Seven Minor Epics of the English Renaissance (1596-1624) Part 16

Alas faire Christian Saint (said _Mahomet_) So yong, and full of gray hair'd purity, These are but s.h.i.+fts of Friers, tales farre fet.

Dearest, I'le teach thee my diuinity, Our Mecha's is not hung with Imagery, To tell vs of a virgin-bearing-sonne, Our adoration to the Moone is set, That pardons all that in the darke is done.

21

O blinde religion, when I learne, said she) To hallow it, my body tombe my soule, And when I leaue the mid-day-sunne for thee, Blush Moone, the regent of the nether roule.

What I hold deerest, that my life controule, And what I prize more precious then imagery, Heauens, grant the same my bane and ruine be, And where I liue, wish all my Tragedy.

22

A dreadfull curse replide the Saracen, But I will teach thee how to cousen it, An oath in loue may be vnsworne againe, _Ioue_ markes not louers oathes euery whit, Thou wilt repent beside, when riper wit Shall make thee know the magicke of thine eies, How faire thou art, and how esteem'd of men, Tis no religion that is too precise.

23

Nor is this all, though this might woo a Greeke, To wantonize with princely _Mahomet_, Much more by loues inuention could I speake, By which the coldest temper might be heate: But I must hence, a fitter time I'le set, To conquer thee, Bashawes these spare or spill, Saue _Mustapha_ this maid, since her we like, Conduct vnto our Tent, now warre he will.

24

She like _Ca.s.sandra_ thral'd and innocent, Wrang her white hands, & tore her golden haire, Hal'd by the Eunuchs to the Pagans Tent, Speechlesse, and spotlesse, vnpittied, not vnfaire, Whiles he to make all sure, did repaire, To euery Souldier throughout the field, And gaue in charge matters of consequence, As a good generall, and a Souldier should.

25

Then sent he forth _Polidamus_ to bid, The Drums & Trumpets sound that daies retreit, For in his soule their ratling noyse he chid: For startling _Cupid_, whose soft bosome streight, Had lodg'd him, & grew proud of such a freight.

Beside the sword and fire had swept the streetes, And all did in the victors hands abide, Night likewise came, fit time for Loues stolne-sweets.

26

Thus tumbling in conceits, he stumbled home, In the darke couerture of shady night, Cal'd for a torch, the which his chamber groome, With more then speedy haste did present light: To bed he went, as heauy in his spright, As loue, that's full of anguish makes the minde: Faine would he sleepe away this martirdome, But loues eyes open, when all else are blinde.

27

What do you talke of sleepe? talke of the _Greeke_, For being laid, he now grew almost mad, What is she not as faire (quoth he) to like, As _Phedria_, whom in _Corinth_ once I had?

With that he knock't his Eunuchs vp, and bad, One aske the _Grecian_ maide, what was her name, What she made there, & whom she came to see, And to what end into his Tent she came?

28

When he was gone, somewhat the fury staid, And beat more temperate in his liuer-vaine, Onely he could not choose but praise the maid, Whose eies fr[=o] his such _womanish_ drops did strain Did not thy face (sigh'd he) such faires containe, It could not be, my heart thou couldst distract, But all abstracts of rarities are laid, In thy faire cheekes so feelingly compact.

29

Thus made, what maiest thou not command, In mighty _Amuraths_ wide Empery?

My tributary loue, and not my land, Shall pay it homage to thy proud bent eye, And they who most abhorre idolatry, Shall tender Catholicke conceites to thee, O arme not honor still for to withstand, And make a foyle of loue, which dwels in me.

30

By this time was the Carpet-page returned, And told the prince the _Greeke_ was _Hiren_ hight, But so she wept, & sigh'd, & grieu'd, & mourn'd, As I could get no more (said he to night, And weeps (said _Amurath_) my loue so bright, Hence villaine, borrow wings, flie like the winde, Her beauteous cheeks with hot tears wil be burnd Fetch her to me: o loue too deafe, too blinde!

31

Then crossing both his armes athwart his breast, And sinking downe, he set a soule taught grone, And sigh'd, and beat his heart, since loue possest, And dwelt in it which was before his owne.

How bitter is sweet loue, that loues alone, And is not sympathis'd, like to a man?

Rich & full cram'd, with euery thing that's best, Yet lyes bed-sicke, whom nothing pleasure can.

32

Sometimes he would inuoke sweet Poets dead, In their own shapes, to court the _maid_ with words But then he fear'd least they her maidenhead Shold win fr[=o] him: th[=e] somtimes arms & swords, His old heroike thoughts, new roome affoords, And to the field he would: but then loue speakes, And tels him _Hiren_ comes vnto his bed, Which dasheth all, and all intendments breakes.

33

And lo indeed, the purple hangings drawne, In came faire _Hiren_ in her night attire, In a silke mantle, and a smocke of lawne, Her haire at length, the beams of sweete desire) Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s all naked, o inchanting fire!

And siluer buskins on her feet she wore, Though all the floore with Carpet-worke was strawn Yet were such feet too good to tread that floore.

34

Now _Mahomet_ bethinke thee what is best, Said she, compell me I will speake thy shame, And tell thy hatefull fact, at euery feast, Singers in balads shall berime thy name, And for dishonoring me spot thy faire fame: But if--: No more chast maid said _Mahomet_: Though in thy grant consists all ioy and rest, I will not force thee, till thou giue me it.

35

But say I languish, faint, and grow forlorne, Fall sicke, and mourne: nay, pine away for thee, Wouldst then for euer hold me yet in scorne?

Forbid my hopes, the comfort that should be In hopes in doating hopes which tire on me: O be not as some women be, for fas.h.i.+on, Like sun-s.h.i.+ne daies in clouds of raine stil borne, The more you'l loue, the more shall grow my pa.s.sion.

36

And then he clasp'd her frosty hand in his, An orient pearle betwixt two mother shels, And seal'd thereon a hearty burning kisse, Kisses in loue, force more then charmes or spels, And in sweet language; hopes-desires foretels, Ah louely _Greeke_, what heart hast thou (quoth he) What art thou made of? fire dissolueth yee, Tygers relent, yet thoul't not pitty me.

37

Dwel'st thou on forme? I can confirme thee than, _Sibilla_ liues to tell she did repent.

Let _Latmus_ speake what it of _Delia_ can, And it will eccho her loue-languishment.

Chaste eyes somtimes reflect kind blandishment: Beside, thy foueraigne will thy subiect be, Once a great king, now a despised man, A va.s.sall, and a slaue to Loue and thee.