University of Virginia Library

Then know (most noble Lord) my natiue place,
Is Corinth; of the selfe same blood and race,
VVith faire Queene Hellen, in whose princely Court
I had my birth, my breeding: To be short;
Thither not many daies agoe, there came,
Disguis'd and chang'd in all things but her name,
The rare Parthenia, so in shape transform'd,
In feature altred, and in face deform'd.
That (in my iudgement) all this region could
Not show a thing, more vgly to behold.
Long was it, ere her oft repeated vowes
And solemne protestations could rouze
My ouer dull beliefe; till, at the last,
Some passages, that heretofore had past
In secret, twixt Parthenia and me,
Gaue full assurance 't could be none but she;
Abundant welcome, (as a soule so sad
As mine, and hers, could giue or take) she had
So like we were in face, in speech, in growth,
That whosoeuer saw the one, saw both.
Yet were we not alike in our complexions
So much as in our loues, in our affections:
One sorrow seru'd vs both; and one reliefe
Could ease vs both, both partners in one griefe:
Much priuate time we ioyntly spent; and neither
Could finde a true content, if not together.
The strange occurrents of her dire misfortune
She oft discourst, which strongly did importune
A world of teares from these suffused eyes,
The true partakers of her miseries.
And as she spake, the accent of her story
Would alwaies point vpon th'eternall glory
Of your rare constancy, which whosoere
In after-ages shall presume to heare
And not admire, let him be proclaim'd
A rebell to all vertue, and (defam'd
In his best actions) let his leprous name
Or die dishonour'd, or suruiue with shame.
But ah! what simples can the hand of art
Finde out to stanch a louers bleeding heart?
Or what (alas) can humane skill apply
To turne the course of loues Phlebotomie?
Loue is a secret sire, inspir'd and blowne
By fate; which wanting hopes, to feed vpon,
Workes on the very soule, and does torment
The vniuerse of man: which being spent
And wasted in the Conflict, often shrinkes
Beneath the burthen; and, so conquerd sinkes;
All which, your poore Parthenia knew too well,
VVhose bed rid hopes, not hauing power to quell
Th'imperious fury of extreame despaire,
She languisht, and not able to contraire
The will of her victorious passion; cryed,
My dearest Argalus, farewell, and dyed:
My Lord, not long before her latest breath
Had freely paid the full arrears to death,
She cald me to her; In her dying hand
She strained mine, whilst in her eyes did stand
A showre of teares, vnwept; and in mine eare
She whisperd so, as all the roome might heare.