A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight Originally written in the Greeke Tongue, by an unknowne Author. Afterwards Translated into Spanish; after that, for the Excellency thereof, into the French Tongue by N. H. next by B. M. into the Thuscan, and now turn'd into English Verse by L. L. [i.e. Leonard Lawrence] a well-wisher to the Muses |
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 | A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight |  |
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The Letter.
Had I, Lucenda, but such cause to rightMy 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;
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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:
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Desire death to ease me out of thrall.
| A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight | |