Reliques of Ancient English Poetry consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and other Pieces of our earlier Poets, (Chiefly of the Lyric kind.) Together with some few of later Date |
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XXIV. | XXIV. ARGENTILE AND CURAN |
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Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | ||
XXIV. ARGENTILE AND CURAN
—Is extracted from an ancient historical poem in XIII Books, intitled Albion's England by William Warner: “An author (says a former editor) only unhappy in the choice of his subject, and measure of his verse. His poem is an epitome of the British history, and written with great learning, sense, and spirit. In some places fine to an extraordinary degree, as I think will eminently appear in the ensuing episode [of Argentile and Curan]. A tale full of beautiful incidents, in the romantic taste, extremely affecting, rich in ornament, wonderfully various in style; and
Warner is said to have been a Warwickshire man, and to have been educated in Oxford at Magdalene Hall : in the latter part of his life he was retained in the service of Henry Cary lord Hunsdon, to whom he dedicates his poem. More of his history is not known. Tho' now his name is so seldom mentioned, his contemporaries ranked him on a level with Spenser, and called them the Homer and Virgil of their age . But Warner rather resembled Ovid, whose Metamorphosis be seems to have taken for his model, having deduced a perpetual poem from the deluge down to the æra of Elizabeth, full of lively digressions and entertaining episodes. And tho' he is sometimes harsh, affected, and obscure, he often displays a most charming and pathetic simplicity: as where he describes Eleanor's harsh treatment of Rosamond:
So dyed double red:
Hard was the heart that gave the blow,
Soft were those lippes that bled.
The edition of Albion's England here followed was printed in 4to, 1602; said in the title-page to have been “first penned and published by William Warner, and now revised and newly enlarged by the same author.” The story of Argentile and Curan is I believe the poet's own invention; it is not mentioned in any of our chronicles. It was however so much admired, that not many years after he published it, came out a larger poem on the same subject in stanzas of six lines, intitled, “The most pleasant and delightful historie of Curan a prince of Danske, and the fayre princesse
Tho' here subdivided into stanzas, Warner's metre is the old-fashioned alexandrine of 14 syllables. The reader therefore must not expect to find the close of the stanzas consulted in the pauses.
Seaven kingdoms here begonne,
Where diversly in divers broyles
The Saxons lost and wonne.
In Diria jointly raigne;
In loyal concorde during life
These kingly friends remaine.
To Edel thus he sayes;
By those same bondes of happie love,
That held us friends alwaies;
The moyetie is mine;
By God, to whom my soule must passe,
And so in time may thine;
To nourish, as thine owne,
Thy neece, my daughter Argentile,
Till she to age be growne;
And then, as thou receivest it,
Resigne to her my throne.
The testatòr he dies;
But all that Edel undertooke,
He afterwards denies.
The damsell that was growne
The fairest lady under heaven;
Whose beautie being knowne,
But none might her obtaine;
For grippell Edel to himselfe
Her kingdome sought to gaine;
And for that cause from sight of such
He did his ward restraine.
A prince in Danske, did see
The maid, with whom he fell in love,
As much as man might bee.
His saint was kept in mewe;
Nor he, nor any noble-man
Admitted to her vewe.
He pines himselfe awaye;
Anon he thought by force of arms
To win her if he maye:
Did secretly invay.
At length the high controller Love,
Whom none may disobay,
Into a kitchen drudge,
That so at least of life or death
She might become his judge.
He did his love bewray,
And tells his birth: her answer was,
She husbandles would stay.
His booty to atchieve,
Nor caring what became of her,
At last his resolution was
Some pessant should her wive.
He did observe with joye
How Curan, whom he thought a drudge,
Scapt many an amorous toye.
Promotes his vassal still,
Lest that the basenesse of the man
Should lett, perhaps, his will.
But not suspecting who
The lover was, the king himselfe
In his behalf did woe.
Unkindly takes that he
Should barre the noble, and unto
So base a match agree:
Departed thence by stealth;
Preferring povertie before
A dangerous life in wealth.
The anguish in his hart
Was more than much, and after her
From court he did depart;
His country, friends, and all,
And only minding (whom he mist)
The foundresse of his thrall.
Or court, or stately townes,
But solitarily to live
Amongst the country grownes.
Well pleased so to live,
And shepherd-like to feed a flocke
Himselfe did wholly give.
Grew almost to the waine:
But then began a second love,
The worser of the twaine.
Where Curan kept his sheepe,
Did feed her drove: and now on her
Was all the shepherds keepe.
His holy russets oft,
And of the bacon's fat, to make
His startops blacke and soft.
He left it at the folde:
Sweete growte, or whig, his bottle had,
As much as it might holde.
And cheese as white as snow,
And wildings, or the seasons fruit
He did in scrip bestow.
And sheep-hooke lay him by,
On hollow quilles of oten straw
He piped melody.
He wip'd his greasie shooes,
And clear'd the drivell from his beard,
And thus the shepheard wooes.
“As good as tooth may chawe,
“And bread and wildings souling well,
(And therewithall did drawe
“Yon crumpling ewe, quoth he,
“Did twinne this fall, and twin shouldst thou,
“If I might tup with thee.
“Too elvish and too coy:
“Am I, I pray thee, beggarly,
“That such a flocke enjoy?
“Doest hold me in disdaine
“Is brimme abroad, and made a gybe
“To all that keepe this plaine.
“Themselves as quaint) that crave
“The match, that thou, I wot not why,
“Maist, but mislik'st to have.
“Thou art a female) I,
“I know not her that willingly
“With maiden-head would die.
“And he a churle will prove:
“The craftsman hath more worke in hand,
“Then fitteth unto love:
“Suspects his wife at home:
“A youth will play the wanton; and
“An old man prove a mome.
“He doth his flocke unfold,
“And all the day on hill or plaine
“He merrie chat can hold;
“Then jogging home betime,
“He turnes a crab, or tunes a round,
“Or sings some merry ryme.
“The nut-brown bowl doth trot;
“And sitteth singing care-away,
“Till he to bed be got:
“Forgetting morrow-cares;
“Nor feares he blasting of his corne,
“Nor uttering of his wares;
“Or cracke of credit lost:
“Shall still defray the cost.
“More quiet nights and daies
“The shepheard sleeps and wakes, than he
“Whose cattel he doth graize.
“A man, and so am I:
“Content is worth a monarchie,
“And mischiefs hit the hie;
“Not dwelling far from hence,
“Who left a daughter, save thyselfe,
“For fair a matchless wench.”—
Here did he pause, as if his tongue
Had done his heart offence.
Did egge him on to tell
How faire she was, and who she was.
“She bore, quoth he, the bell
“I know what beautie is;
“Or did I not, at seeing thee,
“I senceles were to mis.
“Well graced; and her wit
“To marvell at, not meddle with,
“As matchless I omit.
“A forehead smooth, and hie,
“An even nose; on either side
“Did shine a grayish eie:
“White just-set teeth within;
“A mouth in meane; and underneathe
“A round and dimpled chin.
“Stood bolt upright upon
“Her portly shoulders: beating balles
“Her veined breasts, anon
“Her middle falling still,
“And rising whereas women rise:—
“—Imagine nothing ill.
“Had white and azure wrists;
“And slender fingers aunswere to
“Her smooth and lillie fists.
“Conjecture of the rest:
“For amorous eies, observing forme,
“Think parts obscured best.
“Her tong of speech was spare;
“But speaking, Venus seem'd to speake,
“The balle from Ide to bear.
“Herselfe contends in face;
“Wheare equall mixture did not want
“Of milde and stately grace.
“Were chearefull unto all:
“Even such as neither wanton seeme,
“Nor waiward; mell, nor gall.
“And not disdaining any;
“Not gybing, gadding, gawdy, and
“Sweete faculties had many.
“Might praise, might wish, might see;
“For life, for love, for forme; more good,
“More worth, more faire than shee.
“Save only she was such:
“Of Argentile to say the most,
“Were to be silent much.”
But worthles of such praise,
The neatresse said: and muse I do,
A shepheard thus should blaze
The ‘coate’ of beautie . Credit me,
Thy latter speech bewraies
But wherefore dost thou weepe?
The shepheard wept, and she was woe,
And both doe silence keepe.
“As seeming I professe:
“But then for her, and now for thee,
“I from myselfe digresse.
“A recreant to be)
“I loved her, that hated love,
“But now I die for thee.
“And Curan is my name,
“Till love contrould the same:
“What ailest thou to weepe?”
The damsell wept, and he was woe,
And both did silence keepe.
That you did love so much:
But whom your former could not move,
Your second love doth touch.
Submitteth her to thee,
And for thy double love presents
Herself a single fee,
In passion not in person chaung'd,
And I, my lord, am she.
And silent for a space,
When as the extasie had end,
Did tenderly imbrace;
And for their wedding, and their wish
Got fitting time and place.
Was named so this land)
Then Curan had an hardier knight;
Whose sheep-hooke laid apart, he then
Had higher things in hand.
In Argentile her right,
He warr'd in Diria , and he wonne
Bernicia too in fight:
At once his life and crowne,
And of Northumberland was king,
Long raigning in renowne.
Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | ||