University of Virginia Library

The great light damps the lesse; and so, so long
As Phœbus shone, was Uulcan scarce among
The cinders seene: But, now is come the night,
Theagenes and Cnemon see the light
Of all that Isle on fire; and then began
The Louer true to cry, O wretched man,
(And tore his haire) I liue no more to day;
My danger, feare, hope, loue and care, away:
Now she is dead why should I longer breathe,
Not in my brest this bloudy weapon sheathe?
O thrice vnhappie! in vaine then did they see
Me flye the fight, to keepe my selfe for thee
So sudden lost, and by so fearfull death,
And where thou wouldst not, giuing vp thy breath!
And what a griefe is this, that so by fire,
As of thy beautie, perfect and entire,
No sparke is left. I gaue no lasten brace,
Nor kist thy dying lips, nor saw thy face.
O cruell Heau'n! are these my nuptiall brands?
So tooke his sword; but Cnemon staid his hands,
And said, What meane you? much deceiu'd you be,
Chariclia liues: You me deceiue, quoth he,
You haue vndone me, you no life haue left me,
That of so sweet a death haue thus bereft me.
Then Cnemon swore, and told all of the Caue,
And what commandment Thyamis him gaue.
This cheer'd Theagenes, and now they post
Themselues both rowing (hauing sculler lost
At first encounter) to th'encinder'd Isle;
Yet vp and downe they carried are awhile
By gusts against them, and because they knew not
The Scullers Art, and iust together rew not.
Yet (want of skill supply'd with earnest minde)
They get to shore, and then, as swift as winde,
To caue they run, and by the doore it finde;
But (that which Cnemon maruells-at) vntin'd.
He takes (as there he found) some fired reed
To giue them light, and leads the way in speed;
Yet (lo) full soone on sudden starts he backe,
And cries, O Gods, what hap is this! Alacke
W'are quite vndone; Chariclia here is slaine;
And downe the candle cast, and wept amaine.
Theagenes, as smit downe by some force,
Fell, and embrac'd the bloud-embrued corse,
And long so lay; that Cnemon lest he should
Himselfe doe hurt, came softly; and was so bold
As draw his sword that hung downe by his side,
And went for light. Then lamentably cry'd
The Knight, and said, O griefe vnsufferable!
Malignant Starre, or Furie vnsatiable!
Was't not enough to banish me from home,
All vp and downe the world to make me rome;
To cast me where no comfort man releeues,
At sea to Pyrats, and at land to theeues;
Yea more than once; and take my ioyes away?
Of all but one was left; and that to day
Is also lost, my deare Chariclia,
Slaine in defence of vertue (dare I say)
To keepe her selfe for me. These eyes of thine
That all men cheer'd, as with a light diuine,
Be darke and nothing see; nor he them saw
Who thee assail'd, or hand had staid for awe.
But this of mine shall ioyne vs, and this Caue
Our bodies both shall keepe in hidden graue.
Then felt he where he thought his sword had hung,
And said (O Cnemon) this is double wrong
Both vnto her and me. As thus he said,
A slender voyce, as 'twere of boy or maid,
Was heard to call Theagenes, and he
Full well it heard, and answer'd, Call'st thou me?
Sweet soule I come: then Cnemon came with light,
And plainely heard the voyce of such a sprite,
As call'd Theagenes: O God, quoth he,
Chariclia liues, that was her voyce; 'tis she.
O Cnemon (quoth Theagenes) O leaue,
And doe me not thus often times deceiue.
I both deceiue (quoth he) and am deceiu'd,
If this dead-one be she, and therewith heau'd
The head from ground, and to them turn'd the face:
Whereat amaz'd, he started backe a space,
And cry'd (O wonder!) this the countenance
Of Thisbe should be; what concealed chance
Should bring her hither? then Theagenes
Came to himselfe, and feeles at heart some ease;
And comforts Cnemon, almost out of winde,
That with his helpe he might the sooner finde
His deere Chariclia; this now Cnemon knew
For Thisbe, chiefly by a ribban blue,
Which with a scroule from off her necke he tooke;
And, as he would vpon the writing looke,
Theagenes him bids forbeare as then,
And seeke Chariclia further in the den.
So he's content: but I had nigh forgot
The sword of Thyamis that in the plot
Was also found, well hatcht and richly guilt,
Which Cnemon said he knew well by that hilt.
Who sits in darke, sees such as come with light,
And knowes them sooner than is knowen; this might
Excuse Chariclia, that came first t'embrace,
And kisse Theagenes with modest grace:
The fairest thing is Iustice: Health, the best;
And most delightfull, that we loue, possest:
And haue I got th'againe, quoth she? And liues
My Deere, quoth he? thus each vnt'other giues
The kinde salute; and count'r-embracing fell
For sudden ioy aswound: there was a well,
And Cnemon sprinkled wat'r vpon their faces,
Which brought againe their rosie-blushing graces.
For now asham'd they were, and chiefly she,
That Cnemon did, what past betweene them, see:
Though all but well: yet, as they had offended,
They pardon craue for that which he commended.
But you Theagenes, he said, for that
You did before, I cannot praise; for, what?
Embrace a stranger hauing no relation
To you at all, and in so foule a fashion?
While I stood by, and told you plaine that she,
Your best Beloued, liued yet? quoth he,
O charge me not before Chariclia;
I tooke that course for her. But can you say
Ought for your selfe, who first the same mistooke,
And wail'd my case, and started backe, and shooke
For feare of woman dead, an armed man?
O Souldiour stout! O braue Athenian!
Hereat they smil'd a little, but with teares,
As more to sorrow bent amid their feares.
And yet Chariclia scratching at her eare,
As if sh'had then conceiu'd some iealous feare
By thinking on't, broke out thus; Happie she,
Whom he so wail'd and kist, what ere she be!
And, but you both will thinke of iealousie
I aske thereof, faine would I know of thee,
Sweet heart, what one it was, that so for me
Was kist vnknowen? You maruell will, quoth he:
For Cnemon saith 'twas Thisbe that Athenian,
The Minstrellesse that wrought so with a wenian
'Gainst him and Demenet. Chariclia, scar'd
With newes thereof, askt Cnemon how it far'd
That Thisbe's brought from Greece into this den,
And neither he nor she perceiu'd her, when
They thither came. That, who can tell? quoth he;
But that of her I know, is this; when she
Had circumuented Demenet (the plot
Against me knowen) at first my father got
Himselfe a pardon, and my home-recall;
And me to seeke prepar'd a ship; and all
This while the queane had leisure t'exercise her
In minstralsie; Arsinoe enuies her;
Chiefly because the Merchant Nausicles
Became her loue, before Arsinoes;
She vnto friends of Demenet relates
The plot of Thisbe, they vnto the States;
And cause to plead procure with great expence
The men of greatest wit and eloquence.
They cry that Demenet was cast away
Vniudged, vnconuict, and further say,
This crime of wed-breach was deuis'd for shame
And way to death; where is he? what's his name,
That should commit this foule adulterie?
Him bring aliue or dead; or else, to trie
The cause aright that Thisbe let be rackt.
My father promis'd; but she closely packt
Her selfe away; what like to fall vpon her
Fore-seeing well: and then with much dishonour
My father (cleer'd of murder by the lawes,
As one that had related right the cause)
Yet lost his goods, and was himselfe exil'd,
For ouerthrowing so his guiltlesse childe,
And helping Thisbes plot against his wife;
That better had he led still widdow life.
The man that buries wife, and weds againe,
Doth after ship-wrack lanch into the Maine.
But this same Thisbe, here that hath her due
Now in my sight, from Athens came I knew
By Anticles at Ægin; therefore twice
With him int' Ægypt sail'd I with aduice
To finde her there: that by her meanes I might
Releeue my father; State enforming right.
But how to Lake, or how into this Den
She was conuey'd, I cannot tell, nor when.
But, if you please, let's see what's in the writ
I found about her; thus beginneth it:
Vnto my master Cnemon. Know you (Sir)
My mistres death, and I procur'd it her,
For your reuenge; but how, because (forsooth)
'Twere long to write, Ile tell by word of mouth.
If you be pleas'd your hand-maid to receiue,
And, while I tell the manner giue me leaue.
Ten dayes I haue beene here captiu'd t'a theefe,
Who vaunts himselfe Shield-bearer to the Chiefe.
So close he keepes me that I cannot moue
Vnt'any doore, and saith it is for loue;
I rather thinke, and liker 'tis, for feare
Lest any take me from him; yet (mine Here)
Some pow'r diuine me did the grace to shew me
Your face in passing-by, and I beshrew me,
That out I ran not humbly to salute you;
The fault vnto my hard restraint impute you:
With much adoe yet pen and inke I got,
And wrote, and sent you this by that old Trot
Was set to keepe me; saue me (Sir) I pray you,
And I in all things humbly will obey you.
'Twas by constraint against you that I wrought;
But, you to right, of owne accord I sought.
And if your anger nothing can appease,
It vse against me (Sir) eu'n as your please.
For by your order rather had I die,
And buried be with Grecian obsequie,
That Attick am, than suffer, Worse than hate,
Of barbarous theefe the loue disordinate.
Thus had she wrote, and Cnemon thereto said;
Vnhappie Tib, (I cannot call thee maid)
That after death (yet so I count it well)
Thus to my selfe thou do'st thy storie tell.
Behold Reuenge about the world thee cast,
Nor staid her whip, till vnto me at last,
Whom thou hadst wrong'd, she brought thee; that with eye,
I might be witnesse of thy miserie.
But what a mischiefe hadst thou now in hand,
To worke by lett'r against me? for I stand
In doubt, that all is yet but some inuent
Of thine, to be so farre int' Ægypt sent,
To worke my woe. Theagenes burst out,
Still feare you shadowes? are ye still so stout?
You see she's slaine; but who hath blest you so,
How, when, and why 'tis done, faine would I know.
By Thyamis (quoth he) the deed was done,
I know his sword, and th'Eagle grau'n thereon:
But cannot ghesse, or how, or why, or when.
This is no such as was Trophony's den,
Whererein whos'euer enter'd, prophesi'd,
O Pythia then, O Delphi they two cry'd;
And both at once; not knowing what they ment,
He stood amaz'd thereat; and thus they spent
Some time in commoning. Now must you know,
That when Thermutis had receiu'd a blow,
And wounded swam to land, he came in haste
Vnto the Caue where he had Thisbe plac'd;
What time his Master sent him to deuise
(And long he staid) for solemne sacrifice.
And hard within the doore, as come but new,
Her Thyam finding, for Cariclia slew.
Now as the commoned Thermutis came
And called Thisbe, greeking but in name;
But when he found her dead, vpon her gaz'd,
And, word not vtt'ring long time stood amaz'd.
At last them hearing to them went, and thought
They had her slaine; and would reuenge haue wrought,
But naked was, eu'n as to land he swam,
And had no sword; O, then in what a stam
Was theeuish, barb'rous, loue-sicke, angrie minde,
That how to wreak his wrath could no way finde;
But must comply! and so he did; but yet
Meant, if he got a sword, vpon them set.
His looke declar'd his minde was not at ease,
And so came fawning to Theagenes:
Amaz'd they were before they heard him speake,
And suddenly Chariclia gaue a squeake,
And into th'inner mazie cabbin ran,
For feare, or shame, to see a naked man.
Theagenes opposed point of blade
Against the slie assault Thermutis made;
And bids keepe-off: when he the danger sees,
With humble shew he fell downe on his knees,
By fortune more than nature made so tame,
And him to plead-for Cnemon call'd by name;
And said, I late your fellow was, and crau'd
That both would thinke him worthy to be sau'd.
It moued Cnemon take him vp, and where
Sir Thyam was, and how he sped, to spere.
He told of Thyams taking, hardly more
The manner how, than I haue said before;
And said himselfe came now to seeke a slut,
Whom he in caue before the battell shut.
Her name was Thisbe, what is she to you?
Quoth they. Then he them told the manner how
He tooke her from the Merchants, lou'd her, left her;
And now he knowes not who had him bereft her.
Then Cnemon, them of all suspect to quit,
That Thyam kill'd her, said, this proueth it,
And shew'd the sword, that well Thermutis knew,
And saw it bloudy yet of slaughter new.
From barb'rous brest a deepe sigh then he drew,
And said, O Thisbe, my deere heart, adieu.
And Thisbe, Thisbe, rudely still he brai'd,
And on her brest his head all bloudy laid:
He kist her dying lips, and kissing wept,
Till charmie sleepe vpon his senses crept.
Than th'other three had time (it seem'd) to thinke
On their affaires, yet all begin to winke,
Opprest with former toyles, and Cnemon led
The way to sleepe; Theagenes his head
Leant on a stone, and she vpon his brest,
And all together sweetly tooke their rest.
Commanding Nature will enioy her season,
And make our senses ouercome our reason.
From this the carefull minde is not exempt;
And, while Chariclia rested, thus she dreampt.
A shag-hair'd fellow (dreaming thus she quak'd)
She thought pull'd out her eye, wherewith she wak'd,
And not remembring their now-present plight,
She gaue a sudden shreeke, that wak'd her Knight;
What ailes my loue, quoth he? She told the case,
And with her fingers felt about her face:
Then 'tis a dreame, quoth she, I haue mine eyes;
But what this meaneth can I not deuise.
And sore I feare, lest you that are mine eye
Be taken from me; Cnemon with her cry,
Awak'd, and heard, and answer'd by and by:
Good Lady thinke not so; not so thinke I;
But, if your parents liued late, shall one
Of them depart; for, this full well is knowne,
They made you see and seene: and therefore right
It is, to count them authors of your light;
And so your eyes. I thanke you (Sir) for this,
Quoth she, and pray, you hit the marke, I misse.
We doe but dreame then quoth Theagenes
Thus weighing dreames: 'twere better for our ease
We weigh our dangers, casting them decline;
And since you gia'n are by some Power Diuine,
T'assist vs Cnemon, vnderstanding well
Both tongue and wayes, which we doe not; pray tell
Your best aduice, while yonder Gypsie sleepes:
For fast away neglected season creepes.
Then he, In the Isle prouision is there none;
But hidden treasure much, to diuers known:
Consider then, if here we longer stay,
We starue forthwith, or make our selues a pray
To some late on our side that all doe know,
And come for spoyle, or to returning foe.
Then haste we must away; but first deuise
To rid vs of Thermutis; otherwise
Who knows how long we shall be forc'd endure
A man vnconstant, barbarous, impure,
And something still suspecting vs for her
He loued so? if time he finde to stirre.
But how vs rid? by sending him t'enquire
Of Thyamis: and hereto they conspire.
And raise and tell him; he's content; but so
As Cnemon went with him; alone to goe
Vnwilling was, in case so dangerous:
And Cnemon thought it much more perillous,
T'haue such a mate: this saw Theagenes,
Who spoke him-to aside: the words were these.

Sir Cnemon, well you counsaile can, but want
Performing courage. Courage man: how can't
Be dangerous for you to goe with one
So naked man; you hauing sword, he none?
And hee'll suspect our flight if you refuse:
But goe togeth'r at first, and after vse
Your skill to leaue him; pointing vs to meet
At neerest ciuill place; and in the street
Of Chemmis was th'appointed place, a Towne
Both populous and rich, vpon a Downe,
Or side of hill, erected for defence
Against the spoyling Herdmens insolence,
At banke of Nilus, not farre from the mouth,
Beyond this poole some twelue mile off, at South.
This is too farre for her to walke at ease,
Not wont to foot it, quoth Theagenes:
But goe we will in beggars poore array,
T'auoid suspect, and get meat by the way.
A good deuice, quoth Cnemon, verily;
Deformed both, and she hath lost an eye:
But sure I thinke you looke for better fees,
Than can be got by begging bread and cheese.
Whereat they smile, and sweare fidelitie,
Not one to faile another willingly.

And on the morning Cnemon and Thermute
Their iourney take, and fall to some dispute,
Ere halfe a mile they past, at breake aday,
Concerning wheth'r of them should lead the way:
Which Cnemon will not, ignorance pretending,
But 'twas indeed to cast for his defending;
And take same offer'd opportunitie,
To rid him of such hatefull company.
They went not farre, but light vpon a flocke,
Whose Shepherds, hauing heard the fearfull shocke
Late at the poole, were gone, and all amid
The thickest neighbour woods themselues had hid.
This hungrie paire then caught a sheepe and flead,
And broyl'd it there vpon the Shepherds glead.
But (not to stay, for hunger, or for feare)
With hastie chaps the scorched meat they teare.
And bleeding send it downe the narrow gulfe,
As Indian Tiger wont, and Irish Woolfe.
Thus hauing fed, and drunke of milke their fill,
Now toward night they come vnto a hill,
At whose far-side was set, Thermutis said,
A towne where Thyam (as he thought) was staid.
But Cnemon feined cause to lag behinde,
As pained sore in guts with flux and winde,
And vpward casting his disorder'd maw,
For drinking milke, and eating meat so raw;
The Gypsie staying for him on that hill
In little time benighted was, and fill
Asleepe, where he had laid him on a stone,
And stung with Aspe ere morning di'd alone.
That Cnemon knew not, who ran still in feare
Of this so fell, now no more biting, Beare:
He lookt behinde him still and ran amaine;
And ran, and lookt, and ran, and lookt againe.
O how this sight would faire Chariclia please,
To laugh at him that mockt Theagenes.
A liuing Greeke from dead Ægyptian ran;
And long time that, which could not hurt him, shan.
As Coward arm'd with helmet, shield, and speare,
Lookt in a glasse, and ran away for feare.

At night he wraps himselfe in heape of leaues;
And yet for feare he neither turnes nor heaues,
Nor takes a nap, but dreaming of his case,
Still thinkes him running from Thermutis face.
When day began, which he thought longest when,
His haire that, for the custome of those men
With whom he liu'd, he let grow verie long,
(For thought it is elsewhere, and these among,
That shaggie locks will make a young man show
Both milde to friend, and terrible to foe)
He now cut short: and this was reason chiefe;
Because he would not still be tooke for theefe.
Then hasted he to Chemmis, by th'accord
Betweene them made; and neere to Nilus bord
Where o're he was to passe, he saw at hand
An old man walking vp and downe the strand;
(White haire he wore, in holy fashion long,
His beard alike downe vnt' his girdle hung,
More narrow toward point; in Greekish cloke,
And other garments made of finest loke)
So full of thought, that with faire By-your-leaues,
Thrice passed-by, he no man yet perceiues:
Then comming face to face, him bids all-haile:
Of that (quoth he) my fortune will me faile.
Then Cnemon wondred, and was farre to seeke,
And said, I pray (Sir) are y'a stranger Greeke?
Nor Greeke, nor stranger, then repli'd th'old Sire:
Why then (quoth Cnemon) weare you Greeke attire?
That this I weare, though this more gallant bee,
Quoth he, the cause is my calamitee.

But th'other wondred why a man should weare
For sorrow gallant clothes, and faine would heare.
A tale (quoth he) too long and lamentable
For me to tell, for you vnsufferable.
But (young man) whither goe you? what to seeke?
And how in Ægypt (tell me) speake you Greeke?
I askt you first, quoth he, and you refuse:
Of mine affaires then will you know the newes?
I take't not ill (quoth th'old man) for you seeme
A Greeke well taught, and one of some esteeme;
And changed, as my selfe, for some designe;
But (O) I wish you better case than mine:
Which, if I should not tell, my heart would burst,
And therefore well am pleas'd to tell you first.
But let vs passe the Nile here running wide,
And goe to yonder towne on th'other side.
I haue no house mine owne there, but a friend
That me receiues, and all that I commend:
We shall be kindly vs'd, and there full well
Our strange aduentures may both heare and tell.
Gow' then (saith Cnemon) let vs passe the Sound,
And to the towne: for thither was I bound,
To meet some friends. Then timely take they boat,
(For many there vpon the riuer float,
Expecting hire) and to the towne they bend,
And that mans house, which was this old mans frend.
The man abroad, his daughter marriageable,
And other maids attend them, set the table,
And furnish it with diuers daintie meats,
And make their bed, and lay them aired sheets,
And washt their feet: then Cnemon, we may call
This house the house of Iupin Hospitall:
Not so, but one that knowes the God so hight,
Reply'd the old man, and one that fauours right:
And in a word, to passe by all the rest,
He knowing well distresse will helpe distrest.
So did he me, and brought me to this place
With trauell weari'd, and in wofull case:
And still in what I need affordeth aid.
Why trauell you, quoth Cnemon? Th'old man said,
Of children robb'd I was by theeuish might,
And, though I know them, dare I not me right.
But here I mourne; nor can I take my rest
Or day, or night: as bird that hath her nest
Deuour'd by Dragon all afore her eyes;
Yet nigh she dare not come, nor farre she flyes.

Wilt please you then (quoth Cnemon, Sir) to show,
How this befell you, and how long agoe.
Hereafter Sir, quoth he; now time requires
To thinke vpon our stomacks iust desires.
But first doe seruice to the Gods, as vse
Th'Ægyptian Wise-men: nothing shall excuse
Me from this dutie; then vpon the ground
Faire water powring, said, this am I bound,
And doe, in honour of the Pow'rs Diuine
That hold this place, and such as well encline
To Greece, Apollo Delphicke, Cynthia,
Theagenes, and his Chariclia;
Whom I among the Gods will euer count:
So did, and said, and wept as from a fount.

This Cnemon hearing, on him wistly gaz'd,
And well obseruing him reply'd amaz'd;
If for my boldnesse (Sir) I be not blam'd,
What are to you the two that last you nam'd?
They are my children (quoth he) not by wife,
But giuen me from aboue; the griefe and strife,
Which I haue had for them, me them assure
As much as if they were my geniture.
As children loue I them, they me as Sire:
But (Sir) it makes me greatly now t'admire
How you them know. I know (quoth he) and tell
This for your comfort, they are safe and well.
O Phœbus! O, where are they? tell m' I pray.
What will you giue to know, quoth he? why say
What will you aske (quoth th'old man?) Here no more
Than thanks well can I giue; and that for store
Of wealth doe good men take, and hoord in heart,
As treasure great: nor will they from it part
For any thing: but if I come well home
(And Isis promiseth so shall I come)
And safe receiue my deere boy and my guirle,
I will reward you both with gold and pearle.
Vncertaine this is and to come, quoth he;
You may in present better pleasure me.
Aske what you will, quoth old man: Promise now
(Quoth he) to tell me whence they are, and how
They were disseuer'd from you, and their birth;
For next your selfe none more them loues on earth.
A treasure great is this; but, sith you craue it,
I promise, after supper you shall haue it.
When they had eat their nuts, and figs, and dates,
And plums, and pears, and other such achates,
As th'old man wont (for that which once had life,
He ne're would eat-of; nor it touch with knife)
And he had water drunke, and Cnemon wine:
The Greeke began, and said; O graue Diuine,
Bid one, I pray, come take away the boord;
For now is time that you performe your word.

I will (quoth he) and would good Nausicles
Were here to heare the tale, but Mitranes
Hath drawen him out on hunting; oft he pray'd
Me tell the same, and still I him delay'd.
The Greeke had heard, and startled-at the name
Of Nausicles, and askt what was the game
They went to chase: of beasts (quoth he) the worst,
That call'd are men, of all good men accurst.
They liue by spoyle, we hardly can them take;
For, for their den they keepe a noysome Lake.
What haue they done? quoth hee: surpris'd a guitle,
Which he esteem'd aboue or gold or pearle,
An Attick-borne, which, well could play and sing;
He meant present her to th'Abissen King;
His Queene to wait-on, hoping (in regard
She was a Greeke, so taught) for great reward,
As wont be giu'n there: Thisbe was her name.
O Gods! quoth he; and closely past the quame,
To heare the rest: and vnperceiued said,
What force of Armes hath Nausicles, what aid
For such emprize? He told him Mitranes,
A Leader vnder Lord Orondates,
The Kings Lieutenant there, with horse and foot
For some good summes of money's hir'd to doo't.
And I so counsail'd; for my minde me gaue,
I might some newes thence of my children haue.
O Sir (quoth Cnemon) I had nigh forgot,
Thus led along by your entising plot,
To put y'in minde of promise; what is this
To that, I pray? and th'old man said, it is
To that you askt me last; and now to that
You most desire I come: but first somewhat,
To make the matter cleere, I must premise,
And of my selfe, on whom that storie lyes.

In Memphis borne of father Calasire,
Whose name and office (he that shall enquire,
May finde) I had, and Isis minister
Was long therein, though now a wanderer.
Wife had by Citi's, lost by Natures hest:
When she from body went t'another rest,
My life I led awhile without anoyes,
My selfe delighting with two pleasing boyes
I had by her: at length it thus befell;
Here came from Thrace (to me may seeme from hell)
A wanton Peece, nor ouer young nor old,
Of woman kinde, so tising and so bold;
That she to Temple came, and at her heeles,
A traine of seeming Maids as smug as Eeles.
Thus once she told me, from Philosophee
I can your schollers draw; you none fro mee
And I reply'd, 'tis easier to spill,
Than make the man: your draught is downe the hill,
A broad and easie way to vice; but I
Them vpward driue to vertue lodg'd on high.

Yet, after this, I blush to tell, but will;
Though long resisting that entising ill,
I faint at length, and lest I place profane,
(Twice marrie may not Metropolitane)
I rather chose obseruing holy Lawes
My selfe t'absent, pretending other cause;
To see my Thyamis, mine eldest son,
Which with his Grand-mother at Thebes won.
That name againe made Cnemon muse, but let
Th'old man say-on, to heare what issue set.
Besides (quoth he) the Goddesse whom I serue
Me told my fate, from which I could not swerue:
My sonnes, by some disaster waxen lewd,
Should fall at odds, and into deadly fewd.
The sight whereof t'auoid, I further went,
And punished my selfe with banishment.
The mid-time of my trauell will I balke,
As not concerning this whereof we talke.
When I at Thebes heard how great a fame
There ran of Delphos, and Apollo's name,
I long to see', and landing at the Cirrhe
In Crissie Gulph, ere I the Towne came neere,
Of voyce diuine me thought I heard the sound,
And worshipped, and kist that holy ground:
The place is such indeed, quoth Cnemon then;
For right the same my father told me, when
He had been Legate there from Athens sent,
To meet in graue Heptarchie-Parlament.
And are you then Athenian, quoth he;
What name, I pray Sir? Cnemon call they me;
And of my state I tell you shall anon;
Now (pray) with that you haue begun, goe on.

Then he; deuoutly to the Templ' I come,
And aske, and answer get, thus much in summe:
From fruitfull banke of Nile why do'st thou flie,
T'auoyd the strong designe of Destinie?
Endure; int' Ægypt shortly will I send thee,
And there, in all that is to come, befrend thee.
And they that heard it, standing neere in place,
Said, since Lycurgus, no man had the grace
To be so welcom'd: and forth-with they all
Well entertaine me; still their friend me call,
And friend to that their God; so well prouide me
Of common purse, that nothing is deni'd me.
In temple-close I lodg'd was nigh the griest,
And grew acquaint with Charicles the Priest:
Who told me many things, and askt me some;
As whence those ouer-floods of Nilus come;
Who made th'enormous great Pyramides;
Of Crocodiles, Ichneumons, Ostridges;
And of the two-legg'd-winged Dragon, seene
To swim and flie the riuer banks betweene,
From out of Arabie; which he thought was
The right, not that which wings and fourefeet has.
And much the like: then I, Sir, how come you
To know our parts so well? to tell you true
(Quoth he) I trauell'd th'row them many a mile
To Catadupe, and Cataracts of Nile:
And as in Citie walking on a season,
I bought that was with us in Greece most geason,
Against returne, a man of comely port,
Though blacke, and speaking Greeke, as aft'r a sort,
Me met, saluted courteously, and pray'd
A word with me, and in the Temple said;
I saw you (Sir) buy many drugs to day,
Some Abissine, and some of India;
What I shall shew you, bee't with your good leaue,
And buy of mee; I will you not deceiue.
I will, let's see, quoth I: Nor doe you grutch
(Quothe he) to giue: Quoth I, nor aske you much.
And so from vnder's arme a casket drew,
With many precious stones, greene, red, and blue;
And oyly-shining pearle, as big as pease,
All perfit round, of South-East Indies seas;
When I beheld them dazled were mine eyes,
And (Sir) I said in vaine should I them prize;
Goe seeke a fitter chapman, if you please,
For all I haue will not buy one of these.
If you ne buy them can (quoth he) yet take them;
That can yee doe; and I your owne will make them.
I cannot set (quoth I) so great a rest,
Nor take this gift: but why so doe you iest?
I doe not iest, beleeue me (Sir) quoth he;
But am in earnest: hereby shall you see:
These all I giue you, so be that you please
Take one thing more, more worth than are all these.
I laught, he askt me why; at iest you make
To promise more (quoth I) if all I take.
I sweare the gift (quoth he) but sweare ye to
To vse it well: and for such hope, I doe.
Then with his right hand by the left he takes me,
And leads me home t'his house, and welcome makes me:
And shewes m'a faire one, putting off her masket,
More worth than all the Iewels in his casket.
He said she was no more than seu'n yeere ould,
But I no lesse than twice seu'n ghesse her could,
And fit for husband: beautie rare (I deeme)
Makes little Ladies often taller seeme.
I stood amaz'd, as well at that was done,
As what I saw. He thus againe begunne.

This daintie guirle, her mother, for some drift
You shall hereafter know, her left to shift
With fickle Fortune, wrapt in cradle-bands;
I chance to finde and take her in my hands,
And saue her life; for our Gymnosophists,
When soule of man hath entred fleshie lists,
Hold that it ought in no wise be neglected,
But as the life of man, by man protected;
Besides I saw, as 'twere, a beame diuine,
When she beheld me, shoot forth of her eyne:
About her lay this heape of precious stones,
And silke with letters wrought, which for the nones
(I thinke) were done to proue another day
Whose th'Infant was, and hidden truth bewray.
When I them read, I saw well whose she was,
Yet vnto Shepherds nursing let her passe;
And kept the rest, for feare that for the pray
The childe might afterward be made away.
And while she was but verie small, I count
Her hidden safe: but flours of beautie mount,
And such as this apace; that vnder ground
(I thinke) though hid, would breake forth and befound.
Thus though awhile I had it well conceal'd,
I feare it would by selfe light be reueal'd;
So hurt it selfe and me. Then suit I make
To be int' Ægypt sent, and her I take
Along with me; and now in this Embassage
I hope to finde for her some better passage;
And eu'n by you, Sir, whom this many a day
I well obserue: and take her you, I pray,
With all her dowrie, swearing first to me,
You will her keepe, and marrie well, as free.
But now no more, my businesse cals me hence,
This King to day appoints me audience.
In Isis Fane to morrow will I tell you
The rest of her, and so with her farewell you.
I take her home, and on the morrow went,
To know the rest; but he away was sent
With threats for haste; because he came to claime
A mine of Emrauds for the Melchusaim,
Hydaspes King of either Blackmoreland;
Then I, (because I could not vnderstand
Who, whence she was, and of what parents borne,
That had thereafter listned so beforne)
With disconteut retire: I cannot blame
Him (then quoth Cnemon) for I feele the same:
But what he further said, quoth Calasire,
Now shall I tell, and make you much admire.

When I came in (thus said my Charicles)
At sight of her my heart had present ease:
In Catadup no longer dare I stay;
But homeward downe the Nile make haste away.
And here she now is with me, counted mine,
And beares my name: and doth in all encline
T'obey me like her father (so she takes me).
But of a husband will not heare (that makes me
Full, full of care) and yet in beautie exceeds
All maids of Greece, which emulation breeds:
For strangers here as well as Greekes admire her;
And many Suitors, men of worth, desire her.
She saith she will Diana follow she,
And hunting with her still a Maiden be:
With bow and shaft full well can hit the marke;
But vnto Cupids bow would neuer harke.
I thought bestow her on my sisters sonne,
A proper man; but nothing can be done;
In vaine is all my care and labour spent;
So strongly she maintains her said intent,
And most with reasons sometime heard of mee,
In commendation of Virginitee:
Now I beseech you (Sir) helpe what you may:
To talke with her she will not you say nay,
Nor any worthy man: she courteous is,
And opportunitie you cannot misse:
In Temple-close, as 'twere in house the same,
Now liuing both: me helpe maintaine my name;
For husband worthy long she shall not tarrie;
Pray, you perswade her what you can to marrie;
Lest, wanting whom to leaue-to mine estate,
I lead my latter dayes disconsolate.
So said he (Cnemon) shedding teares, and I
Him promise helpe, and weepe for company.

While thus we talke, a solemne Embasie
Of Achillæans came to him; and I,
When he had told me what they were, desire
To see the principall; (he camet'enquire
Of Charicles the Priest for furtherance,
And what so might their Sacrifice aduance)
Let call him in (quoth he) and then came in
The goodli'st youth among them e're had bin:
Achilles-like in portlinesse and face,
And shew of courage with more louely grace.
Vs he saluted, we him resalute:
And Sir (quoth he to Charicles) impute
No fault to me; for haste I must the Rite,
That all the pompe may well come in ere night.
Goe then, quoth Charicles, and to me said,
If not before, now shall you see the Maid.
For she, Diana's seruant, must attend
This Sacrifice, from time it gin to th'end.
Now (Cnemon) I had seene the Maid before,
And with her ministred; and of the lore
Sh'hath askt me many points; now held my peace
To see the sequele: here our talke we cease,
And goe to Templ'; as all things were before
Made ready, when the Chiefe came in at dore.
We come to th'Altar, and with Priest his leaue,
Begins the young man orison conceiue.
By secret slight some cunning Priests will make
Diana's Image, and Apollo's shake:
And call it pious fraud: but thus thinke I,
Truth has no need helpt-out to be with lye.
For when came forth Diana's gallant Maid
With virgin traine, thus Pythia plainly said:
The youngest he and she, that here attends
In Priestly Rite, shall haue their wished ends:
By sea and land, by warre and tempest tost,
Shall come at length to hot Sun-parched coast,
For vertues due reward; and there allight,
Their tanned temples crowne with Turbanwhite.
This Oracle not one of that Repaire
Could vnderstand, and least of all the faire,
That had no tanned temples, could be thought
Design'd thereby. But when the thing is wrought,
Then prophecies and dreames are vnderstood;
Then shewes the face, before kept vnder hood.