University of Virginia Library

To those Readers that can and will conceiue Reason.

My Muse (of late) diuinely did indite,
But (Poet-like) I now a Pastorall write:
I am a Libertine, and loue to range:
His Musicke duls, whose tunes doe neuer change.
Should I be ty'd to one veyne, Momus would
Say, that I'de change my method, if I could:
Wherefore to shun his scandalous report,
I taske my Muse in a fantasticke sort;
And when I grow dull in diuine conceit,
(To please my selfe with) I turne Poet straight.
And may this change of tunes, your eares content,
I'le thinke my studies, and my time well spent.
If not, (henceforth) e're I'le offend your eare,
What I shall write, I will conceale, or teare.

To my most esteemed friend Maister Thomas Collins.

From Newports bloudy battell (sung by thee)
With Yaxley's death (the flow'r of Chiualry)
And from thy well-pen'd Publican, to bee
Transported thus to fields of Arcady,
Shewes that thy Muse is apt for all assayes,
And thou a man that meriteth renowne.
Diuine, Poeticall, and Past'rall Layes,
Doe all concurre, thy Browes with Bayes to crowne.
Collins, liue euer, in thy lines liue euer,
Liue euer honord by the Trumpe of Fame:
And let all those that in these Arts endeauor,
In their praise-worthy works, still praise thy name:
Who (in all Subiects) dost so sweetly sing,
Enuie her selfe to touch thee hath no sting.

To his affected friend Master Thomas Collins.

THE TEARES OF LOVE:

OR, CVPIDS Progresse.

When bright fac'd Phœbus was in Cancers line,
And from his high'st house did most hotly shine:
When Lucifer rose soonest in the morne,
And faire Aurora early'st did adorne
Th' Azurd skye with purple-colour'd blushes;
And (sore abashed) from Tythonis rushes,
Leauing his old, and all-abhorred bed,
To meet her younger Louer hastened:
Then rose I earely (as sometimes I vse)
To recreate my melancholy muse:
And forth I went, (not caring much which way,)
Towards the fields, where frolike Shepheards lay:
And as I walked ore those fertile playnes,
(Which then were scorch'd) I saw a sort of swains,
Each with his bag, his bottle and his hooke,
Sit on a bancke-side neere a Christall brooke,
Viewing the skaly fish skud in the deepe;
The whilst their yaping dogs did tend their sheep,
Some Garlands made, and cast into the streame;
Others did angle for Roach, Dace and Breame;
Some Sonnets made, and to their Garlands ty'de,
Then pray'd to Nayis for to let them slide,
With swift-sure pace vpon the silent Riuer,
Where their true loues sate, and them there deliuer.
A pretty space (with much content) I stood,
To view these pastimes and the pleasant flood.
At length I left them, and walk'd longst the banck
(O're many a winding and short-turning crancke)
Close by the riuer as the Garlands swomme,
'Cause I would see what should of them become.
But lo, the Sun (which then grew somwhat hye)
Began to burne and parch exceedingly,
So that a while I was constrain'd to stay
Vnder a broad Beech spreading o're my way,
VVhere Zephirus, with many a gentle blast,
Coold my hot face (with sweat and dust ore-cast.)
Then vp I rose (though loth I was to goe
From that sweet seat where I was shaded so:)
And on I went still by the riuers side,
Almost an houre, ere I the Garlands spide:
For Nayis (Lady of that louely Lake)
Did so much pitty on the Shepheards take,
That she compeld the silent sliding waues,
(Whose goodly path the glitt'ring pebbles paues)
To glide apace, and not make any stayes,
'Cause (she knows) Louers connot brooke delayes.
I sigh'd and grieu'd, to thinke I had forsook them:
But (going fast) at length I ouertooke them;
And then I vow'd, I would not lose their sight,
Vntill I see into whose hands they light.
Each step I tooke, I cast mine eyes vpon them,
Being much delighted with the flowres were on them;
And viewing them, the more that I did view them,
The more mine eyes were eager to pursue them:
For therein were a sort of pretty flowers:
Sure they that made them, sought al Flora's bow'rs.
Roses there were of the most rarest kinde,
Red, white and Damask (to delight the minde)
Lillies and Daffadils stood on the top,
And Honny-dew vpon the rest did drop.
Next stood Rose-mary mixt with gilded Bayes,
Carnations, Pinckes, and Lauenders sweet sprayes,
Then Gilly-flowres (free from defectiue spots)
And Margerum, full fraught with True-loue knots.
Next Time and Mary-golds together stood,
Then Batchelours buttons (which maids hold so good)
Pancyes, and double Pagles, Sops in wine,
Sweet Honny-suckles, and blue Collembine;
And twenty more, whose names I cannot tell,
And yet (me thought) they pleas'd me wond'rous well.
Thus whil'st I gazed on these Garlands gay,
I saw how prettily the streame did play,
VVith th'Osier twigs that grew vpon the banks,
Acting a sort of sundry wanton prancks.
Sometimes they'd stoope, and slyly steale a kisse;
Sometimes skip vp, as if they scorn'd that blisse;
Sometimes again (the fit being come vpon them)
They'd iump into the streame, let her run on them:
Who (like most women hauing men in thrall,)
Insulted o're them, and grew proud withall.
And when shee'd made them slaues vnto her will,
Shee'd wend away, and let them weep their fill.
Lo heer (thought I) these silly twigs may teach me,
To shun Loues snares, lest womens wiles o're-reach me:
For by these twigs I see (oh flinty hard!)
A doting Louer they doe least regard:
When flatt'ring wooers with fayr speaking speed,
VVhilst th'are reiected that loue deare indeed.
Narcissus-like, the poore twigs sought to kisse:
But their owne shadows yet were drench'd for this.
So he that seekes his goddesse to imbrace,
May haue (like Ixion) but a Cloud in Chase:
And when he thinks fast in his armes to fold her,
Find her so ay cry, that he cannot hold her.
And yet this lighter then a Shittle-Cocke,
Her dearest Louers will delude and mocke:
And (Cyren-like) though she doth them inchant,
What most they seeke, they most of all shall want:
For some there are allure men to desire,
Then laugh to see them frying in loues fire,
(Like foolish flies in Candle flames that play,
Till they be scorch'd, and scarce can creepe away)
But still the Garlands swomme, and on went I,
Till in the riuer (lo) I did espye
(Hard by a Groues side, which I then drew neere)
A sort of goodly water-Nymphes appeare,
Nak'd as the Graces vpon Ida were,
Hauing no couring but their comely hayre,
Which dangled downe their dainty bodies so,
That nought was seene that was not fit to show.
Nayis her selfe was foremost of this Crue,
On whom the rest did giue attendance due;
Bathing she sate (like Dian) in the brooke,
Whil'st I, (as Acteon) vpon her did looke.
Soone was I spyde, yet did she bathe her still:
For oh (she knew) I did intend no ill:
And therefore no exceptions tooke at mee,
Nor grudg'd that I, her and her Nymphes did see.
But now the riuer (which of late was proud)
Drawing neere to her (me thought) lowly bowde,
And hauing done all reuerence it could doe her,
Humbly presented all the Garlands to her:
Which Nayis taking, to each Nymph gaue one,
And charg'd them instantly to get them gone,
Alongst the streame, till they got past the Groue,
Where they shold see each of these shepherds loue,
And of these Garlands, there deliuery make,
And see that each one did her True-loues take,
And then returne, and tell how they accepted
These friendly fauours, and whose was neglected.
Forth-with they went to do as she commands,
Holding the Garlands in their Iuory hands;
VVhose shadows (through the splendor of the sun)
Did both on bankes, and in the bottome run.
Whereat the fish (amaz'd) skud thence for feare:
But when they saw there were no mortalls there,
They did retyre, and seeme for to adore them;
Then skud behind, then skip againe before them.
Euen as the Dolphins on the sea doe dance
Before a storme: so did these fishes prance,
As thinking these were some celestiall powers,
That could produce some soone-ensuing showres:
And therefore play'd thus prettily to sport them,
And all the way presumed to consort them.
But now being come vnto their iourneys end,
These louely Nymphs their looks to shore did bend
And there espyde a sort of most sweet creatures,
That pass'd comparison for comely features:
One was a combing of her golden haire,
Another drest (yet did not seeme so faire,
Though faire she was) sat singing of a ditty,
VVhich others praisd, and said twas very pretty.
Some with silke Ribands did knit true-loue knots,
Others sate making posies and fine spots
In hand-kerchers, some working flowrs in gloues,
And all for fauours for to send their Loues.
One was commending of a comely swaine,
VVhich she lou'd well, (& would be lou'd of faine)
Hight Pamelus, of person exquisite,
Fayre, affable, and of an exc'lent wit:
Him she extold vnto the Heauens aboue,
And held him worthy of a Princes loue.
Another (sitting by) said, Corauin
Surpassed him, and all that ere hath beene.
Paris (quoth she) though he was Priams sonne,
And first faire Oenon, then Queene Helen wonne,
VVith comely Corauin might not compare,
For beauty, wit, and personage most rare.
But all this while, his deare loue Candida,
(Fayrer then Ægypts Queene Cleopatra)
Nor smild, nor frown'd, nor would she vtter ought
Of her affections (whatsoere she thought)
That shee did loue him, shee'd haue none to know;
Yet was she pleas'd to heare him praysed so.
But now they spy'de the Nymphes vpon the riuer,
Holding the Garlands ready to deliuer,
Vp now they start, and (as o're-ioyd thereat)
They layd their workes by, and left off their chat,
And towards the Nymphes did speedily repayre.
Hard twas for me to iudge which was most faire,
Of them, or these; the Nymphes or mortall Creatures.
Both were so ex'lent for their outward features:
Each beheld other with a blushing face.
“Blushing doth aye giue beauty better grace.
Rare twas to see how their sweet cheekes were dyde.
But now being come vnto the riuers side,
One formost step'd a foote into the flood.
(So fond she was) she car'd not where she stood
For to receiue a fauour from her Louer,
VVho (like a flatt'rer) did but faintly houer:
Yet would he send her tokens now and then.
“Such slye dissembling's in a sort of men.
“Till they (like Iason and false Demophon)
“Haue got their wills: and then far-wel, th'are gone.
Shee tooke the Garlands one by one, and read
To whom ech was to be deliuered.
One was directed vnto faire-fac'd Phillis,
Another was to louely Amarillis;
One to young Mopsa, mistresse of his heart,
VVhose lookes (he said) did Poetry impart,
And Numbers true taught Dorus to rehearse,
VVho til he knew her, scarce did know a verse.
One was to Celestina faire and bright:
And one to her that Gallatea hight:
And now to fairest Candida came one,
Who stood aloofe, as if he look'd for none.
Then came another, and another to her;
For almost eu'ry worthy Swaine did woo her:
Shee had more Garlands, then halfe they had, sent her,
And Sonnets too: but that did not content her:
For she vnwilling was for to receiue them,
Nor did she care neglectfully to leaue them,
Because she knew her Corauin ne're vs'd
To send her ought that should be thus perus'de.
But lo, the Nymphes were loth she should forsake them;
And all the rest intreated her to take them,
Affirming that by reading o're the lines,
Shee might (perchance) be pleas'd with some designes.
So them she tooke with seeming-gratefull hart.
The rest (reioysing) doe with her depart.
Backe went the Nymphes, (as ea'rst they had in charge)
For to relate each circumstance at large,
To lou'ly Nayis, who thought long to heare,
After what sort these things accepted were.
But still stayd I, as one vnsatisfi'de
Of the Euents, that after might betide:
And glad I was to faigne occasion too,
As thousands more (besides my selfe) would doe,
Only to see those goodly Girles againe,
In whom such rare perfections remaine:
But most of all, her that is beauties Queene;
And ô! (me thinks) can ne're inough be seene,
Fayre Candida, the glory of them all,
Worthier then Venus of the golden ball,
Which fell from Heauen: for (oh!) she doth excell
All those three fayre ones betwixt whom it fell.
Perseus braue purchase, faire Andromeda,
VVas neuer comparable to Candida;
Nor is there any like her can bee nam'de:
For shee's the fairest that ere nature fram'de:
Her hayre is like vnto fine threds of gold,
Her eyes like sparkling Diamonds to behold,
Her fore-head high, her veines (like Saphires) blue,
Her blush vnborrow'd, all her beauty true,
Her cheekes like Roses, which by Lillies lye,
Her lips like Rubyes, teeth like Iuory,
Her nose is comely, and her necke is white,
Her chin is dimpled, (and that breeds delight)
Her brests (like Snowy mounts) are fayre & soft; The Sun to touch them hath descended oft:
Her hands are little, and her fingers long,
Her middle slender, (I the rest much wrong)
Her leg is pretty, and her foote is small;
And by these few parts you may ghesse at all.
Shee wore a Chaplet of fine flowres and Roses.
(Beauty to beauty still her best discloses.)
O're natures ornament, her golden hayre,
VVhich (as twas tressed) seem'd exceeding fayre.
About her necke (whiter than Snow or milke)
Shee wore a scarfe of Sea-greene coloured silke;
Her gown was pure wooll, yet but plain (God wot)
Of purple colour, and her Petticoate
Of watchet Kersie, and her Kirtle was
Of grasse-greene Chamblet, without gard or lace:
Her Iu'ry armes were cloath'd (with Lawn) so thin,
That through her sleeues a man might see her skin;
No amber bracelets on her wrists she wore,
Yet vpon one wrist what she prized more,
VVhich was a silke point Corauin gaue to her,
When as the kind Swain courteously did woo her.
Vpon her legs she silke-soft buskins wore,
(Of Murry colour) which she set by store,
And on her feet she did fine Sandalls weare,
Made of a pure Felt, or a Miniuere.
Thus was shee deck'd; and well it did become her,
To be attir'd thus in the time of Sommer:
For in a manner thus fayre Daphne went,
And with like habit Dian was content.
But now b'ing come vnto their former places,
These dainty damsells with delicious graces,
Each of them put her new-come Garland on,
Saue Candida, who would be crown'd with none.
And by th' others being demanded why
She would weare none? She made this wise reply,
Say that I would (quoth she) weare one of these,
The sender, I (but not my selfe) should please:
For none of them that sent these Garlands to mee
Vntill this instant, e're did seeme to woe me:
And therefore, how is't possible to know,
Whether they loue me, or but make a show
Of loue to me, to see if I will take
That, which (perchance) the worst of you'l forsake?
But put the case (as who can rightly tel?)
Each of these Swaines did loue me wondrous well:
How should I know which of them merits best,
To be beloued aboue all the rest?
Then being ignorant in each degree,
For to weare any, were a fault in me.
Then to her selfe she muttered secretly
(True Loue is alwaies full of ielousie:)
Since no one more then other merits Grace,
I should but wrong one that is not in place:
Then said (to please you since I must displease)
Vpon my head I will put none of these.
Which words of hers made all the rest to muse,
That one so faire, such fauours should refuse,
Sent her by chief'st of th' Arcadian Swaines;
And she (vnkind) to quite them with disdaines.
“But still the fayre (oh that it were not so)
“Respect their owne wills, not anothers woe,
“And when th'are offer'd wel, cannot perceiue,
“But take the worst (oft) and the better leaue.
Ah Loue, thou strangely dost affected stand,
And (like a God) wilt stoop to no command,
Nay pray'rs and teares can hardly penetrate
The hearts of some, they are so obdurate.
For as Loue's powerfull, so tis pittilesse,
Afflicting many, but doth few redresse.
Why should the strong vnto the weake be subiect,
Or mighty'r ones be to the meaner abiect?
“But Loue and Fortune are agreed with Fate,
“To wracke mens weale, and them excruciate;
“For, he that hopes by either of the two
“T' atttaine to happinesse, may vnhapp'ly doe.
But now these fayre ones (for their more content)
Began to reade the Sonnets that were sent:
Phillis first shew'd what her Amintas wrot,
Who long had lou'd, but little reap'd (God wot)
He pleads his loue long seruice and true faith,
Proff'ring them all and all that else he hath
To louely Phillis, whom he much commends,
And (so in passion) the poore Shepheard ends.
Then Amarillis shew'd Alexis lines,
Who pleads for pitty, and tells how hee pines.
Then Mopsa shewed what her Doxus writ,
Who (like some Cockneyes) hath more wealth then wit:
He brags that he sent far-fetch't straines vnto her,
And (except he) no Swayne could quaintly woo her;
And that his lines (though all not worth a flie)
Were th' onely Quintesence of Poetrie.
Then Celestina she began to showe,
What Melebeus would on her bestowe;
A thousand Lambkins snow-white, fat and fine,
Ile giue thee (quoth he) so thou wilt be mine:
And more then that, I will maintaine thee so,
As not a Shepheardesse shall like thee goe:
Then Galatea shew'd old Thirsis Sonnet,
Which made them all laugh that did look vpon it:
For he did tearme her whiter then the Ieat,
And held her more worth then Agenors Neat.
Then Candida did will them looke vpon
A Sonnet, sent her by old Coridon,
Who prais'd her eyes to be of Currall hiew,
Her lips like Cristall: but it was not true,
Loue had so blinded him he could not see,
VVhich were like Currall, which like Cristall bee.
Then shew'd sh'another that Dametas sent;
VVhich they no sooner read, but straight she rent.
And then another of young Thenots sending:
This but not he (quoth som) is worth commending.
Yet surely this is not of his inditing:
For hee's a wild-braine, hath no skill in writing.
Some witty Swayne, (t'expresse his loue) hath wrot it,
And now this mad-cap (by ill hap) hath got it.
Then threw shee forth some three or foure more:
For (as I earst sayd) she had sent her store,
VVhich being read, bid whose would entertaine them:
For she protested, that she did disdaine them.
Now whil'st they thus sate trifling time away,
Loues blinde god, Cupid, got abroad to play,
VVith's bow and arrowes from his mothers sight,
And to th'Earth flew for his owne delight,
VVhere (vnawares) he met his mortall foe,
“(Minds set on mirth, are oft encountred so.)
Enuious death: to whom Loues god sayd thus,
'Tis strange in one place to see both of vs:
But since I haue met thee (my old enemy)
Setting aside all former enmitie,
Let's make a truce, and for this night agree
To lodge together, and bed-fellowes be.
Meager-fac'd Death soone condiscended to it,
And was as willing as Loues god to doe it:
Then did they both vow, that no mortall VVight
Should feele of Loues force, or of Deaths that night:
But as themselues disposed were to rest,
So they'd doe nothing others to molest.
Thus (like two trauellers that walk together)
They took their Inne (Innes scarce wel vs'd by either:
“For lust (in Loues shape) oft to Innes doth come,
“And death (vntimely) there destroyeth some:
“But Lou's too blame to be a Bawd to lust,
“And death's a Villaine to betray mens trust)
And there they two were Iouiall awhile,
Loue vpon death, and death on Loue did smile:
And first the one, then did the other boast
Their mighty Conquests made in euery coast,
And laugh'd out-right in their relating how,
Both rich and poore must at their pleasures bow:
For from the King that sits vpon the Throne,
Vnto the meanest and most wretched oue,
Loue made his brags none (past their Infancy)
The power of his God-head could deny:
For with his arrowes he had wounded all,
Made strong ones stoope, and stoutest minds most thrall;
Nor wise, nor foolish, Nobly borne nor base,
But first or last, Loue hath had all in chase,
And made them all for to confesse, that he
Had as great power as in a God could be.
Then Death began: (qd. he) Loue brags too much
Before sterne Death, whose strength and power is such,
That all the earth doth tremble at my name:
For young and old, the lusty and the lame,
All stoop to death, who is impartiall
And pittilesse, not caring who doth fall,
Nor how, nor when, nor in what sort I take them;
If once I strike, I euer conquer'd make them.
Whom Loue doth hit, in passions long may languish,
But whom I strike, I do set free from anguish.
Lou's but a child, and wanton tricks doth vse:
But Death is dauntlesse, and doth none excuse.
Folly blinds Loue, so that he cannot see,
But shoots at randome, and lets some goe free;
When some with often woundings are perplext,
Whilst they laugh at them for whom they are vext.
Oh partiall Loue, vniust and cruell too,
Thou dost more harme, then euer Death did doe!
Thou mak'st men loue those that do not affect them
And seeke and sue to those that doe reiect them:
Thou mak'st the strong to stoope vnto the weake;
The weake insult, and seeke their hearts to breake;
Thou dost besot the wise with womens lookes,
And work'st their bane with beauties baiting hookes;
Thou dost the foole with wits conceit inspire,
And (Phaeton-like) thou setst the world on fire.
Thou dost depriue men of their sweetest sleepe;
Thou murthrest mirth, and mak'st the masker weepe;
Into fooles Paradice, thou bringst wretched ones:
Then sit'st and smilst, to heare their sighes and grones:
And when they pule, aye me, what shall I doe?
Cupid's glad of it: so's proud Venus too:
Then vnto me the weake-made wood-cocks crye,
And say (sweet Death) come end my misery.
Death neuer doth thus indirectly deale,
Nor through the eye into the heart doth steale.
But like a Giant (though I seeme not so)
I defie all, and do no fauour show.
The young, as well as old, my name do feare;
Kings quake & tremble, when of me they hear;
I rid the world of those thou mak'st despaire;
I kill the rich and I destroy the faire;
Beauty and gold (which all the world affects)
Death doth disdaine, and both as doung reiects,
And euer did so from the first beginning
Of my owne birth, which was at Adams sinning.
Adam was first: and I the last shall be.
All were his of-spring; all shall end in me.
But I (quoth Cupid) can do more then thou;
My Bow doth make the very Gods to bow:
I made Alcides leaue his Lyons skinne,
And (to gaine I-o'ls loue) to sit and spinne.
I made Apollo weare a shepheards weed,
To court faire Daphne (yet he could not speed.)
I made the God of warre forsake the field,
And (as my vassall) to my mother yeeld:
Yea I made Ioue to lay aside his shape,
And (amongst mortalls) commit many a scape.
Is Loue a childe then, all-abhorred Death,
That canst doe nothing but stop mortals breath?
In this (vilde) world Death only doth remaine:
But Loue in heav'n liues where the gods do raign.
Then can thy pow'r be compar'd to mine,
VVhen thine is hell-bred, and mine most diuine?
But whil'st they two contended in this wise,
Death's sister, sleep, ceaz'd on their sight-lesse eyes:
And lo, by this, faire Venus miss'd her Sonne,
And to inquire him out to Vulcan run,
VVho (with his Cyclops) was at worke so hard,
That he nor Loue, nor Loues god did regard:
And therefore told her, if she meant to finde him,
She might goe looke him; for he did not minde him.
Then vnto Mars the faire Queene made repaire,
And asked him for her young sonne and heire:
Who by his god-head and his sword did sweare,
He neither saw him, nor of him did heare:
But for thy sake (quoth he) I'le take some paines
To seeke him out, and see where he remaines.
Indeed I will: I will indeed (my Ioy)
Ile do my best to helpe thee to thy boy,
Thy pretty little wagge, thy curld-pate boy,
That fills the world with weale or with annoy:
I would be loth my Loue should lose her childe:
For he's her best boy (though the wagge be wild.)
This sayd, he col'd, and clipp'd, and kist her too,
And made an offer th' other thing to doe:
(For Mars with Venus seldome times did meet;
But he did dally with his dainty sweet,
Which made the limping god to chafe and fret,
And seeke to intrap them in an Iron net.)
But Venus (now) sayd, that should not be done
By Mars, nor any, till she found her sonne,
Nor would she smile, nor let him kisse her more,
But flung away, and would to Ioue (she swore.)
“Mars sigh'd at this: (but vainly sighs are spent,
“When as a woman to her will is bent.)
Then mounts his chariot, and away goes hee,
To search abroad where her young son should be.
His whirling wheeles do rattle in the streetes,
And breed amazement amongst all he meetes:
To field he gets, and there commands his drumme
Should strike t'enquire where Cupid was become.
VVhil'st Venus past heauens-Christall-pointed gates,
And to great Ioue her grieuous loste relates,
VVho was exceeding wroth thereat, and swore
By Stix and Phlegeton and many more;
That heauen, and earth, and hell and all should rue
The losse of Loues Queene (if this tale were true)
Vowing to search their Centers euery one:
And therewith (starting from his stately throne)
He call'd for Æolus, and bid him send
Stiffe-blowing Boreas to the wide worlds end,
Charging him throw downe Castles, Courts and Tow'rs,
And search for Cupid in their secret bow'rs:
But if he could not finde him quickly out,
Himselfe would throw his Thunder-bolts about.
A way goes Æolus and out Boreas flies,
But findes not Cupid, nor learnes where he lyes:
Then back returns (with griefe and shame) to Ioue,
And tells how much, he (to no purpose) stroue.
The god (being angry) sets the Christall skie
Vpon a burning sue instantly:
VVhose lightning strangely terrifi'd the Earth,
And (on a suddaine) marr'd all mortals mirth;
Then tooke he Thunder-bolts, and them he hurl'd
Into each corner of this canker'd world,
VVhich strook astonishment in all creatures eares.
(Who doth not tremble that Ioues Thunder heares?)
It made Romes Emp'ror hide his haughty head,
(Great Heliogabalus) vnderneath his bed.
It strooke a King (that did it counterset)
Into a Salmon fish (all bloody yet);
It cleaueth Clouds, rends Rockes and Trees asunder.
“Nothing's more dreadfull then all dreaded Thunder.
This wakened Cupid (that with death did lye)
Who else (perhaps) had slept eternally.
“(For if the Gods should Loue from Heauen exile,
“'Twould sleepe on earth, or dye in little while.)
Vp did he start, and trust his trinckets on,
And in great haste did hurry to be gone:
But being blind (as oh, would Loue were not)
Deaths quiuer vp in stead of's owne he got,
And thence be trudges, leauing Death behind,
Who (when he rose) did Cupids quiuer finde,
Yet mark'd it not, but girts it on, and goes
Abroad the world, to fill the world with woes.
“For death on Earth (like Cesar in a field)
“Foes to their Foe, perforce doth force to yeeld,
“And where he commeth, teares they need not borrow:
“For he comes sild, but where he breedeth sorrow.
Now Cupid (seeking how himselfe t'excuse)
Doth bend his bowe, and Deaths blacke Engins vse.
Determining great store with Loue to wound:
But whom he hitteth, straight-waies dead are found.
Lo, thus the blind boy (when hee thought no ill)
(For want of eyes) did many a mortall kill:
And thus (ah thus) he murthered Corauin,
(The sweetest Swayne that euer yet hath beene.)
And thus faire Phillis he did make away
(Whom young Amintas mourn'd for many a day;
And after teares and grones, and grieuous cries,
Exprest his sorrowes in sad Elegyes.)
And thus Laceno and a number mo,
Loue kild out-right: (tis shame hee should do so)
Then vp to Heauen the wanton wag did flye,
And told his mother (oh egregious lye!)
That hee had wounded such and such with Loue;
Which (to his foule shame) otherwise did proue.
Glad was faire Venus she had got her Sonne,
And much more glad to heare what he had done:
Yet notwithstanding she began to chide
For his departure; and would faine haue cride:
But he so prettily did wantonize,
She could not weepe, though teares stood in her eyes:
Which wiping thence, she smilde to see him play.
“Loue oft makes Sun-shine in a show'rie day,
“And when vnkindnesse doth the heart annoy,
“Loue doth expell it, and proclaimeth ioy.
But now (awhile) let's speake againe of death,
Who seeks abroad to suffocate mens breath:
To Court, and citty, and t'each country towne,
He (like a Tygar) trauels vp and downe,
And here and there throwes foorth a thrilling dart,
Intending's owne, but acting Cupids part:
Yet lo, he keepes one custome he did vse,
All suppliants praiers proudly to refuse:
For those that were opprest with misery,
Th'enuious slaue (though cride to) would passe by.
At length (remembring he did nought last night)
Strikes rich and poore, and doth respect no wight:
But (oh) instead of his owne Ebon darts,
He with Loues arrowes woundes their wretched hearts,
And makes some loue that weary are of life,
(Their woes and troubles are so wondrous rise)
Who feeling Loues force grieuously complaine,
And to the pow'rs diuine doe crie amaine,
Ye gods (quoth they) must we with loue be wounded,
Whose ioints are num'd, & ioyes (long since) confounded:
Heare vs, oh heauens, and be propitious,
And oh ye gods, be you auspitious:
For death and fortune both iniurious bee,
And our woes will not, or else cannot see:
And therefore (oh) doe you vouchsafe to heare vs,
And let fell death no longer time forbeare vs:
For we are wrong'd, opprest & pinch'd with griefe,
And (but in you) haue hope of no reliefe.
Ioue hearing this, doth straight commiserate
These wretched worldlings miserable state,
And by his messenger, swift Mercurie,
Summons a Parliament of the Deitie,
(With expedition) in the hie house of heau'n,
And also chargeth warning should be giuen,
That all their plaints, that earst were mentioned,
Should at that Session be exhibited.
Away went Mercurie, and perfourm'd his charge.
The gods appear'd, mens griefs were heard at large;
And by the inferences of their bils,
(With the skarlet euidence of Cupids ils)
It did appeare how idle Loue had bin,
T'associate Death, and kill sweet Corauin;
VVho was a Swaine of all so dearely lou'd,
That for his death the gods were highly mou'd,
And sent for Cupid from his mothers side,
And him (in th' open Court) did rate and chide.
Thou blind-eyd and besotting boy (quoth Ioue.)
Mak'st thou no difference 'twixt Death and Loue?
Art thou a god, and wilt from heau'n descend,
And on the earth consort a hellish Fiend,
And put his blacke darts and thy Bow together,
Then (like a vagrant) range, thou knowst notwhither?
And when thou hast done a deale of villany,
(T'excuse thy folly) telst vs many a lye.
Thinkst thou, the gods (by thee) will be deluded?
No: it were better thou wert heau'n excluded;
For with thy deeds thou dayly dost offend vs.
But wherein is it, that thou canst befriend vs,
Vnlesse it be in acting idle things,
Such as vaine pleasure, but no profite brings?
And yet dar'st thou (fond foole) audaciously
Displease this Sinod of the Deitie?
Loue, I am vex'd at this vild deed of thine.
“(All murther's hatefull in our heau'nly eyne.)
For Antidotes dost thou rancke poyson giue.
Daring to kill whom we desire should liue?
But (since thou hast offended in this sort)
Wee'l clip thy wings (boy) and wee'l keep thee short:
The sonne of Venus (though his mother loue him)
Shall well perceiue, Ioue feares not to reproue him:
For why should men their sad oppressions paint,
And find no remedy where they make complaint?
“Are we not gods? (and gods should iustice doe)
“One fault vnpunish'd soone produceth two.
Then let vs now (great gods) make a decree,
How Cupid's fault may fitly'st punish'd bee.
There stayd his speech: whil'st Cupid (standing by)
To's accusation was bid make reply,
Who (childishly) his progresse did recite,
And how he lay with vgly Death one night:
But for the rest he vow'd it was vnknowne,
Whether he vs'd Deaths engins or his owne
At this lame Vulcan laughed in his sleeue,
“(Some ne're laugh heart'ly, but when others grieue.)
To whom Apollo (with great wisdome) sayd,
Deride him not, nor do you him vp-brayd:
Hee's your wiues Sonne, and she will fit you for't,
If you abuse him heere in any sort:
And for mine owne part, bee you sure (quoth he)
In blinde boyes matters Ile no medler be.
Saturne sate by, but (like a sullen god)
Spoke ne're a word, yet now and then did nod
At th'others speech: especially when they
Rebuked Loue, or did gainst Death inueigh.
Then Mars stood vp (b'ing friend to Cupids mother)
And thus (with reu'rence) spoke before the other:
Yee mighty gods, this fact of his (we see)
Most hainous is: yet take thus much from mee,
Since done on earth, and 'tis vnfit Death should
Enter heau'n gates our glory to behold,
It fittest is that Cupid should descend,
Where shame (for's guilt) vpon him may attend,
And there indure the clamor and the cry
Of the murther'ds friends and those in misery:
And (as hee's author of their endlesse woe,)
Sit, and condole them whom he iniur'd so.
VVhich being done, let him goe seeke out Death,
And (changing's quiuer) bid him stop the breath
Of those weake wights, whom he with Loue did wound,
Or else (vntimely) time shall him confound.
This Death may doe: but those whom Loue hath slaine
With Deaths dart, cannot be reuiu'd againe:
For Loue (in this) without commission went:
But whom death slaies, 'tis with the fates consent.
Death hath authority for to destroy:
But Loue should not kill, but procure mens ioy;
And therefore Loue was too too blame in this,
To vse Deaths engines, and giue bale for blisse.
“(Great faults deserue no fauourable meed,)
Yet b'ing thus check'd and punish'd for the deed,
Since (though a god) he's but a childe (good sooth)
And (being blinde) he sees not what he doth;
At his returne let our displeasures end:
For I'm perswaded heele no more offend.
To this, great Ioue, and all the gods agreed,
And (being cōfirmd) adiornd the court with speed.
Cupid departed, and to earth he goes,
To sit and heare the sorrowes, sighes and woes
Of the sad Swaines, for those whom he had slaine;
But most for Corauin they did complaine:
And eu'ry one of them exclaim'd on Death,
Not thinking Cupid had rest him of breath,
Vntill the time that he was clad in clay,
Which (woe is me) was on Saint Peters day;
A day of dread. Oh had it neuer bin,
T'in tombe in clay the comely Corauin,
The comely Corauin (the more griefe's mine.)
In th'earth (that day) the shepheards did inshrine,
Inshrine (aye me!) they did, and I must say,
When I name that, I name a weeping day,
A weeping day. Yea, so it was indeed:
For then heauen wept, and th'hearts of men did bleed,
Did bleed, 'tis true: their hearts did bleed, and they
Did nought but weepe vpon that wofull day,
That wofull day, the clouds of heau'n distill'd
A world of water, wherewith they were fill'd,
VVere fill'd, yea fill'd, and so let fall awaie,
As if they'd meant t'haue drown'd the earth that day.
That day the Sun a sable weed did weare,
And with a blacke hood hid his golden hayre;
That day the skie put on a mourning cloake,
And shew'd no vapours, but what seem'd like smoake.
That day the earth was all as blacke as Iet,
Onely with teares (wherewith 'twas ouer-wet.)
That day a sort of most sweet siluer bells
Did nothing sound, but sad-tun'd dolefull knells.
That day there was a world of weeping eyes.
“Sorrow's no niggard of sighs, teares, and cries.
That day each Shepheard wore a Cypresse wreath
Vpon his head, and all blacke Say beneath.
That day was Corauins sad funerall,
Which still's lamented, and for euer shall.
A goodly troope did on his hearse attend,
And more had done, if they his death had kend:
For Candida ne're knew that he was dead,
Vntill she heard that he was buried:
And then (too soone) 'twas knowne, and she did goe,
Whil'st Cupid was there, that did breed her woe.
Lo, now my Muse is come to nought but mourning:
Her ioyes are past, and hopelesse of returning.
Oh you that euer felt the force of Loue,
Or know what powerfull pass'ons it doth moue;
You that haue wept, and sigh'd, and grieu'd and gron'd,
When (but your selues) none knew for what you mon'd:
You, you (oh, you) you that know loue indeed,
You whose soules melt, whose very hearts doe bleed,
At the remembrance of the sweet sweet name
Of sacred Loue (the soueraigne King of flame)
'Tis you I call to, you that I implore;
If yet you haue or sighes or teares in store,
Oh lend me them, or some of them at least.
“Much he hath need of makes a liberall feast.
One Muse (vnlesse inspired from aboue)
Can ne're expresse the passions of true loue.
One man's too weake in iudgement and in wit,
T'explane the force and the effects of it.
Oh helpe me then, helpe both my Muse and mee,
That (by your ayd) it may described bee.
The little streams of water (small brooks giue her)
Doe quickly make a full-vein'd flowing Riuer.
So eu'ry accent, eu'ry sigh or teare,
That you lend mee, my work will help't vpreare.
“Hard is the heart that will no helpe extend;
“Especially (for Loues sake) to a friend.
Come then and ayd me, and (in hope you will)
In Loues deepe passion now Ile dip my quill.
Candida hearing of these heauy newes,
Doth sigh, sob, sownde, and all sad actions vse.
Oh heauens (quoth she) why do I liue thus long,
Or why hath Death and Time done me this wrong!
Why haue they got my Corauin away?
Why haue they lapp'd his comely corps in clay?
VVhy hath heau'n let that fowle Fiend Death haue power,
To crop the blossome of that scarse-bloom'd flower?
Why haue the Fates so fayre a Shepheard slaine?
VVhy haue they robd me of so rare a Swaine?
Why haue they stolne the lustre of my life?
Why got a hop'd-for husband from his wife?
Why dimd the Sun that shin'd vpon me heere,
And left me neither Loue, nor friend, nor pheere?
Why (vnsuspected) hath time him betray'd?
VVhy made m'a widdow, whilst I am a Mayd?
VVhy hath he rest me of all ioyes in one?
And why left me to wayle, now he is gone?
Oh what did moue the gods to be so cruell,
As to depriue me of my dearest Iewell?
As to depriue me of my dearest Iewell,
And leaue me like a fire without fuell?
Fire without fuell (soone) will fade and die:
And without Corauin euen so must I:
Euen so must I. Yea, (and great reason too)
For want of his life doth my life vndoe.
VVhat els had I wherein I tooke delight?
VVhat ioy had I, but onely in his sight?
What comfort had I, but in Corauin?
VVhat hearts content, but whereas he hath bin?
VVhat pleasure to me did this world extend?
VVhat other solace, but that one sweet friend?
VVhat did I loue, or what did I hold deere,
But onely him, my Loue, my life, my pheere?
And is he gone? is he vntimely slaine
By Loue? or Death? or by my owne disdaine?
Oh, which of vs three hath the Murtherer bin?
VVhich of vs was it that kil'd Corauin?
Loue, was it thou? oh (if thou did'st it) speake:
For if Loue kil'd him, griefe my heart will breake:
'Twill wound my soule euen to the very death,
If Loue hath reft my deare-belou'd of breath.
I know he lou'd me, and that wondrous well:
And I lou'd him more deare then tongue can tell.
But (oh) 'twas long before that I could do it,
And much adoe he had to bring me to it:
He su'de, he seru'd, and often sought vnto mee,
By pray'rs, plaints, teares, and all that else might woo mee:
But I relentlesse was, and flinty hard,
And his great griefes but little did regard.
I was too young to feele the force of Loue:
Teares, plaints, nor pray'rs could me to pitty moue,
Then would he write, and as he wrote, hee'd weep;
Blood was his inke which he in teares would steep:
The pen shew'd pure loue, and the paper zeale,
Wherewith the poore Swaine did his plaints reueale:
Pitty he pleaded for with's soule and heart,
And (with much weeping) pray'd me ease his smart:
(For by the paper I might eas'ly see,
That he did weep much, when he wrot to mee.)
Loue, thou art powerfull, I confesse it now,
Though of thy lawes I did not late allowe:
But if thy might to murther did extend,
Thou hast wrong'd him, and also me his friend:
For I must thinke, if he by loue was slaine,
Though thy hand did it, 'twas through my disdain.
Disdaine (sayd I?) yea, yea, I did disdaine him,
Els I had pitty'd, when he first did plaine him:
And therefore, Loue, I must hold thee excus'd;
For Loue not me, but I haue Loue abus'd.
Then let me neuer thinke, that Loue did ill him,
But rather yeeld, that my disdaine did kill him.
'Twas so indeed: in very deed 'twas so,
'Twas my owne selfe, that wrought my selfe this woe:
For had I been kind (as I might haue been)
Still had I kept my comely Corauin:
Still had I kept my comely Corauin,
Had I been kinde (as oh, would I had been)
But (wretched) I would not be wonne too't then.
Ah (foolish Females) why should we wrong men?
Why should a selfe-will'd woman work his death,
That loues her dearer then his deare-lifes breath?
VVhy should we prize Virginitie so hie,
That e're wee'le lose it, let our Louers die?
When th'one's an Idoll that's but good in name,
And nothing else (how ere we prize the same)
Th'other is the rarest frame on earth,
From whose faire being first our selues took birth:
But I'm vnwise (as women aye haue bin)
And haue both wrong'd my selfe and Corauin,
Not onely in this, but many other things,
Which now much sorrow by remembrance brings:
For had he sometimes proffer'd me a kisse,
(Why should a true friend such a fauour misse?)
I'de frowne, and say he was too peremptory.
Then he (poore soule) would straight-way say I'm sorry:
If I offend you, Ile no more assay.
Yet (as one iniur'd) I would fling away,
And scarce come neere him of a good while after,
To make him grieue, whilst I grew fat with laughter:
But weighing (at length) how hainously he tooke
My sharpe rebuke, I with a smiling looke
Would comfort him, and say, Come, Corauin,
Too much vnkindnes for one kisse hath bin;
To make amends with, take thee two or three;
Though I seem'd coy, Ile not be so to thee:
And therefore come (sweet-heart) and take inow.
“Mayds (though th'are squeamish) lou't as well as you.
“VVhat's hardly gotten, men most highly deeme:
“But what's soone purchast, slightly they esteeme.
Then blame me not, although I seemed coy.
“Louers (like babes) must beg for euery toy,
And in th'obtaining thinke th'are happy too,
By getting that which others cannot doe.
But whither am I carry'd with this veine
Of my conceited (counterfeit) disdaine;
Since to be coy, and something seeming nice,
Is not disdaine? disdaine's as cold as Ice.
But my affection (like to coales of fire
In ashes wrapt vp, left they should aspire)
Was inly hot with feruency of zeale,
Though to my selfe I did the same conceale.
“Fire hid in ashes, hardly is containd,
“But loue inuelloped, more hard restrain'd.
Then since I inwardly did hold him deare,
“And inward passions penetrate most neere,
I must needs thinke my sorrow-tyred tongue
Hath been o're apt to doe my owne selfe wrong,
In saying, my disdaine should worke his woe,
Who was not loathed, but beloued so,
That I esteemd him dearer then my life,
And onely hoped to haue been his wife:
And well I might; for he deseru'd no lesse,
But to enioy the brauest Shepheardesse:
For oh, he had such worthy qualities,
And was so faire, well-fauour'd, and so wise,
That euery Shepheardesse did like and loue him,
Althogh their beauties had no pow'r to moue him:
Onely my selfe sweet Corauin affected;
The rest he lou'd not, nor their loues respected.
I know he lou'd mee; and for euer will
Resolue my selfe, that he doth loue me still,
Loues me in death as dearely as in's life.
And oh, (me thinks) I heare him call me wife.
Wife was his word: Wife would he euer call me.
Oh, that no other title had befall me:
For then, ah then, (I need not tell yee how)
I'de bin as happy, as i'm haplesse now:
For now I'm neither Widdow, Mayd, nor Wife;
And yet all three: and so I'le end my life.
I'le end my life: oh, that it now were ended:
For then by Death I should be much befriended,
And with my Corauin should quickly be,
Whose hou'ring ghost now seems t'appeare to me,
And lookes as grimly as if some were heere,
That were the meanes to make away my Deare:
Or that his passage Caron hath deni'd
To th' Eliz'an fields (for Louers purifide)
Vntill the world takes notice of his wrongs
By my complaint, (to whom it most belongs.)
If it be so, (sweet Corauin) be sure,
Thou shalt not long thy wandring course indure.
I'le doe thee all the right that I can doe:
Which being done, I will come to thee too:
But yet (ah wretched and vnhappy I)
Though die I would (as yet) I cannot die.
Those that would liue, Death quickly takes away:
But those that would die, them he doth delay.
Iniurious Fates, why should your Factor Death
So forward be, to suffocate the breath
Of iocond Shepheards, and of Iou'all spirits,
And flie from them that wretchednesse inherits?
But (oh) I now perceiue wherefore he flies me,
And why (although intreated) he denies me
To end my daies. Oh, 'tis because that hee
Murther'd my Corauin for louing mee.
For if nor Loue, nor my disdaine did slay him,
Surely 'twas Death that did from hence conuay him.
Death, yea 'twas Death, and none but Death did doe it.
(Yet gods, nor men, ne're gaue consent vnto it)
Meager fac'd monster, most enuious slaue,
With Natures best gift why didst fill a graue?
Thou vn-seene shaddow, gastly and most grim,
VVhy hast thou fild a vasty vault with him,
With him that was Earths all-admired Creature,
And did surpasse all Shepheards for sweet feature?
VVith him that graced th' Arcadian Plaines,
And was the glory of their goodly Swaines:
With him that was the Mirror of all men
That e're was seene, or e're shall be agen:
VVith him that was indued from aboue,
VVith all the gifts that gods and men doe loue:
VVith him whose youth was vertuously inclin'd,
And (as the Sun doth lights) all Swaines out-shin'd
VVith him that was belou'd of all (saue thee)
And therefore slaine t'extract these teares from me.
Accursed Death, most cruell and vnkind,
Hauing slaine him, why leau'st thou me behind?
VVhy may not I (that am his onely Wife)
Associate him as well in death as life?
VVhy should I liue, and draw a loathed breath,
When my deare Loue lies in the iawes of Death?
Wee reade of VVomen throw themselues in fire,
When as their louing husbands liues expire.
Portia tooke burning Coales and swallowed,
Hating to liue, her husband being dead.
Cleopatra (for Loue of Anthony)
With sting of Aspicks did most stoutly die.
And shall not I (although a Shepheardesse)
Resolue like them, since in the like distresse?
Shall I bee tim'rous (and not imitate
The worthy'st women for a worthy mate?)
No: I'le not be diuorced from my Deare:
Since he is gone, I'le not sit grieuing heere.
Sweet Corauin, I'le come to thee 'ere night,
And giue my life, to gaine my Louers sight.
But then (ah then) who shall thy death deplore?
These my laments doe make thy losse seeme more:
Therefore I'le liue, and let the world to ken,
How much I priz'd thee more then other men,
VVho although dead to others, yet (in mee)
Thou shalt liue still, and still my True-loue be:
For so thou art (in deed, loh so thou art)
Thou onely holdst possession of my heart,
Possession of my heart thou holdst in deed,
And shalt for euer (none shall thee succeed.)
Then why should I imagine thou art slayne?
And why inueygh 'gainst Loue and Death (in vayne?)
Come, Candida, 'tis folly thus to doe:
Thou iniur'st them both, and thine owne selfe too.
They did not kill sweet Corauin. Ah, no.
Some vncouth accident hath bred this woe:
Some qualme o're's heart, or else some extasie,
Bred by conceit (begot by ielousie)
Of griefe, might kill him, seeing many seeke me,
Lest some of them (as well as he) might leeke me.
Yea sure 'twas so, so did he die (no doubt)
“No death's vntimely, but time brings it out:
“Heauen will not haue a murther to be hid,
“But first or last bewrayes the homicid.
But if griefe kild him, 'tis in vaine to weep:
“For 'twill kill all that doo't long company keep.
Then Candida (awhile) lay teares aside,
And tell what loue-tricks did in's life betide:
Tell how hee'd sit, and pipe so prettily,
That all Swaines ioy'd to heare his harmonie:
Each Nimph and Shepheardesse, that now remains
In any of these neighbouring Groues or Plains,
From Fountaines and from fieldes would flock with speed,
To heare him play vpon his Oeten Reed:
And as they daily vsed for to doe,
So would the Satyrs and the Dreiads too.
How oft haue I my milke-white flocke forsooke,
And slily stolne downe to a silent brooke,
My Corauins sweet Songs and Oads to heare,
When he (poore soule) thought little I was there?
Amongst the Reeds (oh wherefore did he hide him?)
At vnawares I oftentimes haue spyde him:
There would he sit, and sometimes sing and play,
And sometimes weep, and many woes bewray:
Sometimes his musicke did delight mine eare;
Sometimes I'd sigh his sad complaints to heare,
And to my selfe say (Lo) I can relieue him:
But I'le not doo't, 'cause purposely I'le grieue him.
Tut, let him languish, pule, and pine awhile.
“Who sighs for loue, makes his beloued smile:
For as the Adamant doth Diamonds drawe,
Or little I eat extracts the longest strawe:
Euen so my beauty binds him to obey,
To seeke to sue, and serue me euery way.
“Faire women (alwaies) specially the witty,
“Loue to be lou'd, but loue not to shew pitty,
Though faire-fac'd foolish ones that do not know,
How to esteem the beauties that they owe,
May (like a Puppy that is playd witball)
As oft as touch'd, be apt to take a fall
But we that know what pow'r our beauties haue
Can at out Altars make them creepe and craue,
And thinke th' are happy too, and if they may
But get a kisse, for courting vs all day:
For we doe vse to trie, before we trust:
How should we else distinguish Loue from lust?
“Men are deceitfull, and will sweare they loue vs,
“(Calling to record gods, and heau'n aboue vs)
“When they intend no loue at all vnto vs,
“But onely lust (wherewith they lay t'vndoe vs)
“Seeking to vndermine by subtill Arts,
“The weake made fortresse of our feeble hearts,
“For what i'st, wit, or Art, or gold can doe,
“But they will vse (if not abuse them too?)
“Onely to gaine their wicked wils of vs,
“Whom they'l soone cast off, if they conquer thus.
“Ah beauty, borne to multitudes of troubles,
“How many wayes thy misery redoubles!
“Subiect thou art vnto suspition still,
“And art condemn'd, thogh thou commit'st no ill:
“Feare and soule Ielouzie thy attendants bee,
“Sickenes and age doe each howre threaten thee.
“Besides all this, men (both with gold and wit)
“Seeke beauties ruine, and lay siedge to it.
“Nay more then thus, it doth it selfe betray,
“And to our foes our weakenes doth bewray.
“No maruell then though faire ones feele much woe,
“VVhen all these enemies assaile them so.
But in this case I wrong my Corauin,
Who giltlesse was of such egregious sin:
For why, his loue was most immaculate,
As free from folly, as 'twas far from hate:
For when vpon his pipe he did sit playing,
Or his sad passions seriously bewraying,
He did desire his Candida might heare,
Both what his pastimes and his plainings were:
His heart and tongue concurring both in one,
Made him wish audience, when he was alone:
“For Louers that do no dissembling vse,
“Can make no faults, but what Loue may excuse.
But flattring fellowes that come cogging to vs,
“(Surely they lou's not, that with slights do wo vs)
“Their praise and proffers are like lime-twigs laid,
“Wherewith t'eninare an vnsuspecting mayd.
But Corauin did loue vnfainedly;
Free were his thoughts from fraud and flattery:
For (with his tongue) his heart did speake to me,
“(Happy were mayds might all so wooed be.)
Nothing but pure thoughts which proceeded still
From true affection and intire good will,
Which made me loue him, and oft times go looke,
“(Loue teacheth Louers to search euery nooke)
VVhether he were in flow'ry field, or Groue,
Or to some fonntaine had his fayre flocke droue,
Where, if I found him, (as perhaps I did)
“(For Loue may lie close, but not long be hid)
Like pretty Lambs wee'd sport and play together.
“VVooers are wags, or wantons, choose you whether.
Then though my Deare (to my great griefe) be dead,
Yet let our meetings be remembered:
Mickle good pastime had we two alone,
And (oh) most pleasing, 'cause 'twas seene to none.
“Loue takes no liking where strange eies may see't:
“But where most secret, there 'tis still most sweet.
Oh, how the kisses and the kind imbraces,
VVhich past betwixt vs twaine in priuate places,
Now (being remembred) rauisheth my sence,
And with my sorrowes seemeth to dispence!
Bidding me leaue my sad Laments awhile,
And with (then) amorous talke this time beguile,
Which (for my Loues sake) I am loth to doe.
“But weak's our sexe, and wandring-minded too.
“VVe (like the Moone) our minds must often change,
“All women vs't, and therefore 'tis not strange.
Then if one passion can expell another,
Loue (for a while) Deaths sad designements smother,
Whil'st I relate (in this lamenting time)
Our pretty pastimes in Loue pleasant prime,
This is my lip (kinde) Corauin would say,
When on my soft lip his sweet finger lay.
This is not Thenots, nor doth Thirsis owe it:
But 'tis my lip; Loue did on me bestowe it.
Then would he kisse it, and (in kissing) crie.
Heer's Heau'n on earth, and th'onely ioy that I
Desire to haue: for with a tutch of this,
Mee thinkes, I feele a taste of all true blisse.
Then would he kisse, and kisse it o're agen.
(“Such sweets as those ne're satiateth men.)
And then (in passion) feeling what he spoke,
From his sweet tong these sugred speeches broke:
If euer Balsamum did cure a wound,
If euer comforts did mans cares confound,
If euer excellence did breathe on earth;
Here (I protest) it first of all tooke birth:
For here I finde the Fountaine of delight,
By day to comfort, and content by night.
Here finde I Nectar and Ambrosia too,
For which the gods striue (as we mortals doe)
Heere's Hibla's honny, and Himettus dewe,
Desir'd by all, but (ah) inioy'd by fewe:
Here is the summe of all my soules desire;
Here springs the fuell that inflames loues fire;
Here sweet Aromaticks and odours flowe,
Rarer then euer did in Ægypt growe;
Here is the place surpasseth Helicon,
(Which all the Muses sport and play vpon;)
Heere sits the Graces on this (sacred) lip;
Heere dance the Fayries, heere they finely trip;
The Shag-hayr'd Satyres, and the Dreiads all,
Heere (onely) keepe their solemne Festiuall;
Heere is the Latmus Phebe light vpon,
To kisse her deare-lou'd young Endimion;
Heere is the Crimson-colour'd Currall dore,
Wherewith Loue locks vp his delicious store;
Heere are inclos'd Port-cullices of Pearle,
(Giuen by the gods t'adorne my dainty Girle)
Whiter then Iv'ry, and of farre more worth,
Then all the pearles that Taprobane brings forth;
Heere lyes (intrench'd) the organ of her heart,
Which neuer moues, but musicke doth impart,
Sweeter then that which god Apollo playd,
When he to win faire Daphnes loue assayd.
Oh, how my soule is rauish'd, when I heare
That most mellifluous tongue sound in mine eare!
For then (me thinks) some sacred Angell sings,
Whose voyce my sences in a slumber brings,
And all my cares and corrasiues expels,
By hearing her, whose harmony excels:
For Candida can tune her sweet tongue so,
That when she speaks, her words extirps my woe.
And heere (ah heere) besides what is recited,
Is one thing more wherewith I am delighted,
And that's her dulcet and delicious breath,
Able to sweeten the sowre face of Death,
And purific the most infectious ayre:
What it perfumes, no poyson can impaire.
Odours and Incense (offer'd to the gods)
Are not so sweet, as her sweet breath (by ods:)
For when she speakes, the Sunne seemes to exhale,
And drawe that vapour from this earthly vale,
Vp to the cloudes, which (sweetned there withall)
Shall hence forth none but honny drops let fall:
Which drops distilling from fayre heav'n to earth,
Shall giue her glory that first gaue them birth.
Thus would my deare-lou'd lou'ly Corauin
Sit and discourse, when we alone haue bin.
Then would he claspe me in his comely armes,
Whose pleasant touches were as powerful charms,
To bind me with, more fast and firmer too;
Then chaines of Ir'n or Adamant can doe:
And b'ing impris'nd in that Iv'ry Gayle,
(From whence sweet kisses onely were my bayle)
Hee'd set him down vpon the green-leau'd grasse,
And (hauing me in's armes) would say, Sweet lasse,
Heere we may sport vs on these pleasant bankes,
And vse a thousand pretty wanton prancks;
Heere we may sit, and clip, and coll, and kisse,
Dally, do what we will, taste all Loues blisse:
For heer's no enuious Ill-suspecting eye
Neere to this place: we heere in couert lie:
Time proffers here from foule reproach to free vs:
For why, heer's none (saue heau'nly power's) can see vs.
“Lo, thus the place with th' opportunity
“Moues many a chaste mind to immodesty,
And brought my Corauin (there furtherance hauing)
For what's vnfitting thus to fall a crauing.
Sweet Candida (quoth he) thou know'st I loue thee,
And for Loues first fruits now I meane to moue thee:
Thou see'st the all-discrying light of day
Is almost fled, and vanished away,
And sable colour'd night (which all things couers)
Spreads her black Curtain to befriend kind Louers.
Lo, all is whist, our flocks are close in folde;
And we alone: why should we not be bolde?
It were a shame that I so long should woo thee,
And neuer offer Loues delights vnto thee.
Then blame me not, though now I moue that sute.
“(Maids should be mar'd, if men were euer mute.)
It is our part to make the proffer still:
But's your acceptance makes it good or ill.
Then be propitious (like the time and place)
“Th'are happy louers haue kind loues in chase.
Come, Candida, thou know'st what I desire.
“No Sea's more boundles then Loues burning fire.
Deare Sweet, delay not; but let me possesse
That which I seeke: thou shalt haue ne're the lesse.
Then yeeld to me without resisting long.
“'Tis vaine for weak ones to contend with strong.
With that I sigh'd, and wept, and struggled too,
And thus cry'd out, (oh God,) what shall I doe?
Shall I be iniur'd by my onely friend,
And will he rob me, that should me defend?
what faith's in men, when friends do traitors proue
And let their lusts gaine soueraignty 'ore Loue?
This sayd (quoth he) Why weep'st and wayl'st thou thus,
Since time and place seeke both to pleasure vs?
My Faith and Troth (thou know'st) are plight to thee,
That true and constant I will euer be.
What though we are not (as I wish we were)
Married together? let that be no barre:
For in the heau'ns, He that doth sit most high,
Knowes all our vow's, and knowes I doe not lie.
Wee two are linck'd (though not with Hymens band)
With heart in heart, and also hand in hand;
And whilst in me remaines a sparke of life,
I will account sweet Candida my wife;
And at the instant I resigne my breath,
I'le call thee so, and seale it with my death.
For th'art my wife, and there liues none but thee,
That any right or int'rest hath in mee.
(Sweet Candida) then why should'st thou resist me?
And hauing thus spoke twenty times he kist me:
“For kissing's oyle, which (cast vpon loues fire)
“Doth aggrauate and make it more aspire.
But words, vows, kisses (though too strong all three)
All wanted power to preuaile with mee:
For though these agents did all pleade delight,
Yet still I dreaded, lest some danger might
Ensue thereof; besides the hideous shame
That might detect me, whereso're I came.
And therefore thus replide (Sweet Corauin)
Oh do not tice me for to taste that sin,
That odious sin, which (with my soule) I doe
Hate, euen as hell, and all hells torments too:
I yet am cleare, my flesh is free from taint
Of filthy lust; then seeke not thou to stain't,
But rather lend me thy keene-edged knife,
Wherewith to end this my vnhappy life:
For I protest, then thousand deaths Ile die,
E're lose mine honor, shipwracke chasttiy.
He hearing me thus resolutely bent,
First fetch'd a sigh, then pray'd me be content;
And to appease my anger, fell to kissing.
“(Loues chief'st delight, when th'other thing is missing.)
But whil'st he kist, I striu'd and struggled so,
VVee both grew breath-lesse, then he let me go.
Yet oft we met there: But my Corauin
Ne're (after that) intic'd me vnto sin,
Nor any kindnesse would presume to craue,
More then my selfe thought good to let him haue:
For since he held a glance to be a grace,
And kissing, fauour in the highest place.
“Whereby we see, lew'd suites must be controld,
“Or th'hand of lust will soone make loues heart cold.
“Mayds must not let men haue their minds of them,
“Chastity's precious like a Diadem,
“And hardly kept (as Crownes are kept by Kings.)
“So many seeke for to subuert such things:
But leaning that, which (oh too well) is knowne.
“(For few there are that can defend their owne)
Let me cease talking of it, and returne
To where I left my deare Deares losse to mourne:
For ill it fits me, whom sad woe hath ceaz'd,
To speake of ought wherewith I ear'st was pleas'd.
“Ioyes are no ioyes that doe in sorrow end.
“Misery (most commonly) doth come vnkend:
“And when we thinke, we are in saf'st estate,
“Mischiefe stands neer'st the maine to ruinate:
“For lo, when I beheld those happy daies,
Which e'rst I spoke of, and I once might praise,
I little feared that (which now I finde,
To quench my hopes in this vnhappy kinde.)
Griefe (the onely issue of vnhappy creatures,
The bane of beauty, and best-formed features)
Should haue brought me into th'estate I'm now,
For to sit thus, and sigh and grieue with you,
For losse of Corauin, whom you lou'd dearely:
Yet onely me his death concernes most neerely:
For he was mine, my best and chiefest part,
The onely ioy and comfort of my heart:
And therefore I haue the most cause to mourne,
(Though your loues will not let me weepe alone)
Yea it is I, and none but onely I,
That for his death haue cause to sit and cry,
To cry, complaine, to sorrow, sigh, and mone,
Till like to wofull Niobe (now a stone)
I be transformed; from the forme I beare,
And haue no sence t'afford or feele a teare:
For Corauin, when he resign'd his breath,
Gaue me this gift, his death should be my death,
My death indeed: for (oh) why should I liue,
To whom my Loue this Legacy did giue?
Why should I liue, and sit lamenting heere
Vpon the earth, when heau'n doth hold my Deare?
It is vnfit (since we two were as one)
That I should liue, now my deare Loue is gone.
Ah time, why art thou now so slowly paced,
That wont'st to slit more swift then th'hart that's chased?
Why in my sorrowes dost thou seeme to leaue me,
That of all ioyes so lately did'st bereaue me?
For hauing done the worst that thou couldst doe,
In killing him, why dost not kill me too?
Why bring'st not Death (vrg'd by this occasion)
On my liues kingdome to make sterne inuasion?
Hast thou tooke al from me that thou couldst take,
Sauing my selfe (that now is sorrowes make?)
And leau'st thou me distressed (as in scorne)
To be times abiect, that did time adorne?
For I was held the onely Paragon
That e're th' Arcadian Shepheards look'd vpon.
Made they not Odes and Sonnets eu'ry day,
Which to the world my beauty did bewray?
VVho was't could pipe, and did not sound my praise,
(Whose name adorned all their Roundelayes.)
Was I not th'onely obiect of their eyes,
At whom they would (as at the Suns arise
The Saluadge people doe) stand in a maze,
Worshipping that whereon their eyes did gaze?
VVhat argument did any of them hold
So confident, (it could not be controld)
As of my beauty, person, and rare wit,
Which oft made multitudes to muse at it?
Each Shepheardesse enui'd my ex'lent parts,
As th'onely Adamant to attract mens hearts,
And sayd, that I was honord of each Swaine,
As Cynthia is of all her starry traine.
This time I had, and thus I was reputed.
But what I was, is now (by woe) confuted,
And with my woe, the wretchednesse of time
Vpbraydeth me, as guilty of a crime,
For letting slip occasions that were offer'd.
And losing time, when loue (in time) was proffer'd,
Telling me now (ah that no time could tell mee)
What I forsooke, and what hath since befell mee,
Saying I had (oh that I had so still)
A time, wherein I might haue wrought my will.
I had a time wherein I liu'd content,
I had a time of sport and merriment,
I had a time, wherein I tooke delight,
I had a time, when time was worth the sight,
I had a time, wherein I might haue bin
More kinder then I was to Corauin,
I had a time (e're time tooke him from mee)
VVhich ioy'd my heart that happy time to see.
But now (ah now) that time's vntimely past,
And where weale was, there wretchednes is pla'st.
Aye me, most miserable of all mayds aliue!
More tyranny no Tyrant can contriue,
Then time hath shew'd to take all did content me,
And now to mocke, and with much griefe torment me,
“But still it falls out (oh disasterous Fate!)
“That the most fayre are most vnfortunate:
“For as w'are blest with beauty from aboue,
“So w'are accurst by being crost in Loue;
“Which makes the meanest, and most black of all,
“Despight our fayrenesse, and desire our fall,
“Glorying to see the ruine of our state:
“For whom men loue most, them most women hate.
“It grieues our Sexe to see a supreme fayre,
“To liue vnblemish'd, breathing in the ayre,
“And e're they shall vnscandalized liue,
“(Most shamelesse) they will them shames liu'ry giue.
But why against this huge-made monster, many,
Doe I inueigh, that ne're was wrong'd by any?
Ne're wrong'd by any? yes, yes, and enuide,
If not (by some) too palpably belide.
But ah, I recke not what reports they make.
I'le suffer all for my sweet Louers sake:
For if in Corauins behalfe they speake,
They shall do well their wraths on me to wreake.
Too much blame cannot vpon me be layd:
For I deserue the worst that can be sayd.
Iust are the heauens in punishing me thus,
And yet I'm wrong'd. (Oh, who can right discusse?)
None but the gods my iniuries doe know:
Each mortal's ignorant how my griefes doe grow.
Would I had ne're liu'd to haue felt Loues force,
Enuious Death then had not made diuorce
So (vnexpectedly) twixt him and mee,
Thus to prouoke my sorrowes (as you see.)
Aye me, it is for Corauin that I
Now sigh, and grieue, and weepe thus wofully.
Dead is my Deare. (Oh would he were not so)
Ioy, heau'n, thou hast him (he did thither goe)
On earth he could not, no, he could not stay.
Heau'n got him hence (like Ganimed) away.
None but my dearest deare-lou'd Corauin,
Corauin (onely) could Ioues fauour win.
Vp to the heau'ns the gods haue got my Loue:
Royally roab'd, he there attends on Ioue.
Would I were with him, and coequally
In heau'n establish'd in eternity.
No doubt I shall: but (ah) I cannot yet.
“Angels seats are most difficult to get.
Retyre then, thoughts: for (till my death's day) I
Cannot attaine to immortality:
And dye I would not, till the world doth know,
“(No flatt'rers tongue can true affection show)
Directly how my Corauin was lost.
Iniurious Fates, how are we wretches crost!
Death doth depriue vs of our Dearest friends;
And yet conceales the causes of their ends.
Are we so much despis'd of heau'nly Pow'rs,
Not what they gaue vs, we may keepe as ours?
Did heau'n not (once) giue Corauin to me?
Can they reuoke it, I not iniur'd be?
Oh no, no, no, (I know) they cannot do it?
“Rob'ry's vniust whose're ads ayd vnto it.
And therefore heau'ns (I say) and gods are cruell,
Vniustly to depriue me of my Iewell.
If I doe wrong you, (heau'ns and gods) I pray,
Now, now, (oh now) oh take me now away,
Take me away; yea, yea, so let it be.
And (whose're kild him) lay the guilt on me:
Say, my vnkindnes kil'd the flower of Swaines,
(The comely'st Shepheard that e're kept these Plaines)
Yet 'twas not I, my coynesse, nor vnkindnesse;
But t'was this Boy-god, Loue (misse-led my blindnesse:)
For (on my soule) I n'ere intended ought,
That wrong'd my Deare, in word, or deed, or thought.
But, Loue, 'twas thou, 'twas thou, and none but thou.
That murther'dst him, and mak'st me mourne heere now:
'Twas thou that did'st bereaue me of my ioy,
And now dost drench me in this dyre annoy:
'Twas thou that did'st my youths fayre hopes delude,
And all my comforts cruelly exclude,
'Twas thou that did'st destroy my Dearest friend,
With whome my loue, and dear'st delight did end:
'Twas thy hand gaue my heart this cause of woe,
And made these eyes (like raging streames) or'eflow:
'Twas thou that mad'st these Shepheards fall a weeping,
And leaue their fayre flocks (carelesse) without keeping:
'Twas thou didst all whereof I doe complaine:
Thy cursed Bow my best-belou'd hath slaine,
And in that act thou hast perform'd all ill,
“(For who can do a worser deed, then kill?)
Ah, Cupid, Cupid, thou hast stain'd thy name:
Both heau'n, and earth, are full of thy defame,
And more shall be: there staid, and sigh'd, and groan'd.
(Such wofull wights are worthy to be moan'd.)
Then turn'd her selfe, and wistly look'd about,
Till she spide mee (that still paints passions out,)
VVhome shee desir'd, as e're I lou'd a Woman,
(Which pow'rfull speech can be withstood by no man)
That I would write her wrongs, and woes at large.
At whose request I vndertooke this charge;
And thus reply'd: Thou subiect of my verse,
If (silly) I, thy sorrowes must rehearse,
Daine (thou Diuin'st of creatures) to infuse
A fluent spirit into my feeble muse,
That vnborne Issues (in my worke) may see,
What thy perfections could performe by mee.
Thou art my Subiect, and my Sweet Muse too,
From whome flowes all, of all I wish to doe.
Three dayes and nights I haue already spent,
Of thy sad sorrowes, for to see th'euent.
And ten times three more (willingly) I'le spend,
To make thy woes vnto the wide-world kend.
Thanks she return'd me, and requitall vow'd.
“True beauty (like true vertue) is not proud:
But him that merits, still it will affect,
Though witlesse Dowdies doe all worth neglect.
Then vnto Cupid turn'd her speech agen.
“(Women are more impacient then men)
'Tis thou (quoth she) that makest me forlorne;
'Tis thou that mak'st me hold my life in scorne;
'Tis thou that hast of all contentment reft me,
And nought but woe and wretchednesse now left me.
Ah woe is me, that euer I knew Loue,
Since thereby I thus miserable proue:
Since thereby I thus miserable proue,
VVoe to the time that euer I knew Loue.
Was it for this Dame Nature did her best,
To frame my face more fayrer then the rest?
Was it for this I did reiect so many,
And (but that one) could loue or like of any?
Was it for this, that I would go so trim,
To gaine his loue, then be beguild of him?
Was it for this, that I did tricke my hayre,
And sought all meanes to make me supreme fayre?
Was it for this, that I so carelesly
Forsooke my flockes, to keepe him company?
Was it for this, that I tooke no delight
In any thing, but onely in his sight?
Was it for this, nor wealth, nor wit could win
My flint-hard heart to let loue lodge therein,
(Though many a sweet and worthy Swaine did woo me)
Till he did come, whose death doth quite vndoe mee?
Ah Loue (blinde Loue) how blindly dost thou lead vs,
And (like a false friend) badly dost bestead vs?
Is this the guerdon thou didst promise me,
To pay with death my Loues long-look'd for fee?
Is this the comfort I did hope to haue,
For Bride-grom's bed? my Bride-groome in his graue?
Oh eyes (henceforth) be you no longer eyes:
But (hauing seene these sad calamities)
Turne into riuolets of running teares,
And as small drops of raine the Marble weares:
So dig you channels, and indent deepe creekes
In my (now) clowdy and discolour'd cheekes,
And let your lights (which e'rst did shine as cleare,
As heau'ns bright lamps) no more to men appeare:
But be you dim, nay, darke and shaded euer:
Keepe your close Cells, and be disclosed neuer.
And thou my face, faire beauties late-lou'd field,
(Such as Arcadian Swaynes haue seene but sil'd)
Neuer seeme amiable in mans eye:
But let thy Roses and thy Lillies dye.
And now let wrinckles (mixt with morphew) grow,
Where their quaint colours made a curious show.
And you, my lips, (much prais'd by many a man)
Be (as you are now) euer pale and wan,
Riuell, chicke, pill; and let my sighs consume yee:
As odorous breath wont (balme-like) to perfume yee.
And thou, my skin, (the lou'ly lawny vayle)
That keep'st my corps within an Iuory Gayle,
Turne to a yellowish or Tawny hiew,
And be vnpleasing to all peoples view.
And likewise you, my Saphire-colourd veines,
In whom my liues (yet purple) blood remaines,
Wither, dry, cling together, and (henceforth)
Stop my bloods course, till it turne nothing worth.
And you my brests (two Snowy appenynes)
More priz'd by many, then th' Indian mines,
With all the rest of my admired parts,
(Wherewith I conquered a world of hearts)
Waste and consume, fade, and fall quite away:
For life I loath, and now for death I stay:
For life I loath, and now for death I stay.
And (for my Loues-sake) now wish life decay.
Which sayd, the poore wretch (with much woe confounded)
Gaue a great sigh; and hauing sigh'd, she swounded.
Whereat the Shepheards (which did weepe before)
Now wrung their hands, and wayl'd, and wept much more,
And stood awhile amazed at this chance.
Then wrought they meanes to wake her from her trance:
One rubs her temples, and another, he
Doth clap her cheekes, till crimson red they be:
Another wrings her Nose, vntill the blood
(Inrag'd) starts out, to see if hee were wood:
One wrench'd her pretty fingers in his hand:
Another whooping in her eare, doth stand.
Thus as they grieu'd, to see what did befall her:
So each of them endeuour'd to recall her,
And did at length: but faint she was, and weake,
And stil she sigh'd (as sighs her heart should break)
Anon sayd thus, (but more she could not say)
Cupid kil'd Corauin: woe's me for aye!
Cupid kil'd Corauin: woe's me for aye!
For losse of him, thus makes my life decay;
And so sunke downe vnto the earth againe.
The whilst the Shepheards did on Loue complaine
And curst his Bow, his arrowes, and his quiuer,
And him the Wag, that was their woes contriuer.
Cupid at this, put finger in the eye,
And (whilst they chid him) wept most childishly;
Then babe-like said: (for Babes can do no other:)
How you haue vs'd me, I will tell my mother.
By this, fayre Candida (whom all thought dead,
Till the kind Swaines did eleuate her head)
Began to stir, and rowle her radiant eyes.
(Beauty dwells there euen when the body dyes.)
And when sh'ad suckt breath from the solid ayre,
Away from thence the Shepheards did conuay her.
With whom I'le leaue her, till she do recouer,
And learne to leaue lamenting for her Louer.
Lo now, young Cupid, seeing all were gone,
(With many teares) her wofull state did mone,
And to himselfe (the silly god) did say,
Kind Corauin I cruelly did slay,
And was the Author of her woes, and cries
Not willingly, but through my want of eies:
Yea, it was I, and none but onely I,
That was the cause of her calamity:
And now it grieues me, (when it is too late,)
Loue should (so lucklesly) gaine Louers hate,
And with his folly make the gods offended,
And mortals mourne thus: but the Sceane b'ing ended,
In which my fact was punish'd with defame,
(To the impeachment of my honor'd name,)
I'le get me gone from th' Arcadian Playnes,
And come no more amongst these mourning Swaines,
Till Candida her Corauin forget,
And loue another whom she knowes not yet:
Which to effect, I'le leaue expostulating,
And now go seeke where Death's negotiating,
To do the wretched and weake worldlings wrong,
With the golden arrowes that to Loue belong;
Which I'le take from him, (as I'm charg'd to do;)
And giue him's owne, with all that longs thereto.
Therewith departs. But (oh) not far goes he,
“(A foe's found sooner, then a friend can be.)
E're he met Death, who (like an enuious slaue)
Exclaim'd on Loue, and him ill speeches gaue,
Saying, he was a couz'ning cheating mate,
“(Oh cruell Death, th'art full of canker'd hate)
To take his Ebon Darts, and stead thereof,
Leaue him Loues squilkers; wherat old folks scoffe
The young make songs on, and the wise reiect:
For (but with fondlings) Lou's in no respect:
And therefore (quoth he) I (in scorne) deliuer
Thy bable Arrowes, and thy boyish Quiuer:
Heere take them (Infant) and giue me mine owne,
Wherewith to heau'n thou (like a foole) hast flowne,
And there hast done my engines so much grace,
As make show of them in that sacred place;
Whilst I haue borne thine all about the world,
And at the bosomes of the basest hurld,
By which (of Death) this slight thy shafts haue got;
They'l kill sometimes, though they by Loue be shot,
Then shall I laugh at Lady Venus child,
To thinke how Death the Boy-god hath beguild,
Making him helpe me fill vast Graues and Toombes,
That should make fertill barren womens wombes.
This said, chang'd Quiuers, and away went he,
Leauing young Cupid to complaine to me,
Of's punishment for his rash ouersight,
To steale from heau'n, and stay on earth one night:
From whence the death of Corauin did spring,
Which all this woe vnto the world did bring,
And shame to him; on whom fell Death did rayle;
And Shepheards likewise (thogh it nought auaile)
With bitter execrations did reiect,
As if his god-head were of no respect;
And thus he sayd: I do perceiue (quoth he)
Thou must the Pen-man of my Progresse be:
Fayre Candida hath chose thee, and desir'd,
Not as a mercenarie (basely hyr'd)
But as a true friend, that compassionates
All Loyall Louers lamentable states;
That thou would'st in some sad-tunde Elegy,
Tell how her Deare-lou'd Corauin did dye
By my o'resight, or rather want of sight:
(For Loue would not kil Louers, though he might)
How she laments, and how the Shepheards weepe,
And what a sorrowing for one Swaine they keepe:
How gods (inrag'd) haue punish'd my offence,
And mortals here (with too much insolence)
Exclaim'd on me, and curs'd me to my face.
(Why should a god indure so much disgrace?)
How Death abus'd me, yet (all this while) I
Did nought but weepe, and durst not make reply;
Because the gods thought fit I should be shent,
And (for m'offence) ordain'd this punishment.
But as th' would'st haue my mother be thy friend,
So let this Story sparingly be pend.
Condemne not Loue much (cause thou see'st hee's blind)
As e're th'would'st fauour of a female find:
But write of him as th'would'st haue him to be
(In Venus Court) a friend, or foe to thee.
VVith that the Boy betooke him to his wings,
(Loue when he list, can soare 'boue earthly things)
And vp to heau'n did make his towring flight.
I then return'd these accidents to write;
VVhich (as you see) I haue expressed heere,
Though other Pastorals it comes not neere.
Yet let the world vouchsafe me this report,
My will is good, although my wit comes short.
Sidney and Spencer, be you aye renoun'd:
No time hath pow'r your Pastorals to confound.
Drayton, and all the rest that wrote of yore,
Adorning time with your delicious store,
Be euer honor'd, and (till th'end of times)
On Fames peart tongue be praised for your Rimes.
You worthy ones, oh, do not you disdaine
My mournfull Muse, that in this humble vaine
Dares for to sing, considering these are dayes,
In which some Criticks will the best dispraise:
But pardon me, should all be silent; then
VVho should praise Vertue, or check Vice in men?
I know, fayre Candida's complaint affords
Matter inough, had I but proper words,
T'expresse her griefs, whose woes, sighs, teares, & wrongs,
Might taske all pens, and almost tire all tongues.
But I (alone) doe of her sorrowes sing,
Till better wits thereof be warbling:
For (sure) the worke deserues a worthy wit,
Though I (the weak'st) doe first imblazon it.
Amintas likewise told a sad-tun'd Tale,
For losse of's Phillis, (long since set to sale)
And for Laceno, and for all the rest,
Much sorrow by the Shepheards was exprest:
But I ore'slip it all, for her sweet sake,
For whom too much paines I can neuer take.
And now I will conclude her mournefull song,
To whom, I'le sing a sweeter note e're long:
For whilst I liue, I will tune all my Layes,
To comfort Candida, and in her prayse.