Seven Minor Epics of the English Renaissance (1596-1624) Part 22

Printed for Richard Hawkins, dwelling in Chancery-Lane: neere Sarieants-Inne. 1613.

TO MY APPROVED AND MVCH RESPECTED FRIEND, _Iz: Wa:_

To thee thou more then thrice beloued friend, I too vnworthie of so great a blisse: These harsh tun'd lines I here to thee commend, Thou being cause it is now as it is: For hadst thou held thy tongue by silence might, These had bene buried in obliuions night.

If they were pleasing, I would call them thine, And disavow my t.i.tle to the verse: But being bad, I needs must call them mine, No ill thing can be clothed in thy verse.

Accept them then, and where I haue offended, Rase thou it out, and let it be amended.

_S. P._

THE AVTHOR TO HIS BOOKE.

Go little booke into the largest world, And blase the chastnes of thy maiden Muse: Regardles of all enuie on thee hurld, By the vnkindnes that the readers vse: And those that enuie thee by scruples letter, Bid them take pen in hand and make a better.

THE LOVE OF _Amos_ and _Laura_.

In the large confines of renowned _France_ There liu'd a Lord, whom Fortune did aduance, VVho had a Daughter, _Laura_ call'd the faire; So sweet, so proper, and so debonaire, That strangers tooke her for to be none other, Then _Venus_ selfe, the G.o.d of _Loues_ owne Mother.

Not farre from thence was scituate a Towne, The Lord thereof a man of great renowne; VVhom likewise Fortune blessed with a Sonne, _Amos_ by name, so modest, ciuill, yong, And yet in sight so wondrous and so bold, As that therein he pa.s.sed vncontroul'd: So kinde to strangers, and so meeke to all; Of comely grace, and stature somewhat tall.

As the wide world not two such Impes affords, As were the off-springs of these happy Lords.

Hunting he lou'd, and therefore in a morne He shakes off sleepe (for ease he laughes to scorne) Before the sable Curtaines of the East Proclaim'd the Sunnes approach vnto the west; Or _Tytan_, Lordly Ruler of the morne, Had in his Chariot, left the night forlorne; Or sounded sleepe to them, with whom (men say) It's darksome night when we enioy the day: He brac'd his Hounds, and striding o'er his Steed, Hope with a conquest did the youngster feed: VVhich done, he hyes him to a mighty wood, That ioyn'd where _Laura's_ Fathers Pallace stood.

Thither being come, a Bore he rais'd, whose pace Did make our hunts-man loose his Hounds in chase: Ranging the woods, he light into a Groue, More pleasant farre then that where _Venus_ stroue To win _Adonis_ to her hearts desire, Moued by the burning zeale of sweet _Loues_ fire.

In this sweet Groue G.o.d _Pan_ did keepe his Court, And summon'd all the petty G.o.ds resort, As Satyres, Nymphes, and others, to the same, VVhere all sing prayses vnto _Laura's_ name.

Into this Groue (neare to her chamber side) (To take the Ayre) she comes forth; soone espide Of the yong Hunts-man, who made haste vnto her, And thus the Nouice there beginnes to wooe her: Parragon of beauty, diuine, though earthly creature, And yet Celestiall in thy heauenly feature.

This sodaine courting, and vnwelcome sight, Made her adde wings to feare, and to that, flight: He following after, caught her by the traine, That in a rage the Maide turn'd backe againe, And did demaund why he without remorse, Durst cause her stay, against her will, by force.

Mou'd by the rosiate colour of thy face, (VVherein consists (quoth he) all heauenly grace) I was too bold, I must confesse indeede, To touch the seluage of thy sacred weede: For which my selfe Ile punish as thou wilt, VVith any paine, for my deserued guilt.

Doe but p.r.o.nounce the sentence of my death, These hands shall be the butchers of my breath: But since the merit of my fault's no deeper, Oh let me be thy Prisoner, thou my Keeper; So shall thine eyes be witnesse of the woe, VVhich for my bold offence Ile vndergoe.

p.r.o.nounce thy sentence then. VVherwith she spake, You are your Crafts-man Sir: and there she brake.

Yet turning backe, quoth she, o would 'twere true, Your loue were firme to me, as mine to you!

And here she ceased: for when he came neare her, She was afraid that he would ouer-heare her.

And art thou so vnwilling then, quoth hee, To doome the sentence which I aske of thee?

Perswade thy selfe it is thy purer minde That will not let thy heart proue so vnkinde: O would that minde were mine, to ioyne thy hart Eyther to end my life, or ease my smart.

Loue is my sute. Nor hate is my reply, Quoth she. Quoth hee, I cannot court it I; They which but view the error in my lookes, May finde I neuer learn'd in _Cupids_ bookes: But like a stone rough hewen from the rockes, And after polish'd by the Masons knockes, The former shewes but base then in compare, So to my loue my speech disgraces are: For were my speech true patterne of my minde, Not as it doth, should't come, but farre more kinde, Like as the Marchant hearing of a losse, Is vvondrous sory for so great a crosse; And after heareth by a true report, His goods are safely landed in the Fort, Cannot expresse the joy he doth conceiue: For why? it doth his senses quite bereaue; And yet with signe of sorrow blames th'euent, Although it seeme most plaine and euident.

Or like a Ship toss'd by tempestuous weather, Now here, then there; now back againe, then thither That whirle-windes meeting (roaring out aloud) Make watry mountaines shew the ship each cloud: Then with such fury they descend the deepe, From top of triple-Cedar-mountaines steepe, As of the Seas rich orientall shew, Against their wils they take a counterview.

So fares his minde, which tossed to and fro, Sometimes doth ioy, and other times is woe: Sometimes from depth ascends into the ayre, And though he hope, he hides it with despayre.

So long with feruent zeale he mou'd his sute, Onely for want of words his tongue was mute.

"VVhere true affection rules in hottest fires, "Dumbe signes and tokens then shew mens desires: For what he thought he shew'd, he could not vtter, _W_hich made him oft when he shold speak to mutter.

She that was wounded with the selfe-same dart, Reueal'd with tongue that which she wisht with hart And fram'd her answere, so much't could not grieue him, For 'twas a salue to wound and to relieue him.

Say I could loue, quoth she, my milder minde, (Vnlesse you further moue) cannot vnkinde, Frame you an answere: for wee are by nature So much addicted to mans heauenly feature, That though your faults are great by your abuse, To blinde the same it is our womans vse.

Then as thou found'st me, leaue me, if thou wilt; That shall be all I render for thy guilt.

Further I will not credit thy report: Farewell; be gone, for I am mist in Court.

With that shee flyes, and in her flight she leaues A well wrought Scarfe, which straight the winde vp heaues; And proud of such a prise, they doe infer With their emba.s.sage vnto _Jupiter_, And there presented it: who, as 'twas right, Did make the windes returne't with swiftest flight, Vnto the place where _Amos_ stood amazed At that which hapt, who like a mad-man gazed, Wondring what she by this illusion meant, When to allure him was her whole intent: But led in admiration most of all, At the rich Scarfe which from the Maide did fall.

He viewes the worke, where finding of _Apollo_ Chasing a Nymph, who swifter then a Swallow Flyeth his armes, for feare did lend her wings To flye from him which after her soone flings.

Himselfe a foole he cals, that wanting skill, Being allur'd, he had not knowne her will.

Doubtfull, he feares offence committed to her, That he so rashly, gain'st her will, durst wooe her.

To cleare himselfe of which offence he flyes, Resolu'd to winne the Maide, or lose the prize, With prosperous hast. Oh may thy hast well speed, Whose wondrous loue did vertuously proceed: Not from the flames of filthy l.u.s.ts desire, As was that Rome-borne _Tarquins_ l.u.s.tfull fire: But as vnspotlesse from that filthy thought, From that most h.e.l.l-deseruing thing of nought, As euer heart lodg'd in a loyall brest, Or tongue, vntaught to lye, euer exprest.

But why doe I digresse the path I tread, Cloying your eares with that your eyes doe read?

Pardon my boldnesse, and giue eare a while To that, of him, which my inferiour stile Shall now expresse: though't not with honor stands, He thinkes one paire of legs worth twice two hands.

The arrow swift sent from the st.u.r.dy bow, May be accounted (to his flight) but slow: At last he gain'd the Court, to vvhich being come, It shew'd like to the Pallace of the Sunne Describ'd in _Ouid_: for in length and fairenesse, None might surpa.s.se the workmanship and rarenes.

Through which his way lies, & he needs must pa.s.se, The pauement Marble vvas, the vvals of Gla.s.se: VVhereunder vvas so liuely caru'd the Story Of great _Joues_ loue, his vvondrous vvorks, & glory, VVith many others loue: vvhich to rehea.r.s.e VVould adde a mighty volume to my Verse, Besides mine owne weake vvit: for I doe know it, He vvas a better workeman, then I Poet.

Yet could not this abate the Louers pace: For he still holds the louely Maide in chase.

Pa.s.sing the Court, he comes into a greene, VVhich vvas in middest of the Pallace seene: Thorough the midst there ranne a pleasant Spring, On each side with a vvall of Bricke hemm'd in, Onely in midst, a Stile; beyond, a Plancke, VVhich for a Bridge did serue to eyther bancke.

Ouer this Stile as _Laura_ lightly skips, In her rent garment happily it slips, And held her there a while till hee came to her, VVhere once againe the Nouice gins to wwoe her.

Flye not thy friend, our Maker vvilleth so, Things reasonlesse approue and vvish it so, If vvithout sense and reason all things then Obserue a better course then humane men, How sauage were we then offending so, Committing that vvhich vve offence doe know?

O were my tongue a second _Orpheus_ Harpe, That to my loue I might allure thy heart!

Or vvere thy loue but equall vnto mine, Then vvould thou seeke his fauor vvho seeks thine!

Me thinkes vnkindnesse cannot come from thence, VVhere beauty raignes vvith such magnificence, I meane from thee, vvhom nature hath endow'd VVith more then Art would vvillingly allow'd: And though by nature you are borne most faire, Yet Art would adde a beautie to your share: But it being spotlesse doth disdaine receipt Of all vnpolish'd painting counterfeit.

Your beautie is a snare vnto our wayes, VVherein once caught, wee cannot brooke delayes; VVhich makes vs oft through griefe of minde grow sad, Griefe follows grief, then malecontent & mad.

Thus by deniall doe you cause our woe, And then doe triumph in our ouer-throw.

What is it to be fayre? onely a vanitie, A fading blossome of no perpetuitie.

Consider this: for beautie is a flower, Subiect to ill occasions euery hower; It is a tenure holden as wee see _Durante Dei placito_, not in fee.

Measure my Loue then, proue it by a tryall: Let me not languish still by your deniall.

If in my suite I erre, as by mischance, Blame not my Loue but count it ignorance.

The tongue is but an instrument of nought, And cannot speake the largenesse of the thought: For when the minde abounds, and almost breaketh, Then through abundance of the heart it speaketh: No man can speake but what he hath in minde, Then what I speake I thinke; be not vnkinde Vnto your seruant, who obedience proffers, And makes firme loue the obiect of his offers.

I will not boast of Parentage, or Lyne, For all are base, respecting thee diuine: Nor will I boast of wealth, or riches store, For in thy face consists all wealth, and more.

Pure are my thoughts as skin betweene thy browes, And eke as chaste my speech, my oathes, & vowes.

Speake sweetest fayre, but one kinde word to me, How can alas that be offence in thee?

There was a Dame a moderne Poet sung, _Hero_ by name, like thee, both faire and young: And both so faire, that you did others pa.s.se As farre as rarest Dyamonds common gla.s.se.

VVhom young _Leander_ courted on a greene, A Maide so faire (but thee) was neuer seene.

She granted loue, which he (alas) to gaine, To reape those ioyes, did crosse the brinish Maine.

My loue to thee, I now compare to his; Accounting danger, so requited, blisse.

There are no Seas to separate our ioy, No future danger can our Loue annoy: Then grant to me what she denide not him; If good in her, in thee it is no sinne.

The Sunne hath shin'd thus long, o let not now The Sunne be darkened by thine angry brow.

But rather let each looke a Comet be That may presage my happy destinie.

I could to you a short discourse impart, That would relent the direst stony hart, VVer't not offence. It's no offence quoth she.

Then thus the same Ile briefely tell, quoth he: A poore old man by chance did breake his leg, And he was told where he was wont to beg, That such a Surgion (telling of his name,) If that he pleas'd, could quickly cure the same.

VVhich when he heard, to him for helpe he goes, And craues for G.o.ds sake he would ease his woes.

The Surgion greedy to haue coyne therefore, But finding none, he would not heale the sore: VVhich caus'd the poore old man to keepe his bed, That he for want of helpe in time was dead.

Alas poore soule; (quoth shee) and did he dye?

VVould I were Iudge, or hee were such as I, I so would vse the Surgion, as that hee Should feele the griefe which he before did see.

Thus you confesse your wrong to me sweet Maid, If you performe (quoth he) the vvords you said.

I am the man, who wounded, seeke reliefe: And you, the causer of my endlesse griefe; You are the Surgion, whom I vrge the more To cure the wound because you made the sore.

Be not obdurate then, sith my disease Is quickly cured, if the Surgion please.

And this I vow, water shall turne to fire, Huge ma.s.sie mountaines to the clouds aspire; The Sun shall leaue his course, the Moon her brightnes, Night turne to day, and day shall lose his lightnes; Fishes shall flye, birds swimme; and Hare shall hunt The Hound, which to pursue the Hare vvas wont: Ayre, Earth, Fire, VVater, all things which you view Shall change their natures, ere I turne from you: And longer then I breathe a loyall friend, Let me (o heauens) endure a wicked end.

Silence (quoth she) and here let cease thy sute, Cause of distrust in loue did make me mute: Aske why I yeelded in so short a season, Because I loue, that is a womans reason.

Yet Maides are fearefull; for by mens abuse, Courting is turned to a common vse, How is he held, that cannot in these dayes Fash'on his words to each fantasticke phrase?

VVhich makes vs oft with one word to debase Him from our bosomes, whom our hearts imbrace: And, as you men doe for a Prouerbe make it, That which we loue we oft say nay and take it.

Delayes breede danger, wherefore what I said, And what agrees with Honour, and a Maid, I yeeld to thee, but yet on this condition, Thou shalt not dare t'attempt the least fruition Of my chaste thoughts, by drawing them aside, Before in wedlocke I am made thy Bride.

This said; shee to the Court, hee to his Hounds, _W_here they had slaine a Bore, whose bloud abounds: Glad of his prey, he hastneth home amaine, VVith short returne he comes to her againe, And hauing ioyn'd themselues in _Hymens_ bands, The sacred Priest vniteth heart and hands: They reape those ioyes which elder louers know, And thus my Tale doth end, thus ends their woe.

_FINIS._