Seven Minor Epics of the English Renaissance (1596-1624) Part 10

The Messenger to spurre forth her desires, and hasten her vnto his well-lou'd friend, Tells her, how hee lyes languis.h.i.+ng in fires of burning griefes, which neuer will haue end: Bids her to flye to him with wings of zeale, And thus _Diegoes_ paines hee doth reueale.

Oh Adamantick-minded Mayde (quoth hee) why linger you in this ambiguous thought, Open thine eyes, no longer blinded bee, those wounding lookes, thy Louer, deere hath bought.

Vnbolt thy harts strong gate of hardest steele, O let him nowe the warmth of pittie feele.

Oh let him now the warmth of pittie feele, that long hath knockt cold-staruen at thy dore; Wanting loues foode hee here & there doth reele lyke to a storme-tost s.h.i.+p that's far from sh.o.r.e.

Feede him with loue that long hath fed on cares, Be Anchor to his soule that swims in teares.

_Gyneura_, let him harbour in thy hart rig and amend his trouble-beaten face, O calme thy hate, whose winds haue rais'd his smart see him not perrish in this wofull case.

And for in Sea-salt teares hee long hath liu'd, Let him by thy fresh water be relieu'd.

Oh, shall I tell thee how I found him there, his house wherein hee liu'd (if lyue hee did, Or rather spend his time in dying feare) was built within the ground, all darksom hid.

From _Phoebus_ light, so vgly, h.e.l.l-lyke Caue, In all the world againe you cannot haue.

All made of rug'd hard-fauour'd stones, whose churlish lookes afford the eye no pleasure, In whose concauity winds breath'd horce grones, to which sad musicke Sorrow daunc'd a measure.

O'regrowne it was with mighty shadefull Trees, VVhere poore _Diego_ Sun nor Moone nere sees.

To this black place repaired euery morne, The fayre _Oreades_ pitty-moued gerles, Bringing the poore _Diego_ so forlorne, Mosse to dry vp his teares, those liquid pearles: Full loath they were to loose such christall springs, Therfore this Spunge-like Mosse each of th[=e] brings.

Here dry (say they) thou loue-forsaken man, those gla.s.sy Conduits, which do neuer cease On this soft-feeling weede; and if you can, we all intreate, your griefes you would appease, Else wilt thou make vs pine in griefe-full woe, That nere knewe care, or loue, or friend, or foe.

Straight (like a shooting Commet in the ayre) away depart these sorrow-peirced maydes, Leauing _Diego_ in a deepe dispaire, who now, his fortune, now his fate vp-braides.

O heauens (quoth he) how happy are these trees, That know not loue, nor feele his miseries.

Melts not thy hart (_Gyneura_) at his cares?

are not thy bright transparent eyes yet blinde VVith monstrous diluge of o'reflowing teares?

remaines there yet disdaines within thy mind?

Disgorge thy hate, O hate him not that loues thee, Maids are more milde th[=e] men, yet pitty moues me.

Breake, breake in peeces that delicious chest, whiter then snow on Hyperboreall hyll, Chase out disdaine, depriue him of his rest, murder and mangle him that rules thy will.

Be it nere sayd that faire _Gyneuraes_ beauty, Was ouer-peiz'd by causelesse cruelty.

Cruell to him that merrits curtesie, loathed of thee that doth deserue all loue, Basely reiected, scorn'd most churlishly, that honors thee aboue the Saints aboue.

True loue is pricelesse, rare, and therefore deere, VVe feast not royall Kings with homely cheere.

Too long it were to tell thee all his merits, for in delay consists his long-lookt death, Post-hast of thine must now reuiue his spirits, or shortly he will gaspe his latest breath; Speake faire _Gyneura_, speake as I desire, Or let thy vaine-breath'd speeches back retyre.

Looke, as a man late taken from a trance, standes gazing heere and there in sencelesse wise, Not able of himselfe his head t'aduance, but standeth like a stone in death-like guise, So lookt _Gyneura_, hanging downe her head, Shaming that folly her so much had led.

Repentant sorrow would not let her speake, the burning flames of griefe did dry her teares, Yet at the last, words out of prison breake, that long'd to vtter her harts inward cares: And stealingly there glides with heauy pace A Riuolet of Pearle along her face.

O cease (quoth she) to wound me any more, with oft repeating of my cruelties, Thou of thy teares (kind man) hast shed great store, when I (vnkinder mayde) scarce wet mine eyes.

O let me now bewaile him once for all, Twas none but I that causd his causelesse thrall.

Eternall _Ioue_, rayne showers of vengeance on me, plague me for this blacke deed of wrongful hate, Be blind mine eyes, they shall not looke vpon thee _Diego_, till thou be compa.s.sionate: And when thou doost forgiue what I haue done, Then shall they s.h.i.+ne like shortest-shaded sunne.

O slacke thy swift-pac'd gallop winged Tyme, turne backe, and register this my disdaine; Bid Poets sing my hate in ruthfull ryme, and pen sad Iliads of _Diegoes_ paine: Let them be writ in plain-seene lines of gla.s.se, To shew how louing he, I, cruell was.

Hereat shee pausd, tell me sweet sir quoth shee, how I might see my deere-embosom'd friend, That now (if what is past may pardned be) vnto his griefes I may impose an end; Where-with they both agreed, that the next day, They would eniourney them without more stay.

Long were they not, Desire still goes on Ice, and nere can stay tell that he hath his wish, Mens willing mindes each thing doth soone intice, to hast to yt which they would faine accomplish.

But that they came (as hauing a good guide) Vnto the place where they _Diego_ spide.

Sacred _Pymplaeides_ endip my quill within the holy waters of your spring, Infuze into my braine some of your skill, that ioyfully of these I now may sing: These Louers now twixt whom late dwelt annoy, Swymming in seas of ouer-whelming ioy.

But, pardon mee you Dames of Helycon, for thus inuoking your diuinest ayde, Which was by me (vnworthy) call'd vpon, at your rare knowledge I am much dismaide; My barren-witted braines are all too base, To be your sacred learnings resting place.

Thus, of themselues, in pleasures extasie, these Louers now embrace them in theyr armes, Speechlesse they are, eye counterfixt on eye, like two that are coniur'd by magique charmes.

So close their armes were twin'd, so neer they came As if both man and woman were one frame.

In th'end, (as doth a Current lately stayd, rush mainly forth his long-imprisoned flood) So brake out words; and thus _Dyego_ sayd, what my _Gyneura_? O my harts chiefe good, Ist possible that thou thy selfe should'st daigne In seeing me to take so wondrous paine.

Oh, speake not of my paine (my deerest loue) all paine is pleasure that I take for thee, Thou that so loyall and so true doost proue, might scorne mee now, so credulous to be: Then sweet _Diego_, let vs now returne, And banish all things that might make vs mourne.

Twere infinite to tell of their great gladnes, theyr amorous greetings, & their soules delight, _Diego_ now had exil'd griefe and sadnes, rauisht with ioy whilst he enioyde her sight.

Let it suffise, they homeward now retire, Which suddaine chance both men & maids admire.

_Gyneura_ now delights but in his presence, shee cannot once endure him from her sight, His loue-ful face is now her soules sole essence, and on his face shee dotes both day and night.

She nere did once disdaine him halfe so much, As now she honors him, loues force is such.

_Diego_ now wrapt in a world of pleasure, imparadiz'd in hauing his desire, Floting in Seas of ioy aboue all measure, sought means to mittigate loues burning fire, VVho walking with his loue alone one day, Discharg'd his minde, and thus began to say.

O faire _Gyneura_, how long wil't be ere safron-robed _Hymen_ doe vnite vs?

My soule doth long that happy howre to see.

O let the angry Fates no longer spight vs, Lingring delays will teare my greeued hart, Let me no longer feele so painefull smart.

_Gyneura_, which desir'd it as her life, tells him that paine shall shortly haue a cure, Shortly quoth she, Ile be thy married wife, ty'de in those chaynes which euer wil endure, Be patient then, and thou shalt plainly see, In working it, how forward I will be.

And so she was; no time dyd she mispend, wherein shee gets not things in readines, That might to _Hymens_ rites full fitly tend, or once conduce to such theyr happines, All things prepar'd, these Louers now are chayned In marriage bands, in which they long remained.

These, whilst they liu'd, did liue in all content, contending who should loue each other most, To w^c pure loue, proude Fame her eares down lent, and through the world, of it doth highly boast.

O happy he to whom loue comes at last, That will restore what hate before did wast.

{ Then (deerest loue) _Gyneuryze_ at the last, } { And I shall soone forget what ere is past. }

And now farewel, when I shal fare but ill, flourish & ioy, wh[=e] I shal droope and languish, All plentious good awaite vpon thy will, wh[=e] extreame want shal bring my soule deaths anguish.

Forced by thee (thou mercy-wanting mayd) must I abandon this my natiue soyle, Hoping my sorrowes heate will be allayd by absence, tyme, necessity or toyle.

So, nowe adiew; the winds call my depart.

Thy beauties excellence, my rudest quill Shall neuer-more vnto the world impart, so that it know thy hate, I haue my will; And when thou hear'st that I for thee shall perrish, Be sorrowfull. And henceforth true loue cherrish.

FINIS.

_Poco senno basta a chi Fortuna suona._

MIRRHA _THE_ Mother of Adonis: _OR, l.u.s.tes Prodegies_.

By William Barksted.