University of Virginia Library

Come sad Melpomene, it is thy part
To teach me to decipher such a heart
As sorrow never knew, nor envious Fate
Could ever dare to boast of, till of late;
Come, give me tears for ink, and ink, for tears;
An iron pen, that may ingrave the fears,
The woes of our Celania: Come, be brief,
A world of tears may drown a world of grief:
And you sad hearted Ladies that have known
Th'extreams of love, let now your tears be shown;
It is, me-thinks, the least that ye can do,
(For every word) to drop a tear or two.
Sighs, tears, and groans, were ever known to be
Loves proper Method, Cupids Diarie
Confirms this truth, moreover, he declares
That Lovers hearts are circumscrib'd with cares;
If any justly can this truth deny,
'Tis Cupid's in an error, and not I.
The Streams of Love run swifter than—but stay
Hark, our Celania groans, my Muse, away.
Bad tidings makes sad hearts, th'unwelcom news
Of her unheard of sufferings cannot chuse
But raise a tempest in each tender heart;
For she, poor Lady, felt th'increasing smart
Of Amoronzo's absence, and her breath
Proclaim'd his absence was the present death
Of all her comforts, and she wept, as 'twere
By Patent, Seal'd with sad and black despair;
'Twas she that taught the Turtle how to morn
For her absented Mate, 'twas she, forlorn,
Distressed Lady, that did first intice
The twatling Eccho to the avarice
Of imitation, every groan she spent
Out of the Store-house of her brest, was sent
Trebbl'd into the world. The Eccho took
Such pleasure in her name, that she forsook
Her naturall voice, but yet she was to blame
So much to wanton with her amorous name
Had Amoronzo heard it, earth had bin
Too small a circle to contain him in,
Nay, and Cèlania too, would often cry,
Who dare use Amoronzo's name but I;
And thus this babling Nymph would still proclaim
And run division on his pleasing name,
As if she had (for poor Celania's sake)
Cry'd him throughout the world, but could not make
Return of his abode, so by consent
They both agreed to groan in discontent,
Under the shadow of a spreading tree,
Whose drooping branches made it seem to be
A Nursery of grief, Celania plac'd
Her melancholly life, whose presence grac'd
The kindness of the place, which now seem'd blest
In entertaining so divine a Guest.
But by and by, there chanc'd to pass that way
A greedy Lyon, roaring for his prey,
Who gazing on Celania, made a stand
(As if her eyes had given counter-mand
To his designs) and star'd upon her face,
Whil'st she, whose Innocency gave a grace
To every look, undauntedly exprest
A welcom entertainment to her Guest:
But see what graceful Majesty doth lye
Within the circuit of a harmless eye;
The Lyon seem'd so satisfied, that he
Forgot to hunger, and began to be
As 'twere enamor'd, and would not commence
His bloody suite against her Innocence,
But fawning on her, seemed to express
An inward sorrow for her sad distress,
Sad Lady, she amazed at the sight
Begun as 'twere to take some sad delight
In her Companion, and would gently clap
His sturdy head which in her tender lap
He softly laid, by which we truly see
The Lyon and the Lamb may well agree:
Nor yet could this strange accident remove
Her wandring thoughts from her endeared Love,
But still her tears were sadly subsequent
Unto her sighes: at last away she went,
Leaving (as she suppos'd) her fawning friend
Lockt up in sleep ------
She had not pac'd much ground, but she espy'd
Two, which in running towards her, had discry'd
The plenty of her beauty, which enforc'd
Their speedy stay, who staying, thus discours'd.
'Tis not to court you Madam, nor to stray
Into vain words enforc'd us to this stay,
But 'tis t'enjoy our pleasures, therefore do
What our perswasions shall advise you to,
Or else we shall (to shorten our discourse)
What you deny to yield, command by force,
At which the Lady (half distracted) cry'd
I will not yield, nor can the Gods abide
So much impiety, but they will send
A speedy vengeance, e're ye can befriend
Or satisfie your lusts, the Gods are just,
And hate, although it be well worded lust,
Therefore desist, except ye will proceed
Unto my death, for that's the nobler deed;
Kill me, and welcom, but defile me not,
Lust is a living stain, and death no blot:
To which they both most desperately reply'd
They that resolve to do cannot abide
The least perswasions, yield, and so deprive
Danger of sad effects, nay do not strive
Nor cry, for know, this dismall place affords
No ears to entertain imploring words,
Yield then without compulsion: Give me leave
Reply'd Celania, ere ye do bereave
And rob me of my treasure, but to take
A silent leave of what I must forsake,
And then I shall submit unto your lust,
Or yield my self a Sacrifice to dust:
She stept aside, and cry'd, Heav'n be my shield,
I neither dare, nor can, nor will I yield,
Look up, look up vile Creatures, and behold
A swelling Cloud even ready to unfold
It self in vengeance, for ye may be sure
The Gods will not behold, and yet endure,
Desist, and let your passions be allay'd,
For they will shield what they themselves have made,
I mean mine innocence, and therefore know
I will be chast because they made me so,
And they which truly call upon the Gods
In their distress, have more than trebble odds
Against their Foes. ------
------ You rather blow the fire
By this discourse, then quench our hot desire
They both reply'd, come, come, we have done wrong
To our desires in keeping them so long
Without their natural food, nay do not strive,
Let virtue dye, but keep your self alive:
Nay leave those tempting cryes, for know, that ear
You call unto, is deaf, and will not hear;
Heaven is a great way off: 'Twill so appear
To you in mercy, but in Judgment, near,
Reply'd Celania; for I'm sure, and know
The Gods are just in all their actions—Oh,
And as she cry'd that Oh, Oh they discry'd
A roaring Lyon which did soon divide
Their thoughts from their intents, for they begun
To leave their base beginnings and to run
To save their lives, repenting of their crime,
(Strange alteration in so short a time!)
But she, poor Lady, laden with remorse
Did, whil'st her time permitted, thus discourse.
I grieve, said she, to see the state y'are in,
Heavens couchant Judgment, finds your rampant sin,
Think not t'avoyd by running what ye'l meet
Your hands are now more useful then your feet.
'Tis truth, they both reply'd, and now we must
Joyntly confess the Gods are good and just:
But see our Executioner draws nigh,
And we must yield, for 'tis in vain to flie;
With that the Lady (being pity strook)
Observe, sayes she, I'le charm him with a look,
He shall not hurt; for know, the Gods can be
To pity, as to punish equall free;
With that, as if her eyes had sent a charm
Into the Tyrants heart, he did no harm,
But gently lay'd him at her feet, to show
The humble meekness of a Convert Foe.
Even as the wretch condemn'd, that finds reprieve
Cannot at present well forget to grieve,
But with a quivering heart, does first display
The colours of his joy; even so did they
(Both timorously joyful) thus proclaim
The goodness of Celania, and their shame.
Admired goodness, that can thus engage
The angry Gods to mitigate their rage
To us, that by just Judgment were decreed
To speedy death, but by free mercy, free'd!
For which (most divine Lady) unto you
(After the Gods) we must acknowledge due
The mercy of our lives, for our attempt
We here confess, most justly might exempt
Your heart from pity, but in you, we found
A soveraign Balsom, in our selves a wound,
A deadly wound, which to departing breath
Is far more harsh, more terrible then death,
We see our grim-lookt Martial, how he lyes
Subjected at your feet, and dare not rise
To execute that fury which is prone
To him by nature, but doth now disowne
Nature it self, converted to fulfill
The gracious pleasure of your virtuous will.
Oh what a sudden alteration's bred!
Here lyes a Lyon, but his nature's fled!
But Madam, since 'tis so, that unto you
The worthless tribute of our lives are due,
Command us what you please, and you shall find
Us ready, nay, and winged like the wind
To execute your pleasure, Madam, these
Are only words, command us what you please,
And by our quick obedience you shall see
The true effects of our integritie,
Injoyn us to some pennance, that we may
T'expiate our crimes be forc'd t'obey,
For (pardon our boldness Madam) we discry
Hard, and misterious Characters in your eye,
Which we, by your permission, will unfold,
And tell you that which never yet was told:
We'l take the liberty without consent
To say, we know you groan in discontent,
And so does he, that is the dayly food
Of your affections, Madam, 'tis not good
To dwell upon delayes; in short, we know
You love even to despair, and that your woe
Is bleeding new. And that it may appear,
Madam, believe, that Amoronzo's here,
I mean in wish, I would not have him nigh,
Except his dear Celania were by,
Whom we suppose you are, or else his tongue
By false description, Madam, did you wrong;
For 'twas our hapless fortunes to be near
Unto his groans, when we did sadly hear
The thunder of his passion (oh hard hap)
And then a sigh would usher in each clap
Like flames or lightning, sometimes he would say,
My Dearest, oh divine Celania!
Here, here, thy tortur'd Amoronzo lyes
Bewitch'd to death by his own miseries:
Do not believe thy self, if thou shouldst chance
To think me cruel, let thy thoughts advance
To better notions, ah my Dearest, know
The Gods can testifie, it is not so,
Heav'n knows I love thee—There he stopt, & then
Even like a Torrent he brake forth again
And thus exprest. ------
------ What Love-sick-God hath made
An errand from the Heavens, and thus betray'd
My Dearest from me, oh it was unkind
Unkindly done, to leave me here behind
To weep her absence, well, the Gods may frown
But I'le unseile the Heavens, and reach her down;
I cannot breath, for she that is my breath
Is ravish'd from me, and is now my death,
And there—oh what, reply'd Celania, what
If it be death, be sparing, name it not,
Such stories please me not: Then Madam, know
There he left off to speak, but not to flow
In floods of tears, he being thus distrest,
We ran unto him, made it our request
To know the reason of his grief, but he
With a mixt look, reply'd do ye not see
Can ye not spell my miserable state
(Far easier to endure, than to relate,)
Perplex me not with questions, but be brief,
And tell me, can you mitigate my grief?
Can ye inform me, where th'indeared Guest
Of my now widdowed, melancholly brest
Makes her abode, if this ye can assure me,
Ye'l prove Physitians, and for ever cure me:
Within the fatal confines of this place
I left her with a Villain, whose disgrace
Black Hell does seeme to blush at, nay, and I
(The wofull Authour of her tragedy)
Am buried in despair, oh horrid truth
Dimagoras was a Villain from his youth;
But I'le pursue the Traytour, nay unhinge
The Cerbrean gates, and bring him to revenge.
Murther does non-plus Hell, which knows not how
To get provisioary Plagues enough
To punish it, but stay, behold, oh see
These are the grounds of my just miserie,
(Shewing Celania's Partlet, Gloves, and hair)
Then judg, have I not reason to despair
Sayes he. Thus having lavishly expended
His profuse rage, he tore his hair, and ended,
And there we left him, Madam, having now
Exprest the truth we know, we further bow
To your commands, believe it, we assure
Our selves, that you do equally endure
The like misfortune, neither do we doubt
By your permission but to finde him out,
Or else we'l lose our selves in the pursute,
Then let your Faith encrease, and be not mute,
Your silence tells us that you love, and we
By our own confidence resolve 'tis he,
'Tis him you love, then please for his dear sake
To be perswaded, and some pity take
Upon your self, believ't, those blushes do
Confirm, what we have told you, must be true,
Nay, and the more t'establish your belief,
We'l tell you what we are ------
------ Then know in brief
We are Arcadians, and from thence we came
Being impowered in your Uncles name
(Our royal King) to ransack all about
To see if we could find Celania out;
We had not long pursu'd, but by a chance
We heard which way, and how you did advance
With Amoronzo, so we soon forsook
Our lazy pace, and suddenly o'retook
Your most renowned Lover, whose report
For feats of Armes, shall spread about the Court
At our return, although it much redown
To our disparagement, to heap renown
Upon a Stranger, and eclipse that glory
Which ought t'advance the credit of our story;
If Mars had come in person to oppose
And give encounter to so many Foes
So well appointed, he had quickly known
Th' unhappy Fate of being overthrown;
For Amoronzo (much like lightning) flew
About our ears, and in a moment slew
Our stoutest Leaders: Nothing could asswage
Or quench the fire of his consuming rage;
Our lives were only sav'd, but not by slight,
Or feats of Armes, but by a timely flight,
So that we must confess our lives were due
To Amoronzo first, and now to you,
For which, as duty binds us, we shall be
Faithful to you in this extreamitie,
But Madam, let us crave, before we fall
To our intentions, that you would recall
Those ill opinions of us which do rest
Within the Realm of your disturbed brest,
Believe us then, we did it but to trye
And prove th' effects of your known Chastitie,
And if this be not truth which we declare,
Then may your grim-Attendant cease, and tear
Our perjur'd hearts: Now Madam, if you please
To walk to more conveniency, and ease
Your wearied body, we will forthwith trye
Our chiefest skills, to bring a quick supply
Of comfort to you, and we hope to find
A Balsom to refresh your troubled mind:
To which Celania without further oath
(Made confident by knowledg of them both)
Reply'd—Extreams of grief and care hath made
This alteration in me, and betray'd
The freedom of my Spirit, yet I dare
With confidence assure my self, ye are
Relations to my Uncle, whose severe
And more then usual passions, made me fear
The weight of his displeasure, which you know
Falls heavy: Heaven protect me from a Foe
So wrapt in fury, that he is by odd,
Far more implacable than the Gods,
Nor do I think it possible for Art
T'allay the flames of his incensed heart,
And were it in my choice, I'd chuse to dye
Rather than feel the lightning of his eye;
Therefore, as I suppose, 'tis much in vain
To waste your time in lab'ring to obtain
The renovation of his Love. What thing
Can be more fierce than an incensed King;
This Lyon, if compar'd to him, may be
Esteem'd a Lamb, experience let's you see
That he is pitiful; therefore, return
And leave me here alone, that I may burn
In my own flames: Thus let us end this strife,
Who brings me Amoronzo, brings me life:
The noble Knights (for so they were) reply'd,
Madam, this truth, is not to be deny'd,
Which you have utter'd; but since your distress
As we conceive, requires a quick redress,
Be pleas'd t'accept those proffers which will tend
To your advantage, Madam, do not spend
More time, in more delays, the homely place
Of my abode, is not above the space
Of half a League, which by our help, you may
Quickly approach to, Madam, let's away,
And be assured that you shall command
As free an entertainment as will stand
With my estate: Celania, heavy-hearted,
Consented slowly, slowly, she departed;
Where now we'l leave them for a time, and treat
Upon Dimagoras, who is now compleat
In his distress, being business'd in a strife
Whether to kill himself, or lose his life
By condemnation; for it so fell out
That the Lyconians gave a totall rout
To the Arcadian Army, and pursu'd
Their victory, until they had subdu'd
Their chief Commanders, and at last they sent
Unto th' Arcadian King, to know th'intent
Of his proceedings, whether he would yield
To their desires, they having won the field;
To which th'inraged King sent this reply.

Having dispatch'd this Message, he retires
And (as his speed commands him) soon requires
Th' Assistance of his Council, to advise
Which way to steer in these extreamities;
Who being met, considering well the speed
Of their occasions, gravely thus proceed:

Most sacred Sir, perpending well the state
You now are in, we boldly thus debate,
And first grave Sir, we humbly do propose
Life for Dimagoras; because your Foes
Being flesht with victory, will quickly be
(If not oppos'd by potent pollicie)
Upon your quarters, therefore we'l prepare
And make the best advantage of his fear,
We have already, strongly nois'd about
That you have lately gave a total rout
To the Lyconian Army, and this news
Being posted to his ears, sure cannot chuse
But fright him into any thing, 'tis known
His mungrel disposition dare not own
The least misfortune, therefore we'l present
To him (as 'twere by Lanskip) your intent:
We will imploy an Agent who shall speak
By circumambitues, and slyly break
The Ice of your desires, by which we'l find
Which way the Byas of his tortur'd mind
Does most incline: Thus having laid the ground
Of our designs, we quickly can propound
What Fabrick to erect, fear seldom's clad
With reason to distinguish good from bad;
Therefore, most sacred Sir, if you approve
Of our advice, we quickly will remove
Your now-incroaching Foes; for we'l indite
And make Dimagoras sign to what we write,
We therefore wait your pleasure ------
------ To which the King
Gravely reply'd, I fear 'twill prove a thing
Of small effect; Lyconia does afford
But mean respects to him, although their Lord;
Suppose he should command them to retire
A League, or two, they'd laugh at his desire,
For they are now in armes, and are made bold
By victory, and what they get, they'l hold:
‘When Subjects once get head, they bid farewell
‘To duty, make it conscience to rebell;
‘The sword knowes no obedience, for it makes
‘Disloyalty a Law, and rudly shakes
‘Truths Fundamentals, seldom wanting friends
‘To brandish it into sinister ends;
Therefore I well conceive that 'tis unfit
To act by him that has not power, nor wit;
For though it be State policy, we know
To seem unwise, 'tis madness, to be so;
For States-men must, like water-men still show
Their faces East-ward, when they West-ward row:
But to the purpose, 'tis our only way
To labour, by contrivance, how to play
Our after gain, giving them blots by flight,
Which if they hit, they fall, we stand upright:
You know, I sent for aid, which I expect
Within few dayes, therefore I'le not neglect
To prosecute my ends; for I intend
If Fate permit, this very night to send
My Carriages before, and when the Sun
Gives them intelligence, I'le seem to run
With these my scattered forces, but I'le leave
This Garrison well man'd, for I perceive
That they intend a siege, and to persue
With their remaining force, which if they do,
I'le flye with speed to the Olympian Plains
And joyn with those recrutes which there remains
In expectation of me, if th'event
Prove well, thank Heav'n, for this is my intent:
As for Dimagoras, I will prepare
An Antidote, he shall not dye with fear,
I'le cure him with a Message, which shall be
Welcome, being ballast with his libertie,
He shall have freedom to enjoy the air
Under a watchful eye left he despair
And so we lose him; for 'tis my intent
To make Dimagoras finish the event
Be what it will: 'Tis policy to have
In such uncertainties, a royal Slave:
Delay breeds danger, let's away, I long
To be in action; Courage makes us strong.

Reader, I crave thy favour to excuse
My quick retreat; for know my tim'rous Muse
Is not so military to withstand
The dreadful thunderings of a Martial hand;
For she complains that Mars was once before
Discourteous to her, and she'l fight no more
Except—but hark, who calls? Celania, how
Celania call? then Reader turn thy brow
From Mars to Venus, for Mars seldom saves,
Nor gives he any other Crowns then Graves:
We'l leave him for a time, and if there be
Occasion that we must return and see
His well flesht shambles, we'l not fear nor run,
'Tis better far to see, then feel what's done.

All you whose Virgin-hearts have never known
The painfull issues of a Love sick groan,
Draw near; and you, whose barren eyes did never
Let fall a tear, come now, and weep for ever;
And you, whose infant eyes could never prove
Or speak the proper Dialects of Love,
Approach, for here are to be taught in brief,
Your hearts, your eyes, your tongues, the rules of grief,
Here breaths your lively copy, you may see
The exact portraiture of miserie;
Observe how every Linament doth speak
Its excellency, and attempts to break
More hearts then she has woes, whose dismal cry
Eccho's; alas, I'm griefs Anatomy,
See how she is disected, how each part
Of her much wounded, yet more constant heart.
Lies open to your view, and how each vein
Usurpt by death, lyes bleeding to obtain
That blood-stone of her Soul, I mean, her dear
Her dearest Amoronzo, who's more near
Unto her Soul, then all the wealth that can
Be apprehended by the thoughts of Man,
'Tis he must cure my pains, sayes she, or I
Must languish in his absence, pine, and dye:
These were Celania's groans, which had more
And more enlarg'd, had not the fast lockt door
Receiv'd a sudden knock, which made her stay
The current of her grief, and haste away
To give an entrance, but her thoughts begin
To mutiny, unwilling to let in
Unwelcome newes, so drawing back her hand,
Her trembling hand, she made a sudden stand;
And gazing towards the door, she said, must I
Must I be Porter to my misery;
No, no I will not, yet I will—but stay,
I dare not, oh I dare not, why? I may
And will, I will; Misfortune do thy worst,
I may be made more blest, not more accurst:
With that scarce knowing what she did, she run
Unto the door, and hastily begun
To turn the Key, but e're she could fulfill
The sensless pleasure of her captiv'd will,
She heard a voice, a voice, that seem'd to bear
(Being made more sad, more terrible by fear)
A dreadful horror, and it seem'd to cry
Harken Celania, harken to what I
Shall say, fear not, for know, my Message gives
This comfort, that your Amoronzo lives,
He lives, but I must tell, what's sadly true,
Voyd of all comforts, but the thoughts of you:
Yet know Celania, 'tis my business hither
To tell you that you must meet both together.
But where, or when, or how, that must be hid
From both, because I strictly am forbid,
Yet this I'le say; it will be ere the Sun
(Times painful journey-man) hath fully run
His three dayes course; but I must sadly say,
Ye will not know each other, and that day
Will prove unfortunate; for one whose name
Stands now recorded in the rolls of shame,
Will by an accident, betray and bring
You both before the presence of the King:
These things must happen, and you'l not do well
T'endeavour a prevention: So farewell.

Who ever saw a trance revived Soul
With what a sad aspect his lips condole
His ridged Fate, that he must live to be
As t'were enjoyn'd t'imbrace his miserie?
Even so Celania waking from her trance
Crav'd pity by each look, and did advance
Her drooping head, then for a time she stood
As loath t'acquaint her self with flesh and blood,
But at the last, death. which did seem before
To sojourn in her eyes, did now restore
Lifes due prerogatives, but I'le not wrong
The real truth (though rare) to say, her tongue
Was first in motion, for her hands, her eyes
Did seem to descant on her miseries:
'Tis more then strange, her sorrows wanting vent
And grown quite lawless, had not tore and rent
Her grapling Soul, each sigh which did depart
Seem'd (like a boysterous storm) to tear her heart
Up by the roots, at last, her sighs made way
For words (like Pyoneers) and without stay
She thus proceeded ------
------ Since the powers above
Have thus resolv'd to contradict my Love,
It will prove vain to strive, the Gods will do
What their firm resolutions prompt them to:
Ah must these eyes of mine behold and see
My Amoronzo, and not know 'tis he,
Impossible! for sure there cannot rise
So great a mist before my feeble eyes:
Lovers are ey'd like Lyncius, can discover
Though wall'd about, their real hearted Lover:
But stay, what should this dark Enigma show
(Strange kind of riddle) see, and yet not know,
Oh miserable happiness! sad Face!
See, and not know, did ever wit create
A greater mistry, well, I'm sure that I
Shall know him, though it be by Sympathy,
'Tis neither time nor Art can so much change
My Amoronzo's looks as to estrange
Or hid him from my knowledg, for my heart
Retains his true effigies, and no art
Can so disguise him, but even like the Sun
(The worlds great eye) that may be over-run
And cloth'd with Clouds, yet sure it cannot be
Chang'd in aspect, but we must know 'tis he;
But were this all, ah then my raging grief
Might in some sort be subject to relief,
But ah my sorrows more and more rebell
Against my Soul, and rings a doleful knell
To all my comforts, nothing can prevent
The rude incursions of my discontent:
Judge Ladies, judge, if ever grief could be
More acted to the life then 'tis in me,
Observe my Laborinths, and if ye find
The relish of a comfort in my mind,
Judg me to more extreams, if art can show
A way to make a more exuberous woe
Then mine, inflict it on me, let your eyes
Weep me to death, or drown my miseries,
I care not which; oh tell me is't not woe
More then enough, to see, and yet not know
My Amoronzo: here's a flaming rod,
Here's grie s full stop, but not her period.
Sad consequence, I see there is no reason
In grief, that loves to tyrannize by treason!
Oh pevish Fate, why dost thou thus devise
New ways, new means, new woes to tyrannize!
But Heav'n prevent the Traytor, may his death
Betray the treason, or his feeble breath
Want utt'rance to express it, Heav'n defend
My Amoronzo from so base an end,
But if it be decreed; The Gods are just
In taking both, we'l marry in the dust,
The grave shall swell with mirth, our lofty tomb
Shall be both nuptial bed and dining room,
The worms shall be our Guests, nay, they shall be
Both Mask and Musick to our jollitie;
We'l revell in our ashes, lively death
Shall dance for joy, then having taken breath
Shall post away, and thus nights vail being spread,
The Curtains drawn by time, we'l shrink to bed:
Rest then my heart, purchase a free content,
Observe with care, and thou shalt see th' event
Come fluttering on the wings of time, 'tis near,
'Tis near, and will with winged speed appear:
With that (the Rose and Lilly being met)
I mean her hand and cheek, she seem'd to let
Her eye-lids slumber, but she could command
No pleasing rest; for in her eyes did stand
Grief's watch-men (tears) so in an angry vain
She snatch'd her Lute, and thus begun to strain
Her Magick voice, I cannot well say whether
She wept, and sung, she sung and wept together.

Celania's Song.

Thus having ended (may I say) her Song
Her tears (like swelling Surges) grew too strong
For her restraint, and fain she would have vented
More vocal grief, hut that her eyes prevented
And drownd her speech, yet she was heard to cry,
Sum all misfortune up, and that am I.
Where now we'l leave her pickl'd in her tears,
Opprest with sighes, and buried in her fears;
For now the Knight's return'd, and in his eye
Dwells the sad Character of misery:
Each look imports misfortune; he enquires
After Celania's welfare, and retires
In private with his Lady, to relate
His fruitless progress, and th'unhappy Fate
Of Amoronzo, who as fame assur'd
Was lost at Sea, after he had endur'd
A fearful Ship-wrack: This unwelcom newes
Floated in tears: alas, and who can chuse
But lend a drop, poor Lady, who shall keep
Celania company in tears, or weep
Equivolent streams, the Knight, who having paid
The tribute of his eyes, lookt up, and said
What's best to do, which way shall we contrive
T'express this fatal newes, and keep alive
Our Guest, Celania; for I'm sure, that breath
That utters his, proclaims aloud, her death:
Come then, resolve, mans judgment must resign
In these extreams unto the Feminine?
What shall we do? for if misfortune should
Reveal Celania to the King, it would
Be my destruction, or if I should go
Unto the King, and utter what I know,
He might reward me; but the horrid name
Of Traytor fills me with insulting shame,
I dare not, oh I cannot prove a death
To her whose virtue priviledg'd my breath.
To which the Lady thus reply'd ------
------ 'tis true
I apprehend what dangers may accrue
By our concealment, yet I'le rather be
A Prostitute to all extreamitie
Then let my name (the jewell of my age)
Bear treasons image, what can more enrage
The Heavens then treason; I could well afford
To curse each letter, of so dam'd a word;
But since 'tis thus, if you (my Lord) think fit
To trust this business to a womans wit,
I shall endeavour both with speed and care
T'extenuate Celania's, and your fear,
And thus I will contrive: First then present
Your self unto her, let no discontent
Dwell on your brow, 'tis easie to discry
Th' afflicted hearts distemper by the eye,
Then have a care (my Lord) and let each word
Be bitter-sweet, that so you may afford
Equal of both, for if you should declare
His certain death, 'twould fill her with despair,
Or if with too much joy you should relate
The happy tidings of his prosperous Fate,
'Twould so transport her, that no skill nor art
Will moderate the raptures of her heart;
‘For 'tis well known that womens minds are such,
‘That they must neither joy, nor grief too much.
But to proceed, you having thus declar'd
Your doubtful mind, there shall be soon prepar'd
An ancient Pilgrim, who may by his wise
Discourse, aleviate her miseries:
Our house hath bin (my Lord) these three days blest
In giving entertainment to this Guest
He is a man, except his tongue belye
His heart, judicious in Divinitie,
He's sparing in discourse, yet kind to all,
Gravely facetious, sweetly musical,
Nay, and Celania wish't, that she might be
A consort in his pleasing melodie,
And he as often (noting her distress)
Hath wisht her griefs might find a quick redress;
To which intent he told me, if his skill
Might any way be useful to fulfill
Or further her desires, that she should find
A readiness, crown'd with a cheerful mind;
If she intended) as he thought) to be
Shrowded within a sacred Nunnerie,
Which in my judgment very well may sute
With her condition, and in time confute
Her powerful adversary, grief, which now
Usurps, and sits in triumph on her brow:
(Poor Lady) when at last this news is spread
That Amoronzo, her lifes life is dead
What can she do but dye? 'twould be hard measure
Onely who dyes for Love, sure dyes for pleasure:
But stay, farewell, let's follow our design,
Act you your part (my Lord) I'le warrant mine.
Away they went, the Knight without delay
Compos'd his countenance, and took his way
To visit sad Celania, who then sat
Disconsolate, as if she had forgot
She liv'd, till at the last she heard one say
Madam, be pleas'd to cast your eye this way
Upon your Servant who hath thus made bold
T'intrude, unlicenc'd, Madam, please to hold
Your self contented, let not sorrow have
The whole dominion of your thoughts, but save
Some room for Amoronzo ------
------ Have ye seen
The Pris'ner at the bar striving between
Hope and despair, with what a piercing eye
He views his Judges, fearing to discry
His death, cloth'd in their looks: Even so did she,
Poor Lady, strive to read her destinie
Regester'd in his looks; stand still she cryes,
That I may read my ruine in your eyes,
The Characters are legible, I know
How to spell death it self, and construe woe:
First in your face (my Lord) is to be read
A tragick story: Amoronzo's dead,
He's dead, my Lord, nor shal't be long before
I'le follow; claspe your book, I'le read no more,
And thus I'le finish lifes accursed summe
I come my Amoronzo—Dear—I come.
Hold Madam, spare your life, he is not dead
Reply'd the Lord, you only have misread
And made a false construction in my looks,
Madam, pray read again, or burn the books;
He is not dead, the Fates have now decreed
To make you happy: How! nay then proceed
Reply'd Celania, will the Gods at last
Take pity on a wretch that's overcast
With black despair, what shall I wish to give
In recompence: Does Amoronzo live?
His name creates new life; for now I find
A new creation in my infant mind;
Oh how grown in comfort, every minute
Brings me a Heaven, and Amoronzo in it;
See where he comes, Love, lend me wings to fly
Into his bosom, come my joy, draw nigh,
Imbrace thine own Celania, oh how blest
Am I, Love never found so sweet a rest.
The Lord (unus'd to Love sick raptures) knew
Not what to say, but suddenly he flew
Like lightning from her presence, where he met
The Lady and the Pilgrim, who were set
To wait her long'd-for coming, that they might
Intice her to some musical delight,
But Fate design'd it otherwise, for now
They all complot, and joyntly study how
To wean her from her raptures, and at last
The Pilgrim (sadly hearing what was past)
Being fill'd with pity, took his Lute, and went
Near to her Chamber, where he forthwith sent
His airy Messengers unto her ear
To summon all her senses to appear
Before his melody, at last, she rais'd
Her drooping head, and after she had gaz'd
About the room; where is (said she) my Dear,
What, stole away, and left Celania here?
Or was it but a dream? but hark, that hand
Which playes, is his, and sure I understand
Each pleasing touch, but stay, what voice is this,
I'le swear it is an Angels, or else his,
'Tis his, and he is mine: I'le rest content
To hear his Song, and then expect th'event.

The Pilgrims Song.

The Song thus finished, Celania calls
Her thoughts in question, and she forthwith falls
Into a serious study, well, sayes she,
I cannot be mistaken, sure 'tis he,
Or I am not my self, both voice, and hand
Invite my tortur'd Soul to understand
It must be he, but oh that I could see
That Saint, which gave this voice that libertie;
Impatience hates delay, I must be bold
In spite of modesty; I cannot hold
But must attempt: Ye Fates prove not unkind,
The eye, not ear, must satisfie the mind:
With that, with Eagle-speed (she that before
Could hardly creep) now flyes unto the door,
Which being open, suddenly her eye
Surveys each corner, but could not espye
The treasure of her heart, but having found
Her hopes in vain, she fell upon the ground,
Being intranc'd, the Pilgrim that had view'd
Her passion (though unseen himself) pursu'd
His resolutions, so with speed he takes
His Lute, and with a willing heart he makes
A near approach, and sent unto her ears
(As if he had Epitomiz'd the Spheres)
Such Heav'n-bred strains, that in dispite of death
He re-inforc'd her to her former breath,
This being done, she gently mov'd her head,
Which was repos'd upon too hard a bed.
Oh that my Soul had wings, she cryes, that I
Might quit these vain delusions, and fly
To my delight, this world affords no treasure
To me, but base-bred joyes, and spurious pleasure;
Oh that I could—with that a sudden glance
Betray'd the Pilgrim to her eyes, whose chance
It was t'observe her, as the purple dye
Usurpt her cheeks; she blusht, but knew not why,
And yet the more she labour'd to restrain
Her blushes, still the more she blusht again;
At last, with bashful modesty, she rais'd
Her feeble self, stood still awhile, and gaz'd
Upon the Pilgrim, who admir'd the grace
And majesty united in her face,
Whil'st she, did equally admire to see
So much of meekness, cloth'd in gravitie;
Resolving then, that pity needs must rest
In such a Soul; she thus her thoughts exprest.
Grave Sir, sayes she, although it disagree
Unto my Sex to take the libertie
Of speech, before requir'd, yet I depend
Upon your liberall goodness to befriend
My errors with a pardon, that I may
Return deserved thanks, and haste away.
To which the Pilgrim ------
------ Madam, if your haste
Depend upon my pardon, I shall waste
Some time before I grant it; for I have
An humble favour, which I needs must crave;
My hopes assure me you will not deny
To crown my wishes; Madam pray reply.
To which Celania: Sir, it is not best
To grant, before I know what you request,
Yet my assured confidence is such,
That you will neither ask, I grant, too much;
Therefore propose your will: Then Madam, know
I have observ'd, nay, copy'd out your woe,
In which (excuse my boldness) I do find
The sad extreames of a tormented mind,
Therefore be pleas'd to say (for I respect
The cause, there is no judging by th'effect)
The reason of your grief, whith once being known
The cure is more then half perfection:
Stand not to ruminate, but be assur'd
What you relate, shall safely be secur'd
Within the strong-fenc'd bull-wark of my heart,
Not to be taken by the force of Art:
Believe it Madam, and from that belief
Derive to me the reason of your grief:
I am a Pilgrim, treason cannot dwell
More in my brest, than in a Hermits Cell,
My calling makes me bold, and I must say
Your Conscience ought t'inforce you to obey;
Some days have pass'd since these mine aged eyes
Have truly witness'd your extremities,
And 'tis my Conscience bids me to require
The reason: Madam, this is my desire;
Or if my Judgment or my Reason fail,
I have a Conscience that will stand my Bail,
Nay weep not Lady, lay aside those fears
I understand your tongue, but not your tears,
Tears are good signs, but words are understood
More in one breath, then tears are in a flood;
I could drop tear for tear, but to what use?
Tears in some sense are only words excuse;
'Tis a known truth, that Nature, which affords
An eye for tears, has given tongue for words;
Therefore be pleas'd as long as I stand by,
To let your tongue be flowing, not your eye.
To which Celania, after she had dry'd
Her watry eyes, lookt up, and thus reply'd.
Grave Sir excuse me that I must deny
At present, what you claim as courtesie;
For my disordered thoughts cannot invent
As yet away t'express my full intent,
But be assur'd time shall not lose much sand
Before your heart shall fully understand
The nature of my grief; for I will throw
My life into your hands, and then bestow
It as you please; In the mean time consent
To grant my pardon, and I'le rest content:
And so all peace attend you, may your eyes,
See as much joys, as mine have miseries.