[Theseus, O Theseus, hark! but yet in vain]
The Story of Theseus and Ariadne, as much as concerns the ensuing
Relation, is this.
Theseus going over into Creet to fight with the Minotaure, made his Father Ægeus
this promise, that if he came off with Life and Victory, he would set up white sailes
at his comming back, the Ship as he went out having black sailes in token of griefe:
being come into Creet, Ariadne the Kings Daughter there fell in love with him,
and gave him a Clew of thread, by which after he had slain the Minotaure he extricated
himselfe out of that perplexed Labyrinth: having thus obtained the Victory,
he carryed her along with him into the Island Naxos, where he tooke occasion to leave her as she
was asleep, and so hasting homeward, forgot to hoist the white sails; his Father Ægeus; therefore,
who stood upon a Rock, expecting his return, as soon as he perceived the black sailes, cast himselfe headlong
into the Sea, from whom it was called the Ægean Sea. In this while, Ariadne complaining of
Theseus his Infidelity, resolving to destroy her selfe, having made her own Epitaph, was comforted by
Bacchus, who comming thither was enamoured of her Beauty, and took her to his protection.
Ariadne sitting upon a Rock in the Island Naxos, deserted by Theseus, thus complains.
Theseus
, O Theseus, hark! but yet in vain
Theseus
, O Theseus, hark! but yet in vain; Alas deserted I complain;
it was some neighb'ring Rock, more soft then he, whose hollow bowels pitty'd me, and beating
back that false & cruell name, did comfort and revenge my flame, then faithless whither wilt thou flye?
stones dare not harbour cruelty. Tell me ye Gods, who e're ye are, why, O why, made ye him so
faire? & tell me wretch why thou mad'st not thy selfe more true? Beauty from him might copies take, &
more majestick
Heroes make, and falshood learn a wile from him too, to beguile: restore my Clue, 'tis
here most due, for 'tis a Labrinth of more subtle Art, to have so faire a face, so fowle a heart:
The rav'nous Vulter tear his breast, the rowling stone disturbe his rest; let him next feele
Ixions
wheel, & add one fable more to, cursing Poets store, & then yet rather let him live & twine his woof of
days with some thread stoln from mine; but if you'l torture him, how e're torture my heart, you'l find him
there: Till mine eyes drank up his, and his drank mine, I ne'r thought souls might kiss, & spirits joyne:
Pictures till then, took me as much as men, Nature and Art moveing alike my heart; but his faire
visage made me find pleasures and fears, hopes, sighs and tears, as severall seasons of the mind. Should
thine Eye
Venus on his dwell, thou wouldst invite him to thy shell, & caught by that live jet, venture
the second net, and after all thy dangers faithlesse he; shouldst thou but slumber, would forsake ev'n thee.
The streams so court the yielding bankes, and gliding thence ne're pay their thankes, the winds
so woo the flowers, whisp'ring among fresh bowers, and having rob'd them of their smels, flye
thence perfum'd to other Cels; this is familiar hate, to smile, & kill, though nothing pleas thee, yet my
ruine will: Death hover, hover, o're me then, waves let your christall womb, be both my fate and
tomb, I'le sooner trust the sea then men. Yet for revenge to heav'n I'le call, and breath one curse before
I fall; proud of two Conquests, Minotaure and me, that by my faith, this by thy perjurie.
May'st thou forget to wing thy ships with white, that the black sails may to the longing sight of thy gray
Father tell thy fate, and he bequeath that sea his name, falling like me. Nature & Love thus brand thee,
whilst I dye, 'cause thou forsak'st
Ægeus, 'cause thou draw'st nigh. And ye O Nimphs below, who
sit, in whose swift floods his vows he writ, snatch a sharp Diamond from your richer Mines, & in some
Mirror grave these sadder lines; which let some God convey to him, that so he may in that both read at
once, and see, those lookes that caus'd my destiny.
Her Epitaph.
In Thetis Armes, I Ariadne sleep,
drown'd: First in mine own tears, then in the deep: Twice banish'd, first by love, and then by hate,
the life that I preserv'd became my fate, who leaving all was by him left alone, that from a Monster
fre'd, himselfe prov'd one: Thus then I F--- but looke, O mine eyes, be now true spies, yonder,
yonder comes my dear, now my wonder, once my fear; see Satyrs dance along in a confused
throng, whilst horns and pipes rude noice, do mad their lusty joyes; Roses his forehead crown, & that recrowns
the flowers; where he walks up and down, he makes the Desarts Bowers; the Ivy and the
Grape hide not, adorne his shape, and green leaves cloath his waving Rod, 'tis he; 'tis either
Theseus,
or some God.
