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 |  |
To all Faire Ladies, Famous for their Vertues, L. L. wisheth the enjoyment of their Desires; whether Cœlestiall, or Terrestriall, but most especially to that Paragon of Perfection, the very Non-such of her Sexe, famous by the Name of Mistris M. S.
Oh stand my Friends yee sacred Treble-trineOf divine Sisters, oh yee Muses Nine,
Inflame my Genius, and my thoughts inspire
With the bright beames of your Ætheriall fire:
Oh teach me words which yet were never knowne,
The choisest Straines that flow from Helicon,
And rape me up with Raptures 'yond the pitch
Of vulgar thought; my obtuse minde enrich
With quick Invention, for I have a taske
Beyond my skill, therefore your ayde I aske.
Be then propitious unto my designes,
And prompt my thoughts, that I in strenuous Lines,
May gaine excuse; yet lest I should prophane
The sacred worth of those Faire Ladies, who
May claime all honour as their proper due,
What Attributes, what honour'd Titles shall
My trembling Tongue, my Faculties, and all
My lab'ring Senses study to conferre
On their Rare worths, who scarce know how to erre?
Call I them Ladies? why their Sexe doth claime
The proper, Title of that Gentile Name:
Stile I them faire ones? of an Angels hue,
That's but their right, I give them but their due:
Say I th'are vertuous? why their actions show
It most apparent, and the world doth know
I should but flatter, if I should confine
My Tongue to style them Goddesses divine:
Though others use it, pardon me, not I,
I have no power for to Deifie,
Though I adore yee, and would sacrifice
My Life to serve yee: what shall I devise,
What shall I adde, or what shall I expresse
To sound your praises? Oh I must confesse
It is a Subject for an Homers Quill,
By farre transcending my unlearned skill:
M'Invention's dull, or is it so sublime,
To touch your worths, you being most divine:
What new-coyn'd Titles, what unheard of straines
Shall I then frame, to blazon forth your fames?
Alas, I'de best strike saile, waft to the shore,
And Anchor there, not dare to venture o're
This Sea of Honour, 'lesse I had the Art
Of Heraldry, your Titles to impart,
Drawne out with Or, with Argent, and with Sables;
Gules, Furres, & Azure, Bands, Barres, Chev'rons, crosses,
Bulls, Beares, and Lyons, with the well-shap't Horses:
Or that my Barke were better rigg'd and trim'd,
Or that I had a fairer gale of winde
T'embreath the sailes of my most slake Invention,
And so transport me with quick apprehension.
And now more than my Tongue can style yee, know
I am oblieg'd and eke engag'd to show
Unto the prospect of your glorious eyes,
The sighs, the sobs, the woes, the miseries
Of tortur'd Arnalt, who doth living dye
Through th'unkindnesse and strange cruelty
Which faire Lucenda shews him: this his Fate
He doth intreate you to compassionate,
And to bewayle his suff'rings, to complaine
Of her neglect and tyrant-like disdaine,
Which is the cause of his afflicting smart,
And of the tortures which infest his heart.
Oh if you chance but ever to distill
A Pearle-like teare, he doth beleeve it will
Be of such force, that it will mollifie
Her flinty heart, convert her cruelty
To courteous kindnesse, move her to repent
Her peevish coynesse, cause him sweet content.
Then oh yee Rare one's, since yee thus may save
Our ill-intreated Lover from the grave,
Expresse your pitty, oh bewaile his fate,
Taxe the unkindnesse and invet'rate hate
Of coy Lucenda, blame her for neglect:
Oh tell her, tell her, that such true respect
His profer'd love, his service, and his paines:
And let the beames of your bright goodnesse shine
Also faire Ladies on these Lines of mine,
Which though unworthy of your gracious view,
Vouchsafe to read, they being sent to you;
'Twill please sad Arnalt, and exhilarate
His pensive thoughts; perhaps 'tmay recreate
Your fancies wearied with excesse of pleasure,
But 'twill reward me with too rich a Treasure,
And so engage me, that I shall not know
How to obsolve the Debts the which Iowe
Unto your worths, for why, they cannot be
Repay'd without some new-coyn'd Mystery:
Thus with my Booke I kisse your faire white hand,
And at the Barre of your just knowledge stand
To heare our Doome; it's you must Judgment give
If by Oblivion we shall dye, or live
With Fame eterniz'd: give your Verdict then,
And with it life in spight of envious men.
Say you'l protect it, say't shall take a nap,
Encurtain'd closely in your silken laps:
Grant this sweet Ladies unto him who stil
VVill be obsequious to your honour'd wills,
Yea, unto him, who ever will remaine
More than your servant, well knowne by the name
of L. L.
| A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight | |