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Cephalus and Procris

Narcissus. By Thomas Edwards. From the unique copy in the Cathedral library, Peterborough. Edited by Rev. W. E. Buckley ... with an appendix from divers sources

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37

You that are faire, and scorne th'effectes of loue,
You that are chaste, and stand on nice conceites,
You Delians that the Muses artes can moue,
You that for one poore thing make thousands treate,
You that on beauties honor do curuate;
Come sing with me, and if these noates be lowe,
You shall haue some prickt higher ere ye goe.
I tune no discord, neither on reproache,
With hideous tearmes in thwarting any dame,
But euen in plaine-song, plodding foorth of each,
That Cynicke beauties visor on doth frame,
Sing I, and so sing all that beautie name:
If there be any that account it harsh,
Why let them know, it is Narcissus verse.
Now geue me leaue, for now I minde to trie you,
Sweete Muses but to harbour mong'st so many,
On rich Parnassus mount, if not so nie you,
O yet in some low hollow Caue with any,
That but the name of Poetry do carry:
Corycyus some haue told you let lie vast,
There let me liue a while, though die disgra'st.

38

Euen word for word, sence, sentence, and conceite
I will vnfold, if you will giue me leaue,
Euen as Narcissus playning did entreate
Mee to sit downe, nor will I you deceive,
Of any glory that you can receive,
By this sad tale, and if it do you pleasure,
No doubt there will be better done at leisure.
With fixed eies, handes ioyntly vpwardes reard,
His bodie all to mournefull sorrow bent,
Imbracing clowdie sighes, as one prepard,
To tell some leaden-tale, not merryment,
With melancholy action onwardes went:
And thus he spake, and smiling too, begun,
And thus he wept, and ended to his song.
Whilest I was young nurst in the blessed heauen,
Of those sweete Ioyes, which men allude to loue,
Euen in the hight thereof was I bereauen,
Of those sweete pleasures, ere I could approue,
The essence of that organing from Ioue:
For looke how Gnats soft singing swarme together,
So did faire Ladies round about me houer.
Aie me, I not respected dalliance then,
Though many did incyte me to disport,
I knew not I what ioyes they gaue to men,
But as the banquet past, they as the shot,
Pleasing euils acting or acting not,
Gods know I knew not, nor accounted euer
Of fairest woemen but as fowlest weather.

39

I thought no good compar'd vnto deceite,
Fancie was alwaies dull, and knew not mee,
When Ladies did with kisses me entreate,
As in a traunce I lay, and would not see,
Of dalliance so farre I stole in degree,
What good did Nature giuing me such beautie,
And would not shew me there to all the duetie?
I not regarded plaintes, or nice smiles speaking,
Eies modest wandering, toung alluring obiectes,
Sighes raysing teares, shame with the white rose streking,
But counted her, and her as natures abiectes,
He that nere paine did feele, all doubtes doth neglect;
So carelesse were my thoughtes and all my actions,
As I accounted nere to feele subiection.
I stood as nice as any she aliue,
On this curl'd locke the other wreathed haire,
And told how some had power to make men wiue,
And some againe to bring them to dispaire,
Had I but told them they could charme the aire;
Such was beliefe, and such is still in louers,
That one may cause them thinke, or ought discouer.
O had I bene lesse faire, or they more wittie,
Then had I not thus playn'd in tragicke song,
Then had I not bene pointed at by pittie,
Nor throwne my selfe Care-swallowing griefes among,
Nor these teares thus vnto the world haue throng'd:
But what auailes, sigh, weepe, mourne, houle, lament?
In vaine wordes, action, teares, and all are spent.

40

Would some good man had massacred my face,
Blinde stroke my eies, as was my hart thereto,
Dasht in my throate, my teeth, done some disgrace,
For with my tounge some say they were vndoe,
Or me foredone to shame, ere they did woe.
I am perswaded then, I had not beene,
What now I am, nor halfe these griefes had seene.
“Looke how at suddaine thunder in the aire,
“Th'amazed starts, looking from whence it comes,
“So on report of any passing faire,
“The greedie people in the streetes do runne,
“Where first the Wonder-breeder it begunne:
It was enough to say Narcissus came,
The crie thereof gaue grace vnto my name.
How many times haue I been luld a sleepe,
In Ladies bowers, and carried to and fro,
Whilest but a stripling, Lord, how would they peepe
On this, and that, not knowing what to do?
Nature they blam'd, and yet they prais'd it to:
Had Priapus Narcissus place enioy'd,
He would a little more haue done then toy'd.
Some with Still musicke, some with pleasing songes,
Some with coy smiles, mixt now and then with frownes,
Some with rich giftes, all with alluring tounges,
And many with their eies to th'earth cast downe,
Sighing foorth sorrow that did so aboune,
Sufficient to approue on thrice more coye,
And yet (poore wenches) could not get a boy.

41

Anone the fayrest gins thus to salute,
Narcissus, oh Narcissus looke vpon mee,
There are (quoth she) ten thousand that would greet
Her, who thou maist command, yet scornst I see.
Reak'st thou no more of loue, of life, of beautie?
Ioues Iô was transform'd vnto a cow,
So would I low, might I be lou'de of yow.
Another queintly thus disputes with me,
As now and then amongst my fellow peeres,
I wont to sport awaie the time, quoth she,
Well now (Narcissus) I perceiue a cheere,
You pricke a cast to touch the mistres neere.
Ah short in faith, I wish you no more harme,
Than that you had some Marie in your armes.
The cast is mine (quoth I) she it denide,
I wrangl'de, striu'de, and would not yeeld the thro,
Vnto a standing measure Ile be tride,
Whether (quoth she) that I haue won't or no,
Striue, wrangle, measure, doo what I could do:
Somewhat she aild, and this I found at last,
For want of rubs I ouerthrew the cast.
Then came the neatest one of all my louers,
The onely patterne of simplicitie,
Her sister-hood would not a thought discouer,
That should foretell whereon she did relie,
Not for a world, her loue was bent so holly,
When she did sweare, her oath was by this booke,
And then would kisse, and round about her looke.

42

I haue not tolde you in what neat attire,
She came to visit me her onely brother,
Nor how she cloakt her spirituall desire,
That was so feruent towards me boue others,
Her chast not-soes, and toying lyke a mother:
Nor will I tell you, least some olde wife saie,
Narcissus was a cruell wanton boie.
“Oh what is beautie more than to the sicke
“A potion adding spirit to the patient,
“Which for a time hath operation quicke,
“But when that nature workes her due euent,
“Is ruinous and quite without content:
“Then youth and beautie hold not hands together,
“For youth is best, where beautie hath another.
Yet youth and beautie hold you hands together,
For you are seemely ornaments of nature,
And will delight the sonne of such a mother,
And glad the Sire that put such proofe in vre,
Beautie and youth are baites without a lure:
That scorning pride, so farre exceed compare,
As makes you seeme what yet you neuer were.
Faire Adonis in pride that shewes so hot,
Clad in rich purple haire, with amorous hew,
Causing to leaue her Doue-drawne chariot,
Loue sole commander, and to follow yow,
Not for the palme of glorie but for yew:
Come tune with me true desolations noate,
For none but we can beauties blindnes coate.

43

For none but we, we, but none for vs mourne;
Thrice faire Adonis by this cooling water,
Come seate thy louely branches, and Ile turne
These plains to meades, these meades to plaine teares after,
When with recording noates of their first author;
We'le take more ioy in counting ouer sorrowes,
Than Venus gazing on her ingling sparrowes.
Come, come Adonis, let vs meete each other,
Imbrace thou sighs, with teares I'le fil the aire,
And though we both were haplesse boies together,
Yet let vs now contend against the faire,
Beautie like winter bringeth on despaire:
Fruit ouer-ripe, Iems valued past their worth,
Redoune small honor to their bringer forth.
Nay if thou wilt not, choose, seest who comes here?
Tis one that hath the map of sorrow drawen,
Welcome Leander, welcome, stand thou neere,
Alacke poore youth, what hast thou for a pawne,
What, not a rag, where's Heroes vale of lawne?
Her buskins all of shels ysiluered ore,
What hast thou noth? then pack yonder's the doore.
Yet staie a while, for thou shalt mourne with me,
Yet get thee gone, for I will mourne alone;
Yet staie awhile, extreames are bad we see,
And yet it skils not, for thou canst not mone,
Thou wilt not moane, thy teares were long since done:
And were thy griefes againe for to lament,
Thou couldst not shed such teares as I haue spent.

44

No, no Leander, thou lasciuiously
Didst plaie with loue, and with thy loue hadst sport,
Nere didst thou mourne, but as thou liuedst didst dy,
Telling Musæus, he the world of what
Thy dandling tresses of faire Hero got:
I tearme her faire, for thou didst make her faire,
For without men alacke they nothing are.
But tell me, tell me, whether art thou bent,
Hath Tempe now disgorg'd her loue-mates hether,
Or haue you license for some merriment,
To visit faire Elizium, tell me whether,
What melancholy man, answerest to neither?
It skils not much, for thought you will not saie,
Abydos can your wantonnes display.
Oh cease Narcissus, be not so mis-lead,
Thou art in furie and deceiued quite,
Looke round about thee where are anie dead,
Or ghosts afrighting come to dim thy sight?
Thou doest mistake, and dreamst to serue the night:
Night onely cheefe companion for thy care,
Yet when he comes, canst not of him beware.
Thou sable winged messenger of Ioue,
True honor of content and sad complaints,
Comfort to them that liuing die in loue,
Hate to the scornfull and nice dames so quaint,
Deepe searcher of our secret teares and plaints:
Wide ope thy wings, I'le houer twixt thy armes,
And like the cock when morne comes sound alarme.

45

Was euer boy afflicted thus before?
Was euer man halfe partner of my griefe?
Was euer Nymph or Goddesse knowne of yore,
To languish thus and neuer haue reliefe?
Was euer goddesse, man, or boy the chiefe?
The onely subiect for a wrathfull pen,
Heauens iudge, earth deem, ges you the soules of men.
Is this the happie blisseful ioy of beautie?
Is this the summer sporting with delight?
Then cage vp me sor winter's best, saie I,
And sing who list in such sunne-shining light,
Obscuritie and sweet thought wandering night
Are fit companions for my troubled ghoast,
Farewell, the Sunne's too hot to be my hoast.
I, I, Narcissus, in some pitchie caue,
Or vgly dungeon where the serpents lie,
There rest thy selfe, and when thou ginst to raue,
Their musicke shall consort melodiouslie,
Vnto thy sighs and deepe lamenting cries:
For since the earth hath none that pittie moues,
To tell thy tale, tell thou scornst such as loue.
I there's the sore, tell how thou scornst to loue,
Tell to thy shame, tell to thy ouerthrow,
Tell them beneath, or tell to them aboue,
Tell who thou wilt, long since ther's none but know,
And know Narcissus, more than thou canst show:
For he that sorrow hath possest, at last
In telling of his tale is quite disgra'st.

46

What shall I then but languish in complaining,
Since deepest teares haue smallest comfort shewen;
And if I had the richest wordes remaining,
That euer tragicke massacre made knowen,
Or poets imping them now perfect growen:
Yet these and all, could not my thoughts discouer,
And this I got scorning to be a louer.
Now comes the swelling soules shame to be told,
Now presseth on my long neglected care,
How shall I tell my griefe, or how vnfolde
The coie disdaines I vsde, and what they were,
Or how with anie comfort shall appeare?
The one halfe to the world of my distresse,
You that did vrge this sore make it seeme lesse.
Now make it seeme lesse, now or neuer do it,
You faire alluring Nymphs, you pretie ones,
Take from this broken song, or adde you to it,
Descant on which part best shall please, for none
Shall be accounted sweet that sing alone:
Then faire dames sing a treble to my base,
With teares be yours, with sighs Ile shew my case.
And if the world esteeme of bare good will,
Then I am he, the onely subiect yet,
That ere inserted to inrich a quill,
Or could command the sternest muse to write,
I craue not then for anie to indite,
But to the world and ages yet to cum,
Narcissus poet shall not be found dum.

47

This said, a million of deepe-searching sighes,
(The messengers to tragike thoughts and cries)
Hee doth prepare as actors in his night,
And then addrest to speake he onward highes,
And thus gainst loue begins to tyrannize:
“If beautie bring vs so to be mis-led,
“Of such a relique who's inamoured?
So witlesse, fond, saue thou was neuer anie,
Forlorne Narcissus to thy selfe complaining,
Oh cruell Loue that hath vndone so many,
Hast thou yet power or anie hope remaining,
To chase from these faire springs hatefull disdayning?
Oh no, loues darts haue all but one euent,
Once shooting, vertue of the rest are spent.
See foulings Queene, see how thou trainst me forth,
Thou gauest me beautie, which the world admir'd,
But when I came to talent out the worth,
What issue ioy'd it that my youth requir'd,
A brain-sick hot conceit by loue inspir'd,
A flaming blast, no sooner seene than gon,
A sinke to swallow vp the looker on.
“For as amid the troupe of warlike men,
“Their generall for safetie flies amaine,
“Who fatall death by fortunes aide doth ken,
“Sad messenger his hoped wish detaines,
“So was Narcissus to his treble paine:
“Loues generall, and mongst his faire ones flew,
“Whilest in the troup was slaine ere ioyes he knew.

48

And which I mourne for most, disastrous chance,
I tooke the Iewels which faire Ladies sent me,
And manie pretie toies, which to aduance
My future bane, vnwillingly they meant me,
Their whole attire and choice suites not content me;
But like a louer glad of each new toy,
So I a woman turned from a boy.
Which once perform'd, how farre did I exceed
Those stately dames, in gesture, modest action,
Coy lookes, deep smiles, faining heroique deeds,
To bring them all vnder my owne subiection,
For as a woman tired in affection,
Some new disport neare thought on is requir'd,
So now I long'd to walke to be admir'd.
The life obtaining fields, we liuely trace,
And like yong fawnes delight to sport each other,
Some framing odes, and others in their grace,
Chaunt soueraigne sweet Sonetto's to loues mother,
Thus euerie Nymph would gladly be a louer;
And loue himselfe might have enamoured beene,
If he had eies, and these choice dames had seene.
Yet I was carelesse, for selfe-loue orethrew me,
I scornd to heare how he could slaie or wound,
And yet full oft, so many nymphs as knew me,
Would saie that once blind loue would cast me downe,
Foule fall that poare blind boy whose power abownes;
Well, well, I see tis shame to threat the Gods,
Whose deepe authoritie gaines treble ods.

49

As thus we like to wanton wenches were,
In seuerall sports best pleasing and delightfull,
Seuered at last I to a fount drew neere,
Oh that alone a boy should be so wilfull!
As children vse gainst pretie toies be spightfull:
In playing till they spoiled be or harm'd,
So playd I with this coole-spring till it warm'd.
For as I gaz'd into this shallow spring,
I rear'd my voice, mistrusting that nor this,
Oh what diuine Saint is it that doth sing!
Let me intreate to haue of thee a kisse,
See who Narcissus lou'd, see where's his misse:
His owne conceit with that of his did fire him,
When others actual colde it did desire him.
Lead by my attractiue Syren-singing selfe,
Vnto this Sun-shine-shadow for the substance,
Hard at the brinke, prying from forth the shelfe,
That grounded hath my ioyes and pleasing essence,
I claim'd th'authoritie of them were absence:
And made this well my ill, this bowre my bane,
This daily good become my hourly wane.
Yet dreading of no ill, close downe I lay,
By this same goodly fountaine deere and precious,
Beset with azured stones bonnie and gay,
Like a yong woer that should visite vs,
Oh that bright-seeming things should be so vicious,
Base imperfection Nature doth abhorre,
Then why should I deceiued be thus farre?

50

Neuer was she more perfectly imbraced,
Than in her worke vnto Narcissus done,
If arte, proportion should haue thus disgraced,
Where should our artists then haue rai'sd theyr Sunne,
That in this cast vp Chaos is begunne?
Loues minion did her deitie here show,
That Nature should not claime what she did ow.
Immortall strife that heauens should be at iarre,
Why should the one seeke to disgrace the rest;
Were there no women, there would be no warre,
For pride in them claimes her due interest,
Presumptuous women thus to scorne the blest:
But gainst their sex why doo I raue thus vile,
That lou'd Narciss; in loue that was a child?
Now had my eyes betooke themselues to gaze,
On this cleere-spring where as a man distract,
The more I sought allusions forth to raze,
The more I found my senses in defact,
And could not choose but yeeld to this enact,
That I beheld the fairest faire that euer
Earth could desire, or heauens to earth deliuer.
Yet striue I did, and counted it deceit,
I chid the wanton fond toies that I vs'd,
And with sharpe taunts would faine haue sound retreit,
And tolde my selfe how of my selfe refus'd,
Many faire Ladies were and how abus'd
Through base disdaine, then calling vnto Ioue,
He would not heare, thus I was for'st to loue.

51

For'st vnto loue, I for'st perforce to yeld,
Not as the groueling coyne-imbracing fathers,
Doo now in common make their children yld,
By chopping them to church that like of neither,
But by stern fate vnweldie that was euer:
Was I vnhappie that I was or any,
Loues yong Adultus fauoured of so many?
“As when the English globe-incompasser,
“By fame purueying found another land,
“Or as the troupe at Bosworth, Richards err,
“Done to disgrace, a taske nere tooke in hand,
“By Hercules were readie for command:
So hauing euer fortunatly sped,
Suppos'd that shaddowes would bee enamored.
For see how Esops dog was quite forgone,
And lost the substance weening further gaine,
So was I gazing on this Orient Sunne,
Stroke blinde, Gods knowe, vnto my treble paine,
Leaping at shaddowes, loosing of the maine:
When I loues pleasance thought to have imbraced,
My sun-shine light darke clouds sent foul disgraced.
Yet such a humor tilted in my brest,
As few could threat the none-age of my voice,
For though the heauens had here set vp their rest,
I proudly boasted that she was my choice,
And for my sake earth onely thus was blest:
And tolde them since they fashioned this golde,
To coine the like, how they had lost their mold.

52

Sad and drier thoughts a foot, my wearied lims,
Close as I could to touch this Saint I couched,
My bodie on the earth sepulchrizing him,
That dying liu'd, my lips hers to haue touched,
I forc'd them forward, and my head downe crouched:
And so continued treating, till with teares
The spring run ore, yet she to kisse forbare.
Looke on those faire eies, smile to shew affection,
Tell how my beautie would inrich her fauour,
Talke Sun-go-downe, no rules tending to action,
But she would scorne, & sweare so God should saue her,
Her loue burnt like perfume quite without sauour:
Yet if (quoth she) or I but dreamt, she spake it,
Tis but a kisse you craue, why stoupe and take it.
Neuer the greedie Tantalus pursued,
To touch those seeming apples more than I,
Vow'd in conceit her fauour to haue vs'de,
I hastned forward, and her beckning spie,
Like affection offering, and like curtesie:
Now was the heauen, ah now was heauen a hell,
I ioy'd, but what can anie louer tell?
A coole effect for my affections burning,
A sad receit to mittigate my paine,
What shall I be like to the Polyp turning,
Or an Orpheus going to hel againe?
No, loue nere bled but at the master vaine:
And there will I benum the liuely flesh,
And strike by arte or nature shall transgresse.

53

Then like a cunning pilate making out,
To gaine the Oceans currant stem I forward,
Top gallant hoist amaine, safely about
The loftie fer with spread sailes hal'd I onward,
To make sure passage, but alacke too backward,
The sea prefer'd our vintage, for the bloome
Was blasted quite, ere fruit was seene to come.
For as I thought downe stouping to haue kist her,
My loose-borne tresses that were lawlesse euer,
Troubled the spring, and caus'd me that I mist her,
Who so before no such fond toies could seuer,
My hope to haue inioy'd her loue, but rather,
Haire, hart and all would sacrifiz'd and done,
To foulest shame this faire one to haue wonne.
Who knowes not that in deepest waters lies
The greatest danger, or who will not know it?
Monsters of time, whose ruine each one spies,
And to the world in teares lamenting show it,
That beautie hath small good for men to owe it:
But as a relique for the sight alone,
Is to be dandled, kist, and lookt vpon.
At last, for what but time perfection giues?
Againe, O, O, againe my ladies fauour,
I haue obtain'd, at least againe she liues,
And now what doubt, but doubtlesse I shal haue her,
It is the water, and not she that wauers:
Slanderous men that count of them so slightly,
Who would exceed if you were what you might be?

54

See when I spread my armes her to imbrace,
She casteth hers as willingly to meet me,
And when I blush, how it procures her grace,
If weepe or smile, she in same method greets me,
And how so ere I boord her, she salutes me,
As willing to continue pleasance, yet,
Saue smiling kisses I can nothing get.
But how deceiu'd, what Saint doo I adore?
Her lips doo moue, and yet I cannot heare her,
She beckens when I stoope, yet euermore
Am farthest off, when I should be most neere her,
And if with gentle smiles I seeme to cheere her:
Vnlike a louer weepes to see me sport,
And ist not strange? Ioyes when she sees me hurt.
Oh why doth Neptune closet vp my deere?
She is no Mermaid, nor accounted so,
Yet she is faire, and that doth touch him neere,
But she's a votarie, then let her go,
What beautie but with wordes men can vndo?
Oh Neptune she's a Syren, therefore nay,
Syrens are fittest to adorne the sea.
Then tie me fast where still these eares may heare her,
Oh then I feare these eies will climbe too high!
Yet let me then these bankes be somewhat neerer,
Oh then this tongue will cause this heart to die,
And pining so for loue, talke ouer-lauishly:
And yet they shal not, for with sighing praiers,
Ile busie them not thinking of the faire.

55

Oh thrice immortall, let me come vnto thee,
Within whose limits linkt is natures pride,
Accept my vowes, except thou wilt vndoo me,
She is my loue, and so shall be my bride,
Then part vs not, least that I part this tide:
In spite of Ioue, if thou doest her detaine,
Ile fetch her forth, or quel th'ambitious maine.
Some saie the heauens haue derogated farre,
And gladly done on misconceited weeds,
To cloake their scapes, yet heauens scape you this starre
For know she is immortall for her deeds,
And wo to him that playes with Saints I reed:
The earth a paradise where she is in,
Equals the heauens, were it not toucht with sin.
“Now Phœbus gins in pride of maiestie,
“To streake the welkin with his darting beames,
“And now the lesser planets seeme to die,
“For he in throane with christall dashing streames,
“Richer than Indiaes golden vained gleames
“In chariot mounted, throwes his sparkling lookes,
“And vnawares pries midst this azured brooke.
At whose hot shining, rich-dew-summoning,
The gooddest Nymph that euer fountaine kept,
Her courage was euen then a womanning,
And sorrowful he sawe her there, she wept,
And wrung her hands, & downwards would haue crept,
But that I staid her, ah I doo but dreame!
It was a vapor that did dull the streame.

56

It was a vapor fuming, whose assent,
Loosing the vitall organ whence it sprang,
Much like an vntrain'd faulkon loftly bent,
Wanting the meanes, tottering till tir'd doth hang
Beating the aire: so till the strength was spent,
This saffron pale congealed fuming mist,
Bearded my senses when my loue I mist.
And yet tis Phœbus or some richer one,
That ouerpries me thus, it cannot be,
But Ioue or some, that pittying my sad mones,
Comes to redresse my plaints, and comming see,
My heauenly loue in her diuinitie:
Ioue pittie not, nor hearken to my plaints,
I treate to mortall ones, not heauenly saints.
Sufficeth you haue manie be as faire,
Besides the queene of dalliance and her Nuns,
Chast votaries for Gods to chase th'aire,
And can Arcadian Nymphs neuer yet wun,
In naming godhood, them from hating turne:
Alacke this is the daughter of a neat-heard,
And I am treating but to be her shep-heard.
Some yet may fortune aske me how my state,
From lordly pompe, and fames eterniz'd throne,
Diu'd downe to yonger method and the mate,
Of each forsaken louer quite forlorne,
Am thus in bastardie vnlawfull borne:
Why are not princes subject to report,
What cloistred ill but fame doth beare from court?

57

Liui'as rich statues in his gallery,
Portraide by lyfe, as they in sundrie shapes,
Mask't through the cloudie stitched canapie,
Where Venus and her blind ones, acting rapes,
Incestuous, lawlesse, and contentious scapes;
Were they remembred, who would be a louer?
Nor I, nor Venus, were she not loues mother.
Oh extreame anguish of the soules affliction!
Pining in sorrow, comfortlesse alone,
Hate to the heauens, admitting intercession,
But as a meanes to aggrauate our mones,
Prolonging dated times to leaue's forlorne:
Raising new seeds to spring and shaddow vs,
Whose ghosts we wrong'd, and thus do follow vs.
But how am I in passion for her sake?
That tyres as much, and equals teare with teare,
That beates the aire with shrikes, and praiers make,
In iust proportion, and with like sad feare,
As I haue done, a louing show doth beare;
Women doo yeeld, yet shame to tell vs so,
Tis action more than speech doth grace a show.
And I not much vnlike the Romane actors,
That girt in Pretextati seamed robes,
Charged the hearts and eyes of the spectators,
With still continuing sorrow, flintie Niobes,
And of each circled eie fram'd thousand globes:
And to become flat images, not men,
So now must I with action grace the pen.

58

For what with wordes the Chorus setteth forth,
Is but t'explaine th'ensuing tragicke scene,
And what is sayd, is yet of litle worth,
Tis I the siege must countenance, and then
Will leaue you all in murmuring sort like men.
Hard at the point of some extremitie,
Vnarm'd to fight, and know not where to flie.
Nor shall I want the meanes to grace my tale,
Abundant store of sweet perswasiue stories,
Though they haue past, and got the golden vale,
From artes bright eie, yet Ascraes gentle vallies,
Haue shrouded my sad tale, I in the glorie,
Of well accepted fauour and of time,
Thus poasted out, haue smiled on my rime.
Shame wer't to scape the telling of my shame,
How being faire and beautious past compare,
I scorn'd loue, yet lou'd one of my owne name,
My selfe complaining of my face too faire,
And telling how my griefes procured teares:
Confused arguments, vaine, out of date,
And yet it does me good to shew my state.
Long I continued as a doating matron,
Some new assault assailing her coole breast,
Delights to kisse yong children, plaie the wanton,
And would I know not what, thinking the rest,
Ioying in that I found vnhappiest:
Carelesse of loue, respecting not her honor,
Which now I feele in dotage looking on her.

59

Nay on her shaddow, on her shaddow nay,
Vpon thy owne Narcissus loue thy selfe,
Fie wanton, fie, know'st not thou art a boy,
Or hath a womans weeds, thee sinful elfe,
Made wilfull like themselues, or how growen coy?
Wer't thou a woman, this is but a shaddo,
And seldome do their sex themselues vndo.
A forrest Nymph, whil'st thus I stood debating,
Gan oft and oft to tell me pleasing tales,
And sometimes talkt of loue, and then of hating,
Anone she trips it by the short nipt dales,
And then againe the tottering rockes she scales:
But when I cald for her to come vnto me,
A hollow siluer sound bad come and woo me.
Anon I chaunt on pleasing roundelaies,
That told of shepheards, and their soueraigne sportes,
Then blith she pip'd to send the time awaie,
And clapt my cheekes, praising my nimble throate,
And kisse she will too twixt each sharpe prickt noate.
But if I tell her all that's done is fruitles,
She answeres I, I, to thy tother mistres.
Thus whil'st the Larke her mounted tale begun,
Vnto the downe-soft Tythons blushing Queene,
And rising with her noates sweet orizons,
At Ioves high-court gan Phœbus steads to weene,
How well appointed, and how brauely seene,
That all in rage they tooke such high disgrace,
The heauens dispatcht poast from Auroraes pallace.

60

Eccho complayning Cythereas sonne,
To be a boy vniust, cruell, vnkinde,
The Gods before her tale was throughly done,
Thus for'st agreement twixt our wauering minde,
She to a voice, the Syluans plaints to finde:
And for redresse of her increasing sorrow,
To hold darke night in chase, to mocke the morrow.
This done, amaine vnto the spring I made,
Where finding beautie culling nakednes,
Sweet loue reuiuing all that heauens decaide,
And once more placing gentle maidenlikenes,
Thus sought I fauour of my shaddowed mistres;
Imbracing sighs, and telling tales to stones,
Amidst the spring I leapt to ease my mones.
Where what I gain'd, iudge you that vainly sue,
To shaddowes wanting appetite and sence,
If there be anie comfort tell me true?
And then I hope you'le pardon my offence,
Pardon my tale, for I am going hence:

Ovid. 3. Met. Narcissus fuit Cephisi fluuii, ex Liriope nympha, filius.

Cephisus now freez'd, whereat the sea-nymphs shout,

And thus my candle flam'd, and here burnt out.
FINIS.