University of Virginia Library

The Fifth Song.

The Argvment.

Within this Song my Muse doth tell
The worthy fact of Philocel,
And how his Loue and he in thrall
To death depriu'd of Funerall
The Queene of Waues doth gladly saue,
And frees Marina from the Caue.
So soone as can a Martin from our Towne
Fly to the Riuer vnderneath the Down,
And backe returne with morter in her bill,
Some little cranny in her nest to fill,
The Shepherd came. And thus began anew:
Two houres alas, onely two houres are due
From time to him, t'is sentenc'd so of those
That here on earth as Destinies dispose
The liues and deaths of men; and that time past
He yeelds his iudgement leaue and breaths his last.
But to the cause. Great Goddesse, vnderstand
In Mona-Ile thrust from the Brittish land,
As (since it needed nought of others store)
It would intire be and a part no more,
There liu'd a Maid so faire, that for her sake
Since she was borne the Ile had neuer Snake,
Nor were it fit a deadly sting should be
To hazard such admired Symmetrie:
So many beauties so commixt in one,
That all delight were dead if she were gone.
Shepherds that in her cleare eyes did delight,
Whilst they were open neuer held it night:
And were they shut, although the morning gray
Call'd vp the Sun, they hardly thought it day.
Or if they call'd it so, they did not passe
Withall to say that it eclipsed was.
The Roses on her cheekes, such as each turne
Phœbus might kisse, but had no powre to burne.
From her sweet lips distill sweets sweeter doe,
Then from a Cherry halfe way cut in two:
Whose yeelding touch would, as Promethian fire,
Lumps truly senslesse with a Muse inspire;
Who praising her would youth's desire so stirre,
Each man in minde should be a rauisher.
Some say the nimble-witted Mercury
Went late disguis'd professing Palmistrie,
And Milk-maids fortunes told about the Land,
Onely to get a touch of her soft hand.
And that a Shepherd walking on the brim
Of a cleare streame where she did vse to swim,
Saw her by chance, and thinking she had beene
Of Chastitie the pure and fairest Queene,
Stole thence dismaid, lest he by her decree
Might vndergoe Acteons destinie.
Did youths kinde heat inflame me (but the snow
Vpon my head shewes it coold long agoe),
I then could giue (fitting so faire a feature)
Right to her fame, and fame to such a creature.
When now much like a man the Palsie shakes
And spectacles befriend, yet vndertakes
To limne a Lady, to whose red and white
Apelles curious hand would owe some right:
His too vnsteady Pencell shadowes here
Somewhat too much, and giues not ouer cleere;
His eye deceiu'd mingles his colours wrong,
There strikes too little, and here staies too long,
Does and vndoes, takes off, puts on (in vaine)
Now too much white, then too much red againe;
And thinking then to giue some speciall grace,
He workes it ill, or so mistakes the place,
That she which sits were better pay for nought,
Then haue it ended, and so lamely wrought.
So doe I in this weake description erre;
And striuing more to grace, more iniure her.
For euer where true worth for praise doth call,
He rightly nothing giues that giues not all.
But as a Lad who learning to diuide,
By one small misse the whole hath falsifide.
Cælia men call'd, and rightly call'd her so:
Whom Philocel (of all the Swaines I know
Most worthy) lou'd: alas! that loue should be
Subiect to fortunes mutabilitie!
What euer learned Bards to fore haue sung,
Or on the Plaines Shepherds and Maidens young,
Of sad mishaps in loue are set to tell,
Comes short to match the Fate of Philocel.
For as a Labourer toyling at a Bay
To force some cleere streame from his wonted way,
Working on this side sees the water run
Where he wrought last, and thought it firmely done;
And that leake stopt, heares it come breaking out
Another where, in a farre greater spout,
Which mended to, and with a turfe made trim,
The brooke is ready to o'reflow the brim:
Or in the banke the water hauing got,
Some Mole-hole, runs where he expected not:
And when all's done, still feares lest some great raine
Might bring a flood and throw all downe againe:
So in our Shepherds loue: one hazard gone,
Another still as bad was comming on.
This danger past, another doth begin,
And one mishap thrust out lets twenty in.
For he that loues, and in it hath no stay,
Limits his blisse seld' past the Marriage day.
But Philocels, alas, and Cælia's too
Must ne're attaine so farre as others doe.
Else Fortune in them from her course should swerue,
Who most afflicts those that most good deserue.
Twice had the glorious Sun run through the Signes,
And with his kindly heat improu'd the Mines,
(As such affirme with certaine hopes that try
The vaine and fruitlesse Art of Alchymie)
Since our Swaine lou'd: and twice had Phœbus bin
In horned Aries taking vp his Inne,
Ere he of Cælia's heart possession won;
And since that time all his intentions done
Nothing to bring her thence. All eyes vpon her
Watchfull, as Vertues are on truest Honour:
Kept on the Ile as carefully of some,
As by the Troians their Palladium.
But where's the Fortresse that can Loue debar?
The forces to oppose when he makes war?
The Watch which he shall neuer finde asleepe?
The Spye that shall disclose his counsels deepe?
That Fort, that Force, that Watch, that Spye would be
A lasting stop to a fifth Emperie.
But we as well may keepe the heat from fire
As seuer hearts whom loue hath made intire.
In louely May when Titans golden raies
Make ods in houres betweene the nights and daies,
And weigheth almost downe the once-euen Scale
Where night and day by th' Æquinoctiall
Were laid in ballance, as his powre he bent
To banish Cynthia from her Regiment,
To Latmus stately Hill, and with his light
To rule the vpper world both day and night:
Making the poore Antipodes to feare
A like coniunction 'twixt great Iupiter
And some Alc'mena new, or that the Sun
From their Horizon did obliquely run:
This time the Swaines and Maidens of the Ile
The day with sportiue dances doe beguile,
And euery Valley rings with shepherds songs,
And euery Eccho each sweet noat prolongs,
And euery Riuer with vnusuall pride
And dimpled cheeke rowles sleeping to the tide;
And lesser springs, which ayrie-breeding Woods
Preferre as hand-maids to the mighty floods,
Scarce fill vp halfe their channels, making haste
(In feare, as boyes) lest all the sport be past.
Now was the Lord and Lady of the May
Meeting the May-pole at the breake of day,
And Cælia, as the fairest on the Greene,
Not without some Maids enuy chosen Queene.
Now was the time com'n, when our gentle Swaine
Must inne his haruest or lose all againe.
Now must he plucke the Rose least other hands,
Or tempests, blemish what so fairely stands:
And therefore as they had before decreed,
Our shepherd gets a Boat, and with all speed
In night (that doth on Louers actions smile)
Arriued safe on Mona's fruitfull Ile.
Betweene two rocks (immortall, without mother)
That stand as if out-facing one another,
There ran a Creeke vp, intricate and blinde,
As if the waters hid them from the winde;
Which neuer wash'd but at a higher tyde
The frizled coats which doe the Mountaines hide;
Where neuer gale was longer knowne to stay
Then from the smooth waue it had swept away
The new diuorced leaues, that from each side
Left the thicke boughes to dance out with the tide.
At further end the Creeke, a stately Wood
Gaue a kinde shadow (to the brackish Flood)
Made vp of trees, not lesse kend by each skiffe
Then that sky-scaling Pike of Tenerife,
Vpon whose tops the Herneshew bred her young,
And hoary mosse vpon their branches hung:
Whose rugged rindes sufficient were to show
Without their height, what time they gan to grow.
And if dry eld by wrinckled skin appeares,
None could allot them lesse then Nestor's yeeres.
As vnder their command the thronged Creeke
Ran lessened vp. Here did the Shepherd seeke
Where he his little Boat might safely hide,
Till it was fraught with what the world beside
Could not outvalew; nor giue equall weight
Though in the time when Greece was at her height.
The ruddy Horses of the Rosie morne
Out of the Easterne gates had newly borne
Their blushing Mistresse in her golden Chaire,
Spreading new light throughout our Hemispheare.
When fairest Cælia with a louelier crew
Of Damsels then braue Latmus euer knew
Came forth to meet the Youngsters, who had here
Cut downe an Oake that long withouten peere
Bore his round head imperiously aboue
His other Mates there, consecrate to Ioue.
The wished time drew on: and Cælia now
(That had the same for her white arched brow)
While all her louely fellowes busied were
In picking off the Iems from Tellus haire,
Made tow'rds the Creeke, where Philocel vnspide,
(Of Maid or Shepherd that their May-games plide)
Receiu'd his wish'd-for Cælia, and begun
To steere his Boat contrary to the Sun,
Who could haue wish'd another in his place
To guide the Carre of light, or that his race
Were to haue end (so he might blesse his hap)
In Cælia's bosome, not in Thetis lap.
The Boat oft danc'd for ioy of what it held:
The hoist-vp Saile, not quicke but gently sweld,
And often shooke, as fearing what might fall,
Ere she deliuer'd what she went withall.
Winged

The Westerne winde. And supposed (with the Starres) the birth of Aurora by Astræa, as Apollodorus: Ηους δε και Αστραιον ανεμοι και αστρα.

Argestes, faire Aurora's sonne,
Licenc'd that day to leaue his Dungeon,
Meekly attended and did neuer erre,
Till Cælia grac'd our Land and our Land her.
As through the waues their loue-fraught Wherry ran,
A many Cupids, each set on his Swan,
Guided with reines of gold and siluer twist
The spotlesse Birds about them as they list:
Which would haue sung a Song (ere they were gone),
Had vnkinde Nature giuen them more then one;
Or in bestowing that had not done wrong,
And made their sweet liues forfeit one sad song.
Yet that their happy Voyage might not be
Without Times shortner, Heauen-taught Melodie
(Musicke that lent feet to the stable Woods,
And in their currents turn'd the mighty Floods:
Sorrowes sweet Nurse, yet keeping Ioy aliue:
Sad discontent's most welcome Corrasiue:
The soule of Art, best lou'd when Loue is by:
The kinde inspirer of sweet Poesie,
Lest thou should'st wanting be, when Swans would faine
Haue sung one Song, and neuer sung againe)
The gentle Shepherd hasting to the shore
Began this Lay, and tim'd it with his Oare:
Thus as a merry Milke-maid neat and fine,
Returning late from milking of her Kine,
Shortens the dew'd way which she treads along
With some selfe-pleasing-since-new-gotten Song,
The Shepherd did their passage well beguile.
And now the horned Flood bore to our Ile
His head more high then he had vs'd to doe,
Except by Cynthia's newnesse forced to.
Not Ianuaries snow dissolu'd in Floods
Makes Thamar more intrude on Blanchden Woods,
Nor the concourse of waters where they fleet
After a long Raine, and in Seuerne meet,
Rais'th her inraged head to root faire Plants,
Or more affright her nigh inhabitants,
(When they behold the waters rufully,
And saue the waters nothing else can see)
Then Neptune's subiect now, more then of yore:
As loth to set his burden soone on shore.
O Neptune! hadst thou kept them still with thee,
Though both were lost to vs and such as we,
And with those beautious birds which on thy brest
Get and bring vp, afforded them a rest,
Delos that long time wandring peece of earth
Had not beene fam'd more for Diana's birth,
Then those few planks that bore them on the Seas,
By the blest issue of two such as these.
But they were landed: so are not our woes,
Nor euer shall, whil'st from an eye there flowes
One drop of moisture; to these present times
We will relate, and some sad Shepherds rimes
To after ages may their Fates make knowne,
And in their depth of sorrow drowne his owne.
So our Relation and his mournfull Verse
Of teares shall force such tribute to their Herse,
That not a priuate griefe shall euer thriue
But in that deluge fall, yet this suruiue.
Two furlongs from the shore they had not gone,
When from a low-cast Valley (hauing on
Each hand a woody hill, whose boughes vnlopt
Haue not alone at all time sadly dropt,
And turn'd their stormes on her deiected brest,
But when the fire of heauen is ready prest
To warme and further what it should bring forth,
For lowly Dales mate Mountaines in their worth,
The Trees (as screenlike Greatnesse) shades his raye,
As it should shine on none but such as they)—
Came (and full sadly came) a haplesse Wretch,
Whose walkes & pastures once were known to stretch
From East to West so farre that no dike ran
For noted bounds, but where the Ocean
His wrathful billowes thrust, and grew as great
In sholes of fish as were the others Neat:
Who now deiected and depriu'd of all,
Longs (and hath done so long) for funerall.
For as with hanging head I haue beheld
A widow Vine stand in a naked field,
Vnhusbanded, neglected, all-forlorne,
Brouz'd on by Deere, by Cattle cropt and torne:
Vnpropt, vnsuccoured by stake or tree
From wreakfull stormes impetuous tyrannie,
When, had a willing hand lent kinde redresse,
Her pregnant bunches might from out the Presse
Haue sent a liquour both for taste and show
No lesse diuine then those of Malligo:
Such was this wight, and such she might haue beene.
She both th' extremes hath felt of Fortunes teene,
For neuer haue we heard from times of yore,
One sometime enuy'd and now pitti'd more.
Her obiect, as her state, is low as earth;
Priuation her companion; thoughts of mirth
Irkesome; and in one selfe-same circle turning,
With sodaine sports brought to a house of mourning.
Of others good her best beliefe is still
And constant to her owne in nought but ill.
The onely enemy and friend she knowes
Is Death who, though defers, must end her woes;
Her contemplation frightfull as the night;
She neuer lookes on any liuing wight
Without comparison; and as the day
Giues vs, but takes the Glowormes light away:
So the least ray of Blisse on others throwne
Depriues and blinds all knowledge of her owne.
Her comfort is (if for her any be)
That none can shew more cause of griefe then she.
Yet somewhat she of aduerse Fate hath won,
Who had vndone her were she not vndone.
For those that on the Sea of Greatnesse ride
Farre from the quiet shore, and where the tide
In ebbs and floods is ghess'd, not truly knowne;
Expert of all estates except their owne:
Keeping their station at the Helme of State
Not by their Vertues but auspicious Fate:
Subiect to calmes of fauour, stormes of rage,
Their actions noted as the common Stage:
Who, like a man borne blinde that cannot be
By demonstration shewne what 'tis to see,
Liue still in Ignorance of what they want,
Till Misery become the Adamant,
And touch them for that point, to which with speed
None comes so sure as by the hand of Need.
A Mirrour strange she in her right hand bore,
By which her friends from flatterers heretofore
She could distinguish well; and by her side
(As in her full of happinesse) vntide,
Vnforc'd and vncompell'd did sadly goe
(As if partaker of his Mistresse woe)
A louing Spaniell, from whose rugged backe
(The onely thing but death she moanes to lacke).
She plucks the haire, and working them in pleats
Furthers the suit which Modestie intreats.
Men call her Athliot: who cannot be
More wretched made by infelicitie,
Vnlesse she here had an immortall breath,
Or liuing thus, liu'd timorous of death.
Out of her lowly and forsaken dell
She running came, and cri'd to Philocel:
Helpe! helpe! kinde shepherd helpe! see yonder, where
A louely Lady hung vp by the haire,
Struggles, but mildly struggles with the Fates,
Whose thread of life, spun to a thread that mates
Dame Natures in her haire, staies them to wonder,
While too fine twisting makes it breake in sunder.
So shrinkes the Rose that with the flames doth meet;
So gently bowes the Virgin parchment sheet;
So rowle the waues vp and fall out againe,
As all her beautious parts, and all in vaine.
Farre, farre, aboue my helpe or hope in trying,
Vnknowne, and so more miserably dying,
Smothring her torments in her panting brest,
She meekly waits the time of her long rest.
Hasten! ô hasten then! kinde Shepherd, haste.
He went with her, And Cælia (that had grac'd
Him past the world besides) seeing the way
He had to goe, not farre, rests on the lay.
'Twas neere the place where Pans transformed Loue
Her guilded leaues displaid, and boldly stroue
For lustre with the Sun: a sacred tree
(Pal'd round) and kept from violation free:
Whose smallest spray rent off, we neuer prize
At lesse then life. Here, though her heauenly eyes
From him she lou'd could scarce afford a sight,
(As if for him they onely had their light)
Those kinde and brighter Stars were knowne to erre
And to all misery betrayed her.
For turning them aside, she (haplesse) spies
The holy Tree, and (as all nouelties
In tempting women haue small labour lost
Whether for value nought, or of more cost)
Led by the hand of vncontroll'd desire
She rose, and thither went. A wrested Bryre
Onely kept close the gate which led into it,
(Easie for any all times to vndoe it,
That with a pious hand hung on the tree
Garlands or raptures of sweet Poesie)
Which by her opened, with vnweeting hand
A little spray she pluckt, whose rich leaues fan'd
And chatter'd with the ayre, as who should say:
Doe not for once, ô doe not this bewray!
Nor giue sound to a tongue for that intent!
“Who ignorantly sinnes, dies innocent.”
By this was Philocel returning backe,
And in his hand the Lady; for whose wrack
Nature had cleane forsworne to frame a wight
So wholly pure, so truly exquisite:
But more deform'd and from a rough-hewne mold,
Since what is best liues seldome to be old.
Within their sight was fairest Cælia now;
Who drawing neere, the life-priz'd golden bough
Her Loue beheld. And as a Mother kinde
What time the new-cloath'd trees by gusts of winde
Vnmou'd, stand wistly listning to those layes
The feather'd Quiristers vpon their sprayes
Chaunt to the merry Spring, and in the Euen
She with her little sonne for pleasure giuen,
To tread the fring'd bankes of an amorous flood,
That with her musicke courts a sullen wood,
Where euer talking with her onely blisse
That now before and then behinde her is,
She stoopes for flowres the choisest may be had,
And bringing them to please her prittie Lad,
Spies in his hand some banefull flowre or weed,
Whereon he gins to smell, perhaps to feed,
With a more earnest haste she runs vnto him,
And puls that from him which might else vndoe him:
So to his Cælia hastned Philocel,
And raught the bough away: hid it: and fell
To question if she broke it, or if then
An eye beheld her? Of the race of men
(Replide she), when I tooke it from the tree
Assure your selfe was none to testifie,
But what hath past since in your hand, behold,
A fellow running yonder o're the Wold
Is well inform'd of. Can there (Loue) insue,
Tell me! oh tell me! any wrong to you
By what my hand hath ignorantly done?
(Quoth fearefull Cælia) Philocel! be won
By these vnfained teares, as I by thine,
To make thy greatest sorrowes partly mine!
Cleere vp these showres (my Sun), quoth Philocel,
The ground it needs not. Nought is so from Well
But that reward and kinde intreaties may
Make smooth the front of wrath, and this allay.
Thus wisely he supprest his height of woe,
And did resolue, since none but they did know
Truly who rent it: And the hatefull Swaine
That lately past by them vpon the Plaine
(Whom well he knew did beare to him a hate,
Though vndeserued, so inueterate
That to his vtmost powre he would assay
To make his life haue ended with that day)
Except in his had seene it in no hand,
That hee against all throes of Fate would stand,
Acknowledge it his deed, and so afford
A passage to his heart for Iustice sword,
Rather then by her losse the world should be
Despiz'd and scorn'd for losing such as she.
Now (with a vow of secrecy from both)
Inforcing mirth, he with them homewards go'th;
And by the time the shades of mighty woods
Began to turne them to the Easterne Floods,
They thither got: where with vndaunted heart
He welcomes both, and freely doth impart
Such dainties as a Shepherds cottage yeelds,
Tane from the fruitfull woods and fertile fields:
No way distracted nor disturb'd at all.
And to preuent what likely might befall
His truest Cælia, in his apprehending
Thus to all future care gaue finall ending:
Into their cup (wherein for such sweet Girles
Nature would Myriades of richest Pearles
Dissolue, and by her powrefull simples striue
To keepe them still on earth, and still aliue)
Our Swaine infus'd a powder which they dranke:
And to a pleasant roome (set on a banke
Neere to his Coat, where he did often vse
At vacant houres to entertaine his Muse)
Brought them and seated on a curious bed,
Till what he gaue in operation sped,
And rob'd them of his sight, and him of theirs,
Whose new inlightning will be quench'd with teares.
The Glasse of Time had well-nye spent the Sand
It had to run, ere with impartiall hand
Iustice must to her vpright Ballance take him:
Which he (afraid it might too soone forsake him)
Began to vse as quickly as perceiue,
And of his Loue thus tooke his latest leaue:
Cælia! thou fairest creature euer eye
Beheld, or yet put on mortalitie!
Cælia that hast but iust so much of earth,
As makes thee capable of death! Thou birth
Of euery Vertue, life of euery good!
Whose chastest sports and daily taking food
Is imitation of the highest powres
Who to the earth lend seasonable showres,
That it may beare, we to their Altars bring
Things worthy their accept, our offering.
I the most wretched creature euer eye
Beheld, or yet put on mortalitie,
Vnhappy Philocel, that haue of earth
Too much to giue my sorrowes endlesse birth,
The spring of sad misfortunes; in whom lyes
No blisse that with thy worth can sympathize,
Clouded with woe that hence will neuer flit,
Till deaths eternall night grow one with it:
I as a dying Swan that sadly sings
Her moanfull Dirge vnto the siluer springs,
Which carelesse of her Song glide sleeping by
Without one murmure of kinde Elegie,
Now stand by thee; and as a Turtles mate,
With lamentations inarticulate,
The neere departure from her loue bemones,
Spend these my bootlesse sighes and killing grones.
Here as a man (by Iustice doome) exilde
To Coasts vnknowne, to Desarts rough and wilde,
Stand I to take my latest leaue of thee:
Whose happy and heauen-making company
Might I enioy in Libia's Continent,
Were blest fruition and not banishment.
First of those Eyes that haue already tane
Their leaue of me: Lamps fitting for the Phane
Of heauens most powre, & which might ne're expire
But be as sacred as the Vestall fire:
Then of those plots, where halfe-Ros'd Lillies be,
Not one by Art but Natures industry,
From which I goe as one excluded from
The taintlesse flowres of blest Elizium:
Next from those Lips I part, and may there be
No one that shall hereafter second me!
Guiltlesse of any kisses but their owne,
Their sweets but to themselues to all vnknowne:
For should our Swaines diuulge what sweets there be
Within the Sea-clipt bounds of Britanie,
We should not from inuasions be exempted,
But with that prize would all the world be tempted.
Then from her heart: ô no! let that be neuer,
For if I part from thence I dye for euer.
Be that the Record of my loue and name!
Be that to me as is the Phœnix flame!
Creating still anew what Iustice doome
Must yeeld to dust and a forgotten toombe.
Let thy chaste loue to me (as shadowes run
In full extent vnto the setting Sun)
Meet with my fall; and when that I am gone,
Backe to thy selfe retyre, and there grow one.
If to a second light thy shadow be,
Let him still haue his ray of loue from me;
And if, as I, that likewise doe decline,
Be mine or his, or else be his and mine.
But know no other, nor againe be sped,
“She dyes a virgin that but knowes one bed.”
And now from all at once my leaue I take
With this petition, that when thou shalt wake,
My teares already spent may serue for thine,
And all thy sorrowes be excus'd by mine!
Yea rather then my losse should draw on hers,
(Heare, Heauen, the suit which my sad soule prefers!)
Let this her slumber, like Obliuions streame,
Make her beleeue our loue was but a dreame!
Let me be dead in her as to the earth,
Ere Nature lose the grace of such a birth.
Sleepe thou sweet soule from all disquiet free,
And since I now beguile thy destinie,
Let after patience in thy brest arise,
To giue his name a life who for thee dies.
He dyes for thee that worthy is to dye,
Since now in leauing that sweet harmonie
Which Nature wrought in thee, he drawes not to him
Enough of sorrow that might streight vndoe him.
And haue for meanes of death his parting hence,
So keeping Iustice still in Innocence.
Here staid his tongue, and teares anew began.
“Parting knowes more of griefe then absence can,”
And with a backward pace and lingring eye
Left, and for euer left, their company.
By this the curs'd Informer of the deede
With wings of mischiefe (and those haue most speed)
Vnto the Priests of Pan had made it knowne;
And (though with griefe enough) were thither flown
With strict command the Officers that be
As hands of Iustice in her each decree.
Those vnto iudgement brought him: where, accus'd
That with vnhappy hand he had abus'd
The holy Tree, and by the oath of him
Whose eye beheld the separated limb,
All doubts dissolu'd, quicke iudgement was awarded,
(And but last night) that hither strongly guarded
This morne he should be brought, & from yond rock
(Where euery houre new store of mourners flocke)
He should be head-long throwne (too hard a doome)
To be depriu'd of life, and dead, of toombe.
This is the cause, faire Goddesse, that appeares
Before you now clad in an old mans teares,
Which willingly flow out, and shall doe more
Then many Winters haue seene heretofore.
But Father (quoth she), let me vnderstand
How you are sure that it was Cælia's hand
Which rent the branch; and then (if you can) tell
What Nymph it was which neere the lonely Dell
Your shepherd succour'd. Quoth the good old man:
The last time in her Orbe pale Cynthia ran,
I to the prison went, and from him knew
(Vpon my vow) what now is knowne to you.
And that the Lady which he found distrest,
Is Fida call'd, a Maid not meanly blest
By heauens endowments, and, alas! but see,
Kinde Philocel, ingirt with miserie
More strong then by his bonds, is drawing nigh
The place appointed for his tragedie!
You may walke thither and behold his fall;
While I come neere enough, yet not at all.
Nor shall it need I to my sorrow knit
The griefe of knowing with beholding it.
The Goddesse went: (but ere she came did shrowd
Her selfe from euery eye within a cloud)
Where she beheld the Shepherd on his way,
Much like a Bridegroome on his marriage-day,
Increasing not his miserie with feare:
Others for him, but he shed not a teare.
His knitting sinewes did not tremble ought,
Nor to vnusuall palpitation brought
Was or his heart or lyuer: nor his eye,
Nor tongue, nor colour shew'd a dread to dye.
His resolution keeping with his spirit,
(Both worthy him that did them both inherit)
Held in subiection euery thought of feare,
Scorning so base an executioner.
Some time he spent in speech, and then began
Submissely prayer to the name of Pan,
When sodainly this cry came from the Plaines:
From guiltlesse blood be free, ye Brittish Swaines!
Mine be those bonds, and mine the death appointed!
Let me be head-long thrown, these limbs disioynted!
Or if you needs must hurle him from that brim,
Except I dye there dyes but part of him.
Doe then right, Iustice, and performe your oath,
Which cannot be without the death of both!
Wonder drew thitherward their drowned eyes,
And Sorrow Philocels. Where he espies,
What he did onely feare, the beautious Maid,
His wofull Cælia whom (ere night araid
Last time the world in suit of mournfull blacke,
More darke then vse, as to bemone their wracke)
He at his cottage left in sleepes soft armes
By powre of simples and the force of charmes:
Which time had now dissolu'd, and made her know
For what intent her Loue had left her so.
She staid not to awake her mate in sleepe,
Nor to bemone her Fate. She scorn'd to weepe,
Or haue the passion that within her lyes
So distant from her heart as in her eyes.
But rending of her haire, her throbbing brest
Beating with ruthlesse strokes, she onward prest
As an inraged furious Lionesse,
Through vncouth treadings of the wildernesse,
In hot pursuit of her late missed brood.
The name of Philocel speakes euery wood,
And she begins to still and still her pace:
Her face deckt anger, anger deckt her face.
So ran distracted Hecuba along
The streets of Troy. So did the people throng
With helplesse hands and heauy hearts to see
Their wofull ruine in her progenie.
And harmlesse flocks of sheepe that neerely fed
Vpon the open plaines wide scattered,
Ran all afront, and gaz'd with earnest eye
(Not without teares) while thus she passed by.
Springs that long time before had held no drop,
Now welled forth and ouer-went the top:
Birds left to pay the Spring their wonted vowes,
And all forlorne sate drooping on the boughes:
Sheep, Springs and Birds, nay trees' vnwonted grones
Bewail'd her chance, and forc'd it from the stones.
Thus came she to the place (where aged men,
Maidens and wiues, and youth and childeren
That had but newly learnt their Mothers name,
Had almost spent their teares before she came.)
And those her earnest and related words
Threw from her brest; and vnto them affords
These as the meanes to further her pretence:
Receiue not on your soules, by Innocence
Wrong'd, lasting staines which from a sluce the Sea
May still wash o're, but neuer wash away;
Turne all your wraths on me: for here behold
The hand that tore your sacred Tree of gold;
These are the feet that led to that intent;
Mine was th' offence, be mine the punishment.
Long hath he liu'd among you, and he knew
The danger imminent that would insue;
His vertuous life speakes for him, heare it then!
And cast not hence the miracle of men!
What now he doth is through some discontent,
Mine was the fact, be mine the punishment!
What certaine death could neuer make him doe
(With Cælia's losse), her presence forc'd him to.
She that could cleere his greatest clouds of woes,
Some part of woman made him now disclose,
And shew'd him all in teares: And for a while
Out of his heart vnable to exile
His troubling thoughts in words to be conceiu'd;
But weighing what the world should be bereau'd,
He of his sighes and throbs some license wan,
And to the sad spectators thus began:
Hasten! ô haste! the houre's already gone,
Doe not deferre the execution!
Nor make my patience suffer ought of wrong!
'Tis nought to dye, but to be dying long!
Some fit of Frenzie hath possest the Maid:
She could not doe it, though she had assaid,
No bough growes in her reach; nor hath the tree
A spray so weake to yeeld to such as she.
To win her loue I broke it, but vnknowne
And vndesir'd of her; Then let her owne
No touch of preiudice without consent,
Mine was the fact, be mine the punishment!
O! who did euer such contention see
Where death stood for the prize of victory?
Where loue and strife were firme and truly knowne,
And where the victor must be ouerthrowne?
Where both pursude, and both held equall strife
That life should further death, death further life.
Amazement strucke the multitude. And now
They knew not which way to performe their vow.
If onely one should be depriu'd of breath,
They were not certaine of th' offenders death;
If both of them should dye for that offence,
They certainly should murder Innocence;
If none did suffer for it, then there ran
Vpon their heads the wrath and curse of Pan.
This much perplex'd and made them to defer
The deadly hand of th' Executioner,
Till they had sent an Officer to know
The Iudges wils (and those with Fates doe goe):
Who backe return'd, and thus with teares began:
The Substitutes on earth of mighty Pan
Haue thus decreed (although the one be free)
To cleare themselues from all impunitie,
If, who the offender is, no meanes procure,
Th' offence is certaine, be their death as sure.
This is their doome (which may all plagues preuent)
To haue the guilty kill the innocent.
Looke as two little Lads (their parents treasure)
Vnder a Tutor strictly kept from pleasure,
While they their new-giuen lesson closely scan,
Heare of a message by their fathers man,
That one of them, but which he hath forgot,
Must come along and walke to some faire plot;
Both haue a hope: their carefull Tutor loth
To hinder either, or to license both,
Sends backe the Messenger that he may know
His Masters pleasure which of them must goe:
While both his Schollers stand alike in feare
Both of their freedome and abiding there,
The Seruant comes and sayes that for that day
Their Father wils to haue them both away.
Such was the feare these louing soules were in
That time the messenger had absent bin.
But farre more was their ioy twixt one another,
In hearing neither should out-liue the other.
Now both intwinde, because no conquest won,
Yet either ruinde, Philocel begun
To arme his Loue for death: a roabe vnfit
Till Hymens saffron'd weed had vsher'd it.
My fairest Cælia! come; let thou and I,
That long haue learn'd to loue, now learne to dye;
It is a lesson hard if we discerne it,
Yet none is borne so soone as bound to learne it.
Vnpartiall Fate layes ope the Booke to vs,
And let[s] vs con it still imbracing thus;
We may it perfect haue, and goe before
Those that haue longer time to read it o're;
And we had need begin and not delay,
For 'tis our turne to read it first to day.
Helpe when I misse, and when thou art in doubt
Ile be thy prompter, and will helpe thee out.
But see how much I erre: vaine Metaphor
And elocution Destinies abhorre.
Could death be staid with words, or won with teares,
Or mou'd with beauty, or with vnripe yeeres,
Sure thou could'st doe't; this Rose, this Sun-like eye
Should not so soone be quell'd, so quickly dye.
But we must dye, my Loue; not thou alone,
Nor onely I, but both; and yet but one.
Nor let vs grieue; for we are marryed thus,
And haue by death what life denied vs.
It is a comfort from him more then due;
“Death seuers many, but he couples few.
Life is a Flood that keepes vs from our blisse,
The Ferriman to waft vs thither, is
Death, and none else; the sooner we get o're
Should we not thanke the Ferriman the more?
Others intreat him for a passage hence,
And groane beneath their griefes and impotence,
Yet (mercilesse) he lets those longer stay,
And sooner takes the happy man away.
Some little happinesse haue thou and I,
Since we shall dye before we wish to dye.
Should we here longer liue, and haue our dayes
As full in number as the most of these,
And in them meet all pleasures may betide,
We gladly might haue liu'd and patient dyde.
When now our fewer yeeres made long by cares
(That without age can snow downe siluer haires)
Make all affirme (which doe our griefes discry)
We patiently did liue, and gladly dye.
The difference (my Loue) that doth appeare
Betwixt our Fates and theirs that see vs here,
Is onely this: the high-all knowing powre
Conceales from them, but tels vs our last houre.
For which to Heauen we far-farre more are bound,
Since in the houre of death we may be found
(By its prescience) ready for the hand
That shall conduct vs to the Holy-land.
When those, from whom that houre conceal'd is, may
Euen in their height of Sinne be tane away.
Besides, to vs Iustice a friend is knowne,
Which neither lets vs dye nor liue alone.
That we are forc'd to it cannot be held;
“Who feares not Death, denies to be compell'd.”
O that thou wert no Actor in this Play,
My sweetest Cælia! or diuorc'd away
From me in this: ô Nature! I confesse
I cannot looke vpon her heauinesse
Without betraying that infirmitie
Which at my birth thy hand bestow'd on me.
Would I had dide when I receiu'd my birth!
Or knowne the graue before I knew the earth!
Heauens! I but one life did receiue from you,
And must so short a loane be paid with two?
Cannot I dye but like that brutish stem
Which haue their best belou'd to dye with them?
O let her liue! some blest powre heare my cry!
Let Cælia liue and I contented dye.
My Philocel (quoth she) neglect these throes!
Aske not for me, nor adde not to my woes!
Can there be any life when thou art gone?
Nay, can there be but desolation?
Art thou so cruell as to wish my stay,
To wait a passage at an vnknowne day?
Or haue me dwell within this Vale of woe
Excluded from those ioyes which thou shalt know?
Enuie not me that blisse! I will assay it,
My loue deserues it, and thou canst not stay it.
Iustice! then take thy doome; for we intend,
Except both liue, no life: one loue, one end.
Thus with embraces and exhorting other:
With teare-dew'd kisses that had powre to smother
Their soft and ruddy lips close ioyn'd with either,
That in their deaths their soules might meet together:
With prayers as hopefull as sincerely good,
Expecting death they on the Cliffes edge stood,
And lastly were (by one oft forcing breath)
Throwne from the Rocke into the armes of death.
Faire Thetis whose command the waues obey,
Loathing the losse of so much worth as they,
Was gone before their fall; and by her powre
The Billowes (mercilesse, vs'd to deuoure,
And not to saue) she made to swell vp high,
Euen at the instant when the tragedy
Of those kinde soules should end: so to receiue them,
And keepe what crueltie would faine bereaue them.
Her hest was soone perform'd: and now they lay
Imbracing on the surface of the Sea,
Void of all sense; a spectacle so sad
That Thetis, nor no Nymph which there she had,
Touch'd with their woes, could for a while refraine,
But from their heauenly eyes did sadly raine
Such showres of teares (so powrefull, since diuine)
That euer since the Sea doth taste of Bryne.
With teares, thus to make good her first intent,
She both the Louers to her Chariot hent:
Recalling Life that had not cleerely tane
Full leaue of his or her more curious Phane,
And with her praise sung by these thankfull paire
Steer'd on her Coursers (swift as fleeting ayre)
Towards her Pallace built beneath the Seas,
Proud of her iourney, but more proud of these.
By that time Night had newly spred her robe
Ouer our halfe-part of this massie Globe,
She won that famous Ile which Ioue did please
To honour with the holy Druydes.
And as the Westerne side she stript along,
Heard (and so staid to heare) this heauy Song:
The end of this gaue life vnto a grone,
As if her life and it had beene but one;
Yet she as carelesse of reseruing either,
If possible would leaue them both together.
It was the faire Marina, almost spent
With griefe and feare of future famishment.
For (haplesse chance) but the last rosie morne
The willing Redbrest flying through a Thorne,
Against a prickle gor'd his tender side,
And in an instant so, poore creature, dyde.
Thetis much mou'd with those sad notes she heard,
Her freeing thence to Triton soone referr'd;
Who found the Caue as soone as set on shore,
And by his strength remouing from the doore
A weighty stone, brought forth the fearefull Maid,
Which kindly led where his faire Mistresse staid
Was entertain'd as well became her sort,
And with the rest steer'd on to Thetis Court,
For whose release from imminent decay
My Muse awhile will here keepe Holy-day.