University of Virginia Library

To the Noble-minded Reader.

Sir , if my Lines should chance come unto
The worthy prospect of your noble view,
Although they are (I must confesse) unfit
To walke in equipage with better Wit;
Nor worth th'observance of your curious Eye,
Yet read them pray, and passe their faults; for why
A stocke ungrafted never yet could yeeld
Such pleasant fruite as pruned Trees: the Field
Untill'd (you know) can nothing else produce,
Unlesse wilde weeds, good to no wholesome use.
Wild Grapes, though prest, yeeld not such pleasant wines
As the rich clusters of the manur'd Vines:
Or can the Crab-tree such an Apple beare
As the faire Pippin; then Sir, shall I dare
Presume to thinke my Genius or my Braines
Can Echo forth such high Cothurnick straines,
As those ingenious Wits, who well may claime
The sacred Title of a Poets name?
Farre be't from me to harbour such a thought,
Since in respect of such, I'me worse than nought
By many thousands: thus your pardon daigne,
Excuse my faults, 'twill recompense my paine:
For know some time my Muse and I have spent
This Worke to finish, which, I now have sent.
For since Report had falsely blaz'd, that I
Could steale whole Verses, but not versifie,
I chose a Subject thereby to expresse
The skill I have, how to compact a Verse.
Yet Sirs, beare with me, though they doe not run
With fluent straines most sweetly on your tongue.
I ne're was lull'd asleepe upon the lap
Of some sweete Muse, I never tooke a nap
Under the shadie Leaves of Phœbus Tree,
The Groves of Temple I did never see.
Th'are the first blossomes of my unskill'd Braine,
Which if you please to cherish and maintaine,
With the bright Sun-shine of your favour, then
The nipping Frosts of selfe-opinionate men,
Nor Envies blasts shall never have the power
To crop the Bud of this my growing Flower.
This if you grant, 'twill tye me to remaine
Your constant Friend, to which I signe my Name.

To all Faire Ladies, Famous for their Vertues, L. L. wisheth the enjoyment of their Desires; whether Cœlestiall, or Terrestriall, but most especially to that Paragon of Perfection, the very Non-such of her Sexe, famous by the Name of Mistris M. S.

Oh stand my Friends yee sacred Treble-trine
Of divine Sisters, oh yee Muses Nine,
Inflame my Genius, and my thoughts inspire
With the bright beames of your Ætheriall fire:
Oh teach me words which yet were never knowne,
The choisest Straines that flow from Helicon,
And rape me up with Raptures 'yond the pitch
Of vulgar thought; my obtuse minde enrich
With quick Invention, for I have a taske
Beyond my skill, therefore your ayde I aske.
Be then propitious unto my designes,
And prompt my thoughts, that I in strenuous Lines,
And words compacted by your proper paine,
May gaine excuse; yet lest I should prophane
The sacred worth of those Faire Ladies, who
May claime all honour as their proper due,
What Attributes, what honour'd Titles shall
My trembling Tongue, my Faculties, and all
My lab'ring Senses study to conferre
On their Rare worths, who scarce know how to erre?
Call I them Ladies? why their Sexe doth claime
The proper, Title of that Gentile Name:
Stile I them faire ones? of an Angels hue,
That's but their right, I give them but their due:
Say I th'are vertuous? why their actions show
It most apparent, and the world doth know
I should but flatter, if I should confine
My Tongue to style them Goddesses divine:
Though others use it, pardon me, not I,
I have no power for to Deifie,
Though I adore yee, and would sacrifice
My Life to serve yee: what shall I devise,
What shall I adde, or what shall I expresse
To sound your praises? Oh I must confesse
It is a Subject for an Homers Quill,
By farre transcending my unlearned skill:
M'Invention's dull, or is it so sublime,
To touch your worths, you being most divine:
What new-coyn'd Titles, what unheard of straines
Shall I then frame, to blazon forth your fames?
Alas, I'de best strike saile, waft to the shore,
And Anchor there, not dare to venture o're
This Sea of Honour, 'lesse I had the Art
Of Heraldry, your Titles to impart,
Or skill to blaze them in their sev'rall Tables
Drawne out with Or, with Argent, and with Sables;
Gules, Furres, & Azure, Bands, Barres, Chev'rons, crosses,
Bulls, Beares, and Lyons, with the well-shap't Horses:
Or that my Barke were better rigg'd and trim'd,
Or that I had a fairer gale of winde
T'embreath the sailes of my most slake Invention,
And so transport me with quick apprehension.
And now more than my Tongue can style yee, know
I am oblieg'd and eke engag'd to show
Unto the prospect of your glorious eyes,
The sighs, the sobs, the woes, the miseries
Of tortur'd Arnalt, who doth living dye
Through th'unkindnesse and strange cruelty
Which faire Lucenda shews him: this his Fate
He doth intreate you to compassionate,
And to bewayle his suff'rings, to complaine
Of her neglect and tyrant-like disdaine,
Which is the cause of his afflicting smart,
And of the tortures which infest his heart.
Oh if you chance but ever to distill
A Pearle-like teare, he doth beleeve it will
Be of such force, that it will mollifie
Her flinty heart, convert her cruelty
To courteous kindnesse, move her to repent
Her peevish coynesse, cause him sweet content.
Then oh yee Rare one's, since yee thus may save
Our ill-intreated Lover from the grave,
Expresse your pitty, oh bewaile his fate,
Taxe the unkindnesse and invet'rate hate
Of coy Lucenda, blame her for neglect:
Oh tell her, tell her, that such true respect
She doth not merit, since she still disdaines
His profer'd love, his service, and his paines:
And let the beames of your bright goodnesse shine
Also faire Ladies on these Lines of mine,
Which though unworthy of your gracious view,
Vouchsafe to read, they being sent to you;
'Twill please sad Arnalt, and exhilarate
His pensive thoughts; perhaps 'tmay recreate
Your fancies wearied with excesse of pleasure,
But 'twill reward me with too rich a Treasure,
And so engage me, that I shall not know
How to obsolve the Debts the which Iowe
Unto your worths, for why, they cannot be
Repay'd without some new-coyn'd Mystery:
Thus with my Booke I kisse your faire white hand,
And at the Barre of your just knowledge stand
To heare our Doome; it's you must Judgment give
If by Oblivion we shall dye, or live
With Fame eterniz'd: give your Verdict then,
And with it life in spight of envious men.
Say you'l protect it, say't shall take a nap,
Encurtain'd closely in your silken laps:
Grant this sweet Ladies unto him who stil
VVill be obsequious to your honour'd wills,
Yea, unto him, who ever will remaine
More than your servant, well knowne by the name

To his respected second-selfe L. L.

How can thy worth be more exprest, than by
The pleasant fruits of th'ingenuity?
The praise whereof shall tend to thy renowne,
Yea, binde thy Temples with a Lawrell Crowne:
Envy may barke, but shall not bite thy name,
Nor yet have force to rob thee of thy Fame.
Heede no aspersions, set thy selfe at rest,
The supprest Palme fructifieth best:
Apollo's Sonnes, Minerva's Darlings will
Applaud thy Genius, and maintaine it still.
Thy private friends (experienc'd) will confesse
There's worth, there's wit, there's learning in thy Verse:
And thy familiars, wishing thee the Bayes,
Have song Encomiums to thy lasting praise.
Shall I now laud thee? no, 'tmust be some other;
My reason's this, because I am thy brother

To his worthy Friend the Author, upon his Translation.

Thy Arnalt sad, yet sweetly sung, will move
In all delight and pleasure, win their love.
So Philomel, whilst of her Rape she plaines,
The senses ravisht with delightsome straines.
Then doe not suffer this thy worke to dwell
With dull Oblivion in her gloomy Cell:
What though thy Arnalt doth himselfe confine
To Groves? yet to the World let thy Muse shine:
Feare not the ill-intreated Lovers Fate,
All lovingly will 'treate thy Muse, none hate.

To His Ingenious Friend the Author, upon his Translation.

I have beheld, with an admiring eye,
These thy first blossomes of sweete Poesie,
Sprung from thy Infant-Muse, whose leaves doe show
A fragrantnesse; although they did not grow
Nigh Helicon, or on the fertile strand
Of sacred Tempe, or Parnassus Land.
Thy Verse (though sad) is fraught with such sweete Layes,
That it deserves the ever-verdent Bayes
Of fam'd Apollo, for I vow you merit,
If for reward, a greater to inherit.
Thou shew'st us Arnalt, yes, and thy Translation
Sheweth thy Genius, and thy Education:
And we that can no French, are bound to thee
In bonds of love, for letting us to see
His Love-sicke Story most exactly writ
Jn English Verse, pen'd by thy fluent wit.
No more Ile say, friend Lawrence, for thy worth
It's badge enough to set thy vertues forth;
For who so reades thy Lines, they will confesse
Thy Muse runs well, having o're-tane the Presse.

To his much esteemed Friend L. L. upon his Translation of Arnalte and Lucenda.

I must confesse, these Lines which thou hast writ,
Expresse (kind friend) thy Genius and thy Wit:
And these thy Uerses have reviv'd in me
The e'ne dead sparkes of pleasing Poetrie:
'Cause I'de say something in the commendation
Of this thy Poem, and well-pen'd Translation:
I doe not write to beautifie thy Worke,
Nor under covert of thy sheetes to lurke,
And so to crowd into the Presse, not I,
But to applaud thy ingenuity:
The Greeks, th'Italians, Spaniards, French-men too,
They are beholding Sir, I vow to you:
My reason's this, since by thy paines and Pen,
Th'hast taught pure English to their Country-men,
And thereon their worth's perspicuous to our Nation.
By this thy copious and refin'd Translation.
Hadst thou beene tutor'd, or at first brought up
To quaffe of Nectar in a golden Cup,
I'de ne're admir'd these thy strenuous Lines,
Nor yet have wonder'd at thy well pen'd rimes:
But's strange, me thinkes, that one who daily vses
To trade, and traffiicke, thus should Court the Muses:
Then thrive in Raptures, and transcendent Layes,
That Fame may Crowne thee with a wreath of Baies.

To his much Honour'd Friend, L. L.

It were in vaine for me to blaze thy worth,
This thy Translation plainely sets it forth:
And eke thy Lines, they all are so well pen'd,
That they alone may serve thee to commend:
Should I extoll thee, why it will but shew
That to the World, which they already know:
Then all Ile say, the all I doe intend,
T'shall be to shew, I'me proud of such a friend.

To his true Friend, L. L.

Art graceth Nature: yet the grace of Art
Growes from those Gifts, good Nature doth impart:
Noe Art, nor Natures gifts are scarce in thee,
Thy Lines will shew, which, like thy selfe, are free.
Thy Naturall Genius shines forth in thy braine,
Which Time cann't rust, nor spatring Envy staine:
The Muses blesse thee still, as th'have begunne:
Thus prayes thy friend, and thus thy friend hath done.

The Translator tenders his respect to all ingenious Poets, who, he hopes will cherish these his Infant Verses, as being the first that hee ever Writ.

I will not venture to usurpe or claime
The sacred Title of a Poets name,
Or dare to challenge ought that doth belong
Unto their merits, least their worths I wrong.
The Worlds applausive praise I will resigne
To Phœbus sonnes, their Raptures are Divine,
Sublime transcendent; and their Candor's such,
That I can but the superficies touch
Of their perfections: no, I have no skill
To sound their praises, or to guide my quill:
To portraict forth th'Idea of their Fame,
Vnlesse by writing of a Poets name;
Yet that's enough; for sweete-ton'd Poesie
Makes men immortall, and doth Deifie
Them by their actions: what was ever writ
By a true Poet, Fame eterniz'd it;
Witnesse an Homer, or brave Horace name,
Propertius, Virgil, or sweete Ovids fame:
Or looke but backe to these our Moderne times,
Spencer, though dead, surviveth by his rimes;
Iohnson, and others, needlesse to rehearse,
Are eternized by their famous Verse;
Unto whose worths, Time-during Fame hath rais'd
Trophies of Honour, to their lasting praise.
Oh that I could but shew, or else expresse
How much I honour the ingenuousnesse
Of great Apollo's darlings, who surpasse
So farre the Vulgar, as bright Diamonds glasse!
My Lines are framed in a Leaden mould,
Their Straines composed of the purest gold;
Whose high-tun'd words, like precious Jems adorne
The Readers eare, too costly to be worne
By every Vulgar Criticke, who despight
All sence or reason, be it wrong or right,
Will spit the venome of their malice, and
Censure mens Labours, though not understand:
But's to no purpose; say they what they will,
Poets are Poets, they but Coxecombes still.

A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda:

Entituled, The Evill-intreated Lover.

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.
This is the Mansion
Of him that living, dyes,
Though death consent not
To close up his eyes.
These Lines I having read deliberately,
We farther went, and my observing eye
Perceiv'd, that all things in that house so sad,
Of mourning griefe a representment had:
But though I sadnesse every where did see,
At that same time I would not curious bee
To aske the reason, I omitted it,
Till I should finde the time and place more fit.
Onward we walk't, and so we enter'd in
A spacious Hall, where when a while w'had bin,
Ceres and Bacchus, with their plenteous traine.
The Tables deck'd, and then went out againe:
But long they stay'd not, for they usher'd in
Plenty of Viands, which their Traines did bring,
Whereon we fed: then Supper being past,
The grieving Knight he caus'd me for to haste
Vnto my rest, and this kinde he did doe,
Because my Travailes and my paines he knew:
Which to refresh most courteously he lead
Me to a Chamber, where a sable bed
Did stand erected; where when I was brought,
He sighing left me, asking if that ought
I wanted; and sadly then retiring,
At these strange wonders left me there admiring:
Being alone, the bedde it standing nigh,
Vpon the Swanny Doune, I downe did lye:
And as I thought my quiet rest to take,
When silent Night doth suffer few to wake:
About the houre, when as the watchfull Cocke,
The nights shrill Bell-man, and the Pesants clock,
Doth give the signall by his early crowing,
That mid-night's past, the cheerefull day is growing.
I then did heare sad sorrow breath such groanes,
And sob such sighes, and utter forth such moanes,
That the strange noyse with wonder did confound,
M'amazed sence, but listning then I found
That 'twas the Knight, with his attendants, who
Breath forth those groans, and made that strange adoe,
For with sad Musicke they did shreeking plaine
Of their afflictions, and their smarting paine,
Wailing their sorrowes in nights darkest shade,
'Cause it to sadnesse some resemblance had;
The direfull Screetch-Owle, beare with them apart:
And from her screeking throat did shew her Art,
In keeping time with their sad strained moanes,
Or eccho like, in answering to their groanes:
Hearing this noyse, and in the dead of Night,
I doe protest, it did me sore affright:
And then I wonder'd more than e're before,
For strange it seem'd to heare them so deplore:
Imagination seiz'd on sleepe, caus'd Morpheus flye
And wip'd his Leaden slumbers from my eyes,
And did unlose those silken bands, wherein
The drowsie god had chain'd my eye-lids in:
For those sad tones, the which I heard that Night,
Refreshing sleepe did from my pores affright,
That I lay pausing in my naked bed;
Whilst thousand thoughts did traverse through my head,
But true report hath since informed me,
That ev'ry night the Knight did usually
Renew with passion his lamenting moanes,
Tort'ring his heart with endlesse sighes and groanes:
Which moov'd his servants to deplore his Fate,
And to bewaile his sad afflicted state:
For love and pitty did them joyntly binde,
To be conformed to his grieved minde:
Who now will doubt but that disturbed I,
Lay fraught with wonder, since their pittious cry
Chast sleepe away: for with their teares they past
The nights sad houres, grieving whilst they last:
But when the East 'gan vest himselfe with gray,
Which is the ensuing of a golden day,
All was in silence husht, they did lay by
Their dolefull tones, and their distracted cryes.
Rose-cheek'd Aurora, usher to the day,
Had now with-drawne Nights Curtaines, cald away
Gold-glistering Titan, from faire Tethis bed:
(To whose embraces he was lately fled)
Which when he heard, with speed and haste he hy'd
Vnto his Chariot, which he there espy'd:
Then mounting up his bright refulgent beames,
Guilded the mountaines, and the silver streames:
When stately riding through the Christall skye,
Vested in Gold, from forth a Church hard by
I heard a Saints-bell sound, whose Tones did call.
The circumjacent dwellers (great and small)
Vnto that Service, which is styl'd the Masse,
Or Mattins either: (well we'le let that passe,
And to the purpose) then I did espye
My Noble Host, the Knight, with weeping eyes
Enter my Chamber, where he did expresse
The selfe same Honour, and true Noblenesse,
Which he vouchsaf'd me, the last passed Night,
When Fortune brought me to his courteous sight:
For friendly grasping of my hand, he lead
Me to the place where Service then was read:
Where when arriv'd, my over-curious eye
Roving about, I chanc'd for to espye
A Monument, with sable blacke be-deck'd,
Which sorrowing griefe had caus'd the Knight erect:
And as I since have heard, he doth intend
Therein to rest, when Death shall give an end
To all his cares: observing it I found
This sad Inscription which engrav'd was round.
See here the Memory
Of one that grieves with paine,
Since that the sight of him nor her
With ease he cannot gaine.

Translator to the Ladies.

Oh that my Tongue were now with Silver tip't,
Since to yee Ladies I must sing with it:
Nay, I could wish the concave of my throate
Were sin'd with Brasse, since that I the note
Of the sad Knight must sound unto your eares,
And with my Verse expresse his mourning teares.
Oh! could I gaine but little Philomel,
Phœbus sweet Bird, within my breast to dwell,
That she might teach me how to warble forth
A mourning Ditty, for I now am loath
To venture on this following worke: for why,
I am unskill'd, nor e're could versifie.
And then againe, I did it enterprize,
Ere I did finde that it unto your eyes
Should be presented: had it beene to men,
I'de not have car'd, if they had censur'd them:
But's to your honourd sexe, you'le judge aright,
And on my faults your sweet eyes soone will light:
But passe them Ladies, when yee them espy,
Not on my faults, on me reflect your eyes:
And pardon Ladies, if my Muse affords
No pleasing straines, or if my ill plac't words
Expresse no sweetnesse, or my halting Verse
Doe not runne currant; for I ne're converst
With the Nine Muses, never did I clime
Pernassus top, my wits for to sublime;
Helicons sweet water I did never taste,
But if I drank't, it was upon the waste:
Ambrosia, Nectar never did I touch,
Then of my rudenesse censure not too much.
But stay my Muse, if you this course doe keepe,
You'le run astray, and I be forc't to seeke
A new my Subject: then let's not digresse
From our intended purpose, but rehearse
The Knights sad words. Oh neither let my tongue
Injure Arnalte, or the Authour wrong.

The Knight to the Traveller.

Sir, I doe thinke that I should injure thee
Beyond all Reason, in a high degree,
If I should faile those secrets to unshrowd,
Which now are vailed under silence Cloud;
Or to declare of my demands the cause,
With their effects, and what the reason was
That mov'd me to them; for it's not of late
That I the King and Queene, their Princely state
Have truely knowne; for by their high renowne,
Their vertuous goodnesse which their acts do crown,
Their fames divulg'd, the world enough doth know,
Their honour'd worths; but for your paines I owe
Some kind requitall, since you have declar'd
All what you knew, and thereof nothing spar'd:
My thankes I'le tender for to gratifie
In some respects thy noble courtesie.
But other reasons mov'd me to demand
Those fained questions, and my speech was fram'd
Unto another end; for I meane t'impart
The grieving passions of my sorrowing heart
Unto thy selfe, and so conferre on thee
The Treasureship of all my miseries:
For I beleeve thou wilt vouchsafe to rest
Some sort of pitty in thy manly breast,
Which will incite thee to bewaile my Fate,
And the oppressions of my wretched state,
Causing thee harbour in thy solid braine,
What I recount, that so you may proclaime
In future times the summe of all my griefe,
And how I live stil hopelesse of reliefe.
Attend me then with silence, but first know
I thankes to Thebes for my nurture owe,
For that's my Nation, which Agenors sonne,
Cadmus did build, when as he durst not turne
Facke to his Father, 'cause he could not gaine
His deare Europa, whom great Jove had taine.
With this same Cadmus, the Bœotian King,
I for a long time nourished have beene,
And eke a long time's past, since unkind Death
Depriv'd my Father of his vitall breath,
Whose honour'd selfe was nam'd as I, Arnalte:
But I'le refraine to certifie unto thee
What that he was; for it will ill become
Me for to praise him, since I am his sonne.
In these past dayes King Cadmus kept his Court
Within faire Thebes, and his chief'st resort
Was oftnest thither; for which reason, I
Did there recide, and live most constantly;
Following my study, mixt with recreation,
Sometimes with sport, sometimes in contemplation,
Voyd of all care I liv'd, my Heart was free,
From Love-sicke passions, or his tyranny:
Whilst thus I liv'd, in hight of perfect blisse,
Vnconstant Fortune (who e're whirling is)
Cast me from forth the seat of mans chiefe hap,
And flung me head long in Pandoreas lap;
For one a day, when as my selfe I found
Quiet in minde, and eke in all parts sound,
Free from disturbance of unquiet cares,
Or pensive thoughts, commixt with palid feares,
An eminent man, in Thebes City knowne:
For Fame his worth on her shrill Trumpe had blown;
Yeelded himselfe unto pale ashie death;
Who Victor-like exhal'd his fainting breath:
Vnto whose fun'rall Rites and Obsequies,
The stately Courtier and the Burgeous hyes,
And divers others, who did all intend
To grace the body of their deceast friend,
Whose life-lesse Corps with many watrey eyes
Was brought to Church in a most solemne wise:
Where when arriv'd, it in the midst was plac'd,
During such time the Ceremonies last:
And there abode, whilst that with weeping eyes,
His nighest kinne the Rites did solemnize:
Chiefely his Daughter; who, alas did seeme
Like faire fac'd Venus, Loves Cœlestiall Queene,
When shee wore mourning for the timelesse death
Of sweete Adonis, wonder of the earth:
For shee with shreekes, and sad lamenting cryes,
Distil'd salt teares, which flowed from her eyes,
In that aboundant manner, as if all
The rainy showres had beene forc'd to fall,
Trickling along her cheekes, which to my view
Seem'd like transparent drops of Pearly Dew
On fragrant Roses, e're the bright-fac'd Sunne
Had kist them drye: teares did not only runne
From her bright Christall Fountaines, for she tare
Her silken Vestments, and her flaxe-like haire:
The Cypresse Vaile, which her faire face did shrowd,
Like golden Phœbus in a watry Cloud,
Shee rent in peeces, with her snow-white bands
Dishevel'd her curious breded bands,
The winds enamour'd, ravish'd with delight
At the faire prospect of so rich a sight,
Breath forth their milder gales, and gently blew
Their fanning windes, by which her bright haire flew
In amorous dangling, frisling her faire tresses,
Which in Meanders hung, and curled esses:
And like the surges of the rowling maine
They rise and fall, or as upon some plaine,
Wee see the pretty rising Hillocks stand,
Or as the furrowes of the plowd up Land;
These Sunne-like Tresses twin'd in artlesse knots
Where in close ambush wanton Cupid lurkes,
Shee did unroote without the least respite,
She wag'd a Warre, maintain'd a deadly fight,
'Twixt her faire Hands, and those dishevel'd haires,
Which without pitty from her Head she teares;
And they not able to with-stand her might,
O'recome in battaile, trembling tooke their flight
In scatter'd troopes, and some quite dead did lye
On her spread shoulders, obvious to the eye
Of the beholders; in that pittious hew,
That those that did this cruell conflict view,
At their rare beauty did not onely wonder,
But griev'd to see them sever'd so assunder,
Pittying their usage, and their ruin'd state,
Seeking to save them, though, alas, too late:
O'recome with passion, and distracting woe,
Halfe mad with sorrow; she, oh she did throw
Her tender body on the sencelesse ground,
And there lay grov'ling with her teares e'ne drownd
Her acclamations mixt with grievous groanes,
Her sighes, her sobs, her sad lamenting moanes
Were powred forth, in that distracted wise,
That all who saw her joyntly sympathiz'd
With her in sorrow; some bewail'd her Fate,
Others her losse, the rest compassionate:
Those out-rages, the which she did inflict
On her faire selfe; alas, she did commit
Such cruelty, that pitty moov'd all those
That were spectators of her grievous woes,
To have a feeling of her inward smart,
Whose cruell tortures did infest her heart:
For ev'ry one did taxe this Virgins Fate,
And her sad sorrowes caus'd them Lachrymate:
Since in her passions she was so extreame,
For to her griefe she limited no meane;
Which so surprest her, that she seem'd ro bee
The very abstract of calamity.
But now, alas! she of whom I speake,
Whose sad Remembrance makes my heart to break;
Oh shee it is! yea, she that beares the name
Of faire Lucenda! my e're honour'd Dame.
Then list awhile, and my sad tongue shall tell,
How she in worth all others doth excell:
Ile thus describe her in each sev'rall eye:
A Cupid sits inthron'd with Majesty,
Vertue attends her, modesty doth grace
The Rose-like blushes of her lovely face:
Her pure complexion doth surpasse the snow,
And staines the Lillies in their milke-white show
The pleasing Grace, which makes her lovely seeme,
May claime precedence of the Paphian Queene:
Like polish'd Ivory doth her fore-head shine;
Her soft silke Tresses in Meanders twine;
And are so bright, that Phœbus he doth shroud,
If her he spies, his face behind a Cloud:
As sparkling Diamonds shine her splendent eyes,
Or as bright stars, which twinkle in the skies,
Whose radient beames doe such a luster dart,
That with a flash they have consum'd my heart:
Her nose's well featur'd, of the handsom'st mould,
Not long, or peaked, signes that grace a scould:
Her cheekes resemble two fresh flowry banks,
Where bright Carnations grow in disperst rankes;
And in those cheekes the red and whit discloses.
Such pleasing glimps, as Lawne o're spreading Roses:
Her Lips like Rubies, which by Art are joyn'd,
Doe sweetely close, and friendly are combin'd;
And for their colour, they by farre exceede
The Rosiate blood, which purple Grapes doe bleed;
Who when they move, they presently doe shew
Of Orient Pearles, a well-ranged row:
Her Organ-voyce it may paralell
The sweete-tun'd notes of pretty Philomel;
Nay, farre surpasse, the Spheares it may exceed,
For if she sing her tones doe raptures breed:
Her breath so fragrant, that it doth surscent
Th'Arabian Spices, those from India sent:
A lovely Dimple setteth forth her Chin,
And wanton Cupid plaies bo-peepe therein:
A snow-white necke supporteth eke her head,
And from that neck two faire large shoulders spread:
Her Virgin bosome branch'd with swelling veines,
Distil'd from Heaven in Aprilian raines;
Whose Azur'd Dye doth staine the Saphiers hew,
And make 'em yeeld that they are not so blew;
Beares two white hils, whose whitenes may compare
With snow, or Doun, the which the Swan doth weare;
Soft as white wooll, or as the airy bed,
Whereon Queene Iuno lost her maiden-head;
Vpon whose tops, two pretty Arbours stand,
Compos'd of Roses, fram'd by Natures hand:
Betwixt those Hills a pleasant Vale doth lye,
And 't's consecrated to Loves Deity;
Much like unto that shadie Grove 'tis seated,
Where faire Idalia her Adonis treated
For to embrace her, whilst the unkind Lad
Reject her suite, and left her vexing sad.
Her hands and armes, they like unto the rest,
Are well proportion'd, and for to be prest
Within their folds there is no greater blisse:
Oh wer't my hap that I may purchase this!
For other parts, the which I doe not know,
I will not mention, lest I speake too low:
There's onely this, as there are sev'rall graces,
In sev'rall limbs they have their sev'rall places;
And this I'le say, and speake it evermore,
Nature in her hath laid up all her store.
Nor is this all, it's but the Cabinet
Wherein a Jemme of greater worth is kept;
A Soule unspotted, free from vulgar staine,
Immaculate, an honourable Name:
A gentle heart, a truely-noble minde,
Not proud, but humble, very courteous, kind;
Rich in good thoughts, of vertues having store,
Judicious, witty, but in vices poore.
In briefe, to praise her goes beyond my skill,
'Twould fit a Pensill, or some Poets quill.
But to the purpose; I was sore agash't
At this rare Lady, whose strange acts abasht,
M'admiring selfe possest with suddaine feare,
For I did doubt that she would lend an eare
Unto th'alurements of dispaire; for why,
Shee did afflict her selfe most cruelly,
And wonder rapt me with amazement, when
I had the prospect of so rich a Jemme,
Being so perfect in each linament,
That like an Angell from Joves Palace sent,
Shee did appeare unto my trembling view,
So faire, so bright, so glorious was her hew.
The Corps being laid with order in his Tombe,
And publickly before the world inhum'd,
Lucenda thence did wailing home returne;
And I likewise, who then began to burne
With new-felt Fire, whose tormenting flame
Tortur'd my heart with an unusuall paine.
Thus being wounded with Loves fiery Dart,
I did endeavour to recure my heart:
Which to effect, the Groves I did frequent,
The Woods, the Fields, that so I might prevent
Love of his purpose; but in vaine the fields,
Or silent Woods, no comfort to me yeeld;
Though solitude I did accompany,
No ease I gain'd, no helpe, no remedy:
'Twas labour lost, the place affords no ease,
I still was tortur'd with my strange disease,
And well I knew incontinent I found
That solitude did not alone abound:
Nor get that hope at randome from me sped;
But that all solace from my heart was fled.
The twice Twelve Sisters clad in blacke and white:
The Day attending, and the darksome Night,
Their charge observing, suffer'd for to passe,
Thus many a day that runned through their glasse;
Whilst I endeavour'd for to entertaine
Dreaming Oblivion, and to steepe my braine
In Lethean water, that I might forget
The fixt Resolves whereon my minde was set:
For since my entrance I so prickly found,
So cruell, cragged, and such thorny ground,
I knew the issue would more tedious be,
And farre more rugged unto love-sicke me.
Yet this avail'd not, albeit time did haste
With flying wings; nor would a minute waste,
The more he flew, the more my paines drew nye,
In whose hot flames my wounded heart did fry:
'Twas water throwne with Smiths upon the fire,
Which doth not quench, but makes it flame the higher
For as my griefes increase and multiply,
With winged speed my helps from me did flye:
Thus in a Lab'rinth I was strangely got,
And there I wander'd, having not the knot
To re-conduct me forth, I seeking, stray
In untrod paths, I found no ready way.
Ten thousand thoughts lay hamm'ring in my braines,
Who forg'd out meanes how to asswage my paines.
But prov'd so brittle, that they did not hold
Whilst I assay'd them; thus my hopes grew cold
For want of succour, and most wretched I
Endur'd much anguish, then necessity,
The slye Inventor of unheard of facts,
Th'accomplisher of more than common acts,
By her sage counsell shew'd me by what wayes
I might released be from this strange maize;
And thus advis'd me, that I by a Page
Who waited on me in his equipage,
And to Lucendas house did oft resort,
Her Brother to associate and disport,
Might certifie, I having the fit meanes
To faire Lucenda, (whose transpiercing beames
Inflam'd my heart) the passion that I felt
For her sweet selfe, though I did often melt
To brackish teares, and from my eyes did flow
Such Rivolets as might an Ocean grow.
My thoughts thus having prompt me, I 'gan spy
In every place for opportunity:
T'obviate which I did encharge my Page
For to frequent more oft, and to engage
Himselfe more dearely to Lucendas Brother;
Yet on his life m'intents not to discover.
This his imposed charge he modestly
Did execute, with speed sought remedy
In such a wise, that he went in and out
My Ladies Mansion, none did him mis-doubt;
And having divers times him well advis'd
For to be secret, and unto his eyes
Presented divers chastisements, if he
Unto my secrets should disloyall be;
Gave him a Letter, the which did containe
These following Lines written with great paine.

Arnaltes Letter to Lucenda.

Thou matchlesse peece of worth, the Worlds chiefe treasure,
On whose faire fore-head sits a world of pleasure,
Natures sole Darling, and my soules delight;
Fairer than Venus, than the Sunne more bright:
For why thy Beauty doth by farre out-ray
Th'Orient brightnesse of a Sun-shine day:
If that my fortunes so propitious were
To my desires, as you are Phœnix rare;
I'de rather wish that you were certifi'd
Of my pure Love, purer than Gold though try' a',
Or that my Faith and constant Loyalty
Were but perspicuous to your glorious eye,
Then that you should vouchsafe to read my Lines,
Th'Jnterpreters of my inforc't designes:
Had I this favour, (fairest) were it so,
Observing me, you easily might know
The passion that I suffer; which is such,
And so out-raging, vexing me so much,
That 'twould be able freely to obtaine,
That which I hop't by Writing for to gaine:
For by missive you can onely know
My grieving ends, but then my teares would show
The desp'rate state wherein afflicted I,
Doe passe my dayes in endlesse misery.
My heaped griefes would likewise then supply
My failing words, and to you testifie
The truth of that which now your selfe may doubt;
And from your breast, distrust they'd banish out.
For though th'afflictions Fortune hath not spar'd
To let me suffer, cannot be declar'd,
Yet through my paine your Iudgment would conceive
The very truth, the reason why I grieve:
Now since such hap, my hap doth not possesse,
I'le force my Lines my Sorrowes to expresse.
Know, faire Lucenda, since that very day,
Your Honour'd Father was involv'd in clay,
Your more than mortall grace, and my affection
Captiv'd my heart, enthral'd me to subjection.
Your shining living Lampes, whose glorious light
Transcend the Starres, that waite on Cinthia bright,
Directed me at that same present time,
To offer to thy selfe (who seem'd divine)
My life, my service, and I vow'd to be
A faithfull Servant unto honour'd thee:
Whilst thus I gazed at thy most rare beauty,
The Priests had done unto the Corpes their duty,
And your faire selfe did homeward then repaire:
Whence fleeting time did all your Sorrowes beare;
For, for to grieve you found it was in vaine,
Sith your lost Father teares could not regaine:
You being gone, I likewise homeward went,
Where when arriv'd, I inwardly did scent
A strange disturbance, all my spirits quak't,
My vitals trembled, Ague-like I shak't:
My blood ranne boyling in my veines, my heart
Lay panting, throb'd with anxious smart:
And I bewail'd the cruell smarting paine,
Which I doe suffer from that secret flame
Which love hath kindl'd, dazling in your eyes,
Whose radiant beames with torments me surpriz'd.
Sweete I beseech thee credit this; believe,
That for thy selfe I doe both pine and grieve,
For I'me so strongly fetter'd in Loves band,
That nought can free me 'lesse thou lend a hand:
Being as feeble my passions to o're-sway,
As you have force, t'inforce my heart obey:
More o're, I thee assure, that want of power
More than my owne free-will caus'd me yeeld o're
My thralled selfe, and tender to thy shrine
My vowes, my life, and thus vel nil am thine.
Had I the meanes, or were I helpt by might,
Then from thy face I straight would take my flight:
But hyde my will, perforce I am constrained
To looke thee out by whom my heart is pained:
Nor from your beauty (fairest) can I flye,
Where in my thraldome doth my freedome lye:
Forever mee you sway so strong a hand,
And o're my selfe I have so small command,
That if I purpose (Lady) not to love thee,
I am not able, your Graces doe so move mee:
Nor why, alas, my wounded sorrowing heart
Is through thy vertues, my love bearing part:
So firmely knit, and linkt with Loves strong band
To thy sweete selfe, that nought can it dis-band.
Thus let those Lines (sweete Mistris) certifie,
In that I do had the possibility.
Rather than that I would have hop'd in vaine,
For helpe of thee, by whom my heart's nigh slaine
I'de thee have banish'd from my quiet minde,
Nor thee have suffer'd harbour there to finde
But Fate has order't, and I am condemn'd
By Destiny, to be thy truest friend:
Or have I had the meanes to avoid the ill
Of this good hap, which thus remaine must still.
Protract not now thy comfort, but with speede,
Stench thou those wounds that in my heart doe bleed:
Heale mee, for why, I suffer cruell smart
From thy bright eyes, which have transpierc'd my heart:
Deny me not thy gracious favour then,
But by thy smiles glad me 'bove other men:
For by the greatnesse of my suff'ring paine,
I doe deserve these favours to obtaine;
And since in so few dayes thy Sunne-like eyes
Have out-ray'd me in a most cruell wise:
Consider in what an Obligation you
Are reduable, and to me 'tis due:
Since I had rather lose my selfe for thee,
Than to be sav'd, unlesse thy meanes it be:
And sith thou art the cause of my torment,
The paine is pleasing, and gives me content,
And my destruction, for thy sake doe I,
Though with great losse, esteeme it victory.
Then sweete assist me, let me not despaire,
Cherish th'affection, which to thee I beare:
Although ay yet no recompence I crave,
For I doe hope, when you shall knowledge have
Of the estate, wherein I loving live,
That then your notice will you freedome give
To loose the reines to reason, which you'le find
Not to be absent, gracing of your mind:
And whereas reason's present, there'l not want
A large reward, for it will kindnesse grant:
Now with this hope I straight waies will expell
Vnquiet thoughts; dispaire shall never dwell
Within my breast; but since dispos'd I am,
Rather to suffer my afflicting paine,
Than to petition, or to intercede
For thy assistance, I will cease to plead
To gaine thy favour, 'cause Ile give an end
To this my missive, which I now doe send:
Onely vouchsafe my teare-drown'd face to see,
That of my griefes it may a testate be:
For why, deare love, a lovers pleading eyes
May more expresse, than Letters can comprize.
Thus was my Letter finish'd, yet friend know,
E're I give order that my Page should goe
For to deliver't to the milke white hand
Of her, at whom all eyes amazed stand:
I did instruct him in what manner he.
Ought to proceed, and carefull for to be;
Wisely to chuse the place, and time most fit,
To tender to her view what I had writ:
That if perhaps Lucenda should refuse
For to receive it, then she might not chuse:
These my commands unto th'obsequious will
Of my observing Page, were pleasing still:
For by his actions he did still expresse
His love and care to gaine me some redresse,
Daily endeavouring to relieve me, he
At length had spy'd her all alone to be;
Then taking hold of opportunity,
He there intreated her as covertly
As possibly he might, that she'd vouchsafe
T'accept my Lines, to daigne me so much grace;
How she did like of this Discourse so strange,
Shee made expression by her colours change:
Nor could she so dissemble, or disguise
Her inward thoughts, but by her blushing eyes
She did reveale them; for we oft discry
By outward Symptomes what doth inward lye.
Yet ne'rethelesse my Page, as well advis'd,
Weighing the paine I suffer'd from her eyes,
At nought did marvaile, but did still intreat
Her gracious pitty to asswage my heat:
But she, alas, did no attention lend
To his intreates, nor yet her favour send;
For seeing that she still was importun'd,
That on her patience he too farre presum'd,
Thinking to free her selfe, she forthwith went
From her soft resting seat with discontent.
Which when my Page perceiv'd, he suddainely,
With large stept paces after her did hye,
And swiftly speeding, he her over-tooke,
Then threw my Letter where she needes must looke,
Which fell so fairely, that necessity
Inforc'd her will thereon to cast her eye,
And take it up, but with such entertaine,
That it a thousand rents did straight waies gaine:
Which spightfull act did re-assault my heart,
With a strong troope of more than killing smarts.
For when I saw my hopes thus blasted, and
My griefes still crescent, I had no command
O're my sad soule; a death-resembling cold
Possess'd my spirits, and my hopes control'd:
Which deepe distemper of my wounded breast
Did so torment me, that it did expresse
Me more than wretched: thus I still endur'd
Heart-burning tortures, hopelesse to be cur'd,
Unlesse pale Death should penetrate my heart
With the sharpe edge of his all-killing Dart.
Thus fraught with passion and distracting care,
O're-come with griefe, possest with grim dispaire,
Unto my selfe I grew so strange a foe,
And such a friend unto my smarting woe,
That I embrac't it with a great delight,
And entertain'd it dayly in my sight.
For if for refuge or some helpe I sought,
I had recourse unto my sorrowing thoughts:
And like sad Philomel in mourning Layes,
I warbling, grieving spent full many dayes;
Untill a morning which with ruddy looke,
Did drive dim mists from off the silver Brookes,
And that Aurora clad in Purple gay,
Had chas'd blacke Night, and brought on cheerefull Day,
Or that bright Titan in the Easterne streames
Began to bathe his fiery-flaming beames;
For then my Page who still was circumspect,
And tooke great heed m'affaires not to neglect,
Came in and told me how Lucenda, she
The following night resolved for to be
At divine service; this then straight-wayes past
For truth unto my breast, since th'Eve it was
Of Christ his Masse: (Oh ever honour'd time,
Too great a Subject for my love-sicke Rime)
Having heard this, I straight wayes summon'd in
My Wits to counsaile what I should begin.
Then for to ease my sad afflicted heart,
I did intend a new projected part;
Which to accomplish I resolv'd, disguis'd
In Ladies habite for to blind the eyes
Of slye suspition; so for to draw neare
My honourd Lady, sitting void of feare,
Hoping by that fine slight for to prevent
The babbling tongue of dangers utterment;
Then being accoutr'd ev'ry way compleat,
Vested like her I went, and tooke my seate
Nigh to the place whereas she us'd to be
At any time of high solemnity;
And she not doubting of my cunning plot,
(For so disguis'd alack she knew me not)
At her arrivall, though her tongue were mute,
With courtesie she did me then salute.
Nights Negro Queene, having the earth o're-spread
With her blacke vaile, and in bright Phœbus stead,
Pale Luna shining with her spangl'd traine,
Whose glimmering lights did dart a twinkling flame:
I found occasion since the silent Night,
Th'obscure place (which might some others fright)
Propitious prov'd, these words for to declare
Unto Lucenda in perfections rare.

Arnalte to Lucenda being disguis'd.

Renowned Lady, famous by the Name
Of faire Lucenda, which you truely claime;
Had I th'Elixer of all humane wit,
Or were my tongue with Gold or Silver tipt:
Were I compos'd of Rethorick, could my words
Sound forth more sweetnesse than the true accords
Of Lutes, or Harps, or might my Genius claime
Precedency of smooth'd-tongu'd Tullies fame,
Yet were my words too meane I must confesse,
For your attention, sweetest I professe;
Not able for to counterpoise the grace
Which doth adorne your Angelick face!
For these same Reasons let me (Sweet) intreat
Thee not to heed what that my tongue shall speake;
For had I (Fairest) but such skill to plaine
Of thy unkindnesse, at hast might to paine
My yeelding heart, I'de justly then declare
My selfe as learned as y'are beauteous faire:
But marke the passions of my wounded heart,
Th'abundance of my sighs, whose cruell smart
At this same instant I present to thee;
That of my paine they may affirmers be.
J doe not know what gaine you hope to get
Out of my losse, what good you doe expect
From my ill hap, for J have let you know
By my sad Lines, that J my life doe owe
Unto thee Lady by my misery,
Exprest my selfe sole yours untill I die:
Yet arm'd with rage, dispightfully you tor'd
My sad Epistle, wherein I implor'd
Thee to release me from that anxious paine
Which thou hast caus'd me (Fairest) to sustaine.
You ought t'have given leave unto my Lines
T'have done their message, by which my designes
You might have knowne, and how in passions I
Have ever liv'd, since first of thee my eye
(Guided by Fate) so faire a prospect gain'd,
That to thy selfe I finde my heart enchain'd:
Persevere not I pray so vehemently,
Nor be not thus resolv'd; alas for why?
The cloudie mists of base report will staine
The lively glosse of your renowned fame.
Nor will your fame alone endamag'd be,
For I shall suffer through your tyranny,
And lose a jemme priz'd beyond all wealth,
(Mans chiefest hap) the enjoyment of my health:
Where wilt thou finde excuse, whose force may serve
Thee to acquit of what thou dost deserve?
Or warrantise thee too, too cruell action
Of these strange acts, or their offending fashion.
Thou hear'st the anguish with the which my tongue
Doth crave redresse, for my heart-killing wrong:
Full well you know that Vertues differ farre
From rigorous forces; how in kind they are
Unlike each other, that you cannot be
Vertuous, if cruell; kind, if harsh to me;
Nor can you (fairest) Vertues period gaine,
Unlesse you gracious courtesie retaine:
Then since it in your gracious power doth lye,
With one poore word fully to satisfie
And recompence my service, cleare the shot
Of all my paines, the word denie me not;
For I no greater hap desire to gaine,
Than that by your consent I may proclaime
My selfe your servant, for so honour'd I
My ills receiv'd from thee may satisfie:
Speake then thou Non-such of thy sexe, for why,
I'me rapt with wonder, since that thy reply
Is still protracted; let thy Organ-voyce
Pronounce some comfort, and my soule rejoyce.
Doe not consent (deare heart) to suffer me
With tediousnesse still to solicite thee:
Behold my sighs, my teares, how they expresse
The weaknesse of my might, whose edifice
So slightly's built, and by the combate rude
Which you deliver, and is still pursu'd,
So much is shaken, that's more apt to fall,
Then prove a Fortresse to my life in thrall.
Why standst thou mute, why make you no reply?
Oh tune thy tongue, whose pleasing melody
Doth farre transcend the sweet harmonious straines
Of well-touch'd Lutes, compos'd by Musicks paines.
Perhaps you thinke your answer will defame
Your reputation, or your honour staine;
Or else those honey-words the which distill
From 'twixt your lipps, whose Tones with Musick fill
My ravisht eares, at such a rate you prize,
That you beleeve that they will scandalize
Your spotlesse credit, should you let them slip
Into my eares from 'twixt your Rose-leav'd lips:
If so, take heed lest master'd with conceit,
Your selfe you wrong not, or too much forget:
For certainly 'twill to your shame redound,
Not to your glory, if you me confound.
Oh then Lucenda, doe not strive to gaine
Of cruell murdresse the abhorred name;
Doe not, I prethee, for so small a price
Lose thy true servant, and his services:
What shall I say, what shall I else repeat,
To make thee certaine of my paine most great?
My tongue wants words my inward griefes to shew,
I want expression to declare my woe
Sure I was borne not it to certifie,
But to be certaine of my misery:
Having beene taught of her to grieve and plaine,
Then to finde ease for my afflicting paine.
Now since my will, and your excelling worth
Have not an equall measure, none of both,
Thrice Noble Lady, I'le cease t'importune
Your honour'd selfe, nor yet with words presume
You to disquiet; let it then suffice
That thou hast seene through prospect of thy eyes,
That it from me expected hope you banish,
My life will end, which now doth pine and languish
Then having scarcely finish'd these my words,
With trembling voice this answer she affords.

Lucenda to Arnalte.

Thou deem'st, Arnalte, by thy cunning shift,
Thy filed talke, and this thy fancied drift
T'o'recome my vertues, and my spotlesse fame,
Which would redound unto my utter shame:
Which if you hope to purchase, or inherit,
As the true Crowne belonging to your merit,
In truth you'le faile, for ever to obtaine
What you expect, by this your course so vaine.
For this Ile tell you Sir, you may conceive
What likes you best, but 'twill in fine deceive
Your expectations: for Sir, know you must
That in my weake defence as much I trust,
As you, in your perswasions: therefore flye
These resolutions, doe no more relye
On thy strange fancies, but henceforth surcease
From thy demands, and to thy selfe grant peace:
This J advise thee, 'cause it will proclaime
Farre more your wisedome, than if you maintaine
These fond resolves; for in the least respect,
You'le ne're accomplish what you doe proiect:
And that you may, Arnalte be more sure,
Know of a certaine, all the Worlds great power
Cannot in sunder breake the well-bar'd gate
Of the fix'd purpose which I doe relate.
Saile by this Land-marke, for it will addresse
Thee to the haven of true happinesse:
Though I have daign'd at this same present time
To answer thee, why it hath onely beene
To this intent, that having no assurance,
You might not hope, or let your suit of durance:
Since in these cases it's Speransa's kind,
Sooner than ease, prolong'd delaies to finde:
Or if my tongue (too mild) doe not expresse
A severe harshnesse, (for you must confesse
You have deserv'd it, and should I inflict,
You cannot taxe me, since you merit it)
In some respects, is for to favourise
Thy loyalty, observed by my eyes.
I doe not question, or will I deny
But that you love me, which to testifie,
Thou oftner seek'st me than I doe desire;
Yet howsoe're, thy paines must lose their higher:
For I pronounce your hope shall so farre flye
As your request and importunity
Proves tedious to me. I no more will heare
These irksome treats, which doe offend my eare:
Perhaps 't may be, you thinke, because my words
Are mild and pleasing, that my deeds 'l accord
With them in kindnesse; being exempted free
From rigorous strictnesse, or severity.
Doe not still sooth your hopes, I plainely tell,
If such a thought within your breast doth dwell,
'Twill not availe you ought. Arnalte know,
If your insulting love you don't o'rethrow,
Or else divert its course, Ile give it o're
Unto some one who shall you not deplore,
But have the power justly to plaine of thee,
And eke avenge, and wreake this iniurie.
For these same reasons, it's my wil'd-desire
You leave dispute, without delay retire:
For better 'tis with speed for to apply
Some saving meanes, some helping remedy,
Than by delayes protracting, to inforce
Betwixt the soule and body a divorce:
This to advertise I did think most fit,
Since there's more losse than gaine for thee in it:
Yet howsoever this my counsaile laud,
And my well-wishes to the world applaud.
Be not so rashly bold, to dare to tell,
That with my speech I have not us'd you well.
For I declare, if such discourse you 'gin,
As but to say you have abused bin,
That great ill hap shall surely thee befall,
Which I will slight, not it regard at all.
Henceforth you ought your hot desires suppresse,
And curbe your will, and to your selfe grant peace;
Which I believe you'le doe: for as your eyes,
Drown'd up in teares your vow'd-good-will likewise,
Doe manifest, and plainely shew to me,
That 'twill more pleasing, and delightfull be
To thee Arnalte, rather to present
Pleasures unto me, than sad discontent.
This if you slight, the love which you maintaine
I shall suspect, though you it true proclaime;
And to your selfe it will procure but losse,
And unto me but angers vexing crosse.
Now to the end that your intents may prove
Your selfe as prudent as your sighes you love:
And that your actions may expresse you thus,
To be as wise, as you are amorous:
I will no more, th'untrodden path direct
Which you ought keep your selfe for to protect.

Arnalte to the Traveller.

Thus did Lucenda's answer (friend) agree
And correspond unto my miserie:
And eke with-drew its selfe from lending aide,
Although with teares I her most humbly prai'd:
For with disdaine I was of her rewarded,
That pitty wept to see me unregarded:
And by so much my hope did faile and cease,
By so much more desire did increase,
For hearing of her sweete mellifluous prate,
Inrich't with skill whose tones might decorate
The heavenly Spheares, I found my selfe bereft
Of living motion, onely it had left
My since alive; for in that extasie
Though rapt I was, yet liv'd my memory:
Tho which attended with great heede to prye,
If it at length some good hap might descry:
For of her well-tun'd words did take note,
The sweetly warbled from her silver throate.
But with her threats, her words did joyntly end,
And my reward fast lock'd, she left behinde:
For to preferre my danger, yet sad I,
Of any thing I least did feare to dye;
I lie which intending she should understand,
Some dayes being past, the taske I tooke in hand:
And on a night before her house my tongue
Vnto her eares did chant this following Song.

The Song.

Perhaps the aire of this sad song might keepe
Lucenda waking, drive away her sleepe;
Yet sure I am my plaints and sighing groanes
Could not awake her heart to heare my moanes,
Nor all my vowes, protests could her perswade,
Nor my laments her marble-breast invade,
Then seeing of my selfe to be neglected,
And that my service was of her rejected.
And that my sorrows over me did sway,
That I perforce was forc't for to obey
Unto their wills; for as they waxed great,
My pores did faile, and I grew wondrous weake;
And eke my hope was troubled in such wise,
That it did cause my tender weeping eyes
To raine such showers, that I at length became
Halfe blind with sorrow, waxing wondrous wane,
Disfigur'd pale; and this exceeded all,
I grew so desperate, that I 'gan to bawle
And raile against my wretched selfe, and say,
O wretched Caitiffe, where wou't thou away:
Stay haplesse man, whereto art thou become?
Or to what place arriv'd? where wou't thou runne?
Hast thou yet hope, why do'st thou not dispaire?
Or see you not that from you's banisht farre
Redresse or helpe? or that's impossible
To cure thy wounds, or ever make thee well?
How clearely doe these signes to thee presage
Thy present losse, and future ruinage,
Since thou hast rear'd by thy aspiring eye
Too high the Ladder of thy Loyalty?
For thou must looke to fall thence sooner downe,
Than mount the top, thy wishes there to crowne:
Thou art the man that must more ill endure,
For thou art he who of no hap art sure;
Slave to thy selfe, who do'st abhorre to live,
Yet not to wish, for thereto scope you give.
What lucklesse Planet raigned at thy Birth?
What fatall Omen was presag'd on earth?
I doe perceive that by degrees you waste,
And that desire will you o're-come at last.
Hast not thou then great reason for to crave
That Death would lay thee in a silent grave?
Yet though you wish't, or that for ease you chus't
Vnto your hart, yet ought you to refus't,
Thereby to shun the losse thou must sustaine,
And flye perdition which the soule may gaine.
Then out I cry'd, I have so great a taske,
I know not what to chuse, to say, or aske.
Oh my forsaken soule, why do'st possesse
A habitation so full of wretchednesse?
And thou my eye, enemy to my heart,
Immortall foe, why did'st thou me convert
To Cupids Doctrine? Did I e're give cause
That thou should'st me submit to loves false Lawes?
Thou wer't unwitting, his rewards are vaine,
When his imployments are too full of paine.
Yet did you know that he who truely lov'd,
If life he kept, from torments never mov'd.
Thou knew'st th'impuissance: oh to what intent
Did'st yeeld thy selfe unto his government?
Reply you may that you had no more power
To disobey, than I have at this houre
Will to forget her; what ills are these I see
That thus afflict, torment, and torture me?
Oh haplesse man! even as thy forces faile,
So doe thy sorrows over thee prevaile.
For at this present by thy acts thou thought'st
T'enrich thy mind, but thou alas canst nought:
For which attempt thou wilt receive great shame,
Thy life's endanger'd, injur'd is thy fame:
For these requitalls thou ought'st sooner grieve,
Than laud her kindnesse, or her praises give.
But since it's thus, let patience recompense
Thy paines, and end the warre thou hast commenst,
And bide the brunts the which thou dost attend,
For they hereafter will more fury lend.
Though now th'are easie, very light to beare,
Yet in the end continuance will out-weare
Thy soule with griefe, and toyle thy understanding.
If this asswage not, or be a disbanding,
Why summon reason, and appeale if she
Assist thee not, or else abandons thee.
Bewaile thy cares, and ope the gates then wide,
And welcome death; for at this present tide
Thou may'st not thinke to gaine the remedy,
Which sence and reason unto thee deny.

Arnalte to the Traveller.

Thus to my selfe I breath'd out these laments,
And many more; but yet their sad relents
In silence I will bury, lest that I
Sould you offend through their prolixity:
But being lancht into the Sea of care,
The Galley of my passions I 'gan steere
And row to Land-ward, but the raging waves
Of these my torments, like so many graves,
Were ready still for to devoure me
Up in the bowells of their misery;
And coupling mischiefes with their rowlings let,
That I safe harbour in no wise could get:
Then in that storms I did of Lethe drinke,
That of my us'd delights I did not thinke:
I grew so pensive, and so wondrous sad
That no delight in any thing I had;
Sorrow and care they did their service tender,
And wanton pleasure did her place surrender.
Abstaine I did from the sweet company
Of my familiars, no society
With my deare friends, did I from that time keepe,
I'de worke enough to curse my Fate and weepe.
No where I went, unlesse sometimes to Court,
The King to visite, (not my selfe to sport.)
But now my friends they had a great desire
To know the reason why I did retire,
And dayly question'd and enquir'd to know
How I did fare; this did inforce me goe
Unto the Court upon an Even-tide,
And there as soone as that the King me spy'd.
Having betwixt us past a Complement.
He did invite me to a Tournament,
Which by some Gallants who did oft resort
His Grace to visite, some Signiors of the Court
Was enterpriz'd; and howbeit that I
Was more addicted to my privacy
Than to assemblies, yet my will to obey
I did enforce, and this to him did say,
That since his Grace vouchsaf't me to command,
I ready was, nor would his will with-stand.
Wherefore the King, he certifi'd to me
The manner of't, the day when it should be:
The Terme prefix't, it being well-nigh come,
That our attempts should truely then be done,
I did intreate the King for to enjoyne
All the faire Ladies who at that same time
Were resident in Thebes or the Court,
For to repaire unto the Masking sport,
As well as to the Tilting, and have sight.
Of the Night, Revells us the dayes delight:
It pleas'd him well, and I conceiv'd by this,
Lucenda to invite they would not misse,
Great trouble then did my sad heart betide,
My anguishes with suddaine hopes were priz'd;
And at that instant I was farre more glad,
Than other times I was accounted sad.
The Lists being rear'd, and that his royall grace,
With his faire consort had possest their place,
The Combatants, the signall given, 'gin
To ranke themselves, each hoping Fame to win,
When by the Scaffold of the Queene I past,
Checking my barbed Steed, who with a grace
I caus'd curvete, to mount, to praunce, and leap,
And bravely vault, and such a measure keepe,
That not a Dancer truer steps could trace,
Though he should traverse, hop, fall backe, or chase
For like a Kid he wantonly would skip,
Then like a Barke, or else some well-rig'd Ship
Which rides at Anchor, and doth rowling lye,
He'de rise and fall, yet onward would not flye:
He springs, he leaps, then on two feete he stands,
Then on all foure, then spurnes about the sands;
He neighes, he foames, he puffes, he blowes, he sweats,
And with his hoofes the clayie ground he beats;
Then round he runs, as he would make a ring
Compos'd of Horse-shoos; then his heeles he flings,
Which strikes the dirt into the gazers eyes,
And makes a dust which doth obscure the skies:
Stocke-still he stands, then suddenly he runs
With full carreere, then round about he turnes,
And in his course he suddenly doth stop,
And gently prauncing he doth sideling trote
Thus managing my Steed, I suddenly,
Through visit of my Helmet chanc'd to spye
Lucenda's sweet aspect, whose face containes
All rare perfections, and in her remaines
Th'abstract of all beauty; oh this sight
How pleasing was't! how full of sweet delight!
Yet did I not discover the content
That I receiv'd through fortunes blandishment:
But hearke me friend, and I will now declare,
And let thee know the embleme that I beare:
A balance 'twas, a scale of which was green:
The other blacke, a set of waights therein:
The green scale high, the blacke scale very low,
And on m'Impressa writ was this Motto.
How light my hope doth way, you may discerne:
How heavy sorrow, this to you may learne.
Through Nights approach the Tourney had an end,
Each one retires, their courses homeward bend:
The King, Queene, Ladies, they returne to Court,
The Knights dis-arme themselves for other sport:
The masking houre time doth usher in;
And then the Maskers they their sport begin:
Some sit and talke, some others neately trip
With measur'd steps, and freely dance and skip,
With those they will select, but wretched I
Afresh 'gan grieve, and waile my misery:
Since that I saw my selfe to have such store
Of sighes and sorrowes, but in comforts poore:
Thus e'ne o're-whelmed in the sea of griefe,
Meerely dispairing of the least reliefe,
I rouz'd my spirits, and I straight waies went
Vnto Lucenda, and I did present
My service to her, treating her to glance
A gracious looke, and daigne with me to dance:
To which she had not willingly con'scended,
If that the custome had not me befriended:
Then up she rose, and gave me her faire hand,
The touch whereof had power to command
A fleeting soule, to stay his hasty flight,
Thinking Elysium in her glorious sight:
Who hath the skill of words for to expresse
The joy, sorrow, griefe, and happinesse
I joyntly did conceive? how each did strive,
For sometimes dying, I as soone revive:
Like Tantalus I was afflicted still,
I saw my helpes, but could not have my will,
Which by the vest I wore, I did expresse,
For on my Mancell broyder'd was this Verse,
The dying man he doth exceed in griefe,
Yet unkinde death to kill him doth deny:
Himselfe he lives not, and for his reliefe,
He seekes for death, who from him still doth flye
The Dance ended, Lucenda she retires
So nigh the Queene (crossing my desires)
That 'twas impossible to conferre,
But one or other would us over-heare:
Wherefore I did resolve for to indite
A Letter to her, and in blacke and white
To give her knowledge of those things, which I
At that same present could not verbally:
Then to a Ward-robe I my selfe with-drew,
And there afresh my passions 'gan renew:
For pen and paper I'de no sooner tane,
But straight I felt my former burning flame;
Through heate of which I suffering cruell smart,
With paine I wrot the torments of my heart.
Ending my Letter, which in pleats most small
I foulded up, returning therewithall
Towards Lucenda, slily dropping downe
Into the traine of her embroyder'd Gowne:
Yet this I could not act so cunningly,
But she perceiv'd it with her rowling eye:
Yet in respect and honour of the Queene
She was constrain'd to pas't, as if unscene:
Th'affects of my sad missive Ile repeat,
And how my Lines in my behalfe did treat.

The Letter.

Had I, Lucenda, but such cause to right
My wronged selfe, as I have cause to write;
Doubtlesse I should my selfe most happy count,
And sweete delights my sorrowes would surmount.
But no, alas all wisedome wit, or might
(By being thine) from me have tane their flight,
And left me guarded with a troope of cares,
Environ'd round with griefes, and grim dispaires:
So that I doubt I never shall obtaine
Thy gracious favour to asswage my paine:
My words and lines have so much to thee shewne.
That more to say, it is to me unknowne:
There's onely this, if you my hope delay,
My speech, my life, they both will soone decay.
Alas, you may be surer of the ill
For which I grieve, lament, and mourne still,
Through my bewailings, or my brinish teares
Than by my words; for they are mixt with feares:
For whereas anguish doth o'recome the heart,
The eye supplies the tongue, and acts its part:
Oh wretched man, in that estate I live,
That to my selfe I know not what to give:
For let my faith never so lively be,
I finde reward a sluggard still to mee.
Yet if you thinke, if that you should vouchsafe
To grant me peace, (and so my life keepe safe)
You should wage warre against your honour'd fame;
Farre be't from me, I doe not thereat aime;
Desire I doe not that you should afford,
If't be your pleasure, unto me a word:
Onely vouchsafe on me to cast your eye,
For it's a kindnesse which will satisfie,
And recompence all ills you ever have
Conferr'd upon me, being of your slave.
Oh sweete Lucenda cease, give o're to be
Vnto my selfe so harsh an enemy;
For if you will that Death an end shall give
Vnto my life, I have no minde to live:
Thus without trouble we may both consent,
Or much dispute, agree and be content.
But Sweet consider, if you cause me die,
You will be branded with base infamy;
And the report of your ill actions, they
Will not so lightly cease or flye away,
So long as time shall last, or flye with wings,
Or the continuance be of mortall things,
There will be mention of thy cruelty,
And of my end, caus'd through thy tyranny.
Oh follow Reason, and esteeme thou wilt
That it's ill done to punish where's no guilt,
Unlesse you thinke that he doth so deserve
A punishment, who doth you love and serve.
In such a case its you have onely might,
And I must suffer be it wrong or right.
But since you told me that you doe believe
That I you love, and thereto credit give,
Why read my Letter, and then call to minde
The paine J suffer, 'cause you are unkinde,
For sure J am if that my torments were
Presented to you, whisper'd in your eare,
You'd have more cause your rigour to repent,
Than to continu't to my detriment.
Or were the passions, which to give y'ave pleas'd,
In equall balance with my service peas'd,
Certaine I am that then you would confesse
To have no reason much joy to expresse,
Or boasting brag of the great prise you gaine,
Which through my losse you winning doe obtaine.
But to conclude, my Letter for to end,
I doe intreate that I no more may send.
But that this now may be the last; for why,
The presence's able for to verifie
That which the Paper may faile to rehearse,
It wanting teares my sorrows to expresse:
Oh daigne to see me otherwise, I shall
Desire death to ease me out of thrall.

Arnalte to the Traveller.

M'epistle being in the custody
Of faire Lucenda, I did long to see
How she would use't, for this intent did I
With stedfast looke fixe still on her my eye;
Yet could I nought perceive the which might ease
My longing thoughts, or my expectance please:
For still the doubts I had, or the mistrust
Expell'd my hopes, and then obey I must.
Besides my selfe I was, yea, so amaz'd,
My friend I answer not to what he sayes,
But in a shivering passion I conferr'd,
And trembling voice which from the purpose err'd,
Alas! had any but approacht, my heart
Panting for life, o'recome with cruell smart,
They might have knowne that unkind Loves assaults
Did torture me for her offensive faults.
Now Silver'd Cinthia in her spangled spheare
Gan to decline, and not to shine so cleare;
And Nights blacke Queene had almost run her race,
For she from farre might spy Aurora's face,
Which gave an end unto the Maske and sport,
And every one returned home from Court:
Some in their Coaches, some on foot depart.
But I addicted rather to my smart,
Than to repose my selfe, I having seene
Lucenda bid good-night unto the Queene,
In my disguised habite I did trace
Her Angell-foot-steps to her dwelling-place.
Nor did I leave her there, but did aspire
To mount her Chamber, being a storie higher;
And being there, I then did strive to see
What would the issue of my Letter be:
But all the while that I with her did stay,
I could not see her to my sight display
A piece of Paper. Barr'd of my desire,
My hope being frustrate, I did then retire:
But watchfull Love, who never falls asleepe,
With sundry thoughts awake did strive to keepe
My drowsie selfe, and so he chas't away
My quiet slumbers: but as soone as Day
I saw to peepe, (and that the Negro Queene
Was fled away, for feare she should be seene
Of bright Apollo, whose bright beames did shine
Through my Glasse-windows, as he 'gan to clime
Th'Easterne Hills with his fire-breathing Teeme,
Whose hoofes like Brasse, or else like Gold did seeme)
Vnto her Mansion I my Page then sent
To make a search, but 'twas with this intent,
Onely to see if he should chance to finde
Some pieces of th'Embassage of my minde.
For this discovery I did him encharge
No place to leave unsought, to looke at large
In every corner, with great heed to pry
In common roomes, and those of privacy.
Not to passe by the place where they did use
To cast their ordure, that of all to chuse:
My Page his duty did, yet could not he
Bring any newes the which might flatter me,
Or cause me hope, and so extenuate
The burning flame of my prodigious Fate.
But like to Sisyphus I rowle a Stone,
And turne a whirling Wheele like Ixion:
The further still I went some helpe to finde,
I found it absent, staying still behind,
So that I could not hide my flaming fire,
Kindled by Love, continu'd by Desire,
But 'twas perceived through the sweltry smoake
Of my hot sighs, which did me well-nigh choake:
And the consuming flame, by which my heart
Did suffer torments 'yond Perillus Art.
This caus'd me grow so wondrous solitary,
That I kept house, being of my selfe a weary:
But then my Sister, who Belisa hight,
In my misfortunes claim'd a part, as right
Belonging to her, and with me would share,
And so a world of sorrow for me beare.
For on a day as we did both devise,
She burst out teares, which flowed from her eyes
In such aboundant manner, as if all
The rainy showers had beene forc't to fall;
Beseeching me the cause not to conceale
Of my sad sorrow, but it to reveale.
Her plaints did move me that I was compell'd
To manifest, what I would faine have held
Secret and private; yet e're I did't rehearse,
Drying her eyes these words she did expresse.

Belisa to Arnalte.

O dearest Brother, for Ioves sake I pray
No longer hide thy sorrows, now display
The very truth, and satisfaction give
To my requests, and shew me why you grieve:
For why so oft as I have thee demanded,
Thou still found'st figmens that thy selfe hadst fain'd:
Consider if the truth you doe deny,
Or paliate from me the verity;
The love I beare thee, may with my regreets
Be intermixt, and so at odds be set.
That y'are my debtor you your selfe confesse,
If that I love thee, thou maintain'st no lesse,
Returning love for love, and mutually
In your affections make a sympathy:
Reciprocall affection you returne,
To recompense my kindnesse so both burne
In mutuall flames of that same sacred fire,
Which Iove in breasts consanguin'd doth inspire.
But by your words and speech you doe declaime
That which in actions you doe not maintaine.
You know full well that such pretences ought
To be omitted, not to thinke such thoughts.
Let me intreate thee on my heart bestow
The secretary-ship of all thy woe:
For to whose trust ought you such things confide,
If not to mine, whose loyalty y'ave tride?
For sure you are, if you desire death,
That I doe crave as soone to lose my breath.
If you flye pleasures, and abhorre their sight,
Mournings please me, and therein I delight.
If care and travaile you affect or love,
Rest I dispise, for it doth tedious prove.
Thus your afflictions, and my ills alike,
Torment one heart, with tortures on it strike.
Now if you are advis'd, resolv'd to calme
Those wherling surges, safely steere the helme;
By whose assistance can you't easier doe,
Than by her helpe, who for your hap doth sue?
Your griefes t'unload, if that you daigne or please,
We'le joyntly beare them, so shall you have ease.
If't be your pleasure that we waile and weepe,
We'le nought else doe, our eyes in teares we'le steepe.
Shall we each other comfort, moane your smart?
I am content, be't so with all my heart.
Will y'ave it hidden, or at least conceal'd?
We'le keepe it close, it shall not be reveal'd.
Jf you desire some helpe for to effect,
To ease your selfe, I will it not neglect.
Then shew not such small love to her I pray,
Whose chiefe observance is thee to obey.
Believe not that your flye pretences can
O're-come my judgement, though you are a man.
Your sighes betray you, and they manifest,
What of your selfe you strive not to confesse:
Reason doth tell, that love ought not to be
Lesse in expression than fraternity.
Death would most pleasing be, should I my life
Lose for to ease thee, rid thee out of strife:
For I perceive thy sufferings are so strong,
The'le cut thee off, not let thee live too long.
Oh rowse thy spirits, recover strength, you'le finde
Fortune proves crosse, unlucky, and unkind
Vnto her Darlings; to the Caitiffe she's
The chiefest hope to ease his miseries.
If so unstedfast she's, so variable,
Unconstant, wherling, never still unstable,
And eke so fickle, that her Minions need
Not blaze her favours, or her noble deeds;
Ne're doubt her kindnesse, doe not too much care,
Of her good-will I wish you not dispaire.
Her wheele still, turnes, and dayly she imparts
Some accidents to one or others hearts.
The saddest man you know doth mitigate
His vexing sorrow, if he doe't relate
Vnto his friend; for through the recreation
Of words, oft-times torments lose their station.
Sorrow doth inward swell if but conceal'd,
But if disclos'd, it may perhaps be heal'd:
Thus if the Keyes of these my counsells may
Vnlocke thy helps, and thereto make thee way,
Refuse them not; or doe you take delight
On your afflictions to thinke day and night,
Your precious time wastfully expending
By parlying to your selfe, yet no good tending?
I know (beleeve me) that the hidden flame
Which you reveale not, it doth but enflame
Thy soule with torments, and that obscur'd fire
Doth burne thy heart with coales of hot desire:
Whereas the sorrows which you did expresse,
Through utterment their paine is growne more lesse
In what degree thy torments be, or are,
Jn their concealement there's more danger farre
Than to detect them, 'specially to me,
Who in my heart doe beare and owe to thee
More love and friendship than my tongue can shew,
Or words expresse, or thoughts conceive to know.
Now fearing least that I too farre presume,
J'le at this present cease to importune
Thee with my treaties, leave off my requests,
And end discourse, and to my words give rest.

Arnalte to Belisa.

My sister pausing, I did this reply:
Thy passion sister moves me to comply
Vnto thy will, and forces me declare,
What by my gesture doth most plaine appeare:
But I am urg'd, more through thy earnestnesse,
Than my owne will, to answer thy requests.
Had I not seene these thy unfaigned teares,
Thou ne're hadst heard this answer with thy eares.
Yet e're I ought relate, I thee intreat,
When as my tongue my sufferings shall repeat,
Not to disturbe thy selfe; for sooner I,
Then leave my purpose, am resolv'd to dye.
Then thus it is, my selfe I doe not know
By what strange meanes, but I was forc'd to bow,
And yeeld myselfe to Loves all-conquering Lawes,
Without provisoes, or a helping clause;
To which my fortune hath me so confin'd,
That nought but trouble I doe daily find:
For my sad heart's besieg'd, environ'd round
With many torments, who would me confound.
A thousand sobs guard my distressed heart,
As many sighes their vexing aide impart:
Millions of woes, like bands of armed Knights,
Stop up the passage of my sweete delights;
Which siege still dures, and in that cruell wise,
That all th'opposement that I can devise,
Whether in mining with my deepest thoughts,
Or climbing Ladders by aspiring wrought,
Cannot obtaine a wisht for victory.
For love opposes, proves an enemy
Vnto my fortune, who doth faintly strive
Against th'incounters, which love fiercely drives.
Oh thus it is, if death doe not lend succour,
Too late 'twill bee, if else where I't recover:
Why then, deare sister, doe not grieve I pray,
Or vexe thy selfe, though sorrow should me slay,
But rather joy, since thou hast a brother,
Who can his sorrowes, and his torments smother.
If ought thou'lt do wherewith thou wilt me pleasure,
Dry up those teares, which trickle out of measure
Along thy cheekes, bedewing thy faire face,
Where love and beauty sit with equall grace:
If teares would helpe me, I'de alone deplore,
I need no partner, for of teares I've store.
But since these watry streames, which over-flow
Like rising Nilus, cause but passion grow;
Farre better 'tis to let thy Sluces downe,
And stop their fury, least they doe thee drowne.
Two different Planets reigned at our births,
Mine prophes'd sorrow, thine presaged mirth:
For all the pleasure that I'de seeke or chuse,
I'de turne it over to thy proper use,
Cause justly it to thee doth appertaine;
For care and travaile, I doe nought else claime,
And can more stoutly beare them and resist
Them manfully, and spight their force subsist
With farre more vigour than thou canst expresse;
For in thy heart there is no roome to rest
Or harbour such afflictions, be content
For these my reasons, and I pray consent
That we may live, my selfe in sad distresse,
And thou in joy and true happinesse.
If this you contradict, or else oppose,
I shall believe that you professe but showes,
Not wishing me the good you doe expresse,
Since to my will you proove to be adverse:
Doubling my woes, causing my paine to thrive
Through thy bewailings: oh practise, learne, strive
To o'recome thy sorrow, cease henceforth to grieve,
Or moane the paine wherein I tortur'd live,
Else shall I have more cause for to lament,
Feeling more sorrow linkt with discontent.
My Sister seeing that no otherwise
I her requests did answer satisfice,
Did then intend not to sollicite more
To know the reason why I did deplore:
But cunningly resolved for to find
The sad effects of my disturbed minde,
And to search out with slye subtilties
The hidden Spring from whence my paines did rise.
For endlesse woes did still associate me,
And vexing sorrows kept me company.
My Sister then she was no sooner gone,
But I gave way to let my griefe come on
More freely then I ever did afore,
Which I did cherish dayly more and more:
What anguishes, what torments did acquaint
M'afflicted heart which did through sorrow faint
With their hard usage, and their cruell power,
Turning my sweet into a bitter sower!
During the which I ne're could take my rest.
I was borne wretched, and did live opprest;
But being got on sorrows highest staire,
Arrived at the period of dispaire,
I then remembred how on a certaine time
I had reveal'd unto a friend of mine,
(A Gentleman, and my familiar mate)
The love I beare Lucenda, and the state
Wherein I liv'd, and how that he did strive
That loving humour from my minde to drive:
For which occasion since I had not beene
To shew my minde, or else to speake with him,
Weighing the danger that might so arise,
For well I knew in such necessities
And weighty matters, if a man disclose
His secret thoughts (although he doe suppose
It's to his friend) he may the hazard run,
His hope to frustrate, and so overturne
His expectation; for through secresie
The Lover's crown'd with true felicity.
Yet ne'rethelesse casting these doubts aside,
I did conclude once more for to unhide
To him of whom I speake all my affections,
Hoping he'd pitty give me some directions.
What me emboldned, was because that he
Next neighbour was unto Lucenda she:
Were I lodg'd where this my friend did dwell,
I then might see and please my eye-sight well:
For which intent I sent to pray him come
To visite me, which straight of him was done.
Then at's arrivall, I the cause did show
For which I caus'd him come, and let him know
The confidence and trust I did repose
In him my friend, these secrets to disclose.
For this he thank't me very lovingly;
And whereas he before did often try
For to divert me from my fixt intent,
My minde to alter, which to love was bent,
He now gave notice that he did approve
To lend me succour to obtaine my love:
Which to effect, more pitty to infuse
Within his breast, these words I then did use.

Arnalte to Yerso.

Yerso , my faithfull truest friend, If I
At this same present unto the discry
Perspicuously the things which till this time
In clouds of silence have obscured beene,
It is thy vertue, and the confidence
I have of thee that moves me to commence't:
Be not displeas'd, nor take it ill in part,
That I so long have linger'd to impart;
For well you know that Silence is esteem'd
In Cupids Palace, and unwise he's deem'd
Who blabs Loves secrets: this then wrought in me
A thousand thoughts, which your benignity
Has chast away; and now (deare friend) at length
I feele my anguish to abate its strength;
Since thus it is, where may I better rest
My secret thoughts than in thy noble breast;
Sith that thy vertue and thy amity
Are both agreed, 'to guard them carefully.
Then friend and brother, I to thee declare,
'Gainst life and death I wage a tedious warre;
Death I encounter, 'cause he'le not obey,
Life I oppose, 'cause she stands in my way.
This cruell conflict it beganne, when as
Lucenda's father from this life did passe:
Then first I saw her, and since that time
Continu'd without meanes for to combine
A friendly peace or truce, for love seeing
Me so submisse, my chiefest practice being
In due observance of her strict commands,
Or true performance of her ask't demands:
With all his might wounded my (love-sicke) heart
With burning Shafts, and hot impoyson'd darts,
So that his Combate being wondrous rude,
And my resistance weake, I was pursu'd
Even unto death; for his assaults have beene
Without cessation, or a smishing:
And my defence unto so poore an end,
That those who should have beene my truest friends,
They have betraid me, and forsaken me,
To shroud themselves in more security;
For hope renounc'd me, helpe did from me flye,
Reason she shun'd me, succour came not nigh.
Now if you thinke, because I this propound,
That in my wits I am not well, or sound,
Believe me (Yerso) I should so possesse,
Had I no sence, a reall happinesse.
Were I unwitting of my overthrow,
I for my losse should feele no paine or woe;
Were I of wit and reason both bereaved,
I should not feare or question'd to be healed;
And so not hoping, I should not dispaire
Of ease, or helpe, for which I now doe care.
Thus dearest friend, thou see'st what that I am,
How to my selfe no safeguard lend I can,
Vnlesse the Bands of thy most kind affections,
And armed troopes of thy well-wisht directions
Doe me assist, and undertake to guard
My wretched heart, which from all helpe is barr'd,
Vpon a meanes I've thought, which to effect
To sweet content may truely me direct.
For since thy lodging doth so neare adjoyne
Vnto Lucendas, whose sweet lookes enjoyne
My dazel'd sight her aspect to behold,
(Which shames Apollo though he shine like Gold)
I crave deare friend that thou wilt suffer me
For to inhabite some few Moneths with thee.
For all the joy and the blisse I crave,
Is but a prospect of her face to have:
Then I entreate thee that thou'lt not deny
To lend me helpe my minde to satisfie;
For, for this purpose I have for thee sent,
That being acquainted with my fixt intent,
Thou might'st assist me, I implore thy aide:
For thou a meanes of great god Love wert made,
And cause I credit you have more desire
For to befriend me than I can require,
I'le cease to parley, or to urge you more,
And end my suite, and my requests give o're.

Answer of Yerso to Arnalte.

Of thee, and to thee Arnalte I complaine,
Since in your breast you harbour and retaine
Doubt and suspicion, with the fiend distrust,
And that of me more-o're taxe you I must,
Since you transgresse the limits of affection,
Seeking strange wayes, and not your friends protectiō
Ill done it was so long for to obscure,
Or hide from me the ills you doe endure:
Put case it's thus, that Loves ordained Lawes
Binde you to silence, not to blab your cause;
You may be pitty'd, but no way reliev'd,
If you conceale your paine, you being griev'd:
For 'tis a Maxime, and most true indeed,
“Who spare to aske, must likewise spare to speed.
Thou maist, Arnalte, this thy selfe assure,
The griefe of thy afflictions will endure
More constant with me than my words to plaine,
Or to condole thy sorrowes and thy paine.
But could thy torments but divided be,
I'de be a partner in thy misery:
Yet what in actions cannot be exprest,
Shall be accomplish'd through my willingnesse.
Thou dost declare, that in the splendent eyes
Of bright Lucenda treason hidden lyes,
Which traiterously thy life doth overthrow,
From those faire eyes my cares doe likewise grow:
For if in thee shee moves afflicting passion,
My life she ruines with a strange distruction.
Yet to the end our wills may both accord,
(Free from discordance, of true friends abhor'd)
From this day forward I will banish quite
The thought of her who us'd me to delight:
Assuring you that Ile conclude a peace
To pleasure thee, and cause my war to cease,
Though it doe grieve me very vehemently,
Ile it effect to gaine my liberty,
And turne thee over to the bondage which
Thou dost desire, satisfie thy wish;
And that the rather, 'cause I will secure
My liberty, for of no hap I'me sure;
By my retreat I shall infranchis'd be,
And you'le remaine still in captivity.
Thou pray'st me also that I'de thee advise,
Receive thy plaints, and listen to thy cryes:
If from my counsaile could such profit grow,
As flowing teares from thy sad sorrowes, know
Thou shouldst be healed straight, exempted free
From ill or paine, or any misery.
But let me tell thee, I am rapt with wonder,
That thou'dst be vanquisht, & by force brought under
The cruell bondage of so weake a foe,
Who will usurpe, and you must duty owe.
And thou (brave spirit) who art memoriz'd
For thy great acts above the lofty skies,
Thou art enthralled, alas, now confin'd
Vnto the will of a weake womans minde.
Oh call to minde how thy bright shining fame
Will be ecclipsed, if thou dost this same,
And thy rare worth, how will it blasted be
With the report of shamefull infamy?
Flye these abuses, and couragiously
Resist fond love with valour manfully.
Nor say I this because I would dehort
Thee from thy purpose, or at least exhort
Thee not to love; for I would have thee dare
To cherish it, but with a pallid feare:
And seeking shun it, wish, yet not crave,
For to enjoy what you doe wish to have.
Or would I have thee all at once expell
Love from thy heart, (affections chiefest cell)
For then thou wouldst as great a hazard runne,
As it appeares thou hast already done
Through thy consentment: since thou dost obey
To love false soothings, or his flatt'ring laye.
Love is a cheater, he pretends most faire,
In stead of hap he'le leave you nought but care:
Who loves him least, and doth him most neglect,
His Lawes reward him with a due respect.
I am perswaded you'de doe wondrous well,
Should you repeat, and plainely to him tell
The basenesse of his deedes, how shamelesse he
Abuseth thee through his base treachery.
Let no dispaire too much with thee reside,
And have a care how you doe love confide.
Consider Hope, how it is her condition,
Though things seeme easie, not to grant fruition:
Regard how Fortune, though she be unstable,
Gives end to things unstedfast, variable:
And thus Lucenda, Authresse of thy woe,
In time she may some pitty to thee show,
And please thy sences, with her Organ voyce
Revive thy spirits, and thy heart rejoyce:
Now if you will advised by me be,
Thou shalt obtaine what seemeth hard to thee.
Come to my house, use it, oh doe not stand
On termes I pray, it is at your command:
Thou hast me injur'd, having all this time
Delay'd it, thou knowing I am thine:
But 'cause hence-forward Ile more carefull be
To cure thy wounds, applying remedy,
Than to prove tedious with my words or talke,
Ile silent be: and now wilt please you walke?

Arnalte to the Traveller.

Thus friend y'ave heard the answer Yerso made,
But when he plaind of this sweet vertuous maid,
Renowned Lucenda, I began to swell,
Being impoyson'd with a fiend of Hell.
Suspition scorcht me, raging jealousie
Did burne my heart, which in hot flames did frie:
But howsoe're I made no outward show,
How that the fire inwardly did glow:
For I conjectur'd that these fantasies
From too much love and fondnesse did arise.
Somtimes I doubt him, which being scarcely thought,
Those thoughts I banish, set them all at nought,
And then I way his kindnesse, and his proffer:
Our ancient friendship, how he neare did offer
The least unkindnesse, and I then imbrace,
To make his house my dwelling for a space.
The giddy Moone did scarcely three times run
Her mighty course, or hath the glorious Sun
(With fiery Steeds, and flaming Chariot hurl'd)
Thrice bid good-morrow to the nether world,
Whilst here I sojourn'd; but I straight perceiv'd
I was defrauded, and, alas, deceiv'd:
For though I watcht, or heedfully did look,
I could not see her, though this paines I tooke.
Thus worse and worse my paines did daily grow,
And in so many kindes I did it show,
That divers people did thereof take note,
That variously they did of it report,
And that so publicke, that my sister deare,
The kinde Belisa, came of it to heare;
And she considering of my present paine,
And future ills I might at length sustaine,
With care endeavour'd, adding all her skill,
To finde the reason of my grieving ill.
Through her intreaties she did so much learne,
That she did see, perceive, and eke discerne,
That all my woes and paines they did arise
From the faire fountaines of the Christall eyes
Of sweete Lucenda; thus resolv'd, she speeds
To finde her out which caus'd my heart to bleed,
Alt'ring her course of life, striving to be
Farre more familiar than she wont to be
With Dame Lucenda, though long since 'twixt them
Love and affection had conversant beene,
The daies great King, bright-ey'd Hiperion,
In golden triumph brightly shining runne
His wonted Progresse o're and o're againe,
Himselfe to bathe in the coole Westerne Maine,
E're that my sister could gaine swift-wing'd time
To be propitious unto her designe.
But on a day, about the time which we
Call the Meridian, when the Sunne we see
With hottest raies, and fiery breath to clime
Th'Ecclipticke Pole, my sister then did dine
With faire Lucenda, and then dinner past,
Shee did retire with her welcome guest
To a with-drawing roome, there to repose,
Where when they were my sister this disclos'd.

Belisa to Lucenda.

Courteous Lucenda, vertues chiefest heire,
Our Sexes glory, for there's none so faire:
Oh let thy goodnesse as transparent be,
As those bright beames which in your eyes we see:
Thy wonted prudence and thy wisedome use,
Be not offended, all distaste refuse;
Oh taxe me not, although I should offend
Thee with my words, my dearest, dearest friend.
Deare taxe me not of indiscretion,
For any word the which my trembling tongue
Shall utter to thee, if you apprehend
Aright my meaning, I shall be esteem'd
And prais'd, I hope rather, then to be told
That I presume, offend, or am too bold:
And that the rather, 'cause anothers griefe
Emboldneth me to plead for his reliefe.
Give eare Lucenda, and you then shall know,
That it's long since that sorrow, paine, and woe
Thrives with my brother, and the sacred Lampe
Of his rich health, burnes smothering in a dampe:
So that all helpe which we to him apply
Effects no cure, it proveth contrary.
Now knowing this, and seeing that the date
Of his sicke life was e'ne exterminate
Through vehement paine, and cruell killing smart,
Which rents his breast, and teares in two his heart;
Him I besought with sighes, and teares, and cryes,
For to reveale, discover to my eyes
His hidden passions, which did e'ne exhale
His fainting breath (to puffe up Charons saile)
But all I did could not, alacke, prevaile;
He still was silent, though I weepe or waile.
But I at length through slye suspition found,
Of all his cares the true and perfect ground:
And still inquiring, I did finde this out,
(Conjecture, aiding, and distrustfull doubt)
That thou the motive art which doth atract
His dying heart, with blinde loves torments rackt:
And eke the meanes consisteth friend in thee
To heale his paine, release, and set him free.
Now to assure your selfe that all is true
Which I expresse, declare, and tell to you,
No other proofe you neede, but the complaints
I move, of him whose soule with sorrow faints.
Had I not seene the dang'rous storme wherein
His life's nigh ship-wrack't, I would not have bin
So unadvised rash, for to complaine
Of the afflictions which he doth sustaine.
A great desire I moreover have
To doe him service, and his life to save;
For if my will resist, why straight I finde,
His sad disasters to divert my minde,
And my true love, and unfeign'd affection,
If that I erre grants me a true direction:
And this I vow, could but my life release
Him from afflictions, to his heart give ease,
I'de not respect it, I would lay it downe,
His wounded heart with future blisse to crowne.
You know the fruit the last Plague did us yeeld,
How Charon wasted to th'Elisian fields
Our honour'd Parents; will you likewise act
A Tragedy as grievous, and as blacke,
As full of horrour, to the utter ruine
Of all our Linage, and our house undoing?
Yet if so cruell you your selfe expresse,
You will receive small praise, you must confesse,
Avouch I can, and this affirme indeed,
If you deny to helpe him now in need,
Care-freeing death will to his paine give rest,
And ease his life, which now is but opprest.
Consider but how deepely you are bound?
Vnto his love, which is most pure and sound:
For though you him disdaine, his suit neglect,
Still, still he loves you, owes you all respect.
And since to him these toylesome labours seeme
Full of delight, and care he quiet deemes,
For there's not any one so well acquainted
With your Conditions, with unkindnesse tainted.
You are beholding in a high degree,
Unto his faithfull love and constancy.
Nor is this all, for it doth plaine appeare
He doth respect your honour, truely feare
To taxe your worth, for he with pleasure fain's
To undergoe his sorrowes and his paines:
And though his burthen might fit Atlas backe,
With constancy he beares the heavy packe.
Then doe not daigne to let such loyalty
To faile or perish, unrewarded dye;
Which if you suffer, then the Sisters three,
The Goddesses of Mortalls destinies,
They'le cut his thred, and so he'le end his daies
To your dishonour, his ne're dying praise:
Since now you may dis-ranke the mighty bands
Of his strong passions, quench the fiery brands
Of burning love, if onely you will daigne
To send some Lines, subscribed with your name;
For Loves sake grant it, and you then shall have
Of me your friend a most submissive slave.

Lucenda to Belisa.

Deare friend Belisa, let not any doubt
Possesse thy thoughts, suspition banish out;
Nor doe not thinke that thou shalt taxed be
For any thing thou hast reveal'd to me:
Nor is thy honour blemish't, or thy fame
So much as spotted with a smutch or staine:
It is as pure as the Pirenian snow,
As bright as Lillies in their milke-white showes.
This to affirme, I my Conscience call,
And thy renowne well knowne in generall.
Put case y'ad wrong'd me with your passed words,
Your bashfulnesse and modesty affords
As soone redresse; thus you ought rather mourne
For your deare brother, with affliction torne,
Than to excuse the fault that's not committed,
But 'tis your goodnesse, and you ought be pitty'd.
Oh how it grieves me that my answer can't
Yeeld thee no comfort, or wish't solace grant!
I make no question of thy brothers paine,
And lesse I wonder that for him you plaine.
Now if he will, what you doe say he will,
That is, consent my minde for to fulfill,
Himselfe shall act it, but provided this,
That to my worth it no dishonour is:
For I as much my honour must respect,
As you his life; (nor I his life neglect)
For well you know, if Ladies doe consent
Vnto th'allurings, and the blandishment
Of sighing Lovers, then their fame will be
Ecclips'd in Clouds of shamefull infamy.
Oh doe not crave that I should act that which
Your selfe would shunne: (our honours prejudice)
Are you unwitting of the sacred light
Of my pure vertues, would grow darke as night,
Should I enflame with my pure Virgin fire
The waxen Taper of the hot desire
Of thy deare brother? would to God that this
Thou hadst not mention'd, since so grave it is.
Alas, alas, how oftentimes have I
Wish't this my beauty were deformity?
How oft have I, when I have beene alone,
Bewayld his teares with teares, & moan'd his moan?
Since that his thoughts doe mount, and aime so high,
That they e'ne reach impossibility,
As great a mind I have, as much desire
Him to assist, as you have to require:
And if that ought his safety could procure,
My Fame exempted, I would it endure:
But since my losse must prove to be his gaine,
I cannot helpe him, would I ne're so faine.
This let him know, as also that I grieve
For his hard chance, yet cannot him relieve.
Now if my answer doe not satisfie
Thy expectations, doe not taxe me, why?
There is no fault in me, my honour blame;
For could I helpe him I would doe the same.
Oh taxe me not Belisa of ill-will:
Nor doe thou blame me, I have done no ill.

Arnalte to the Traveller.

With quicke returne my sister to me came
From faire Lucenda (whose transcendent name
I ever honour) this she certifi'd;
But yet her answer she from me did hide,
Thinking at length t'imprint into my minde
That for my good, which now did prove unkinde.
Yet all her words they could me not perswade,
Nor would I credit ought, though't did invade
My pensive breast; for what my sister told,
'Twas ambiguous, 'surance did not hold
League with her fictions; for if the effect
Proves false or feign'd, it cannot truth direct.
These sundry reasons mov'd me to suppose
My sister had not gain'd what she prepos'd.
Then sad dispaire did straight possesse my breast,
And expel'd hope of any helpe or rest:
Thus destitute of any meanes to ease,
M'afflicted minde, or sorrowes to appease,
I did resolve to faine, as if at nought
I priz'd Lucenda, not to cherish thought
Of her perfections; for I notice had
She carelesse was, and void of all regard
Concerning my afflictions; m'unkinde Fate
Shee did not taxe, or once compassionate.
But to the purpose, my resolv'd intent
I executed, made experiment,
Praying my sister for to certifie
Vnto Lucenda, that hence-forward I
Would take lesse paines, my selfe for to confine
Vnto her service, though she seem'd Divine.
And that hereafter I would learne to live
Like to my selfe, and not my freedome give
Unto a Lady, who did disregard
My life and love, and gave me no reward:
My sister said a word she would not misse,
Yet e're she went I her advised this,
That she should marke, and with a curious eye
Observe the blushes of her Phismony:
And above all, when that she should declare
Her message to her, then to have a care
For to behold the lookes which she should glance,
With the mutations of her countenance:
For by the gesture one may sooner finde,
Than by the words the meaning of the minde;
And by the colour that doth come and goe,
The hearts intentions one may plainely know.
As also to regard when she should cease,
If that Lucenda too should hold her peace;
Or else make shew as if shee did not care
For all the love or honour I her beare:
And if she should respond whether it were
Suddaine or doubtfull, utter'd with a feare:
For hard it is such things for to obscure,
If love be perfect, or affection pure.
Now did my sister, having understood
My will and pleasure, write in lines of blood
Within her heart, and lodged in her minde,
What I had told her, and then went to finde
Vertuous Lucenda; who when sh'ad found,
The place consenting, this she did propound.

Belisa to Lucenda.

If my requests have caus'd as much distaste
To thee Lucenda, as I am shame-fac't
T'intreate them of thee, then I marvaile much
Your clemency and goodnesse should be such
As to regard me, and most graciously
For to forgive so great an injury;
Yet howsoever it is so ordain'd,
That the harsh torments of the Captive, and
My loving brother, moove and cause in thee,
Unquiet anger, and disturbers be
Of thy sweete thoughts, and my earnest suing
As irksome to thee as my brothers woing.
The love I beare him it compelling me,
And trusting in thy vertuous courtesie,
I have presum'd my selfe for to present
Before thy face with his sad strain'd laments.
Heare then I pray thee, and with me beare part,
Since without them I live without a heart.
Lucenda know my brother doth intend
No more to love thee, but to give an end
Vnto those thoughts, that he himselfe may free
From servitude, and gaine his liberty:
Although the beauty and the lovely grace,
With the perfections of thy pleasing face,
Have fetter'd him in chaines of wilfull love,
And strongly bound him that he scarce can move:
Yet he doth say he'le do't, and forsake
His Countrey too, and then his absence make
An Arbitrator 'twixt thy cruelty
And his true love, and constant loyalty:
And thus exiled he doth hope to finde
What you deny him, being still unkinde.
But if you doe permit, or else consent
To let him act this his resolv'd intent,
Long after him I shall not live, but dye;
For after death my soule with his must flye.
If he himselfe absent he cannot live,
And I alone; who shall me comfort give?
And so forsaken, living desolate,
Death will my light with speede extenuate:
And thus shall I as disrespected be,
As if I were thy mortall enemy.
You take more paines for to seeme mercifull,
Than really for to be pittifull:
For you reject the faithfull constancy
Of your true friend, who doth continually
Wish you more good than any living wight
Can optate for you, to your sweete delight.
Yet notwithstanding hath it ever beene
Heard of, or knowne, or at least wise seene,
That any one did ever gratifie
Such generous actions with discourtesie?
Wou't have his minde be whole, his will be sound
When thou his heart with torments dost confound?
Let me entreat thee, (nay for love of me)
New Lawes establish, and henceforth decree
Other Injunctions to thy resolv'd will,
And with unkindnesse doe not thou him kill.
Nor speake I this t'incite thee to transgresse
The bounded limits of thy vertuousnesse:
But if you act what I to you propound,
It to your praise and glory will redound:
Since through your pitty you may save, relieve
Two dying bodies, and their lives reprieve.
Oh say not nay (deare friend) to my requests,
Since that thy honour shall not be molest:
Revolve unto thy selfe what will become
Of my deare brother, if he abandon
Thy company; and what will eke betide.
To me (he absent) when alone I bide?
Take heede least you cause him precipitate,
And my sad sorrow doe not exasperate.
Oh call to minde, alas, doe not forget
His griefe, my anguish, sweete now pitty it:
For Ioves dread sake be not so obstinate,
Selfe-wil'd, resolv'd, or so opinionate:
Oppose thy will, but spotlesse, without staine
Vnto thy honour, or thy vertuous fame:
So shall you served be, honour'd, and I
Have consolation in my misery.
Oh be not guilty of his overthrow,
Nor causer of my cruell-killing woe:
Strive to o'recome the passion of thy will,
Withstand its rage, the fury of it kill:
For all things govern'd by the wills direction
Come home with losse, and not with gains protection.
With my entreaties be not thou offended,
But let me thus farre be of thee befriended,
That thou wilt daigne some lines to recommend
Vnto my brother, and that to this end,
That the bright Taper of his living light
Be not snuft out, and so his day made night:
For 'tis against all reason, Law, or sence,
To punish him who hath done no offence.

Lucenda to Belisa.

Drye up thy teares Belisa, weepe no more,
Asswage thy passions, and thy grieve give o're,
For from this day I will conformed be
Vnto your will, and grant what you decree.
Now would to God that I had not a tongue,
Then with my words myselfe I should not wrong:
And although the fault already is transgrest,
Too credulous, my selfe I have exprest.
Yet could I not withstand it, since thou wilt
Take to thy selfe the blame of all my guilt;
Thy selfe oblieging for to set me free,
Clad in white robes of pure innocency.
Oh doe not bragging boast, or boasting vaunt
Of what thy treaties have inforc't me grant:
The trickling teares which from thy eyes did run,
Like armed troopes, my will have overcome:
Yet notwithstanding I delight doe take
In my displeasure, since it recreates
Thy pensive thoughts, and my affection's such,
That ought for thee I cannot thinke too much:
For if my losse thy gaine may prove to be,
I doe desire to suffer it for thee;
Intreating thee to grant me so much love
As to obtaine it, you have treaties mov'd
Not presently to vilifie; neglect
The prize obtained with base disrespect:
For 'tis a rule well knowne in generall,
Most common too, and kindly unto all;
That things not purchac'd we doe highly prize,
But once obtain'd we doe them then dispise.
Remember well, that from this present tide,
You reduable are to me oblieg'd.
The longest day you live doe not forget
The recompence to countervaile this debt.
Consider how at this same present time
My honours thred I doe untwist, untwine:
Yet since I have my selfe thus hazarded
To write unto him, I will have no dread,
With this proviso, that my Letter give
Peace to his warre, quietly cause him live.
Oh would to God 'thad beene his sacred will,
That at that time when I my heart did fill
With the sad thought of this determination,
(Imbracing sorrow with deliberation)
That then the earth had gap'd, and swallow'd me
Vp in her bowells of obscurity;
For then had I beene eas'd by pale-fac'd death
Of that which now will last whilst I have breath:
My soule must suffer't, since commiseration
Hath enterpriz'd against its selfe this action.
And though Belisa I doe now repent
Me of these things to which I doe consent,
Yet have I not the power to revoke
What I doe grant, because I would provoke
Some joy to thee, also t'intermixe
Mirth with the sorrow, in thy true heart fixt.
Therefore will I give way that thy request
Shall take possession of my pensive breast:
And to the end that thou maist have a sight
Of my pen'd-missive, Ile begin to write.

A Letter of Lucenda to Arnalte.

I doe believe my Letter will not finde
Thee, friend Arnalte, glader in thy minde,
Than sad it left me: yet for to complaine
I'de had no cause, had but my hand beene lame,
Or else benumb'd, at that same instant, when
It did touch paper with the well-nib pen,
To write this missive, since it captives me,
Thralling my freedome and my liberty;
Giving to thee that which I never thought,
A gage too precious, where it ow'd thee nought,
Bee not too proud, 'cause unto thee I write,
Nor yet too sad, if henceforth to thy sight
M'Epistles come not; let reason mitigate
Thy present glory, and my missive take.
With shewes well-temper'd give it entertaine,
With wise expressions; doe not thou proclaime
Thy inward ioy, hide it, and disguise
Thy vehement love from all observing eyes.
Remember well when as such victories
Are published, that men then sacrifice
Ladies bright honours, but since friend so well
What's needfull for thee thou thy selfe canst tell:
Be not lesse heedfull those things to direct,
Which may assist me, or my fame protect:
Still have before thy eyes, never forget,
How thee to pleasure I my selfe neglect,
Changing my Title: I who us'd to have
Respect and honour, am become a slave,
To favour thee, for I have hazarded
My reputation, and a discord bred
Within my selfe: for at that instant when
You chant your glory, very, very then
I waile and weepe, since I thee to content,
Suffer great losse unto my detriment,
Staining my honour, spotting of my fame
With base aspersions, blasting of my name.
How oft have I with-drawne my trembling hand
From off this paper, and gi'n strict command
Unto my pen not one word more to write?
Ah, but alas, who hath the strength or might
For to withstand thy importunities,
Or ward themselves from thy perswading cryes?
Thou hast gain'd rest unto thy labour now:
For doubt assurance, and moreover thou
Hast cause to glory, and thy selfe to glad,
Since no occasion's left to make thee sad.
Thy sister tells me thou wilt hence depart:
I thee assure 'twould grieve me to the heart:
For those who cannot any helpe expresse,
Ought not direct men unto sad distresse.
To tell the truth, I rather doe mistrust
This is deceit, than reall, true, or just:
Yet to deceive me if you did intend,
I doe declare that thou hast gain'd thy end.
But howsoever, I would have you know
J understood it, though I made no show;
And to the end you thinking to beguile
Or circumvent me, you be not the while
O're-reacht, defrauded; for full well I know,
That amongst yee, who love, doe duty owe:
When that by wiles you to the period come
Of your designes, and slily over-come
Us female Creatures, thinke yee have atchiev'd
A victory most highly to be priz'd.
Deeme not thy selfe so subtile, nor thinke me
So indiscreet, or simple for to be:
But that I have perceiv'd it in that kinde,
That more for pitty of thy vexed minde,
Than dread of thee, these few lines I doe write,
What you endure your sister doth recite.
For she doth so assure me of thy paine,
And with her teares likewise aver the same;
That not alone I thereto credit give:
For, for thy suffrings I both mourne and grieve,
And in that wise that I would let thee know't
By this my Letter which doth plainely shew't.
Let this content thee, or else otherwise
You may lose that which you have made your prize:
Comfort thy selfe, and so thy selfe retire
Into thy selfe, never more aspire
To find me out with toylesome labour, why,
Your long discourse, and the small time that J
Can spare to heare it, will exasperate
Afresh your sorrowes, and them aggravate.

Arnalte to the Traveller.

She having this her Letter finished,
She gav't my sister, who with swift-wing'd speed
Made haste to finde me, being at that tide
Into my Closet for a while retir'd:
But when I saw her, I did by her gesture,
What she did speake; e're she it spoke conjecture.
Then drawing nigh me, she began to tell
I should not mourne, but my cares expell:
For she did bring me what Lucenda had
Concluded of them, thus bid me be glad.
Wherefore she 'gan for to recite at last,
What 'twixt Lucenda and her selfe had past;
And from her bosome she drew forth the Letter,
Which did reprieve my life, and made me debter
Still unto death; then holding't in my hand,
I did along while pausing with it stand.
Nor could I be perswaded it could be,
That such good hap should happen unto me.
Then kissing sweetely with a true respect
That blessed Paper, and the snow-white necke,
And Swan-like hands of my most dearest sister,
I broke it open having often kist her:
And then I read it, but who then had seene
Me, would have judg'd I had surprized beene
With sweete delight, and easily have sed
That pleasing pleasure had me ravished.
The vertue of that Letter did inflame
More bright my fire, and I deem'd the same
Beyond esteeme, and with excesse of joy,
My soule was rapt in such an extasie,
That it well nigh my body did forsake,
For to give way that it more roome might make
For these new joyes, and to entertaine
Delight and pleasure in liew of my paine.
But having read it, and re-read it, I
Then found contentment and alacrity;
Not too predominate, for grim dispaire
As well as joy, claim'd an equall share:
For when I thought my drooping selfe to glad,
I lost my courage, for no hope I had.
And if I would lament, why the good will
Which she profest me, did oppose me still:
So what to doe, alas I could not tell,
My counsaile left me, doubt did with me dwell.
But 'cause my griefes were farre more vehement
Than all the joy, or the sweete content
Her Letter brought me, I did then indite
This answer to her, which I thus recite.

The Letter of Arnalte to Lucenda.

Those well-pen'd Lines that were compos'd by thee,
Divine Lucenda, and addrest to me,
I have receiv'd, but I must confesse
With more content than now I can expresse;
For when they were presented to me, then
J deem'd my selfe the happiest of men:
But when I read them sorrow did affright
All ioy from me, and all sweete delight:
For being clos'd they promis'd me redresse,
But being open'd, nothing else exprest,
Vnlesse unkindnesse, which did overthrow
My expectations, throb my heart with woe,
By which I iudge there is more likely-hood
For future ills than for my present good:
So that I cannot really expresse
Such true delight as I ought to confesse;
For if I thinke thy favour to obtaine,
My torments thrive, and I grow rich in paine:
For by your writing you doe quite destroy
All hope of comfort, or delight some ioy.
My ills you say doe grieve you, wherefore then
Doe you expresse that which you doe not meane?
Why doe you publish, or with words proclaime,
What with your will you meane not to maintaine?
If so it were, that my afflictions they
Displeasing were, then might you truely say
What you maintain'd; and then you would retract
What you commit now both in word and fact.
Ah deare Lucenda, why doe you pretend
Not truely with your truely loving friend.
I have the name, but you commit the act;
I gaine the honour, you expresse the fact.
Truely I'de rather that my suff'rings were
Doubtfull unto thee, than that thou shouldst beare
Credit unto them, giving no redresse
Vnto my torments, or my wretchednesse.
You doe propose, deare love, to me that I
Should Court your favours very modestly:
If I could ease my selfe so freely well
As I can beare my Sorrowes, let me tell
Thee, dearest Mistris, I would never groane
Vnder the burthen of my griefe or moane;
My smarting paine with speed I would recure,
These grievous torments which I doe endure.
Now if you please (faire love) to succour me,
Or to allay my killing misery,
Let me intreat thee (Sweetest) not to daigne
Dispaire a triumph o're my Soule to gaine:
Neither permit grim Death to bathe his Dart
Within the crimson river of my heart:
Let it suffice that thou hast robbed me
Of the best part of life; sweete Lady see
How that my teares intreat thee for thy grace,
Which if you grant not, death will come in place;
For why, my sorrowes which doe paralell
Thy heavenly beauty, which doth all excell,
Th'are too heavy and insufferable,
I cannot beare them th'are intollerable.
This is the cause, I feeling of my Fate,
And how unkindly you it aggravate;
That J cannot reioyce, or dure to see
Another glader than my selfe to be:
For I doe wish that every one were us'd
With love as basely as I am abus'd:
And since my love doth daily still increase,
And that reward doth grant me no release,
I doe resolve unto some place to goe,
Ne're to returne; for this Ile let thee know,
That Death and Time in this my banishment,
Shall ease my cares, and kill sad languishment.
Now since you have bard up all hope from me,
Of speaking to thee, yet vouchsafe to see
Me e're I part; nor speake I this t'impaire
Thy bright renowne, as glorious and as faire
As Phœbus Raies, for let it not (sweete) be
In any place debar'd from company;
Or where suspition wanders but in sight
Of my deare sister, in whom you delight;
So shall you see my griefe, and eke behold
My blooming colour turn'd into the mould
Of pale-fac'd tawny, and all cheerefull grace
To be ecclips'd within my youthfull face;
And as bla ke grounds, they set off to the sight
Transparent colours, most of all the white.
So I being present, my pale hew will show
How fragrant Roses freshly bud and grow
In milke-white fields; I meane those Virgin plaines,
Your cheekes imbelisht with Carnation staines.
If this you grant, or else consent that I
Shall you behold with my unworthy eyes,
Then may you free the wretched captiv'd heart
Of thy poore vassall from all cruell smart,
And with that hap inrich my fortunes so,
That what want meanes I never more shall know.
What else to write I cannot tell, but this,
If you vouchsafe to grant me so much blisse,
As to permit me thy sweete face to see,
My selfe Ile prostrate with humility,
And kisse thy feete, and on my bended knee,
And eyes erected, ever honour thee.

Arnalte to the Traveller.

My Letter ended, I did then implore
My sisters aide, entreating her once more
For to present unto Lucenda's view
This Letter which I have rehearst to you:
This she did grant me, being thereto mov'd
More through my treaties, than her will approv'd:
For shame forbad her, but then pure affection
O're-came all hindrance, and gave her direction.
Then like to those who doe expect their fate,
With speede she hasted for to obviate
Her good or ill, and to Lucenda she
Tender'd the Letter that was sent by me;
But she was forc't unanswer'd to returne
To wretched me, whose heart in flames did burne
Of fiery love, still fewel'd with disdaine,
Which did encrease more furiously my flame.
This mov'd my sister daily to endeavour
T'effect some meanes that she might me deliver.
Then on a day vertuous Lucenda and
My sister meeting, she could not withstand
My sisters treats, though her defence were great,
But did vouchsafe that I with her should speak.
This sentence added wings unto the speed
Of my deare sister, who was glad indeed,
To bring me tidings of so great a blisse,
And thankt great Iove that he had daign'd her this,
That she was borne the bearer for to be
Of the good newes which she did bring to me:
She did rejoyce, and then did declare
What was decree'd of sweet Lucenda, faire
As bright Aurora, Conduct to the Day,
Whose Roseate blushes to our sight displayes
Phœbus approach each day when he doth rise
From Tethys bed, to travaile through the skies.
Who ever saw a Prisoner doom'd to death,
Gaine a Reprivall for his sentenc'd breath,
And that unlook't for, since he hath no hope
But for to breath his last by Sword or Rope;
Is so transported, that he scarce beleeves,
Hearing th'Injunction of those new decrees?
But being assur'd, he with excesse of measure
Courts this his Fortune with a world of pleasure.
Or else a Pilot in a raging storme,
Deemes Barke, and goods, himselfe, and all forlorne,
Since whirling winds feloniously doe crack
His twisted Cables, cause his Anchors slack
Their forked hold, and drive him in despight
Of Steere, or Helme, he knows not wrong or right:
Mounting him one while to the azur'd skie,
And then as soone red rive him furiously
Unto the bottome of the vast extent
Of Neptunes foaming watry Regiment:
Whilst thus he's tost on the Sea-swelling waves,
And well-nigh swallow'd in their watry graves,
Fraught with dispaire, possest he never more,
Shall set his footing on the sandy shore,
Doth suddenly through light of Phœbus ray,
Spies from a farre the prospect of a bay.
Yet former-feare hath so possest his brest,
And present ruine, that he feares this blest
Appearance's but an object of illusion,
His hopes to flatter, ere their last confusion,
But then the winds (though angry) and the light
Give him full view of what he had in sight:
Th'irefull Seas transport him where the Tyde
Doth drive his Barke, that it may safely ride.
Then being safe, and out of dangers way,
He thankes great Iove, and with the cheerefull day
Doth rowse his spirits, and expelleth quite
The sad remembrance of the passed night:
Even thus was I, untill that newes repriev'd
My dying soule, and my sad heart reliev'd.
For scarce my Sister had breath'd out her words,
But sweet content such pleasure me affords.
That whilst I liv'd, I never did possesse
Such sweet delight, and pleasing happinesse:
For, for t'expresse it it's impossible:
My tongue's too weake my owne delights to tell,
My anguishes were metamorphosed
To suddaine joyes, sorrow from me fled
With swiftest speed: with mirth and pleasure then
My soule and heart did joyntly entertaine
That blessed newes, and at that very time
Love did me cherish, saying he was mine.
But then the Guardians of the bright-fac't Day
Had set the houre, and we must away
Unto the place assign'd; for we did come
When as bright Titan, otherwise the Sunne
Comes dancing forth, Heavens Eastern-gate set wide,
To mount his Chariot, which doth for him bide.
Vnto a Chappell then I did retire,
Vnto a Cell, where usually the Fryer
Vs'd for to shrift the people who confesse
Their sinnes, and crimes, with their past wickednesse.
Joyning to which Lucenda straight-wayes came,
And tooke her seate; I seeing of the same,
The place consenting, I began to show
With words and teares my torments and my woes.

Arnalte to Lucenda in the Friers Cell.

Fairest of Ladies, Mistris of my heart,
Renown'd Lucenda, Auth'resse of my smart;
The gracious favour, and the honour'd grace,
Which at this present you to me vouchsafe;
It's truely such, that I for e're despaire
To recompence thy kindnesse, or thy care:
Vnlesse my service it may satisfie
In some respects thy noble courtesie;
Sweete love accept them, and deare Mistris let
My weeping eyes; and sorrowfull aspect
Give thee assurance of my constant love,
Which whilst I live I vow shall never move.
The Pelican shall never more expresse
Vnto her young ones her kind tendernesse.
The Negro Moore shall change his swarthy hew,
The gods shall homage unto mortalls doe,
E're I forsake to love and honour thee;
Why then, why then release my poore heart free,
Redresse my wrongs, relieve me, doe me right,
In liew of sorrow, grant me sweet delight:
Pitty thy Captive, and some favour show
Vnto my heart inveloped with woe.
File of those shackles, with which thy disdaine
Hath fetter'd me, release me out of paine.
Let this incite thee, fairest, to apply
Some cooling Cordial, for alas I fry,
And burne in flames of hot tormenting fire,
Kindl'd by love, continu'd by desire.
Oh helpe me now, for it will more redound
Vnto thy praise to save, than to confound.
Alas, alas, I suffer not alone,
Others are wrong'd; for why, my grieving moane
Hath shewne my torments so perspicuously,
That divers meaning for to love, doe flye
From love with speed, fearing alas to be
Scorcht with the fire of discourtesie.
Then since its thus, (thou wonder of our times)
Repent thee of thy former passed crimes;
Sweete I beseech thee, these thy faults amend,
And with thy kindnesse cherish me thy friend.
I doe not know what reason that you have
Not to be served, when all others crave
For to possesse those things which you refuse,
And with their wills, what you forsake, would chuse
It is most easie for to know, that I
Have farre more want, nay, more necessity
Of thy assistance, than thou hast desire
That I should serve thee; or to quench the fire
Of my hot suff'rings. Oh, how is my heart
Supprest with tortures, and afflicting smart!
What rude encounters, what assaults have I
With-stood with courage through my constancy!
What cruell combats has my fainting hope
Deliver'd me! how hath my faith ta'ne scope
For to assault me! that to thee 'tis knowne,
They have my health impair'd, and overthrowne.
Alas, alas, is't possible for me
With words to utter (fairest) unto thee
The perturbations that I have endur'd
Within my minde, in no wise to be cur'd
But by thy aid? could this effected be,
How would'st thou blame thy selfe for harming me.
Oh never man endured such a crosse!
Oh, never man joyed lesse hap, more losse!
Oh never yet so great a memory
Did with Oblivion insepulted lye.
Thus my affection, link't with disdaine,
Sends Death unto me with a world of paine:
This I would let thee Lady understand,
That you henceforward may your will command
To right my wrongs, that so you in the end
May prove my Mistris, and my dearest friend:
And eke acquaint thee with the smarting paine
And tedious torments that I doe sustaine,
Thereby to shew thee, that my constancy
Maugre all tortures, yet did never dye;
Nor have I found my selfe to be as yet
Weary of what you please on me t'inflict:
For I have deem'd my losse a prize to be,
Since you have gained what was lost by me.
Nor is't without great reason, for if I
Endure afflictions, your Sun-shaming eye
Is cause of it, that superexc'lent grace,
Which Nature lent to beautifie thy face.
Now since th'art certaine of the love I beare
To thee my Sweet, in all perfections rare.
You'd injure reason, and injustice doe
Vnto my faith, if so be it that you
Establish not new orders to your will,
Restoring life to him you well nigh kill.
Now that you may hereafter exercise
Workes of Repentance, listen to my cryes,
And grant deare Lady, that I may inherit
The happy favour, since it is my merit,
To touch your faire hands with a reverent kisse,
I crave no more, then Sweet now daigne me this,
Grant me this favour Lady, besides which
I shall not dare no other to beseech:
Yet if I should chance to transgresse, confine
Me to such tortures as you please: divine
And glorious Lady, if I ever swerve,
Let me be punisht as I doe deserve.

Lucenda's Answer to Arnalte.

Had I Arnalte, but such fluent straines,
Or high-tun'd words, (compacted by the paines
Of sweet-tongu'd Rethorick) as thou dost expresse,
Ingeniously I unto thee confesse;
I should have skill to answer thee as well,
As thou hast Art, thy sorrows for to tell.
Long since it is, since that thy presence and
My shame assiege me with a well-train'd Band
Of invitations, who doe so oppose
And ward themselves frō my word-speaking blows,
That they doe drive me into such a straight,
That I beleeve all aide will come too late;
Being so confounded, and perplex't in mind,
That no reliefe in any thing I find:
Since that my fame hath gain'd so deepe a wound,
That Art, nor words can e're recure it sound.
For though my ignorance doe me acquit,
Yet Reason checks me with her curbing bit,
And doth condemne me, since my honour'd fame
I've hazarded, and sayes I am too blame.
Thou animat'st me that I should convert
Thy sad disasters into pleasing mirth:
I rather have more cause to mourne and grieve
For my transgressions, than thee to relieve.
Since what thou suffer'st, it is sufferable,
My honour causing't to be tolerable:
For why th'offence, the which I perpetrate
At this same instant, will precipitate
My honour headlong, or at least defame
With foule disgrace my cleare unspotted name.
And thus the danger which doth threaten me,
Since I forget my selfe, to speake with thee,
May sooner to thy disadvantage chance,
Than to thy profit, or thy gaine t'inhance:
For I doe feare thou canst not silent be,
Or barre thy lips with bolts of secrecy,
Clouding the tryumph which thou do'st obtaine
In mists of silence, from the eare of fame.
For oftentimes the joy that we conceive
Of suppos'd favour, doth our hopes deceive;
And so the tongue (too forward) doth expresse
What th'heart with reason strives not to confesse.
Yet if you be so lavish, to report't,
It's at my perill, and you'le scale the Fort
Of my high-towring honour, and so rase
That to the ground, which yet hath stood with praise
How have thy treaties gain'd the upper hand,
That my resistance cannot them with-stand!
What woman is there that beleeveth thee,
But to her selfe she must disloyall be?
Alas, alas, how danger doth attend
Vs silly Damsells, if our eares we lend
To mens perswasions, whose beginnings we,
If wise we were, we should both shun and flee.
Ah sad Lucenda, thou art now a slave,
And you Arnalte, name of Victor have:
But yet beware, lest that too much glory
Cause thee to loose through th'extreame of joy
That which with griefe, with sorrow, & with paine,
With sighs, with sobs, thou now of me do'st gaine.
Take notice how that secresie doth heale,
That which report doth wound, if he reveale,
Thou do'st intreate that thou my hands maist kisse,
I am contented, but provided this,
You doe not thinke that I doe it permit
Through vaine conceit, presumptuous pride, nor yet
From any merit, that I dare to claime
Vnto my selfe, and that you will refraine
Henceforth to urge me, or solicite more
With irkesome treaties, as y'ave heretofore;
And let thy Sister now a Testate be,
Who hath already done so much for thee,
That she hath gain'd me so farre to transgresse
The bounds of Reason, that I doe expresse
My selfe s'oblivious, that I now doe act
That which I doe, in word, in deed, and fact.

Arnalte to the Traveller.

Scarce had Lucenda ended this her talke,
But that the houre forc'd us for to walke:
For't came to passe, so many people ran
Into the Church, that both of us were faine
For to depart; yet not without the grace
Which faire Lucenda did to me vouchsafe;
For she permitted my rude lips to touch
Her faire white hands, more white than snow unsmucht.
My Sister then, and I, we bad fare-well,
And so return'd, each where we us'd to dwell.
And now dread Jove I unto record call;
Might I have had the choysest of all
The Worlds rich wealth, and be ingag'd to lose
The hap I purchas't, I would it refuse:
This to affirme I doe summon in
All constant Lovers, who have tossed bin
In Cupids Blanket, for they know full well,
That such a favour doth all wealth excell.
Thus did I part content; my sister then
Seeing me gaine my pristine health agen,
With all essaies endeavour'd t'entertaine
My new delights to ratifie my paine;
Desiring me that I would then repaire
Into the Countrey for to take the aire,
For she'de a house of pleasure, which did lye
Not farre from Thebes, for it was hard by.
To this her motion I did soone consent,
And then as soone we on our journey went.
Where when arriv'd, I found the place to be
Seated by Natures carefull industry,
Uery commodious for th'exercise
Of healthfull hunting; (which some men doe prize
Above all sports) this mov'd me cause my men
Bring me some Birding-Peeces, that (friend) then
I might essay, what with th'agitation
Of that same pastime, and its recreation,
For to recover my decayed health,
Which sad affliction had o'rethrowne by stealth
Now while I sojourn'd with my sister deare,
Shee feasted me, and made me such good cheare,
That in a short space I did there regaine
My manly colour, and my strength againe.
But on a day that I resolv'd to ride
Abroad a hunting, just as I would stride
My horse's backe, divers sad auguries
Did then appeare unto my wondring eyes,
Which did presage, and eke denounce my fate,
My future ruine, and its wretched state:
For suddenly the Heavens, that were cleare,
Faire, bright, and calme, straight-wayes did appeare
Tempestuous, cloudy, winde and raine did flye
With stormy rage, and darknesse vail'd the skie:
Also a Grey-hound, which I much did prise,
Ranne 'twixt my leggs, & there yelpt forth such cries
And horrid howlings, that they did confound
M'amazed sences with their bawling sound.
Yet I alas, who made but small account
Of such predictions, on my Steed did mount:
Nor all those lets could not my purpose stay,
But with my Hawke upon my fist away
Into the fields I rod, where scarsely I
Had 'gun my quest, but then immediately
I call'd to minde that it was long agone
Since I had seene the Gentleman, of whom
I have already spoke; and that since I
Had shewn to him the love and loyalty,
And deare affection which I alwayes beare
Vnto Lucenda, he no more did care
T'associate me, but by degrees did shun
My company, or where I us'd to come;
Nor ne're came nigh me where I us'd to dwell,
Or once inquir'd, were I ill or well,
Ceasing to be so courteous, or so kind,
As formerly I did his friendship finde.
No sparke of goodnesse in his breast did shine,
Towards me all friendship did in him decline:
But 'cause I knew it was the proper kind
Of divers men who have a wavering minde,
Not to be constant to their friends, but fickle,
For as they please, they can love much or little;
It mov'd me thinke that he had gain'd a touch
Of that infection, poison'd with too much
Ignoblenesse, which was the speciall cause
Of his non-servance of kind friendships Lawes.
And then againe I thought 'tmight sooner be
That Lightnings flame should blast Apollo's Tree,
Than that he'd suffer that I should endure
The least of torments, if he could me cure.
Whilst thus I mus'd the depth of truth to sound,
My Hawke fell downe starke dead unto the ground;
Which sudden chance did straight wayes multiply
The doubts I had of Yerso's loyalty:
For suddenly my heart it was surpris'd
With grievous startings, and assaults: beside,
I did remember how my well-shap'd Hownd
Had whin'd that morning, grovelling on the ground.
Then thus disturb'd, I did resolve to speed
Backe to my Sister, mounted on my Steed;
But as I rode, I found my selfe to be
Vpon a Mount, whence I might plainely see
Lucenda's Mansion, which did fairely lye
Vnto the prospect of my roaving eye;
And also heard the noise and perfect sound
Of Drummes and Haubois, which did there rebound
Their pleasant Echoes 'gainst the Mountaines, and
The neighbouring Hills, that there did proudly stand,
Rearing their heads in such a lofty wise,
As if they meant to parley with the skies.
This seemed strange unto my listning eare,
For it agree'd not with the time of yeare
To use such pastime: thus I wax't farre more
Pensive, and sad, than e're I was afore,
Growing most jealous of my future losse,
Since that my fortunes prov'd to be so crosse.
Well, there I stay'd so long for to discry
The house, from whence those merry Tones did flye,
That Night o're-tooke me in her Ebon-Coach,
E're to my Sister I could then approach,
Who was accustom'd dayly for to waite
My comming, at the entrance of her gate,
There to embrace me; but at that same Tide
My dearest Sister did not for me bide,
Which did renew againe my past distrust,
And then alas, this of all was worst:
I being enter'd, to the Chamber come
Where she did sit, she seem'd to me as dumbe;
A word she spake not, but did sadly looke,
As if all joy had her heart forsooke.
This did amaze me, and I marvail'd much:
For since her silence unto me was such,
I durst not aske her ought, doubting to heare
By her discourse the news I much did feare.
But yet at length I could not so containe
My selfe with silence, or from words refraine,
But that I ask't her whence it did arise
That she sate drooping in that mournfull wise:
At this the flood-gates of her teare-drown'd eyes
Burst ope through fury of her weeping cryes:
Frō whence such streames of chrystal-teares did flow,
That to a deluge they began to grow;
Whose inundations did o're-flow so high,
That they did stop her passage of reply,
So that she could not answer me, untill
Those floods were sunke, that then amaine did swell;
But drying up those teares which trickled downe,
Whose gushing Torrents did her eyes e'ne drowne,
She did declare, how at that present tide,
Lucenda was the faire espoused Bride
Of youthfull Yerso, who I ever deem'd
My faithfull friend, for so he alwayes seem'd.
And that as then she did to me relate
As she did heare, they still did celebrate
The Nuptiall Banquets, and the custom'd Rites
With Maskes, with Revells, and such us'd delights.
When this I heard, I doe protest my friend,
I thought my life would straight have ta'ne an end:
For my poore heart was suddenly assail'd
By woes Armado, that my spirits fail'd;
Which so amaz'd me, that a long while I
Stood mute, and dumbe, nor could a word reply.
Thus were the signes presag'd unto me showne,
And eke the noise I heard unto me knowne;
Which so disturbe me, that I in the place
So rudely fell, grovelling on my face;
That those who then were present, did esteeme
I was intranst, for so I then did seeme.
But then as soone as I could breath againe,
I tooke all Letters, subscribed with the name
Of faire Lucenda; nay, I did not leave
One single line which I of her receiv'd,
But tore them all in that same raging vaine:
Then growing wild, through fury of my paine,
I being lost, and voyd of further hope,
Dispaire I welcom'd, who did soone take scope
For to inflame me with tenne thousand thoughts,
Which in my braines a strange distraction wrought,
So that I did unroote my Beard, and tare
From off my head whole handfulls of my haire:
Although such actions (friend) I must confesse
Seeme womanish, and weaknesse doe expresse;
Yet blind-fold Love doth by his Lawes confine
To such extreames his servants many times:
Then some daies past, and that the consolation
Of my deare sister, with her milde perswasion
Had in some sort asswag'd my anxious griefe,
And by her care had tender'd me reliefe,
I gave a speciall order unto those
Who waited on me to weare mourning clothes.
Soone after which, a Damsell to me came
That serv'd Lucenda, that Angelicke Dame:
It was the maid in whom she did repose
Great confidence, and durst to her disclose
Her private secrets, and moreover rest
Her inward thoughts within her trusty breast;
Who certifi'd me in her Mistris name,
How that her Lady was inforc'd and faine
To undergoe that marriage, and that she,
More through the irksome importunity,
And urgent treaties of her Parents, (who
Claim'd her obeysance as their proper due)
Than of her owne consent, or proper will
She was constrain'd t'imbrace him vel or nil.
Having a long while heard her patiently,
And satisfi'd her, she did homewards hye:
But you must know that she rescounter'd me,
Clad with a Gowne of blacke, (which did agree
In outward shew, unto my inward griefe)
About whose hembe (because I will be briefe)
These Lines and Letters were embroydred round,
Which being read, this meaning forth did sound.
Tell her that since that she hath chose to be
Unto her Captive a submissive slave,
I doe intend my life henceforth to save,
Living because she hath vouchsaft it me.
This Gentlewoman well advis'd and wise,
Had great compassion of my mourning cries;
And you must thinke she was instructed by
Her honour'd Mistris, for to have an eye
As well to marke the habit that I wore,
As to observe me how I did deplore;
Which mov'd her glance upon my robe her eye,
Where in a moment she did soone espy
The Lines embroydred, whose conceite in mind
Shee well remembred, and then went to find
Her Dame Lucenda, leaving me as mad
At Yerso's treason, as my heart was sad
A their late marriage, of which when I thought,
Such an impression in my soule it wrought,
That I concluded for to challenge him
To combate with me, that before the King,
And all the world, he truely might confesse
His treacherous dealing, and perfidiousnesse:
Which to effect, a Challenge I did send,
The words of which did to this purpose tend.

Arnalte's Challenge to Yerso.

Yerso , because that every one may know
Th'ignoblenesse, I doe intend to show,
How faithlesse that thy lying drifts have beene,
With which in secret I've abused beene:
Therefore in publicke I will manifest
Vnto the world thy base perfidiousnesse;
Because henceforth thy punishment may be
A president unto eternity.
And for to punish justly thy offence,
Th'uncourteous actions, and base insolence,
I hope to vanquish, and to overcome
Thee with my hands; as also with my tongue
To use such words as shall thee quite defame,
And overthrow thee to thy utter shame.
But to the end that none may thee excuse,
Your selfe shall judge how you have me abus'd:
Revolve unto thy selfe and call to mind
How long its since unfeigned love did binde
So strict a league betwixt us, that we swore
To be companions, faithfull evermore.
Remember too, how for a long while we
Have mutuall beene, with seem'd fidelity,
Bearing a love so pious to each other,
That as two brethren we lov'd one another.
By which conjunction thinking that thou wert
Faithfull and loyall, of a noble heart;
My inward thoughts I have to thee reveald,
My private secrets I have not conceal'd.
And amongst many th'affection that I bare
Vnto Lucenda, in perfections rare,
In which thou didst uphold me, promising
For to assist me, that I might her winne:
Oh then thou spakst even as an impious slave,
For that thou mightst defraud me: Sir you have
By divers waies, and sundry meanes exprest,
You were content to further my request,
Plything thy faith, that albeit that she
Thy Lady were, that yet for love of mee
Thou wouldst refraine to serve her, that I might
Purchase th'injoyment of my sweet delight;
Which I beleev'd so long, untill th'event
Did shew the issue of thy bad intent:
For closely jugling thou hast tane to wife
My dearest Mistris, dearer than my life,
The right usurping, with the recompence
Of all my travailes, contrary to sence:
By doing which, thou art not onely growne
My enemy, but likewise art thy owne:
At which I marvaile, and doe wonder much,
For well I know thy knowledge it is such,
That thou art witting, how that vertue, and
The workes of friendship doe united stand:
Yet ne'rethelesse before thou wouldst take heed,
Thou hast committed this ignoble deed,
Soyling thy honour, spotting of thy fame,
Blasting by treason thy renowned name,
Waxing so differ'nt from the noble parts,
And worthy vertues, lodg'd within the hearts
Of thy fore-fathers, as unto the sight
The blacke doth vary from the purest white.
But to the end that thou maist speedily
Receive disgrace for thy base treachery:
I let thee know, (perjur'd as thou art)
That I will slay thee, and transpierce thy heart
With those same weapons that you shall allot,
And cut in two the Gordian knitted knot
Of thy base life, casting thee forth the field,
Or else inforce thee humbly for to yeeld
Thy selfe my prisoner, causing thee confesse
Th'ignoble action of thy wickednesse:
For Iove assisting, with my hands and thy
Perfidious, base, dishonest villany
I shall revenge and wreake the injury
And base affronts which thou hast offer'd me:
Therefore appoint what Armes we shall use,
As 'tis the custome, send me no excuse:
For having heard thy Answer, I'le assigne
The Field, the day, and meet thee at the time.

Yerso's Answer to Arnalte's Challenge.

Arnalte , I thy challenge have receiv'd,
And by the Lecture the Contents perceiv'd
And eke according unto what you say,
If so be it that Fortune lead the way,
And that th'event doe prove as advantagious,
As thy affronting words doe seeme outragious.
I shall account, if such good hap you have,
My selfe your vassall, and submissive slave,
Tendring to thee the name and worthy praise
Of a brave Victor, give thee up the Bayes.
But soft, but soft, this current that doth run
Within your braine, so strongly I will turne
Another way, and quite divert its course:
For in my hands you shall not finde lesse force,
Than I doe relish that thy words doe taste
Of base aspersion, and black-mouth'd disgrace:
Prate on, prate on, for as I may repute,
It's you must babble, I must execute.
Thus shall thy arrogance and swelling pride,
Because that strangers, and moreo're beside
Thy Friends and Kindred scarcely shall bemoane
What I inflict upon thee, no not one,
Since 'twere injustice if thou should'st not feele
The Death you merit, from my pointed Steele;
That by that death thou might'st receive a true
And just chastisement, as to thee is due.
Thou do'st prepose unto the end that my
Transgressions may be knowne perspicuously,
I should remember of the mutuall love
Frequent betwixt us, how we dayly strove
T'exceed each other in our courtesies,
Loving each other as we lov'd our eyes;
Trusting in which thou did'st communicate
Thy secrets to me, and thy private state.
True, I confesse't, nor in the least will I
Paliate dissemble, or the truth deny,
For so I should the bounds of truth transgresse,
And injure reason, and all vertuousnesse.
Thus if thou hadst not publickly disgrac't
My honour basely, in some private place
I would have satisfi'd thee, and at large
Have clear'd my selfe of ought layd to my charge.
And sure I am that after that you should
Have heard me speake, Arnalte then you would
Have reckon'd me rather for to be
Thy loyall friend, than faithlesse unto thee:
Since more for safety of thy health and life,
Than for my pleasure I have ta'ne to wife
The faire Lucenda, hoping then thereby
To end thy torments and thy miseries:
For seeing that thou wert not like to live
Any long while, but subject still to grieve,
I held it for the best to act and doe
What I have done, unto the end that you
Having no future hope, might'st strive to gaine
Thy former strength and pristine health againe.
But since th'intents doe justly justifie,
Or else condemne one worthy for to dye,
Vnto my thoughts I doe myselfe referre,
For I am sure my love did never erre:
Yet since the truth ought sooner for to be
Maintain'd by actions, than loquacity,
The judgment shall surcease untill the day
Of Execution Phœbus shall display.
Then shalt thou see what thou had'st gain'd, if that
Thou hadst not prated this reproachfull chat;
And what thou'st lost, since thou hast wronged me
By the aspersions of thy obloquie:
For by my right and thy base puffing pride
It shall be judg'd, and very plainely try'd.
But since with thee I would not much dispute,
But purpose fiercely for to execute,
I doe advise thee that thou shalt recant,
And eate thy words as a base recreant:
Which to accomplish, I select and chuse
The proper Armes that men at Armes use;
We will be arm'd as men at Armes be,
A cap, a pe, compleat in each degree:
Onely our right Armes they shall be excepted,
For they shall naked be, and quite detected.
Our Launces equall, each two Swords apiece,
Our Horses barb'd with Front-stalls, Crannets, these
The weapons are, now when you will, you may
Appoint the field, the houre, and the day;
For by the ayde of him who ought to be
Judge 'twixt my wrongs and thy partiality,
I hope to slay thee, or to winne the field,
And Victor-like enforce thee for to yeeld.

Arnalte to the Traveller.

Now since the Armes were denoted, I
Did straight-wayes goe to the Kings Majesty,
Informing him exactly of what had
Past betwixt Yerso and my selfe, (most sad)
So that he hearing th'infidelity
Of my past friend, then growne my enemy,
It seem'd so strange to him that he did yeeld
At my request to grant us both the field.
Then on the day assign'd, Yerso and I,
We did appeare before his Majesty,
He having caus'd a Scaffold for to be
Built and erected, that he there might see
Who should be Master of the field, and gaine
A glorious conquest, to maintaine his fame:
Then having view'd our Armes, which his Grace
Found very equall, th'oath us'd in that case
Being deliver'd, and that the Heralds they
Had gi'ne the Signall to the field, away
With speed we hasted for to take our course,
Running against each other with such force,
That the rude shock, of our rescounter did
Expresse what love was in our bosomes hid:
But Yerso then being as fortunate,
As a good Horse-man he did penetrate
My naked arme with his pointed steele,
With which being wounded, I great paine did feele;
But as for my part, I had no such chance,
I onely counterbuft him with my Lance
Vpon the viser of his Helmet bright;
Yet did I not direct the stroake so right,
But that I mist to wound him with the thrust.
Thus by we rode, our Lances being burst,
Which flew to shivers, lying scatter'd round
Vpon the verdent Grasse and trampled ground.
Our Staves thus broke, we quickly did betake
Vs to our keen-edg'd Swords, that they might make
Good what our Speares had fail'd of their pretence:
Then fiercely driving we did both commence
A fray so bloody, that the Crimson gore
Did trickle downe upon the grasse all-o're,
Thundring our blowes with fury violent,
That through our Armour they a passage rent,
To make a way unto our vitall parts,
That unawares they might surprise our hearts.
We slic'd our Shields, we clave our Helmets bright,
And were so eager on our bloody fight,
That the Spectators weary were to see
The Combate last so long; as also we
Grew faint with striking and through losse of blood,
Which flowed from us like a purple flood.
But to be briefe, I gain'd the victory,
And Yerso vanquisht at my feet did lye:
By which his Treason plainely was proclaim'd,
And my just right and innocence maintain'd.
Yet howsoever Yerso did disdaine
A life of Almes, rather would maintaine
His fame and honour by a warlike death,
Than by recanting to reprieve his breath,
And live dishonour'd to his utter shame.
Lucenda thus a widow did remaine,
And I victorious: then th'assembly gone,
With speed I hasted to my private home;
Where while I lay with wholesome meanes to cure
Those smarting wounds, the which I did endure,
I was advertis'd that Lucenda, she
Bewaild the losse she had obtain'd by me:
And with great sorrow moan'd the timelesse death
Of her slaine husband, whose perfidious breath
I had exhal'd; now that she might give o're
Her lamentations, and no more deplore
His deserv'd death, I did resolve to proffer
My service to her, and more-o're to offer
If't should be pleasing to her, to supply
The place of Yerso with more constancy,
And be her Husband, she my honour'd wife,
Who I would cherish rather than my life.

A Letter of Arnalte to Lucenda.

Mirrour of Women, Natures chiefest iewell,
Oh thou whose eyes are wanton Cupids fewell,
Beauties Idea, sweete perfections grace,
For all perfections harbour in thy face.
Pardon my faults, oh doe not on me frowne,
But with thy favour my expectance crowne:
Deny me not thy mercy, but vouchsafe
For to protect me, and to keepe me safe.
I must confesse that I have iniur'd thee;
Yet have compassion on my misery:
And Lady, though for peace J intercede
In time of warre, or for thy pitty plead,
Let me intreat thee that thou wilt not take
It in'll part, since I this suite doe make:
Rather t'esteeme thy vertue than the crime
That's perpetrated 'gainst thee most divine
And glorious creature; for your eyes they have
A secret power how to kill or save.
Then since it in your gracious power doth lye
To kill, or save; oh helpe, or else I dye.
As for the chance that lately did befall
Thy livelesse Husband, I great Iove doe call
To witnesse, how it grieves me; for why, best
He knowes what thoughts doe harbour in my brest
Yet though it grieve me for the sake of him,
Sweete in respect of thee 'thas pleasing bin:
For had I not (faire love) offended thee,
Thou couldst not, couldst not have absolved me,
Shewing the vertue of forgiving, which
Most brightly doth thy purest minde inrich:
Now to the end it may be manifest,
And to the world perspicuously exprest
That thou forgiv'st me, let thy sorrowes be
Govern'd by reason, not extremity.
Jf otherwise thou dost lament or plaine,
Thou'lt taxe thy credit, and receive great blame.
Oh then, oh then deny me not this pleasure,
By farre transcending India's golden treasure:
Since by the purchase we may both remaine
Content, and I for ever freed from paine;
Shewing thy pitty and thy mercy to
The man, to whom thou oughtst for pardon sue.
Alas, alas, I know thou art so sad,
That J doe doubt to gaine, in that regard,
The hap I wish for; since that in the time,
When as thou wert more likely to be mine
Than now thou art, J never could arrive
Vnto the port to which my thoughts did drive;
Although, deare heart, I felt more stronger gailes
From thy milde favours, which imbreath'd my sailes;
Yet howsoe're I vow ne're to require
That thing of thee which you shall not desire:
For should my paines inforce me to transgresse,
My feares shall straight oppose my wilfulnesse;
Yet if you will direct your course, and saile
By Reasons Compasse, you will hardly faile
T'account your selfe rather a foe to be
Vnto your selfe, than not a friend to me.
For say I've slaine thy husband: why his death
Hath stopt the passage but of one mans breath:
But you, who have so many murder'd, ne're
Didst yet repent, or shed for one a teare.
Thus thinke of me, as thou wouldst others have
To iudge of thee, although I am thy slave;
Which if you grant, I soone shall feele m'offence
To be remitted with large recompence.
Thy deceas'd husband hath so wounded me,
That of my health the Doctors disagree;
Yet spight of Fortune, or her utmost hate,
Or all th'afflictions of my cruell fate,
I dread no danger, for my outward smart
Is farre unlike the suff'rings of my heart:
For 'tis long since (deare love) that Cupids dart,
Headed with thy bright eyes, have pierc't my heart,
And made so large an Orifice, that those
Grand wounds J suffer'd from the smarting blowes
Of vanquish'd Yerso, seeme, alas, to be
But petty scratches, wholly disagree
From the condition of my inward paine,
Whose cruell tortures doth my heart inflame
With burning ardour, that it doth exceed
My outward hurts; for loves doth inward bleed.
Thus I doe muster daily in my braine
Ten thousand thoughts; I also entertaine
As many fancies, which my thoughts controule,
Whose suddaine discord wracks my wavering soule:
Yet 'mongst so many, there's but one, the which
Doth my sad heart with future hope inrich:
Which Ile reveale, unto the end that my
Most constant faith, and faithfull loyalty
May be most certaine; yet (sweet friend) before
I doe rehearse it, let me thee implore,
For to consider that it is in vaine,
To thinke by teares thy husband to regaine:
For what death seizes with his mortall hand,
It's meerely lost, no force can him withstand:
For 'tis most certaine, neither art or skill,
Honour, or goodnesse, can prevent the ill
Of our malignant Starres, nor birth, or state
Divert the Omen of our dying Fate.
Therefore ne're hope for to recall to life
Yerso, to whom thou lately wert a wife,
But rather take my counsaile, and replant
That love in me, which you to him did grant:
For since I've tane him from thee, if you please
I will be yours, and your griefes appease.
Yet if his love hath so blind-folded thee,
Or so obscur'd your judgement, not to see
How I deserve, or thinke I am not fit
T'injoy thy love, nor that I merit it:
Oh be not so opiniate, nor believe
Thy judgement so but let some others give
Thee better counsaile, for alas I doubt
Yerso's sad chance hath chac'd all reason out:
Then shall you see how your resolves agree
With your friends counsailes, as concerning me,
Yet, under favour, I must tell you, that
He doth deserve, who hath had such good hap
And power to vanquish him, who had the name
Of thy deare husband, justly for to claime
All rights and titles which he did possesse,
Injoying thee, thou cause of my distresse.
As for my birth, my honour or my state,
My parentage, it's needlesse to relate:
In vaine it were rare Paragon to shew't,
Since you faire love as well as I doe know't.
Then if the merits of my travells have
Not yet deserv'd the favour that I crave,
Which is to have thee for to be my Wife,
And fairest Spouse, who ever as my life
I meane to cherish, you your selfe shall be
The faithfull Iudge betwixt your selfe and me:
For well I know that thou most certaine art,
That for to love thee, I have felt much smart,
Loathing my life, since I could never gaine
A recompence to ratifie my paine.
Now if you please some succour for to lend,
I doe intreate you will your Answer send

Arnalte to the Traveller.

My Missive ended, I my Sister caus'd
To come unto me, who as sorry was
To see my hurts, as she was glad that I
Had gain'd the honour and the victory:
Yet howsoever it did grieve her much
That Yerso's chance did fall out to be such.
Then at her comming I did straight repeate
My resolution, and I did intreate
Her to advise me; then did she reply,
She wondred at my bold audacity:
Yet howsoe're, since it might expiate
The influence of my prodigious fate,
She tooke my Letter, and away she hy'd
Vnto Lucenda, who no sooner spy'd
My Sister, but sh'intreated her to be
At those same Nuptials that were caus'd by me.
My Sister then she knew not what she meant,
But afterwards she saw it by th'event:
For at that time her friends and kindred were
Assembled all for to conduct and beare
Her company to a religious house,
Which she had chose to celebrate her vowes,
And to reside the remnant of her dayes,
Singing sad Dirges and lamenting Layes.
My Sister then arrived at that time,
Desir'd to see th'event of their designe,
Which hapned thus Lucenda, (with her friends
My Sister following to observe their ends)
Being arriv'd, and to the covent come,
There tooke the Order of a hooded Nunne.
But 'cause till then my Sister could not finde
A sit convenience for to shew her minde,
Taking occasion by the fore-top, she
'Gan shew Lucenda what was sent by me:
But she no sooner heard my name, but from
My faithfull Sister in a rage she flung,
Calling the Abbesse, to whom she did relate,
She was not enter'd through her arched gate
Into her house, for to consent that she,
Who was the Sister of her enemy,
And mortall foe, should have the liberty
To importune her with her urgency.
Which when my Sister heard, she speedily
Departed thence, and home to me did hye,
Striving t'obscure and to paliate
The sad report of my most cruell fate:
Yet ne'rethelesse distrust did soone detect
Her fained fictions, which I did suspect.
Ah where's that Lover that e're had the like
Disgrace, and crav'd not thin-chop'd death to strike
Him to the heart? which I had soone obtain'd,
Had not my friends perforce my life maintain'd.
Thus hope fled from me, nor no meanes was left
To comfort me, of joy I was bereft:
Then knowing not where to have refuge, I
Turn'd to great Iove, whom most submissively
I did beseech with prayers, for to daigne
His gracious pitty to redresse my paine,
But for my sinnes and former wickednesse,
He gave no eare unto my sad request:
Thus gaining no ease, neiher from Iove above,
Nor of the world, or of the blind-god Love,
I did resolve to goe unto some place
So solitary, that being there, my face
No mortall man should e're behold againe,
There to condole my torment & my paine.
This when my Sister heard, it did so fright
Her tender heart, as if some horrid sight
Had stood before her; thus amazed she,
Weeping extreamely hasted unto me,
Casting her selfe there prostrate on the ground,
Then at my feet these words she did propound.

Belisa to her Brother Arnalte.

I know deare Brother, that you doe intend
To take a journey shortly, to an end
So strange, that's onely for to quench the flash
Of your light humour; for it is so rash
And unadvised, that you doe expresse
Your selfe quite void of Reasons solidnesse.
Alas, alas, I doe beseech thee for
Ioves glorious sake, thou wilt this thought abhorre,
Chace forth thy minde these wandring fantasies,
Presse them to death, that they no more may rise
Vp in rebellion: Oh be not conscious that
Report may scatter a reproachfull chat
To thy disgrace; but let it be thy care
That slander doe not thy true worth impaire
Consider too, that those who shall take note
Of thy departure, that they will report
That more for feare of Yerso's kindred, then
Through loves sad anguish thou art fled from men.
Have a pre-sight to all mishaps that may
Through selfe-opinion wrong thee any way;
And weigh their ends, lest when it is too late
You doe repent, and curse your wilfull fate;
For 'tis most frequent, when the meanes is gone,
That then Repentance swiftly commeth on:
Then doe not seeke to cloud thy honour'd fame
In a strange absence, or undoe thy name.
If this prevaile not, call to minde, if you
Leave me alone, alas, what shall I doe?
For well you know my honour is conserv'd
By the rare worth long since by thee deserv'd.
Thus if you leave me, I shall be esteem'd
Rather a stranger, than henceforth be deem'd
A Thebian Damsell; ah deare brother hast
Thou kist Oblivion, or of Lethe taste,
That thou forget'st that death did snatch away
Our honour'd parents (now involv'd in clay)
The last great Plague, he being summon'd in
By the three Sisters, one of whom doth spin,
The other reeles, the third cuts with a Knife
The fatall thred of mans uncertaine life:
Yet ne'rethelesse I still enjoying thee,
Have deem'd my selfe as well allied to be
As e're I was, as also for to have
As many friends, as when the dungeon-grave
Did ne're inclose one to our blood affin'd:
For they being dead, their love in you I finde.
Do'st not consider that you much doe loose,
If you th'acquaintance of your friends refuse?
Remember how the King hath bred thee, and
Looke on the Countrey, and observe the Land
Which you forsake: behold th'abundant store
Of wealth and riches that you leave, before
You take this course so contrary to sence,
That all will blame you if you doe commenc't.
Beleeve me brother, and be cautious too
To act those things that may redound unto
Thy disadvantage, for the mountaines can
Not there commend thee for a worthy man;
The fierce wild beasts, that range the fields for food,
Can not distinguish 'twixt the bad and good:
Nor have the Birds the Judgment or the Art
To consolate thy sad distressed heart.
Who then shall praise thy Feats of Chivalry,
Or blaze thy fame above the starry skie,
Or moane the time that you spend there in vaine,
Instead of striving to atchieve and gaine
Transcendent honour and deserved praise
In bloody battells and in Princely fraies?
Hast thou forgot that the most noble kind
Of gen'rous spirits and heroick minds,
Doe enterprise the things most intricate,
Though death & danger on their purpose wait?
If this perswade not, why, at leastwise thinke,
How your past acts, and renown'd fame will sinke
Downe to the bottome of the Lethean Lake,
If this your journey you doe undertake.
Say that distresse or sicknesse should befall
You in that Desart, on whom could you call
For some assistance? Oh ther's none to beare
In thy afflictions the least part or share:
Then is't not better that you should abide
In this your Countrey, and henceforth reside
With those with home you ever us'd to live?
Being so wise, not desp'rately to give
Thy selfe to ruine: but forsake th'intent
To live with Beasts in pensive banishment,
Where none can helpe thee, or thy wants supply.
And you being absent, where alas shall I
Bestow my selfe? to whom shall I complaine,
When as the friends of Yerso (by thee slaine)
Shall terrifie me, and upbraid my fame,
Casting aspersions on my honour'd name?
Ah brother, brother, for his glorious sake,
Who with a word the universe did make,
Moderate thy sorrow, and asswage thy griefe,
Comfort thy selfe, and daigne thy selfe reliefe.

Arnalte to Belisa.

I have deare sister plainly understood
What you have told me for my future good:
For which I thanke thee, yet let my reply.
Assure thee that most consid'ratly
I have premeditated on each word,
The which your goodnesse did to me afford;
And in the thought of that imagination,
Each poynt disturbs me with a vehement passion;
So that they joyntly have surpriz'd my heart
With far worse pangsthan raw-bon'd death doth dart;
For anxious griefe within my breast tooke place,
And swam in teares, which did o're-flow my face.
And this deare sister, most especially
I have endur'd for thy sake: for why,
All other torments I can lightly beare;
But as concerning thee I much doe care,
For you I grieve; I doe not moane the smart,
Which Vulture-like still preys upon my heart:
I dis-esteeme it in respect of thee,
For why loves warrant hath deliver'd me,
Thus I shall be perhaps excus'd by some,
And eke inforc'd to undergoe the doome
Of divers others; let 'em speake and spare not,
In this respect, alas, alas I care not:
For the pure vertue which is truely knowne,
Cannot be injur'd, or disgrac'd by none;
Thus shall th'opinions which are held of me,
Prove most part false, and feigned for to be.
Thou dost prepose that 'twil be thought 'mongst men,
That more for feare of Yerso's kindred, then
Through the afflictions of my torments, I
Doe take this journey, and away doe flye.
Fearing I should receive the selfe-same pay,
Which I paid Yerso, when I did him slay.
Oh thinke not so, but be thou confident,
That ther's not one, who ever nobly meant,
Or truely lov'd, as will imagine such
A base conceit as may my honour smutch:
For well they know the worth of valour bides
Ever most constant where true love resides:
And eke more-o're, I am not so unknowne,
But that my worth (of Fames loud Trumpet blowne)
It is sufficient to obscure and shroud
Such base reports in darke oblivions Cloud.
Thou dost intreat me also to remember
My goods, my servants, and my safety tender:
As for my servants, I so thinke of them,
That if ther's any that will follow, when
I shall depart from this unpleasing place.
Their company with thanks I will embrace,
Rather t'expresse th'indulgent love I beare
Vnto their kindnesse, or their friendly care,
Than that I want or have necessity
Of their assistance, or society.
Now for my wealth and treasures, from this time
You are their Mistris, for I make them thine;
And for the rest, oh deeme me not to be
S'ignoble base, as that I would leave thee
Alone, forlorne, desolate, and forsaken,
Wretched, opprest, but if, thou art mistaken:
For e're we part, with care I will provide,
That I may see thee, e're I goe, a Bride
Ioyn'd to a husband, who shall still remaine
With thee (I absent) to maintaine thy fame.
And now I will one thing of thee require,
And this it is; deare sister I desire
That thou'lt take courage to thee; and that when
I shall retire from the sight of men,
Your lamentations put me to no trouble,
Nor your bewailings my afflictions double.
And lastly Sister; for I thinke 'twill be
The last request I e're shall make to thee;
Let me intreat thee that continually
Thou'lt plaine and taxe Lucenda's cruelty;
Ever remembring my untimely Fate,
And utter ruine, caused by her hate:
Yet if you see there's any likely-hood,
Or expectation for my future good,
Or that she should repent her, and bemoane
The ills I suffer, under which I groane
With endlesse tortures; let that expiate
Alone thy wrath, no other vengeance take:
Since in this hap, the happy meanes doth lye,
The which alone can gaine my liberty.
Thus I will cease to entertaine your eares
With my sad words, breath'd out with sighes & teares,
'Cause Ile avoyd thy importunity,
And fond objection of thy vaine reply.
At these my words my sisters tongue was ty'd,
Her lips were bar'd, she never more reply'd
One word or accent, the which might disswade
My resolution, or my breast invade
With contradiction this my fixt intent
She ne're essayd to alter, or prevent
Then being healed of my wounds, I went
Vnto the King, and shew'd him my intent,
Beseeching him most friendly to bestow
A husband on my sister, who might show
Such constant friendship, and such mutuall love,
As doth the Turtle to the harmlesse Dove.
This on his royall word he promis'd me
For to accomplish: then thrice Noble hee
Having performed what I did require,
And satisfi'd most nobly my desire,
With urgent treaties importun'd my stay,
And disadvis'd me from so strange a way;
Preposing to me that it was ill done,
On this my course so rashly for to runne,
Leaving my Countrey and my habitation,
My goods, my sister, to court desolation:
But since his will and mine did disagree,
In our resolves there was no harmony:
For the opinion which he did propound,
On the same key, with mine they did not found;
Thus, diff'ring both in our opinions, I
Tooke my last leave, leaving his Majesty
Sufficiently assured, that my will
I would accomplish, and my mind fulfill.
At which the King was so displeas'd, that he
Would not vouchsafe his gracious leave to me:
Yet ne'rethelesse, casting all things aside
Which may prevent me, though my friends decide
The case, most strongly urging, how that I
Did runne the hazard of much misery:
I weigh'd it not, or did I heed the cryes
Which ran like Rivers from the swolne eyes
Of my sweet sister, intermixt with groanes
And sad laments, of force to soften stones.
But after many loving Ceremonies,
And kind fare-wells, I did with watry eyes
Take my last leave of all my friends and kin,
And then my journey I did straight begin,
Which soone was spread abroad, and shrill report
As soon had blaz'd it in the King his Court:
Which being told his Grace, (although my fame
I must confesse such honour could not claime)
He did vouchsafe so farre to honour me
Himselfe, and Nobles in their gallantry.
As to conduct me onward in my way
Vnto a place that from the City lay
Some Furlongs distant: now excuse me friend,
If to thy eares I doe not recommend
The words we had at parting, or else show
The sighes & groanes which from our hearts did flow.
For without tediousnesse I cannot tell
The passages which 'twixt us then befell:
But let that passe, and know my weeping cryes
And brynie teares which trickled from the eyes
Of my kind Sister, at that time did sever
Both she and I, not for a time, but ever.
And then the King and his attendants they
Return'd to Court, I follow'd on my way;
Continuing which, I soone did feele my smart
To be disburden'd of much anxious smart:
So that I found this course farre to surpasse
My residence, which in rich Thebes was.
For my misfortunes rather chose to bide
With Beares and Lyons, than for to reside
Longer with men, indu'd with reason, thought
Their qualities a brutish diffrence shew.
Then having travell'd many dayes, I found
My selfe arriv'd by chance on this same ground,
So desolate, so uncoth, so o're-growne,
As thy hard passage unto thee hath showne.
But having gained this sad, solitary,
Rough, ragged mountaine, being e'ne a weary,
Consid'ring of its private scituation,
Resolv'd t'erect thereon this habitation
Of such materialls as might signifie
Lucenda's hatred and strange cruelty.
Thus friend y'ave heard the summe of all my griefe,
And how I've liv'd supprest without reliefe:
Thou also know'st what sad afflictions I
Have undergone through my firme cōstancy;
And eke what battells and assaults I have
Sustain'd for love, who us'd me as his slave.
But now kind friend, if my Discourse hath stay'd
Thee from thy businesse; and likewise delay'd
Thy purpos'd journey, least wise if a man
Involv'd in woes and sorrows as I am,
Have not deserv'd that thou shouldst troubled be
In such a sort, as thou hast beene by me:
Let me beseech thee that thou wilt suspence
Thy then just anger, and remit th'offence
Of such a wretched Caitiffe, who must still
Live fraught with sorrow and heart-killing ill.
Moreover Sir, sith that thou do'st intend,
This day being past, to hasten to the end
Of thy set journey, beare still in thy minde
How thou hast pawn'd thy faith, and left behind
A serious promise, justly to relate
To courteous Ladies my most wretched state.
Thus vertuous Ladies, our sad loving Knight
His sad misfortunes did unto me recite,
And eke discover'd all such accidents,
Dispaires, mischances, woes, and discontents
As e're he suffer'd; now if I have prov'd
As tedious to yee, as I left him mov'd
With anxious passions, giving entertaine
To his heart-tort'ring martyrdome and paine:
Yet if you please (rare ones) yee may dispence
With your distasts, and pardon my offence;
For I assure yee honourd Ladies, this
Which I have done, (although perhaps amisse)
Hath onely beene t'obey and satisfie
His sad requests and importunity:
As also to discharge my promise, and
Acquit my faith, which did engaged stand,
Not to offend your eares, or else presume
Your patiences with words to importune.
Also I doe repose and eke confide
So great a trust and confidence beside
On your good natures, that you will connive
At my mistakes, & with your goodnes strive
For to supply my want and my default,
Not once observing my ill-ordred talke:
But the desire which I have, to show
The service which unto your Sexe I owe:
For it hath beene the sole efficient cause,
By which (Rare Ladies) I induced was,
Rather t'incurre the taxes of sharpe blame,
Than in the least respect to dismaintaine
Your more retyr'd Recreations, when
Yee shall repaire unto your Bookes, or Pen,
Cloy'd with excesse of farre more choise delight,
And pleasant pastime than I can recite:
Besides, I credit that yee are endew'd
With such bright-shining vertues, and infus'd
With so much goodnesse, yea, so richly drest
With gracious pitty harbour'd in your brest,
That the compassion which yee shall expresse
For the ill-usage and the wretchednesse
Of our sad Lover, may perhaps invade
Your gentle bosomes, and in fine perswade
Your gracious selves t'accept then in good part
This the rehearsall of his anxious smarts,
Which I have publish'd, being (Dames) confin'd
Thereto by his command which did me bind,
And eke incite yee to requite my paines
With thanks, for why I seeke no other gaines.
Likewise (yee best of women) that you'l daigne
To second him, so to with-stand his paine,
Assisting him, thereby to undergoe
The weighty burden of his grievous woe,
Taxing th'unkindnesse of this new-made Nun,
The cruell Authresse of his Martyrdome;
Who through her desp'ratenes hath caus'd our Knight
Who most intirely lov'd her, to delight
In the acquaintance of ill-look't dispaire,
And fellowship of heart-lamenting care;
So that he hath retird, himselfe confin'd
Vnto a place cohering with his mind;
Alone sequester'd, most recluse, where he
Dayly expects heart-easing Death to free
Him from his passions which torment his heart
With endlesse tortures, and unheard of smart.
Now if's strange chance have not sufficient force
T'infuse some pitty, or some sad remorse
Within your bosomes, yet he doth intreate
(Yee all by me) to harbour this conceite,
That he doth rather cherish and maintaine
His immense torments and extreamest paine,
Since faire Lucenda therein doth delight;
Than for to live in the most happiest plight.
That ever any mortall man possest,
Since she deny'd him this true happinesse.
But yet he hopes through processe of fleet time,
Or through her vertues which most brightly shine,
That shee'l forget the too fond foolish love
Of her dead Husband, and at length remove
All thought of him, and in the end confesse
That she hath wrong'd me with her churlishnesse.
Now if this happy turne shall chance to fall,
Ere Destiny for his faint breath shall call,
He will remaine content; or if it come
When he possesses his time-lasting home,
His spirit will rejoyce, his joynt-falne bones
Repose more softer, though inhum'd 'mongst stones:
Thus you may see the hope with which I left
The mournfull Knight, of joy quite bereft:
And eke the end of his discourse, the which
Although it be not copiously enrich't
With sweet-tun'd words, or high Cothurnick straines.
Compos'd by Rethorick, or inventions paines,
Yet pray accept it; it may serve for want
Of better matter, (which I know's not scant)
To entertaine your Suitors, when they be
Familiar in your honour'd company:
Vnto whose vertues and your famous graces
Adorn'd I hope with more than common faces,
My selfe and service I doe recommend,
And vow to be your Servant till my end.