The History Of the Most Vile Dimagoras Who by Treachery and Poison blasted the incomparable Beauty of Divine Parthenia: Inter-woven with the History of Amoronzo and Celania. By John Quarles |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | The History Of the Most Vile Dimagoras |  |
Most splendent Stars, says he,
Your Beauties give my tongue the Liberty
To call you excellent, I must confess
I want a flood of language to express
Those innate virtues which do truly rest
Discovered by each eye, in every brest;
Therefore my admiration shall supply
My tongues defect: My Lord, you soar too high
In your hyperboles, reply'd the fair.
And virtuous Ladies, neither do we care
To hear such vain Encomiums; and we can
Presume to slight the flateries of man;
(Dimagoras being charm'd, he only took
(Though not to speak) the priviledge to look,
And gaze about him; but at last he spy'd
Parthenias Picture, which he sadly ey'd,
And blusht at every look, his eyes exprest
A world of passion warring in his brest,
Which grave Kalander seeing, soon addrest
Himself unto him, whilst he thus exprest
Your tell-tale looks (my honoured Lord) declare
That you are struck with death, and that you are
Now drawing on, 'tis therefore good to be
My Lord, prepar'd for such a certaintie,
Death is a speedy change, were his conclusion
Like his exordium, what a strange confusion
Would fall upon us; but our finite pains
Are crown'd at last, with everlasting gains;
But since 'tis so, that death begins t'appear
Upon your Stage of life, My Lord, draw near
Unto your self, for you will find that death
(Whose entrance gives an exit to your breath)
Will prove a rugged, an intrusive guest;
When he's in earnest, 'tis in vain to jest;
Therefore, My Lord, since time will not permit
Further conveniency, if you think fit
To make my brest the office of your will,
I will be just, my Lord, pray stand not still,
It is a busie time: These words being spoke
With serious gravity, had almost broke
Dimagoras his heart, yet after he
(Consulting with himself) did plainly see
There was no signs of death, although his heart
Indeed was wounded with a sudden dart
Shot from Parthenias image; he reply'd,
And said, my Lord, those sorrows which abide,
And riot in me, are no signs of death,
But the disturbers of my feeble breath;
However, for your good advice, I do
Return those thanks which reason says is due;
But as for death, my Lord, were it as near
As you suppose, ide neither start, nor fear,
For death is but a period to our strife,
A noble passage to a better life;
But I perceive, my Lord, nature does make
It usual for the wisest to mistake;
To which, well pleas'd Kalander, smiling said,
My Lord, you are mistaken, and have made
A false construction of my Text, 'tis true,
I must confess, I said, I thought that you
Were struck with death, which if it be deny'd,
I'le undergo your censure, and abide
The merit of my crime; to which intent
I will expatiate my self, and vent
The reason of my speech. I did discry
When I observ'd, my Lord, your greedy eye
Survey Parthenias Image, that your blood
Retreated to your heart, and frightned stood
A distance from your cheeks, by which I know
This Image was that death which wrought your woe;
And be assur'd this Image never yet
Was view'd by any, but they would forget
Their present reason, and would seem to be
In love with that they could but only see:
But if a silent, empty shadow, can
Make such impressions on the heart of man;
What would the substance do? Oh this was she
Whose latter days were fill'd with miserie;
Yet in the flowr of age, she was the flowr
Of all her Sex, nor was it in the power
Of Nature to do more; she must excell
That liv'd, and dy'd without a Parralel;
This, this was she, that both in life and death,
Left an example to succeeding breath;
This is that fair Parthenia, whose glory,
Encreast into an everlasting story;
This, this was she whose Tragi comick age
Begun with pleasure to conclude in rage:
Walk further on, My Lord, and you shall see
Her cloathed in her Robes of miserie;
But I must crave excuse, because indeed
The emblems of her suff'rings far exceed
The valour of my patience; And, my Lord,
The Laws of consanguinity afford
A reason for my absence; yet if I
Intreat these Noble Ladies to supply,
And execute my place; I hope 'twill be
Sufficient warrant for my libertie;
And so, my Lord, I'le leave you to behold
The saddest story ever yet was told;
And so they parted. Now Dimagoras grows
Conscious unto himself, because he knows,
Or at the least suspects, and fears th' event
Would prove injurious; so away they went:
At last being brought into a stately place
Furnisht with Pictures, where each lovely face,
Did seem, as 'twere, ambitiously to strive
In silent terms to plead themselves alive;
But walking further, they did soon discover
Abus'd Parthenia, and her raging Lover,
Her noble Argalus, whose very look
Exprest so much of terror, that it struck
Dimagoras to the heart; for when his eye
(Although unwilling) saw Parthenia lye
Rackt on a bed of horror; he began,
Oh miserable Lady, wrethed man!
What fury hatch'd this mischief? and displac'd
The Pride of nature; she that once embrac'd
Perfection in her Beauty, now does lye
Perfect in nothing but deformity;
Alas, alas; And is it even so?
Or is't the Painters Tyranny, to show
His cruel skill? Oh most untimely art,
See how death lodges in each senseless part;
I must be gone, or else my heart will break,
I dare not stay for fear her wrongs should speak:
My Lord, you being unconcern'd, may stay,
Reply'd the Ladies, or else pass this way,
Where shall be represented to your sight
An object of less horror, more delight;
Away they went; Dimagoras all the while
Check'd his own thoughts, forgeting not how vile
He had been to Parthenia; but at last
Comming into a Room being over-cast,
And rooft with horror, where his gashly eye
Observ'd Parthenia, and himself stand by,
Drawn to the life; at which displeasing sight,
His heart grew cold, his thoughts were turn'd to night,
And lowring with revenge, his tongue let fall
A showr of words, he spake unto them all,
To this effect:
Your Beauties give my tongue the Liberty
148
I want a flood of language to express
Those innate virtues which do truly rest
Discovered by each eye, in every brest;
Therefore my admiration shall supply
My tongues defect: My Lord, you soar too high
In your hyperboles, reply'd the fair.
And virtuous Ladies, neither do we care
To hear such vain Encomiums; and we can
Presume to slight the flateries of man;
(Dimagoras being charm'd, he only took
(Though not to speak) the priviledge to look,
And gaze about him; but at last he spy'd
Parthenias Picture, which he sadly ey'd,
And blusht at every look, his eyes exprest
A world of passion warring in his brest,
Which grave Kalander seeing, soon addrest
Himself unto him, whilst he thus exprest
Your tell-tale looks (my honoured Lord) declare
That you are struck with death, and that you are
Now drawing on, 'tis therefore good to be
My Lord, prepar'd for such a certaintie,
Death is a speedy change, were his conclusion
Like his exordium, what a strange confusion
Would fall upon us; but our finite pains
Are crown'd at last, with everlasting gains;
149
Upon your Stage of life, My Lord, draw near
Unto your self, for you will find that death
(Whose entrance gives an exit to your breath)
Will prove a rugged, an intrusive guest;
When he's in earnest, 'tis in vain to jest;
Therefore, My Lord, since time will not permit
Further conveniency, if you think fit
To make my brest the office of your will,
I will be just, my Lord, pray stand not still,
It is a busie time: These words being spoke
With serious gravity, had almost broke
Dimagoras his heart, yet after he
(Consulting with himself) did plainly see
There was no signs of death, although his heart
Indeed was wounded with a sudden dart
Shot from Parthenias image; he reply'd,
And said, my Lord, those sorrows which abide,
And riot in me, are no signs of death,
But the disturbers of my feeble breath;
However, for your good advice, I do
Return those thanks which reason says is due;
But as for death, my Lord, were it as near
As you suppose, ide neither start, nor fear,
For death is but a period to our strife,
A noble passage to a better life;
150
It usual for the wisest to mistake;
To which, well pleas'd Kalander, smiling said,
My Lord, you are mistaken, and have made
A false construction of my Text, 'tis true,
I must confess, I said, I thought that you
Were struck with death, which if it be deny'd,
I'le undergo your censure, and abide
The merit of my crime; to which intent
I will expatiate my self, and vent
The reason of my speech. I did discry
When I observ'd, my Lord, your greedy eye
Survey Parthenias Image, that your blood
Retreated to your heart, and frightned stood
A distance from your cheeks, by which I know
This Image was that death which wrought your woe;
And be assur'd this Image never yet
Was view'd by any, but they would forget
Their present reason, and would seem to be
In love with that they could but only see:
But if a silent, empty shadow, can
Make such impressions on the heart of man;
What would the substance do? Oh this was she
Whose latter days were fill'd with miserie;
Yet in the flowr of age, she was the flowr
Of all her Sex, nor was it in the power
131
That liv'd, and dy'd without a Parralel;
This, this was she, that both in life and death,
Left an example to succeeding breath;
This is that fair Parthenia, whose glory,
Encreast into an everlasting story;
This, this was she whose Tragi comick age
Begun with pleasure to conclude in rage:
Walk further on, My Lord, and you shall see
Her cloathed in her Robes of miserie;
But I must crave excuse, because indeed
The emblems of her suff'rings far exceed
The valour of my patience; And, my Lord,
The Laws of consanguinity afford
A reason for my absence; yet if I
Intreat these Noble Ladies to supply,
And execute my place; I hope 'twill be
Sufficient warrant for my libertie;
And so, my Lord, I'le leave you to behold
The saddest story ever yet was told;
And so they parted. Now Dimagoras grows
Conscious unto himself, because he knows,
Or at the least suspects, and fears th' event
Would prove injurious; so away they went:
At last being brought into a stately place
Furnisht with Pictures, where each lovely face,
152
In silent terms to plead themselves alive;
But walking further, they did soon discover
Abus'd Parthenia, and her raging Lover,
Her noble Argalus, whose very look
Exprest so much of terror, that it struck
Dimagoras to the heart; for when his eye
(Although unwilling) saw Parthenia lye
Rackt on a bed of horror; he began,
Oh miserable Lady, wrethed man!
What fury hatch'd this mischief? and displac'd
The Pride of nature; she that once embrac'd
Perfection in her Beauty, now does lye
Perfect in nothing but deformity;
Alas, alas; And is it even so?
Or is't the Painters Tyranny, to show
His cruel skill? Oh most untimely art,
See how death lodges in each senseless part;
I must be gone, or else my heart will break,
I dare not stay for fear her wrongs should speak:
My Lord, you being unconcern'd, may stay,
Reply'd the Ladies, or else pass this way,
Where shall be represented to your sight
An object of less horror, more delight;
Away they went; Dimagoras all the while
Check'd his own thoughts, forgeting not how vile
153
Comming into a Room being over-cast,
And rooft with horror, where his gashly eye
Observ'd Parthenia, and himself stand by,
Drawn to the life; at which displeasing sight,
His heart grew cold, his thoughts were turn'd to night,
And lowring with revenge, his tongue let fall
A showr of words, he spake unto them all,
To this effect:
Ladies, says he, this dismal place retains
More shapes of horror then deserves our pains
In staying in it, and our quick recess
Would make our joys be more, our griefs be less,
Therefore be pleas'd to let us now retire,
And learn to pity what we now admire;
For now, alas she's dead, let's therefore strive
T' express our griefs that once she was alive
T' indure such misery; 'tis always known
Extreams are changeable, and seldome own
An hour of certainty; for she whose heart
Boasted it self above the power of art,
Or fate to make her happier, was quite
Bereav'd of all; her day being turn'd to night:
More shapes of horror then deserves our pains
In staying in it, and our quick recess
Would make our joys be more, our griefs be less,
Therefore be pleas'd to let us now retire,
And learn to pity what we now admire;
For now, alas she's dead, let's therefore strive
T' express our griefs that once she was alive
T' indure such misery; 'tis always known
Extreams are changeable, and seldome own
An hour of certainty; for she whose heart
Boasted it self above the power of art,
Or fate to make her happier, was quite
Bereav'd of all; her day being turn'd to night:
Even as a stately Fabrick, which but now
We see insulting with a lofty brow
Over the lesser, which would seem as fair,
And much admired if that were not there;
But if a tempest comes, it fails, and why?
Things most in danger, often stand most high;
Even so the fair Parthenia, which indeed
(I hope I speak offenceless) did exceed
Her Sex in beauty, and had so much store
Of pleasure, that her heart could wish no more;
Her joys were sum'd in Argalus, and he
Compris'd in her, and yet we sadly see
Fates sudden change; her beauty soon was thrown
And blasted into ruine, she could own
Nothing but woe: Since thus it was decreed,
Oh blame not him so much that did the deed;
Not blame him, cry'd the Ladies, may he never
See happy minute, but be curs'd for ever,
May plagues, and growing horror dwell about
His cursed heart, and keep all comfort out;
May all his meat turn scorpions, and his drink
Prove fiery-flames; and let all them that think
Upon his cursed name, cry out, and say,
Most vile Dimagoras, wrong'd Parthenia:
Draw near, my Lord, said they, behold, and see
This treacherous Monster, whose grand Tyranny
Exceeds, almost beleif, behold each part,
How they proclaim the treason of his heart:
Behold his dangling locks, which now appears
Like Serpents circling round about his ears;
Observe his megre looks, his hollow eyes,
The silent Heraulds of his tyrannies;
See how his griping hands tares off the fair
And bounteous treasure of her flaxen hair;
See how his fury labours to dispence
His rage upon her youthful innocence;
See how he makes her tender Limbs adore
By sad compulsion, the, now happy floor;
Happy, because Parthenia Oh sad fate!
Did there bewail her miserable state;
Happy, because it keeps, and sadly bears
A Monument of her defused tears;
Alas how poor are all the Indian Mines
Compar'd to this, to this, which far out shines
A Contenent of Rubies, for there lies
Th' unvalued treasure of Parthenias eyes;
I mean, her tears, her tears, that truly woe
And begg for pity from her cruel foe,
That most accurst Dimagoras, that stands
Darkening the Sun with his prodigious hands;
See how he clouds her beauty with the veil
Of horrid poison; Nothing can prevail
To stop his fury, which resolves to run,
And spend it self until the dreggs are done;
Observe, my Lord, would not her looks prevent
A petty fury in a bad intent;
But this grand Pluto, who resolves to show
The abstract of his malice, and o're throw
The Idol of the world, does make her cryes,
Her groans, her tears, her sighs; his melodies:
And thus, my Lord, because I sadly see
You seem to sympathize in miserie,
With poor Parthenia, I will turn the stream
Of my discourse, and chuse another Theam:
It only now remains to let you know
The punishments of her unequall'd foe
The vile Dimagoras, which if you, my Lord,
Will please to walk a little, and afford
A willing ear) I shall in short relate,
And let you know the changes of his fate.
We see insulting with a lofty brow
154
And much admired if that were not there;
But if a tempest comes, it fails, and why?
Things most in danger, often stand most high;
Even so the fair Parthenia, which indeed
(I hope I speak offenceless) did exceed
Her Sex in beauty, and had so much store
Of pleasure, that her heart could wish no more;
Her joys were sum'd in Argalus, and he
Compris'd in her, and yet we sadly see
Fates sudden change; her beauty soon was thrown
And blasted into ruine, she could own
Nothing but woe: Since thus it was decreed,
Oh blame not him so much that did the deed;
Not blame him, cry'd the Ladies, may he never
See happy minute, but be curs'd for ever,
May plagues, and growing horror dwell about
His cursed heart, and keep all comfort out;
May all his meat turn scorpions, and his drink
Prove fiery-flames; and let all them that think
Upon his cursed name, cry out, and say,
Most vile Dimagoras, wrong'd Parthenia:
Draw near, my Lord, said they, behold, and see
This treacherous Monster, whose grand Tyranny
Exceeds, almost beleif, behold each part,
How they proclaim the treason of his heart:
155
Like Serpents circling round about his ears;
Observe his megre looks, his hollow eyes,
The silent Heraulds of his tyrannies;
See how his griping hands tares off the fair
And bounteous treasure of her flaxen hair;
See how his fury labours to dispence
His rage upon her youthful innocence;
See how he makes her tender Limbs adore
By sad compulsion, the, now happy floor;
Happy, because Parthenia Oh sad fate!
Did there bewail her miserable state;
Happy, because it keeps, and sadly bears
A Monument of her defused tears;
Alas how poor are all the Indian Mines
Compar'd to this, to this, which far out shines
A Contenent of Rubies, for there lies
Th' unvalued treasure of Parthenias eyes;
I mean, her tears, her tears, that truly woe
And begg for pity from her cruel foe,
That most accurst Dimagoras, that stands
Darkening the Sun with his prodigious hands;
See how he clouds her beauty with the veil
Of horrid poison; Nothing can prevail
To stop his fury, which resolves to run,
And spend it self until the dreggs are done;
156
A petty fury in a bad intent;
But this grand Pluto, who resolves to show
The abstract of his malice, and o're throw
The Idol of the world, does make her cryes,
Her groans, her tears, her sighs; his melodies:
And thus, my Lord, because I sadly see
You seem to sympathize in miserie,
With poor Parthenia, I will turn the stream
Of my discourse, and chuse another Theam:
It only now remains to let you know
The punishments of her unequall'd foe
The vile Dimagoras, which if you, my Lord,
Will please to walk a little, and afford
A willing ear) I shall in short relate,
And let you know the changes of his fate.
It so fell out, that after this most vile,
And perjur'd wretch, had triumph'd o're the spoil
Of poor Parthenia's beauty, that he fled
(Firmly supposing he had murthered
Her body with her beauty) from that place
Into a wood, where he a little space
Pamper'd his soul with the delightful dyet
Of full revenge; Thus in a calm of quiet
He floated for a minute; but at last
His wounds being chil'd with the impetuous blast
Of sharp dispair, his conscience, which before
Did hardly grumble, then began to roar;
Fear (which indeed does evermore controle
Within the confines of a guilty soul)
Did now begin to riot in each part,
And play the Devil in his treacherous heart:
My Lord, pray mind this story, for indeed
It justly claims the priv'ledge to exceed
All stories of this nature ------
------ Madam, said
Dimagoras, if I humbly might perswade,
And woe you to a silence, I should stand
Ever obliged to your strict command;
For at the present my distracted mind
Is rackt with thoughts, and will not be confin'd
To any thing that's serious; For of late
I have been dogg'd with an unlucky fate;
Beleive me Madam, I can hardly own
A minutes rest; The story is best known
Unto my self; It burns within my brest,
And perjur'd wretch, had triumph'd o're the spoil
Of poor Parthenia's beauty, that he fled
(Firmly supposing he had murthered
Her body with her beauty) from that place
Into a wood, where he a little space
Pamper'd his soul with the delightful dyet
Of full revenge; Thus in a calm of quiet
He floated for a minute; but at last
His wounds being chil'd with the impetuous blast
157
Did hardly grumble, then began to roar;
Fear (which indeed does evermore controle
Within the confines of a guilty soul)
Did now begin to riot in each part,
And play the Devil in his treacherous heart:
My Lord, pray mind this story, for indeed
It justly claims the priv'ledge to exceed
All stories of this nature ------
------ Madam, said
Dimagoras, if I humbly might perswade,
And woe you to a silence, I should stand
Ever obliged to your strict command;
For at the present my distracted mind
Is rackt with thoughts, and will not be confin'd
To any thing that's serious; For of late
I have been dogg'd with an unlucky fate;
Beleive me Madam, I can hardly own
A minutes rest; The story is best known
Unto my self; It burns within my brest,
Those griefs are greatest which are least exprest.
Madam divert your thoughts, me thinks I see
A Cloud, which darkens our felicitie,
I mean, your Window, which does even woe
My hand to open it, that I might know
What pleasures are without; Excuse, that I
Madam, am bold, to satisfie my eye;
With that away he went, and having set
The window open, he begun to let
His eye survey each rariety; but he
(The more he saw, the more desir'd to see)
At last espy'd the Pilgrim, in whose eye
He read the Characters of gravity;
The serious Pilgrim often times would shed
A tear or two, then sigh, and shake his head;
He whisper'd to himself, and seem'd afraid
Himself, should hear himself, but what he said
Dimagoras could not hear, because indeed
Those Ladies that were with him did proceed
In their discourse, which very much opprest
His troubled mind; but what they then exprest
I will not now relate, for time invites,
And calls us unto new, though sad delights;
But yet I hope my Reader will suppose
Th' effect of their discourse; for he that knows
Dimagoras is their subject, well may guess
Th' event, and save me labour to express.
—. It so fell out, when the declining Sun
Declar'd unto the world, that he had run
Th' extreamest of his labour, for that day
That sad Celania chanc'd to pass that way
Where the deep thoughted Pilgrim sate, who minded
Nothing but his own mind, and being blinded
With contemplation, did not then discover
The near approach of this distressed Lover;
But like a sluggard, who is loath to rise
Until the Sun intrench upon his eyes:
Even so the Pilgrim, when Celania glanc'd
Before his eyes; rous'd up, and soon advanc'd
His drooping head; but this amazed sight
Could nor endure th' approach of so much light;
Which she perceiving, suddenly did shrowd
Her beauty underneath a Cypress cloud;
Which when the Pilgrim saw, he soon addrest
Himself unto her, and his thoughts exprest
To this effect ------
Madam divert your thoughts, me thinks I see
A Cloud, which darkens our felicitie,
I mean, your Window, which does even woe
My hand to open it, that I might know
158
Madam, am bold, to satisfie my eye;
With that away he went, and having set
The window open, he begun to let
His eye survey each rariety; but he
(The more he saw, the more desir'd to see)
At last espy'd the Pilgrim, in whose eye
He read the Characters of gravity;
The serious Pilgrim often times would shed
A tear or two, then sigh, and shake his head;
He whisper'd to himself, and seem'd afraid
Himself, should hear himself, but what he said
Dimagoras could not hear, because indeed
Those Ladies that were with him did proceed
In their discourse, which very much opprest
His troubled mind; but what they then exprest
I will not now relate, for time invites,
And calls us unto new, though sad delights;
But yet I hope my Reader will suppose
Th' effect of their discourse; for he that knows
Dimagoras is their subject, well may guess
Th' event, and save me labour to express.
—. It so fell out, when the declining Sun
Declar'd unto the world, that he had run
Th' extreamest of his labour, for that day
That sad Celania chanc'd to pass that way
159
Nothing but his own mind, and being blinded
With contemplation, did not then discover
The near approach of this distressed Lover;
But like a sluggard, who is loath to rise
Until the Sun intrench upon his eyes:
Even so the Pilgrim, when Celania glanc'd
Before his eyes; rous'd up, and soon advanc'd
His drooping head; but this amazed sight
Could nor endure th' approach of so much light;
Which she perceiving, suddenly did shrowd
Her beauty underneath a Cypress cloud;
Which when the Pilgrim saw, he soon addrest
Himself unto her, and his thoughts exprest
To this effect ------
Most pensive Virgin, if my serious thoughts
Hath made me guilty of too many faults
In this my bold attempt, which may indeed
Justly assure you that it did proceed
From your own promise, which I claim as due;
Then pardon him who lives to honour you:
And since I see your virtues have enclin'd
(If I mistake not) your perplexed mind
To the performance of your promise made
To me, after your sorrows had betray'd,
And brought you to my sight, I crave to know
The reason of your grief; Madam, bestow
Your confidence upon me; for I vow
By these my sacred Weeds, that I will bow
My whole endeavours, to procure your peace,
Though by my own disquiet; therefore cease
Those bashful tears which I perceive distill
Out of the Limbick of your tim'rous will;
Beleive me then, each word that shall depart
Out of your lips, shall drop into my heart,
Which now lies open, with a full intent
To take them in when you shall give them vent;
Therefore uncaptivate those thoughts, which lye
Struggling within your brest for liberty:
To which Celania, after she had made
A short, though seeming pause, lookt up, and said:
Hath made me guilty of too many faults
In this my bold attempt, which may indeed
Justly assure you that it did proceed
From your own promise, which I claim as due;
Then pardon him who lives to honour you:
And since I see your virtues have enclin'd
(If I mistake not) your perplexed mind
To the performance of your promise made
To me, after your sorrows had betray'd,
160
The reason of your grief; Madam, bestow
Your confidence upon me; for I vow
By these my sacred Weeds, that I will bow
My whole endeavours, to procure your peace,
Though by my own disquiet; therefore cease
Those bashful tears which I perceive distill
Out of the Limbick of your tim'rous will;
Beleive me then, each word that shall depart
Out of your lips, shall drop into my heart,
Which now lies open, with a full intent
To take them in when you shall give them vent;
Therefore uncaptivate those thoughts, which lye
Struggling within your brest for liberty:
To which Celania, after she had made
A short, though seeming pause, lookt up, and said:
Grave Sir, since thus your Oratorious skill,
Hath made me yeild to your inviting will;
I shall in short, though sadly, thus relate
The grandure of my miserable state,
By which relation, I shall boldly thrust
(With an assurance that you will be just)
My life into your hands: May, Heaven, reply'd
(The Pilgrim) strike me dumb, when I divide
Your secrets from my heart; I will forbear
To tell them to my self, for fear the air,
Being infected with an envious spight,
Should bring your secrets to untimely light;
Therefore with confidence proceed to show,
And tell the reason of your lavish woe;
At which Celania (all her joys being fled)
Contemning life, because her life was dead,
(I mean her Amoronzo) did express
Her self as follows
Hath made me yeild to your inviting will;
I shall in short, though sadly, thus relate
The grandure of my miserable state,
By which relation, I shall boldly thrust
(With an assurance that you will be just)
My life into your hands: May, Heaven, reply'd
(The Pilgrim) strike me dumb, when I divide
Your secrets from my heart; I will forbear
To tell them to my self, for fear the air,
161
Should bring your secrets to untimely light;
Therefore with confidence proceed to show,
And tell the reason of your lavish woe;
At which Celania (all her joys being fled)
Contemning life, because her life was dead,
(I mean her Amoronzo) did express
Her self as follows
Know (grave Sir) this dress
You see me in, is but a sad disguise
To change my person, not my miseries:
I had a Father, whose indulgent care,
And carefull indulgency did not spare
For cost to educate me to the best
Advantage of the times: I made request
Upon a time unto him, that I might
(Being of years sufficient) take delight
In what I had acquir'd, and forthwith show
My self at Court; Ah there began my woe!
But to proceed, My Father to fulfill
The wilfull humour of my eager will
Perpending not the danger might arise
(Parents affections often wanting eyes)
From my request, did forthwith give consent
For my departure, So away I went,
Where being come, I forthwith did apply
My self unto the choicest company;
My Birth and Fortune was at last declar'd
Unto the Court, then every one prepar'd
To do me homage; for indeed, the Court
(That grand Idolater) did soon report,
And Idolize my worth, which made me look
Above my self, I presently forsook
That glorious thing call'd Virtue, and became
(Having lost the honour of a virtuous Name)
A perfect Courtier, and I soon forgot
How to be good, because I us'd it not;
And to speak truth, the Court will scarce allow,
Or give acceptance to a modest brow;
They that come there, must forthwith dis-ingage
Themselves of virtue, learn to court the rage
Of every humour; Courtiers, all men know,
Like Butter-flyes, are only good in show;
Yet I'le not blame them all, because I've seen
Bees amongst flyes, The Lawrel will be green
In spight of frost, yet every one supposes
A Wilderness yeilds Nettles more then Roses,
And they that live a perfect Courtiers life
As I have done, change true content, for strife;
Virtue at Court is like a blazing Star
Gaz'd at for wonder—But I run too far
In this discourse, I therefore will return
Unto my self (who although green) did burn
In flames of Love, not doubting but to find
A sweet refreshment for my tortur'd mind;
But all in vain, for my distracted brest
(Being subject unto every thing, but rest)
Was so tormented, that I was enforc'd
To vent my thoughts, And thus in short discourst
With my own thoughts: Cindana, why dost thou
(For that's my name) thus play the fool, and bow
To every passion? tell me, canst thou show
A reason for thy love? dost thou not know
Extreams are dangerous; Ah cruel he
That flatter'd me into this miserie;
Ah Theophrastus! how hast thou betrayd—
But here the current of her speech was stayd
By an approaching Lady, who desir'd
Some secrecy; the Pilgrim soon retyr'd,
And gave them opportunity; but he
Began to muse, and wonder what would be
The sequel of her Story, whilst indeed
She was, her self, unwilling to proceed;
So being glad of this advantage, took
Her leave, and so immediately forsook
The Garden, telling him withal, that she
(Having begun t' unfold her miserie
Unto his ears) would take another day,
To perfect what she then begun to say,
Away she went. The Pilgrims heart affords
Nothing but wonder; her promiscuous words
Torment his soul, because he could not find
(Although he labour'd with a serious mind)
The aim of her discourse; he therefore broke
His silence into language, and thus spoke
Unto himself: What, are my senses grown
So dull, so stupid, that they cannot own
So much as common reason? sure my brain
Is very empty, or her words are vain;
The time has been when I could understand
Cloudy Enigma's, when I could command
The knottiest intricacies to appear
Before my apprehension, plain, and clear;
But to be baffl'd by a womans wit
Is more then peevish nature can forget;
Yet I must needs confess, and say I lye
Under a most ingenious tyranny;
But why was I so curious, as to know,
And hear the reason of her stubborn woe?
What have I gain'd, but wonder, doubt, & trouble?
Inquisitive hearts are still tormented double;
Her story was so clouded, that the eye
Of my dull sense, cannot at all discry,
Or guess the sequel: First she said, her life
Was wrapt up in each word, which made a strife
Within my thoughts, for fear that they should be
Born into words, and make discoverie
Of her disigns; well, may she never rest
Till I have heard, and she has spoke the rest;
And so farewell vain thoughts, my serious mind
Must aim at higher things, farewel, unkind
And cruel Virgin; I will now retire
Into my self, and never more enquire
After thy endless story, for indeed
I fear that thou wer't fearful to proceed,
Or, at the least, asham'd; The Court, I know
Receives the good, but seldom keeps them so;
But stay, my thoughts, me thinks I did espye
Something within the circuit of her eye
That I have seen before; Me thinks her face
Is radiated with a glorious grace;
But being mask'd with sorrow, she lies hid
From my remembrance, and I am forbid
To make enquiry, therefore I'le surcease
My present thoughts, and shrowd my self in peace;
And thus we'le leave them both, and now return
Unto Dimagoras, who begins to burn,
And flame with anger, every word they spoke
Batter'd his conscience, and had almost broke
His treacherous heart; The Ladies, did indeed
At that time all endeavour to exceed
Their usual passions, every one did throw
A dagger at him, and would oft bestow,
The name of Villain on him: Thus his ear
(Although unwilling) was enforc'd to hear
Himself revil'd, but yet he durst not show
His rage in words, for fear that they should know,
Or at the least, mistrust, that it was he,
That was the Authour of that villanie,
And they, as being willing still to add
To his beleif, would often wish they had
The Traytor there, that they might jointly take
Revenge in part, for wrong'd Parthenias sake.
You see me in, is but a sad disguise
To change my person, not my miseries:
I had a Father, whose indulgent care,
And carefull indulgency did not spare
For cost to educate me to the best
Advantage of the times: I made request
Upon a time unto him, that I might
(Being of years sufficient) take delight
In what I had acquir'd, and forthwith show
My self at Court; Ah there began my woe!
But to proceed, My Father to fulfill
The wilfull humour of my eager will
Perpending not the danger might arise
(Parents affections often wanting eyes)
From my request, did forthwith give consent
For my departure, So away I went,
162
My self unto the choicest company;
My Birth and Fortune was at last declar'd
Unto the Court, then every one prepar'd
To do me homage; for indeed, the Court
(That grand Idolater) did soon report,
And Idolize my worth, which made me look
Above my self, I presently forsook
That glorious thing call'd Virtue, and became
(Having lost the honour of a virtuous Name)
A perfect Courtier, and I soon forgot
How to be good, because I us'd it not;
And to speak truth, the Court will scarce allow,
Or give acceptance to a modest brow;
They that come there, must forthwith dis-ingage
Themselves of virtue, learn to court the rage
Of every humour; Courtiers, all men know,
Like Butter-flyes, are only good in show;
Yet I'le not blame them all, because I've seen
Bees amongst flyes, The Lawrel will be green
In spight of frost, yet every one supposes
A Wilderness yeilds Nettles more then Roses,
And they that live a perfect Courtiers life
As I have done, change true content, for strife;
Virtue at Court is like a blazing Star
Gaz'd at for wonder—But I run too far
163
Unto my self (who although green) did burn
In flames of Love, not doubting but to find
A sweet refreshment for my tortur'd mind;
But all in vain, for my distracted brest
(Being subject unto every thing, but rest)
Was so tormented, that I was enforc'd
To vent my thoughts, And thus in short discourst
With my own thoughts: Cindana, why dost thou
(For that's my name) thus play the fool, and bow
To every passion? tell me, canst thou show
A reason for thy love? dost thou not know
Extreams are dangerous; Ah cruel he
That flatter'd me into this miserie;
Ah Theophrastus! how hast thou betrayd—
But here the current of her speech was stayd
By an approaching Lady, who desir'd
Some secrecy; the Pilgrim soon retyr'd,
And gave them opportunity; but he
Began to muse, and wonder what would be
The sequel of her Story, whilst indeed
She was, her self, unwilling to proceed;
So being glad of this advantage, took
Her leave, and so immediately forsook
The Garden, telling him withal, that she
(Having begun t' unfold her miserie
164
To perfect what she then begun to say,
Away she went. The Pilgrims heart affords
Nothing but wonder; her promiscuous words
Torment his soul, because he could not find
(Although he labour'd with a serious mind)
The aim of her discourse; he therefore broke
His silence into language, and thus spoke
Unto himself: What, are my senses grown
So dull, so stupid, that they cannot own
So much as common reason? sure my brain
Is very empty, or her words are vain;
The time has been when I could understand
Cloudy Enigma's, when I could command
The knottiest intricacies to appear
Before my apprehension, plain, and clear;
But to be baffl'd by a womans wit
Is more then peevish nature can forget;
Yet I must needs confess, and say I lye
Under a most ingenious tyranny;
But why was I so curious, as to know,
And hear the reason of her stubborn woe?
What have I gain'd, but wonder, doubt, & trouble?
Inquisitive hearts are still tormented double;
Her story was so clouded, that the eye
Of my dull sense, cannot at all discry,
165
Was wrapt up in each word, which made a strife
Within my thoughts, for fear that they should be
Born into words, and make discoverie
Of her disigns; well, may she never rest
Till I have heard, and she has spoke the rest;
And so farewell vain thoughts, my serious mind
Must aim at higher things, farewel, unkind
And cruel Virgin; I will now retire
Into my self, and never more enquire
After thy endless story, for indeed
I fear that thou wer't fearful to proceed,
Or, at the least, asham'd; The Court, I know
Receives the good, but seldom keeps them so;
But stay, my thoughts, me thinks I did espye
Something within the circuit of her eye
That I have seen before; Me thinks her face
Is radiated with a glorious grace;
But being mask'd with sorrow, she lies hid
From my remembrance, and I am forbid
To make enquiry, therefore I'le surcease
My present thoughts, and shrowd my self in peace;
And thus we'le leave them both, and now return
Unto Dimagoras, who begins to burn,
And flame with anger, every word they spoke
Batter'd his conscience, and had almost broke
166
At that time all endeavour to exceed
Their usual passions, every one did throw
A dagger at him, and would oft bestow,
The name of Villain on him: Thus his ear
(Although unwilling) was enforc'd to hear
Himself revil'd, but yet he durst not show
His rage in words, for fear that they should know,
Or at the least, mistrust, that it was he,
That was the Authour of that villanie,
And they, as being willing still to add
To his beleif, would often wish they had
The Traytor there, that they might jointly take
Revenge in part, for wrong'd Parthenias sake.
Dimagoras being tyr'd, does now prepare
For his return, but scarcely could forbear
To shew his anger; Yet at last, he took
His solime leave, return'd his thanks, forsook
Kalanders house, being not a little proud
To think that he had pass'd so great a crowd
Of difficulties; He does now begin
To think what an unpardonable sin
He had committed, in respect he staid
So long from his Lutosa, who had made
A battery in his soul: But here 'tis best
To take th' advantage of a breathing rest;
Therefore (My Muse) retire, we must not play
Too much at first, but begg another day
From our more serious thoughts; till then, desire
The Reader to excuse thee, and retire.
For his return, but scarcely could forbear
To shew his anger; Yet at last, he took
His solime leave, return'd his thanks, forsook
Kalanders house, being not a little proud
To think that he had pass'd so great a crowd
Of difficulties; He does now begin
To think what an unpardonable sin
He had committed, in respect he staid
So long from his Lutosa, who had made
A battery in his soul: But here 'tis best
To take th' advantage of a breathing rest;
167
Too much at first, but begg another day
From our more serious thoughts; till then, desire
The Reader to excuse thee, and retire.
| The History Of the Most Vile Dimagoras | |