The Chast and Lost Lovers Lively shadowed in the persons of Arcadius and Sepha, and illustrated with the severall stories of Haemon and Antigone, Eramio and Amissa, Phaon and Sappho, Delithason and Verista. Being a description of several Lovers smiling with delight, and with hopes fresh as their youth, and fair as their beauties in the beginning of their Affections, and covered with Bloud and Horror in the conclusion. To this is added the Contestation betwixt Bacchus and Diana, and certain Sonnets of the Author to Aurora. Digested into three Poems by Will. [i.e. by William Bosworth]. Bosworth |
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 | The Chast and Lost Lovers |  |
After sh'had read what vile reproach and stain
Her Queen indur'd, what just cause to complain
Hung on her brest, by an aspersion thrown
Vpon her Damsells glories, and her own,
She sighes, and through enough and too much sorrow,
Disdaines to live, for true love hates to borrow
Art to bewail mishap, and as she fainted,
Alas too much unfit, and unacquainted
With grief, she sighing said with swelling eye,
The root depriv'd of heat, the branches dye.
Then gan her sense to play the Tragick part
Of Fate, and Atropos joy'd in her art.
Each thing she saw (as all were proud t'advance
Themselves to her fair eyes) now seem'd to dance,
And turning round, the Temple where she stood,
To her wet eyes presented a pale flood.
While she with scrambling hands seeking to take
Hold lest she fell, fell down into that Lake,
Where strugling still, with many pretty dint
Her curious hand did give the earth a print,
For Sepha's sake, which print the earth still keeps,
Of which wee'l speak a while, while Sepha sleeps.
A foolish Prince (not wise because he vow'd
Virginity to dwell within a cloud)
And so much honor to her did ascribe,
Many had thought he had receiv'd a Bribe
To vaunt her praise, and Laurellize her name,
His mouth and he were Trumpets to her fame.
I say a Maiden Prince was lately there,
Whose custome was twice five times ev'ry year,
Cloth'd all in white, and stain'd with spots of black,
A yellow ribond ty'd along his back,
To offer Turtle doves with silver plumes,
And strew the place with Aromatick fumes.
He was a Prince, born of a royall blood,
And being nobly born, was nobly good;
Nor onely good he was, but stout and wise,
(Save that this fond opinion vail'd his eyes,)
Else he in ev'ry action was upright,
And free from vice, as sorrow from delight.
Of Courage good, for valour oft had bound
His Temples up, and them with Laurell crown'd.
Beauty lay lurking in his Magick face,
Worthy of praise since it chose such a place;
Those ruddy lips, those cheeks so heav'nly fair,
Where Love did play the wanton with his hair,
Did witnesse it, and witnesse this his line,
I found ingraven ore his golden shrine,
By some beloved hand, whose pen doth speak,
(Though willingly his praise alas to weak.
Her Queen indur'd, what just cause to complain
Hung on her brest, by an aspersion thrown
Vpon her Damsells glories, and her own,
She sighes, and through enough and too much sorrow,
Disdaines to live, for true love hates to borrow
Art to bewail mishap, and as she fainted,
Alas too much unfit, and unacquainted
With grief, she sighing said with swelling eye,
The root depriv'd of heat, the branches dye.
Then gan her sense to play the Tragick part
Of Fate, and Atropos joy'd in her art.
40
Themselves to her fair eyes) now seem'd to dance,
And turning round, the Temple where she stood,
To her wet eyes presented a pale flood.
While she with scrambling hands seeking to take
Hold lest she fell, fell down into that Lake,
Where strugling still, with many pretty dint
Her curious hand did give the earth a print,
For Sepha's sake, which print the earth still keeps,
Of which wee'l speak a while, while Sepha sleeps.
A foolish Prince (not wise because he vow'd
Virginity to dwell within a cloud)
And so much honor to her did ascribe,
Many had thought he had receiv'd a Bribe
To vaunt her praise, and Laurellize her name,
His mouth and he were Trumpets to her fame.
I say a Maiden Prince was lately there,
Whose custome was twice five times ev'ry year,
Cloth'd all in white, and stain'd with spots of black,
A yellow ribond ty'd along his back,
To offer Turtle doves with silver plumes,
And strew the place with Aromatick fumes.
He was a Prince, born of a royall blood,
And being nobly born, was nobly good;
Nor onely good he was, but stout and wise,
(Save that this fond opinion vail'd his eyes,)
Else he in ev'ry action was upright,
And free from vice, as sorrow from delight.
Of Courage good, for valour oft had bound
His Temples up, and them with Laurell crown'd.
Beauty lay lurking in his Magick face,
Worthy of praise since it chose such a place;
Those ruddy lips, those cheeks so heav'nly fair,
Where Love did play the wanton with his hair,
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I found ingraven ore his golden shrine,
By some beloved hand, whose pen doth speak,
(Though willingly his praise alas to weak.
| The Chast and Lost Lovers | |