Seven Minor Epics of the English Renaissance (1596-1624) Part 24

I call the G.o.ds as witnesse to the same Poore wretched wench, I stroue to flie the dart And did my best that out-rage for to tame Which _Cupid_ had alotted for my smart, No wench bare more then did to me betide, Which forc'd me shew the cause that I would hide.

Then mercy at thy gentle hands I craue, In fearefull wise to thee I make my mone, Thou onely maist thy louer spill or saue, No enemy doth sue, but such a one That is aly'd most sweetly vnto thee, Yet in a neerer band would linked be.

My life is thine, and thou didst giue it me, Then loue thy selfe and thou wilt me affect, My beauty's much, and is deriu'd from thee, Then all thy owne be carefull to respect.

O stop thy eares, and heare not _Myrha's_ name, And shut thy eies wh[=e] thou dost read the same.

My youthfull yeares rash folly doth beseeme, The skill of law to aged folkes belong, And all is lawfull that we list, I deeme, We take no notice of the right or wrong, If it offend to take thy owne in't bed, Let that offence be layd vpon my head.

Then set apart the dread of worldly shame, And take the G.o.ds, as presidents herein, My pregnant wit shall shun all future blame, Our pleasure scapes wel, hid with name of kin, And you may clip and kisse, and play with me, A daughters name me thinkes a cloke wil bee.

Haue mercy now, I haue my case exprest, Which loue inforst my fearefull hand to write: O grant thy daughter this her first request, That is the occasion of her chiefe delight, This Epitaph deserue thou not; I haue, The cruel father tooke the life he gaue.

And though my lines are blotted euery where, 'Twas with my teares that fell ere it was dry, And if my letters scribled do appeare, Whereby you thinke some other wrot to try Your mind: because my curious hand is mist, A fearefull minde, doth bring a shaking fist.

And so these scrambled lines I do commend Vnto your loue, be-blurred all with teares, With feruent hope they shall no whit offend, The minde is base, that stil continuall feares.

And note you which is the greater blot, To get no childe or kill that you haue got.

Thus much this l.u.s.tfull Lady writ in vaine, And seald it closely with a precious stone, A precious stone clos'd vp a filthy staine, Her trusty seruant forth she cals anone, And blus.h.i.+ng bad him with a merry cheare, He should this letter to her father beare.

This scarcely said, old _Cynaras_ did come, And then she cast her letter quite aside.

Daughter (said he) you see the daily throng Of suters that do seeke thee for their bride: Here be their names _my wench_, th[=e] come & show On which of them thou wilt thy selfe bestow.

Now for a s.p.a.ce she silent did remaine, And onely gazed wishly in his face: She could her teares no longer then restraine, But they ran trickling down her cheeks apace Her father kisses her, and bids her peace, And thought it tender-hearted shamefastnes.

He dry'd her cheekes, and said, my wench be stil, Thy yeares of right, a husband now doth claime Thou shalt not liue a maid by my good will, Nor longer shalt a wanton bed refraine, Then what, or who wilt haue? come tell me now.

At length she did reply; one like to you.

He did allow the choyce, and praisd the same, And kist and clipt her for her louing speech, Not deeming that it tended to their shame, It pleasd her well, & wisht that he would seech A further suit; and then made this request, Let me live still with you, let wooers rest.

Your company I most of all affect, Continue but your loue, it shall suffice, These wrangling husbands why should I respect?

Her father thus againe to her replies, Thy G.o.dlinesse (at which she blushed red) I like, but thou must tast a Bride-groomes bed.

Thou dost not know the pleasure it affords, Nor wanton motions that therein abound.

It not consisteth all of pleasant words, More gamesome tricks are there stil to be fo[=u]d A minde so chaste as thine cannot conceiue What pleasing sports one shall therby receiue.

It is no dreame, nor pa.s.sion of the minde, But a substantiall pleasure there doth dwell, The practike part of dreames therein we finde, Which who so doth omit, leades Apes in h.e.l.l.

Why dost thou blush? I know your case, belieue, Maids must say nay, yet take when men do giue.

And now the sable horses of the night, Haue drawne a mantle ore the siluer sky, And all the stars doe shew their borrowed light, Each breathing thing oprest with sleep doth ly Saue _Philomell_, that sings of _Terreus_ rape, And _Myrha_ plotting some incestious scape.

No rest at all she tooke within her bed, The flames of _Cupid_ burnt so in her brest, And many a fansie comes into her head, Which ouer-much her troubled soule opprest, She _doubts_, she _hopes_ th[=e] _feare_ doth make repaire, Sh'l now att[=e]pt, then _shame_ doth bring despaire.

Looke how you see a pleasant field of Corne Moue here & there by gentle-breathing wind, Now vp and downe, as waues in sea are borne: So doubtfull thoughts had motion in her mind: Now shee'l surcease, and now to him repaire Instable, like a feather in the aire.

O fye vpon this fowle incestious l.u.s.t, That very Nature greatly doth abhorre, Some plague will fall vpon all such I trust, If in this world there can be any more.

I hope this little world well free-ed is Of Giants, and such monstrous beasts as this.

So G.o.d preserue it, if it be his will, And let the Gospell euer flourish here, Yet I do feare we haue some yet as ill, The pleasing fooles do with their folly beare: In Paradice I see wee cannot live, But we shall finde some foule seducing _Eue_.

My tongue doth stagger to repeate her name, So foule a blot a Christian cannot brooke, Go seeke a gla.s.se to see this filthy shame, Upon _G.o.ds holy Bible_ daily looke: And there thou maist, as in a mirror see, No _Alkeron_ can yeeld the like to thee.

There sucke the _Nectar_ of his _Holy Word_, And begge thou pardon for thy foule abuse, For euery _Sore_ it can a _Salue_ afford.

O _Atheist_! learne to make of it good use.

Thou Christians blot, to leaue off further talke, Whilst thou hast light, endeuor there to walke.

And thou _Paenchaia_, rich in manys a thing, In _Custus_, _Cynamon_ and _Incense_ sweete, That out of trees aboundantly doth spring, Of _Ammonie_, and things for vses meete.

Yet whilst thou yeeldest _Myrrh_, I wey thee not: For thereunto hath _Myrha_ giuen a blot.

No measure in her filthy loue she found: No ease, no rest, but death doth like her now.

Resolu'd on this she gets vp from the ground, And mindes to hang her selfe, her loue to shew, And then the noose about her necke she drawes, And said, o _Cynaras!_ thou art the onely cause.

Farewell therfor, a thousand times farewell, Deere _Cynaras_ thou mightst haue sau'd my life, And thinke then, this to me alone befell, Because I durst not loue thee as a wife.

Farewell againe. Oh welcome gentle death!

And then she went about to stop her breath.

A recompence fit for so foule a mind, But yet by chance her aged Nurse did lye Within a chamber that to hers adioyn'd, Who ouer-hearing this, to her did hye; And seeing her halfe murdered, so began To shrieke & screeme, & straight vnto her ran.

Who first did s.n.a.t.c.h her girdle from her necke, And powring teares vpon her plentuously, Did hold her in her aged armes, though weake, And kissing her did vrge the reason why She went about away herselfe to make, Or to her shame so base a course to take?

Quoth she, I pray thee tell the cause to me, Behold these empty dugs, and head all gray, These hands that pain haue took in rocking thee Let some, or all these, cause thee to bewray What cruel means haue broght thee in this case.

At which the Lady turnd away her face.

O be not coy sweet! hide thou nought from me, I am thy Nurse, she said, and haue good skill In charms, & hearbs, & dreams, that powerful be, Of what thou wantst, Ile helpe thee to thy fill.

Art thou in loue, or witcht by any wight?

Il'e finde thee ease, or else will free the quite.

I haue bene wanton once as well as you, Now yet by age, am altogether dull, I haue beene loue-sicke, as you may be now, Of toyes and loue-trickes I was wondrous full, How strange so ere thy case do therefore stand, I can and will redresse it out of hand.

Thou art in _Loue_ (my sweet) I well espy, If so, no lacke shalt finde in me, I sweare, The Lady in her armes sob'd bitterly, The Nurse replyd, and sayd; Why do not feare, Thy father shall not know of this at all: At which she starts, and on her bed doth fall.

And frantickly she tumbles on her face, And said, get hence (good Nurse) I pre'thee go, Constraine me not to shew my wicked case.

That case (quoth she) I pray thee let me know.

Get hence, she answer'd, or enquire lesse, 'Tis wickednesse thou wouldst haue me c[=o]fesse.

'Tis such a thing, that if I want, I die, And being got, is nothing else but shame.

The Nurse hereat did sigh most heauily, And on her knees besought to know the same, And holding vp her hands as she did kneele, Said; Madame, tell the priuie griefe you feele.

If you will not discouer this to me I will acquaint your father out of hand, How you had hang'd your selfe, wer't not for me; But if you tell, your trusty friend Il'e stand, And let your griefe of any nature be, It shall go hard, but Il'e finde remedy.

And if your case be ill, you need not feare The heauie load the wickednesse doth bring, I'le teach thee how most easily to beare, My age hath got experience in each thing.

Tell me what 'tis that doth so neerely touch, One woman may perswade another much.

And now the Lady raisd her heauy head, Hanging vpon her Nurses bosome fast, As she did rise vp from her slothfull bed, Being prodigall, her christall teares to waste, Now she wold speak, & now her speech doth stay Th[=e] shame doth cause her turne her face away.

A franticke fury doth possesse her now, And then she drawes her garment ore her face, And wrings her hands, & to her Nurse doth vow For to acquaint her with her wretched case.

And shedding brinish teares into her breast, Thus much her griefe to her at last exprest.

Oh happy is my mothers happy state!

That hath a husband _Debonaire_ and faire, Vnhappy am I, most infortunate, At which he stopt, as one falne in dispaire.