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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Belisa to her Brother Arnalte.
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 | A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight |  |
Belisa to her Brother Arnalte.
I know deare Brother, that you doe intendTo take a journey shortly, to an end
So strange, that's onely for to quench the flash
Of your light humour; for it is so rash
And unadvised, that you doe expresse
Your selfe quite void of Reasons solidnesse.
Alas, alas, I doe beseech thee for
Ioves glorious sake, thou wilt this thought abhorre,
Chace forth thy minde these wandring fantasies,
Presse them to death, that they no more may rise
Vp in rebellion: Oh be not conscious that
Report may scatter a reproachfull chat
To thy disgrace; but let it be thy care
That slander doe not thy true worth impaire
Consider too, that those who shall take note
Of thy departure, that they will report
That more for feare of Yerso's kindred, then
Through loves sad anguish thou art fled from men.
Have a pre-sight to all mishaps that may
Through selfe-opinion wrong thee any way;
And weigh their ends, lest when it is too late
You doe repent, and curse your wilfull fate;
For 'tis most frequent, when the meanes is gone,
That then Repentance swiftly commeth on:
Then doe not seeke to cloud thy honour'd fame
In a strange absence, or undoe thy name.
If this prevaile not, call to minde, if you
Leave me alone, alas, what shall I doe?
For well you know my honour is conserv'd
By the rare worth long since by thee deserv'd.
Thus if you leave me, I shall be esteem'd
Rather a stranger, than henceforth be deem'd
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Thou kist Oblivion, or of Lethe taste,
That thou forget'st that death did snatch away
Our honour'd parents (now involv'd in clay)
The last great Plague, he being summon'd in
By the three Sisters, one of whom doth spin,
The other reeles, the third cuts with a Knife
The fatall thred of mans uncertaine life:
Yet ne'rethelesse I still enjoying thee,
Have deem'd my selfe as well allied to be
As e're I was, as also for to have
As many friends, as when the dungeon-grave
Did ne're inclose one to our blood affin'd:
For they being dead, their love in you I finde.
Do'st not consider that you much doe loose,
If you th'acquaintance of your friends refuse?
Remember how the King hath bred thee, and
Looke on the Countrey, and observe the Land
Which you forsake: behold th'abundant store
Of wealth and riches that you leave, before
You take this course so contrary to sence,
That all will blame you if you doe commenc't.
Beleeve me brother, and be cautious too
To act those things that may redound unto
Thy disadvantage, for the mountaines can
Not there commend thee for a worthy man;
The fierce wild beasts, that range the fields for food,
Can not distinguish 'twixt the bad and good:
Nor have the Birds the Judgment or the Art
To consolate thy sad distressed heart.
Who then shall praise thy Feats of Chivalry,
Or blaze thy fame above the starry skie,
Or moane the time that you spend there in vaine,
Instead of striving to atchieve and gaine
Transcendent honour and deserved praise
In bloody battells and in Princely fraies?
Hast thou forgot that the most noble kind
Of gen'rous spirits and heroick minds,
Doe enterprise the things most intricate,
Though death & danger on their purpose wait?
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How your past acts, and renown'd fame will sinke
Downe to the bottome of the Lethean Lake,
If this your journey you doe undertake.
Say that distresse or sicknesse should befall
You in that Desart, on whom could you call
For some assistance? Oh ther's none to beare
In thy afflictions the least part or share:
Then is't not better that you should abide
In this your Countrey, and henceforth reside
With those with home you ever us'd to live?
Being so wise, not desp'rately to give
Thy selfe to ruine: but forsake th'intent
To live with Beasts in pensive banishment,
Where none can helpe thee, or thy wants supply.
And you being absent, where alas shall I
Bestow my selfe? to whom shall I complaine,
When as the friends of Yerso (by thee slaine)
Shall terrifie me, and upbraid my fame,
Casting aspersions on my honour'd name?
Ah brother, brother, for his glorious sake,
Who with a word the universe did make,
Moderate thy sorrow, and asswage thy griefe,
Comfort thy selfe, and daigne thy selfe reliefe.
| A Small Treatise betwixt Arnalte and Lucenda Entituled The Evill-intreated Lover, Or The Melancholy Knight | |