A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight Originally written in the Greeke Tongue, by an unknowne Author. Afterwards Translated into Spanish; after that, for the Excellency thereof, into the French Tongue by N. H. next by B. M. into the Thuscan, and now turn'd into English Verse by L. L. [i.e. Leonard Lawrence] a well-wisher to the Muses |
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 | A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight |  |
There's but a Summer past; the golden Sunne,
He hath but once his Annuall course o're-run,
And lodg'd his fire-breathing Steeds within
The lofty Stables of cold Pisces Inne:
And fragrant Flora, dewie-breasted Queene
Of Hills and Vallies, which we all have seene
Be-spread with Grasse-greene Carpets, intermixt
With pleasing Flowers, which no Art had fixt.
For by their spreadings and their disperst show,
One might perceive that Nature caus'd them grow:
Attended on with Troopes of lovely Roses,
Carnations, Lillies, which the Spring discloses;
And divers sorts of various colour'd Flowers,
As Pinks and Pawnses, nurs't by Aprils showers.
Shee hath but once with this her Traine giv'n place
To wintring Hyems, with his Snow-white face,
Since I a Journey, to my selfe no gaine,
Did undertake; for, for my Friend the paine,
I freely did embrace, for certainely,
The place at distance farre remote did lye,
Whereto I was addrest: but with my Steed,
Like Pegasus I did intend to speed.
But having some dayes spent in this my race,
My fortunes brought me to a desart place,
Set thick with Trees, whose lofty tops aspire
To kisse the Clouds; nay yet to reach more higher,
Spreading their branches with that large extent,
That from my eyes they hid the Firmament;
Joyning so close, that they did Phœbus shrowd,
As he had beene behinde some watry cloud;
And interpos'd his glorious beames, that he
Was forc't to peepe to spy his Daphnean Tree.
Under their shades the Vallies prostrate lay,
Where Wolves and Foxes did their gamboiles play:
No silly Sheepe, or Lambes were ever seene
To browse or feed upon those Plaines, though greene:
The labouring Oxe, nor the Milke-giving Cow
Did e're graze there, or hath the sharpe-edg'd Plough
Beene ever knowne to furrow up that Land:
No House or Cottage on that ground did stand,
'Twas unfrequented, not a tract was seene
Of man or beast, 'twas all o're-growne with greene,
With Thistles, Thornes, and the scratching Brier:
The Boxe and Holly which withstand the ire
Of Winters rage, for they are alwayes seene
For to survive, clad in their robes of Greene.
No noise I heard, no cry of coupl'd Hounds,
Whose bawling throats doe make the Woods resound
Their yelping clamour, all was quiet there:
No lusty Keeper hollow'd in his Deere;
'Twas hush and silent lesse some pretty Rill
Which murmuring ran at foote of some tall Hill,
Or else the whistlings that the Winde did breath,
Which made a rushling 'mongst the trembling leafes.
No Shepheard pip't the whilst his Flocks did graize:
No pretty Birds did warble out sweet Layes,
Vnlesse 'twere such whose chirping Notes did sound
Anthems of sorrow to the listning ground:
It seem'd to be the seate of pensive care,
Of melancholy, and of grim dispaire.
There mourning sate the harmelesse Turtle Dove,
And sung sad Dirges on her lifelesse Love:
And sweet-tongu'd Casea, pretty Philomel,
In mourning Layes, Tereus foule lust did tell,
And in sweet straines though sadly did relate
Her sad disasters, and most cruell Rape.
Here did I finde that I was gone astray,
And that unwitting I had lost my way;
Then solid care and passion did possesse
My wearied thoughts; since that no redresse
I could rescounter, for that spacious Field
No guide, no Shepheard, not a man did yeeld:
Nor this alone my vexed minde did trouble,
The craggy wayes my cares did likewise double.
The Continent it was to me unknowne,
Nor no addresse could unto me be showne;
Which forc't me wander, till at length I found
My selfe quite lost, I erring in that ground,
Then being streightned, finding no reliefe,
The uncouthnesse I did exceed with griefe.
'Twixt feare and hope, I there did musing stand,
And with my heavy eyes beheld the Land,
And here, and there, and every where I spye
To ease my heart; at length my curious eye
The Heavens being faire, discern'd a distance off
From forth a Grove, the smoake ascend aloffe,
So by that signe I did conjecture then,
That in that place I should rescounter men.
This hope reviv'd me, and then wearied I
'Gan trace the path which to the Grove might lye,
And through the thickest of the Wood with speed
I did direct my almost tyred Steed,
But as I traverst through the Wood, to finde
Some quiet harbour to relieve my minde,
The pathlesse passage I so tedious found,
That I repented that my selfe I'de bound
To enterprise it; for the raged shrubs
O're-threw my Steed, and dasht me 'gainst the stubs:
The catching, scratching thorny briars then
Entangled me as they had angry been.
Th'untrodden paths with them did eke conspire,
And tript me up, and laid me in the mire;
When straight recov'ring, I re-falling found
There was no pitty in that desart ground:
And thus perplex't I did not onely grieve,
For I did wish that Fate an end would give
Unto my Travells, and so wishing I
Vnto my wisht for end a pace did hye:
For though my fortunes had me strangely crost,
That by dispaire my selfe was well-nigh lost,
I onward went, I would not quench the fire
That Hope had kindled, with my friend Desire.
I still did journey, but about the time
That golden Phœbus in the West doth shine,
I gain'd a Hill, from whence I might descry
With ease the place, from whence the smoake did fly,
It was a Mansion, which Report did tell,
Belong'd unto a man that there did dwell,
Who by his Birth was Gentle, and his fame
Vnto the World did testifie the same:
This Fabricke he of late caus'd to be built,
Yet was the Front-piece not like others, gilt;
There were no Pillars hew'd by curious Art,
Nor did the Marble-stones there beare a part:
No open Walkes, no Arched Galleries,
As any past, with prospect pleas'd their eyes,
But sable blacke did onely make the show,
For as darke Night it seem'd from top to toe:
Which when I saw, it did me so affright,
That I abashed, stood at that black sight,
And there my wondring thoughts with rests desire,
Of all my former griefes did quench the fire.
But drawing nigher, Fate did me conduct
Hard by a place, and as my Fortunes luckt,
Where men were walking, 'twas; who when I found
Their sad aspects, and their lamenting sound,
Their mourning habits, and their sorrowing hearts
Did testifie, that they did act their parts
In some sad Sceane: for by their outward show,
As men possest with griefe, they all did goe:
But one amongst the rest, who formost went,
Whose sorrowing sighes and groans the aire did rent,
Who with sad griefe bewailing spent the day,
Him did the rest as Lord and Sir obey.
And howbeit, that care had quite and cleane
Dri'd up those Ruby streames, the which were seene
His manly face to staine; and though the Rose,
In striving with the Lilly, there did lose,
Her blushing Colour: yet, I pittying, say,
His gentle vertues still did beare their sway;
Nor did his, Face, that likned Cinthias waine,
Vnto his Noble parts proove any staine:
And well he shew'd it; for he no sooner spy'd
My wearied selfe, brought there by Fortunes guide,
But did mee friendly greete, although that he
Astonish'd was, my wondring selfe to see;
But that past o're, and by his courteous show
He did declare, that Roses doe not grow
On raggy Thistles: for, oh, Noble he,
For to descend my Horse intreated me:
And then the passage of my travels past
He having heard, himselfe did cause with haste,
For to provide, that Fatigated I,
With carelesse sleepe may ease my drowsie eyes:
Then stretching forth to me his gentle hand,
He did me bring where his sad house did stand,
Which with amazement did afresh renew
My wondring eyes, and my abashed view;
Which I enforc'd with heede there to observe
The speciall markes that notice did deserve;
Observing which, unto the Gate we came,
Where neither Love, nor Fate, or flying Fame
Did carved stand; or could I ought else spye,
Vnlesse 'twere three white scroules on which my eies
Did prying glance; and there I reading found
This sad Inscription, on that Argent ground.
He hath but once his Annuall course o're-run,
And lodg'd his fire-breathing Steeds within
The lofty Stables of cold Pisces Inne:
And fragrant Flora, dewie-breasted Queene
Of Hills and Vallies, which we all have seene
Be-spread with Grasse-greene Carpets, intermixt
With pleasing Flowers, which no Art had fixt.
For by their spreadings and their disperst show,
One might perceive that Nature caus'd them grow:
Attended on with Troopes of lovely Roses,
Carnations, Lillies, which the Spring discloses;
And divers sorts of various colour'd Flowers,
As Pinks and Pawnses, nurs't by Aprils showers.
Shee hath but once with this her Traine giv'n place
To wintring Hyems, with his Snow-white face,
Since I a Journey, to my selfe no gaine,
Did undertake; for, for my Friend the paine,
2
The place at distance farre remote did lye,
Whereto I was addrest: but with my Steed,
Like Pegasus I did intend to speed.
But having some dayes spent in this my race,
My fortunes brought me to a desart place,
Set thick with Trees, whose lofty tops aspire
To kisse the Clouds; nay yet to reach more higher,
Spreading their branches with that large extent,
That from my eyes they hid the Firmament;
Joyning so close, that they did Phœbus shrowd,
As he had beene behinde some watry cloud;
And interpos'd his glorious beames, that he
Was forc't to peepe to spy his Daphnean Tree.
Under their shades the Vallies prostrate lay,
Where Wolves and Foxes did their gamboiles play:
No silly Sheepe, or Lambes were ever seene
To browse or feed upon those Plaines, though greene:
The labouring Oxe, nor the Milke-giving Cow
Did e're graze there, or hath the sharpe-edg'd Plough
Beene ever knowne to furrow up that Land:
No House or Cottage on that ground did stand,
'Twas unfrequented, not a tract was seene
Of man or beast, 'twas all o're-growne with greene,
With Thistles, Thornes, and the scratching Brier:
The Boxe and Holly which withstand the ire
Of Winters rage, for they are alwayes seene
For to survive, clad in their robes of Greene.
No noise I heard, no cry of coupl'd Hounds,
Whose bawling throats doe make the Woods resound
Their yelping clamour, all was quiet there:
No lusty Keeper hollow'd in his Deere;
'Twas hush and silent lesse some pretty Rill
Which murmuring ran at foote of some tall Hill,
Or else the whistlings that the Winde did breath,
Which made a rushling 'mongst the trembling leafes.
No Shepheard pip't the whilst his Flocks did graize:
No pretty Birds did warble out sweet Layes,
3
Anthems of sorrow to the listning ground:
It seem'd to be the seate of pensive care,
Of melancholy, and of grim dispaire.
There mourning sate the harmelesse Turtle Dove,
And sung sad Dirges on her lifelesse Love:
And sweet-tongu'd Casea, pretty Philomel,
In mourning Layes, Tereus foule lust did tell,
And in sweet straines though sadly did relate
Her sad disasters, and most cruell Rape.
Here did I finde that I was gone astray,
And that unwitting I had lost my way;
Then solid care and passion did possesse
My wearied thoughts; since that no redresse
I could rescounter, for that spacious Field
No guide, no Shepheard, not a man did yeeld:
Nor this alone my vexed minde did trouble,
The craggy wayes my cares did likewise double.
The Continent it was to me unknowne,
Nor no addresse could unto me be showne;
Which forc't me wander, till at length I found
My selfe quite lost, I erring in that ground,
Then being streightned, finding no reliefe,
The uncouthnesse I did exceed with griefe.
'Twixt feare and hope, I there did musing stand,
And with my heavy eyes beheld the Land,
And here, and there, and every where I spye
To ease my heart; at length my curious eye
The Heavens being faire, discern'd a distance off
From forth a Grove, the smoake ascend aloffe,
So by that signe I did conjecture then,
That in that place I should rescounter men.
This hope reviv'd me, and then wearied I
'Gan trace the path which to the Grove might lye,
And through the thickest of the Wood with speed
I did direct my almost tyred Steed,
But as I traverst through the Wood, to finde
Some quiet harbour to relieve my minde,
4
That I repented that my selfe I'de bound
To enterprise it; for the raged shrubs
O're-threw my Steed, and dasht me 'gainst the stubs:
The catching, scratching thorny briars then
Entangled me as they had angry been.
Th'untrodden paths with them did eke conspire,
And tript me up, and laid me in the mire;
When straight recov'ring, I re-falling found
There was no pitty in that desart ground:
And thus perplex't I did not onely grieve,
For I did wish that Fate an end would give
Unto my Travells, and so wishing I
Vnto my wisht for end a pace did hye:
For though my fortunes had me strangely crost,
That by dispaire my selfe was well-nigh lost,
I onward went, I would not quench the fire
That Hope had kindled, with my friend Desire.
I still did journey, but about the time
That golden Phœbus in the West doth shine,
I gain'd a Hill, from whence I might descry
With ease the place, from whence the smoake did fly,
It was a Mansion, which Report did tell,
Belong'd unto a man that there did dwell,
Who by his Birth was Gentle, and his fame
Vnto the World did testifie the same:
This Fabricke he of late caus'd to be built,
Yet was the Front-piece not like others, gilt;
There were no Pillars hew'd by curious Art,
Nor did the Marble-stones there beare a part:
No open Walkes, no Arched Galleries,
As any past, with prospect pleas'd their eyes,
But sable blacke did onely make the show,
For as darke Night it seem'd from top to toe:
Which when I saw, it did me so affright,
That I abashed, stood at that black sight,
And there my wondring thoughts with rests desire,
Of all my former griefes did quench the fire.
5
Hard by a place, and as my Fortunes luckt,
Where men were walking, 'twas; who when I found
Their sad aspects, and their lamenting sound,
Their mourning habits, and their sorrowing hearts
Did testifie, that they did act their parts
In some sad Sceane: for by their outward show,
As men possest with griefe, they all did goe:
But one amongst the rest, who formost went,
Whose sorrowing sighes and groans the aire did rent,
Who with sad griefe bewailing spent the day,
Him did the rest as Lord and Sir obey.
And howbeit, that care had quite and cleane
Dri'd up those Ruby streames, the which were seene
His manly face to staine; and though the Rose,
In striving with the Lilly, there did lose,
Her blushing Colour: yet, I pittying, say,
His gentle vertues still did beare their sway;
Nor did his, Face, that likned Cinthias waine,
Vnto his Noble parts proove any staine:
And well he shew'd it; for he no sooner spy'd
My wearied selfe, brought there by Fortunes guide,
But did mee friendly greete, although that he
Astonish'd was, my wondring selfe to see;
But that past o're, and by his courteous show
He did declare, that Roses doe not grow
On raggy Thistles: for, oh, Noble he,
For to descend my Horse intreated me:
And then the passage of my travels past
He having heard, himselfe did cause with haste,
For to provide, that Fatigated I,
With carelesse sleepe may ease my drowsie eyes:
Then stretching forth to me his gentle hand,
He did me bring where his sad house did stand,
Which with amazement did afresh renew
My wondring eyes, and my abashed view;
Which I enforc'd with heede there to observe
The speciall markes that notice did deserve;
6
Where neither Love, nor Fate, or flying Fame
Did carved stand; or could I ought else spye,
Vnlesse 'twere three white scroules on which my eies
Did prying glance; and there I reading found
This sad Inscription, on that Argent ground.
| A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight | |