The Historie of Calanthrop and Lucilla Conspicuously demonstrating the various mutabilities of Fortune in their loves, with every severall circumstance of joyes and crosses, fortunate exploites, and hazardous adventures, which either of them sustained before they could attaine the prosperous event of their wished aimes. By John Kennedie |
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THE FORRESTER HIS RELATION.
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 | The Historie of Calanthrop and Lucilla |  |
THE FORRESTER HIS RELATION.
Long after that the val'rous Greeks had leveld with the groundThe stately walles of Ilium & Priams race consound,
For rapt of Menelaus wise, even then of happy Greece,
The Diadem was rightly swayd, the scepter ruld in peace,
By Princes of its Provinces, who all as in one minde
Most vertuously for publick weale, aptly themselves combynd.
Two-topt Pernasse and Helicon, the Muses haunt this while.
The soring was wrought by Pegasus the winged horse his hove,
Those thrice three sisters sacred selves were knowne about to move.
The Nymphs with fair disheveld haire, then tript the flowrie meads,
The harmles flocks through vales & dales, & mountains safly feeds.
The skipping Satyrs midst the groves, longst silver brooks did play,
The countrey maids in rurall games to gaine the praise essay.
Even then did prudent Philagath over Thessalia reigne,
A man whom Fates and Fortune both, more favourd than a king.
For by his birth he honoured was, through royall right discent,
Of many Kings of Thessaly, as histories comment.
His grandour purchast great respect, his iustice made men feare,
His clemencie made him belov'd, of all his name did heare.
And Nature in succession would him also happy make,
In giving him a sonne which should (when as he pleasd forsake)
The Scepter, rule in fathers stead, his countries all defend
From forraine force, if any to invade the same intend.
A comely girle he also had, who as shee grew in yeares,
Her beautie then not paraleld, more lovely still appeares.
Her beautie great, fame blaz'd abroad, in regions round about,
Yea, it I thinke, was published, almost the world throughout.
So from all countries suiters did, to Thessaly resort,
Where they themselves might recreate in each desired sport.
But all their aimes was to attaine, the Ladies wisht consent,
Yet all in vaine, for still they did returne most malcontent.
Yet at the last, as Fortune would not haue her dye a maide,
The Duke of rich Calabria himselfe there soone convayde,
And in short time such successe had, as he acquir'd her loue
In honest forme, and so they matcht, which afterwards did prove
To both their goods and hearts content, for in a twelve months space
She bore to him a gallant girle, which had an Angels face.
This girle was nam'd Lucilla faire, as iustly she may bee,
The fairest Lady, now aliue, inricht most plenteouslie
With rarest gifts, and graces good, that mortals doe enioy,
The Gods likewise in one assent, still shield her from annoy.
But now the Duke her father did, conceive so great delight,
In his new match, and daughter faire, he ev'rie day or night,
Esteem'd a yeare till he return'd with this his beauteous prize,
Towards his countrey, for all Greece, his successe did despise.
Then homewards hasted with his wife, and all his companie:
At home he led a ioyfull life, sequestrate from all care,
Till envious Fortune griev'd thereat, inraged through despaire,
Would make him taste the bitter gall, of her satyrick frowne,
And make him know the sun-shine of her favours, were ore-blowne.
Not fully liv'd he sixe yeares space, with his beloved wife,
When Philagath through sicknes great, was thought should loose his life.
Those newes, I thinke, bad musick sound, into the Dutchesse eare,
Now were her senses all apal'd, by sudaine pale-fac't feare.
Yet she resolves to visite him, as she in dutie should,
The Duke doth strive her to disswade, but yet no way hee could.
Away she goes for Thessaly, with all her lovely traine
Of gallant Knights, and Ladies faire, she hastes ore hill & plain.
Through diligence she doth attaine, her wished iourneyes end,
Even as some wearie Pilgrime doth, who feeble foot-steps spend
In superstitious pilgrimage, before some kinsmans death:
Right so she hastes, as though shee could, preserue her fathers breath.
But so it is, death doth prevent, too oft what we desire,
And our moist nature doth combure, with flames of fatall fire.
For ere the Dutchesse could attaine, her loving fathers sight,
Remorselesse Death (vnwelcome guest) forc't him forgoe his sp'right.
Then with great shouts she pierced oft the azur'd welkin faire,
And clouds with ecchoes did resound, her plaints throgh emptie aire
Yet forc't she must haue patience, mournings doe nought availe,
For Death with equall pace, both Prince, & poore-man doth assaile.
So she, with griefe, her last leaue takes, of Thessaly with teares.
And her owne brothers eldest sonne, along with her she beares.
Home to her owne Calabria shee & her comp'nie goe,
From their sad harts the speach-like groanes still seem'd to vtter woe
Thorow Epyrus lay their way, where they one night did rest.
But, on the morrow, Phœbus beames them scorchingly opprest.
So that vnto a wood they seek, to taste some cooling shade,
A forrest faire they found hardby, wherof they all were glad.
With speedie pace they thither went, but better they had staid.
For they had not long soiourn'd there, when they were all afraid.
The Savages those woods did haunt, them furiously assault,
The knights again, wth murdring swords, sharply correct that fault.
In little space those wild men were, forc't to a sad retreat,
Some kild, some fled, some howlingly, bad successes repeat.
Yet e're she goe, she must endure, inevitable smart.
For as the Knights the Dutchesse sought, vnto her coach to bring,
A monstrous Scorpion lurkt hard by, her pittiously did sting,
Then to the hold returnes againe, a foot-groome it prevent,
And with a Sable it divides, so frustrates its intent,
The Dutchesse Surgeon by his balme, and vnguents tryes his skill,
His Teriack nor his Mithridate, cannot the venome kill,
His antipoysons have no force, no nor his vipers oyle,
Doe what he can, the venome strong, the Lady's like to spoyle.
Her grievous pain doth stil increase, her wound grows worse & worse
No cordiall nor no cataplasme, against the sting have force,
With sad and wofull hearts her guard, doe carie her along,
Gainst Fates & Fortune they exclaime for this opprobrious wrong,
If poysnous heat made her a thirst, or did the heavens or daine,
Her present ayd, no man can tell, but she could not sustaine
Such thirst: therefore she cald a groome, and bids him goe and finde
Some colding spring, that she might ease her hart, with heat was pynd
He goes and findes a purling brooke, then quickly turnes againe,
Thereof she drinkes, and still she thinkes, the lesser growes her paine.
Now from her coach she doth dismount, (ô admirable thing)
The paine and poyson both decrease, by drinking of the spring.
Her knights and guard goe both apart, her Ladies bathe her wound,
Throgh bathing with the helthful spring the Dutches is made sound.
With humble & with thankfull hearts they praise the gods therfore,
Who did so soone mirac'lously, their Ladies health restore.
Then to a village bordring neere, she and her comp'nie went,
But e're they could the same approach, the day was nere hand spent.
For midst the way they find a man, whose cloathes were old & worn,
He seem'd to be of poore estate, & yet by countrey-borne,
The Dutchesse askd him, how they cald this countrey, & the wood,
And how they cald the happy spring, that yeelded her such good.
This countrey is Epyrus cald (quoth hee) where we are plac't,
Hazardfull forrests of Epyre be those, you lately trac't,
The brook is cald the healthfull spring, through Grecia flies its fame,
Of each of those (faire Ladie know) this is the proper name.
Those forrests be cald hazardfull, cause many one of old
And likewise now, strange accidents in them finde manifold.
The brooke is cald the healthfull spring, as well it may indeed,
Gainst poyson, venom-cankring fever, a soveraigne try'd remeede,
Next morning on their iourney goe, how soone the day was light.
Then in few dayes to this her home, the Dutchesse quickly came,
This countrey her Calabria, it is the very same.
What then it was, so is it now, not subiect to decay,
No forraine force, nor homebred iarres, its indwellers dismay.
When that the Dutchesse liv'd here home, a while with easeful mind
And former sorrowes all were past, as loath to prove vnkinde.
She caused skild Artificers, erect (to her great charge)
Of marble black, & Alabast, a fountaine high & large.
Like to a stately Pyramis, the healthfull spring above,
Lest any of ingratitude, her iustly might reprove.
In memorie of benefite she once did there receive,
Expert Mechanicks shee causd search, could rightly cut and grave.
Through dext'rous cunning these adorn'd the happy healthful fount,
With Emblemes fram'd of Alabast, and marble of the mount.
Of yeares, two lusters scarce were spent, after this work was done,
When she citations had from death, so had her brothers sonne.
The Dutchesse did the gods implore, that they the youth would spare
And pittie him of tender yeares, and expectation rare.
Thessalia's hope, his mothers ioy, sole comfort of his Syre,
For doubtlesly if now he dy'd, their lives would then expyre.
As for her selfe she was resolv'd, Deaths message to obey,
And that ne're-yet remitted debt, she's willing to repay.
It seem'd the gods did grant her suite, the boy did convalesse,
But she (sweet Lady) found deaths force, her vitall sp'rites distresse.
Then cald she for her love, & Lord, whose groanes proclaim'd his grieves
And for her lasse Lucilla fair, in whom true beauty lives.
Deare Lord & loue (quoth she) I finde that we must parted bee,
The loyall love I to thee beare, doth make me loath to dye.
Heavens, Fates, & Death, doe all decree, my glasse of life bee runne,
And Atropos now cuts the threed which Lachesis once spun.
So hence I must (o deare sweete love) I pray thee doe not weepe,
For sure my sp'rite midst highest heavens, the sacred gods will keepe.
Lucilla deare, thy mothers ioy, come to thy dying Dame,
As Heavens & Nature thee inricht with beauties bravest frame,
Heavens grant that thou doe vse it well, to thy immortall praise,
Live chastly, yet selfe-loue abhorre, pride breeds contempt alwayes.
This one thing doe I thee intreate, in memorie of me,
Goe thrice a yeare & view the spring thy mother did supplie.
The water of the healthfull spring, in power did precell.
Therefore three times a yeare doe view, that spring by consuetude,
And mother-like (what beasts detests) abhorre ingratitude.
Thus said, her happy sp'rite she yeelds, which to eternall ioy
Numberles numbers powers divine, invisibly convoy.
Her funerals once solemniz'd, then doth Lucilla faire,
In sable robes of mourning black, with maids so clad, prepare
To goe and view the healthfull spring, and there bewaile her losse,
And mothers death, whose memorie, giues her continuall crosse.
Since she is thus determined, her father likewise send
Shadowes of men (Eunuches I meane) as guardians her t'attend.
Those likewise serve as mariners, to rule her bark by sea,
Accompanied by those, and mayds, she doth continually
Thrice yearly goe and view that spring, a day or two they mourne,
Their regrates being finished, againe they here returne.
Her father, though he haue no sonne, for to succeed his place,
Loves her so well, hee will not wed againe in any case.
Yet though he loue her, he ore-lookes her with a prying eye,
Loue hatcheth care, which care begets respectiue Iealousie.
The iealous Syre of daughters good, doth make her liue retyrd,
For which himselfe of strangers is, ridic'lously admyrd.
Lucilla, since her mother dy'd, is forc't to liue apart
From company of anyman, which sure must grieve her heart.
For saue those Eunuchs, & those maids, who serue her night & day,
And her own Syre, the aged Duke, none else approach her may.
Many a Prince, and gallant Knight, doe her in mariage crave,
But through her fathers perswasiues, she none at all will haue.
And sor to try to speake herselfe, it's folly, there's no meane
She is so warelie lookt vnto, none can such good attaine.
This aged Duke, and his faire Lasse, dwell neere within fixe mile,
Where they in divers sports delight, to posting time beguile.
Acasile situate by a lake, in it doe they abide,
From thence they see both woods & meads, & ships at anchor ride.
Even from this Castle of the Dukes, about a fourthnight since,
In companie of other knights, went the Thessalian Prince,
Betimes they rise, and winde their hoines, not fearing any foe,
Through desart woods, & vnknowne paths, they all a hunting goe.
But whilst the rest their horses mount, the Prince his horse refuses,
Him to receive: yet would the youth, admit no such excuses.
Prodigious presage which foreshews the riders speedy wrack.
Hard by the lake there haunts a Beare, a monster for a beast,
Who by the space of thirtie yeares, those woods did haunt at least.
This beast mongst brakes & pricklie thornes, all day still lurking lay,
And when dark night black mantle spred, then went to seek his pray.
The night preceeding he had straid, abroad to seek his food,
His late trac't steps (though not by sent) might well bee knowne by blood.
There did the hounds, by fatall chance, finde out the recent sent.
With librall mouths against the clouds, their voice they largely spent
This quick approach soon rousde the Beare from out his lothed hold,
The hounds give chalenge, he againe, gives them encounter bold.
Now huntsmen came, whereat the hounds with courage fresh begin
A new pursute, yet none so bold, as once to tooth his skin.
The knights with darts the Beare so wound, that void of all remorse
This desp'rate beast (afflicted thus) the yong Prince did vnhorse.
Their darts are spent, no shot they have, so all their helpe is vaine,
Maugre them all, before their eyes, Thessalia's Prince is slaine.
A steepie rock conteines a cave, the Beare long vsd before,
Thither went he (with dogges convoy) of him they saw no more.
Huntsmen with sad and sorie hearts, their cloathes they all to rent,
Home with the corps they sadly move, this hunting they repent.
But when the Duke this obiect saw (a wofull one indeed)
He and Lucilla all the rest, in sorrow did exceed,
Helplesse is their excessive griefe, though nat'rall bee their mone,
Nature to life can nere restore, whom death hath once vndone.
But yet the Duke makes narrow search to guerdon the offender,
And still the Beare for this his paines, bad thanks again doth render.
For whom the beast conveens withall, may hee prevaile with rage,
Them makes he smart, without respect, of person, sexe, or age.
So this abuse hath caus'd the Duke, stil hoping for amends,
Him to assist to kill the Beare, intreat his neighbouring friends.
And as I shew you we expect them next ensuing weeke.
So this is all concerning this, I know, or yet can speake.
Yet this I'me sure, some gallants will fearlesly try their strength,
And for their loues couragiously abbreviate the length
Of their strong launce, into the Beare, if they may him conveene,
Not caring for his crush, or bite, his choler, rage, or spleene.
But now me thinks I heare a horne, therefore must I bee gone,
So, pray you sir, a pardon me, for leaving you alone.
I shall not stay here long alone, for yonder comes my boy,
This rare Discourse of yours, hath me affoorded such content,
That if hereafter we conveene, you's thinke this time well spent.
| The Historie of Calanthrop and Lucilla | |