University of Virginia Library

[—Fortune, Nature, Love, long have contended about me]

Dorus.
—Fortune, Nature, Love, long have contended about me,
Which should most miseries, cast on a worme that I am.
—Fortune thus gan say; misery and misfortune is all one,
And of misfortune, fortune hath only the gift.
—With strong foes on land, on seas with contrary tempests
Still doo I crosse this wretch, what so he taketh in hand.
—Tush, tush, said nature, this is all but a trifle, a mans selfe
Gives happs or mishapps, ev'n as he ordreth his hearte.
—But so his humor I frame, in a mould of choller adusted,
That the delights of life shall be to him dolorouse.
—Love smiled, and thus said; Want joynd to desire is unhappy.
But if he nought do desire, what can Heraclitus aile?
—None but I, workes by desire: by desire have I kindled in his soule
Infernall agonies unto a bewtye divine,
—Where thou poore nature left'st all thy due glory, to fortune
Her vertue is soveraine, fortune a vassal of hers.
—Nature abasht went back: fortune blusht: yet she replide thus:
And ev'n in that love, shall I reserve him a spite.
—Thus, thus, alas! wofull in nature, unhappy by fortune,
But most wretched I am, now love awakes my desire.

Dorus. Zelmane.
Dorus.
Lady reservd by the heav'ns to do pastors company honnor,
Joyning your sweete voice to the rurall muse of a deserte,
Here you fully do finde this strange operation of love,
How to the woods love runnes as well as rydes to the Pallace,
Neither he beares reverence to a Prince nor pittie to begger,
But (like a point in midst of a circle) is still of a neernesse,
All to a lesson he draw's, nether hills nor caves can avoide him.

Zelmane
Worthy shepeheard by my song to my selfe all favor is happned,
That to the sacred Muse my anoyes somewhat be revealed,
Sacred Muse, who in one contaynes what nine do in all them.
But ô happy be you, which safe from fyry reflection
Of Phœbus violence in shade of sweet Cyparissus,
Or pleasant mirtell, may teach th'unfortunate Echo
In these woods to resounde the renowmed name of a goddesse.
Happy be you that may to the saint, your onely Idea,
(Although simply atyrde) your manly affection utter.
Happy be those mishapps which justly proportion holding
Give right sound to the eares, and enter aright to the judgement,
But wretched be the soules, which vaild in a contrary subject:
How much more we do love, so the lesse our loves be beleeved.
What skill salveth a soare of a wrong infirmity judged?
What can justice availe, to a man that tells not his owne case?
You though feares do abash, in you still possible hopes be:
Nature against we do seeme to rebell, seeme fooles in a vaine sute.
But so unheard, condemn'd, kept thence we do seeke to abide in,
Selfe-lost in wandring, banished that place we doe come from,
What meane is there, alas, we can hope our losse to recover?
What place is there left, we may hope our woes to recomfort?
Unto the heav'ns? our wings be too short: earth thinks us a burden.
Aire we do still with sighes encrease, to the fire? we do want none.
And yet his outward heate our teares would quench, but an inward
Fire no liquor can coole: Neptunes realme would not availe us.
Happy shepheard, with thanks to the Gods, still thinke to be thankfull,
That to thy advauncement their wisdomes have thee abased.

Dorus.
Unto the Gods with a thanckfull heart all thankes I do render,
That to my advauncement their wisdomes have me abased.
But yet, alas! O but yet alas! our happs be but hard happs,
Which must frame contempt to the fittest purchase of honnour.
Well may a Pastor plaine, but alas his plaints be not esteem'de
Silly shepheards poore pype, when his harsh sound testifi's anguish,
Into the faire looker on, pastime, not passion, enters.
And to the woods or brookes, who do make such dreery recitall
What be the pangs they beare, and whence those pangs be derived,
Pleasd to receave that name by rebounding answere of Echo,
May hope therby to ease their inward horrible anguish,
When trees daunce to the pype, and swift streames stay by the musicke,
Or when an Echo begins unmov'd to sing them a love song.
Say then what vantage do we get, by the trade of a Pastor?
(Since no estates be so base, but love vouchsafeth his arrow,
Since no refuge doth serve from woundes we do carry about us,
Since outward pleasures be but halting helpes to decayd soules)
Save that dayly we may discerne what fire we do burne in.
Farre more happy be you, whose greatnes gets a free accesse,
Whose faire bodily gifts are fram'd most lovely to each ey.
Vertue you have, of vertue you have left proofe to the whole world.
And vertue is gratefull with bewty and richnes adorned,
Neither doubt you awhit, time will your passion utter.
Hardly remains fyer hid, where skill is bent to the hiding,
But in a minde that would his flames should not be repressed,
Nature worketh enough with a small help for the revealing.
Give therefore to the Muse great praise in whose very likenes
You doo approch to the fruite your onely desir's be to gather.

Zelmane.
First shall fertill grounds not yeeld increase of a good seed:
First the rivers shall ceasse to repay their fludds to the Occean:
First may a trusty Greyhounde transforme himselfe to a Tigre:
First shall vertue be vice, and bewty be counted a blemishe,
Ere that I leave with song of praise her praise to solemnize,
Her praise, whence to the world all praise hath his only beginning:
But yet well I doo finde each man most wise in his owne case.
None can speake of a wound with skill, if he have not a wound felt.
Great to thee my state seemes, thy state is blest by my judgement:
And yet neither of us great or blest deemeth his owne selfe.
For yet (weigh this alas!) great is not great to the greater.
What judge you doth a hillocke shew, by the lofty Olympus?
Such my minute greatnes, doth seeme compar'd to the greatest.
When Cedars to the ground fall downe by the weight of an emmott,
Or when a rich rubies just price be the worth of a walnut,
Or to the Sun for wonders seeme small sparks of a candle:
Then by my high Cedar, rich Ruby, and only shining Sunne,
Vertue, richesse, beawties of mine shall great be reputed.
Oh no, no, worthy shepeheard, worth can never enter a title,
Where proofes justly do teach, thus matcht, such worth to be nought worth,
Let not a puppet abuse thy sprite, Kings Crownes do not helpe them
From the cruell headache, nor shooes of golde doo the gowt heale,
And preciouse couches full oft are shak't with a feaver.
If then a boddily evill in a boddily gloze be not hidden,
Shall such morning deaws be an ease to the heate of a loves fire?

Dorus.
O glittring miseries of man, if this be the fortune
Of those fortune lulls? so small rest rests in a kingdome?
What marvaile tho a Prince transforme himselfe to a Pastor?
Come from marble bowres many times the gay harbor of anguish,
Unto a silly caban, though weake, yet stronger against woes.
Now by thy words I begin, most famous Lady, to gather
Comfort into my soule I do finde, I do find what a blessing
Is chaunced to my life, that from such muddy abundance
Of carking agonies (to states which still be adherent)
Desteny keepes me aloofe, for if all this state to thy vertue
Joyn'd, by thy beauty adorn'd be no meanes these greefes to abolish:
If neither by that helpe, thou canst clime up to thy fancie,
Nor yet fancy so drest do receive more plausible hearing:
Then do I thinke in deed, that better it is to be private
In sorrows torments, then, tyed to the pompes of a pallace,
Nurse inwarde maladyes, which have not scope to be breath'd out.
But perforce disgest, all bitter joyces of horror
In silence, from a mans owne selfe with company robbed.
Better yet do I live, that though by my thoughts I be plunged
Into my lives bondage, yet may disburden a passion
(Opprest with ruinouse conceites) by the helpe of an outcrye:
Not limited to a whispringe note, the Lament of a Courtier.
But sometimes to the woods somtimes to the heav'n do decyphire
With bolde clamor unheard, unmarckt, what I seeke what I suffer:
And when I meete these trees, in the earths faire livory clothed,
Ease I do feele (such ease as falls to one wholy diseased)
For that I finde in them parte of my state represented.
Lawrell shew's what I seeke, by the Mirre is show'd how I seeke it,
Olive paintes me the peace that I must aspire to by the conquest:
Mirtle makes my request, my request is crown'd with a willowe?
Cyprus promiseth helpe, but a helpe where comes no recomforte
Sweete Juniper, saith this, thoh I burne, yet I burne in a sweete fire.
Ewe doth make me thinke what kind of bow the boy holdeth
Which shootes strongly with out any noyse and deadly without smarte.
Firr trees great and greene, fixt on a hye hill but a barrein,
Lyke to my noble thoughtes, still new, well plac'd, to me fruteles.
Figge that yeeldes most pleasante fru'te, his shaddow is hurtefull
Thus be her giftes most sweet, thus more danger to be neere her,
Now in a palme when I marke, how he doth rise under a burden,
And may I not (say I then) gett up though griefs be so weightie?
Pine is a maste to a shippe, to my shippe shall hope for a maste serve,
Pine is hye, hope is as hie, sharpe leav'd, sharpe yet be my hopes budds.
Elme embraste by a vine, embracing fancy reviveth
Popler changeth his hew from a rising sunne to a setting:
Thus to my sonne do I yeeld, such lookes her beames do aforde me
Olde aged oke cutt downe, of newe works serves to the building:
So my desires by my feare, cutt downe, be the frames of her honour.
Ashe makes speares which shieldes do resist, her force no repulse takes.
Palmes do rejoyce to be joynd by the match of a male to a female,
And shall sensive things be so sencelesse as to resist sence?
Thus be my thoughts disperst, thus thinking nurseth a thinking,
Thus both trees and each thing ells, be the bookes of a fancy.
But to the Cedar Queene of woods when I lifte my beteard eyes,
Then do I shape to my selfe that forme which raign's so with in me,
And thinke ther she do dwell & heare what plants I do utter:
When that noble toppe doth nodd, I beleeve she salutes me;
When by the winde it maketh a noyse, I do thinke she doth answer.
Then kneling to the ground, oft thus do I speake to that Image:
Onely Juell, O only Juell, which only deservest
That mens harts be thy seate and endlesse fame be thy servant,
O descende for a while, from this greate height to behold me,
But nought els do, behold (else is nought worth the beholding)
Save what a worke, by thy selfe is wrought: & since I am altred
Thus by thy worke, disdaine not that which is by thy selfe done.
In meane caves oft treasure abides, to an hostry a king comes.
And so behinde foule clowdes full oft faire starres do ly hidden.

Zelmane.
Hardy shephearde, such as thy meritts, such may be her insight
Justely to graunt thee rewarde, such envie I beare to thy fortune.
But to my selfe what wish can I make for a salve to my sorrowes,
Whom both nature seemes to debarr from meanes to be helped,
And if a meane were found, fortune th'whole course of it hinders.
This plag'de how can I frame to my soare any hope of amendemente?
Whence may I show to my minde any light of possible escape?
Bownd & bownd by so noble bandes, as loth to be unbownd,
Jaylor I am to my selfe, prison & prisoner to myne owne selfe.
Yet be my hopes thus plast, here fix'd lives all my recomforte,
That that deare Dyamond, where wisdome holdeth a sure seate,
Whose force had such force so to transforme, nay to reforme me,
Will at length perceave these flames by her beames to be kindled,
And will pitty the wound festred so strangely within me.
O be it so, graunte such an event, O Gods, that event give.
And for a sure sacrifice I do dayly oblation offer
Of mine owne harte, where thoughts be the temple, sighte is a aultar.
But ceasse worthy shepheard, nowe ceasse we to weery the hearers
With monefull melodies, for enough our greefes be revealed,
If by the parties ment our meanings rightly be marked,
And sorrow's do require some respitt unto the sences.