whose look alone might make me blessed,Did smile on me, and then away she leaped.DORUSOnce, O sweet once, I saw with dread oppressedHer whom I dread, so that with prostrate lyingHer length, the earth in love’s chief clothing dressed,I saw that riches fall, and fell a crying:“Let not dead earth enjoy so dear a cover,But deck therewith my soul for your sake dying:Lay all your fear upon your fearful lover:Shine eyes on me that both our lives be guarded;So I your sight, you shall yourselves recover.”I cry’d, and was with open eyes rewarded:But straight they fled summon’d by cruel honour,Honour, the cause desert is not regarded.THYRSISThis maid, thus made for joys, O Pan! bemoan her,That without love she spends her years of love:So fair a field would well become an owner.And if enchantment can a hard heart move,Teach me what circle may acquaint her sprite,Affection’s charms in my behalf to prove.The circle is my, round about her, sight,The power I will invoke dwells in her eyes:My charm should be, she haunt me day and night.DORUSFar other case, O Muse, my sorrow tries,Bent to such one in whom myself must say,Nothing can mend one point that in her lies.What circle then in so rare force bears sway?Whose sprite all sprites can foil, raise, damn, or save:No charm holds her, but well possess she may,Possess she doth, and makes my soul her slave,My eyes the bands, my thoughts the fatal knot.No thrall like them that inward bondage have.THYRSISKala, at length conclude my ling’ring lot:Disdain me not, although I be not fair,Who is an heir of many hundred sheep,Doth beauties keep which never sun can burn,Nor storms do turn: fairness serves oft to wealth,Yet all my health I place in your good will:Which if you will, O do, bestow on meSuch as you see; such still you shall me find,Constant and kind, my sheep your food shall breed,Their wool your weed, I will you music yieldIn flow’ry field; and as the day beginsWith twenty gins we will the small birds take,And pastimes make, as nature things hath made.But when in shade we meet of myrtle boughs,Then love allows our pleasures to enrich,The thought of which doth pass all worldly pelf.DORUSLady yourself whom neither name I dare,And titles are but spots to such a worth,Here plaints come forth from dungeon of my mind,The noblest kind rejects not others’ woes.I have no shows of wealth: my wealth is you,My beauties hue your beams, my health your deeds;My mind for weeds your virtue’s livery wears.My food is tears, my tunes lamenting yield,Despair my field, the flowers spirit’s wars:My day new cares, my gins my daily sight,In which do light small birds of thoughts o’erthrown:My pastimes none: time passeth on my fall:Nature made all, but me of dolours made,I find no shade, but where my sun doth burn:No place to turn; without, within it fries:Nor help by life or death, who living dies.THYRSISBut if my Kala thus my suit denies,Which so much reason bears:Let crows pick out mine eyes, which too much saw.If she still hate love’s law,My earthly mould doth melt in wat’ry tears.DORUSMy earthly mould doth melt in wat’ry tears,And they again resolveTo air of sighs, sighs to the heart fire turn,Which doth to ashes burn.Thus doth my life within itself dissolve.THYRSISThus doth my life within itself dissolveThat I grow like the beast,Which bears the bit a weaker force doth guide,Yet patient must abide.Such weight it hath, which once is full possess’d.DORUSSuch weight it hath, which once is full possess’d,That I become a vision,Which hath in others held his only being,And lives in fancy’s seeing,O wretched state of man in self-division!THYRSISO wretched state of man in self-division!O well thou say’st! a feeling declaration!Thy tongue hath made, of Cupid’s deep incision.But now hoarse voice, doth fail this occupation,And others long to tell their loves’ condition:Of singing thou hast got the reputation.DORUSOf singing thou hast got the reputation,Good Thyrsis mine, I yield to thy ability;My heart doth seek another estimation.But ah, my Muse, I would thou had’st facilityTo work my Goddess so by thy invention,On me to cast those eyes where shine nobility:Seen and unknown; heard, but without attention.
THYRSIS and DORUS
THYRSIS
Come Dorus, come, let songs thy sorrows signify,
And if for want of use thy mind ashamed is,
That very shame with love’s high title dignify.
No style is held for base where love well named is:
Each ear sucks up the words a true-love scattereth,
And plain speech oft, than quaint phrase better framed is.
DORUS
Nightingales seldom sing, the pie still chattereth,
The wood cries most, before it thoroughly kindled be,
Deadly wounds inward bleed, each slight sore mattereth.
Hardly they heard, which by good hunters singled be:
Shallow brooks murmur most, deep, silent slide away,
Nor true-love, his love with others mingled be.
THYRSIS
If thou wilt not be seen, thy face go hide away,
Be none of us, or else maintain our fashion:
Who frowns at others’ feasts, doth better bide away.
But if thou hast a love, in that love’s passion,
I challenge thee by show of her perfection,
Which of us two deserveth most compassion.
DORUS
Thy challenge great, but greater my protection:
Sing then, and see (for now thou hast inflamed me)
Thy health too mean a match for my infection.
No, though the heaven’s for high attempts have blamed me,
Yet high is my attempt. O Muse historify
Her praise, whose praise to learn your skill hath framed me.
THYRSIS
Muse hold your peace, but thou my god Pan glorify
My Kala’s gifts, who with all good gifts filled is.
Thy pipe, O Pan, shall help, though I sing sorrily.
A heap of sweets she is, where nothing spilled is;
Who though she be no Bee, yet full of honey is:
A Lily-field, with plough of Rose which tilled is:
Mild as a lamb, more dainty than a coney is:
Her eyes my eye-sight is, her conversation
More glad to me than to a miser money is.
What coy account she makes of estimation?
How nice to touch? how all her speeches poised be?
A nymph thus turned, but mended in translation.
DORUS
Such Kala is: but ah my fancies raised be
In one, whose name to name were high presumption,
Since virtue’s all, to make her title pleased be.
O happy gods, which by inward assumption
Enjoy her soul, in body’s fair possession,
And keep it join’d, fearing your seat’s consumption.
How oft with rain of tears skies make confession,
Their dwellers wrapt with sight of her perfection,
From heav’nly throne to her heav’n use digression?
Of best things then what world shall yield confection
To liken her? deck yours with your comparison:
She is herself of best things the collection.
THYRSIS
How oft my doleful sire cry’d to me, “Tarry son,”
When first he spied my love! how oft he said to me,
“Thou art no soldier fit for Cupid’s garrison?
My son keep this, that my long toil hath laid to me:
Love well thine own, methinks wool’s whiteness passeth all:
I never found long love such wealth hath paid to me.”
This wind he spent: but when my Kala glasseth all
My sight in her fair limbs, I then assure myself,
Not rotten sheep, but high crowns she surpasseth all.
Can I be poor, that her gold hair procure myself?
Want I white wool, whose eyes her white skin garnished?
’Till I get her, shall I to keep inure myself?
DORUS
How oft, when reason saw, love of her harnessed
With armour of my heart, he cried, “O vanity!
To set a pearl in steel so meanly varnished?
Look to thyself, reach not beyond humanity.
Her mind, beams, state, far from the weak wings banished;
And love which lover hurts is inhumanity.”
Thus reason said: but she came, reason vanished;
Her eyes so mastering me, that such objection
Seem’d but to spoil the food of thoughts long famished.
Her peerless height my mind to high erection
Draws up; and if hope-failing end life’s pleasure,
Of fairer death how can I make election?
THYRSIS
Once my well-waiting eyes espy’d my treasure,
With sleeves turn’d up, loose hair, and breasts enlarged,
Her father’s corn, moving her fair limbs, measure.
“O,” cried I, “if so mean work be discharged:
Measure my case how by thy beauty’s filling,
With seed of woes my heart brim-full is charg’d.
Thy father bids thee save, and chides for spilling;
Save then my soul, spill not my thoughts well heap’d,
No lovely praise was ever got by killing.”
Those bold words she did bear, this fruit I reaped,
That she whose look alone might make me blessed,
Did smile on me, and then away she leaped.
DORUS
Once, O sweet once, I saw with dread oppressed
Her whom I dread, so that with prostrate lying
Her length, the earth in love’s chief clothing dressed,
I saw that riches fall, and fell a crying:
“Let not dead earth enjoy so dear a cover,
But deck therewith my soul for your sake dying:
Lay all your fear upon your fearful lover:
Shine eyes on me that both our lives be guarded;
So I your sight, you shall yourselves recover.”
I cry’d, and was with open eyes rewarded:
But straight they fled summon’d by cruel honour,
Honour, the cause desert is not regarded.
THYRSIS
This maid, thus made for joys, O Pan! bemoan her,
That without love she spends her years of love:
So fair a field would well become an owner.
And if enchantment can a hard heart move,
Teach me what circle may acquaint her sprite,
Affection’s charms in my behalf to prove.
The circle is my, round about her, sight,
The power I will invoke dwells in her eyes:
My charm should be, she haunt me day and night.
DORUS
Far other case, O Muse, my sorrow tries,
Bent to such one in whom myself must say,
Nothing can mend one point that in her lies.
What circle then in so rare force bears sway?
Whose sprite all sprites can foil, raise, damn, or save:
No charm holds her, but well possess she may,
Possess she doth, and makes my soul her slave,
My eyes the bands, my thoughts the fatal knot.
No thrall like them that inward bondage have.
THYRSIS
Kala, at length conclude my ling’ring lot:
Disdain me not, although I be not fair,
Who is an heir of many hundred sheep,
Doth beauties keep which never sun can burn,
Nor storms do turn: fairness serves oft to wealth,
Yet all my health I place in your good will:
Which if you will, O do, bestow on me
Such as you see; such still you shall me find,
Constant and kind, my sheep your food shall breed,
Their wool your weed, I will you music yield
In flow’ry field; and as the day begins
With twenty gins we will the small birds take,
And pastimes make, as nature things hath made.
But when in shade we meet of myrtle boughs,
Then love allows our pleasures to enrich,
The thought of which doth pass all worldly pelf.
DORUS
Lady yourself whom neither name I dare,
And titles are but spots to such a worth,
Here plaints come forth from dungeon of my mind,
The noblest kind rejects not others’ woes.
I have no shows of wealth: my wealth is you,
My beauties hue your beams, my health your deeds;
My mind for weeds your virtue’s livery wears.
My food is tears, my tunes lamenting yield,
Despair my field, the flowers spirit’s wars:
My day new cares, my gins my daily sight,
In which do light small birds of thoughts o’erthrown:
My pastimes none: time passeth on my fall:
Nature made all, but me of dolours made,
I find no shade, but where my sun doth burn:
No place to turn; without, within it fries:
Nor help by life or death, who living dies.
THYRSIS
But if my Kala thus my suit denies,
Which so much reason bears:
Let crows pick out mine eyes, which too much saw.
If she still hate love’s law,
My earthly mould doth melt in wat’ry tears.
DORUS
My earthly mould doth melt in wat’ry tears,
And they again resolve
To air of sighs, sighs to the heart fire turn,
Which doth to ashes burn.
Thus doth my life within itself dissolve.
THYRSIS
Thus doth my life within itself dissolve
That I grow like the beast,
Which bears the bit a weaker force doth guide,
Yet patient must abide.
Such weight it hath, which once is full possess’d.
DORUS
Such weight it hath, which once is full possess’d,
That I become a vision,
Which hath in others held his only being,
And lives in fancy’s seeing,
O wretched state of man in self-division!
THYRSIS
O wretched state of man in self-division!
O well thou say’st! a feeling declaration!
Thy tongue hath made, of Cupid’s deep incision.
But now hoarse voice, doth fail this occupation,
And others long to tell their loves’ condition:
Of singing thou hast got the reputation.
DORUS
Of singing thou hast got the reputation,
Good Thyrsis mine, I yield to thy ability;
My heart doth seek another estimation.
But ah, my Muse, I would thou had’st facility
To work my Goddess so by thy invention,
On me to cast those eyes where shine nobility:
Seen and unknown; heard, but without attention.
Dorus did so well in answering Thyrsis that everyone desired to hear him sing something alone. Seeing therefore a lute lying under the Princess Pamela’s feet, glad to have such an errand toapproach her, he came, but came with a dismayed grace, all his blood stirred betwixt fear and desire, and playing upon it with such sweetness, as everybody wondered to see such skill in a shepherd, he sung unto it with a sorrowing voice, these elegiac verses:
DORUSFortune, Nature, Love, long have contended about me,Which should most miseries cast on a worm that I am,Fortune thus gan say, “Misery and misfortune is all one,And of misfortune, Fortune hath only the giftWith strong foes on land, on sea with contrary tempests,Still do I cross this wretch, what so he taketh in hand.”“Tush, tush,” said Nature, “this is all but a trifle, a man’s selfGives haps or mishaps, even as he ordereth his heart.But so his humour I frame, in a mould of choler adusted,That the delights of life shall be to him dolorous.”Love smiled, and thus said: “Want join’d to desire is unhappy:But if he nought do desire, what can Heraclitus ail?None but I work by desire: by desire have I kindled in his soulInfernal agonies into a beauty divine:Where thou poor nature left’st all thy due glory, to FortuneHer virtue’s sovereign, Fortune a vassal of hers.”Nature abash’d went back: Fortune blush’d: yet she replied thus:“And even in that love shall I reserve him a spite.”Thus, thus, alas! woeful by Nature, unhappy by Fortune,But most wretched I am, now Love awakes my desire.
DORUS
Fortune, Nature, Love, long have contended about me,
Which should most miseries cast on a worm that I am,
Fortune thus gan say, “Misery and misfortune is all one,
And of misfortune, Fortune hath only the gift
With strong foes on land, on sea with contrary tempests,
Still do I cross this wretch, what so he taketh in hand.”
“Tush, tush,” said Nature, “this is all but a trifle, a man’s self
Gives haps or mishaps, even as he ordereth his heart.
But so his humour I frame, in a mould of choler adusted,
That the delights of life shall be to him dolorous.”
Love smiled, and thus said: “Want join’d to desire is unhappy:
But if he nought do desire, what can Heraclitus ail?
None but I work by desire: by desire have I kindled in his soul
Infernal agonies into a beauty divine:
Where thou poor nature left’st all thy due glory, to Fortune
Her virtue’s sovereign, Fortune a vassal of hers.”
Nature abash’d went back: Fortune blush’d: yet she replied thus:
“And even in that love shall I reserve him a spite.”
Thus, thus, alas! woeful by Nature, unhappy by Fortune,
But most wretched I am, now Love awakes my desire.
Dorus when he had sung this, having had all the while a free beholding of the fair Pamela (who could well have spared such honour; and defended the assault he gave unto her face with bringing a fair stain of shamefacedness unto it) let fall his arms, and remained so fastened in his thoughts as if Pamela had grafted him there to grow in continual imagination. But Zelmane espying it, and fearing he should too much forget himself, she came to him, and took out of his hand the lute, and laying fast hold of Philoclea’s face with her eyes, she sung these sapphics, speaking as it were to her own hope:
If mine eyes can speak to do hearty errand,Or mine eyes’ language she do hap to judge of,So that eyes’ message be of her received,Hope we do live yet.But if eyes fail then, when I most do need them,Or if eyes’ language be not unto her known,So that eyes’ message do return rejected,Hope we do both die.Yet dying, and dead, do we sing her honour;So becomes our tombs monuments of our praise;So becomes our loss the triumph of her gain;Hers be the glory.If the spheres senseless do yet hold a music,If the swan’s sweet voice be not heard, but as death,If the mute timber when it hath the life lostYieldeth a lute’s tune.Are then human lives privileg’d so meanly,As that hateful death can abridge them of powerWith the vow of truth to record to all worldsThat we be her spoils?Thus not ending, ends the due praise of her praise:Fleshly veil consumes; but a soul hath his life,Which is held in love; love it is, that hath join’dLife to this our soul.But if eyes can speak to hearty errand,Or mine eyes’ language she doth hap to judge of,So that eyes’ message be of her receivedHope we do live yet.
If mine eyes can speak to do hearty errand,
Or mine eyes’ language she do hap to judge of,
So that eyes’ message be of her received,
Hope we do live yet.
But if eyes fail then, when I most do need them,
Or if eyes’ language be not unto her known,
So that eyes’ message do return rejected,
Hope we do both die.
Yet dying, and dead, do we sing her honour;
So becomes our tombs monuments of our praise;
So becomes our loss the triumph of her gain;
Hers be the glory.
If the spheres senseless do yet hold a music,
If the swan’s sweet voice be not heard, but as death,
If the mute timber when it hath the life lost
Yieldeth a lute’s tune.
Are then human lives privileg’d so meanly,
As that hateful death can abridge them of power
With the vow of truth to record to all worlds
That we be her spoils?
Thus not ending, ends the due praise of her praise:
Fleshly veil consumes; but a soul hath his life,
Which is held in love; love it is, that hath join’d
Life to this our soul.
But if eyes can speak to hearty errand,
Or mine eyes’ language she doth hap to judge of,
So that eyes’ message be of her received
Hope we do live yet.
Great was the pleasure of Basilius, and greater would have been Gynecia’s but that she found too well it was intended to her daughter. As for Philoclea, she was sweetly ravished withal. When Dorus, desiring in a secret manner to speak of their cases, as perchance the parties intended might take some light of it, making low reverence to Zelmane, began this provoking song in Hexameter verse unto her. Whereunto she soon finding whether his words were directed, in like tune and verse, answered as followeth:
DORUS ZELMANEDORUSLady reserved by the heavens to do pastor’s company honour,Joining your sweet voice to the rural muse of a desert,Here you fully do find the strange operation of love,How to the woods love runs as well as rides to the palace,Neither he bears reverence to a prince, nor pity to a beggar,But, like a point in midst of a circle, is still of a nearness,All to a lesson he draws; neither hills nor caves can avoid him.ZELMANEWorthy shepherd by my song to myself all favour is happ’ned,That to the sacred Muse my annoys somewhat be revealed,Sacred Muse, who in one contains what nine do in all them.But O happy be you, which safe from fiery reflectionOf Phoebus’ violence in shade of sweet Cyparissus,Or pleasant myrtle, may teach the unfortunate EchoIn these woods to resound the renowned name of goddess.Happy be you that may to the saint, your only Idea,(Although simply attir’d) your manly affection utter.Happy be those mishaps which justly proportion holding,Give right sound to the ears, and enter aright to the judgment:But wretched be the souls, which veil’d in a contrary subject,How much more we do love, so the less our loves be believed.What skill salveth a sore of wrong infirmity judged?What can justice avail to a man that tells not his own case?You though fears do abash, in you still possible hopes be:Nature against we do seem to rebel, seem fools in a vain suit.But so unheard, condemn’d, kept thence we do seek to abide in,Self-lost in wand’ring, banished that place we do come from,What mean is there alas, we can hope our loss to recover?What place is there left, we may hope our woes to recomfort?Unto the heav’ns? our wings be too short: earth thinks us a burden,Air? we do still with sighs increase: to the fire? we do want none,And yet his outward heat our tears would quench, but an inwardFire no liquor can cool: Neptune’s realm would not avail us.Happy shepherd, with thanks to the Gods, still think to be thankful,That to thy advancement their wisdoms have thee abased.DORUSUnto the gods with a thankful heart all thanks I do render,That to my advancement their wisdoms have me abased.But yet, alas! O but yet alas! our haps be but hard haps,Which must frame contempt to the fittest purchase of honour.Well may a pastor plain, but alas his plaints be not esteem’d:Silly shepherd’s poor pipe, when his harsh sound testifies anguish,Into the fair looking on, pastime, not passion, enters.And to the woods or brooks, who do make such dreary recital?What be the pangs they bear, and whence those pangs be derived,Pleas’d to receive that name by rebounding answer of Echo,May hope thereby to ease their inward horrible anguish,When trees dance to the pipe, and swift streams stay by the music,Or when an Echo begins unmov’d to sing them a love-song;Say then, what vantage do we get by the trade of a pastor?(Since no estates be so base, but love vouchsafeth his arrow,Since no refuge doth serve from wounds we do carry about us,Since outward pleasures be but halted helps to decayed Souls)Save that daily we may discern what fire we do burn in.Far more happy be you, whose greatness gets a free access;Whose fair bodily gifts are fram’d most lovely to each eye,Virtue you have, of virtue you have left proof to the whole world.And virtue is grateful, with beauty and richness adorn’d.Neither doubt you a whit; time will your passion utter.Hardly remains fire hid where skill is bent to the hiding,But in a mind that would his flames should not be repressed,Nature worketh enough with a small help for the revealing:Give therefore to the Muse great praise, in whose very likenessYou do approach to the fruit your only desires be to gather.ZELMANEFirst shall fertile grounds not yield increase of a good seed,First the rivers shall cease to repay their floods to the ocean:First may a trusty greyhound transform himself to a tiger.First shall virtue be vice, and beauty be counted a blemish,Ere that I leave with song of praise her praise to solemnize,Her praise, whence to the world all praise hath his only beginning:But yet well I do find each man most wise in his own case.None can speak of a wound with skill, if he have not a wound felt.Great to thee my state seems, thy state is bless’d by my judgment:And yet neither of us great or blest deemeth his own self.For yet (weigh this alas!) great is not great to the greater.What judge you doth a hillock show, by the lofty Olympus?Such my minute greatness, doth seem compar’d to the greatest.When cedars to the ground fall down by the weight of an emmot,Or when a rich ruby’s price be the worth of a walnut,Or to the sun for wonders seem small sparks of a candle:Then by my high cedar, rich ruby, and only shining sun,Virtue, riches, beauties of mine shall great be reputed.Oh, no, no, worthy shepherd, worth can never enter a title,Where proofs justly do teach, thus match’d, such worth to be nought worth:Let not a puppet abuse thy sprite, kings’ crowns do not help themFrom the cruel headache, nor shoes of gold do the gout heal:And precious couches full oft are shak’d with a fever.If then a bodily ill in a bodily gloze be not hidden,Shall such morning dews be an ease to the heat of a love’s fire?DORUSO glittering miseries of man, if this be the fortuneOf those fortunes’ lulls? so small rests, rest in a kingdom?What marvel tho’ a prince transform himself to a pastor?Come from marble bowers many times the gay harbour of anguish,Unto a silly caban, thought weak, yet stronger against woes.Now by the words I begin, most famous lady, to gatherComfort into my soul, I do find what a blessingIs chanced to my life, that from such muddy abundanceOf carking agonies, to states which still be adherent,Destiny keeps me aloof, for if all this state to thy virtueJoin’d by thy beauty adorn’d be no means those griefs to abolish:If neither by that help, thou canst climb up thy fancy,Nor yet fancy so dress’d do receive more plausible hearing:Then do I think indeed, that better it is to be privateIn sorrow’s torments, than, tied to the pomps of a palace,Nurse inward maladies, which have not scope to be breath’d out:But perforce digest all bitter joys of horrorIn silence, from a man’s own self with company robbed.Better yet do I live, that though by my thoughts I be plungedInto my life’s bondage, yet may I disburden a passion(Oppress’d with ruinous conceits) by the help of an out-cry:Not limited to a whispering note, the lament of a courtier.But sometimes to the woods, sometimes to the heav’n do decipherWith bold clamour unheard, unmark’d, what I seek, what I suffer:And when I meet those trees, in the earth’s fair livery clothed,Ease I do feel, such ease as falls to one wholly diseased,For that I find in them part of my state represented.Laurel shows what I seek, by the myrrh is shown how I seek it,Olive paints me the peace that I must aspire to by conquest:Myrtle makes my request; my request is crown’d with a willow.Cypress promiseth help, but a help where comes no recomfort:Sweet juniper saith this, “Though I burn, yet I burn in a sweet fire.”Yew doth make me think what kind of bow the boy holdeth,Which shoots strongly without any noise, and deadly without smart,Fir-trees great and green, fix’d on a high hill but a barren,Like to my noble thoughts, still new, well plac’d to me fruitless.Fig that yields most pleasant fruits, his shadow is hurtful:Thus be her gifts most sweet, thus more danger to be near her.Now in a palm when I mark, how he doth rise under a burden,And may I not, say then, get up though grief be so weighty?Pine is a mast to a ship, to my ship shall hope for a mast serve.Pine is high, hope is as high, sharp leav’d, sharp, yet be my hopes buds.Elm embrac’d by a vine, embracing fancy reviveth:Poplar changeth his hue from a rising sun to a setting:Thus to my sun do I yield, such looks her beams do afford me.Old aged oak cut down, of new work serves to the building:So my desires by my fear cut down, be the frames of her honour.As he makes spears which shields do resist, her force no repulse takes.Palms do rejoice to be join’d by the match of a male to a female,And shall sensitive things be so senseless as to resist sense?Thus be my thoughts dispers’d, thus thinking nurseth a thinking.Thus both trees and each thing else, be the books of a fancy.But to the cedar, queen of woods, when I left my betear’d eyes,Then do I shape to myself that form which reigns so within me,And think there she doth dwell and hear what plaints I do utter:When that noble top doth nod, I believe she salutes me,When by the wind it maketh a noise, I do think she doth answer.Then kneeling to the ground, oft thus do I speak to that image:Only jewel, O only jewel, which only deservest,That men’s hearts be thy seat, and endless fame be thy servant,O descend for a while, from this great height to behold me,But nought else to behold, else is nought worth the beholding,Save what a work by thyself is wrought: and since I am alter’dThus by thy work, disdain not that which is by thyself done,In mean caves oft treasure abides, to an hostry a king comes.And so behind foul clouds full oft fair stars do lie hidden.ZELMANEHardy shepherd, such as thy merits, such may be her insightJustly to grant thee reward, such envy I hear to thy fortune.But to myself what wish can I make for a salve to my sorrows,Whom both nature seems to debar from means to be helped,And if a mean were found, fortune th’ whole course of it hinders?Thus plagu’d how can I frame to my sore any hope of amendment?Whence may I show to my mind any light of possible escape?Bound, and bound by so noble bands, as loth to be unbound,Jailer I am to myself, prison and pris’ner to mine own self.Yet by my hopes thus plac’d, here fix’d lives all my comfort,That that dear diamond, where wisdom holdeth a sure seat,Whose force had such force so to transform, nay to reform me,Will at length perceive those flames by her beams to be kindled,And will pity the wound festered so strangely within me.O be it so, grant such an event, O gods, that event give,And for a sure sacrifice I do daily oblation offerOf mine own heart, where thoughts be the temple, sight is an altar.But cease worthy shepherd, now cease we to weary the hearersWith mournful melodies; for enough our griefs be revealed,If the parties meant our meanings rightly be marked,And sorrows do require some respite unto the senses.
DORUS ZELMANE
DORUS
Lady reserved by the heavens to do pastor’s company honour,
Joining your sweet voice to the rural muse of a desert,
Here you fully do find the strange operation of love,
How to the woods love runs as well as rides to the palace,
Neither he bears reverence to a prince, nor pity to a beggar,
But, like a point in midst of a circle, is still of a nearness,
All to a lesson he draws; neither hills nor caves can avoid him.
ZELMANE
Worthy shepherd by my song to myself all favour is happ’ned,
That to the sacred Muse my annoys somewhat be revealed,
Sacred Muse, who in one contains what nine do in all them.
But O happy be you, which safe from fiery reflection
Of Phoebus’ violence in shade of sweet Cyparissus,
Or pleasant myrtle, may teach the unfortunate Echo
In these woods to resound the renowned name of goddess.
Happy be you that may to the saint, your only Idea,
(Although simply attir’d) your manly affection utter.
Happy be those mishaps which justly proportion holding,
Give right sound to the ears, and enter aright to the judgment:
But wretched be the souls, which veil’d in a contrary subject,
How much more we do love, so the less our loves be believed.
What skill salveth a sore of wrong infirmity judged?
What can justice avail to a man that tells not his own case?
You though fears do abash, in you still possible hopes be:
Nature against we do seem to rebel, seem fools in a vain suit.
But so unheard, condemn’d, kept thence we do seek to abide in,
Self-lost in wand’ring, banished that place we do come from,
What mean is there alas, we can hope our loss to recover?
What place is there left, we may hope our woes to recomfort?
Unto the heav’ns? our wings be too short: earth thinks us a burden,
Air? we do still with sighs increase: to the fire? we do want none,
And yet his outward heat our tears would quench, but an inward
Fire no liquor can cool: Neptune’s realm would not avail us.
Happy shepherd, with thanks to the Gods, still think to be thankful,
That to thy advancement their wisdoms have thee abased.
DORUS
Unto the gods with a thankful heart all thanks I do render,
That to my advancement their wisdoms have me abased.
But yet, alas! O but yet alas! our haps be but hard haps,
Which must frame contempt to the fittest purchase of honour.
Well may a pastor plain, but alas his plaints be not esteem’d:
Silly shepherd’s poor pipe, when his harsh sound testifies anguish,
Into the fair looking on, pastime, not passion, enters.
And to the woods or brooks, who do make such dreary recital?
What be the pangs they bear, and whence those pangs be derived,
Pleas’d to receive that name by rebounding answer of Echo,
May hope thereby to ease their inward horrible anguish,
When trees dance to the pipe, and swift streams stay by the music,
Or when an Echo begins unmov’d to sing them a love-song;
Say then, what vantage do we get by the trade of a pastor?
(Since no estates be so base, but love vouchsafeth his arrow,
Since no refuge doth serve from wounds we do carry about us,
Since outward pleasures be but halted helps to decayed Souls)
Save that daily we may discern what fire we do burn in.
Far more happy be you, whose greatness gets a free access;
Whose fair bodily gifts are fram’d most lovely to each eye,
Virtue you have, of virtue you have left proof to the whole world.
And virtue is grateful, with beauty and richness adorn’d.
Neither doubt you a whit; time will your passion utter.
Hardly remains fire hid where skill is bent to the hiding,
But in a mind that would his flames should not be repressed,
Nature worketh enough with a small help for the revealing:
Give therefore to the Muse great praise, in whose very likeness
You do approach to the fruit your only desires be to gather.
ZELMANE
First shall fertile grounds not yield increase of a good seed,
First the rivers shall cease to repay their floods to the ocean:
First may a trusty greyhound transform himself to a tiger.
First shall virtue be vice, and beauty be counted a blemish,
Ere that I leave with song of praise her praise to solemnize,
Her praise, whence to the world all praise hath his only beginning:
But yet well I do find each man most wise in his own case.
None can speak of a wound with skill, if he have not a wound felt.
Great to thee my state seems, thy state is bless’d by my judgment:
And yet neither of us great or blest deemeth his own self.
For yet (weigh this alas!) great is not great to the greater.
What judge you doth a hillock show, by the lofty Olympus?
Such my minute greatness, doth seem compar’d to the greatest.
When cedars to the ground fall down by the weight of an emmot,
Or when a rich ruby’s price be the worth of a walnut,
Or to the sun for wonders seem small sparks of a candle:
Then by my high cedar, rich ruby, and only shining sun,
Virtue, riches, beauties of mine shall great be reputed.
Oh, no, no, worthy shepherd, worth can never enter a title,
Where proofs justly do teach, thus match’d, such worth to be nought worth:
Let not a puppet abuse thy sprite, kings’ crowns do not help them
From the cruel headache, nor shoes of gold do the gout heal:
And precious couches full oft are shak’d with a fever.
If then a bodily ill in a bodily gloze be not hidden,
Shall such morning dews be an ease to the heat of a love’s fire?
DORUS
O glittering miseries of man, if this be the fortune
Of those fortunes’ lulls? so small rests, rest in a kingdom?
What marvel tho’ a prince transform himself to a pastor?
Come from marble bowers many times the gay harbour of anguish,
Unto a silly caban, thought weak, yet stronger against woes.
Now by the words I begin, most famous lady, to gather
Comfort into my soul, I do find what a blessing
Is chanced to my life, that from such muddy abundance
Of carking agonies, to states which still be adherent,
Destiny keeps me aloof, for if all this state to thy virtue
Join’d by thy beauty adorn’d be no means those griefs to abolish:
If neither by that help, thou canst climb up thy fancy,
Nor yet fancy so dress’d do receive more plausible hearing:
Then do I think indeed, that better it is to be private
In sorrow’s torments, than, tied to the pomps of a palace,
Nurse inward maladies, which have not scope to be breath’d out:
But perforce digest all bitter joys of horror
In silence, from a man’s own self with company robbed.
Better yet do I live, that though by my thoughts I be plunged
Into my life’s bondage, yet may I disburden a passion
(Oppress’d with ruinous conceits) by the help of an out-cry:
Not limited to a whispering note, the lament of a courtier.
But sometimes to the woods, sometimes to the heav’n do decipher
With bold clamour unheard, unmark’d, what I seek, what I suffer:
And when I meet those trees, in the earth’s fair livery clothed,
Ease I do feel, such ease as falls to one wholly diseased,
For that I find in them part of my state represented.
Laurel shows what I seek, by the myrrh is shown how I seek it,
Olive paints me the peace that I must aspire to by conquest:
Myrtle makes my request; my request is crown’d with a willow.
Cypress promiseth help, but a help where comes no recomfort:
Sweet juniper saith this, “Though I burn, yet I burn in a sweet fire.”
Yew doth make me think what kind of bow the boy holdeth,
Which shoots strongly without any noise, and deadly without smart,
Fir-trees great and green, fix’d on a high hill but a barren,
Like to my noble thoughts, still new, well plac’d to me fruitless.
Fig that yields most pleasant fruits, his shadow is hurtful:
Thus be her gifts most sweet, thus more danger to be near her.
Now in a palm when I mark, how he doth rise under a burden,
And may I not, say then, get up though grief be so weighty?
Pine is a mast to a ship, to my ship shall hope for a mast serve.
Pine is high, hope is as high, sharp leav’d, sharp, yet be my hopes buds.
Elm embrac’d by a vine, embracing fancy reviveth:
Poplar changeth his hue from a rising sun to a setting:
Thus to my sun do I yield, such looks her beams do afford me.
Old aged oak cut down, of new work serves to the building:
So my desires by my fear cut down, be the frames of her honour.
As he makes spears which shields do resist, her force no repulse takes.
Palms do rejoice to be join’d by the match of a male to a female,
And shall sensitive things be so senseless as to resist sense?
Thus be my thoughts dispers’d, thus thinking nurseth a thinking.
Thus both trees and each thing else, be the books of a fancy.
But to the cedar, queen of woods, when I left my betear’d eyes,
Then do I shape to myself that form which reigns so within me,
And think there she doth dwell and hear what plaints I do utter:
When that noble top doth nod, I believe she salutes me,
When by the wind it maketh a noise, I do think she doth answer.
Then kneeling to the ground, oft thus do I speak to that image:
Only jewel, O only jewel, which only deservest,
That men’s hearts be thy seat, and endless fame be thy servant,
O descend for a while, from this great height to behold me,
But nought else to behold, else is nought worth the beholding,
Save what a work by thyself is wrought: and since I am alter’d
Thus by thy work, disdain not that which is by thyself done,
In mean caves oft treasure abides, to an hostry a king comes.
And so behind foul clouds full oft fair stars do lie hidden.
ZELMANE
Hardy shepherd, such as thy merits, such may be her insight
Justly to grant thee reward, such envy I hear to thy fortune.
But to myself what wish can I make for a salve to my sorrows,
Whom both nature seems to debar from means to be helped,
And if a mean were found, fortune th’ whole course of it hinders?
Thus plagu’d how can I frame to my sore any hope of amendment?
Whence may I show to my mind any light of possible escape?
Bound, and bound by so noble bands, as loth to be unbound,
Jailer I am to myself, prison and pris’ner to mine own self.
Yet by my hopes thus plac’d, here fix’d lives all my comfort,
That that dear diamond, where wisdom holdeth a sure seat,
Whose force had such force so to transform, nay to reform me,
Will at length perceive those flames by her beams to be kindled,
And will pity the wound festered so strangely within me.
O be it so, grant such an event, O gods, that event give,
And for a sure sacrifice I do daily oblation offer
Of mine own heart, where thoughts be the temple, sight is an altar.
But cease worthy shepherd, now cease we to weary the hearers
With mournful melodies; for enough our griefs be revealed,
If the parties meant our meanings rightly be marked,
And sorrows do require some respite unto the senses.