Read Ebook: Seven Minor Epics of the English Renaissance (1596-1624) by Barksted William Active Gale Dunstan Linche Richard Page Samuel Miller Paul William Commentator

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Ebook has 340 lines and 70191 words, and 7 pages

Her hayre of such corruscant glitterous shine, as are the smallest streames of hottest sunne, Like starres in frostie night, so looke her eyne, within whose Arches Christall springs doe run, Her cheekes faire show of purest Porphyrie, Full curiously were typt with roseall die.

These dumbe Embassadors, Loues chiefe combatants tell Her of humble seruice; him of acceptance; his craued loue, hers wisht they nere might part, Much talk they had w^t tongues, more w^t their eyes, But most with their harts, where true loue lies.

Now were they come whereas the good old Lady might boldly welcome her inuited guest, Where after little talke, they all sat downe vnto a soone-made feast, The Louers fed on glaunces of their eyes, Tis heauenly food when both do simpathize.

At last, the Lady of the house espied the intercourse of those bright Messengers, Who inwardly reioycing, as fast plied hers on her daughter, fittest Harbengers, To bid her keepe the fairest and the best Place in her hart, to entertaine this guest.

Word back againe was sent by her faire light, how that was done already; and replied, The Land-lord o're his Tennant hath such might, that he to enter in is nere denied. I, in a little corner of my hart Doe liue, he hath the greatest part.

Oh heauens, what new-founde griefes possesse my mind, what rare impassionated fits be these? Cold-burning Feuers in my hart I find, whose opposite effects worke mee no ease, Then loue assailes the hart with hotest fight, VVhen beauty makes her conqust at first sight.

The valiant Greekes their tedious ten yeres siedge for Spartaes Queen Nere thought so long; as those loue-scorcht enamored now ween This night to be; A night if spent in care, Seemes longer then a thousand pleasant are.

Thus lay they sleeplesse, thoughtfull, euer thinking on sluggish humor of expected Morne, They thought that Louers eyes were neuer winking nor sleepe they e're in whom Loues newly borne. Hee vow'd, when day was come, to woo his deere, Shee swore such wooing she would gladly heare.

Boldly encourag'd by her milde aspect, he told her that which Louers vse to tell, How he did liue by her faire eyes reflect, and how his hart in midst of hers did dwell. Much eloquence he vsd, twas needles done, To win that hart which was already won.

VVhich done, hee thankt his Hostis for her curtesie, And now at length went home for to retire, where hee was looked for so earnestly, The Lady crau'd if ere hee came that way, To see her house, and there to make some stay.

Then heauily, and with a dying eye, hee takes his leaue of his faire Loue, VVho for to fauour him, full graciously, with louing count'nance gaue to him her Gloue. Keepe this till better fortune fall, My Gloue, my Loue, my hand, my hart, and all.

One month expir'd; to recreate and reuiue his tyred spright, Hee now on hunting goes, which hee desir'd, not for the sports delight; But for he might some fit occasion finde, To see his Loue, on whom was all his minde.

For yet they lyu'd fast bound in Fancies chaines, stryuing to passe each other in pure loue, But so do these Louers proue, That hottest loue hath soon'st the cold'st disdaine, And greatest pleasures, haue their greatest paine.

For now no longer could shee so perseuer, shee turnes to deadly hate her former kindnes, Which still had lasted; but that Nature euer strikes into womens eyes such dim-sight blindnes, And such obdurate hardnes in their harts, They see, nor knowe, not truest loues desarts.

To dote on him that else where sets his Loue, hee makes you thinke what ere he list, That this is true, you easily may proue for still he weares her fauour on his fist, A Hawke it is; which shee Giues him, he you faire words, but her his hart.

VVith this incenst, soonest when enuies broode to them display it, I'st true for true loue doth he giue, such smooth-fac'd flattry, doth he thus repay it? Shee neuer scan'd, the truth of this her griefe, Loue in such cases, is of quicke beliefe.

Twas hard; that he whose loue was neuer tainted whose sincere faith was kept inuiolate, Nay, in whose face all truest loue was painted, should for his spotlesse truth be paid with hate, Hee stone-astonied, like a Deare at gaze, Admir'd these speeches in a wondrous maze.

Tis strange that Maides should ere be so abused, to credit each malicious-tongued slaue, And to condemne a man before or proofe, or tryall, hee may haue. Too many such there be; wo's mee therefore, Such light credulitie, I must deplore.

When sighes, salt tears, & vowes could do no good, nor sighes, nor teares, nor vowes could pierce her hart, In which, disdaine triumphant victor stood holding in eyther hand a sable dart, VVherewith he strikes true loue, & stainlesse truth, Condemning them vnto eternall ruth.

VVhere being come, he straight for four daies space, locks him in his chamber, and there did poure Huge shewers of christall rayne adowne his face, All ouerwhelm'd in waues of sea-salt teares, Some fatall shipwrack of his life he feares.

Wherewith he calls for paper, pen, and ynck, and for his Hawke, which presently he kild, Die thou so shall my loue nere thinke, that for thy sake to any else I yield. And plucking of her head, straight way hee writes, VVho thus indites.

Loe heere that gracious fauour, the Ensigne of my vntruth, Behold in what high-priz'd esteeme I haue her that gaue me it, the cause of all my ruth: Looke as this Hawke, faire Loue, so is my hart, Mangled and torne; cause thou so cruell art.

I sweare to thee by all the rites of loue, by heauens faire head, by earth, & black-fac'd hel, I nere meant other loue but thine to proue, nor in my hart that any else should dwell; Let this suffize, my ioy, my deere, my chiefe, My griefes are too too long, though letter briefe.

Twas time to ende, for floods gusht out amaine, out came the springtide of his brinish teares, VVhich whatsoere hee writ blot out againe all blubred so to send it scarce hee dares: And yet hee did; goe thou vnto her, And for thy maister, treate, sollicite, woo her.

And pray thee Bid her take heede in spilling guiltlesse blood, tell her there's danger in such cruelties: VVith this, hee gaue it to the messenger, Who in short time brought it her.

Shee, when shee heard from whom the Letter came, returnes it backe againe, and straight replied, My friend hadst thou not told his name perhaps thy Letter, had not beene denied: VVhereat shee paus'd; but yet ile see With what perswading termes, he flatters mee.

Twas quickly read; griefe would not let the wryter tedious be, Nor would it suffer him fit words to sort, but pens it confusedly. Yet had it passion to haue turn'd hard stones To liquid moisture, if they heard his moanes.

Oh Nature, chiefest Mother of vs all, why did you giue such apt-beleeuing harts To women-kind, that thus poore men inthrall, and will not dulie waie true loues desarts? O had their harts been like vnto their face, They sure had been of some celestiall race.

Full heauie newes it was to stainelesse loue, to him that had enshrin'd her in his thought, And in his hart had honor'd her aboue the world; to wh all else saue her seem'd nought. Nay, vnto him, whose person, wit, and faire, Might surely with the best make iust compare.

But shee steemes him not, hate and disdaine doe neuer brooke respect, Shee did not knowe that beauties foulest blot consisted in true-louing harts neglect. No, she VVould not admit such knowledge in her mind.

After some time, hee writes againe vnto her, hee could not thinke shee would perseuer so, But when hee sawe her aunswere like the other hee then surceas'd to send her any moe. But did resolue to seeke some vncouth place, VVhere he might bewaile his case.

Thinking indeede shee by his absence might at length intenerate her flintfull hart, And metamorphize her conceaued spight into true loue regardaunt of his smart; Hee seekes all meanes how to gaine His rigorous Lady from such fell disdaine.

VVhere, being come, all Pilgrim-like attir'd, hee pryes about to see if hee could finde, Some house-like Caue, for rest hee much desir'd, his body now was wearie, as his minde. O Gods if youth finde such distresse, VVhat hope haue I, of future happines.

So, heere ile rest my wearied bodie in thee VVill I erect a griefe-fram'd Monasterie, where night & day my prayers ile ne're cease yielding, To thee my deere; Oh lend thine eares, to him that his hart gaue.

Great Gouernour of Heauen, commaund thy vnder Princes to mayntaine, Those heauly parts which to my loue th'aue giuen, ? let her ne're feele death, or deaths fell paine. And first vpon thy Sister lay thy mace, Bid her maintayne my Loues maiestick grace.

VVhen some stone would not impression take hee straight compares it to his Mistris hart, But stay, my working teares shall make thee penetrable with the least skil'd art. Oh had my teares such force to pierce her mind, These sorrowes I should loose, and new ioyes find.

Thou euer-memorable stone tell those whom fate or fortune heere shall lead, How deerely I haue lou'd the cruel'st shee that euer Nature or the world hath bred. Tell them her hate, and her disdaine was causelesse, Oh, leaue not out to tell how I was guiltlesse.

VVith this, hee seekes a russet-coated Tree, & straight disclothes him of his long-worne weed And whilest hee thus disroabes him busilie, hee felt his halfe-dead hart a fresh to bleed. Greeuing that hee should vse such crueltie, To turne him naked to his foe, windes furie.

O looke as in the springing Plant one branch intwines and growes within another, So growe my griefes; which makes my hart to pant when thicke-fetcht sighes my vitall breath doth smother, I spoild my cruelty am adiudg'd to death, Thus all alone to yield my lyuing breath.

Thou hast the fayrest face that e're was seene, but in thy breast Thou hast a fouler hart; disdaine hath beene accounted blacker then the Chimnies stocke. O purifie thy soule my dearest Loue, Dislodge thy hate, and thy disdaine remoue.

But all in vaine I speake vnto the wind, then should they carry these my plaints vnto her, Mee thinks thou still shouldst beare a gentle mind, pray, intreate, & woo her; Tell her twere pittie I should dye alone, Here in these woods wher non can heare me mone.

But tis no matter, shee is pittylesse like the Scycilian stone that more tis beate Doth waxe the harder; stones are not so ruthlesse, which smallest drops doe pierce though nere so great: If Seas of teares would weare into her hart, I had ere this beene eased of my smart.

That wide-mouth'd time wc swallows good desarts shall shut his iawes, & ne're deuoure thy name, Thou shalt be crown'd with bayes by louing harts, and dwell in Temple of eternall Fame; There, is a sacred place reseru'd for thee, There, thou shalt liue with perpetuitie.

This young-year'd Hermit, one day mong the rest as hee was busilie prouiding meate, VVhich was with Natures cunning almost drest, dri'd with the Sunne new readie to be eate, Inrag'd vpon a suddaine throwes away His hard-got foode; and thus began to say.

O cruell starres, Step-mothers of my good, & you, you ruthlesse Fates what meane you thus, So greedely to thirst for my harts blood, why ioy you so in vnuniting vs? Great powres infuse some pitty in her hart That thus hath causelesse caus'd in me this smart.

I feele my long-thought life begin to melt as doth the snowe gainst midday heate of Sunne, thy rigour I haue too much felt, oh, at the last with crueltie haue done, If teares thy stonie hart could mollifie, My brinish springs should floe eternallie.

I tolde thee, I, when hate first gan to rise how I was guiltlesse, Thine eares were deaffe, ye wouldst not harken ere thy hart was hardned, rockie, pittilesse. Oh had mine eyes been blind wh first they view'd thee, Would God I had been tonglesse wh I sew'd thee.

But thou wast then as readie to receaue as I to craue; ? great inconstancie, O twas that fatall houre did so bereaue my blisfull soule of all tranquillitie: Thou then didst burne in loue, now froz'd in hate, Yet pittie mee, sweete mercy ne're comes late.

But thou inexorable art, ne're to be wone, though Lyons, Bears, & Tigers haue been tam'd, Thy wood borne rigour neuer will be done, which thinks for this thou euer shalt be fam'd; True, so thou shalt, but fam'd in infamie, Is worse then lyuing in obscuritie.

If thou didst knowe howe greeuous tis to me to lyue in this vnhabited aboade, Where none keepes me companie, I know thou wouldst thy harts hate then vnload, Oh, I did ne're deserue this miserie, For to denie the truth were heresie.

I tell thee when secret-tongued night puts on her mistie sable-coloured vayle, My wrangling woes, within them selues do fight, they murder hope, which makes their Captaine wayle, And wailing so, can neuer take his rest, That keepes such vnrul'd Souldiers in his brest.

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