University of Virginia Library

Thrice dearer then my soule, (she thus replide)
Had my owne pamper'd fancy beene the guide
To my affection, I had condescended
Ere this to your request, which had befriended
My best desiers too; I lou'd not thee
For my owne pleasure, in that base degree,
As gluttons doe their diet, who dispense
With vnwash'd hands, (lest they should giue offence
To their grip'd stomackes, when a minutes stay
Will make them curse occasion all the day.)
I lou'd not so; My first desires did spring
From thy owne worth; and, as a sacred thing,
I alwaies view'd thee, whom my zeale commands
Me not prophane with these defiled hands:
Tis true; Performance is a debt we owe
To Vowes, and nothing's dearer then a Vow;
Yet when the gods doe rauish from our hand
The meanes to keepe it, 'tis a countermand.
He that hath vow'd to sacrifice each day
At Iuno's Altar's bound, and must obey.
But if (being vnder vow) the gods doe please
To strike him with a leperous disease,
Or foule infection; which is better now,
Prophane the Altar, or to breake the vow?
The case is mine; where then the gods dispense,
We may be bold, yet tender no offence.
Admit it were an euill; 'tis our behest
Of necessary ills, to choose the least.
The gods are good: The strickt recognisance
Of vowes, is onely taken to aduance
The good of man; Now if that good proue ill,
We may refuse, our vowes entire still.
I vow a mariage; why? because I doe
Entirely affect that man, my vowes are to;
But if some foule disease should interpose
Betwixt our promis'd mariage, and our vowes.
The strict performance of these vowes must proue
I wrong; and therefore loue not, whom I loue.
Then vrge no more: Let my deny all be
A pledge sufficient twixt my loue and thee.
So ended sire: But vehement desire,
(That can be quencht with No; no more, then fire,
With oyle; and can submit to no condition)
Lends him new breath: Loue makes a Rethoritian.
He speaks: she answers: He, afresh, replyes;
He stoutly sues; As stoutly she denyes.
He begs in vaine; and she denies in vaine;
For she denies againe; He begs againe;
At last, both weary, he his suite adiournes,
For louers dayes are good, and bad by turnes.
He bids farewell: As if the heart of either
Gaue but one motion, they both sigh'd together.
She bids farewell; and yet she bids it so,
As if her farewell ended, if he goe;
He bids farewell; but so, as if delay
Had promis'd better farewells to his stay.
She bids farewell; but holds his hand so fast,
As if that farewell, should not be the last.
Both sigh'd, both wept, and both, being heauy harted,
She bids farewell; He bids farewell; and parted.
So parted they: Now Argalus is gone;
And now Parthenia's weeping all alone;
And, like the widowed Turtle, she bewailes
The absence of her mate: Passion preuailes
Aboue her strength: Now her poore heart can tell,
What's heauen, by wanting heauen; and what is hell
By her owne torments: Sorrow now does play
The Tyrants part; Affection must obey;
And, like a weathercocke, her various minde
Is chang'd, and turn'd with euery blast of winde.
In desp'rate language she deplores her state;
She faine would wish; but then, she knowes not what;
Resolues of this; of that; and then of neither;
She faine would flee, but then she knows not whither;
At length (consulting with the heartlesse paire
Of ill aduisers, Sorrow, and Despaire)
Resolues to take th'aduantage of that night,
To steale away; and seeke for death, by flight;
A Pilgrims weed her liuelesse limmes addrest
From hand to foot: A thong of leather blest
Her wasted loynes; Her feeble feet were shod
With Sandalls; In her hand a Pilgrims rod.
When as th'illustrious Soueraigne of the Day
Had now begun his Circuit, to suruay
His lower kingdome, hauing newly lent
The vpper world to Cynthiaes gouernment,
Forth went Parthenia, and begins t'attend
The progresse now, which only Death can end.