Moonlight :: :: University of Virginia Library

Amphitrite speaks.
How well has my bright Ariel play'd his part!
Now, if the leaves be green, when Procne pipes
Amid' the clouds with foretaste of the spring,
And Philomel her summer musick chants;
If dolphins in the purple wave pursued
Arion's ship, enamour'd of his song,
And carried the sweet soul to Tænarus;
I will compel Enceladus, who lies
Fast bound beneath the centre of the sea,
A thousand fathom down, the bolt of Jove

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Yet hardly sleeping, to declare what shore,
Or haven of this over-murm'ring sea
Contains Lord Marinell: for so his eye,
That never sleeps in ill captivity,
May have well traced; and my art is hid,
I know not by what greater power than mine;
Or evil else permitted for a while.
But what is this, sweet Ariel?

Ariel speaks.
'Tis a scrap
Of measur'd passion; for the truth more shines
In antick musick, so our lovers think,
Than in more homely prose. I pick'd it up,
Unseen of Ariadne, as she wept
Upon the marble rock; mistress, her tears
Undoing April in her fickle woe.

Marinell to Ariadne.
To live is but to love thee: thou art one,
Whom virtue may grow mad, and dote upon:
My goddess is thy soul; and, Oh! before
Her beauteous temple I fall down, t' adore:

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Thy only image, if in marble wrought,
Had all our nymphs into extinction brought;
How much more then, when we astonish'd hear
Thy words, that musick to our hallow'd ear,
Wherein all goodness, and all wisdom glows,
That earth expects, and great Olympus knows.
Think not this praise: 'tis but the simple part
Of thy perfection, wanting poets' art:
For he, who feels thy loveliness, must know
How much above thou art, and we below:
'Tis not in nature to express thy worth,
Or the complete production of thy birth,
But when I die with gazing and despair,
Men, in my heart, shall read thy image there.

Marinell to Ariadne.
The Gods, that pour'd so many graces on thee,
O Ariadne, making thee divine,
Let them with some compassion look upon me,
Else in this fortune I my soul resign.
The fire ambitious would to heav'n arise,
And ever hopes, yet never gains the skies,

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Then from your true Olympus may you come,
And deign to build upon our earth your home.

Amphitrite.
I know not what he means, but that he loves,
And love oftimes confounds the finest wits,
Making what else were luminous and clear,
As is Aurora, like the misty eve.
But if it work in Ariadne's mind,
He is a poet, and young Love not blind.

Marinell to Ariadne, calling her Flora.

Sweet thy breath, as violets are,
When the balmy south-wind blows,
And like ruddy corn thy hair,
That no band or cincture knows,
Save one ribband, simply round,
From the which depends a pearl,
Kings, then, to this port be bound,
To admire this lovely girl.

And her eyes are like the star,
That in dewy morn is set,

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Ere Aurora's saffron car
With the Indian wave is wet;
And her bosom, spicy-sweet,
Like the Parian marble swells;
Kings, then, at this centre meet,
For love here has plac'd his spells.

And her waist is taper, fine
As the chalice, silver-wrought,
To contain the sacred wine:
But, O stay, my daring thought;
Let no tongue profane the sweets,
That in this fair temple be;
'Tis enough: in Flora meets
Love and immortality.

When she walks in female state,
Like Diana, O my soul,
Shall I die, or bless my fate,
That have liv'd in her controul?
Were my empire from the morn,
To where chaste Apollo dips,

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That fine empire I would scorn,
But to die upon her lips.

Aye, this is love: and sure sweet Philomel
Has taught this passion'd poet half her art.

To Ariadne, calling her Flora.

How awful she, like Juno, looks,
That no least encroachment brooks,
Perfect Goddess of her state:
If I have offended her,
Then farewell the lightsome sphere—
I am wedded to my fate.

But again soft pity flows,
And from lips that breathe of rose,
Sweetest accents I have heard:
Now 'tis May, and Phœbus smiles
On the bright Hesperian isles—
I am to a God preferr'd.

Flora, my delight and love,
In whose praise the planets move,

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Lighting this o'er-shady globe,
While the sea shall kiss the strand,
Or divine Hymettus stand,
I am vassal to thy robe.

Lay it again upon the rock, sweet bird.

Ariel.
Thou art obey'd, ere yet thy voice is heard.

Amphitrite speaks.

Awake, ye elements, for now I call
Enceladus to lift his monster head
Above the deep profound; and tell the truth,
All that he knows of Marinell.

Arise from out the briny deep,
Where for ages thou did'st sleep,
While the flood above thee roll'd,
Being to endless prison sold:
Arise, O monster, from thy hopeless state,
Lest greater ill be added to thy weight,
And worse damnation heap'd upon thy fate.

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Lest the polar winds should blow
From the lands of ice and snow;
Lest the fire from Ætna come,
To consume thee to thy doom;
Lest the mournful ocean flow
In all sounds of wat'ry woe,
And wash thy senses to and fro;
And the sky-pitched mountains frown,
And threat to break thy prison down;
Lest these, the warring elements,
Confound thee in their ill events,
And thou freeze, and burn, and rave
At the ever-doleful wave,
And the rocks, that threat thy grave;
Lest these dreadful things should be,
List, O monster, list to me,
And tell me, who am Neptune's wife,
What ill has darken'd Marinello's life.

Ariel speaks.
See, mistress, how he rears his horrid head,
Like endless Night, above the mournful wave;
And, hark, he speaks: thunder to this is calm.

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Enceladus speaks.
Why am I troubled? can no wretch, but I,
Requite thy question, I, who hate thy house?
Oh, oh, accursed Jove! Marsaces took him,
As by the fountain in your isle he slept,
And chains him now aboard a furlong off:
For Ariadne, she was left to die.
Oh, oh, accursed Jove! now let me sleep.

Amphitrite speaks.
Sleep, and descend to everlasting sleep,
Or rather, wretch, to everlasting woe.
Descend, descend.

Ariel speaks.
The monster doth descend.

Amphitrite speaks.
I now perceive, my Ariel, that my foes
Have done me wrong, and evil arts have been,
Throwing dark clouds upon my orbed sight,
That with an eagle eye could pierce the world:

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Such agency has been, permitting Jove:
But to repair it; feather now your wings,
And over-fly the kite, that leads the wind,
Down flying to his prey; be falcons lame,
And the fleet antelope a drowsy wretch,
Compar'd with thee, my Ariel. To the isle
Be gone, be present where Marsaces floats;
Bid the keen light'ning quiver round his bark,
The frowning thunder howl, as earth had burst:
Flame on his masts, and on his rigged sides,
And in a sheet of fire involve his sails,
As if the gen'ral ruin had o'erta'en
The soul of his perdition: split his ship,
And hurl the wretch upon the rocky beach,
That he may taste the woe himself had plann'd,
And pine for food upon the marble marge.
But let the rest be safe: and see you lead
The ducal Thebes to Ariadne's side,
There join their hands, and give them gentle airs,
And summer seas to their espousal rites:
Do this, and I shall love thee.

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Ariel.
I will go
More fleet, than light'ning, to my loved task:
For I perceive, sweet mistress, there shall come
From this dear union all the world thinks good,
Peace, and true laws, and equal liberty:
Am I prophetick, O beloved queen?

Amphitrite speaks.
Thou art, my Ariel, and the world shall bless
The name of Ariadne, and her lord.
Go to thy task.

Ariel sings.

To please thee, my mistress dear,
I will skim the crystal sphere;
Or my flagging pinions steep
In the fountains of the deep;
I will fly from morn to eve,
Or till night the world deceive,
From the furthest pole to pole,
With a bright and joyous soul.

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Let the bells of Thebes be rung,
And the marriage hymn be sung,
And the house and palace vie
With the purple tapestry,
And the steer be free from yoke,
While the marble altars smoke,
And the maidens strew their flowers,
To delight these blissful hours.

Then will I,
In a bell of cowslip lie,
Happy with a twinkling eye,
And make all my pleasures meet
In my mistress' favour sweet.

Ariel's Song.

I dance upon the curled sea,
Come, follow me,
Ye tripping elves, and fairy bands,
Sporting on the chequer'd sands:
In the moon's brave sphere I ride,
Laughing at the fickle tide;

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Or on beds of sea-weed lie,
By king Neptune's courtesy.

Come, follow me,
And we will sweet Moppets be,
With the sea-duck we will dive,
With the queen-bee we will hive,
And when Sol is in the west,
And the May-bird gone to rest,
With the cuckoo we will nest.

Come, follow me,
O'er the bright and curved sea,
Ye, that elves and fairies be,
After summer merrily.