A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight Originally written in the Greeke Tongue, by an unknowne Author. Afterwards Translated into Spanish; after that, for the Excellency thereof, into the French Tongue by N. H. next by B. M. into the Thuscan, and now turn'd into English Verse by L. L. [i.e. Leonard Lawrence] a well-wisher to the Muses |
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Arnalte to Yerso.
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 | A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight |  |
Arnalte to Yerso.
Yerso , my faithfull truest friend, If IAt this same present unto the discry
Perspicuously the things which till this time
In clouds of silence have obscured beene,
It is thy vertue, and the confidence
I have of thee that moves me to commence't:
Be not displeas'd, nor take it ill in part,
That I so long have linger'd to impart;
For well you know that Silence is esteem'd
In Cupids Palace, and unwise he's deem'd
Who blabs Loves secrets: this then wrought in me
A thousand thoughts, which your benignity
Has chast away; and now (deare friend) at length
I feele my anguish to abate its strength;
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My secret thoughts than in thy noble breast;
Sith that thy vertue and thy amity
Are both agreed, 'to guard them carefully.
Then friend and brother, I to thee declare,
'Gainst life and death I wage a tedious warre;
Death I encounter, 'cause he'le not obey,
Life I oppose, 'cause she stands in my way.
This cruell conflict it beganne, when as
Lucenda's father from this life did passe:
Then first I saw her, and since that time
Continu'd without meanes for to combine
A friendly peace or truce, for love seeing
Me so submisse, my chiefest practice being
In due observance of her strict commands,
Or true performance of her ask't demands:
With all his might wounded my (love-sicke) heart
With burning Shafts, and hot impoyson'd darts,
So that his Combate being wondrous rude,
And my resistance weake, I was pursu'd
Even unto death; for his assaults have beene
Without cessation, or a smishing:
And my defence unto so poore an end,
That those who should have beene my truest friends,
They have betraid me, and forsaken me,
To shroud themselves in more security;
For hope renounc'd me, helpe did from me flye,
Reason she shun'd me, succour came not nigh.
Now if you thinke, because I this propound,
That in my wits I am not well, or sound,
Believe me (Yerso) I should so possesse,
Had I no sence, a reall happinesse.
Were I unwitting of my overthrow,
I for my losse should feele no paine or woe;
Were I of wit and reason both bereaved,
I should not feare or question'd to be healed;
And so not hoping, I should not dispaire
Of ease, or helpe, for which I now doe care.
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How to my selfe no safeguard lend I can,
Vnlesse the Bands of thy most kind affections,
And armed troopes of thy well-wisht directions
Doe me assist, and undertake to guard
My wretched heart, which from all helpe is barr'd,
Vpon a meanes I've thought, which to effect
To sweet content may truely me direct.
For since thy lodging doth so neare adjoyne
Vnto Lucendas, whose sweet lookes enjoyne
My dazel'd sight her aspect to behold,
(Which shames Apollo though he shine like Gold)
I crave deare friend that thou wilt suffer me
For to inhabite some few Moneths with thee.
For all the joy and the blisse I crave,
Is but a prospect of her face to have:
Then I entreate thee that thou'lt not deny
To lend me helpe my minde to satisfie;
For, for this purpose I have for thee sent,
That being acquainted with my fixt intent,
Thou might'st assist me, I implore thy aide:
For thou a meanes of great god Love wert made,
And cause I credit you have more desire
For to befriend me than I can require,
I'le cease to parley, or to urge you more,
And end my suite, and my requests give o're.
| A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight | |