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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Lucenda's Answer to Arnalte.
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 | A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight |  |
Lucenda's Answer to Arnalte.
Had I Arnalte, but such fluent straines,Or high-tun'd words, (compacted by the paines
Of sweet-tongu'd Rethorick) as thou dost expresse,
Ingeniously I unto thee confesse;
I should have skill to answer thee as well,
As thou hast Art, thy sorrows for to tell.
Long since it is, since that thy presence and
My shame assiege me with a well-train'd Band
Of invitations, who doe so oppose
And ward themselves frō my word-speaking blows,
That they doe drive me into such a straight,
That I beleeve all aide will come too late;
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That no reliefe in any thing I find:
Since that my fame hath gain'd so deepe a wound,
That Art, nor words can e're recure it sound.
For though my ignorance doe me acquit,
Yet Reason checks me with her curbing bit,
And doth condemne me, since my honour'd fame
I've hazarded, and sayes I am too blame.
Thou animat'st me that I should convert
Thy sad disasters into pleasing mirth:
I rather have more cause to mourne and grieve
For my transgressions, than thee to relieve.
Since what thou suffer'st, it is sufferable,
My honour causing't to be tolerable:
For why th'offence, the which I perpetrate
At this same instant, will precipitate
My honour headlong, or at least defame
With foule disgrace my cleare unspotted name.
And thus the danger which doth threaten me,
Since I forget my selfe, to speake with thee,
May sooner to thy disadvantage chance,
Than to thy profit, or thy gaine t'inhance:
For I doe feare thou canst not silent be,
Or barre thy lips with bolts of secrecy,
Clouding the tryumph which thou do'st obtaine
In mists of silence, from the eare of fame.
For oftentimes the joy that we conceive
Of suppos'd favour, doth our hopes deceive;
And so the tongue (too forward) doth expresse
What th'heart with reason strives not to confesse.
Yet if you be so lavish, to report't,
It's at my perill, and you'le scale the Fort
Of my high-towring honour, and so rase
That to the ground, which yet hath stood with praise
How have thy treaties gain'd the upper hand,
That my resistance cannot them with-stand!
What woman is there that beleeveth thee,
But to her selfe she must disloyall be?
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Vs silly Damsells, if our eares we lend
To mens perswasions, whose beginnings we,
If wise we were, we should both shun and flee.
Ah sad Lucenda, thou art now a slave,
And you Arnalte, name of Victor have:
But yet beware, lest that too much glory
Cause thee to loose through th'extreame of joy
That which with griefe, with sorrow, & with paine,
With sighs, with sobs, thou now of me do'st gaine.
Take notice how that secresie doth heale,
That which report doth wound, if he reveale,
Thou do'st intreate that thou my hands maist kisse,
I am contented, but provided this,
You doe not thinke that I doe it permit
Through vaine conceit, presumptuous pride, nor yet
From any merit, that I dare to claime
Vnto my selfe, and that you will refraine
Henceforth to urge me, or solicite more
With irkesome treaties, as y'ave heretofore;
And let thy Sister now a Testate be,
Who hath already done so much for thee,
That she hath gain'd me so farre to transgresse
The bounds of Reason, that I doe expresse
My selfe s'oblivious, that I now doe act
That which I doe, in word, in deed, and fact.
| A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight | |