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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Arnalte to Lucenda in the Friers Cell.
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 | A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight |  |
Arnalte to Lucenda in the Friers Cell.
Fairest of Ladies, Mistris of my heart,Renown'd Lucenda, Auth'resse of my smart;
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Which at this present you to me vouchsafe;
It's truely such, that I for e're despaire
To recompence thy kindnesse, or thy care:
Vnlesse my service it may satisfie
In some respects thy noble courtesie;
Sweete love accept them, and deare Mistris let
My weeping eyes; and sorrowfull aspect
Give thee assurance of my constant love,
Which whilst I live I vow shall never move.
The Pelican shall never more expresse
Vnto her young ones her kind tendernesse.
The Negro Moore shall change his swarthy hew,
The gods shall homage unto mortalls doe,
E're I forsake to love and honour thee;
Why then, why then release my poore heart free,
Redresse my wrongs, relieve me, doe me right,
In liew of sorrow, grant me sweet delight:
Pitty thy Captive, and some favour show
Vnto my heart inveloped with woe.
File of those shackles, with which thy disdaine
Hath fetter'd me, release me out of paine.
Let this incite thee, fairest, to apply
Some cooling Cordial, for alas I fry,
And burne in flames of hot tormenting fire,
Kindl'd by love, continu'd by desire.
Oh helpe me now, for it will more redound
Vnto thy praise to save, than to confound.
Alas, alas, I suffer not alone,
Others are wrong'd; for why, my grieving moane
Hath shewne my torments so perspicuously,
That divers meaning for to love, doe flye
From love with speed, fearing alas to be
Scorcht with the fire of discourtesie.
Then since its thus, (thou wonder of our times)
Repent thee of thy former passed crimes;
Sweete I beseech thee, these thy faults amend,
And with thy kindnesse cherish me thy friend.
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Not to be served, when all others crave
For to possesse those things which you refuse,
And with their wills, what you forsake, would chuse
It is most easie for to know, that I
Have farre more want, nay, more necessity
Of thy assistance, than thou hast desire
That I should serve thee; or to quench the fire
Of my hot suff'rings. Oh, how is my heart
Supprest with tortures, and afflicting smart!
What rude encounters, what assaults have I
With-stood with courage through my constancy!
What cruell combats has my fainting hope
Deliver'd me! how hath my faith ta'ne scope
For to assault me! that to thee 'tis knowne,
They have my health impair'd, and overthrowne.
Alas, alas, is't possible for me
With words to utter (fairest) unto thee
The perturbations that I have endur'd
Within my minde, in no wise to be cur'd
But by thy aid? could this effected be,
How would'st thou blame thy selfe for harming me.
Oh never man endured such a crosse!
Oh, never man joyed lesse hap, more losse!
Oh never yet so great a memory
Did with Oblivion insepulted lye.
Thus my affection, link't with disdaine,
Sends Death unto me with a world of paine:
This I would let thee Lady understand,
That you henceforward may your will command
To right my wrongs, that so you in the end
May prove my Mistris, and my dearest friend:
And eke acquaint thee with the smarting paine
And tedious torments that I doe sustaine,
Thereby to shew thee, that my constancy
Maugre all tortures, yet did never dye;
Nor have I found my selfe to be as yet
Weary of what you please on me t'inflict:
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Since you have gained what was lost by me.
Nor is't without great reason, for if I
Endure afflictions, your Sun-shaming eye
Is cause of it, that superexc'lent grace,
Which Nature lent to beautifie thy face.
Now since th'art certaine of the love I beare
To thee my Sweet, in all perfections rare.
You'd injure reason, and injustice doe
Vnto my faith, if so be it that you
Establish not new orders to your will,
Restoring life to him you well nigh kill.
Now that you may hereafter exercise
Workes of Repentance, listen to my cryes,
And grant deare Lady, that I may inherit
The happy favour, since it is my merit,
To touch your faire hands with a reverent kisse,
I crave no more, then Sweet now daigne me this,
Grant me this favour Lady, besides which
I shall not dare no other to beseech:
Yet if I should chance to transgresse, confine
Me to such tortures as you please: divine
And glorious Lady, if I ever swerve,
Let me be punisht as I doe deserve.
| A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight | |