University of Virginia Library

Post on, my Muse, for hark, the Readers say
What, is Dimagoras lost, and shrunk away?
Or has th' unmindful Author quite forgot
To bring him on the Stage, why comes he not?
Reader he comes, be pleased to prepare
To see him only come to take the air
After his love-sick passion, which indeed
I shall relate; And thus in short proceed:

The King was pleased (but I know not whether,
Pity or pollicy, or both together
Mov'd him) to give Dimagoras leave to shew
Himself abroad, confining him to go
Guarded without regard; which newes being brought
Unto his willing ears, he forthwith thought
Himself in Heav'n, for after a restraint
Who would not think that man a happy Saint
That brought him newes of liberty: But now
I must implore the Reader to allow
Pardon for an omission, which in brief,
Is this: Dimagoras being fill'd with grief,
Not knowing, and worse doubting, what would be
The issue of his sad captivity;
But still his thoughts (inclining to despair
More then to comfort) often would prepare
An instrument of death; but still his heart
Prov'd the worst Actor, of the chiefest part,
And would not let him; but he oft would cry
Were't not for fear of dying, I could dye;
Oh life! Oh death! said he, why should there be
Between you two, such an Antipathie?
Alas 'tis nothing but this trifling breath
That makes such diffrence between life and death;
And what is breath? 'tis nothing but a blast,
A smoak, a vapour, and it cannot last,
Only in me it riots but to spight
And plague me with the still approaching light,
Or else succeeding darkness; thus am I
The subject of curst Fortunes cruelty:
See now the grim-lookt night is come, and all
The worlds inhabitants provide, and fall
To rest; but I (the watch-man of the world)
Am like an abject creature, tost, and hurld
Into obscurity; but yet I'le try
If sleep will lend a visit to mine eye;
With that he threw himself upon his bed,
Reposes his much discomposed head;
But all in vain, the flatterers of sleep,
(I mean short slumbers) would not let him keep
Decorum in his rest, for now, and then
He starts, now speaks, and then lies still agen;
Sometimes his voluntary tongue would cry,
Parthenia, ah Parthenia, why, Oh why
Dost thou perplex—and there a sigh would part
His words, and leave him with a throbing heart:
At last he wakes, and yet I cannot say
He wak'd, because he slept not, for he lay
Charm'd in a dream, which soon shall be exprest;
(He that dreams most, still takes the lest of rest.)

At first he dream'd, he saw Parthenia stand
Cloathed in white, with Lawrel in one hand
And Palm in th' other, at whose feet she spread
The Palm, and plac'd the Lawrel, on his head;
At which Dimagoras (much delighted) vented
His joy, in tears, and seemingly lamented
His own unworthiness, whilst she stood by,
And with a pitying smile did seem to dry
His blubber'd cheecks; but (as he after swore)
The more she wipt his eyes, he cry'd the more;
At last she seem'd to lay her gentle head
Upon his Pillow, and retire to bed;
With that ('tis quickly judg'd in what delight
He thought to spend each minute of the night)
He went to welcome her with an embrace,
And found a Spirit snugging in her place:
His warm embraces now are turn'd to cold
And frosty fears; alas he cannot hold
A joint from trembling, for his gashly eye
Being fix'd upon that object which lay by,
Did strive t' out stare the Devil; but at length
Fancy retreats, and he receives new strength;
So finding it a Dream, he turns, and then
He falls asleep, and sleeping, dreams again,
And dreaming, thought he saw bold Argalus
Smiling upon him, and salute him thus:
My Lord Dimagoras, I am come to tell
A story, which, I'm sure, will please you well:
The Gods have seen your suff'rings, and now
Intend to view you with a serene brow;
As for your wrongs to me, I freely do
Forget them, and in that, I pardon you;
I freely pardon, and Parthenia shall
Be my Engagement, that I pardon all
Your vile abuses, nay, her hand shall sign
Your gracious pardon too, as well as mine;
But I must tell you, though the Gods now please,
After an age of grief to send you ease;
yet if your care contrive not to fulfill
Each particle of their commanding will,
Be well assur'd that Hell himself near knew
A greater fall, then shall befall to you;
And as for plagues and torments, be assur'd
You shall find such as cannot be endur'd;
Thus I advise you; but because th' intent
Of this, my speech, is charitably bent
I'le shew you more, observe, ------
------ With that appears
A manly shape, more grave in looks, then years,
Nor did he come alone, for in his hand
He led a Lady, on whose cheeks did stand
A showr of speaking tears, which seem'd to say,
Oh miserable, miserable day:
These are those two, says Argalus, which you
Would willingly betray, but if you do,
Expect the plague of plagues, to vex thy heart,
And re-instate thee in eternal smart;
Observe, and weigh my words, and let not fear
Bribe thee to so much baseness, have a care;
And when you see them, seem to see them not,
So shall you purchase a most happy lot;
But one thing more: Before I dis-appear,
I needs must recommend unto your ear
A serious truth, which will be ere this night,
Chas'd by th' approaching morning, takes its flight;
'Twill so fall out, that your distracted head
Will fall much lower then your lofty bed;
You shall receive a fall, which fall, indeed
Shall cause your heart, as well as head, to bleed;
But at which time, a Damosel shall present
Her self unto you with a good intent
To salve your several hurts, her virgin name
Shall be Lutosa, whose renowned fame
Shall eccho through the world; her virtues shall
Precede her Beauty, and her beauty, all:
The wings of fame shall mount her to the skies,
She's fair, she's rich; and what is best, she's wise;
She's wise, because she's humble, and she's fair,
Because she's wise, she's rich, because she's heir
Unto Apollo, Venus, Cræsus; Nay,
She's more then second to Parthenia:
This Lady, whose perfections far transcend
Perfection, shall be proud to recommend
Her dear affections to your constant brest,
And so farewell: Th' event shall speak the rest,
And there he vanish'd ------
------ Now Dimagoras dreams
Of Cupid, Venus, and of all th' extreams
Of Love; his over-busie thoughts are now
In consultation, sweetly ploting how
To Pen an amorous Letter; first he writes,
And then blots out, and afterwards, indites;
And now his trembling hand begins to hold
The Paper, where loves stories must be told;
He sighs, and then begins; My dearest Dear,
May these my rude unpolish'd Lines,—and here
He stops, dislikes, then likes, dislikes again.
Throws by that Paper; then another strain
Must be constrain'd, and now his matter flows;
He smites his brest, looks up, and too't he goes:
The Letter's finish'd, now it must be read;
Hark how he sighs, see how he shakes his head.
He reads, and cryes, the matter is not good,
The manner's naught, and 'twill be understood
More Complement, then love; yet he is bent
To send it; What is love but Complement?
And now 'tis seal'd, seal'd with a bleeding heart
Transfixt, and wounded with an amorous dart:
Away 'tis sent; Oh how his spirits burn
In expectation of a quick return:
The allmost breathless Messenger is now
Return'd again, who with a sweating brow
Presents a Letter, which with trembling speed
He took, and kist; and then began to read;
He reads, then studies, reads again, and then
Cryes out, Oh cruel women, wretched men;
These women-Sophisters can make that sense
That's Present, be the Preterfect-tense,
These she Grammarians often times displace,
And put the Verb before the Nom'native Case;
There Rhetorick kisses and their Logick looks,
Would make an Aristotle burn his Books;
Their smiles are Tropes, & figures, & their words
Are dark Enigma's, every look affords
Large Volumns of discourse; their tears, they are
Who can tell what, my Genious, stop thou there;
Women, like Globes, do always love to be
In motion, still confin'd to liberty;
In this they differ, That no art can find
The perfect Centure of a womans mind:
But stay, me thinks this Letter does express
More then an ordinary dubiousness;
Her tongue must be th' interpreter, for I
Am unacquainted in loves mistery;
I'le haste unto her, for this cannot be
Her proper Language, no, I know that she
Is more ingenious, yet a womans heart
Is always wav'ring, ------ There a sudden start
Gave motion to his Limb, yet sleep at length
Did captivate his brain, and gave new strength
Unto his fancy, then his fancy brought
Him to his Lady: Now each forward thought
Corrects the former; so that he could find.
No means t'express th' affections of his mind;
Now sighs, and steadfast looks must only prove,
The sad, and powerful Orators of love;
They counter-look each other, for her eye
Still thwarted his, and yet she knew not why;
She blush'd because he look'd and he again
Would look, because she blush'd, but all in vain,
For on a sudden (starting from his dream)
He wakes, and waking cries, Oh how extream
Unquiet, are my slumbers, yet I find
The more I slumber, I am more confin'd
To slumber; but I hope the welcome day
Will come, and chase these falcities away:
Till then,—and there a slumber did surprise
The yeilding Fort of his besieged eyes;
He had not long engag'd himself to sleep
Before an other vision seem'd to creep
Into his fancy, which rejoyc'd his brest
And brought more comfort to him then the rest:
He dream'd he saw Parthenia, in whose face
He read the pleasing Charracters of grace,
He lookt upon her, and her Commet-eye
Portended liberal pardon; by and by
(Approaching nearer) she began to break
Her lipps; he seem'd to hear, and she to speak
To this effect: Know then, that I am come
To tell you that your time of Martyrdom
Is near at hand, nay start not, for I mean
No harm; I'le be an Actor in this Scene:
Mistake me not, you are not like to prove
A Martyr, only in the flames of love;
Be careful, that no envious fate incline
To cross your love, as once it did do mine:
Remember who it was, that to fulfill
The cruel pleasure of his greedy will
Surpriz'd me when my busie thoughts were crown'd
With Argalus; Who drag'd me on the ground?
Revil'd, and kickt me? nay, and what is worse
Poyson'd my face, and made my life a curse:
This was the cause which made me to deny
My Argalus, and say, It is not I;
And yet I lov'd him, but my love was such
I wav'd it, why? Because I lov'd him much:
Ah was it fit that Argalus should be
Match'd to so much extream deformity;
Yet in what love-sick tearms would he express
How much he lov'd deformed happiness;
How did he curse the day-light for revealing
So foul a face, the darkness for concealing
The treasure of his heart; Thus night nor day
Could please him, when his dear Parthenia
Deny'd her Argalus; ah can there be
In man, so unbeliev'd a constancy;
Nor was this all, for when, nor word, nor vow;
Could tempt my stubborn heart once to allow
A grant to his desires, away I stole,
Unknown to any, left him to condole
My unknown absence, for 'twas my intent
To lose my self; I knew not where I went,
Nor what I did; that passion of the mind,
Which make us dumb, as well can make us blind;
But see the will of fortune, I that stray'd
I knew not how, nor where, nay never made
The least enquiry, was by well-pleas'd Fate
Brought to my Aunts, (the Queen of Corinths) Gate,
Where being come, my near relations, made
(After they knew) me welcome, where I stay'd
Till time had wrought my cure, which being done
My well composed thoughts began to run
Upon my Argalus, the more each part
Was cur'd, the more I found, a wounded heart;
At last I sent to see if I could find
(There is no sickness to a love-sick mind)
My Love; but when the Messenger return'd
I froze with fear to ask, and yet I burn'd
With a desire to know; and who can blame
Long smothered Love, to break into a flame;
But Fate (which then was courtious) brought about
My wishes, for at last, I found him out:
Nor was I then content; my zealous mind
Began to plot, and try if I could find
A flaw in his affections, but I found
His heart as constant, and his love as sound
As heart could wish; 'tis true, I laid this plot
To see if Argalus had quite forgot
His Dear Parthenia; but I could espy
(And read within the volumn of his eye)
Th' affections of his heart; but he at first
Took me for what I was, yet after burst
Into a storm of tears, because his eye
Cheated his thoughts, I told him t'was not I;
But that I came t'invite him now to take
A heart on trust, for dead Parthenias sake:
But he refused; yet the more I made
My strong attempt, and resolutely said;
My Lord, you must accept; He shook his head,
And cry'd, Oh Heavens! and is Parthenia dead?
If she be dead, what heart have I to give?
And how can I receive. that cannot live
To make requital, Earth shall sooner move
Then I will yeild unto a second love,
Although I must confess, says he, you are
Parthenia's Image, and might be her heir
In worth, and beauty; but alass, she's fled,
And I am flying; Is Parthenia dead,
Oh then—with that I flew into his arms,
And so restor'd him with my wofull charms,
Nay it was long before I could perswade
His heart to credit what my tongue had said;
Yet at the last, loves circumstances prov'd
That I was once his lost, yet well-belov'd
And true Parthenia; thus by lucky art
My face was cur'd before, and then, my heart:
Thus after all this turbulent confusion
Fate brought our wishes to a good conclusion,
And you to punishment, which seem'd to glory,
In being Authour of this Tragick story;
But I forgive you, wishing you to be
A Philalethes, not a fallsie:
And now because that you may fully know
That you are pardon'd, follow where I go;
Be confident of what I say; and tell
Th' enquiring world, what hath this night befell;
So follow me: Impatient of delay
He rises in his sleep, and hasts away;
And being up, he ransacks all about
To see if he could find Parthenia out;
But she was gone, and yet he blindly gropes
About the Room, being fill'd with fruitless hopes
At last to find her; but his sleepy pace
Brings him with speed unto the fatal place
Of execution; down the stairs he falls,
And falling wakes, and waking, swears, and bawls
For Justice on Parthenia, whilst he cryes,
Revenge, revenge, my swelling injuries
Upon that cursed Hagg; Oh let her be
Confin'd to Hell for perpetuity;
Oh where am I, cryes he, can any tell
Except the Devil; Am I not in Hell;
Or do I dream; yet Dreams do seldom show
Reality; I'm bruis'd and batter'd,—Oh—
My head, my shoulders, nay, and every part
Does now contrive to breed an aching heart;
What Devil toss'd me hither, must I be
The Tennis-ball of Hell? Oh tyranny;
What, have they drencht me in the Stigian Lake?
For I am wet, my head, my shoulders ake;
What streams are these, that run, and flow about
My face, and ears, what are my brains beat out?
Oh help, for pitty help,; what shall I lye
Brainless, and helpless, and unpitied dye;
What is the world grown deaf? or do I call
Without regard? Oh most accursed fall;
I cannot help my self, 'tis therefore vain
For me to strive to crawl up stairs again;
Well then, since none will pity, farewel breath,
I'le be content to groan my self to death:
Thus lay Dimagoras, groaning forth a curse,
His cryes were terrible, his groans were worse.

The trembling Goaler heard his groans, his cryes;
But had as little power to pray, as rise;
He is all fear, no hopes can reconcile
His thoughts to Heaven, his actions are so vile;
He call'd his sins before him with intent
To add unto them, but not to repent;
Goalers are Hells pawn-brokers, for they take
Forty, per Cent. and doe't for pity sake;
Sometimes they'l carry (with a dexterous art)
Heav'n in their face, the Devil in their heart;
And 'tis well known, th' oppressed pris'ners cry,
Is their delight; their groans, their melody:
Reader, consider but a Goaler well,
You'l find him Devil, and his prison, Hell:
But whither run I: must Dimagoras lie
Pickled in blood without a remedy:
The day appears, the Goaler now begins
To stare about him, and forget his sins,
He now starts up; His Wife being grave & wise,
Bids him confess his faith before he rise;
Faith (says the Goaler) what should that thing be?
If I keep faith, in troth 'twill not keep me:
Tell me of faith, Hell bury thee alive;
'Tis sweet oppression makes a Goaler thrive:
She speaks again; why, Minion, what dost ayle
Says he; Faith will not silver-lace thy tail,
Nor feed your wants: No more; for if you do,
Your Faith shall be your meat, and clothing too;
The name of that bare word will make me fail,
'Twill prove a poyson, and break ope my Goal;
'Tis much like Mercury, because 'twill eat
Through Iron bars, nay, 'tis a thing will cheat,
The Devil, nay, I tell thee without doubt,
If we keep that, 'twill let our pris'ners out;
I fear, I fear, this very word portends
Some mischief unto us, or to our friends:
My dreams were sad this night, me thoughts the great
Lyconian Lord was grown so spruce, and neat,
That all the world admir'd him, nay, his brain
(Untun'd by frenzy) was now tun'd again,
And at the last me thoughts I saw him lye
Upon a Couch, and our Lutosa by,
Braiding his hair; he gently seem'd to play
And toy with her,, but in a civil way;
At last me thoughts I heard a noise, that made
My trembling unprovided heart afraid;
I started from my sleep, made haste, and went
To rise, but that thy Language did prevent,
And hinder my design; I thank my Fate
I never heard a word did more abate
My courage, for, indeed, I was inclin'd
To rise, and run to quarrel with the wind;
But such another word (I'le tell thee true)
Would make me use a pris'ner like a Jew:
But now I'le rise, but prethee speak no more,
Nor name that word which once you nam'd before;
But now I think on't, I must haste and go
Unto my Lord Dimagoras, and know
What he intends; the King hath gave him leave
To take the air; but yet I can perceive
No great desire he hath to leave this place;
My Paradice sure pleases well his grace;
But e're he stirs, I will be sure that he
(Were he my flesh and blood) shall pay his Fee;
I'le hast and see what his wise Lordship saith,
Good morrow Wife; Pray not a word of faith:

Away he goes; no sooner was he come
Within the door of the scarce-twilight room,
But he espies confusion; for the Bed
Was thrown quite open, and Dimagoras fled:
The Goaler, much affrighted, hasts away
Unto his Wise, and thus began to say;

I am undone, cryes he, undone, Good Wife
Be civil to me, quickly take a knife
And cut my throat, Dimagoras is fled,
I shall be hang'd, Oh that I now were dead;
Prethee dispatch me, for 'twill be disgrace
To see thy husband hang'd before thy face;
Call up my servants quickly, whilst I stay
And see if I can force my self to pray;
Good Wife make haste, be quick; away she flyes,
And runs down stairs with light'ning in her eyes;
She calls her servants, but they could not hear,
For sleep had barrocado'd every ear;
At last, away she runs, thinking to call
Her Daughter; but she stumbling, catch'd a fall;
They say that women stumble at a straw;
But this I'm sure was none, because she saw
It was Dimagoras, who begun to cry
Torment me not Parthenia, let me dye,
I am half dead, Oh do me not the wrong
To hinder me, I'have liv'd too too long
Too long: with that up gets the Goalers wife,
Runs to her husband, husband safe thy life,
Dimagoras, Dimagoras ------ and there
She wanting breath, was forc'd to gape for air;
With that the Goaler, for a little space
Stood still, and she stood staring in his face;
They both were mute; the Goaler thought it vain
To speak to her that could not speak again;
But looking strictly on her, he espies
Her hands, her cloths all bloody, then he cryes
Out murther, murther: and by this time, all
The house was up, who hearing him to call,
And cry out murther, came all arm'd to see
What was the matter; but by this time, she
Had taken breath, and told her husband, that
Dimagoras was not fled, but to say what
The matter was, she knew not; but her haste
Made her to trip, and tumble cross his wast.
The Goaler now looks big, begins to swear
By Hercules, that all things were not fair;
He snatch'd his sword into his hand, and run
Down stairs, to see the things that had been done,
Where being come (attended with his Guard)
He lookt about, but could not see, yet heard
Sad groans, as could by horror be exprest;
(But to find pity in a Goalers brest
Is more then miracle) he hunts about,
Yet could not find (what he expected) out;
He calls his Wife, and says, 'tis strange that she
Should stumble at a thing, he could not see.
Prepostrous fool, says she, suppose that men,
Should know how oft their wives did fall; what then?
By this I see your zealesie appears,
Your horns, good man, are longer then your ears,
Says she; Come follow me, I'le shew you where
Your Pris'ner lyes, lift up your horns, look there,
Look well upon him, judge him if you can
To be a knowing able womans man;
The Goaler now provides him, to debate
The cause, and reason, of his low estate;
Goes nearer to him, wills him to express
The dismal cause of this unhappiness;
But all in vain, Dimagoras, whose eyes
Were glew'd with blood, cou'd not behold his wise
And careful Goaler, neither did he find
Whose voice it was, being, deaf, as well as blind;
With that the Goaler seeing 'twas in vain
To question him, whose fear, more then his pain,
Made him elingued, gave command that he
Should be committed to his bed, and be
Observ'd with care, whilst he himself, would run
And fetch a Chirurgion, which thing being done,
He brings him in, who presently provides
To patch his head, and plaister up his sides;
He wash'd his head, then takes his Probe, and tries
The deepness of his wounds; Dimagoras cryes,
What you mean, ye Hell-hounds, are ye come
To bring me to a second martyrdom;
Torment me not, 'tis known that I have store
Of plagues already, then what need I more?
Oh that my eyes were open, that I might
But see the day, how blest a thing is light?
Say, are ye men, or Devils? by and by,
Reply'd the Chirurgeon your observing eye
Shall testifie the truth, so by degrees
Unglews his eye-lids, and Dimagoras sees,
And knows them all; he being gently drest,
Tells his misfortune, and so goes to rest;
After some hours of sleep, Dimagoras wakes,
Finding himself at ease, he gently shakes
His slumbers off; and then begins to call
To minde the fate of his unlucky fall;
He well remember'd that he dream'd he should
Receive a sudden fall, a fall that would
Prove prejudicial, which he found too true;
But mist the Damosel promis'd to ensue,
And dress his wounds; nay, and he calls to mind
Her name, and cryes Lutosa was unkind
Not to appear; but yet he hop'd his fate,
Would yet prove kind, it being not too late:
His longing soul now groans, and sighs to see
Some good, after so much of miserie;
Alas, says he, has providence forgot
To send thee hither, ah why com'st thou not
In spight of Fate? be certain I will prove
A constant lover' never to remove
My well-fix't thoughts: Love has a secret art,
I am already wedded in my heart;
I hugg thee in my soul; Oh do not stay
My dear Lutosa, come, Oh come away;
My thoughts, are by thy absence, much increast;
And thus I take up love at interest;
Save these extream expences, and command
That I may take it at a better hand;
Oh come: Having so said (half void of hope)
The door being softly mov'd, did gently ope;
In comes a thing, whose worth is best exprest
By saying nothing, Reader, judge the rest;
And yet because truth may be clearly shown,
It was the Goalers daughter, who was known,
And call'd Lutosa,; this is she, whose beauty,
As it commanded, so it proffer'd, duty
Unto Dimagoras; Reader, wouldst thou hear
Her Character; be patient, and give ear:
‘First, she was natures over-sight, and then
‘Her fathers darling, and a scorn to men:
‘Her mother oft would say, she was begot,
‘When peevish nature did, she knew not what;
And this is she, (Dimag'ras dream'd) was fair,
Was rich, was wise, nay, and Apollo's heir;
But let me whisper, and I'le tell thee what,
Believe quite contrary, and she was that:
'Tis more then double misery to dwell
Upon a name, whose Character, is Hell;
She was a Goalers daughter; what need more?
The consequence denotes her to be—W---
Yet good enough for him, whose lep'rous name
Deserves no other Wife, then lasting shame;
She stares upon Dimagoras, who now
Begins to view her with a wrinkled brow;
His faith depending on his flattering dream,
Makes him believe that she is all extream;
His love-sick thoughts are plotting how to praise
And court her beauty, in an amorous phrase;
He calls her to him, she (not being coy)
Stradles unto him, and begins to toy
And wanton with his hair, entreats, desires,
To dress his wounds, and with much zeal, requires
The reason of his raging grief; whilst he
Is ravish'd with her affabilitie;
His trembling hand seizes her dirty paw,
Her daring Nose still keeps her mouth in awe,
Or else she had, (more to compleat his bliss)
Crown'd his pale lips, with a be-slabbering kiss;
He sighs, and she, as willing to requite
His pains, endeavours with much speed and might
To answer him, but counld not, for she knew
Not how to sigh, but gave a grunt, or two,
Which (to speak truth) did very much content
Dimagoras, who thought that she had rent,
Her heart in pieces; after that, she throws
Her goggle-eyes about, and then bestows
A wide-mouth'd smile upon him, which exprest
Ten thousand joys, he thinks himself as blest
As bliss can make him, and begins to take
Couragious boldness, passionate to make
Humble addresses to her; She begins
T' admire her self, he courts her and she grins,
Grows now a little coy; and will not stay,
But by compulsion; strives to go away,
Because she knows she cannot; Oh what pains
He takes to hold her, whilst she strives and strains
T' unscrew her self; why, let me go, says she,
Or I will tell your incivilitie
Unto my father, who will make you know
What 'tis to use his virgin Daughter so;
I will be gon, with that Dimagoras vents
A showr of tears, and shews his discontents,
By his too-stedfast looks, which made her show
An angry brow, although it were not so:
'Tis importunity makes women prove
Insulting tyrants over proffer'd love:
Dimagoras sues, and begs, whilst she replies,
Away with these your false, fond flateries;
My mother told me, that I must not yeild
At first; and they are Cowards quit the field
At the first on-set; nay, my mother told me,
Men do not always love me, when they hold me;
She charg'd me too, when men desir'd to know
Whether I could affect; at first, say no:
And here she whisper'd, Oh unhappy I,
It goes against my stomack to deny;
And though I dare not in a present sense
Yet I may love you in the Future Tense;
Then let me go, you shall not be withstood
If you'l but keep in the Optative Mood:
Away she trundles, whilst his nimble eye
Pursues her to the last discovery.
The door being shut, and his Lutosa fled,
He then composed his distracted head;
Begins to ruminate, and call to mind
Her several graces, and with what a kind
Aspect she look't upon him, then to say
She had no crime, but that she went away;
But Oh ye powers, cryes he, do but befriend
My wishes with success, and quickly send
My soul unto me, for alas I own
Nothing of life, when my Lutosa's gone:
I am a Statue, nay, and what is worse,
Her present absence makes my life a curse;
Ah, where art thou my dearest, do not stay
Too long but come; Oh quickly come away,
Here, here, thy languishing Dimagoras lyes
Wounded, with what must cure, thy balmy eyes;
Let thy disquiet heart permit no rest
To crowd into thy heart, till thou hast blest
Thy dearest with a visit: Couldst thou see
My heart, my dear, Oh thou wouldst pity me.
The door (which seem'd to pitty) by degrees
Was op'ned, but alas Dimagoras sees,
Not what he lookt for, for it prov'd to be
The Goaler, and Chirurgion, come to see,
And dress his wounds, so after he had done
Departs; And then the Goaler thus begun.

My Lord, I thought it fit to let you know
If you desire to take the air, and go
A mile or two; I shall this afternoon
Be ready to attend you, and as soon
As with conveniency your Lordship shall
Give me command, I will attend your call;
To which Dimagoras (after thanks) reply'd,
Your civil kindness shall not be deny'd;
Therefore this afternoon, I shall prepare
My self, and willingly enjoy the air;
But being (you know a stranger) must depend
Vpon your interest, for I have no friend
To welcome me; Thus having understood
What I intend; do what you shall think good:
To which the Goaler thus reply'd, My Lord,
Arcadia it a Country doth afford
Both courtesie and plenty, 'tis well known,
That civil entertainmet's always shown,
Especially to strangers; never doubt,
My Lord, we'l finde good entertainment out:
There is a Knight, not two Leagues from this place
(Whose hospitable goodness gives a grace,
And life to fame) whose seat, is truly, call'd
The Pallace of delight, being fenc'd, and wall'd
About with Marble; Art and Nature, were
A long time plotting how to make it rare;
And many curious eyes, have often went
To see, and judge, which was most excellent,
Nature, or Art; but none could justly tell,
Because they both endeavour'd to excell:
Unto this place, my Lord, if you think fit,
We'l steer our course, but let us not omit
Our oppertunity, my Lord, time flies
Without reclaim, conveniency bids rise,
Whilst I, my Lord, will hasten to prepare
Accomodations, this shall be my care.
Away the Goaler went, who being gone,
Dimagoras began to think upon
His dear Lutosa, nothing could proclaim
Him happy, but this crooked piece of shame;
But time draws on, Dimagoras now prepares
To take his Journey, loaded with more cares
Then ever; Now he labours to pretend
An indispose, as hoping to befriend
Himself with an advantage how to speak
With his Lutosa, or his heart must break;
But see how all things seemingly concurr
To make compleat his happiness in her;
For in she comes, I will not now expres;
Her comely carriage, or her dirty dress;
Her graceful dopps, no, nor her sheep-like eyes,
It is enough, Dimagoras discries
Nothing but beauty joyn'd with equal parts,
Sufficient to subdue the stontest hearts;
He stroaks his Beard, and with a well-pleas'd look
He step'd unto her, chring'd, and after took
Her by the hand; judge then what follows next,
Not much of consequence from such a Text:
He look'd as if his hopeless heart were breaking,
Nor could he speak for sighs, she ligh, for speaking
But at the last, perpending well, how short
The time would be, he treated in this sort:
My dear Lutosa, wonder not, I know
Thy name, for fancy told me it was so;
Moreover, I was warned in a dream
T' adore that beauty which I found extream:
Then blame me not (because in thee I finde
My dream fulfill'd) to proffer thee my kinde,
And true affections, for by all that's good
I love thee equal with my dearest blood;
The world shall not exclude thee from my arms,
I will defend, and guard thee from all harms;
Oh that I were in Arms, that I might try;
For love gives courage, courage victory:
I'le plough the Ocean, rip up Mountains, make
The knit brow'd-surly-cragged Rocks to quake
At my appearance; nay, if Hell shall dare
To contradict me, he shall feel a share
Of my impos'd revenge, there's nothing can
Withstand th' attempts of a resolved man;
I am resolv'd, let all the world conspire
Against me, I will crown my blest desire
With good effect; If my Lutosa say
It shall be done, 'tis done, who dare gain-say?
If any dare oppose, let him be shown
To me in Arms; I'le warrant thee mine own:
If Mars should come in person, and propound
But love to thee. I'de make him kiss the ground:
What were Knight Errants, only arrant knaves,
And base Impostors, nay, the very slaves
Of time, and fortune, prating thus, and thus;
And such an other thing was Argalus,
Compar'd to me; I'm confident that fate
Dares not to make me less then fortunate:
Suppose (my dear affected) thou wert now
Inclos'd with Bulls, and Bears, dispairing how
To save thy life, and I by chance come by,
And view my Dearest in such misery;
Oh how I'de make those Tyrants fly, and run
Like subject mists before the Princely Sun:
What says my Love, wilt thou accept a heart
Unconquerable, but by thee, who art
Commandress of my soul; wilt thou incline
To my request, and tell me thou art mine?
Forget that female custome, do not say
The child of Love, cannot be in one day
Begot, nay bred, and born; for it must be
Encreast, brought forth, by times maturitie;
Believe not these fond falseties, for know
Love is an active, sprightly thing, will grow
Insensible; 'tis more then petty treason
Against the God of Love, to love by reason:
What reason was there, that there should be seen
So much intire affection between
Vulcan and Venus; Cupids Arrows fly
Not always constant, sometimes low, then high;
For I have known, a Noble Lord, express
Affection to an humble Shepherdess;
How many high-born Kings did often prove
Sad Martyrs in the common flames of love;
But this (I must confess) discretion must
Not attribute to Love, so much as Lust;
There may be Love, in Lust, but 'tis well known
To be a spurious, and a bastard one;
Such Love, like Mother-pearl, does oft send forth
A glorious luster, but is little worth:
Or like that foolish fire, which men say
Only mis guids, and leads men from their way,
And then it leaves them like a sudden blast,
Whose fierce extreams portend it cannot last;
This is a mock-love, only fit to be
The subject of our hatred; thus you see,
My (Dear Lutosa) and may well infer
From hence, that perfect Love can never err;
For notwithstanding love may like the fire,
Whose rapid flames, do often times aspire;
And sometimes wanting fuel to maintain
It's strength, does seemingly go out again;
Yet, without doubt, the fire is still the same,
The cause being gon, th'effect must needs be lame;
Love is the ground of Love, a thing divine,
And truly Noble, such a Love is mine;
My dear Lutosa come, let me infold,
And lock thee in mine Arms, er'e time grows old.
Let not the prime of Love be spent in toys,
At my return I will compleat my joys
By sacred Matrimony; speak, my Dear,
And let a speedy, free consent appear,
Though usher'd with a blush; 'tis always known
The Rose does never blush until 'tis blown;
Reply (my Dearest) time cannot allow
A fitter opportunity then now;
Wilt thou compleat the blessings of my life,
And crown me with the comforts of a Wife;
Speak, speak my Joy, or let thy silence be
The proclamation of our unitie;
I must be gone: She stares upon his face,
As if her looks would speak, and for a space
She held him by the hand, with an intent
To speak, but that the Goaler did prevent
Her resolutions; so being heavy hearted,
He sighs, she grunts, he sighs again, and parted:
Away he went, scarce knowing what he did,
And love sick passions are not eas'ly hid:
At last when he had made a near approach,
He spies a Guard stand round about his Coach,
Which unexpected object made him vent
In whispers, his unruly discontent;
He calls the Goaler to him, makes his ear
The privy-Chamber of his new-bred fear;
His fear was so extream, that every part
Declar'd in trembles, his afflicted heart:
The Goaler wonders at this sudden change,
Speaking but softly, said, my Lord, 'tis strange
To see what alteration's newly bred;
You that but now advanc'd your stately head
As high as Heav'n, do now abuse your birth
Make honour blush, to see you court the earth
With your depending crest; my Lord, advance
Your drooping soul, fear not, nor fate, nor chance
Shall do you wrong, this Guard is to attend,
And wait upon your Honour, to defend
Your noble Person; well, if good success
Proves this a truth, says he, that you express,
Be well assur'd, that thou shalt ever find
A grateful friend; but prethee prove so kind
To tell me truly, is it not intended
That I shall dye, because I am befriended
With such a Guard, I fear 'tis too too true
But you are loath to tell me, prethee do:
Let these few Angels tutor thee to speak
The speedy truth, or else my heart will break:
With that the Goaler, (Oh th' effect of gold,
What Town? What Garrison is that can hold
Against such Batteries?) suddenly reply'd:
May all the plagues of Hell, my Lord, betide
And fall upon me, may they be encreast
To more then infinite, if in the least
Your death's intended; now, my Lord, be free
In your beleif, enjoy your liberty;
As for the Guard, assure your self they are
To wait in honour, till you take the aire:
And so my Lord, be pleased to possess
Your Coach, and you shall see their readiness
To do you honour; so away they went,
Dimagoras being mod'rately content,
Until he came into the Street and spy'd
Such throngs of people, and how he was ey'd
By every one, who lookt, but on this score
As he suppos'd, never to see him more;
Nay that which more confirm'd him, was, his ear
(Which then was much attentive) seem'd to hear
Some curse and say Now may the hang-man take
And truss the villain for Parthenia's sake:
These words were bitter Corasives; now he
Curses the Goalers infidelitie;
He thinks to quit the Coach, but then his thoughts
Presents before him his unequal faults;
Resolves to stay, because he thinks the Rout
Would have no mercy till his Brains were out:
At last seeing himself begin t' appear
Without the City, he begins to cheer,
And stroak his Beard, his peaceful heart doth now
Begin to sit in tryumph on his brow:
‘Fear is the senses whirlewind, for it blows
‘The minds chief faculties away, and throws
‘The reason out of order, judgment must
‘Be whirl'd in to the lofty aire, like dust:
Dimagoras can witness this conclusion.
‘Folly and fear are parents of confusion:
‘And he whose fear exceeds his reason, borrows
‘A fair advantage to encrease his sorrows;
But now Dimagoras his stormy mind
Grows calm, and quiet; now he is enclin'd
T' observe the Countries pleasure, which indeed
Does justly claim the priviledge to exceed:
She's natures eldest Daughter, wears the Crown
Of pleasure, plenty, jewel'd with Renown;
And to speak truth, she truly can invite
The strictest eye, to banquet with delight;
But in respect she has been prais'd before
By better Pens then mine, I'le say no more:
Thus having brought Dimagoras, though with fear
Yet with much safety, out of Town, I'le steer
My course towards his Lutosa, who is now
In labour with her thoughts, complotting how
With most advantage, to declare her mind
Unto her Mother; Fortune proving kind
Just at that instant, brought her Mother in,
Which gave Lutosa courage to begin,
And thus proceed:—Mother, says she, I must
Commit a secret, to your care, and trust,
Which is as follows: ------
------ Our Lyconian Lord
Of late hath pleas'd in passion to afford
Large promises of Love; but Mother, know
Because you bid me, I still answer'd, No;
But still the more that I deny'd, the more
He importun'd me, and would not give o're
His strong requests, swearing by all the powers
Above, before th' expence of many hours,
He would; though with the hazard of his life,
Finish his joys, by making me his wife;
Oh how he vow'd; And there, with much ado,
She wrings, and squeezes out, a tear or two;
And then she cryes, Mother I must confess
I love the man more then I can express:
Oh Mother! how his circling Arms did twine
About my waste, he call'd me his Divine
And Dear Lutosa, holding fast my hand,
And staring in my face, whilst there did stand
A Pearly showre within his pretty eyes,
As Arguments of his extreamities;
Oh how he wrong my hands, and would not let
Me go, but like an Owl catch'd in a Net
I flutter'd up, and down, but all in vain
The more I strove, the more he would constrain,
And keep me, swearing that he car'd not whither
His life, or I went first, or both together;
So dearly does he love me, and I'm sure
His stedfast love will constantly endure,
It will, it will; Oh how my Spirits burn,
I am inflam'd, I long for his return;
Mother, 'twil add unto your aged life
A score of years, to see your daughter, wife
Unto a Noble Lord: Ah Daughter, Daughter,
Reply'd the Mother, mind what follows after;
'Tis no such happiness to be his Spouse
That makes (with an intent to break) his vows
Besides, what joy, what pleasure can there be
In this his love's extream extremitie.
Extreams, like bubles, swell, but cannot last,
Nor claim more durance then a sudden blast;
Suppose you were invited as a Guest
To some rich Banquet, or a Marriage Feast,
Tell me, nay quickly tell me, would you eat
By well-cram'd handfulls, such delitious meat,
Or by degrees? Reason, and Nature are
For moderate uses; they that eat to spare,
Spare oft to eat; Thus consequence may prove
There is no surfeit like a whole-sale love;
Moreover, do you think that wit or art
Can make it good to my experienc'd heart,
That he, vile man, (that never yet was true
To any) will be constant unto you;
Beleive it not; but yet, for ought I know,
He being mad, perhaps has made you so;
Only in this, the match is very fit,
Because you truly equal him in wit;
Moreover, call to mind how he abus'd
Divine Parthenia, nay, and basely us'd
Our most Renown'd Celania, whom I wish
The Gods defend and guard from prejudice:
He is a Traytor to the Laws of Reason,
Begot by murther, and brought forth by treason:
And do you think that he which was content
To'abuse those Beauties which were excellent
Can dote on you, that only have a beauty
Can boast equivolency to your duty.
Which (to speak truth) is nothing; you inherit
Your Fathers baseness, with as base a spirit:
Nature did crowd into the world a curse
When thou wert born, and could not make thee worse;
But now you fondly hope to change your life;
You'l be a Lords, and I a Goalers wife;
Your cruel Father, doubtless will be proud
To hear this news, pray tell it him aloud;
With that away she flung, clapps to the door,
Being tyr'd with what she heard, would hear no more,
Where now I'le leave them, for I am to make
What haste, what speed I can, to overtake
Dimagoras in his Journey; but a while
I'le rest, not turn a pleasure to a toyl.