Seven Minor Epics of the English Renaissance (1596-1624) Part 21

Leaue vs: and be thou comforted my faire, I will aduance thee bou'e the stile of woman: Let not my words bring thee vnto dispaire, Thou shalt imbrace the G.o.ds, for her's no man Worthy to taste thy sweetes, they are so rare.

Drawn by the _Phoenix_ thou through heauen shalt ride And _Saturn_ wo[=u]ded by loues litle bowman Shall get his sonne to haue thee stellifide.

100

Go decke thy beauty with heauens ornament, s.h.i.+ne Cinthia like with iewels in the night, As she with starres stucke in heauens firmament; But thine, the greater will deface her light, Making her yeeld to thee her gouernment.

On _Saturnes_ top thy face shall gaine opinion, Beyond cold _Phoebe_ s.h.i.+ning out so bright, Thou shalt be courted by her loue _Endimion_.

101

Let ioy possesse thy heart, and be thou proud, In sight of all the Turkish Emperours Peares, Let not thy sunne of beauty in a cloud, Be hid from those, whose eies with deawy teares, For want of thy pure heate in shades do shroud, Their drooping forheads, but thy beames exhales All misty vapours, and the welkin cleares, Like putrifying lightning, or _Ioues_ balles.

102

Then hand in hand they pa.s.se out of the roome, Her beauty like a blazing starre admired, Well may I tearme it so, it shew'd the doome, Of her liues date that instant was expired.

Now to the presence chamber they are come, Where all in reuerence kisse the humble earth, Here nature tooke her own, and death hath hir'd; To giue that backe againe, which she gaue birth.

103

Now stands in the midst, and thus begins, (Taking the faire _Hirena_ by the hand:) Which of you here, that such a creature wins, Would part with her, for honor, loue, or land?

The G.o.ds were enuious wh[=e] they made those sins Which are th crowns of this fraile worlds c[=o]tent, Nor can it with their humane reason stand, To thinke our ioyes begets our punis.h.i.+ment.

104

View but her hand, her lip, her brow, her eyes, The smalnesse of her waste, and comely stature, And let your iudgement bou'e your hatred rise, Th[=e] you must needs c[=o]fesse, she excels in feature.

That you are onely fooles, I truly wise, Doe not her presence admiration strike, And broken is her frame by angry nature, For feare she wrongs herselfe, and make the like.

105

What man that hauing toild in hidden Art, Spent all his youth, and substance to the bone, All bookes and knowledge in the deepest part, To finde that _Phoenix_, that gold-getting stone, And hauing it, to comfort his weake heart, Shall he his seruants, wife, or friends to please, With his owne eies go see that iewell throwne, Into the bottomelesse and gaping seas.

106

Or which of you can haue the fort.i.tude, To lop a limbe off, or pull out an eye, Or being in a heauenly seruitude, To free your selues would with the d.a.m.ned lye?

Of force with me you now must all conclude, That mortall men are subiect to loues rod, But heere you shall perceiue that onely I, Am natures conquerour, and a perfect G.o.d.

107

Then with a smiling looke, he came vnto her, And kist her, bad her pray, and then he smil'd, I must not in my constancy now erre, Since by mine owne tongue I a G.o.d am sti'ld.

He drawes a fatall Turkish Simiter, With it he parts her body from her head.

And though his tyranny did proue so vile, She seem'd to mocke him smiling being dead.

108

Vntill he tooke it in his bloudy power, And then a crimson floud gusht out a pace, The fauor chang'd fr[=o] smiling and look't sower.

And senceles teares ran trickling downe her face, As who should say, I thought within this hower, For me thou wouldst haue oppos'd heauen with strife, That earthly being is like falling gla.s.se, To thee I lost virginity and life.

109

Long stood he mute, and gaz'd vpon her forme, Till _Mustapha_ came in to play his part, His eies shot lightning like a horrid storme, Th[=e] with his fauchion runs him through the hart, O could this diuell my soule so tranforme, That I must eate that snake in him did lurke, But this is hels instruction, the blacke Art.

To giue our sins the means by which they work.

110

O my _Hirena_, _Mahomet_ then cries, Looke through the orbes, & see an Emperour sad Detaine her not you rulers in the skies, But send her once more, to make Monarkes glad.

My soule to thine like _Tartars_ shaft now flies, They held his arme, or else he had done the deed This mighty _Mahomet_ with loue growne mad, Can nothing ease you, but your heart must bleed.

111

Where is that G.o.d-head due vnto your birth, Descended from the _Prophet Mahomet_, Recall your spirits to their former mirth, And keep your colour constant like the Iet.

Now shew your fort.i.tude, be G.o.d on earth, Marshall your men, giue eare vnto your Drum, And let your valour with the sunne being set, With the resplendancy burne Christendome.

112

Awake dull mate, and leaue this trance, Be perfect man, as thou hast here thy being, Not subiect vnto pa.s.sion or chance; But like thy selfe, with Kingly thoughts agree, Our siluer moone to heauen we will aduance, And Christendome shall mourne for _Hirens_ fall, That heathen Princes our braue acts seeing, Shall yeeld the world to vs, we king of all.

113

And for my loues vnkindly Tragedy, A thousand Citties for her death shall mourne, And as a relicke to posterity, Our priests shall keep her ashes in their vrne, And fame to future times with memory, Shall sound her glory, and my loues effects, For, till this vniuersall Ma.s.se doth burne, Her beauty rests the wonder of her s.e.x.

114

Now order my affaires for bloudy warre, For heere I vow this loue shall be my last, No more shall downy pleasure, like a barre, Stop my designes that now at honour gast, Shoote prophet on my forhead a blessed starre, A Tygers fiercenesse, and my heart shall moue, Because with _Hiren_ all affections past, I'le pitty none, for pitty begets loue.

_FINIS._

THE LOVE OF AMOS AND LAVRA.

written by S. P.

LONDON