Seven Minor Epics of the English Renaissance (1596-1624) Part 19

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Long did this beautious martyr keep her faith, Thinking that _Mahomet_ was full of error: Treading that high coelestiall milkie path, Virginity, that did produce hels terror, Yet knowing loue in Princes turnes to wrath, She meanes to catch his fancies with her cunning: But so resistlesse is this Princes feruor, Though he imprison loue, still feares his cunning.

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For like a Castle seated on a rocke, Besieg'd by thousands danger each way spread, That had withstood the battery of warres shock: The liuing making bulwarkes of the dead.

So did this Virgins thoughts to her hart flock, Wiuing her danger, when her powers were lost: _Hyrena_ will yeeld vp her maiden head, A gift to make _Ioue_ proud, or silence bost.

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He gently woes her with the misers G.o.d, The _Indians_ ignorance, and vertues slaue, Bright flaming gold, for where that ha's abode, All doores flies open to the wish we craue.

Gold is mans mercy, and his makers rod, She loues the King for honor and for riches, He makes her eyes his heauen, her lap his graue, A womans face oft Maiesties bewitches.

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When news is brought him that his foes are come, He catches straite this maiden in his armes, Calling for musicke that is now his drumme: Ile keepe thee safe (quoth he) for other harmes, Tho spoke in thunder they to me are dumbe.

To counsell now they call him with low duty, But her Idea so his sences charmes, He drownes all speech in praising of her beauty.

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One tels him that the Christians are in field.

You do not marke her beauty, he replies.

Two mightie Cities to their power doth yeeld: Note but the l.u.s.tre sparkling from her eyes.

Your subiects hearts, against your life are steeld: Her tongue is musick, that strikes wonder dumbe.

Your people struck with warre by millions dyes: If she but frowne then I shall ouercome.

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Shall I feare this worlds losse enioying heauen, Or thinke of danger when an Angel guards me?

Can greater glory to my life be giuen, Then her maiesticke beauty that rewards me?

Nay is not he of happinesse bereau'd, That neuer saw her face nor heard her voyce, And those that win our loue, most regards me, Confesse that we are G.o.dlike in our choice.

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He left his Ianisaries in a trance, And to her priuate chamber straite enioyes, His bloud within his azure veines doth dance: "In loue th' effects are seene before the cause: For nectar'd kisses and a smile by chance, Are but loue branches, though they grow vp first, And _Cupid_ thus confines vs in his lawes, To tast the fountaine ere we quench our thirst.

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Night like a Princes pallace full of light, Illumin'd all the earth with golden starres, Here Art crost Nature, making day of night: And _Mahomet_ prepares him for loues warres.

A banquet is ordain'd to feed delight, Of his Imperiall bountie with expences: A heauen on earth he presently prepares, To rauish in one hower all her sences.

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Her eyes could glance no way but saw a iewell, As rich as _Cleopatra_ gaue her loue.

Pictures haue power to warme ice with loues fewell.

The gentle treading of the Turtle-doue, The Camels l.u.s.t that in his heate is cruell: And _Iupiter_ transformed from a man, When with his breast the siluer streame did moue, And rauish _Laeda_ like a snowy Swan.

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The table furnisht, to delight the taste, With food aboue _Ambrosia_ diuine, Such as would helpe consumptions that did wast: The life bloud, or the marrow, Greekish wine, So high one draught would make _Dian_ vnchast.

_Nectar_ is water to this banquets drinke, Here _aesculapius_ did his art resigne, And pleasure drown'd with standing on the brink.

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To please her hearing Eunuches sang as shrill, As if that nature had dismembred them, All birds that ecchoes musicke through the bill, Sang ioy to her in an vndittied antheme: An artificiall heauen stands open still, Filling the roofe with a sweet vnknowne noyse, Downe fals a clowd like a rich diadem, And showes a hundred naked singing boyes.

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The sence of smelling with all rare deuises, That rich _Arabia_ or the world can yeeld, The dew of Roses and choise Indian spices, The purest of the garden and the field.

The earth to part with these rare gifts now rises, And vowes no more her nature so profuse, Shall let her sweets be from her breast distild, To feed their vanitie with her abuse.

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Then in a rich imbroidred bed of downe, Pluck't from the c[=o]stant Turtles fethered breast, Vpon her head he set imperiall crowne, And to her goes: Now is his soule at rest.

This night he counts the end of his renowne, The sence of feeling, she feeles by his power, And like a subiect yeelds to his request, Whilest _Mahomet_ a virgin doth deflower.

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Now feares this flower deflowr'd his loue will waine, Wishing the l.u.s.tfull act had bin vndoon, The pleasure cannot counteruaile the paine, For still she thinkes with torment ioy is woon, His loue growes full, she gets it now with gaine: He like a ring of gold insets his iewell, But fearing of his force she should disdaine, Till sighes and kisses did inflame Loues fewell.

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Then like the G.o.d of Warre, caught in a net, He twin'd his _Venus_, danger was not nigh, And as a Diamond compar'd with Iet, So show'd her sparkling eye against his eye.

The sunne-gaz'd Eagle now this done doth get, And gently gripes her, hurting not his pray, She sounds with pleasure, second sweets are high And wishes _Phoebus_ blinde all night, no day.

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The red-cheek't morning opens now her gate, And busie day breathes life into the world, The heauens great coachman mounted is in state, And darknesse from the aire to h.e.l.l is hurld.

Now pleasures king by day light sees his mate, Whil'st she lay blushing like the damaske rose, His ietty haire she with her fingers curld, He hug'd her fast, least he his ioyes should lose.

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