The Eglogs of the Poet B. Mantuan Carmelitan Turned into English Verse, & set forth with the Argument to euery Egloge by George Turbervile |
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| i. |
| ii. |
| iii. |
The .iij. Egloge entituled FAVSTVS.
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| iiii. |
| V. |
| vi. |
| vii. |
| viii. |
| ix. |
 | The Eglogs of the Poet B. Mantuan Carmelitan |  |
The .iij. Egloge entituled FAVSTVS.
The Argument.
The Tylmans wearye toyleand troublous life he splayes:
And laste Amyntas cruell foyle
by franticke Loue bewrayes.
The speakers names.
Faustus. Fortunatus.
Faustus
The hayle (my friend) from Baldus mount
that yesterdaye did fall
(We thank the Gods, ye saue our corn)
anoyde vs nought at all.
But Harculus reported hath
and bruted here a fame:
That in the coast was much a doe
from whence he lately came.
Verona fieldes were pestred sore,
the cattell with the folde:
[18]
(as he half weeping tolde)
Hath ouerwhelmde & layd on ground,
and in such sorte defast:
As all good hope that husbands had
is quite berefte and past.
For Cattle is the onely wealth
that Country men enioy,
And Pasture ground that subiect is
to this and like anoy.
The Citizens haue heaped hoords
and coffers full of pence:
That safely vnder locke do lurke
and neede no other fence.
No hayle can hurt, no force of frost
theyr coffred coyne can marre:
No crusshing yse, nor stormy cloudes
that in the Welkin warre.
I wote not who doth rule the winds,
and beares the swinging swaye
Among the fell tempestuous Skyes:
I wote not what to saye.
I know not, no nor though I did,
that knowledge would suffise:
I dare to speak. But what? shall I
for such an enterprise
19
if Gods (as men reporte)
The Skies do gouerne from aboue
and rule in such a sorte:
I thinke they force not on the paynes
and troublous toyles of man.
See how with dayly sweate of brow
we get as wel's we can
A slender liuing (God he knowes)
behold what cruell paynes
The sielly Shepherd for his flocke,
his babes and spouse sustaynes.
With too much heate in Sōmer cloyde,
in Winter nipte with colde:
The Raynie dayes vpon the ground
we sleepe in Shepecots olde.
And eyther thousand mischiefs of
the soyle our cattell spill:
Or Cooth, and dayly vile disease
and thousand daungers kill.
The filtching Theefe doth watch ye fold,
the Woulfe doth lye in wayte:
The Souldier eke that far excels
the Woulfe for such deceyte.
Yea though with dayly trade and toyle
our hands well hardened be,
[19]
though visage swart to see,
Though staring bee the beard to view
and shryu'led eke the skyn:
One showre of hayl with sodayn whish
makes all not worth a pyn.
And this by Gods themselues is done,
to whom we Shepheards wee
Do crouche at sacred Altar stone
with twyfold bended knee,
and offer holly candles vp.
I wote not what this Pietie
and Clemency doth meane,
That sielly vs poore Sepheards spoyles
of all our substance cleane,
And wraps vs in a thousand ylls
that thincke no hurt at all.
Faustus
Oh (Fortunatus) our offence
procures these plages to fall.
And light vpon our hatefull heads
that well deserue the same:
The iudgement of our God is iust,
he not deserueth blame.
Fortuna.
What heynous fact of ours I pray?
did wee his death conspire?
20
For brawles, thefte, anger, baudy life,
and lies we haue this hyre.
Fortunat'
What haue the good deserued then?
all are not ill alyke:
Yet all at once with egall scourge
the hatefull Hag doth stryke.
Faustus
Oh vyle offence, so euill to thincke
of God is heynous cryme:
Wherfore omitting needlesse things
not to be knowen, in tyme,
Amyntas troubles let's repeate
and cares endurde of olde,
Which wee of force by triall know,
let them I say be tolde
Afreshe. For Loue a practise is
full common now a dayes:
A dayly trade which ouermuch
the tender youth assayes.
Fortunat'
Friend, mourning, & such like affects
do ouerthrow the hart,
And plages the mynd: hee tels a wo-
full tale that tasteth smarte.
Faustus
Well may a man debate of things
as state and time require,
But not of such as hee ne knewe:
So Cosmas did aspire
[20]
Fortuna.
Thou doest (friend Faustus) well
And wisely: wherfore let's begin
well knowen Loues to tell.
Remaynes of good Amyntas rage
and latter fate to rue,
And that vnhappy chaunce of his
with bitter teares pursue.
Narratio
I sawe, as I by fortune pasteftsone that way agayne,
The man inradge: and taking ruth
of sielly Louers payne,
Bespake him as I earst had done.
O wilfull wight (quod I)
That with this fatall venom vyle
besotted so doest lie,
Of whom the people haue their talke
and babble euery day,
Hast thou not yet putte fansies fonde
and folish thought away?
But buried deepe in Loue dost lie?
what? wilt thou spoyle both thee
And thyne, thy Cattell and thy Coote
as earst did Sampson hee
That Gyant huge that halde the house
and roofe vpon his hed?
21
and braue Iuuenta fled,
(If Fates allow thee olde to bee)
who will relieue thee than
Poore, idle, drousie, senselesse wight,
and feeble forcelesse man,
All these (vnlesse vntimely death
preuente) with Age will growe.
Go to, hast home, be ware and wise,
and whither thou dost goe
Take heede, & shunne the place where hurt
may fortune to arise:
Be ware (I say) thy future state
foresee with carefull eyes.
Discerne the path thou mindst to pace,
and fixe thou fast in minde
That man in womans pleasures and
delights is not assinde
To wast away his youthfull Prime.
For why the foolish toy
And wicked lust of wanton Loue
doth tender age annoy.
Euen I that Cattell haue good store
and milke and cheese ynow,
Lyue hardly, and do weare away
the world with sweate of brow
[21]
our fields did fayle of late,
Such neede doth raygne in euery place
we are at beggars state.
So many heauy happes we haue,
such mischiefs dayly light,
Such crabbed lucke as all the world
is now in piteous plight.
Giue eare to things not heard alone
or spred by bruted fame,
Nor many yeares agoe betyde,
my self haue seene the same:
And at this day do dayly viewe,
the proufe doth now appeare.
As custome is, in Month of May
I earst my Sheepe did sheare,
And three score pounds of passing wooll
betyme to sale did sette:
But now a dayes I thought alike
like gaynes therby to gette,
And scarce could kepe my flock aliue
and Winter fodder bie,
In frost and snow the cruell wante
of pasture to supplie.
Oh Lord (Amyntas) how my folke
shall lyue I know not I.
22
must many presents sende:
But thou whom scarce a house to dwel
would cruell Fortune lende:
Where day & night is want of wealth
and lacke of golden fee:
How canst thou shift to send thy Trull
ought that may gratefull bee?
Eare this suffisde vnto a Mayde
ten appels gay to bring,
A Garland freshe of fragrant floures,
A Neast of byrdes to syng.
I knew when in as great a price
the countrie maydes did holde
A Garland as a better gyfte:
but now from grasse to golde
They are ascended, Loue is now
become a stately thing:
The auncient custome is decayde
new lawes do dayly spring
As touching trade of greedy Loue,
they gape for greater gayne.
With angry brow and lowring looke
repleate with foule disdayne
To me perswading thus bespake
Amyntas. Friend (quod hee)
[22]
to purchase ease to mee
And wisshed comfort to reduce,
allow me that I Loue:
That onely thing my crankred griefe
and gripings may remoue.
The rest thou babblest torments are,
this furie wil not stinte
Nor rooted be from out my heart.
Within my breast the printe
And Image of the Uirgin sits.
With me shee soiournes aye:
With me shee goes & makes retourne,
when I retourne by daye.
At night with me shee lodgeth eke
and sleepes in self same bed.
She hath so seazde vpon my bones,
my marrow, heart, and hed,
As neuer may she well departe
till lyfe these lymmes hath fled.
And as, what tyme a tender slippe
cutte from a forraine tree
Is grafte into another stocke
their natures ioyned bee,
And so by growth become as one:
euen so the Uirgins grace
23
and Idol of hir face
Was planted deepe within my brest,
our harts became as one,
Both one our mynds, the difference
twixt hir and me was none.
One sense, one soule did serue vs both
our lymmes so lincked were.
Oh happy I, if when my corse
shall deade be plac'd on Bere,
And fatall Sisters shrid my twist
and finger close myne eye,
I might twixt those hir lilly armes
and pappes in bosome lye:
With heauy hed when soule were past
and liuely line ycutte,
That she these dying eyes of mine
mougth with hir finger shutte.
And might with shrill and doleful voyce
beweepe my heauy fate:
And poure hir christall teares adowne
for losse of louing mate.
Wher to the blessed Fields that are
alloted to the good
I after life do passe: or forcde
downe to the Stygian flood
[23]
those freatting fitts abyde:
Mee neyther payne withouten thee
nor pleasure shall betyde.
O Dryads, and yea sacred Nimphs
of floures that haue the care,
O Sire Syluanus that doest rule
where pleasant arbours are:
I pray you garde amyd your mounts
and shady vales belowe
The sweete and smellyng floures that
within your circuits growe,
(The beautie of the Country fields
and queachy Groues we haue)
Do hedge your boūds frō feeding flocks
the floury soyle to saue.
Reserue (I pray you) them tyll neede
to decke the Herse withall
Of my sweete wench whē she by stroke
of dreadfull death shall fall.
Then, then let all ye ground be strowde,
let garlands then be plide:
At tyme of death and buriall of
my Loue hir Herse to hide.
Pierides the pensiue Nimphes
at hand shall then be preste,
24
the Graue so gayly dreste.
And shall insculpe these wofull words
vpon the Marble stone,
Of after comers to be read
when we are past and gone.
Here buryed lyes a Lasse
that wanted nought at all
Saue that she cruell was,
a sacred Saynt to call.
Oh Uirgin if so great a fire
did burn within thy bones
By thousand Scyllas and as ma-
ny Charybds I at ones
Would swym to thee to breed thy ease:
thou feller than a snake
Dost flee thy friend. But what neede I
so much adoe to make?
And blame ye wight? she knows me not.
No doubt if so the mayde
Had vnderstanding what I were,
she would procure myne ayde.
There can not be a brasen breast
where doth such feature flow:
But yet we muste not ouermuch
beleeue the flattring brow.
[24]
For often vnder smothest skin
doth lurke a cankred minde:
And vnder friendly forhead is
a hatefull heart to finde.
I will goe talke and let hir witte
of this my hidden fire.
But oh, if she should wrie hir lookes,
and barre me my desire:
To tears my Christal eyes would soone
conuert as you should see,
My wofull breast to sobbyng sighes
transformed straight would bee.
And though she hate me (cruell) aye
and flee hir friend apace:
Yet me this wasting care will still
pursue in euery place.
Fare well ye Phisicke artes, for I
am not to be recurde:
Adiew ye eke to fetche from Hell
the soules that are invrde
With Magicke verse & Witches call,
(vngodly thing to leeue)
Farewell ye all that vaynely hope
with bootelesse words ye geeue,
The steelie mindes of Gods to wrest:
for now I see the Skyes
25
not bende for all my cries.
Impacient furie drawes me on,
it doth me good alone
To range the hills, and wāder through
the woods and caues vnknowne
The doutful dens of dredful Beasts.
Him speaking thus I thought
And went about with friendly words
to wrest, but all for nought.
The curelesse woūd by no means cā
to perfect state be brought
He myd the silent Night amids
the fields would rangle aye:
In bushy Launds with waking eyes
he walkt at creeke of day.
The Wilding was his onely foode,
the Crab he vsde to crash:
And with a draught of water he
his thirstie iawes did wash
And was therwith right well content.
At length vnhappie Lad
When he his many wofull cryes
and schritches yelled had,
When tearelesse wore his wasted eyes
and drie for want of wette,
[25]
his bulke had all to bette:
Came gentle Death, and quiet brought
to his vnquiet stay.
The Carcas dead and brethlesse Corps
that there vnterred lay
Withouten honor of the graue
the Sauage beasts by night,
And greedy tyring filthy Foules
by day deuoured quight.
Faustus
Oh murreyn vile and fatall ginne,
that with thy venomde darts
The bulks of men doest pierce, & poy-
sned shafts our mortall harts,
And makst vs brutish seeme to sight,
no bet than sauage are.
What cuppe of Circes, or Calip-
so might with this compare?
What drench might Stix, or Phlegetō,
or Furies worsse deuise?
O doltes that Loue accompt a God,
O blynde and bleared eyes.
Is God a Nature hurtfull? No.
Where euer he doth wonne,
He ruthfull is to man, and doth
no yll, of dexter doome.
26
Oh Wofull wretched Boy that in
thy tender yeares didst die:
What time ye thou wert born what starres
bare sway in swinging Skie?
What part of welkin wrought thy wo?
that didst deserue no yll?
What curssed corner of the Heauens
did thee vntimely kill?
Yet was not all the Heauen thy foe,
thou couldst as well as wee
With Oaten quill and pleasant pipe
make ioily game and glee.
Had not this ouer hasty death
thy life so soone opprest,
Thou hadst deseru'de Pernassus crowne
and Laurell with the best.
No better Tytirus (belou'de
of his Alexis) roong
Of cruell fight, of dreadfull warre,
and of his tillage soong
Than thou: for why thy timely ripe
capacitie was knowne
To vs, it did presage what fruite
in time thou wouldst haue sowne.
No vulgar triall of thy skill,
and towarde witte was seene:
[26]
what thou wouldst after bene.
Now moughtst thou ben accōpted thou
the glory and the praise
Of all our soyle, not such a one
did liue in these our dayes.
Thee Padus, and with weeping browes
our Myncius did lament,
Yea Nimphs thēselues: as Hebrus earst
for Orpheus was bedrent
With trickling showrs of falling tears.
The maister shepheards all
Did rue thy death as Daphnis earst
was pitied for his fall.
Thee all the Champion fields aboute,
both hill and vale doe crie:
And all the Pasture grounds did lift
their clamours to the skie.
O Shepheardes with sweete smellyng floures
bestrow his bitter graue:
The song of Priest and fuming Cense,
(Oh, yearely) let him haue.
Ye Poets eke eternall rest
wish to his graued Ghost.
Faustus
But what? (Amyntas) thou doest lodge
in farre a better coast
27
allotted thou doest wonne:
And we below in Earth bewaile
thy Clipse of life be gonne.
Fortunat'
I knew we should lament to day,
for yesternight I sawe
Such cruell sights amid my sleepe,
as bred my present awe.
But now you see the night is come,
descending of the Sunne
In Cloude declares ye showrs at hād,
wherfore tis time to runne
To fold our flock. And Faustus thus
my wofull Tale is done.
| The Eglogs of the Poet B. Mantuan Carmelitan | |