University of Virginia Library


86

ii. The Secounde chapter of the Triumphe of Deathe.

The night that after did ensew this wofull vglie chance,
that deathe my dame so suddanlie did to hir grawe adwanse,
That night in maner maid the Sun his lucent light to lose,
and sped him from the earth in haist in heavin to repose.
So being left I knew not weill whose fitstepps for to trane,
I lost my guyde, and I did lyke a blinded man remane.
Quhen that the sweit and sommer frost was sparpled by the air,
and quhill Aurora did begin agane to earth repair,
That dois despoyle and tak away evin by hir wholesome streames
the coverture and mantle braid of fals confused dreames,
Evin at that tyme a ladie fair did to my sight appeir,
resembling right on euerie point the season of the yeir.
Sche was bedect with precious pearle, and crouned with orient stones,
yea, crowned she was with thousand crownes of Iewellis brawe at ones,
Who, moweing softlye in hir self, she towardis me did walk,
and lowinglye besydis my syd did sett hir doun to talk,
And streatching owt hir plesant hand, that hand so long desyrd,
she sighing, speiking, yeild it furth, and me to speik requyrd:
From whense his rissen the pleasant Ioy & that eternal bliss
that in my woefull havie hart so long so ludged Is.

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“Knowst thow not hir,” thus spak my dame, “who first thy wandring pace
hes turnd asyid from vulgar way and from the vulgar race?
Knowst thow not hir who the withheld from that which youth did rage,
whose chastlie hart both caused thy lowe and als thy lust did swage?”
This pansiwe dame, in deids most wyse, and in hir actis discreit,
satt doun quhair meiklie she did me to sit with hir intreit:
It was a pleasing bank that place whairon we than reposed,
with laurell grene and branchely beach ourshadowed all and closed.
Than answered I euen as a man who speiking shedds his teares,
and through the greitnes of his greiff his toung from talk forbeares:
“O Laura, thow! O Ladye fair! O goddes of my mynd!
my eyes dois knaw the verie weill, o glore of womankynd!
Tell me, my Dame, tell, hevinlie soule, from whense my grace dois grow,
if thow be leving or yit deid becaus I long to know.”
“I am in lyfe, not deid,” sayis she, “I liwe, and thow is deid,
and salbe whill the later houer that death to earth the leid.
And now, for that the tyme is short our will is alwayes long,
I counsell that thow [OMITTED] It that so thow go not wrong;
Lose not the brydill to the same, thy speache to goode employ,
before the day that draweth neir the to thy grawe conwoy.”
Than I in end replyed thus: “tell me, my hevinlie dame,
that now of lyfe and death hes prowin the practise of the same,
And knowst the proofe what is to liwe and what to die agane,
if death a thing so feirfull be, or yit so full of pane.”
Than answered she: “so long as thow with vulgar folk will hould,
whose iudgement is ay wauering, and to thair will Inthrauld,

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And thair opinionis so embrace that blinde ar, hard, and auld,
thow nevir happie salbe named nor blissed salbe cald.
To noble spreittis and gentle myndis death is the end of cair,
of presoun strong, of Dungeonis dark, of dollour and dispair;
Bot vnto these who hes thair thoughts so fixt on earthlie things,
to suche eternall noy and sturt and sorrow death inbringis.
And this my woefull doolefull death for which thow hes lament,
for whiche thow hes sae manie teares so vanelie shed and spent,
I am assured suld confort the, and quyte efface thy noy,
if that thow felt the thousand part of this my hevinlie ioy.”
Quhen thus she spak she cwist hir eyes vnto the highest heavin,
and then her roselye lipps war closed, and I to purpose dreavin,
“O dame,” said I, “these tyrantis strong that rewld that last empyre,
as Sylla, Marius, nero vyld, that sett all Rome in fyre,
Calligula, Maxentius, with murder so acquent,
that daylie so to torture men all Tormentis did Invent,
The burning boyling feaveris whote, the seiknes in the breist,
the sorenes in the Lim̄s and nervis that so dois men molest,
Makis death for to accounted be with euerie one and all
abhorred be, and so estemed more bitter than the gall.”
“I can not weill denye,” sayis she, “but that the pane and woe
that goeth before or death dois come dois mak ws think it soe;
Bot that which greweth most of all, it is that dreidfull feare
To loss our long and lasting lyfe, this is that most ws deare;

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Bot to the spreit that dois in god his confort all repose,
And to that hart that for his sinnis his waiknes dois disclose,
Vnto that hart, and to that spreit, What death can vther be
than evin a short and litill sigh, as men dois breath we sie?
The proofe thairof evin be my self most planelie may be prowen,
who nerest was my latest course or death had me ourthrowen:
When fleshe was frayle and bodie seik, & spreit more prompe agane,
I hard with heavie sound a voyce most heavelie complane,
‘O wretched he and miserable that rekneth Lauras dayes,
to whome eache one a thousand yeares appeares to him alwayes!
He euerie houer hes suche desyre to visie hir and sie,
and, if he sie hir not euerie hour, he can not happie be;
He seikis for hir through all the earth, bot yit can not hir finde,
and euerie hour and moment small he hes hir in his mynde;
He seikis for hir the fomeing seis, and searcheth all the bankis,
the bayes, the brayes, the brookes, the floods, the deip and watrie stankis,
Whair euerie he walkt or holdis his stepps, ay holding still one style
to think on hir, to speik on hir, and verse of hir compyle.’
Than hearing thus, my fanting ee I turned to that syde
from which that heavie sounding sound I hard and had espyde,
And thair persaweth that Gentle dame that long thy passionis knew,
that thrust me fordwart in thy lowe, and bakwart the with drew;
The sugred wordis owt from hir mouth did mak hir knowen to me,
hir visage and hir countenance did shaw the same wes she
That oftentymes my wofull hart reconforted and glad,
when heavines did it assayle, or sorrow made it sad;

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Sche was acquent with our effaires, with witt she was repleit,
and fayithfull was she in our lowe, and at my deathe discreit.
And planelie now I will the tell, Evin in my brawest state,
and in my grene and growing yeares to the both brawe and feate,
Which caused hes the thoughts and toungs of men to talk and think
in praise of that which was the chaine that did in lowe ws link,
That lyfe which I that tyme than ledd more bittar wes to me,
and swetar than my gentle death that hes me maid to die;
A thing most rare to mortall men, and strange it is to heir,
that death to me more better semed than bitter did appeir;
Becaus to me that passage wes more ioyfull and content
than he that from exyle is cummed and to his countrye went;
The thing that onlye dois me vex, and most my mynde dois grewe,
Is that thow in this wicked world so long, alace, sall lewe.”
Than answered I and spak agane: “O pretious pearle of praise,
I the adjeur by that same fayth that all the world dois blaise,
Whiche tyme I trow hes manifest and oppinlie dois proclame,
and now the more in sight of him that liwis in lasting fame
Dois more appeir, whose eyes dois perse and seis in euerie part,
than tell me if thow ever had ones pittie on my smart,
Or one the panis that lowe hes ludgt within my macered breist,
or of the thoughts that in suche hudge did long my heade molest,
Not leving of your chaistlye wayes nor honest interpryse,
whiche yow wer wont for to oppone aganis my rauthfull cryes;
For that your pleasant gratious Ire and these your sweit disdanes,
So mixt with lowe and than with heate redoubling so my panes,

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Togeather with the platt of peace imprented in your eyes,
the Seales of grace, the nest of bliss that all my sorrow seis,
Did holde so long my whote desyris in such incertan sort,
as ay my mynde dois stand in doubt disparing of support.”
I skarslie had my wofull wordis owt from my mouth declaird,
when as I saw a smyrcling smyle with douce and sweit regaird
Pass from the passage of hir eyes, which sometymes of my Ioy
was both the salve and medicine for to abaitt my noy.
So afterhend she sighing said: “O Petrark, iust and trew,
mark weill my wordis and credeit giwe to that which dois ensew:
My hart nor yit my lasting lowe did euer from the depart,
Nor yit that lowe my hart had ones death euer sall subwert;
Bot warlye I prowydid so To temper so thy flame,
with coy regaird to mitigat the fearsnes of the same,
Becaus they wer no other way to keip in honest fame
my chastetie and thye renoun of ewill bruit and blame;
And so thow ought not for to think that Laura not the loved,
or had not pittie on thy plaints or yit to reuth not mowed.
For looke how that a mother deir dois chastise so hir sonne,
correctis him for amendiment to frame in better toone,
Evin so did I so vse my selff, and to my self oft said,
Petrarcha lowis not but dois burne, this fyre must than be stayd.’
It is my part for to foirsee these ewillis before they grow,
less commoun bruit vnto our shame our Infamie furth blow;
Bot so to do It is verie hard: for how can they prowyde
against these things for which they feare and ernistlie abyde?
Fame would ay evin as I did the to my lowe reclame,
but slaunder maid me ay mistrust and feare a gretar shame;
And to my selff I oft hawe said, ‘he markis but owtward thingis,
yit Inwardlie he seis it not that so me woundis and stingis;’

92

I vsed this craft to draw the bak and spur the thick agane,
Evin as a brydle backwart beares the Wantonn horss and vane;
And yit this more I will confes, a thousand tymes hes Ire
depanted in my face what lowe within had sett on fyre,
And thousand tymes my face hes showen, and thousand tymes exprest,
the sore conflictis and Inwart flamms that brunt my hart & breist.
And looke how muche thye lowe appeird so swirlie greit wes myne,
bot Will did not my Reasoun rewll nor maid from right repyne;
And after when I the beheld ourcome by lowe his rage,
Than sweitlie wold I cast my eyes thy sorrowis to assuage,
With purpose and with full intent, and with a cairfull cair,
To sawe thy honour with my lyfe that languisht by dispair;
And when the passionis that the paind so panefull did appeir,
I purposed then to confort the with visage calme and cleir,
So that my forrett and my voyce did for thy saiftye mowe,
now full of woe, than full of Ioy, and dreid full mixt with lowe:
This was the practise of my hart, these war my honest wayes,
That I through honour with the vsed vntill my deing dayes,
Now shawen furth a blythe aspect all gathered full of grace,
And than agane a coy disdane, and than a sourer face.
Thow knowst that all these thingis be trew, thy Sonettis this reveillis,
and all thy songs proclames the same which of thy woe bewaillis.
In end I vsed such sindrie salwes to salwe thy sore diseis,
that bothe my cair and studie was how the to pane and pleis:
For when I saw thy watrye eyes so full of streames of teares,
which trickling doun in suche a pace did wash thy cheaks and eares,
Than would I say, ‘this man dois rin a course vnto his deathe,
I sie things thairfoir must help prolong his lyfelie breathe;’

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And Thairfore than I did prowyde some help and honest ayde
To eiss thy woes, redress thy soares, aud mak thye state be stayde;
Then when I saw sa manie spurris so fordwart in thy syde,
than would I say, ‘an harder bitt must mak this man abyde;’
And thus when then I so espyde how thow had hope of gane,
‘convenient is,’ said I, ‘this hope be drowned with disdane;’
So that amidst these contrareis, sometymes both whote and coulde,
Now whyte, now reid, now blythe, now sad, I haif evin as I woulde
Conducted the now to this point, though I now weryed be,
Whair through I leid a glorious lyfe, and so sall all men see.”
Than I replyed with face besprent and visage wak with teares,
and tremblinglye with Trembling voyce all faint with thousand feares,
“O glorious dame, of this my fayithe greit gane thow suld me giwe,
gif that I could thy loveing words so steidfastlie beliwe.”
O man, o man of litill faythe,” she answerd in disdane,
“gif thow not knowst which that I speik to be both trew and plane;
Quhat reasoun is suld me induce to tell these thingis to yow,
and thow no wayes that which I speik will credeit yit or trow?
I wer vniust, o Petrark myne, gif I the treuth suld hyde:
whils as I liwed thow in my hart and in my eyes did byde;
In treuth, that sweit and loving knot most plesant was to me
be which thow preast by fervent lowe with me to coupled be;
That brawe renoun (if trew I heir) which through the world dois perse,
which far and nar thow hes me wun by thy Immortall verse,
Dois pleis me muche, for that I knew thow had no other suit
than by a lawfull honest meanes to reape thy wished fruit.

94

And this was it that onely faild, this onely did inlake,
for to perfyte that perfyte lowe which did not thyne forsake:
For whils that thow in havie act thy sadnes did bewray,
thow maid thye flams to publisht be through all the world, I say;
Hence came my zeale to mollifie, and so thye flame to soft;
bot yit in all suche other thingis such concord than was wrought
As loyall lowe with honestie dois temper and Immixt,
so in my lowe bothe honestie and shamefastnes was fixt:
This difference was tuixt thame bothe, thow publisht furth thy flame,
when secreitlie I in my hart had buried wp the same;
And when that thow for mercie cryed, so that thye voyce was hoarse,
I held my toung, yit in my hart I had on the remorse.
For shamefastnes vpone the one, on other syde a feare,
did make my many whote desyrs far fewer more appeare;
For nather is that doole the less that dois a nother vex,
nor yit be Moning mone growis more that men dois so perplex,
As nather thingis that ar of treuthe, and hes by treuthe thair stay,
by feinȝeit fortoun dois incress, or yit by It decay.
Yit did not I dissolue these doubts when I with the did sing
thy sugred songs that with my panis thy praises all did ring.
And this muche more I will the tell: my hart wes ay with the,
suppose my eyes wer turned asyde, and seemed not the to see;
Off which thow verie oft complaind, as of these partis vniust,
That quainsht thy hope and esperance and raised thy mistrust;
Yit so to doe thow had no cause, for that of me the best
vnto thy handis I did it yeild so that the worst bot rest.

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And know when that my eyes sumtymes war turnd from vewing the,
that they a thousand tymes agane with mercie did the see;
And in this same persuade thy self they on the ay had lookt,
wer not I fear that through thair flammes they had rekendled thy smok.
Now sumquhat more I am to say afore that I mak end,
that may the pleis or I depart or I to go intend:
It is that I in euerie point sufficientlie am blist,
and yit in one thing (to my greiff) this happines I mist;
It dois me greiff my natiwe soyle and birth place is so bass,
from whiche I had my levinge lyfe, in which I gendred wass;
And one thing more augmentis my woe, I was not borne besyde
that floorish nest, fair Florence toun, in which thow did abyde;
and yit my countrye soyle & ground contentit much thy mynde,
if not the place perhapps my lowe it was that maid the kynde.
I wisht this change becaus I feared that thy trew constant hart
through change to some vnknowen face and vncowthe be conwert,
And so that glorious famous praise, which thow to me procured,
suld darkned be so of les fame and bruit it had indured.”
To this I said, “not so, O Dame, suche change culd never chanse;”
and than the thrid fair hevinlie spheir did so me far adwanse,
Evin with hir whirling circled wheill to suche a sort of lowe,
as Venus stoode Immoveable and I might not remowe.
Than answered she: “sen so it is suche glore I haif by the,
that yit Immortall thow dois lest, and so sall follow me,

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Grawe thairfoir this within thy mynde, and in thy hart imprent,
The tyme dois slipp, and through thy Ioy thow knowst not how is spent.”
Alreddie I Aurora saw Ryse from hir golden bed,
rebringing bak the day to men, and all the cluddis to shed,
Alreddie than fair Phebus was mount in his golden cairt,
and owt from the bosome wyde of Neptune to depairt,
When that my ladie, Laura fair, from me was to resort,
whose going than renewed my woe, and prayed me to be short,
And with the tyme to distribut and all my speache dewyde,
becaus she was not long to stay nor with me to abyde.
Thus answered I: “O thow, my Dame, thy goodlie wordis and sweitt,
so lowelie, chaist, and pitifull, so wyse, and so discreit,
They mak me tak my panefull panis, my martirdome, and smart,
my lingring lyfe, and havie loss, far in a better part;
Bot this, alace, dois most me grewe, and this dois most me pane,
that yow no more in Lyfe sall liwe, and I but yow remane;
Now one thing thairfoir to me shaw, sall I thy futstepps trace,
or sall a longer space of tyme my lingring yeares increase?”
Than did my lowe, my Iem, and Ioy, speik so, as I belewe,
“thow sall but me drywe furth thy dayes and long in earth sall liwe.”
&
Finis Triumphi Mortis.