University of Virginia Library

Amidst Campania Fields, near Sabine Bowers,
Plain to each view there stood two stately Towers,
Mounting aloft the skies their cloudy heads,
As proud as high, disdaining their first Beds;
So curious was their building, and their stone,
That both alike, they both were took for one,
Shewing by'th' type of their conjoyning arts,
The true conjunction of each others hearts.
Two stately Towers for their buildings fam'd,
One Arathea, th'other Talmos nam'd;
In Talmos, Sepha dwelt, whose heav'nly face,
Gave to each quill a line, each line a grace,
In whispring forth her praise, whose radiant eyes,
Like starry lamps that emulate the skies,
In height and beauty with their glittering light,
Shone like the clearest stars i'th' darkest night.
Vpon her head she wore a Laurell Crown
Knit up with sundry flowers, on which Renown,
As chiefest Empress of her fate and beauty,
Did sympathize with a religious duty:
Hesperides, in whose calm heart did rest
No sullen strains, but Lyrick, and a nest
Of Heav'nly raptures, perfum'd odours sweet,
Which Nectar and Nepenthe breathings, meet
For Heav'ns great Queen, such was her vertue given,
That where she was, there was a second Heav'n.
Her face so sweet as Nature can devise,
Was drest with sparkling Diamonds of her eyes,
The sweet composure of whose beauty yeelds
A Medall of the true Elisian fields;
Her forehead, fittest place to go before,
(Since who so speaks of beauty treads it o're)
Was justly call'd a path, whereon did pass,
A way that leads you where all beauty was.
Close by that path, two radiant lamps did rise,
Which some abruptly did intitle eyes;
Too mean a name for two such Heav'nly lights,
As far beyond all eyes, as dayes from nights:
To whom was added that Cœlestiall grace
Of perfect pureness to adorn the face,
That whensoe're these seeing lamps did move,
They'd light spectators on their way to love.
Between which eyes (if eyes they may be nam'd)
A pillar, (as of purest marble fram'd)
Then call'd her nose, did lead you to two plains,
Pure white and red, like milk which clarrer stains.
Two flowry fields where Flora seem'd to dwell,
Where white and red were striving to excell,
Whose raptures seem'd like a Celestiall nest,
Whereon distressed lovers seem'd to rest,
Which Paradise if any lover seeks,
It was presented in fair Sepha's cheeks,
Two pearls of that inestimable price,
So far beyond th'perfection of her eyes,
Impall'd with that excessive form of bliss,
Smiling, you'd think th'invited you to kiss.
What name or title fits fair Sepha's lips?
Shall some Ambrosian cup, where great Jove sips
Nectar from Ganimed? too mean it is,
To bear their form, it is too mean by this,
Jove out of them Nepenthe us'd to sip,
But that Nepenthe grew on Sepha's lip.
Then gan her teeth in a most perfect line,
Plac't each by other through her lips to shine,
More white, more true, than Nature could prefer
To any other was it not to her.
Those that ne're saw, might judge what they had been,
Like picture pearl, through crimson shadows seen;
So was her chin like Christall over red,
So was her hair in decent manner spred;
Which she all careless down her back did wear,
As a fit object for the wanton Air,
Careless to sport with, next to them was prais'd
Her neck, as of a Marble pillar rais'd,
Proud to support the weight of such a face,
In whom three Graces seem'd to be one grace.
Then might you see her Amber brests, more white
Than Scithian snow, and yeelding more delight
Than silly quill is able to report,
They were the hills where Cupid us'd to sport.
Between which hills there lay a pleasant Alley,
Whose milky paths did lead into the Valley.
This was that Sepha who unhappy dy'd,
This was that Sepha for whose hap I cry'd;
This was that Sepha, whom the Valleys miss,
And this was her whose Tragick stories this.
Sepha, the glory of the scorned earth,
In Talmos dwelt, sometimes a place of mirth,
The ground whereon it stood was deck't with flowers,
Here lay a Meadow, there were Sabine bowers.
The house was with a Grove of trees inclos'd,
Proud of the beauty that therein repos'd:
Only a glead there lay, the trees between,
Where Arathea was of Talmos seen.
In Arathea young Arcadius dwelt,
A man where Nature had so freely dealt
Her chiefest art, and artificiall skill,
Pleasing each eye, but most to Sephas will.
Oft by her window did Arcadius ride,
Sometimes to hunt, and sometimes to divide
The Air with riding swift Italian horses,
Here making stops, there running at full courses,
When she (unknown to him) with watchfull eye,
Oft saw his going, and his coming by,
So that of fire which Lovers sometimes find,
A spark began to kindle in her mind.
Once did she blame unkindly Cupid much;
Darling said she, and is thy power such?
Vnkindly thus pure streams to overcome,
And force a heart to love she knows not whom?
Is he too good that thus thou dost deny
Me to receive one courting from his eye?
Cupid, scorn'st thou my prayers? or dost thou shame?
Is he so mean to let me know his name?
Yet let me live, let me his feature see,
If hee's but vertuous, 'tis enough for me.
This said, her eyes drawn by a heavy sound,
Saw young Arcadius, groveling on the ground,
Whose too too nimble horse, in striving most
To please his master, his blest burthen lost.
Once did she speak, once did she move her tongue,
What sad mishap said she, did thee that wrong?
How didst thou of thy wonted favours miss?
Was the ground greedy thy fair limbs to kiss?
At whose Celestiall voice, like a sweet charm,
He started up, and said, I had no harm;
Thanks for your love, and with a decent grace,
Stoops down his hat, by which she saw his face.
Sepha (said she) be glad, for thou hast found,
And seen the Arrow that thy heart did wound.
Well, young Arcadius gets him to his steed,
Who guilty of the last unhappy deed,
With nimble strokes his master to delight,
Slips o're the plain from fairest Sepha's sight.
Go then, said she, the height of beauties pride,
And worlds chief mirror; if thy heart is ty'd
To any Lady whom thou call'st thy own,
As sure it is, or else thou wouldst have shown
Some more respects to me, but if thou art,
If to another thou hast linkt thy heart,
Twice happy thou, thrice she, that shall imbrace
Thy slender body, and enjoy thy face.
This said, she to a silent chamber goes,
Weary of love, but more of mind, and throws,
Sometimes her restless body on a bed,
Where love is with imaginations fed,
Then to the window would she take her way,
And view the place where young Arcadius lay,
Thence would she to her closet, where alone,
Alone she sate her sorrowes to bemone;
If such was Isis love to Lignus son,
Then ignorant why he her love had won,
And Iphis had in his Ianthe got,
Not yet a man, yet more than one mans lot?
If such was Philoclea's ardent love,
From her own sex, such free desires to move?
When Zelmænes eyes such direfull vapors threw,
And to her own, prodigious accents drew?
If Isis was of Iphis change most glad?
And Philoclea her own wishes had?
Why may not Sepha be possest of hers,
Not half so far impossible as theirs?
But Heav'n conspird with an impatient eye,
And all the powers to act her Tragedy.
Not that Injustice with the Gods did dwell,
For how could they 'gainst that sweet face rebell,
Nor enmity against such beauty bred,
Whose double portion with amazement led
Each greedy eye into a feild of Roses
And Lillies which a Theatre incloses.
But Love whose passions with impartiall flames,
Now whisper'd 'mongst the Gods, aloud proclaims,
By Ioves consent to dispossesse us here
Of our faire Heav'n, for they did want her there:
Conspicuous fate, her heart already feels
Cupids dire bolt, and at first Arrow yeelds;
No Warrier she, nor striv'd with strugling hand
The dart to break, nor would she it withstand,
But gently stepping t'wards his Bow did hie,
And Phœnix-like into the flames did flie;
So Pilomel doth willingly depose,
Her tender brest against the Thorne, so those
Who (Bleeding easly) meet death void of paine,
Phasiphae so in Ida woods did raigne,
Twice did the honour of Latona move
A scornd defiance to Arcadius Love,
But twice by Ericyna twas defac't,
And twice more Love into her heart was plac't,
Wherefore unwilling to omit the art,
The Salve she thought would mollifie her smart,
Half doubting Cupid who such change had wrought,
Gave speech the leave, to ease her of her thought.

Love, who the greatest Potentates can tame,
(Ruine of zeale) at whose majestick name,
(Blind wicked boy) disguiz'd with all untruth,
The Gods have yeelded honour to his youth,
Sprung first from Venus Goddess of his art,
If blind as some suppose how can he dart
Showrs of such wrongs on silly Womans heart?

Thou Goddess of the Vallies and the Plains,
See how the wagg thy sacred rites disdains,
Thou thou Latona's Daughter, whose delights
I vow to perfect, and maintain thy rites,
In spite of Cupid, see how he deposes
Thy Holy Lawes, see how he plucks thy Roses,
And crops the fairest Lillies of thy Closes.

Into my heart some heavy thought is straid,
But there it shall not, nor long hath it staid,
Some muddy cloud hath overwhelm'd my face,
And left behind it shaddowes of disgrace:
Thus when the Heav'ns thy mighty Father lowrs,
His anger is some bitter tasted showrs,
To perish quite the odours of thy flowers.

Thus hath he given power to the Boy,
Who strives thy Virgin odours to destroy,
Vrg'd by the daughter of Oceanus
His Frothy Mother, enemy to us.
And she doth practice his deceitfull smiles,
The fittest motions with which he beguiles,
And with a touch thy Vestall lamps defiles.

Vp (thou Alphea) shew thy pow'r and skill,
Reserve thy virgins wholly to thee still,
Lend us the swiftest Arethusa's feet,
To flie Alpheus, make our prayers fleet:
And that we may doe honor to thy name,
Do thou in Ephesus thy will proclame,
That we with nettles may defie his flame.

Thus did she feed her thoughts on weak dispair,
Sighing her sorrows to the empty air,
Repining only that her heavy fate
Prest down so hard to make her derogate.

Might I (said she) Idalia's garments wear,
I would be glad, would she but hear my prayer,
Or Dian thou to whom I am devoted,
Admit not my true zeal to be remoted
From service thine, if still thy power thou hast;
If Citherea hath it not defac't,
Say whether yet he any hath imbrac't.

Say whether yet he any hath embrac't,
If yet to thee his service be ally'd,
Let not his cheeks of any sorrows tast,
'Tis pity such pure streams with worse be dy'd;
But howsoe're if happy him be ty'd,
And Hymen link him to some other Bride,
Let not his name, nor kindred be deni'd.
And thus she discontinuing Dian's fires,
Vext with excess of heat and love, retires
Into the garden, where she takes free scope
To vent her plaints, but all deny her hope.
Each flow'r she sees gives a fresh appetite
To that sweet flowr she wants; there's no delight,
But dreams and visions haunt her in her sleep;
The birds that us'd to sing, now seem'd to weep,
And all with heavy voice did seem to move
Complaints, and wail for her unhappy love.
Nor could she say 'twas love did her oppress,
Since she was ignorant of what fair guess
She was enamored, she saw his face,
And knew he was a man, but of what race
And name she knew not, nor knew where he dwelt;
(Oft so for unknown cause, strange pains are felt)
Oft from the garden would she send her eyes,
Loves faint Embassadors, into the skies,
For help, and oft with shrill complaining sounds,
Would weep forth prayers, with which the air abounds:
Thence would she unto Venus Altar hast,
Where when the myrrhe and odors she had plac't,
And mixing plaints with the perfuming flame,
Grant me great Queen of Love to know his name.
Thence would she unto Dian's Altar hie,
And do the like, and thence to Cupid flie,
But still return'd inrag'd, amaz'd, unblest,
Till fairest Hecate heard her request.

Not far from Talmos there a City was,
Casperia nam'd Dælia's denoted place,
Where she a temple had sacred to her,
Where oft unmarried people did prefer
Their pray'rs, remoted only for the same,
No Hymi neall servants thither came
Now was the time, when cloth'd in Scythian whites
Her Priests were ready to perform her rites;
Her Cups were with Castalion liquors fill'd,
Her Altar with pale Sacrifices hill'd,
That all her virgins came to wait upon her
Bearing their Vestall lamps Diana's honor.
When Sepha t'wards her temple did repair,
Cloth'd all in yellow, whose dishevell'd hair,
Stirr'd with the winde, gave a reflective shine,
As Jove had tow'd her in a golden shrine.
Down to Gargaphia, did she take her way,
Fear lending wings, since Love had caus'd her stay
Too long, and as she tript o're those fair Lawns,
Roughfooted Satyres, Satyres, Nymphs and Fawns,
With various colour'd flowers which they had set,
Made for her feet a pleasant Carquenett.
Her eyes when first they glanc't towards the place,
Whither she would, O more than human race,
Said she, be thou propitious to me still;
Impute not this delay, want of good will
Towards thy holy Laws, and as she prayd,
The more she run, the more she thought she staid;
Chiefly for this, when first her tender feet,
With gentle motions brought her to those sweet,
Those diapred, those rape enamor'd dales,
First mother to those cool perfumed gales,
Which Zephyrus from flowry Meadows sends,
To court Aurora, whose beauty extends
(Like blushing sighs with which women beguile)
Back to the same to grace them with a smile.
She heard shrill voices, shrill complaining cryes,
The hasty messengers of some dull eyes,
Call her to witness with lamenting verse,
Like those that use to houl over the herse
Of their dead friends, to which as women use,
She gives a skreek, women can seldome chuse;
Which skreek, whether it were for strangeness rather,
That all the Silvan dwellers 'bout her gather,
Or whether 'twas the rareness of her voice,
As sure it was, for that O Heav'nly noise,
Hath power to lead the wildest rudest ear,
Which once those Heav'nly raptures doth but hear,
From uncivility, to deep amaze;
But be it what it will, they all did gaze
And flock about her, silent, pale, and wan,
Till one (it seemes the chiefest of them all) began,
Hence ugly grief, to which they all agree,
Though our King's gon, wee'l make our Queen of thee;
Then gan they leap and dance, with such delight,
Which put fair Sepha into such a fright,
That from her eyes she let fall such a frown,
That seen of them, they all fell trembling down.
Yet such was Sepha's vertue and good nature,
That she would not permit the smallest creature,
Through her to perish, if from her there came
Ought did extingish the desired flame
Of life, the same to her own heart return'd;
For with the like desire of Love she burn'd:
She would have gon and left them, but compassion
Of their then grief, caus'd a deliberation,
Half gon she turn'd again, and with her hand
Helping them up, faith let me understand,
The cause you weep, if it require my art,
With you to grieve, with you I'l bear a part.
When one awakened with excess of bliss,
Rose up, and gan to kiss her ears with this.
Nisean Silenus born of Indian race,

The Tale of Bacchus & Diana.

Once kept yon hill, yon Gaurus was his place,
His palace was with palest marble rais'd,
Imbrac't with blushing grapes, and often prais'd
By those, which never yet the reason knew,
For those sweet smelling flowers about it grew.
The way that leads you to this more than blest
Elizium, was bordred with a nest
Of Hyacinths, which now begin to spred
Their Amiclean flowers into a bed;
Like that of Lillies, which our Poets say,
Leads now to him, instil'd the Milkie way;
There was no path went creeping through the same,
Which might delude the most opprobrious name,
With Fallicies, for so they might suppose,
The way that leads to honor doth inclose
A world of bliss, when each eye hath his charm,
The way to honor hath a world of harm.
I speak not this to disallow the rites
Honoria claims, the self-same way invites
As well to honor, as well not to honor,
For she hath equall ballance cast upon her;
But to uphold the blest Silenian way,
Whose smooth egressions will admit no stay,
To those who t'wards Brisean Altars hie,
Till they enjoy th'Nisean Canopy:
A vale there is, which from a low descent
Of a late Hill, did somewhat represent
Phlegrean plains, nurst by Meanders waves,
Which cut their bedds, and furrow their own graves.
This was Nemea call'd, a fertile plain,
Bedew'd with blood of Misian cattle, slain
For sacrifice, brought by th'Ismenides,
The wrath of just Silenus to appease.
Whose angry frowns fright you from that blest vale;
But till you to a far more pleasant dale,
Which mounted by two stepps doth yeeld a sight
More smooth than glass, more glorious than delight.
A heap of Pines there are, which equall range
On either side, a pleasant sight but strange,
To those ne're saw't, through which there lyes a glede,
Smooth bladed grass, which shews you the abode
Of Bacchus guide, then come you to a Court,
Where all the crew of Satyres doe resort;
And with shrill cryes do make his pallace-ring,
And Io, Io, Bacchanalia sing.
No wall there is that doth inclose the same,
Tis hem'd with lawrel trees of the bigst frame,
And under them there is a bushy hedge
Of Rosemary, which cut ev'n make a ledge,
For various colour'd flowers his Clients bring,
They are the curteous offrings of the spring.
In midst of which fair Court there is a Font,
Of Christall streams, where oft a Goddess wont,
With diverse Damsels, Goddesses I think,
Because their beauty hath such power to link
Men to their love, for sure such Heav'nly faces
Ne're sprung from mortall; ne're from humane races.
But be they as they are, in that same Well
They us'd to bath, the Statues there can tell,
Chlamidias shrines th'are call'd, and strong defence
That were erected at her going thence.
Which story if you'l please but to admit
And bless the ground so much, as here to sit
(Fair Lady) 'tis not tedious, wee'l relate
The Tragick ends, and tell the heavy fate
There lies intomb'd, we will in ev'ry thing
Present to you the figure of the spring.
Time slips too fast (said Sepha) and my way
Is long, I cannot well admit the stay
To hear it told, but since you say 'tis short,
I'l linger time to hear out your report.
Then thus: Our God hearing what Heav'nly shapes
Haunted those groves, and with what store of grapes
It did abound; said rise and lets go see,
Perhaps it is a dwelling fit for me.
Whither being come, and having took a view
Of each delight, what pleasure might accrew
By dwelling there, said lets begin to build;
The ground is fragrant, 'tis a pleasant field
With odours drest, Marble shall be our stone,
Cedar our Timber, the Foundation
On yonder hill, yon hill that will be proud,
To be instil'd the powrfull Bacchus shroud.
At this the Goddess laught, and in a scorn,
More sham'd and ruddy than the blushing Morn
Escap't from Tytans arms, doth nimbly rise,
While pale revenge sits trembling in her eyes,
Ready to ruine those that dare presume
To view, much less to touch her hallow'd room;
She girts her armor on, and to her side
Her quiver, full of bloody arrows ty'd,
In her left hand her bow, and with the other
Tearing the grapes from their beloved Mother;
Tramples them on the ground, and in a rage,
(For so it seems no treaties could asswage
Her furious wrath) Bacchus said she, thou Clown
So shall I trample thy Imperiall Crown.
How durst thou (vilain) dare to touch this Isle?
And with thy nasty carkass to defile
My holy place? (Egregious drunkard) how
Durst thou presume t'offend my Virgin brow?
What recompence art able to bestow?
Or how wilt thou my powrfull wrath o're-goe?
How wilt thou my destroying anger miss?
Or what requitall shall I have for this?
Thy death I will not work lest it be known,
I so much goodnesse to thee should have shown
In slaying thee, t'would be as bad disgrace,
Should it be known that thou hast seen my face.
Thou happy of this favour maist rejoice,
My damsels scorn that thou shouldst hear my voice,
What a vile stain, what laughing there would be,
Should the world know I daign to speak to thee.
How shall I Combate then? or thee expell
From the society of this blest Well?
See how these Roses at thy boldness blush,
Those flowers dye which thy proud feet do crush.
See how the trembling Lillies stoop a low,
Grow pale and droop, for fear thou wilt not goe.
The Birds no more will sing while thou art here,
These silver streams doe murmur plaints for fear
Thou wilt their drops defile, the very skyes
Since thou cam'st hither have withdrawn their eyes.
And since thou hast this flowry place defac't,
No more we shall of their sweet favour tast
To cherish us, here is a spacious way,
Be packing then or at thy perill stay.
Vile words against a God, who smiling said;
Here will I live, and thou shalt be my maid:
Thy maid said she, to do thee service then
With this weak arm, and these shall be thy men,
Sending him showrs of arrows, which invade
His Nurses hearts and there a Tavern made.
Bacchus at this grew wroth, his rudy face
Where the best beauty us'd to have a place,
Grew pale, and pale: Bellona now said he,
Be thou propitious to my Sov'raignty.
What spitefull God hath sent these mortall shapes?
Wicked devourers of my sacred grapes;
Nor enmity alone against the fruit,
Will them suffice, who seek to spoil the root.
Fair Girl he said; think'st thou I dread thy power,
Dare mickle Fortune on my pleasure lower?
My Father guides the motion of the year,
His dwelling is beyond the middle Sphere.
Heav'n is his palace, where his power's known;
Power waits on him, Elisium is his own:
My mother's of no base nor mean descent
With whom all Graces had their Complement.
And though shee's mortall, yet her pedigree,
Portrays in brazen lines her memory;
From worthy Cadmus, whose descent doth spring
From old Agenor the Phœnician King.
How dar'st thou then revile my holy fire?
I am a God, and can withstand thine ire?
Can these thy threatnings then make me the worse?
Or dost thou think thy arrows can have force
To pierce my powrfull skin. Fond foe forbear,
Th'are fit'st for Cupids use, by Styx I swear
A secret influence hath my honor sav'd,
I have in Lethe lake my body lav'd.
This said, his leavy jayelin up he takes,
At sight of which the fearfull Goddesse quakes,
He turns him back to his devoted train
In whose each hand a Thirsis did remain,
Whose fiery valour never was withstood,
Good was their courage, and their valour good.
Forbear said he, let not your anger light
On these, so far unworthy for your fight,
What stain shall we endure? when it be said,
So many Hecatompilius have made
War with a silly maid? what though she strive
Through haughty pride our honor to survive?
Vrge not her fight who cannot manage it.
Fie, are these subjects for your valour fit?
Forbear I say, and let your wrath be kept,
For those who have our ancient honors swept
Into a dirty lake; let it suffice
This moutain shall our Orgies memorize.
With that another showr of darts she sends
From nimble arms, whose multitude extends
All o're the Army which our God had there,
Enough to move a valiant God with fear;
So thick they came, that like the Ev'ning cloud,
Or like an Arbor, or a Leavy shroud
Remaining long, they might have caus'd a dearth,
They kept the courteous Sun from the dark earth.
Go too said Bacchus, let all pity fade,
And fight on now, we now shall fight i'th' shade;
Then gan a desp'rate war, but being divine,
No harm was done, the greatest harm was mine,
Till fair Antigone, alas too rare,
Too young alas, alas too Heav'nly fair
To leave this haven, exchang'd her mortall hue
And leapt to Heav'n, I saw her as she flew.
A wound she had, nor was there any place
But that alone, but that which could deface
Her rudy cheeks, her lips that oft did shove
Life to the hearts of those that saw them move,
And thus it chanc'd, Hæmon the fairest boy

The story Hæmon Antigone.

Of Thebes City, would go sport and toy
With Cupids darts, and Cupid being blind,
(And Love you know when vext is oft unkind)
Pull'd them away, Hæmon would him withstand,
And as he held, he chanc't to race his hand.
This being slighted gan to fester in,
And having got a newly welcom'd skin,
Began to fester more; it being small,
And of small pain was pitti'd not at all,
By him I mean, who as it seems delighted
In this new pain; and that's the cause 'twas slighted:
Now was it grown unto a doubled height
His brest within, and with a nimble sleight
Began his heart to bore, when he o'recharg'd,
Could not suppress that fire which now inlarg'd
It self with larger flames; it kist his heart,
And he kist it, like one loth to impart
Some serious thought, from his o're burthened brest,
And yet detaining it can find no rest.
Have you not seen the Heliconian spring,
Send her beloved streams a wandering
The vale below, who ready to fulfill
(Though murmuring for grief) their mothers will,
Glide on apace, yet oft with watry eyes,
Look t'wards the place where their blest mother lyes;
While she with crooked bublings doth complain,
Now calls them in, then thrusts them forth again.
So was't with Hæmon loth to lose the bliss,
The pleasing joyes he hop't to reap from this
His new intended life, also unwilling
To dispossess himself of those distilling
And gratefull honours, from Diana came,
Due only to the lovers of her name.
In both perplext alike he sits amaz'd;
(Symptomes of Love) and o're the vaileys gaz'd,
Starts up, sits down, admires with foolish joy
The fruits thereof, detests as much th'annoy
The same ingenders, having 'fore his eyes,
The sad examples of the miseries
It hath produc't; Leanders heavy fate,
Makes him eschew it now as much with hate,
As e're before he to it zealous was,
Whose Tragedyes are unto him a glass.
In this extreme, what will not Venus doe?
He studies how, and can already woe.
Admit said he, the winged boy would send
Into this place the picture of that friend,
I best could honor, should I be approv'd
Or no? for yet he knew not whom he lov'd;
Or should I chance of that fair chance to chance:
Could I in lovers phrase my love advance?
Say Cupid, or if yet thou think'st I cannot,
Make tryall, and if too much she disdain not,
Thy book Ile quickly learn, before the morn
Descry our blots, there's none a workman born;
And at our next encounter I'l so gain
Thy approbation, there shall not a stain,
Deface my quill to make my study faulter,
Whole showrs of Myrrh I'l pour upon thy Altar.
Thy Altar shall with saffron streams appear,
And I with yellow garments will be there;
There will I be to see thy service don,
The Oaths betroth'd by thy beloved son,
On high Hymerus hil, and ere the same
Had flown from Hæmons sacred breth, there came
A Lady by, nor onely one there was,
Yet had there been no more, she did surpass
All beauties could have come, Antigone
Whose face from sable night did snatch the day,
And made it day, what need I shew the same?
I know'ts enough, if you but know her name.
Antigone came thither, thither came
Blind Cupids Love, and there the goodly frame
Of Natures pride, whose beauty can procure
Each wink to make, each love spectators sure.
Three sisters they, but one of all the rest
More fair and lovely was, and far more blest
With Natures gifts, and that was only she
Whom men alone did call Antigone.
Her cheeks bedeckt with lines of Christall veins,
Were like that rudy blush Aurora gains
From Tellus breath; whose odors doe incroach
O're flowry fields to welcome her approach.
She came with such a Majesty and Grace,
As if the Gods in her all-conquering face,
Had kept their Parlament, the Milky way,
Running Meander-like with crooked stray
From her white chin, lead to that hill which yields
A prospect o're the fair Elisian fields.
Her upper garments were of milky hue,
And under them a coat of azure blue;
Some stars of Gold there were, and those but small,
Were like the shour Phœbus let on her fall.
The blew seen through the white, with that fair showr
Seem'd like a cloud that did inshrine a power.
Her hair not loose as some do use to wear,
Ribonds of Gold were proud to tye her hair,
And so delighting held it up so hard,
Lovers from favours of it were debarr'd.
Each step she took, was like a vertuous way,
Or path where her distressed Lovers lay:
For as she went casting her eyes aside,
Many admiring at her beauty dy'd,
Of all the gestures that her body had,
With one especiall gesture she was clad;
And that was this, oft as thou us'd to walk
Into the groves to hear the small birds talk,
Antigone thy praise, thou oft was us'd,
(I think by some diviner power infus'd)
To ravish men, often was thou indu'd
With that sweet grace which each spectator ru'd,
A carelesse winding of thy body 'twas
Reeling, and nodding as thou by didst pass,
Like frisking Kidds upon the Mountains seen,
Or wanton Lambs that play upon the Green.
Then wouldst thou leap from bank to bank, and rise
Th'Jocastæan body into the skies.
While Zephyrus better to help the flee,
Would flie beneath, but 'twas thy Heav'n to see.
Then wouldst thou swing abroad thy tender hands,
At whose pure shine, each eye amazed stands,
And with thy finger beck, which gave excuse
To lovers, saying thou call'dst, but twas thy use,
This Hæmon saw, ev'n as the smiling ground,
With various-colour'd flowers her temples crown'd;
She crops a rose, and why so did she seek,
There was a purer Rosie in her cheek;
But (Lord to see) putting it to her nose,
What purer beauty could there be then those?
Like Corall held in her most most pure hands,
Or blood and sickly milk that mingled stands.
The pale-fac'd Lillie from the stalk she tears,
Ev'n as the Lillie, so Narcissus fares,
Sweet Crocus from his weeping root she twinds
And him with his beloved Smilax binds.
Nor Hyacinthus must this favours flie,
Who with the Cyprian Anenomy.
After she had retir'd into a shade,
Of these discolour'd flowers a posie made,
Then lying down, (for sleep began to play
The wanton with her eye-lids as she lay)
She slept, not seeing Hæmon who still kept
Out of her sight, or else she had not slept.
Then gan the Silvan warblers to renew
Their pleasant notes, with all the merry crew
Kind Spring affords, each striving best to keep,
Their untaught quaver, lulling her asleep.
Her Posie to her left hand she convey'd,
And on that hand her weary head she laid;
Her right hand had the office to employ
A safeguard to her brest, where Hæmons eye
Stood ready fixt, softly he would have stole
The Posie thence, but each wink did controle
His bold attempt, at last with ravish'd joy,
That Fortune op't to him so fair a way
To so divine a mark, he gently laid
His trembling lips to hers, and softly said,
Ye Powrs be thank't, and if such power ye have,
As there's no power but what is yours, ô save
Your servant, ô permit not her disdain,
T'acquaint my heart with just cause to complain.
Still let her sleep, rob me not of this bliss,
Still let her sleep, e're I this favour miss,
Camelion-like I'l live upon her breath,
It Nectar is, and will preserve from death.
With that she wak'd, and seeing there so nie,
An unknown guest, she rose and gan to flie
Abash'd she would have spoke, but too much fear
Caus'd it so softly that one could not hear
Whether she chid or no, Great Queen said she,
Who art rewarder of Integrity,
Let me not be defil'd; this Hæmon heard,
And would have answer'd, but he was debarr'd.
By her ensuing voice which might inflame
Cold Neptunes bosome, if but heard the same.
She views him well surveys with curious eye
His face, who with like language doth reply,
A face she saw, the face she sure had known
But that she did compar't with was her own,
Of beauty pure, too pure she thought it was,
To be the picture of a humane face,
Those speaking looks, that Grace and Majesty,
Far better would befit a Deity.
To whom she said, but what I must omit,
Since I am ignorant, nor is it fit,
To let my thoughts into those secrets pry,
[OMITTED] which they deny,
For had she not been curious of her will,
She n'ere had whisper'd, n'ere had been so still.
But Hæmon thus,
Lady your looks a Tragick tale unfold,
I fear the end before I hear it told,
Why should you tremble so? or be affraid
Of him in whom your power is display'd?
Remit this boldness that I did intrude
Into your sacred Grove, ô fair exclude
Not my complaints from your still honor'd praise,
Lest sable night give period to my dayes.
Peace said Antigone, shall ev'ry grove,
Where babling Echoes dwell witness yourlove?
So much I heard, and saw her prettie look
Shew him her face in which there lay a book
By Cupids finger wrote, while he o're joy'd,
Kist as she spake, and with her ribonds toy'd:
He took her by the hand and softly crusht
Sweet balm from thence, at sight of which she blusht
He would have sav'd the same, but of it mist,
She would have spake, but as she spake he kist.
Then met his hands about her tender wast,
So Jupiter when Danae he imbrac't,
And such like toyes they us'd as lovers use
While a pure kiss (as if they would infuse
Into each others brest their souls) was given,
For Hæmon vow'd by all the Powers of Heaven,
No impious thought that honour should molest,
Which was ingraven in his loyall brest.
And that he was from all deceit as free,
As he desir'd to finde Antigone.
Goe then said she, 'tis but one lingring night,
Our bodies part, but ah, they parted quite.
For she towards Diana took her way;
Where then in Camp Dianas virgins lay,
Ready to give our God their strong assault,
Where she was slain, Oh, 'twas her Hæmons fault,
For he belike that Cupid had implor'd
Which some call God, that favour to afford,
Through his beloveds brest with his keen dart,
To make an easie passage to her heart.
Which Cupid to fulfill did open lay
A hole through which a Iavelin took his way,
At this she starts, revenge my death she cry'd,
Hæmon my love, Hæmon farewell and dy'd.
At this disaster Dian did repine,
Hold, hold said she (Bacchus) the battle's thine.
The hill I'le leave, yet e're I take my way,
Permit that I by yonder spring do lay
My Virgin dead, which yeelded, there she laid
Her corps, and over them a Statue made;
It stood upright, and looking t'wards the East,
The blood ran trickling down her wounded brest,
And on each side her sisters statue stood,
With weeping clothes wiping away the blood.
This being done Diana left the place,
Fears making furrowes in her virgin face,
Her Sisters left to let her body lye,
But since their Statues did accompany
Her tomb, they took their way, having don this,
To yon Casperia where her Temple is.
Now Tytan weary of that sable bed
Night did him lend, towards Aurora fled,
When Hæmon weary of slow-footed hours,
Oft wisht the morning, which come, each cloud lowrs.
The windes spake loud, and little birds were mute,
For Sol had cloth'd him in a mourning sute,
The morning wept, but what it might foreshow
Hæmon suspected not, sweet Winds did blow
No more, the Powers themselves with heavy eyes
Gave a consent to weep her Tragedies.
Straight to the place appointed there to meet,
He hi'd, time lending wings unto his feet,
He calls his love, Antigone he cries,
Why art so slow to meet him who relies
Vpon thy faith, more than upon his own?
Then speaks unto the Trees, have you not known
Which way she went? or hath she not bin here?
Is she too slow? she is too slow I fear,
Himself replies, and like a Tiger flees,
With raving eyes, enquires of all he sees.
The fairest Rosie that the garden bred,
Saith he, hath now forgot the Mother bed
Of its first birth I feare it hath been pulld
By some unluckie hand, whose drops have lulld
It in a bath of Mildew, or hath been,
Cause of mishap, cause of some deadly sin,
Else why should Phebus shame to show his face?
And creep behind a cloud, lest some disgrace
Should taint him of conspiracy; or why
Should Cœlum's vesture yeeld a Sympathy
Of griefe? or why should shrill complaining cryes
Of Ecchoes strive to peirce the Azure Skies?
Wherefore do little Birds forbeare to sing
To Amphiluche, and her praises ring
Along the vallies? Why do Lillies fade?
Or why do Roses yield a ruddy shade
For their late sickly leaves? ther's some mishap,
Hath sure enforc't the Fatall Nymphes to crap
Their still still brittle threads, the virgin signe
No more I see's belov'd, but doth repine,
The custody thereof for thrice five years,
And that's the Infants time; the Cypresse fears
To bud, lest in pale hours it should be torn,
And cropt lamented Herses to adorn.
What this Eclipse, what this cloud might presage,
This blushing Earth presenting now a stage,
I cann't conjecture, unless it should be
A Theatre to act a tragedie.
With these, and such like words, he vents his Soul,
Of those o're burth'ning maladies, and foul
Conjectures, which such torments did inflict
Vpon his heart, enough even to convict
Him of a sincere love, which like a wind,
Hurries him to the Spring, there there to find
His Mistris statue, O unhappy eyes
Of mine, said he, that view the obsequies
Of my dear love; what did not Hæmon say?
He beats his brest, endeavours to allay
His scorned life, and from his head he tears
Whole handfulls of his hairs.
(Ye sullen Gods.) what mov'd you to divide
Her Soul from hence, distracted Hæmon cryde?
Seek'd yea for some revenge? tis true alas,
Because her vertues did your vertues passe.
Ye Fatall Nymphs that hurry on the threads
Of our weak lives, and cut it in the midds
Of our best time, what moved you to be
So envious against Antigone?
But since your Powrs have made me so accurst
By her sad death, ye Powrs now do your worst;
Yet help me first to weep before I die,
For my Antigone an Elegie.
With that he took his pen, and having wrote
Her heavy dirge with a lamenting note,
He laid him down upon her Tomb, and praid,
Then with a Sphear a speedy passage made
Towards his love, ev'n to whose throne he cryd,
Make room for me my love, so sigh'd and dyd.
At this mischance the Fatalls did repine,
And turn'd his blood into a Columbine,
Which still retains his nature, in three days,
It gains its prime, and in its prime decays.
His body then reposing on her urne,
The Gods did to a Marble statue turne,
Whose head upon his weary hand doth rest,
And looking stedfast on her wounded brest,