Seven Minor Epics of the English Renaissance (1596-1624) Part 11

_Horrace.

Nansicetur enim pretium, nomenque Poeta._

_Whereunto are added certaine Eglogs._

_By_ L.M.

LONDON

_Printed by_ E.A. _for_ Iohn Bache, and are to be sold at his shop in the Popes-head Palace, nere the Royall Exchange. 1607.

To his belooued; the Author.

_Praise where so er't be found, if it be due, Shall no vaine cullour neede to set it foorth: Why should I idely then extoll the worth, Which heere (dere friend) I finde belong to you.

And if I er'd, full well the learned knewe, How wide, amisse my mark I taken had, Since they distinguish can the good from bad.

And through the varnish well discerne the hewe Be glad therefore, this makes for you, and knowe, When wiser Readers, heere shall fixe their sight, For vertues sake, they will doe vertue right.

So shalt thou not (Friend) vnrewarded goe, Then boldly on, good fortune to thy Muse, Should all condemne, thou canst as well excuse_.

I.W.

_To his Louing friend and_ Kinsman: W.B.

Thamis _nere heard a Song equall to this, Although the Swan that ow'd this present quill Sung to that Eccho, her owne Epitaph As proude to die, and render up her wing To Venus Swan, who doth more pleasing sing, Produce thy worke & tell the powerfull tale.

Of naked Cupid, and his mothers will My selfe I doe confine from_ Helicon, _As loath to see the other Muses nine, So imodestlie eye shoot, and gaze uppon Their new borne enuie: this tenth Muse of thine, Which in my selfe I doe in thee admire, As_ Aesops _Satire the refulgent fire, Which may me burn, (I mean with amorous flame In reading, as the kissing that did him_.

_And happie Mirrha that he rips thy shame, Since he so queintly doth expresse thy sin, Many would write, but see mens workes so rare, That of their owne they instantly dispaire._

Robert Glouer.

_To his esteemed friend._ W.B.

_Not for our friends.h.i.+p, or for hope of gaine Doth my pen run so swiftly in thy praise: Court-seruile flatterie I doe disdaine, "Enuie like Treason, stil it selfe betraies.

This worke Detractions sting, doth disinherit: He that giues thee all praise, giues but thy merrit._

Lewes Machin.

To his respected friend.

W.B.

_Poet, nor art thou without due desert, stil'd by that name: Though folly smile, and enuy frowne, to heare the same.

Yet those who read thy worke with due respect, Will place thee with the worthiest of that sect.

Then let not ignorance, nor enuie mooue thee Thou hast done well, they do not that reproue thee: Yet some (true worth nere wants an opposite) will Carpers be: Grieue not at this, not vertues selfe can scape their obloquie, But giue the raynes vnto these baser spirits, Whose Iudgements cannot paralell thy merrits, Such fooles (to seeme iudicious) take in hand, To censure what they doe not vnderstand._ _Yet cannot they detract, or wrong thy worth, maugre their spight: For thou doost chaunt incestuous_ Myrrha _forth, with such delight, And with such gould[=e] phrase gild'st ore her crime That what's moste diabolicall, seemes deuine.

and who so but begins the same to reade Each powerfull line, attracts him to proceede.

Then since he best deserues the Palme to weare, Who wins the same: Doe thou alone injoy those sweets, which beare thy Mirrhas name.

And euer weare in memorie of her, an anademe of odoriferous_ Mirrhe, _and let_ Apollo, _thinke it no dispraise, To weare thy_ Mirrhe, _& ioyne it with his bayes._

William Bagnall.

Mirrha, _The Mother of A_- donis.

I sing the ruine of a beautious Maide, White as my paper, or loues fairest Doue, s.h.i.+ne bright _Apollo_, Muse be not affraide, Although thou chauntest of vnnaturall loue.

Great is my quill, to bring foorth such a birth, as shall abash the Virgins of our earth.

smoake Goulden censors vpon _Paphos_ shrine, drinke deep _Leneus_ to this worke of mine.

_Cupid_ to _Thracia_ went to heare a Song of _Orpheus_, to whome euen Tygers came, And left their sauage Nature, if there long they did with his sweet Melodie remaine.

Wolues lost their preyes, and by signes praid him sing Beasts left the Lyon, and chose him their King.

_Cecropian_ Apes did on his musicke waite, Yet of them all, not one could immitate.

Tis saide when _Orpheus_ dyed, he did descend To the infernall, so the _Furies_ boast: Where now they giue him leaue his eies to bend without all feare, on her whome he once lost, By a regardant looke, but tis not so: _Ioue_ not reseru'd such musicke for belowe, But placed him amongst celestiall stars, To keep the Scorpion, Lyon, Beare from Iars.

For euer since the fall of _Phaeton_, that then displaced, them they were at strife For their degrees, till his alluring Tone.

who though in death hath the office of his life.

Though more diuinely: and where he attracts, More glorious bodies to admire his actes.

Faire stranger shape of creature, and of beast, With his concordant tunes, plac'd them in rest.

The Dittie was (and _Cupid_ lent an eare) Vpon the death of his _Euridice_: Which still he sung, as if his former feare, Of loosing her was now, or else would be.

The Eccho beate the noyse vp to the Spheares, And to his pa.s.sionate song, G.o.ds bent their eares.

It was a signe, he was new come from h.e.l.l, Their tunes so sad, he immitates so well.

Such pa.s.sion it did strike vpon the earth, that _Daphnes_ roote groan'd for _Apollo's_ wrong: _Hermophrodite_ wept shewers and wisht his birth had neuer bin, or that he more had clung To _Salmacis_, and _c.l.i.tie_ grieued in vaine: _Leueothoes_ wrong, the occasion of her baine, my wilful eie (this should the burthen be) Hath rob'd me of, twice slaine _Euridice_.

_Cicnus_ stil proud though he confuted be, for _Phaetons_ losse, would needs afresh complaine Thinking therewith to singe as sweet as he, but pittiles he sung and dyed in vaine.

Eccho was pleas'd with voice resounding brim as proud to loose her shape to answer him.

Hether resorted more then wel could heare, but on my Muse, & speake what chansed there.

Amongst the rest of _Vesta_-vowed Girles, came _Mirrha_ (whose thoughts no guile then knew) Like a bright diamond circled with pearls, whose radiant eye delt l.u.s.tre to the hew Of all the dames; whose face so farre aboue though the rest (beautious all) vnwounded made loue, loue for neuer since _Spiches_ was made a star did he see nature excel art so far.

He ch[=a]g'd his shape, his wings he oft hath torne, and like a hunter to this nimph he came: With gold tipt _Iauelin_ and a bugle Horne, such as they beare to make the Lyon tame: First did he kisse hir hand, which then did melt with loue's impression, _Cupid_ the like felt: Stroke dumbe, he stood in an vnwonted guise, such magicke beawtie carries in her eies.

At length (quoth he) should I not say I loue, I should both _Cupid_ and his Mother wrong: By thee faire Maid a power farre aboue, My heart is the true index of my tongue.

And by my naked wordes you may discouer, I am not traded like a common Louer.

Rare obiects, rare amazements bred, tis true: And their effects are tryed in me by you.

My barren braine, can bless me with no store Of able Epithits, so what praise I giue Makes not you ritcher though it makes me poore therefore in vaine against the streame I striue, Th'ore curious painter, meaning to excell, Oft marres the worke, the which before was well, And he shall dazeled be, and tyred soone, That leuelleth his shafts to hit the Moone.

With this, she turnd her blus.h.i.+ng head aside, & vail'd her face with lawne, not halfe so white That euen the blending roses were espyed despight the cloudes, that hid them in despight She threw her thin breath through the lawne, and said Leaue gentle youth, do not thus snare a maid I came to _Orpheus_ Song, good then forbeare, It is his tune, nor yours can charme mine eare.

Let _Orpheus_ learne (quoth he) of thee to sing, Bid him charme men _Mirrha_ as thou canst doe: Let him tame Man, that is the Lyons King, And lay him prostrate at his feete belowe, As thou canst doe: nor _Orpheus_ nor the spheares Haue Tones like thee, to rauish mortall eares, Yea, were this Thracian Harper Iudge to tell, (As thee) hee'd sweare he sung not halfe so wel.

Nor dying Swans, nor Phebus when he loue's, equals thy voice (though he in musicke courts) and as the G.o.d whose voice the firm earth moues making the terrors of the great, his sports, Whose first word strooke into the _Chaos_ light; so if that contrary thou take delight, at thy word, darknes would or'e-cloude the ayre and the fayrest day giue place to thee more faire.