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THE LIBRARY 

OF 

THE UNIVERSITY 

OF CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 



MINOR POETS OF THE 
CAROLINE PERIOD 

VOL. II CONTAINING 

MARMION'S CUPID AND PSYCHE 

KYNASTON'S LEOLINE AND SYDANIS 

AND CYNTHIADES 

POEMS OF JOHN HALL 

SIDNEY GODOLPHIN AND 

PHILIP AYRES 

CHALKHILL'S THEALMA AND 

CLEARCHUS 

POEMS OF PATRICK CAREY AND 

WILLIAM HAMMOND 

BOSWORTH'S ARCADIUS 

AND SEPHA, &c. 

^, EDITED BY 

GEORGE SAINTSBURY, M.A. 



OXFORD 

AT THE CLARENDON PRESS 

1906 






HENRY FROWDE, M.A. 

PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD 

LONDON, EDINBURGH 

NEW YORK AND TORONTO 



PREFATORY NOTE 

There does not appear to me to be any need of adding, at 
present, anything of a general character to the Introduction given 
in the first volume of this collection ; but a few words may properly 
be said as to the contents of this second. They are considerably 
more varied than those of the first : whereas we there gave four 
poets here we give nine, and there is a very much larger proportion 
of short poems, while hardly any one can be called very long. Again, 
a larger proportion is likely to be new even to those who, without 
spending much time in extensive libraries, have paid some attention 
to the literature of the period. Godolphin has never before been 
collected at all : and most of his original poems have never been 
printed. Kynaston, Ayres, and Bosworth have never been reprinted 
as wholes, and only an infinitesimal portion of the work of the two first 
has had that honour. The earlier reprints of Hall, Carey, and 
Hammond were published in very small numbers : and those of 
Marmion and Chalkhill are now not common or cheap. It can 
hardly be rash to feel tolerably confident that very few persons 
now living have read the whole contents of the present volume. 

I have said what it seemed to me necessary to say, and no more, 
in the separate Introductions : nor do I propose to repeat or endorse 
what I have said here. I shall only point out that Marmion, 
Kynaston, Chalkhill, and Bosworth give examples of that ' heroic 
poem ' to illustrate which has been one of the objects of the under- 
taking ; that Kynaston, Hall, Godolphin, Carey, and Hammond 
supply specimens, sometimes quite exquisite and very seldom well 
known, of the ' metaphysical ' lyric which is the glory of the period ; 
that Marmion and Chalkhill are capital instances of its ' enjambed ' 
couplet ; and that Ayres, who is probably known even to amateurs 
chiefly from the specimen or two given by Mr. Bullen in his Love 
Poems of the Restoration^ is an almost unique example of the 
Caroline temper prolonged into other days. All, without exception, 
show those features of the Elizabethan so called * decadence ' which 
again (I thought I had made this clear) it was one of my main 
desires to illustrate. Only for Bosworth, I think, is it necessary to 
( iii ) ^ 



Prefatory Note 



make any apology. There are good things in him : but he is likely 
to try some people's patience considerably, and he has already, in 
proof, extracted from one good judge the description of his poem as 
' horrible ' in its obscurity. I cannot agree with this ; but (and I am 
here an unexceptionable witness) I think he does show how necessary 
an alterative course of ' prose and sense ' may have been to English 
poetry about this time. The part of Helot will not have to be 
played twice: though I have some interesting candidates for it 
whom I have examined and rejected. On that pleasant person and 
poet, Patrick Carey, I have, by mere good luck^ been able, I believe, 
to throw some new light. As to Godolphin, I may claim in his case 
whatever indulgence may be due to an editio princeps published 
without elaborate critical apparatus or commentary, and as part of 
a collection. 

I reserve till the completion of the work my thanks to the officials, 
major and minor, of the Clarendon Press for the assistance I have 
received from them in the execution of a task to me very pleasant, yet 
undoubtedly rather laborious. But I must here express my warmest 
acknowledgements to the Delegates, first for extending the scheme, 
at my earnest request, from two volumes to three : and secondly for 
their liberality not only in embellishing this with numerous facsimiles 
of title-pages and illustrations, but in actually furnishing me with 
completely photographed ' copy' of the rarer volumes and MSS., so 
as to provide a thoroughly trustworthy basis of text. 

G. S. 

HoLMBURY St. Mary, 
August i8, 1906. 



(iv) 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

SHAKERLEY MARMION i 

Introduction 3 

The Legend of Cupid and Psyche. Dedication, Commen- 
datory Poems, &c 6 

Book I lo 

Book II 42 

SIR FRANCIS KYNASTON 61 

Introduction 64 

Leoline and Sydanis. To the Reader 69 

Part I 70 

Part II 87 

Part III 102 

Part IV 119 

Part V 138 

Cynthiades, or Amorous Sonnets 156 

JOHN HALL 175 

Introduction 177 

Preface and Commendatory Poems 180 

Poems. The First Book 185 

A Satire 185 

Upon T. R., a very little man, but excellently learned . . . 190 

A Sea Dialogue 191 

Upon the King's Great Porter 191 

A Burning Glass 192 

The Call 193 

An Eunuch 194 

The Lure 194 

The Morning Star 196 

Platonic Love 196 

To the deformed X. R. . . 196 

Julia Weeping 197 

To my honoured noble friend, Thomas Stanley, Esq., on his Poems 198 

To Mr. S. S 199 

The Crystal 199 

A Rapture 199 

To Mr. Stanley, after his return from France .... 2co 

An Epicurean Ode 201 

On M. W., the Great Eater 201 

The Antipathy, a Pastoral 202 

Song : ' Distil not poison in mine ears ' 203 

Home Travel 203 

Upon Samuel Ward, D.D., the Lady Margaret's Professor in 

Cambridge 203 

To the precious memory of Master William Fenner . . . 204 

On a Gentleman and his Wife, who died both within a very few days. 205 

Of Beauty 205 

(V) 



Contents 



PAGE 

The Epitome 206 

Armilla Nigra 206 

To Mr. Stanley 206 

On Dr. Bambrigg, Master of Christ's 207 

Upon Mr. Robert Wiseman, son to Sir Richard Wiseman, Essex 207 

Johanni Arrowsmythio, Coll. Sti. Joh. Praefecto , . . . 208 

To his Tutor, Master Pawson. An Ode 208 

To an Old Wife talking to him 209 

The Recantation 210 

Divine Poems. The Second Book 213 

A Dithyramb 214 

The Ermine . . . . . 215 

The Lord cometh with ten thousand of his saints . . .216 

Quo egressus Isaac ad meditandum in agro, &c 217 

On an Hour-glass 218 

An Ode 219 

Hymnus 220 

Self 220 

Anteros 221 

A Hymn 222 

What profiteth a man of all his labour, &c 223 

An Epitaph 224 

A Pastoral Hymn 224 

An Ode 225 

SIDNEY GODOLPHIN , . .227 

Contents 229 

Index of First Lines 230 

Introduction 231 

Poems 237 

PHILIP AYRES 263 

Introduction 265 

Dedication, Preface, &c 268 

Lyric Poems 272 

The Table . . . . , 349 

Emblems of Love 353 

JOHN CHALKHILL • ... 367 

Introduction 369 

Preface, &c 373 

Thealma and Clearchus 374 

CoRiDON's Song 442 

Oh, the Brave Fisher's Life 442 

PATRICK CAREY . . . . 445 

Introduction 447 

Pedigree of the Carey and Uvedale Families .... 452 

Introduction to the Edition of 18 19. By Sir Walter Scott . . 454 

Ballades 455 

An Octave 455 

Fair one! if thus kind you be 455 

The Ermine is without all spot 455 

There's no woman, but I'm caught 456 

I ne'er yet saw a lovely creature 456 

(vi) 



Contents 

PAGE 

Fair beauties ! If I do confess 457 

Surely now I'm out of danger 457 

Come, faith, since I'm parting (' The Healths ') . . . . 458 

And can you think that this translation 460 

Good people of England ! come hear me relate .... 462 

Jack ! nay, prithee, come away 462 

And now a fig for th' lower house 463 

The Country Life 464 

The parliament ('tis said) resolv'd 465 

Speak of somewhat else, I pray 466 

A griev'd Countess, that ere long 467 

Poor heart, retire ! 467 

'Tis true : I am fetter'd 468 

Cease t' exaggerate your anguish 468 

O permit that my sadness 468 

This April last a gentle swain . 469 

Some praise the brown, and some the fair 470 

Ned ! she that likes thee now 470 

Alas ! long since I knew 471 

Triolets 472 

Worldly designs, fears, hopes, farewell 472 

By ambition raised high 472 

Servire Deo Regnare est 473 

Whilst I beheld the neck o' th' dove 474 

Crux via Coelorum 474 

Crucifixus pro Nobis 475 

Fallax et Instabilis 476 

Nulla Fides . 477 

Dirige vias meas Domine ! 478 

Nobis natus in Pretium : Nobis datus in Praemium . . . 479 

Exprimetur 479 

Dies Irae, Dies Ilia 480 

Notes. By Sir Walter Scott 481 

WILLIAM HAMMOND 483 

Introduction 485 

Pedigree of Hammond of St. Albans Court 486 

Poems 489 

Commanded to write Verses 489 

The Walk 489 

Husbandry 490 

Mutual Love 490 

The Forsaken Maid 491 

Another 491 

J. C 491 

De Melidoria 492 

Delay. Upon Advice to defer Love's Consummation . . . 492 

Upon Cloris's Visit after Marriage 493 

On the infrequency of Celia's Letters 495 

To her questioning his Estate 495 

The Spring 496 

The Cruel Mistress 496 

To his Mistress, desiring him to absent himself .... 496 

To his Scornful Mistress 497 

To Mr. J. L., upon his Treatise of Dialling 497 

Epithalamium 498 

(vii) 



Contents 



PAGE 

To Eugenio 499 

Ad Amicum et Cognatum, T. S 

To the Same, being Sick of a Fever 

To the Same, recovered of the Small-pox 

To the Same : ' Let me not live if I not wonder why ' 

To the Same, on my Library 

To the Same, on his Poems and Translations .... 
To the Same, on his Poems, that he would likewise manifest 

his more serious labours 

To the Same, on his Translation of two Spanish novels 
To the Same : ' Damon, thrice happy are thy lays ' . . . 
On the Marriage of my dear Kinsman, T. S., Esq., and Mrs. D. E. 
To Mrs. D. S., on the birth of Sidney, her second son 

Horat. Od. iii. 3 

To Sir J. G., wishing me to regain my fortunes by compliance 

with the Parliament 

The World 

Grey Hairs 

A Dialogue upon Death 

Death 

On the Death of my dear Brother, Mr. H. S., drowned : The 

Tomb 

On the Same: The Boat 

On the Same : The Tempers 

To my dear Sister, Mrs. S. : The Chamber 

To the Same : Thursday 

To the Same : The Rose 

To the Same : Man's Life 

To the Same : The Excuse 

To the Same : The Reasons 

To the Same : The Tears 

On the Death of my much honoured Uncle, Mr. G. Sandys 

Epitaph on Sir R. D 

Grace compared to the Sun 

Upon the Nativity of our Saviour and Sacrament then received 

WILLIAM BOSWORTH 

Introduction 

Dedication, &c. 

Commendatory Poems 

Arcadius and Sepha 

Book I 

The Tale of Bacchus and Diana 

The Story of Haemon and Antigone 

The Story of Eramio and Amissa 

Book II . 

The Story of Phaon and Sappho 

The Story of Delithason and Verista 

Song : ' See'st not, my love, with what a grace ' . . . 

HiNC Lachrimae 

The Author to Aurora 

To the immortal memory of the fairest and most virtuous Lady, 

the Lady 607 

To his dear Friend Mr. John Emely upon his Travels . . 609 



( viii ) 







CVPID^/AND PSICME 

Or an cpicKjTocm ' 

OF 

Cupicl,and his Mistreis . 



'£r itrva^. lately prcjentcd to the Tnncc ch 



Qlhittcn by. Shakily ^yMarmwn, -^^^^ 



P*S 



^^^rmabipus kUcuiJj-e- 0-' 







I L Q-nd<fn. • ?>irtted by lohn Ohs>S.fir H -S^epparA. .j6^' 



INTRODUCTION TO 
SHAKERLEY MARMION 

Shakerley Marmion — the form, of which sufficiently obvious variants 
exist in 'Shakerly,' ' Shackerley,' ' Schackerley ' ; 'Marmyon/ ' Merniion,' 
&c., is that not merely of Singer, but of Anthony Wood, and seems to me 
the best — is not quite so inaccessible as the constituents of our first volume. 
For though the original editions are rare and costly enough, his plays 
were reprinted thirty years ago in Maidment and Logan's Dramatists of the 
Restoration^^ and Singer's Oipid and Fsyche" is by no means so dear in 
proportion as the companion Pharonnida. But the volume was originally 
printed in small numbers ; and the editor, who had given Chamberlayne 
without any of the bowdlerization which Pharonnida in one or two places 
(and Lovers Victory in more) might have seemed to invite, fell into asterisks 
here in a rather foolish manner'. 

Now Marmion ^ is too interesting a writer to be left difficult of attain- 

1 Edinburgh, 1875. ^ Chiswick, 1820. 

' I have of course supplied the gaps; but, as seems to me a matter of course 
likewise, I have not thought it necessary to indicate them. The bibliography of the 
poem is not quite plain sailing. Singer says that he followed, only modernizing the 
spelling, a copy of the first 410 edition of 1637, lent him by James Boswell the 
younger: and he seems to have known of no second except the izmo of 1666, 
where tiie poem is called Cupid's Courtship, or the Declaration of the Marriage between 
the god of Love and Psyche. Any one, however, who compares the Chiswick reprint 
with, say, tlie British Museum copy of the 1637 issue, will see at once that the texts 
are rather different, and even the contents not exactly the same. He will also find in 
the Museum a copy of a second ediUon, dated 1638, where the title is slightly altered 
(Cupid and Psiche sic^ or an Epic Point of Cupid and his Mistress), and which has an 
elaborate engraved frontispiece representing the final banquet of the gods with Hermes 
introducing Psyche. In this most, if not all, of Singer's variations from the other occur. 
Hazlitt admits two editions of 1637 with different title-pages, as well as one of 1638 ; 
but if Singer really followed one of these, then Marmion must have made slight 
alterations within the year. In the text which follows what would seem to be the 
earliest version is adopted, the important variations in the later forms being given in 
the notes. 

* Shakerley is mainly a Cheshire and Lancashire name ; these Marmions may 
have been, as Singer assumes, akin to those of Scrivelsby. But our poet, who was born 
in 1602, was the son of a father of the same names who was lord of the manor of 
Aynho in Northamptonshire, but disposed of it when Shakerley the younger was a boy. 
He went to schcol at Thame, matriculated at Wadham College in 1617, and took his M. A. 
seven years later. Like his other father Jonson he served in the Low Countries, and 
got into difficulties for stabbing some one at home. Little else is known of his life : 
but he was certainly, after a fashion, lucky in the occasion of his death. For having 
enlisted in Suckling's too notorious troop of cavalry for the war with Scotland, he 
escaped -its disgraces by falling ill at York, and was conveyed to London, where he 
died in 1639. 

II. ( 3 ) B 2 



Shakerley Marmion 



ment, and mangled when attained. Besides Cupid and Psyche, and in two 
cases at least before its publication, he had written three comedies, not 
so much ' imitated ' (as has sometimes been said) from Ben Jonson, one of 
whose ' sons ' he was, as belonging to the general class of unromantic 
comedy of which we have so many examples from Middleton to Brome. 
These comedies — Hollatid's Leaguer, A Fine Companion, and the better- 
known Antiquary — are at least up to the average in general ; and contain 
many individual things^ on which it would be interesting to comment if 
these Introductions were full essays on our authors. But what concerns us 
here in them is that while a large — perhaps the larger — part of them is in 
prose, the blank verse of the remainder, if not consummate, is both firm 
and flexible, and scarcely ever falls into the welter in which, for instance, 
even such a poet as Marmion's friend Suckling dramatically wallows. His 
practice here, like Dryden's similar practice a generation later, does not 
fail to tell upon his couplet in Cupid and Psyche. It is still very much 
overlapped, and undulates rather than marches. But it scarcely ever coils 
itself into the labyrinthine intricacy, or melts into the deliquescent solution, 
of Pharonnida, or of that mysterious Thealma and Clearchus which I hope 
also to give. 

Moreover, though it has not Chamberlayne's numberless poetic moments, 
and is inferior in a certain nameless grace to the work of Chalkhill (or some- 
body else), it still has much of this latter. And Marmion has over both these 
poets and others the advantage which critics of his own day would have 
thought final — that of a story, not indeed new, but everlastingly attractive 
to the reader, and seldom failing to inspire every writer who has touched it, 
from Apuleius himself to Mr. Bridges. His weakest point is in the rhymes ; 
which are made much more noticeable than, for instance, in Chamberlayne, 
by the greater emphasis which Marmion lays on his couplets as such. But 
they do not avail to spoil the general charm of his piece, which is also by 
no means longwinded. That charm lies sometimes in single phrases, as in 
that admirable one of the ' inevitable eyes ' of Venus — sometimes in lines 
and couplets — not seldom in sustained passages of more or less consider- 
able length — the first picture of Psyche's beauty, her transportation by 
Zephyrus, her waking, the whole (or nearly so) of the central passage of the 
lamp, the two lyrical advertisements, the trials of Psyche, and especially her 
visit to Proserpine. But I must repeat that it is not part of my plan to 
expatiate on authors here given : but rather to give them. I wish not to 
show my own ingenuity as a critic, or fertility as a rhetorician, or erudition 

' For instance, Holland^s Leaguer, v. 3, 1. 3-4 : 

The corruption of a cashiered seiving man 
Is the generation of a thief. 

to which I need hardly invite the attention of Dryden-students. 
^4) 



Introduction 

as a commentator^, but to be z.promus of their elegancies. I have myself 
read Marmion at different times in my life, and never without pleasure ; if 
I can give the opportunity of that pleasure to some who would else not 
have had it, that is enough for me ^ 

' Thus I have rather indicated than tried to exhaust the really interesting comparison 
of the poem with its original, and the various contributions under which Marmion has 
laid classical authors other than Apuleius. 

- Like everybody else of his time Marmion wrote commendatory poems, the two 
best known of which are his contribution to Jonsoniis Viibiits, and that to the Annalia 
Dubrcnsia, the celebration of Captain Robert Dover of the Cotswold Games (which 
Dr. Grosart's reprint has made known to some at first hand, and divers essays to 
more at second). Both are before me as I write : but I hardly think it necessary to give 
them. Marmion might have subjoined them to his chief poem, as many others did 
similar things to theirs, had he chosen : and he did not choose. Both are in effect parts 
of larger wholes, and lose when taken away from them : and though neither is at all 
contemptible neither has any specific character. It seems, therefore, that as with others 
of the same kind, their not inconsiderable and to us precious room is better than their 
respectable but superfluous company. 



(5) 



Shakerley Marmion 

To the High and Mighty, Charles Lodwick, 
Prince Elector, Count Palatine of the 
Rheine, Arch Dapifer, Vicar of the Sacred 
Empire, Duke of Bavaria and Knight of 
the most noble order of the Garter 



High and Mighty Prince. 

It is not the greatness of an 
oration but the sincerity, which the 
gods are dehghted with : from this 
hope, and out of an ambitious zeal to 
become your adorers, the Muses 
amidst so many rich presents, have 
prepared this slender offering, and are 
themselves both the Priests and the 
Sacrifice. Their devotion is clothed 
with purity, and their affections are 
both earnest and powerful : for their 
wishes of your happiness are no less 
than assurances and their desires pro- 
phecies. For this poem, it was yours 
ere conceived ; and the hope of being 
so, was both the efficient and final 
cause of its production— for the Dedi- 
cation was older than the birth of it. 
And, however, in the outward bark and 
title thereof, it appear painted with 



vanity, 
garment 



but 



as a light 
more deep and 



yet is that 
to cover 
weighty mysteries. 

The dignity of the subject thus 
calculated, the season of the year partly 
warrants an acceptation, but chiefly 
those royal and fresh-springing orna- 
ments of Candour and Ingenuity 
which are so conspicuous through your 
reatness. It has ever been the 
privilege of Poesy to claim access to 
the best and most noble persons, and 
if this work shall be so happy as to 
bear the impress of your Princely 
approbation it shall then pass current 
to the world and publish the great 
honour done to 

your Highness' most 
humble devoted 
Shackerley Marmion. 



To his worthy friend. Master Shakerley Mar- 
mion, upon his poem of Cupid and Psyche 



To give the world assurance in this 

cold 
And leaden age, that Love must ne'er 
be old, 
Cupid and Psyche thou hast rendered 
more 
Youthful and fair, than did the age of 
gold. 
And if the sweetness they had here- 
tofore 
Found least decay, thou dost it now 
restore 

(6) 



With large increase ; instructing Love 

to love, 
And in his mistress more affection 
move, 
In this thy poem ; which thou hadst 
a pen 
From Love's own wing to write, — 
powerful above 
His shafts. For thou some iron- 
hearts of men 
Hast made in love with Poesy ; that 
till then 



Commendato?y Poems 



Could not discern her beauty, and less 

see 
Her excellence, as it is^ drawn out by 

thee, 
In perfect love-lines. Cupid smiles 

to see 't, 
And crowns his mistress with thy 

poetry, 



Co:nposed of syllables, that kiss 

more sweet 
Than violets and roses when they 
meet. 
And we, thine art's just lovers, as we 

look 
On Cupid kissing Psyche, kiss thy 
book, 

Richard Brome. 



To his loving friend, Mr. Shakerley Marmion, 

the Author 



Friend, I have read thy Poem, full 

of wit, 
A master-piece, I'll set my seal to it : 
Let judges read, and ignorance be 

gone; 
'Tis not for vulgar thumbs to sweat upon 
This learned work : thy Muse flies in 

her place : 
And, eagle-like, looks Phoebus in the 

face. 
Let those voluminous authors that 

affect 
Fame, rather great than good, thy 

worth reject. 
Jewels are small ; how unlike art thou 

to those 
That tire out rhyme, and verse, till 

they trot prose ? 
And ride the Muse's Pegasus, poor jade. 



Till he be founder'd ; and make that 

their trade : 
And to fill up the sufferings of the 

beast, 
Foot it 'themselves three hundred miles 

at least. 
These have no mercy on the paper 

reams. 
But produce plays, as schoolboys do 

write themes. 
Thou keep'st thy Muse in breath, and 

if men wage 
Gold on her head, will better run the 

stage : 
And 'tis more praise than, hadst thou 

labour'd in 't. 
To brand the world with twenty such 

in print. 

Francis Tuckyr *. 



To his true friend, the Author", 
Master Shakerley Marmion, etc. 



What need I rack the limbs of my 

weak Muse, 
To fill a page might serve for better 

use ? "' 
Then make some squint-ey'd reader 

censure me 
A flatterer, for justly praising thee ? 
It is enough, (and in that cause's right 



Many thy former works may boldly 

fight) 
He for a good one must this piece 

allow. 
Reads but the title, and thy name 

below. 

Thomas Nabbes. 



' Later ' 'tis." - Later 'for.' ' Later ' F. T.' < Not in 1666 ed. 

^ So Singer. But would it not be better to delete the ' ■ ' and take ' then ' as = ' than ' ? 



(7) 



Shakerley Marmion 



Of my worthy friend, Mr. Shakerley Marmion, 
upon his poem of Cupid and Psyche 



Love and the soul are two things, 

both divine, 
Thy task, friend Marmion now, which 

once was mine^. 
What I writ was dramatical ; thy Muse 
Runs'^ in an epic strain, which they still 

use, 
Who write heroic poems. Thine is such, 
Which when I read, 1 could not praise 

too much. 
The Argument is high, and not within 
Their shallow reach to catch, who hold 

no sin 
To tax what they conceive not ; the 

best minds 
judge trees by fruit, not by their leaves 

and rinds. 
And such can find (full knowledge 

having gain'd) 
In leaden fables, golden truths con- 

tain'd. 



Thy subject 's of that nature, a sublime 
And weighty rapture, which being 

cloth'd in rhyme, 
Carries such sweetness with 't, as hadst 

thou sung 
Unto Apollo's harp, being newly strung. 
These, had they issued from another's 

pen, 
A stranger, and unknown to me, I then 
Could not have been so pleas'd : but 

from a friend. 
Where I might envy, I must now com- 
mend. 
And glad I am this fair course thou 

hast run, 
Unvex'd to see myself so far outdone. 
'Twixt intimates, who mutual love 

profess, 
More 's not requir'd, and mine could 

show no less. 

Thomas Hp:y\vood. 



The Argument 



There were inhabitant in a certain 
city, a king and queen, who had three 
daughters ; the e.der two of a moder- 
ate and mean'^ beauty, but the young- 
est was of so curious, so pleasing 
a feature, and exact symmetry of body, 
that men esteemed her generally a god- 
dess, and the Venus of the earth. Her 
sisters being happily married to their 
desires and dignities, she only, out of 
a superexcellency of perfection, became 
rather the subject of adoration than 
love. Venus conceiving an offence, 
and envious of her good parts, incites 
Cupid to a revenge, and severe vin- 
dication of his mother's honour. Cupid, 
like a fine archer, coming to execute 
his mother's design, falls in love with the 
maid, and wounds himself. Apollo, by 
Cupid's subornation, adjudges her in 
marriage to a serpent. Upon which, 
like Andromeda, she is left chained to 
a rock, her marriage being celebrated 



rather with funeral obsequies than 
hymeneal solemnities. In this miser- 
able affright she is borne far away by 
the west wind to a goodly fair house, 
whose wealth and stateliness no praise 
can determine. Her husband in the 
deadness and solitude of night did 
ofttimes enjoy her, and as he entered 
in obscurity, so he departed in silence, 
without once making himself known 
unto her. Thus she continued for a 
long season, being only waited upon 
by the ministery of the winds, and 
voices. Her sisters came every day 
to seek and bewail her ; and though 
her husband did with many threats 
prohibit her the sight of them, yet 
natural affection prevailed above con- 
jugal duty ; for she never ceased with 
tears to solicit him, till he had per- 
mitted their access. They no sooner 
arrived, but instantly corrupt her*, and 
with wicked counsel deprave her under- 



Later ' And now thy task, dear friend, which once was mine.' 

Later ' Was.' ^ i.e. not ' base ' but a duplicate of ' moderate.' 

Sic in orig. by the ellipsis so common at the time. 

(8) 



The Argume?tt 



standing, infusing a belief that she had 
married and did nightly embrace a 
true serpent ; nor are they yet con- 
tented to turn the heaven of her 
security into the hell of suspicion, but 
with many importunities proceed, 
exhorting her to kill him, which she 
also assents unto : thus credulity proves 
the mother of deceit, and curiosity the 
stepmother of safety. Having thus 
prepared for his destruction, the scene 
is altered, and she acts the tragedy of 
her own happy fortunes : for coming 
with an intent to mischief him, so soon 
as the light had discovered what he 
was, she falls into an extremity of love 
and passion, being altogether ravished 
with his beauty and habiliments ; and 
while she kisses him with as little 
modesty as care, the burning lamp 



drops upon his shoulder, whereupon 
her husband furiously awakes, and 
having with many expostulations 
abandoned her falsehood, scorns and 
forsakes her. The maid, after a tedious 
pilgrimage to regain his love and 
society, Ceres and Juno having both 
repulsed her, freely at the last offers 
up herself to Venus, where, through 
her injunctions and imperious com- 
mands, she is coarsely entreated, and 
set to many hard and grievous tasks ; 
as first, the separation of several grains, 
with the fetching of the Stygian water, 
and the Golden Fleece, and the box 
of beauty from Proserpine: all which, 
by divine assistance, being performed, 
she is reconciled, and in the presence 
of all the gods married to her husband. 
The wedding is solemnized in Heaven. 



The Mythology': or, 
Explanation of the Argument 



By the City is meant the World ; 
by the King and Queen, God and 
Nature; by the two elder Sisters, the 
Flesh and the Will ; by the last, the 
Soul, which is the most beautiful, and 
the youngest, since she is infused after 
the body is fashioned. Venus, by 
which is imderstood Lust, is feigned 
to envy her, and stir up Cupid, which 
is Desire, to destroy her ; but because 
Desire has equal relation both to Good 
and Evil, he is here brought in to love 
the Soul, and to be joined with her, 
whom also he persuades not to see his 
face, that is, not to learn his delights 
and vanities : for Adam, though he 
were naked, yet he saw it not, till he 
had eaten of the Tree of Concupiscence. 
And whereas she is said to burn him 
with the despumation of the Lamp ; 
by that is understood, that she vomits 
out the flames of desire which was hid 
in her breast ; for desire, the more it 

' Orig. ' M[«V//co]logj',' corr. 1666. Tliere is some temptation to keep the spelling, 
which Marmion probably borrowed without explanation from that wondrous person 
Fulgentius (v. Fulgeitiii Opera, ed. Halm, Lips. 1898, p. 69). Fulgentius, it is true, wrote 
it would seem A/iVologiae : but the change of the y both here and in ' Ps;che ' 
{v. sup.) is noteworthy. As to the matter there is no doubt : though M. may not 
have known F. at first hand. 

- I have left these capitals, which are Singer's, though they are not in the original, 
to show how fallacious such things are. 

(9) 



is kindled the more it burns, and 
makes, as it were, a blister in 
the mind. Thus, like Eve, being 
made naked through desire, she is 
cast out of all happiness, exiled from 
her house, and tossed with many 
dangers. By Ceres and Juno both 
repulsing of her, is meant, that neither 
wealth nor honour can succour a 
distressed soul. In the separation of 
sevei'al grains, is understood the act 
of the Soul, which is recollection, and 
the substance of that act, her forepast 
sins. By her going to hell, and those 
several occurrences, are meant the many 
degrees of despair ; by the Stygian 
water, the tears of repentance : and by 
the Golden Fleece, her forgiveness. 
All which, as in the Argument^ is 
specified, being by Divine Providence 
accomplished, she is married to her 
Spouse in Heaven. 



THE LEGEND OF 
CUPID AND PSYCHE 

BOOK I 

The First Section 

Truth says of old, and we must owe that truth 

Unto tradition, when the world in youth. 

Which was the golden age, brought forth the pen, 

I.ove and the Muses, which since gave to men 

Inheritance of fame, for these began 

At once, and were all coetanean. 

A happy season, when the air was clear ; 

No sickness nor infection did appear, 

No sullen change of seasons did molest 

The fruitful soil, but the whole year was blest lo 

With a perpetual Spring, no Winter storm 

Did crisp the hills, nor mildew blast the corn : 

Yet happier far, in that it forth did bring 

The subject of this verse, whereof I sing. 

Under the zenith of heaven's milk-white way. 
Is a fair country called Lusinia ; 
'Tis Nature's chiefest wardrobe, where doth lie 
Her ornaments of chief variety. 
Where first her glorious mantle she puts on. 
When through the world she rides procession : 20 

Here dwelt a king and queen of mighty power, 
Judg'd for their virtues worthy such a dower. 
They had betwixt themselves three daughters born, 
Conspicuous for their comeliness and form ; 
The elder two did neither much excel. 
But then the younger had no parallel ; 
Whose lovely cheeks with heavenly lustre shone. 
And eyes were far too bright to look upon : 
Nay, it is credible, though Fancy's wing 

Should mount above the orbs, and thence down bring 30 

The elixir of all beauty, and dispense 
Unto one creature, the whole influence 
And harmony of the spheres, it might not dare 
With her for face and feature to compare. 

16 Apuleius merely says in qttadain civitale. 

24 This rhyme of m and k, as noted in the Introduction, is quite characteristic of 
Marmion. 

(10) 



Legend of Cupid and Psyche 

Zeuxis the painter, who to draw one piece, 

Survey'd the choicest virgins of all Greece, 

Had rested here, his art, without this stir, 

Might have been bounded and confin'd in her. 

Look how the spiced fields in Autumn smell. 

And rich perfumes that in Arabia dwell ; 40 

Such was her fragrant sweetness the sun's bird. 

The Phoenix, fled far off, and was afeard 

To be seen near, lest she his pride should quell, 

Or make him seem a common spectacle. 

Nor did the painted peacock once presume 

Within her presence to display his plume. 

Nor rose nor lily durst their silks unfold, 

But shut their leaves up like the marigold. 

They all had been ill-favour'd, she alone 

Was judg'd the mistress of perfection. 50 

Her fame spread far abroad, and thither brought 

Thousands, that gazing worshipp'd her, and thought 

The goddess, whom the green-fac'd sea had bred, 

And dew of foaming waves had nourished — 

\'enus herself, regardless of her honour. 

Did live with mortals : — whosoe'er looked on her, 

Even most profane, did think she was divine, 

And grudg'd not to do worship to her shrine. 

For this cause Venus' temples were defac'd, 

Her sacrifice and ceremonies rac'd ; 60 

Her widow'd altars in cold ashes mourn'd, 

Her images uncrown'd, her groves deform'd : 

Her rites were all polluted with contempt, 

For none to Paphos nor Cytheros went. 

This maid was sole ador'd : — Venus, displeas'd, 

Might in this virgin only be appeas'd. 

I'he people in the street to her would bow. 

And as she pass'd along would garlands strow. 

Venus at this conceiv'd a jealous ire, 

(For heavenly minds burn with an earthly fire) 70 

And spake with indignation, ' What, shall I, 

Mother of Elements, and loftiest sky ; 

Beginner of the world, parent of Nature, 

Partake mine honour with an earthly creature? 

Shall silly girls, destin'd to death and Fate, 

My high-born name and style contaminate? 

In vain did then the Phrygian shepherd give 

The ball to me, when three of us did strive 

Who should excel in beauty, and all stood 

Naked before the boy, to tempt his blood ; 80 

\N'hen they, with royal gifts, sought to beguile 

64 There is not, I think, any authority for this form as regards the island, though 
there may be for the Attic deme. But M. was probably not confusing with the latter 
— only echoing from Paphos, as so often happens. 

(") 



Shaker ley Marmion [booki 

His judgement, I allur'd him with a smile. 

But this usurper of my dignities, 

Shall have but little cause to boast the prize.' 

With that she call'd her rash and wingt;d child, 

Arm'd with bow, torch and quiver ; that is wild 

With mischief, he that with his evil ways 

Corrupts all public discipline, and strays 

Through chambers in the night, and with false beams, 

Or with his stinging arrows, or with dreams, 90 

Tempts unto lust, and does no good at all : 

This child, I say, did Venus to her call, 

And stirs him up with words malicious. 

That was by nature too licentious : 

For bringing him where Psyche dwelt, for so 

This maid was call'd, she there unfolds her woe. 

And emulous tale : ' Cupid,' quoth she, ' my stay, 

My only strength and povv'er, whose boundless sway 

Contemns the thunder of my father Jove, 

1 here entreat thee by thy mother's love, 100 

Those wounding sweets, and sweet wounds of thy quiver, 

And honey burnings of thy torch, deliver 

My soul from grief, revenge me on this maid, 

And all her boasted beauty see decay'd; 

Or else strike her in love with one so poor, 

So miserably lost, stripp'd of all store 

Of means or virtue ; so deform'd of limb, 

That none in all the world may equal him.' 

To move her son, no flattering words she spar'd. 

But breath'd on him with kisses, long and hard: 110 

This done, she hastes to the next ebbing shore, 

And with her rosy feet insulting o'er 

The submiss waves, a dolphin she bestrides, 

And on the utmost billows proudly rides. 

A troop of Tritons were straight sounding heard, 

And rough Portumnus with his mossy beard, 

Salacia heavy with her fishy train, 

And Nereus' daughters came to entertain 

The sea-born goddess \ some play'd on a shell. 

Some with their garments labour'd to expel 120 

The scorching heat, and sunshine from her face, 

And other some did hold a looking-glass : 

All these in triumph by the dolphin swam. 

And follow'd Venus to the ocean. 

Psyche the while, in this great height of bliss. 
Yet reaps no fruit of all her happiness, 
For neither king, nor prince, nor potentate. 
Nor any durst attempt her for a mate. 
But as a polish'd picture her admire, 
And in that admiration cease desire: 130 

113 submiss] Spenserian. 
(12) 



Sect. I] Legend of Cupid arid Psyche 

Her sisters both, whose moderate beauty none 

Did much despise, nor much contemplate on, 

Were to their wishes happily contracted. 

And by two kings espous'd. Psyche distracted 

Because she had no lover, pensive sate 

In mind and body, and began to hate 

And curse that beauty, and esteem at nought. 

Which, but was excellent, had no other fault. 

Cupid now in a causeless rage was gone 

To whet his arrows on a bloody stone, 140 

As if he were t' encounter with some main 

Monster, like Python, by Apollo slain ; 

Or Jove, or Titan lame, or once again 

Draw the pale moon down to the Latmian den ; 

Or with Love's fire great Pluto to annoy. 

For these were works of labour, and the boy 

Was ignorant how matters would succeed. 

Or what the fate of Beauty had decreed. 

Therefore he filed his arrows sharp and small, 

To pierce whatever they should meet withal; 150 

And vow'd, if cause were, he his shafts would shiver 

'Gainst Psyche's breast, and empty all his quiver. 

Themis, a goddess whom great Jove had sent 

Into the world, for good or punishment, 

As justice should require, when she did hear 

Cupid so proudly boast, again did swear. 

That she his haughty malice would abate. 

And turn the edge both of his shafts and hate, 

And having thus disarm'd him, ten to one. 

Would change his fury to affection. i6o 

A clap of thunder all about them shook. 

To ratify what Themis undertook. 

Then both together went, and ent'ring, found 

Fair Psyche, with her looks fix'd on the ground. 

Honour and modesty, with equal grace. 

Simplicity and truth smil'd in her face ; 

But rising up, there shot from either eye 

Such beams, as did Love's senses stupefy. 

And as in this distraction he did stand. 

He let his arrows fall out of his hand: 170 

Which Themis, laughing, took, and thence convey'd, 

Whilst Cupid minded nothing but the maid. 

Then did he cry amaz'd, 'What fence is here? 

Beauty and Virtue have no other sphere ; 

Her brow's a castle, and each lip a fort. 

Where thousand arm^d deities resort 

To guard the golden fruit from all surprise, 

Chastely, and safe, as the Hesperides. 

138 It is curious that the awkward ellipse of ' that it ' might have been avoided 
but for the unnecessary ' other.' Perhaps we should read "twas.' 

( n ) 



Shaker ley Marmion [book i 

Pardon me, Venus, if I thee abridge 

Of this unjust revenge ; 'twere sacrilege, 180 

Beyond Prometheus' theft, to quench such fire, 

Or steal it from her eyes, but to inspire 

Cupid's own breast : in all Love's spoils, I yet 

Never beheld so rich a cabinet. 

Jove, here for ever, here my heart confine, 

And let me all my empery resign.' 

Then looking down, he found himself bereft 

Of his loose arms, and smil'd at Themis' theft, 

Because he knew she might as soon abide 

Fire in her bosom, as Love's arrows hide ; 190 

But that they must again with shame be sent, 

And claim for the possession a dear rent. 

Yet one dropp'd out by chance, and 'twas the best 

Of all the bundle, and the curiousest ; 

The plumes were colour'd azure, white and red, 

The shaft painted alike down to the head. 

Which was of burnish'd gold : this Cupid took. 

And in revenge, through his own bosom strook. 

Then, sighing, call'd, 'You lovers all, in chief. 

Whom I have wrong'd, come triumph at my grief; ioo 

See, and be satisfy'd for all my sin, 

'Tis not one place that I am pained in. 

My arrow's venom is dispersed round, 

And beauty's sign is potent in each wound.' 

Thus he with pity did himself deplore. 

For never pity enter'd him before. 

Ill as he was, he took his flight, and came. 

Unto the palace of the Sun, whose flame 

Was far inferior to what Cupid felt ; 

And said, ' Dear Phoebus, if I still have dealt aio 

Like a true friend, and stood thee in some stead. 

When thou for love didst like a shepherd feed 

Admetus' cattle, now thine help impart ; 

'Tis not for physic, though I am sick at heart, 

That I implore, but through thy skill divine 

The fairest Psyche for my wife assign.' 

Phoebus assents, and did not long delay 

To make it good by a prophetic way : 

Her father fearing for the injury 

Offer'd to Venus' sacred deity, 220 

Consults the Delphic oracle, who thus 

Expounds his mind in terms ambiguous. 



189 It would not be unlike the period or the writer if in 'abide,' as in 'rent' 
below, there were a play of meanings — ' caws^ /o abide ' and 'endure'; 'payment' 
and ' wound.' 

214 It is really noteworthy that the first ed. has ' I am ' in full, while in 1666 the 
progress of the decasyllabizing and apostrophizing mania insisted on ' I'm.' 

(m) 



sect.j] Legend of Cupid and Psyche 

The Oracle. 

Your daughter bring to a steep mountain spire. 
Invested with a funeral attire ; 
Expect no good, but bind her to a stake, 
No mortal ivight her for a wife shall take: 
But a huge veno/n^d serpent, that docs fly 

With speckled wings, above the starry sky, 
And doivti again, — does the zvhole earth molest 

M^ith fire, and sword, and all kind of unrest, 330 

So great in malice, and so strong in might. 
That heaven and hell do tremble at his flight. 

The king affrighted what this speech should ween, 
Goes slow and sadly home unto his queen ; 
Both ponder in their mind the strange prediction, 
Whether it were a riddle or a fiction, 
What gloss it might endure, and what pretence, 
Whether a verbal or a mystic sense. 
Which cast about in vain, they both bewail 
Their daughter's chance, but grief cannot prevail, 240 

But that she must fulfil the Delphic doom, 
Or worser plagues are threaten'd in the room. 
And now the pitchy torches lighted are. 
And for her fatal marriage they prepare ; 
Songs are to bowlings turn'd, bright fire to fume, 
And pleasant music to the Lydian tune : 
For Hymen's saffron weed, that should adorn 
Young blushing brides. Psyche is forc'd to mourn, 
And for her mourning a black mantle wears, 
With which she gently wipes away her tears. 250 

Thus all the city wait her in sad wise. 
Not to her wedding, but her obsequies. 
But whilst her parents vain excuses make. 
And vain delays, thus Psyche then bespake : 
' Why do you thus with deep-fetch'd sighs perplex 
Your most unhappy age? why do you vex 
Your spirit, which is mine, and thus disgrace 
With fruitless tears your venerable face? 
Why do you tear your hair, and beat your breast ? 
Are these the hopeful issues, and the bless'd 260 

Rewards for beauty?— then ought you lament. 
When all the city, with a join'd consent, 
Did style me the new Venus, and ascrib'd 
Those honours which to mortals are deny'd. 
'Twas your ambition first pluck'd on my shame, 
I see and feel my ruin in her name : 
'Tis now too late, we suffer under those 
Deep wounds of envy which the gods impose ; 

329 The second ' does' is to be connected with ' that,' not ' serpent.' 

263 'Ascrib'd' and ' deny'd ' give a pretty strong instance of Marmion's assonances. 

('5) 



Shake7^ley Marmion [book i 

Where is the rock ? why do you h'nger so ! 

Lead hence, methinks I long to undergo 270 

This happy marriage, and I long to see 

My noble husband, whatsoe'er he be : 

Into his arms, O let me soon be hurl'd, 

That's born for the destruction of the world.' 

This said, each stander-by with hang'd-down head, 

And mournful pomp, the virgin followed ; 

And to the place prefix'd her arms they tie. 

Then howling forth a doleful elegy. 

Depart from her in tears, wishing from far 

Some winged Perseus might deliver her. 280 

Psyche affrighted thus, and they all gone, 

A gentle gale of wind came posting on. 

Who with his whispers having charm'd her fears, 

The maid asleep on his soft bosom bears. 

This wind is called Zephyrus, whose mild 

And fruitful birth gets the young Spring with child, 

Filling her womb with such delicious heat, 

As breeds the blooming rose and violet. 

Him Cupid for his delicacy chose, 

And did this amorous task on him impose, 290 

To fetch his mistress ; but lest he should burn 

With beauty's fire, he bade him soon return. 

But all in vain, for promises are frail. 

And virtue flies when love once blows the sail ; 

For as she slept, he ling'red on his way. 

And oft embrac'd, and kiss'd her as his prey. 

And gaz'd to see how far she did surpass 

Erictheus' daughter, wife to Boreas, 

Fair Orythia ; — and as she began 

To wax hot through his motion, he would fan 300 

And cool her with his wings, which did disperse 

A perfum'd scent through all the universe ; 

For 'fore that time no fragrant smell did live 

In any thing, till Psyche did it give : 

Herbs, gums, and spices, had perhaps a name. 

But their first odours from her breathing came. 

And in this manner Zephyrus flew on 

With wanton gyres through every region 

Of the vast air, then brought her to a vale. 

Where thousand several flowers her sweets exhale : 3.10 

The whilst her parents, robb'd of her dear sight. 

Devote themselves to everlasting night. 

293-4 Anticipatory of the later line and couplet. 

310 ' Her ' lor the pretty allegorical reason just given. 



(16) 



Sect. II] Legend of Cupid and Psyche 



The Second Section 

Thus Psyche on a grassy bed did lie, 

Adorn'd with Flora's richest tapestry, 

Where all her senses with soft slumber bound ; — 

At last awak'd, and rising from a swound 

She spies a wood, with fair trees beautify'd, 

And a pure crystal fountain by the side ; 

A kingly palace stood not far apart, 

Built not with human hands, but divine art ; 

For by the structure men might guess it be 

The habitation of some deity : lo 

The roof within was curiously o'erspread 

With ivory and gold enamelled ; 

The gold was burnish'd, glistering like a flame, 

And golden pillars did support the same ; 

The walls were all with silver wainscot lin'd, 

With several beasts and pictures there enshrin'd ; 

The floor and pavement with like glory shone, 

Cut in rare figures made of precious stone. 

That though the sun should hide his light away. 

You might behold the house through its own day. ao 

Sure 'twas some wondrous power by Art's extent 

That fancied forth so great an argument : 

And no less happy they that did command, 

And with their feet trod on so rich a land. 

Psyche, amaz'd, fix'd her delighted eye 

On the magnificence and treasury, 

And wonder'd most that such a mass of wealth 

Was by no door nor guard preserv'd from stealth : 

For looking when some servant should appear, 

She only heard voices attending there, 30 

That said, ' Fair mistress, why are you afraid ? 

All these are yours, and we to do you aid. 

Come up into the rooms, where shall be shown 

Chambers all ready furnish'd, all your own : 

From thence descend and take the spiced air, 

Or from your bath unto your bed repair, 

Whilst each of us, that Echo represents, 

Devoid of all corporeal instruments. 

Shall wait your minister : no princely fare 

Shall wanting be, no diligence, no care, 40 

To do you service.' Psyche had the sense 

To taste, and thank the god's beneficence ; 

When straight a mighty golden dish was brought. 

Replete with all the dainties can be thought ; 

And next a bowl was on the table set. 

Fraught with the richest nectar that e'er yet 

II. ( .7 ) c 



Shakerley Marmion [book i 

Fair Hebe fiU'd to Juno, Heaven's queen, 

Or Ganymede to Jove ; yet none was seen, 

Nor creature found to pledge, or to begin. 

But some impulsive spirit brought it in. 5° 

The banquet ended, there was heard on high 

A consort of celestial harmony, 

And music mix'd with sounds articulate, 

That Phoebus' self might strive to emulate. 

All pleasures finish'd, Psyche went to rest. 

But could find none, because her troubled breast 

Labour'd with strange events ; and now the noon 

Of night began t' approach, and the pale moon 

Hid her weak beams, and sleep had seiz'd all eyes, 

But lovers', vex'd with fears and jealousies. 60 

What female heart, or conscience, so strong 

Through the discharge of sin, but yet among 

So many fancies of her active brain. 

She must a hundred terrors entertain ? 

And more and greater her amazements were. 

Because she knew not what she was to fear. 

In came her dreadful husband, so conceiv'd, 

Till his sweet voice told her she was deceiv'd : 

For drawing near, he sat upon the bed, 

Then laid his gentle hand upon her head, 70 

And next embrac'd, and kiss'd, and did imbrue 

Her balmy lips with a delicious dew. 

' So, so, ' says he, ' let each give up his treasure, 

Quite bankrupt through a rich exchange of pleasure. 

So let's sweet Love's Preludiums begin. 

My arms shall be thy sphere to wander in, 

Circled about with spells to charm thy fears, 

Instead of Morpheus to provoke thy tears ; 

With horrid dreams Venus shall thee entrance 

With thousand shapes of wanton dalliance : 80 

Each of thy senses thou shalt perfect find. 

All but thy sight, for Love ought to be blind.' 

And having said so, he made haste to bed, 

Enjoy'd his spouse, and got her maidenhead ; 

And lest that she his feature should disclose, 

He went away before the morning rose. 

Her vocal servants watching at the door. 

With their mild whispers enter'd in before 

Psyche awak'd, and joy'd the bride to see, 

And cheer'd her for her slain virginity. 90 

These things being acted in continued time, 

And as all human natures do incline 

To take delight by custom, Psyche so 

With these aerial comforts eas'd her woe. 

79 * For ' instead of ' with,' taken from next line? 
(18) 



Sect. II] Lege?2ci of Cupid and Psyche 

But yet her parents, with unwearied grief, 
Wax'd old in tears, and hated all relief. 
Her sisters too forsook their house and home, 
And came to add unto their father's moan. 

That night her husband Psyche thus bespake, 
'Alas, sweetheart, what comfort can I take, loo 

That spend the day in sighs when you are gone, 
Robb'd of all human conversation? 
My undistinguish'd friends are banish'd quite. 
That almost weep their eyes out for my sight, 
Not one of all to bear me company ; 
O let me see my sisters or I die.' 
Her husband her embrac'd, and kiss'd away 
Those hurtful tears, and thus began to say : 
' Psyche, my sweet and dearest wife, I see 
Fortune begins to threat thy misery ; no 

What envious fate suggests this baneful boon, 
To force my grief and thy destruction ? 
Thy sisters both, through their vain fancies led, 
And troubled with the thought that thou art dead, 
Will seek thee forth : but if thou shouldst regard 
Their fruitless tears, or speak to them a word, 
Or by their wicked counsel seek to pry 
With sacrilegious curiosity. 

And view my shape, how quickly wouldst thou throw 
Thyself down headlong to the depth of woe? lao 

Thy wretched state for ever to deplore, 
Nor must thou hope to touch me any more.' 

Psyche, regardless what his love or fears 
Did prompt unto her good, still perseveres 
In her rash vote : for all (though to their cost) 
Desire forbidden things, but women most. 
' My honey husband, my sweet love,' quoth she, 
' How do I prize thee, whatsoe'er thou be ? 
Above my soul, more than my own dear life, 
Nor would I change to be young Cupid's wife.' 130 

And rather vow'd a thousand deaths to die. 
Than live divorc'd from his society. 
Her husband overcome through his own fire. 
Which her impressive kisses did inspire, 
Gives way to his new spouse, and a strict charge 
To Zephyrus, that he should spread at large 
His plumy sails, and bring her sisters twain. 
Both safe, in presence of his wife, in pain 
To be in prison, and strict durance bound, 
With the earth's weighty fetters under ground; 140 

103 I do not know whether ' undistinguish'd ' means ' unseen,' or ' without distinction,' 
' one and all.' Both senses of 'distinguish' are old enough. 
125 vote] votum, ' wish.' 

( 19 ) C 2 



Shaker ley Martnioit [book i 

And a huge mountain to be laid upon 

His aery back, which if it once were done, 

No power could e'er redeem his liberty, 

Nor Aeolus himself might set him free. 

Lovers' commands are still imperious : 

Which made the fierce and haughty Zephyrus 

Swell with close indignation, and fret 

To see his service slighted so; but yet. 

Not daring to proclaim his discontent, 

Made a soft noise, and murmur'd as he went. 150 

By chance her sisters at that instant time, 

With long laborious steps the hill did climb 

Where Psyche first was left, and with their plain 

Waken the rocks, till they result again. 

Calling their sister by her proper name, 

With hideous cries, until the west wind came ; 

And as command was, in a winged chair, 

With harmless portage bore them through the air. 

All three together, by this means combined. 

Embrace each other with a mutual mind, 160 

Until their spirits and the day was spent 

In long and ceremonious compliment. 

Sometimes fair Psyche, proud her friends were by, 

To witness her majestic bravery. 

Ushering her sisters, with affected gait. 

Would show them all her glory and her state ; 

And round about her golden house display 

The massy wealth that unregarded lay. 

Sometimes she would demonstrate to their ears 

Her easy power on those familiars, 170 

That like a numerous family did stand 

To execute the charge of her command. 

Nor was there wanting anything that might 

Procure their admiration or delight ; 

That whereas erst they pitied her distress, 

Now swell with envy of her happiness. 

There is a goddess flies through the earth's globe. 
Girt with a cloud, and in a squalid robe, 
Daughter to Pluto, and the silent Night, 

Whose direful presence does the sun affright ; 180 

Her name is Ate, venom is her food ; 
The very furies and Tartarian brood 
Do hate her for her ugliness, she blacks 
Her horrid visage with so fnany snakes : 
And as her tresses 'bout her neck she hurls, 
The serpents hiss within her knotty curls. 
Sorrow and shame, death, and a thousand woes. 
And discord waits her wheresoe'er she goes ; 

175 The grammar of the time would equally justify 'that ' as='who' in reference 
to ' their ' and as = ' so that,' with ' they ' dropped before ' now.' 

(20) 



sfxt. II] Lege7t(rl of Cupid and Psyche 

Who riding on a whirlwind through the sky, 

She saw fair Psyche in her jolHty ; 190 

And grudg'd to see it, for she does profess 

Herself a foe to every good success : 

Then cast to ruin her, but found no way, 

'Less she could make her sisters her betray. 

Then dropp'd four snakes out of her hairy nest, 

And, as they slept, cast two on cither's breast, 

Who piercing through their bosoms in a trice, 

Poison'd their souls, but made no orifice : 

And all this while the powerful bane did lurk 

Within their hearts, and now began to work; 200 

For one of them, too far inquisitive. 

With crafty malice, did begin to dive 

Into her counsel, studious for to learn 

Whom so divine possession might concern ; 

But all in vain, no lineal respect. 

No Siren charms might move her to reject 

His precepts, nothing they could do or say 

Might tempt her his sweet counsels to betray. 

Yet lest too much suspense of what he is 

Should trouble their loose thoughts, she told them this: 210 

He was a fair young man, whose downy chin 

Was newly deck'd with nature's covering ; 

And he that us'd with hunting still to roam 

About the woods, and seldom was at home. 

But fearing their discourse might her entrap. 

She pours forth gold and jewels in their lap ; 

And, turning all their travel to their gain. 

Commands the winds to bear them back again. 

This done, her sisters after their return, 

With envy's fuel, both begin to burn, 220 

Unable to contain their discontent. 

And to their swell'd-up malice give a vent. 

Says one unto the other, 'What's the cause 

That we, both privileg'd by nature's laws. 

And of the self-same parents both begot, 

Should yet sustain such an indifferent lot? 

You know that we are like to handmaids wed 

To strangers, and like strangers banished : 

When she, the offspring of a later birth. 

Sprung from a womb, that like the tired earth 230 

Grew old with bearing, nor yet very wise. 

Enjoys that wealth, whose use, whose worth, whose price 

She knows not ; what rich furniture there shone, 

What gems, what gold, what silks we trod upon ! 

203 her] = ' Psyche's ' evidently, though she has not been mentioned for some 
thirteen lines. 

205 ' Lineal ' for ' family ' is not only unusual, but scarcely justifiable. 

226 One would expect 'a different,' but Marmion apparently anticipates the 
modern use of ' indifferent ' as= ' inferior.' 



Shaker ley Marfnion [booki 

And if her husband be so brave a man, 

As she affirms and boasts, what woman can 

In the whole world compare with her? At length 

Perhaps, by custom's progress, and the strength 

Of love, he may her like himself translate, 

And make her with the gods participate. 240 

She has, already, for to come and go, 

Voices her handmaids, and the winds, 'tis so ; 

She bore herself with no less majesty. 

And breath'd out nothing but divinity. 

But I, poor wretch, the more to aggravate 

My cares, and the iniquity of fate. 

Have got a husband, elder than my sire; 

And, than a boy, far weaker in desire, 

Who, though he have nor will nor power to use 

What he enjoys, does, miser-like, refuse 350 

To his own wife this benefit to grant. 

That others should supply his and my want.' 

Her sister answers, ' Do not I embrace 
A man far worse, and is't not my own case? 
I have a husband too not worth a point, 
And one that has the gout in every joint ; 
His nose is dropping, and his eyes are gumm'd, 
His body crooked, and his fingers numb'd : 
His head, which should of wisdom be the place, 
Is grown more bald than any looking-glass ; 360 

That I am fain the part to undergo, 
Not of a wife but a physician too ; 
Still plying him, howe'er my sense it loathes. 
With oils, and balms, and cataplasms, and clothes : 
Yet you see with what patience I endure 
This servile office, and this fruitless cure; 
The whilst the minx our sister you beheld, 
With how great pride and arrogance she swell'd ; 
And though much wealth lay scatter'd all along, 
Yet out of it how small a portion 270 

She gave to us, and how unwillingly ; 
Then blew or hiss'd us from her company. 
Let me not breathe, nor me a woman call. 
Unless I straight her ruin, or enthral 
In everlasting misery : and first. 
In this one point, I'll render her accurs'd. 
We will not any into wonder draw. 
Nor comfort, by relating what we saw ; 
For they cannot be said true joy to own, 

Whose neither wealth nor happiness is known. 280 

It is enough that we have seen, and grieve 
That we have seen it, let none else believe 

255 point] = 'jot' : Spenserian. 267 minx] Orig. ' minkes.' 



Sect. II] Legend of Cupid and Psyche 

The truth from our report. So let's repair 

To our own home, and our own homely fare ; 

And then return to vindicate her pride, 

With fraud and malice strongly fortified : ' 

Which to confirm, ungrateful as they were, 

(For wicked counsel ever is most dear 

To wicked people) home again they drew, 

And their feign'd grief most impiously renew. 290 

The Third Section 

By this fair Psyche's womb began to breed 

And was made pregnant by immortal seed ; 

Yet this condition was on her impos'd, 

That it should mortal prove, if she disclos'd 

Her husband's counsels : who can now relate 

The joy that she conceiv'd to propagate 

A divine birth ? She reckons every day, 

And week, and month, and does her womb survey ; 

And wonders, since so little was instilled, 

So small a vessel should so much be filled. 10 

Her husband, smelling of her sisters' drift. 

Began to call fair Psyche unto shrift. 

And warn her thus, 'The utmost day,' says he, 

' And latest chafice, is now befall'n to thee ; 

A sex pernicious to thine own dear blood 

Has taken arms up to withstand thy good. 

Again thy sisters, with regardless care 

Of love, or piety, come to ensnare, 

And tempt thy faith, which I forbad before, 

That thou my shape and visage shouldst explore: 20 

In lieu of which take up a like defence, 

Protecting with religious continence 

Our house from ruin, and thyself prevent, 

And our small pledge from dangers imminent.' 

Psyche, with sighs and tears together blent. 

Breaks off his speech, ' Since you a document 

Have of my silence and my love,' quoth she, 

' Why should you fear to trust my constancy : 

Which to confirm, bid Zephyrus fulfil 

Once more his duty, and obey my will, 30 

That since your long'd-for sight I am denied, 

I may behold my sisters by my side. 

Turn not away, my love, I thee beseek, 

By thy curl'd hair, and by thy silken cheek : 

285 vindicate] = ' take vengeance on.' 

33 ■ Beseek,' it may be just worth while to note, is not a licence for rh3'me's 
sake, but a perfectly correct form, usual in Chaucer. Its rarity later is rather 
surprising. 

(^3) 



Shaker ley Marmion [book i 

Deign from thy bounty this small boon to spare, 
Since the forc'd ignorance of what you are 
Must not offend me, nor the darkest night, 
Where I embrace you in a greater light.' 

Charm'd with her sugar'd words, he gives consent, 
That the swift wind, with haste incontinent, 40 

Although unwilling, should display his wing. 
And the she-traitors to fair Psyche bring. 
Thus all together met, her sisters twain 
Embrace their prey, and a false love do feign. 

' Psyche,' says one, ' you are a mother grown, 
Methinks your womb like a full rose is blown. 
O ! what a mass of comfort will accrue 
Unto our friends and family from you ? 
Cert's this your child, if it be half so fair 

As is the mother, must be Cupid's heir.' 50 

Thus they with flatteries, and with many a smile. 
Pretending false affection, her beguile ; 
And she out of her innocence, poor maid. 
Gave easy credit unto all they said : 
And too too kind, to a fair chamber led, 
Where with celestial dainties she them fed. 
She speaks but to the lute, and straight it hears ; 
She calls for raptures, and they swell their ears. 
All sorts of music sound, with many a lay. 
Yet none was present seen, to sing or play. Co 

But as no mirth is pleasant to a dull 
And heavy soul, no less, they that are full 
Of canker'd malice, all delight disdain, 
But what does nourish their beloved pain. 
So that no gifts nor price might mollify, 
Nor no rewards nor kindness qualify 
Their harden'd hearts, but still they are on fire, 
To sound her through, and make a strict inquire 
What was her husband, what his form, and age. 
And whence he did deduce his parentage? 70 

You read, how from simplicity at first 
She framed a formal story, and what erst 
She told, she had forgot, and 'gan to feign 
Another tale, and of another strain ; 
How that he was a man both rich and wise, 
Of middle years, and of a middle size : 
A merchant by profession, that did deal 
For many thousands in the common weal. 
With what they check'd her in the full career 
Of her discourse, says one, ' Nay, sister dear, 80 

Pray do not strive thus to impose upon 
Your loving friends, sure this description 
Must to his person needs be contrary. 
When in itself your speech does disagree. 



Sect. Ill] Lege?jci of Cupid and Psyche 

You lately boasted he was young and fair; 

What, does the soil or nature of the air 

Bring age so soon ? And that he us'd to range 

About the woods ; lo, there 's another change. 

Do you conceit so ignorantly of us, 

We know not Tethis from Hippolitus ? 90 

Green fields from seas, a billow from a hill, 

Fishes from beasts? Then we had little skill. 

You much dissemble, or you have forgot 

His form, and function, or you know them not.' 

Then with the pressure of her eyes, she freed 

One tear from prison, and did thus proceed : 

' Psyche, we grieve, and pity you, that thus 

Are grown so careless and incurious 

Of what you ought to fear : you think yourself 

Much happy in your husband, and your pelf, 100 

But are deceived; for we that watch, 

And at each opportunity do catch. 

To satisfy our doubts, for truth have found. 

Both by his crawling footsteps on the ground, 

And by report of neighbouring husbandmen, 

That have espied him flying from his den, 

When he to them most hideously has yell'd. 

From his huge throat, with blood and poison swell'd. 

That this your husband is of serpent breed, 

Either of Cadmus' or of Hydra's seed. no 

Call but the Pythian oracle to mind. 

That you to such hard destiny assign'd ; 

And think not all your art, or policy, 

Can cancel his prophetical decree. 

Let not his monster's usage for awhile, 

Your soul of just suspicion beguile. 

As that you still shall live at such high rate, 

And that these happy days shall ne'er have date. 

Far be it, that my words should ill portend, 

Yet trust me, all these joys must have an end: 120 

The time will come, when this your paramour, 

In whom you so delight, shall you devour. 

And when your womb casts her abortive brood, 

Then, Saturn like^ he will make that his food. 

For this prediction also bore a share, 

In what the god foretold, but lest despair 

Should load you with too great oppression, 

It was concealed : and therefore stands upon, 

90 Why Marmion selected these particular names, and whether by 'Tethis' he 
meant ' Tethys ' or ' Thetis,' is not very clear. One could guess, but idly. 

95 Characteristic enough for ' squeezed out a tear.' 115 his] 'this'? 

118 ' Date ' in the sense of ' limit ' or ' period,' though not very justifiable in itself, 
has authority from Spenser downwards. 

128 To 'stand upon ' in this sense is to 'concern,' 'interest.' The phrase there- 
fore, in M.'s elliptic style, means ' «V concerns_yOM whether, &c.' 

( ^5 ) 



Shaker ley Mar7nioit [book i 

Whether through our advice, you will be saved, 

Or in his beastly entrails be en-graved. 130 

Now, if this uncouth life and solitude 

Please you, then follow it, and be still stew'd 

In the rank lust of a lascivious worm : s 

Yet we our pious duties shall perform.' 

Psyche, that tender was, grew wan and pale, 
And swoon'd for dread of this so sad a tale. 
Then fell she from the sphere of her right mind, 
And forgot all those precepts she combin'd. 
And vow'd to keep, and herself headlong threw 
Into a thousand griefs, that must ensue. 140 

At last reviv'd, having herself upheav'd, 
With fainting voice, thus half her words out-breath'd : 
'Truly, my sisters dear, full well I see 
How you persist in constant piety : 
Nor did they, who suggest such words as these, 
In my opinion altogether lease ; 
For to this hour, I never did survey 
My husband's shape, but forc'd am to obey 
What he commands, and do embrace i' the night, 
A thing uncertain, and that shuns the light : 150 

Therefore to your assertions I assent. 
That with good reason seem so congruent ; 
For in my thoughts I cannot judge at least 
But he must be a monster, or some beast. 
He uses so much cautionary care, 
And threatens so much ill, if I should dare 
To view his face ; so I refer me to 
Your best advice, t' instruct me what to do.' 

Her sisters, now arriv'd at the full scope 
Of their base plots, and seeing the gate ope 160 

That kept her heart, scorn any artful bait, 
But use their downright weapons of deceit : 
Saying, ' Dear Psyche, nature should prevail 
So much with us, if mischief did assail 
Your person, in our sight : we were to blame 
Should we permit, and not divert the same ; 
Yet wise men have their ways, and eyes still clear, 
And leave no mists of danger, or of fear : 
You do but brave your death, when you repel 
The whispers of your Genius, which would tell 170 

The peril you are in ; nor are you sure 
Of longer life, till you are quite secure : 
Which to effect, provide a sword that 's keen, 
And with it, a bright lamp, and both unseen 
Hide in some place, until a fitting hour 
Shall call them, to assist you with their power. 

146 lease] = ' slander.' 
(26) 



Sect. Ill] Legend of Cupid and Psyche 

Trust me, such spies and counsellors are mute, 

And never nice, or slow to execute 

Any design ; so when your husband's eyes 

Are seal'd with sleep, from your soft couch arise, 180 

And seize this dragon, when he least takes heed, 

Like Pallas arm'd, and to his death proceed ; 

And where his neck and head are join'd in one, 

Make me a speedy separation : 

Alcides, son of Jove, as rumour goes. 

Strangled two serpents in his swaddling clothes : 

And can your strength fail to bring that to pass, 

Which half the labour of an infant was?' 

Such wicked words they pour into her ear. 

More poisonous than her husband could appear. 190 

Psyche was troubled, as the sea, in mind, 
Approv'd their counsel, and again declin'd 
What they persuade ; now hastens, now delays, 
Dares, and not dares, and with a blush betrays 
Her wand'ring passion, which knows no mean, 
But travels from extreme unto extreme : 
She loves him now, and does again detest ; 
Loves as a husband, hates him as a beast. 
The only check and bridle to her hate. 

Was the fam'd story, and revengeful fate 200 

Of Danaus' daughters, who in hell are bound 
To fill a vessel they can never sound. 
She told the story to them, how all these 
Were fifty virgins, call'd the Belides ; 
Her sisters list ; while Psyche does discover, 
How each was too inhuman to her lover : 
And in one night made all their husbands bleed, 
With hearts hard as the steel that did the deed : 
' Yet one,' says she, ' most worthy of the name 
Of wife, and to it everlasting fame: 3 10 

Hight Hypermnestra, with officious lie. 
Met with her father and his perjury : 
Who said unto her husband, "Youth, arise. 
Lest a long sleep, unfear'd, do thee surprise. 
I will not hold thee captive, nor will strike 
This to thy heart ; although my sisters, like 
So many cruel lionesses, void 
Of mercy, all their husbands have destroy 'd. 
I am of nature soft, nor do I dare 

To view, much less to act thy massacre. 220 

What though my father me in prison lay. 
Or load with iron chains, or send away 

209 The closeness of this translation from Horace is remarkable and its merit not 
small. Marmion probably learnt from his ' father ' Ben the art of those mosaic insertions 
from the classics which he uses so frequently, but which it seems superfluous always 
to indicate here. 



Shaker ley Marmion [book i 



Far from his kingdom, into banishment, 
Or tortures use, 'cause I would not consent 
'\o murder thee: — however, take thy flight, 
Post for thy hfe, whilst Venus and the night 
Do favour thee, and only this vouchsafe 
When I am dead, to write my epitaph." ' 

The mere remembrance of this virtuous deed, 
Did a remorse, and kind of pity breed 230 

In Psyche's breast, for passions are infus'd 
According to the stories we are us'd 
'l"o read ; and many men do amorous prove, 
By viewing acts, and monuments of love : 
But yet her sisters' malice, that still stood 
In opposition against all that 's good. 
Ceases not to precipitate her on. 
Till they had gain'd this confirmation, 
To put in act whate'er they did desire ; 
Thus, fury-like, they did her soul inspire. 240 

Night and her husband came, and now the sport 
Of Venus ended, he began to snort ; 
Psyche, though weak of mind, and body both. 
Yet urg'd by cruel Fate, and her rash oath. 
Rose up to make provision for her sin : 
Fie still, fair maid, thou mayest more honour win, 
And make thy murder glory, not a crime ; 
If thou wouldst kill those thoughts, that do beslime 
And gnaw upon thy breast, and never cease 
AVith hissing clamours to disturb thy peace, 350 

When thine own heart with serpents doth abound; 
Seek not without, that may within be found. 
Yet was she not so cruel in her haste. 
But ere she kill'd him, she his lips would taste. 
Wishing she need not rise out from her bed. 
But that she had the power to kiss him dead. 
Now with her lips she labours all she may, 
To suck his soul out, whilst he sleeping lay, 
Till she at last through a transfused kiss, 

Feft her own soul, and was inspir'd by his : 260 

And had her soul within his body stay'd. 
Till he therein his virtues had convey'd. 
And all pollution would from thence remove, 
Then, after all, her thoughts had been of love. 
But since she could not both of them retain, 
She restor'd his, and took her own again : 
Sorry, that she was forc'd it to transfer, 
And wish'd, though dead, that he might live in her. 

242 Alas! — The unnecessary ugliness is all the worse because Marmion is about to 
rise, not unworthily, to the occasion of his subject's central incident. But these 
wanton discords are the worst fault of the * Metaphysicals ' — far worse than their 
conceits, their want of central action, and all the other crimes commonly charged 
asrainst them. 



Sect. Ill] Legend of Cupid a7id Psyche 

Then in one hand she held the emulous light, 

And in the other took the sword, so bright 270 

As 'twould her beauty and the fire outshine, 

And she thus arm'd, became more masculine. 

But when, by friendship of the lamp, her eye 

Had made a perfect true discovery 

Of all was in the room, what did she see? 

Object of love, wonder of deity ! 

The god of Love himself, Cupid the fair, 

Lie sweetly sleeping in his golden hair. 

At this so heavenly sight, the lampy spire 

Increas'd his flames, and burnt more pure, and higher. 380 

The very senseless sacrilegious steel. 

Did a strong virtue from his presence feel, 

Which turn'd the edge ; poor Psyche, all amaz'd, 

With joy and wonder on his beauty gaz'd. 

His neck so white, his colour so exact, 

His limbs, that were so curiously compact : 

His body sleek, and smooth, that it might not 

Venus repent, t' have such a son begot. 

A bright reflection and perfumed scent 

Fill'd all the room with a mix'd blandishment, 293 

Shot from his wings, and at his feet did lie 

His bow, and arrows, and his armory. 

And in this ecstasy she thought to hide 

The cursed steel, but in her own dear side ; 

And had perform'd it sure, had not the sword 

Flew from her hand, out of its own accord. 

Glancing on all with eyes unsatisfied, 

At last she his artillery espied. 

The quiver was of needlework, wrought round 

With trophies of his own, where Cupid, crown'd, 300 

Sat in the midst, with a bay wreath, which he 

Had proudly pluck'd from the Peneian tree. 

Next Venus and Adonis, sad with pain, 

The one of love, the other of disdain : 

There Jove in all his borrow'd shapes was dress'd. 

His thefts and his adulteries express'd, 

As emblems of Love's triumph ; and these were 

Drawn with such lively colours, men would swear, 

That Leda lay within a perfect bower, 

And Danae's golden streams were a true shower. 310 

Saturn's two other sons did seem to throw 

Their tridents at his feet, and him allow 

For their supreme ; and there were kneeling by 

Gods, nymphs, and all their genealogy. 

Since the first chaos ; saving the abuse, 

And Cupid's pride, none could the work traduce. 

Pallas, in envy of Arachne's skill. 

Or else to curry favour, and fulfil 

( ^9 ) 



Shaker ley Marmion [book i 

Cupid's behest, which she durst not withstand, 

Had fram'd the emulous piece with her own hand. 330 

And there were portray'd more a thousand loves 

Besides himself; — the skins of turtle-doves 

Lin'd it within, and at the upper end, 

A silver plate the quiver did extend, 

Full of small holes, where his bright shafts did lie ; 

Whose plumes were stiff with gums of Araby. 

His bow was of the best and finest yew 

That in all Ida or fair Tempe grew : 

Smooth as his cheek, and chequer'd as his wing. 

And at each end, tipp'd with a pearl ; the string 330 

Drawn from the optic of a lady's eye, 

That, whensoe'er he shoots, strikes harmony. 

Psyche, with timorous heed, did softly touch 

His weapons, lest her profane hand might smutch 

The gloss of them : then drew a shaft, whose head 

Was wrought of gold, for some are done with lead, 

And laid her finger's end upon the dart. 

Tempting the edge, until it caus'd a smart : 

For being pointed sharp, it raz'd the skin, 

Till drops of blood did trickle from within. 340" 

She, wounded with the poison which it bore, 

Grew more in love than e'er she was before. 

Then, as she would herself incorporate, 

She did her numerous kisses equal make 

Unto his hairs, that with her breath did play, 

Steep'd with rich nectar and ambrosia. 

Thus being ravish'd with excess of joy. 

With kissing and embracing the sweet boy, 

Lo, in the height of all her jollity, 

Whether from envy, or from treachery, 350 

Or that it had a burning appetite 

To touch that silken skin that look'd so white, 

The wicked lamp, in an unlucky hour, 

A drop of scalding oil did let down pour 

On his right shoulder, whence in horrid wise 

A blister, like a bubble, did arise. 

And boil'd up in his flesh, with a worse fume 

Than blood of vipers, or the Lernean spume. 

Ne'er did the dog-star rage with so great heat 

In dry Apulia, nor Alcides sweat 360 

Under his shirt so. Cruel oil, that thou 

Who of all others hast the smoothest brow, 

Shouldst play the traitor ! who, had anything 

Worse than thyself, as fire, or venom'd sting, 

Or sulphur blasted him, shouldst first have came. 

And with thy powerful breath suck'd out the flame, 

361 A fine English match to the almost contemporary II en rougit, le traitre! 
(30) 



Sect. Ill] Legend of Cupid and Psyche 

For though he be Love's god, it were but vain, 

To think he should be privileg'd from pain. 

For we in Homer have like wounded read, 

Of Mars, and Venus, both by Diomed. 370 

But for this heinous and audacious fact, 

Cupid among his statutes did enact — 

Henceforth all lights be banish'd, and exempt, 

From bearing office in Love's government. 

And in the day each should his passage mark, 

Or learn to find his mistress in the dark. 

Sure all the crew of lovers shall thee hate, 

Nor blest Minerva hold thee consecrate. 

When Cupid saw his counsels open laid, 
Psyche's dear faith, and his own plots, betray'd, 380 

He buckled on his wings, away to fly ; 
And had she not caught hold upon his thigh, 
And hung, as an appendix of his flight. 
He questionless had vanish'd from her sight. 
But as when men are in deep rivers drown'd, 
And ta'en up dead, have their close fingers found 
Clasping the weeds ; so, though her arms were rack'd 
With her more body's weight, and sinews crack'd. 
To follow him through the forc'd element : 
Yet held she fast, until he did relent, 390 

And his ambitious wings 'gan downward steer, 
And stoop to earth, with a mild cancileer. 

< 

The Fourth Section 

Thus lighted on the earth, he took her wrist, 

And wrung it hard, and did her hands untwist : 

And having freed himself, he flew on high, 

Unto a cypress tree, that grew thereby, 

And on the utmost branches being sate. 

He did the matter thus capitulate : 

'Was it for this indeed, for this reward, 

Thou silly girl, that I should disregard 

My mother's vows, her tears, her flatteries ? 

When she, with all the power she might devise, 10 

Provok'd me to thy hurt, and thee assign'd 

In marriage, to a groom of some base kind. 

And lowest rank, had not my too much haste 

Redeem'd thy shame, and my own worth disgrac'd ; 

Was it for this I did thy plagues remove, 

To pain myself? strike mine own heart in love, 

392 cancileer] The wheel of the hawk to recover itself when a stoop is missed. 

6 It would be difficult to say why when we keep ' recapitulate ' in its proper sense 
we have chosen to limit the simple verb to a transferred sense. But Trench pointed 
this inconsistency out long ago. 

(31) 



Shaker ley Marmion [book i 

With mine own shaft, that after all this gear, 

I should no better than a beast appear ? 

For this, wouldst thou cut off my head, which bore 

Those eyes, that did thy beauty so adore ? 20 

And yet thou know'st, ungrateful wretch, how I 

Did with my fears, thy mischiefs still imply. 

And every day my cautions did renew, 

The breath of which thou must for ever rue : 

And each of these thy sisters, that were guide 

To thy ill act, shall dearly it abide. 

Yet will I punish thee no other way 

But only this, I will for ever stray 

Far from thy sight ; ' — and having said so, fled. 

Whilst she, to hear this news, lay almost dead : 30 

Yet prostrate on the ground, her eyes up cast. 

Tied to his winged speed ; until at last 

She could no more discern : as Dido, then, 

Or Ariadne, by some poet's pen, 

Are feign'd to grieve ; whose artful passions flow 

In such sweet numbers, as they make their woe 

Appear delightful, telling how unkind 

Their lovers stole away, and the same wind 

That blew abroad their faith and oaths before, 

Then fiU'd their sails, and how the troubled shore 40 

Answer'd the lady's groans : so Psyche faints, 

And beats her breast with pitiful complaints. 

There ran a river near, whose purling streams, 
Hyperion oft did with his golden beams 
Delight to gild ; and as it fled along. 
The pleasant murmurs, mix'd with the sweet song 
Of aged swans, detained the frequent ear 
Of many a nymph, which did inhabit there. 

Poor Psyche thither went, and from the brim. 
In sad despair, threw herself headlong in. 50 

The river's god — whether 'twere out of fear. 
Duty, or love, or honour, he did bear 
Her husband ; or lest her spilt blood should stain 
His crystal current — threw her up again : 
But it is thought he would not let her sink, 
'Cause Cupid ofttimes would descend to drink. 
Or wash him in the brook, and when he came 
To cool his own heat, would the flood inflame. • 
Pan at that time sat playing on a reed. 

Whilst his rough goats did on the meadows feed, 60 

And with intentive eyes observed all 
That to the fairest Psyche did befall ; 

br 'Intentive' for 'attentive' is Spenserian and almost common. We might well 
have kept both : while, on the other hand, there is something to be said for the 
separation (inf. 1. 70) of ' experiment ' and ' experience.' 

(3O 



skct. IV] Legend of Cupid and Psyche 

Who seeing her thus piteously distress'd, 

He ran to take her up, and did the best 

He could to comfort her ; ' Fair maid,' says he, 

' Though I a rustic, and a shepherd be, 

Scorn not for that my counsel, and advice ; 

Nor let my trade become my prejudice. 

For, by the benefit of time well spent, 

I am endued with long experiment : 7° 

And if I do conjecture it aright, 

The cause of all this phrensy and despite. 

Which your sad looks and paleness do imply. 

With other signs in physiognomy. 

By which wise men the truth of art do prove. 

And know the state of minds — you are in love. 

Now list to me, and do not with fond haste 

The sacred oil of your life's taper waste : 

Use no sinister means to hasten on. 

But labour to adjourn destruction. 8c 

Cast not away yourself by too much grief, 

But courage take ; for care is beauty's thief: 

Cupid I know, whose humour is to strive. 

Then yield, then stay, then play the fugitive. 

Be not dismay'd for that, but show your duty. 

And above all things do not spoil your beauty ; 

He 's delicate, and wanton : prayers may win, 

And fair demeanour may re-merit him. 

These are the medicines I would have you choose, 

To cure your mind's health, and redress abuse.' 90 

She gave him thanks, then rose from where she lay, 

And having done obeisance went her way ; 

Thence did she wander on with weary feet, 

And neither track nor passenger could meet, 

Until at length she found a kingly road, 

Which led unto a palace, where abode 

Her eldest sister. Psyche entered in, 

Then sent up news, how one of her near kin 

Was come to visit her ; return being made, 

Psyche was brought before her, each invade 100 

The other with embraces, and fulfil 

A tedious scene of counterfeit good will. 

But when they had discours'd awhile together, 

She ask'd Psyche the cause that brought her thither? 

Who did recount the passages, and tell, 

In order, all the story that befell, 

Which by degrees had ruin'd her, — and laid 

The blame on their lewd counsel, that betray'd 

Her innocent soul, and her firm faith misled. 

To murder her dear husband in his bed. no 

She told how she his certain death decreed, 

And how she rose to execute the deed : 

II- ( 33 ) D 



Shaker ley Marmion [book i 

She told, how like a lioness she far'd, 

And like an armed fury, how she star'd ; 

Or like a blazing comet in the air, 

AVith fire and sword, and with dishevell'd hair. 

She told the trouble, and epitasis, 

When she beheld his metamorphosis : 

A spectacle, that ravish'd her with joy, 

A serpent turn'd into a lovely boy, 120 

Whose young, smooth face might speak him boy or maid — 

Cupid himself in a soft slumber laid ; 

She told too of the drop of scalding oil 

That burnt his shoulder, and the heavy coil 

He kept, when he awak'd, caus'd by the smart ; 

And how he chid, and how at last did part : 

And, for revenge, had threaten'd in her stead 

To make her sisters partners of his bed. 

And 'twixt each word she let a tear down fall, 

Which stopp'd her voice, and made it musical. 130 

Thus Psyche, at the last, finish'd her story, 
Season'd with sharp grief, and sweet oratory, 
Which was as long by her relation made, 
As might have served to stuff an Iliade ; 
Such as Aeneas unto Dido told, 
Full of adventures, strange and manifold. 

Her sister, by her looks, great joy did show, 
Resolv'd in that she did her husband know ; 
And therefore heard her out with much applause, 
And gave great heed, but chiefly to that clause 140 

Where 'twas declar'd, that he her pomp and state 
To one of her own sisters would translate. 
Whence gathering that herself might be his bride, 
She swell'd with lust, with envy, and with pride ; 
And in this heat of passion did transcend 
The rock, where Zephyrus used to attend 
To waft her up and down, and there call'd on 
Him, that had now forsook his station. 
Yet through the vanity of hope made blind. 
Though then there blew a contrary wind, 150 

Invoking Cupid that he would receive 
Her for his spouse, she did herself bequeath 
Unto a fearful precipice, and threw 
Her body headlong down, whose weight it drew 
Towards the centre ; for, without support. 
All heavy matter thither will resort. 

117 epitasis] —the action which leads up to the catastrophe. 

128 Marmion forgets that though Cupid does say this (with a sinister meaning) in 
Apuleius, he has not himself made him say it. v. sup. p. 32. 

138 Resolv'd] = having received the solution of the puzzle. 

150 ^/though or something else wanted. In the next couplet the v and th rhyme 
{v. sup. p. 26, 11. 141-2) recurs, with the confusion now^ thought puerile or cockneyfied. 

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Sect. IV] Legend of Cupid and Psyche 

In this her fall, the hard stones by the way 
Did greet her limbs with a discourteous stay 
Bruising her in that manner, that she died, 
As if that she her jury had denied. i^'o 

Her younger sister missing thus the chief 
Co-partner of her sorrows, pin'd for grief. 
This craggy rock did overlook the sea, 
Where greedy Neptune had eat in a bay, 
And undermining it much ground did win. 
Where silver-footed Thetis riding in 
Upon a bridled dolphin, did explore, 
And ev'ry tide her arms stretch'd on the shore, 
Searching each creek and cranny to augment 
The confines of her wat'ry regiment. 170 

Whilst here she sat within a pearly chair, 
And round her all the sea-gods did repair. 
To whom her laws she did prescribe by hap. 
The mangled corpse fell full into her lap. 
Thetis, that once a child herself had borne. 
Seeing so fair a body foully torn, 
And bleeding fresh, judging some ravisher 
Had done this injury, she did confer 
About the cure, and there were many found 
Whose trade in surgery could heal a wound, iSo 

But none that might restore to life again. 
Such w^as the envy of the gods : for when 
The scatter'd Hmbs of chaste Hippolitus 
Were re-inspir'd by Aesculapius, 
And by his art's command together came. 
And every bone and joint put into frame ; 
That none with emulous skill should dare the like, 

Jove him to hell did with his thunder strike. 

But though she could not by her power control 

The Fates' decree, to reunite the soul; igo 

Into another shape she made it pass, 

A doctrine held by old Pythagoras : 

For stripping off her clothes, she made her skin 

To wear a soft and plumy covering ; 

Her gristly nose was hardened to a bill, 

And at each finger's end grew many a quill; 

Her arms to pennons turn'd, and she in all 

Chang'd to a fowl, which men a sea-gull call : 

A bird of evil nature, and set on 

Much mischief, to whose composition 200 

A great part of her former malice went. 

And was the principal ingredient. 

160 As if a perjurer ? Or ' as if pressed to death for refusal to plead ' ? 

198 In all this Marmion has accentuated the story. Apuleius does not identify the 
tell-tale sea-gull with the eider sister, and our poet omits the fate of the other, 
unless the strange couplet sup. (161-2) refers to it. ' Pennon' for ' pinion' is in Milton. 

( 35 ) D 2 



Shakerley Marmio?^ [book i 

For being thus transfigur'd, straight she swam 

Into the bottom of the ocean, 

Where Neptune kept his court, and pressing near 

To Venus' seat, she whisper'd her i' the ear, 

How that her son lay desperately griev'd, 

Sick of a burn he lately had receiv'd : 

And many by that means at her did scoff. 

And her whole family was ill spoken of. 210 

For whilst that she herself thus Hv'd recluse. 

And he his close adulteries did use : 

No sport or pleasure, no delight or grace, 

Friendship or marriage, could find any place. 

In love no pledge, no harmony in life, 

But everywhere confusion was, and strife. 

Thus the vile bird maliciously did prate. 

And Cupid's credit did calumniate. 

Venus replied, impatient and hot, 

'What, has my good son then a mistress got? 220 

Which of the Nymphs or Muses is his joy ? 

Who has inveigled the ingenious boy? 

Which of the Hours, or of the Graces all ? ' 

' None of these,' said the bird, ' but men her call 

Psyche.' So soon as Venus heard her nam'd, 

O ! how with indignation she exclaim'd : 

' What, my own beauty's rival, is it she ? 

That plant, that sucker of my dignity, 

And I his bawd?' With these words she ascended 

To the sea's superficies, where attended 230 

Her doves both ready harness'd, up she got, 

And flew to Paphos in her chariot. 

The Graces came about her, and in haste 

What the rough seas or rude winds had misplac'd. 

Did recompose with art and studious care, 

Combing the cerule drops from her loose hair. 

Which, dry'd with rosy powder, they did fold, 

And bind it round up in a braid of gold. 

These wait about her person still, and pass 

Their judgement on her, equal with her glass. 240 

These are the only critics that debate 
All beauty, and all fashions arbitrate : 
These temper her ceruse, and paint, and limn 
Her face with oil, and put her in her trim : 
Twelve other handmaids, clad in white array, 
Call'd the twelve Hours, and daughters of the Day, 
Did help to dress her : there were added more, 
Twelve of the night, whose eyes were shadow'd o'er 
With dusky and black veils, lest Vulcan's light, 
Or vapours, should offend their bleared sight, 250 

When they her linen starch, or else prepare 
Strong distillations to make her fair. 

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Sect. IV] L.ege7id of Ciiptd and Psyche . 

These bring her baths and ointments for her eyes, 

And provide cordials gainst she shall arise. 

These play on music, and perfume her bed, 

And snuff the candle while she lies to read 

Herself asleep : thus all, assign'd unto 

Their several office, had enough to do. 

And had they twenty times as many been. 

They all might be employ'd about the queen. 2^)0 

For though they us'd more reverence than at prayer, 

And sat in council upon every hair, 

And every plait and posture of her gown. 

Giving observance to each frequent frown ; 

And rather wish'd the state disorder'd were, 

Than the least implement that she did wear: 

As if, of all, that were the greatest sin, 

And that their fate were fasten'd to each pin — 

Though their whole life and study were to please, 

Yet such a sullen humour and disease 270 

Reign'd in her curious eyes, she ever sought, 

And scowling look'd, where she might find a fault ; 

Yet felt she no distemper from the care 

Of other business, nor did any dare 

To interpose or put into her mind 

A thought of any either foe or friend, 

Receipt or payment, but they all were bent 

To place each jewel and each ornament. 

And when that she was dress'd, and all was done, 

Then she began to think upon her son; 2S0 

And being absent spake of him at large, 

And laid strong aggravations to his charge : 

She ripp'd her wrongs up, how she had pass'd by, 

In hope of 'mendment, many an injury ; 

Yet nothing could reclaim his stubborn spleen, 

And wanton looseness, though she still had been 

Indulgent to him, as they all did know. 

She talk'd too of the duty children owe 

Unto their parents, and did much complain, 

Since she had bore and bred him up with pain, 290 

Now for requital had receiv'd offence; 

And sorely tax'd his disobedience. 

Then ask'd the Graces if they could disclose 

Where his new haunts were, and his rendezvous ; 

For she had trusted them to overlook, 

As guardians, and to guide, as with a hook, 

His straggling nature ; and they had done ill 

To slack their hand, and leave him to his will; 

281 'Large' seems here to have something of the unfavourable sense which it 
bears in Shakespeare. 

294 rendezvous] This word was becoming quite common : but Marmion's rhymes 
are too loose to justify a supposition that it was sometimes pronounced * -vose.' 

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Shaker ley Marmion [book i 

Who, as she said, was a weak child, and none 

Being near, might soon into much mischief run. 300 

They blushing smile, and thus allege, ' Since she, 

His mother, could not rule him, how can we 

That are hut servants? whom he does despise. 

And brandishes his torch against our eyes. 

And in defiance threats what he will do, 

Upon the least distaste, to shoot us through.' 

When Venus heard how the world stood in awe 
Of her son's desperate valour, and no law 
Might curb his fierceness, flattery nor force 
Prevail, she then resolv'd upon a course, 310 

With open libels, and with hue and cry. 
To publish to the world his infamy : 
And therefore caus'd in every town and street, 
And in all trivial places where ways meet, 
In these words, or the like, upon each post, 
A chartel to be fix'd that he was lost. 

The wanton Cupid f other day 
Did frotn his mother Venus stray. 
Great pains she took, hit all in vain. 

How to get her so?t again : 3 20 

For since the boy is sometimes blind. 
He his own way cannot find. 
If any one can fetch him in, 
Or take him captive in a gin. 
And bring her word, she for this 
Will rezvard him with a kiss. 
That you the felon may descry, 
These are signs to know him by: 
His skin is red with many a stain 

Of lovers, which by him were slain ; 330 

Or else it is the fatal doom, 
Which foretells of stornis to come : 
Though he seem naked to the eye. 
His ?nind is cloth' d with subtlety ; 
Sweet speech he uses, and soft smiles. 
To entice where he beguiles: 
His words are gentle as the air, 
But trust him not, though he speak fair. 
And confirm it with an oath. 

He is fierce and cruel both ; 340 

He is bold and careless too. 
And will play as wantons do: 
But 7vhen you think the sport is past. 
It turns to earnest at the last. 

317 The inclusion of this version of the famous ' Hue and Cry after Cupid,' though 
.in obvious, is a fairly ingenious embroidery on the original. But Marmion might have 
taken more trouble than to hide him in the very chamber of Venus. 

(38) 



SECT. IV] Legend of Cupid and Psyche 

His evil nature 7ione cati tame. 
For neither reverefice nor shame 
Are in his looks: his curled hair 
Hangs like nets for to ensnare : 
His hands, though zveak and slender, strike 
Age and sexes all alike ; 350 

And when he list, will 7nake his nest 
In their fnaf-rozv or their breast: 
Those poison' d darts shot from his bow. 
Hurt gods above, atid men below. 
His left hand bears a burfiing torch, 
Whose flame the very same zvill scorch ; 
And not hell itself is free 
From this imp' s impiety. 
Tlie wounds he makes no salve can cure; 
Then if you catch him, bind him sure: 360 

Take no pity, though he cry. 
Or laugh, or smile, or seem to die. 
And for his ransom would deliver 
His arrows and his painted quiver ; 
Refuse them all, for they are such 
That will burn zv herder they totich. 

When this edict was openly declar'd, 

And Venus' importunity, none dar'd 

To be so much of counsel as to hide, 

And not reveal where Cupid did abide. 370 

There was an old nymph of the Idalian grove, 

Grandchild to Faune, a Dryad, whom great Jove 

Had ravish'd in her youth, and for a fee, 

In recompense of her virginity, 

Did make immortal, and with wisdom fill. 

And her endow'd ■with a prophetic skill. 

And knowledge of all herbs ; she could apply 

To every grief a perfect remedy. 

Were it in mind, or body, and was sage, 

And weighty in her counsel, to assuage 380 

Any disease ; she had the government 

Of the whole palace, and was president 

Of all the nymphs, for Venus did commit 

Such power, to do whatever she thought fit. 

She at that time dress'd Cupid for his smart. 

And would have hid his shame with all her heart ; 

But that she fear'd her mistress to displease. 

If it should after chance the Dryades 

Betray'd her : therefore she durst do no other. 

But to send private word unto his mother, 390 

Where her son was, and how he hid his head, 

And groaning lay upon his mother's bed. 

369 • To be of counsel ' here seems=' to keep counsel,' ' to keep things secret.' 

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Shaker ley Marmio7t [booki 

Soon as this news was brought her, Venus went, 
Blown with the wind, and her own discontent, 
And there began to scold, and rail, before 
She did arrive within the chamber door. 

' Are these things honest, which I hear,' says she, 
' And suiting with our fame and pedigree ? 
Seducing trifler, have you set at large 

Mine enemy, whom I gave up in charge, 400 

That thou shouldst captivate, and set on fire 
With sordid, but unquenchable desire? 
But since, that thou might'st the more stubborn prove, 
Hast fetter'd her unto thyself in love ; 
Seems you presume, that you are only he, 
The chick of the white hen, and still must be. 
And I, by reason of my age, quite done, 
Cannot conceive, nor bear another son. 
Yes, know I can, and for thy more disgrace, 
I will adopt another in thy place. 4[o 

I'll take away that wicked stuff, with which 
Thou dost abuse thy betters, and bewitch 
Each age and sex, and not without delight, 
Thine uncle Mars and thine own mother smite. 
Then burn those arms, which were ordain'd to do 
Better exploits than thou employ'st them to. 
For thou wast ever from thy youth untoward. 
And dost, without all reverence or regard. 
Provoke thy elders ; but, Jove ! here I wish 
I ne'er may eat of a celestial dish, 420 

Unless I turn this triumph to offence, 
This sweet to sour, this sport to penitence. 
But I thus scorned, whither shall I fly ? 
There is a matron call'd Sobriety, 
Whom I have oft offended, through his vain 
Luxurious riot, yet I must complain 
To her, and at her hands expect the full 
Of my revenge ; she shall his quiver pull, 
Unhead his arrows, and his bow unstring. 
Put out his torch, and then away it fling. 430 

His golden locks with nectar all imbru'd. 
Which I from mine own bosom have bedew'd ; 
His various wings, the rainbow never yet 
Was in such order, nor such colours set; 
She shall, without remorse, both cut and pare. 
And every feather clip, and every hair. 
And then, and not till then, it shall suffice 
That I have done my wrongs this sacrifice.' 
Thus full of choler did she Cupid threat, 
And having eas'd her mind did back retreat. 440 

But making haste, with this distemper'd look, 
Ceres and Juno both she overtook : 

(40) 



Sect. IV] Legend of Cupid and Psyche 

Who seeing her with such a troubled brow, 

Did earnestly demand the manner how 

She came so vex'd, and who had power to shroud 

Her glorious beauty in so black a cloud. 

'You cannot choose but hear,' Venus reply'd, 

* How I have been abus'd on every side : 

First, when my Hmping husband me beset, 

And caught Mars and myself both in his net, 450 

And then expos'd us naked to the eyes 

Of heaven, and the whole bench of deities. 

'Tis a known tale, and to make up the jest, 

One god, less supercilious than the rest, 

Told Mars, if those his fetters made him sweat, 

He would endure the burthen and the heat. 

Time wore out this disgrace, but now your art 

Must drive another sorrow from my heart : 

And if you love me, use your best of skill 

To seek out Psyche, she hath done this ill : 460 

Cupid, my son, has chose her for his spouse, 

That is the only plague unto my house.' 

' Lady,' said they, ' alack, what hurt is done. 
Or crime in this committed by your son? 
Is this a cause fit to provoke your spite, 
T' impugn his sports, and hinder his delight? 
What imputation on your house were laid, 
Though he should set his fancy on a maid? 
You may allow his patent for to pass, 

That he may love a blithe and bonny lass. 470 

What ! you forget that he is well in years, 
And 'tis a comfort to you that he bears 
His age so well; therefore you must not pry 
Into his actions so narrowly. 
For with what justice can you disapprove 
That in your son, which in yourself you love? 
Is't fit that seeds of love by you be sown 
In others' hearts, and banish'd from your own ? 
You have an interest in all that 's his ; 

Both prais'd for good, both blam'd for what 's amiss. 480 

Remember too you are his mother dear, 
Held wise, and must give way.' Thus they for fear 
Of Cupid's arrows did him patronize. 
But Venus, scorning that her injuries 
Were no more pitied, her swift doves did rein, 
And took her way towards the sea again. 

END OF THE FIRST BOOK 



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BOOK II 

The First Section 

Psyche this while wander'd the world about 

With various errors to find Cupid out, 

Hoping, although no matrimonial way. 

Or beauty's force his anger might allay, 

Yet prayers and duty sometimes do abate. 

And humble service him propitiate. 

She travell'd forth, until at length she found 

A pleasant plain, with a fair temple crown'd; 

Then to herself she said, 'Ah, who can tell 

Whether or no my husband there do dwell ? ' lo 

And with this thought she goes directly on. 

Led with blind hope and with devotion : 

Then ent'ring in, she to the altar bended. 

And there perform'd her orisons ; which ended. 

Casting her eyes about, she did espy 

A world of instruments for husbandry, 

As forks, and hooks, and rakes, sickles and scythes. 

Garlands, and shears, and corn for sacrifice. 

Those ears that were confused she did sever, 

And those that scatter'd lay she put together; 20 

Thinking she ought no worship to dechne 

Of any thing that seem'd to be divine. 

Ceres, far off, did Psyche overlook, 
When this laborious task she undertook ; 
And as she is a goddess that does love 
Industrious people, spake to her from above : 
' Alas, poor Psyche, Venus is thy foe. 
And strives to find thee out with more ado 
Than I my Proserpine : the earth, the sea. 
And the hid confines of the night and day, 30 

Have all been ransack'd ; she has sought thee forth 
Through both the poles and mansions of the north. 
Not the Riphean snow, nor all the droughth 
That parches the vast deserts of the south, 
Have staid her steps : she has made Tethys sweep;, 
To find thee out, the bottom of the deep ; 
And vows that heaven itself shall thee resign. 
Though Jove had fix'd thee there his concubine. 

2 Probably M. intended a double sense in ' error'— 'wandering' and 'mistaken 
wandering.' In the latter part of the sentence ' might,' ' do,' and ' him ' taken together 
form a curious instance of the confusion common in writing of this time. 

33 Prof. Skeat thinks 'droughth ' the true form. 

(4O 



Legend of Cupid a7td Psyche 

She never rests, for since she went to bed, 

The rosy crown is wither'd from her head. 40 

Thou careless wretch, thus Venus all enrag'd, 

Seeks for thy life, whilst thou art here engag'd 

'Bout my affairs, and think'st of nothing less 

Than thine own safety and lost happiness.' 

Psyche fell prostrate on her face before 
Fair Ceres' throne, and did her help implore ; 
Moist'ning the earth with tears, and with her hair 
Brushing the ground, she sent up many a prayer : 
'By thy fruit-scattering hand I thee entreat, 
And the Sicilian fields, that are the seat 50 

Of thy fertility ; and by the glad 
And happy ends the harvest ever had ; 
And by thy coach, with winged dragons drawn ; 
And by the darksome hell that 'gan to dawn 
At the bright marriage of fair Proserpine; 
And by the silent rites of Eleusine, 
Impart some pity, and vouchsafe to grant 
This small request to your poor suppliant : 
I may lie hid among these sheaves of corn 
Until great Venus' fury be outworn ; 60 

Or that my strength and faculties, subdu'd 
By weary toil, a little be renew'd.' 
But as the world 's accustom'd, when they see 
Any o'erwhelm'd with a deep misery. 
Afford small comfort to their wretched state, 
But only are in words compassionate ; 
So Ceres told her, she did greatly grieve 
At her distress, but durst her not relieve ; 
For Venus was a good and gracious queen, 
And she her favour highly did esteem. 70 

Nor would she succour a contrary side, 
Being by love and kin to her ally'd. 

Poor Psyche thus repuls'd, soon as she saw 
Her hopes quite frustrate, did herself withdraw, 
And journey'd on unto a neighbouring wood, 
Where likewise a rich fane and temple stood. 
Of goodly structure, and before the house 
Hung many gifts and garments precious ; 
That by the name engrav'd, and dedication, 
Express'd without to whom they had relation. 80 

Here Psyche enter'd, her low knees did bend, 
And both herself and fortunes recommend 
To mighty Juno, and thus spake to her : 
'Thou Wife and Sister to the Thunderer, 
Whether thou dost in ancient Samos lie. 
The place of thy first birth and nursery ; 

65 The omission of ' to ' and the use of ' but ' for 'and' again illustrate Marmion's 
nonchalant way of writing. 

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Shaker ley Marmion [bookh 

Or by the banks of Inacus abide, 

Or thy lov'd Carthage, or round heaven dost ride 

Upon a lion's back ; that art in the east 

Call'd Zigia, and Lucina in the west : 90 

Look on my grief's extremity, and deign 

To ease me of my labour and my pain.' 

Thus having pray'd, straight Juno from on high 
Presents herself in all her majesty, 
And said, ' Psyche, I wish you had your ends. 
And that my daughter and yourself were friends : 
For Venus I have ever held most dear, 
In as high place as she my daughter were : 
Nor can that, which one goddess has begun. 
By any other deity be undone. 100 

Besides the Stygian laws allow no leave, 
That we another's servant should receive ; 
Nor can we by the league of friendship give 
Relief to one that is a fugitive.' 

Fair Psyche, shipwreck'd in her hopes again. 
And finding no ways how she might obtain 
Her winged husband, cast the worst of all. 
And thus her thoughts did into question call : 
'What means can be attempted or applied 
To this my strange calamity, beside 110 

What is already used? For though they would, 
The gods themselves can render me no good : 
Why then should I proceed, and unawares 
Tender my foot unto so many snares ? 
What darkness can protect me? what disguise 
Hide me from her inevitable eyes? 
Some women from their crimes can courage gather, 
Then why not I from misery? and rather, 
What I cannot defer, not long withstand. 

Yield up myself a prisoner to her hand. 120 

For timely modesty may mitigate 
That rage, which absence does exasperate. 
And to confirm this, who knows whether he, 
Whom my soul longs for, with his mother be?' 

Venus, now sick of earthly business, 
Commands her coach be put in readiness : 
Whose subtle structure was all wrought upon 
With gold, with purple, and vermilion. 
Vulcan compos'd the fabric, 'twas the same 
He gave his wife, when he a-wooing came. 130 

Then of those many hundred doves that soar 
About her palace, she selected four, 

107 cast] As in 'cast accounts,' = 'drew the worst conclusions,' 'made up her 
mind to the worst.' 

116 This is the sort of thing which repays one for the reading of many pages. 

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sfxt. I] Legend of Cupid and Psyche 

Whose chequer'd necks to the small traces tied, 

With nimble gyres they up to heaven did glide : 

A world of sparrows did by Venus fly, 

And nightingales that sung melodiously ; 

And other birds accompanied her coach, 

With pleasant noise proclaiming her approach : 

For neither hardy eagle, hawk, nor kite, 

Durst her sweet-sounding family affright. 140 

The clouds gave way, and heaven was open made, 

Whilst Venus Jove's high turrets did invade. 

Then having silenc'd her obstreperous quire, 

She boldly calls for Mercury the crier, 

Jove's messenger, who but a while before 

Return'd with a loose errand, which he bore 

To a new mistress, and was now t' advise 

Upon some trick, to hide from Juno's eyes 

Jove's bawdery, for he such feats can do, 

Which are his virtues and his office too. 150 

When Venus saw him, she much joy did show. 

And said, ' Kind brother Mercury, you know 

How I esteem your love at no small rate. 

With whom my mind I still communicate : 

Without whose counsel I have nothing done. 

But still preferr'd your admonition, 

And now you must assist me; — there's a maid 

Lies hid, whom I have long time sought, and laid 

Close wait to apprehend, but cannot take ; 

Therefore I'd have you proclamation make, 160 

With a reward propounded, to requite 

Whoe'er shall bring, and set her in my sight. 

Make known her marks, and age, lest any chance, 

Or after dare, to pretend ignorance.' 

Thus having said, she gave to him a note. 
And libel, wherein Psyche's name was wrote. 
Hermes, the powerful and all-charming god. 
Taking in hand his soul-constraining rod. 
With which he carries, and brings back from hell, 
With Venus went, for he lov'd Venus well; 170 

'Cause he in former time her love had won. 
And in his dalliance, had of her a son 
Begot, call'd the Hermaphrodite, which is 
The boy that was belov'd by Salmacis. 
Thus both from heaven descended, open cry. 
In express words, was made by Mercury. 

O yes ! if any can true tidings bring 

Of Venus' handmaid, daughter to a king. 

Psyche the fugitive, of stature tall. 

Of te?tder age, and form celestial: 180 

To whom, for dowry. Art and Nature gave 

All grace, and all tlie comeliness they have. 

(45) 



Shaker ley Marmion [bookii 

This I tvas bid to say, and be it spoken 

Without all envy, each smile is a token 

Sufficient to betray her. In her gait 

She Phoebus' sister does most imitate. 

Nor does her voice sou fid mortal: if you spy 

Her face, you may discern her by the eye, 

That like a star, dazzles the optic sense: 

Cupid has oft his torch brought lighted thence. 190 

If any find her out, let him repair 

Straighttvays to Mercury, and the news declare ; 

And for his recompense he shall have leave, 

Even from Venus' own lips, to receive 

Seven fragrant kisses, and the rest among, 

One honey-kiss, and one touch from her tongue. 

Which being published, the great desire 

Of this reward, set all men's hearts on fire. 

So that poor Psyche durst no more forbear 

To offer up herself: then drawing near 200 

To Venus' house, a maid of her's, by name 

Call'd Custom, when she saw her, did exclaim, 

' O, Madam Psyche, Jove your honour save : 

What? do you feel now, you a mistress have? 

Or does your rashness, or your ignorant worth 

Not know the pains we took to find you forth ? 

Sweet, you shall for your stubbornness be taught :' 

With that rude hold upon her locks she caught, 

And dragg'd her in, and before Venus brought. 



The Second Section 

So soon as Venus saw her, she, like one 

That looks 'twixt scorn and indignation, 

Rais'd a loud laughter, such as does proceed 

From one that is vex'd furiously indeed. 

Then shaking of her head, biting her thumb, 

She said, 'What, my good daughter, are you come 

Your mother to salute? But I believe 

You would your husband visit, who does grieve 

For the late burn with which you did inure 

His tender shoulder. But yet rest secure; 10 

196 Apuleius combines what Marmion seems (but in his careless way probably 
without meaning) to separate — Ei unum blandientis appulsu linguae longe ntellitum. 

2og The triplet, at this important juncture, is noteworthy. 

9 inure] Literally from inurere as here, is not accepted by the authorities as the origin 
of the English ' in- ' or * en-wr^,' to put in ure or use. But it is probable that many, if 
not most, educated people connect the two (cf. Tennyson's ' The sin that practice burtis 
into the blood '), and I do not see why a double etymology should not be allowed. 

(46) 



Sect. II] Legend of Cupid and Psyche 

I shall provide for you, nor will I swerve 

From any needful office you deserve.' 

Thus winking Venus did on Psyche leer, 

And with such cruel kindness did her jeer. 

Then for her entertainment, cries, 'Where are 

My two rough handmaids, Solitude and Care?' 

They enter'd ; she commands her hands to tie, 

And take the poor maid to their custody. 

Which done accordingly, with whips they beat, 

And her with torments miserably treat. 20 

Thus used, and in this shameful manner dight, 

They her, with scorn, reduce to Venus' sight : 

Who smiling said, "Tis more than time, that I 

Should set my nymphs all to work sempstery, 

And make your baby-clouts. Why this is brave, 

And you shall Juno for your midwife have. 

Where will you lie in? how far are you gone? 

That's a great motive to compassion. 

And I my style must rather boast, than smother, 

That in my youth I shall be call'd grandmother, 30 

But by your leave, I doubt these marriages 

That are solemniz'd without witnesses, 

Without consent of friends, the parties' state 

Unequal too, are scarce legitimate j 

And so this child they shall a bastard call : 

If yet thou bring'st forth any child at all' 

Then to begin with some revenge, she rose ; 

And all her ornaments did discompose, 

And her discolour'd gown in pieces pull, 

And whatsoever made her beautiful, 40 

But lest her sufferings should all passive be, 

She turns her punishment to industry, 

And takes of several seeds a certain measure ; 

Wheat, barley, oats, and a confused treasure 

Of pease and lentils, then all mix'd did pour 

Into one heap ; with a prefixed hour. 

That, ere herself should on our hemisphere 

That night as the bright evening star appear, 

Psyche each grain should rightly segregate, 

A task, for twenty, too elaborate. 50 

This work assign'd, Venus from thence did pass 

To a marriage feast, where she invited was. 

Poor Psyche all alone amaz'd did stand, 

Nor to this labour would once set her hand : 

In her own thoughts judging herself unable, 

To vanquish that was so inextricable; 

When lo, a numerous multitude of ants, 

Her neighbours, the next field's inhabitants, 

22 reduce] -' bring back.' The Latinism is not from Ap., who has reddnni. 

(47) 



Shaker ley Marmion [book i i 

Came thronging in, sent thither by some power, 

That pity took on Cupid's paramour ; 60 

Nor would that wrong should be without defence, 

And hated Venus for her insolence. 

All these by an instinct together met, 

Themselves in a tumultuous method set 

On work, and each grain arithmetically 

Subtract, divide, and after multiply. 

And when that this was done away they fled, 

Each grain being by its kind distinguished. 

Venus now from the nuptial feast was come. 
Her breath perfum'd with wine and balsamum ; 70 

Her body was with twines of myrtles bound. 
Her head with garlands of sweet roses crown'd. 
And seeing this accomplish'd task, she said, 
' Housewife, 'twas not your handywork convey'd 
These seeds in order thus, but his, that still 
Persists in love, to thine and his own ill.' 
Then on the ground she threw a crust of bread, 
For Psyche's supper, and so went to bed. 
Cupid the while in a back room was put 

Under the same roof, and in prison shut : 80 

A punishment for his old luxury, 
Lest he with Psyche should accompany : 
And so by too much straining of his side. 
Might hurt his wound before 'twas scarified. 
But when the rosy morning drew away 
The sable curtain, which let in the day, 
Venus to Psyche calls, and bids awake, 
Who standing up, she shows to her a lake, 
Environ'd with a rock, beyond whose steep 
And craggy bottom graz'd a flock of sheep : 90 

They had no shepherd them to feed or fold, 
And yet their well-grown fleeces were of gold. 
Pallas sometimes the precious locks would cull, 
To make great Juno vestures of the wool : 
' Fetch me,' says Venus, ' some of that rich hair, 
But how you'll do it, I nor know nor care.' 

Psyche obeys, not out of hope to win 
So great a prize, but meaning to leap in, 
That in the marish she might end her life. 
And so be freed from Venus and her strife. 100 

When drawing near, the wind-inspired reed 
Spake with a tuneful voice, ' Psyche, take heed, 
Let not despair thee of thy soul beguile, 
Nor these my waters with thy death defile; 
But rest thee here under this willow tree. 
That growing drinks of the same stream with me : 
Keep from those sheep that, heated with the sun, 
Rage like the lion, or the scorpion. 

(48) 



T. II] Legend of Cuptd and Psyche 

None can their stony brows nor horns abide, 

Till the day's fire be somewhat qualified. no 

But when the vapour and their thirst is quench'd, 

And Phoebus' horses in the ocean drench'd, 

Then you may fetch what Venus does desire, 

And find their fleecy gold on every briar. 

Th' oraculous reed, full of humanity. 

Thus from her hollow womb did prophesy : 

And she observing strictly what was taught. 

Her apron full of the soft metal brought. 

And gave to Venus ; yet her gift and labour 

Gain'd no acceptance, nor found any favour. 120 

' I know the author of this fact,' says she, 

' How 'twas the price of his adultery. 

But now I will a serious trial make, 

Whether you do these dangers undertake 

With courage, and that wisdom you pretend : 

For see that lofty mountain, whence descend 

Black-colour'd waters, from Earth's horrid dens. 

And with their boilings wash the Stygian fens, 

From thence augment Cocytus' foaming rage, 

And swell his channel with their surplusage. 130 

Go now, and some of that dead liquor skim. 

And fill this crystal pitcher to the brim : 

Bring it me straight:' — and so her brows did knit, 

Threat'ning great matters if she fail'd of it. 

With this injunction Psyche went her ways. 
Hoping even there to end her wretched days. 
But coming near to the prefixed place, 
Whose height did court the clouds, and lowest base 
Gave those black streams their first original, 
That wearing the hard rocks, did headlong fall 140 

Into the Stygian valleys, underneath 
She saw a fatal thing, and full of death. 
Two watchful dragons the straight passage kept, 
Whose eyes were never seal'd, nor ever slept. 
The waters too said something, ' Psyche, fly ! 
What do you here ? Depart, or you shall die ! ' 
Psyche with terror of the voice dejected. 
And thought of that might never be effected, 
Like Niobe was changed into a stone. 

In body present, but her mind was gone. 150 

And, in the midst of her great grief and fears, 
Could not enjoy the comfort of her tears. 
When Jove, whose still protecting providence 
Is ever ready to help innocence, 
Sent the Saturnian eagle, who once led 
By Love's impulsion, snatch'd up Ganimed 

143 Probably * strait ' : but the substitution is constant. 
II. ( 49 ) E 



Shaker ley Mar??2io?t [Book ii 

To be Jove's cup-bearer, from Ida hill, 

And ever since bore Cupid a good will : 

And what he could not to his person show, 

Resolv'd upon his mistress to bestow. i6o 

Then with angelic speed, when he had left 

The Air's high tracts, and the three regions cleft, 

Before her face he on the meadow sate, 

And said, 'Alas, thou inconsiderate 

And foolish maid, return back, go not nigh 

Those sacred streams, so full of majesty. 

What hope hast thou those waters to procure. 

Which Jove himself does tremble to abjure ? 

No mortal hand may be allow'd to touch, 

Much less to steal a drop, their power is such. 170 

Give me the pitcher.' She it gave : he went 

To Styx, and feign'd that Venus had him sent. 

Psyche the urn did to his talons tie. 

Then with his plumed oars poised equally. 

He lets it sink betwixt the very jaws 

Of those fierce dragons, and then up it draws. 

And gives it Psyche ; she the same convey'd 

To Venus, yet her pains were ill repaid : 

Nothing her rage might expiate, but still 

The end of one begins another ill. 180 

' For aught,' says Venus, ' that I gather can. 
You are a witch or some magician. 
What else can be concluded out of these 
Experienc'd impossibilities ? 

If your commerce be such then, you may venture 
Boldly to hell : and when you there shall enter. 
Me to my cousin Proserpine commend, 
And in my name entreat her she would send 
Some of her box of beauty to me ; say, 

So much as may suffice me for a day : 190 

Excuse me to her, that my own is spent, 
I know not how, by an ill accident, 
I am asham'd to speak it, but 'tis gone. 
And wasted all in curing of my son. 
But be not slack in your return ; for I 
Must with the gods feast, of necessity. 
Nor can I thither go, without disgrace, 
Till I have us'd some art unto my face.' 

Psyche conceiv'd now, that her life and fate, 
And fortunes, all were at their utmost date, 200 

Being by Venus' cruelty thrust on 
Towards a manifest destruction ; 

168 'Abjure' in the sense of perjure himself by,' must be rare, and may well be 
left so. It is however fair to M. to say that he may have had Apuleius' dejero in his 
mind : just as he direct!}' reproduces ' expiate ' below 179 . in the sense, rare in Latin, 
and more than questionable in English, of 'appease.' 

(50) 



Sect. II] Lege7id of Cupid and Psyche 

Which she collects by argument, that thus 
With her own feet, must march to Taenarus. 

In this delusive agony she rose, 
And by degrees up to a turret goes, 
Whose top o'erlook'd the hills, it was so high, 
Resolv'd to tumble headlong from the sky : 
Conceiting, as her fancy did her feed, 

That was the way to go to hell indeed. • 210 

But then a sudden voice to her did call, 
Which brake out of the caverns of the wall. 
That said, ' Ah, coward, wretch ! why dost thou yield 
To this last labour, and forsake the field ? 
Whilst Victory her banner does display, 
And with a proffer'd crown tempts thee to stay. 
The way to hell is easy, and the gate 
Stands ope ; but if the soul be separate 
Once from the body, true, she goes to hell : 
Not to return, but there for ever dwell. 220 

^'irtue knows no such stop, nor they, whom Jove 
Either begot, or equally does love. 
Now list to me : there is a fatal ground 
In Greece, beyond Achaia's farthest bound. 
Near Lacedemon, famous for the rape 
Paris on Helen made, and their escape. 
'Tis quickly found ; for with its steamy breath 
It blasts the fields, and is the port of death. 
The path, like Ariadne's clue, does guide 

To the dark court where Pluto does abide : 230 

And if you must those dismal regions see, 
Then carry in your hand a double fee. 
For Charon will do nothing without money ; 
And you must have sops made of meal and honey. 
It is a doubtful passage, for there are 
Many decrees and laws peculiar 
Must strictly be observ'd ; and if once broke, 
No ransom nor entreaty can revoke. 
Nor is there prosecution of more strife. 

But all are penal statutes on your life. 240 

The first that you shall meet with, as you pass, 
Is an old man come driving of an ass, 
Decrepid as himself; they both shall sweat 
With their hard labour, and he shall entreat 
That you would help his burthen to untie ; 
But give no ear, nor stay when you go by. 
And next you shall arrive without delay 
To slow Avernus' lake, where you must paj- 
Charon his waftage, as before I said, 

For avarice does live among the dead : 250 

And a poor man, though tide serve, and the wind, 
If he no stipend bring, must stay behind. 

( ?t ) E 2 



Shaker ley Marmion [Book ii 

Here as you sail along, you shall see one 

Of squalid hue, they call Oblivion, 

Heave up his hands, and on the waters float, 

Praying, you would receive him in your boat : 

But know, all those that will in safety be, 

Must learn to disaftect such piety. 

When you are landed, and a little past 

The Stygian ferry, you your eyes shall cast 260 

And spy some busy at their wheel, and these 

Are three old women, call'd the Destinies ; 

They will desire you to sit down and spin, 

And show your own life's thread upon the pin. 

Yet are they all but snares, and do proceed 

From Venus' malice to corrupt your creed ; 

For should you lend your help to spin or card. 

Or meddle with their distaff, your reward 

Might perhaps slip out of your hand, and then 

You must hope never to come back again. 270 

Next, a huge mastiff shall you see before 

The palace gate, and adamantine door. 

That leads to Dis, who when he opens wide 

His triple throat, the ghosts are terrified 

With his loud barkings, which so far rebound, 

They make all hell to echo with their sound : 

Him with a morsel you must first assuage. 

And then deliver Venus' embassage. 

For Proserpine shall kindly you entreat, 

And will provide a banquet and a seat. a8o 

But if you sit, sit on the ground, and taste 

None of her dainties, but declare in haste 

What you desire, which she will straight deliver : 

Then with those former rules pass back the river. 

Give the three-headed dog his other share, 

And to the greedy mariner his fare. 

Keep fast these precepts whatsoe'er they be, 

And think on Orpheus and Euridice. 

But above all things, this observe to do. 

Take heed you open not, nor pry into 290 

The beauty's box, else shall you there remain. 

Nor see this heaven, nor these stars again.' 

The stone-enclosed voice did friendly thus 

Psyche forewarn, with signs propitious. 

254 Where Marmion got ' Oblivion ' from I know not. Apuleius merely has 

<jH)dani senex niortuits. 



(5O 



Sect. Ill] Legend of Cupid aitd Psyche 



The Last Section ' 

So soon as Psyche got all things together, 

That might be useful for her going thither, 

And her return, to Taenarus she went, 

And the infernal passage did attempt : 

Where all those strange and fatal prophecies 

Accomplish'd were in their occurrences. 

For first she passes by with careless speed. 

The old man and his ass, and gave no heed 

Either unto his person or desire, 

And next she pays the ferryman his hire ; lo 

And though Oblivion and the Fates did woo her 

With many strong temptations to undo her, 

Ulysses-like, she did their prayers decline, 

And came now to the house of Proserpine. 

Before the palace was a stately court, 

Where forty marble pillars did support 

The roof and frontispiece, that bore on high 

Pluto's own statue, grav'd in ebony. 

His face, though full of majesty, was dimm'd 

With a sad cloud, and his rude throne untrimm'd : ao 

His golden sceptre was eat in with rust, 

And that again quite overlaid with dust. 

Ceres was wrought him by, with weeping eyne, 

Lamenting for the loss of Proserpine. 

Her daughter's rape was there set down at full ; 

Who, while that she too studiously did pull 

The purple violet and sanguine rose, 

Lilies and low-grown pansies, to compose 

Wreaths for the nymphs, regardless of her health. 

Was soon surpris'd, and snatch'd away by stealth ; 30 

Forc'd by the king of the infernal powers, 

And seem'd to cry and look after her flowers. 

Enceladus was stretch'd upon his back. 

While Pluto's horses' hoofs and coach did wrack 

His bruised body. Pallas did extend 

The gorgon's head. Delia her bow did bend ; 

And Virgins both, their uncle did defy 

Like champions, to defend virginity. 

The sun and stars were wrapp'd in sable weeds, 

Damp'd with the breath of his Taenarian steeds. 40 

All these, and more, were portray'd round about, 

Which filth defac'd, or time had eaten out. 

Three-headed Cerberus the gate did keep, 

^\ hom Psyche with a sop first laid to sleep ; 

* Marmion has expatiated largely and with no ill result in this last section. Ap. 
tells Psyche's journey very briefly. 

(53) 



Shaker ley Marmion [bookii 

And then went safely by, where first she saw 

Hell's judges sit, and urging of the law. 

The place was parted in two several ways : 

The right hand to Elysium conveys ; 

But on the left were malefactors sent, 

The seat of tortures and strange punishment. 50 

There Tantalus stands thirsty, to the chin 

In water, but can take no liquor in. 

Ixion too, and Sisyphus ; the one 

A wheel, the other turns a restless stone. 

A vulture there on Titius does wreak 

The gods' just wrath, and pounding with his beak, 

On his immortal liver still does feed. 

For what the day does waste the night does breed : 

And other souls are forced to reveal, 

What unjust pleasures they on earth did steal ; 60 

Whom fiery Phlegethon does round enclose. 

And Styx his waves does nine times interpose. 

The noise of whips and furies did so fright 

Poor Psyche's ears, she hasted to the right. 

That pathway straight, for on each side there grew 

A grove of mournful cypress and of yew : 

It is the place of such as happy die. 

There, as she walked on, did infants cry, 

Whom cruel death snatch'd from their teats away, 

And robb'd of sweet life in an evil day. 70 

There lovers live, who living here, were wise ; 

And had their ladies to close up their eyes. 

There mighty heroes walk, that spent their blood 

In a just cause, and for their country's good. 

All these beholding, through the glimmering air, 

A mortal, and so exquisitely fair; 

Thick as the motes in the sunbeams came running 

To gaze, and know the cause too of her coming ; 

Which she dissembled, only ask'd to know 

Where Pluto dwelt, for thither she must go : 80 

A guide was straight assign'd, who did attend. 

And Psyche brought safe to her journey's end ; 

Who being enter 'd, prostrate on her knee, 

She humbly tenders Venus' embassy. 

Great Pluto's queen presented to her guest 

A princely throne to sit on, and a feast, 

Wishing her taste, and her tir'd limbs refresh. 

After her journey and her weariness. 

Psyche excus'd it, that she could not stay, 

And if she had her errand would away. 90 

But Proserpine replied, ' You do not know. 
Fair maid, the joys and pleasures are below, 

65 • Path lay ' ? or ' Pathway 's strait ' ? 
(54) 



Sect. Ill] Legend of Cupid a?id Psyche 

Stay and possess whatever I call mine, 

For other lights and other stars do shine 

\\'ithin our territories ; the day 's not lost, 

As you imagine, in the Elysian coast. 

The golden age and progeny is here, 

And that fam'd tree that does in Autumn bear 

Clusters of gold, whose apples thou shalt hoard, 

Or each meal, if thou please, set on the board. loo 

The matrons of Elysium at thy beck 

Shall come and go, and buried queens shall deck 

Thy body in more stately ornaments 

Than all Earth's feigned majesty presents. 

The pale and squalid region shall rejoice, 

[And] Silence shall break forth a pleasant voice : 

Stern Pluto shall himself to mirth betake, 

And crowned ghosts shall banquet for thy sake ; 

New lamps shall burn, if thou wilt here abide, 

And night's thick darkness shall be rarefied, no 

Whate'er the winds upon the earth do sweep, 

Rivers, or fens embrace, or the vast deep, 

Shall be thy tribute, and I will deliver 

Up for thy servant the Lethean river : 

Besides, the Parcae shall thy handmaids be, 

And what thou speak'st stand for a destiny.' 

Psyche gave thanks, but did her plainly tell, 
She would not be a courtier unto hell : 
When, wond'ring that such honours did not please, 
She offer'd gifts far richer than all these. 120 

Eor as a dowry at her feet she laid 
The mighty engines which the world upweigh'd, 
And vow'd to give her immortality. 
And all the pleasures and the royalty 
Of the Elysian fields, which wisely she 
Refus'd ; for Hell, with all their power and skill, 
Though they allure, they cannot force the will. 

This vex'd fair Proserpine any should know 
Their horrid secrets, and have power to show 
Unto the upper world what she had seen 130 

Of Hell and Styx, of Pluto and his queen : 
Yet since she might not her own laws withstand. 
She gave the box of beauty in her hand. 
And Psyche with those precepts used before, 
The sun's bright beams did once again adore. 
Then, as she thought, being out of all control, 
A curious rashness did possess her soul, 
That slighting of her charge and promis'd duty, 
She greatly itch'd to add to her own beauty ; 
Saying, 'Ah fool, to bear so rich a prize, 14° 

And yet, through fear, dost envy thine own eyes 
The happy object, whose reflection might 

(65) 



Shaker ley Marmion [bookii 

Gain thee some favour in young Cupid's sight : 

The voice forbade me, but I now am free 

From Venus' vision and hell's custody.' 

And so without all scruple she unlocks, 

And lets forth the whole treasure of the box, 

Which was not any thing to make one fair. 

But a mere Stygian and infernal air; 

Whose subtle breathings through her pores did creep, 150 

And stuff'd her body with a cloud of sleep. 

But Cupid, now not able to endure 
Her longer absence, having gain'd his cure. 
And prun'd his ruffled wings, flew through the gate 
Of his close prison, to seek out his mate; 
Where finding her in this dull lethargy, 
He drew the foggy vapour from her eye. 
And that her stupid spirits might awake, 
Did all the drowsy exhalation shake 

From off her sense ; he shut it up, and seal'd 160 

The box so fast, it ne'er might be reveal'd. 
Next with his harmless dart, small as a pin, 
He prick'd the superficies of her skin ; 
Saying, ' What wondrous frailty does possess 
This female kind, or rather wilfulness? 
For lo, thy foolish curiosity 
Has tempted thee again to perjury. 

What proud exploit was this ? what horrid fact ? 

Be sure, my mother Venus will exact 

A strict account of all that has been done, lyo 

Both of thyself and thy commission. 

But yet for all this trespass, be of cheer, 

And in a humble duty persevere ; 

Detain from Venus nought that is her own, 

And for what else remains let me alone.' 

Thus Psyche by her lover being sent, 

And waxing strong through his encouragement, 

The box of beauty unto Venus brings, 

Whilst Cupid did betake him to his wings : 

For when he saw his mother so austere, 180 

Forc'd by the violence of love and fear, 

He pierc'd the marble concave of the sky, 

To heaven appeal'd, and did for justice cry. 

Pleading his cause, and in the sacred presence 

Of Jove himself did his love-suit commence. 
Jove, at his sight, threw by his rays, so pure. 

That no eyes but his own might them endure: 

Whom Cupid thus bespake, 'Great Jove, if I 

Am born your true and lawful progeny ; 

160 Singer 'she.' 

167 This curious Hne becomes more curious when we read in Ap. Rursmn peneras, 
tnisflla, simili curiositate. Did M. take it as pejeras] 

(?6) 



Sect. Ill] Legend of Cupid afid Psyche 

If I have play'd between your arms, and sate 19a 

Next to yourself, but since grown to a state 

Of riper years, have been thought fit to bear 

An equal sway, and move in the same sphere 

Of honour with you, by whose means both men 

And gods have trembled at my bow, as when 

Yourself have darted thunderbolts, and slain 

The earth-bred giants in the Phlegrian plain. 

And when in several scales my shafts were laid 

With your own trident, neither has outweigh'd — 

I come not now that you should either give, 200 

Confirm, or add to my prerogative : 

But setting all command and pow'r aside, 

Desire by Law and Justice to be try'd. 

For whither else should I appeal? or bring 

My cause, but to yourself, that are a king. 

And father to us all, and can dispense 

What right you please in court and conscience? 

I have been wrong'd, and must with grief indite 

My mother of much cruelty and spite 

To me and my poor Psyche: there's but one a to 

In the whole world that my affection 

And fancy likes, where others do enjoy 

So many ; the diversity does cloy 

Their very appetite : yet who but owes 

All his delight to me? And Venus knows, 

By her own thoughts, the uncontrolled fire 

That reigns in youth, when Love does him inspire ; 

Yet she without all pity or remorse, 

Me and my mistress labours to divorce. 

I covet no one's spouse, nor have I taken 220 

Another's love; there's not a man forsaken, 

Or god, for my sake, that bewails his dear, 

Or bathes his spoiled bosom with a tear. 

Then why should any me and my love sever, 

That join all other hearts and loves together?' 

Jove heard him out, and did applaud his speech, 
And both his hand and sceptre to him reach. 
Then calling Cupid, his smooth fingers laid 
On his ambrosiac cheek, and kissing, said, 
' My little youngster, and my son, 'tis true 230 

That I have never yet receiv'd from you 
Any due reverence or respective meed. 
Which all the other gods to me decreed. 
For this my heart, whose high pre-eminence 
Gives edicts to the stars, and does dispense 
The like to nature, your fine hand the while 
With earthly lusts still labours to defile ; 
And contrary to public discipline, 
And 'gainst all laws, both moral and divine, 

(57) 



Shaker ley Maf^mion [book ii 

Chiefly the Julian, thou dost fill mine eyes 240 

With many foul and close adulteries. 

For how ofttimes have I, through vain desire, 

Been chang'd to beasts, birds, serpents, and to fire? 

Which has procur'd ill censures, and much blame, 

And hurt my estimation and my fame : 

Yet being pleas'd with this thy foolish sport, 

I'm loath to leave it, though I'm sorry for 't ; 

And on condition thou wilt use thy wit 

In my behalf, and mind the benefit, 

I will perform all thy demands : if when 250 

I'hou seest fair damsels on the earth again, 

Rememb'ring thou wast brought up on my knee, 

That every such maid thou wilt bring to me.' 

Cupid assents. Then Jove bid Maya's son 
Publish a royal proclamation 

Through the precincts of heaven, and call at once 
A general council and a sessions. 
That the whole bench and race of deities. 
Should in their several ranks and pedigrees 
Repair straight to his court, this to be done 260 

In pain of Jove's displeasure, and a sum 
Of money to be laid upon his head. 
And from his lands and goods be levied, 
If any god should dare himself absent, 
For any cause, from this great parliament : 
And that whoever had his name i' th' book 
His fine, but his excuse should not be took. 
This being nois'd abroad, from everywhere 
The lesser gods came thronging out of fear, 
And the celestial theatre did thwack, 270 

That Atlas seem'd to groan under his pack. 

Then Jove out of his ivory throne did rise, 
And thus bespake them, ' Conscript Deities, 
For so the Muses, with their whitest stone. 
Have writ your names and titles every one ; 
You know my nephew Cupid, for the most 
Of us, I'm sure, have felt him to our cost ; 
Whose youthful heat I have still sought in vain. 
And his licentious riot to restrain. 

But that his lewd life be no farther spread, 280 

His lusts nor his corruptions published, 
I hold it fit that we the cause remove, 
And bind him in the fetters of chaste love : 
And since that he has made so good a choice 
Of his own wife, let each god give his voice, 

262 Ap. is precise, decern tnilliuin iiuinmuui. 
267 i.e. His fine [^should'] &c. 

274 There is much argument over the orig. ' Mit^unim albo.' But \i albo is correct 
it must mean ' in the book,' not ' with the stone.' 

(5S) 



SECT. Ill] Legend of Cupid and Psyche 

That he enjoy her, and for ever tie 
Unto himself in bands of matrimony.' 
Then unto Venus turning his bright face, 
'Daughter,' he says, ' conceive it no disgrace 
That Psyche marries with your son ; for I, 290 

That where I please give immortality. 
Will alter her condition and her state, 
• And make all equal and legitimate.' 

With that, command to IMercury was given, 
That he should fetch fair Psyche unto heaven : 
And when that she into their presence came, 
Her wondrous beauty did each god inflame. 

Then Jove reach'd forth a cup with nectar fraught, 
And bade her be immortal with the draught : 
So join'd them hand in hand, and vow'd beside, 300 

That she with her dear Cupid should abide, 
Ne'er to be separated ; and more t' enlarge 
His bounty, made a feast at his own charge, 
Where he plac'd Cupid at the upper end, 
And amorous Psyche on his bosom lean'd. 
Next sate himself and Juno, then each guest ; 
And this great dinner was by Vulcan dress'd. 
The Graces strew'd the room, and made it smile 
\Vith blushing roses and sweet flowers, the while 
The Spheres danc'd harmony. Apollo ran 310 

Division on his harp, Satyr and Pan 
Play'd on their pipes : the choir of Muses sang. 
And the vast concave of Olympus rang 
With pious acclamations to the bride. 
And joy'd that Psyche was thus deify'd. 
Hermes and Venus mov'd their graceful feet, 
And did in artificial measures meet; 
The Phrygian boy fiU'd wine at this great feast 
Only to Jove, and Bacchus to the rest. 

Thus Cupid had his Love, and not long after 320 

Her womb, by Juno's help, brought forth a daughter, 
A child by nature different from all. 
That laugh'd when she was born, and men did call 
Her Pleasure, one that does exhilarate 
Both gods and men, and doth herself dilate 
Through all societies, chiefly the best, 
Where there is any triumph, or a feast. 
She was the author that did first invent * 
All kind of sport, conceits and merriment : 
And since to all men's humours does incline, 33° 

Whether that they be sensual or divine. 

307 Vulcan as cook is Apuleian. 

325 This odd use of ' dilate ' in the sense of se repandre is not Apuleian, though it 
looks as if it might be. The orig. simply states this birth of Voluptas with no ex- 
patiation on it. 

(69) 



Shaker ley Marmion [booklii 



Is of a modest and a loose behaviour, 
And of a settled and a wanton favour ; 
Most dangerous when she appears most kind, 
For then she'll part and leave a sting behind: 
But happy they that can her still detain. 
For where she is most fix'd she is least vain. 



(60) 



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L E O L I N E 



c^ NT) 

S Y D A N I S. 

A 

ROMANCE OF 

THE AMOROVS 

Adventures of Princes: 

TOGETHER, 

WITH SVNDRY AFFE- 
CTIONATE ADDRESSES TO 

HIS MISTRESSE, UNDER THE 
NAME OF CYNTHIA. 

Written by Sir Fr: Kinnaston, h^nijrht. 

LONDON 
Printed bv T^ic. Hearne. 164.2. 

Up« vUpb U^ <J^ J^ iJjJ- UjX. J^ Uj. 1^ <-QV "-(JX- 0%.. 



.mi 



INTRODUCTION TO 
SIR FRANCIS KYNASTON 

The author of the poems that follow — poems never yet reprinted in 
modern times ' and in their original edition among the very rarest of the 
things here collected — must have been an interesting person^, and rather 
typical of the restless and eccentric flickers of genius or talent in which the 
great torch of Elizabethan poetry sank. Even in his University career, 
though it was not so very unusual then for a man to be a member of both 
Universities, there is something a little out of the common. He is prob- 
ably known ^ to many students of English literature who have never read, 
perhaps to some who have never heard of, Leoline and Sydanis, as having 
embarked on the ultra-eccentric enterprise* of translating Troilus into 
Latin rhyme-royal, a venture in which he at least ^ showed that he had 
thoroughly saturated himself with the rhythm — 

Si non sit amor, Di ! quid est quod sentio ? 
Et si sit amor, quidnam est vel quale ? 
Si bonus est, malorum unde inventio? 
Si malus est, portentum non est tale, 
Quum omnis cruciatus et letale 
Vulnus sit gratum : misera quam conditio ! 
Quanto plus bibo, tanto magis sitio. 

Dr. Skeat ' prefers the English ' (not in the case of this stanza, it is true, for 
he only quotes the opening one) and welcome ; but why not like both ? 
There is a great charm, and also a not small lesson, in the way in which 
Latin, not too classically treated, adapts itself to modern measures : and for 

' Hazlitt quotes a reprint of four years later (1646) than the original (which is 
itself not in the Bodleian) as sold sixty years ago for £i, 15s. od. The actual copy 
of the 1642 issue -which is reproduced here I owe to the extreme kindness of 
Professor Firth, who lent it to me for the purpose, from his remarkable collection 
of books of this period. 

- Francis Kynaston, or Kinaston, was born at Oteley in Shropshire as early as 
1587 ; matriculated at Oriel in 1601 ; took his B.A. from its satellite St. Mary Hall 
in 1604 ; transferred himself to Cambridge, and took his M.A. from Trinity there 
in 1609 ; was reincorporated at Oxford two years later ; was knighted in 1618 ; sat in 
Parliament for his native county from 1621 ; was proctor at Cambridge in 1635 ; 
and died in 1642. 

2 From the brief note of Professor Skeat in his Chaucer, vol. ii, p. Ixxviii (Oxford, 
1894). 

* A fairly full account of this will be found, with numerous quotations, in the 
Retrospective Review, xii. 106 sq. 

' I do not think this version of the famous ' If no love is ' so contemptible. 

(64) 



Introduction 

my part I wish that Kynaston, instead of stopping at the second book, had 
come not only to the surrender of Cressid but the lament of Troilus. 

In the very same year — 1635 — with this, he had embarked on a still more 
ambitious, and a much more costly enterprise by starting, in his own house 
in Bedford Street, Covent Garden, a private but chartered Academy or 
Museum Minervae^ in which he and certain of his friends were Professors, 
which aimed at scientific as well as literary study, which was actually 
visited^ by the two young princes (afterwards Charles and James the 
Second) and their sister Mary (afterwards Princess of Orange) ; and which 
seems to have continued in some sort of working order till he died, at a 
time when England began to trouble itself with worse things than 
Academies. This institution — so odd-looking now, so normal in its 
abnormality at the time between Bacon and Cowley, between the insti- 
tution of the French Academy and of the English Royal Society— Kynaston 
seems to have taken very seriously, assuring the elder Universities (with 
one of which v. sup. he was at the moment officially connected) that no 
offensive rivalry was intended. 

His English poems were not published till 1642, the year of his death, 
though the Imprimatur at the end of Cynthiades is dated a year earlier. 
Ellis gave two of these shorter things ^ both beautiful, in his Specimens^ 
but with no critical remarks either upon them or upon the romance. 
The Retrospective Reviewer does not seem to have taken the trouble even 
to glance at Leoline or the Cytithia poems, dismissing the former with 
' which Peck commends ' : and Sir Egerton Brydges in the Censura 
Literaria^, justly calling Ellis's excerpts 'exquisite,' adding another, and 
giving an account of Leoline, supplies hardly any criticism, and never 
seems to have thought of adding, to his reprints of Hall and Stanley, 
Kynaston, whose poetical attraction is perhaps above that of the first and 
scarcely inferior to that of the second. Singer, at least in his more pudibund 
moods such as that in which he edited Marmion, would hardly have been 
likely even to attempt Leoline and Sydanis. So that this President of the 
Museum of Minerva and past master (despite his disclaimers in the over- 
ture) in the arts of her lovelier sister, has been left for us, almost unmeddled 
with. 

There is, in fact, a certain amount of what is called ' loose ' and ' free ' 
handling in this Heroic Poem : and the looseness and freedom are not 
quite atoned for by the passionate beauty (not to say of Vefius and Adonis) 
of such poems as Britain's Ida : though it is clear from the Cynthia pieces 
that Kynaston could have achieved this had he chosen. The defect, however, 

' Kynaston wrote for this occasion, and published, a masque entitled Corona 
Minervae. 

2 * Do not conceal' and 'April is past.' ^ ii. 333- 

11. ( 65 ) F . . 



Sir Francis Ky7iaston 



is not without its compensating interest. Of its very nature the kind lent itself 
to burlesque, as the Italians had seen and shown : and though Leoline 
and Sydanis is serious in the main, it is quite obvious that Kynaston has 
sometimes dropped, and only fair to him to conclude that he has dropped 
purposely, into passages at least of that mock-heroic which has always 
indulged itself in a certain 'breadth' of treatment. And after all there is 
no hanging matter in his licences of fancy and language. 

On the other hand, there is in Leoline and Sydanis much matter not for 
hanging but for crowning : while the Cynthiades are full of the special 
nectar of the period. The longer poem is said vaguely to be ' founded 
on the legendary history of Wales and Ireland ' [Erinland in the poem], a 
point on which my extremely limited knowledge of the matter prevents me 
from giving any information or opinion. It is at any rate certain that 
any one, tolerably acquainted with romances, could have written it without 
knowing one item of the legendary history either of Ireland or Wales. 
The lovers, he the son of a king, she the daughter of a duke, are united at 
the very beginning — an exceptional, but not so very exceptional start— and 
defrauded of their union by a wicked French marquis (whose offensive 
name shows true English animus). Sydanis, who is falsely thought to have 
murdered her husband, escapes to Ireland, and is established, disguised as a 
boy (here the favourite seventeenth century touch imitated from Viola 
through Bellario comes in), as page to the Princess Mellefant under the 
name of Amanthis. Leoline also comes to Ireland and falls in love 
(thinking Sydanis dead) with Mellefant. He conducts his wooing through 
Amanthis, who turns it to her own advantage, and substitutes herself for the 
Princess. He discovers his mistake after a sufficient amount of confusion 
and knightly adventure : and all ends happily. 

The grave and precise may be shocked at the freedom ot treatment 
above referred to : and another class of critics may be as much or more 
ofended by the oscillation between the serious and the comic, and the 
occasional flatness and bathos to which it partly leads. But Kynaston tells 
his story by no means ill ' : and for all the affectation of nonchalance and 
something more which appears here, and in the Preface of Cynthia (a non- 
chalance which reminds us of Suckling, and which was to degenerate into 
something much worse in the next generation), shows that he is the same 

^ It runs very much more clearly than most of the Heroic plots. The weak point 
is the author's neglect to give a more plausible air (i) to Sydanis's continued 
concealment of herselt when she is almost discovered by Leoline ; (2) to her 
fabrication of a compromising statement against herself in connexion with the 
rascally Marquis ; (3) to her extraordinarily rash handing over of the ring, when she 
has got it, to her rival. All these no doubt add to the interest of the story; and what 
is more, they could all be explained consistently with it ; but Kynaston does not take 
the trouble to explain them. However, since similar lapses are common in the 
abundantly practised, and almost veteran, drama of the period, it is not wonderful that 
they should appear in the comparatively experimental and infantine narrative. 

(66) 



Iiitroduction 

as the Cynthia-poet after all. I have barred myself citation : but if the 
reader will turn to the pages where Amanthis fears she has overreached 
herself, I am much mistaken if he will not find there some real passion, 
and what is more, some real delicacy. Indeed she — or rather Sydanis — 
is quite a nice girl — much too good for Leoline : and her proceeding, 
though in line with that of Helena in All's Well that Ends Well, seems to 
me to escape, almost if not altogether, the taint which hangs upon that of 
Shakespeare's only disagreeable heroine '. 

Kynaston's diction is, like his general faire, a little mixed : but on the 
whole it is Spenserian with a fresh dose of Chaucerisms, suiting his 
selection of the rhyme-royal as his stanza. He does not manage this consum- 
mately as a rule, but he manages it fairly : and though he never quite gets 
out of it its unrivalled powers of ' plangency,' or its full comic (at least bur- 
lesque) force, he makes of it a fluent and easy medium. 

If, however, it were not for the Cynthiades, Kynaston would be chiefly 
interesting as a contributor, rather good than bad, to that corpus of ' Heroic ' 
poetry of which we spoke in the general introduction, and for his Chaucer- 
ism. But 'Cynthia' is here regent of a choir which, with a few ugly 
exceptions, is worthy even of her name. An excellent judge, and one than 
whom none is less tainted with any drop of the blood of Philistia, expressed 
to me a slight fear that the length and solidity of the two poems 
which opened our first volume and made up some two-thirds of its sub- 
stance, would appear to the general reader what in his lighter moods 
that reader himself calls ' stodgy.' I fear I have again dared this result by 
opening the present with another ' long ' though a short-long poem. But 
most of its constituents will more than make up for this : and Kynaston, I 
think, does not ill deserve- — considering his merit and his long occultation — 
to lead the way in this respect. He has, almost to the full, that intense 
poignancy, that ever-repeated pang of peculiar pleasure, which these poets 
give to the true lover of poetry, and which is hardly given by any others. And 
it is curious how in his masterpieces — those given (one imperfectly) by Ellis, 
that '^ added by Sir Egerton, and others — his favourite and most successful 
method of exhibiting this pang is that of expostulation, of negative im- 
ploring and deprecation, of as it were enumerating the blessings and the de- 
lights which his mistress can give, and spicing the enumeration with fear 
that she will not give them. 

Do not conceal thy radiant eyes, 
The star-light of serenest skies, 

' Both have the excuses, first of legal and ecclesiastical right, and secondly 
of the legal and ecclesiastical importance attached to consummation. But Helena 
knows that Bertram would not knowingly have touched her : while Sydanis has 
Leoline's assurance of love and regret. 

* The ' Dear Cynthia ' cited inf. 

( 67 ) F 2 



Sir Fra7tcis Kyjtaston 

and so forth, he cries in this poem — 

April is past : then do not shed, 

Nor do not waste in vain 
Upon the mother's earthy bed 

Thy tears of silver rain. 

in another. Or hear him in a third entreat 

Dear Cynthia, thou that bearest the name 
Of the pale queen of Night, 

not to change as her namesake changes. To me at least this shadow of 
anxiety, this nervous realization of the exquisite possibilities and the 
envious probability that may frustrate them, has an extraordinary charm. 
It is of course in itself fanciful, metaphysical, conceited, decadent, what 
you will : but it is intensely and essentially poetic. It is, in fact, only 
another form of that famous Renaissance mixture of the yew and the roses 
of Love and Death, which is the secret of Donne, and of many another singer : 
but it wears this mixed wreath with a sufficient difference. 'Morbid ' if you 
like : ' false wit ' if you like : ' insincere ' if you like : ' ornament without 
substance ' if you like : many other opprobrious epithets and phrases may be 
thrown at it. But they will all wither very soon : and the poetry at which 
they are flung will abide, and be ready to administer the sting of beauty, 
the ' faradization ' of the imaginative-voluptuous, the vis superba formae in 
this particular variety, to the fit recipient, whensoever he presents himself. 

' The spelling of the original is rather modern for its date, the chief variations 
from norm, themselves most irregularly observed, being unnecessary final I's and e's, 
italic proper names, and initial capitals. But there is one peculiarity which is so 
much more uniform than in other cases that I have thought it desirable to retain 
it, and that is the use of the short / form in participles, so fondly dear to Tennyson 
and others. Kynaston is also constant to ' bin ' in places where an over-ingenious 
excuse which occurred to me {v. inf. ) will not hold : so this also is kept. The text 
is so utterly virgin of editing that I have ventured to make the notes rather fuller 
than elsewhere. — I may perhaps add that, while these pages were in the press, I was 
able to secure a copy of Kynaston's Twiltis. I shall not say with ' Ed. Foulis Equitis 
et Baronetti filius Coll. Om. An. Socius' that ' none sees Chaucer but in Kinaston." 
But I have found Chaucer by no means too much disfigured in Kynaston, and I do not 
think that Kynaston ' lost his Latin ' upon Chaucer. 



(68) 



To the Reader 



An Epistle before a Book is as 
ordinary' as a Bush before a Tavern, 
and as unnecessary if either the wine or 
the book be good : The Author would 
have written a Dedicatory' if he had 
known to whom; for the candid 
intelligent buyer, or reader of his book, 
there needs no compliment * : to the 
Ignorant or malevolent he cannot 
descend so low as to use any. He 
therefore instead of an Epistle prefixes 
an Apology for the buyers of his book ^, 
and not the readers of freecost : first, 
for that he having by him many pieces 
of real and solid learning ready written 
for the press, he exposes this toy and 
trifle to the world's view and censure : 
next, that he being old * and stricken 
in years, doth write of love and such 
idle devices. For the first, he observes 
that Ballads, and twelvepenny Pam- 
phlets, are a more current commodity 
than books of a greater bulk and 
better note, and like light French stuffs, 
are sooner bought than cloth of Gold 
or Tissue, which is not for every one's 



wearing : for the second, he consider- 
ing that many elder men than he do 
wear lovelocks and fancies, he entering 
into his second and worst childhood 
may of course be excused, if as in his 
first he was taken with hobby-horses, 
rattles, and babies : so like old men, 
who do but Clariiis ineptire, he dotes ^ 
upon women and beauties, and such 
things, of which they can commonly 
make little or no use. It is very true, 
that a lady's beauty, with whom he was 
scarcely acquainted, begot these lighter 
fancies in his head, with whom if he 
had been really in love, perhaps he 
would have written more and better 
lines. It may be said of him, that 
Agnoscit veteris vestigia flaniinae, but 
those fires are now rak'd up in embers, 
his Couvre-feu Bell being already 
rung : since he that writ these lines 
could have writ worse, these perhaps 
may please some courteous ® favourable 
judgements, to whom only he presents 
and recommends them. 



1 ' Dedicatory ' without ' epistle ' occurs even in Milton, and might well have been 

kept. 

2 Orig. ' compkment,' which would make sense, but is probably not meant. 

^ A good instance of the futility of keeping spelling. 'Book' here, 'booke' above. 

* He was only fifty-five ; but his death was actually at hand. 

* Orig. ' dote.' * Orig. ' curteous.' 



(69) 



LEOLINE AND SYDANIS 

A Romance of the 
Amorous Adventures of Princes 



STANZA I 

Fortunes of Kings, enamour'd Princes' loves, 
Who erst from Royal ancestors did spring, 
Is the high subject that incites and moves 
My lowly voice in lofty notes to sing 
Of Leoline, son to a mighty King, 
And of a Princess, Sydanis the fair, 
Who were the world's incomparable pair. 

II 
You learned Sisters of the Thespian well, 
That sweetly sing to young Apollo's lyre, 

That on Parnassus' forked top do dwell, lo 

And Poets with prophetic rage inspire ; 
Accept my humble Muse into your Quire, 
My labouring breast with noble raptures fill, 
And on my lines Castalian drops distill. 

Ill 
Your aid I need in this great enterprise, 
Be you my guides, and give direction. 
For all too weak are my abilities 
To bring this Poem to perfection ; 
Let each Muse of her part then make election, 
And while of Love Clio sings loud and clear, 20 

Melpomene the tragic base must bear. 

IV 

And be not absent thou, all-puissant Love, 

Thy favour I implore above the rest, 

Thou wilt my best enthusiasms prove, 

If with thy flames thou warm my trembling breast ; 

And though among thy servants I am least. 

Yet thy high raptures may sublime my fame. 

And blow my spark up to a glorious flame. 

v 
For without thee impossible it is. 

Of lovers' joys, or passions to endite : 30 

He needs of feats of arms must speak amiss, 
That ne'er saw battle, nor knew how to fight. 
Then how may I of lovers say aright, 

24 enthusiasms] Orig. ' enthousiasmes.* 
(70) 



Leoline and Sydanis 



Or feelingly discourse of them, unless 

Myself had known some joy, and some distress. 

VI 

Therefore since I for each true lover's sake, 

And for the advancement of true love's affairs, 

Am ready prest this task to undertake ; 

Assist me, all Love's servants, with your prayers, 

That neither cold old age, with snowy hairs, 40 

May cool or quench that pure aethereal fire. 

With which youth's heat did once my soul inspire. 

VII 

And since, for every purpose under Sun, 

There is a time and opportunity, 

Pray that this work of mine may be begun 

When as there be aspects of unity 

'Twixt Mars and Venus, and a clear immunity 

From frosty Saturn's dismal dire aspect, 

And every Planet in his course direct. 

VIII 

When Mercury, Lord of the hour and day, 50 

Shall in his house diurnal potent be, 

Not slow, nor yet combust : then also pray 

He may be in a fortunate degree, 

And in no dark void Azimen, that he. 

Conjoined with Sol, in the tenth house, may thence 

Infuse invention, wit and eloquence. 

IX 

That so each love-sick heart, and amorous mind, 

That shall this Romance read, remarking it. 

May remedy, or some such passage find 

As him, or her, in the right vein may hit. 60 

And now having thus pray'd, I think it fit. 

That you no longer should the story miss, 

Of Leoline and beauteous Sydanis. 

X 

Before proud Rome's victorious legions knew 

The Britains, by blue Neptune's arm divided 

From the whole world, before they did subdue 

The Island Albion, when as Consuls guided 

Their Commonwealth, by whom it was decided 

What tribute was impos'd on every State, 

Tradition and old Annals thus relate. 70 

38 prest] Not 'pressed,' but a duplicate of ' ready,' ' prompt.' 

46, 47 ' Immunity' and 'unity.' like "election ' and ' perfection' above, exhibit that 
licence of what we may call ' rhyme length ' which is so common in Wyatt, and which 
even Spenser does not relinquish. It is not a beauty— but sometimes almost 
a ' beauty-s/>o^' 

55 Azimen] Kynaston is as Chaucerian in his faithfulness to astrology as in other 
things. But hzwnen is not in Chaucer. 

65 Britains] Orig. ' Brittains.' K.miz;§'/«/ mean this as = 'Britannias' : but the phrase 
is in favour of ' Britanno^,' and ' Britons." And so inf. 

(71) 



Sir Francis Kyiiaston 



XI 

On the Virgivian Ocean's foaming shore, 
Down at the mountain Snowdon's rocky foot, 
Whose cloud-bound head with mists is ever hoar, 
So high, the sight can scarcely reach unto't, 
Against whose brows the forked lightning shoot, 
A stately Castle stood, whilome the seat 
Of th'old Britains' King, Arvon the great. 

XII 

This King upon Beumaris, his fair Queen, 

Begot a Prince, whose name was Leoline, 

In whom so many graceful parts were seen, 80 

As if the Heavens and Nature did combine 

To make a face and personage divine. 

For Jove and Venus I imagine were 

Conjoined in his horoscope yfere. 

XIII 

By whose benign and powerful influence. 

Which governs our affections here below, 

And in Love's actions hath pre-eminence. 

Prince Leoline incited was to go 

(His Fortune and the gods would have it so) 

To a fair city, in those days much fam'd, 90 

Which from Duke Leon, Carleon was nam'd. 

XIV 

This city was not only celebrated 

For riches brought by sea from all the West, 

But for a Temple (as shall be related) 

To Venus, unto whom a solemn feast 

Was yearly made, to which the worthiest best 

Of Knights and Ladies came, and who did come, 

If not before, from it went Lovers home. 

XV 

And so unto this Prince it did befall, 

Who viewing of those Ladies did repair loo 

As votaries to this great festival ; 

He was aware of Sydanis the fair, 

Duke Leon's only daughter, and his heir, 

Who ofiTring sacrifice at Venus' shrine, 

Did seem the goddess to Prince Leoline. 

XVI 

More lovely fair she was than can be told, 
So glorious and resplendent her array. 
Her tresses flow'd like waves of liquid gold, 
Burnisht by rising Titan's morning ray, 

75 lightning] sic in orig. It may be either a misprint or intended as pluraL 
77 th'old] Here is another instance of the mania for elision and ' apostrophation,' 
in spite of the fact that the full syllabic value of ' the ' is indispensable metrically. 
87 yfere] = ' together,' Chaucerian and Lydgatian. 
100 did] -^ ' that did.' 

(7O 



Leo line and Sydanis 



From her eyes broke the early dawning day : no 

A coral portal plac'd above her chin, 
Inclos'd a bed of orient pearl within. 

XVII 

A carquenet her neck encircled round 

Of ballast rubies, cut in form of hearts, 

Which were with true-love knots together bound, 

Of gold enamel'd, pierct with Cupid's darts. 

From which small pendants by the workman's arts 

Were made, which on her naked skin did show 

Like drops of blood new fallen upon the snow. 

XVIII 

More of her beauties will I not relate, 120 

Of which the young Prince was enamoured. 

It was the Gods' decree, and will of Fate, 

Prince Leoline fair Sydanis should wed, 

And both be joined in one nuptial bed : 

Nor speak I of their marriage royalties. 

Which were as great as man's wit could devise. 

XIX 

The tiltings, jousts, and tournaments by day. 

The masques and revels on the wedding night. 

The songs to which prophetic Bards did play. 

With many other objects of delight, 130 

(All which this History embellish might,) 

I will omit, since eachwhere of that kind 

You may in books frequent descriptions find. 

XX 

For in this match the Fates seem'd to portend 

Millions of joys, myriads of happy hours. 

That on their heads and beds there might descend 

All blessings that come down from heavenly powers, 

No Star malignant on their nuptials lowers. 

For Hymen all his virgin torches lighted. 

When first these princely lovers' troths were plighted. 140 

XXI 

But O false world ! O wretched state unstable 

Of mortal men ! O frail condition ! 

O bliss more vain than any dream, or fable ! 

O brittle joy, even lost in the fruition ! 

O doubtful truth ! O certain true suspicion ! 

O bitter-sweetest love, that let'st us know. 

That first or last thou never wantest woe ! 

XXII 

For if there be no lets in the obtaining 
Of a man's honour'd mistress, and her love, 

113 carquenet] This form of the more common and correct ' carcanet' seems worth 
keeping, as well as 'ballast' for ' balas ' in the next line. The latter at least may 
come from a real confusion as to the meaning and etymology. 

133 frequent] The adjective with the verbal accent. 

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Sir Fra?icis Kynaston 



Yet still there are crosses enough remaining, 150 

Which neither force nor foresight can remove, 
That to his joys a sad allay will prove, 
And make him know it is a truth confest, 
That no one thing on every side is blest. 

XXIII 

But to the matter shortly now to go, 

That day the Prince did wed his beauteous bride, 

As then the custom was, he did bestow 

Rich scarfs, and points, and many things beside, 

Which in fine curious knots were knit and tied ; 

And as his royal favours, worn by those 160 

Whom he to grace his princely nuptials chose. 

XXIV 

Favours are oft, unhappily, by chance 

Bestow'd : for 'mongst those courtiers that did wear 

The Prince's points, a Marquess was of France, 

Who for some heinous fact he had done there, 

Hang'd in effigie, fled from France for fear, 

And so for refuge to Carleon came. 

Monsieur Marquis Jean Foutre was his name. 

XXV 

Who though he had a farinee face. 

Thereto a bedstaff leg, and a splay foot, 170 

By angry nature made in man's disgrace, 

Which no long slop, nor any ruffled boot 

Could mend, or hide, for why, they could not do't. 

Though his mouth were a wide world without end, 

His shape so ugly, as no art could mend — 

XXVI 

Although his weathervvise autumnal joints, 

As if they wanted Nature's ligaments. 

Did hang together, as if tied by points. 

Though most deformed were his lineaments ; 

Yet fouler was his mind, and base intents, 180 

His matchless impudence, which appear'd in this, 

That he made love to beauteous Sydanis. 

XXVII 

So by the canker-worm the fragrant rose 

Is tainted : so the serene wholesome air 

By black contagion, pestilential grows. 

As she by this base wretch, who thought to impair 

The chastity of one so matchless fair; 

166 effigie] The Latin form and case doubtless meant. 

168 The offensiveness of this nomenclature and description may be noted. 

169 farinee] The full syllabic value of the French kept. I do not know where else 
it occurs for ' powdered ' or ' meal- coloured.^ 

172 slop] Remember that this word for long, loose trousers, not as sometimes 
= ' frock,' is specially noted as French in Shakespeare {R. If J. 11. iv). 

176 The ' weatherwise autumnal joint,' if not in the highest degree poetical, is all too 
i;ertainly an acute and acutely phrased criticism of life. 

(74) 



ILeoline and Sydanis 

But his foul base intents being once detected, 
Were with all scorn and just disdain rejected. 

XXVIII 

In dire revenge thereof, that day the bands iqo 

Were made between Prince Leoline and his bride; 

As the Arch-flamen joined had their hands, 

And made them one, which no man ought divide, 

Upon the Prince's point this caitiff tied 

A magic knot, and muttered a spell, 

Which had an energetic force from hell. 

XXIX 

For by it was he maleficiated. 

And quite depriv'd of all ability 

To use a woman, as shall be related, 

For Nature felt an imbecility, 200 

Extinguishing in him virility : 

The sad events whereof to set before ye, 

Is as the dire Praeludium to our story. 

XXX 

Now at that instant the Prince felt no change, 
When as the charm was spoke, nor alteration 
Within his mind or body ; for so strange 
Was the effect of the said incantation, 
As that it wrought in him no perturbation. 
But woe is me ! the damned hellish spite 
Was first discern'd upon the wedding night. 



210 



XXXI 

For then this princely couple being laid 

Together in their hymenaeal bed, 

And prayers to all the nuptial gods being said, 

To Domiduca, that her home had led : 

To Virginalis, that her maidenhead 

Might without pain be lost, and suddenly, 

To Subiga, that she might quiet lie. 

XXXII 

And lastly, that Pertunda by her power 

The Princess would endue with fruitfulness, 

That she would still make fortunate the hour 220 

Of her conception, and her labour bless. 

Preventing all abortion, barrenness. 

And now, all these devotions being said. 

The Bride no longer was to be a Maid. 

197 maleficiated] The correct technical expression. K. has also some justification 
in making a Frenchman select the form of magic malice for which noncr V aigtiillette 
is the best-known phrase. 

218 Pertunda] This is the proper form for this member of the group of nuptial 
semi-divinities. But orig. has ' Partunda,' and K.'s assignment of her duty looks as it 
he confused her with ' Partula,' another of the bevy. 

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Sir Francis Kynaston 



XXXIII 

But though the Prince enjoy'd all sweets of sense, 

Her rosy lips, which with sweet dew did melt, 

And suckt her breath, sweet as their quintessence, 

Which like to aromatic incense smelt. 

Though he her dainty virgin beauties felt, 

Embracing of soft ivory and warm snow, 23P 

Arriv'd at her Hesperides below : 

XXXIV 

Though Venus in Love's wars hath domination, 
Sworn enemy to every maidenhead, 
And sovereign of the acts of generation, 
Whose skirmishes are fought in the field-bed, 
Although her son a troop of Cupids led ; 
Yet thus much had the dismal charm effected, 
As Venus' standard might not be erected. 

XXXV 

For when no dalliance nor provocation 

That weak opiniator part could raise ; 240 

Which Fancy and a strong imagination. 

Rather than a man's will or reason sways, 

Which rebel-like it ever disobeys ; 

The Prince's heart with shame and rage was fiU'd, 

That willingly himself he could have kill'd. 

XXXVI 

For on a sudden he left off to'embrace 

And kiss his lovely, and yet maiden bride ; 

And with a sigh he turn'd away his face 

From her, and lying on the other side, 

Under the sheet his face did eftsoons hide. 250 

At which the princely Lady, much dismay'd, 

After a while, with tears thus to him said : 

XXXVII 

' Dear Lord, if that a maid, whose innocence 

Is such and so great, as she doth not know 

How to commit a fault, or give offence 

Towards you, to whom her best love she doth owe; 

Nor yet the cause why you are alter'd so. 

That on the sudden thus you do restrain 

Your favours, turning love into disdain — 

XXXVIII 

You made me to believe, when you did woo, 260 

That I was fair, and had some loveliness : 

But ah, my beauties were too mean for you, 

Or your esteem of them, I must confess ; 

Yet in a moment they could not grow less. 

But woe is me, for now I plainly see. 

That the world and my glass have flatter'd me. 

( 76 ) 



Ljeoline and Sydanis 

XXXIX 

For with the pleasures that you have enjoy'd, 

As the chaste pledges of my nuptial bed, 

Your appetite had not so soon been cloy'd, 

Nor you on them so soon had surfeited, J 7=^ 

Which have (it seems) a loathing in you bred : 

By which I find, that human fond desire 

Is like the lightning, at once cloud and fire. 

XL 

I cannot think, but that I do molest 

Your Highness, who are us'd to lie alone, 

I must not be the cause of your unrest. 

And therefore crave your leave I may be gone, 

And leave the bed wholly to be your own : 

Only vouchsafe this case unto my sorrow. 

That I may sit by you, until to-morrow. 2S0 

XLl 

For I will watch, and to the gods will pray. 

And to your Angel tutelar, to keep 

Your person, and from you to drive away 

All thoughts and dreams of me, whenas you sleep.' 

And with that word she bitterly did weep: 

Who, as she was arising from his side. 

Holding her down, thus Leoline replied : 

XLII 

' Most divine Princely Sweetness, do not waste 

That precious odoriferous breath of yours 

In vain, nor fruitlessly away it cast, »^o 

Whose scent excels all essences of flowers : 

For could you sin against the heavenly powers, 

Or could you do a thing that might displease them, 

The incense of your breath would soon appease them. 

XLIII 

be not of a breath then so profuse. 
Can purify the air from all infection: 
Nor yet profane it so, as to accuse 
Yourself, of all rare beauties the perfection ; 

Of whom the gods themselves have made election, 

To print their forms on, to let mortals see 3co 

What their Angel-like shapes and beauties be. 

XLIV 

Yet, dearest Lady, do not think it strange, 
That though you are a paradise of bliss. 
You are the cause of this my sudden change ; 
For why, some god of you enamour'd is, 
And makes of me a metamorphosis : 
For vent'ring to enjoy what is his own, 

1 find myself already turning stone. 

(77) 



Sir Francis Kynaston 



XLV 

Or you a goddess are, whose Deity 

Till now I knew not; as Diana chaste, 310 

Whose sacred heavenly sweets, without impiety, 

By no man can be wantonly embrac't ; 

And therefore a just punishment is cast 

On my presumption, which was so much more, 

To touch you, whom I rather should adore. 

XLVI 

And therefore by your bed, as by a shrine, 

I'll kneel, as penitent for my offence, 

In my affecting of a thing divine, 

Since you an object are, whose excellence 

Is so exalted above human sense, 320 

As like the Sun, it rather doth destroy 

Sensation, than permit me to enjoy. 

XLVII 

Which though I do not, yet you still shall find, 

There is no want of love in me, no more 

Than want of beauty in your heavenly mind, 

Which I religiously shall still adore : 

And though I as a husband lov'd before, 

I'll turn Platonic lover, and admire 

Your virtue's height, to which none can aspire.' 

XLVIII 

With sighs, and such-like words, these Princes spent 330 

The wearisome and tedious night away ; 

Prince Leoline by this his compliment, 

T' excuse his want of manhood did assay : 

Thus sorrowing one by the other lay. 

Till Lucifer the morning did disclose. 

Which when they saw, they from their bed arose, 

XLIX 

And drest themselves before that any one 

Knew of it, or their rising was descried. 

Away went Leoline, and left alone 

The comfortless and lovely maiden bride : 340 

Now towards the hour of eight it did betide. 

An ancient matron to their chamber came. 

The Lady's Nurse, Merioneth was her name. 

L 

Who for the bridegroom had a cuUis brought. 

And of sweet richest Candian wine a quart, 

To cheer his spirits up : for why, she thought 

Prince Leoline might over-act his part, 

In too much using Cupid's wanton dart ; 

But seeing the blear eyes of Sydanis, 

Her heart misgave her, something was amiss. 350 

(78) 



Leoime a7td Sydanis 

LI 

And by the Princess, as she trembling stands, 
'Madam,' quoth she, 'what causes your unrest, 
That you sit weeping thus, wringing your hands? 
Doth Hymen thus begin your marriage feast? 
Is this the love your bridegroom hath exprest? 
To rise so early, leaving you alone. 
With tears and sighs his absence to bemoan.' 

LII 

Hereat the Princess, raining from her eyes 

A shower of orient pearl, richer than gold 

Jove pour'd on Danae, to her thus replies, 360 

' Dear Nurse ' (quoth she), ' my grief cannot be told, 

Words are too weak my sorrows to unfold ; 

Nor do I know a reason that might move 

My Lord to leave me, unless want of love. 

LIII 

Our feast of love (if any) was soon done ; 

So soon all worldly joys away do fleet, 

Which oft are ended as soon as begun ; 

Each earthly pleasure being a bitter sweet. 

Ah, Nurse, my Lord and I must never meet : 

Yet pray him that he would not her despise, 370 

Who from his side did a pure virgin rise.' 

LIV 

Hearing these words, Merioneth straight fell down, 
Opprest with grief unspeakable, and woe, 
For fear she well near fell into a swoune : 
For the experienc't matron did well know- 
Much mischief would ensue, if it were so, 
Or were a truth that Sydanis had said ; 
That lying with the Prince, she rose a maid. 

LV 

For that the ancient Britons then did use, 

When any bridegroom did a maiden wed, 380 

(A custom they received from the Jews,) 

To bring some linens of the bridal bed, 

To witness she had lost her maidenhead, 

Without which testimony there was none 

Believ'd to be a virgin, although one. 

LVI 

The wedding smock, or linens of the Bride, 

The married couple's parents were to see ; 

Whereon, if any drops of blood they spied, 

Rejoicing, they persuaded were, that she 

Had not till then lost her virginity. 390 

If on the linens nothing did appear, 

The bride and bridegroom straight divorced were, 

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Sir Francis Ky?taston 



LVII 

And she with shame unto her father sent, 

As one, whose chastity had been defil'd. 

And of her body was incontinent. 

Or else in secret had a bastard child ; 

And so for ever was to be exil'd 

From all pure virgins' company, whose name 

No tongue of slander justly could defame. 

LVIII 

Now what to do in this hard doubtful case ^o 

The poor perplexed matron did not know ; 

To tell the truth, would Leoline disgrace : 

And since of force the linen she must show, 

If it were best to counterfeit or no, 

(To hinder the divorce) a mark or spot. 

In sign the Prince her maidenhead had got. 

LIX 

Yet this imposture, if it were disclos'd, 

It might beget both danger and disdain : 

For why, Merioneth wisely presuppos'd, 

Although to others she a thing might feign, 410 

Yet to Prince Leoline it was but vain ; 

Who knowing his own frozen impotence, 

Would soon suspect the Lady's innocence. 

LX 

Nor was there hope the thing could be conceal'd, 

Since to King Arvon and Duke Leon's eyes 

The truth of all things was to be reveal'd, 

This being one of the solemnities. 

Which show'd how much our ancestors did prize 

A virgin's chastity ; which approbation. 

What maid declin'd, was lost in reputation. 420 

LXI 

Yet thus the Nurse resolv'd in this distress, 

Since Sydanis for three days was t'abide 

Within her chamber's close retiredness. 

As was the custom then for every Bride, 

Till they were past, nothing should be descried 

In the meanwhile it was her resolution, 

To try some powerful magical conclusion. 

LXIX 

Which was, to give a philtre or love-potion, 

That should not only cure frigidity. 

But to that secret part give strength and motion, 430 

Imparting heat unto it, and humidity. 

Both this and many another quiddity 

These credulous old women do believe, 

And to effect such purposes do give. 

432 quiddity] Though it might bear its proper sense of ' essential quality,' the 
word seems here used as= ' oddity.' 

(80) / 



Leoline and Sydanis 



LXIII 

Amongst high horrid rocks, whose rugged brows 

Do threaten surly Neptune with their frown, 

When he at them his foaming trident throws, 

Beating his high-grown surging billows down ; 

An aged learned Druid liv'd, far known 

For magic's skill, who in a lonely cell 440 

As hermit, or an anchorite did dwell. 

LXIV 

Merioneth posting to this Druid's cave. 

When of her coming she the cause had told. 

The aged sire unto the matron gave 

A liquor far more precious than gold. 

Of which the secret virtue to unfold. 

It would not only cause a strong erection. 

But working on the mind, procure affection. 

LXV 

Believing this with joy, she back returns. 

And privately to Sydanis she went, 450 

Who in her chamber like a turtle mourns : 

She fully told to her all her intent. 

And that successful would be the event, 

That Leoline those pleasures should enjoy. 

The want of which had caused her annoy. 

LXVI 

Although affection, which Art doth create. 

Is nothing worth, and of true love no part, 

But lust, which, satisfied, doth end in hate. 

Yet Sydanis to palliate the smart, 

Rather than cure the wound of her sad heart, 460 

Since of two evils she the least might choose, 

Her Nurse's counsel she will not refuse. 

LXV II 

Heaven's glorious lamp of light, that all day burn'd, 

Was now extinguisht in the western seas ; 

To dens the beasts, to nests the birds return'd. 

And night arising from th' Antipodes, 

Summon'd men from their labours to take ease. 

And drowsy sleep so soon as they repose 

With her soft velvet hands their eyes doth close — 

LXVIII 

Whenas the Prince the second night did lie 470 

By lovely Sydanis as yet a maid, 

Again in Venus' wars such force to try. 

But when that he with her in bed was laid. 

And had (but all in vain) all means essay'd. 

Finding that his virility was gone. 

He grievously began to sigh and groan. 

II. ( 8i ) G 



Sir Fra72cis Kynast07t 



LXIX 

The Princess hearing, mildly pray'd him tell 

His cause of grief, that she might bear her part. 

' Madam ' (quoth Leoline), ' I am not well, 

I feel a deadly pain about my heart : 480 

Oh might it please the gods, Death's ebon dart 

(Ere the approach of the next rising morrow) 

Might free me from this world, and you from sorrow. 

LXX 

For while I live you'll be unfortunate. 

And in sad discontentment will grow old, 

For (oh my stars) such is my wretched fate, 

1 like a miser keep a heap of gold. 

For no use else, but only to behold ; 

Possessing an unvalu'd treasure, which 

Being put to use, the whole world would enrich. 4go 

LXX I 

But now of ladies you most excellent. 

Be pleas'd to hear and pardon what I say : 

In wars to seek a death is my intent, 

For ere the beams of the next morning's ray, 

I from your dearest self must part away. 

And when that I am dead you shall see clearly. 

That (though I leave you) yet I lov'd you dearly.' 

LXX 1 1 

What tongue can tell the grief of Sydanis, 

When as Prince Leoline^ without remorse. 

Had given her his last sad parting kiss, 500 

And death must them eternally divorce, 

So that unless the magic potion's force, 

The Prince's resolution did prevent. 

She thought nought else could alter his intent. 

LXXIII 

Therefore with broken sighs and many a tear, 

She as the Prince was ready for to rise. 

To speak to him once more could not forbear, 

Though to her words, grief utterance denies. 

She show'ring down a deluge from her eyes 

Which down her cheeks in silver rivers ran, 510 

With no less modesty than grief began : 

LXXIV 

' My Lord ' (quoth she), * your will is a command. 
And shall by me most humbly be obey'd ; 
Which, though I could, I ought not to withstand. 
But yet be pleas'd to think, that you have laid 
Upon the frailty of a silly maid 
So insupportable a weight of woe. 
As our weak sex it cannot undergo. 

8a) 



Leoli?ie and Sydanis 



LXXV 

Whate'er is writ of Grissel's patience, 

Or Roman Martia's, when she lost her son, 520 

(Whose grief was lessened by the eloquence 

Of Seneca) by me would be outdone. 

Nay, all those ladies that such fame have won 

For manly fortitude, I should outvie, 

Could I endure my sorrow and not die. 

LXXVI 

But that 's impossible, it cannot be ; 

Since you, who are my soul's soul, who instead 

Of longer animating it or me, 

Will straight depart, leaving me doubly dead. 

You from my soul, it from me being fled : 530 

By which you shall a demonstration see, 

Proving a human soul's mortality. 

LXXVI I 

Now when, like dear departing friends, the soul 

And body from each other are to part. 

The learn'd physician seeming to control 

Th' approach of death, some cordial gives by's art. 

That for a while revives the dying part : 

Here is a drink, which if you please to taste 

And drink to me, your pledge shall be my last.' 

LXXVIII 

Prince Leoline, with sighs and sorrow dry, 540 

Only to quench his thirst with it did think : 

But having drunk it, he immediately 

(Such was the force of the enchanted drink) 

As one stark dead into his bed did sink ; 

Where senseless without motion he did lie, 

As one new fallen into an ecstasy. 

LXXIX 

Th' amazed Princess thinking he was dead, 

Opprest with grief, she suddenly fell dov/n. 

The spectacle such horror in her bred, 

That with a shriek she fell into a swoune : 550 

Which her Nurse hearing, and the cause unknown, 

Unto the Prince's bedside ran in haste. 

Being ignorant as yet of what had past : 

LXXX 

And finding how these princes speechless lay. 

It was no time nor boot for to complain. 

To bring them back to life she doth assay, 

And first with Sydanis she taketh pain, 

Who after much ado reverts again. 

Which being done, they both together join 

Their labours, to revive Prince Leoline. 560 

( 83 ) G 2 



Sir Francis Kynaston 

LXXXI 

But all in vain ; for after that they two, 
For his recovery all means had tried, 
And finding at the last nothing would do, 
They thought it would be death there to abide, 
And therefore some disguise they would provide, 
That friended by the darkness of the night, 
They might the more securely take their flight. 

LXXXII 

A woman's wit, which in extremities 

Is present, and upon the sudden best, 

For Sydanis, a proper neat disguise 570 

To her old Nurse's thoughts doth straight suggest, 

Who forthwith went and opened a chest. 

In an out-room near where the pages lay, 

One of whose suits she eftsoons brought away. 

LXXXIII 

In this neat, fit, and handsome page's suit, 

No sooner was fair Sydanis array'd, 

But as she more advisedly did view 't, 

Upon the sudden she was much dismayed, 

And of herself began to be afraid, 

When on the hose before (a fashion then) 58c 

She saw a thing was only worn by men. 

LXXXIV 

A shape undecent made by tailor's art, 

Of secrecies, which Nature bids us hide. 

Which as a case seem'd of that privy part. 

Great Julius Caesar cover'd when he died : 

To look upon it she could not abide, 

It did so much her modesty perplex. 

As now she wish'd to change both clothes and sex. 

LXXXV 

And needs she would undress herself again, 

Of that immodest habit to be rid ; 590 

But her old Nurse her purpose did restrain ; 

Besides, the present danger did forbid 

That act, since no way else she could be hid : 

The doing of it therefore she forbears. 

Which vex'd her mind, more than secur'd her fears. 

LXXXV I 

Accoutred thus, and ready to be gone, 

The Princess only for her Nurse doth stay : 

Who without scruple instantly put on 

The clothes Prince Leoline on 's wedding day 

Had worn, and drest herself without delay : 600 

Nor were the breech or codpiece to her view 

Unpleasing, who so well the linings knew. 

(84) 



Leoline and Sydanis 



LXXXVII 

And now as they were ready for to go, 
The reverend Nurse by reason of her age, 
Had counsell'd, and had ordered things so. 
She should be Lord, and Sydanis her Page. 
Thus like two birds new got out of a cage. 
To fly away with all speed they intend, 
And to the Druid's cave their course to bend. 

LXXXVIII 

Yet before that the woful Sydanis 6io 

Could part away, she could it not forbear 

On Leoline's cold lips to print a kiss, 

And wash his face with many a briny tear: 

By all the gods she solemnly did swear, 

(For her excuse) she never once did think 

That she had given to him a deadly drink, 

LXXXIX 

To clear herself, the poor officious Nurse 

Strong argument and many reasons brought. 

But what was bad before, is now much worse. 

She of the magic potion takes a draught, 620 

Which on her vital powers so strangely wrought, 

That all the spirits from her heart were fled, 

And she upon the floor fell down as dead. 

xc 
Th' affrighted Princess, that before might think 
Her Lord might on an apoplexy die, 
Or some apostume, now is sure, the drink 
Was th' only cause of this mortality : 
Griev'd for her Nurse's fond credulity. 
Who drinking it, had made her griefs far more, 
Doubling the sorrows that she had before. 630 

xci 
No tongue of rhetorician can express 
Her patience, which such mischiefs could abide : 
Her perturbations only one may guess 
Who in perpetual fear to be descried 
Must without any company or guide. 
Through solitude and darkness of the night. 
Unto a place uncertain take her flight. 

XCII 

But she must go : for fear now bids her fly. 

And to the Druid's Cave to post in haste, 

And so to put her life in jeopardy, 640 

Rather than to be sure to die at last. 

Through desert rocks, and byways having past, 

Her Genius not permitting her to stray. 

She there arrived ere the break of day. 

620 draught] Orig. 'drought,' which is rather too large a licence of eye-rhyme. 
625 This use of ' on ' is noteworthy. 631 rhetorician] Orig. ' Rhethorican. 

(85) 



Sir Francis Kynaston 



XCIII 

Ent'ring with trembling feet the horrid cave, 

Morrogh the Druid to her did appear, 

Like a ghost sitting in a dead man's grave 

Or darksome vault : who did no sooner see her, 

But beck'ning to the Princess to come near, 

The awful silence of his cell he brake, 650 

And in few words to Sydanis thus spake. 

xciv 
' Thou lovely-seeming youth, who in disguise 
Art come, and art not what thou seem'st in show, 
As if thou couldst deceive my aged eyes, 
Who both thee and thy cause of coming know; 
Oh let no fond belief delude thee so, 
As make thee think thou canst not be descried, 
Or that from me thy secrets thou canst hide. 

xcv 
Thou art a hapless lady, lately wed 

Unto Prince Leoline, whose wretched state 66d 

(Wanting the pleasures of thy marriage bed) 
I could relieve, and would commiserate, 
Wer't not for the inveterate just hate 
I bear King Arvon, who me here confin'd 
To live a wretch exil'd from all mankind. 

xcvi 
Therefore to be reveng'd upon his son, 
For his unjust and cruel father's sake. 
Know, Sydanis, that I the deed have done : 
I did the deadly poisonous potion make 

Which thou didst cause Prince Leoline to take ; 670 

For whose dire murder thou wilt be detected. 
Since no one else but thee can be suspected. 

XCVII 

Nor is thy nurse, that came unto my cell 
(Whose death as well as Leoline's doth grieve thee) 
As now alive, the truth of things to tell : 
There is but one way left now to relieve thee. 
And therefore take the counsel that I give thee, 
Fly straight beyond seas, for before sunrise. 
Men will be here thy person to surprise.' 

XCVIII 

The Druid's words, like the death- boding notes 680 

Of the night raven, or the ominous owl, 

Sent from their dismal hollow-sounding throats ; 

Or like the noise of dogs by night, that howl 

At the departing of a sick man's soul : 

Such terror into Sydanis did strike. 

As never tender lady felt the like. 

673 cell] Oddly misprinted in orig. ' Nell.' 
( 86 ) 



Ljeoli7ie a7id Sydanis 



XCIX 

What she should do, or whither she should go, 

The poor distressed Sydanis not knew, 

If undescried she could take ship or no, 

And thereupon what dangers might ensue; 690 

Therefore with visage deadly pale of hue, 

' O Druid, let me die at once,' she says ; 

'And not so often, and so many ways. 

c 

And here I'll die ; thy cell shall be my grave : 

Before thee all my misery shall end. 

So as if any come into thy cave 

And find me here, they may thee apprehend 

And with wild horses thee in pieces rend : 

Inflicting several deaths on thy each limb. 

For murdering a Prince, and me in him.' 700 

CI 

As Sydanis these passionate words spake. 
All ready was her nimble flickering ghost 
Her body's beauteous mansion to forsake. 
And towards the blest Elysian fields to post ; 
All sense of this world's miseries were lost : 
Yet this her sad departure seem'd most sweet, 
That there again she Leoline should meet. 

CII 

But now the Druid, who unto the height 

Had wrought her grief, resolv'd to hold his hand, 

And suddenly to alleviate that weight 710 

Of woe opprest her, takes a frozen wand, 

With which, and magic spells, he could command 

The Furies, Fates, Nymphs, Furies, and what else 

In the Sea's deeps, or Earth's dark bosom dwells. 

Explicit pars prima. 



cm 
Bright beauty's goddess. Aphrodite styl'd, 
From whitest froth of the sea billows sprung, 
O Jove's most lovely, best-beloved child. 
Who evermore continuest fresh and young. 
Assistant be to that which here is sung. 

And guide my Muse, which now the land forsakes, 720 

And to the stormy seas herself betakes. 

704 Elysian] Orig. ' Elisium.' 

713 The repetition of ' Furies' maybe a mere'oversight, or more probably a misprint 
in one case for ' Fairies,' 

(87) 



Sir Francis Kynaston 



CIV 

Sweet-singing Sirens, you who so enchant 

The pilot and the hst'ning mariner, 

As the one's head, the other's hand doth want 

Abilities the rudder for to steer. 

Receive a beauty to you without peer. 

That puts to sea, whose orient teeth and lips 

Doth shed your coral, and your pearl eclipse. 

cv 
For now the Druid took her in his arms, 
Which never yet so sweet a burthen bore, 730 

Waving his rod with strange and hideous charms, 
Whilest near the water he stood on the shore, 
A spectacle appear'd ne'er seen before : 
For Amphitrite, the great Queen of Seas, 
Appear'd with twelve Sea-Nymphs, Nereides. 

cvi 
Here I should tell you how this glorious Queen 
Sate in a chariot, no man's eye e'er saw 
So rare a one ; her robes were of sea-green, 
Her coach four Hippopotami did draw, 

Who fear'd no gust, nor tempests' angry flaw. 740 

But to describe things now I cannot stand, 
I haste to finish what I have in hand. 

cvii 
Three steps into the sea the Druid wading. 
The sleeping Princess to the coach he heaves, 
Who proud to be enricht with such a lading. 
Her Amphitrite joyfully receives. 
With whom old Morrogh such directions leaves 
As needful were, whither, and in what sort 
She should the beauteous Sydanis transport. 

CVIII 

Leaving the firth whereas black Durdwye's streams, 750 

Swifter than shafts shot from the Russ's bow, 

Do enter and invade King Neptune's reams, 

Justling the surly waves when as they flow. 

Under Hilbree's high craggy cliffs doth row, 

The sea's fair Queen, whom Tritons do attend. 

While towards the main sea she her course doth bend. 

cix 
The sea-bred steeds so swiftly cut the main, 
As that the sight of every land was lost. 
But a glass being turn'd, they see again 

744 'Heaves' is not a bad example of the way in which poetic phrase acquires 
grotesqueness for which the poet is not responsible. 

748 whither] Orig. ' wh<'ther.' 

750 Durdwye] = ' Dyfyrdwy ' = Dee. I do not know whether 'firth' occurs earlier 
in strictly English literature. For 'ream[e]s' below cf. Fr. and M.E. reaume. 

759 i.e. ' in an hour's time.' 

(88) 



Leoli7te and Syda7tis 



The island Mona's solitary coast, 760 

Who of her learned Bards may justly boast 

In music, and in prophecies deep skill'd, 

Who with sweet Englens all the world had fiU'd. 

ex 
And as the sun arose, they did descry 
The lofty cliffs of the high head of Hoth, 
A rocky promontory, which doth lie 
Near Erinland, white with sea-billows' froth. 
Here Amphitrite (though exceeding loath) 
Was by the Druid Morrogh's strict command, 
Her dearest lovely charge to set on land. 770 

CXI 

But yet before such time she would do so, 

She sends three Sea-Nymphs down into the deep, 

To bring her up such treasures from below, 

As under rocks the wealthy Sea-gods keep. 

Now all this while was Sydanis asleep, 

And dream't that she was in some tempest tost. 

And ship-wrack't, she and all her goods were lost. 

CXII 

But dreams fall out by contraries ; for why ? 

The Sea-Nymphs with more speed than can be told, 

Returning, brought from Neptune's treasury 780 

A large heap of a wrecked Merchant's gold, 

More than a page's pockets well could hold. 

The second coral brought : the third, a piece 

Of the sea's richest treasure, Ambergris. 

CXIII 

Last, the sea's Empress, for to testify 

How much her love and bounty did abound, 

A rope of orient pearl did straight untie. 

Which thrice her ivory neck encircled round, 

Such as in deepest southern seas are found. 

These pearls she knit on Sydanis her wrist, 790 

And having done, a thousand times her kist. 

cxiv 
Then raining tears upon her curled head, 
Which was on Amphitrite's bosom laid. 
She wept o'er Sydanis as she were dead : 
So much sleep (death's resemblance) her dismayed, 
As that a man that saw them would have said, 



760 Mona's] It may be worth observing that the apostrophe is orig., showing that 
its absence elsewhere is of no importance. 

763 Englens]— W. eiiglytuon, 'short poems.' 

765 Is ' Hoth ' for ' Howth ' merely a rhyme-licence, or does it answer to pronunciation ? 

774 wealthy] Orig. 'whealthy.' 

782 page's pockets] This may be just worth indicating as a representative touch 
of the mock-heroic noticed in Introd. Also see infra. 

( 89 ) 



Sir Fra7tcis Kynaston 

That once more there was really again 
Venus, and in her lap Adonis slain. 

cxv 
The sad Nereides with mournful cheer, 

Taking their leaves, do kiss her whitest hand, 800 

Grieving to leave her, whom they held so dear. 
And now as they approached near the strand, 
Within some dozen steps of the dry land, 
Down div'd the Hippopotami : the Queen, 
Her chariot, horses, Nymphs, no more were seen. 

cxvi 
Fair Sydanis now left to swim or sink, 
Ashore the surges of the billows threw ; 
Who therewith waking, verily did think. 
That what she dream't had really bin true ; 
The manner of her coming she not knew, 810 

But howsoever, although cold and wet, 
She was right glad she was on dry land set. 

CXVI I 

There not full half an hour she did abide, 
Wond'ring how she such gold and pearl had got, 
But by a fisherman she was espied, 
Who saw her page's cloak and bonnet float 
Upon the waves, and towards her with his boat 
(Taking them up) all possible speed he makes. 
And Sydanis into his skiff he takes. 

CXVIII 

Two leagues thence distant was a famous port 820 

Of a great city, that Eplana hight, 

Where Dermot King of Erin held his court, 

Attended on by many a Lord and Knight : 

To whom the fisherman told in what plight 

He on the shore a shipwreckt youth had found. 

And how the rest o' th' passengers were drown'd. 

cxix 
When as King Dermot Sydanis beheld. 
It doubtful was whether his admiration 
Of her rare face, which others all excell'd, 
Was greater, or his tender sad compassion 830 

Of her mishap, which gave to him occasion 
His royal bounty tow'rds her to express. 
And to relieve her wants in this distress. 

798 Adonis] Remember that Sydanis was in page's garments. 

809 I keep ' bin.' K. may have meant it as shorter than ' been.' (But see Introd.) 

811-812 This final couplet of st. 116 shows, as others have done and will do, the risk 
of unmtended comic effect in rhyme-royal. 

821 E/'lana] Sic in orig. 

825 Here 'shipwreckt,' elsewhere 'wrackt.' As in the case of 'bin' and 'been* 
there may be reasons for this, so I do not ' standardize,' 

(90) 



Leoli7^e a7td Syda7tis 



cxx 
Desiring therefore first to have her name, 
She told him that her name Amanthis was, 
Page to a British Prince, who as he came 
For Erinland (such was his woful case) 
Was drown'd, as he those stormy seas did pass, 
And that except her page's only suit. 
She was of means and all things destitute. S40 

cxxi 
The royal Dermot forthwith gave command, 
She should have anything that he could grant. 
And now because the King did understand, 
His only princely daughter Mellefant, 
Of such a page at that time stood in want, 
He to her chamber did Amanthis send, 
The high-born lovely Princess to attend. 

CXXII 

The fair attendant by King Dermot sent. 

The noble Princess kindly doth receive, 

Whose page-like and discreet deportement, 850 

Was such as no one did her sex perceive. 

Now as a page Amanthis we must leave. 

With the fair Princess Mellefant to dwell, 

And you shall hear what Leoline befell. 

CXXIII 

Dionea early rising in the dark, 

Sets open wide the opal ports of day, 

In night's black tinder putting out each spark. 

That twinkling shone with a faint flaring ray. 

And now Nyctimene was flown away. 

To the dark covert of a hollow tree, 869 

Unwilling Phoebus' brightest beams to see. 

cxxiv 
The glorious rays of the next morning's light, 
Which from the eastern ocean arose. 
The dismal deeds of the preceding night 
To the world's view were ready to disclose : 
And Night unable longer to oppose 
Bright Phoebus, or such things in secret keep, 
Down sinking div'd into the western deep. 

840 And the gold and pearls? But if we are to indulge all such cavillings it 
will be necessary to ask how the former floated : which would be absurd. 

850 ' Deporttment ' must be kept luetr. grat. It is probable that the word had not 
long been introduced from France, where, indeed, in the oldest forms the e seems to 
be absent, but where it existed in K.'s time. 

855 Dion[a]ea] = Venus in her form of morning star. With the next line cf. 
Benlowes' ' opal-coloured dawns.' There are other obligations or communities of 
obligation between B. and K. which I leave to the reader. 

859 Nyctimene, who, victim of her father's incestuous passion, was changed by 
Pallas to an owl. 

864 night] Orig. by a clear misprint ' might.' 

(91) 



Sir Fra?jcis Kyitaston 



cxxv 

The sun's swift coursers upwards making haste, 

From his first house in the east horizon, S70 

Had now two more supernal mansions past, 

And to the entrance of the third were gone, 

Ere any of these things in Court had known. 

But when nor Prince, nor Princess did appear, 

Each one admir'd why they not stirring were. 

cxxvi 
King Arvon and Duke Leon gave command, 
A page should to the Prince's chamber go, 
And instantly should let them understand. 
If that Prince Leoline were well or no : 

And why his rising he deferred so. 880 

The page he went, and finding the door lockt, 
Softly at first, then louder call'd and knockt. 

CXXVII 

But when within, no answer he could hear, 

Nor voice of any one that to him spoke ; 

The page unto the King relates his fear. 

Who straight commands that with a mighty stroke 

Of iron bars the door should down be broke. 

Which having done, and broken down the door, 

A dismal sight lay on the chamber floor. 

CXXVIII 

For there the aged Nurse along was laid, S90 

Cold and stretcht out, as one that were stark dead, 

In all Prince Leoline's best clothes array'd. 

Which sight not only fear, but wonder bred. 

The King and Duke straight went unto the bed, 

And opening the curtains, there alone 

The Prince lay dead, but Princess there was none. 

cxxix 
Tearing their hairs with lamentable groans, 
These two sad parents' eyes with tears abound : 
The King his son ; Duke Leon he bemoans 
His daughter's loss, who nowhere could be found. 900 

Men search for her above and under ground, 
But all in vain : for she (you heard) was gone 
The night before to Erinland, unknown. 

cxxx 
The ports are stop't : they search each boat and bark, 
Thinking that in some ship they might her find : 
But that unlikely was, when as they mark 
How that contrary blew the north-west wind, 

873 Court] i.e. the Welsh Court to which we return. 
876 Arvon] Orig. misprints ' Ar«on.' 
884 spoke] Orig. ' spake.' 

CXXVII. 1. 5 'door,' 1.6 ' dore,' in orig. And there are people who want such 
spelling kept ! 

(9O 



Leo line aftd Syda7iis 



Yet this her absence to King Arvon's mind 

Was evidence enough it could not be, 

That any one had kill'd the Prince but she. 910 

cxxxi 

Now as before a storm, the clouded sky 

Blackens and darkens, sullenly it lowers, 

Ere that the dreadful thunderer from on high 

Roars in the clouds, and on the earth down pours 

Another dismal cataclysm of showers, 

Even so King Arvon's countenance did betoken 

A storm of words, which afterwards were spoken. 

CXXXI I 

For in the word of an enraged King, 

(Whose fatal anger is assured death) 

He vow'd he would upon Duke Leon bring 920 

Confusion ; for his sword he would unsheathe. 

Which ne'er should be put up whil'st he had breath, 

Until that he a just revenge should take, 

For Sydanis his murderous daughter's sake. 

CXXXIII 

You must imagine more than shall be said. 

Touching Duke Leon's grief and his reply, 

Unto whose charge a Prince's death was laid, 

Against all laws of hospitality : 

He told King Arvon that he did defy 

His threats, and being free from all offence, 930 

He knew Heaven would protect his innocence. 

cxxxiv 
Leaving Carleon, back the King return'd 
Unto Carnarvon castle, with intent. 
That since that he and all his Court now mourn'd, 
The Prince's body thither should be sent. 
To lay him by his ancestors he meant. 
Whose funeral should not be long deferr'd, 
But he with all solemnity interr'd. 

cxxxv 

Among these troubles and distractions, 

That 'twixt King Arvon and Duke Leon fell, 940 

The caitiff Marquis Foutre, all whose actions 

Were form'd by some infernal fiend in hell. 

Had learn'd, there was a Druid that could tell 

Men's fortunes, and whate'er they did demand. 

Could give a resolution out of hand. 



908 ArHon (not ' Ar7<on ') is now habitually printed in orig. 

915 showers! Orig. 'shores.' 

941 Here ' Marqu/s' : formerly ' Marquf55.' 

(93) 



Sir Fj^a7icis Ky7iast07i 



CXXXVI 

To Morrogh went this Foutre for to 'know 

The place to which fair Sydanis was fled, 

And whether that she living was or no : 

If not, and that she certainly was dead, 

He needs would know where she was buried. 950 

To whom the Druid with a countenance grave, 

Waving his wand, this sudden answer gave : 

cxxxvii 
' Know, Frenchman, if to satisfy thy lust 
Of that fair Lady, whom thou dost pursue, 
Thou do intend, to Erinland thou must : 
There thou may'st find her, and thy suit renew.' 
But seeing that the wind contrary blew, 
Foutre demanded, ' Hast thou not a kind 
Of trick in magic for to sell a wind ? ' 

CXXXVIII 

' Yea,' quoth the Druid, ' ere thou hence depart, 960 

That I am my Art's master thou shalt know. 

And am no ignorant in magic art ; 

For knots that on thy handkercher FU throw. 

Untied shall cause that any wind shall blow. 

Or strong or gently ; and as thou dost please. 

Shall waft thy ship or bark along the seas.' 

CXXXIX 

On Foutre's handkercher three knots he knits. 

Which when he was at sea should be untied : 

This done, forthwith the Druid's cell he quits, 

And to the haven of Carleon hied, 970 

Himself there of such shipping to provide. 

As at that time the haven did afford, 

Where having got a ship he went aboard. 

CXL 

Untying the first knot, the wind, whose blast 

Was contrary unto his going out. 

And blew ahead, now blew abaft as fast, 

And was upon the sudden come about : 

Which caused all the mariners to doubt 

That they had got a passenger, whose art 

Had no relation to the seaman's chart. 980 

CXLI 

The second knot unknit the merry gales. 
The vessel's linen wings her sails did spread. 
Which having past the dangerous coast of Wales, 
Was sailing now athwart the Holy-head. 
The skippers, without sinking of their lead. 
Upon a sudden now are come so nigh 
To Erinland, that they it do descry. 

963 ' Handkercher ' is worth keeping. 
(94) 



Leoli7ie aitd Sydajiis 



CXLII 

Here Foutre was the third knot to untie, 

Who thought he had the winds at his dispose. 

But having loos'd that knot, immediately 990 

So hideous a storm at sea arose, 

As if each several wind that fiercely blows 

From two and thirty points at sea, had met, 

Contending who the sovereignty should get. 

CXLIII 

The mariners observing that the storm 

From any natural cause proceeded not, 

Noting withal the superstitious form 

And manner of untying of the knot, 

Which now this raging tempest had begot, 

Ready to sink with every stormy blast, jooo 

Marquis Jean Foutre overboard they cast. 

CXLIV 

No sooner was the miscreant thrown in. 

And in the bottom drown'd, but straight the seas 

Were calm again, as if the wretch had bin 

A sacrifice, their anger to appease. 

So that it did the Fatal Sisters please 

That he that tied one knot, in the conclusion, 

Should by another come unto confusion. 

CXLV 

The mariners now with a prosperous blast, 

Their sea-toss'd vessel towards Carleon guide, 1010 

Which there I leave, all dangers being past, 

At anchor m the harbour safe to ride : 

For I must tell what fortune did betide 

Unto Prince Leoline, whose various fate 

Makes the strange story that I shall relate. 

CXLVI 

Twice had pale Phoebe in her silver wain. 

Drawn with fell dragons, rode her nightly round, 

Since that the prince with his face bare had lain. 

Within an open coffin yet unwound 

In's winding sheet, his hands and feet not bound, 1020 

That when a prince was dead all men might see 

And know for certainty, that it was he. 

CXLVII 

Now the third night, which was the night before 

The Prince's body was to be convey'd 

Unto Carnarvon, there were half a score 

Of knights and squires in mourning black array'd, 

That watching by the Prince's body stay'd, 

1025 Carnarvon] Orig. as often ' Carnarvan.' 
(95) 



Sir Francis Ky7iasto?t 



Who being fore-wak't they could no longer keep 
Their eyelids open, but fell all asleep. 

CXLVIII 

Just at the hour of night the Prince did take 1030 

The potion which the Druid did compose, 

Out of dead sleep did Leoline awake, 

And like a ghost out of the coffin rose, 

Which erst his princely body did enclose : 

For now the potion had no more a force 

To make a living prince a seeming corse. 

CXLIX 

For it was but a soporiferous potion. 

Made of cold nightshade's, gladials', poppies' juice, 

Which for a while supprest all sense and motion, 

And of his members took away the use, 104c 

By a narcotic power it did infuse, 

Which could no longer work on Leoline 

But till the Moon pass'd to another sign. 

CL 

Nor ought this to seem strange, since as we read, 

Inhabitants of the cold frozen zone, 

Call'd Leucomori, for six months seem dead ; 

For as for sense or motion they have none. 

And so remain till Phoebus having gone 

Through the six southern signs, salutes the Twins, 

At which time yearly their new life begins. 1050 

CLI 

But pass we this : The Prince in dead of night. 

Finding that those that should have watcht him slept, 

Took up the morter, by whose small dim light 

He silently unto the chamber stept 

Of an esquire, who all his wardrobe kept, 

Whom he in all important things employ'd, 

And most relied upon : his name was Fjioyd. 

CLII 

Coming now near, and waking the esquire, 

Whose hair for fear began upright to stand, 

Thinking he saw a ghost, but coming nigher, 106c 

The Prince upon him gently laid his hand, 

And beck'ned as he silence would command ; 

Then putting on a suit he lately wore, 

They both at midnight went to the sea shore. 

1028 for^-wak't] (it should of course be ' for-waked ') = ' worn out with waking.' 
is another of K.'s Chaucerisms. 

1030 'At which' or 'when' is conversationally ellipsed between 'night' and 'the.' 

1038 Gladials] s/c. in orig. Has any kind of gladiolus a narcotic or poisonous quality ? 

1046 Leucomori] Orig. ' Leet'comori.' 

1053 morter] for ' night-light ' is again Chaucerian : but it survived both as a trade- 
and a household word till quite recently, though literature seems to have lost it. 

(96) 



Leoline and Sydanis 



CLIII 

Who being now informed by the way 

Of all the accidents that had fallen out, 

He durst no longer in Carleon stay ; 

Duke Leon's faithfulness he did misdoubt, 

Who (as he did conceive) had gone about 

To poison him, and would some plot contrive, 1070 

That might of life him utterly deprive. 

CLIV 

No sooner were they come, but there they found 

(Even as they wisht) then ready to hoise sail 

A vessel that for Erinland was bound. 

They so far with the mariners prevail. 

To take them in ; of which they did not fail : 

And now the wind so large was, that ere day, 

The ship quite out of sight was flown away. 

CLV 

Prince Leoline being loath it should be known, 

What either he, or his associate were, 1080 

Desir'd the skippers, that they two alone, 

On the next coast or creek that did appear, 

Row'd in their cock-boat, might be landed there. 

The mariners accordingly it did, 

And the meantime the ship at anchor rid. 

CLVI 

As they were ready for to set their feet 

Upon dry land, and so to take their way. 

Upon the shore a ghastly sight they meet, 

For there Jean Foutre's drowned body lay, 

In the same clothes, and in the same array, 1090 

He on the Prince's wedding day had worn. 

Whose face and hands fishes had eat and torn. 

CLVII 

The Prince approaching nearer for to view 

The sea-drown'd carcass, which he had descried ; 

That it was Foutre, instantly he knew ; 

For on his breast his bridal point he spied, 

Which Leoline forthwith took and untied, 

Unwilling that the mariners should have 

A thing he as his wedding favour gave. 

CLVIII 

The magic knot undone by fortune strange, 1100 

And by this sad and yet glad accident, 

In Leoline did work a sudden change : 

For though it was undone with no intent, 

But such as hath bin said ; yet the event 

Was such, and did so happily succeed. 

He from th' enchanted ligature was freed. 

To8r skippers] The plural use of this, as=^' shipmen' generally, might have been 
noticed before. 

"• ( 97 ) H <. . 



Sir Francis Kynaston 



CLIX 

The jewels, gold, and silver that he found, 

Among the seamen he distributed ; 

Who making of a poor hole in the ground, 

Such as is made for felons being dead, mo 

(Who by the highway-side are buried) 

jean Foutre's body they stark naked strip. 

Which done they back do row unto their ship. 

CLX 

Prince Leoline and his esquire Ffloyd 

In Erinland being safely set on shore, 

The better all suspicion to avoid. 

Would not unto Eblana come, before 

They had conceal'd themselves a week or more : 

In the meantime they purpose to devise 

A way how they might pass in some disguise. 1120 

CLXI 

Which while they are contriving, you shall hear 

King Arvon and Duke Leon's sad estate, 

Who equally in grief engaged were. 

And equally did one another hate : 

With swords they mean the business to debate, 

And thereupon make preparation, 

One for defence, the other for invasion. 

CLXII 

For when the servants that King Arvon sent, 

Missing the body, all about had sought, 

And could by no means find which way it went, 1130 

Returning to the King they nothing brought 

But only this conjecture, that they thought 

Duke Leon (on whom all the blame they lay) 

Whilest they did sleep, had stolen the corpse away, 

CLXIII 

And buried it obscurely in some place. 

Where never any one should find his grave. 

Th' enraged King resenting this disgrace. 

And now perceiving that he might not have 

His son alive, nor dead, he straightway gave 

Commissions forth an army to assemble, 1140 

Should make Carleon's city walls to tremble. 

CLXIV 

'Tis hard to say, whether was greater grown, 
King Arvon's anger, or Duke Leon's grief; 
On whom those black aspersions were thrown, 
First of a murderer, and then a thief : 
His patience yet (exceeding all belief) 
And fortitude, were greater than his wrongs, 
Or the foul malice of all slanderous tongues. 
(98) 



Leoline and Sydanis 



CLXV 

So now it hap't as Leon went alone 

To Venus' temple, and at midnight pray'd, 1150 

Down in that very vault he heard one groan, 

Wherein two nights before the Nurse was laid : 

Then afterwards he heard a voice, which said, 

*0h when will it be day? When will the light 

Disperse the darkness of this endless night ? ' 

CLXVI 

The Duke at first amazed, recollects 

His fear-dispersed spirits, and before 

That he would speak, he earnestly expects 

To hear what the sad ghost would utter more : 

W'hom he perceived wept, and sighed sore: 1160 

Which made him on it such compassion take, 

As that forthwith the vault he open brake. 

CLXVII 

And bowing down into the grot, he said, 
' If thou a soul leaving th' Elysian rest, 
Art back return'd, whereas thy corpse is laid, 
To bring some comfort to a Prince distrest. 
And with all manner injuries opprest ; 
Then in the dead more mercy doth abound. 
Than here among the living can be found. 

CLXVIII 

For thou wilt tell me whether bale or bliss 1170 

Be now the sad condition or glad state 

Of my late dear deceased Sydanis, 

And where and how she yielded to her fate : 

All which, I pray thee, gentle ghost, relate, 

And ease my heavy heart, opprest with grief, 

Which among mortals can find no relief.' 

CLXIX 

Grief hath few words. Th' amazed Nurse that heard 

Duke Leon's words, and knew it was his voice ; 

Of the vault's darkness being much afear'd, 

And the dead silence where there was no noise; 1180 

Not knowing if she wak't, or dream't, the choice 

That she did make, was rather to conceal 

Herself awhile, than anything reveal. 

CLXX 

And therefore that opinion to maintain, 

And fancy in Duke Leon, of a ghost 

From the Elysian shades return'd again. 

And had now twice the Stygian ferry crost. 

To seek that body it before had lost ; 

She in a piteous voice Duke Leon told, 

As yet she might not anything unfold. 1190 

1 165 * corps ' in orig., as usual, and as late as Dryden. 
( 99 ) H 2 



Sir Francis Kynastoit 

CLXXI 

For Minos, Eacus, and Rhadamant, 

The three grim Judges of th' infernal Court, 

Would not unto the ghosts a licence grant. 

The secrets of the dark world to report ; 

But to their tombs they nightly must resort, 

Till seven nights were past, and there must stay 

Till the cock's crow before the break of day. 

CLXXII 

But if that he on the eighth night would come 

About the hour of twelve, when ghosts appear, 

And call upon her at the silent tomb, 1200 

Of all things he the certainty should hear 

Where Leoline and his fair daughter were. 

And be inform'd of everything he crav'd, 

And what the Fates on leaves of steel had grav'd. 

CLXXIII 

The Duke expecting at that time no more, 

Up from the vault he silently arose, 

Forgetting now to shut the temple door. 

Unto his palace back again he goes ; 

And now the Nurse ere that the first cock crows. 

Stole from the vault, and in her winding sheet, 12 10 

Went to a beldam's house in a by-street. 

CLXXIV 

Who being a lone woman, was most fit 

To keep her close, and what she had design'd ; 

Unto whose trust herself she doth commit. 

And told to the old beldam all her mind ; 

Intending that as soon as she could find 

An opportunity, she would go thence 

To Morrogh, to get more intelligence. 

CLXXV 

Through darkness of the third ensuing night. 

To the learn'd Druid Morrogh's cell she went, 1220 

Clad like a soldier, in a buff coat dight, 

With hat, sword, gorget. This habiliment 

Her hostess the old beldam to her lent, 

Whose husband being a soldier long before, 

Under Duke Leon, in his lifetime wore. 

CLXXVI 

Attired thus in habit of a man, 

When she before the reverend Druid came, 

To counterfeit men's gesture she began : 

And to appear that she was not the same 

She was, she altered her voice and name, 1230 

Thinking that Morrogh knew not who she was. 

But that she for a soldier well might pass. 

( 100 ) 



Leoline and Sydanis 

CLXXVII 

But he well knowing she did counterfeit, 
And to delude his cunning had a mind, 
Resolved her finenesses should be met, 
And quitted back to her in their own kind : 
' Soldier,' quoth he, ' I by my skill do find, 
Prince Leoline and Sydanis are fled. 
And Merioneth, her old nurse, is dead. 

CLXXVIII 

More of the Princes I cannot unfold; 1240 

But by my art I certainly do know. 

That ere three days be past, thou shalt behold 

Carleon city walls beleagured so. 

That out of it alive there none shall go; 

By famine brought to that extremity, 

As that the Duke himself thereof would die. 

CLXXIX 

But such a horrid death I must prevent. 

And for thou seem'st one of Duke Leon's guard. 

Tell him that I to him by thee have sent 

An amulet by chymic art prepar'd, 1250 

Whose virtue told, will purchase thy reward, 

For if that one but touch his lips with it, 

'Twill satisfy the hungry appetite.' 

CLXXX 

The skilful Druid gave no more direction, 

Nor of the secret properties more spake, 

Of the Epimenidial confection. 

The seeming-soldier doth the present take. 

And towards Carleon all post-haste doth make, 

Intending that if possible she may, 

She would be back before the break of day. 1260 

CLXXXI 

But ere 'twas day. King Arvon's legions were 
So far advanc'd, as that he sent a scout 
To make discovery if the foe were near, 
Or that there were any ambushment without. 
Now as the swift vaunt-couriers rode about 
As sentinel perdu, the Nurse they caught, 
And to King Arvon instantly her brought. 

1233 counterfeit] ' counterfe' as usual in orig. 

1235 ' fineness ' in the sense of ' finesse,' must be rare. . 

1256 Epimenidial] This 'blessed word' (obviously misprinted ' Epim/n^dial ' in 
orig.) must refer to the purification of Athens by Epimenides from the Cylonian 
plague. 

1265 vaunt-couriers] ' Vant-curriers' in orig. 

1266 Orig. ' sentinell perdue,' and indeed it would perhaps be better to supply the ' e ' 
to • sentinell ' to make the regular Fr. phrase. But I do not know why K. used the 
singular. 

^ ^ LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY CF CALIFORNIA 
RIVERSIDE 



Sir Fra?icis Ky7tast07t 



CLXXXII 

Who forthwith gave command she should be sent 

Unto Carnarvon, and there should be cast 

Into the deepest dungeon, to th' intent 1270 

That she in links of iron fettered fast, 

Being hunger-starv'd to death, should breathe her last. 

His angry doom is straight accomplished, 

And to Carnarvon is Merioneth led; 

CLXXXIII 

Of all poor creatures most unfortunate : 

For while that in the dungeon she did lie, 

She with herself did oftentimes debate, 

Whether was better, hunger-starv'd to die, 

Or for to take the Druid's remedy, 

'Twould but prolong her misery to use it, 1280 

And it was present death for to refuse it, 

CLXXXIV 

But here I leave her and King Arvon's host 

Carleon city walls besieging round. 

My tale must follow them, who having crost 

The British seas, for Erinland were bound. 

Where Leoline fair Sydanis hath found, 

But so transform'd, as (though he did her see) 

He little did suspect that it was she. 

Explicit pars secunda. 



CLXXXV 

Latona's twins, bright Cynthia, and her brother. 

Resplendent Phoebus, with his glorious rays 1290 

Had seven times given place to one another, 

And fully had accomplisht seven days 

Ere Leoline, through devious woods and ways, 

Accompanied by Ffloyd as his consort, 

Came to Eblana to King Dermot's court. 

CLXXXVI 

On the eighth day, sacred to Venus' name, 

It fortuned at court there was a feast 

To welcome an Embassador that came 

From Albion, which they two (among the rest) 

Coming to see, like two French monsieurs drest, 1300 

They, noted to be strangers, were so grac't, 

As next to the King's table to be plac't. 

( i°2 ) 



Leoliiie a?id Sydajiis 



CLXXXVII 

At midst whereof under a cloth of state, 

To which one must by three degrees ascend, 

In a rich chair the royal Dermot sate, 

Th' Embassador and Princess at each end; 

On Mellefant, Amanthis doth attend. 

As cup-bearer, the while that she did dine, 

And when she pleas'd to call, did bring her wine. 

CLXXXVIII 

Whenas six several courses serv'd had bin, 13 lo 

The royal dinner drawing towards an end, 

A rich and sumptuous banquet was brought in, 

Which did such kinds of sweetmeats comprehend, 

As might with fruits of Paradise contend. 

Of which the choicest and most excellent 

The Princess to the seeming Frenchmen sent, 

CLXXXIX 

Giving her page Amanthis a command 

To let them know, that if they did desire, 

They should be brought to kiss King Dermot's hand. 

Prince Leoline and Ffloyd, his faithful Squire, 1320 

These unexpected courtesies admire : 

Which taking, they a low obeisance make, 

Admiring the pure French Amanthis spake. 

cxc 
To whom Prince Leoline in French replied, 
And told her, such an unexpected grace, 
Their duties and affections so tied. 
As that they all occasions would embrace, 
To testify their service ; and in case 
They might receive such honour, that it would 
Oblige them more than any favour could. 1330 

cxci 
The table taken from before the King, 
And all the royal ceremonies ended, 
Amanthis eftsoones did the strangers bring, 
And told him that two French Lords there attended, 
By Mellefant the Princess recommended, 
To have the honour for to kiss his hands, 
And to receive his Majesty's commands. 

CXCII 

King Dermot, full of royal courtesy. 

Not only gave his hand, but more to grace 'em 

Descended so below his Majesty, 1340 

As that he did in friendly wise embrace 'em, 

Commanding his Lord Chamberlain to place 'em 

In his own lodgings, that they might not want 

Conveniency to wait on Mellefant. 

1312 Remember that ' banquet' at this time means especially ' dessert.' 

( 103) 



Sir Francis Kynaston 



CXCIII 

AVhose hands they kissing with all reverence 

The Princess doth them kindly entertain : 

Now while the King had private conference 

With the Embassador, the Prince did gain 

An opportunity for to detain 

The Princess in discourse: 'twixt him and her 1350 

Amanthis was the sweet interpreter. 

cxciv 
Prince Leoline's discourses pleas'd so well 
The Princess, that she oftentimes did send 
To have him come, fine romances to tell, 
To which she would so sweet attention lend, 
As Dido-like she seemed to depend 
Upon his lip, and such delights did take, 
She wisht to speak French only for his sake. 

cxcv 
But whatsoever by the Prince was said 

Of love, or of adventures of that kind, 13'io 

Must by Amanthis be interpreted, 
Whose eyes the Prince's language could not blind, 
For he was known, and how he stood inclin'd. 
Nor was discreet Amanthis ignorant 
That Leoline made love to Mellefant. 

cxcvi 
But to what end she could not yet discover : 
For if to marry her was his intent. 
It seem'd most strange that he should be a lover, 
Who in love's actions was so impotent ; 

And if he were not so, then that content 1370 

Should Mellefant enjoy, and that delight 
In Hymen's sports, which was Amanthis' right. 

CXCVII 

But ere a month was past, it fortun'd so, 
The Princess Mellefant Amanthis sent 
To the Prince Leoline, to let him know 
And carry him this courtly compliment, 
That if he pleas'd to ride abroad, she meant 
(Since that the weather was so calm and fair) 
To ride into the fields to take the air. 

CXCVIII 

Amanthis with this message being gone, T3S0 

Prince Leoline was in his chamber found 

Sitting upon his bedside all alone : 

His countenance sad, his eyes fixt on the ground, 

As if he did with careful thoughts abound : 

But seeing of Amanthis, he acquir'd 

A happiness that he had long desir'd. 

1354 Here and elsewhere the value 'romances' is noticeable. 
1359 said] Orig. has the odd form ' se'd.' 

( 104 ) 



Leoline and Syda?iis 



CXCIX 

For he now got an opportunity, 

His mind unto Amanthis to disclose : 

Whose message being told, immediately 

The Prince began and said, ' Fair youth, suppose 1390 

I told a secret, might I not repose 

So much in thee as never to reveal it, 

But in thy faithful bosom to conceal it ? ' 

cc 
To whom Amanthis straight replied, 'You may 
A privacy unto my trust commit, 
Which if it touch the Princess any way, 
Or King, to hide it were nor safe nor fit ; 
For in my duty I must utter it : 
But if so be that it touch none of these. 
You may securely tell me what you please.' 1400 

cci 
Quoth Leoline, 'That which I have to say 
Concerns the Princess, but in such a kind. 
As if that thou my counsel should'st bewray, 
After that I have utter'd all my mind. 
It may be I with thee no fault should find : 
For say I should desire thee to prove, 
Whether the Princess Mellefant could love. 

ecu 
My fortunes and my birth perchance may be 
Greater than yet they seem ; 'tis often seen, 
Mean clothes do hide high-born nobility. 1410 

And though she be a Princess, nay a Queen, 
Great Princesses have oft enamour'd been 
Of gentlemen ; so fortune did advance 
Medor above the Paladins of France. 

CCIII 

And so Queen Clytemnestra, as we read. 

Before King Agamemnon did prefer 

And took into her royal nuptial bed 

Aegisthus, her sweet-fac'd adulterer, 

In birth and fortunes far unworthy her. 

And so fair Helen did young Paris make 1420 

Her choice, and Menelaus did forsake. 

cciv 
But these, thou'lt say, were precedents of lust. 
And such as virtuous ladies should detest : 
But what I seek is honourably just ; 
Which since I have committed to thy breast, 

1414 Orig. ' Palladines.' It is morally rather hard on Angelica to put her in line 
with the Tyndaridae, though it may be a compliment in another way. And neither 
Aegisthus nor Paris was a simple gentleman. But here as elsewhere, on Spenserian 
even more than Chaucerian pattern, K. is apt a little to drag in mythology. 

1422 precedents] Orig. ' presidents,' as usual. Again, this is hardly fair to Angelica. 



Sir Francis K.ynasto?i 

If thou, fair lovely youth, wilt do thy best 

My suit to thy sweet Princess to commend, 

Be sure that thou hast gain'd a thankful friend.' 

ccv 

To which Amanthis answered, ' You are 

(My Lord) a stranger and as yet unknown, 1430 

You must upon your honour then declare 

Whether you have a lady of your own 

Living ; and if that she from you be gone, 

Or you from her ; if either should be true, 

None knows the inconvenience would ensue.' 

ccvi 

These speeches startled Leoline, whose heart 

Being conscious, made him answer, ' 'Tis a truth 

I had a lady once, to whom thou art 

So like in feature, personage, beauty, youth, 

And every lineament, as if she doth 1440 

Yet live, I should my state and life engage, 

That thou wert she in habit of a page. 

CCVII 

For woe is me, away from me she fled, 

Being ignorant of what the cause might be, 

And left me lying fast asleep in bed ; 

And now for aught I know thou mayst be she ; 

For her true image I behold in thee : 

But to believ't were fondness.' Here he stopt. 

And from his eyes some crystal tears there dropt. 

' CCVIII 

Amanthis weeping for to see him weep, 1450 

' My Lord, ' quoth she, ' if you a lady had 

That parted from you when you were asleep, 

(Though loath) I shall unto your sorrows add 

Such a relation shall make you more sad, 

For if your lady can nowhere be found, 

It is too true, I fear, that she is drown'd. 

ccix 
For now it is some twenty days and more 
Since mariners arriv'd here, who do say 
How that they found sailing along the shore 
The body of a Frenchman cast away, 1460 

On whom were letters found that did bewray 
That he had stol'n a lady, who together 
Perisht with him, as they were coming hither. 

1435 The line is a little bathetic : but the speech elicited from Leoline is artistic 
enough, both as a justification of Amanthis in her conduct later, and as a provocation 
of her rather rash immediate experiment. 

(106) 



Leoline aiid Sydanis 



ccx 
And if one may believe the common fame 
That 'mongst the people hath divulgM this, 
The lady was of quality, her name. 
If I remember right, was Sydanis. 
Now if that this were she that did amiss. 
And so much wrong'd your love, I must confess 
Your sorrow for her ought to be the less.' 1470 

ccxi , 
Prince Leoline hearing this sad relation, 
Like serpents to him were Amanthis' words. 
Stirring both jealousy and indignation, 
And pierc't his heart like to so many swords, 
His grief this only utterance affords, 
'Ah, Sydanis was she, whom I deplore. 
Who seem'd a saint^ but ah me ! died a whore.' 

CCXII 

* Well,' quoth Amanthis, ' if I may amend 

What is amiss, or may your woe relieve, 

You may be sure I shall my furtherance lend, 1480 

And to your suit my best assistance give : 

For Sydanis no longer shall you grieve. 

For being free to marry whom you please, 

I shall endeavour to procure your ease.' 

CCXIII 

This said, Amanthis Leoline did leave, 

And back return'd to act that was design'd. 

Now here a man may easily conceive 

What perturbations vext the Prince's mind. 

Who knowing he Jean Foutre dead did find. 

And that part of the story he well knew, 1490 

He might well think, that all the rest was true. 

ccxiv 
Perplext with doubts, whether his impotence 
Was the sole cause made Sydanis to fly 
Before that he could have intelligence 
Of such unfeigned marks as might descry 
The truth, or loss of her virginity. 
For though she as a virgin was reputed, 
Yet by Jean Foutre he might be cornuted. 

ccxv 
On th' other side one probably may guess 
The trouble that perplext Amanthis thought, ijco 

Since Leoline must Mellefant possess. 
Who might deny him nothing that he sought : 
And all this by Amanthis must be wrought. 
Who by a kind unkind, and courteous wooing, 
Must be the author of her own undoing. 

1478 quoth, &c.] The double meaning is rather ingeniously maintained throughout 
this speech. 

( 107 ) 



Sir Francis Ky7taston 



CCXVI 

But since Amanthis had a promise made 

To further his love-suit in all she might : 

It must be done, therefore she did persuade 

Prince Leoline, in the French tongue to write 

To Mellefant ; for what he did indite, 1510 

She said the Princess would show none but her, 

Who was betwixt them both interpreter. 

CCXVII 

And thereby she should find occasion 
Fitly to speak of Leoline's true love. 
And by a gentle amorous persuasion 
She might all lets (if any were) remove. 
Prince Leoline her counsel doth approve, 
And writes, who by Amanthis was assur'd 
An answer to his lines should be procur'd. 

CCXVIII 

Now after courtship and kind compliment, 1520 

And many courteous visits of respect, 

Amanthis came, as if she had bin sent 

To Leoline, to tell him the effect 

Of her proceedings (which he did expect) 

And brought a letter with her, which she feign'd 

She had from Princess Mellefant obtain'd. 

ccxix 
Th' effect whereof was this : she first desir'd 
It might not seem a lightness in a maid, 
To yield so soon to that which was requir'd 
For Cupid, whose commands must be obeyed, 1530 

Had by her eyes into her heart conveyed 
His lovely shape, his worth and every grace, 
Where never man but he had yet a place. 

ccxx 
But now her amorous bosom was a shrine. 
Devoted wholly to the god of Love, 
In which the saint was lovely Leoline. 
She writ, That in affection she would prove 
More constant than the truest Turtle-dove. 
What more for modesty might not be told. 
She left it to Amanthis to unfold. 1540 

ccxxi 
In fine, Amanthis did the Prince persuade 
So powerfully, that if he pleas'd, he might 
The maiden fort of Mellefant invade. 
And enter in that fortress of delight : 
For she, Corinna-like, the following night 
Would come unto Prince Leoline his bed. 
And offer there her princely maidenhead. 

15^5 gentle] Orig, ' g/entle.' 1545 The Ovidian Corinna. 

(108) 



Leoli?ie and Sydaiiis 

CCXXII 

Provided always, when that she did come, 

A promise must be made, might not be broken, 

That they in their embraces should be dumb, 1550 

And that between them no word should be spoken. 

For on the morrow, by a private token. 

He should be sure, so that he would not vaunt, 

He had enjoy'd the Princess Mellefant. 

CCXXII I 

The Prince, that heard with joy and admiration 

Amanthis' words, impatient of delay, 

On the Sun's horses lays an imputation, 

That they were lame, or else had gone astray, 

And Sol in malice had prolong'd the day. 

That drove so slowly down Olympus' hill, 1560 

And winged Time he chid for standing still. 

ccxxiv 
But at the last the long'd-for hour grew near. 
The evening sets, and the steeds of the Sun 
Were posted to the other hemisphere, 
On this side having their last stage y-run, 
Bright things beginning to wax dim and dun, 
And night uprising from dark Acheron, 
O'er all the sky a pitchy veil had thrown. 

ccxxv 

About the hour of twelve, when all was still, 

And Morpheus sealed had all mortal eyes, 1570 

Amanthis, who was ready to fulfil 

Her promise, softly from her bed doth rise, 

And in her smock and a furr'd mantle hies 

To Leoline's bedchamber, where in stead 

Of Mellefant, she goes to him to bed. 

ccxxvi 

No sooner did they touch each other's skin. 

And she was in his fragrant bosom laid, 

But that the Prince love's onset did begin. 

And in his wars the valiant champion play'd : 

What faint resistance a young silly maid 1580 

Could make, unto his force, did quickly yield ; 

Some blood was lost, although he won the field. 

CCXXVI I 

For no hot Frenchman, nor high Tuscan blood, 
Whose panting veins do swell with lively heat, 
In Venus' breach more stoutly ever stood, 
Or on her drum did more alarums beat, 
But Cupid at the last sounds a retreat : 
Amanthis at his mercy now doth lie, 
Thinking what kind of death she was to die. 

( »°9 ) 



Sir Fra7icis Ky7iaston 



CCXXVIII 

But she must now endure no other death, 1590 

For standing mute, but either must be prest, 

Or smothering kisses so should stop her breath, 

As that Love's flames enclos'd within her breast, 

Should burn the more, the more they were supprest. 

And so she as Love's Martyr should expire, 

Or Phoenix-Hke, consume in her own fire. 

ccxxix 

These pleasant kind of deaths Amanthis oft 

And willingly did suffer ere 'twas day, 

Nine times the lusty Prince did come aloft : 

But now Amanthis could no longer stay ; 1600 

For while 'twas dark she needs must go away ; 

On her. Prince Leoline bestow'd a ring, 

Man's eye did ne'er behold so rare a thing. 

ccxxx 

For in it was an admirable stone. 

Whose colour (like the carbuncle) was red, 

By day, it with its native lustre shone. 

And like the sun-bright beams abroad did spread. 

But that which greatest admiration bred, 

It had a quality ne'er seen before. 

First to keep light, then after to restore. 1610 

ccxxxi 
For if one to the sunbeams did expose it. 
And hold it in them but a little space, 
And in a box would afterwards enclose it, 
Then after go into some darksome place 
Whereas one could not see one's hand, nor face, 
Opening the box, a beam of light would come. 
Pyramid-like, would lighten all the room. 

CCXXXII 

But she was gladder of the consequence. 

Than of the precious stone she did receive. 

For now, without suspicion or offence, 1620 

She knew how she might Leoline deceive. 

Whom she at parting from his bed did leave. 

Recounting with himself, how by that deed 

He might as King of Erinland succeed. 

1590 In this one stanza K. rises to something not too far below the cadence and 
the spirit of Venus and Adonis itself. 

1597 These pleasant kind] Worth noting as yet another instance of a true English 
idiom which grammaticasters stigmatize. 

1599 Is perhaps rather too faithfully borrowed from F. Q. III. xlviii. 5. 

1624 The author is not very complimentary to Leoline : but this is possibly due to 
the mock-heroic nuance. Amanthis is much better treated in the long passage which 
Jollows. See Introd. 

(no) 



Leoline aiid Sydanis 



CCXXXIII 

Amanthis being come to her own bed, 

Lay down, but sleep she could not : Jealousies 

Concerning Leoline disturb'd her head ; 

For having now tried his abilities. 

She thought the Prince her sweetness did despise, 

But that he no virility did want, 1630 

To enjoy his princely mistress Mellefant. 

ccxxxiv 
Oh Jealousy in love, who art a vice 
More opposite in every quality, 
Than is penurious sordid avarice, 
To the extreme of prodigality. 

\Line missing?^ 
Besides, thou sufferest no man to enjoy 
What he possesses, without some annoy. 

ccxxxv 
So many cares, so many doubts and fears 

Upon thee do continually attend, 1640 

As the two portals of the soul, the ears, 
Which to all rumours do attention lend, 
Dire perturbations to the heart do send, 
Procuring such unquiet and unrest, 
As should not harbour in a lover's breast. 

ccxxxvi 
And to that pass Amanthis thou hast brought, 
With fear of losing that delight and pleasure 
Which she hath tasted, as her troubled thought 
And perturbations one may rightly measure 
By a rich miser, who hath found a treasure, 1650 

Who is solicitous, and vext with care. 
Lest any one of it should have a share. 

ccxxxvii 
Further she thought, if Mellefant but knew 
Prince Leoline to be King Arvon's son, 
He needed not his love-suit to pursue, 
For he already had the conquest won. 
Such cogitations in her head did run, 
And with such thoughts she entertain'd the time. 
Till Sol began Night's starry arch to climb, 

ccxxxvm 
But when the feather'd herald of the light, 1660 

Stout Chantecleer the Cock, with trumpet shrill 
Had now proclaim'd darkness was put to flight. 
And Phoebus driving up the eastern hill. 
With glorious golden beams the world did fill ; 

1636 Line missing. This incomplete stanza has no gap in orig. It probably should 
contain the protasis of ' besides.' 

(.11) 



Sir Francis Ky72ast07i 



From 'twixt her sheets, as 'twixt two Groneland snows, 
Amanthis like a new-sprung lily rose. 

ccxxxix 
And in her page's habit neatly fine, 
Her beauteous self she curiously did dight, 
As if she had not lain with Leoline, 

Nor had not lost her maidenhead that night : 1670 

Venus and Cupid pleas'd were with the sight ; 
And how she did Prince Leoline beguile, 
Even made the old austere Saturnus smile. 

CCXL 

For Jupiter in lovers' witty sleights, 

Which they contrive and cunningly devise, 

(Himself having bin one) so much delights, 

As that he oftentimes with them complies, 

And doth but laugh at lovers' perjuries : 

For now Amanthis was a part to act. 

Which to perform, she no invention lackt. 1680 

CCXLI 

For the next morn about the hour of ten, 

To Princess Mellefant she had access. 

Who seeing her, demanded of her. When 

That the French Lord such courtship would express. 

As unto her a visit to address? 

To whom Amanthis said, ' I am to blame, 

That I no sooner to your highness came, 

CCXLII 

To tell you that it is the Lord's intent, 

(If so it please your Highness and the King) 

This night a Masquerado to present, 1690 

Where you shall see him dance, and hear him sing. 

Your answer I again to him must bring. 

Who hopes your Highness graciously will take, 

A service only done for your dear sake. 

CCXLIII 

He further hopes you'll honour him thus much, 

As to receive this ring, and so to grace it. 

As that it may your princely finger touch. 

On which he humbly prays that you would place it : 

This fair occasion, if you please t' embrace it. 

And cherish it, may the beginning prove 1700 

Of a most happy honourable love. 

CCXLIV 

For, Madam, his brave parts and excellence. 
Which other men's perfections far outgoes, 

1665 The form 'Growfland,' undoubtedly derived from the Dutch, should evidently 
be kept. 

1690 Masquerado] K. makes this form (which is unique) on English analogies : 
without regard to S. ' mascarada ' or I. ' mascherata.' 

1703 The unexpectedness of this is rather agreeable: for Amanthis seems to be 
throwing the helve after the hatchet with a vengeance. 
(iia) 



Leolme a?ia Sycianis 



His valour, learning, wit, and eloquence, 
Which like a flood of nectar from him flows. 
That he is some great Prince most plainlj^ shows : 
And let one presuppose that he were none, 
Yet your most honour'd service makes him one.' 

CCXLV 

Fair Mellefant, whose breast th' Idalian fire 

Had gently warm'd, unto her thus replied: 1710 

' Amanthis,' quoth she, ' I do much admire 

How that a stranger can so soon have spied 

An advocate, that cannot be denied ; 

Those in their suits of eloquence have need, 

That seek unjust things, and so fear to speed. 

CCXLVI 

But thou who art a young and lovely youth, 

Might'st well have spared that which thou hast said. 

For to converse with thee (such is thy truth) 

A Vestal Virgin would not be afraid : 

Thy looks are Rhetoric to persuade a maid; 1720 

And be assur'd, I willingly shall grant 

Whatever thou shalt ask of Mellefant. 

CCXLVII 

Therefore to him who (as thou sayst) doth seem 
A noble Prince, this message thou shalt bear : 
Tell him his love we highly do esteem, 
And for his honour'd sake the ring I'll wear, 
Which next himself shall be to me most dear.' 
Having thus said, straight to the King she went, 
And for that time broke off her compliment. 

CCXLVIII 

Now some will say, 'twas too much forwardness 17.^0 

In Mellefant, that with so small ado, 

She did her love unto the Prince express : 

For bashful maids do let their suitors woo, 

And that same thing they have most mind unto, 

Lest men their maiden coyness should suspect, 

They seem to shun, at leastwise to neglect. 

CCXLIX 

But since great Virgil writes. That Dido lov'd 

At the first sight the wand'ring Knight of Troy, 

Whose story much more her affections mov'd. 

Than could the torch of Venus' wanton Boy : 1 740 

Let Mellefant, in that she was not coy, 

Be blameless, since we by experience find 

Those women are not fair, that are not kind. 

1 719 The irony here is again ingenious — if the poet meant it. 

1730 It is curious that K. as he does digress, draws no attention to the apparent 
rashness of Amanthis, and some to what is, to us, much less striking. 
1735 Lest] Orig. as often * least.' 

". (113) I ■.■•-. 



Sir Francis Ky7iast07t 



CCL 

For Heaven itself, that is a thing most fair, 

While it is gently calm, serene and dear, 

While Zephyrus perfumes the curled air, 

With gladness it the heart of man doth cheer : 

But if it gloomy, dark, and sad appear, 

It never on us mortals showers a storm, 

But blackness doth heaven's beauteous face deform. 1750 

CCLI 

Nor do I say she lov'd but as a friend, 
Giving the Prince a courteous sweet regard. 
Which had not yet so far as love extend, 
Though more for him than other men she car'd. 
Her gracious looks were only his reward : 
For why, as yet she only did incline. 
And not resolve, to love Prince Leoline. 

CCLII 

But time and opportunity of place, 

AVhich clerks assign for all things that are done, 

Did consummate within a little space 1760 

That part of love was happily begun. 

The evening now approach't, and that day's Sun 

Himself below the horizon had set, 

And had in western waves his chariot wet : 

CCLIII 

Whenas those high supernal Deities 

That all men's actions do foresee and know, 

And do preside at all solemnities. 

Assembled were to look on things below, 

A Masque before King Dermot, which doth show, 

That 'tis a part of their celestial mirth, 1770 

To see how men do personate them on earth, 

CCLIV 

In Heaven's tenth house, bright Honour's highest throne. 

On starry studded arches builded round. 

Great Jupiter the Thunderer bright shone, 

His brows with beams of radiant lightning crown'd : 

Just opposite to him, low under ground 

His melancholy sire Saturnus old 

Did sit, who never pastimes would behold. 

CCLV 

Next Jove sate Mars, the fiery god of war, 

In arms of burnisht steel completely dight : 1780 

By him Apollo, who had left his car. 

And for a while laid by his robes of light : 

Next him sate Venus, goddess of delight, 

1753 A slip of 'had' for 'did' is perhaps more hkely than 'extend' for 
' extended.' 

1770 celestial] Orig. ' coestiall.' 

1781 car] Orig. ' car^,' no doubt for 'carrf,' as usual. 

("4) 



'Leoline and Sydanis 



Whose golden hair in curious knots was tied : 
Then Mercury, and Luna by his side. 

CCLVI 

With these assembled were those Heroes, 

Whose fixed hghts the eighth Sphere do adorn, 

Stormy Orion, and great Hercules, 

With skin from the Nemean Lion torn, 

August's bright Virgin with her ear of corn. 1:790 

Near Berenice combing of her hair, 

Sate Cassiopaea in her starry chair. 

CCLVII 

As these spectators sitting in the skies 

Made Jove's high palace glorious ; even so 

As they cast on King Dermot's court their eyes. 

Another heaven they beheld below : 

Such art and cost did Leoline bestow 

Upon the masquing scenes, as no expense 

Could add more beauty or magnificence. 

CCLVIII 

For to a high and spacious stately room rSoo 

Prepar'd for presentations of delight. 

King Dermot in his royal robes being come, 

Attended on by many a Lord and Knight, 

With his fair daughter Mellefant the bright. 

Where under a rich pearl-em broider'd state, 

She like a glorious constellation sate. 

CCLIX 

The ladies hid with jewels, who had seen 

On arras-covered scaffolds sitting there. 

He would have thought that he so high had been, 

As he at once saw either hemisphere, jSio 

So like a starry firmament they were. 

And all that space that was below, between 

The hemisphere, lookt like the earth in green. 

CCLX 

For all the floor, whereon the masquers' feet 

Their stately steps in figures were to tread, 

And gracefully to sunder, and to meet, 

A carpet of green cloth did overspread ; 

Which seem'd an even flow'ry vale, or mead, 

On which the hyacinth and narcissus blue 

So naturally were stain'd, as if they grew: 1)^20 

CCLXI 

The violet, cowslip, and the daffodill. 
The tulip, the primrose, and with them 

1 787 eighth] in the Ptolemaic system. 

1805 state] = ' canopy.' 

1813 Only those who have not read the actual stage-directions of Ben's and other 
masques will require assurance that Kynaston had probably seen things quite as elaborate 
as he describes. 

("5) 12 



Sir Francis Kynaston 



The daisy sprung from the green camomill, 

The flow'ry orchis with its tender stem, 

The goddess Flora's crown, the meadows' gem. 

Which seem'd the masquers' dancing did commend, 

Who trod so Hght they did not make them bend. 

CCLXII 

More might be said, but let thus much suffice, 

For to say more of flow'rs but needless were. 

The King being set, and all spectators' eyes 1S30 

Fixt on the scene, the first thing did appear 

Were clouds, some dusky blue, and some were clear, 

As if it seem'd a sky were overcast. 

Which all did vanish, with Favonie's blast. 

CCLXIII 

These clouds disperst, down dropping the May dew, 

Aurora rose, crown'd with the morning star. 

Four snow-white swans her purple chariot drew. 

And gently mounted up her rosy car. 

Next that in perspective was seen from far 

The rolling Ocean, and as there had bin 1S4C 

Waves of a flowing spring-tide coming in — 

CCLXIV 

Which as they rolled nearer on the sand, 
Upon the tumbling billows was descried 
Arion with a golden harp in 's hand, 
Who a huge crooked dolphin did bestride. 
And on the dancing waves did bravely ride. 
Before him Tritons, who in shells did blow, 
And were as the loud music to the show. 

CCLXV 

Sea-monsters, who up from the deep were come. 

Presented a delightful antic dance, 1850 

Who on the waters' surface nimbly swome. 

Making odd murgeons with their looks askance. 

Sometimes they dive, sometimes they did advance, 

Sometimes they over one another leapt, 

And to the music time exactly kept. 

CCLXVI 

Between each dance Arion with his lyre. 

That with sweet silver sounding chords was strung, 

Sitting in midst of a melodious quire 

Of sixteen sirens, so divinely sung, 

That all the room with varied echoes rung. i860 

Arion's part was acted by the squire. 

Whose singing all that heard him did admire. 

1850 antic] Orig. as usual 'antique.' 

1851 ' Swome ' for ' swam ' seems worth keeping on the Spenserian system. 

1852 murgeon] = 'grimace,' 'quaint gesture,' seems not only Northern but Scots. 
Kynaston must have picked it up. 

1861-2 Had Scott, who read everj'thing, read Kynaston? If Kynaston could 
have read Scott ' murgeon ' would present no difBculties. 

(116) 



lLeoli7ie and Sydanis 

CCLXVII 

The music ended, to delight the eye, 

Another scene and spectacle begun, 

For there aloft in a clear azure sky 

Was seen a bright and glorious shining sun, 

Who to his great meridian had run, 

O'er whom the asterisme was represented 

Of Leo, whose hot breath his flames augmented. 

CCLXVII I 

Under his beams, as flying o'er the seas, 1870 

Did Daedalus and Icarus appear ; 

The sire in the mid-way did soar at ease, 

But Icarus his son mounting too near, 

His wax-composed wings unfeathered were : 

So headlong to the sea he tumbled down, 

Whose billows the foolhardy youth did drown. 

CCLXIX 

Now the sea going out, which erst had flow'd, 

Did leave a bare and golden yellow sand. 

Whereon rare shells, and orient pearls were strow'd, 

Which gathered by twelve Sea-Nymphs out of hand, 1S80 

In scallop-shells, were brought unto the land 

Unto the King, and Mellefant, as sent 

From him that did Arion represent. 

CCLXX 

The first scene vanishing, and being past, 

And all things gone, as if they had not been ; 

The second scene, whereon their eyes they cast, 

Was the Hesperides, with trees all green, 

On which both gold and silver fruits were seen. 

Apollo there amidst the Muses nine 

Sate, personated by Prince LeoUne. i%o 

CCLXXI 

Who playing on a rare theorbo lute. 
The strings his fingers did not only touch, 
But sung so sweet and deep a base unto't, 
As never mortal ear heard any such : 
The Muses did alternately as much, 
To sound of several instruments, in fine, 
They in one chorus all together join. 

CCLXXII 

Besides them, there was sitting in a grove 

The shepherds' god Pan, with his pipe of reed, 

Who for the mast'ry with Apollo strove, 1900 

Whether in Music's practice did exceed. 

Between them both, King Midas, who decreed 

1893 base] sic in orig. 19°° fo""] ^rig. 'far.' 

("7) 



Sir Francis Kynaston 



That Pan in skill Apollo did surpass, 
Had for his meed two long ears of an ass. 

CCLXXIII 

These with ten Satyrs danc'd an antic round 

With voltas, and a saraband : which ended, 

They suddenly all sunk into the ground, 

And with Apollo they no more contended. 

Thus done, he and his Muses down descended 

From their sweet rosy arbours, which did twin 19 lo 

The honey-suckle and sweet jessamin. 

CCLXXIV 

The stately Grand-Ballet Apollo led, 
Wherein most curious figures were exprest, 
Upon the flow'ry carpet as they tread. 
The Muses in fine antique habit drest, 
Unto their nimble feet do give no rest, 
But in neat figures they the letters frame 
Of Mellefant's, and of King Dermot's name. 

CCLXXV 

This done, the Muses like nine ladies clad 

(For so they did appear unto the eye) 1920 

Their antique habits chang'd, and as they had 

Bin metamorphosed, they suddenly 

Their neat disguise of women did put by. 

And like to nine young gallants did appear, 

The comeliest youths that in Eblana were. 

CCLXXVI 

The Prince, too, putting off his masquing suit, 

Apollo representing now no more. 

His habit gave, his vizor, ivory lute 

To pages, that sweet cedar torches bore, 

Appearing now a Prince as heretofore, 1930 

Who with the nine young gallants went about 

New dances, and to take the ladies out. 

CCLXXVII 

Now as the Prince did gracefully present 

Himself to Mellefant, it did betide 

As he did kiss her hand in compliment, 

Upon her finger he the ring espied 

He gave in bed, which to her wrist was tied 

With a black ribbon, as if she did fear 

To lose a jewel she did prize so dear. 

CCLXXVIII 

Prince Leoline assur'd was by that ring, 1940 

That he with Princess Mellefant had lain, 
Whereas indeed there ne'er was such a thing; 
Such was his courage he could not refrain 
To court the Princess in an amorous strain : 

1906 voltas] More commonly ' /avoltas.' 1910 twin] Better kept than altered to 

'twill!?.' 1915 antique] is perhaps better kept here. 

(nS) 



Leolme and Sydanis 



For while he danc't with her, his eyes exprest 
Those flames of love that burnt within his breast. 

CCLXXIX 

But now it growing late, and night far spent, 

The Bransles being danc't, the revels ended, 

The Prince's Masque did give all eyes content, 

Who by King Dermot highly was commended, 1950 

On whom both he and masquers all attended, 

Who to a stately room were forthwith guided, 

Whereas a sumptuous banquet was provided. 

CCLXXX 

Which being finisht, the late hour of night 

Requir'd, that all the company should part. 

Prince Leoline adjourn must his delight 

Until next day, for now his amorous heart 

Was quite shot through with Cupid's golden dart : 

Nor could he pleasure or contentment want 

Who thought he enjoy'd the beauteous Mellefant. i960 

Explicit pars tertia. 



CCLXXXI 

The crescent-crowned empress of the flood 
Had veiled thrice her face from mortals' sight. 
And having thrice in opposition stood 
Unto her brother, borrow'd thrice his light 
Since that auspicious happy pleasant night, 
That beautiful Amanthis first had bin 
A bedfellow unto Prince Leoline. 

CCLXXXII 

But well away ! for like a man that stands 

With unsure footing on the slippery ice. 

Or one that builds a house upon the sands, 1970 

Such is this world's joy : Fortune in a trice 

Can alter so the chances of the dice. 

Our clearest day of mirth ere it be past, 

With clouds of sorrow oft is overcast. 

CCLXXXI 1 1 

And now, alas ! quite alter'd is the scene 

From joy to sadness, and from weal to woe ; 

The purblind goddess Fortune knows no mean. 

For either she must raise or overthrow : 

Our joy no sooner to the height doth grow, 

But either it is taken quite away, 1980 

Or like a withering flow'r it doth decay. 

1948 Bransles] K. does not use 'brawls' because he wants the disyllable. He may 
have tbllowed F. Q. III. x. viii. 5 (the Hellenore passage, v. supra), but it is not 
certain that the Fr. value is kept there. 

(^9) 



Sir Fra7icis Ky7taston 



CCLXXXIV 

Oh you sad daughters of dark Night and Hell, 
You Furies three, that shunning of the light, 
Among the buried world's pale people dwell, 
And guilty consciences with ghosts affright. 
Assistants be to that I now must write ! 
Alecto, with thy dim blue-burning brand. 
Lend fatal light to guide my trembling hand : 

CCLXXXV 

For cheerful daylight will not lend a beam, 

My tear-down-dropping dreary quill to guide, 1990 

By which that may be read, which now's my theme, 

In dusky clouds the Sun his face will hide, 

And to behold these lines will not abide. 

For they will make the rosy blushing morrow 

Look deadly pale, to see Amanthis sorrow. 

CCLXXXVI 

For why, it fortun'd so, that the next day 

After the masque and revels all were done, 

That Leoline as fresh as flowers in May, 

To prosecute that victory he had won, 

And finish that was happily begun, 2000 

Unto the Princess Mellefant he went. 

His love and humble service to present. 

CCLXXXVII 

Whom happily he found (his luck was such 
Through his kind favouring star) sitting alone 
Upon an imbrocated tissue couch, 
Enricht with pearl and many a precious stone : 
As then attendants near her there was none 
Save only fair Amanthis, who had bin 
Discoursing to her of Prince Leoline. 

CCLXXXVIII 

Who seeing him, rose whence that she was set, 2010 

And he with low obeisance kist her hand : 

* My Lord,' quoth Mellefant, ' since we are met 

If 'twere my happiness to understand 

The French, that I might know what you command. 

And that we two together might confer, 

Without Amanthis our interpreter.' 

CCLXXXIX 

The Prince upon the couch set by her side, 

Making his face more lovely with a smile, 

In her own language to her thus replied : 

'Madam,' quoth he, "twere pity to beguile 2020 

You any longer, for though all this while 

I seem'd a Frenchman ; yet truth shall evince, 

That I your faithful servant am a Prince.' 

2005 Note 'imbrocated' for 'brocaded.' 
aoio Who] Not Amanthis but Mellefant. 

{120) 



Leoline and Sydanis 



ccxc 
Fair Mellefant with sudden joy surpris'd, 
A rosy blush her dainty cheeks did stain. 
' My Lord,' quoth she, ' although you liv'd disguis'd, 
How is it, that so soon you did obtain 
Our British tongue?' He answered her again, 
' Madam,' quoth he, ' causes must not be sought 
Of miracles by your rare beauty wrought. jo^o 

ccxci 
But wonder not, for though King Dermot's throne 
Is sever'd by green Nereus' briny main 
From the firm British continent, yet one 
Are both the laws and language those retain. 
O'er whom the King of Erinland doth reign. 
And those, who great King Arvon do obey, 
Who doth the old Symerian sceptre sway. 

CCXCII 

Whose kingdom all those provinces contains 

Between swift Deva's streams upon the east. 

Who tumbling from the hills frets through the plains, 2040 

And great Saint George's Channel on the west, 

Where the fierce Ordovices and the rest 

Of the ne'er conquer'd warlike Britons bold, 

In hills and caves their habitations hold. 

CCXCIII 

Nor hath his spacious kingdom there an end. 

But from the stormy northern Ocean's shore, 

Unto the fall of Dovy doth extend. 

Whose springs from highest mountains falling o'er 

Steep rocks, like Nile's loud catadups do roar, 

Whose crystal streams along the river's brink 2050 

The stout Dimetae, and Silures drink. 

ccxciv 
Whose ancestors after Deucalion's flood. 
First peopled Erinland long time agone, 
Whose offspring is deriv'd from Britons' blood, 
And is thereof but an extraction : 
Now both these nations may again be one ; 
And since they are deriv'd from one stem. 
They may be joined in one diadem. 

2023 If Mellefant had been, or known, French she would probably liave replied, 
('(la nempeche pas. It is curious how the final couplet seems to invite bathos of 
various kinds in K. 

2037 Symerian] for 'Cimmerian' or ' Cymbrian' seemed worth keeping. 

2043 warlike] Orig. ' warlick.' 

2047 Dovy] i.e. Aberdovey. 

2049 cata</M/>s] for ' cataracts,' that the President of the Academy of Minerva may- 
show his knowledge of KardSovn-ot. 

2052 This historic excursus is very Spenserian. 

(X2l) 



Sir Francis Kynastofi 



ccxcv 
If you, most fair of Princesses, shall deign 

A kind alliance with the British crown, 2060 

And in your bed and bosom entertain 
A lover that shall add to your renown : 
For such a noble match will make it known 
For an undoubted truth, that Princes' hands 
Do not alone join hearts, but unite lands.' 

ccxcvi 
To this the beauteous Mellefant replied, 
And said, ' Fair Prince, were the election mine, 
Your noble motion should not be denied : 
For little rhetoric would suffice t' incline 

A lady to affect Prince Leoline. 2070 

Few words persuade a heart already bent 
To amorous thoughts, to give a fit consent. 

CCXCVII 

But my choice is not totally my own, 
Wherein we Princes are unfortunate : 
Fit suitors to us there are few or none 
We must be rul'd by reasons of the state, 
Which must our lives and actions regulate : 
The country maids are happier than we. 
To whom the choice of many swains is free. 

CCXCVIII 

But we must woo by picture, and believe, 2080 

For all the inward beauties of the mind, 

Such lineaments the painter's colours give : 

We ought be physiognomers, to find 

Whether the soul be well or ill inclin'd : 

Besides, when kingdoms do ally as friends, 

They know no love, nor kindred, but for ends. 

ccxcix 
Yet I have had the happiness to see 
And to converse with you, wherein I am 
More fortunate than other Princes be, 

Seeing your person e'er I knew your name : 2090 

And now your virtues, greater than your fame, 
Needs not the treaties of Embassadors, 
To make the heart of Mellefant all yours. 

ccc 
Only my father's leave must be obtain'd, 
Ere we our nuptial rites do celebrate, 
Whose liking and consent when you have gain'd, 
(Wherein I with you may be fortunate) 
You are his kingdom's heir, and this whole state 
Shall do you homage, and the race that springs 
From us shall reign in Erinland as Kings, 2100 

( '22 ) 



L.eoline and Sydanis 



CCCI 

And rule those ancient Septs, which heretofore 
Had sovereign power, and petit Princes were, 
The great O'Neale, O'Dannel and O'More, 
O'Rocke, O'Hanlon, and the fierce Macquere, 
MacMahon erst begotten of a bear. 
Among those woods not pierc't by summer's sun. 
Where the swift Shenan, and clear Leffy run. 

CCCII 

Under those shades the tall grown kerne, content 

With shamrocks and such cates the woods afford, 

Seeks neither after meat, nor condiment, 2113 

To store his smoky coshery, or board, 

But clad in trouses, mantle, with a sword 

Hang'd in a weyth, his feltred glib sustains 

Without a hat, the weather, when it rains. 

CCCIII 

The lordly Tanist with his skene and dirk. 

Who placeth all felicity in ease, 

And hardly gets his lazy churls to work, 

Who rather chose to live as savages. 

Than with their garrons to break up the lease 

Of fertile fields, but do their ploughshares tie 212c 

To horses' tails, a barbarous husbandry. 

ccciv 
But as it is foretold in prophecies, 
Who writ on barks of trees, a maiden Queen 
Hereafter Erinland shall civilize. 
And quite suppress those savage rites have been 
Amongst us, as they never had been seen : 
This Queen must of the British blood descend. 
Whose fame unto the world's poles shall extend, 

cccv 
Who reigning long, her sex's brightest glory, 
All after ages ever shall admire: 2130 

True virtue's everlasting type and story. 
Who than her, when it can ascend no higher, 
She like a virgin Phoenix shall expire. 

2ior Septs] Orig. ' Scepts.' K., by the way, writes O not O', 

2102 petit] This form still stands for 'petty' in ordinary as well as legal language 
much laterthan K. ' O'Rocke ' is of course ' O'Rourke,' Is ' Macquere ' ' Macquarrie ' ? 

2107 Leffy] = ' Liffey ' I suppose. 

2108 Stanza 302 is no doubt purposely packed with Irish terms. Everybody knows 
' glib' and 'kerne,' though I did not know that the latter ate shamrocks. ' Cosherj' ' 
is used, not as commonly of non-paying guestship, but of the quarters on which the 
guest quarters himself. 'Trouses ' for ' trousers ' or ' trews ' is in Spenser. 'Weyth' 
is I suppose 'withe,' and 'feltred,' which Fairfax also has, is an interesting form. 

2119 garrons] Orig. 'garoones.' ' Chose' above is probably a misprint. 
2123, 2132 Who] K., though not a very careful writer, does not oiten write quite so 
loosely as this. 

2133 than] Orig. 'then.' ' .Ascend' v. inf. 2135 is orig. 



Sir Fra?tcis Kynaston 

And if old wizards' ancient saws be true, 
'J'his royal Princess must ascend from you.' 

cccvi 
Who hath observ'd the gentle western wind, 
And seen the fragrant budding damask rose, 
How that it spreads and opens, he will find 
When Zephyrus' calm breath upon it blows, 
Even so the Prince's heart one may suppose 2140 

Dilated was with joy within his breast, 
Hearing the speeches Mellefant exprest. 

CCCVII 

To whom with looks and countenance debonaire. 

He only made this short, but sweet reply : 

' Madam,' quoth he, ' were not you the most fair. 

That ever hath bin fam'd in history, 

Or shall be seen by late posterity, 

There might remain a hope, that there might be 

An age hereafter happier than we. 

CCCVIII 

But since that you are Nature's paragon 2150 

Not by herself e'er to be parallell'd. 

Since Heaven 's the ring, and you the precious stone. 

Yet never equall'd, therefore not excell'd, 

Those happy eyes that have your form beheld. 

Must close themselves in darkness, and despair 

Of ever seeing one so heavenly fair. 

cccix 
For when to liberal Nature she had spent 
The quintessence of all her precious store, 
To make one glorious Phoenix, her intent 
Perchance was to have formed two, or more; 2160 

But wanting of materials she forbore : 
So is she now enforc'd not to make two 
Such as yourself, but by dissolving you. 

cccx 
Therefore that glorious Queen of all perfection, 
That is foretold in after times to reign. 
Will be but of yourself a recollection : 
Who Aeson-like, will be reviv'd again ; 
For your divinest parts will still remain 

2144 Not so very short : but considering what he thought had occurred, not a Httlc 
curious. The passage is, however, an example of K.'s failure to do justice to himself 
as a taleteller which has been noticed, or else (perhaps and also) of the insensibility to 
romantic and chivalrous feeling which begins to be noticeable in Bacon, accounts for 
the crudities of the Restoration, and reaches its acme in the reign of William III. 
Even in the rapture-scene, supra, Leoline has been represented as chiefly thinking of 
his chances of the kingdom. Mellefant has put him still more on these thoughts : ami 
they drive everything else out of his head. 

2160 formed] Orig. 'form'd,' but the disyllabic is needed. 



Leoline a7id Sydafiis 



Unmixt, and the uniting of your frame 

Will alter nothing of you, but your name. ■ 2170 

cccxi 
For as a sovereign Prince doth honour give 
To 's presence-chamber, though he be not there ; 
So you, though for a while you do not live 
On earth, but in some bright celestial Sphere, 
Yet is your presence-chamber everywhere. 
For that it is the whole world here below, 
To which your servants do obeisance owe.' 

CCCXII 

This interchange of courtship 'twixt these lovers 

Continued till the day was well near spent. 

And Venus setting in the west, discovers 2180 

The path and track where Phoebus' chariot went. 

To get King Dermot's fatherly consent. 

Was now the only business to be done. 

To consummate those joys that were begun. 

CCCXIII 

But O you weird stern fatal Sisters three, 

O Lachesis, that mortals' threads dost twine ! 

O influence of stars, that causes be, 

Though not compulsive, yet our wills incline : 

You yet disclose not to Prince Leoline, 

Of this his forward love the sad event, 2190 

Nor of his match the strong impediment. 

cccxiv 
For now Amanthis either must oppose 
His marriage, for by her it must be crost, 
And consequently must herself disclose, 
Or she is utterly undone, and lost. 
Thus like a ship 'twixt wind and tide sore tost, 
Not knowing how to tack about or veer, 
She wanted skill to wield the stern or steer. 

cccxv 
For first she thought such was the Prince's truth, 
As that he would rejoice that he had found 2200 

Amanthis retransform^d from a youth 
To Sydanis, whom he believ'd was drown'd. 
With double joys their hearts should now be crown'd, 
For all the bitterness they both did taste. 
Should with contentment sug'red be at last. 

cccxvi 
And though we be no better for delight 
That's done and gone, nor yet the worse for pain, 
When it is past, no more than is the sight, 

2192 And now the poem rises again : as, if ever, it does when Sydanis-Amanthis is 
concerned. 

2197 tack] Orig. 'take,' which perhaps should be kept. 

2208 i.e. ' the sight the better — the ear the worse.' These two stanzas are 
rememberable and show what K. could do when he chose. 



Sir Fra7icis Kynaston 



For glorious species, which it did retain: 

Or ear for hearing some harsh music strain, 22x0 

The present being that, which we enjoy, 

Whether it be of pleasure, or annoy — 

CCCXVII 

Yet as in dreams the memory suggests 

Unto the fantasy things that have been, 

But are no more, so a remembrance rests 

In her, of all her anguish and her teen ; 

And of those sorrowful days that she had seen, 

Which like a fearful dream once passed o'er 

That 'twas not true makes her rejoice the more. 

cccxvin 
For she not knowing of the fascination 2220 

Was practis'd on the Prince in 's marriage bed, 
Might think an over-strong imagination. 
Sending venereal spirits to the head, 
Had left the part of generation dead, 
Too much desire in love being oft a let 
And makes that fall, which men upright would set, 

cccxix 
But passing that, the Princess having tried 
With Leoline, whom she so oft beguil'd, 
Completely all the pleasures of a bride. 

And by him being young conceiv'd with child, 2230 

She thought she should be fully reconcil'd 
Unto King Arvon, when it did appear 
That Leoline and she both living were : 

cccxx 
And that the war King Arvon had begun, 
(Of which she had but lately heard) should cease, 
She bringing to him a young Prince, a son, 
And all should be concluded with a peace. 
Before their two old parents did decease. 
These pleasant thoughts, like shapes seen in a glass 
Set in a street, through her clear soul did pass. 2240 

cccxxi 
But as in March the sun then shining fair. 
Is often by the south wind's stormy blast. 
Chasing the clouds, and troubling the air, 
With black and gloomy curtains overcast, 
Which longer than serenity doth last. 
So some sad thoughts o'erspread Amanthis' soul. 
Which all her thoughts of pleasure did control. 

2227 A momentary confusion may beset the reader, inasmuch as K. has not recently 
called Sydanis 'the Princess,' and has constantly so called Mellefant. But Sydanis of 
course is meant. 'Young conceived' below seems to mean ' newly,' 'lately.' 

2240 Set in a street] i. e. a ' spion,' a mirror reflecting objects outside in a window. 

(126) 



Leoline a?td Sydanis 



CCCXXII 

For to declare herself, she was afraid, 

To be the consort of the Prince's bed, 

Since she should cross herself, who had averr'd 2250 

To Leoline, that Sydanis was dead, 

And so for lying should be censured. 

Or should as an impostor be accus'd. 

Who with false shows had all the Court abus'd. 

CCCXXIII 

Besides, this circumstance augments her fear, 

If she should say she from Carleon fled. 

She must discover what had hap'ned there ; 

She knew no other but her Nurse was dead, 

For whom her life might well be questioned, 

And therefore in this case it her behov'd, 2260 

To say something that might not be disprov'd. 

cccxxiv 
But she not knew nor ship, nor Prince's name 
Pretended to be shipwreckt, nor could give 
Account how she unto Eblana came, 
So probably that men might her believe : 
This exigent her very soul did grieve. 
That she must say it with a serious brow, 
That she was come, and yet could not tell how. 

cccxxv 
Besides, she did imagine if she said 

She was Duke Leon's daughter, none did know 2270 

Her to be such, and being now no maid. 
Though formerly the Prince had left her so. 
When from her bridal bed he meant to go, 
Though she assumed Sydanis her name. 
The Prince might think her like, yet not the same. 

cccxxvi 
Or presuppose Prince Leoline did know 
That she was Sydanis, yet having set 
His love on Mellefant, he might not show 
That he did know her, and so she might get 
The reputation of a counterfeit : 2280 

Besides, she coming closely to his bed, 
She could not prove he got her maidenhead. 

CCCXXVII 

Moreover, if all truths should be disclos'd. 
And things known really which she did feign. 
That all this while Prince Leoline suppos'd 
That he with Princess Mellefant had lain : 
For such a foul aspersion, and a stain 

2266 exigent] for ' exigence.' 2281 closely] 'secretly.' 

(127) 



Str Fraftcis Kynaston 



Cast on her honour, (although not intended) 
Fair Mellefant might justly be offended. 

CCCXXVIII 

And so on every side perplext and grieved, 3290 

She of all liars should have the reward, 

As when they speak truth not to be believ'd, 

She could not easily mend what she had marr'd. 

Thus with the woful Sydanis it far'd. 

Who trusting overmuch to her disguise, 

Falls by it into these calamities. 

cccxxix 
O aged father Time's fair daughter. Truth, 
Of all divine intelligences best, 
What Sages erst have said of thee is sooth, 
Thou hast a window made in thy white breast, 3300 

And art most lovely when thou art undrest. 
Thou seek'st no corners thy bright self to hide, 
Nor blushest though thou naked art espied. 

cccxxx 
Thou needst not a fucus or disguise. 
To cover thee thou putt'st on no new fashion, 
Nor with false semblance dost delude men's eyes. 
Like thy base zany, damn'd Equivocation, 
Thou want'st no comment, nor interpretation, 
And for maintaining thee, though men be blam'd 
And suffer for a while, yet ne'er art sham'd. 2310 

cccxxx I 
Yet what thou art must not always be told. 
For 'tis convenient thou thyself should'st hide, 
Till thy old Sire thy beauties do unfold : 
Then as pure gold upon the touchstone tried, 
That finer's hottest furnace doth abide. 
Or like a palm-tree thou dost flourish best, 
When thou hast bin by ignorance supprest. 

cccxxxii 
And so although necessity requir'd 
That truth of things should now be brought to light, 
That period of time was not expir'd, 2320 

Wherein this Lady Sydanis the bright 
Should show herself, for which she often sight. 
Who now with showers of tears her eyes had made, 
As if two suns in watery clouds did wade. 

2296 I do not think the handling of the systole and diastole of self-comfort and self- 
torture in these last stanzas can be called contemptible, though, as usual, K. has a few 
flat lines. 

2310 art] One would rather expect * are' = ' they are.' But ' art' will construe. 

2316 palm-tree] Cf. Dryden, Heroic Stanzas, 13. 

3322 sight] K. would not, probably, have hesitated to make this form. But, as it 
happens, it occurs (with the e) frequently in his favourite Troilus and Creseide. 

( 128 ) 



Leoline and Syda7tis 



CCCXXXIII 

But as the lily whenas Bartholomew, 

Summer's last Saint, hath ushered in the frost, 

Wet, with the long night's cold, and chilly dew. 

Her lustre and her verdure both are lost. 

And seems to us as she were dead almost : 

So grief and sorrow quickly did impair 3330 

The lovely face of Sydanis the fair, 

cccxxxiv 
Who weeps away her eyes in pearly showers, 
Rais'd by her sighs, as by a southern wind. 
She prays to Venus and the heavenly powers, 
That they in their high providence would find 
Some means to ease her sad and troubled mind : 
And though despair unto the height was grown, 
She might enjoy that yet, which was her own, 

cccxxxv 
Her prayers are heard, for the next dawning day 
Prince Leoline and Mellefant both went 2340 

(True love not brooking any long delay) 
Unto King Dermot, with a full intent 
To ask and get his fatherly consent. 
These Princes' loves on wings of hope did fly, 
That the King neither could, or would deny. 

cccxxxvi 
But their design they brought to no effect, 
Being commenc't in an unlucky hour, 
No planet being in his course direct. 
And Saturn who his children doth devour 
From his north-east dark adamantine tower 2350 

Beheld the waning moon and retrograde, 
A time unfit for such affairs had made. 

cccxxxvii 
They should have made election of a day 
Was fortunate, and fit to speak with Kings, 
When the King's planet, Sol's propitious ray. 
Who great affairs to a wisht period brings, 
And is predominant in all such things ; 
When Jupiter aspecting with the trine. 
His daughter Venus did benignly shine. 

cccxxxviii 
This was the cause proceeding from above, 2360 

Which clerks do call inevitable fate : 
That was the hindrance of these Princes' love, 
And made them in their suit unfortunate : 
But yet there was another cause of state, 

2326 If ' Summer's last Saint ' (a pleasing phrase) seem unreasonably associated 
with ' frost,' &c., let Old Style be remembered. Even then it is a gloomy view. 

II. ( 129 ) K 



Sir Fra7icis Kynaston 



Which was so main an obstacle and let, 
That they the King's consent could never get. 

cccxxxix 
For that Embassador which lieger lay, 
Sent to Eblana in King Albion's name, 
Who as you heard was feasted that same day 
That to the court Prince Leoline first came, 2370 

And Mellefant conceiv'd her amorous flame, 
A treaty of a marriage had begun 
For her, with Prince Androgios, Albion's son ; 

CCCXL 

And had so far advanc't it, that the King 

With all his privy council's approbation, 

Had condescended unto everything 

That might concern the weal of either nation : 

For this alliance would lay a foundation 

Of a firm future peace, and would put down 

That enmity was erst 'twixt either crown. 23S0 

CCCXLI 

And now the time prefixt was come so near 
Th' Embassador had got intelligence, 
Within ten days Androgios would be there 
In person, his own love-suit to commence, 
And consummate with all magnificence 
His marriage, and perform those nuptial rites 
Wherein bright Cytherea so delights. 

CCCXLII 

This weigh'd. King Dermot could not condescend, 

Nor give way to Prince Leoline's aff'ection, 

Unless he should Androgios offend, 2390 

Who now of his alliance made election, 

The breach whereof might cause an insurrection 

Among his people, if that they should see 

Him break a King's word, which should sacred be. 

CCCXLIII 

And now although Prince Leoline repented 

He ever love to Mellefant profest, 

Yet because no man should go discontented 

From a great King, he as a Princely guest 

Was us'd with all the noblest, fairest, best 

Respects of courtesy, and entertain'd 2400 

While that he in King Dermot's court remain'd. 

2367 lieger] Cf. K. Philips, i. 551 and note. Here the term is quite technical for 
' resident.' It may be observed that there is some ingenuity in making the usual 
Romance-rival instrumental, not in ruffling but in smoothing the course of true love. 

2376 condescend] in the simple sense of 'consent,' is not so very uncommon in 
Elizabethan English. 

2387 Cytherea] Orig. Cy«therea. 

( 130 ) 



I^eoli7te and Syda7tis 

CCCXLIV 

But like to one that's into prison cast, 
Though he enjoy both of the eye and ear 
All choicest objects, and although he taste 
Ambrosial cates ; yet while that he is there 
Wanting his liberty, which is most dear. 
He nothing relishes, for nothing cares, 
Even so now with Prince Leoline it fares. 

CCCXLV 

Who now disconsolate, and being barr'd 

All hopes of marrying Mellefant the fair, 2410 

Missing that aim he nothing did regard, 

And since he must not be King Dermot's heir, 

He thought that nought that damage could repair, 

Himself as one he captivated deem'd, 

And Dermot's court to him a prison seem'd. 

CCCXLVI 

Now as a tempest from the sea doth rise, 

Within his mind arose this stormy thought, 

How that the Princess justly might despise 

His cowardice, who by all means had sought 

To win her love, if he not having sought 2420 

A combat with Androgios, he should go 

Or steal away from her that lov'd him so. 

CCCXLV 1 1 

Although to fight, no valour he did want, 
Nor wisht a nobler way his life to end. 
If vanquisht he should lose both Mellefant 
And he King Dermot highly should offend. 
Who all this while had bin his royal friend. 
Love well begun should have a bad conclusion, 
And kindness find an unkind retribution. 

CCCXLVI 1 1 

But more, if he should secretly attempt ' 2430 

By means to take King Dermot's life away, 

Nothing his guilty conscience would exempt 

From terror that so foully would betray, 

Fowls of the air such treason would bewray : 

For ravens by their croking would disclose 

(Pecking the earth) such horrid acts as those. 

CCCXLIX 

If he with Mellefant away should steal. 

And carry her where they might not be found. 

Yet time at last such secrets would reveal : 

2412 I may be excused for again noting the frankness with which Leohne's purely 
mercenary aims are stated. It is odder that it should never have occurred to him 
to urge the dangerous but almost irresistible claim which he thought he possessed. 

2423 The valour, however, a little resembles that of Mr. Winkle, both in its argu- 
ments and in its conclusion. 

( 131 ) K 2 



Sir Francis Ky?taston 



For by that act he should her honour wound. 2440 

Who for her modesty had bin renovvn'd, 
And he than Paris should no better speed, 
Of whose sad end you may in Dares read. 

CCCL 

One while in him these noble thoughts had place, 

Which did reflect on honourable fame : 

Another while he thought how that in case 

He stole away, men could not him more blame, 

Then erst Aeneas, who had done the same 

To Dido, and that very course had taken, 

Leaving the lovely Carthage Queen forsaken. 3450 

CCCLI 

Injurious Story, which not only serv'st 

To keep the names of heroes from rust, 

But in thy brazen register preserv'st 

The memories, and acts of men unjust, 

Which otherwise had bin buried with their dust, 

But for thy black dark soul there no man had 

Examples to avoid for what is bad. 

CCCLII 

For had it not in annals bin recorded, 

That Theseus from the Minotaur was freed 

By Ariadne, time had not afforded 2460 

A precedent for such a horrid deed. 

For when King Minos' daughter had agreed 

To steal away with him, his beauteous theft, 

Asleep on Naxos desert's rocks he left. 

CCCLIII 

An act deserving hell's black imprecation 

So cruel, that it cannot be exprest. 

To leave a princely lady in such fashion. 

That had receiv'd him to her bed and breast. 

All after ages should this fact detest : 

For this his treason render'd him all o'er 2470 

A greater monster than the Minotaur. 

CCCLIV 

Returning home to Greece he had not taught 
Demophon, by fair Phaedra his false son, 
When he had King Lycurgus' daughter brought 
Unto his bowe, and her affection won. 
Perfidiously away from her to run, 
Leaving fair Phillis, and so caus'd that she 
Did hang herself upon an almond tree. 

2451-2 Story] Orig. ' story,' but as it is obviously for ' History ' personified, a capital 
seems needful. ' Heroes' trisyllabic as before. 
2461 precedent] In orig. 'president,' as often. 
2464 desert's] 'desarts' in orig Perhaps the 's' should go. 
2475 ' Bowe ' {sic in orig.) means ' will,' or ' yoke.' 

( '32 ) 



Leoline and Sydanis 



CCCLV 

Yet these examples scarce mov'd Leoline, 

And scarce his resolution chang'd at all 2480 

Yox Mellefant, for he could not divine, 

If she by tasting sorrow's bitter'st gall, 

Upon the sharp point of a sword should fall : 

Or Phillis-like, impatient of delay, 

Would with a halter make herself away. 

CCCLVI 

It may be she like Ariadne might 

(Though she her virgin bloom had Theseus given) 

Marry god Bacchus, and her tresses bright 

Be afterward exalted up to heaven, 

There for to shine among the planets seven : 2490 

For justice is not so severe and strict 

As death on all offenders to inflict. 

CCCLVII 

Besides he did remember, should he look 
On authors, he should many women find, 
That had their loves, and paramours forsook, 
And prov'd to them unconstant, and unkind. 
'Mongst other stories he did call to mind 
That of the fairy Creseid, who instead 
Of faithful Troilus lov'd false Diomed. 

CCCLVIII 

And if there were as many women found 3500 

As men, in love unconstant, and untrue, 

He thought, that he in conscience was not bound 

To render love for love, but while 'twas due, 

And so might leave an old love for a new; 

Besides he thought Androgios might be 

A braver, and a comelier man than he. 

CCCLIX 

And being higher both in birth and place 

Then he, and heir to a more ancient crown, 

He thought that Mellefant in such a case 

Will do like women, all prefer their own 2510 

Pre-eminence, precedence, and renown. 

And so she in a short time would forget 

All that affection she on him had set. 

CCCLX 

And as for Prince Androgios, though he could 

Have wisht he had not Mellefant defil'd, 

With whom he thought that he had bin too bold : 

2479 In other words he did not care what happened to her. K. is certainly 
industrious in blackening his hero with whitewash. 

2498 Cressida as a fairy is rather agreeable, but I fear we should read 'fair[e] 
Creseid.' 

2506 'Braver' is unlucky. 

(^33) 



Sir Francis Kynaston 



Yet if 'twere so, that she was not with child, 

The Prince as other men might be beguil'd, 

As surf'ting water, or such art might hide 

Secrets by midwives not to be descried. 2520 

CCCLXI 

And therefore he resolved not to fight, 
Unless Androgios challeng'd him, for so 
Such privacies he thought might come to light, 
That were unfit for any man to know. 
He therefore did determine he would go 
Unto Carnarvon, and there would abide. 
Till fortune show'd what after should betide. 

CCCLXII 

Our purposes, and things which we intend, 

Have not subsistence of themselves alone. 

For on the heavenly powers they do depend, 2530 

As the earth gives birth to every seed is sown, 

Which after to maturity is grown : 

For stars not only form all our intents, 

But shape the means to further the events. 

cccLxni 
For now to further this his resolution. 
Those stars, which at his birth benignly shone 
In his first house, by annual revolution, 
Unto his mirth, the House of Dreams was gone, 
Of journeys and peregrination 

Significator, and the Moon now new, 2540 

To Phoebus' bosom her dark self withdrew. 

CCCLXIV 

All this conspir'd to further a design 
Which Sydanis resolv'd to put in act, 
For understanding by Prince Leoline 
That there had never bin any contract 
'Twixt him and Mellefant, she nothing lackt 
But some fine neat device, whereof the doing 
Should be the cause of Leoline's speedy going. 

CCCLXV 

For he once being from Eblana gone, 

It was her resolution and intent 

(In claim of that which justly was her own) 

To follow him wherever that he went, 

All thoughts of future marriage to prevent ; 

For rather than endure such storms as those 

She had abid, herself she would disclose. 

2519 surrting] = 'surfeiting.' By this time, and perhaps still more with ccclxi. i, 
the mock-heroic undercurrent is hardly to be denied, if Cynthia is to save her poet. 

2538 I must leave it to astrologers to expound this passage, only remarking that the 
' House of Dreams' has found surprisingly little use in literature. 

(134) 



'o^*- 



L.eoline and Sydanis 



CCCLXVI 

And thus it hap't, when from the frozen North 

Night and her consort dull dew-dropping Sleep 

Arose, and drowsy Morpheus had let forth 

Fantastic dreams which he in caves doth keep, 

When mortals all their cares in Lethe steep, 2r,6o 

And darkness with Cimmerian foggy damp, 

Extinguisht for a while heaven's glorious lamp. 

CCCLXVII 

What time the silent hours their wheels had driven 

Over the sable clouds of dusky night, 

And were arriv'd as high as the mid-heaven, 

Dividing from the hemisphere of light, 

The other half in robes of darkness dight : 

As Leoline lay sleeping in his bed, 

A pleasant vision did possess his head. 

CCCLXVIII 

He dreamt he saw Duke Leon's palace, where 2570 

There was all pomp and bravery exprest. 

All objects might delight the eye or ear 

With preparation for a sumptuous feast. 

Which unto Coelum's honour was addrest. 

For in a temple, that was high and wide. 

He thought he first Duke Leon had descried. 

CCCLXIX 

Kneeling he seem'd by the high altar's side 

With eyes upcast, and hands to heaven upspread, 

All which the Duke devoutly having ey'd, 

High in the clouds appeared overhead 2580 

Jove's mighty eagle carrying Ganymede, 

Who gently down descending from above, 

Did seem as sent unto the Duke from Jove. 

CCCLXX 

Lighting upon the ground the Eagle set 

Her lovely load, in presence of the Duke, 

Which eftsoons did a wonder strange beget, 

For while he steadfastly did on it look, 

The person that for Ganymede he took. 

Was Sydanis his daughter, and so seem'd 

Unto the sleeping Prince, who of her dream'd. 2590 

CCCLXXI 

From whom as now the Eagle was to part, 
And touring to return up to the skies. 
She suddenly seiz'd on Sydanis her heart. 
And having rent it out away she flies : 
This sight with such a horror did surprise 

2561 Cimmerian] Orig. 'Cymerian.' 
2578 upcast] Orig. 'upcast,' which must be a misprint. 

2592 I am not sure whether ' touring ' is for * tow'ring ' or whether it means ' turning.' 
It is odd that Milton (P. L. xi. 185) has ' tour' of ' the bird of Jove.' 

(^35) 



Sir Francis Kynaston 

The sleeping Prince, that every member quakes, 
And in a cold sweat Leoline awakes. 

CCCLXXII 

Awak't with fear Prince Leoline beheld 

A stranger and a far more ominous sight, 

Which all his dream and fantasies expell'd, 2600 

For by his bedside in a glimmering light 

Stood Sydanis in fairy habit dight, 

To whom she did a low obeisance make, 

And afterwards to this effect she spake. 

CCCLXXIII 

' Illustrious Prince,' quoth she, ' whom various Fate, 

Guiding the helm of thy affairs in love, 

Did first make happy, then unfortunate. 

Yet at the last to thee will constant prove. 

And will eftsoons those errors all remove, 

Which heretofore have been, or else may be, 2610 

Impediments to thy felicity. 

CCCLXXIV 

Fate wills not that thou longer shouldst remain 

In false belief, thy Sydanis is dead, 

Or that thou with fair Mellefant hast lain, 

Or hast enjoy'd her virgin maidenhead. 

'Twas I by night came to thee in her stead. 

Who am a Fairy, an inhabitant 

Of another world, for 'twas not Mellefant. 

CCCLXXV 

For 'twixt the centre and circumference 

Of this great globe of earth, Prince, thou shalt know 2620 

There is another fairy world, from whence 

We through the earth, as men through air, do go 

Without resistance passing to and fro, 

Having nor sun, nor moon, but a blue light, 

Which makes no difference 'twixt our day and night. 

CCCLXXVI 

In this our world there is not a thing here. 

Upon this globe of earth, man, woman, tree. 

Plant, herb, or flower, but just the same is there, 

So like it hardly can distinguisht be. 

Either in colour, or in shape, for we 2630 

Are all aerial phantoms, and are fram'd, 

As pictures of you, and are Fairies nam'd. 

CCCLXXVII 

And as you mortals we participate 

Of all the like affections of the mind. 

We joy, we grieve, we fear, we love, we hate, 

2617 I fear it may be observed of Sydanis, as it was of Clarissa, that ' there is always 
something she prefers to the truth.' But these things will happen. 

(136) 



L,eolme and Sydanis 



And many times forsaken our own kind, 
We are in league with mortals so combin'd, 
As that in dreams we lie with them by night, 
Begetting children, which do Changelings hight. 

CCCLXXVIII 

To those we love, and in whom we take pleasure, 2640 

From diamantine chests we use to bring 

Gold, jewels, and whole heaps of fairy treasure, 

Sums that may be the ransom of a king ; 

On those we hate, we many times do fling 

Blindness, and lameness, that unhallow'd go 

To crop of fairy branch, the mistletoe. 

CCCLXXIX 

Amongst us is thy Sydanis, of whom 

I am the Genius, for erst so it chanc't, 

As flying from Carleon, she did come. 

And too near our fairy rounds advanc't, 2650 

^Vhereas at midnight we the Fairies danc't ; 

King Oberon straight seiz'd her as his prey. 

As Pluto erst took Proserpine away : 

CCCLXXX 

And carrying her down to Fairy-land, 

Hath on a downy couch laid her to sleep, 

With orange blossoms strow'd, with a command. 

Queen Mab, and all her Elves should safe her keep, 

Till thou repassing o'er the briny deep, 

Shalt to King Arvon thy old sire return. 

Whom causeless thou so long hast made to mourn. 2660 

CCCLXXXI 

Which if you do not instantly perform, 

Black elves shall pinch thee, goblins shall affright 

Thy restless soul ; at sea an hideous storm. 

With death's black darkness, shall thy days benight.' 

Having thus said, that borrow'd beam of light. 

Which as you heard did from the stone arise, 

Vanisht, and hid her from the Prince's eyes. 

CCCLXXXII 

Who now believing he had seen an Elf, 

A messenger by Oberon employ'd. 

He forthwith rose, and eftsoons drest himself 2670 

(The better all suspicion to avoid) 

In a black habit of his Squire Ffloyd, 

And ere the sun toucht the east horizon. 

Putting to sea, he out of ken was gone. 

Explicit pars qiiarta. 

2636 forsaken] 'forsakw^'? an absolute with kind? 

2643 ransom] Orig. ' ranso«,' which may be right, as, independently of the French, 
raunson ' is Chaucerian. 
2666 But how did she get the ring back? 

(^37) 



Sir Fra?icis Kynaston 



CCCLXXXIII 

And now old Saturn, whom clerks Chronos call, 

Of nature cold and dry, of motion slow, 

Author of all misfortunes that befall 

To men and their affairs, malignant so, 

Was shortly from his Apogee to go, 

To his exile, and Jove was to ascend, 2680 

And so these lovers' troubles all should end. 

CCCLXXXIV 

Benign bright King of stars, who hast forsook 

Juno, the stately consort of thy bed. 

And down-descending to the earth, hast took 

Strange shapes, of mortals be'ng enamoured, 

Who were not only metamorphosed 

By thee, but taken up into the skies, 

And shining, sit amongst the Deities ; 

CCCLXXXV 

Hasten thy rising to thy glorious throne, 

And sitting on thy sapphir'd arch in state, 2690 

Look on those princes that have undergone 

The dire effects of thy stern father's hate, 

Which, as thou art a King, commiserate, 

And when that thou hast ended everything, 

My Muse unto this story's period bring. 

CCCLXXXVI 

For yet the storm is not quite overpast, 

Nor suddenly will all these troubles end : 

With Saturn's frowns the heaven is overcast. 

And clouds of sorrow, show'rs of tears portend : 

For while that Leoline his course doth bend, 2700 

And is arrived at Carnarvon's port, 

The scene of woe lies in King Dermot's court. 

CCCLXXXVII 

For now no sooner did the rosy morn 

(Which summons drowsy mortals from their rest) 

Her dewy locks in Thetis' glass adorn. 

And Phoebus' steeds in flaming trappings drest, 

From the low North, ascended up the East, 

But it through all the court was forthwith known, 

How that Prince Leoline away was gone. 

CCCLXXXVIII 

Of which a messenger did tidings bring 2710 

To Sydanis, and Prmcess Mellefant : 

Who forthwith did relate them to the King : 

Who of his going's cause being ignorant, 

Afifirm'd, that he civility did want, 

Who did so many courtesies receive. 

And went away without taking his leave. 

(138) 



Leoline and Sydanis 



CCCLXXXIX 

Wonder possest King Dermot's royal heart 

With much regret, the Prince should leave him so : 

But Mellefant, she acts another part, 

Of doubtful sorrow in this scene of woe, 3720 

For after him she was resolv'd to go : 

And under the black veil of the next night 

She did determine for to take her flight. 

cccxc 
The very same fair Sydanis intends, 
Who in Eblana would no longer stay : 
Having on Leoline now had her ends, 
Glad that her princely lord was gone away, 
Too long and wearisome she thought the day : 
And blamed as slow the russins of the Sun, 
That tow'rds the West they did no faster run. 2730 

cccxci 
But at the last. Night with a sable robe, 
Rising from Taenarus her dark abode, 
O'erspread this half of th' universal globe. 
Making the wolf, bat, scritch-owl, and the toad, 
(The haters of the light) to come abroad, 
When, wearied with his work the day before. 
The heavy ploughman doth at midnight snore. 

CCCXCII 

Now Mellefant and Sydanis, who had 

To fly away that night the same intent; 

That like a page, this like a ship-boy clad, 2740 

The better all suspicion to prevent. 

As they were wont unto their beds they went : 

Whenas a gentle sleep did soon surprise 

Fair Sydanis, and clos'd her dove-like eyes. 

CCCXCIII 

But Mellefant, whose eyes and heart receiv'd 

No dull impressions of the night, nor rest, 

To Sydanis' bedside stole unperceiv'd. 

And got away the page's suit ; so drest, 

Therein she fled away, for that she guest, 

That for the Prince's page she should be taken, 2750 

That had of late King Dermot's court forsaken. 

cccxciv 
Passing the corps de gard the watch did keep, 
And place where Master Constable still sate, 
(For they were all most cordially asleep) 
She forthwith came unto the city gate. 
And by the porter was let out thereat, 

2729 russins] Fr. roussin, ' nags,' with a slight touch of contempt. Does it occur 
elsewhere? One would rather have expected the Chaucerian 'rouncey.' 
3754 * Cordially asleep ' is very good. 



Sir Fra72cis Kynaston 

Passing unquestion'd, for whenas she said 

She was the Prince's page, she was not stayed. 

cccxcv 
Come to the key, where ships at anchor ride. 
An unexpected spectacle befalls, 2760 

For on the shrouds of a tall ship she spied 
Two lights, that seem'd like two round fiery balls, 
Aereal twins, the which the seaman calls 
Castor and Pollux, who being seen together, 
Portend a happy voyage, and fair weather. 

cccxcvi 
But if that only one of them appears 
Upon the hallyards of the ship, or masts, 
It is an ominous osse the seaman fears, 
If not of shipwreck, yet of gusts and blasts : 
While she beheld, one of the balls down-casts 2770 

Itself from the mainyard upon the shore, 
And as a walking fire went on before. 

CCCXCVI I 

This apparition somewhat terrified 
The Princess, who had now no power to go 
Elsewhere, but follow her fantastic guide. 
And thus as they had wandered to and fro, 
About the time that the first cock did crow. 
They came unto a woody hill, so high. 
The top did seem to gore the starry sky. 

CCCXCVIII 

For like Olympus he did lift his head 2780 

Above the middle region of the air. 

Where thunders, hail, and meteors are bred : 

For there the weather evermore was fair : 

Unto the top hereof this wand'ring pair 

Being arriv'd, by many a passage steep. 

The wearied Princess was cast in a sleep. 

CCCXCIX 

On strowings laid, of never-fading flowers. 

Which on this hill's serenest top had grown. 

She in sweet dreams did pass the silent hours ; 

Upon her a light coverlet was thrown, 2790 

Made of the peach's soft and gentle down : 

Whom there I leave in no less great a bliss 

Than was the sorrow of fair Sydanis. 

2759 key] of course = ' quay.' 

2768 osse] an omen or portent. Nares gives three examples from Holland. 
I suppose it is connected with the dialectic v. 'oss' — to 'begin,' 'promise,' 'incline 
to.' See Dialed Dictionary. 

2791 Is this elegant substitution of peach-down for thistle-down K's. own? 

( 140) 



Leoline a7id Syda?tis 



CD 

Who having overslept herself, did wake 

But half an hour before the break of day ; 

To dress herself she all the speed did make, 

Herself in skipper's habit to array, 

And tow'rds the port she forthwith takes her way : 

But night and darkness her no longer hide, 

For ere she got aboard she was descried. 2800 

CDI 

Night's cloud upon the eastern horoscope, 
Which like a sleeping eyelid hid the sky. 
Uplifted seem'd to wake, and set wide ope, 
Disclos'd unto the world Heaven's glorious eye : 
The watch her apprehends immediately, 
Conceiving her no skipper's boy to be, 
Whose face and habit did so disagree. 

CDII 

Whether it were the then near dawning day. 

Or else a native lustre of her own. 

Which through her clothes her beauty did bewray, 2810 

Which like a carbuncle in darkness shone, 

It is uncertain ; but she yet unknown. 

About the hour King Dermot us'd to rise. 

Was brought unto the court in this disguise. 

CDIII 

O envious Light, betrayer of each plot. 

Lovers in darkness silently contrive ! 

Disturb not their affairs, they need thee not, 

Nor do not them of wished joys deprive, 

Who to avoid thy piercing eye do strive : 

Converse with gravers, who cut seals in bone, 2820 

Or threescore faces on a cherry-stone. 

CDIV 

What hath this innocent beauty done to thee, 

That thou her life to danger should'st expose ? 

But Light, we know it is thy property 

To conceal nothing, but all things disclose : 

For now about the time King Dermot rose, 

First a suspicion, after, a report 

Was spread, that Mellefant was fled from court. 

CDV 

What miseries can Fate together twist, 

When she to ruin mortals doth intend ! 2830 

For now no sooner Mellefant was mist, 

Whose loss King Dermot highly did offend, 

Who messengers to seek her straight doth send, 

2801 ' Horoscope' seems used rather loosely. The next line is pretty and reminds 
one of Chamberlayne's atmosphere. K. seems to have been inspirited in his task b^- 
the 'si^ht of land.' 



Sir Fra7icis Kyjiaston 

And while that they for the fair Princess sought, 
Poor Sydanis is to King Dermot brought. 

CDVI 

Who seeing her in ship-boy's clothes disguis'd, 

Was more enraged than he was before : 

For now King Dermot instantly surmis'd, 

By that concealing habit which she wore, 

She was confederate, and therefore swore, 2840 

Unless she told where Mellefant was fled, 

Upon a scaffold she should lose her head. 

CDVII 

After dire threats, and strict examination, 
Sweet Sydanis (as was the truth) denying, 
She neither knew the time, nor the occasion, 
Nor manner of Princess Mellefant her flying. 
Grown desperate, she cares not now for dying, 
Nor any other kind of torment, since 
She may not go to her beloved Prince. 

CDVIII 

For Sydanis is into prison thrown, 2850 

In durance, and in fetters to remain, 

Till where the Princess were it should be known, 

Or that she to the court should come again. 

Her keeper doth her kindly entertain 

In his best lodgings, whereas her restraint 

Gave birth and vent to many a thousand plaint. 

CDIX 

Which here should be related, but you may 

Conjecture what a wight in such a case, 

Hopeless of comfort and relief, would say, 

Confin'd unto a solitary place, 2860 

In her life's danger and the King's disgrace : 

Unless through grief she speechless were become : 

Small sorrows speak, the greatest still are dumb. 

CDX 

But as a woodman shooting with his bow, 

And afterwards pursuing with his hound 

An innocent and silly harmless doe. 

Doth kill her not so soon, as if astound 

He suffer her to grieve upon her wound. 

And tapisht in a brake, to see the flood. 

And scent the crimson torrent of her blood. 2870 

2867 Spenser has 'astound' for 'astounded' (but in pret. not part.), F. Q. iv. viii. 
19, 9. Scott in L. of the L., ii. 31, has the part, itself — another coincidence 
with K. It is of course nothing more, for an3body might make the contraction : 
yet our poem is exactly what Scott would have read if he came across it. 

2869 tapisht] ' Tapish ' (Fr. tapir), to ' hide oneself,' ' lurk,' is a technical hunting term, 
also found in Fairfax, Chapman, &c. 

( H2 ) 



Leolme and Syda?iis 



CDXI 

So Sydanis, sad and disconsolate, 

Hath now an opportunity to grieve 

The dire affects of her mahgnant fate, 

Which nought but death could possibly relieve : 

Time only seems to her a sad reprieve : 

To speak of her we for a while shall cease, 

Till some good hap procure her glad release. 

CDXII 

For now from women's passions and slight woe, 

After the drums' and clarions' haughty sound, 

To speak the rage of Kings marching we go, 2S80 

Who roaring like to lions being bound 

With horrid grumblings do our ears confound : 

Blue-eyed Bellona, thou who plumed art, 

The soldiers' warlike mistress, act this part. 

CDXIII 

And thou, stern Mars, whose hands wet and imbru'd 

With raw fresh bleeding slaughters thou hast made 

Of foes, whom thou victorious hast subdu'd, 

Whirling about thy casque thy conquering blade, 

Help me out of this lake of blood to wade, 

And smooth the furrows of thy frowning brow, 2890 

As when thou erst didst lovely Venus woo. 

CDXIV 

King Dermot, highly enraged for the loss 

Of Princess Mellefant, his kingdom's heir, 

Resolv'd, that with an army he would cross 

The British seas, and straight his course would steer 

Unto besieg'd Carleon city, where 

He would assist the Duke against his foe, 

King Arvon, and his son that wrong'd him so. 

CDXV 

For now he thought he might be well assur'd, 

His daughter with Prince Leoline combin'd, 2900 

Since his consent no ways could be procur'd 

For marrying her, he did a season find 

To steal away, and with a favouring wind, 

He to his royal sire's, King Arvon's court. 

His prize like beauteous Helen would transport. 

CDXVI 

Therefore to be reveng'd was all his care, 
And for that purpose he a fleet would man. 
Greater then Menelaus did prepare, 

2881 Who] Orig. ' whom.' 

2888 casque] Orig. ' caske.' 

2891 woo] Orig. ' woe.' 

2899 There is again a certain ingenuity (call it idle or perverse if you like) in the 
way in which the triple imbroglio of the conclusion (Leoline — Mellefant — Sydanisl 
is set against the triple imbroglio of the overture (Leoline— Sydanis— Nurse). 

(M3) 



Sir Fraitcis Ky?mst07t 



When he the bloody Trojan war began, 

And after ten years' siege the city wan, 2910 

Putting to sea from Auh's' port in Greece, 

Or Jason's fleet that fetcht the golden fleece. 

CDXVII 

Upon the beating of King Dermot's drum. 
From Ulster's shrubby hills and quagmires foul, 
Of slight-arm'd kerne forthwith a troop doth come, 
Who in the furthest North do hear the owl 
And wolves about their cabins nightly howl, 
Which to all hardness have inured bin, 
Eating raw beef, half boil'd in the cow's skin. 

CDXVIII 

Ere these were civiliz'd, they had no corn, 2920 

Nor us'd no tillage that might get them food, 

But to their children's mouths were newly born, 

They put upon a spear's point dipt in blood 

Raw flesh, that so it might be understood. 

That children grown-up men should never feed. 

But when that they had done some bloody deed. 

CDXIX 

These savages whilst they did erst possess 

Like Tartars, or the roving Scythian nation, 

Coleraine's, or Monaghan's wide wilderness. 

Having no towns or any habitation, 2930 

They and their cattle still took up their station 

In grassy plains, and there a while abide, 

Where the deep Eagh and fishfuU Dergh do slide. 

CDXX 

More forces from the borders of Lough Erne 

Do come, which in small islands doth abound, 

In whose clear bottom men may yet discern 

Houses and towers under the water drown'd, 

Which divine justice sunk into the ground, 

For sodomy, and such abomination, 

Men using beasts in carnal copulation. 2940 

CDXXI 

From Conagh's pleasant and more civil parts, 
Where arbute trees do grow upon the coast. 
Horsemen well arm'd with glaves and with their darts. 
Unto the army of King Dermot post. 
Making complete the number of his host : 
Who like old Romans on their pads do ride, 
And hobbies without stirrups do bestride. 

2912 The President forgets that Argo was not exactly a fleet. 

2915 kerne] used as pi. by Spenser in the State of Ireland (though he has ' kerns ' 
elsewhere, as Shakespeare always) and by others. 

2936 This legend, common to other Celtic countries, is more usually told of Lough 
Neagh than of Lough Erne, I think. 

2941 Conaghj The uncomplimentary proverb yoking Connaught with another place 
had evidently not arisen. 

( H4) 



Leoli7ie and Sydanis 



CDXXII 

What counties, or what towns Munster contains, 

Through whose fair champian the smooth Boyne doth pass, 

Send forces from their well-manured plains, 2950 

Arm'd with the halbert, and the gaily-glass. 

The county that great Desmond's country was, 

With that of the most ancient peer Kildare, 

Join'd with MacArte, for this war prepare. 

CDXXIII 

To them the province Leinster doth unite 

Her trained bands and warlike regiment, 

Who use the pike and partisan in fight. 

And who are from those towns and counties sent. 

Whose fields the Barrow, Nore, and Shore indent : 

Three sister rivers, whose clear source begins 2960 

In the high woody mountains of the Glins. 

CDXXIV 

Unto these forces rais'd in Erinland, 

Are join'd the Highland redshank and fierce Scot, 

Of whom there comes a stout and numerous band, 

Which up steep hills, as on plain ground do trot. 

As for steel armour they regard it not ; 

Their barbed arrows clos'd in a calfs skin, 

To their yew bows the quivers still have bin. 

CDXXV 

The army being shipt, the winds that blow 

Over the vast Atlantic Ocean, 2970 

Bred in high hills westward of Mexico, 

Who with their waving wings do cool and fan 

The sunburnt Moor and naked Floridan, 

Sending forth constantly their favouring gales. 

Waft Dermot's ships unto the coast of Wales. 

CDXXVI 

For now Mars occidental in the West, 

Meridional descending from the Line, 

Of the Moon's mansion Cancer was possest, 

And sliding down into an airy sign, 

Rais'd winds, that furrow'd up the western brine. 2980 

Corus and Thracius blowing still abaft, 

King Dermot's ships do to Carleon waft. 

CDXXVII 

But yet those blasts that were so prosperous, 
And Dermot in Carleon's harbour set, 
Contrary were to Prince Androgios, 

2951 gaily-glass] The form is common, but the use is odd. Holinshed indeed docs 
define the gallow-glass as armed with a particular kind of poleaxe : but this hardly 
justifies the substitution of soldier for weapon in this phrase. 

2959 Shore] = Suir. 

2967 calf's] Orig. 'calves,' and in next line 'yew' is ' eugh,' as so often. 

II. ( 145 ) ^ 



Sir Francis Kynaston 

And did his much desired voyage let : 
His ships out of the harbour could not get, 
But in it for full six weeks' space they stay'd, 
Waiting a wind, and never anchor weigh'd. 

CDXXVIII 

To pass for Erinland was his intent, 2990 

With all the gallantry coin could provide, 

And there to consummate his high content, 

In making beauteous Mellefant his bride : 

But Aeolus his passage hath deny'd. 

And unexpected, with succours unsought, 

King Dermot to Carleon's walls hath brought. 

CDXXIX 

Whose coming was no sooner told the Duke 

And Prince Androgios, but both went to meet 

King Dermot at the port, whereas they took 

In arms each other, and do kindly greet : 3coo 

Then through a long and well-built spacious street. 

They to a stately castle do ascend. 

Where for that night their compliments they end. 

CDXXX 

Next morrow from the castle's lofty towers, 

Whose mighty ruins are remaining yet. 

The Princes did behold King Arvon's powers. 

Which had Carleon city round beset : 

To whom Duke Leon, full of just regret, 

And sorrow for his daughter, doth relate 

His wrongs and cause of his distressed state. 30^0 

CDXXXI 

King Dermot, swol'n with ire and indignation. 

And being no less sensible of grief. 

Of his unheard-of injuries makes relation. 

Telling that he was come to the relief 

Of Leon, to be wrecked on a thief, 

Who albeit that he were a King's son, 

A base and injurious fact had done. 

CDXXXII 

The noble Prince Androgios now resenting 

His sufferings in the loss of Mellefant, 

Whose marriage (as he thought) was past preventing, 3020 

With high-born courage which no fear could daunt. 

Besought the King and Duke, that they would grant 

2995 Note accent of 'succours,' orig. 'succors.' 2999 whereas] = 'where.' 

3001 spacious] So in orig., though these adj. usually have the t. Which is to the 
point on the question of spelling. 

3015 wrecked] =' wreaked,' 'revenged.' 

3017 injurious] K. would hardly have accented the /', and probably wrote or 
meant to write ' most injurious ' or something of that sort. 

( 146 ) 



Leoline and Sydanis 



To him a boon, which was this, That he might 
Challenge Prince Leoline to single fight. 

CDXXXIII 

For by this time fame all abroad had spread, 

Prince Leoline was back return'd again, 

Whom erst King Arvon did believe was dead. 

And in Carnarvon Castle did remain. 

So now there nothing was that did restrain 

The noble Prince Androgios, to demand 3030 

A single combat with him hand to hand. 

CDXXXIV 

And to that end an Herald straight was sent 
To Leoline, who in his right hand wore 
A blood-red banner, as the argument 
Of the defiance-message that he bore; 
Behind upon his taberd, and before, 
A lion rampant, and a dragon red. 
On crimson velvet were embroidered. 

CDXXXV 

The Herald, whose approach none might debar, 

Doth with a trumpet through the army ride, 3040 

Who bravely sounded all the points of war, 

Until he came to the pavilion side. 

Whereas Prince Leoline did then abide, 

And then the trumpeter eftsoons doth fall 

In lower warlike notes to sound a call. 

CDXXXVI 

The which no sooner Leoline had heard, 

But bravely mounted on a barbed steed, 

He like a princely gallant straight appear'd. 

To whom the Herald doth the challenge read : 

Which having done, he afterward with speed, 3050 

(As is the form when challenges are past) 

Androgios' gauntlet on the ground he cast. 

CDXXXVII 

Prince Leoline commanding of his page 

To take the gauntlet up, briefly replied, 

* Herald ! I do accept Androgios' gage : 

Tell him the sword the quarrel shall decide. 

Of him, whom he unjustly hath defied : 

For three days hence in both our armies' sight, 

We will a noble single combat fight.' 

3024 Again one must suspect some mock-heroic purpose in this turning of the tables 
qn Leoline's elaborate resolution not to fight. 

3033 wore] A scholastic in the use of words might be troubled to draw an exact 
line between 'wear' and 'bear.' Here K. probably used 'wore' for no reason except 
that he wanted ' bore ' below. A ' red ' banner in opposition to the usual white flag. 
But red upon crimson in the taberd — is this justifiable ? 

3058 Leoline, it will be observed, is in no great hurry even now. 

( 147 ) L 2 



Sir Francis Kyjiaston 



CDXXXVIII 

The Herald back return'd unto the King, 3060 

Related how his message he had done, 

And to Androgios doth the answer bring 

Of Leoline : King Albion's princely son 

Hath for his forward valour honour won : 

Of whose resolves, and warlike preparation, 

Till the third day I respite the relation. 

CDXXXIX 

Meantime the Druid Morrogh, who hath bin 

Thus long unmentioned, now chief actor was ; 

Who though that he were absent, yet had seen 

All that in Erinland had come to pass, 3070 

By means of a most wond'rous magic glass, 

Which to his eye would represent and show 

All that the wizard did desire to know. 

CDXL 

Which glass was made according to the opinion 

Of chymists, of seven metals purified. 

Together melted under the dominion 

Of those seven planets do their natures guide : 

Then if it polisht be on either side, 

And made in form of circle, one shall see 

Things that are past as well as those that be. 3080 

CDXLI 

In this said glass he saw the sad estate 
Of Sydanis, who was in prison kept. 
Who weeping in her silent chamber sate. 
And Mellefant, who on the mountain slept, 
Whose pass the wand'ring fire did intercept : 
And now this story must not end, before 
The Druid both these ladies do restore. 

CDXLII 

For they be those must put a happy end 

To discords, and bring all to a conclusion, 

And all that is amiss they must amend, 3090 

And put in order things are in confusion : 

They of much blood must hinder the effusion : 

Such virtues ladies have, who are the bliss. 

Which here in this world among mortals is. 

CDXLIII 

Thrice ten degrees of the Ecliptic line, 
Phoebus ascending up had overpast. 
And now had ent'red in another sign, 
From Gemini, whereas he harbour'd last. 
Since Mellefant into a trance was cast, 

3067 The perseverance of 'bin ' even in rhyming to 'seen ' may be noted. 
3085 ' Pass ' for ' passage ' is not I think common, though the ordinary senses of the 
two words are of course very close. 

(148) 



\Leoline a?id Sydanis 



And thirty journeys through night's silent shade 3100 

O'er her nocturnal arch the Moon had made. 

CDXLIV 

Who nightly riding o'er the mountain's top, 
Where Mellefant the sleeping Princess lay, 
Her silver chariot there she still did stop. 
And by the sleeping body us'd to stay, 
Kissing, caressing, till near break of day. 
Of her rare beauties now enamour'd more 
Than of her lov'd Endymion heretofore. 

CDXLV 

No longer could the Queen of Night refrain 

From kissing of her sweet and ruby lips: 3110 

Her kisses ended, she begins again. 

With gentle arms her ivory neck she clips : 

Her hands sometimes tow'rds parts more private slips, 

Curious-inquisitive for to know the truth, 

If one so rarely fair could be a youth. 

CDXLVI 

But as a thief, that doth assurance lack 

At his first pilfering from a heap of gold. 

Doth oft put forth his hand, oft pulls it back, 

Then puts it forth again, then doth withhold ; 

So at the first Cynthia was not so bold 3120 

To let her hand assure her by a touch. 

Of that which she to know desir'd so much. 

CDXLVII 

Yet at the last fortune did things disclose, 
And gave contentment to her longing mind. 
For in the pocket of the page's hose 
Putting her hand, she did a letter find, 
Which all the clue of error did unwind, 
Written by Mellefant to Leoline, 
In case that she should fail of her design. 

CDXLVIII 

The letter specified her sex and name, 3130 

And whole scope of her amorous intent. 

Laying on Leoline a gentle blame, 

That he unkindly from Eblana went : 

It specified to follow him she meant. 

And to Carnarvon castle she would go. 

To meet with Leoline, her dear-lov'd foe. 

CDXLIX 

The Empress of the wat'ry wilderness 

Reading the lines, was straight with pity mov'd, 

Compassionating Mellefant's distress, 

3109 Whether the indelicate beginning of a situation quite delicately ended, or the 
ultra-human limitation of Cynthia's divine intelligence, be the odder here, may be left to 
the reader to decide. 

( H9 ) 



Sir Francis Kynaston 



The rather for that she herself had lov'd. 3140 

Now the third day since Mellefant behov'd 

To be in Britain, a way was prepar'd 

For her transport, which then shall be declar'd. 

CDL 

For we must speak of Sydanis her wrongs, 

Of her sad prison, and her glad release. 

Which to the Druid Morrogh's part belongs, 

Who to attend her fortunes ne'er did cease, 

But after troubles would procure her ease, 

Of which the manner briefly to relate, 

Much wonder in the hearers will create. 3150 

CDLI 

There's nothing truer than that sapience 
Of wise and knowing men prevails o'er fate, 
Ruling the stars, and each intelligence, 
O'er which their wisdom do predominate; 
They can advance good fortune, ill abate : 
And if that in the heavens they can do so, 
They can do much more here on earth below. 

CDLII 

As soon as Phoebus had behind him shut 

The ruby leaves of Heaven's great western gate, 

And to that day an evening period put, 3160 

And now began it to be dark and late, 

As Morrogh in his lonely cabin sate, 

He put in act a course, that should be sure 

Fair Sydanis enlargement to procure. 

CDLIII 

For by his learning understanding all 

The languages that fowls and ravens speak. 

He to him did an ancient raven call, 

Commanding her, that she her flight should take, 

And to Carleon's walls all speed should make, 

Unto the limbs of one late quartered, 3170 

On which the day before the bird had fed. 

CDLIV 

Adding withal this strict injunction. 

That instantly, ere any man it wist. 

She should bring back to him a dead man's bone. 

The which that she should pick out of his wrist. 

The raven of her message nothing mist. 

But suddenly she fled, and unsuspected, 

The great magician's will she straight effected. 

CDLV 

Thieves say, that he that shall about him bear 

This bone, and means by night men's goods to take, 3180 

3179 This limitation of the powers of the * Hand of Glory' to a single bone must be 
very convenient for burglars. 

('50) 



Leolme and Syda7iis 

All that are sleeping (the while he is there 
Stealing and breaking the house) shall not wake, 
For any noise that ever he shall make : 
But shall so soundly sleep, as that he may 
Securely rob, and unknown pass away. 

CDLVI 

Unto this bone the Druid he did add 

A shining grass, that grows among the rocks, 

Which a strange kind of secret virtue had, 

For it would straight undo all bolts and locks : 

The blacksmith's skill in shoeing it so mocks, 3190 

That if a horse but touch it with his shoes, 

Though ne'er so well set on, he doth them loose. 

CDLVII 

Strange tales there are which history affords, 

Of bones, and stones, of herbs, and minerals, 

The knowledge of whom hath bin found by birds, 

Beasts, insects, and by other animals : 

Witness the stone Albertus Magnus calls 

Aldorius, the virtues of which stone. 

But for the eggs of crows had not been known. 

CDLVIII 

For if one take crows' eggs out of the nest, 3200 

And boil them in hot water till they be 

Stone hard, the old crow never will take rest, 

Until the stone Aldorius she see. 

Which she brings back with her unto the tree 

Where her nest was, which a while having lain 

Upon the eggs, it turns them reare again. 

CDLIX 

Rare secrets are in nature, which we'll pass, 

As to this matter little pertinent : 

The dead-man's wrist-bone, and the shining grass. 

From Morrogh to fair Sydanis were sent, 3210 

And of their natures an advertisement, 

Which on a beech's rind, as on a note. 

With a sharp-pointed steel the Druid wrote ; 

CDLX 

Advising her, that she without delay, 
Through the dark shade of that approaching night. 
From her confinement straight would hie away, 
And come to him before the morrow's light, 
And that she should not fear for any sight 

3206 'reare' must be 'rare,' in the sense of ' raw,' 'uncooked.' The spelling has 
A.S., M.E., and plentiful dialectic justification j but the close presence of ' rare ' in the 
other sense is noteworthy. 

(151) 



Sir Francis Kynaston 



She should behold, nor should not be dismay'd, 

For she to him should safely be convey'd. 3220 

CDLXI 

Having enclos'd within the beech's bark 
The bone, and grass, he in the raven's ear 
AVhisper'd some words, who flying through the dark, 
With wings that blacker than night's darkness were, 
Ere threescore minutes past she was come there, 
Where Sydanis (though it were very late) 
Lamenting, in her chamber window sate. 

CDLXII 

Where suddenly the window being ope, 

The raven ent'red in without control, 

And into Sydanis her lap did drop 3230 

The things enclos'd within the beechen scroll : 

Thus she, who still was held an ominous fowl, 

And fatal her presage in everything, 

Yet news of joy to Sydanis doth bring. 

CDLXIII 

Who having read the writing, out she goes, 

Intending to take shipping at the kay : 

But fate of her did otherwise dispose, 

For she must be convey'd another way : 

For at the gate Night's sable coach did stay, 

Which by the Druid had directed bin, 3240 

As she came out of doors to take her in. 

CDLXIV 

This chariot by four black steeds was drawn. 
First Nicteus burn'd with Pluto's pitchy mark ; 
Then black Alastor with his snaky mane, 
With Metheos, Phobos, who do love the dark : 
Which four at singing of the early lark. 
Vanish away, and underground are gone, 
Drenching their sooty heads in Acheron. 

CDLXV 

Thus Sydanis in Night's black coach being set, 

Before Fortuna Major did arise, 3250 

Show'd like Love's Queen upon a throne of jet, 

Who suddenly was hurried through the skies, 

And all the residue of that night lies 

In Morrogh's cave, until the dawning East 

Disclosed fair Aurora's rosy breast. 

3236 Note here 'kay,' not ' key.' 

3242 I have not examined the Scriptores Mythologid elaborately enough to be certain 
whether K. invented some or borrowed all of his Horses of the Night. Alastor and 
Nicteus figure among the horses of Pluto himself in Claudian, De Raptu Proserpinae, 
I sub fin. Phobos requires no explanation. Is Metheos from fxedv or from ijii6ir]txi'> 
Either might suggest it to a loose scholar ; and either supplies a good name for 
a 'nightw/flre.' 

( ^52 ) 



Leoline and Sydanis 



CDLXVI 

Who risen from her saffron-colour'd bed, 

Perfum'd with Indian spices where she lay, 

And Phoebus Hfting up his golden head, 

Light's universal banner did display ; 

In glorious robes himself he doth array, 3260 

And every cloud he far away doth chase 

From the bright front of heaven's clear shining face. 

CDLXVII 

For now as he the mountain tops did gild 
With burnisht ore of heaven's celestial mine, 
The Kings' two armies came into the field, 
Led by Androgios and by Leoline ; 
Who like the star of Gemini did shine : 
Brave twins of Honour, for who them beheld. 
Could not affirm which of the two excell'd. 

CDLXVIII 

In midst of their main battles the two Kings, 3270 

As in their safest fortresses, were plac't : 

Great Dukes and Colonels did lead the wings. 

Who with their several commands were grac't : 

Now as the Princes did to combat haste, 

A wondrous thing appear'd to all the host. 

Which all their warlike resolution crost ; 

CDLXIX 

For high in skies there instantly appears 

A chariot, which eight white swans as they flew, 

Yok^d in golden chains and silken gears, 

Soaring an easy pace after them drew : 3280 

But who was in the chariot no man knew, 

For that an airy and bright shining cloud 

The party carried, from their sight did shroud. 

CDLXX 

By flow'ry colours which the swans did bear 

About their necks, where emonies were blended 

With myrtles, and with pinks entwined were : 

Some thought that Venus was again descended. 

As when her son Aeneas she defended 

From furious Turnus, and as then she did, 

Androgios in a cloud should so be hid. 3290 

CDLXXI 

But it was otherwise, this clouded coach 
Was sent by the fair Princess of the Night, 
With a command, that when it did approach 
The place where the two Princes were to fight, 
The swans upon the ground should down aligh-t. 
The winged team accordingly did do 't. 
And set the coach at Prince Androgios' foot. 

3285 emonies] Probably = ' anemones,' but perhaps 'haemonies.' 
( 153 ) 



Sir Francis Kynaston 



CDLXXII 

The cloud then vanishing away that kept 

The fair and long'd-for object from the eye, 

Bright Mellefant appear'd, who long had slept, 3300 

As in a trance now wak't immediately, 

Whose beauty when Androgios did descry, 

He gave command, that till that he had fought, 

She unto royal Dermot should be brought. 

CDLXXIII 

All this did brave Prince Leoline behold, 

And all the army (it was done so nigh) 

Who eftsoons to his sire King Arvon told, 

That there was come an enchantress from the sky : 

But all enchantments he did then defy. 

As things ridiculous, which he did not fear, 3310 

And forthwith he prepar'd to couch his spear. 

CDLXXIV 

Now as these valiant Princes had begun 
To couch their lances, and put them in rest, 
And each at other fiercely for to run. 
Aiming the points at one another's breast, 
Prince Leoline's courageous noble beast 
Began to tremble, and to snort, and prance. 
But one foot forward he would not advance. 

CDLXXV 

The Prince enrag'd with anger and disdain, 

Did strike into his sides his spur of steel, 3320 

And still he urg'd him on, but all in vain, 

For that for all the strokes that he did feel 

From the brave noble Prince's sprightly heel. 

He went not on, but rather backward made, 

As if that he had bin a restive jade. 

CDLXXVI 

Which now did make Prince Leoline conceive, 

He had indeed with some enchantment met : 

Morrogh the Druid he did not perceive. 

Nor Sydanis, who both their hands had set 

Upon the bridle, and the horse did let, 333° 

For fern-seed got upon St. John his night. 

Made them invisible to all men's sight. 

CDLXXVII 

But when the fern-seed they had cast away, 
And Leoline his Sydanis did see. 
He from his steed alights without delay. 
And with such joy as may not utter'd be, 
Embracing, kisses her soft lips, and she 
That had no other magic, but love's charms, 
Circled his neck with her soft ivory arms. 

3318 Leoline iscertainly, like Lord Glenvarloch, 'the most unlucky youth ' — especially 
in regard to fighting. 

( 154 ) 



Leoline a7id Sydanis 



CDLXXVIII 

With Leoline she to King Arvon goes, 334° 

Whose almost infinite astonishment 

May not be told ; now Sydanis he knows, 

Far greater is his joy, and his content. 

The Druid is recall'd from banishment. 

That he unto the King and Prince might tell 

The history of all things that befell. 

CDLXXIX 

It being known how all things came about, 

And how that both the Princesses were found, 

Both armies rais'd a universal shout : 

The trumpets, clarions flourishes do sound, 335° 

All hearts are now with high contentment crown'd, 

The heralds with white flags of peace are seen, 

And civic garlands of oak's leafy green. 

CDLXXX 

For by this time the brave Androgios knew 

His princely mistress Mellefant the fair. 

For joy whereof his arms away he threw. 

And with deportement most debonair 

Saluteth old King Dermot's beauteous heir : 

Intending at Carleon with all state. 

His hymeneal rites to celebrate. 33^0 

CDLXXXI 

Whereas two Kings, two Princes, and their Brides, 

And old Duke Leon, had an interview : 

There now was full contentment on all sides, 

Which fortune seemed daily to renew, 

And by the Druid's telling greater grew : 

Of all the great adventures that had past, 

And Merioneth in the dungeon cast. 

CDLXXXII 

Who albeit that she long dead was thought, 

And in the dungeon starv'd for want of food. 

Yet to Duke Leon she again was brought, 337° 

From whom he divers stories understood. 

And now in fine all sorted unto good: 

Whose wonderful relations serve in Wales 

To pass away long nights in winter's tales. 

CDLXXXIII 

And lastly for to consummate all joy. 

Ere Phoebe nine times had renew'd her light. 

Fair Sydanis brought forth a Prince, a boy, 

Heaven's choicest darling, and mankind's delight : 

Of whose exploits some happier pen may write, 

And may relate strange things to be admir'd : 338o 

For here my fainting pen is well near tir'd. 

3367 The nurse— not at all a Wicked Nurse— may seem rather hardly treated. 
3372 sorted] In the sense of ' harmonized,' ' got into shape.' 

(^55) 



CYNTHIADES 

or, Amorous Son[n]ets 

Addressed to the honour of his Mistress, under the name of 

Cynthia 

On her fair Eyes ^ 

Look not upon me with those lovely Eyes, 

From whom there flies 

So many a dart 

To wound a heart. 
That still in vain to thee for mercy cries. 
Yet dies, whether thou grantest, or denies. 

Of thy coy looks, know, I do not complain, 

Nor of disdain : 

Those, sudden, like 

The lightning strike, lo 

And kill me without any ling'ring pain, 
And slain so once, I cannot die again. 

But O, thy sweet looks from my eyes conceal, 

Which so oft steal 

My soul from me. 

And bring to thee 
A wounded heart, which though it do reveal 
The hurts thou giv'st it, yet thou canst not heal. 

Upon those sweets I surfeit still, yet I, 

Wretch ! cannot die : 20 

But am reviv'd, 

And made long liv'd 
By often dying, since thy gracious eye, 
Like heaven, makes not a death, but ecstasy. 

Then in the heaven of that beauteous face, 

Since thou dost place 

A martyr'd heart. 

Whose bliss thou art. 
Since thou hast ta'en the soul, this favour do, 
Into thy bosom take the body too. 30 

^ 1 do know how it seems to others, but to me there is something magical about the 
way in which, at the touch of the lyre, these Carolines become quite different poetic 
persons. Here is Kynaston, who in heroic poetry can be sometimes almost below 
prose, 'far above singing' in the mere verbal and rhythmical cadence of his very first 
lyric. 

( 156 ) 



Cynthiaaes 
To Cynthia 

On a Mistress for his Rivals ^ 

Can I not have a mistress of my own, 

But that as soon as ever it is known 

That she is mine, both he, and he, and he 

Will court my Cynthia, and my rivals be ? 

The cause of this is easily understood. 

It is because (my Cynthia) thou art good. 

And they desire, 'cause thou art good, and woman, 

To make thee better, by making thee common. 

Well, I do thank them : but since thou canst be 

No subject fit for this their charity, lo 

As being too narrow and too small a bit 

To feed so many mouths, know I will fit 

Their palate, with a mistress, which I'll get, 

The like whereof was never seen as yet. 

For I for their sakes will a mistress choose, 

As never had a maidenhead to lose, 

Or if she had, it was so timely gone. 

She never could remember she had one. 

She by antiquity, and her vile face, 

Of all whores else and bawds shall have the place ; 20 

One whose all parts, her nose, eyes, foot, and hand, 

Shall so far out of all proportion stand. 

As it by symmetry shall not be guest, 

By any one, the feature of the rest. 

She shall have such a face, I do intend, 

As painting, nor yet carving, shall not mend : 

A bare anatomiz'd unburied corse 

Shall not more ghastly look, nor yet stink worse : 

For at the general resurrection 

She shall lay claim to hell as to her own 30 

Inheritance and fee, for it is meant, 

She comes not there by purchase, but descent : 

One whose sins were they to be reckoned 

By number of the hairs upon her head, 

There were but two to answer for at most. 

One being the sin against the Holy Ghost. 

And if a physiognomer should eye. 

And judge by rules of metoposcopy, 

Of vices and conditions of her mind, 

He, as a face hid with the small pox should find 40 

' And as far below it again ! 

27 anatomiz'd — corse] Orig. ' anotomiz'd ' and 'coarse,' which latter word is indeed 
hardly out of place. 

38 metoposcopy] Orig. ' Metaposcopy,' for which, as it is a possible though non- 
existent word, one struggles to find a meaning, in spite of the obvious emendation. This 
(inspection of the forehead) is a recognized term. 

(x57) 



Sir Francis Ky7taston 



As there one ulcer, so, but one vice there, 

Spreading the whole, and that is everywhere : 

Yet shall she have so many vices sow'd 

In every limb, as pain shall be bestow'd, 

By scholars and logicians, to invent 

A larger, and a wider predicament. 

To comprehend her cardinal vices all, 

Which under no one notion can fall. 

Her shape shall be like th' earth, so round and rude, 

As the beginning of her longitude 50 

To find, and to set down, men shall be fain 

T' importune the Pope's judgement once again : 

Her cheeks and buttocks shall so near agree 

In shape and semblance, they shall seem to be 

Twins by their likeness, nor shall it be eath 

To know, which is which by their fulsome breath : 

When palmisters or gypsies shall but look 

Upon her palm, they 11 think they have mistook, 

And say they see some cripple's wither'd hand, 

Or mummy, stol'n from Egypt's parched sand : 60 

And lastly, when she dies, if some device 

Make her not dirt, but dust being turn'd to lice, 

Shall make graves lousy, and dead bodies, which 

Lie near her, to be troubled with the itch, 

Which shall exceed the lice in Egypt bred, 

Which only plagu'd the living, these the dead. 

She shall be rottener than last autumn's pears, 

And more contagious than two plaguy years. 

The College of Physicians shall not 

'Gainst her infection make an antidote. 70 

This mistress will I have, rather than one 

Whom I may not enjoy myself alone: 

And such a one I'll hate as faithfully, 

As (dearest Cynthia, I have loved thee. 

To Cynthia 

On her being an Incendiary 

Say (sweetest) whether thou didst use me well, 
If when in my heart's house I let thee dwell 
A welcome inmate, and did not require 
- More than a kiss a day, for rent or hire : 
Thou wert not only pleas'd to stop the rent, 
But most ungrateful, burnt the tenement; 
Henceforth it will ensue, that thou didst carry 
The branded name of an incendiary : 

52 It is noteworthy to find K., who can write smoothly enough as a rule, following 
his satiric patterns by rough insertion of syllables. 
55 eath] 'easy.' 

( 158 ) 



Cynthiades 



No heart will harbour thee, and thou, like poor 

As I, may'st lodging beg from door to door. 

If it be so, my ready course will be 

To get a licence, and re-edify 

My wasted heart. If Cupid shall inquire, 

By what mishap my heart was set on fire ; 

I'll say, my happy fortune was to get 

Thy beauty's crop, which being green and wet 

With show'rs of tears, I did too hasty in, 

Before that throughly withered it had bin : 

So heating in the mow it soon became 

At first a smoke, and afterwards a flame : 

At this Love's little King will much admire, 

How cold and wet conjoin'd can cause a fire 

Having no heat themselves, but I do know 

What he will say, for he will bid me go. 

And build my heart of stone : so shall I be 

Safe from the lightning of thine eyes, and thee, 

The cold, and hardness of stone hearts, best serving 

For coy green beauties, and them best preserving. 

Yet here is danger; for if thou be in't 

My heart to stone, and thine harder than flint, 

Knocking together may strike fire, and set 

Much more on fire, than hath bin burned yet. 

If so it hap, then let those flames calcine 

My heart to cinders, so it soften thine : 

A heart, which until then doth serve the turn 

To enflame others, but itself not burn. 



lO 



20 



30 



To Cynthia 

On Conceabnent of her Beauty 



Do not conceal thy radiant eyes, 
The star-light of serenest skies, 
Lest wanting of their heavenly light, 
They turn to Chaos' endless night. 

Do not conceal those tresses fair, 
The silken snares of thy curl'd 

hair, 
Lest finding neither gold, nor ore, 
The curious silkworm work no 

more. 



Do not conceal those breasts of thine. 
More snow-white, than the 
Apennine, 10 

Lest if there be like cold or frost, 
The lily be for ever lost. 

Do not conceal that fragrant scent, 
Thy breath, which to all flowers 

hath lent 
Perfumes, lest it being supprest. 
No spices grow in all the East. 



17 show'rs] Orig. 'shores.' 22 conjoin'd] Orig. 'cojoyned.' 

36 Very agreeably metaphysical, with that half-intentional grotesque in it which is 

characteristic of Kynaston. But note the difference which the form gives to the next 

poem ! 

15 Perfumesl An eighteenth-century editor would have confidently read ' its perfume,' 

or something of that kind. But besides the general objection to promiscuous 'mending,' 

( ^S9 ) 



Sir Francis Kynaston 



Do not conceal thy heavenly voice, 
Which makes the hearts of gods 

rejoice, 
Lest Music hearing no such thing, 
The Nightingale forget to sing. 20 

Do not conceal, nor yet eclipse 
Thy pearly teeth with coral lips. 



Lest that the seas cease to bring 

forth 
Gems, which from thee have all 

their worth. 

Do not conceal no beauty-grace. 
That 's either in thy mind or face. 
Lest virtue overcome by vice, 
Make men believe no Paradise. 



To Cynthia 

On her Embraces 



If thou a reason dost desire to know, 
My dearest Cynthia, why I love thee 

so. 
As when I do enjoy all thy love's 

store, 
I am not yet content, but seek for 

more ; 
When we do kiss so often as the 

tale 
Of kisses doth outvie the winter's 

hail: 
When I do print them on more 

close and sweet 
Than shells of scallops, cockles 

when they meet, 
Yet am not satisfied : when I do 

close 
Thee nearer to me than the ivy 

grows 10 

Unto the oak : when those white 

arms of thine 
Clip me more close than doth the 

elm the vine: 
When naked both, thou seemest not 

to be 
Contiguous, but continuous parts of 

me: 
And we in bodies are together 

brought 



So near, our souls may know each 

other's thought 
Without a whisper : yet I do aspire 
To come more close to thee, and 

to be nigher : 
Know, 'twas well said, that spirits 

are too high 
For bodies, when they meet to 

satisfy ; 20 

Our souls having like forms of 

light and sense, 
Proceeding from the same intelli- 
gence. 
Desire to mix like to two water 

drops. 
Whose union some little hindrance 

stops, 
Which meeting both together would 

be one. 
For in the steel, and in the adamant 

stone. 
One and the same magnetic soul is 

cause. 
That with such unseen chains each 

other draws : 
So our souls now divided, brook't 

not well. 
That being one, they should asunder 

dwell. 30 



the term commonly accents ' perfume.' One may just note the fact that the Spanish form 
perfiime is identical with the English in spelling, but trisyllabic and amphibrachic, 
while all these poets affect foreign locutions. 

25 The double negative needs no explanation, but may find a special one in the 
parallelism with ' no Paradise.' There is no printed hyphen in orig. between ' beauty ' 
and 'grace,' and they may be in apposition; but I think the double word is better 
and more of the time. 

On her Embraces. 26 For] Orig. ' fro.' 

( 160 ) 



Cynthiadei 



Then let me die, that so my soul 

being free, 
May join with that her other half in 

thee, 
For when in thy pure self it shall abide, 



It shall assume a body glorified, 
Being in that high bliss ; nor shall 

we twain 
Or wish to meet, or fear to part 

again. 



To Cynthia 

On a Kiss 

Being thy servant, Cynthia, 'tis my duty 

To make thy name as glorious as thy beauty. 

Of which things may be writ far more and high. 

Than are of stars in all astronomy. 

Nay, natural philosophy, that contains 

Each thing that in the Universe remains ; 

Nor more, nor such materials affords. 

Could we for the expression find but words. 

But €urely of thy kindness I'm afraid. 

Or bounty, very little can be said: lo 

A page in decimo sexto will suffice 

For them, which if one should epitomise 

Like an arithmetician, that hath wrought. 

And hath a unit to a cipher brought. 

He certainly no other thing should do 

Than cleave a geometrical point in two. 

Thy bounty on a half-penny may be set, 

And they that serve thee, sure do nothing get : 

For when thy faithful servant's wages is 

No more from thee than quarterly a kiss, 20 

Penurious thou unjustly dost detain 

His salary so long, that he is fain, 

(Because thou dost thy lips so strictly keep) 

To take it from thee when thou art asleep : 

And if that thou art waking, by some slight 

Or stratagem he must come by his right : 

There is no justice, where there 's no way left 

To get our own, but violence, or theft : 

And therefore, Cynthia, as a turquois[e] bought, 

Or stol'n, or found, is virtueless, and nought, 30 

It must be freely given by a friend, 

\Vhose love and bounty doth such virtue lend, 

As makes it to compassionate, and tell 

By looking pale, the wearer is not well. 

17 penny] Orig. has the well-known spelling ' peny,' which I have half a mind 
to keep. The lines following are delightful, 
34 Compare Benlowes (i. 374), whose 

No sympathizing turkise there, to tell 
By paleness th' owner is not well, 

is almost too close in phrase not to be borrowed, though the niateries is ptiblkisstma. 
II. ( 161 ) M 



Sir Frmicis Kynaston 

So one kiss given shall content me more, 
Than if that I had taken half a score : 
Thy ruby lips, like turquoises, ne'er shall 
By giving kisses wax, or dry, or pale. 



To Cynthia 

On Seems; and Ton chins; 



Wert thou as kind as thou art 

fair, 
All men might have a part, 
And breathe thee freely as the air : 
For, Cynthia, thou art 
In the superlative degree. 
More beauteous than the light. 
And as the Sun art made to be 
An object for the sight. 



But since thou hast some sweets 

unknown, 
Ordained for the touch, lo 

Particular for me alone. 
Then favour me thus much ; 
When to my touch thou dost allow 
Thy cheeks, thy lips, thy breast, 
Thy noblest parts : then do not thou 
Exclude me from the rest. 



To Cynthia 

On her Looking-glass 

Give me leave, fairest Cynthia, to envy 

Thy looking-glass far happier than I, 

To which thy naked beauties every morn 

Thou showest so freely, while thou dost adorn 

Thy richer hair with gems, and neatly deck 

With oriental pearls thy whiter neck. 

Which take the species of thy naked breast — 

So white, I doubt if it can be exprest 

By the reflection of the purest glass, 

Which swans, snows, ceruses doth so surpass, lo 

As in comparison of it, these may 

Rather than white, be termed hoar or gray : 

Besides, all whites but thine may take a spot, 

Thine, the first matter of all whites, cannot ; 

Maybe thou trusts thy glass's secrecy 

With dainties, yet unseen by any eye : 

All these thy favours I will well allow 

Unto my rival glass ; but so, that thou 

4 Cynthia] It may be just worth while to note, for those not familiar with books of 
the period, that the name of the person addressed is here (as often, though by no 
means always) enclosed not by commas but by brackets. 

7 take] i.e. 'pearl' as plural. 

ro ceruses] Orig. 'Cerusces.' The word is here quite correctly used for a white 
cosmetic : some later English writers seem to have mistaken it for 'rouge.' 

i8 so] Unluckily misprinted ' to ' in orig. 

(162) 



Cynthiades 



Wilt not permit it justly to reflect 

Thy eye upon itself: I shall suspect, 20 

And jealous grow, that such reflex may move 

Thee (fair Narcissus like) to fall in love 

With thine own beauty's shadow : Love's sharp dart 

Shot 'gainst a stone may bound, and wound thy heart : 

Which if it should, alas ! how sure were I 

To be past hope, and then past remedy. 

This to prevent, may'st thou when thou dost rise, 

Vouchsafe to dress thy beauties in my eyes. 

If these shall be too small, may, for thy sake, 

Hypochondriac melancholy make 30 

My body all of glass, all which shall be 

So made, and so constellated by thee, 

That as in crystal mirrors many a spot 

Is by infection of a look begot, 

This glass of thine if thou but frown, shall fly 

In thousand shivers broken by thine eye : 

Since then it hath this sympathy with thee. 

Let me not languish in a jealousy, 

To think this wonder may be brought to pass, 

Thy fair looks may inanimate thy glass, 40 

And make it my competitor : 'tis all one 

To give life to a glass, as make me stone. 



To Cynthia 

On Expressions of Love 

Must I believe, sweet Cynthia, that the flame 

Hath light and heat, had I ne'er felt the same? 

Must I believe the cold and hardest flint 

(Had I ne'er known 't) had fiery sparkles in 't ? 

Must I believe the load-stone e'er did draw 

The steel, when such a thing I never saw? 

Must I turn Papist by implicit faith, 

To believe tha-t, which thou, or woman saith? 

Thou sayest thou lov'st me, but thou dost not show 

Any the smallest sign that it is so : 10 

All emanations of thy soul thou keep'st 

Retir'd within thy breast, as when thou sleep'st : 

True love is not a mere intelligence 

That 's metaphysical, for every sense 

Must see and judge of it ; I must avow, 

That senseless things are kinder far than thou : 

33 mirrors] Orig, ' mirroj'rs,' which is clearly worth noting. 
( 163 ) M 2 



Sir Francis Kynaston 



Thou neither wilt embrace, nor kiss ; thy hand 

(Unless I kiss it) doth each touch withstand: 

Learn therefore of the flame not to profess 

Thou lov'st, unless thou love in act express : 20 

Learn of the flint which being once calcin'd, 

Becomes a white soft cement, that will bind 

Learn of the load-stone, let it teach thy heart 

Not only to draw lovers, but impart 

Thy favours to them ; let thy servants feel 

Thy love, who are more sensible then steel 



To Cynthia 

When I behold the heaven of thy face, 
And see how every beauty, every grace 

Move, and are there 

As in their sphere, 
What need have I, my Cynthia, to confer 
With any Chaldee or Astrologer : 
Since in the scheme of thy fair face I see 
All the aspects of my nativity. 

For if at any time thou should'st cast down 

From thy serenest brow an angry frown, 10 

Or should 't reflect 

That dire aspect 
Of opposition, or of enmity, 
That look would sure be fatal unto me. 
Unless fair Venus' kind succeeding ray. 
Did much of the malignity allay. 

Or if I should be so unfortunate 

To see a look though of imperfect hate, 

I am most sure 

That quadrature 20 

Would cast me in a quartan love-sick fever, 
Of which I should recover late, if ever, 
Or into a consumption, so should I 
Perish at last, although not suddenly. 

But when I see those starry Twins of thine, 
Behold me with a sextile, or a trine, 

And that they move 

In perfect love 

17 An interesting time-mark, hand-kissing being regarded as more a matter of course 
than hand-shaking or holding. If Mr. Browning had written 200 years earher we 
should have had 

I will kiss your hand but as long as all may, 
Or so very little longer ! 
iinilatis et aliter ntutatidis. 
6 ChaldeeJ Orig. ' Chalde.' 

(164) -^ 



Cy7ithiades 



With amorous beams, they plainly do discover, 

My horoscope markt me to be a lover : 30 

And that I only should not have the honour 

To be borne under Venus, but upon her. 



To Cynthia 

An Apology 

Expect not, lovely Cynthia, yet from me 

Lines like thy fairest self, so clear, so free 

From any blemish, for what now I write, 

Is like a picture done in a dim light, 

A night-piece, for my soul is overcast. 

As is a mirror with a humid blast, 

Or breathing on it : and a misty cloud, 

Thy beauties, brightness in a veil doth shroud. 

These lines of mine are only to be read 

To make thee drowsy when thou go'st to bed, 10 

For the long gloomy dark, and clouded sky. 

That the Sun's brighthess to us doth deny. 

Darkens all souls, and damps all human sense. 

That to his light hath any reference. 

And quenches so those hot and amorous flames. 

That would have made the water of the Thames 

Burn like canary-sack, more dull, and cold, 

Than wine at Court, which is both small and old : 

Give me a little respite then to end 

That romance, which to thy name I intend, 20 

Till Hampton Court, or Greenwich purer air, 

Produce lines like thyself, serene and fair: 

Meantime imagine that Newcastle coals. 

Which as (Sir Inigo saith) have perisht Paul's, 

And by the skill of Marquis would-be Jones, 

'Tis found the smoke's salt did corrupt the stones : 

Think thou I am in London where I have 

No intermission, but to be a slave 

To other men's affairs more than my own, 

And have no leisure for to be alone : .^o 

32 It is necessary here to keep 'born*?,' though modern practice has rather arbitrarily 
and unnecessarily discriminated the spelling of the participle in the two senses. 
I suppose this final gaillardise frightened Ellis and Brydges from giving this poem, 
one of Kynaston's prettiest and most characteristic. The sudden * tower ' of the last 
stanza 

But when I see those starry Twins of thine, 

is a joy for ever. ' Only should not ' of course = ' should not only.' 

13 Darkens] Orig. by a clear misprint ' Darkenesse.' 

20 romance] As before. 

24 Inigo] Orig. 'In^go.' Had Kynaston taken up Ben Jonson's quarrel? or had 
he, as President of the Museum, an opposition-theory of stone-corruption ? There is 
clearly some animus. 

( 165 ) 



Sir Francis Kyjtaston 

Yet, dearest Cynthia, think thus much of me, 
By night I do both think, and dream of thee, 
And that which I shall write in thy high praise, 
Shall be the work of fair and sunshine days : 
Nor to describe thee will I take the pains, 
But in the hour when Jove, or Venus reigns. 

To Cynthia 

Learn'd lapidaries say the diamond 

Bred in the mines and mountains of the East, 

Mixt with heaps of gold-ore is often found, 

In the half-bird's half-beast's, the Griphon's, nest, 

Is first pure water easy to be prest. 

Then ice, then crystal, which great length of time 

Doth to the hardest of all stones sublime. 

I think they say the truth, for it may be, 

And what they of the diamond have said. 

My brightest Cynthia, may be prov'd by thee, lo 

Who having liv'd so long, so chaste a maid, 

Thy heart with any diamond being weigh'd. 

Is harder found, and colder than that stone, 

Thy first year's virgin-softness being gone. 

For now it is become impenetrable, 
And he that will, or form, or cut it, must 
(If he to purchase such a gem be able) 
Use a proportion of thy precious dust, 
Although the valuation be unjust : 

That pains which men to pierce it must bestow, 20 

Will equal dear in price unto it grow. 

But thou, it may be, wilt make this profession, 

That diamonds are soft'ned with goats' blood, 

And mollified by it will take impression. 

This of slain lovers must be understood : 

But trust me, dearest Cynthia, 'tis not good. 
Thy beauties so should lovers' minds perplex, 
As make them think thee Angel without sex. 



To Cynthia 

On his being one with her 

When pure refined gold is made in coin 
And silver is put to 't as the allay, 
Unless they both do melt, they will not join, 
There being to mix them both no other way. 

28 This conclusion is rather lame. 
(,66) 



Cynthtades 



So bars of iron in like kind will not 

Be piec'd together, nor be made in one, 

Unless they both be made alike red-hot : 

Then join they as they had together grown. 

By this I find, there is no hope for me, 

Ever to be united as a part lo 

Of thy sweet self, or to be mixt with thee : 

Breast join'd to breast, and heart commix'd with heart, 

For that thy hard congeal'd and snow-white breast. 

Cold as the North, that sends forth frosty weather, 

And mine with flames of love warm as the West, 

Will ne'er admit that we should lie together: 

Unless my tears like showers of April rain, 

Do thaw thy ice to water back again : 

Or else unless my naked breasts being laid 

On thine, and alike cold, it may be said, 20 

Of both our bosoms being joinM so, 

That alabaster frozen was in snow ; 

That so what heat together could not hold. 

Should be combin'd, and made one, by the cold. 



To Cynthia 

On Sugar and her Stveetness 

Those, Cynthia, that do taste the honey-dew 

Of thy moist rosy lips (who are but few). 

Or sucketh vapour of thy breath more sweet 

Than honeysuckle's juice, they all agree 't 

To be Madeira's sugar's quintessence. 

Or some diviner syrup brought from thence. 

And for the operation, they believe, 

It hath a quality provocative : 

For Venus in the sugar's propagation 

Is said to have a sovereign domination : 10 

But I must not think so, for I have read 

Of an extracted sugar out of lead. 

Of which I once did taste, which chemists call 

Sugar of Saturn, for they therewithal 

Cure all venereal heats, for it doth hold 

A winter in it like that Planet's cold, 

And though 't be strangely sweet, yet doth it quench 

All courage towards a mistress or a wench. 

Such must I think thy sweetness for to be, 

By that experience that is found in me : 20 

12 'Brest' and ' breast' occur indifferently in this poem. 
2 A most unlucky parenthesis ! 

5 Madeira's] Orig. ' Mederaes.'' The ' Madeira' cane is a known variety. It must 
be remembered that sugar was still something of a rarity. 

(^67) 



Sir Francis Kynaston 

For he that shall those sweets of thine but taste. 
Shall like thyself become, as cold, as chaste : 
For like the mildew new fallen from the sky, 
Though dropt from Heaven, yet doth it mortify. 

To Cynthia 

On her Coytiess 

What sweetness is in fruits, in nectarine, 

Peach, cherry, apricock, those lips of thine, 

Cynthia, express what colours grace the rose, 

The jessamine, the lily, pink, all those, 

Whether it be in colours, or in smells, 

Are emblems of thy body, which excels 

All flowers in purity, but can we find 

A flower, or herb, an emblem of thy mind? 

Yes, the coy shame-fac'd plant Pudesetan, 

Which is endu'd with sense, for if a man lo 

Come near the female, and his finger put 

Upon her leaf, she instantly will shut 

Close all her branches, as she did disdain 

The handling of a man, and spread again 

Her leaves abroad, whenas a man is gone, 

And she is in her earthy bed alone. 

This Indian plant a man may well suppose, 

Within the garden of thy bosom grows, 

AVhich though it be invisible hath such 

A property, to make thee fly my touch : 20 

And sure the plant hath such a sympathy. 

As that it will not close her leaves to thee ; 

And if thou com'st, herself she will not hide. 

But will (more nice than she) thy touch abide. 

To Cynthia 

On a Short Visit 

Giving thee once a visit of respect, 
Because I some affairs could not neglect, 
Which much concern'd me, brooking no delay, 
I only kist thine hand, and went away : 
How aptly, Cynthia, didst thou then inquire, 
Whether I came to thee but to fetch fire : 

I nectarine] Orig. ' Nectorine. 

9 Orig. looks like ' Pude/etan ' and I consulted the highest authorities at Kew to 
know whether the name was known. The answer was in the negative : and I then 
conjectured ' Pudesetan ' (with the long s) : the two last syllables (the two first being 
clear enough) standing for se(a, the minute leaflets of the mimosa. This the same 
authorities, though still not recognizing the form, were pleased not to disapprove. 

(168) 



Cynthiades 



It was too true, for yet I never came 

To visit thee, but I did fetch a flame, 

Religious fire, which kindled by thine eyes, 

Still made my heart thy beauty's sacrifice ; lo 

But though I, like Prometheus, never stole 

Celestial fire to give a living soul 

To any earthen statue, stone, yet he 

More mercy finds from Jove, than I from thee ; 

Though he to Caucasus be bound for ever, 

A ravenous vulture tiring on his liver, 

His pain is not augmented, but the same. 

But mine, like Vesta's never-dying flame. 

Although to burn my heart it never cease. 

Like oil of gold yet it doth still increase, 20 

An everlasting lamp, for fires that come 

From heaven still do burn, but not consume. 



To Cynthia 

On Verses on her 

There is no sense that I should write a hne 

On such a beauty, Cynthia, as thine ; 

I am no poet, and it is in vain, 

Since thou exceed'st all worth, to strive to feign : 

On my poor lines the Thespian well ne'er dropt. 

From me the fount of Helicon is stopt : 

I ne'er was so ill bred as to invoke 

Apollo, and to sacrifice with smoke 

Of coals, or billets, nor yet am I able. 

In the west-end of Cardinal Wolsey's stable, 10 

To keep a Pegasus, a horse that might 

Advance my muse by his swift nimble flight : 

Yet like a man opprest with grief and cares, 

Law-suits, and troubles, so with me it fares : 

If he but take a lusty jovial drink, 

Forgets all sorrows, so if I but think 

On thee, or thy chaste beauty, then my cheer 

Is chang'd, no clouds do in my soul appear ; 

Thy rare divinest beauty so expels 

With joys the horror of ten thousand hells. 20 

16 tiring] Orig. 'tyring.' It is a technical word for the tearing oi a bird of prey, and 
occurs both in Shakespeare and in Benlowes. 

I sense] So often ' sence,' is here spelt in the modern way. 

10 west-end, &c.] It has been suggested to me that this means the unfinished part 
of St. Frideswides at Christ Church, Oxford. 

( 169 ) 



Sir Fi^ancis Ky7iasto7t 
To Cynthia 

On a parting kiss 

So would a soul, if that it did but know 

(Being form'd in Heaven) how that it was to go 

To a dark womb on earth from heavenly bliss, 

Regret, as I do at our parting kiss ; 

For when I part from thee, though the delight 

Of the kiss is a sunbeam before night. 

Yet I much belter should endure the pain. 

Were I but sure that we should kiss again. 

But being uncertain, like a soul in fear, 

Whether it shall return to the same sphere, lo 

Or star, or house celestial, whence it came : 

My Cynthia, Beauty's queen, thou canst not blame 

My fear, nor my credulity in this. 

If I considering of our parting kiss. 

Shall straight affirm that on thy lip doth dwell 

At once a heavenly pleasure, and a hell ; 

For in our kiss is bliss without dimension, 

And in our parting grief, beyond extension : 

do me then the favour done to those 

Die on the block, to whom the headsman shows 20 

Nor sword, nor axe, nor doth the traitor know 
When he will strike, until he feel the blow : 
Use me then so, let 's kiss so oft, so fast, 

1 may not know, which kiss shall be my last. 



To Cynthia 

On his absence from her 

Till now I doubted whether love, or sight 

Of thy dear beauties, Cynthia, did invite 

My hand to write, or did beget a line, 

That did express my heart was wholly thine : 

But now I am resolv'd, 'twas not thy face. 

Thy lovely shape, or any outward grace 

Mov'd me to write, for if that those had been 

The cause, they must have oftentimes been seen ; 

Else my long absence, like a sponge, would blot 

Those beauties, which not seen, would be forgot : to 

But thy rare parts of mind, which I adore, 

Once seen, that 's understood, they need no more ; 

Or new, or frequent visits to repair 

My memory, or make thee a fresh fair : 

4 Regret] Orig. 'regre^t,' which one ishalf inclined to keep, for etymological and 
historical reasons. 

( >7o ) 



Cynthiades 



No absence from thee shall have the effect, 
As make me not to love, or not respect : 
Visits are needless, since they only be 
Subjects of fool's discourse, or jealousy : 
Then think me like to those are us'd to talk 
When they are fast asleep, who rise and walk 
As well as if they wak'd, do all things right 
As if they us'd their eyes, or had a light : 
Even so will I turn dreamer, and desire 
Nor sight, nor light, but Love's internal fire, 
So thou (although no object of my sense) 
Shalt be the subject of Love's innocence. 



20 



To Cynthia 

On his Love after Death 



Let lovers that like honey-flies 
After balm-dropping showers 
Swarming in sunshine of thine eyes, 
Kissing thy beauty's flowers — • 
Believe that they do live, while 

they do taste 
Of all those dainty sweetnesses 
thou hast. 

Let them believe while they do sip, 
Or while that they have suckt, 
The rosy nectar of thy lip. 
Or from the rose unpluckt lo 

Of thy fair cheek, or of thy fragrant 

. breasts. 
The aromatic odours of the 
East. 

Let them believe, that they do live, 
So long as they are fed 
Upon the honey thou dost give, 
Which wanting, they are dead : 



For if thou that ambrosial food 

deny, 
Their loves, like souls of beasts, 

do with them die. 

But, Cynthia, that ne'er-ending love 
Wherewith I honour thee, 20 

To be immortal, thus I prove, 
For though that absence be 

x\ truer p>ortraiture of death than 

sleep. 
Nay, a true death, for absent 
lovers weep : 

Yet like a long-departed soul 
That hath a body lost, 
Hath yet a being to condole, 
So my love like a ghost, 

Remaining follows thee, whose 

Heaven thou art. 
Lives, though not in thine eyes, 
yet in my heart. 30 



To Cynthia 

On her Channfisr 



Dear Cynthia, though thou bear'st 
the name 

Of the pale Queen of Night, 
Who changing yet is still the same, 

Renewing still her light : 

(^70 



Who monthly doth herself con- 
cealj 

And her bright face doth hide, 
That she may to Endymion steal, 

And kiss him unespied. 



Sir Francis Kynast07i 



Do not thou so, not being sure, 

When this thy beauty's gone, lo 
Thou such another canst procure, 

And wear it as thine own, 
For the by-shding silent hours, 

Conspirators with grief. 
May crop thy beauty's lovely flowers, 

Time being a sly thief. 

Which with his wings will fly away, 
And will return no more; 

As having got so rich a prey. 
Nature cannot restore : 20 



Reserve thou then, and do not waste 
That beauty which is thine, 

Cherish those glories which thou hast, 
Let not grief make thee pine. 

Think that the lily we behold, 

Or July-flower may 
Flourish, although the mother mould, 

That bred them be away. 
There is no cause, nor yet no sense, 

That dainty fruits should not, .^o 
Though the tree die, and wither, 
whence 

The apricots were got. 



To Cynthia 

On her Resemblance 

Forgive me Cynthia, if (as Poets use, 

When they some divine Beauty would express) 

I roses, pinks, or July-flowers do choose : 

It is a kind of weakness I confess, 

To praise the great'st perfection by a less : 

And is the same, as if one strove to paint 

The holiness or virtues of a Saint. 

Yet there is a necessity impos'd. 

For those bright Angels, which we virtues call 

Had not been known, had they not been inclos'd 

In precious stones, or things diaphanal : 

The essences and forms celestial 

Had been conceal'd, had not the heavenly powers 
Been stamp'd, and printed on stones, trees, and flowers. 

So thy divine pure soul, and every grace, 
And heavenly beauty it doth comprehend, 
Had not been seen, but for thy lovely face, 
Which with angel-like features may contend, 
Which into flesh and blood did down descend. 

That she her purest essence might disclose 

In it, as thy fair cheeks do in the Rose. 



10 



20 



26 They say '^«7/y flower ' is not 'July-flower.' Let them say. 

32 Observe 'aprico/s' here, 'apricock' before. 

18 It is odd that 'angelic ' will give the proper quantification, while 'angel-like ' does 
not. 

(172) 



Cynthiades 



To Cynthia 

On her Mother's Decease 



April is past, then do not shed, 
Nor do not waste in vain, 

Upon thy mother's earthy bed, 
Thy tears of silver rain. 

Thou canst not hope that her cold 
earth, 

By wat'ring will bring forth 
A flower like thee, or will give birth 

To one of the like worth. 

'Tis true the rain falFn from the sky. 
Or from the clouded air, lo 

Doth make the earth to fructify, 
And makes the heaven more fair. 



With thy dear face it is not so. 

Which if once overcast. 
If thou rain down thy showers of 
woe. 

They, like the Sirens', blast. 

Therefore when sorrow shall becloud 

Thy fair serenest day. 
Weep not, my sighs shall be allow'd 

To chase the storm away. 20 

Consider that the teeming vine. 
If cut by chance do weep. 

Doth bear no grapes to make the 
wine. 
But feels eternal sleep. 



To Cynthia 



Wonder not, Cynthia, thou who art 
Thyself a wonder, whose each part 
Kindles so many amorous flames. 
That Love wants numbers, Beauty 

names, 
If I that with so much respect, 
Honour, admire, love, and affect 
Thy graces, as no soul can more. 
Yet willing starve in midst of store, 
When as by tying Hymen's knot, 
All thy perfections may be got : 10 
And I to those high pleasures rais'd, 
As to enjoy all I have prais'd : 



Know, Cynthia, that Love's purest 

fire, 
My love unsatisfied is pure : 
Thou dost not know, if I enjoy'd 
Thy beauties, if I might be cloy'd ; 
More, all the while I nought enjoy, 
I do not care if thou be coy : 
Nor, if that lying by my side, 
Thy virgin cestus be untied : 20 
For, Cynthia, thou it true shalt 

prove, 
Hymen not makes, but seals our 

love. 



16 Why 'sirens'? 

22 ' it weep ' for ' do weep ' is almost irresistible to remove the only ' naeve ' in this 
charming piece. 

_ 20 cestus] Orig. 'Cystern.' One of the oddest slips of the pen for 'cestus' or else 
one of the oddest confusions of metaphor. Somebody has naturally enough written 
' cestus ' in the copy here reproduced. 



FINIS 



('73) 



POEMS 

JOHN HALL. 



N A 2 X AN 2. 




Camb%^ii> g e. 

Printed by %Si'^ Daniel Printer ro the 
Univcrfitic, i 6 4 <!>• 

Tm J. Rot hw ell at the Sun In Pauis C^unb-yard, 



INTRODUCTION TO 
JOHN HALL 

In reading the extravagant encomia prefixed to Hall's Poems'^, one feels 
as if it would argue an absence of humour not to suspect the presence of it 
in them. But that presence is not so certain. Similar extravaganzas 
appear before the author's still earlier prose Horae Vacivae or Essays*; 
they seem to have expressed the general opinion about this boy of nine- 
teen or twenty : and that opinion seems further to have been shared by 
Hobbes, than whom at the time there was hardly a more competent ^ and 
certainly not a more formidable judge, and who was not biassed by any 
connexions, local or academic, with Hall himself. It is, however, still not quite 
clear whether we are or are not to add Hall to the list of mere precocities. 
It is true that, though he died young *, he lived ten years after 1646 without 
doing any work that almost any one might not have done — writing 
Paradoxes, executing translations (including one of Longinus), and above 
all pamphleteering in the Cromwellian interest. It is true, also, that the 
merit which undoubtedly exists in the following Poems is rather of that 
delusive kind, which as practised reviewers know to their cost, is at certain 
times not uncommon in first books of poetry, and has a most lamentable 
habit of not being found in second or succeeding ones. When poetry is 
'in the air' a certain class of ingenuous minds 'take' it, like the measles 
and the chickenpox, and become thereby, unluckily or luckily, immune from 
it afterwards. 

Even allowing, however, for this melancholy fact — and for the other fact 
that at no other time in English literary history, not even fifty or sixty years 

^ Cambridge, 1646-7. 

' London, 1646. 

' Not perhaps of poetical, but of intellectual, merit. 

* He was born at Durham in 1627, was educated at the Grammar School of that 
city, and entered St. John's, Cambridge, in February, 1645-6. The Horae Vacivae 
came out four months later, and the Poems, Profane and Divine, by the next spring. 
He died less than ten years later, in August, 1656, having become a strong partisan, 
and it is said a pensioner, of Cromwell. Of the later works referred to above, his 
translation of Longinus is about the most interesting, and Hall's version of the title of 
the treatise — The Height of Eloquence — is not the worst that has been attempted. He is 
said (indeed it was enough to turn a young brain) to have fully shared the good 
opinion of Henry More and the rest about himself, and to have thought that the 
authorities denied him honours which were due to his ' excess of merit ' : while 
neglect of exercise and loose living appear to have hastened his end. Whether the 
Reverend Mr. Pawson {v. inf.) felt any compunction is not recorded : but it is fair to 
say that College tutors are not often responsible, in this way, for spoiling their pupils. 
It should perhaps be added here that Hall sent his Essays to Howell, and that they 
form the subject of one of the ever-delightful Letters. 

n. ( 177 ) N 



jfohn Hall 



earlier, or a hundred and fifty and two hundred years later, was this 
epidemic of poetry so remarkable as about the middle of the seventeenth 
century — there is something in Hall that is not merely epidemic, though 
he has the poetic measles itself as clearly as ever man had. He shows 
— and almost certainly must have meant to show — the two varieties of 
it, fantastic-grotesque and fantastic-passionate, in the closest contrast : 
indeed it sometimes looks as if he deliberately and ostentatiously put his 
examples of the two in pairs. The grotesques in which even Milton 
failed are seldom successes with Hall. The ' Satire ' with which he begins looks 
like a deliberate following of his greater and elder namesake Joseph, and has 
nothing to redeem the strained falsetto of stock indignation which spoils 
Elizabethan satire generally. The subsequent conceits on little learned 
men, gigantic Court officials, eunuchs, deformed persons, great eaters, and 
so forth are very tedious things : though after a fashion they make one more 
thankful to Butler in that he came at last, did this thing once for all, and 
' did for ' it in doing it. 

But the serious things interposed among these laboured trifles are very 
different. I suppose a certain amount of training is required to judge them. 
Even among persons of culture the spirit of the Princess (herself a person of 
culture surely) when she said 

A mere love-poem ! 

is apt to be rife. However, the mere love-poems have supplied a rather 
remarkably large proportion of the best poetry in the world : and Hall, minor 
poet though he be, takes the benefit of this quite irrefragable proposition. 
The very first of them, ' The Call ' to Romira, has that arresting quality 
which belongs only to poetry that is poetry. It begins in no very out ot 
the way fashion, though even in the beginning there is the wonderful 
Caroline 'grip ' of rhythm and metre ; but it tightens this grip as it goes on. 

See ! see! the sun 
Does slowly to his azure lodging run : 

Come sit out here, 
And presently he'll quit our hemisphere. 

So still among 
Lovers, time is too short or else too long. 

Here will we spin 
Legends for them that have Love's martyrs been. 

Here on this plain 
We'll talk Narcissus to a flower again. 

In some French book or other the host produces cigars which he begs 
his friends to smoke avec recueillement. I should like to invite reading of 
these lines under the same condition. 

After it the reader may come with fit preparation to * The Lure,' which is a 
(^78) 



Introduction 

distinct advance. I have ventured in a note to suggest comparison with what 
is perhaps Browning's masterpiece as an anticipation. For a recollection 
there is of course, from a slightly different side, Catullus. But if a minor 
poet like Hall can stand (and I think he can) these looks before and after, is 
it not something in his favour ? I shall not go through the rest here ; my self- 
denying ordinance prevents that. But I can trust the effect of going through 
for himself on any fit reader ; and the others may stand down. Let me 
only draw attention to the ' Ode to Pawson ' — not ' a mere love-poem ' at 
all, and certainly not a common kind of Ode from an undergraduate to his 
tutor. 

The Divine Poems give a new test, and admittedly a severe one. Though 
the difficulty of sacred poetry may have been exaggerated, it exists : and 
it can never be more threatening than when an inevitable comparison occurs, 
not merely with mainly or wholly ' divine ' contemporaries like Crashaw and 
Herbert and Vaughan, but with such things as Herrick's ' Litany ' and 'White 
Island.' Yet Hall does not come so ill out of the peril. The Latin pieces 
are very interesting here. I like the Boethian 

Ut se perpetuo rotat 

best myself ; but preference is free. They are, however, not so much to our 
purpose as the English. In these, if he never climbs to the sublimest heights, 
he seems to me to avoid the disastrous stumbles and descents of most 
' divine ' poets very satisfactorily. Almost at once, though there is some 
titular extravagance in ' The Dithyramb,' he strikes into the mystical 
melancholy music, fully religious in tone, of which his period had the 
secret and kept it, till Miss Christina Rossetti found the key once more. 
And he never loses it till the final ode, and the last line of this. 

A minor poet ? Undoubtedly : but a pOet. Gold dust only, in small 
handfuls, or even pinches ? Perhaps ; but gold dust ^. 

^ Sir Egerton Brydges published in 1816 a reprint, in small numbers, of Hall's 
Poems which has been utihzed here. It has, however, though generally accurate, 
a certain number of slight but not unimportant mistakes. I have corrected these 
carefully, both before and after printing, from my ov^^n copy of the original — a copy 
which was once Southey's. For the relation between these poems and the medley 
ascribed later to Cleveland, we may wait till we come to Cleveland himself. 



(179) K2 



yohn Hall 



To his truly noble, and worthily honoured 
friend, Thomas Stanley, Esq. 



Mv Dearest Friend. 

Since it is the hard fortune of 
these glow-worms to see day, I wish 
they might have passed your examina- 
tion ; for I know you to be a severe 
critic in poetry, as well as in philology, 
and the sciences : but since others' 
importunities, and mine own pressing 
occasions have denied it, I must present 
them loaden with their own blemishes, 
that being fitter objects of pardon, they 
may draw in pardoning, more demon- 
strations of your candour, and add 
to my engagements, could they receive 
augmentation. I will not commit a 
rape upon your modesty by any praises, 
though Truth herself might be your 
panegyrist, and yet continue naked ; 
give me only leave to tell you from 
mine own experience, that love is more 
than a mere sympathy : for admiration 
did first attract my thoughts to you, 
and after fix them ; though it were only 



your innate sweetness that received 
them with an undeserved entertain- 
ment. Sir, what I was first indebted to 
you at Durham, I endeavour to acquit 
in part here at Cambridge; for the total, 
though it be rather above my ability, 
than desires, yet should I hate the 
thought of a general discharge. Let 
me only beg of you that these cherry- 
stones may draw from you your own 
pearls, which cannot but break them- 
selves a day through that darkness to 
which you now confine them^. Let us 
once see Fancy triumph in the spoils of 
the richest learning, there will many, no 
doubt, press to follow the chariot ; yet 
shall none be more forward than, 
Sir 
Your most affectionately 

devoted servant, 
J. Hall. 
St. John's, 
Jan. 6, 1646. 



Preface 



Justice itself cannot deny me liberty 
of speech before sentence, if injustice 
have not past it already ; whether by 
declining the doom from me as the 
mere vizard and hand of another, or 
censuring, more severely, all my life 
spent in these holidays, and my best 
flames on such wildfires. 

I could never screw my judgement 
up to that rigour, as suppose those too 
familiar with poetry, that only courted 
her by some chaste salutes ; 'twere 
injurious to that Nymph, which will 
only be wooed by high spirits, and to 
high spirits in stooping to so inferior 
an object ; thus much I have ever 
observed, that those that slighted other 



matrons and made her their wife, had 
never the assistance of any portion ; 
and she seldom proved fruitful without 
co-operation of good seed, and strong 
influences. 

For mine own part, since I am forced 
to shoot out these blooms, I might 
justly fear chill winds abroad ; but that 
I hope they will hasten the destruction 
of such unripe fruit : neither am I 
solicitous how they savour, for I intend 
no more, and these I give over as 
already distasted ; let me only say thus 
much to direct your charity, that a 
mushroom, though but an excrescency, 
well dressed, is no poison, but a salad; 
and dancing, though censured as unbe- 



^ It was, as a matter of fact, not till the next year (1647) that Stanley published his 
poems, and not till five years later that he gave a definitive edition of them. 

(180) 



Preface 



coming, and perhaps unlawful, is no 
other but the most regular kind of 
walking, and that teaches the body a 
most decent carriage. But such sins 
as these are venial in youth, especially 
if expiated with timely abjurement ; for 
follies continued till old age, do 
aggrandize and become horrid ; where- 



as a seasonable intermission puts them 
among those pitiable lapses that attend 
mortality. 

For the faults of the press, they may 
easily be passed over by your candour ; 
some more notorious, which I casually 
observe in the perusal, be pleased to 
take notice of. J. H. 



To the young Author upon his 
incomparable Vein in Satire and Love Sonnets 



^ Young monster ! bom with teeth, 

that thus canst bite 
So deep, canst wound all sorts at ten 

and eight : 
Fierce Scythian brat ! young Tamer- 
lane ! the Gods' 
Great scourge ! that kick'st all men 

like skulls and clods ; 
Rough creature ! born for terror ; 

whose stern look. 
Few strings and muscles mov'd, is a 

whole book 
Of biting satires ; who did thee 

beget ? 
Or with what pictures was the curtains 

set ? 
John of the Wilderness ? the hairy 

child ? 
The hispid Thisbite? or what Satyr 

wild. 
That thou thus satirisest ? Storm of 

wit, 
That fall'st on all thou meetst, and all 

dost meet ! 
Singest like lightening the reverend 

fur 
Of ancient sages ; mak'st a fearful stir 
With my young master and his peda- 
gogue, 
And pullst by th' ears the lad's beloved 

dog. 
Then hast thy finger in potato pies, 
That make the dull grammarian to 

rise ; 
Anon advancing thy satiric flail, 
Sweepst down the wine-glasses and 

cups of ale ; 
Nor yet art spent ; thy manly rage 

affords 



New coil against young wenches and 

old words, 
'Gainst Jos. and Tycho that slings 

down the spheres ; 
Like Will with th' wisp sit'st on moist 

asses' ears ; 
And now stept in, most quick and 

dexterous. 
Boldly by ,th' elbow jogg'st Mauro- 

lycus. 
Causing him in his curious numberings 

lose 
Himself ; tak'st Galileo by the nose ; 
Another stroke makes the dry bones 

(OSin!) 
Of lean Geometry rattle in her skin ; 
New rage transforms thee to a pig, that 

roots 
In Jury-land, or crumps Arabic roots ; 
Or else made corn-cutter, thou loutest 

low, 
And tak'st old Madam Eva by the 

toe. 
Anon thy officious fancy, at random 

sent. 
Becomes a chamberlain, waits on 

Wood of Kent,— 
Sir, much good do't you, — then the 

table throws 
Into his mouth his stomach's mouth to 

close ; 
Another while the well-drench'd smoky 

That stands in his own spauP above 
the shoe. 

She twitcheth by the cloak, and thread- 
bare plush, 

Nor beats his moist black beard into a 
blush ! 



^ The author of Psychozoia in a mood of ' metaphysical ' bravura is certainly ' a most 
odd fellow,' as Southey said of him generally. '^ Saliva. 

( i8i ) 



yohn Hall 



Mad soul I tyrannic wit ! that thus 

dost scourge 
All mortals, and with their own follies 

urge, 
Thou'rt young ; therefore, as infant, 

innocent, 
Without regret of conscience all are 

rent 
By the rough knotted whip ; but if such 

blows 
Thy younger years can give ; when age 

bestows 
Much firmer strength, sure thy satiric 

rods 
May awe the heavens, and discipline 

the gods ! 
And now, 1 ween, we wisely well have 

shown 
What hatred, wrath, and indignation 
Can do in thy great parts. How 

melting love, 



That other youthful heat, thou dost 
improve 

With fancies quaint, and gay expres- 
sions pat, 

More florid than a Lanspresado's^ hat; 

That province to some fresher pens we 
leave, 

Dear lad ! and kindly now we take our 
leave. 

Only one word. Sith we so highly 
raise 

Thy watchful wit, take this com- 
pendious praise : — 
Thy love and wrath seem equal good 
to me. 

For both thy wrath and love right 
satires be. 

Thus may we twitch thee now, young 
whelp ! but when 

Thy paws be grown, who'll dare to 
touch thee then ? 

H. More, Fell, of Chr. Coll. 



To his friend Mr. J. H. upon his Poems 



May thine own verse, the envy and the 

glory 
Of gowned gentry, still enrich thy 

story ! 

Flame out, bright spark ! and let them 

clearly see 
What 's not impossible for them to 

be ; 

Go on, and make the bankrupt world 

to know 
How much to thy judicious pen they 

owe ; 



By whose gigantic parts is clearly 

shown. 
That Nature's womb is not yet feeble 

grown. 

Thy lines pardon the press for all the 

rhymes. 
That have committed been in senseless 
times. 

When Pegasus, made hackney, found- 
ered grows, 

Wishing himself tum'd loose to graze 
in prose. 

Will, Dillingham, Fell. Eman. 



A Genethhacon to the infant Muse of his 

dearest Friend 



Dame Nature, long projecting how 
She might a new-year's gift bestow 
Of greatest worth, at length did chuse 
To give the world an early Muse ; 
She felt perfection in her womb 
Struggling to get a larger room. 



And could not chuse but give it 
breath. 

Though by procuring her ovvn death. 

She would not her full time out-tarry, 

Lest bringing forth she might mis- 
carry ; 



^ The correcter form of this variously spelt word ( = lance corporal) appears to be 
lansptsado. 

(1S2) 



Commendatory Poems 



Therefore she rather rips her womb, 
Thence gives this rich depositum. 
Nor need we this Abortive fold 
In a lambskin, to keep 't from cold : 
We need not cry, as ! spare it yet, 
'Tis an untimely tender wit : 



Let Envy spatter what it can, 
This Embr)'on will prove a man. 
Thus thy luxuriant laurel-sprout, 
As soon as 't hath its head put out, 
O'ertops old standers ! Thus thy bays 
Vie greenness with thy tender days. 

Will. Harington, Fell. ofG. and C. Coll. 



To the honoured Author, Mr. Hall, 
on his Poems 



Dost mean to spoil thyself ? Do knotty 

Arts, 
And pale-fac'd Study, fit the silken 

parts 
Of gentlemen ? Or canst thou stretch 

thy ears 
To hear the holy accents of the spheres 
From their own volumes .'' Wilt thou 

let thy hand 
Tempt their strange measures in re- 
ligious sand ? 
Summon thy lungs, and with an 

angry breath 
Ravel the curious dust, and throw 't 

beneath 
Thy braver feet ; 'tis too, too low : go 

hence, 
And see the spheres with blest intelli- 
gence 
Moving at tennis ; go, and steep thy 

brain 
In fluent nectar ; or go vie a strain 
In goatish courtship ; — that, indeed, 

were good ; 
Currently noble. Nothing taints the 

blood. 
Like this base study: hence ! ye Arts ; 

begone, 



Ye brats ; which serious Superstition 
Brings to the threadbare parent ! . . . 
But thou, brave youth, with prudent 

skill hast taught 
Thy purged ear to hear, yet not be 

caught 
With these fond Syrens. Thy green 

thoughts may vie 
With hoary wisdom : thy clear soul 

can spy 
The mines of knowledge, can as quickly 

store 
Itself, and dive to the retirM ore ! 
Thou, like that eater, whom thy happy 

song 
Shall cause to eat up Time himself, 

with strong 
And sprightly heat, thou canst each art 

digest 
In the vast stomach of thy knowing 

breast ; 
And when severer thoughts at length 

shall please 
T' unbend themselves, then with such 

strains as these 
Thou court'st each witty goddess, and 

dost tie 
Thy purer ease in their festivity. 



'HvTOff;^€6iao-e J A. WiNDET, M.A. Reginal} 



Vati foelix auspicium 



SiCUT multiplices varians Luscinia voces 

Fit tandem mortis Preefica laeta suae, 
Enthea sic tua sunt modulamina. Die Poeta, 

At, quo funus avi flebile, vita tibi*^. 

R. Marshall, 5. /. C. 

1 Sir Egerton Brydges most unjustly represented Mr. Windet of Queens' as extem- 
porizing without the accent, which he did not do. 

' Qwo, printed in original, with the accent, according to custom, becomes 
unintelligibly qud in the reprint. 

(^83) 



yohn Hall 



To his honoured friend, Mr. J. H. 



Fruits that arise in haste, do soon, 
Once nipp'd by piercing blasts, fall 

down ; 
Thy youth such sudden blooms did 

give, 



As may even Scythian frosts survive, 
And, maugre tempests, still be seen 
Like youthful ivy clad in green. 

T. Smithsby, St. J. C. Gent. 



To his admired friend, Mr. J. Hall 



Welcome, bright sun, into our hemi- 
sphere : 
Now thou art risen, we all disappear 
As smallest sparks. Mount higher yet 
and make 



All arts, and sciences, thy Zodiac : 
I should desire to be thy Mercury, 
Could 1, though but unseen, keep pace 

with thee. 
Edw. Holland, St. John's Coll. Gent. 



To the no less knowing than ingenious 
Mr. Hall, on his Ignorant Detractors 



Thou need'st no noseless monuments 
display, 

Or ear-cropp'd images : leave that by- 
way 

To those who are contented to be 
known 

By their forefathers' virtues, not their 
own : 

Those who scarce other worth acknow- 
ledge will. 

Than what each tailor puts into his 
bill, 

Such plumM Estrages ^, 'tis hard to say 

Whether the feathers or the head out- 
weigh : 

Thou scorn'st these cheats ; thy works 
purchase thee more, 

Than they can swap their heritages 
for: 

A name, I mean, 'mongst those who 
do advance 

Learning as much as they hug 
Ignorance. 

Thou wast a Nestor in thine infancy ; 

Should they live Nestor's years they'd 
infants die. 



Whene'er they learn, what thou canst 

teach at ten, 
The world in charity shall call them 

men. 
Thy Dwarf and Giant may fit emblems 

be. 
Of what proportion is 'twixt them and 

thee. 
Couldst thou bedwarf thy soul, thou 

might'st descend, 
Perhaps, to please these gallants, and 

so blend 
Words with them now and then, and 

make a noise 
'Bout some gay nothing, or themselves 

such toys 
Couldst thou like, they would thee ; till 

then expect 
Poems from them as soon as not- 

neglect. 
If they commend one verse which 

thou hast writ, 
That verse shall be 'mongst thy 

erratas set. 

J. Pawson, Fell, of St. John's Coll. 



' Estrages] « Y.stTidge ' is well known from Shakespeare. Massinger has ' estnVA.' 
I thought it well to keep this further aberration. 

(184) 



POEMS 

The First Book 

A Satire 

Pray let m' alone; what, do you think can I 

Be still, while pamphlets thus like hailstones fly 

About mine ears? when every other day 

Such huge gigantic volumes doth display, 

As great Knockfergus' self could hardly bear, 

Though he can on his knee th' ale standard rear; 

To see such paper tyrants reign, who press 

Whole harmless reams to death, w-hich, ne'ertheless, 

Are dogg'd by worser fates ; tobacco can 

Calcine them soon to dust ; the dripping-pan lo 

Pack them to th' dunghill ; if they groc'ry meet, 

They do the office of a winding sheet : 

How better were it for you to remain 

(Poor quires !) in ancient rags, than thus sustain 

Such antic forms of tortures, then to lie 

In sweating tubs, and thus unpitied fry : 

Y' are common drudges of the world ; if 't chance 

A pedant mend his shoes, you must advance 

To Frankfort mart, and there demurely stand 

Cloth'd in old fustian rags, and shake the hand 20 

With every greasy Dutchman, who, perhaps, 

Puts ye 'ith' self-same pocket with his scraps ; 

Or if you into some blind convent fly, 

Y' are inquisition'd straight for heresy, 

Unless your daring frontispiece can tell 

News of a relic, or brave miracle ; 

Then are you entertain'd, and desk'd up by 

Our Lady's psalter and the rosary ; 

There to remain, till that their wisdoms please 

To let you loose among the novices. 30 

But if you light at court, unless you can 

Audaciously claw some young nobleman. 

Admire the choicest Beauties of the Court, 

Abuse the country parson, and make sport, 

5 Knockfergus] An ' Irish giant,' evidently. 

6 ale standard] I am not sure which of the various senses of 'standard' is meant 
here. Probably ihe pole or signstafif in front of an alehouse. 

(185) 



yohfi Hall 



Chalk out set forms of compliments, and tell 

Which fashions on which bodies might do well, 

No surer paints my lady, than you shall 

Into disgrace irrevocably fall. 

But if you melt in oily lines, and swell 

With amorous deep expressions, and can tell 40 

Quaint tales of lust, and make Antiquity 

A patron of black patches, and deny 

That perukes are unlawful, and be-saint 

Old Jezebel for showing how to paint. 

Then th' art my Golden Book, then may'st thou lie 

Adorn'd with plush or some embroidery 

Upon her ladyship's own couch, where ne'er 

A book that tastes religion dare appear. 

Thus must ye wretched shreds comply, and bend 

To every humour, or your constant friend, 50 

The stationer, will never give you room ; 

Y' are younger brothers, welcomest from home. 

Yet to speak truly, 'tis your just deserts 

To run such various hazards and such thwarts : 

Suppose ye that the world is peopled now 

With cockneys or old women, that allow 

Canon to every fable ; that can soon 

Persuade themselves the ass drunk up the moon ; 

That fairies pinch the peccant maids; that pies 

Do ever love to pick at witches' eyes ; 60 

That Monsieur Tom Thumb on a pin's point lay ; 

That Pictrees feed the devil nine times a day? 

Yet such authentic stories do appear 

In no worse garb than folio, and still bear 

No meaner badge than Aristotle's name. 

Or else descent from reverend Pliny claim. 

One in a humour gives great Homer th' lie, 

And pleases to annihilate poor Troy ; 

Another scourges Virgil, 'cause 'tis said 

His fiction is not in due order laid : 70 

This will create a monster; this will raise 

A ne'er found mountain ; this will pour out seas ; 

This great Camillus to a reckoning calls 

For giving so much money to the Gauls ; 

This counts how much the state of Egypt made 

Of frogs that in the slimes of Nilus laid. 

We'll not digest these gudgeons ; th' world is now 

At age, if't do not towards dotage grow. 

35 Chalk out set forms] Most readers will think of Wordsworth's ' forms with chalk. ' 
And a real connexion is not impossible, for both poets were of the same college, and 
Wordsworth may have seen that copy of Southey's which is now before me. The 
reasoning is better than Fluellen's. 

62 Pictrees] An unusual form of an unusual word * pickatree,' woodpecker, which 
appears (but not in this form) in Dial. Diet, 

73-4 A good couplet. 

( 186 ) 



A Satire 

That starch'd-out beard that sits in th' Porph'ry chair, 

And but for 's crown 's light-headed, cannot err, 80 

Barthius has read all books, Jos. Scaliger 

Proportion'd lately the diameter 

Unto the circle Galileo 's found. 

Though not drunk, thinking that the earth ran round : 

Tycho has tumbled down the orbs, and now 

Fine tenuous air doth in their places grow ; 

Maurolycus at length has cast it even, 

How many pulses' journey 'tis to heaven. 

A world of such knacks know we ; think ye, then, 

Sooner to peep out than be kick'd from men ; 90 

Whether ye gallop in light rhymes, or chose 

Gently to amble in a Yorkshire prose ; 

Whether ye bring some indigested news 

From Spanish surgeons, or Italian stews ; 

Whether ye fiercely raise some false alarm, 

And in a rage the Janizaries arm ; 

Whether ye reinforce old times, and con 

What kind of stuff Adam's first suit was on ; 

Whether Eve's toes had corns ; or whether he 

Did cut his beard spadewise or like a T : 100 

Such brokage as is this will never do 't. 

We must have matter and good words to boot ; 

And yet how seldom meet they ? most our rhymes 

Rally in tunes, but speak no sense like chimes : 

Grave deep discourses full as ragged be 

As are their author's doublets; you'll not see 

A word creep in, that cannot quickly show 

A genealogy to th' ark of Noah, 

Or at the least pleads not prescription 

From that great cradle of confusion. no 

What pamphlet is there, where some Arabic 

Scours not the coast ? from whence you may not pick 

Some Chinese character or mystic spell, 

Whereon the critics for an age may dwell ; 

Where there 's some sentence to be understood, 

As hard to find as where old Athens stood : 

Why do we live, why do our pulses beat, 

To spend our bravest flames, our noblest heat, 

On such poor trifles? to enlarge the day 

By gloomy lamps ; yet for no other prey 120 

Than a moth-eaten radix, or to know 

The fashion of Deucalion's mother's shoe. 

87 Who was Maurolycus? Franciscus, M. of Messina (1494-1576', says a friend. 
107-8 Surely Hall must have written 

show a 
Genealogy [un ?]to the ark of Noah, 

in the spirit of another Cambridge man in dealing with Mile-End the year before. 



yohn Hall 



It will not quit the cost, that men should spend 

Themselves, time, money, to no other end ; 

That people should with such a deal of pains 

Buy knowing nothing, and wise men's disdains. 

But to prevent this, the more politic sort 

Of parents will to handicrafts resort : 

If they observe their children do produce 

Some flashings of a mounting genius, 130 

Then must they with all diligence invade 

Some rising calling, or some gainful trade ; 

But if it chance they have one leaden soul 

Born for to number eggs, he must to school ; 

Especiair if some patron will engage 

Th' advowson of a neighbouring vicarage. 

Strange hedly-medly ! who would make his swine 

Turn greyhounds, or hunt foxes with his kine? 

Who would employ his saddle-nag to come, 

And hold a trencher in the dining room ? 140 

Who would engage Sir James, that knows not what 

His cassock 's made of, in affairs of state ? 

Or pluck a Richelieu from the helm to try 

Conclusions to still children when they cry ? 

Who would employ a country schoolmaster 

To construe to his boys some new-found star ? 

Poor leaden creatures yet shap'd up to rule, 

Perpetual dictators in a school ; 

Nor do you want your rods, though only fed 

With scraps of Tully and coarse barley bread ; 150 

Great threadbare princes, which like chess-kings brave, 

No longer than your masters give you leave, 

Whose large dominions in some brew-house lies, 

Asses commands o'er you, you over boys ; 

Who still possess the lodgings next the leads. 

And cheat your ladies of their waiting maids ; 

Who, if some lowly carriage do befriend, 

May grace the table at the lower end, 

Upon condition that ye fairly rise 

At the first entrance of th' potato pies, 160 

And while his lordship for discourse doth call 

You do not let one dram of Latin fall ; 

But tell how bravely your young master swears, 

Which dogs best like his fancy, and what ears ; 

How much he undervalues learning, and 

Takes pleasure in a sparrow-hawk well mann'd 

How oft he beats his foot-boy, and will dare 

To gallop when no serving man is near ; 

How he blackberries from the bushes caught, 

When antidoted with a morning's draught ; 170 

141 Sir] For ' sir-priest,' generally, of course. 

(188) 



A Satire 

How rather than he'll construe Greek, he'll choose 

To English Ovid's Arte into prose: 

Such talk is for his lordship's palate, he 

Takes much delight in such-like trumpery ; 

But still remember ye forbear to press 

Unseasonably some moral sentences ; 

Take heed, by all means, how rough Seneca 

Sally into your talk ; that man, they say, 

Rails against drinking healths, and merits hate, 

As sure as Ornis mocked a graduate. iSo 

What a grand ornament our gentry would 

Soon lose, if every rug-gown might be bold 

To rail at such heroic feats ? pray who 

Could honour's Mistress' health, if this did grow 

Once out of fashion ? 'las, fine idols ! they. 

E'er since poor Cheapside cross in rubbidge lay, 

E'er since the play-houses did want their prease, 

And players lay asleep like dormouses. 

Have suffered, too, too much : be not so sour 

With tender beauties, they had once some power ; 190 

Take that away, what do you leave them ? what ? 

To marshal fancies in a youngster's hat. 

And well so too, since feathers were cashier'd 

The ribbands have been to some office rear'd ; 

'Tis hard to meet a Lanspresado, where 

Some ells of favours do not straight appear 

Plastered and daubbd o'er, and garnished, 

As feathers on a southern hackney's head, 

Which, if but tied together, might at least 

Trace Alexander's conquests o'er the East ; 200 

Or, stitch'd into a web, supply anew 

With annuary cloaks the Wandering Jew. 

So learned an age we live in, all are now 

Turn'd Poets, since their heads with fancies glow. 

'Las ! Poets ? yes : O bear me witness all 

Short-winded ballads, or whate'er may fall 

Within the verge of three half-quarters^ say, 

Produce we not more poems in a day 

(By this account) than waves on waves do break, 

Or country Justices false English speak? 3 10 

Suppose Dame Julia's messet thinks it meet 

To droop or hold up one of 't's hinder feet, 

What swarms of sonnets rise? how every wit 

Capers on such an accident, to fit 

172 Arte\ Brydges prints Art, spoiling the verse. Hall, of course, in order not to 
spoil it, kept the Latin case without the preposition. 

180 Was this some Cambridge 'Bird' or ' Byrd ' of the time? 

186 rubbidge] Brydges 'rubbage.' 

21 1 messet] A lap-dog ; cf. the Scots 'messan.' This is the northern English form, 
and Hall was a Durham man. 

(789) 



yohn Hall 



Words to her fairship's grief? but if by fate 

Some long presumptuous slit do boldly grate 

Don Hugo's doublet, there 's a stir as though 

Nile should his ancient limits overflow ; 

Or some curst treason would blow up the state, 

As sure as gamesters use to lie too late. 

But if some fortune cog them into love, 

In what a fifteenth sphere then do they move ! 

Not the least tittle of a word is set, 

That is not flank'd with a stout epithet. 

What rocks of diamonds presently arise 

In the soft quagmires of two squinting eyes ! 

How teeth discoloured and half rotten be 

Transformed into pearl or ivory ! 

How every word 's chang'd at a finest note. 

And Indian gums are planted in her throat ! 

Speak in good earnest : are they not worse than boys 

Of four year old, to doat on painted toys? 

Yet O how frequent ! most our sages shake 

Off their old furs, and needs will laurels take, 

That it will be no wonder to rehearse 

The crabb'dst of geometry in verse ; 

Or from the dust of knotty Suarez see 

A strange production of some poetry. 

But stay, too lavish Muse ! where run you ? Stay ! 

Take heed your tongue bite not your ears away ; 

Besides, y' have other business, and you might 

More fitly far with tears than gall indite. 



220 



230 



240 



Upon T. R., a very little man, but excellently learned 



Makes Nature maps? since that in 

thee 
She 's drawn an university : 
Or strives she in so small a piece 
To sum the arts and sciences ? 
Once she writ only text-hand, when 
She scribbled giants and no men ; 
But now in her decrepid years 
She dashes dwarfs in characters. 
And makes one single farthing bear 
The Creed, Commandments, and 

Lord's Prayer. 10 



Would she turn Art, and imitate 
Monte-regio's flying gnat ? 
Would she the Golden Legend shut 
Within the cloister of a nut ; 
Or else a musket bullet rear 
Into a vast and mighty sphere ? 
Or pen an eagle in the caul 
Of a slender nightingale ; 
Or show, she pigmies can create 
Not too little but too great ? 20 

How comes it that she thus converts 
So small a totum and great parts ? 



222 fifteenth] Unsatisfied with the mere ten of Ptolemaic system. 

237 Francesco Suarez, of the twenty -three folios, had been dead barely thirty years 
when Hall wrote. 

12 Monte-regio] Perhaps not an italianized form of the German astronomer, Johann 
Mailer's (1436-76), usual name Regiomontanus, but the ablative oi Mons Regius itself. 
Still R., who was great at automata, did live long in Italy. 

18 nightingale] Orig. ' nightingall,' perhaps not for the rhyme only. 

{ 190) 



upon T. R. 



Strives she now to turn awry 
The quick scent of philosophy ? 
How, so httle matter can 
So monstrous big a form contain ; 
What shall we call (it would be 

known) 
This giant and this dwarf in one ? 
His age is blabb'd by silver hairs, 
His hmbs still cry out want of years ; 



So small a body in a cage 31 

May chuse a spacious hermitage ; 
So great a soul doth fret and fume 
At th' narrow world for want of room. 
Strange conjunction ! here is grown 
A molehill and the Alps in one ; 
In th' selfsame action we may call 
Nature both thrift and prodigal. 



A Sea Dialogue 



PALURUS 

Mv Antinetta, though thou be 
More white than foam wherewith a 

wave, 
Broke in his wrath, besmears the sea. 
Yet art thou harder than this cave. 

ANTINETTA 

Though thou be fairer than the light, 
Which doubting pilots only mind, 
That they may steer their course 

aright, 
Yet art thou lighter than the wind. 

PALURUS 

And shall I not be chang'd ? when 

thou 
Hast fraught Medorus with thy 

heart ; 10 

And as along the sands we go 
To gather shells, dost take his part ? 

ANTINETTA 

What ! shall not I congeal to see 
Doris, the ballast of thine arms, 
(Which have so oft encompass'd me) 
Now pinion'd by her faithless 
charms? 



PALURUS 

What if I henceforth shall disdain 
The golden-tressed Doris' love, 
And Antinetta serve again. 
And in that service constant prove ? 

ANTINETTA 

Though mighty Neptune cannot 
stand 2 1 

Before Medorus, and thou be 
Restless as whirlpools, false as sand, 
Yet will I live and die with thee. 

PALURUS 

Nay, live, and lest one single death 
Should rack thee, take this life of 
mine. 

ANTINETTA 

Thou but exchanged with that breath 
Thy Antinetta's soul for thine. 

CHORUS 

How powerful 's love ! which, like a 

flame 
That sever'd, reunites more close j 30 
Or like a broken limb in frame, 
That ever after firmer grows. 



Upon the King's Great Porter 

Sir, or great grandsire, whose vast bulk may be 
A burying place for all your pedigree ; 
Thou moving Coloss, for whose goodly face 
The Rhine can hardly make a looking-glass: 

A Sea Dialogue'] This variation on, rather than translation of, the classical ' Horace 
and Lydia,' is characteristic, and the opening stanzas are good. 

Upon the King's Great Porter] For Evans the porter and Geoffrey Hudson the dwarf 
see Peveril 0/ the Peak. 

(^90 



yohn Hall 



What piles ot victuals had thou need to chew, 

Ten woods or marrets' throats were not enough. 

Dwarf was he, whose wife's bracelet fit his thumb ; 

It would not on thy little finger come : 

If Jove in getting Hercules spent three 

Nights, he might spend fifteen in getting thee : lo 

What name or title suits thy greatness, thou, 

Aldiboroniftiscophonio ? 

When giants warred with Jove, hadst thou been one, 

Where others oaks, thou would'st have mountains thrown ; 

Wer'st thou but sick, what help could e'er be wrought, 

Unless physicians posted down thy throat ; 

Were thou to die, and Xerxes living, he 

Would not pare Athos for to cover thee ; 

Were thou t' embalm, the surgeons needs must scale 

Thy body, as when labourers dig a whale. 20 

Great Sir ! a people kneaded up in one ! 

We'll weigh thee by ship-burdens, not by th' stone. 

What tempests might'st thou raise, what whirlwinds when 

Thou breathes, thou great Leviathan of men ! 

Bend but thine eye, a countryman would swear 

A regiment of Spaniards quartered there : 

Smooth but thy brow, they'll say there were a plain 

T' act York and Lancaster once o'er again ! 

That pocket pistol of the queen's might be 

Thy pocket pistol, sans hyperbole ; 30 

Abstain from garrisons, since thou may eat 

The Turk's or Mogul's titles at a bit : 

Plant some new land, which ne'er will empty be. 

If she enjoy her savages in thee : 

Get from amongst us, since we only can 

Appear like skulls march'd o'er by Tamberlane. 



A Burning Glass 

Strange chymistry ! can dust and sand produce 
So pure a body and diaphanous? 
Strange kind of courtship ! that the amorous sun 
T' embrace a mineral twists his rays in one. 
Talk of the heavens mock'd by a sphere, alas ! 
The sun itself's here in a piece of glass. 
Let magnets drag base iron, this alone 
Can to her icy bosom win the sun ; 

6 ' Marret ' is said to mean ' marsh ' : but the meaning is not very clear. 

12 Sic in orig. but the printer may have dropped the /and r. 

24 breathes] B. altered to ' breath'st.' 

29 Queen Elizabeth's — the well-known Dover cannon of the rhyme. 

32 titles] Misprinted 'tithes' in orig., but corrected in Errata. 

2 diaphanous] Misprinted ' diaphonous ' in B. 

( 192 ) 



A B 



tw 



nmg 



Glc 



ass 



Witches may cheat us of his h'ght awhile, 

But this can him even of himself beguile : 

In heaven he staggers to both tropics, here 

He keeps fix'd residence all times of th' year; 

Here 's a perpetual solstice, here he lies. 

Not on a bed of water, but of ice : 

How well by this himself abridge, he might 

Redeem the Scythians frotn their ling'ring night? 

Well by this glassy proxy might he roll 

Beyond th' ecliptic, and warm either pole ; 

Had but Prometheus been so wise, h' had ne'er 

Scaled heaven to light his torch, but lighted here ; 

Had Archimedes once but known this use, 

H' had burnt Marcellus from proud Syracuse ; 

Had Vesta's maids of honour this but seen, 

Their Lady's fire had ne'er extinguish'd been ; 

Hell's engines might have finish'd their design 

Of powder (but that heaven did countermine) 

Had they but thought of this ; th' Egyptians may 

Well hatch their eggs without the midwife clay ; 

Why do not puling lovers this devise 

For a fit emblem of their mistress' eyes? 

They call them diamonds, and say th' have been 

Reduced by them to ashes all within ; 

But they'll assum[e] 't, and ever hence 'twill pass, 

A mistress' eye is but Love's Burning-glass. 



10 



20 



30 



The Call 



RoMiRA, Stay, 
And run not thus like a young roe 
away ; 
No enemy 
Pursues thee (foolish girl !), 'tis 
only I : 
I'll keep off harms. 
If thou'll be pleas'd to garrison 
mine arms ; 
What, dost thou fear 
I'll turn a traitor ? may these roses 
here 
To paleness shred. 
And lilies stand disguised in new 
red, 10 



If that I lay 
A snare, wherein thou would'st not 
gladly stay. 
See, see, the Sun 
Does slowly to his azure lodging 
run ; 
Come, sit but here. 
And presently he'll quit our hemi- 
sphere : 
So, still among 
Lovers, time is too short or else too 
long ; 
Here will we spin 
Legends for them that have love- 
martyrs been ; 20 



15 One does not know whether to take ' might ' with * abridge ' as well as * redeem ' 
or to read ' himself abridge*/.' 

22 This is curious, the common story being, of course, that A. dtd so burn M.'s ships. 

20 been] It is not perhaps superfluous to note that Hall does not print bin here, though 
he does elsewhere. 



II. 



( ^93 ) 



yohn Hall 



Here on this plain 
We'll talk Narcissus to a flower 
again. 
Come here, and choose 
On which of these proud plats thou 
would repose ; 
Here may'st thou shame 



The rusty violets, with the crimson 
flame 
Of either cheek, 
And primroses white as thy fingers 
seek ; 
Nay, thou may'st prove 
That man's most noble passion is 
to love. 30 



An Eunuch 



Thou neuter gender ! whom a 

gown 
Can make a woman, breeches none ; 
Created one thing, made another, 
Not a sister, scarce a brother ; 
Jack of both sides, that may bear 
Or a distafi" or a spear ; 
If thy fortunes thither call, 
Be the Grand Signor's general ; 
Or if thou fancy not that trade. 
Turn the sultana's chamber-maid ; 10 
A medal, where grim Mars turned 

right. 
Proves a smiling Aphrodite ; 
How doth Nature quibble, either 



He, or she, boy, girl, or neither ; 
Thou may serve great Jove instead 
Of Hebe both and Ganymede : 
A face both stern and mild, cheeks 

bare. 
That still do only promise hair. 
Old Cybele, the first in all 
This human predicamental scale, 20 
Why would she choose her priests 

to be 
Such individuals as ye ? 
Such insectas, added on 
To creatures by subtraction. 
In whom Nature claims no part, 
Ye only being words of art. 



The Lure 



I 

Nay, 



prithee turn 



Farewell ! 

again ; 

Rather than lose thee I'll arraign 
Myself before thee ! thou (most fair !) 
shall be 
Thyself the judge : 
I'll never grudge 
A law ordained by thee. 

II 
Pray do but see how every rose 
A sanguine visage doth disclose ; 
O ! see what aromatic gusts they 
breathe ; 
Come, here we'll sit, 10 

And learn to knit 
Them up into a wreath. 



Ill 



With that wreath crowned shall 

thou be ; 
Not graced by it, but it by thee ; 
Then shall the fawning zephyrs wait 
to hear 
What thou shalt say, 
And softly play. 
While news to me they bear. 

IV 

See how they revelling appear 
Within the windings of thy hair, 20 
See how they steal the choicest 
odours from 
The balmy spring. 
That they may bring 
Them to thee, when they 
come. 



24 subtraction] Orig., as so often, ' substraction.' 

26 Ye] B. misprints 'Ye/.' words] In orig. Works? 

( '94 ) 



I. 3 shall] Sic in orig. 



The L.ure 



Look how the daffodils arise, 
Cheer'd by the influence of thine 
eyes, 
And others emulating them deny ; 
They cannot strain 
To bloom again, 
Where such strong beams do 
fly. 30 

VI 

Be not ungrateful, but lie down, 
Since for thy sake so brisk they're 
grown. 
And such a downy carpet have 
bespread, 
That pure delight 
Is freshly dight, 
And trick'd in white and red. 

VII 

Be conquer'd by such charms, 

there shall 
Not always such enticements 
fall; 
What know we, whether that rich 
spring of light 
Will stanch his streams 40 
Of golden beams, 
Ere the approach of night. 

VIII 

How know we whether 't shall 

not be 
The last to either thee or me ? 
He can at will his ancient brightness 
gain; 
But thou and I, 
When we shall die, 
Shall still in dust remain. 

IX 

Come, prithee come, we'll now 

essay 
To piece the scant'ness of the 
day, 50 

We'll pluck the wheels from th' 
chariot of the sun, 
That he may give 
Us time to live, 
Till that our scene be done. 



X 

W' are in the blossom of our age, 
Let us dance o'er, not tread the 
stage ; 
Though fear and sorrow strive to pull 
us back. 
And still present 
Doubts of content. 
They shall not make us slack. 60 

XI 

We'll suffer viperous thoughts and 

cares 
To follow after silver hairs ; 
Let 's not anticipate them long 
before. 
When they begin 
To enter in. 
Each minute they'll grow more. 

XII 

No, no, Romira, see this brook, 
How 't would its posting course 
revoke. 
Ere it shall in the ocean mingled 
lie; 
And what, I pray, 70 

May cause this stay, 
But to attest our joy ? 

XIII 

Far be 't from lust ; such wildfire 

ne'er 
Shall dare to lurk or kindle here ; 
Divifter flames shall in our fancies 
roll. 
Which not depress 
To earthliness, 
But elevate the soul. 

XIV 

Then shall aggrandiz'd love con- 
fess 
That souls can mingle sub- 
stances. So 
That hearts can eas'ly counter- 
changed be, 
Or at the least 
Can alter breasts. 
When breasts themselves agree. 



42 'Who knows but the world may end to-nipht?' 

76 not] B., reprehensibly, 'do n't.' 83 breasts] Plur. in orig. 

( 195 ) 02 



yohn Hall 



The Morning Star 



Still herald of the morn, whose 

ray 
Being page and usher to the day, 
Doth mourn behind the Sun, before 
him play ; 
Who sets a golden signal, ere 
The bat retire, the lark appear, 
The early cocks cry comfort, screech- 
owls fear. 

Who wink'st while lovers plight 

their troth. 
Then falls asleep, while they are 

loath 



To part without a more engaging 
oath : 
Steal in a message to the eyes lo 
Of Julia, tell her that she lies 
Too long, thy Lord the Sun will 
quickly rise. 

Yet is it midnight still with me. 
Nay worse, unless that kinder she 

Smile day, and in my zenith 
seated be. 
But if she will obliquely run, 
I needs a calenture must shun, 

And like an Ethiopian hate my sun. 



Platonic Love 



Come, dearest Julia ! thou and I 
Will knit us in so strict a tie. 
As shall with greater pow'r engage 
Than feeble charms of marriage : 
We will be friends, our thoughts 

shall go. 
Without impeachment, to and fro ; 
The same desires shall elevate 
Our mingled souls, the selfsame 

hate 
Shall cause aversion, we will bear 
One sympathizing hope and fear, lo 
And for to move more close, Ve'll 

frame 



Our triumphs and our tears the 

same; 
Yet will we ne'er so grossly dare, 
As our ignobler selves shall share ; 
Let men desire, like those above 
Unmatter'd forms, we'll only love. 
And teach the ruder world to shame, 
When heat increaseth to a flame. 
Love 's like a landscape, which doth 

stand 
Smooth at a distance, rough at hand ; 
Or like a fire, which from afar 2 1 
Doth gently warm, consumes when 

near. 



To the deformed 'X. R. 

As scriveners sometime delight to see 
Their basest writing, Nature has in thee 
Essay'd how much she can transgress at once 
Apelles' draughts, Durer's proportions ; 
And for to make a jest and try a wit. 
Has not (o tvo7nati) in thy forehead writ. 
But scribbled so, and gone so far about, 
Jndagine would never smell thee out, 

6 screech] Grig, 'scrich.' 

19 landscape] As the spelling of ' landscape ' is of some interest it may be noted 
that orig. has 'lands^fl/>,' not -skip, and so is very close to the Dutch itself. 
6 The italics are orig., and perhaps not capricious. 
8 Indagine] Hall keeps the shortened form from ' lohannes ab Indagine.' 

( 196 ) 



To the deformed X, R, 

But might exclaim, here only riddles be, 

And heteroclites in physiognomy. 

But as the mystic Hebrew backward lies, 

And algebra's guess'd by absurdities, 

So must we spell thee ; for who would suppose 

That globous piece of wainscot were a nose ; 

That crook'd et cacteras were wrinkles, and 

Five Naper's bones, glued to a wrist, an hand? 

Egyptian antiquaries might survey 

Here hieroglyphics Time hath worn away. 

And wonder at an English face more odd 

And antic, than was e'er a Memphian god ; 

Eras'd with more strange letters than might scare 

A raw and inexperienced conjurer ; 

And tawny Afric blush to see her fry 

Of monsters in one skin so kennell'd lie : 

Thou may'st without a guard her deserts pass, 

When savages but look upon thy face. 

Were but some Pict now living, he would soon 

Deem thee a fragment of his nation ; 

And wiser Ethiopians infer 

From thee, that sable's not the only fair. 

Thou privative of beauty, whose one eye 

Doth question metaphysic verity ; 

Whose many cross aspects may prove anon, 

Foulness more than a mere negation : 

Blast one place still, and never dare t' escape 

Abroad out of thy mother Darkness' lap, 

Lest that thou make the world afraid, and be 

Even hated by thy nurse Deformity, 



lO 



20 



30 



Julia Weeping 



Fairest, when thy eyes did pour 

A crystal shower, 
1 was persuaded that some stone 

Had liquid grown ; 
And, thus amazfed, sure, thought I, 
^Vhen stones are moist, some rain is 
nigh. 

II 
Why weep'st thou ? 'cause thou can- 
not be 
More hard to me? 



So lionesses pity, so 

Do tigers too ; 10 

So doth that bird, which when she 's 

fed 
On all the man, pines o'er the head. 

Ill 
Yet ril make better omens, till 

Event beguile ; 
Those pearly drops in time shall be 

A precious sea ; 
And thou shall like thy coral prove. 
Soft under water, hard above. 



16 Naper] A common form. 

Julia Weeping]^ In orig. the short lines are not brought back to the centre of the 
long ones, but farther towards the fore-edge, as if an Alexandrine had been snapped 
and the last third dropped a line. 

( ^97 ) 



jfohn Hall 



To my honoured Noble Friend, Thomas Stanley, Esq., 

on his Poems 

Who would commend thee, friend ! and thinks 't may be 

Performed by a faint hyperbole, 

Might also call thee but a man, or dare 

To praise thy mistress with the term of fair. 

But I, the choicest of whose knowledge is 

My knowing thee, cannot so grossly miss. 

Since thou art set so high, no words can give 

An equal character, but negative. 

Subtract the earth and baseness of this age. 

Admit no wildfire in poetic rage, lo 

Cast out of learning whatsoever 's vain. 

Let ignorance no more haunt noblemen. 

Nor humour travellers, let wits be free 

From over-weening, and the rest is thee. 

Thee, noble soul ! whose early flights are far 
Sublimer than old eagles' soarings are, 
Who lightest love's dying torch with purer fire. 
And breath'st new life into the Teian lyre. 
That love's best secretaries that are past, 
Liv'd they, might learn to love, and yet be chaste. 20 

Nay, vestals might as well such sonnets hear, 
As keep their vows and thy Black Riband wear; 
So chaste is all, that though in each line lie 
More amorettoes than in Doris' eye. 
Yet so they're charm'd, that look'd upon they prove 
Harmless as Chariessa's nightly love. 
So powerful is that tongue, that hand, that can 
Make soft Ionics turn grave Lydian, 
How oft this heavy, leaden Saturnine, 

And never elevated soul of mine, 30 

Hath been pluck'd up by thee, and forc'd away. 
Enlarged from her still adhering clay ! 
How every line still pleas'd ! when that was o'er 
I cancell'd it, and prais'd the other more ; 
That if thou writ'st but on, my thoughts shall be 
Almost ingulPd in an infinity. 

But, dearest friend, what law's power ever gave 
To make one's own free first-born babe his slave? 
Nay, manumise it ; for what else wilt be 

To strangle, but deny it liberty ? 40 

Once lend the world a day of thine, and fright 
The trembling still-born children of the night. 

9 Subtract] Orig. again ' Subitract.' 

15 Thee] B., most unfortunately, 'The,' which is rather Fr. than Eng., and obliter- 
ates the ' catch,' the ' turn," from the last line. Also in next line, ' soaring ' for ' soarings.' 
aa Black Riband] See Stanley's Poems. 

( 198 ) 



To Thomas Stanley^ Esq. 

That at the last, we undeceiv'd may see 
Theirs were but fancies, thine in poetry. 

Sweet swan of silver Thames ! but only she 
Sings not till death, though in thine infancy. 



To Mr. S. S. 

As he obtains such an enchanted skin, 

That bullets cast aright could ne'er get in; 

Even so thou, Monsieur, tempered hast thy name, 

That to dispraise thee most is yet no shame; 

To curse is to befriend, who, like a Jew, 

Art both a vagabond and moneyed too ; 

Who feed'st on Hebrew roots, and, like a tare, 

Unbid, unwelcome, thrivest everywhere; 

AVho mak'st all letters by thy guttural. 

And brings the conjugations to Kail ; 

Who though thou live by grammar rules, we see 

Thou break'st all canons of morality; 

And as far as that threadbare cloak of thine 

Is out of fashion, dost from man decline; 

And com'st as near a wit, as doth a rat 

Match in procerity Mount Ararat ; 

And art as fit to be a brewer's punk, 

As Sumerburn is valiant when he's drunk. 



lO 



The Crystal 



This crystal here 
That shines so clear. 

And carries in its womb a little day ; 
Once hammer'd will appear 

Impure as dust, as dark as clay. 

Even such will prove 

Thy face, my love ! 
When age shall soil the lustre of 
thine eyes, 

And all that red remove 
That on thy spicy lip now lies : lo 



Nor can a hand 

Again command. 
By any art, these ruins into frame, 

But they will sever'd stand, 
And ne'er compose the former same. 

Such is the case. 

Love ! of thy face, 
Both desperate, in this you dis- 
agree — 

Thy beauty needs must pass 
It, of itself, will constant be. 



20 



A Rapture 

Come, Julia, come ! let 's once disbody what 
Strait matter ties to this and not to that ; 
We'll disengage; our bloodless form shall fly 
Beyond the reach of earth, where ne'er an eye, 

lo Kail] They say Kail [Qal] is 'the simplest form of the Hebrew verb.' 
Sumerburn below I know nothing. 

( 199 ) 



Of 



yoh?i Hall 



That peeps through spectacles of flesh, shall know 

Where we intend, or what we mean to do. 

From all contagion of the flesh remov'd, 

We'll sit in judgement on those pairs that lov'd 

In old and latter times ; then will we tear 

Their chaplets that did act by slavish fear, lo 

Who cherish'd causeless griefs, and did deny 

Cupid's prerogative by doubt or sigh ; 

But they that mov'd by confidence, and clos'd 

In one refining flame, and never los'd 

Their thoughts on earth, but bravely did aspire 

Unto their proper element of fire, 

'\o these we'll judge that happiness, to be 

The witnesses of our felicity. 

Thus we'll like angels move, nor will we bind 

In words the copious language of our mind, 20 

Such as we know not to conceive, much less, 

Without destroying in their birth, express : 

Thus will we live, and 't may be, cast an eye 

How far Elysium doth beneath us lie ; 

What need we care though milky currents run , 

Among the silken meadows, though the sun 

Doth still preserve by 's ever-waking ray 

A never discontinued spring or day ? 

That sun, though all his heat be to it brought, 

Cannot exhale thy vapour of a thought. 30 

No, no, my goddess ! yet will thou and I 
Divested of all flesh so folded lie, 
That ne'er a bodied nothing shall perceive 
How we unite, how we together cleave; 
Nor think this, while our feathered minutes may 
Fall under measure, time itself can stay 
T' attend on pleasures, for what else would be 
But tedious Durance in Eternity. 



To Mr. Stanley, after his return from France 



Bewitched senses, do you lie, 
And cast some shadow o'er mine 

eye; 
Or do I noble Stanley see ? 
AVhat ! may I trust you ? Is it he ? 
Confess, and yet be gradual. 
Lest sudden joy so heavy fall 
Upon my soul, and sink unto 



A deeper agony of woe : 

'Tis he ! 'tis he ! we are no more 

A barb'rous nation : he brought o'er 

As much humanity as may n 

Well civilize America ; 

More learning than might Athens 

raise 
To glory in her proudest days. 



8 One of the innumerable Donneisms of these poets, probably, though the thought is 
as old doubtless as the oldest of ' old lovers' themselves. But Hall makes it fairly 
his own. 

28 or] One suspects ' of,' but orig. has * or.' 

( 200 ) 



To Mr, St ail ley 



With reason might the boiling main 
Be cahii, and hoary Neptune chain 
Those winds that might disturbers 

be, 
^\^lilst our Apollo was at sea ; 
And made her for all knowledge 

stand 
In competition with the land : 20 
Had but the courteous dolphins 

heard 
One note of his, they would have 

dar'd 
To quit the waters to enjoy 



In banishment such melody ; 
And had the mimic Proteus known, 
He'd left his ugly herd, and grown 
A curious Syren, to betray 
This young Ulysses to some stay ; 
But juster fates denied, nor would 
Another land that genius hold, p,o 
As could, beyond all wonder hurl'd, 
Fathom the intellectual world. 
But whither run I ? I intend 
To welcome only, not conmiend; 
But that thy virtues render it 
No private, but a public debt. 



An Epicurean Ode 



Since that this thing we call the 

world, 
By chance on atoms is begot, 
Which though in daily motions 
hurl'd, 
Yet weary not ; 
How doth it prove, 
Thou art so fair, and I in love? 

Since that the soul doth only lie 
Immers'd in matter, chain'd in 
sense, 



How can, Romira, thou and I 

With both dispense? 10 

And thus ascend 

In higher flights than wings can 
lend. 

Since man 's but pasted up of earth, 
And ne'er was cradled in the skies, 
What terra lemnia gave thee birth ? 

What diamond, eyes? 

Or thou alone. 
To tell what others were, came down ? 



On M. W., the Great Eater 

Sir, much good do 't ye ; were your table but 

Pie-crust or cheese, you might your stomach shut 

After your slice of beef; what, dare you try 

Your force on an ell square of pudding-pie? 

Perhaps 't may be a taste ; three such as you 

Unbreakfasted might starve Seraglio. 

When Hannibal scal'd th' Alps, hadst thou been there, 

Thy beef had drunk up all his vinegar. 

Well might'st thou be of guard to Henry th' eight. 

Since thou canst, like a pigeon, eat thy weight. 

Full wise was nature, that would not bestow 

These tusks of thine into a double row. 

What womb could e'er contain thee? thou canst shut 

A pond or aviary in a gut. 

15 terra leninia\ Reddish earth of medicinal property. 

4 'Pudding-pie,' best known from the tune of 'Green Sleeves,' was the same as 
the more modern 'Toad-in-the-hole,' i.e. meat baked in batter. 

( 201 ) 



10 



yohfi Hall 



Had not thy mother borne thee toothless, thou 

Hadst eaten, viper-Hke, a passage through. 

Had he that wish'd the crane's long neck to eat, 

Put in thy stomach too, 't had been complete. 

Thou Noah's ark, Dead Sea, thou Golgotha, 

Monster, beyond all them of Africa ! 

Beasts prey on beasts, fishes to fishes fall ; 

Great birds feed on the lesser, thou on all. 

Hath there been no mistake? — Why may t not be, 

\V'hen Curtius leap'd the gulf, 'twas into thee? 

Now we'll believe that man of Chica could 

Make pills of arrows, and the boy that would 

Chew only stones ; nor can we think it vain, 

That Baranetho eat up th' neighbouring plain. 

Poor Erisicthon, that could only feast 

On one poor girl in several dishes drest ! 

Thou hast devour'd as many sheep as may 

Clothe all the pasture in Arcadia. 

Yet, O how temperate ! that ne'er goes on 

So far as to approach repletion. 

Thou breathing cauldron ! whose digestive heat 

Might boil the whole provision of the fleet ; 

Say grace as long as meals, and, if thou please. 

Breakfast with islands, and drink healths with seas ! 



20 



30 



The Antipathy, a Pastoral 



TETRICEZZA 

Sooner the olive shall provoke 
To amorous clasps this sturdy oak, 
And doves in league with eagles be. 
Ere I will glance a smile on thee. 

AMELIUS 

Sooner yon dustish mulberry 
In her old white shall clothed be. 
And lizards with fierce asps combine. 
Ere I will twist my soul with thine. 

TETRICEZZA 

Yet art thou in my judgement far 
Fairer than a rising star, 10 

And might deserve e'en Dian's love, 
But shalt not Tetricezza move. 



AMELIUS 

And thou art sweeter than the down 
Of damask roses yet unblown, 
And Phoebus might thy bridegroom 

be. 
Yet shalt thou never conquer me. 

TETRICEZZA 

Why meet we, then, when either's 
mind 

Or comes compell'd, or stays be- 
hind? 

AMELIUS 

Just as two boughs together tied, 
loose 
wide. 



Let loose again do stand more 

20 



38 The 'great eater' was Nicholas Wood, who had Taylor the Water- Poet to 
celebrate him. 

( 202 ) 



Distil not poison in mine ears 



Song 



Distil not poison in mine ears, 

Aerial Syrens ! nor untie 
These sable fetters : yonder spheres 

Dance to a silent harmony. 

Could I but follow where you lead, 
Disrob'd of earth and plum'd by 
air, 



tenuous self 



might 



Then I my 
spread. 
As quick as fancy everywhere. 

But I'll make sallies now and then : 
Thus can my unconfined eye lo 

Take journey and return again ; 
Yet on her crystal couch still lie. 



Home Travel 



What need I travel, since I may 
More choicer wonders here survey ? 
What need I Tyre for purple seek, 
When I may find it in a cheek ? 
Or sack the Eastern shores? there 

lies 
More precious diamonds in her 

eyes. 
What need I dig Peru for ore. 
When every hair of her yields more ? 
Or toil for gums in India, 



Since she can breathe more rich 
than they ? lo 

Or ransack Africk ? there will be 
On either hand more ivory. 
But look within : all virtues that 
Each nation would appropriate, 
And with the glory of them rest, 
Are in this map at large exprest; 
That who would travel here might 

know 
The little world in folio. 



Upon Samuel Ward, D.D., the Lady Margaret's 
Professor in Cambridge 

Were't not peculiar to weep for thee. 

The world might put on mourning, and yet be 

Below just grief: Stupendous man! who told 

By vast endowments that she grew not old. 

But thine own hands have rais'd a monument 

Far greater than thyself, which shall be spent 

When error conquers truth, and time shall be 

No more, but swallow'd by eternity ; 

But when shall sullen darkness fly away, 

And thine own ectype, Brownrigg, give it day ! lo 

Or when shall ravish'd Europe understand, 

How much she lost by thee, and by it gain'd ! 

How well thou guardest truth ! How swift to close 

With whatsoever champion durst oppose ! 

Bear witness, Dort, when error could produce 

The strength of reason and Arminius, 

Upon Samuel IVard] It would have been quite in Hall's way to write on the curious 
fact that there were two Samuel Wards at Cambridge in the last quarter of the sixteenth 
century and the two first of the seventeenth — both Puritans and both fellows of Sidney- 
Sussex. His actual W. was the more distinguished, and died Master of his College in 1643. 

10 Brownrigg] Ralph B., Bishop of Exeter, another Cambridge Puritan of the da}-. 
* Ectype,' a copy, a plaster mould. 

( 203 ) 



yohn Hall 



How did he loose their knots, how break their snares, 

How meet their minings, how pluck up their tares ! 

How did his calmer voice speak thunder ! How 

His soft affections holy fury grow ! 20 

That had but hell and tyrants any room, 

There wanted nothing of a martyrdom. 

But Providence said no, and did consent 

That oil of time should not be spilt, but spent; 

Nay, as the greatest flame doth ever fly 

From failing lamps, should'st in most glory die ; 

And as the Phoenix when she doth prepare 

To be her own both murderer and heir. 

Makes richest spice her tomb and cradle be, 

To quit and reassume mortality, 30 

Even so thou (Seraph !) spent thy minutes all, 

In preparation for thy funeral. 

And rais'd so great a pile, death could aspire 

No greater honour than to put to fire ; 

That thus the flame might lend us light below. 

But the sweet breathing smoke still upward go. 

To the precious memory of Master William Fenner 

How brittle 's wretched man ! No sooner death 

Seals up his eyes, and stops his panting breath, 

But th' hungry grave devours him, and he must 

Return again unto his mother dust ; 

So frail a thing he is, so doth he pass, 

That nothing can remain but that he was. 

But thou, triumphant soul ! art elevate 

By thy vast merits 'bove the common fate ; 

Those sacred pearls thyself digg'd from among 

Thy fiery thoughts, and polish'd with thy tongue, 10 

By thee a second life, that times to come 

May say that Rochford had a Chrysostom, 

Whose life, told out in minutes, seem'd to be 

Nothing but one continued homily; 

So even was thy conscience, such a flame 

Rais'd thy affections, that thou soon became 

Too good for earth ; so waking was thy breast. 

That Night could never grant a truce to rest ; 

But now thou rest'st for ever drunk with joys, 

That never spend, yet ever new arise. 20 

Yet let thy name still breathe new odours, and 

'Mong those angelic spirits numb'red stand, 

While we below stand gazing up, and see 

Th' hast chang'd thy room, but not thy company, 

William Fcniier'\ Yet another Cambridge Puritan divine (1600-1640), 

12 Rochlord] Of which F. was incumbent for the last eleven years of his life. 

( 204 ) 



Oil a Ge7itlenian and his Wife 



On a Gentleman and his Wife, who died both within 

a very few days 



Thrice happy pair ! who had and 

have, 
Living, one bed, now dead one 

grave ; 
Whose love being equal, neither 

could 
A life unequal wish to hold, 
But left a question whether one 
Did follow, 'cause her mate was gone, 



Or th' other went before to staj-, 
Till that his fellow came away ; 
So that one pious tear now must 
Besprinkle either parent's dust. 
And two great sorrows, jointly run, 
And close into a larger one. 
Or rather turn to joy, to see 
The burial but the wedding be. 



re 



Of Beauty 



W'hat do I here ! what 's beauty? 'las, 

How doth it pass ! 
As flowers, as soon as smelled at. 

Evaporate, 
Even so this shadow, ere our eyes 
Can view it, flies. 
II 
What 's colour } 'las ! the sullen 
Night 
Can it affright : 
A rose can more vermilion speak, 

Than any cheek ; lo 

A richer white on lilies stands, 
Than any hands. 
Ill 
Then what's that worth, when any 
flower 
Is worth far more ? 
How constant 's that, which needs 
must die. 
When day doth fly } 
Glow-worms can lend some petty 
light 
To gloomy Night. 

IV 

And what 's proportion ? we descry 
That in a fly. 20 



And what 's a lip ! 'tis in the test, 

Red clay at best. 
And what 's an eye ? an eaglet's are 

More strong by far. 
v 
Who can that specious nothing heed 

Which flies exceed ? 
Who would his frequent kisses lay 

On painted clay ? 
Wh'ould not, if eyes affection move. 

Young eaglets love ? 30 

VI 

Is Beauty thus? then who would 
lie 
Love-sick and die ? 
And 's wretched self annihilate. 

For knows not what ? 
And with such sweat and care 
invade 
A very shade ? 

VII 

Even he, that knows not to posses.s 

True happiness. 
But has some strong desires to try 

What 's misery, 40 

And longs for tears ; oh ! He will 
prove 

One fit for love. 



29 Wh'ould] This, and not 'who'ld,' is the form in orig. 
41 He] The cap. here, which is orig., is clearly wanted. 

( 205 ) 



yohn Hall 



The Epitome 



As in a cave, 
Where darkness justles out the 
day, 
But yet doth give 
Some small admission to one feeble 

ray, 
Some of all species do distinctly 
play, 



II 



Just even thou, 
Whom wonder hath not fully 
clear'd. 
Thyself dost show, 
That in thy little chaos all's 

enspher'd. 
And though abridg'd, yet in full 
greatness rear'd. lo 



Armilla Nigra 

Atrati Proceres, quos tarn divina coercet 
Copula, c^eruleo nunc exaequata Georgi 
Garterio, atque olim longe anteferenda, nee ulla 
Interitura die, si quid prassagia vatum, 
Si quid mollis amor valet, O dignissima coelo 
Pectora, sic vestris faelicia facta minis, 
Et flammis majora, novo succrescite honori, 
Et durate diu, donee sese ultimus optet 
Censeri numero Scytha, et ambitiosior Indus 
Gestiat armilla vestra fulgere, relictis 
Torquibus, et tenerae vultu constante puellae 
Militiam subeant talem, cupiantque teneri 
His manicis, et virgineas dediscere flammas, 
Vestalique cadat Reverentia debita vittae. 

At tu, Sol juvenum, soli cessure Maroni 
Propter mille annos, vatum decus, ardue cunctse 
Insciti^ Domitor, quem felix Anglia jactat 
Et Galli stupuere, tuis en talia surgunt 
Auspiciis, tu tam grandis praeludia facti 
Ordiris, tantasque jubes viviscere curas, 
Hinc summus tibi surgit honos, hinc gloria quae non 
Aut cadet, aut vult temporibus metirier uUis, 
At cum se fragilis mundi ruitura resolvet 
Machina, et armillis faelicia brachia deerunt, 
Ipsa polo sese insinuet, candentibus astris 
Accedens nova flamma, altae vicina Coronae. 



lO 



20 



To Mr. Stanley 



Stars in their rising little show, 
And send forth trembling flames ; 

but thou 
At first appearance dost display 
A bright and unobscured day ; 
Such as shall fear no night, nor shall 

lo Purely' s'\ Tor parhelia. The form is French, but H. More has ' parelie ' (TV. E. D.). 
( 206 ) 



Thy setting be Heliacall, 

But grow up to a sun, and take 

A laurel for thy Zodiac ; 

That all which henceforth shall arise, 

May only be thy Parelfs. 



10 



On Dr, Bamirigg 



On Dr. Bambrio^QT, Master of Christ's 



■\Veue but this marble vocal, there 
Such an elogium would appear, 
As might, though truth did dictate, 

move 
Distrust in either Faith or Love ; 
As ample knowledge as could rest 
Enshrined in a mortal's breast. 
Which ne'ertheless did open lie, 
Uncovered by humility ; 
A heart, which piety had chose 
To be her altar, whence arose lo 



Such smoking sacrifices, that 
We here can only wonder at ; 
A honey tongue, that could dispense 
Torrents of sacred eloquence, 
And yet how far inferior stand 
Unto a learned curious hand ? 
That 'tis no wonder, if this stone. 
Because it cannot speak, doth groan ; 
For could mortality assent, 
These ashes might prove eloquent. 20 



Upon Mr. Robert Wiseman, son to Sir Richard 

Wiseman, Essex 

But that we weigh our happiness by thine. 

We could not, precious Soul ! from tears decline, 

Although the Muses' silver stream would be 

Too poor by far to drop an elegy; 

But that 's below thee ; since thy virtues are 

The spices that embalm thee, thou art far 

More richly laid, and shalt more long remain 

Still mummified within the hearts of men, 

Than if to list thee in the rolls of Fame 

Each marble spoke thy shape, all brass thy name. 10 

Sleep, sacred ashes ! that did once contain 

This jewel, and shalt once and e'er again 

Sleep undisturb'd : Envy can only raise 

Herself at living. Hate grasp lower preys ; 

We'll not deflower you; let us only pry 

What treasures in ye did involved lie. 

So young, so learned, and so wise ; O, here 's 

Example, Wisdom 's not the child of years. 

So rich, and yet so pious ! O, 'tis well 

Devotion is not coffin'd in a cell, ao 

Nor chok'd by wealth; wealth hated, harmless proves, 

And only knows to mischief him that loves. 

So fair, and yet so chaste ! Lust is not ever 

Youth's constant sorceress, but doth sometime sever 

To look on moral virtues; there'll appear 

The courtier twisted with th' philosopher. 

Nor were they on spruce apophthegms spent, 

Begot 'twixt Idleness and Discontent, 

On Dr. Bambrigg] More often spelt Bainbrigg, and best known as Milton's enemy, 
and (as the profane say) chastiser. 

Upon Mr. Robert Wiseman'] The father appears to be known, if not his son. 
•were many Wisemans in Essex. 

(-7) 



There 



yohn Hall 



But acted to the life and unconstrain'd, 
The Sisters sweetly walking hand in hand, 
And so entirely twisted that alone 
None could be view'd, all were together one ; 
As twinkling spangles, that together lie, 
Join forces, and make up one galaxy ; 
As various gums, dissolving in one fire, 
Together in one fragrant fume expire. 
Sleep, then, triumphant Soul ! thy funerals 
For admiration, and not mourning, calls. 



30 



Johanni Arrowsmythio, Coll. Sti. J oh. Prsefecto 



DiviNA Syren, cygne crelestis, 

tuba 
Evangelizans, nectaris flumen meri, 
Jubar salutis, prseco foederis novi. 
Jam sic redisti ! teque in amplexus 

pios 
Iterum dedisti ! murmure ut vario 

fremit 
Togata pubes, gaudia exprimens 

nova, 
Quod patre tanto jam beatur, quod 

nutrit 



Sol tam refulgens, et coquit messes 

suas. 
Sic sjepe redeas, te licet retrahantture 
Lac gestientes uberis mamillse oves, 
Et te senatus flagitet, cujus cluit n 
Pars magna ; nostros sed fovere 

palmites 
Desiste nunquam, vinitor dignissime. 
Donee racemis puUulent usquam 

novis ; 
Due hos tenellos in scienti^ abdita, 
Et esto morum dulcium felix faber. 



To his Tutor, Master Pawson. An Ode 



Come, come away. 
And snatch me from these shades to 
purer day. 
Though Nature lie 
Reserv'd, she cannot 'scape thy 
piercing eye. 
I'll in her bosom stand. 
Led by thy cunning hand, 
And plainly see 
Her treasury ; 
Though all my light be but a 
glimpse of thine, 
Yet with that light, I will o'er- 
look 10 

Her hardly open'd book, 
Which to aread is easy, to under- 
stand divine. 



II 
Come, let us run 
And give the world a girdle with the 
sun ; 
For so we shall 
Take a full view of this enamelled 
ball. 
Both where it may be seen 
Clad in a constant green, 
And where it lies 
Crusted with ice ; 20 

Where 't swells with mountains, and 
shrinks down to vales ; 
Where it permits the usurp- 
ing sea 
To rove with liberty. 
And where it pants with drought, 
and of all liquor fails. 



Johanni Arrowsmythio\ This Arrowsmith (1602-59") became Master of Trinity and 
was Vice-Chancellor the year after Hall wrote. 

To his Tiitor\ A very pretty case of ' One good turn, &c.' See Commend. Poems. 

( 208 ) 



To his Tutory Master Pawson 



III 

And as we go, 
We'll mind these atoms that crawl to 
and fro : 
There may we see 
One both be soldier and artillery ; 
Another whose defence 
Is only innocence ; 30 

One swift as wind, 
Or flying hind, 
Another slow as is a moimting 
stone ; 
Some that love earth, some 
scorn to dwell 
Upon 't, but seem to tell 
Those that deny there is a heaven, 
they know of one. 

IV 

Nor all this while 
Shall there escape us e'er a braving 
pile, 
Nor ruin, that 
Wastes what it has, to tell its former 
state. 40 

Yet shall we ne'er descry 
Where bounds of kingdoms 
lie. 
But see them gone 
As flights new flown. 
And lose themselves in their own 
breadth, just as 
Circlings upon the water, one 
Grows great to be undone ; 
Or as lines in the sand, which as 
they're drawn do pass. 



But objects here 
Cloy in the very taste ; O, let us 
tear 50 

A passage through 
That fleeting vault above ; there 
may we know 
Some rosy brethren stray 
To a set battalia. 
And others scout 
Still round about, 
Fix'd in their courses, and uncertain 
too ; 
But clammy matter doth deny 
A clear discovery, 
Which those, that are inhabitants, 
may solely know. 60 

VI 

Then let 's away. 
And journey thither : what should 
cause our stay ? 
We'll not be hurl'd 
Asleep by drowsy potions of the 
world. 
Let not Wealth tutor out 
Our spirits with her gout, 
Nor Anger pull 
With cramps the soul ; 
But fairly disengag'd we'll upward 
fly, 

Till that occurring joy afiright 70 
Even with its very weight. 
And point the haven where we may 
securely lie. 



To an old Wife talking to him 



Peace, beldam ugly ! thou'lt not 

find 
M' ears bottles for enchanted wind ; 
That breath of thine can only raise 
New storms, and discompose the 

seas. 



It may (assisted by the clatter) 
A Pigmsean army scatter 
Or move, without the smallest stream, 
Loretto's chapel once again. 
And blow St. Goodrick, while he 
prays. 



58 The former reprint by omitting ' matter ' makes the matter very far indeed from 
* clear.' 

7 stream] So in orig., but it should clearly be 'strain.' 

9 'St. Goodrick' of ' Finckly ' is evidently St. Godric of Finchale (Hall was of 
Durham), earliest of all truly English poets known to us. Hall's Puritanism shows 
ill here. 



II. 



( 209 ) 



yohft Hall 



And knows not what it is he says, lo 
And helps false Latin with a hem 
From Finckly to Jerusalem ; 
Or in th' Pacific sea supply 
The wind, that nature doth deny. 
What dost thou think, I can retain 
All this and sprout it out again, 
As a surcharged whale doth spew 
Old rivers to receive in new ? 
Thou art deceiv'd : even Aeol's cave 
That can all other blasts receive, 20 
Would be too small to let in thine ; 
How, then, the narrow ears of mine? 
Defect of organs may me cause 
By chance to pillorize an ass ; 
Yet, should I shake his ears, they 'd 

be. 
Though long, too strait to hearken 

thee. 



Yet if thou hast a mind to hear 
How high thy voice's merits are, 
Attend the Cham, and when he's 

din'd 
Skreek princes leave that have a 

mind ; p.o 

Or serve the States, thou'lt useful 

come. 
And have the pay of every drum ; 
Or trudge to Utrecht, there outrun 
Dame Skurman's score of tongues, 

with one. 
But pray be still ; O, now I fear, 
There may be torments for the ear ! 
O, let me, when I chance to die, 
In Vulcan's anvil buried lie. 
Rather than hear thy tongue once 

knell, — 30 

That Tom-a-Lincoln and Bow bell ! 



The Recantation 

Now sound I a retreat ; now I'll no more 

Run all those devious paths I ran before ; 

I will no more range sullen groves, to lie 

Entombed in a shade ; nor basely fly 

The dear society of light, to give 

My thoughts their birth in darkness ; I'll not live 

Such deaths again : such dampy mists no more 

Shall dare to draw an ugly screen before 

My clearer fancy ; I'll not deify 

A failing beauty ; idolize an eye. 

Farewell, farewell, poor joys ! let not my hearse 

Bear witness I was ever mad in verse, 

Or play'd the fool in wit ; no, I'll not have 

Such themes increase the mourning at my grave. 

Such thoughts I loathe, and cannot now resent ; 

Who ever gloried in his excrement ? 

Now I will rase those characters I wrote 

So fairly from myself, now will I not 

Suffer that pyramid, Love rais'd within 

My soul, to stand the witness of her sin ; 

Nor will I ravish Nature to dispose 

A violated and profaned rose 



10 



20 



16 sprout] Sic in orig. 'Spout' is obvious, but not certain. 

30 Did Hall mistake Mandeville here (F, (f T. ch. 20) ; or is he following others? 
' princes — mind ' may be in quotes, but it is not necessary. 
12 ever] Reprint ' never ' — unlucliily. 

( 3^°) 



The Recantation 

Upon a varnish'd cheek, nor lilies fear 

Into a jaundice, to be set where ne'er 

"White was discover'd ; no — Stay, I'll no more 

Add new guilt to the old repented for. 

To name a sin 's to sin ; nor dare to break 

Jests of my vices on another's back, 

But with some searching humours festered lie 

A renegado to all Poetry. 30 

And must we now shake hands, dear madness, now, 

After so long acquaintance ? Did I vow 

To sacrifice unto thee, what was brought. 

As surplusage of a severer thought, 

And break my word? Yes, from this very day 

My fancy only shall on Marchpan play; 

Now rU turn politician, and see 

How useful onions are in drapery. 

Feast dunces that miscall the Arts, and dance 

With all the world a galliard Ignorance. 40 



FINIS 



( 211 ) p 2 



THE , 

SECOND BOOKE 

OF 

Divine Poems. 

BY 

f.H. 



S<cpe quidem in galea, nidosfecere Cilumht 



Printed by E.G. foYj.Rotkmll, 1647 



DIVINE POEMS 



A Dithyramb 



Still creeping, still degenerous 

soul, 
On earth so wallowing still in 

mire ? 
Still to the centre dost thou roll, 
"When up to heaven thou should'st 

aspire ? 
Did not thy jailer flesh deny 
'I'he freedom for to feed thine own 

insatiate eye — 
How might thou let it surfeit here 
On choicest glories ! How it 

might 
Thick flowing globes of splendour 

bear, 
And triumph in its native light ! to 
How't would hereafter sleep dis- 
dain ! 
The glorious sun of righteousness 

uprise again ; 
O, who so stupid that would not 
Resolve to atoms, for to play 
'Mong th' golden streamers He 

shall shut. 
While He prolongs one endless 

day ! 
How small three evenings' dark- 
ness be. 
Compared once with measureless 

eternity ! 
See how the joyous clouds make 

way. 
And put a ruddy brightness on, 20 
How they their silken fleeces lay 
For Him to mount to heaven 

upon. 
Where He may in full glory shine. 
Whose presence made, before, a 

heaven of Palestine. 



with brightness gilded 
with burnish'd flames 



That lovely brow, that was before 
Drown'd in a flood of crimson 

sweat. 
Is now 

o'er, 
And all 
beset ! 
Him, whom his drowsy sons did 
leave 
Sleepless, aerial legions triumph to 
receive ! ?.o 

This innocent columbine. He 
That was the mark of rage before, 
O cannot now admired be, 
But still admired, still needs 

more ; 
Who would not stand amaz'd to 
see 
Frail flesh become the garment of 
divinity ! 
Appear no more, proud Olivet, 
In tawny olives ; from this time 
Be all with purple vines beset ; 
The sprig of Jesse from thee did 
climb 4° 

Up to the skies, and spread those 
boughs 
Whereon life's grapes, those Para- 
disean clusters, grows. 
Why stare you, curious gazers, so? 
No eye can reach His journey's 

end ; 
He'll pierce the rolling concave 

through, 
And that expanded fabric rend ; 
Then He 's at home : He was be- 
fore 
A pilgrim, while He footed this 
round nothing o'er. 



15 shut] Reprint 'shoot': perhaps rightly, but neither makes very good sense. 

31 Is any other instance known of this use of ' columbine' ? N. E. Z). knows only this. 



A Dithyj^ainh 



If then His nimble feet could 

make 
A pavement of the quivering 

stream, 50 

And cause those powerful spirits 

quake 
That fear not anything but Him ; 
Now can and will He turn to joys 
Your fears, and or disarm or turn 

your enemies. 
He is not lost, though wafted 

hence, 
He's with you (darlings of His 

love !) ; 
He's the supreme intelligence, 
That all the little orbs will move ; 
He is the head : it cannot be 
IMembers can perish, where there 's 

such a head as He. 60 

A head compos'd of majesty, 
Were't not by mercy all possess'd, 
I'rom which such charming glances 

fly, 

As striking vengeance can arrest. 
From which such powerful frowns 

arise, 
As can strike palsies in the earth, 

and headache in the skies. 
AVhat did you think. He could 

remain 
Disguis'd in such an inch of land. 
That convex cannot Him contain. 
Though spun out by His own right 

hand ? 7° 

What did you think, that though 

He lay 
Interr'd awhile, the earth might 

swallow such a prey ? 



That very dying did restore 
Banish'd life to rotting men ; 
And fetch'd back breath, that 

fled before, 
Into their nostrils once again ; 
That very death gave life to all. 
And t' all mankind recovery of their 

Father's fall. 
Suppose ye that the fatal tree. 
That happiest worst of punish- 
ments, 80 
Did punish such a sinless He ; 
Or shame Him, that was 

excellence ? 
No, no, the crime doth ever state 
The punishment, and He sin could 

not act, but hate. 
Thought ye that stream did flow 

in vain, 
That issued from His open'd 

side ? 
Your souls were foul, yet every 

stain 
By these pure drops were purified ; 
He was. He, freely prodigal 
To spend all's blood for some, when 

some might have sav'd all. 90 
Hark ! hark ! what melody, what 

choice 
Of sweetest airs, of charming 

sounds ! 
Heaven seems all turn'd into a 

voice ! 
Hear what loud shrieking joy 

rebounds ! 
The very winds now whistle joy, 
And make Hosannas of the former 

Crucify ! 



The Ermine 



The Ermine rather chose to die 

A martyr of its purity, 

'I'han that one uncouth soil should 

stain 
Its hitherto preserved skin ; 
And thus resolv'd she thinks it good 

66 This ' headache in the skies' is quite worthy of Benlowes- 
6 whiteness] Probably with a play on * u';/ness.' 



To write her whiteness in her 

blood. 
But I had rather die, than e'er 
Continue from my foulness clear ; 
Nay, I suppose by that I live. 
That only doth destruction give : 10 



yohn Hall 



Madman I am, I turn mine eye 
On every side, but what doth lie 
Within, I can no better find 
Than if I ever had been blind. 
Is this the reason thou dost claim 
Thy sole prerogative, to frame 



Engines against thyself? O, fly 

Thyself as greatest enemy. 

And think thou sometimes life will 

get 
By a secure contemning it. 20 



ic 



The Lord cometh with ten thousand of his saints to 
execute judgement upon all. — J tide 14, 15 

I HEAR and tremble! Lord, what shall I do 

T' avoid thy anger? whither shall I go ? 

What, shall I scale the mountains ? 'las ! they be 

Far less than atoms if compar'd with thee. 

What, shall I strive to get myself a tomb 

Within the greedy ocean's swelling womb ? 

Shall I dive into rocks? Where shall I fly 

The sure discovery of thy piercing eye ? 

Alas ! I know not ; though with many a tear 

In Hell they moan thy absence, thou art there; 

Thou art on earth, and well observest all 

The actions acted on this massy ball ; 

And when thou look'st on mine, what can I say? 

I dare not stand, nor can I run away. 

Thine eyes are pure, and cannot look upon 

(And what else, Lord, am 1?) corruption. 

Thou hatest sins ; and if thou once begin 

To cast me in the scales, I all am sin. 

Thou still continuest one, O Lord ; I range 

In various forms of crimes, and love my change. 

Lord, thou that mad'st me, bid'st I should present 

My heart unto thee ; O, see how 'tis rent 

By various monsters ; see how fastly held. 

How stubbornly they do deny to yield. 

How shall I stand, when that thou shalt be hurl'd 

On clouds, in robes of fire to judge the world, 

Usher'd with golden legions, in thine eye 

Carrying an all-enraged majesty. 

That shall the earth into a palsy stroke, 

And make the clouds sigh out themselves in smoke? 

How can I stand? Yes, Lord, I may; although 

Thou beest the judge, thou art a party too ; 

Thou sufferest for these faults, for which thou shall 

Arraign me. Lord ; thou sufferest for them all ; 

They are not mine at all, these wounds of thine. 

That on thy glorious side so brightly shine, 

29 Chaucer is sometimes quoted for a rough sense of the form 'stroke.' But the 
passage {Sq. T. 162, 5^1 by no means needs that sense ; and Hall, or any metaphysical, 
would not have hesitated at the anti-climax or antithesis. 

(21O) 



20 



30 



The Lord Cometh 

Seal'd me a pardon ; in those wounds th' are hid, 

And in that side of thine th' are buried. 

Lord, smile again upon us ; with what grace 

Doth mercy sit enthroniz'd on thy face ! 40 

How did that scarlet sweat become thee, when 

That sweat did wash away the filth of men ! 

How did those peevish thorns adorn thy brow ? 

Each thorn more richly than a gem did glow ! 

Yet by those thorns (Lord, how thy love abounds !) 

Are we, poor worms, made capable of crowns. 

Come so to judgement, Lord ! th' Apostles shall 

No more into their drowsy slumber fall, 

But stand and hearken how the judge shall say. 

Come, come, my lambs, to joy ! Come, come away I 50 



Quo egressus Isaac ad meditandum in agro, &c. 

Geji. xxiv. 63 



JuvENis beate, magne tot regum 
parens, 
Fsecunde tot patrum pater, 
Tot nationum origo, tot vatum fides, 

Tot Antesignane heroum, 
Sicne is in agros jam renidentes novis 

Et aureis florum stolis ? 
Sic, sic recessum quaeris ? et turbam 
fugis ? 
Sic totus in teipsum redis ? 
Ut nullus oculus sancta spectet otia, 
Nulla auris insidias locet. 10 

Dum tu (suave !) pectus effundis tuum 

In cselici patris sinum, 
Dum cor sacratis sestuans amoribus 

Ebullit impletum Deo, 
Dum lachrymarum gemmese scate- 
brse ruunt. 
Per molle vernantes genas, 
Dum misceatur dulce planctuum 
melos 
Ardentibus suspiriis, 
Dum dum (invidenda solitudo !) 
mens suis 
Jam libere e Gyaris meat, 20 

Linquensque terras, templa per- 
rumpit poli, 
Se luce perfundens nova ; 
Sic ipse vivam, sic mihi occulti dies 



O effluant, solus siem, 
Sic mepraehendat luce palpitansnova 

Prseco diei Phosphorus, 
Sic me prsehendat luce candens 
ultima, 
Et noctis index Hesperus : 
Non ipse curem vana vulgi murmura, 
Non irritos rumusculos, 30 

Sim mi' beatus ! Nympha caelestis 
meum 
Non abnuat consortium. 
Divinus illo flammat in vultu pudor, 

Divina stat modestia ; 
Hinc hinc, pudica pallidas umbras 
amat 
Et antra musca vivida, 
Ubi me loquelis melleis, suada mera, 

Formosa mulceat dea, 
Ubi in me inundans nectaris torrens 
fluat. 
Ex ore prosiUens sacra, 40 

Quantum hsec voluptas ! quanta ! 
quanta gaudia ! 
Quis non ? quis invideat mihi ? 
Dum sic edaces exulant curse, nigra 

Fugiunt doloris agmina, 
Dum mi voluptas, ipsa per se ama- 
bilis 
Nullisque ficta officiis. 



30 Ciceronian. 



36 ' Musca ' is orig., a slip doubtless for ' musco.' 



yoh72 Hall 



i\fi mille Veneres mille mostret 
Gratias, 
Ml mille det Cupidines, 
Sic mi juventae blanda marcescat 
rosa, 
O sic senecta palleat. 50 

Sic sic nivales vestiant cani caput, 
Sic hora fugiat ultima ; 



Not! ipse vanas horream mortis minas, 

Sed tela sustineam libens ; 
Securus illuc evolare, quo mea 

Semper perennem gaudia, 
Redintegrare Paeanas possim novos 

Inter triumphantium greges ; 
Omiappropinquet sic dies novissimus 

Natalis adveniet mihi. 60 



On an Hour-glass 

My life is measur'd by this glass, this glass 

By all those little sands that thorough pass. 

See how they press, see how they strive, which shall 

With greatest speed and greatest quickness fall. 

See how they raise a little mount, and then 

With their own weight do level it again. 

But when th' have all got thorough, they give o'er 

Their nimble sliding down, and move no more. 

Just such is man, whose hours still forward run, 

Being almost finish'd ere they are begun ; 10 

So perfect nothings, such light blasts are we, 

That ere we're aught at all, we cease to be. 

Do what we will, our hasty minutes fly. 

And while we sleep, what do we else but die ? 

How transient are our joys, how short their day ! 

'I'hey creep on towards us, but fly away. 

How stinging are our sorrows ! where they gain 

But the least footing, there they will remain. 

How groundless are our hopes, how they deceive 

Our childish thoughts, and only sorrow leave ! 20 

How real are our fears ! they blast us still. 

Still rend us, still with gnawing passions fill ; 

How senseless are our wishes, yet how great ! 

With what toil we pursue them, with what sweat ! 

Yet most times for our hurts, so small we see. 

Like children crying for some Mercury. 

This gapes for marriage, yet his fickle head 

Knows not what cares wait on a marriage bed : 

This vows Virginity, yet knows not w^hat 

Loneness, grief, discontent, attends that state. 30 

Desires of wealth another's wishes hold. 

And yet how many have been chok'd with gold ? 

This only hunts for honour, yet who shall 

Ascend the higher, shall more wretched fall. 

On an Hour-glass] The intensity which so often attends, and saves, the triviality of 
the metaphysicals, has seldom, outside their greatest, been better exemphfied than here. 

25 *See,' like 'look,' appears here =' seem' : thoui^'h I am not sure of this. Some 
would have ' so small we see ' = ' our sight is so short,' like ' sing small.' 

(218) 



0?! a7J Hour-glass 

This thirsts for knowledge, yet how is it bought? 
With many a sleepless night, and racking thought. 
This needs will travel, yet how dangers lay 
Most secret ambuscados in the way ? 
These triumph in their beauty, though it shall 
Like a pluck'd rose or fading lily fall. 
Another boasts strong arms : 'las ! giants have 
By silly dwarfs been dragg'd unto their grave. 
These ruffle in rich silk : though ne'er so gay, 
A well-plum'd peacock is more gay than they. 
Poor man ! what art ? A tennis-ball of error, 
A ship of glass toss'd in a sea of terror; 
Issuing in blood and sorrow from the womb, 
Crawling in tears and mourning to the tomb : 
How slippery are thy paths ! How sure thy fall ! 
How art thou nothing, when th' art most of all ! 



40 



50 



An Ode 



Descend, O Lord, 
Into this gloomy heart of mine, 

And once afford 
A glimpse of that great light of 
thine ! 
The sun doth never here 
To shine on basest dunghills once 
forbear. 
II 
What though I be 
Nothing but high corruption ? 

Let me have Thee, 
And at thy presence 'twill be 
gone. 10 

Darkness dare never stand 
In competition, while the sun's at 
hand. 

Ill 
And though my sins 
Be an unnumber'd number, yet 

When thou begins 
To look on Christ, do then 
forget 
I helped to cause his grief: 
If so. Lord, from it grant me some 
relief ! 

IV 

All thou demands 
Is that small piece of me, my 
heart ; 20 

(219) 



Lo, here it stands 
Thine wholly; I'll reserve no part ; 
Let the three corners be, 
(Since nought else can) fill'd with 
one triple Thee. 

v 
Set up a throne ; 
Admit no rival of thy power ; 

Be thou alone 
(I'll only fear thee) Emperour; 
And though thy limits may 
Seem small, Heaven only is as large 
as they. 



?.o 



VI 



And if by chance 
The old oft-conquer'd enemy 

New stirs advance, 
Look but upon him, and he'll fly : 
The smallest check of thine 
Will do't ; so cannot all the power 
that 's mine. 

VII 

Thy kingdom is 
More than ten thousand worlds, 
each heart 
A province is ; 39 

Keep residence in mine, 'tis part 
Of those huge realms ; I'll be 
Thy slave, and by this means gain 
liberty. 



yohit Hall 



VIII 

Such as all earth 
Ne'er could so much as fancy 
yet, 
Nor can give birth 
To thoughts enough to fathom it. 
No, no, nor can blest I, 
When I enjoy it, know what I en- 
joy. 



IX 



Then give me this 
I ask for; though I know not what, 
O Lord ! it is : 51 

But what 's of greatest price, give 
that; 
Or plainly bold to be 
In begging — Lord, I pray thee give 
me Thee ! 



Hymnus 



Ut se perpetuo rotat 
^ther, quam fluidis ruit 
Semper pendulis orbibus, 
Quam dulces variat vices ! 
Nunc serge tenebrse ruunt. 
Nunc lucis jubar aureum. 
Nunc flores Zephyri erigunt 
Languentes Aquilonibus ; 
Jam jam vellera nubium 
Quiddam caeruleum rubent, 
Jam quid caeruleum albicant ; 
Jam flammam croceam evomit 
Phoebus, sed modo debilem : 
Jam molles abigit nives, 
Flores parturiens novos. 
Jam se proripit, et gelu 



10 



Sistit non rapidas aquas. 

Tu cuncta haec peragis, Deus ; 

Te clamant, Deus, omnia 

Fecisti ex nihilo, et modo 20 

Servas ne in nihilum ruant. 

Si tu contineas manum, 

Labescant simul omnia ; 

Tellus, non animalibus 

Praebens hospitium suis, 

Sordebit nimiis aquis ; 

Ipsum nee mare noverit 

Fluctus sistere fervidos, 

Turbabuntur et omnia 

Ni tu cuncta manu poti, 30 

Tu cuncta officio tenes. 



Self 



Traitor Self, why do I try 
Thee, my bitterest enemy ? 
What can I bear, 
Alas ! more dear. 
Than is this centre of myself, my 
heart ? 
Yet all those trains that blow me up 
lie there. 
Hid in so small a part. 

II 
How many backbones nourish'd 

have 
Crawling serpents in the grave ! 



I am alive, 10 

Yet life do give 
To myriads of adders in my 
breast, 
Which do not there consume, but 
grow and thrive. 

And undisturbed rest. 
Ill 
Still gnawing where they first 

were bred, 
Consuming where they're nour- 
ished. 
Endeavouring still 
Even him to kill 



( "° ) 



9 The idea of the marrow turning to a snake. 



Self 



That gives them Ufe and loses of 
his bliss 
To entertain them : that tyrannic 
ill 20 

So radicated is. 

IV 

Most fatal men ! What can we 

have 
To trust ? our bosoms will de- 
ceive : 
The clearest thought, 
To witness brought, 
Will speak against us, and con- 
demn us loo ; 



Yea, and they all are known. O, 
how we ought 
To sift them through ! 

V 

Yet what 's our diligence ? even 

all 
Those sands to number that do 
fall 30 

Chas'd by the wind ? 
Nay, we may find 
A mighty difference ; who would 
suppose 
This little thing so fruitful were and 
blind 
As its own ruin shows ? 



Anteros 



Frown on me, shades ! and let not 

day 
Swell in a needle-pointed ray 
To make discoveries ! wrap me here 
In folds of night, and do not fear 
The sun's approach : so shall I find 
A greater light possess my mind. 
O, do not (Children of the Spring !) 
Hither your charming odours bring, 
Nor with your painted smiles devise 
To captivate my wandering eyes ; 10 
Th' have stray'd too much, but now 

begin 
Wholly t' employ themselves within. 
What do I now on earth ? O, why 
Do not these members upward fly. 
And force a room among the stars. 
And there my greaten'd self disperse 
As wide as thought ? What do I here, 
Spread on soft down of roses ? There 
That spangled curtain, which so wide 
Dilates its lustre, shall me hide. 20 
Mount up, low thoughts, and see 

what sweet 
Reposance heaven can beget : 
Could ye the least compliance frame. 
How should I all become one flame, 



And melt in purest fires ! O, how 
My warmed heart would sweetly 

glow, 
And waste those dregs of earth that 

stay 
Glued to it; then it might away, 
And still ascend, till that it stood 
Within the centre of all good ; 30 
There press'd, not overwhelm'd, 

with joys. 
Under its burthen fresh arise ; 
There might it lose itself, and then 
With losing find itself again ; 
There might it triumph, and yet be 
Still in a blest captivity. 
There might it — O, why do I speak, 
Whose humble thoughts are far too 

weak 3S 

To apprehend small notions ? Nay, 
Angels are nonplus'd, though the day 
Breaks clearer on them, and they run 
In apogees more near the sun. 
But, oh! what pulls me? How I 

shall 
In the least moment headlong fall ; 
Now I'm on earth again not dight, 
As formerly in springing light. 



21 radicated] The form, common in the seventeenth century, has apparently been 
kept only for scientific purposes, which is a pity. 

31 The interrogation mark of the orig. is dropped in the reprint — not wisely, I think, 
if purposely. 

22 Reposance] A beautiful word, which one may wonder that no one has revived. 



yolui Hall 



The selfsame objects please, that I 
1 )id even now, as base, deny. 
Now what a powerful influence 
Has beauty on my slavish sense : 50 
How rob I Nature, that I may 
Her wealth upon my cheek display ! 
How doth the giant Honour seem 
Well statur'd in my fond esteem ; 
And gold, that bane of men, I call 
Not jjoisonous now, but cordial : 
Since that the world's great eye, the 

Sun, 
Has not disdain'd to make 't his own. 
Now every passion sways, and I 
Tamely admit their tyranny ; 60 
Only with numerous sighings say. 
The basest thing is breathing clay. 



But sure these vapours will not e'er 
Draw curtains o'er my hemisphere. 
Let it clear up, and welcome day 
Its lustre once again display. 
Thou (O, my Sun !) awhile may'st 

lie 
As intercepted from mine eye. 
But Love shall fright those clouds. 

and thou 
Into my purged eyes shalt flow, 70 
Which (melted by my inward fires. 
Which shall be blown by strong 

desires) 
Consuming into tears, shall feel 
Each tear into a pearl congeal. 
And every pearl shall be a stem 
In my celestial diadem. 



A Hymn 

Thou mighty subject of rny humble song, 
Whom every thing speaks, though it cannot speak, 
Whom all things echo, though without a tongue. 
And int' expressions of thy glory break ; 

Who out of nothing this vast fabric brought, 
And still preserv'st it, lest it fall again. 
And be reduc'd into its ancient nought, 
But may its vigour primitive retain ; 

Who out of atoms shap'd thine image, man, 

And all to crown him with supremacy lo 

Over his fellow-creatures ; nay, and then 

Didst in him raise a flame that cannot die ; 

Whose purer fire should animate that dross 
That renders him but equal to the beast, 
And make him, though materiate and gross, 
Not less than those that in no bodies rest ; 

Nay, Lord above them, they did first of all 

Turn renegados to thy majesty. 

And in their ruin did involve his fall, 

That caused him under thy displeasure lie. 20 

There did he lose his snowy innocence, 

His undepraved will ; then did he fall 

Down from the tower of knowledge, nay, from thence 

Dated the loss of his, heaven, thee, and all. 

75 In the orig. classical sense of s/f>«>«<i— a ' garland,' 'chapiet,'— or at least tlie 
constituent part of this. 

15 materiate] Not by any means a mere doublet of ' materia/,' and well worth keeping. 
24 The comma at 'his' was removed in the reprint. I replace it. 



24 



( 222 ) 



A Hymn 



So wert thou pleas'd to let thy anger lay 
Clouds of displeasure 'twixt poor man and thee, 
That Mercy might send forth a milky ray, 
To tell, that ne'ertheless thou would'st agree. 

Though man in sinning still new guilt should add, 

It never could expunge thy patience ; 30 

Thine, who not ever any passion had, 

But can forgive, as well as see offence. 

Yet though our hearts petrificated were, 
And all our blood curdled to ruddy ice, 
Yet caused'st thou thy law be graven there. 
And set a guardian o'er't, that never dies. 

But we eras'd that sculpture : then thou wrote 

In tables what thou hadst in stone before ; 

Yet were we not unto obedience brought, 

But rather slackened our performance more. 40 

Dead to all goodness, and engulfd in sin, 
Benumbed by our own corruptions. 
That we were only drown'd, not rendered clean, 
By th' streams that covered all the earth at once. 

Wandering without the least ability 

To tread, or eyes to see our safest way. 

While fiery vengeance at our heels did fly, 

Ready to strike when thou the word should'st say. 

Yet didst thou disappoint her : thy Son's blood 

Supplied our want of oceans of tears. 50 

The Author thought fit this should not perish, though other occasions 
suffer him only to present it in the habit 0/ a fragmetit. 



What profiteth a man of all his labour, which he taketh 
under the sun ? — Ecclesiastes i. 2 [3] 



Even as the wandering traveller 
doth stray, 
Led from his way 
By a false fire, whose flame to 
cheated sight 
Doth lead aright. 
All paths are footed over, but that 
one 
Which should be gone ; 



Even so myfoolish wishes are inchase 
Of everything, but what they should 
embrace. 
II 
We laugh at children, that can when 
they please 
A bubble raise, 10 

And, when their fond ambition sated 
is. 
Again dismiss 



33 As I have championed several of Hall's unusual words it may be well to say that 
I do not think ' petrificate ' necessary, or even desirable. 

(233) 



yoh7t Hall 



The fleeting toy into its former air : 

What do we here, 
But act such tricks ? Yet thus we 

differ : they 
Destroy, so do not we; we sweat, 
they play. 

HI 

Ambition's towerings do some gal- 
lants keep 
From calmer sleep ; 
Yet when their thoughts the most 
possessed are. 
They grope but air ; 20 

And when they're highest, in an 
instant fade 
Into a shade ; 
Or like a stone, that more forc'd 

upwards, shall 
With greater violence to its centre 
fall. 

IV 

Another, whose conceptions only 
dream 
Monsters of fame, 



The vain applause of other madmen 

buys 
With his own sighs ; 
Yet his enlarged name shall never 

crawl 
Over this ball, 30 

But soon consume ; thus doth a 

trumpet's sound 
Rush bravely on a little, then 's not 

found. 



But we as soon may tell how often 
shapes 
Are chang'd by apes. 
As know how oft man's childish 
thoughts do vary, 
And still miscarry. 
So a weak eye in twilight thinks it 
sees 
New species, 
While it sees nought ; so men in 

dreams conceive 
Of sceptets, till that waking unde- 



ceive. 



40 



An Epitaph 



When that my days are spent, (nor do 

I know 
Whether the sun will e'er immise 

Light to mine eyes,) 
Methinks a pious tear needs must 
Offer some violence to my dust. 

Dust ravell'd in the air will fly 

Up high ; 
Mingled with water 'twill retire 

Into the mire : 10 



Why should my ashes not be 

free. 
When Nature gave them liberty ? 

But when I go, I must them leave 

In grave. 
No floods can make my marble so, 

As moist to grow. 
Then spare your labour, since your 

dew 
Cannot from ashes flowers renew. 



A Pastoral Hymn 



Happy choristers of air, 

Who by your nimble flight draw near 

His throne, whose wondrous story, 

And unconfined glory 



Your notes still carol, whom your 

sound, 
And whom your plumy pipes 

rebound. 



40 sceptets] sic. Brydges 'sceptics.' ?* Spectres,' or 'sceptres' (as Macbeth, iv. 
I. 121). 

An Epitaph. 2 Neither doth 'immise' much arride me: especially as there exists 
a rare but preferable form ' immit.' 

(224) 



A Pastoral Hy 77171 



Yet do the lazy snails no less 
The greatness of our Lord confess, 

And those whom weight hath 
chain'd, 

And to the earth restrain'd, 
Their ruder voices do as well, 
Yea, and the speechless fishes tell. 



10 



Great Lord, from whom each tree 

receives, 
Then pays again, as rent, his leaves ; 

Thou dost in purple set 

The rose and violet, 
And giv'st the sickly lily white ; 
Yet in them all Thy name dost write. 



An Ode 



Lord, send thine hand 
Unto my rescue, or I shall 
Into mine own ambushments fall, 
Which ready stand 
To d' execution, all 
Laid by self-love ; O, what 
Love of ourselves is that, 
That breeds such uproars in our 
better state ! 

II 
I think I pass 
A meadow gilt with crimson 
showers lo 

Of the most rich and beauteous 
flowers ; 
Yet thou, alas ! 
Espi'st what under lowers ; 
Taste them, they're poison ; lay 
Thyself to rest, there stray 
Whole knots of snakes that solely 
wait for prey. 



Ill 



To dream of flight 
Is more than madness 
will be 



there 



Either some strong necessity, 

Or else delight, 20 

To chain us, would we flee. 
Thus do I wandering go. 
And cannot poisons know 
From wholesome simples that beside 
them grow. 

IV 

Blind that I am, 
That do not see before mine eyes 
These gazing dangers, that arise 
Ever the same, 
Or in varieties 

Far worse, how shall I 'scape ? 30 
Or whither shall I leap ? 
Or with what comfort solace my 
hard hap ? 
\' 
Thou who alone 
Canst give assistance, send me aid, 
Else shall I in those depths be laid 
And quickly thrown. 
Whereof I am afraid : 
Thou who canst stop the sea 
In her mid rage, stop me ; 
Lest from myself my own self ruin 
be. 40 



7 do] The reprint, improperly, ' to.' 

1-6 laid] Orig. 'Lay'd,' which might possibly be for "lay'd' = ' allayed' = 'alloyed.' 
But the text is more simple and probable. 



II. 



( 225) 



THE POEMS 

OF 

SIDNEY GODOLPHIN 

^OW FIRST COLLECTED 



OXFORD 

1 906 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

POEMS FROM MALONE MS. 

Psalm 141 237 

Chorus 237 

Constancy 238 

Song 238 

Song ............. 239 

Cloris 239 

Lines ............. 240 

To the King and Queen 240 

Triplets 241 

Psalm 137 241 

A Ballet 242 

Song 243 

Epistle 243 

Meditation — [Reply] 244 

Quatrains 245 

Quatrains 245 

Epistle 245 

To the Tune of ' In faith I cannot keep my father's sheep ' . . 246 

Hymn 246 

A Farewell 247 

On Sir F. Carew • ... 248 

EPITAPH ON LADY RICH 248 

THE PASSION OF DIDO FOR AENEAS 249 

POEMS FROM HARLEIAN MS. 

A Dialogue between a Lover and his Mistress 260 

A Sonnet 261 



( 229 ) 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



Adieu thys is no cheape ayre 

Amarillis a late .... 

As by the rivers we lay down 

Be all your senses blest with harmony 

Cloris, it is not thy disdain . 

Cloris, may I unhappy prove 

Fair shadow, stay, may I for ever see 

Lord, hear the Prayer thou dost inspire 

Lord, when the wise men came from far 

Love unreturn'd, howe'er the flame 

Madam, 'tis true, your beauties move 

Meanwhile the Queen, fanning a secret fire 

No more unto my thoughts appear 

No way unworthy of his fair descent 

Or love me less, or love me more . 

Possest of all that nature could bestow 

Shepherd, we do not see our looks 

Soft and sweet airs, whose gentle gales 

Tell me, Lucinda, since my fate . 

That you may see your letters, use 

'Tis affection but dissembled 

Unhappy East — not in that awe . 

Vain man, born to no happiness . 

Virtue, and you, so intermix that we 

When your known hand, and style, and name 



PAGE 

247 

242 
241 
240 
246 

239 

240 

237 
246 
238 
261 

249 
245 
248 
238 
248 

243 
245 
260 

245 

239 
244 
237 

241 

243 



(230) 



INTRODUCTION TO 
SIDNEY GODOLPHIN 

Sidney Godolphin, like Benlowes and like Kynaston, has never been 
reprinted as a whole, or in any considerable part, until the present time. 
But, unlike theirs, his collected works, and even any relatively considerable 
parts of them, have never been printed at all. This is all the more remark- 
able, first, inasmuch as his personality has always been admitted to have 
been of exceptional interest : and secondly, inasmuch as pieces of his work 
have been, at various times, and in publications of very different kinds, 
given as samples in print, after a fashion which usually invites more 
extensive communication. The proofs of the last half of this sentence 
may be confined to a note ' ; the proofs of the former must rank not only 
in note but in text. 

He was the son of Sir William Godolphin of Godolphin in Cornwall, 
and bore as Christian name the surname of his mother, Thomasine Sidney. 
Born in January, 1610, he went to Exeter College, Oxford, in 1624, and 
became Member for Helston so early as 1628. A fervent royalist and 
a strong partisan of Strafford, he took arms under Hopton at the very 
beginning of the Rebellion, and was one - of those 

Four wheels of Charles's Wain 

whose early disappearance was among the greatest misfortunes of the 
Royal cause. He was shot in a skirmish at Chagford, and buried at 
Okehampton on the loth February, 1642-3. 

Of hardly any ' Marcellus of our tongue ' have men of his own time 
spoken better than they spoke of Sidney Godolphin : Clarendon, in particular, 

^ Dryden's Miscellany, vol. iv, gave his translation of Virgil ; Ellis included in his 
Speciincns (vol. iii, p. 229) the charming 'Or love me less, or love me more,' and that 
odd collection, Tixall Poetry, which was one of the ventures wherewith Scott water- 
logged the Ballantynes and himself, includes, at p. 216, the piece beginning ' Unhappy 
East.' An exceedingly pretty poem, entitled ' Cupid's Pastime,' had also been attri- 
buted to Godolphin in the Miscellany, and the attribution is repeated in a Bodleian 
MS,, but among poetry of the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This fact 
has sometimes caused a curious counter-attribution to the Lord Treasurer, Godolphin's 
nephew, not generally thought of as a poetical man. On looking into the matter, 
however, I found that the other and main source of Godolphin's poems in the Bodleian 
contains a note correcting all this, and rightly assigning the piece to Davison's Poetical 
Rhapsody — in Mr. Bullen's edition of which (London 1890, i. 37) it will duly be found, 
with Davison's attribution of it to the mysterious ' A. W.' 

- The others being Sir Bevil Grenvil, Sir Nicholas Slanning, and a Trevanion. 

( 231) 



Sidney Godolphi7i 



reiterated eulogies of him in his History, in his Oivn Life, and in his 
notice of Leviathan, in the teeth of the fact that the dead poet was not 
only a friend of the obnoxious author of that obnoxious book, but had 
been praised in its very dedication to Godolphin's brother, and had left the 
heretic no less than jQ2oo (equal to at least a thousand now) in his will. 
To be praised by Clarendon a7id Hobbes is indeed to have your name 
struck in double bronze. 

I do not know that * little Sid,' as Suckling, with not unaffectionate 
impertinence, called him (he is said to have been slight, pale or dark in 
complexion, and of pensive aspect), can exactly be said to have a more 
perennial monument in his own poems. But it is certainly time that the 
stones of this monument, which are of no contemptible substance and 
chiselling, were put together. They have hitherto lain disjecta in Malone's 
MS. in the Bodleian, in Harl. 6917 in the British Museum, in the 
Miscellany as above, and, as far as the lines on Lady Rich are concerned, 
in Gauden's Funerals made Cordials (London 1658). The MS. Poems 
have been photographed for this edition, a process also adopted in the 
case of Benlowes, Kynaston, and other very rare printed originals. The 
Miscellaiiy version is printed from that work, and the ' Lady Rich ' lines 
I have copied. The Tixall piece occurs in the Malone MS., and I have 
given the variants, as also in the case of those pieces which the two MSS. 
duplicate. 

In the poems themselves, though the ' Chorus ' is full of matter, we 
come to nothing of great interest until we reach ' Constancy.' This is an 
unusual document for the student of poetry, being not only (as by 
a curious coincidence its own words say) a 'draught of what might be,' but 
a draught of singular attraction. It is quite unfinished; it is not for 
' children or fools \' The author (see note in loc.) was apparently even in two 
minds as to which of the two great ' metaphysical ' quatrains (the ' common 
measure ' and that of eights) he should couch it in ; and he has only 
partially developed the possibilities of either. But he has developed them 
partially in point of phrase : and in point of thought he shows us more 
than a glimpse of the subtlety and depth which must have attracted 
Hobbes. It is not a contradiction but a supplement to Shakespeare's great 
sonnet on ' Love [that] is not Love.' Godolphin has no weaker or baser 
notion of Constancy itself, when once its conditions have come into being ; 
he considers it here when they have not. 

The next, from its having been given by Ellis, is the one thing of 
Godolphin's that can be said to be generally known. It is character- 
istic and charming, but almost necessarily unfinished; not that it has the 
false rhyme or the false rhythm of the next again and some others, 

' In fact, it might be iuo poems. 
(23J ) 



hitroductioit 

but that the same ' first-draft ' quaHty is all over it. But with not much 
additional labour it could have been worked into a perfect example of 
our class of lyric. The song "Tis Affection but dissembled,' is 
a graceful trifle enough in itself, and is even not quite trifling in thought, 
Godolphin, here as elsewhere, showing himself superior to the more obvious 
metaphysicalities. But perhaps its greatest interest is prosodic — in the 
maintenance throughout of trochaic metre, with double rhymes in the first 
and third and an ' echo '-line in the fifth place. The poet does not manage 
this tripping catchy measure (of which he cannot have had many patterns 
before him) with perfect fluency or unerringness : but he attains a very 
high degree of success. The ' Cloris ' piece and the decasyllabic lines 
which follow, so oddly conjoined by the copyist {p. inf. m loc), maintain 
a good level : the first being neat and complete enough, the second an 
interesting member of that long and beautiful sequence of ' Elizabethan ' 
dream-pieces which starts with the early sonneteers, rises to the height 
of Donne's glorious ' Dear love, for nothing else but thee,' and ends, not 
unworthily, with Dryden's delightful ' Beneath a myrtle's shade,' in The 
Coiupiest of Granada. Somebody should collect these, with embellish- 
ments. 

The piece ' To the King and Queen ' is again very mainly of metrical 
interest, though it is by no means lacking in the nervous substance which 
Godolphin so often marries to metaphysical form. The copyist has made 
quatrains of it which, in a first edition, it seemed better to keep in the 
text ; but it was evidently intended to be in the continuous couplet ; and 
the poet treats this with a firmness w-hich neither Waller nor Sandys had 
surpassed by anticipation. The blemish of identical rhyme in the first two 
(which may have given the copyist the quatrain-notion) is not uncommon 
at the time ; but might have been removed if the author had come to print 
his work. 

The triplets which follow seem to me among the most frigid things that 
we have from Godolphin. To excuse conceit of this kind one requires 
(at least I find that /require) either passion or humour— if both are present 
so much the better. Here there is neither, but (let me repeat it) a frigid 
playing on the supposed identity of Virtue and the Beloved. It is curious 
that from this kind of poet we never care much to hear of his mistress's 
virtue. In the first place we take it for granted ; in the second, it is not 
what we come to him for. The steady chill of Habington's Castara is 
fortunately rare in Caroline poetry, but there is a passing twinge of it here. 

The ' Ballet ' which succeeds Ps. 137 — the story of Cephalus and Procris 

with new names — has once more its own attraction. It is known that 

'triple time,' as dominant, was very slow to establish itself in anything 

but popular poetry. Here we have it, not consummately managed — with 

(233) 



Sid72ey Godolphiit 



a much more uncertain and gingerly touch indeed than in such a thing as 
Mary Anibree — but all the more interestingly as an experiment. Godolphin 
has not realized the fact that too many acatalectic lines in the even places 
make the measure jolt — that you want the redundant syllable to lubricate 
the junctures. But the whole does not want lightness even in itself, and it 
is of the best augury for other things later. 

In the ' Shepherd and Damon ' song the good effect of cutting down the 
third and fourth lines of the ordinary Romance sixain — eight, eight, six, 
eight, eight, six — to fours is the chief thing noticeable. It would not be 
good in narrative, but helps the 'cry' in lyric when, as here, it is well 
managed. 

The Epistle which comes next is a fairly early example of a kind soon to 
be very popular. Its general drift is clear enough, though I at least have 
no knowledge of any particular incident to which it may refer. The 
' Meditation — Reply ' is something of a puzzle in another way. 

The two pieces which follow are again attempts in the two great staple 
quatrains of metaphysical poetry; and for the first of them (' No more unto 
my thoughts appear') I confess a greater partiality than for anything else of 
Godolphin's. This partiality may, as some critics have held, argue a lack 
of sense of 'artistic restraint.' But Love and Restraint never had much 
to do with each other when Thought and Hope and Desire were of the 
company : and Art should be quite contented with the almost complete 
mastery here shown of the form — with the throb and the soar of the 
common-measure flight, that 'common made' so 'uncommon.' If Godol- 
phin wrote this, he may rest his claims on it seciirus. You cannot, if you 
have the due gift, read even into the second line without feeling that the 
petite fievre cerebrale is invading your imagination, that the solita flainma 
is caressing your heart. At least that is how some people are made ; and 
the others may be sorry for them, or contemptuous of them, if they like. 

The ' eights ' are somewhat less victorious : and the second ' sonnet ' 
(both these common-measure pieces are called 'Sonnets' in the Harleian) 
is less good than the first. But the Pindaric dialogue which this latter 
MS. gives us has attractions of various kinds, including a certain shy rather 
than sly humour, not absolutely unrelated to Suckling's robuster and more 
boisterous variety. 

The second Epistle, though again needing illustration, gives us the not 
negligible information that our poet, for all his devotion to the Muses, was 
not less familiar with sport than became an uncle of the Newmarket- 
haunting Lord Treasurer, and one whose family name vvas to be immortalized 
by the Godolphin Arabian. On the other hand, the interest of the piece 
to Cloris is mainly prosodic. The stanza — an In Menwriam quatrain with 
enclosed rhymes extended to a septet by the addition of ace, the last line 
(^34) 



l7itroductio7i 

being itself extended to a decasyllabic — is of extreme and subtle beauty. 
And the ' Hymn ' is a fine one, especially in the four lines beginning 

Wise men, all ways of knowledge past, 

which versify and expand Omnia exeunt in mysterium. ' A Farewell ' has 
been so carelessly copied, the first two lines not even rhyming, that I have 
thought it well to give the MS. text unaltered. 

The Epitaphs on Sir F. Carew and Lady Rich are good firm specimens 
of their kind. But the Translation of the Aeneid ought to take much 
higher rank than it has yet usually done, as a document in the history of 
the regular heroic couplet. It must be earlier than 1642, and may be 
considerably so, while, as is well known, there is some doubt about the 
date of the earliest exercises in the kind of its continuator — Waller. 

No long summing up is required on Godolphin according to the plan of 
this book, though I need hardly say that I could write a twenty-page 
causerie on him with all the pleasure in life, and with much more ease than 
most of life's affairs admit. He shows the usual Spenser-Jonson-Donne 
compound, which accounts for so much in so many of these Carolines, 
with a special inclination towards the Donne-strain, but with fewer drops 
of the red wine of passion and mystery than he might have borrowed from 
Donne. Hobbes has rather replaced the great Dean ; yet did not even 
Hobbes write that strange and tell-tale passage on Love? Further, the 
work is small in amount, and rather rich in tantalizing indications than fully 
revealing. Yet he gives us, as it seems to me, some things I would not be 
ignorant of, and he wears the Caroline rue with a more than sufficient 
difference. At any rate he supplies a document which ought to have been 
lodged long ago : and I have tried to lodge it here and now. 



( ni ) 



\The extracts from Clarendon referred to in the Introduction are given in the 
Maione Jl/S. itself and vniy be nsefilly reproduced here. — Ed.] 

Sidney Godolphin (says Lord Clarendon in his own Life) was a younger 
brother of Godolphin, but by the provision left by his father and by the death of 
a younger brother, liberally supplied for a very good education, and for a cheerful 
subsistence in any course of life he proposed to himself. There was never so 
great a mind and spirit contained in so little room ; so large an understanding 
and so unrestrained a fancy, in so very small a body ; so that the Lord Falkland 
used to say merrily, that he thought it was a great ingredient into his friendship 
for Mr. Godolphin that he was pleased to be found in his company, where //^ was 
the properer man ; and it may be, the very remarkableness of his little person 
made the sharpness of his wit and the composed quickness of his judgement 
and understanding the more notable. He had spent some years in France and 
in the low countries, and accompanied the earl of Leicester in his ambassage 
into Denmark, before he resolved to be quiet and attend some promotion in the 
court, where his excellent disposition and manners, and extraordinary qualifica- 
tions made him very acceptable. Though everybody loved his company very 
well, yet he loved very much to be alone, being in his constitution inclined 
somewhat to melancholy and to retirement among his books ; and was so far 
from being active that he was contented to be reproached by his friends with 
laziness, and was of so nice and tender a composition that a little rain or wind 
would disorder him and divert him from any short journey. [Oxford ed, 1843, 
p. 927.— Ed.] 

His death is thus recorded by the same writer in his History of the Rebellion: 
In those necessary and brisk expeditions in falling upon Chagford, a little town 
in the south of Devon, before day, the king lost Sidney Godolphin, a young 
gentleman of incomparable parts, who being of a constitution more delicate and 
unacquainted with contentions, upon his observation of the wickedness of those 
men in the house of commons, of which he was a member, out of the pure 
indignation of his soul against them, and conscience to his country, had, 
with the first, engaged himself with that party in the west ; and though he 
thought not fit to take command in a profession he had not willingly chosen, 
yet as his advice was of great authority with all the commanders, being always 
one in the council of war, and whose notable abilities they had still use of 
in their civil transactions, so he exposed his person to all action, travel, and 
hazard ; and by too forward engaging himself in this last, received a mortal shot 
by a musquet, a little above the knee, of which he died on the instant ; leaving 
the misfortune of his death upon a place which could never otherwise have had 
a mention to the world. — This happened about the end of Jany. [1642-3]. [^Ibtd. 
p. 343.-ED.] 

[Z'c; these it may be well to add the Hobbes passage in the Dedication of 
Leviathan to Francis Godolphin. — Ed.] 

Honoured Sir, — Your most worthy brother Mr. Sidney Godolphin, when he 
lived, was pleased to think my studies something, and otherwise to oblige me, as 
you know, with real testimonies of his good opinion, great in themselves, and 
the greater for the worthiness of his person. For there is not any virtue that 
disposeth a man, either to the service of God, or to the service of his country, to 
civil society or private friendship, that did not manifestly appear in his 
conversation, not as acquired by necessity, or afifected upon occasion, but 
inherent, and shining in a generous constitution of his nature. Therefore in 
honour and gratitude to him, (ic. [Worlcs, ed. Molesworth, HL v. — Ed.] 

(236) 



POEMS FROM MALONE MS. 

Psalm 141 



Lord, hear the Prayer thou dost 

inspire, 
O Lord, direct both my desire, 
And the success ; O may my cries. 
Like thy commanded incense, rise 
On precious sweetness ; may my 

prayer 
Be purer than the common air : 
May it be hke the offering, 
Which thankful souls at evening bring, 
When they unfeigned devotions pay. 
For the past dangers of the day : 10 
Let nothing (henceforth) that is vain 
My consecrated lips profane. 
Hallow my heart, and guard the 

door, 
Make me thy Temple evermore ; 
Let not the beauty of a sin 
Tempt me to let such poison in ; 
Nor let the erring multitude, 
For company, my soul delude ; 
Let me not perish, in their praise, 
But let the righteous, in thy ways 20 
Guide me, and may I thank the hand. 
Although severed, by which I stand : 
But let not precious balms be spilt. 
Only to search not heal the guilt; 



Give me the ballast of just fear, 
But do not sink me in despair: 
Grant rather that I may extend 
. My prayers for others, that the end 
Even of the wicked may prevent 
Their everlasting punishment : 30 
They to my words will give arresse, 
When broken by their wickedness, 
Fall'n from the heights they stood 

upon 
Built in Imagination. 
Are we not all already dead? 
Are we not like bones scattered 
Before the grave's mouth, spent and 

worn. 
Seized by a long corruption ? 
Lord, from this grave I turn mine 

eye 
To thy blest immortality ; 40 

O may the soul thou didst create, 
Praise thee in her eternal state ; 
Guide me through all the treachery, 
And snares of my mortality ; 
Let not my soul be made their prey, 
Who strew temptations in my way, 
But be they caught in their own net, 
Who these malicious dangers set. 

S. GODOLPHIN. 



Chorus 



Vain man, born to no happiness. 

But by the title of distress, 

Allied to a capacity 

Of joy, only by misery ; 

Whose pleasures are but remedies. 

And best delights but the supplies 

Of what he wants, who hath no sense 

But poverty and indigence : 

Is it not pain still to desire 

And carry in our breast this fire ? 10 

Is it not deadness to have none. 

And satisfied, are we not stone ? 



Doth not our chiefest bliss then lie 

Betwixt thirst and satiety, 

In the midway : which is alone 

In an half-satisfaction : 

And is not love the middle way, 

At which with most delight we stay? 

Desire is total indigence. 

But love is ever a mixt sense 20 

Of what we have, and what we want. 

And though it be a little scant 

Of satisfaction, yet we rest 

In such an half-possession best. 



141. 31 arresse] So MS. I do not know' what this can be for except 
in a sense a little extended from that of the Fr. arret, and= ' the authority of law.' 
Clionis] This piece is also in Had. MS. 

(^37) 



arrest,' 



Sid?2ey Godolphin 



A half-possession doth supply 
The pleasure of variety, 
And frees us from inconstancy 
By want caused, or satiety; 
He never lov'd, who doth confess 
He wanted aught he doth possess, 
(Love to itself is recompense 3 1 
Besides the pleasure of the sense) 
And he again who doth pretend 
That surfeited his love took end, 
Confesses in his love's decay 
His soul more mortal than that clay 
Which carries it, for if his mind 
Be in its purest part confin'd, 
(For such love is) and limited, 
'Tis in the rest, dying, or dead : 40 
They pass their times in dreams of 
love 



When wavering passions gently move, 
Through a calm smooth-fac'd sea 

they pass, 
But in the haven traffic glass : 
They who love truly through the 

clime 
Of freezing North and scalding Line, 
Sail to their joys, and have deep 

sense 
Both of the loss, and recompense : 
Yet strength of passion doth not 

prove 
Infallibly, the truth of love. 50 

Ships, which to-day a storm did find, 
Are since becalm'd, and feel no 

wind ^ 

S. Godolphin. 



Constancy 



Love unreturn'd, howe'er the flame 
Seem great and pure, may still 
admit 

Degrees of more, and a new name 
And strength acceptancegives to it. 

Till then, by honour there 's no tie 
Laid on it, that it ne'er decay. 

The mind's last act by constancy 
Oughttobeseal'd, and notthe way. 

Did aught but Love's perfection bind 
Who should assign at what degree 

Of Love, faith ought to fix the mind 
And in what limits we are free. 12 



So hardly in a single heart 

Is any love conceived 
That fancy still supplies one part, 

Supposing it received. 

When undeceiv'd such love retires 

'Tis but a model lost, 
A draught of what might be expires 

Built but at fancy's cost. 20 

Yet if the rain one tear move, 
From Pity not Love sent, 

Though not a palace, it will prove 
The most wisht monument. 

S. Godolphin. 



Song 



Let me some nobler torture find 
Than of a doubtful wavering mind. 

Take all my peace, but you betray 
Mine honour too this cruel way. 



Or love me less, or love me more, 

And play not with my liberty, 
Either take all, or all restore, 

Bind me at least, or set me free, 

30 ' All he would possess.' Harl. MS. 

' This Senecan chorus has some curious expressions in it, especially that at 1. 44, 
' traffic glass.' In tone it rather strikingly resembles the work of Lord Stirling in his 
tragedies. And the ' Meditation — [Reply] ' {inf. p. 244) may be connected with it. 

13 So, &c.] The change from eights to common measure is extremely note- 
worthy, this last being the special vehicle of this kind of poetry. This first draft here 
gives an almost unique example of comparing the instruments. See Introduction. 

(238) 



S07lg 



'Tis true that I have nurst before 

That hope of which I now 
complain, lo 

And having little, sought no more, 

Fearing to meet with your dis- 
dain: 
The sparks of favour you did give, 

I gently blow to make them live : 
And yet have gain'd by all this care 

No rest in hope, nor in despair. 
I see you wear that pitying smile 

Which you have still vouchsaft 
my smart. 
Content thus cheaply to beguile 

And entertain an harmless heart : 



21 



But I no longer can give way 

To hope, which doth so little pay ; 

And yet I dare no freedom owe 
Whilst you are kind, 
in show. 



though but 



Then give me more or give me less, 

Do not disdain a nmtual sense. 
Or you unpitying beauties dress 

In their own free indifference. 
But show not a severer eye 

Sooner to give me Liberty, 30 
For I shall love the very scorn 

Which for my sake you do put on. 

S. GODOLPHIN. 



Song^ 



'Tis affection but dissembled, 
Or dissembled liberty, 

To pretend thy passion changed 
With change of thy mistress' eye, 
Following her inconstancy : 

Hopes which do from favour flourish, 
May perhaps as soon expire 

As the cause which did them 
nourish ; 
And disdain'd they may retire, 
But Love is another fire. 10 

For if beauty cause thy passion. 

If a fair resistless eye 
Melt thee with its soft impression. 

Then thy hopes will never die, 

Nor be cur'd by cruelty. 



'Tis not scorn that can remove thee, 
For thou either wilt not see, 

Such lov'd beauty, not to love thee, 
Or wilt else consent that she 
Judges as she ought of thee. 20 

Thus thou either canst not sever 
Hope from what appears so fair. 

Or unhappier thou canst never 
Find contentment in despair 
Nor make Love a trifling care. 

There are soon but few retiring 
Steps in all the paths of Love 

Made by such, who in aspiring 
Meeting scorn, their hopes re- 
move — 
Yet even those ne'er change their 



love. 



S. GODOLPHIN. 



CI 



oris 



Cloris, may I unhappy prove 
Whenever I do leave to love, 
Or if my love be e'er remov'd 
Then, Cloris, let me not be lov'd : 
I nothing more can imprecate. 
But if there be a harder fate, 
Cloris, when I to love give o'er 
Then may I never love thee more. 

23 owe] As so often = ' own.'' ' On this see Introduction. 

30 even] Perhaps intended to be scanned ' e'en.' 

( 339) 



Sidney Godolphin 



Lines ^ 

Fair shadow, stay, may I for ever see 

Thy beauty sever'd from thy cruelty, 

As in this dream, do not so soon destroy 

So dear to me, to you so cheap a joy. 

See my thoughts now, impute no more to me 

My past complaints and infelicity, 

As if those needs, fruits of my nature were. 

And that in me nothing can grow but care ; 

Witness with me my yet diffused heart 

Which your kind image doth not quite depart, lo 

That your fair eyes do nowhere else dispense 

On matter more prepared, their influence : 

Your will hath planted all the grief I know. 

Neglect alone would not so far undo, 

Self-flattery would still produce content. 

If you were but so kind as to consent, 

Though not to favour, my whole life had been 

Though without harvest, a perpetual Spring. 

If you had pleased, all nature hath been spent 

And a new vigour hath been often lent 20 

From the returning heavens, whilst my sun 

A voluntary instant course doth run : 

See how already your kind image flies 

My thoughts, and in your scorn, your beauty dies. 

S. Godolphin. 

To the Kinof and Oueen^ 

Be all your senses blest with harmony, 
Proportion'd objects meet each faculty, 
All appetites find such a just supply, 
That you may still desire, still satisfy. 

May present things with present pleasure pay, 
Every contentment be entire, and way 
To the next joy, may every new success 
Recall the past, and make one happiness. 

May you then all your joys reflected see 

In other's breasts, may that reflection be 10 

Powerful on you, and though none can project 

Beams to reach you, yet what you cause, reflect. 

^ These lines run straighten in the MS. and have but one signature, though some one 

has drawn a line - and set a cross. But the 'Cloris' is clearly complete in 

itself, even if the change of metre did not warn us. 

17-8 been — Spring] Note the rhyme. 

19 hath] One imagines * had ' : but ' often ' in the next line is an obstacle. 

^ See Introduction. 

( 240 ) 



To the King and Queen 

May you not need the art to multiply 
Joys, in the fancy's unsafe flattery ; 
But may your pleasures be still present, pure, 
Diffusive, great, and in their truth, secure. 



S. GODOLPHIN. 



Triplets 



Virtue, and you, so intermix that we 

Believe you one with safer piety 

Than were the knowledge which is you, which she. 

If you are several, you are several so 

That after subtle words a difference show. 

Conceits of one must into the other flow. 

The understanding doth the truth admit 

Of your distinction, but straight looseth it, 

Painful distraction if it intermit. 

No place confines [to] here or there fair virtue lo 

Present to all : in that sense 'tis as true 

You are in it, as it is all in you : 

All services done her give an access 

Nearer to you, all who have worthiness 

Enough, are rivals, though Antipodes : 

Yet after all our careful time confer'd 
In seeking her, when any is prefer'd, 
To see you, she is most her own reward. 

S. GODOLPHIN. 

Psalm 137 



As by the rivers we lay down 
Which wash the walls of Babylon, 
There we our inward souls felt 

grief. 
Changing to mourning all relief, 
Infecting by our sad despair 
The flowery field, the streams, and 

air : 
As we on Syon meditate 
Our ruin'd country's captive state. 
Our instruments of melody 
Disused, neglected, hanging by — 
Then, even then, our scornful foes, 
The proud inflictors of our woes, 
Deny us freedom of our groans 

Triplets] No title in MS. 

8 looseth] is of course frequent for 'loseth,' but either will make sense of the very 
' metaphysical ' kind required by the whole piece. 

10 to] In orig. ; but it spoils the metre and does not advantage the meaning. 
3 grief] ' grieve' ? The noun could be forced into sense, but only vi et annis. 

II. ( 241 ) R 



And bid us swallow all our moans, 
Command from our hoarse voice 

an air 
Of joy in this our sad despair. 
Ah ! can we teach our tears to flow 
Inwards, and hide in smiles our woe ? 
Shall our lov'd harp and voice now 

be 
The hated marks of slavery ? 20 
O Solymas, ye holy towers, 
Ye rivers, fields, ye shades of ours, 
Wither my hand, my voice be dry 
When I do lose your memory : 
When ever I one joy put on 
During your desolation. 



Sidney Godolphin 



Thou Babylon, which now dost boast 
All bowels of compassion lost, 
Though careless when we do com- 
plain 
Know thou hast yet a sense for 
pain. 30 

Thrice happy who exacts from thee 
The measure of our misery : 
How thy swol'n rivers then will rise, 



When thou pay'st back unto our eyes 
The floods of tears which they have 

shed 
And all the streams which we have 

bled! 
Then will Euphrates purpled run 
With thy blood, cruel Babylon, 
Thy children's cries will fill the air 
And none shall pity their despair. 40 

S. Godolphin. 



A Ballet 



Amarillis a late 

And too loving bride, 

Sad that her dear mate 

Should part from her side, 

And grieving to want 

What only she loves. 

Did follow unseen 

Her friend to the groves : 

And seeking her shepherd 

In every shade, 10 

First meeting his voice 

Overheard what he said. 

* Thou joy of my life, 

First love of my youth, 

Thou safest of pleasures 

And fullest of truth, 

Thou purest of Nymphs 

And never more fair. 

Breathe this way and cool me. 

Thou pitying Air ! 20 

Come hither and hover 

On every part. 

Thou life of my sense 

And joy of my heart.' 

Poor Amarillis, 

As soon as her fears 

The words of the shepherd 

Convey'd to her ears, 

Her hands and her eye 

To heaven doth move, 30 

As full of her grief 

As before of her love : 

Believing her shepherd 

Had made this fond prayer 

To some rival Nymph, 

And not to the Air. 

(242 ) 



She says in herself, 

' Ah ! too too unkind. 

Whom neither thy vows 

Nor my loyalty bind, 40 

Those moods could not show thee 

Such truth without art, 

These deserts have taught thee 

So savage a heart. 

Bend hither thine arrows 

If they seek a prey, 

Or if you seek love 

Then this is the way.' 

The shepherd who heard 

The leaves as she mov'd, 50 

Makes ready a shaft 

To shoot in the wood : 

And sending an arrow 

Not guided by sight. 

Doth pierce the poor Nymph 

With the too cruel flight. 

She pardons, but prays him 

Though never so fair, 

Her place may be never 

Succeeded by Air. 60 

The shepherd confused 

With his terrible fate, 

The wood, and the air. 

And himself he doth hate. 

He swears that he wooed 

But the breath of the wind, 

And that Amarillis 

Was then in his mind : 

She hears the mistake, 

He curses his dart, 70 

She dies in her limbs. 

Revived in her heart. 

S. Godolphin. 



Shepherd^ we do 7iot see our looks 



Song 



Damon 

Shepherd, we do not see our looks 
Best ever in the purest brooks. 

Do not despise 
Thine own shape and thy careful 

face : 
See thyself in some other glass 

Than her fair eyes. 

Shepherd 

Damon, no other streams reflect 
Truly as these mine own aspect 

And worthless face : 
Yet all the pleasures others make lo 
Themselves in beauty, I do take 

In my fair glass. 



Damon 



Shepherd, it were a happiness 

If you could then your figure miss, 

Not well exprest. 
Seeking yourself with too much care 
You leave the image of your fear 

In her fair breast. 

Shepherd 

Damon, I hope no happiness 

But what already I possess, 20 

Received thus near. 
Yet I confess, though not so vain 
As one poor hope to entertain, 

I still have fear, 

S. GODOLPHIN. 



Epistle 



Sir, 



When your known hand, and style, 

and name 
Into the camp of Wanton came ; 
And that the Greeks with one 

consent 
Had read the lines which Troy had 

sent. 
They all agreed, the Oracle 
Was only wise enough to tell 
What bold pen should the answer 

make 
And danger, mixt with honour, take : 
The Delphic messengers relate 
That Mason is the choice of fate, 10 
And though most Greeks could better 

wield 
A sword than he, yet for a shield, 
Ajax himself must give him place. 
And therefore fittest in this case. 
But, sir, alas ! whilst harmless I 
Thought to fulfil this destiny, 
Anearerfatewhich none could dread, 
Nor yet foresee, hangs o'er my head. 
That idle book which I of late 



Read with some fear, but with more 

hate, 20 

(Yet not suspecting that in time 
The reading it would grow a crime) 
Since proves a libel ; and all eyes 
That have but seen it, at th' assize 
Must answer make. — Sir, I protest 
Most fearfully this is no jest : 
But, sir, the way to this assize 
By Wells first, and the Bishop lies, 
Who sends for all, whom any fame 
Accuses, (and 'mongst them my name) 
That they have once but cast a look 
Upon this guilty-making book. 32 
Ned Drew hath his appearance 

sworn 
And for that paid a full half-crown : 
Sir, I should less fear this ill day. 
If that his Lordship would not 

stray 
From that one point, but what man 

knows 
Whether he may not list to pose. 
And overthrow a life divine. 
Show his own learning, or try mine? 



Epistle] No title in MS. 9 Delphic] Orig. ' Delphique.' 

38 pose] Not in the modern sense, though this would do ; but in the older of 'start 
a puzzling question.' 



( 243 ) 



R 2 



Siditey Godolphin 



If in a wanton strength, I say, 41 
He should but offer at that play. 
The Tower of Pitcombe then would 

quake, 
The yew tree all her leaves would 

shake. 



Sir, I too long have tir'd your ears 
With the harsh jars of my own fears, 
I fear no one thing now, but all 
That ever curate did befall. 

S. Godolphin. 



Meditation — [Reply] 



Unhappy East — not in that awe 
You pay your Lords, whose will is 

Law, 
But in your own unmanly reign 
On the soft sex, and proud disdain. 
What state would bring the value 

down 
Of treasure which is all their own ? 
Their thoughts to worthless objects 

move 
Who thus suppress the growth of 

love — 
Love that extends the high desire. 
Love that improves the manly fire, 
And makes the price of Beauty rise 
And all our wishes multiplies ; 12 
Such high content dwells not in sense, 
Nor can the captiv'd fair dispense 
Such sweets as these; no servile 

Dame 
Can with her beauty feed this llame; 
Such joys as these requires a heart 
In which no other love hath part. 
Ah, who would prize his Liberty 
(This faint weak pleasure to be free) 
Dear as the wounds which Love can 

give, 21 

The bond in which such servants live. 
Who list in wand'ring loose desire 
Vary his love, disperse his fire, 
Aim at no more than to repeat 
The thirst of sense, and quench that 

heat. 

44 yew] Orig. ' ewe.' 

Meditation'] This in T. P. is entitled ' For Love.' 
seems to answer something (v. sup. p. 238). 
22 The bond] Tixall ' those bonds.' 23 list] Tixall ' tost.' 

24 his] Tixall ' their' in some places. 
49 could] Tixall 'would.' comprest] I must note the extraordinary coincidence 

(though it can be nothing but a coincidence) of Gray's 

In the caverns of the IVest 
By Odin's fierce embrace comprest. 

( 344) 



Let my collected passion rise 
All and to one a sacrifice : 
I fear not her discerning breast 
Should be with other love imprest. 
Be to the proud resign'd a prey, 31 
Or to the loud, or to the gay. 
Why should distorted nature prove 
More lovely than my humble love? 
What taught the elder times success 
In Love, but Love, and humbleness? 
The Nymphs resign'd their virgin 

fears 
To nothing but the Shepherd's tears. 
Nature with wise distrust doth arm 
And guard that tender sex from 

harm ; 
Long waiting Love doth passage find 
Into the slow believing mind. 42 
Jove, when he would with Love 

comply. 
Is said to lay his thunder by : 
Too rough he thinks the shape of 

man. 
Now in the softness of a swan. 
Now like another Nymph appears, 
And so beguiles Calisto's fears. 
By force he could have soon 

comprest 
That which contents the ruder East, 
But he by this diviner art 51 

Makes conquest of the heavenly 

part. 

S. Godolphin. 

In MS. it is simply ' Reply.' It 
Text combined. 



No 7nore imto my thoughts appear 



Quatrains 



No more unto my thoughts appear, 

At least appear less fair, 
For crazy tempers justly fear 

The goodness of the air. 

Whilst your pure image hath a place 

In my impurer mind, 
Your very shadow is the glass 

Where my defects I find. 

Shall I not fly that brighter light 
Which makes my fires look pale, lo 

And put that virtue out of sight 
Which makes mine none at all ? 



No, no, your picture doth impart 

Such value, I not wish 
The native worth to any heart 

That 's unadorn'd with this. 

Though poorer in desert I make 

Myself, whilst I admire. 
The fuel which from Hope I take 

I give to my Desire. 20 

If this flame lighted from your eyes 

The subject do calcine, 
A heart may be your sacrifice 

Too weak to be your shrine. 

S. GODOLPHIN. 



Quatrains 



Soft and sweet airs, whose gentle 
gales 

Swell, but do slackly swell our sails, 

And only such to Heaven con- 
vey. 

Whom their own side doth waft that 
way. 

Instructing them in happiness 
Who were before in ken of bliss — 
Though only saints do hear and 

see 
The angels in your harmony. 

Yet even from us ill spirits fly [ee'.] 

When by such charms, uncharm'd 

we be; 10 



The unprepar'd this grace do find, 
Ye cool and do refresh the mind. 

But the more peaceful souls and 

free 
Meet with their own your harmony 
Sometimes surpris'd, then do prevent 
The less harmonious Instrument. 

Soft airs, ye gently fan a fire 

Of pure unmixt thoughts, which 

aspire 
So of themselves I do not know 
Whether to you they aught can 

owe. 20 

S. GODOLPHIN. 



Epistle 



That you may see your letters, use 
Both to transfer your verse and 

muse, 
And bring with them so fresh a heat 
Able new Poems to beget ; 

Quatrains'^'] Also in Harl. MS. 
16 unadorn'd] H. ' not adorned.' 
Epistle] No title in MS. 

( 245 ) 



Yet such as may no more compare 
With yours, than echoing voices 

dare — 
I from my prose and Friday time 
Cannot but send thus much in rhyme. 

10 look pale] H. ' go pale.' 
Quatrains'^] No title in MS. 
8 rhyme] Orig. ' ryme.' 



Sidney Goclolphm 



Sir, your grave Author had no cause 
To give our sense of seeing, laws, lo 
For sure ill eyes will sooner need 
Medicines to judge of greyhound's 

speed, 
Than other rules, since who is he 
So inward blind as not to see 
That overtaking, going by, 
Doth clearly show where odds doth 

lie. 
Nor hath the eye an object more 
Distinct than this in all its power. 
All judgements else (I think) but this 
A little too uncertain is, 20 

To overrule a favouring eye 
And partial minds to satisfy. 
And I count nothing victory, 
But when all clamour too doth die ; 
In all Romances, the good knight 
With monsters (after men) doth 

fight. 



Then you have fully got the field 
When Philip and James white do 

yield. 
So likewise nothing can adorn 
Our triumph, but your captur'd 

horn. 30 

You have no cause to fear that we 
Will still appeal to Salisbury, 
The Paddock Course, and dieting. 
Shall we for Wanton say a thing 
Which for the worst cur might be said 
Which ever yet in slip was led ? 
No, from a straight course at the 

hare 
Lies no appeal at any bar ; 
In one thing only I foresee 
Wanton will still unhappy be : 40 
Snap will live in your poetry 
When Wanton, and my verses, die. 

S. GODOLPHIN. 



To the tune of * In faith I cannot keep my Father's 

Sheep ' 



Cloris, it is not thy disdain 
Can ever cover with despair, 
Or in cold ashes hide that care 
Which I have fed with so long pain : 
I may perhaps mine eyes refrain, 
And fruitless words no more impart. 
But yet still serve, still serve thee in 
my heart. 

What though I spend my hapless 
days 
In finding entertainments out, 
Careless of what I go about, 10 

Or seek my peace in skilful ways, 



Applying to my eyes new rays 
Of beauty, and another flame 
Unto my heart, my heart is still the 
same. 

'Tis true that I could love no face 
Inhabited by cold disdain, 
Taking delight in other's pain. 
Thy looks are full of native grace ; 
Since then by chance scorn there 

hath place 
'Tis to be hop'd I may remove 20 
This scorn one day, one day by 
endless Love. 



S. GODOLPHIN. 



Hymn 



Lord, when the wise men came from 

far. 
Led to Thy cradle by a star. 
Then did the shepherds too rejoice, 



Instructed by thy Angel's voice : 
Blest were the wise men in their skill 
And shepherds in their harmless 
will. 



28 Philip and James] May day, or is this too late for coursing ' P. and J. White'1 

Hymn] No title in MS. 

5 wise men] MS. here and elsewhere in one word. 

{246) 



Hym72 



Wise men in tracing Nature's laws 
Ascend unto the highest Cause ; 
Shepherds with humble fearfulness 
Walk safely, though their Light be 

Life : lo 

Though wise men better know the 

way 
It seems no honest heart can stray. 

There is no merit in the wise 

But Love, (the shepherds' sacrifice) 

Wise men, all ways of knowledge 

past, 
To the shepherds' wonder come at 

last: 
To know can only wonder breed. 
And not to know is wonder's seed. 

A wise man at the altar bows 

And offers up his studied vows, 20 

And is received, — may not the tears, 



Which spring too from a shepherd's 

fears, 
And sighs upon his frailty spent, 
Though not distinct, be eloquent ? 

'Tis true, the object sanctifies 
All passions which within us rise, 
But since no creature comprehends 
The Cause of causes. End of ends, 
He who himself vouchsafes to know 
Best pleases his Creator so. 30 

When, then, our sorrows we apply 
To our own wants and poverty, 
When we look up in all distress 
And our own misery confess. 
Sending both thanks and prayers 

above — 
Then, though we do not know, we 

love. 

S. GODOLPHIN ^ 



A Farewell 

Adieu thys is no cheape ayre 

Tis my soules selfe I thus breathe awaye 

Sorrow doth its place supply 

It kils but gives no leave to dy. 

Greife wh. from hence did my life fyrst expell 

Hear an usurping soule doth dwell 
And I am long lived now how free from fate 

Alas is hee whom woe doth animate 
Disraye is of hys syde, ruinn doth fitt 

The house to give that soule more roome in itt 



G. 



1 On the same page, underneath the signature, are the following lines, in different 
handwriting : 

Absence and Death have but this difference. 
Absence a torture is, Death free from sense. 
Then let me die, if I must part from thee, 
Since only death can from that torment free. 

A Farewell] No title in MS. This and the next are in a somewhat different hand 
from most of the pieces : and the present text is extremely cornipt. I have therefore 
given it exactly, that anybody who likes may adjust it, and as a specimen. 

{mi) 



Sidney Godolphin 



On Sir F. Carew 

No way unworthy of his fair descent, 

Careless of that brave life which we lament, 

All the good ends of living here acquir'd. 

Much lov'd, much honour'd, and how much desir'd ! 

His virtue past, all trials shining far, 

Bright in the brightest sphere of fame, the war, 

Submitting gladly to that fate which oft 

He had so boldly, and so bravely fought — 

Here Carew lies, but (Reader) may that name 

Not move thy tears, but warm thee with like flame. 

S. Godolphin. 



[Sir Ferdinando Carey, a Lieutenant-Colonel of the Low Countries, a brave man, — 
died here suddenly of a lethargy, a most over-grown man with fat. — Letter from Mr. 
Garrard to Lord Strafford, May lo, 1638 — Straff. Lett. ii. 164. Note in MS. — Ed.] 



EPITAPH ON LADY RICH 



In Gauden's Funerals made Cordials^ p. 124 (London, 1658). 

PossEST of all that nature could bestow, 

All we can wish to be, or seek to know, 

Equal to all the patterns that our mind 

Can frame of good, beyond the good we find : 

All beauties which have power to bless the sight, 

Mixed with transparent virtue's greater light — 

At once producing love and reverence, 

The admiration of the soul and sense : 

The most discerning thoughts, the calmest breast, 

Most apt to pardon, needing pardon least; 10 

The largest mind, and which did most extend 

To all the laws of Daughter, Wife, and Friend; 

The most allowed example by what line 

To live, what part to follow, what decline; 

Who best all distant virtues reconciled — 

Strict, cheerful, humble, great, severe, and mild. 

Constantly pious to her latest breath, 

Not more a pattern in her life than death :— 

The Lady Rich lies here: more frequent tears 

Have never honour'd any tomb than hers. 20 

( 248 ) 



THE PASSION OF DIDO FOR AENEAS 

As it is incomparably expressed in the Fourth 
Book of Virgil^ 

Translated by S. Godolphin and E. Waller, Esqrs. 

Ubi quid datur oti, 
Illudo chartis. Hoc est mediocribus illis 
Ex vitiis unum. — HOR. 1. i. Sat. 4. 



THE ARGUMENT 



Dido was espoused a virgin to 
Sichaeus, and both lived happy in 
their mutual love, until her brother 
Pygmalion, who was then King of 
Tyre, the place of their abode, by 
some close treachery slew Sichaeus 
in hopes to possess of his great 
wealth, and to dispose of his wife ; 
all which, her husband's ghost 
appearing in her sleep, discovered ; 
telling her also where he had hid 
a considerable treasure, of which 
Pygmalion knew not. This she took, 
and, in the company of such friends 
she could best trust, and most hated 
the tyrant, fled from thence, to seek 
her fortune in some safer place. At 
length arriving on the shore of Libya, 
partly for money, partly by the favour 
of some neighbour princes, affected 
with her beauty, and the hope to 
obtain her in marriage, she got pos- 
session of that ground where the 
famous city of Carthage was after- 
wards built ; whose foundation she 
had not only laid, but made some good 
progress in the structure ; when the 
wandering Trojan Aeneas was by 
tempest shipwrecked on some part of 



His great fame, 



good 



her dominion. 

mien, and well relating of his story, 
prevailed so with her that she not only 
repaired his ships, and feasted him and 
his company with great magnificence ; 
but let him so far into her affection, 
that she esteemed him (at least did 
not doubt but to make him) her 
husband ; when his necessary pursuit 
of other designs occasioned his sudden 
departure, and her tragedy. 

This Fourth Book, describing only 
her passion, deep sense of his 
ingratitude, and her death, has been 
always esteemed the best piece of the 
best of poets ; has been translated 
into all languages, and in our days at 
least ten times, by several pens, into 
English. It is freely left to the reader, 
which he will prefer. 

This was done (all but a very little) 
by that incomparable person, as well 
for virtue as wit, Mr. Sidney Godol- 
phin, only for his own diversion, and 
with less care, than so exact a judge- 
ment as his would have used, if he had 
intended it should have ever been made 
public. 



Meanwhile the Queen, fanning a secret fire 

In her own breast, revolves her deep desire ; 

She oft reflects upon the princely grace 

Of great Aeneas, and that noble race 

From whence he springs : her wounded fancy feeds 

On his discourse, his high heroic deeds : 

^ The important variations in Malone MS. are given in the following pages. It is 
possible that the alterations were Waller's (see last sentence of Argument) or even 
Dryden's own. See note at end. 

( 249 ) 



Sid7tey Godolplmi 

His words, his looks, her waking thoughts employ, 

And when she sleeps, she sees him with more joy; 

But seldom sleeps : for when the shades of night 

Had left their empire to the rising light, lo 

Folding her sister in her arms, she says, 

'What unacquainted thoughts, what dreams are these? 

How great a guest within our walls we hold, 

How wise in counsel, and in arms how bold ? 

The mortal seed of man acknowledge fear. 

But this brave Prince his equal mind doth bear 

Above all chance. Did not my changeless vow, 

And mine own will, engage me to allow 

No other love; my first affection dead, 

And with the soul of my Sichaeus fled : ao 

Were not all joys grown tasteless, and the name 

Of love offensive, since I lost that flame ; 

I might perhaps indulge this one desire, 

For, Anna, I confess since funeral fire 

Embrac'd Sichaeus, this first beam of light 

Hath offered comfort to so dark a night, 

Unwonted motions in my thoughts retriev'd, 

I find and feel the brand of care reviv'd. 

But may the earth, while yet alive, devour 

This hapless frame, and Jove his thunder pour 30 

Upon my head, and sink me to that shade, 

That silent deep, whence no return is made ; 

Before I do those sacred knots untie, 

Which bind me to so dear a memory. 

He first unto my soul this ardour gave, 

And may he hold it in his quiet grave.' 

This said, she weeps afresh. Anna replies; 

' O chiefly lov'd, and dearer than mine eyes. 

Sad and alone for ever will you waste 

Your verdant youth, nor nature's bounties taste 40 

In their due season ? think you that the dead 

In their cold urns welcome the tears we shed ? 

^^^hat though no pray'rs have yet had power to move 

Your thoughts, to entertain a second love; 

Yet will you now with your own heart contest? 

Nor give admittance to a pleasing guest? 

Consider where this new plantation lies. 

And amidst whom these walls of Carthage rise : 

Here the Getulians, fierce Numidians there. 

On either side engage your watchful fear. 50 

Propitious heav'ns, it seems, and Juno, lead. 

These Trojans here with so desir'd an aid : 

MS.] 9 No ' for.' 12 ' with ' for ' what.' 16 ' rear ' for ' bear.' 25 ' the ' 

for ' this.' 27 ' Z)/5wonted ' and ' re/nVd.' 28 < feel,' for ' find.' 29 ' whilst ' 

for ' while ' (and so often). 30 'or' for ' and.' 32 ' wher ' for ' whence.' 

40 'bounty'.' 41 'seasons.' 50 ' wakefull.' 51 < Heaven' and Medd.' 

( 250 ) 



The Passio7i of Dido fo?^ Aeneas 

This match will mix your fortunes, and advance 
The Tyrian State above all force or chance. 
Invoke the powers above; with soft delay 
Engage the Dardan Prince to longer stay : 
'Till the swol'n seas and winds their fury spend, 
And calmer gales his purposes attend.' 

This speech revives the courage of the dame, 
And through her burning veins dilates the flame. 60 

First to the holy temple they repair, 
And seek indulgence from above by prayer; 
Law-giving Ceres, Phoebus they invoke, 
But above all do Venus' altars smoke 
Propitious to the bands of love ; the Queen 
With her own hands, the heifer's horns between, 
Pours the full bowls, or 'midst the sacrifice 
Intentive walks. As the rich odours rise 
Fresh gifts she brings, and with a thoughtful brain 
Surveys the panting livers of the slain ; 70 

Blind prophesies, vain altars, bootless prayer. 
How little help they ! while so near a care 
Presses the Queen, and mingled with her blood 
Spreads secret poison through the purple flood. 
The hapless Dido is enrag'd by love. 
And with uncertain thoughts doth wildly move. 

So when a shepherd's roving arrows find 
And pierce (to him unknown) some careless hind, 
She flies thro' woods, and seeks the streams, opprest, 
The deadly arrow rankles in her breast. 80 

Now to the walls she leads her Trojan chief. 
And with this food she entertain'd her grief. 
Shows the Sidonian wealth ; and, as she speaks. 
Her own discourse (by care diverted) breaks ; 
The evening closes with another feast, 
And there again sh' invites the princely guest 
To tell his dangers past, and there again 
She drinks together deeper love and pain. 

But when the Prince (night's darker ensign spread. 
And sleepy dew upon all mortals shed) 90 

Doth bid farewell, she waking there alone 
Deserted mourns that her dear guest is gone ; 
Or keeps Ascanius in her arms, to prove 
If likeness can delude her restless love. 
Meanwhile her stately structures slowly rise, 
Half-finish'd Carthage rude and broken lies. 



MS.] 54 'Trojan.' 55 'Implore.' 57 Om. ' winds.' 6r 'temples.' 

64 'Junoes.' 65 ' bondes.' 70 'fivers,' which might (see N.E.D.) be 

'fibres.' but is probably a misprint. 80 'mortall' for ' deadly.' 81 '■the 

Trojan.' 82 ' entertains.' 86 0m. 'sh'.' 87 ' //h' dangers.' 91 ' then 

for 'there.' 92 ' Love ' for ' guest.' 

(^50 



Sid7tey Godolphin 



That high design, to heav'n['s] exalted frame, 

Confus'd appears, and Hke a ruin lame. 

Which when survey 'd by Juno from above, 

And that the Queen neglects her fame for love; loo 

Approaching Venus, thus Saturnia says : 

' What ample trophies, never-dying praise, 

To you and to your Cupid will be paid. 

That two such gods one woman have betray'd? 

I know with what design you us'd this art, 

Planting Aeneas thus in Dido's heart. 

Suspecting lest these walls of ours might prove 

Faithless to him, if not secur'd by love. 

But shall this partial quarrel never cease? 

May we not now fix on eternal peace? no 

Fair Dido loves, and feels your golden dart ; 

Give but like ardour to Aeneas' heart, 

And we will rule this state with equal power, 

And give the Trojan Carthage for a dower.' 

Venus replies (seeing the wife of Jove 

To cross the height of Roman greatness strove 

With this deceit) : ' What madness can refuse 

Friendship with you, where you a friendship choose? 

But whether Jove will favour this design, 

And the great people in one empire join ; 120 

This in your prayers, who are his wife, doth lie.' 

Juno returns : ' Impose this task on me, 
For what is now in hand, let this suffice. 
The Trojan Prince with this unhappy prize, 
The wounded Queen, to chase the flying deer, 
Soon as the beams of morning-light appear, 
Hies to the fields; there, on the godly train, 
A dark'ning shower FU pour of hail and rain. 
Shake heav'n with thunder, while the pale troops ride 
Disperst with fear, and lost without a guide : 130 

One cave in her dark bosom shall afford 
Shelter to Dido and the Trojan lord; 
And if, as I, propitious to their love 
You shine ; this shall their hymeneal prove ; 
All rites shall here be done.' Venus with smiles 
Consents, but laughs within at Juno's wiles. 

The morning come, early at light's first ray 
The gallant youth rise with the cheerful day: 
Sharp javelins in their hands, their coursers by, 
They walk amidst the hounds' impatient cry : 140 

MS.] 97 ' erected.' 107 ' that . . . myne' for < lest . . . ours.' 112 'the 

Trojan's heart.' 113 'mutuall ' for ' equal.' 114 'Phrigean.' 120 'this 

great.' 122 ' replies.' 124 ' his ' for ' this.' 126 ' morning beams of light.' 

127 'this goodly.' 128 ' I'le power a darkening storme of haile and raine.' 

132 'her Trojan.' 137 'as light's.' 

(252) 



The Passio7i of Dido fo?^ Ae7ieas 

Nearer the gates the Tyrian peers attend, 

And wait the Queen now ready to descend. 

Her prouder steed, as fill'd with high disdain. 

Stamps the dull earth, and chaws the frothy rein. 

Mounted at last, her golden quiver on 

Ti'd up with gold, her hair which gold-like shone, 

Her purple garment, clasped with gold, in head 

Of her fair troop, the brighter Queen doth lead : 

With these the Trojans, and their great chief, close 

As one fair stream into another flows. 150 

He like Apollo in his light and heat. 

When he returns unto his native seat 

Of Delos, and fresh verdure doth restore, 

Forsaking Xanthus and the Lycian shore. 

Thus he on Cynthus' tops, his own retreat, 

Securely walks, thus welcome and thus great, 

The Dryopeans and the Cretans by, 

So doth his quiver clash ; not less than he 

Aeneas shines, like beauty 's in his face, 

And in his motions like attractive grace. 160 

While thus they climb the pathless hills, the cry 

Pursues the fearful herds, which headlong fly 

Down to the vales, and on the boundless plain 

A longer chase in view of all maintain. 

But glad Ascanius spurs his willing horse. 
Now these, now those, out-passing in the course, 
He wishes some incensed boar his prey. 
Or lion from the hills would cross his way. 

Meanwhile the gathering clouds obscure the pole. 
They flash out lightning, and in thunder roll : 170 

A bitter storm succeeds ; the troops divide, 
And o'er the hills dispers'd to coverts ride. 
One cave in her dark bosom doth afford 
Shelter to Dido and the Trojan lord. 
Heaven shines with fire, earth shakes at this success. 
The conscious air is fill'd with prodigies. 

This was the hour, which gave the fatal blow, 
The pregnant spring of all succeeding woe. 
Tender respects no more have power to move 
The hapless Queen, no more she hides her love, i8o 

But doth her crime express with Hymen's name. 
And lives expos'd a theme to various fame. 

Fame, the most swift of ills, which in her course 
And motion spreads, and flying gathers force, 
Sprung from a scarce discerned seed, doth tread 
On the low ground, but lifts to heav'n her head. 

MS.] 141 'Trojan.' 144 ' Pawes ' and ' champs.' 146 'Woundup.' 

148 'the fair.' 163 'dales.' i8i 'But doth excuse it with chast H.' 

184 ' Dilated' for ' And motion.' 

(353) 



Sidney Godolphi?i 

She (as 'tis said) was of that monstrous birth, 

The latest sister, which the teeming earth 

Brought forth, to war with heav'n itself alone 

Surviving all her brothers overthrown. 190 

Thousands of plumes advance her easy flight. 

As many eyes enlarge her piercing sight, 

As many ears to catch reports, and then 

As many tongues to spread those tales again. 

The silent night cannot the voice allay 

Of this ill-boding dame ; in the bright day 

She sits upon the city walls a spy. 

And takes delight all fears to multiply : 

She now through Libya's empire doth diffuse 

Talk of Aeneas, and th' unwelcome news 200 

Of Dido's love, that he, late fled from Troy, 

Such envy'd power and greatness doth enjoy. 

This the light dame proclaims in ev'ry ear, 

And to larbas doth the message bear; 

larbas, who had felt fair Dido's scorn, 

Jove's son, of ravish'd Garamantis born, 

Who hallowed had to his great father's name 

An hundred altars, which together flame 

With ceaseless incense to the powers above. 

Eternal fires, pledges of humble love. 210 

Mad with the news, the Libyan monarch lays 
Prostrate himself before the throne, and says ; 
'All-powerful Jove, propitious to the Moors, 
AVhom Libya more than any land adores, 
Beholdst thou this? or doth in vain our fear 
Ascribe just vengeance to the Thunderer? 
She, who a stranger with our leave hath gain'd 
Possession here, from us the power obtain'd 
To plant a town, hath thought herself above 
The price and merit of our ardent love; 220 

Yet now with joy receives into our land 
The flying Trojan and his conquer'd band, 
Resigns to him her beauty, fame, and power. 
Prefers the Phrygian to the scorned Moor. 
Is this our pay, our recompense, while we 
Consume our flocks in sacrifice to thee?' 

While thus he pours his grief before the shrines 
And sacred altars, mighty Jove inclines ; 
Looking on Carthage, and the amorous pair, 
Who in their pleasure quench all nobler care, 230 

MS.] 189 'Produced to warn' 191 'Millions of Plumbs'! 199 'defuse.' 

202 ' beauty doth.' 203 ' every ' (there is a marked tendency in the printed 

poem to apostrophation). 206 ' Garamante.' 212 ' His prostrate face before 

high Heaven.' 215 'our vainer fear' (this seems better). 229 'And seeing 

Carthage.' 230 ' pleasures , . . noble.' 

( 254) 



The Passioji of Dido for Aeneas 

He thus bespeaks his swift ambassador ; 

' Go, son, and hie thee to the Tyrian shore, 

And to the Dardan Prince (whose generous fire 

Is now betrayed by love, and low desire) 

This message bear. 'Twas not this destiny 

His fairest mother promis'd us, when she 

Preserv'd him from the powerful arms of Greece; 

She gave us then far other hopes than these ; 

That he from conquer'd Alba should extend 

His empire to the world's remotest end, 240 

And spread the fame of Teucer's mighty race. 

If in his thoughts these honours have no place, 

If he have lost all sense of high renown ; 

Ah ! can he yet envy the towers of Rome 

To his Ascanius, and fair Latium's sway? 

This message to the Phrygian Prince convey. 

And bid him hoise his sails.' Swift Mercury 

Takes the command, and through the air doth fly. 

His shining wings of gold, and in his hand 

The ensign of his power, his sacred wand ; 250 

That wand which long-clos'd eyes doth bless with light. 

And seals up others in eternal night. 

With this he cuts the air, and yielding clouds ; 

At length sees Atlas' top. Atlas which shrouds 

His pine-crown'd head in heaven, and doth sustain 

Incessant storms of new-form'd wind and rain. 

Here first he stoops low as the earth, and then 

Employs his wings with all their speed again : 

'Till, the vast seas o'erpast and Libya's sands. 

He slacks his course at Carthage, and there lands. 260 

Where when arriv'd he finds the Trojan King 

Viewing the walls, intent in ordering 

The strength and beauty of the new-rais'd town ; 

To whom the wing'd Cyllenius thus begun : 

' Ah, too too mindless of your own affairs, 

Your thoughts immerst in less concerning cares. 

Can you in Tyrian wealth and greatness joy ; 

And Carthage build, forgetful of your Troy? 

Great Jove, who rules and fills the spacious all, 

The ever-moving spheres, the fixbd ball, 270 

Sends me to ask, with what unblessed design 

You do the hopes of better fates resign, 

And glory due to Teucer's mighty race ? 

If in your thoughts these honours have no place. 

If you have lost all sense of high renown ; 

Ah, can you yet envy the towers of Rome 

To your Ascanius, and fair Latium's sway ? ' 

Hermes (this said) returns the airy way 

MS.] 238 'this' for 'these.' 243 Om. 'have.' 269 'this' for 'the.' 

273 ' glories,' 276 ' All ' (?). 

(255) 



Sid^iey Godolphin 



He came; but cold amazement doth surprise 

Aeneas' speechless tongue and fixM eyes 380 

His pious fears urge him in haste to fly 

The too-lov'd land and dear captivity. 

But this resolv'd, what way is left t'infuse 

Th' unhappy Queen with this unwelcome news? 

A thousand counsels wander in his mind, 

Now here, now there, successively inclin'd ; 

This he prefers, he calls Eurylochus, 

The bold Cloanthus, trusted Mnestheus, 

Gives them in charge that they the fleet prepare, 

Gather their troops, but yet disguise their care; 390 

That he, meanwhile, will to the Queen impart 

At some fit time his much divided heart : 

Or when his canvas-wings are spread to fly, 

Impute to heav'n the sad necessity. 

Thus he resolves, and thus commands these peers. 

But nothing can escape the wakeful fears 

Of the enamour'd Queen, whose tender breast 

Presages all, by the first change imprest. 

Before the ill arrives. Already fame 

(Which lately did the Libyan Prince inflame) 300 

Now takes delight to spread this ill report. 

That the glad Phrygians to their ships resort. 

Preparing flight. The jealous Queen pursues 

Through every part the much-amazing news. 

The more she hears, the more enrag'd with grief, 

She thus at last invades the Trojan chief. 

* Could thy dissembling heart consent to fly 
This hatred land in cruel secrecy? 
Perfidious man, canst thou so soon remove 
The bands of vows, and dearer bands of love? 310 

Nor spare one word? nor shed one tear, to save 
My life descending to the cruel grave ? 
Why yet in winter to the storming main 
Dost thou expose thy wandering fleet again? 
Cruel and false ! didst thou not seek a land 
Unknown? Did now the ancient Ilium stand, 
Were this a time through hazards such as these 
To seek thy Troy, through winter winds and seas? 
Whom dost thou fly? By these unfeigned tears 
I do adjure thee, by these loving fears, 330 

By my own life, or (what is more) by thine, 
By all that hath oblig'd thee yet of mine, 
Pity my fall, and show at least some grace 
To these my pray'rs, if pray'rs may yet have place. 

MS.] 283 'to'infuse.' 290 ' the troops.' 298 • ill '( which seems better). 

308 'hated' (no doubt correctly). 310 ' bondes ' (as before). 311'orshed' 

312 ' Mywretched life'; om. 'cruel.' 313 'stormy.' 320 'conjure.' 

321 ' myne.' 

(256) 



The Passion of Dido for Aeneas 

For thee, the hate and envy I support 

Of the Numidians and the Libyan court ; 

For thee I have displeas'd my own, and lost 

That modesty, which I alone could boast ; 

That better fame, by which I had surviv'd 

My funeral fire, and after death had liv'd. ., 330 

What have I left, or whither shall I fly? 

Shall I attend Pygmalion's cruelty? 

Or 'till larbas do in fetters lead 

The proud despiser of his love and bed? 

I never could have thought myself undone, 

Had but kind heaven indulgd me with a son 

Resembling thee, in whose (though childish) face 

I might retrieve thy look and princely grace.' 

Sad Dido pauses here. The Trojan chief 

Restrains within the motions of his grief, 340 

Then thus replies : ' You never can repeat, 

Great Queen, the sum of my unquestion"d debt. 

Nor while my active soul informs this frame. 

Ever shall I forget Eliza's name. 

I urge no more, let it suffice that I 

In thankless silence never meant to fly; 

Nor did I ever to those bonds pretend 

Which now you charge me as a faithless friend ; 

Had I been trusted to design my fate, 

When Troy betrayd fell by the Grecians' hate, 350 

I from the ashes of that dear-lov'd town 

Had there restor'd another Ilium. 

But now the Lycian oracle commands, 

Apollo now assigns th' Ausonian lands. 

And thither bids us send our thoughts and care, 

And only fix our expectation there. 

Fair Carthage you and your own work survey, 

A stranger born, a foreign sceptre sway. 

And shall it be a crime (alas !) if we 

Desire at last to rest in Italy ? 360 

No night doth pass in which I do not see 

The old Anchises' image beck'ning me; 

Nor is there day in which I not reflect 

On my Ascanius, and that lovd aspect 

To whom by fate th' Hesperian town is due. 

Hither of late Jove's winged herald flew, 

Nor did he in delusive dreams appear; 

Awake, I did the angry message hear. 

Then, fairest Queen, do not this fate withstand : 

Unwillingly I leave your happy land.' 370 

MS.] 326 'Lician.' 331 ^ and whither.' 337 ' childlesse ' (of course 

wrongly). 338 ' lookes.' 343 'And whilst.' 344 'I never shall.' 

348 'would charge.' 351 'dearest.' 362 ' good Anch.' 365 ' crowne.' 

370 ' this happy.' 

II (257) S 



Sidiiey Godolphiit 



While thus he talks, the much-distemper'd dame, 
Incenst within, breaks forth into this flame. 

' Nor wert thou of the gentle goddess' breed, 
Nor art thou sprung from great Anchises' seed, 
Perfidious man 1 but from some savage stock. 
Hewn from the marble of some mountain rock. 
For why should I disguise this height of ill, 
And still deceived, expect new favour still? 
Did he let fall one pitying word, one tear? 
Or did he with one sigh my passion hear? 380 

What shall I do ? for now, alas ! I see 
That neither Juno deigns to favour me. 
Nor Jove himself looks down with equal eyes. 
The earth is faithless, faithless are the skies. 

Shipwreck'd and cast upon the barren shore, 
Pursu'd by cruel fates, forsaken, poor, 
I gave thee harbour in my simple breast ; 
Ah ! ill-advis'd, ah ! too-unmindful guest. 
I sav'd thy fleet, thy friends, and faithless thee, 
But now (forsooth) Apollo's augury, 390 

The oracles are urged to incite. 
And angry Jove commands thy sudden flight. 
Is heav'n concern'd ; doth care of human fate 
Disturb the calmness of th' immortal state? 
Thou hear'st me not, regardless of my cry : 
Go then, and through the seas seek Italy ; 
Through the deaf seas, and through the angry wind. 
And such compassion as thou usest find : 
There may'st thou call on Dido's name in vain ; 
I'll follow thee, be present in thy pain : 400 

And when cold death shall this mixt frame divide, 
My ghost shall lacquey by thy frighted side. 
Thou dearly shalt repent ; the news of this 
Shall overtake my soul, and give it bliss.' 

Nor waiting answer from the Prince she flies, 
And wishes she had power to shun all eyes; 
But fainting soon, and to her chamber led, 
She threw herself upon her ivory bed. 

Pious Aeneas, though his noble breast, 
Soft'ned by love, was with much grief opprest, 410 

Though fain he would with gentle words assuage 
The Queen's high passion, and divert her rage. 
Suspends not yet his heaven-inspired care. 
But does his fleet without delay prepare. 
The Trojans ply the work, the busy main 
Is fill'd with noise, the ships now float again : 
On every side are seen descending down 
Long troops, which bring provision from the town. 

MS.] 373 'bred.' 388 'and too-unmindful.' 397 'raging wind.' 

398 'showest, find.' 401 ' cold earth.' 408 ' throwes.' 414 ' doeth.' 

( 258 ) 



The Tassio?2 of Dido for Aeneas 

So when the winter-fearing ants invade 
Some heaps of corn the husbandman had made, 430 

The sable army marches, and with prey 
Laden return, pressing the leafy way, 
Some help the weaker, and their shoulders lend. 
Others the order of the march attend, 
Bring up the troops, and punish all delay. ' 

What were thy thoughts, sad Dido, on that day ? 
How deep thy sighs? when from thy tower above 
Thou seest the Phrygians in such order move, 
And hearst the tumult of the clamorous sea? 

All-conquering love ! who can resist thy sway ? 4?o 

Once more the Queen to humble tears descends. 
And language to her grief once more she lends, 
That she might leave no remedy untried, 
Nor counsel unexplor'd, before she died. 

'Anna,' she said, 'thou seest the peopled sea, 
The Phrygians now their fatal anchors weigh 
Ready to loose ; I feel their great chiefs scorn, 
Which, if foreseen, I might perhaps have borne. 
But now I make this one, this last request : 
You in this faithless man have interest : 440 

You know his gentlest times, and best can find 
What ways are left to mollify his mind. 
Go then, and use all pity-moving art. 
And, if you can, soften his harder heart. 

Not I at Aulis did with Greece conspire, 
Nor did I bring one brand to Troy's last fire : 
I never rent Anchises' honour'd tomb : 
Why should he then my sad entreaty shun? 
I do not urge (as once) our marriage ties, 
Those sacred bonds which now he does despise; 450 

Nor that he would fair Italy resign : 
I only ask respite, and breathing time, 
'Till my dejected mind learn to comply 
(Taught by degrees) with so great misery.' 

\_Orig. Note — Here begins Mr. JFa/Zers /urtK] 

MS.] 420 'hath.' 427, 429 'towers'... 'tumults.' 430 'what can.' 

432 'Adcis language '...' sendes.' 435 ' sa3'es,' 442 ' are open to encline.' 

446 ' lUion's fj'er.' 452 '« breathing.' 

^ In Malone MS. there is no mark as to authorship here : at the end of all (• vanisJied 
into aire', is the signature ' S. Godolphin.' With 'Mr. Waller's part' we have, of 
course, nothing to do. But it may be worth observing that it difiers from the version 
in Waller's usual IVorks (e. g. in Chalmers) much more than the two forms of 
Godolphin's, collated above, differ from each other. 



( 259 ) S 2 



POEMS FROM HARLEIAN MS. 

A Dialosrue between a Lover and his Mistress 

Tell me, Lucinda, since my fate, 

And thy more powerful form decrees 
My heart an immolation to thy shrine, 

Where I am only to incline — 
How I may love, and at what rate. 

By what despairs and what degrees 
I may my hopes dilate. 

And my desires confine. 

Mistress 

First when thy flames begin 

See they burn all within, lo 

And so that lookers-on may not descry 

Smoke in a sigh, or sparkles in an eye; 

I would have had my love a good while there 

Ere thy own heart had been aware. 

And I myself would choose to know it 

First, by thy care and cunning not to show it. 

Lover 

AVhen my love is your own way thus betray'd. 

Must it be still afraid? 

May it not be sharp-sighted too as well. 

And find you know that which it durst not tell, 20 

And from that knowledge think it may 

Tell itself o'er a louder way? 

Mistress 

Let me alone awhile 
And so thou maist beguile 

My heart perhaps to a < 

•' r r I respect 

Long time ere it were meant; 

For while I dare not disapprove. 

Lest it betray a knowledge of thy love, 

I shall be so accustomed to allow. 

As I shall scarce know how 30 

To be displeased, when thou shalt it avow. 

Lover 
When by this powerful silent sympathy 
Our hearts are got thus nigh, 
And that by one another soon 
There needs no breath to go between. 
Yet it will need 

The tongue's sign too, as witness to the deed. 
( :6o ) 



Poe?ns f7^07n Harleia7i MS, 

Mistress 
Speak then, but when you whisper out the tale 
Of what you ail, 

Let it be so disordered, as I may 40 

Guess only thence what you would say ; 
Then to be able to speak sense 
AVere an offence ; 

And "twill thy passions tell the subtlest way 
Not to know what to say. 

S. GODOLPHIN. 

A Sonnet 

Madam, 'tis true, your beauties move 

My heart to a respect, 
Too little to be paid with love, 

Too great for your neglect : 
I neither love, nor yet am sure, 

For though the flame I find 
Be not intense in the degree, 

'Tis of the purest kind : 
It little wants of love but pain, 

Your beauties take my sense, 10 

And lest you should that pride disdain 

My thoughts feel th' influence ; 
'Tis not a passion's first access 

Ready to multipl)-. 
But like love's calmest state it is 

Possessed with victory : 
It is, like love, to truth reduced, 

All the false values gone. 
Which were created and induced 

By fond imagination : 20 

'Tis either fancy or 'tis fate 

To love you more than I, 
I love you at your beauties' rate, 

Less were an injury. 
Like unstamped gold I weigh each grate, 

So that you may collect 
Th' intrinsic value of your fate 

Safely from my respect : 
And this respect could merit love. 

Were not so fair a sight 30 

Payment enough, for who dares move 

Reward for his delight? 

S. GODOLI'HIN. 

ao This false metring is very odd. In another writer I should think 'fond' 
a simple intrusion and suspect the ugly ' B' imagina-ti-on ' of the time. But Godolphin 
is not an excessive ' apostropher.' 

25 grate] = ' result of grating.' ' particle,* ' scrap.' 

(,6i) 



Lyric Poems, 

Made in Imitation of the 

ITALIANS. 

Of which^ many are 

TRANSLATIONS 

From other Languages. 

Mart. Epigram. 
Die mihi quid melius dejidiojus a gam ? 

By PHILIP AYRES Efq; 

UlCCtlfcU, R.L.S. 



LONDON, 

Printed by J. M. for jfof. K^nght and F. Saunders 

at the Blue r^nchor in the Lower Walk of 

the New-Exchange^ i6%7. 



INTRODUCTION TO 
PHILIP AYRES 

One may confess an unfashionable, and perhaps perverse, indifference to 
what have been profanely but ingeniously called the 'washing bills' of poets 
and men of letters generally — that is to say, to biographical details about 
them — and yet own that it would be agreeable to know something more than 
is known of the personality :\.x\d personalia of Philip Ayres. He was born in 
1638, under the old order of things ; and he did not die till 1712, when the 
Spectator was already showing, not the beginning but, the very maturity of 
the new. He was a friend of Dryden's, as we know from the evidence of 
a poem given below, and like him went to Westminster School. But, 
unlike Dryden, he went thence to Oxford (St. John's College), and he is 
said to have passed the greater part of his life, and to have died as tutor, in 
the family of the Drakes of Agmondesham, Bucks. Although a fair 
scholar in the ancient tongues, he seems to have been chiefly devoted to 
modern languages and literatures — French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese — 
and his printed works are mainly translations, the most interesting being 
one of the famous Comte de Gabalis of Montfaucon de Villars. 

There is nothing very extraordinary in all this, which is nearly all we 
know of him. But there is also something not quite ordinary, especially at 
this time ; and this side of it is brought out when we consider the Lyric 
Poems, which are given below as a whole, and the Embletnata Amatoria, 
of which we give the English part. Ayres did not publish either very young ; 
and when he published the Poems his friend Dryden was, in more than 
popular estimation, in more even than relative excellence, the poet of the 
day. But even if we take the too much neglected Dryden of the songs 
and miscellaneous lyrics, and compare him with Ayres, the difference of 
kind, colour — period, we may almost say — is even more striking than the 
difference of genius. Ayres is quite a minor poet, as well as parasitic in a 
way, and he has lost the exquisite poignancy of metre and diction which 
distinguishes the minor poets of the years of his childhood. But whereas 
most of the verse-writers of his own day and generation had turned to the 
stopped couplet in form, to ' prose and sense ' in matter, and to the new 
French school in critical discipleship, Ayres, at the time when the Stuarts 
were about to be expelled \ maintained the tastes, the traditions, the style 

' The Lyric Poerus are of 1687 : the Enihlentata. not dated, are believed to be abet 
seven years older. 

( 2^5 ) 



Philip Ayres 



even to some extent, of the reign of Charles I. He is, it has been said, a 
little parasitic ; his own eciually ingenious and ingenuous confession and 
profession in his Preface makes a quite clean breast as to technical ' origin- 
ality.' I have never myself had much of a fancy for Quenenforschufig, and 
plagiarism-hunting as a sport appears to me to rank only one degree 
higher than worrying cats. But, even had I been fond of the former 
occupation, I should consider myself barred from impertinent investigation 
by Ayres's preliminary statement : and, moreover, by the clear evidence— in 
divers cases which deal with public and universally known material — of 
his comparative independence. Much of what he takes, besides his 
acknowledged versions from Petrarch and others, is ' public material ' — 
stuff already handled by scores of poets in English, from "Wyatt and Surrey 
downwards, and by hundreds of poets in other languages. It is in the way 
in which he deals with this, in his forms, his models, his general spirit, that 
liis interest consists ; while sometimes he manages to get out of this 'rascally, 
comparative' order of appeal, and to do things that are actually attractive 
in themselves. As I observed by allusion in the General Introduction, 
and as I shall take the liberty to observe again in notes, ' On a Fair Beggar ' 
and ' Lydia Distracted ' seem to me the chief instances of this : and to me 
they are so agreeable, and have such a touch of the real charm of expression 
in them, that if they turned out to be close translations I should still think 
highly of them. But there are others — the ' Cynthia on Horse-back,' the 
pastiched (almost plagiarized, if anybody will have the word) 'Sonnet on 
Love,' 'Love the Jester,' the spirited version of Quevedo's 'Fly,' 'Love's 
New Philosophy,' and others still — which have nearly the same charm of 
expression — never quite consummate, but always appealing, and always 
showing, as in fact almost the whole book shows, an uncommon, and to me 
and those who think with me delightful, unfashionahleness of tastes. Cotton 
is the chief contemporary who shares something of this, and Cotton was a 
rather older man than Ayres, who survived him for a quarter of a century. 
Moreover, though he has done better things than Ayres ever did, he has 
more of the comic and less of the serious poet about him. 

Ayres loves the sonnet, and the sonnet was just about almost to disappear 
from English literature for the best part of a century ; he loves the penin- 
sular languages (he actually writes Spanish) and is ' Don Felipe ' with 
evident relish; he loves Greek, whereas the eighteenth century was about 
to devote itself mainly, if not wholly, to Latin. Above all, though he 
has lost the ineffable cadence of expression, and the extremer madness 
of fancy, he is still essentially ' metaphysical ' : he still knows that if to 
love and to be sensible are ' incompossibles,' to write love-poetry and be 
sensible is more incompossible still. To any one who holds by the 
( 266) 



I?itroductio7i 

immortal refrain of the Pervigiliuin Ayres will not be an unwelcome poet, 
though he can hardly seem a great one. 

The Emblemata Amatoria is a very pretty and a very quaint book, though 
its attraction is only partially poetic, and still more partially English-poetic. 
It is engraved throughout, text and plates, these latter being forty-four in 
number, and each faced with a set of four copies of verses, Latin, English, 
Italian, and French, the impartiality being kept up by the imprint, at 
head and foot of the double page-opening, of Emblemata Amatoria, 
Emblems of Love, Emhlemes d'A mour, and Emblemi d' Amore, These verses, 
though always on the same subject, are very far from exact translations of 
each other, and it is quite possible that Ayres may have taken more or 
fewer of them from preceding writers. Probably a special student of the 
large, intricate, and interesting subject of Emblems could resolve rhe 
difficulty : but I do not pretend to be such a student. At any rate, if not 
the plates (we give specimens), the non-English verses are out of our 
way, though I shall give the first set complete as an example. The opening 
Sonnet to Chloe, the English verses, and a brief description of the plate 
which each illustrates, will serve our purpose, and may encourage somebody, 
now that photographic reproduction is cheap and not ineffectual, to re- 
produce the little book as a whole, and ' dedicate it to the Ladys ' afresh \ 

' The Lyric Poems are printed direct from my own copy : I have copied the 
Emblems from my own copy of these, which is a choice one. It will be understood that 
the descriptions of the plates are mine. I have made them carefully, but some of the 
details, which are obscure, may be wrongly interpreted. The engraver was ' S. Nicholes.' 
If this be the 'Sutton Nicholes' of the D. N. B. his fl. 1700-1740 as there given 
must be too late, or the date of the Entbleniata cannot be so early as is supposed. 
Both volumes are very scarce, and neither is in the Bodleian. 



(267) 



To the Honourable Sir John Fenwick \ 

Baronet, 

Brigadier-General of His Majesty's Forces, and 
Lieutenant-Colonel of the Second Troop 
Of His Majesty's Guards of Horse. 



Sir, 

Neither the considerable posts, 
to which your merits have formerly 
advanced you in armies abroad in 
other countries, nor those which by 
your experience in military affairs, you 
have justly gained at home in your 
own, could ever be able to hinder you 
from delighting yourself with books. 
Those are your companions, as well 
in your tent, as your house ; wherein 
your Genius hath faithfully guided you 
in the true paths of honour ; Pallas 
being the goddess both of Arms and 
Learning. The Greek hero could not 
sleep without Homer's Iliads under his 
pillow. Besides whom, you have two 
others for your pattern, the most ac- 
complished gentlemen, and men ad- 
mirable in your profession, the world 
could ever boast of, I mean the famous 
Scipio, and Julius Caesar, both equally 
addicted to arts and arms. 

I confess I know your inclinations 
lead you to things of more solid learn- 
ing, yet guessing that a variety may 
not be unpleasant, I have ventured to 
dedicate this to you, hoping it may 
serve your diversion when tired with 



business, or your more serious studies. 
In this piece there is a mixture of 
subjects as well as of authors, some of 
which, I presume, may give you the 
satisfaction I wish in their perusal. 
For I can justly boast that the transla- 
tions are from many of the most ad- 
mired Poets both Ancient and Modern, 
in their several languages extant, which 
of themselves would need no apology 
for their appearing in public, were it 
not for the blemishes they may have 
received in passing through my hands ; 
and none of these having been En- 
glished by the ingenious translators of 
our late published Miscellanies''^ as I 
ever heard, may possibly appear new 
to you. 

Sir, I hope you will pardon the liberty 
I have taken, in showing, by so slight 
a present, the respect and honour I 
justly bear you, I being glad to lay 
hold on any occasion to declare to the 
world that I am, 
Sir, 

Your most obliged, 

Humble Servant, 

Ph. Ayres. 



' Tlie unfortunate object of this dedication is so well known from the most popular 
book (not in verse and not wholly fiction) in the English language, that there is no 
need to say much of him. Macaulay has not been so unfair to Fenwick as he some- 
times is : and, whether he meant it or not, has paid him a very high compliment in 
saying that, though his fear of death was strong his ' attachment to his party ' [i.e. his 
loyalty] was stronger. If a man 'keeps the bird in his bosom' one may pardon him 
much. But there is nothing much to pardon Sir John for, except the reported insult 
to one, who, if she was William's wife and James's daughter, was — Queen, Princess, or 
anything else — a lady. Of this one can only say that it occurred in the most un- 
mannerly time of English history — with perhaps one exception. It was the time of Sir 
John Brute : and Sir John Fenwick was not Sir John Brute, or Lad}' Mary would 
hardly have behaved as she did. 

-' Aj'res maybe specially referring to Dryden's Miscellanies, or he may not. 

( 268 ) 



The Preface 



Every product of a man's wit nowa- 
days had need be like that of Jove's 
brain, at least in its coming out armed, 
that it might immediately be in a con- 
dition of defence against the furious 
assaults of critics, some of which are 
ready to run down a book when they 
have scarce read the title-page. Of 
these I expect not a few that will be 
carping, and first perchance at my Title, 
why Lyric Poems? I having in most of 
them exceeded the proper measure, 
which in strictness should not reach to 
the Heroic ^ To these I say, that I 
have herein followed the modern Italian, 
Spanish, and French Poets, who al- 
ways call Lyrics, all such Sonnets, and 
other small poems, which are proper 
to be set to music, without restraining 
themselves to any particular length of 
verse. And our grand M aster of Lyrics, 
even Horace himself, has sometimes 
inserted the Heroic amongst his : this 
also his great imitator, Casimir the Po- 
lander, has often done. And the in- 
genious Mr. Gibbs or Gibbesius, our 
countryman at Rome, takes the same 
liberty; which yet, I confess, the Greeks'^ 
would never allow of. If any quarrel 
at the ceconomy, or structure of these 
Poems, many of them being Sonnets, 
Canzons, Madrigals, &c., objecting that 
none of our great men, either Mr. 
Waller, Mr. Cowley, or Mr. Dryden, 
whom it was most proper to have fol- 
lowed, have ever stoop'd to anything 
of this sort ; I shall very readily ac- 



knowledge, that being sensible of my 
own weakness and inability of ever 
attaining to the performance of one 
thing equal to the worst piece of theirs, 
it easily dissuaded me from that at- 
tempt, and put me on this ; which is 
not without precedent ^ For many 
eminent persons have published several 
things of this nature, and in this method, 
both translations and poems of their 
own ; as the famous Mr. Spenser, Sir 
Philip Sidney, Sir Richard Fanshaw, 
Mr. Alilton, and some few others ; the 
success of all which, in these things, I 
must needs say, cannot much be boasted 
of; and though I have little reason 
after it, to expect credit from these my 
slight miscellanies, yet has it not dis- 
couraged me from adventuring on what 
my genius prompted me to. As for 
those pieces which I have translated 
from the modern poets, I may presume 
to say, I have taken them from the 
most celebrated in each language. 
The Italians were, Fra. Petrarca, Cav. 
Marino, Girolamo Preti, Cav. Guarini, 
Allessandro Tassoni, and others. The 
Spaniards, Garci Lasso de la Vega, 
Don Francisco de Quevedo, Don Luis 
de Gongora, &c. The Portugueses, 
Luis de Camocins, &c. But for the 
French I could scarce find anything 
amongst them of this sort *, worth my 
pains of translating. The Latin authors 
are so well known, I need say nothing 
of them. Some of the small Greek 
poets I have endeavoured to render 



* This crotchet about the length of the lyric line is very seventeenth-century and 
neo-classic — quite a la Rymer in fact. 

^ Ayres has evidently either forgotten his Pindar, or is using ' lyric ' with the 
unnecessary limitation sometimes affected. 

' Orig.. as so often, ' president.' This apologj' is very interesting, because it is 
evidently meant chiefly (or the Sonnet. The ' Madrigal ' is difficult to define, but 
hardly any definition of it will exclude many things of Waller and Cowley, and not 
a few of Dryden's songs. There is further interest in the clash of Ayres's tastes and 
opinions. He loves the Sonnet, and quotes Mr. Spenser, Sir Philip Sidney, and 
Mr. Milton for it : yet he thinks their success in it * not much to be boasted of.' 
A most interesting Janus of 1687 ! 

* Apparently because he did not go far back enough. The Pleiade would have 
given him plenty : but here his backward eyes were dim. 

(269) 



Philip Ayj^es 



as close to the sense of the original as 
1 could : with others I have taken the 
liberty of paraphrasing on them : or 
being but fragments, have only taken 
hints from them ; the like I have done 
with many of the Italian and Spanish 
poets. Nor can I deny, but that I have 
purposely omitted the names of some 
of the authors, not acknowledging them 
to be translations : either because I 
was not willing my own things should 
be distinguished from the rest ; or 
indeed because most of those nameless 
pieces may more properly be said to 
be mine, than the Authors, from whom 
I only took the hints of them. Now if 
any accuse me of injustice for it, I have 
this to say, that there were but {&\\ of 
the old Latin Poets to whom it might 
not be objected, that they have often 
assisted themselves, by such hints, 
and almost entire translations from 
the Greeks, or imitations of one another. 
So did Terence from Menander, Seneca 
from Euripides, and Virgil is not con- 
tent to walk in the footsteps of Homer, 
but also to have followed, and con- 
siderably borrowed from Hesiod, Theo- 
critus, Euripides, and amongst the 
Latins, from Ennius, Pacuvius, Lu- 
cretius, and others, of which I could 
give many instances. There is a 
learned Italian, one Fulvio Ursini,who 
composed a Book of the Thefts of 
Virgil, which though I call thefts, de- 
serve not the name, for in that manner 
which he has used them, they are rather 
an honour than a discredit to him ; and 
'tis reported he himself, when it was 
alleged to him by some of his detractors. 



that hehad stoln his Poemfrom Homer, 
answered, Magnarum esse virium, Her- 
culi Clavam extorquere de manu. Mean- 
ing, That as it was a great matter to 
wrest Hercules' Club out of his hand, 
and keep it ; so was it to take Homer's 
verses, and make them his own. This 
is an art, which to perform it very 
well, but few attain to the skill, and is 
not only allowed of, but commended 
by Horace in his Art of Poet 7y. 

I f I should be blamed for thus exposing 
myself, when so many of our ingenious 
poets have of late published their works 
with such general applause, I hope I 
may be allowed, without being thought 
arrogant, to say, as some of those might, 
with Theognis, 

Xpt) Moucrcol' dtpaTTovrn Koi ciyyeXov, el ti 

TrepLcrcrov 

eldfii], aocf)ins fJ.>] (pdovfpov reXedeiv' 

dWa ra p.iv fxaxTdai, ra Se deiKvvvat, (IWn 

de TToieiv, 

ri cr<f)ii' xP'iO''?T'" p-oiivos ertKrTupei'os : 

And if, for* the credit of my several 
authors, whom I have here promiscu- 
ously shuffled in with mine own things, 
together with the Genius of the age 
which seems to be delighted with such 
variety, shall make this piece accept- 
able to the judicious reader : I shall 
not care for the bolts of those censurers, 
who make it their business to cry down 
everything which comes in their hands, 
and which they many times understand 
not. To such I shall apply this of the 
afore-recited author : 

— ov8e yap 6 Zeis 

ovd' vo)v ivdvTas dvduvei ovt dve)((ov. 



' for ' seems to be superfluous. 



( 370) 



To Philip Ayres, Esq.; on his Poems 

As when with utmost skill some architect 

Designs a noble structure to erect, 

Searches whate'er each country does produce 

For outward ornament, or inward use : 

So, Friend, from divers books thy lab'ring thought > 

Has all the huddled am'rous notions sought, ,• 

And into form and shape the unlickt cubs has brought. ) 

Here Proteus-Love thou show'st in various dress, 

From gaudy France to more majestic Greece ; 

Something thou gather'st too from Roman ore, 

And Spain contributes to thy well-got store, 

Whence (each by thee refin'd in Enghsh mould) 

Verse smooth as oil does flow, and pure as gold. 

Thus the laborious Bee with painful toil 

From various flowers of a various soil. 

Duly concocting the abstracted juice. 

In plenty does th' ambrosial food produce. 

C. Dartiquenave \ 

1 It is odd that Dartiquenave or Dartineuf (1663-1737), at this time quite a young 
man, should have justified the reputation as gourmand by which we chiefly know him 
(from Pope's ' Dartj' his ham-pie ') in concluding his encomium with a reference to 
' ambrosial /oof/.' 



(27O 



LYRIC POEMS 

The Proem. To Love 
A Sonnet 

Let others sing of Mars, and of his train, 

Of great exploits, and honourable scars, 

The many dire effects of Civil ^^ars, 
Death's triumphs, and encomiums of the slain. 

1 sing the conflicts I myself sustain, 

With her (Great Love) the cause of all my cares, 
AVho wounds with looks, and fetters with her hairs. 

This mournful tale requires a tragic strain. 

Eyes were the Arms, did first my Peace control, 

Wounded by them, a source of Tears there sprung, lo 

Running like blood from my afflicted soul; 

Thou Love, to whom this conquest does belong, 

Leave me at least the comfort to condole, 

And as thou wound'st my Heart, inspire my Song. 



The Request. To Love 
A Sonnet 

O Love, who in my breast's most noble part, 
Didst that fair Image lodge, that Form Divine, 
In whom the sum of Heavenly Graces shine. 

And there ingrav'dst it with thy golden dart. 

Now, mighty Workman ! Help me by thy art, 
(Since my dull pen trembles to strike a line) 
That I on paper copy the design, 

By thee express'd so lively in my heart. 

Lend me, when I this great attempt do try, 

A feather from thy wings, that whilst to write, lo 

My hand 's employ'd, my thoughts may soar on high ; 

Thy Torch, which fires our hearts and burns so bright, 
My darker fancy let its flame supply. 

And through my numbers dart celestial light. 

5 In my copy a very old hand, liberal in its spelling, has lined out ' Workman ' and 
interlined ' De.Vty.' 

(27O 



Now a7tgry yuno sends frojn Heaven t?7 spite 



The Complaint 
A Sonnet 

Now angry Juno sends from Heaven in spite 
Rivers and Seas, instead of moderate showers : 
Horror invests the world, and the bright Hours 

Of Delos' God, are chang'd to dismal Night. 

So crowds of anxious thoughts on ev'ry side 
Invade my soul, and through my restless eyes, 
I shed such streams of tears, my heart e'en tries 

Death's pangs, whilst I by force in life abide. 

But the brisk gales, which rising by and by, 

Where Sol at night in Thetis' lap shall lie, lo 

Will make Heaven clear, and drive away the rain. 
Ah, Cynthia ! That the blasts of sighs I vent, 
Could ease my breast of cloudy discontent, 

Which still with fresh assaults renews my pain. 



From Girolamo Preti, out of Italian, on a 

Race-horse 



Son of the Air, Rival of Winds when high. 
Swift courser, thou that without wings dost flj', 
Quicker than arrows from a Parthian bow — 
Compar'd to thee, Jove's thunderbolts are slow. 

Men come from lands remote, thy race to see. 
But when thou'rt pass'd, no eye can follow thee ; 
Thine far exceeds the motion of the Spheres, 
Thought cannot equal thee in thy careers. 

Thy feet shake th' earth, whilst sparks do thee surround, 
Vet tread not on the flints, nor touch the ground : lo 

Thee for his charrot, Sol would have away, 
But that he knows thy speed would shorten Day. 

II 'Charrot' seems worth keeping since, though less correct than the other short 
form ' charrrt,' it probably indicates pronunciation. 

II. ( 373 ) T 



Philip Ayres 



Invites Poets and Historians to write in 
Cynthia's Praise 
A Sonnet^ 

Come all ye Wits, that with immortal rhymes, 

Glory to others, and yourselves, create : 
And you that gratify the future times, 

^Vhilst tales of Love, and battles ye relate ; 

Come, turn your studies, and your eyes this way, 
'J'his theme will crown your heads with lasting bays, 

Tis Cynthia's beauty, Heavenly Cynthia; 

Come swell your volumes all with Cynthia's praise. 

Posterity will then your works admire. 

And for her sake shall them as jewels prize, lo 

All things to Cynthia's glory must conspire, 

She shall be worshipp'd with the deities. 

To her make foreign lands pay honours due, 
Thus shall you live by her, and she by you. 



Cynthia on Horseback ^ 

A Sonnet 

Fair Cynthia mounted on her sprightly pad, 
Which in white robe with silver fringe was clad. 
And swift as wind his graceful steps did move. 
As with his beauteous guide he'd been in love. 

Though fierce, yet humble still to her command, 

Obeying ev'ry touch of her fair hand; 

Her golden bit his foaming mouth did check, 
It spread his crest, and rais'd his bending neck. 

She was the rose upon this hill of snow. 

Her sparkling beauty made the glorious show; lo 

Whence secret flames men in their bosoms took : 
The Graces and the Cupids her surround, 
Attending her, while cruel she does wound, 

With switch her horse, and hearts with ev'ry look. 

* It is good to find such a lover of things foreign as A. (doubtful as he was ot 
Spenser's success) using the ' English ' or couplet-ended form of sonnet. He had 
of course (unlike some more modern writers) the knowledge to inform him of its 
legitimacy, and the wit to inform him of its merit. 

^ Is this very pretty and pictorial conceit one of Ayres's stealings? It deserves 
a place in an anthology of the not very well-worn subject, with ' The Last Ride 
Together ' as a centrepiece. 

(274) 



Whateer the world could boast of fair or good 

On the Death of Cynthia's Horse 
A Sonnet 

Whate'er the world could boast of fair or good, 
Thy back with pride has borne, thou happy Horse, 
By which thou'rt fall'n in middle of thy course, 

Too feeble to sustain so great a load. 

Oh happy fall ! Oh dying full of bliss ! 

Whilst she that guided Love did guide thy head, 
Big with this thought, thou willingly art dead, 

Scorning another burden after this. 

A Heaven of Beauty over-press'd thy back, 

This might have made Alcides' shoulders crack, lo 

And Atlas truckle under such a weight : 
Heav'n thee amongst its horses long'd to see. 
As here the world was late in love with thee. 

When carrying her who to the sun gave light. 

On a Fountain and its Architect 

A wat'ry heap by a fresh torrent fed, 
Hoary with froth, lifts up its reverend head, 
Whence various currents falling, their recoil 
Makes them, when cold as ice, appear to boil. 

Out from his temples in an artful crown 
Clear drops, like strings of pearls, come trickling down, 
Which quickly caught, and thence dispers'd again, 
Seem like a cloud burst into showers of rain. 

As once Enceladus, our architect. 

Great heaps on heaps of marble does erect ; lo 

And, like a second Moses, when that's done, 

Commands fresh springs of water from the stone. 

When Heav'ns are clear, this man, a second Jove, 
From earth exhales the waters up above, 
And thence in cataracts can make them pour, 
When in the sky there's neither cloud nor shower. 

II For 'truckle' the same hand as before has written 'tremble.' This looUs at 
first an improvement, and suggests that the corrector was either Ayres himself, or 
somebody to whom he gave his own corrections. But see ' truckle ' again infra, p. 309. 

( 275 ) '^ 2 



Philip Ayres 

Describes the place where Cynthia is sporting herself 

Behold yon' hill, how it is swell'd with pride, 
And that aspiring oak upon its side, 
AVith how much scorn they overlook the plain, 
Proud of the lovely guest they entertain. 

See with what haste those crystal springs do flow, 
T incorporate with the silver brook below; 
There does my wanton Cynthia sporting stand, 
Printing her footsteps on the yielding sand. 

Look, Thyrsis, how she fills with joy the place, 

She bathes her feet, and views her angel's face ; lo 

Sure Fve a rival of that amorous hill. 

And those are streams of tears which thence distil. 



His Retirement 

A PURLING brook glides by this place away, 
Its tribute to the royal I'hames to pay. 
Nature makes arbours here, and ev'ry tree 
Disposes all its boughs to favour me; 

The birds' sweet notes here Echo's do repeat. 
Here gentle winds do moderate summer's heat : 
Clear is the air, and verdant is the grass, 
My couch of flowers, the stream 's my looking-glass. 

Ah, Cynthia ! All the birds that hear and see, 

Seem in their language to condole with me, lo 

And as I mourn, they pretty songs do sing, 

T' express thy rigour, and my suffering. 

Whilst to the list'ning air I make my moan, 
And sigh and murmur sitting here alone : 
The very air sighs at my misery. 
The waters murmur too in sympathy. 



A Character of his Friend, W. B. Esq. 

To raise up virtue when 'tis sinking down, 

Toil less for wealth than to acquire renown, 

T' enrich the mind, and crown the head with bays, 

Subdue the passions, and the soul to raise. 

^ This quite refreshing ' metaphysical' piece would of itself justify Ayres's inclusion 
here. 

(276) 



A Character of his Friend^ IV, B, Esq, 

T' increase in glory, as in years he grows, 

To bear ripe fruit, e'en ere his blossom blows, 

Faster than honours, merits to repeat, 

Keep the sense cold, but fill the soul with heat. 

Not arts neglect, nor slight Apollo's lute. 

Whilst of Astraea he "s in hot pursuit ; lo 

In ancient tongues new eloquence rehearse. 

To master both the Greek and Latin verse. 

'Gainst Sloth, perpetual hatred to maintain, 
But with the Muses friendship still retain ; 
Here upon earth all others to transcend, 
Is still the labour of my noble friend. 



A Sonnet. Of Love ^ 

If Love it be not, what is this I feel? 

If it be Love, what Love is, fain I'd know ? 
If good, why the effects severe and ill? 

If bad, why do its torments please me so? 

If willingly I burn, should I complain? 

If 'gainst my will, what helps it to lament ? 
Oh living Death ! oh most delightful pain ! 

How comes all this, if I do not consent ? 

If I consent, 'tis madness then to grieve ; 

Amidst these storms, in a weak boat I'm tost lo 

Upon a dangerous sea, without relief. 

No help from Reason, but in Error lost. 

Which way in this distraction shall I turn. 
That freeze in Summer, and in ^^'inter burn ? 

On the Picture of Lucretia stabbing herself 

LucRECE inflam'd with anger, grief and shame, 
Despising life, yet careful of her fame. 
Wounds her fair breast, tho' arm'd with Innocence 
Could suffer Death, but could not the offence. 

Her steel was sharp, her end with glory crown'd, 
She sought revenge, and valu'd not the wound; 
This so appeas'd her rage, that being dead, 
She look'd like one reveng'd, not injured. 

'Twas Beauty sinn'd, said she, then let it die, 

That forc'd me to this last extremity ; lo 

Were't not for Beauty I had guiltless been 

Yor it was that made lustful Tarquin sin. 

* No such ill rendering of the immortal commonplace. 
< 277 ) 



Philip Ay res 



So I to violence a prey was made, 
No tears avail'd when virtue was betray'd. - 
Haughty he was, my Beauty proud as he, 
They made me slave, but thus myself I free. 

Complains, being hind'red the sight of his Nymph 

To view these walls each night I come alone. 
And pay my adoration to the stone, 
Whence Joy and Peace are influenc'd on me. 
For 'tis the temple of my Deity. 

As nights and days an anxious wretch by stealth 
Creeps out to view the place which hoards his wealth, 
So to this house that keeps from me my heart, 
I come, look, traverse, weep, and then depart. 

She's fenc'd so strongly in on ev'ry side. 

Thought enters, but my footsteps are deny'd. lo 

Then sighs in vain I breathe, and tears let fall : 

Kiss a cold stone sometimes, or hug the wall. 

For like a merchant that rough seas has crost, 
Near home is shipwrack'd, and his treasure lost ; 
So, toss'd in storms of sorrow, on firm ground, 
I in a sea of mine own tears am drown'd. 



The Pleased Captive 
A Song 

A GLORIOUS angel coming on the wing, 

From Heav'n descended near a river side, 
Where me alone my destiny did bring, 

To view the pleasant fields without a guide; 
A net she'd laid, drawn by a silken string, 

So hid in grass, it could not be espy'd. 

There was I captive taken in her snare, 

But Cynthia's chains who would not choose to wear? 

The Incurable 

A Song 

One, amongst flowers, green leaves, and the cool grass 
Takes his delight, and pleasant hours does pass, 
This in a cave can rest, or quiet grove, 
And that in wars forgets the thoughts of Love : 
Some vent their sighs to th' air, and ease do find, 
A spring may quench the fever of the mind. 

But to my grief no remedy can bring. 

Flowers, Leaves, Grass, Cave, Grove, Wars, the Air, nor Spring. 

( 27s ) 



Barefoot and raggedy with neglected hair 



On a Fair Becro-ar ^ 



&&" 



Barefoot and ragged, with neglected hair, 

She whom the Heavens at once made poor and fair, 

With humble voice and moving words did stay, 

To beg an alms of all who pass'd that way. 

But thousands viewing her became her prize, 
AVillingly yielding to her conquering eyes, 

And caught by her bright hairs, whilst careless she 

Makes them pay homage to her poverty. 

So mean a boon, said I, what can extort 

From that fair mouth, where wanton Love to sport lo 

Amidst the pearls and rubies we behold? 
Nature on thee has all her treasures spread, 
Do but incline thy rich and precious head, 

And those fair locks shall pour down showers of gold. 



A Sonnet, out of Italian, from Claiidio Achillini 
Written by a Nymph in her own Blood 

Since, cruel Thyrsis, you my torments slight, 

And take no notice of my amorous flame, 
In these vermilion letters thus I write 

My bloody reasons to confirm the same. 

These of my passion are the lively marks. 

Which from my veins you here in blood see writ. 

Touch them, your breast will kindle with the sparks, 
The ardent characters are reeking yet. 

Nor can my pen alone my heart explain, 

My very soul o'ercharg'd with grief, I fain lo 

Would send enclos'd herein, the truth to prove. 
And if I've been too sparing of my blood. 
This is the reason* why I stopp'd the flood, 

I would not spoil the face I'd have you love. 

A Sonnet. The Rose and Lily 

Courted by Cupids, and the amorous air. 

Upon a shady throne, at her repose, 
She sate, than whom, none e'er so sweet or fair : 

It was the Queen of Flowers, the blushing rose. 

^ If this justification of King Cophetua be not charming to any critic, I shall refer 
myself, and it, to the Muses' pleasure and not to his. 

( 279 ) 



Philip Ayres 

With no less pride, upon his bed of state, 

A Lily, pale with envy, look'd that way; 
With humble flowers, encompass'd round he sate, 

And scorn'd the sceptre at her feet to lay. 

To arms, with thorns and prickles, they prepare 

And each designs to try it out by war; lo 

Till on good counsel, they in rule combine : 
So in your face, the lovely White and Red, 
Cynthia, I see all quarrels banished, 

And Rose and Lily do in empire join. 

A Defiance, returning to the Place of his past Amours 

A HEART of ice did here my heart inflame, 
Bound with loose hairs, a pris'ner I became. 
Here first sweet Love, tho' bitter in the end, 
Flatter'd with spite, with kindness did oflend. 

But from assaults, a new defence I'm taught. 
And my past ills an antidote have brought; 
So the poor bird, that once escape has made. 
Returns with caution where the net is laid. 

\Vith my late damp, all sparks of love expire. 

My feet approach, yet does my soul retire, lo 

Tho' near her presence, I can justly say. 

My eyes and mind tend quite another way. 

With her my lute could no attention find. 
Now will I please myself, not sing to th' wind; 
With laurel here, where cypress late I wore, 
I'll triumph more than e'er I griev'd before. 

Distance 

Par from the fire I burn, and run in vain, 

Slowly from wingbd Love, to 'scape the pain ; 

So the swift arrows, flying quick as wind. 

Wound them that run, when th' archer stays behind. 

Love, tho' I strive with art to shun the blow, 
Fiercely assaults my heart where'er I go ; 
As he can best a mortal stroke command. 
Who has most compass for his striking hand. 



Hoping to 'scape, I as the bird do fare. 
That has his foot entangled in a snare; 
Fears Death, or in a prison to be cast. 
Flutters its wings, and strives, but still is fast. 
(380) 



10 



Distance 

So I, with all my toil, no ease have got, 
My struggling does but faster tie the knot, 
For Cynthia imitating Heaven's swift ray. 
Near, or at distance, can her flames convey. 

A Sonnet. On Sionor Pietro Regfofio his settino; to 
Music several of Mr. Cowley's Poems 

If Theban Pindar rais'd his country's fame, 

Whilst its great deeds he does in odes rehearse. 
And they made greater by his noble verse 

In gratitude are trophies to his name : 

Then English Pindar shall for ever live. 

Since his divine and lofty poetry 

Secur'd, great Reggio, by thy harmony, 
Shall to itself immortal glory give. 

The world's amaz'd to hear the sweet consent. 

Betwixt thy charming voice and instrument, lo 

They'd stop the bays which from Apollo fled ; 
Thy skilful notes would make in full career 
Phoebus, the God of Music, stay to hear, 

And with his Daphne crown thy rival head. 

From a Drinkine Ode of Alcaeus 



& 



Beginning, IltVw/Aev, ri rov \vyyov d/x/Aci'o/j.ci' ; 

Drink on, tho' Night be spent and Sun do shine ; 
Did not the Gods give anxious mortals wine, 
To wash all care and sorrow from the heart ? 
Why then so soon should jovial fellows part? 
Come, let this bumper for the next make way ; 
Who 's sure to live, and drink another day ? 



An Epitaph. On a Dutch Captain 

Here lies a soldier not oblig'd to Fame, 
Being forc'd his own achievements to rehearse; 
He died not rich, yet I would tell his name, 
Could I but comprehend it in my verse. 

On Cynthia, singing a Recitative Piece of Music 

O THOU angelic spirit, face, and voice, 
Sweet Syren, whose soft notes our souls rejoice, 
Yet when thou dost recite some tragic verse, 
Thy tone and action make it sweetly fierce. 

(.8.) 



Philip Ayi^es 



If thou soft, loud, sad or brisk note dost hit. 
It carries still our hearts along with it ; 
Thou canst heat, cool, grieve us, or make us smile 
Nay, stab or kill, yet hurt us not the while. 

Thy gesture, shape, and mien, so pleasing are, 

W\l\\ thee, no human being can compare ; lo 

'i"hy passions, all our passions do excite, 

And thy feign'd grief does real tears invite. 

List'ning to thee, our bodies seem as dead. 
For our rapt souls then up to Heav'n are fled ; 
So great a Monarch art thou, that thy breath 
Has power to give us either Life, or Death. 

A Sonnet. On the Picture of Cavalier Guarini, Author 
of // Pastor Fido, painted by the Famous 
Borgianni, and set up in his Funeral 
Pile at Rome 

You, who to fam'd Guarini, now he 's dead. 

Your verses consecrate, and statues rear, 
for that sweet Padan swan your tears have shed, 

Sweetest that ever did, or will sing here. 

Behold this picture on his fun'ral pile, 

Your mournful spirits 'twill with joy revive, 

Tho' th' artist cheats your senses all the while. 

For 'tis but paint which you would swear does live. 

This serves to keep our friend in memory. 

Since Death hath robb'd us of his better part, lo 

And that he so might live as ne'er to die. 

He drew himself too, but with diffrent art. 

Judge, which with greatest life and spirit looks, 
Borgianni's Painting, or Guarini's Books. 

On Old Rome 

Here was old Rome that stretch'd her empire far, 
In peace was fear'd, triumphant was in war : 
Here 'twas, for now its place is only found, 
All that was Rome lies buried under ground. 

These ruins hid in weeds, on which man treads, 
\Vere structures which to Heav'n rais'd their proud heads : 
Rome that subdu'd the World, to Time now yields, 
With rubbish swells the plains, and strews the fields. 

lo 'Better' corrected in my copy as before to 'mortal,' which is certainly better. 
( 282 ) 



0;/ Old Rojne 

Think not to see what so renown'd has been, 

Nothing of Rome, in Rome is to be seen ; lo 

Vulcan and Mars, those wasting Gods, have come, 

And ta'en Rome's greatness utterly from Rome. 

They spoil'd with malice, ere they would depart, 
Whate'er was rare of Nature or of Art: 
Its greatest trophies they destroy'd and burn'd ; 
She that o'erturn'd the \\'orld, to dust is turn'd. 

Well might she fall, 'gainst whom such foes conspire, 

Old Time, revengeful Man, and Sword and Fire : 

Now all we see of the great Empress Rome, 

Are but the sacred reliques of her tomb. 20 



A Song. Revenge against Cynthia 

See, Cupid, we have found our lovely foe. 

Who slights thy pow'r, and does my flame despise. 

Now thou art arm'd with all thy shafts and bow, 
And she at mercy "twixt two enemies. 

Asleep she's laid upon this bed of flowers, 

Her charms the sole defence to save her breast ; 

Thoughtless of injur'd me, or of thy powers ; 
Oh, that a guilty soul can take such rest ! 

Now may'st thou ens'ly with a single dart 

Revenge thyself, and me, upon her heart, 10 



A Sonnet. Love's Contrariety 

I MAKE no war, and yet no peace have found, 

With heat I melt, when starv'd to death with cold. 

I soar to Heav'n, while grovelling on the ground, 
Embrace the world, yet nothing do I hold. 

I'm not confin'd, yet cannot I depart. 

Nor loose the chain, tjio' not a captive led ; 
Eove kills me not, yet wounds me to the heart, 

Will neither have m' alive, nor have me dead. 

Being blind, I see ; not having voice, I cry : 
I wish for Death, while I of Life make choice ; 

I hate myself, yet love you tenderly ; 10 

Do feed of tears, and in my grief rejoice. 

Thus, Cynthia, all my health is but disease; 
Both life and death do equally displease. 

(283) 



Philip Ayres 



Invites his Nymph to his Cottage 

On yon' hill's top which this sweet plain commands, 
Fair Cynthia, all alone my cottage stands, 
'Gainst storms, and scorching heats well fortified, 
With pines, and spreading oaks on evVy side. 

My lovely garden too adjoining lies. 

Of sweetest flowers, and of the richest dyes : 

The tulip, jas'min, emony, and rose. 

Of which we'll garlands for thy head compose. 

Nature to make my fountain, did its part, 

Which ever flows without the help of Art, lo 

A faithful mirror shall its waters l)e. 

Where thou may'st sit beneath a shady tree, 

Admiring what above the World I prize. 
Thyself, the object of thine own fair eyes ; 
And which is greatest let the Spring proclaim. 
Thy powers of love, or this my amorous flame. 



'Tis hard to follow Virtue 

1 RAiSD sometimes my thoughts and fixt them right, 
Where Virtue, and where Glory did invite. 
And in the steps of few, and best, have trod, 
Scorning to take the vulgar, beaten road. 

But him who aims at Glory they deride, 

He 's one 'gainst most and worst must stem the tide ; 

Since now on sordid wealth, this age so blind, 

As on its chiefest good has fixt its mind : 

For the great things the World has in its hand, 

Are gold and silver, jewels, and command ; lo 

These are the gifts which Fortune does dispense. 

And may be got by theft, and violence. 

Yet from this lethargy tho' I arise, 
And shake the clouds of error from my eyes ; 
Reject the wrong, and right to choose begin. 
Than change my course, I sooner can my skin. 

7 ' Emonj-," of which I think I have seen other examples, is pretty certainly a cor- 
ruption of 'anemone,' and not intended for Milton's 'haemony,' though, as we have 
seen, Ayrcs did know Milton. It is odd, by the way, that the derivation ' blood-red ' 
suits ' the red anemone " (though not the -white ! as Avell as its own. 

6 Grig, has a comma at ' most " : and ' he "s one 'gainst most ' looks probable enough. 
But the rest of the line does not fit in well. Without the comma, you have only to 
supply 'as often) * who ' between ' one * and ' 'gainst ' to get the whole right. 

(^84) 



On bed of Jlower^s E7iclym{o72 sleephig lay 
Endymion and Diana ^ 

An Heroic Poem 
Written in Italian by Alessandro Tassoni 



On bed of flowers Endymion sleeping lay, 

Tir'd with the toil of a long summer's-day, 

Whilst softest winds, and season of the year, 

Agree to make his graces all appear : 

The wanton Cupids in a troop descend, 

Play with his horn, and do his bow unbend, 
And Love, this small assembly came to grace, 
Wond'ring to see the shepherd's charming face. 

II 

The Air to view him could not choose but stay, 
And with his locks upon his forehead play. lo 

The Cupids round about him were employ 'd, 
While some did into curls his hair divide ; 
Others of flowers, of which they'd pick'd and brought 
Their hands-full, many various fancies wrought ; 
Fetters, as if they would his feet restrain. 
Wreaths for his head, and for his wrists a chain. 

Ill 

This, with his lips compar'd, a piony, 

Another, a vermilion emony ; 

Then at his cheeks a rose and lily tried, 

The rose it faded, and the lily died. 20 

Still was the wind, the meadow, field and grove, 

The very waters were not heard to move. 

All things were hush'd, and did a silence keep, 
As some had whisper'd, Peace, here's Love asleep. 

IV 

When the bright Goddess of the lowest orb, 
Deck'd with the rays of Sol her absent Lord, 
Of Heav'n the dusky mantle did unfold, 
And silently Earth's wondrous scene behold ; 
Then having first disperst in little showers 
The pearly dew upon the grass and flowers, 30 

Spying this place which such delights could yield. 
Came down to take the pleasure of the field. 

• This is the shortest of our ' Heroic ' poems, but complete enough in its miniature. 

17 I keep the form ' pibny,' not only because of the famous passage in The Tempest, 
but because the oldest English examples of the word, in Langland and the Catholicon 
(not to mention Levins's Mampuhts), have the i. For ' emony ' in next line v. sup. 

(285) 



Philip Ayres 



Quickly the little Cupids disappear, 

So soon as e'er the (ioddess drew but near ; 

Who seeing the sleeping youth alone, she stays 

With passion on his lovely face to gaze : 

Till virgin modesty quench'd her bold flame ; 

Of folly then convinc'd, she blush'd for shame, 
And just was turning to have quit the place, 
But was recaird by that alluring face. 40 

VI 

In through her eyes a spark slid to her heart. 
Which fir'd her soul; nor could she thence depart, 
But nearer by degrees her steps does guide, 
Till she sate down close by the shepherd's side ; 
And of the flowers with which the Cupids play'd, 
\Vhen gyves and fetters they in sport had made : 
Such snares she wove, herself was in them ta'en, 
And as the shepherd's captive, wore his chain. 

VI 1 

Straight on his hand an eager kiss she prest. 

Then thousand on his lips, cheeks, eyes and breast ; 50 

Nor in this transport could herself contain, 

'Till she with kisses wak'd the sleeping swain. 

Who being amaz'd at that coelestial light. 

With reverence trembled at the glorious sight : 

He would have gone, when freed from his surprise, 
But tho' he strove, she would not let him rise. 

VlII 

' Fair Sleeper, would'st thou go/ said she, ' so soon ? 
Be not afraid, behold, it is the Moon, 
That comes to sport with thee in this sweet grove, 
Guided by Fate, Necessity and Love : 60 

Be not disturb'd at this unusual sight. 
We silently in joys will spend the night : 
But if thou tell what I to thee have said. 
Expect Heav'n's utmost vengeance on thy head.' 

IX 

'Goddess of Night, that tak'st from Sol thy flame, 

I,' said the Youth, ' a silly shepherd am ; 

But if thou promise me in Heav'n a place. 

To be translated hence from human race, 

Then of my faith thou may'st assured live. 

Of which this mantle as a pledge Fll give ; 70 

The same my father Etho gave the night, 

That he his faith to Calice did plight.' 

71 Etho is Aethlios in the usual mythologies. 
<286) 



E7idymio7i and Diana 



X 

This said, his mantle quickly he unbound, 
That was with flowers of pearl embroider'd round, 
Which then he wore o'er his left shoulder slung, 
And with two ends beneath his right arm hung; 
Gave it the Goddess, who had now thrown by 
All sense of honour and of modesty : 

And like a frost-nip'd flower, she by his charms 

Being thus o'ercome, dropt down into his arms. 80 

XI 

Never more closely does the tender vine 

About the shady elm her lover twine, 

Nor the green ivy more affection bring 

When she about her pine does kindly cling, 

Than these two vigorous lovers there exprest. 

Love having shot his fire through cither's breast : 
With all their art and industry they strove, 
How they might then enjoy their fill of Love. 

XII 

Thus whilst in wantonness they spend the night, 

And use all skill that might promote delight ; 90 

Now tir'd with what before they ne'er had tried. 

These happy Lovers rested satisfied : 

When fair Diana lifting up her eyes, 

Accused her cruel stars and destinies, 

That her so long through so much error drew. 

And let her rather beasts than Love pursue. 

XIII 

* Ah, Fool ! ' said she, ' How I too late repent 

That to the woods I e'er a hunting went ; 

How many years have I consum'd since then. 

Which I must never think to see again ? 100 

How many precious minutes ev'ry day. 

Did I in that mad pastime fool away ! 

And how much better is one sweet embrace 
Than all the toilsome pleasures of the chase?' 

From an Ode of Horace 

Beginning, Vides ut alta stet fiive candidum. 

See how the hills are candied o'er with snow. 
The trees can scarce their burdens undergo ; 
Frost does the rivers' wonted course retain, 
That they refuse their tribute to the main : 

Winds, frost, and snow against our lives conspire ; 
Lay on more wood (my friends) and blow the fire : 
'Gainst their assaults let us our forces join. 
Dissolve the weather by the strength of wine. 

( 287) 



Philip Ayi'es 



A Complaint 

When first I here to Cynthia spake my mind, 

Near these sweet streams, which to our thoughts were kind : 

Ah, then in perfect harmony we met, 

And to our concert join'd the rivulet. 

The flowers, plants, echoes, craggy rocks and dales. 
The pleasant meads, proud hills, and humble vales, 
Seem'd then o'erjoy'd at my felicity, 
Which now condole with me in misery. 

Yet still the wing'd inhab'tants of the wood 

Sing, as my change they had not understood : lo 

Tho' sure the melancholy tunes they vent 

Are rather notes of grief, than merriment. 

Oh Nymphs, that in these crystal streams do dwell ! 

And after sport rest quiet in your cell : 

Once, clear as yours, a happy life I led, 

Tho' now o'erwhelm'd with grief, and live as dead. 

Thus we through various turns of Fortune run, 
And find no certain rest till Life be done. 



Love's Garden. Translated from Girolamo Preti 

I TO Love's garden came, with my attire 
Was wove with herbs of Hope, and of Desire, 
Branches of Trouble too by me were worn. 
Whose flowers and fruit were Prejudice and Scorn. 

'Twas wall'd with Pain, and Anguish round about, 
And from a thousand places issu'd out 
Water of Grief, and Air of Sighs, beside 
Deceit and Cruelty, did there reside. 

Pride was the Keeper ; and to cultivate 

Was Jealousy who still with mortal Hate, lo 

Tare up my happiness ere it could grow ; 

Whilst, like a madman, thus I strive to sow. 

Under the shadow of a thought that 's kind, 
I plough in stone, dig water, stop the wind. 

I with] ' where ' ? 
(288) 



This^ which the shadow of my face does give 

Seeing his own Picture, discourses of his Studies, 

and Fortune 

This, which the shadow of my face does give, 
Whose counterfeit seems true, and Art aUve, 
Shows but the part of man's infirmity. 
Which to Age subject, must decay, and die : 

Yet the internal Nature's excellence, 
Which does this earthly shadow influence, 
Perhaps some image may on paper draw, 
\\'hose essence ne'er of Time shall stand in awe ; 

For by my Muse's help I hope to build 

Such monuments, as ne'er to Time shall yield ; lo 

Better than from these colours can be had, 

And to my years, shall greater numbers add. 

But when some noble work I enterprise, 
That might advance my honour to the skies : 
My envious Fortune strikes a thousand ways, 
Destroys my labours, and so blasts my bays. 

A Sonnet, of Petrarc\ on the Death of Laura 

I FILL with sighs the air whene'er I stand 

On yon' high hill, and thence survey the plain, 

Where Laura, she who could my heart command. 
Did in her Earthly Paradise remain. 

For now she's dead, and left me here alone, 
Griev'd for her loss, that I could gladly die ; 

Drowning my eyes in making of my moan, 
My tears have left no space about me dry. 

There is no stone upon that craggy hill, 

Nor these sweet fields an herb or plant do bring, lo 

Nor flower 'mongst all that do the valleys fill. 

Nor any drop of water from the spring ; 

Nor beasts so wild, that in the woods do dwell, 
But of my grief for Laura's death can tell. 

i\nother, of Petrarc, on Laura's Death 

Oh Death ! How has thy utmost malice sped ! 
Thou hast Love's Kingdom quite impov'rished ; 
Oopt Beauty's flower, put out our chiefest light. 
And one small stone deprives us of her sight. 

^ As Aj'res, from this and other places, pretty clearly meant to write ' Petrarc ' 
without the ' h,' it is perhaps more civil to let him keep it so. 

n. ( 289 ) U 



Philip Ayres 



Our joy's extinct, we're left in discontent, 
Stript of our honour, and our ornament : 
But to her fame thou ne'er canst put an end, 
Thy power but o'er her body did extend. 

For her pure soul above is glorify'd 

As brightest star, she 's there the Heaven's pride : lo 

And here her virtuous deeds shall never die, 

But be admir'd by all posterity. 

New Glorious Angel, thou that dwell'st above, 
And with more powerful charms attractest Love ; 
May'st thou be vanquish'd by my piety. 
As here thy Beauty triumph'd over me. 

Complains of the Court 

In a great Court, near a fam'd River's side, 
With hopes of greatness fed, I still reside; 
But where to fix I ne'er shall understand, 
FoU'wing what flies, and shunning what's at hand. 

Others from me the gifts of Heav'n retain. 
The lucky fool does still the purchase gain; 
At air I grasp, and after shadows strive. 
Live for my foes, if this be said to live. 

1 slight myself, love him that injures me. 

And in soft words find greatest treachery; lo 

I mortal hatred under smiles behold, 

And starve for want, amidst great heaps of gold. 

Now Envy's strokes, then Fortune's I sustain, 
And want a friend to whom I might complain ; 
I see th' ensuing storm, and no help nigh, 
Grieve for one loss, and straight another spy. 



Being retired, complains against the Court 

Remote from Court, where after toil we get 

More hopes than fruit, I now have chang'd my seat, 

And here retir'd with calmer thoughts abide : 

As Lea more smooth than troubled Thames does glide. 

I need not great men here with flatt'ry please. 
No pride nor envy shall disturb my ease; 
If Love ensnares my heart, I from its net, 
Or servile chain at least, my freedom get. 

Since my new flame brake out, my old is dead. 

With falsehood kindled, and with scorn 'twas fed ; lo 

And here the greatest rigour pleases more 

Than all dissembled favours could before. 

( 290 ) 



Being retired^ complains against the Court 

There Love's all counterfeit, and friendship too, 
And nothing else but hate and malice true : 
If here my Nymph be cross, or prove unkind, 
Vanquish'd, I triumph ; fighting, Peace I find. 



To Cynthia 

Hark how the little birds do vie their skill, 

Saluting, with their tunes, the welcome day ; 
Spring does the air with fragrant odours fill, 

And the pleas'd fields put on their best array. 

With great serenity the Heavens move ; 

The amorous planet rules in fullest power; 
All things their cruelty away remove, 

And seem to know of Joy the time, and hour : 

Only my Cynthia still this glorious morn 

Retains the frozen temper of her heart, lo 

Of birds, and ftowers, does imitation scorn, 

Nor from her wonted rigour will depart. 

Ah change, my Fair, that harsh and cruel mind ! 

Why should your looks and humour disagree? 
Let not my love such opposition find. 

You're woo'd by Heav'n, and Earth, to favour me. 



The Withered Rose 

Go, fading rose, a present to my Fair, 

To whose ungrateful breast I gave my heart. 

And tho' my grief could ne'er affect her care. 
To her do thou my dying mind impart. 

I late have seen thee lovely, sweet, and gay. 
Perchance the influence of her looks on thee, 

Now pale as Death, thy beauty 's gone away ; 
Thou art the emblem of my misery. 

Say, if to cast an eye on thee ghe deign, 

Since no reUef from her my life receives ; lo 

My body soon as bloodless will remain, 

As thy once fresh, but now decaying leaves. 

And thou perchance the benefit may'st find, 

For thy pale looks and message understood. 
To cure thy dying spoils she may be kind. 

With water of my tears, or with my blood. 

( 391 ) U 2 



Philip Ay7^es 

A Sonnet. On the Death of S}lvia 

Oh Death ! without regard to wrong or right, 
All things at will thy boundless rage devours ; 

This tender plant thou hast cut down in spight, 
And scatter'd on the ground its fruit, and flowers. 

Our love 's extinct that with such ardour burn'd. 

And all my hope of future pleasure dies ; 
Nature's chief master-piece to earth 's return'd. 

Deaf to my passion, and my grievous cries. 

Sylvia, the tears which on thy sepulchre. 
Hereafter shall be shed, or those now are, lo 

Tho' fruitless, yet I offer them to thee. 

Until the coming of th' Eternal Night 
Shall close these eyes, once happy with thy sight, 
And give me eyes with which I thee may see. 



To the Winds 

A Song 

I 
Ye Winds, that in your hasty flight, 

Just kiss the leaves, and then away. 
The leaves that tremble with delight, 
And murmur at so short a stay ; 
Stop here, and ere you further go, 
Give audience to a Lover's woe. 

II 
Condoling Air, to you I speak, 

Since she is deaf to all my grief, 
You see my heart will quickly break, 

If careless She gives no relief: lo 

I'm sure you're troubled at my pain, 
For when I sigh, you sigh again. 

Ill 
Go, gentle Air, fly to my Dear, 

That thus with love inflames my breast, 
And whisper softly in her ear, 

'Tis she that robs 'my soul of rest : 
Express, if possible, such moans, 
May imitate my dying groans. 

IV 

Or with thy rougher breath make bold 

To toss the treasure of her hair, ao 

Till thou dost all those curls unfold 

Which cunningly men's hearts ensnare ; 

( 292 ) 



To the Wmds 



Try all thy skill to break the net, 
That I, like thee, may freedom get. 

V 

Then let some thicker blasts arise, 

And with her face so sport, and play, 
Till the bright rays of her fair eyes 
Be qualified, or ta'en away; 

Make all those charms which men assail, 
Of lesser force, and less prevail. 



30 



The Silent Talkers 

Peace, peace, my dear, Corinna said 

To her enamour'd Corydon, 
I est we by list'ners be betray'd, 

And this our happiness undone. 

Our wishes answer e<'"ry way, 

And all my thoughts centre in thine; 

If thou hast anything to say, 

Speak with thy eyes, I'll speak with mine. 



'Tis dangerous jesting with Love 
A Song 



Venture not with Love to jest, 

Though he 's blind, and but a Boy, 
Whosoe'er would live at rest. 
Must not dare with him to toy ; 
If you play, he'll seem to smile. 
But conspire your death the 
while. 

u 
I myself was such a sot. 
Once to act a Lover's part, 
Seem'd to love, but lov'd her not, 
Sigh'd, but sigh'd not from my 
heart ; 10 

Long I did not this maintain, 
Ere my play was turn'd to pain. 
Ill 
As I gaz'd upon my fair, 

And of Love show'd ev'ry sign. 
She play'd too the flatterer, 

With her glances answering mine ; 



Till his arrows Cupid took, 
Pierc'd me with each flattTing 
look. 

IV 

Love the Jester will assail, 

And when scorn'd, the mast'ry 
get ; 20 

Art I see can ne'er avail 

Him that plays the counterfeit ; 
For I find, now time is past, 
Jest to Earnest turn'd at last. 



Cupid drew with more desire, 
Seeing me his net despise ; 
^\'as more active with his fire, 
While he found my heart was 
ice : ' 28 

Now my sighs no pity find, 
But are scatter'd in the wind. 



V, I For * thicker ' my press-corrector has ' stronger.' 
( »93 ) 



Philip Ayres 

On Wine 

From a Fragment of Hesiod, 
Beginning Ola ^iijiVV(TO<i 8ojk' dvS/Dao-t yiipi^a 

Wine cheers our hearts, and makes us glad. 
When Grief and Cares have left us sad : 
But more than Nature does suffice, 
Will cast a cloud before our eyes ; 

'Twill bind the tongue, the feet, and hands, 
Ere we perceive, with strongest bands ; 
And us its drunken slaves will keep, 
Till we our freedom get by Sleep. 



A Dream 

One night, with sleep my senses being opprest, 
Fixt on that thought, which still o'er-rul'd my breast 
In mourning dress, with silence did appear, 
She of her sex was to my soul most dear : 

'Cynthia,' methought, I said, and gaz'd awhile, 
'Where's thy accustom'd look, and cheerful smile? 
What sad occasion thus disturbs thee now, 
And hangs that gloomy sadness on thy brow ? " 

She only sigh'd, and offring to depart, 

I snatch'd her hand, and laid it to my heart, lo 

And whilst I in this trembling rapture stand. 

She took, and held me by my other hand. 

I thought my heart 'twixt joy and grief would break. 
Adding with tears, ' My dear, I prithee speak ' ; 
And grasp'd her fast, she struggling to be gone, 
Till wak'd : but then I found myself alone. 

Oft have I griev'd to think what this might prove, 

And gather'd hence ill omens to my Love ; 

But since I may too soon the mischief find, 

I'll strive to chase the fancy from my mind. so 



The Restless Lover 

The birds to wanton in the air desire ; 
The Salamander sports himself in fire ; 
The fish in water plays ; and of the earth, 
Man ever takes possession at his birth. 
Only unhappy I, who born to grieve. 
In all these Elements at once do live — 

( 394) 



The Restless Lover 

Grief does with air of sighs my mouth supply, 

My wretched body on cold earth does He, 

The streams which from mine eyes flow night and day, 

Cannot the fire which burns my heart allay. 



The Resolution. A Sonnet of Petrarc. Out of Italian 

Oh Time ! Oh rolling Heavens, that fly so fast, 
And cheat us mortals ignorant and blind ! 
Oh fugitive Day, swifter than bird or wind I 

Your frauds I see, by all my suff'rings past. 

But pardon me, 'tis I myself must blame. 

Nature that spreads your wings, and makes you fly, 
To me gave eyes, that I my ills might spy : 

Yet I retain'd them to my grief, and shame. 

Time was I might, and Time is still I may 

Direct my steps in a securer way, lo 

And end this sad infinity of ill ; 
Yet 'tis not from thy yoke, O Love, I part. 
But the effects ; I will reclaim my heart : 

Virtue's no chance, but is acquir'd by skill. 



Invokes Death 

Come, Terror of the wise, and valiant, come, 
And with a sigh let my griev'd soul have room 
Amongst the shades ; then shall my cares be gone ; 
All there drink Waters of Oblivion. 

So went the Heroes of the World, and so 
Or soon, or late, all that are born must go ; 
Thou, Death, to me art welcome as a friend, 
For thou with life putt'st to my griefs an end. 

Of this poor earth, and blast of breath allied, 

How easily by thee the knot 's untied : lo 

This spring of tears which trickles from mine eyes 

Is natural, and when I die, it dries. 

Matter for sighs I drew with my first breath. 
And now a sigh ushers my soul to death ; 
So cares and griefs determine by consent. 
This favour owe I to my monument. 

( 395 ) 



Philip Ayres 



A Hint from the Beginning of the Third Satire 

of Juvenal 

Laiido tamen vacuis quod sedem figere Cuviis 
Destinet, atque uniim Civem donare Sibyllae^ ^r. 

A NEIGHBOUR, now, shall aged Sibyl have, 
For I'll withdraw to Cuma's sacred cave, 
Where I, Vesuvius-like, when years attire 
My head with snow, shall still maintain my lire. 

In hatred of the World my days I'll spend, 
Till with despite my wretched life shall end ; 
My haughty plumes I've clipp'd, I'll soar no more, 
So the Fates cut what they had spun before. 

1 was, when bad, of virtuous men despis'd, 

And by the scourge vice brings with it, chastis'd ; lo 

That course 1 left, and turning good again. 

Was hated, and oppress'd by wicked men. 

Thus seems the partial world on all sides bent, 
Its utmost spite on wretched me to vent 
My sins were fruitless : must, when life is done, 
Virtue lie buried in oblivion? 



A Contemplation on Man's Life. Out of Spanish 

Vile Composition, Earth inspir'd with breath, 
Man, that at first wert made of dust and tears. 

And then by law divine condemn'd to death ; 
When wilt thou check thy lusts in their careers? 

Change all thy mirth to sorrow, and repent, 
That thou so often didst just Heav'n offend, 

Deplore thy precious hours so vainly spent, 
If thou wilt 'scape such pains as have no end. 

The gaping grave expects thee as its right, 

'Tis a strait place, but can contain with ease, xo 

Honour, Command, VV^ealth, Beauty, and Delight, 

And all that does our carnal senses please. 

Only th' immortal soul can never die, 
Therefore on that thy utmost care employ. 

(296) 



upon a hough ^ hung trembling o'er a spring 



The Nightingale that was drowned 



Upon a bough, hung tremWing o"er a spring, 
Sate Philomel, to respite grief, and sing : 
Tuning such various notes, there seem'd to nest 
A choir of little songsters in her breast. 
Whilst Echo at the close of ev'ry strain, 
Return'd her music, note for note again. 



"•a*- 



The jealous bird, who ne'er had rival known. 

Not thinking these sweet points were all her o.vn ; 

So fiU'd with emulation was, that she 

Express'd her utmost art and harmony ; lo 

Till as she eagerly for conquest tried, 

Her shadow in the stream below she spied : 

Then heard the waters bubbling, but mistook, 

And thought the nymphs were laughing in the brook ; 

She then enrag'd, into the spring did fall, 

And in sad accents thus upbraids them all: 

' Not Tereus self offer'd so great a wrong, 

Nymphs, take my life, since you despise my song.' 



On a Child sleeping in Cynthia's Lap 

Sleep, happy boy, there sleep, and take thy rest, 
Free from the passions which disturb my breast ; 
Yet know 'tis Innocence that thee has freed, 
And lets thee sleep so quiet on this bed. 

Thy wearied limbs have sweetly rested here. 
If with less sun, in a more happy sphere ; 
Whilst in despair my soul afflicted lies, 
And of mere envy to behold thee, dies. 

Dream, thou enjoy "st more true felicity, 

Than lavish fortune can bestow on thee ; lo 

That thou amidst such precious gems art hurl'd. 

Are able to enrich th' insatiate world : 

That thou the Phoenix shalt transcend in fame, 
\\' ho sleep'st, and risest, in a purer flame ; 
That thou'rt an Angel, Heav'n 's that lap I view : 
Yet all this while, it is no dream, but true. 

( 397 ) 



Philip Ayres 

Cure for Afflictions 

A Hint from an imperfect Ode of Archilochus ; beginning 

0u/t€, Qv^L af/.r}xa.voiaL K7ySe(r<[i'] KVKO)iJ.eve. 

Soul, rule thy passions, dry thy weeping eyes. 
Thou, breath of Heav'n, should'st earthly cares despise : 
When fiercest troubles thus disturb thy rest, 
To their assaults oppose a constant breast. 

O'er Fortune's pow'r then shalt thou have command : 
So rocks unmov'd 'gainst beating surges stand. 
Nor boast, if in this conflict thou o'ercome. 
Or when subdu'd, poorly lament at home. 

Think, having cause to grieve, or to rejoice, 

No course of human things is in thy choice. lo 

Cynthia Sporting 

Along the river's side did Cynthia stray. 
More like a Goddess, than a Nymph, at play ; 
The flood stopt to behold her ; pleas'd to see 't. 
She to its kisses yields her naked feet. 

Brisk air saluted her, ne'er stay'd to woo ; 
The very boughs reach'd to be toying too ; 
The little birds came thronging to admire, 
And for her entertainment made a choir : 

The meadows smile, and joy surrounds the place. 

As if all things were infl'enc'd by her face ; lo 

The grass and leaves take freshness from her eyes, 

And as of lesser force, Sol's beams despise. 

No herb press'd by her foot but blossoms straight, 
Flowers, for her touch to ripen them, do wait ; 
They, from her hand, new fragrancy do yield, 
Her presence fills with perfumes all the field. 

The Fly 

Out of Spanish from Don Francisco de Quevedo 

0?if of the wine-pot a-ied the Fly, 
Whilst the grave Frog sate croaking by\ 
Than live a wat'ry life like thine, 
I'd rather choose to die in wine. 

The Fly\ This quite admirable song ought to be much better known than it is. 
(298) 



The Fly 



I 

I never water could endure, 

Though ne'er so crystalline and pure. 

Water's a murmurer, and they 

Design more mischief than they say, 

Where rivers smoothest are and clear. 

Oh there 's the danger, there 's the fear ; lo 

But I'll not grieve to die in wine, 

That name is sweet, that sound's divine. 

Thus from the ivine-pot, ^r. 

II 
Dull fish in water live, we know, 
And such- insipid souls as thou; 
While to the wine do nimbly fly, 
Many such pretty birds as I : 
With wine refresh'd, as flowers with rain, 
My blood is clear'd, inspir'd my brain ; 
That when the Tory boys do sing, 20 

I buzz i' th' chorus for the king. 
Thus from the wine-pot, 6^1. 

Ill 

I'm more belov'd than thou canst be, 
Most creatures shun thy company ; 
I go unhid to ev'ry feast, 
Nor stay for grace, but fall o' th' best : 
There while I quaff in choicest wine. 
Thou dost with puddle-water dine, 
Which makes thee such a croaking thing. 
Learn to drink wine, thou fool, and sing ; 30 

Thus from the 7vine-fot, d,r. 

IV 

In gardens I delight to stray. 
And round the plants do sing and play : 
Thy tune no mortal does avail, 
Thou art the Dutchman's nightingale : 
Would'st thou with wine but wet thy throat. 
Sure thou would'st leave that dismal note ; 
Lewd water spoils thy organs quite. 
And wine alone can set them right. 

Thus from the wine-pot, Sfc. 40 



Thy comrades still are newts and frogs, 
Thy dwelling saw-pits, holes, and bogs : 
In cities I, and courts am free. 
An insect too of quality. 

( 299 ) 



Philip Ayres 



What pleasures, ah ! didst thou but know, 
This heav'nly hquor can bestow : 
To drink, and drown thou'dst ne'er repine ; 
The great Anacreon died by wine. 

Thus from the wine-pot, ^r. 50 



On Gold 

This glitt'ring metal, dazzler of the eyes. 
In so small bulk, where so much mischief lies, 
Disclaims the earth, when it has pass'd the fire, 
And then no longer owns the rock for sire. 

When coin'd, it boasts of pow'r omnipotent ; 

Which monstrous birth the long-scorn'd mountains sent : 

'Tis bane of peace, 'tis nourisher of war ; 

And o'er the world does spread its venom far. 

With confidence this bold usurper can 

Hold competition with its former, man : 10 

Man whose sublimer soul should upward soar, 

Yet for a god can his own works adore. 

Laws are remiss when thou the pow'r dost git, 
All vices thou unpunish'd dost permit ; 
Torrent of mischiefs, source of ills the worst ! 
The more we drink of thee, the more we thirst. 



To his Grace, George Duke of Northumberland ^ 

Th' unruly steed by laws to tame and ride ; 

With graceful course the well-pois'd lance to guide ; 

In martial sports ever to win the prize ; 

And troops with skill and judgement exercise : 

In a calm breast a warlike heart to show ; 
To glory friend, to wantonness a foe ; 
To keep on Passion, Reason's powerful hand ; 
Over his soul, and self, to have command : 

To sport with books, whilst arms aside he lays ; 

To interweave the olive with the bays ; 10 

When tir'd with arts, to tune Apollo's lyre ; 

To merit honours ere he them desire. 

These fruits which others bring with art and time, 
Your blooming age does yield before your prime. 

13 ' G«t' seems worth keeping. 

* It may be just as well to remind the reader that this was one of Charles tlic 
Second's natural sons (by Barbara Villiers), who ( 1665-17 16) received the titles of 
Earl and Duke of Northumberland during the eclipse of the Percies. 

( .^.0° ) 



IVhoee?^ a lover is of a?'t 

Love's New Philosophy ^ 

I 

Whoe'er a lover is of art, 
May come and learn of me 
A new philosophy, 
Such as no schools could e'er impart- 
Love all my other notions does control. 
And reads these stranger lectures to my soul. 

II 

This god who takes delight to lie, 
Does sacred truths defame, 
And Aristotle blame. 
Concluding all by subtilty : lo 

His syllogisms with such art are made. 
Not Solomon himself could them evade. 

Ill 

So wondrous is his art and skill, 
His reasons pierce, like darts. 
Men's intellects and hearts ; 
Old maxims he destroys at will. 
And blinded Plato so, he made him think, 
'Twas water, when he gave him fire to drink. 

IV 

That water can extinguish fire. 

All ages did allow ; ao 

But Love denies it now, 
And says it makes his flame rage higher ; 
Which truth myself have prov'd for many years, 
Wherein I've wept whole deluges of tears. 



At the sun's rays, you, Cynthia, know, 
The ice no more can melt. 
Nor can the fire be felt, 
Or have its wonted influence on snow : 
By your relentless heart is this exprest, 
Your eyes are suns, the fire is in my breast : 30 

VI 

When soul and body separate, 

That then the life must die : 

This too I must deny. 
My soul's with her, who rules my fate. 

' This metaphysical bravura, whatever its originality of substance, is excellently 
hit off, and seems to me one of Ayres's claims to resuscitation. 

(301 ) 



Philip Ayres 

Vet still my organs move a proof to give, 
That soul and body can divided live. 

VII 

Remove the cause, th' effects will cease. 
This is an error too. 
And found by me untrue; 
My fair when near disturbs my peace, 40 

But when she's furthest off, no tongue can tell 
The raging pangs of Love my heart does feel. 

VIII 

All creatures love not their own kind. 
I this new axiom try : 
And that all fear to die 
By nature — a mistake I find : 
For I, a man, do a fierce creature love. 
And such, I know, that will my murd'ress prove. 

IX 

Here two extremes are eas'ly join'd, 

Joy and grief in my breast, 5° 

Which give my soul no rest ; 
Both to torment me are combin'd : 
For when I view the source of all my wrong, 
I sigh my music, mix with tears my song. 

X 

That all things like effects produce: 
I readily can prove » 
A paradox in Love, 
And my conclusion hence deduce ; 
Cold Cynthia to my zeal yields no return, 
Though ice her heart, she makes my heart to burn. 60 

XI 

Whilst in this torment I remain, 
It is no mystery 
To be, and not to be ; 
I die to joy, and live to pain. 
So that, my fair, I may be justly said. 
To be, and not to be, alive and dead. 

XII 

Now, go, my song, yet shun the eyes 
Of those ne'er felt Love's flame. 
And if my Cynthia blame 
Thy arguments as sophistries, 7° 

Tell her, this is Love's New Philosophy, 
Which none can understand, but such as try. 

( 302 ) 



Truth ^ Reason^ Love^ and Merit 7nay endure 

The Vanity of Unwarrantable Notions 
Done out of Portuguese, from Lewis ^ de Ca moens 

Truth, Reason, Love, and Merit may endure 
Some shocks, to make us think ourselves secure : 
But Fortune, Time, and Destiny, do still 
Dispose all human matters at their will. 

What various strange effects perplex the mind. 
For which we can no certain causes find? 
We know we live, but what succeeds our end, 
Man's understanding cannot comprehend. 

Yet doctors will their notions justify. 

And vouch for truths what no man e'er could try; lo 

Doubt real things, as if no such had been, 

And things believe which never yet were seen. 

These men are proud to have their madness known ; 
Believe in Christ, and let the rest alone. 

To the Nightingale 

Why, little charmer of the air. 

Dost thou in ?nusic spend the morn 1 
Whilst I thus latiguish ifi despair, 
Opprest by Cynthia's hate and scorn : 
Why dost thou sing, and hear me cry ; 
Tell, wanton Songster, tell me why 1 

I 

Wilt thou not cease at my desire? 

Will those small organs never tire? 

Nature did these close shades prepare, 

Not for thy music, but my care : lo 

Then why wilt thou persist to sing. 

Thou beautiful malicious thing? 

When kind Aurora first appears. 

She weeps, in pity to my tears ; 

If thus thou think'st to give relief. 

Thou never knew'st a Lover's grief. 

Then, little charmer^ 4'C- 
That dost in music, Sfc. 

II 
Thou Feather'd Atom, where in thee 
Can be compris'd such harmony? i 20 

In whose small fabric must remain. 
What composition does contain. 

' In the Preface Ayres had spelt him * Luis,' and so in the Table. 

( 303 ) 



Philip Ay res 



All griefs but mine are at a stand, 
When thy surprising tunes command. 
How can so small a tongue and throat 
Express so loud, and sweet a note ? 
Thou hast more various points at will, 
Than Orpheus had with all his skill. 

Then., little charmer., 4t. 
That dost in music, c^c. ^o 

in 

Great to the ear, though small to sight, 

The happy Lover's dear delight, 

Fly to the bow'r where such are laid, 

And there bestow thy serenade. 

Haste from my sorrow, haste away ; 

Alas, there 's danger in thy stay, 

Lest hearing me so oft complain. 

Should make thee change thy cheerful strain. 

Thy songs cannot my grief remove. 

Thou harmless syren of the grove. 40 

The?i cease, thou charmer of the air, 
No more in music spend the morn. 
With me that languish ifi despair, 
Oppresi by Cynthia's hate and scorn ; 
And do 710 1 this poor l>oon deny, 
I ask but silence whilst I die. 



Apollo and Daphne 

Panting for breath, towards her parent brook, 

Like the tir'd deer before an eager chase, 
Fair Daphne ran, nor durst behind her look : 

With winged feet, and with a blubb'red face. 

The beardless God, who, taken with her charms. 

Had long pursu'd, by his hot passion led, 
Straight saw her stop, and upward stretch her arms 

On Peneus' banks, where she for aid had fled. 

He saw her nimble feet take root and grow. 

And a rough bark her tender limbs enclose ; 10 

Her hair, which once like curls of gold did show, 

Chang'd green, and in a shade of boughs arose. 

To the resistless tree he courtship makes, 
And with vain kisses his fond love deceives ; 

Then of her bays by force a chaplet takes : 
So 'stead of fruit, he only gathers leaves. 

( 304 ) 



So many creatures live not i7i the sea 



A Sestina, in Imitation of Sig. Fra. Petrarca 

I 
So many creatures live not in the sea, 
Nor e'er above the circle of the Moon, 
Did man behold so many stars at night, 
Nor little birds do shelter in the woods, 
Nor herbs, nor flovv'rs e'er beautified the fields ; 
As anxious thoughts my heart feels ev'ry day. 

II 
I, wishing Death, pray each may be the day, 
And seek in vain for quiet in the fields. 
My griefs succeed like waves upon the sea ; 
Such torments sure, no man beneath the Moon lo 

E'er felt as I ; 'tis known amongst the woods, 
Where to complain I oft retire at night. 

in 
I never could enjoy a quiet night, 
And do in pain and sorrow spend the day, 
Since angry Cynthia drove me to the woods ; 
Yet e'er I quit my Love I'll weep a sea : 
The Sun his light shall borrow of the Moon, 
And May with flowers refuse to deck the fields. 

IV 

Restless I wander up and down the fields. 

And scarce can close my eyes to sleep at night : 20 

So that my life's unstable as the moon. 

The air I fill with sighs both night and day; 

My show'rs of tears seem to augment the sea, 

Make the herbs green, and to refresh the woods. 

v 
I hating cities, ramble in the woods, 
And thence I shift to solitary fields, 
I rove and imitate the troubled sea. 
And hope most quiet in the silent night. 
So that I wish at the approach of day. 
The Sun would set, and give his place to th' Moon. ^o 

VI 

Oh, that like him who long had lov'd the Moon, 
I could in dreams be happy in the woods ; 
I'd wish an end to this most glorious day. 
Then should I meet my Cynthia in the fields, 
Court her, and entertain her all the night ; 
The day should stop, and Sol dwell in the sea. 

But day nor night, sea, moon, nor wood, nor field 
Now Cynthia frowns, can ease or pleasure yield. 

II. ( 305 ) X 



Philip Ayres 

A Sonnet of Sig. Francesco Petrarca, giving an 
Account of the Time when he fell in Love 
with Madonna Laura 

Will spurs me on, Love wounds me with his dart, 
Pleasure does draw me. Custom pulls me too, 
Hope flatters, that I should my ends pursue. 

And lends her right hand to my fainting heart. 

My wretched heart accepts, nor yet espies 
The weakness of my blind disloyal guide. 
My Passions rule, long since my Reason died. 

And from one fond Desire, still others rise. 

Virtue and Wealth, Beauty and Graceful Mien, 
Sweet Words, and Person fair as e'er was seen, lo 

Were the allurements drew me to her net : 

'Twas Thirteen hundred twenty sev'n, the year, 
April the sixth, this Nymph did first appear. 
And tied me so, I ne'er shall Freedom get. 

A Sonnet, of Petrarc, showing how long he had 
lov'd Madonna Laura 

Pleasure in thought, in weeping ease I find ; 

I catch at shadows, grasp air with my hand ; 

On seas I float are bounded with no land ; 
Plough water, sow on rocks, and reap the wind. 

The sun I gaz'd so long at, I became 

Struck with its dazzling rays, and lost my eyes ; 
I chase a nimble doe that always flies, 

And hunt with a dull creature, weak and lame. 

Heartless I live to all things but my ill, 

Which I'm solicitous to follow still ; lo 

And only call on Laura, Love and Death. 

Thus twenty years I've spent in misery. 
Whilst only sighs, and tears, and sobs I buy, 
Under such hard stars first I drew my breath. 

A Sonnet, of Petrarc, going to visit M. Laura, 
remembers she is lately dead 

Oh eyes ! Our Sun 's extinct, and at an end, 

Or rather glorified in Heav'n does shine ; 
There shall we see her, there does she attend, 

And at our long delay perchance repine. 

( 306 ) 



A So?i7iet 

Alas, my ears, the voice you lov'd to hear, 

Is now rais'd up to the coelestial choir ; 
And you, my feet, she 's gone that us'd to steer 

Your course, where you till death can ne'er aspire. 

Cannot my soul nor body yet be free ? 

'Twas not my fault, you this occasion lost; lo 

That seeing, hearing, finding her y' are crost : 

Blame Death, or rather blest be ever He, 

Who binds and looses, makes and can destroy, 
And, when Life's done, crowns with Eternal Joy. 

A Sonnet. Petrarc laments for the Death of 

M. Laura 

This Nightingale that does so much complain 
Robb'd of her tender young, or dearest mate. 
And to the fields and heav'ns her tale relate, 

In such sad notes, but yet harmonious strain : 

Perhaps this station kindly does retain. 

To join her griefs with my unhappy state ; 

'Twas my assurance did my woe create : 
I thought Death could not have a Goddess slain. 

How soon deceiv'd are those, who least mistrust ! 
I ne'er could think that face should turn to dust, lo 

Which, than all human beauties seem'd more pure : 

But now I find that my malicious fate, 
Will, to my sorrow, have me learn too late : 
Nothing that pleases here, can long endure. 

A Sonnet. Petrarc on Laura's Death 

Hold, treacherous thoughts, that dare my rule despise, 
Is 't not enough 'gainst me in war are join'd 
Love, Fortune, and grim Death, but I must find 

Within me such domestic enemies ? 

And thou, my heart, that dost my peace oppose, 
Disloyal thou wilt give my soul no rest, 
But harb'ring still these thoughts within my breast, 

Keep'st correspondence with my deadly foes ; 

To thee Love all his messages conveys. 

Fortune my now departed pomp displays, lo 

Death in my mind does all my griefs express; 

That my remains fall by necessity, ^ 

My thoughts with errors arm themselves in thee : 
Thou art the cause of my unhappiness. 

( 307 ) X 2 



Philip Ayy^es 



Constancy 

Place me where Sol dries up the flow'ry fields, 
Or where he to the frosty winter yields : 
Place me where he does mod'rate heat dispense, 
And where his beams have a kind influence : 

Place me in humble state, or place me high, 
In a dark clime, or a serener sky ; 
Place me where days or nights are short or long, 
In age mature, or be it old or young : 

Place me in Heav'n, on earth, or in the main, 

On a high hill, low vale, or level plain : lo 

Let me have vigorous parts, or dullness have ; 

Place me in liberty, or as a slave : 

Give me a black, or an illustrious fame : 
As I have liv'd, I'll ever live the same; 
Where I at first did fix my constant love, 
Nothing from Cynthia can it e'er remove. 

To his Viol 

I tun'd my viol, and have often strove. 

In Mars's praise to raise his humble verse, 

And in heroic strain his deeds rehearse, 
But all my accents still resound of Love. 

In foreign countries, or on English ground, 

Love for my theme does dictate Cynthia's charms, 
Nor will he let me sing of other arms. 

Than those with which he lovers' hearts does wound. 

This viol then, unfit for rougher notes. 

My muse shall tune to its accustom'd way ; lo 

So shall it my harmonious points obey, 
For it to Cynthia all its tunes devotes. 

Then to my soft and sweetest strokes I keep. 

Whilst angry Mars his fury may lay by, 

He list'ning to my song will quiet lie, 
And in his Cytherea's bosom sleep. 



Hope. Out of Italian, from Fra. Abbati 

I 

Grieve no more, Mortals, dry your eyes. 

And learn this truth of me, 
Fate rolls, and round about us flies, 

But for its ills carries a remedy. 

( 308 ) 



Hopi 



The leafless boughs on all those stocks, 
With green shall beautify their locks ; 
And straight 
Such store of various fruits shall yield, 

That their tough backs shall truckle with the weight. 

For in a little space lo 

Winter shall give to Spring its place. 
And with fresh robes, Hope's Emblem, clothe the field. 

Chorus 
He has no faith who sighs and whines^ 
And at his prese?it ill repines : 

For zve should strive 
'Gainst all afflictions to apply 
This Universal Remedy^ 

To hope and live. 

II 
Hope does our future joys anticipate, 

It eases all our pains ; 20 

For in the present ill that reigns. 
Endurance only triumphs over Fate. 
Young colts fierce and untaught, 

In time submit, 
For they to yield are brought. 
Their backs to burdens, and their mouths to th' bit : 
With Patience also will the country swain 
His conquest gain ; 
And make the stubborn heifer bow 
Its neck to th' yoke, and labour at the plough. 30 

Chorus 
Then he tvants faith ivho sighs and whines, 
And at his present ill repifies : 

For Man sJwuld strive 
'Gainst all afflictions to apply 
This Universal Remedy, 

To hope and live. 

HI 

Thus sang a smiling Courtier t'other day, 

Under the covert of a spreading tree. 
And to his song upon his lute did play. 

By whom an Ass you might attentive see. 4° 

The Ass in scorn drew nearer him and bray'd. 
And arguing thus, methought, in answer said : 

If this green grass on which I fed but now, 
To be of Hope the symbol you allow, 
And if the Ass's proper meat be grass. 
Sure he that lives on Hope, feeds like an Ass. 
9 This 'truckle ' looks as if the former {v. sup. p. 275) were correct after all. 

{309) 



Philip Ayres 



Finding Cynthia in Pain, and crying 
A Sonnet 

Why, Idol of my Heart, these mournful cries, 
And so much grief on those fair cheeks appears ? 
From whence proceed those envious showers of tears, 

Dark'ning the lustre of thy beauteous eyes? 

How dares bold Sorrow labour to remove 

So many graces from their proper place? 

Ah, Cynthia ! Pain endeavours, in thy face, 
To poison all the sweetest charms of Love. 

Sense of thy grief my soul with anguish fills, 
Which out of pity into tears distills, lo 

And for thy ease would fain endure thy woe ! 

But this affliction, sure thy heart sustains, 
That, cruel Thou, being sensible of pains, 
May'st to thy constant martyr pity show. 



Cynthia sleeping in a Garden 
A Sonnet 

Near a cool fountain, on a rose-bed lay 

My Cynthia, sleeping in the open air ; 

Whom Sol espied, and seeing her so fair, 
Gaz'd, till his wanton coursers lost their way. 

The proudest flowers were not asham'd to find 
Their scent and colour rivall'd in her face ; 
Her bright curl'd hairs were toss'd from place to place, 

On neck and bosom by the amorous wind. 

Her smiles were animated by her breath. 
Which still as soon as born receiv'd their death, lo 

Being mortal made in pity to men's hearts : 

Poor Lovers then did lie and take their rest. 
For the Blind Boy who does our peace molest, 
Had in her sleeping eyes hid all his darts. 

Lesbia's Complaint against Thyrsis his Inconstancy 

A Sonnet 

I lov'd thee, faithless Man, and love thee still, 
Thou fatal object of my fond desires, 
And that which nourishes these amorous fires, 

Is Hope, by which I love against my will. 

(310) 



Lesbias Complaint against Thyrsis 

Great was the passion thou didst late express, 

Yet scorn'st me now, whom long thou didst adore, 
Sporting with others, her thou mind'st no more, 

Whom thou hast call'd thy Heav'n and happiness. 

Think not by this, thy Lesbia thee invites, 
To spend thy years in dalliance and delights, lo 

'Tis but to keep her faith in memory ; 

But if to grieve my soul thou only strive, 
To thy reproach, and to my boast I'll live, 
A monument of thy INCONSTANCY. 



On Lydia Distracted 
A Sonnet 

With hairs, which for the wind to play with, hung, 
With her torn garments, and with naked feet. 
Fair Lydia dancing went from street to street, 

Singing with pleasant voice her foolish song. 

On her she drew all eyes in ev'ry place, 

And them to pity by her pranks did move. 

Which turn'd with gazing longer into Love 
By the rare beauty of her charming face. 

In all her frenzies, and her mimicries. 

While she did Nature's richest gifts despise, lo 

There active Love did subt'ly play his part. 

Her antic postures made her look more gay, 
Her ragged clothes her treasures did display, 
And with each motion she ensnar'd a heart. 



The Four Seasons 
SPRING 

When Winter's past, then ev'ry field and hill, 
The SPRING with flowers does fill. 
Soft winds do cleanse the air. 
Repel the fogs, and make the weather fair ; 
Cold frosts are gone away, 
The rivers are at liberty. 
And their just tribute pay, 
Of liquid pearls, and crystal to the sea ; 
To whom each brook and fountain runs, 
The stable mother of those straggling sons. lo 

1 With hairs] This quaint and fascinating vignette is another ' proof ' for Ayres to put 
in. It is very likely borrowed to a more or less degree ; but I do not know the original. 
As a pendant to 'The Fair Beggar ' it will always hang, for some folk, in the ' chamber 
ruinous and old ' of memory. 

(3ti) 



Philip Ayres 



Chorus 

But then, 

In a short space, 

WINTER returns again, 

Ere Sol has run his annual race : 

But, Ah ! When Death's keen arrow flies, 

And hits poor MAN, 

Do what he can, 

lie dies ; 

Returns to dust, a Shadow, and a Nothing lies. 



SUMMER 

When flow'ry May is past, the Spring is o'er, 20 

Then our cool breezes end ; 
For Aeolus does send 
His sultry blasts from off the southern shore ; 
The Sun bows down his head, 
And darts on us his fiery rays, 
Plants droop, and seem as dead, 
Most creatures seek for shade their diff'rent ways ; 
All things as if for moisture cry. 
Even rivers with the common thirst grow dry. 

Chorus 

But then, 30 

In a short space. 
The SPRING returns again. 
Ere Sol has run his annual race: 
But, Ah 1 Whe/t- Death's keen arrow flies, 
And hits poor MAN, 
Do 7cihat he can, 
He dies; 
Returns to dust, a Shadozv, and a Nothing lies. 



AUTUMN 

When Summer 's done, green trees begin to yield ; 

Their leaves with age decay, 40 

They're stript of their array ; 
Scarce can the rains revive the russet field : 
The flowers run up to seed, 
Orchards with choice of fruit abound, 
Which sight and taste do feed : 
The grateful boughs even kiss their parent ground : 
The Elm's kind wife, the tender Vine, 
Is pregnant with her heavenly burden, Wine. 

(312) 



The Four Seasons 

Chorus 

But then, 
In a short space, 5° 

SUMMER returns again, 
Ere Sol has run his annual race: 
But, Ah ! When DeatKs keen arroiv flies. 
And hits poor MAN, 
Do lohat he can. 
He dies ; 
Returtis to dust, a Shadoiv, arid a Nothing lies. 

WINTER 

When Autumn 's past, sharp eastern winds do blow, 
Thick clouds obscure the day, 

Frost makes the currents stay, 60 

The aged mountains hoary are with snow\ 
Altho' the \\'inter rage ; 
The wronged trees revenge conspire, 
Its fury they assuage ; 
Alive they serve for fence, when dead for fire \ 
All creatures from its outrage fly, 
Those which want shelter or relief must die. 

Chorus 
But t/ien. 



In a short space, 
A UTUMN returns again, 70 

Ere Sol has mn his antnial race : 
But, Ah ! When Death's kee?i arroiv flies. 
And hits poor MAN, 
Do what he can. 
He dies ; 
Returns to dust, a Shadow, and a Nothing lies. 



A Sonnet. Translated out of Italian 

Written by Sig. Fra. Gorgia, who was born as they were carrying 

his Mother to her Grave. 

Unhappy I came from my Mother's womb. 
As she, Oh blessed She ! who gave me breath. 
Having receiv'd the fatal stroke of Death, 

By weeping friends was carried to her Tomb. 

(313) 



Philip Ay res 



The sorrow I exprest, and grievous cries, 

Love's tribute were, for her to Heav'n was gone, 
My coffin, and my cradle, both were one, 

And at her sunset, mine began to rise. 

Wretch, how I quake to think on that sad day ! 
Which both for Life and Death at once made way ; lo 

Being gave the son, and mother turn'd to earth. 

Alas, I die ! Not that Life hastes so fast, 
But that to me each minute seems the last, 
For I, in Death's cold arms, receiv'd my Birth. 



The Scholar of his own Pupil 
The Third Idyllium of Bion Englished, beginning, 'A jUcyaXa 

I DREAMT, by me I saw fair Venus stand. 
Holding young Cupid in her lovely hand. 
And said. Kind Shepherd, I a Scholar bring. 
My little son, to learn of you to sing. 

Then went away ; and I to gain her praise, 
Would fain have taught him all my rural lays, 
How Pan found out the Pipe, Pallas the Flute, 
Phoebus the Harp, and Mercury the Lute. 

These were my subjects, which he still would slight, 

And fill my ears with Love-Songs, day and night ; lo 

Of mortals, and of Gods, what tricks they us'd. 

And how his mother Venus them abus'd. 

So I forgot my pupil to improve. 

And learn'd of him, by songs, the Art of Love. 



An Epitaph, on a Foolish Boaster 

Here to its pristine dust again is hurl'd, 

Of an inconstant soul, the little world ; 

He liv'd, as if to some great things design'd, 

With substance small, boasting a princely mind. 

Of body crooked, and distorted face. 
But manners that did much his form disgrace. 
In broils, his rage pusht him beyond his art, 
Was kick'd, would face again, but wanted heart. 

6 Those who have forgotten the once free ellipse of the relative might take 'her' 
for the dialectic nominative. But it is not so : and ' for ' is a preposition — ' for her 
[who].' 

8 A modern poet would no doubt think it necessary to write ' As her sun set ' or ' At 
her sun's set.' But whether his state would really be more gracious, dSrjKov tidaiv «t\.' 

(314) 



Alt Epitaph^ 072 a Foolish Boaster 

In his whole course of life so sweird with Pride, 

That, fail'd in all 's intrigues, for grief he died. lo 

Thus with ambitious wings we strive to soar, 

Flutter a while, fall, and are seen no more. 



The Danger of the Sea 

From the Thirteenth Book of the Macaronics of Merlinls Coccaius, 
beginning, Ififidum arridet saepe i7)iprudentil>us Aequor. 

The treacherous seas unwary men betray. 
Dissembling calms, but storms in ambush lay ; 
Such who in bounds of safety cannot keep. 
Flock here to see the wonders of the deep : 

They hope they may some of the Sea-Gods spy, 
With all their train of Nymphs, and Tritons by : 
But when their eyes lose the retiring shore, 
Join Heaven with seas, and see the land no more : 

Then wretched they, with brains are swimming round, 
Their undigested meats and choler drown : lo 

Nor yet their boiling stomachs can restrain, 
Till they the waters all pollute, and stain. 

When Aeolus enrag'd that human race, 

Should his old friend the Ocean, thus disgrace. 

To punish it, he from their hollow caves. 

With rushing noise, lets loose the winds his slaves. 

Who up tow'rds Heav'n such mighty billows throw. 

You'd think you saw from thence Hell's vaults below. 

Fools ! To whom wrecks have of no caution been, 

By other storms you might have this foreseen, 20 

Ere your bold sailors launch'd into the main, 
Then y'had ne'er strove to reach the shore in vain. 

lo No such uncertainty about grammatical progress need be hinted here, as was 
ventured in the last note. The omission of ' he ' before 'failed' [or foil'd], and the 
noMiinativus pendens, or awkwardly apposed, of ' swell'd ■ are not things to regret. 

Title] Orig. by a clerical or printer's error ' Cocalius.' I have not yet identified the 
passage. It certainly is not in the 13th Maccheronica of Signor Portioli's ed. of Folengo 
(Mantova 1882) nor in the 12th, which, as containing the famous passage of the storm, 
might seem likelier. 

22 The last line is an instance of the way in which the Alexandrine re-introduced 
itself. To get the exact decasyllabic you force the elision of 'y' and the slur of 
' ne'er.' Then it strikes you that 

* Then ye / had ne/ver g. ^'^,^" / to reach / the shore / in vain ' 
would be much better. 
(315) 



Philip Ayres 



An Expostulation with Love 

Thy laws are most severe, oh Winged Boy ! 

For us to love, and not enjoy : 
What reason is't we should this pain abide ? 

If love Ave must, you might provide, 
Either that our affections we restrain, 
From her we're sure to love in vain : 

Or after our desires so guide our feet. 

That where we love, we may an equal passion meet. 



On the Art of Writing 

Sure 'twas some God, in kindness first to men, 
Taught us the curious art to use the pen. 
'Tis strange the speaking quill should, without noise, 
Express the various tones of human voice. 

Of loudest accents we no sound retain. 
Voice to its native air resolves again ; 
Yet tho' as wind words seem to pass away, 
By pen we can their very echoes stay. 

When we from other converse are confin'd. 

This can reveal the secrets of the mind : lo 

All authors must to it their praises own. 

For 'twas the pen that made their labours known. 

Good acts with bad tradition would confound, 
But what we writ is kept entire and sound : 
Of this ingenious art Fame loudly sings, 
Which gives us lasting words, and lasting things. 



The Morn 

When Light begins the eastern Heav'n to grace, 
And the night's torches to the Sun give place, 
Diana leaves her Shepherd to his sleep, 
Griev'd that her horns cannot their lustre keep. 

The boughs on which the wanton birds do throng. 
Dance to the music of their chirping song, 
Whilst they rejoice the dusky clouds are fled, 
And bright Aurora rises from her bed. 

Then fools and flatterers to Courts resort, 
Lovers of game up, and pursue their sport ; to 

With last night's sleep refresh'd, the lab'ring swain 
Cheerfully settles to his work again. 

(316) 



The Mor72 

Pleas'd Hobb unfolds his flocks, and whilst they feed, 
Sits, and makes music on his oaten reed; 
Then I wake too, and viewing Lesbia's charms, 
Do glut myself with pleasure in her arms. 



To his Ingenious Friend, Mr. N. Tate 

Thro' various paths, for pleasures have I sought, 
Which short content, and lasting trouble brought ; 
These are the clouds obscure my reason's light, 
And charge with grief, when I expect delight. 

Spite of all lets, thou Honour's hill dost climb, 
Scorning to spend in empty joys thy time ; 
Thou in the foremost list of Fame dost strive, 
Whose present virtues, future glories give. 

With myrtle I, with bays, thou crown'st thy head, 

Thine still is verdant, but my wreath is dead : lo 

The trees I plant, and nurse with so much care, 

Are barren ; thine the glorj- of the year. 

I only tune my pipe to Cynthia's fame, 
With verse confin'd, but constant as my flame ; 
In thousand streams thy plenteous numbers fall, 
Thy muse attempts all strains, excels in all. 



Less Security at Sea than on Shore 

An Idyllium of Moschus Englished, beginning, Tkv oka 

Totv yXavKav — 

When seas are calm, tost by no angry wind, 
AVhat roving thoughts perplex my easy mind ! 
My Muse no more delights me, I would fain 
Enjoy the tempting pleasures of the main. 

But when I see the blust'ring storms arise, 
Heaving up waves, like mountains, to the skies ; 
The seas I dread, and all my fancy bend 
To the firm land, my old and certain friend. 

In pleasant groves I there can shelter take ; 

'Mongst the tall pines the winds but music make : lo 

The fisher's boat 's his house, on seas he strives 

To cheat poor fish, but still in danger lives. 

i6 If we read 'and fails' for ' excels' in the last couplet of this poem, it will not be 
inadequate to its subject. 

(3.7) 



Philip Ayres 



Sweetly does gentle sleep my eyes invade, 
While free from fear, under the plane-trees' shade 
I lie, and there the neighb'ring fountains hear. 
Whose purling noise with pleasure charms the ear. 



A Sonnet. Platonic Love 

Chaste Cynthia bids me love, but hope no more. 
Ne'er with enjoyment, ^ — which I still have strove 
T' obey, and ev'ry looser thought reprove; 

Without desiring her, I her adore. 

What human passion does with tears implore, 
The intellect enjoys, when 'tis in love 
With the eternal soul, which here does move 

In mortal closet, where 'tis kept in store. 

Our souls are in one mutual knot combin'd, 
Not common passion, dull and unrefin'd ; lo 

Our flame ascends, that smothers here below : 

The body made of earth, turns to the same, 
As Soul t' Eternity, from whence it came; 
My Love 's immortal then, and mistress too. 

Praises the Fountain Casis 

Translated from Jovianus Pontanus 

Casis, where Nymphs, and where the Gods resort, 
Thou art a friend to all iheir am'rous sport; 
Often does Pan from his Lycaeus run, 
In thy cool shades to 'scape the mid-day's Sun ; 

With music he thy neighb'ring hills does fill, 
On his sweet Syrinx, when he shows his skill ; 
To which the Naides hand in hand advance, 
And in just measures tread their graceful dance : 

By thee the goats delight, and browsing stray. 

Whilst on the rocks the kids do skip and play; lo 

Hither Diana, chasing deer, does hie. 

For on thy banks her game will choose to die. 

Here tir'd and hot, she sits and takes the air, 
Here bathes her limbs, and combs and dries her hair : 
The Muses in their songs thy praise express ; 
Dryas by thee begins to trick and dress. 

Oft to thy streams Calliope retires, 

And all the beauties of thy spring admires ; 

In whose close walks, while she from heat does keep, 

Charm'd with thy murm'ring noise, she falls asleep. 20 

( 3^8 ) 



Tho - the late parting was our joi7it desire 



To Cynthia gone into the Country 

Tho' the late parting was our joint desire, 
It did with diff'rent passions us inspire ; 
Thou wert o'erjoy'd, opprest with sorrow I ; 
Thy thoughts did faster than thy footsteps fly. 

But tho' I strove and labour'd to depart, 
Spite of my feet, I follow'd with my heart ; 
Since thus I griev'd my loss, it was unkind 
Not once to sigh for what thou left'st behind. 



Soneto Espaiiol de Don Felipe Ayres 

En alabanza de sii Ingenioso Amt'go, Don Pedro Reggio, uno 
de los mayores Musicos de su tiernpo. 

Si el Thebano Sabio, en dulce Canto 

De su Tierra los Hechos escrivia, 

Y en elegantes Versos los dezia, 
Que viven y con embidia, con espanto ; 

Tu Reggio, ya con soberano encanto, 

Del Pindaro Ingles, con Armonia, 

Assi exprimes la dulce Melodia, 
Que la admiration suspende el llanto. 

No es mucho pues, que venges lo mas fuerte, 

(Si ya tu voz merece eterna Palma) lo 

Y tu Instrumento al mismo Apolo assombre, 

Pues Logras dos Victorias en tu suerte, 
Una de la Armonia para L'alma : 

Otra del Instrumento para el Nombre. 



A Sonnet. On Cynthia sick 

Help ! Help ! Ye Nymphs, whilst on the neighb'ring plain 
Your flocks do feed, come and assistance bring ; 
Alas ! Fair Cynthia 's sick and languishing. 

For whom my heart endures a greater pain. 

Ye Syrens of the Thames, let all your train 

Tune their shrill Instruments, and to them sing, 
And let its flow'ry banks with echoes ring. 

This may her wonted cheerful looks regain. 

Soneto] I print Don Felipe here exactly as in the original, having no title to treat him 
otherwise. 

(319) 



Philip Ay res 



Ye herbs, that richest med'cines can produce, 
Come quickly and afford such sov'reign juice, lo 

As from her heart may all the pains remove : 

But in her face if death would paleness give, 
And Fate ordain that she in torment live, 
Then let her suffer in the flames of Love. 



The Turtle Doves 
From JoviANUs Pontanus 

Ye happy pair of turtle doves, 
Renewing still your former loves, 
Who on one bough, both sing one song. 
Have but one care, one heart, one tongue ; 

Whilst our Loves varying as our fate. 
Can scarce sometimes be known from Hate ; 
You to your first amours are true. 
Would we could pattern take by you. 

What force of love amongst us, tell. 

Such opposition can compel? lo 

If from some powerful fire it spring, 

Whence all this cold and shivering? 

From cold if Love's strange force arise 
How are our hearts his sacrifice? 
This myst'ry I can ne'er unfold, 
Why Love is rul'd by heat and cold. 

You might the scruple best remove 
That are the emblem of TRUE-LOVE. 



An Essay towards a Character of His Sacred 
Majesty King James the Second 

I PAINT the Prince the World would surely crave, 

Could they the sum of all their wishes have ; 

Pattern of goodness him on earth we see. 

Who knows he bears the stamp of Deity; 

He's made, by Nature, fit for sword or gown. 

And with undoubted right enjoys his Crown; 

As gold by fire, he 's tried by suffering, 

Preserv'd by miracles to be a King ; 

Troubles were foils to make his glories shine, 

Through all conducted by a Hand Divine : lo 

Malice long strove his fortunes to defeat. 

Now Earth and Heav'n conspire to make him great : 

( 320) 



^n Essay towards a Character of yafnes II 

He of all temp'ral blessings is possest, 

But in a Royal Consort doubly blest : 

His mind, as head, with princely virtue crown'd, 

To him, no equal can on Earth be found. 

His ev'ry action has peculiar grace. 

And MAJESTY appears in mien and face. 

In subjects' hearts, as on his throne he reigns ; 

Himself the weight of all his realms sustains ; 20 

Of ablest statesmen ever seeks advice, 

And of best councils knows to make his choice ; 

Is taught by long obedience, to command ; 

His own best gen'ral He for sea, and land. 

Loves Peace, whilst thus for War and Action fit. 

And Arms and Hate lays down when foes submit : 

Not of too open, nor too frugal mind, 

In all things to the Golden Mean inclin'd; 

Seems for himself not born, but people rather. 

And shows by's care, that He's their common Father; 30 

Lewdness expels both from his camp and Court ; 

No flatt'rers please, nor fools can make him sport ; 

Grave in discoursing, in his habit plain, 

And all excess endeavours to restrain : 

As Fates decree, so stands his Royal word, 

O'er all his passions governs as their lord; 

Nicely does he inspect each fair pretence. 

Justice alike to friend and foe dispense ; 

He 's the retreat to which opprest do fly. 

Extending help to those in misery. 40 

Gracious to good, to wicked men severe, 

Supports the humble, makes the haughty fear ; 

To true deserts in mercy unconfin'd. 

His laws do more Himself than others bind, 

At sea his naval power He stretches far, 

In Europe holds the scales of Peace and War, 

His actions lasting monuments shall frame. 

None leave to future age so sweet a name. 
Add ten times more, the Royal Image must 
Fall short of JAMES the Great, the Good, the Just. 50 



Sleeping Eyes 

Fair Eyes, ye mortal stars below, 

Whose aspects do portend my ill ! 
That sleeping cannot choose but show 
How wretched me you long to kill ; 
If thus you can such pleasure take, 
What would you, if you were awake? 

50 And the next year was 1688. 
II. ( 3" ) Y 



Philip Ayres 



To the Swallow 

An Ode of Anacreon Englished 
Beginning, 2u /xev ^iXi] XeXiSwv 



Dear Bird, thy tunes and sportings 
here, 
Delight us all the day ; 
Who dwell'st amongst us half the 
year, 
And then art forc'd away. 

II 

Thou canst not Winter's fury bear, 
But, cross the Southern Main, 

To warmer Afric dost repair, 
Till Spring return again. 

Ill 

But, ah ! no force of storm, or art, 
Drives Cupid from my breast, lo 

He took possession of my heart, 
And in it built his nest. 



IV 

This Bird there hatches all his 
young. 

Where each by instinct led, 
Learns of its sire his tricks and song, 

With shell upon its head. 

V 

And ere these Loves have plum'd 
their wings. 

They multiply apace. 
For as one plays, or cries, or sings, 

It propagates its race. 20 

VI 

Now their confusion 's grown so loud 

It cannot be exprest : 
I've such disturbance with the crowd, 

They give my soul no rest. 



Love so as to be belov'd again 

An Idyllium of Moschus 

Beginning, "Hpa Xlav 'A^ws tS? ycirovos . . 

Pan lov'd his neighbour Echo, Echo strove 
To gain a nimble Satyr to her Love; 
This Satyr had on Lyda fixt his flame, 
Who on another swain had done the same. 

As Echo Pan, did Satyr Echo hate ; 

And Lyda scorn'd the Satyr for her mate : 

Thus Love by contrarieties did burn. 

And each for Love and Hatred took the turn. 

For as these did the other's flame despise. 
As little those their lovers' passions prize : 
Then learn all you who never felt the pain. 
To love, as you may be belov'd again. 

(3") 



10 



Of loving Venus^ Celestial Liglii ! 

All things should contribute to the Lover's Assistance 
An Idyllium of Moschus Englished 

Beginning, "Eo-Trcpc, ras e'paras . . . 

Of loving Venus, O Celestial Light ! 
Hesperus, Usher of the sable Night, 
Tho' paler than the Moon, thou dost as far 
Transcend in brightness ev'ry other star. 

To my dear Shepherdess my steps befriend. 
In Luna's stead do thou thy conduct lend ; 
With waning light, not long before the Sun, 
She rose, and now by this her course has run. 

No base intrigue this night I undertake. 

No journey I for common bus'ness make : lo 

I love, and bear within me Cupid's Fire, 

And all things should to lovers' aid conspire. 

Cupid turn'd Ploughman 
An Idyllium of Moschus 

Aa/x7raSa ^€is koI Tol^a . . . 

Once for his pleasure Love would go 

Without his quiver, torch, or bow ; 

He took with him a ploughman's whip. 

And corn as much as fiU'd his scrip ; 

Upon his shoulders hung the load, 

And thus equipp'd he went abroad ; 

AVith bulls that often yokes had worn. 

He plough'd the ground, and sow'd his corn, 

Then looking up to Heav'n with pride. 

Thus mighty Jove he vilified. lo 

* Now scorch my field, and spoil my seed, 

Do, and you shall repent the deed ; 

Europa's bull ! I '11 make you bow 

Your haughty neck, and draw my plough.' 

Love's Subtilty 

An Idyllium of Moschus 

Beginning, 'AA^cios ftcra ntcraf . . . 

By Pisa's walls does old Alpheus flow 
To Sea, and thence to's Arethusa go. 
With waters bearing presents as they move. 
Leaves, flowers, and olive-branches, to his Love. 

( 323 ) V 2 



Philip Ayres 



And of the sacred dust the heroes raise, 
When at Olympic Games they strive for bays ; 
He sinks and dives with art beneath the sea, 
And to Sicilia does his streams convey. 

But still will he his purity retain, 

Nor is his course obstructed by the main. 

'Twas Love, whose subtil tricks will ne'er be done. 

That taught the am'rous river thus to run. 



10 



Love makes the best Poets 

An Idyllium of Bion 

Beginning, Tai Moicrat tov "Epwra rov aypiov . . 

Darts, Torch, or Bow, the Muses do not fear, 
They love and follow Cupid ev'ry where. 
And him whose breast his arrows cannot reach, 
They all avoid, refusing him to teach. 

But if Love's fire begin to warm a heart, 
They straight inspire it with their sacred art; 
Let none with subtil logic this deny. 
For I too well the truth can testify. 

If Men or Gods I strive to celebrate, 
My music 's discord, and my verse is flat : 
For Love, or Lycis, when my vein I show, 
My viol 's tun'd, and sweetest numbers flow. 



lO 



The Death of Adonis 

'^ASoouiv 77 Kvdijpr) 
Of Theocritus Englished 



When VENUS her ADONIS found. 
Just slain, and welt'ring on the 

ground, 
With hair disorder'd, ghastly look, 
And cheeks their roses had forsook ; 
She bad the Cupids fetch with speed, 
The Boar that did this horrid deed : 
They, to revenge Adonis' blood, 
As quick as birds search'd all the 

wood. 
And straight the murd'rous creature 

found. 
Whom they, with chains, securely 

bound ; 10 

And whilst his net one o'er him flung, 

(3M) 



To drag the captive Boar along ; 
Another follow'd with his bow. 
Pushing to make him faster go ; 
Who most unwillingly obey'd, 
For he of VENUS was afraid. 

No sooner she the Boar espied, 
But, 'Oh ! Thou cruel beast,' she 

cried, 
' That hadst the heart to wound this 

thigh, 19 

Howcouldst thou kill so sweet a boy?' 

* Great Goddess ' (said the Boar, 

and stood 
Trembling), ' I swear by all that's 

good, 



The Death of Adonis 



By thy fair Self, by Him I've slain. 
These pretty hunters, and this 

chain \ 
I did no harm this youth intend. 
Much less had thought to kill your 

friend : 
I gaz'd, and with my passion strove. 
For with his charms I fell in love : 
At last that naked thigh of his. 
With lover's heat I ran to kiss ; 30 
Oh fatal cause of all my woe ! 
'Twas then I gave the heedless 

blow. 
These tusks with utmost rigour draw, 
Cut, break, or tear them from my jaw, 



'Tis just I should these teeth re- 
move, 
Teeth that can have a sense of Love ; 
Or, this revenge if yet too small, 
Cut off the kissing lips and all.' 
When Venus heard this humble 
tale, 
Pity did o'er her rage prevail, 40 
She bad them straight his chains 

untie, 
And set the Boar at liberty ; 
Who ne'er to wood return'd again. 
But follow'd Venus in her train, 
And when by chance to fire he came, 
His am'rous tusks sing'd in the flame. 



Love a Spirit 

I TOLD Jacinta t'other day. 

As in a pleasant bow'r we sate, 

Sporting and chatting time away, 
Of Love, and of I know not what; 

That Love 's a spirit, some maintain. 

From whom (say they) we're seldom free ; 

He gives us both delight and pain, 
Yet him we neither touch, nor see. 

But when I view (said I) your eyes, 
I can perceive he thither skips. 

He now about them hov'ring flies, 
And I can feel him on your lips. 



10 



Commends the Spring 
A Paraphrase on an Idyllium of Bion 
Beginning, Etapos, w Mvpo-wv, 17 yf.'niaTO'i rj (jiOivoTnitpov. 

Cleodemus and Myrson 
Cleodemus 
Which season, Myrson, does most pleasure bring. 
The Summer, Autumn, Winter, or the Spring? 
Does not the Summer ? When the joyful swain 
Pays Ceres' rights, and fills his barns with grain. 
Or is the Autumn best in your esteem? 
That drives no shepherd to the distant stream 
To quench his thirst : or wanting common food. 
To range for nuts and acorns in the wood. 

4 rights] stc in orig. It is often difficult to know whether to read ' rights ' or 
rites,' and this is one of the cases. 

(335) 



Philip Ayres 



For then our vines their nectar juice afford : 

And orchards with ambrosian fruits are stor'd. lo 

Or can you the cold Winter more admire ? 

When frost and snow confine you to the fire, 

With wine and feasting, music and deh'ghts, 

And pleasant tales, to shorten tedious nights. 

Or give you for the flow'ry Spring your voice? 

Pray tell me, for I long to hear your choice. 

MVRSON 

Since God at first (as we from poets hear) 

Distinguish'd these Four Seasons of the Year, 

Sacred to Deities, to whom we bow, 

Our judgement of them they will scarce allow. ao 

Yet, Cleodemus, answ'ring your request, 

I'll tell my thoughts, which I esteem the best. 

Summer offends, when Sol with fiercest ray. 

On my tir'd limbs, does fainting heats convey : 

And me as little can moist Autumn please, 

Engend'ring fogs, that season 's all disease ; 

Much less could I delight in Winter's snow. 

Its nipping frosts, or tempests when they blow. 

But, oh, the Spring ! whose name delights the ear. 

Would a continual spring were all the year. 30 

If th' others brought no damage, yet the Spring, 

With purer air, makes birds in concert sing. 

It clothes our fields, our gardens, and our bowers. 

In fresh array, adorn'd with various flowers. 

It makes the fruitful Earth, when pregnant long, 

Bring forth, and kindly nurse her tender young. 

Herds leave their fodder, and in pastures keep; 

And day is equal to the time of sleep. 

When God from Nothing made the Heav'ns and Earth, 

And first gave all his creatures life and birth : 40 

Sure it was Spring, and gentle winds did blow. 

And all Earth's products full perfection show. 

To sweet Meat, sour Sauce 

An Imitation of Theocritus or Anacreon 

As Cupid from the bees their honey stole, 

Being stung, he in the anguish of his soul, 

Fled with his dear-bought purchase, which he laid 

On Cynthia's lips, and thus in anger said : 

' Here I'm resolv'd shall a memorial be. 

Of this my sweet, but punish'd robbery : 

Let him endure as great a pain as this. 

Who next presumes these nectar lips to kiss ; 

Their sweetness shall convey revenging smart, 

Honey to's mouth, but torment to his heart.' 10 

(326) 



A brisk young arche?^ 



The Young Fowler that mistook his Game 

An Idyllium of Bion 

'I^ci'Ta? €Ti Kwpo5 ev aXo-et SerSpuerrt 
opvea 6r)pev(DV . . . 

A BRISK young archer that had scarce his trade, 

In search of game, alone his progress made 

To a near wood, and as he there did rove. 

Spied in a box-tree perch'd, the God of Love : 

For joy, did he his lucky stars adore. 

Ne'er having seen so large a bird before; 

Then in due order all his lime-twigs set, 

Prepar'd his arrows, and display'd his net ; 

Yet would the crafty bird no aim allow, 

But flew from tree to tree, and bough to bough ; lo 

At which his strange success, for grief he cried, 

In anger throwing bow and toils aside : 

And to the man that taught him, ran in haste. 

To whom he gave account of all that past. 

Making him leave his plough, to come and see. 

And show'd him Cupid sitting in the tree. 

The good man, when he saw it, shook his head ; 

' Leave off, fond boy, leave off,' he smiling said ; 

' Haste from this dang'rous fowl, that from you flies, 

And follow other game, let me advise. 20 

For when to riper age you shall attain, 

This bird that shuns you now, you'll find again ; 

Then use your skill, 'twill all your art abide ; 

Sit on your shoulders, and in triumph ride.' 



Cupid's Nest 

Ah ! Tell me, Love, thy nesting place, 

Is't in my heart, or Cynthia's face? 

For when I see her graces shine. 

There art thou perch'd with pow'r divine : 

Yet straight I feel thy pointed dart, 

And find thee flutt'ring in my heart ; 

Then since amongst us thou wilt show, 

The many tricks thou, Love, canst do, 

Prithee for sport remove thy nest, 

First to my face, and then to Cynthia's breast. 10 

( 337 ) 



Philip Ayres 



To Himself 
An Ode of Anacreon 

Beginning, "Orav 6 BaK;(os da-iXOrj . . . 

When fumes of Wine ascend into my brain, 
Care sleeps, and I the bustling world disdain. 
Nor all the wealth of Croesus I esteem, 
I sing of mirth, for Jollity's my theme. 

With garlands, I my ruby temples crown. 
Keeping rebellious thoughts of business down ; 
In broils, and wars, while others take delight, 
I with choice friends indulge my appetite. 

Then fetch more bottles, Boy, and charge us round, 

We'll fall to Bacchus, victims on the ground; lo 

Nor value what dull moralists have said, 

I'm sure 'tis better to be drunk, than dead. 



To his Mistress 

Eh Koprjv 
An Ode of Anacreon 

Beginning, ''H TavraXov ttot ea-rr] . . . 

Near Troy, Latona's rival makes her moan, 
Chang'd by the Gods, into a weeping stone; 
And ravish'd Philomel (they say 'tis true) 
Became a bird, stretch'd out her wings, and flew. 

But I could wish to be your looking-glass. 
Thence to admire the beauties of your face : 
Or rode de chamhre, that each night and morn. 
On those sweet limbs undrest, I might be worn. 

Or else a crystal spring for your delight, 

And you to bathe in those cool streams invite : lo 

Or be some precious sweets to please the smell, 

That in your hand, I near your lips might dwell. 

Or string of pearls, upon your neck to rest, 
Or pendent gem, kissing your snowy breast ; 
E'en to your feet, would I my wish pursue, 
A shoe I'd be, might I be worn by you. 

(338) 



'Z/'j" sad if Love should miss a heart 



To Love 



An Ode of Anacreon 

Beginning, XaXcTroi' to /xr/ <f}iXr}(rat. 



'Tis sad if Love should miss a heart, 
Yet sadder much to feel the smart, 
But who can Cupid's wounds endure, 
And have no prospect of a cure ? 

We Lovers are not look'd upon 
For what our ancestors have done. 
Wit and good parts have slight re- 
gard, 
No Virtue can obtain reward. 

They ask what coin our purses hold. 
No object 's like a heap of gold, lo 



But doubly be the A\Tetch accurst 
Who taught us to esteem it first. 

This thirst of gold incites one 

brother 
To ruin or destroy another : 
Our fathers we for gold despise. 
Hence Envy, Strife, and Wars arise : 
And Gold 's the bane, as I could 

prove, 
Of all that truly are in Love. 



On a Death's-Head, covered with Cobwebs, 

kept in a Library, and said to be 

the Skull of a King 

A Sonnet. Out of Spanish, from Don Luis De Gongora 

This mortal spoil which so neglected lies. 

Death's sad Memento, now where spiders weave 
Their subtil webs, which innocence deceive, 

Whose strength to break their toils cannot suffice : 

Saw itself crown'd, itself triumphant saw. 
With mighty deeds proclaiming its renown ; 
Its smiles were favours, terror was its frown, 

The World of its displeasure stood in awe. 

Where Pride ordaining laws did once preside, 
Which land should peace enjoy, which wars abide. 
There boldly now these little insects nest ; 

Then raise not, Kings, your haughty plumes so high, 
For in Death's cold embraces when you lie, 

Your bones with those of common subjects rest. 

( 329 ) 



10 



Philip Ayj^es 



From an Imperfect Ode of Hybrias the Cretan 

Beginning, "Eo-rt /xoi ttAovto?, /u-eya Sopv, koX $L<f)o<; . . . 

My riches are a trusty sword, and spear, 
And a tough shield, which I in battle wear ; 
This, as a rampart, its defence does lend. 
Whilst with the others I my foes offend. 

With these I plough, with these my crops I reap, 
With these, for wine, I press the juicy grape, 
These are (unless I fall by fickle chance) 
Machines which me to dignities advance. 

Oh thrice beloved Target, Spear, and Sword, 

That all these heav'nly blessings can afiford ! lo 

Those who the havoc of my weapons fear. 

And tremble when of blood, and wounds they hear. 

They are the men which me my treasures bring, 
Erect my trophies, style me Lord and King : 
And such, while I my conquests spread abroad, 
Fall and adore me, as they do their God. 



Complains of the Shortness of Life 

An Idyllium of Bion 

Et jxoL KaXa Tre'Aet to. fieXvopia . . . 

Tho' I had writ such poems, that my name 

Deserv'd enrolment in the Book of Fame ; 

Or tho' my Muse could ne'er acquire the bays, 

Why thus in drudging do I spend my days? 

For should indulgent Heav'n prolong our date. 

Doubling the term of life prescrib'd by Fate, 

That we might half in care and toil employ, 

And spend the other in delights and joy : 

We then this sweet assurance might retain. 

To reap in time the fruits of all our pain : lo 

But since none can the bounds of life extend, 

And all our troubles have a speedy end, 

\Vhy do we wrack our brains, and waste our health, 

To study curious arts, or heap up wealth ? 

Sure we forget we came of mortal seed. 

And the short time Fate has for us decreed. 

( 335 ) 



Casis^ to craving fields thou lih''7'al flood 

Being- sick of a Fever, complains of the Fountain 

Casis 

Out of Latin from Jovianus Pontanus 

Casis, to craving fields thou lib'ral flood, 

Why so remote when thou should'st cool my blood? 

From mossy rocks thy silver streams do glide, 

By which the sultry air is qualified ; 

Tall trees do kindly yield thy head their shade, 

Where choirs of birds their sweet retreats have made ; 

But me a fever here in bed detains. 

And heat dries up the moisture of my veins. 

For this, did I with flowers thy banks adorn? 

And has, for this, thy head my garlands worn? lo 

Ungrateful spring, 'tis I, thy tale have told, 

And sang in verses, thy renown of old. 

How on a time, Jove made in Heav'n a feast, 

To which each God and Goddess came a guest ; 

Young Ganymede was there to fill the bowl, 

The boy, by 's Eagle Jove from Ida stole : 

Who, proud the Gods admir'd his mien and face, 

And active in the duty of his place : 

Turning in haste, he made a careless tread. 

And from the goblet all the nectar shed, 20 

A\hich pouring down from Heav'n upon the ground. 

In a small pit, itself had forc'd, was found. 

At which Jove smil'd, and said, ' My lovely boy, 

I'll make this keep thy chance in memory ; 

A brook shall flow where first thy liquor fell, 

And Casis call'd, which of thy fame shall tell.' 

Then with a kiss he did his minion grace, 

Making a crimson blush overspread his face. 

This flatt'ring tale I often us'd to sing, 

To the soft music of thy bubbling spring ; 3° 

But thou to distant Umbrians dost retire. 

Forgetful grown of thy Aonian lyre ; 

No kindness now thou yield'st me as at first, 

No cooling water to allay my thirst ; 

I have thy image in my troubled brain, 

But to my palate no relief obtain. 

Whole vessels in my dreams I seem to drink, 

And that I cool my raging fever think ; 

My sleep to me at least this comfort yields. 

Whilst the fierce dog-star chaps the parched fields. 4° 

Some help, ye Muses, to your Poet bring. 

Let him not thirst that drinks your sacred spring; 

Persephon's favour with your songs implore, 

Orpheus appeas'd her with his harp before. 

( sr.i ) 



Philip Ay res 



His Heart, into a Bird 

The tears o'erflow'd fair Cynthia's eyes, 

Her pretty bird away was flown ; 

For this great loss she made her moan, 
And quarrell'd with her destinies. 

My Heart a secret joy exprest. 

As hoping good from that escape, 

Took wings, and in the fug'tive's shape. 
Got shelter in her snowy breast. 

Which prov'd a fatal resting-place, 

For she, th' impostor when she found, lo 

Gave it with spite a mortal wound, 
Then pleas'd, she laugh'd, and dried her face. 



In Praise of a Country Life 

The bliss which souls enjoy above, 

He seems on Earth to share, 
Who does divine retirement love, 

And frees himself from care. 
Nor thought admits which may his peace control, 
But in a quiet state contents his bounded soul. 

Faction and noisy routs he hates. 

Fills not his head with news. 
Waits at no state-man's crowded gates, 

Nor servile phrase does use; lo 

From all false meaning are his words refin'd. 
His sober out-side is the index of his mind. 

In pleasant shades enjoys his ease, 

No project spoils his sleep. 
With rural pipe himself can please. 
And charm his wand'ring sheep. 
Till to his cottage in some quiet grove, 
By dusky night's approach he's summon'd to remove. 

On tempting gold, and baits of gain. 

With scorn he casts his eyes, 20 

As Mischiefs root, and Virtue's bane, 
Can their assaults despise ; 
Riches he sees our liberty abuse. 
And to their slavish yoke he does his neck refuse. 

9 The form ' state-man ' is just worth notice. 
(332) 



In Praise of a Country Life 

Fruit-trees their loaded boughs extend, 

For him to take his choice ; 
His wholesome drink the fountains lend, 
With pleasant purling noise ; 
In notes untaught, birds that like him are free, 
Strive which shall most delight him with their harmony. 30 

Th' industrious bee example shows, 

And teaches him to live, 
While she from woodbine, pink, and rose, 
Flies loaded to her hive : 
Yet narrow bounds contain his winter's store. 
Let Nature be supplied, and he desires no more. 

No misery this man attends, 

Vice cannot him allure, 
Each chance contributes to his ends, 

Which makes his peace secure; 40 

Others may boast of their luxurious strife. 
But happy he possesses more of solid life. 

Mortal Jealousy 

Begone, O thou distracting Care, 
Partner of Sorrow, and Despair ! 
Thy poison spreads to ev'ry part 
Of this my poor tormented heart. 

If it be false, with which of late 
Thou hast disturb'd my quiet state, 
Why, to affright me, would'st thou bring 
So well compos'd a monstrous thing ? 

But if with Truth thou would'st delight, 

To clear my long deluded sight, 10 

Under that veil does falsehood lie, 

'Tis Death thou bring'st, not Jealousy. 

The Innocent Magician; or, A Charm against Love 

A GREAT, but harmless conjurer am I, 
That can Love's captives set at liberty ; 
Hearts led astray by his deluding flame, 
I to their peaceful dwellings can reclaim ; 
Love's wings I clip, and take from him his arms, 
By the sole virtue of my sacred charms. 

His empire shakes when I appear in sight. 

My words the wing'd and quiver'd boys affright ; 

Their close retreats my boundless power invades. 

Nor can they hide them in their myrtle shades. lo 

Their Sun's bright rays, they now eclips'd shall find, 

Whose fancied light strikes giddy Lovers blind, 

( 333 ) 



Philip Ayres 



Rays of fair eyes, which they proclaim divine, 
And boast they can Sol's dazzling beams out-shine. 
The storms of sighs, and rivers of their eyes, 
My skill allays, and their large current dries. 
Hearts that are dead, I from their graves retrieve, 
And by my magic-spell can make them live. 

For know, they're only tricks, and subtil arts, 

^V^ith which the Tyrant Love ensnares our hearts ; 20 

This traitor plants his toils to gain his prize, 

In curls of flaxen hair, and sparkling eyes : 

In each soft look, and smile, he sets a gin, 

White hands or snowy breasts can tempt us in. 

Wholly on mischief is his mind employ'd. 

His fairest shows do greatest dangers hide ; 

With charming sounds his vot'ries he beguiles. 

Till he destroys them by his Syren's wiles ; 

His cunning Circes ev'rywhere deceive, 

And men of souls and human shape bereave. 30 

A thousand other arts this treach'rous boy. 

To heedless lovers' ruin does employ. 

Be watchful then, and his allurements shun : 

So ends my charm. Run to your Freedom : run. 



The Happy Nightingale 

Melodious creature, happy in thy choice ! 

That sitting on a bough 
Dost sing, ' Dear mate, my dear, come to me now ' ; 

And she obeys thy voice. 
Ah, could my songs such bliss procure ! 
For mine could Cynthia ne'er allure : 

Nor have I wings like thee to fly, 

But must neglected lie ; 
I cannot her to pity move, 

She scorns my songs, and me : 10 

While thou rejoicest all the grove 

(As well thou may'st) with melody. 
For thou art happy in thy love. 

No creature e'er could boast a perfect state. 
Unless to thee it may belong, 
Since Nature lib'rally supplies 
All thy infirmities. 
To thy weak organs gave a pow'rful song ; 
Tho' small in size, thou art in Fortune great, 
Compar'd to mine, thy happiness is most complete. 20 

•( 334 ) 



The Fame we covet is a wand' rifig air 

On Fame 

The Fame we covet is a wand'ring air, 
Which against Silence wages constant war ; 
For to be mute does her so much displease, 
That true, or false, she seldom holds her peace ; 
She but a while can in a place remain, 
'Tis running up and down, does her sustain ; 
Tho' dead she seem, she quickly can revive, 
And with a thousand tongues, a Hydra live. 



Leander Drowned 

Tho' winds and seas oppose their utmost spite, 
Join'd with the horror of a dismal night, 
To keep his word the brave Leander strove, 
Honour his Convoy, and his Pilot Love ; 
He long resists the envious billows' rage. 
Whose malice would his generous flame assuage. 

At last, his weary limbs o'ercome with pain. 

No longer could the mighty force sustain ; 

Then thoughts of losing Hero made him grieve, 

Only for Hero could he wish to live. lo 

With feeble voice, a while to respite Fate, 

He with his foes would fain capitulate : 

Whilst they against him still their fury bend. 
Nor these his dying accents would attend : 
'Since to your greater powers I must submit. 
Ye Winds and Seas, at least, this prayer admit ; 
That with my faith I may to her comply. 
And at return let me your Victim die.' 

To Sleep, when sick of a Fever 

H.^ppv are we who when our senses tire, 
Can slack the chain of thought, and check Desire. 
Nature her works does in perfection frame. 
Rarely producing any weak, or lame ; 

She looks on Man with kindest Influence, 
Does for one ill a thousand goods dispence ; 
Sleep, blessed Sleep she gave our lab'ring eyes. 
Oh how I now those happy minutes prize ! 

This rest, our Life's cessation we may call, 

The ease of Toil, of Care the interval. lo 

For such refreshment we from Sleep obtain. 

That we with pleasure fall to work again. 

(335 ) 



Philip Ay res 



To minds afflicted, Sleep a cure imparts, 
Pouring its sov'reign balsam on our hearts. 
When wounds or sharp distempers rage, and sting, 
Kind slumbers then some welcome respites bring : 

But waking kept by an excess of grief. 

We from Eternal Sleep expect relief. 

So wretched I, tormented to Despair, 

With pain my body, and my soul with Care, 20 

Implore thy comfort, gentle Deity, 

Whom none could e'er but with clos'd eyelids see. 



An Epigram on Woman 

Since Man 's a Little World, to make it great 
Add Woman, and the metaphor 's complete ; 
Nature this piece with utmost skill design'd, 
And made her of a substance more refin'd, 
But wretched Man, compos'd of dust and clay, 
Must like all earthly things, with Time decay ; 

While she may justly boast of what 's eternal, 
A Heav'nly Count'nance, and a Heart Infernal. 



Of Learning 

A Paraphrase on Callimachus 

Beginning, Kat yap eyw Ta [xkv ocrcra . . . 

The rosy chaplets which my head adorn, 
And richest garments on my body worn. 
In beauty and in substance must decay, 
And by degrees shall all consume away. 

The meats and drinks which do my life sustain. 

Nature in certain hours expels again. 

We of no outward blessings are secure. 

They cannot Time's nor Fortune's shocks endure. 

For all my worldly goods are subject still 

To a thiefs mercy, or oppressor's will : 10 

But Sacred Learning treasur'd in the mind, 

When all things else forsake me, stays behind. 

(336) 



Is Cynthia happily return d 



Cynthia returned from the Country 



long 



have 



Is Cynthia happily return'd, 
Whose absence I so 

mourn'd ? 
Or do I dream, or is it she ? 
My life's restorer 'tis, I see. 
Ah, Fugitive, that hadst the heart, 
Body and Soul so long to part ! 
Thy presence is a sweet surprise, 
A welcome dream to waking eyes ; 
Who can such joy in bounds contain. 
My Cynthia is come back again ! lo 



No notice of your coming ? This 
Is just to surfeit me with bliss. 
You are (as when you went) unkind, 
With such extremes to charge my 

mind ; 
This sudden pleasure might destroy, 
E'er Sorrow could make way for 

Joy. 
The eye is struck before the ear. 
We lightning see, e'er we the 

thunder hear. 



A Paean, or Song of Triumph, translated into a Pindaric ; 

supposed to be of Alcaeus, of Sappho, 

or of Praxilla the Sicyonian ^ 

Begmning, 'Ev ixvprov KXahl to ^i<^o^ (fiopT^croi . . . 

This sword I'll carry in a myrtle bough. 

It is my trophy now ; 
Aristogiton, and Harmodius, 
They bare it thus, 
When they the Tyrant had destroy'd. 
Restoring Athens to those liberties, 
Which she so much does prize. 
And which she anciently enjoy'd. 

O dear Harmodius ! Thou art not dead, 

But in the Island of the Blest lo 

Dost live in peace, and rest : 
For so, 'tis said, 
Thou happy art in company 
Of swift Achilles, and fierce Diomede ; 
And dost Tydides see ; 

* Whence did Ayres get his idea of the authorship of this famous scolion? It has 
no ancient warranty that I know of. The curious thing is that there is a fragment 
{'AS/iTjTov \6yov 8cc.) which Praxilla has the honour of contesting (successfully according 
to the Scholiast) with the two great lyrists. As both pieces are quoted in Aristophanes, 
and both are commented on by the Scholiasts there, the mistake is rather creditable 
to Ayres than the reverse. For he had pretty evidently read his Aristophanes, though 
his memory shuffled the words. But his apparent severance of ' Diomede ' and 
' Tydides ' is less excusable. In the Greek (see Bergk, iii. 647, ed. 4) there is no 
ambiguity. (Collins, in the Liberty Ode, plumps for Alcaeus, of course.) 



II. 



(337 ) 



Philip Ayres 



Therefore this Sword in a green myrtle bough, 
I carry as in triumph now. 

The brave Harmodius, 
And fam'd Aristogiton bare it thus : 

For when they had perform'd the sacrifice, 20 

To our great patroness, Minerva, due, 

They, as he in his grandeur sate. 
The tyrant, proud Hipparchus, slew. 

Who o'er th' Athenian State, 
Without pretence of right, did tyrannize. 

Eternal honours you on Earth shall gain, 
Aristogiton and Harmodius ! 

You have the bloody tyrant slain. 
By which you do restore 
Your city to the laws which govern'd it before. 30 



Beauty makes us Happy 

Happy 's the man who does thy beauty see ; 
Yet happier he who sees and sighs for thee : 
But he does greatest happiness obtain, 
AVho sighs for thee, and makes thee sigh again ; 
Some powerful star did govern at his birth. 
Who for the lov'liest creature upon earth. 
Shall in content his eye and wishes join. 
And safely say of thee. That heart is mine. 

To John Qryden, Esq. ; Poet Laureate and Historio- 
grapher Royal, his Honoured Friend 

My Muse, when heated with poetic flame, 
Longs to be singing thy exalted name ; 
The noble task she sets before my eyes. 
And prompts me to begin the enterprise; 

My eager hand no sooner takes the pen, 

But seiz'd with trembling, lets it fall agen : 

My tim'rous heart bids stop, and whisp'ring says. 

What canst thou sing that may advance his praise? 

His quill 's immortal, and his flights are higher 

Than eye of human fancy can aspire : 10 

A lasting fountain, from whose streams do flow 

Eternal honours where his works shall go. 

From him the wits their vital humour bring : 

As brooks have their first currents from the Spring ; 

Could my unskilful pen augment his fame, 

I should my own eternize with his name. 

( 338 ) 



To yofui Drydefi 



But hold, my Muse, thy theme too great decline, 

Remember that the subject is divine : 

His works do more than pen or tongues can say, 

Each line does Beauty, Grace, and Wit display. 20 



To a SinCTinor Bird 

Dear prison'd Bird, how do the stars combine 

To make my am'rous state resemble thine? 

Thou, happy thou ! dost sing, and so do I, 

Yet both of us have lost our liberty ; 

For him thou sing'st who captive thee detains. 

And I for her who makes me wear her chains : 

But I, alas, this disproportion find. 

Thou for delight, I sing to ease my mind : 

Thy heart 's exalted, mine depress'd does lie ; 

Thou liv'st by singing, I by singing die. lo 



The Happy Lover 

Hark Lovers, hark, and I shall tell 

A wonder that will please you well ; 

She, whom I lov'd as my own heart. 

For whom I sigh'd and suffer'd smart; 

Whom I above the world admir'd : 

When I approach'd, who still retir'd : 

Was so reserv'd, but yet so fair. 

An angel to what others are : 

Herself from Love escapes not free. 

The man belov'd? 'Tis happy I am He. 10 



On Peace 

Uepl elp-qi/T]^ 

The Paean of Bacchylides, beginning 

TtK-ret Se BvaTOLcnv elpyva /AcyaAa 

llAoiJTOI' ... 

Great Goddess Peace does Wealth on us bestow. 
From her our Sciences and Learning flow. 
Our Arts improve, and we the artists prize. 
Our Altars fume with richest sacrifice : 

Youths mind their active sports — they often meet, 
Revel, and dance with maidens in the street ; 
The useless shield serves to adorn the hall. 
Whence spiders weave their nets against the wall ; 

{ 339 ) 22 



Philip Ayres 

Gauntlets and spears lie cover'd o'er with dust, 

And slighted swords half eaten up with rust ; lo 

No trumpets sound, no rattling drums we hear, 

No frightful clamours pierce the tim'rous ear; 

Our weary eyes enjoying nat'ral rest, 
Refresh the heart when 'tis with cares opprest ; 
Days steal away in feasting and delight, 
And lovers spend in serenades the night. 



An Ode of Anacreon 

Beginnmg IIoAtot \ikv rj/xiv rjSrj Kpora^oL . . . 

My. hairs are hoary, wrinkled is my Face, 
I lose my strength, and all my manly grace ; 
My eyes grow dim, my teeth are broke or gone, 
And the best part of all my life is done; 

I'm drown'd in cares, and often sigh and weep ; 
My spirits fail me, broken is my sleep ; 
Thoughts of the gaping grave distract my head ; 
For in its paths, 'wake or asleep, we tread; 

None can from it by art their feet restrain ; 

Nor back, tho' wide its gates, can come again. lo 

Then since these ills attend the Hfe of man, 

Let's make their burden easy as we can. 

Cares are no cares, but whilst on them we think, 

To clear our minds of such dull thoughts, let 's drink. 



The Musical Conqueress 

Led by kind stars one evning to the grove, 
I spied my Cynthia in the Walk of Love ; 
Her heav'nly voice did soon salute my ears, 
I heard, methought, the Music of the Spheres. 

Those notes on all the birds had laid a spell, 
And list'ning 'mongst the rest was Philomel; 
Who thinking she, in credit, suffer'd wrong. 
Strove, tho' in vain, to equal Cynthia's song : 

But when herself, in voice, outdone she knew. 

Being griev'd, she ceas'd, and from her rival flew, lo 

I stay'd and saw my fair walk round the tree, 

And sing her triumph for the victory. 

Thus whilst my ears were feasted with delight. 
My eyes no less were charm'd at her angelic sight. 

(340) 



Why dost thou fly me thus ? Oh cruel boy ! 



A Nymph to a young Shepherd, insensible of Love 

Why dost thou fly me thus? Oh cruel boy! 
I am no wolf that would thy life destroy : 
But a fond Nymph, admirer of thy face, 
As Echo once of fair Narcissus was. 

Thou e'en in dangers dost thy fancy please, 
Striving with toil the hunted game to seize : 
While wretched me, who languish for thy sake, 
When in thy net thou dost refuse to take. 

But I, alas, in vain attempt to find 

Effects of pity in a hard'ned mind : lo 

As soon the hare its hunters may pursue, 

As I with prayers thy cruel heart subdue. 

My pow'r, I see, cannot thy steps retain. 
Thus led by sports, and wing'd by thy disdain. 



Compares the Troubles which he has undergone 

for Cynthia's Love, to the Labours of 

Hercules 

Not Hercules himself did undertake 
Such toilsome labours for his mistress' sake: 
As I for many years with endless pain. 
The slave of Love, Love's fatigues sustain. 

Tho' he slew Hydra; from th' Infernal King, 
Did the three-headed yelping porter bring; 
Tyrants destroy'd; Nemaean lion tare, 
And Atlas' burden on his shoulders bare. 

To stand the scorns of an imperious brow ; 

Resist such hate as would no truce allow; lo 

A stubborn heart by patient suffVing, tame; 

And with weak rhythms, exalt her glorious name; 

Are acts shall more the world with wonder fill. 
Than his who did so many monsters kill; 
Conquer a crafty bull; disturb Hell's Court; 
Th' Hesperian garden rob, and Heav'n support. 

(341) 



Philip Ayres 



The Trophy 

Now, now, my heart's my own again, 

The vict'ry 's won, no more I'll grieve ; 

My mind's at peace, 'tis eased of pain 

And now I shall with pleasure live. 

Lovers from your IDOL fly, 

He's the common ENEMY; 

Let him flatter, let him smile. 

All his drifts are to beguile : 

His poison he distills. 

By cunning ARTS, lo 

Into our HEARTS, 

And then with torment kills : 

Trust not his deluding FACE, 

Dang'rous is his kind embrace ; 

Believe not what you hear or see. 

For He's made up of TREACHERY; 

Nor be by TRICKS into his ambush charm'd. 

The more HE naked seems, the more He 's arm'd. 



In Sphaeram Archimedis 

Claudian, Englished 

Jove saw the sphere old Archimedes made, 
And to the other Gods he laughing said, 
'Such wondrous skill can crafty mortals get, 
Of my great work to make the counterfeit? 

Heav'n's and Earth's constitutions, fixt by Fate, 
This Syracusan's art does imitate ; 
His various planets their just order have, 
Keeping by springs the motions which he gave ; 

Thro' the twelve signs his Sun completes its years, 

And each new month, his mock new-Moon appears; lo 

Pleas'd with his World, this artist unconfined, 

Boldly rules Heav'n in his aspiring mind. 

No more Salmoneus' thunder I admire, 
Here's one has ap'd all Nature's works entire.' 



The Frailty of Man's Life 

The life we strive to lengthen out, 
Is like a feather rais'd from ground. 

Awhile in air 'tis tost about. 

And almost lost as soon as found : 

( 342 ) 



The Frailty of Mans Life 

If it continue long in sight, 

'Tis sometimes high and sometimes low, 
Yet proudly aims a tow'ring flight, 

To make the more conspicuous show. 

The air with ease its weight sustains, 

Since 'tis by Nature light, and frail; lo 

Seldom in quiet state remains, 
. For troops of dangers it assail. 

And after various conflicts with its foes, 

It drops to Earth, the Earth from whence it rose. 



Of the Miseries attending Mankind 
PosiDiPPUS the Comic Poet 

Beginning, Tioi-qv ns yStoroto Tufj.01 Tpi/Sov ; . . . 

Oh mis'ry of Mankind ! For at the Bar 
Are strifes and quarrels ; at our houses. Care ; 
In fields, hard labour ; dangers, on the sea : 
^\'ho travels rich, can ne'er from fears be free ; 

Grievous is Want ; Marriage, eternal strife : 

A single, is a solitary life ; 

Children, bring Care and Trouble ; to have none, 

The happiness of wedlock is not known ; 

Our Youth is Folly; e'er we can grow wise, 

We're old, and loaded with infirmities. lo 

So we may wish, who have th' experience try'd, 

That we had ne'er been born : or soon as born had died. 



Of the Blessings attending Mankind 
Metrodorus the Athenian Philosopher, contradicting the former 
Beginning, Uavroirjv ^lotolu TajioL<; Tpifiov , . . 

Happy mankind ! For where we fix to live, 

The Gods a blessing to that station give ; 

If at the Bar it be our lot to plead, 

There Wisdom reigns, and there is Justice weigh'd; 

Or if at home we would ourselves maintaiTi, 
We there by industry may riches gain. 
Of Nature's bounty, fields the prospect show ; 
From Sea the merchant knows his treasures flow; 

( .M3 ) 



Philip Ayres 



Who travels rich, with Honour does appear; 

Who has least Wealth, hath still the less to fear; lo 

If married, thou may'st rule as lord at home ; 

If single, hast the liberty to roam ; 

Children, the comfort of our lives procure ; 
If none, we are from thousand cares secure ; 
To exercise and sports is Youth inclin'd ; 
Old Age does ever veneration find : 

So we may those imprudent fools deride, 

That wish they'd ne'er been born ; or soon as born had died. 



To make a Married Life happy 

From Menander the Athenian 

^vvf] iTo\vT(.\y]<i €(Tt' o^Xrjpov . . . 

A BRISK young wife, who did a fortune bring. 
Proves to her husband a vexatious thing ; 
Yet these advantages to him she gives. 
By her, in his posterity, he lives; 

She takes of him, when sick, a prudent care, 
In his misfortunes bears an equal share; 
To her, for ease, he does his griefs impart, 
Her pleasant converse often cheers his heart; 

And when (if she survive) he ends his life. 

She does the office of a pious wife. lo 

Set these against her ills, and you will find 

Reasons to quiet your uneasy mind. 

But if you'll strive her temper to reclaim, 
Slight these good things, the bad expose to shame, 
And no compliance to her humour lend. 
To your vexations ne'er shall be an end. 

On Man's Life 
Simonides, El? tcop 6vrjTS>v ^iov 

Beginning, Ovh\v iv avOpw-n-OLO-i jxivn XPVl^ e/JLTTeSov alii. 

No human thing in constancy will stay; 
The learned Chian us'd of old to say, 
Our life was frailer than the fading leaves; 
Which Man forgets, and scarce its flight perceives : 

He harbours idle fancies in his brain, 
Many which he from childhood did retain : 
And whilst his vigour lasts, he's still inclin'd 
To fill with trifles his unsettled mind ; 

( 344 ) 



On Mans Life 

On Age or Death ne'er thinks, nor takes he care 

Health to preserve, or active limbs to spare. lo 

We to more serious things our minds should give; 

Youth hastes, and we have little time to live. 

To weigh this well, is a material part, 

This thought's of worth, record it in thy heart. 



The Contempt of Old Age 

¥'"oyoy r-qpoos 

From two Elegies of Mimnermus, the first being imperfect begins 

'AAA' 6XLyo)(p6viov yiyvcrat ... 

'Tis a short time our precious youth will stay : 
Like some delightful dream it steals away; 
And then comes on us, creeping in its stead, 
Benumbing Old Age, with its hoary head; 
Which beauty spoils, our nerves with crampings binds, 
It clouds our eyesight, and disturbs our minds. 
When Jove to Tithon endless old age gave, 
'Twas sure of greater terror than the grave. 

Some have in youth been for their beauty priz'd. 

Which when deform'd by age, become despis'd ; lo 

Then peevish grown, and vex'd at children's slight. 

Take not abroad, nor at their homes, delight. 

Bed-rid, and scorn'd, with pains, and rheums, they lie: 

The Gods on Age throw all this misery. 



In Praise of Old Age 

From Anaxandrides the Rhodian Poet, beginning 

OvToi TO yijpds icTTiv 
. Twv ^opriuiv fxiyicTTOv . . . 

Old Age, which we both hope and fear to see. 

Is no such burden as it seems to be : 

But it uneas'ly if we undergo, 

'Tis then ourselves take pains to make it so. 

A yielding patience will create our ease. 

So do the wise compound in youth for peace. 

Who thus complies, both to himself is kind. 

Whilst he secures the quiet of his mind : 
And to his friends a just respect does show, 
Which gains him love, and veneration too. lo 

( 34.S ) 



Philip Ayres 



From Crates the Philosopher, on the same 

Beginning, nveiSio-as fioi y^pa? ws kukov fxeya . . . 

Some giddy fools do rev'rend Age deride, 

But who enjoy'd it not, untimely died; 

We pray we may to good old age attain, 

And then of its infirmities complain ; 

But their insatiate minds I must admire, 

Who old, infirm, and poor, can longer life desire. 

The Timely Memento 

The shipwrack'd bark cannot more sure convey 
Our human life into the raging sea : 
Nor darts to mark can more directly fly : 
Nor floods to th' ocean, than we post to die. 

Then happy thou, who dost so well begin, 
And so thy race hold on, the palm to win ! 
Blest Runner ! that when tir'd, and lying down. 
Dost rise possess'd of an Eternal Crown. 

Only by closing here thy mortal eyes, 

Opens the passage to celestial joys. lo 

Then let him take the Earth who loves to reign, 

Yet a small tract, e'er long, shall him contain ; 

Where he as monarch cannot be obey'd. 
For saucy worms his limits shall invade. 
If all must die, why should we fear and grieve. 
Since dying is the only way to live? 

On Good Friday, the Day of our Saviour's Passion 

Weep this great day ! Let tears o'erflow your eyes ; 
When Father gave his Son in sacrifice; 
This day for us his precious Blood was spilt, 
Whose dying made atonement for our guilt. 

He on a cross, with shame, gave up his breath, 
E'en He who could not die, did suffer death : 
Closing his eyes, to Heav'n He op'd a way, 
And gave those life who then expiring lay. 

Death did against our souls those arms prepare, 

But He the fury of the conflict bare'; lo 

To guard our lives his body was the shield. 

And by our Gen'ral's fall we gain the field. 

When graves shall open, Temple's Veil be torn, 

The El'ments weep, and Heav'ns themselves shall mourn ; 

O hearts more hard than stones, not to relent ! 

May we shed pious tears, and of our sins repent. 

(346) 



What is't that thus frail Men with Er?^or bliiids 

Of Imprudence 

JTe/>i d(ppocrvi^7]'i 

Rhianus the Cretan 

'H apa 8e fxaXa Trarres d/LtapriVoot TreX6fX€(Tua 

' AvBpWTTOL . . . 

What is't that thus frail Men with Error blinds? 

AVho bear Heav'n's gifts in such imprudent minds ; 

The Poor with eyes and hearts dejected go, 

Charging the Gods as authors of their woe; 

They suit their habit to their humble state, 

And scarce their minds with virtues cultivate : 

How they should speak, or move, they stand in fear, 

When 'mongst the rich and pow'rful they appear ; 

They ev'ry gesture do to sadness frame. 

And blushing faces show their inward shame. lo 

But he whom Heav'n has blest with lib'ral hand. 
And giv'n him o'er his fellow men command, 
Forgets he on the Earth his feet does place. 
Or that his parents were of mortal race ; 
He, swell'd with Pride, in thunder speaks like Jove, 
Does in a sphere above his betters move. 
But tho' so rich, so stately, and so grave. 
Has not more stock of brains than others have. 
Yet would he climb to Heav'n to find a seat 
Amongst the Gods, and at their banquets eat. 20 

Till swift-wing'd Ate, Mischief's Deity, 
Light on his head, e'er he her coming spy; 
Who can herself in various shapes disguise, 
When old or young, she would in snares surprise; 
She on poor fools, as well as those in height, 
Does to great Jove, and to Astraea right. 



His Remedies acrainst the Miseries of Man's Life 

TiMOCLES the Athenian. More at large exemplified 

'O Tav aKOvaov iqv Tt itol 6oku) Acycu'. 

Consider well this truth, for 'tis of use. 
Nature did ne'er a thing like Man produce. 
So charged with ills, from which so seldom free, 
Sometimes his life's a scene of misery. 

Nor human industry can respite gain 

For his soul's anguish, or his body's pain, 

But by reflecting what some men endure. 

Which to himself may present ease procure. 

And tales of what in former times was done. 

Laid in the scale, and weigh'd against his own. 10 

(347) 



Philip Ayres 



Art thou reduc'd to beg from door to door? 
When Telephus was young he suffer'd more; 
In woods expos'd, without relief he lay, 
For some devouring beasts a royal prey ; 
If thou, with his, thy miseries compare, 
Thou wilt confess he had the greatest share. 

Have troubles turn'd thy brain to make thee rage? 
Thoughts of Alcmaeon may thy griefs assuage ; 
By furies scourg'd, he mad, in torments died, 
Yet justly suffer'd for his parricide. 20 

Wert thou by chance, or made by others blind? 
Call CEdipus the Theban King to mind ; 
Who quit his throne, himself of sight depriv'd, 
Became more wretched still, the more he liv'd. 
Till Sorrow brake his heart, which scarcely cou'd 
Atone for incest, and his father's blood. 

Thy son if dead, or was in battle slain? 
A greater loss did Niobe sustain; 
She saw her fourteen children slaughter'd lie, 
A punishment for her IMPIETY, 30 

Who great Latona's offspring had defied. 
By whom, thus childless, drown'd in tears, she died. 

On Philoctetes think, should'st thou be lame; 
He, a most pow'rful Prince, endur'd the same; 
To conquer Troy he show'd the Greeks a way, 
To whom he did the fatal shafts betray ; 
His foot disclos'd the secret of his heart, 
For which, that treach'rous foot endur'd the smart. 

Hast thou thy life in ease and pleasure led, 
Till Age contract thy nerves, and bow thy head? 40 

Then, of thy greatest joy on earth, bereft, 
O'erwhelm'd in Sorrow, and Despair, art left? 

So old King CEneus lost his valiant son, 

For slights himself had to Diana shown. 

Slain by his mother when he had destroy'd 

The Boar, which long his father's realm annoy'd : 

Which actress in this mischief felt her share, 

Herself becoming her own murderer. 

The father, losing thus his son and wife, 

Ended in cries and tears his wretched life. 50 

Are Kings thus forc'd to yield to rig'rous Fate? 
It may thy lesser ills alleviate. 



FINIS 



(348) 



THE TABLE 



[// ivill be obsen'ed that this ' Table ' — the origitial one — does not exactly 
coincide with the titles to the pieces themselves. — Ed.] 



PAGE 

The Proem. To Love . . 272 
The Request. To Love . . 272 
The Complaint. To Cynthia . 273 
On a Race-horse. From Giro- 

lamo Preti .... 273 
Invites Poets and Historians to 

write in Cynthia's Praise . . 274 
Cynthia on Horseback . . 274 
On the Death of Cynthia's Horse 275 
On a Fountain and its Architect . 275 
Describes the Place where Cyn- 
thia is sporting herself . . 276 
His Retirement .... 276 
To his Honoured Friend, William 

Bridgman, Esq. . . . 276 

A Sonnet. Of Love . . . 277 
On the Picture of Lucretia stabbing 

herself 277 

Complains, being hind'red the 

sight of his Mistress . . . 278 
The Pleased Captive . . . 278 
The Incurable .... 278 
On a Fair Beggar . . . 279 

A Sonnet, writ by a Nymph in 

her own Blood, from Claudio 

Achillini 279 

The Rose and Lily . . . 279 
A Defiance, returning to the place 

of his past Amours . . , 280 
Distance no Cure for Love . . 280 
On Sig. Pietro Reggio his setting 

to Music several of Mr. Cowley's 

Poems 281 

From a Drinking Ode of Alcaeus. 

nivatfJLev, ri top Xv^fov dfififi/ojifv ; 28 1 
An Epitaph on a IJutch Captain . 281 
On Cynthia, singing a Recitative 

Song 281 

On the Picture of Cavalier Guarini 282 
On Old Rome . . . .282 
Revenge against Cynthia . . 283 
Love's Contrariety . . . 283 
Invites Cynthia to his Cottage . 284 
'Tis hard to follow Virtue . . 284 
Endymion and Diana. An 
Heroic Poem taken out of the 
8th Canto of Alessandro Tassoni 

his La Secchia Rapita . . 285 

( 349 ) 



PAGE 
From an Ode of Horace. Vides 
ut alta stet nive candidum, &c. 
A Complaint against Cynthia's 

Cruelty 

Love's Garden. From Girolamo 

Preti 

Seeing his own Picture, discourses 

of his Studies and Fortune 
Petrarc. On the Death of Laura 
Another of Petrarc on Laura's 

Death 

Complains of the Court 

Being retired, complains against 

the Court 

To Cynthia 

The Withered Rose 

On the Death of Sylvia 

To the Winds .... 

The Silent Talkers 

'Tis dangerous jesting with Love 

On Wine. From a Fragment of 

Hesiod. OJa Aiawa-os 

A Dream 

The Restless Lover 
The Resolution. Out of Italian . 
Invokes Death .... 
A Hint from the Beginning of the 

Third Satyr of Juvenal. Laudo 

tamen. Sec 

A Contemplation on Man's Life. 

Out of Spanish .... 
The Nightingale that was drowned 
On a Child sleeping in Cynthia's 

Lap 

Cure for Afflictions. From an 

Imperfect Ode of Archilochus. 

Gv/xe, 6vn' a[jLT))(civoicri. 
Cynthia Sporting .... 
The Fly and Frog. Out of Spanish, 

from Don Francisco de Que- 

vedo 

On Gold 

To his Grace the Duke of North- 
umberland 

Love's New Philosophy 

The Vanity of unwarrantable 

Notions. OutofPortuguese,from 

Luis de Camoens . . . 303 



287 

288 

288 

289 
289 

289 
ego 

290 
291 
291 
292 
292 

293 
293 

294 
294 
294 
295 
29s 



296 

296 
297 

297 



298 
298 



298 
300 

300 
301 



Philip Ayres 



PAGE 

To the Nightingale . . . 303 
Apollo and Daphne . . . 304 
A Sestina, in Imitation of Petrarc 305 
A Sonnet of Petrarc, giving an 
account of the time when he fell 
in Love with Madonna Laura . 306 
A Sonnet of Petrarc, showing 
how long he had lov'd Madonna 
Laura ..... 306 
Petrarc, going to visit M. Laura, 

remembers she was lately dead 306 
Petrarc laments the Death of 

M. Laura 307 

Petrarc on Laura's Death . . 307 
Constancy of Love to Cynthia . 308 

To his Viol 308 

Hope. Out of Italian, from Fr. 

Abbati • . . . . 308 
Finding Cynthia in Pain, and 

crying 310 

Cynthia sleeping in a Garden . 310 
Lesbia's Complaint of Thyrsis his 

Inconstancy . . . .310 
Lydia Distracted . . . .311 
The Four Seasons. Spring .311 

Summer 312 

Autumn 312 

Winter 313 

A Sonnet written in Italian by 
Sig. Fra. Gorgia, who was born 
as they were carrying his 
Mother to her Grave . '313 

The Scholar of his own Pupil. 
The Third Idyllium of Bion 

Englished. 'A /:ieyaXa yuot 
Kvjrpif . . . . -314 

An Epitaph on a Ridiculous 
Boaster 314 

The Danger of the Sea. A Latin 
Song taken out of the 13th Book 
of the Macaronics of Merlin 
Cocalius. Infidumarridet saepe 
imprudentibus Aecjuor . -315 

An Expostulation with Love. A 
Madrigal 316 

On the Art of Writing . . .316 

Morn. Out of French from 
Theophile 316 

To his Ingenious Friend, Mr. N. 
Tate 317 

Less Security at Sea than on 
Shore. An Idyllium of Mos- 
chus. Tnj' oka Tuv yXavKau . 3^7 

Platonic Love . • . .318 

Out of Latin. Jovianus Pontanus. 
In Praise of the Fountain Casis 318 

(350) 



319 
319 



320 
321 



32: 



PAGE 

To Cynthia going into the Country 319 

Soneto Espahol de Don Felipe 
Ayres. En alabanza de su 
Ingenioso Amigo, Don Pedro 
Reggio, uno de los Mayores 
Musicos de su tiempo 

On Cynthia Sick .... 

The Turtle Doves. From Jovia- 
nus Pontanus .... 

An Essay towards a Character of 
his Sacred Majesty King James 
II 

Sleeping Eyes. A Madrigal 

An Ode of Anacreon. Els 
XfXtSoca. To the Swallow. 
2i; fiev (piXrj XeXiScoj/ . 

Love so as to be belov'd 
An Idyllium of Moschus. 
Ilav 'A;^wy ..... 

All things should contribute to 
the Lover's Assistance. An 
Idyllium of Moschus. "Eo-7repe, 
ras f paras ..... 

Cupid at Plow. An Idyllium of 
Moschus. Aanndda 6('is Kalro^n 

Love's Subtilty. An Idyllium of 
Moschus. 'AXt^ftof ^era H'lanv 

Love makes the best Poets. An 
Idyllium of Bion. Tal Molam tov 
Epcora 

The Death of Adonis. "Adapip ij 
Kvdrjpr/ .... 

Love is a Spirit 

Commends the Spring. A Para- 
phrase on an Idyllium of Bion 
Eiapof, ci Mvpawv 



"Hpa 



?22 



324 

324 
325 



To sweet Meat, 
of 



sour Sauce. 
Theocritus, 



In 
or 



Imitation 
Anacreon 

The Young Archer that mistook 
his Game. An Idyllium of 
Bion. 'I^evras k'ri ic5)pos 

Cupid's Nest .... 

An Ode of Anacreon. Els eaviw. 
To himself. "Orav 6 BaKxos 

An Ode of Anacreon. Els Koprjv. 
To his Mistress. 'H TovtuXov 
TTOT ecrTt] ..... 

An Ode of Anacreon. Els "Epura. 
To Love. XaXeTTOV TO p.fj 
<pi\?iaai ..... 

On a Death's-Head, covered 
with Cobwebs, kept in a Library, 
and said to be the Skull of a 
King. Done out of Spanish 
from Don Luis de Gongora 



5 



526 



327 
327 

128 



328 



329 



329 



The Table 



PAGE 

From an imperfect Ode of Hybrias 

the Cretan. "Eori /xot TrXoCiros- . 330 
A Complaint of the shortness of 
Life. An IdylHum of Bion. El' 
\ioi Koka TTf'Xei .... 33° 
Being sick of a Fever, complains 
of the Fountain Casis. Out of 
Latin from Jovianus Pontanus 331 
His Heart into a Bird . . . 332 
In Praise of a Country Life. An 
Imitation of Horace's Ode, 

Beatus ille 332 

^Mortal Jealousy .... 333 
The Innocent Magician ; or, A 

Charm against Love . . 333 
The Happy Nightingale . . 334 
On Fame ..... 335 
Leander drowned . . . . 335 
To Sleep, when sick of a Fever . 335 
An Epigram on Woman . -336 
A Paraphrase on Callimachus. 
Ilepi Vpa\i\ia.T(i>v. Of Learning. 
Beginning Kaiyape-yw TO. fiivoa-a-a 336 
Cynthia return'd from the Country 337 
A Paean, or Song of Triumph, 
translated into a Pindaric ; 
supposed to be of Alcaeus, of 
Sappho, or of Praxilla the 
Sicyonian. Beginning 'Ev^vprov 
/c\a3i TO $i(f)os (fioprjaa . . 337 

Beauty makes us happy . . 338 
To John Dryden, Esq., Poet 
Laureate and Historiographer 
Royal . . . . .338 

To a Singing Bird . . . 339 

The Happy Lover . . , 339 
The Paean of Bacchylides. ITepl 
(Iprjvrjs. Of Peace. Beginning 
TiKTfi 8i 6vaToi(Tiv (\prjva p.eyaka 
iWovTov ..... 339 
An Ode of Anacreon, beginning 

IloXtoi p.iv fjfuv ^8i] Kp6ra(poi . 34° 
The Musical Conqueress . . 340 
A Nymph to a young Shepherd, 
insensible of Love . . -341 



PAGE 
Compares the Troubles which he 
has undergone for Cynthia's 
Love, to the Labours of H ercules 34 1 

The Trophy 342 

An Epigram of Claudian, Eng- 
lished. In Sphaeram Archimedis 342 
The Frailty of Man's Life . . 342 
Posidippus the Comic Poet. On the 
Miseries of Mankind. Beginning 
Holrjv Tis ^loToio rdp-oi rp'i^ov ', . 343 
Metrodorus the Athenian Philo- 
sopher. Of the Blessings attend- 
ing Mankind. Contradicting 
the former. Beginning U.avTolr)v 
(SiOToio TafjLois rpi^ov . . . 343 

From Menander the Athenian 
To make a Married Life happy 
Twrj noXvTeXrjs ear' 6x\r]p6v . 344 

Simonides. Els rav 6vr]Ta>v ^lov 
On Man's Life. Beginning OuSef 
fv afdpoJTTOiai fievfi XP'lf^' ep^'f^^^ov 
alei. ...... 344 

From two Elegies of Mimnermus. 
Sko-yoy T/jpcof. The Contempt of 
Old Age. The first being im- 
perfect begins, AXX' oXiyoxpoviov 

yiyverai . . . . . 345 

From Anaxandrides the Rhodian 
Poet, in Praise of Old Age. 
Beginning Ovtol to yijpds eaTiu, 
TU)v (ppricoif peyiCTTov . . . 345 

From Crates the Philosopher. On 
the same. Beginning 'QveiSto-d? 
poi yfjpas u>s kukou peya . . 34° 

The Timely Memento . . . 346 
On Good Friday, the Day of our 

Saviour's Passion . . . 346 
Rhianus the Cretan. Ilepi n<ppo- 
avvrjs. Of Imprudence. 'H apa 
de pdXa TrdvTes dpapTivooi TveKopi- 
cr6a "AvdpoiTvoi .... 347 
Timocles the Athenian. His 
Remedies against the Miseries 
of Man's Life. Beginning 
'i2 Tov QKOvaov fjv tL croi boKoa Xeyeiv 347 



END OF TABLE 



(35O 



Emblems of Love 



IN FOUR LANGUAGES. 



Dedicated to the Ladys 
by TH. AT RES, Efq. 



Printed and sold by Hen: Overton^ 

at the White Horse without 

Newgate, London. 



[The title on a scroll held by a Cupid— other figures beneath.] 



II. A a 



EMBLEMS OF LOVE 

Cupid to Chloe Weeping 

A Sonnet 

See, whilst thou weep'st, fair Chloe, see 

The world in sympathy with thee. 

The cheerful birds no longer sing ; 

Each drops his head and hangs his wing : 

'J'he clouds have bent their bosom lower, 

And shed their sorrows in a shower ; 

The brooks beyond their limits flow, 

And louder murmurs speak their woe : 

The nymphs and swains adopt thy cares: 

They heave thy sighs and weep thy tears, lo 

l^'antastic nymph ! that Grief should move 

Thy heart obdurate against Love. 

Strange tears ! whose power can soften all — 

But that dear breast on which they fall. 

I 

[Cupid sowing : a crop of heads rising from the ground.] 

Amoris semen mirabile 

Indolis eximiae quis semina nescit amoris? 
Hinc gnarus Divae Pallados exit homo. 

The Marvellous Seed of Love 

Strange power of Love thus to transform our parts ! 

It gives new souls, and does our wits improve ; 
Confess hereafter that the Queen of Arts 

Sprung from Love's seed, not from the brain of Jove. 

II seme d'Amore mirabile 

Quanta tua forza. Amor, prevale al mondo ! 
Non humile pastor, non re potente 
Resister puote al arco tuo pungente, 
Di glorie di trofei sei sol fecondo. 

La semence d'amour merveilleuse 

Que ta semence. Amour, est puissante et divine ! 
Depuis I'humble berger jusqu'au prince orgueilleux, 
Depuis le simple enfant jusqu'au docteur fameux, 
Tout de ton sein fecond tire son origine 

(354) 




H 

H 



Q 
< 
u 

H 
H 







> 
O 
►J 

O 

Q 
u 
u 

C/3 

D 

O 

_) 

> 

< 
s 

w 
X 
H 



t5 



Emilems of Love 



II 

[Two Cupids, each lighting his torch from the other's. In the distance two couples 
making active love : and a church in the corner to save the proprieties.] 

Mutual Love 

Love requires love : then let your busy fools 

Pursue in haste what does as fast retire : 
Wisely we act by mother Nature's rules, 

Our hearts, like torches, burn with equal fire. 



Ill 

[Cupid sitting under a tree and holding the strings of entwined nets, with decoy-birds 
in cages.] 

The Voluntary Prisoner 

Untrained in all Love's subtle tricks and wiles, 

I late was free and boasted of my state : 
Now willingly I'm taken in his toils 

And feel those ills which I myself create. 



IV 

[Cupid, his arm m a leash which a hare holds in its mouth, timidly approaches a house 
in the porch of which are two damsels, with another at the window.] 

The timorous ^ Adventurer 

I'll on and venture to express my mind — 
Both Love and Fortune to the bold are kind ; 
How oft do I my timorous' heart upbraid, 
Abasht for fear and, 'cause abasht, afraid. 



[Cupid pensively watches a bear licking her cub. A tree-crowned rock-arch behind 
with a vista.] 

By Little and Little 

See how the bear industriously does frame, 

And bring in time to form, her unshaped young : 

So may you mould the rough unpliant dame 
With melting lips and with a soothing'^ tongue. 

' Grig, 'timerous.' ^ Grig. ' sooting.' 

( 355 ) A a 2 



Philip Ayres 



VI 

[Cupid fixing the plough-yoke on a restive ox.] 

Fair and Softly 

The yoke uneasy on the ox doth sit 

Till by degrees his stubborn neck does bow, 

So Love's opposers do at last submit 

And gladly drudge at the accustom'd plough. 

VII 

[Two Cupids, with a tinder-box, endeavour in vain to strike a light, while their bows and 
arrows lie broken on the ground. In the distance, two couples not getting on 
well together.] 

The Impossibility 

Who warmly courts the cold and awkward dame, 
Whose breast the living soul does scarce inspire, 

With them an equal folly may proclaim, 
Who without fuel strive to kindle fire. 

VIII 

[Cupid, standing boldly in the foreground, has just loosed one shaft and is holding an- 
other ready to fit it to the string. In the background a castle, with something hanging 
from the highest tower (a white flag? or a culprit's body?), and a couple of lovers, 
the lover hurrying the beloved onwards. Cupid has on his right wrist an extra pair 
of winglets, and this peculiarity is referred to in the Italian motto only : 
Porta alata la destra Amor alato, &c. 

This may give a key to origins.] 

Be quick and Sure 

All 's fish that comes to net, whate'er she be, 

Whom Love's blind god, or blinder chance shall send 

Into thy arms, receive : each deity ^ 
Will to the active Lover be a friend \ 

IX 

[This is a curious contrast, for here the Italian motto has no obvious reference to the 
Emblem. This is a spirited sea-piece — Cupids drawing their nets in a boat, two 
others climbing a stepped pole standing out of the sea, a beacon flaming and smoldng 
on a tower in the distance, and a ship under full sail ofi" the coast. The Latin, 
English, and French mottoes deal only with the fishing. The Italian, probably 
misplaced, is about Hope as the nurse of Love.] 

Love a Ticklish Game 

Virgins are like the silver finny race, 

Of slippery kind, and fishes seem in part : 

Lovers ! look to 't ; be sure to bait the place, 

Lay well your hooks — and cast your nets with art. 

' The engraver, perhaps shocked at the poet, has made this 'D;Vty,' and ' freind.' 
The sense of this epigram depends on the punctuation. 

(356) 




H 

Ci 
< 

s 

> 

o 

ca 
o 

tj 

< 

OS 

O 
O 







< 
o 

s 

13 

u 

H 

<; 

> 

o 

►J 



5^ 



Rmblems of Love 



[Cupid gropes blindfold in a narrow town-street — girls stand at the house-doors : but 
seem to be clapping their hands to confuse him.] 

Blind Love 

Love is that childish play call'd Blind-man's buff. 

The fond youth gropes about till he is lost, 
Too late convinced of Reason's wise reproof 

When 's little brains are dashed against a post. 



XI 

[Cupid, in a dark cellar with one window, holds an empty barrel over a candle which 
pours its rays through the bung-hole and out of the window itself.] 

Love will out 

Long think not to conceal thy amorous flame : 

In it thou canst thy ignorance discover; 
See how the light confined with searching beam ^ 

Breaks through and so betrays the lurking lover ! 



XII 

[Cupid in a poultry-house, leaning on his bow and watching a cock-fight.] 

Life for Love 

Not the brave birds of Mars feel half that rage, 
Though likewise spurr'd by Love and Victory, 

Or can more freely bleed upon the stage. 
Than rival lovers that dare fight and die. 



XIII 

[A Cupid-Fight. One blows the horn ; two others wrestle fiercely ; a fourth has a 
fifth by the throat ; and a sixth has got the seventh down and is pummelling him, 
while apparently a dog is snapping at him likewise.] 

Cupid is a Warrior^ 

Lovers are skilled in all the art of wars, 

Sieges, alarms, ent'ring by storm the fort. 
As if Love's mother, when she played with Mars, 

Conceived his humour in her secret sport. 

* Engraved * beamw.' ■' Engraved ' Warier.' 

( 357 ) 



Philip Ayres 



XIV 

[Cupid sits on a flower-plot, while a sunflower in the next bends itself towards him. 
Here the English motto rather diverges from the other three : and, as will be seen, 
does not mention the girasol. The first line of the Latin is good and may serve to 
identify it. Corpus ubi Dominae est, ibi cor reperitur amanfis.] 

The Powerful Attraction 

Where'er She be, the distance ne'er so great, 
Mounted on sighs, thither my winged soul 

Does take its flight, and on her motions wait. 
True as magnetic needle to its pole. 



XV 

[Cupid stands before a lady who sits, fan in hand, on a canopied sofa ; and holds out to 
her a scroll, or banneret, with a heart, arrow-pierced, upon it.] 

Rather Deeds than Words 

You say you love, but I had rather see 't 

Show Love's impressions in a wounded heart ; 

Words are but wind, and strangers thus may greet. 
But doing, doing, that 's the proving part. 

XVI 

[Venus puts her hand on Cupid's bee-stung forehead. In the distance is the actual 
scene of the stinging.] 

Cupid himself stung 

Does a bee's sting thus make thee cry and whine? 

A small revenge for thy bold robbery ! 
Think on fky sting ! The bee's compared to thine ^ 

Comes as much short as that compared to thee. 



XVII 

[Cupid gathering roses and flinching from the thorns. In the distance a pair of lovers 
rather dimly embracing under a palace wall.] 

The Difficult Adventure 

While wanton Love in gathering Roses strays, 

Blood from his hands, and from his eyes drop tears. . 

Let him poor Lovers pity who tread ways 
Of bloody prickles where no Rose appears. 

' Engraved ' th^ne. ' 
(358) 



Emblems of Love 

XVIII 

[A girl kneeling and gathering flowers into her lap. Cupid, standing before her, 
appears to be holding forth.] 

Hard to be Pleased 

Sep: how she picks, and cuts, and casts aside, 

Whilst the scorned flowers look pale at her disdain ! 

This is the triumph of her nicer Pride, 
And thus she does her lovers entertain. 



XIX 

[A naked figure, with hands behind its back, leans against a wall nonchalantly, though 
with one arrow up to the feathers in its breast. Cupid is discharging another 
almost a bout portant.'] 

The Heart, Love's Butt 

Ten thousand times I've felt the cruel smart 
Of thy drawn bow, as often more I court : 

Till in thy quiver not one single dart 
Be left for thee to prosecute thy sport. 



XX 

[A study-bedroom with bookcase, a globe, a table with a violin, &c., and the poet in 
bed. The ' Ghost' is very much materialized, and has one foot on the bed- step.] 

Ever Present 

Her name is at my tongue, whene'er I speak. 
Her shape 's before my eyes where'er I stir ; 

Both day and night, as if her ghost did walk, 
And not she me, but I had murder'd her. 



XXI 

[A tree bending but not breaking, under the combined efforts of Cupid, who has dropped 
his bow and is pushing it, and of two wind-heads blowing in the usual way from a 
cloud.] 

'Tis Constancy that gains the Prize 

When low'ring and when blustering winds ^ arise, 

The weather-beaten Lover, tough as oak, 
Endures the haughty storm, bends and complies, 

Gets ground and grows the stronger for the shock. 



1 I 



'Words' in original : and this obviously may be right, though the plate, and the 
occurrence oi procella, venii, &c. in the other mottoes, as obviously suggest 'winds.' 

( 359 ) 



Philip Ayres 



XXII 

[Cupid, bound to a stake, in the midst of a roaring fire, wliich a very cheerful maiden is 
poking with a two-pronged fork. In the distance another Cupid has run a body 
(perhaps by its hands only) up to a gallows : while a female figure in front either 
applauds or requests 'cutting-down' — it is not clear which. None of the mottoes 
deals very directly with the plate.] 

'Tis honourable to be Love's Martyr 

Bear up against her scorns : 'tis brave to die, 

And on Love's altars lie, a pious load. 
Mount Oeta's top raised Hercules so high, 

For 'twas Love's martyrdom made him a god. 



XXIII 

[Cupid, holding his head in one hand and supporting himself with the other on a staff, 
his wings tied together and his right legstrapped upon a stump, is turning and looking 
back upon a house where a girl sits, apparently reading a letter '.] 

Sooner wounded than cured 

Brighter than lightning shine her sparkling eyes, 

And quicker far they penetrate my heart, 
Tho' quick to take, yet slow to leave the prize, 

Till they have made deep wounds and lasting .smart. 



XXIV 

[Cupid holding a chameleon (by courtesy). In the distance Europa and the Bull.] 

Compliance in Love 

Each passion of my soul is timed by you, 
I seem your life, more than my own to live; 

And change more shapes than ever Proteus knew, 
Camelion-like the colour take, you give. 

XXV 

[A street. Cupid pointing to dogs over a bone.] 

Envy accompanies Love 

Two you may see like brothers sport and play 

As if their souls did in one point unite : 
Throw but the bone call'd woeman ^ in the way, 

How fiercely will they grin and snarl and bite ! 

' Here also the epigrams in the other languages are closer to the plate. 
' Though there are other slips in the engraving, this uncomplimentary spelling was 
probably intended. 

(360) 



Fjfnblems of Love 



XXVI 

[Cupid, neglecting one deer already pierced by his arrows, aims at another.] 

Platonic ^ Love 

Dull fools that will begin a formal siege, 

Intrench, attack, yet never wish to win, 
And vainly thus to '' linger out your age 

When 'tis but ' knock at gate and enter in.' 

XXVII 

[Cupid, approaching an unseen object with a caduceus in his hand.] 

The Power of Eloquence in Love 

He that's successless in his love ne'er knew 
The strength of Eloquence, whose magic power 

Can all the boasted force of arms outdo; 

For golden words will storm the virgin tower. 



XXVIII 

[Cupid, a rod in his left hand, spurns and turns his back on arms, crowns, riches, &c. 
In the background a palace— in the middle distance a lady with train, &c., greets 
a shepherd.] 

Love's Triumph over Riches 

Beneath Love's feet are royal ensigns spread. 
While fettered kings make up his pompous show. 

Twice-captive statues are in triumph led, 
And sceptres do to rural shepherds bow. 



XXIX 

[No Cupid. Three human persons, feeding, turning, and receiving the grist of a hand- 
mill.] 

All not worth a Reward 

What means this worship? All this cringe and whine. 

And this attendance dancing at her door? 
Like slave that labours in a mill or mine 

Toiling for others, thou thyself grow'st poor. 

^ Platoniqw*-. =* 'Do'? 

(361) 



Philip Ayres 

XXX 

[Four Cupids trying to catch a hare.] 

The Hunter caught by his own game 

The busy youth pursue the timorous Puss 
AVhilst eager Hope makes pleasure of a toil ; 

But I must fly when I have beat the bush, 
And to the hunted prey become a spoil. 

XXXI 

[Cupid, his bow and quiver dropped, cooper's tools hanging on the wall on one hand, 
a cask sunk in the ground on the other, is diligently bending a hoop with feet and 
hands] 

'Tis Yielding- gains the Lover Victory 

The yielding Rod, managed by cooper's trade, 

In close embraces does the vessel bind : 
Wouldst thou hoop in the weaker vessel. Maid, 

Bend to her humour with a pliant mind. 

XXXII 

[Cupid shoots at a suit of armour fastened on a tree, and has already pierced the cuirass 
(heart-marked) while shoulder-piece and shield, also shot through, lie on the 
ground.] 

There 's no defence against Love 

To sword and gun we steel oppose and buff. 

To bearded shafts a trusty coat of mail. 
But against Cupid's darts no armour's proof, 

There is no fence against his Prot'stant flail ^ 

XXXIII 

[Cupid, flying aloft in a cloud, discharges an arrow at a globe already studded with 
others.] 

Love keeps all things in Order 

How does this vast machine with order move 
In comely dance to th' Music of the Spheres ! 

Did not wise nature cement all with love 

The glorious frame would drop about our ears. 

' There is not and could not be much ' local colour ' in these Emblems, so this touch is 
interesting. For this invention of the unlucky College see Scott's Dtyden (my revision 
VII. i8 sq.) or Macaulay. There is probably also a play on the word— cf. Herrick's 
famous ' Thy Protestant to be.' 

( 362 ) 



Emblems of Love 



XXXIV 

[Cupid hangs a ticket marked I on a tree, trampling other numbers under foot. N.B. 
The Latin Motto is here, by exception, partly quoted from Ovid.] 

True Love knows ^ but One 

You live at large, abroad you range and roam, 

At vizor-mask^ and petticoat you run, 
This you call Love. True Love confines you home, 

And gives you manna-taste of all in one. 

XXXV 

[A more than usually plump Cupid hews sturdily at a tree.] 

Persevere 

What if her heart be found as hard as flint? 

What if her cruel breast be turned to oak? 
Continu'd drops will make the stone relent, 

And sturdy trees yield to repeated stroke. 

XXXVI 

[On a terrace (below and behind which stretches a formal garden surrounded with 
pleached walks in which pairs of lovers disport themselves) Venus, in something 
like Medicean posture but with a [golden ?] apple in her right hand, and a fish lying 
between her left arm and her breast, stands on a pedestal between two [golden ■?] 
apple trees, the fruit of which four Cupids are busily catching as it falls and packing 
in baskets'.] 

Gold the Picklock 

The golden key unlocks the iron door, 

Poor Danae is surprised; no thunder-clap 
Forceth like gold, nor lightning pierceth more, 

It proves like quicksilver in virgin-lap. 

XXXVII 

[The Lady with the Fan (see 15) now sits under a tree, and Cupid, standing in front, 
shows her a compass in a box from which a line leads up to a star.] 

Love s my Pole-star 

Others are led by tyranny of Fate, 

But gentle love alone commands my soul : 

Upon his influence all my actions wait ; 
I am the Loadstone, he 's my fixed Pole. 

^ Orig. ' know*,' but this must be a slip of the graver. 

- 'Vizor-mask,' or 'vizard-mask,' as Dr>'den usually writes it, was the sign of, and a by- 
name for, a courtesan. 

' The connexion of plate and mottoes is rather general. 

( 363 ) 



Philip Ayres 

XXXVIII 

[Venus, one hand on a very inadequate car with sparrows, and a cloak so disposed on 
her shoulders as to cloak nothing, turns with a laugh and a deprecating gesture from 
her son, who is gravely reading an oath from a service-book with a pillar bearing 
the face of Jove for lectern.] 

No Perjury in Love 

What mortal lovers swear, protest and vow, 

Heaven looks upon but just as common speech : 

' Refuse me if I don't '— * Confound me — now ' 
Do signify no more than 'kiss my br— ch\' 



XXXIX 

[The race of Hippomenes and Atalanta. She stops and stoops for the apple as he touches 
the post — the turning-post apparently, for he has still one in reserve. In the distance 
he is receiving the apples from Aphrodite.] 

Won by subtilty 

Life and a dearer mistress is the prize, 

For the swift fair had run great numbers dead. 

Hippomenes ventures, bribes her covetous eyes. 
And a gold pippin ^ wins a maidenhead. 



XL 

[Two Cupids, their bows and arrows dropped and broken, are busy with a box of coin, 
jewels, &c.] 

Love bought and sold 

Of old the settlement that lovers made 

Was firm affection : jointure was a jest : 
But love is now become a Smithfield trade 

And the same bargain serves for wife and beast. 



XLI 

[One Cupid runs away, with gestures of refusal, from another who follows with the 
arrow in his own breast, and hands clasped in entreaty.] 

Love requires no Entreaties 

When parched fields deny the welcome floods, 
When honey shall ungrateful be to drones, 

When wanton kids refuse the tender buds, 

Then Love shall yield to sighs, and tears and groans. 

* Ayres is not often thus ' Restoration.' 

^ Although it is not necessary, Ayres may have used this particular phrase because 
of the old superstition that if you sleep with a Golden Pippin under your pillow you ■will 
dream of your future husband or wife. 

(364) 



Emilems of Love 



XLII 

[Cupid drags with difEcultj- a huge faggot to a blazing fire, fanned by the usual wind 
puffed from a face in a cloud.] 

Augmented by favourable Blasts 

As gentle flames fann'd by fresh gales of wind, 
At once do widen, spread and mount up higher, 

So would her breath, the glowing heat I find 
Within me, kindle to a vestal fire. 



XLIII 

[Cupid runs holding two dogs in leash while one is already slipped. A hare is in front 
and another runs oflF to the left. He is apparently, with outstretched hand, hallooing 
in the sense of the text.] 

All grasp. All lose 

One at a time 's enough, one puss pursue. 

Some greedy silly coxcombs I have known 
Bobb'd finely when they slip their dogs at two, 

Then gape, and stare, and wonder where they're gone. 



XLIV 

[Cupid, kneeling on one knee and supporting his cheek on his hands, his hands on his 
bow, watches pensively, and perhaps himself weeping, a furnace and still in opera- 
tion before him. A spring pouring from a rock, and a stream, probably also 
suggest tears. The other mottoes are closer than is the English to the plate.] 

Tears the symptom of Love 

There can be now no further cause of doubt ; 

In every tear my passion may be seen. 
Love makes wet eyes, this moisture that 's without 

Proceeds from pent-up flames that scorch within. 



(365) 



THEALMA 

AND J^^^^'TW 

Clearchus. 

A 
PASTORAL HISTORY, 

In fmooth and eafie Verse. 

Written long fince. 

By fOHJ^ CHALKHILU Efq,- 

An Acquaintant and Friend of 

EDMUNV SPE]>ICE'I(, 



LONDON: 

Printed for jgf/7. Tooke, at the Ship in S.Paufs 
Church-yard, 1683* 



INTRODUCTION TO 
JOHN CHALKHILL(?) 

The authorship of Theabna and Clearchus used to be regarded — and 
perhaps some people may be allowed to see reasons for regarding it still — 
as one of the minor puzzles of English Literature. As all readers of 
Walton's Angler know, the revered Izaak included therein (a.d. 1653) two 
pieces of verse (which for completeness' sake are given here at the end 
of Thealma) attributing them (later ?) to a certain Jo. Chalkhill. The second 
of these he says he learnt many years since, and was obliged to patch of 
his own invention. Thirty years later again, being then a man of ninety, 
he issued Thealma and Clearchus with the same attribution, and the 
notable addition that 'Jo. Chalkhill 'was 'an acquaintant and friend 'of 
Edmund Spenser. But nobody knew anything about this Jo. Chalkhill : 
and Singer, in the reprint which has been used for setting up this our text, 
went so far as to suggest that Walton may have written it himself. In 1 860, 
however, a Mr. Merryweather discovered that a certain John Chalkhill had 
been coroner of Middlesex ' towards the end of Elizabeth's reign,' which 
would suit well enough with the Spenser friendship. And it appears 
further that Walton's wife's stepmother was a Martha Chalkhill, daughter 
of John, which again fits, chronologically, well enough, and explains the 
access which the Angler, alone of men, seems to have had to the coroner's 
relics, if coroner there was. Nor, though the limits of literary make-believe 
need not be drawn with any too Puritanical strictness, is Walton at all the 
man whom, without any evidence, we should suspect of a deliberate and 
volunteered lie. Nor yet, once more, can we readily pay him the compliment 
of believing that he had poetry enough for Thealma and Clearchus. 

The difficulty, however, is not, from the point of view of criticism, wholly 
or even to any great extent removed by these discoveries and considerations. 
A man who could be spoken of as a friend and acquaintant of Spenser {ob. 
1599) could hardly be in his very first youth at the end of the sixteenth 
century ; a man who was coroner for so important and businessful a 
county as Middlesex would be still less likely to be a mere boy. Nor, in 
the third place, would any man be likely to write Thealma and Clearchus at 
a very advanced period of life, leaving no other poetical remains except a 
couple of occasional songs. Therefore, if all the tales are to be taken as 
true, we must suppose that Thealma itself was not composed much after 

II. ( 369 ) B b 



yohn Chalkhill 



the beginning of the seventeenth century. And the D. N. B. has as a 
matter of fact corrected its original rash ' fl. 1678 ' to ' fl. 1600.' 

Now if Thealnia a?id Clearchus was written about 1600, it will follow 
almost inevitably that to it and to its author must be assigned the post of 
leading in respect of the breathless, enjambed, overlapping decasyllabic 
couplet. There are passages in the poem which, from this point of view, 
look as if they might have been written forty or fifty years later by Marmion, 
or even by Chamberlayne. It is quite true — the present writer has done 
what he could in his humble way to insist on the fact in divers places and 
at sundry times — that the common notion of the strict separation of the 
couplets is a mistake — that you find both ' stop ' and ' overlap ' in Chaucer, 
and that the true Elizabethan poets, especially Drayton, develop the form 
in both kinds with great industry and freedom. But, save as an exception, 
it will be difficult to find in any non-dramatic poet before Browne and 
Wither, in any dramatic poet before the third decade or thereabouts of the 
century, such constant breathlessness, such unbridled overlapping, as you 
find here. Moreover, the Caroline (and the rather late than early Caroline) 
volubleness of form is accompanied by a nonchalant disorder of matter 
which is also by no means strictly Elizabethan. I do not know any 
Elizabethan poem — plays are not here in question — which comes anywhere 
near Chalkhill (if Chalkhill it be) and Chamberlayne in bland indifference 
to clarity of plot and narration. They do not say 'The Devil take all 
order ! ' that would be far too violent and energetic a proceeding for them . 
They blandly ignore Order altogether, with its troublesome companions, 
Verisimilitude and Concatenation. No Aristotelian of the straitest sect 
can hold more stoutly and devoutly than I do to the Aristotelian ' probable- 
impossible.' But such incidents as the opening one, where Anaxus 
cannot or will not recognize his sister, and is converted not by herself but 
by a portrait which she produces, and which any counterfeit could have 
easily stolen or counterfeited, take no benefit from this licence at all. 
They are merely, at least to those who trouble themselves about such 
things, what the French, who laugh at and misspell our ' shocking,' them- 
selves call choquant. So, towards the end, the imbroglio of Alexis-Anaxus- 
Thealma-Florimel-Clarinda is embroiled deeper in the same tactless 
way. Of course the piece is unfinished — indeed one may say that to 
finish it anyhow would have tasked any one out of a lunatic asylum. 
But if you take any account of plot at all, again it is surely a first principle 
in poetry itself, as well as in drama, not to entangle things clumsily 
and uselessly. 

It will be observed that I have more than once coupled Chalkhill with 
Chamberlayne : and it was not done without a purpose. The resemblance 
between the two is indeed so striking that, if I were a Biblical critic, I 
(370) 



Introduction 

should at once declare confidently that either Chamberlayne wrote Theahna 
and Clearchus or Chalkhill wrote Fharonnida. And what is more, I could 
bring biblical-critical arguments, external as well as internal, of the purest 
water to support the contention. But I should not believe a word of them, 
and on the principles of literary criticism I am bound merely to leave the 
thing as the enigma that it really is. Yet it is strictly literary to say that 
the resemblances are extraordinary, and luckily they extend to the merits of 
the piece as well as to its defects. The enormous length which has hidden 
the beauties of Fharonnida from so many fainthearts cannot be urged here. 
Walton's pathetic and characteristic colophon appeals to me (I would 
willingly have a Theahna of the length of Fharofiin'da, and a Pharofinida 
at what I am given to understand is the length of Shah Nameh), but it 
cannot be expected to appeal to modern readers as a body. If, however, they 
have any fancy for poetry at all — I sometimes wonder what the results of 
a strict poetical census would be — they ought to be able to get through 
these few thousand lines. And I shall be surprised if, with the same 
proviso, they can get through them without enjoying them. 

Here also, however, it may be desirable — may be even necessary — to 
repeat the apparently superfluous w-arning that neither this poet nor any 
other must be asked for anything more than, or anything other than, he 
can give. If people come to Chalkhill expecting the ^cu'oVt/s of Dryden, 
the pungency of Pope, the majesty of Milton, &c. — if they will not be 
content with the Chalkhillity of Chalkhill — ^it cannot be helped. Perhaps 
they are not to blame : but certainly those are not to be blamed either who 
are prepared to test and accept this poetic variety also at its worth, and add 
it to the treasure-house which English poetry has for them. It is perhaps, 
as Thackeray was fond of saying, ordinaire only ; but a fresh and pleasant 
tap with a flavour and little bouquet of its own. A certain quality of 
engagingness which it has, may have been one of the things which made 
Singer think that it might be very Walton. It is Spenserian ; but with- 
out the Spenserian height. It never soars : but always floats along on 
an easy wing. The minor blemishes, which are somewhat numerous, 
hardly require excuse, because of the obvious absence of revision : the 
major involution, want of verisimilitude and character, breathlessness, 
and so forth are the fault of the ' heroic ' kind, and not to be visited too 
heavily on the individual example. And it has abundant compensations. 
Hardly an English poet has given the difficult, artificial, and generally 
questionable 'pastoral' tone better than Chalkhill. Even his probable 
contemporaries and certain fellow-disciples, Wither and Browne, though at 
their best they are better poets, do not beat him here : and he entirely 
avoids the dissonant and discordant admixtures that his master Spenser 
and his other contemporary Milton allow themselves. That inoffensive, 
(371) Bb2 



yohn Chalkhill 



not in the least pert or meretricious, but fascinating, prettbiess, which is so 
characteristic of our group, abounds in him ; he is master now and then 
of phrases and passages which transcend the merely pretty ; and he exhibits 
the Battle of the Couplets — the enjambed and serpentine on the one hand, 
the sententious and tightly girt on the other — in a new and interesting 
manner. Add that Theabtia and Clearchiis is very rare in the original 
and has become one of the most expensive of Singer's reprints (on the 
general principle which tends to absorb into collections any book that has 
a connexion with a greater) and the justifications of this new appearance 
will be fairly sufficient. 

I have added the two lyrics from the Angler itself, though part of 
one — an uncertain part — is admittedly not Chalkhill's, for completeness' 
sake. They resemble the larger piece in being obvious harvests of a 
quiet lyre and mind, nor are they untuneful. So I hope the reader, to 
vary Walton's words, will not be sorry to have them, even if he may possess 
them, as most should, in their original context. 



(37O 



The Preface 



The Reader will find in this book 
what the title declares, a Pastoral 
History, in smooth and easy verse ; 
and will in it find many hopes and 
fears finely painted, and feelingly 
expressed. And he will find the first 
so often disappointed, when fullest of 
desire and expectation ; and the latter, 
so often, so strangely, and so unex- 
pectedly relieved, by an unforeseen 
Providence, as may beget in him 
wonder and amazement. 

And the Reader will here also meet 
with passions heightened by easy and 
fit descriptions of Joy and Sorrow ; 
and find also such various events and 
rewards of innocent Truth and undis- 



sembled Honesty, as is like to leave in 
him (if he be a good-natured reader) 
more sympathizing and virtuous im- 
pressions, than ten times so much time 
spent in impertinent, critical, and 
needless disputes about religion : and 
1 heartily wish it may do so. 

And, 1 have also this truth to say 
of the author, that he was in his time 
a man generally known, and as well 
beloved ; for he was humble, and 
obliging in his behaviour, a gentleman, 
a scholar, very innocent and prudent : 
and indeed his whole life was useful, 
quiet, and virtuous. God send the 
Story may meet with, or make all' 
readers like him. 

May 7, 1678. I. VV. 



To my worthy friend Mr. Isaac Wahon, 
on the pubHcation of this Poem 



Long had the bright Thealma lain 

obscure, 
Her beauteous charms that might the 

world allure 
Lay, like rough diamonds in the mine 

unknown, 
By all the sons of Folly trampled on, 
Till your kind hand unveil'd her lovely 

face, 
And gave her vigour to exert her rays. 
Happy old man ! — whose worth all 

mankind knows. 
Except himself, who charitably shows 
The ready road to virtue, and to 

praise, 
The road to many long and happy 

days ; 
The noble arts of generous piety, 
And how to compass true felicity ; 
Hence did he learn the art of living 

well. 
The bright Thealma was his Oracle : 



( 373 ) 



Inspir'd by her, he knows no anxious 

cares. 
Through near a century of pleasant 

years ; 
Easy he lives, and cheerful shall 

he die. 
Well spoken of by late posterity. 
As long as Spenser's noble flames shall 

burn. 
And deep devotions throng about his 

urn ; 
As long as Chalkhill's venerable name, 
With humble emulation shall inflame 
Ages to come, and swell the floods of 

Fame : 
Your memory shall ever be secure. 
And long beyond ourshort-liv'd praise 

endure ; 
As Phidias in Minerva's shield did 

live, 
And shar'd that immortality he alone 

could give. 
/u?!e 5, 1683. Tho. Flatman. 



THEALMA AND CLEARCHUS 

Scarce had the ploughman yoked his horned team, 

And lock'd their traces to the crooked beam, 

When fair Thealma with a maiden scorn, 

That day before her rise, out-blush'd the morn : 

Scarce had the sun gilded the mountain tops, 

When forth she leads her tender ewes, and hopes 

The day would recompense the sad affrights 

Her love-sick heart did struggle with a-nights. 

Down to the plains the poor Thealma wends, 

Full of sad thoughts, and many a sigh she sends lo 

Before her, which the air stores up in vain : 

She sucks them back, to breathe them out again. 

The airy choir salute the welcome day. 

And with new carols sing their cares away ; 

Yet move not her ; she minds not what she hears : 

Their sweeter accents grate her tender ears, 

That relish nought but sadness : Joy and she 

Were not so well acquainted ; one might see. 

E'en in her very looks, a stock of sorrow 

So much improv'd, 'twould prove despair to-morrow. 20 

Down in a valley 'twixt two rising hills. 

From whence the dew in silver drops distils 

T' enrich the lowly plain, a river ran 

Hight Cygnus (as some think from Leda's swan 

That there frequented); gently on it glides 

And makes indentures in her crooked sides. 

And with her silent murmurs, rocks asleep 

Her wat'ry inmates : 'twas not very deep, 

But clear as that Narcissus look'd in, when 

His self-love made him cease to live with men. 30 

Close by the river was a thick-leav'd grove. 

Where swains of old sang stories of their love ; 

But unfrequented now since Colin died, 

Colin, that king of shepherds and the pride 

Of all Arcadia : — here Thealma used 

To feed her milky droves, and as they brows'd 

Under the friendly shadow of a beech 

She sate her down; grief had tongue-tied her speech. 

Her words were sighs and tears ; dumb eloquence : 

Heard only by the sobs, and not the sense. 40 

33 A certain class of editor would be confident of a reference to Spenser in ' Colin.' 
1 am not so sure : but it may be so : and if so it postdates Thealma at least to the 
beginning of the seventeenth century. 

( 374 ) 



Thealma and Clearchics 

With folded arms she sate, as if she meant 

To hug those woes which in her breast were pent. 

Her looks were nail'd unto the Earth, that drank 

Her tears with greediness, and seem'd to thank 

Her for those briny showers, and in lieu 

Returns her flow'ry sweetness for her dew. 

At length her sorrows wax'd so big within her. 

They strove for greater vent : Oh ! had you seen her. 

How fain she would have hid her grief, and stay'd 

The swelling current of her woes, and made 50 

Her grief, though with un^^allingness, to set 

Open the floodgates of her speech, and let 

Out that which else had drown'd her ; you'd have deem'd 

Her rather Niobe than what she seem'd. 

So like a weeping rock wash'd with a sea 

Of briny waters, she appear'd to be. 

So have I seen a headlong torrent run 

Scouring along the valley, till anon 

It meeting with some dam that checks his course. 

Swells high with rage, and doubling of its force 60 

Lays siege to his opposer : first he tries 

To undermine it, still his waters rise. 

And with its weight steals through some narrow pores, 

And weeps itself a vent at those small doors ; 

But finding that too little for its weight. 

It breaks through all.— Such was Thealma's state, 

When tears would give her heart no ease, her grief 

Broke into speech to give her some relief: 

' Oh, my Clearchus,' said she, and with tears 

Embalms his name:— 'Oh! if the ghosts have ears, 70 

Or souls departed condescend so low, 

To sympathize with mortals in their woe ; 

Vouchsafe to lend a gentle ear to me. 

Whose life is worse than death, since not with thee. 

What privilege have they that are born great 

More than the meanest swain ? The proud waves beat 

With more impetuousness upon high lands, 

Than on the flat and less resisting strands : 

The lofty cedar and the knotty oak 

Are subject more unto the thunder-stroke, 80 

Than the low shrubs, that no such shocks endure, 

Ev'n their contempt doth make them live secure. 

Had I been born the child of some poor swain, 

Whose thoughts aspire no higher than the plain, 

I had been happy then ; t' have kept these sheep, 

43 unto the Earth] S., by a singular oversight, 'nail'd to earth,' which lops 
the metre. 

57 The ' So have I seen,' which was such a snare to Jeremy Taylor, is interesting. 

63 its] S. conjectures 'their': but 'it' has been confused with 'he' before, and 
* itself ' in the next line can hardly be neglected. 

(375) 



John Chalkhill 

Had been a princely pleasure ; quiet sleep 

Had drown'd my cares, or sweeten'd them with dreams : 

Love and content had been my music's themes ; 

Or had Clearchus liv'd the life I lead, 

I had been blest.' — And then a tear she shed, 90 

That was forerunner to so great a shower. 

It drown'd her speech : such a commanding power 

That lov'd name had : when beating of her breast. 

In a sad silence she sigh'd out the rest. 

By this time it was noon, and Sol had got 

Half to his journey's ending : 'twas so hot. 

The sheep drew near the shade, and by their dam 

Lay chewing of their cuds :— at the length came 

Caretta with her dinner, where she found 

Her love-sick mistress courting of the ground, roo 

Moist with the tears she shed : she lifts her up, 

And pouring out some beverage in a cup. 

She gave it her to drink : — hardly she sips, 

When a deep sigh again lock'd up her lips. 

Caretta woos and prays (poor country girl). 

And every sigh she spent cost her a pearl, 

'Pray, come to dinner,' said she, 'see, here's bread. 

Here's curds and cream, and cheesecake, sweet, now feed; 

Do you not love me ? once you said you did. 

Do you not care for me? If you had bid no 

Me do a thing, though I with death had met 

I would have done it : — honey mistress, eat. 

I would your grief were mine, so you were well ; 

What is 't that troubles you ? would I could tell. 

Dare you not trust me ? I was ne'er no blab. 

If I do tell't to any, call me drab. 

But you are angry with me,— chide me then, — 

Beat me, — forgive, — I'll ne'er offend again.' 

With that she kiss'd her, and with lukewarm tears, 

Call'd back her colour worn away with cares. 120 

'Oh, my poor girl,' said she, 'sweet itmoceiice. 
What a controlling whming eloquence 
Hath loving honesty ; were't not to give 
Thy love a thanks, Thealma would not live. 
I cannot eat;— nay, weep not, — I am well, 
Only I have no stomach ; thou canst tell 
How long it is since good Menippus found 
Me shipwreck'd in the sea, e'en well-nigh drown'd ; 
And happy had it been, if my stern fate 
Had prov'd to me so cruel fortunate 130 

To have un-liv'd me then.'—' Ah, wish not so ! ' 
Answer'd Caretta, 'little do you know, 

98 at the length] While ' at last ' and ' at the last ' have survived almost equally, 
' at the length ' strikes the ear oddly, but without reason. 

I2I-3 Italics are used in a somewhat puzzling manner by many writers (or printers) 
( 376 ) 



Theahna and Cleajxhus 

What end the fates have in preserving you. 

I hope a good one, and to tell you true, 

You do not well to question those blest powers, 

That long agone have number'd out our hours. 

And, as some say, spin out our threads of life ; 

Some short, some longer, they command the knife 

That cuts them off; and till that time be come 

We seek in vain to shroud us in a tomb. 140 

But I have done,— and fear I've done amiss, 

I ask forgiveness. — As I guess it is 

Some three years since my master sav'd your life, 

'Twas much about the time he lost his wife. 

And that 's three years come Autunm ; my good dame 

Then lost her life, yet lives in her good name. 

I cannot choose but weep to think on her : 

'Mongst women kind, was not a lovinger. 

She bred me up e'en from my infancy. 

And lov'd me as her own, her piety 150 

And love to virtue made me love it too ; 

But she is dead, and I have found in you 

What I have lost in her : my good old master 

Follow'd her soon, he could not long outlast her. 

They lov'd so well together: heav'n did lend 

Him longer life, only to prove your friend, 

To save your life, and he was therein blest, 

That happy action crowned all the rest 

Of his good deeds : since heav'n hath such a care 

To preserve good ones, why should you despair? 160 

The man you grieve for so, there 's none can tell 

But if heav'n be so pleas'd, may speed as well. 

Some lucky hand Fate may, for aught you know, 

Send to save him from death as well as you. 

And so I hope it hath : take comfort then. 

You may, I trust, see happy days again.' 

Thealma all this while with serious eye, 
Ey'd the poor wench, unwilling to reply ; 
For in her looks she read some true presage. 
That gave her comfort, and somewhat assuage 170 

The fury of her passions ; with desire 
Her ears suck'd in her speech, to quench her fire : 
She could have heard her speak an age, sweet soul. 
So pretty loud she chud her, and condole 
With her in her misfortunes. 'Oh,' said she, 
' What wisdom dwells in plain simplicity ! 

of this period. As I notice on Hannay (i. 626) they seem sometimes to serve as vehicles 
for 'asides' or parenthetical remarks of the author to the reader. It will be seen that 
this might be such, and might indeed be lifted bodily out, without injury to verse 
or speech. 

174 chud] One would expect 'chode ' if anything, but I do not remember any strong 
form in Middle English. 

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yohfi Chalkhill 



Prithee (my dear Caretta) why dost cry? 

I am not angry, good girl, dry thine eye, 

Or I shall turn child too: my tide's not spent, 

'Twill flow again, if thou art discontent. 180 

For I will eat if thou'lt be merry ; say, 

Wilt thou, Caretta? shall thy mistress pray. 

And thou deny her?' — Still Caretta wept. 

Sorrow and gladness such a struggling kept 

Within her for the mastery ; at the length 

Joy overcame, and speech recovered strength. 

'Sweet mistress,' said she, 'pardon your handmaid. 

Unworthy of the wages your love paid 

Me ; for my over-boldness, think 't not strange, 

I was struck dumb at this so sweet a change. 190 

I could not choose but weep, if you'd have kill'd me, 

With such an overplus of joy it fill'd me : 

I will be merry, if you can forgive ; 

Wanting your love, it is a hell to live : 

I was to blame ; but I'll do so no more.' 

Scarce had she spoke the word ; but a fell boar 
Rush'd from the wood, enrag'd by a deep wound 
Some huntsman gave him : up he ploughs the ground. 
And whetting of his tusks, about 'gan roam, 
Champing his venom's moisture into foam. 200 

Thealma and her maid, half dead with fear, 
Cried out for help ; their cry soon reach'd his ear. 
And he came snuffling tow'rd them : — still they cry, 
And fear gave wings unto them as they fly. 
The sheep ran bleating o'er the pleasant plain. 
And airy Echo answers them again ; 
Redoubling of their cries to fetch in aid. 
Whilst to the wood the fearful virgins made. 
Where a new fear assay 'd them : 'twas their hap 
To meet the boar's pursuer in the gap 310 

With his sword drawn, and all besmear'd with gore, 
Which made their case more desp'rate than before, 
As they imagin'd ; yet so well as fear 
And doubt would let them, as the man drew near 
They 'mplor'd his help : — he minds them not, but spying 
The chafed boar in a thick puddle lying, 
Tow'rds him he makes ; the boar was soon aware, 
And with a hideous noise sucks in the air. 
Upon his guard he stands, his tusks new whets. 
And up on end his grisly bristles sets. 220 

His wary foe went traversing his ground, 
Spying out where was best to give a wound. 

189 Me] This is almost as bold a partition as the first Lord Lytton's parody of 
Mr. William Morris in (I think) Kcnelm Chillingly: 

Sophronia was a nice 
Girl. 

( 378 ) 



Thealma and Clearchus 

And now Thealma's fears afresh began 

To seize on her ; her care 's now for the man, 

Lest the adventurous youth should get some hurt, 

Or die untimely : — up th' boar flings the dirt 

Dy'd crimson with his blood : his foe at length 

Watching his time, and doubling of his strength, 

Gave him a wound so deep, it let out life, 

And set a bloody period to their strife. 230 

But he bled too, a little gash he got, 

As he clos'd with him, which he minded not; 

Only Thealma's fears made it appear 

More dangerous than it was, — longing to hear 

Her life's preserver speak: then down she falls, 

And on the gods, in thanks, for blessing calls, 

To recompense his valour. — He drew near. 

And smiling lifts her up, whenas a tear 

Dropping into his wound, he gave a start : 

Love in that pearl stole down into his heart. 240 

He was but young, scarce did the hair begin 
In shadows to write man upon his chin : 
Tall and well set, his hair a chestnut brown. 
His looks majestic, 'twixt a smile and frown ; 
Yet smear'd with blood, and all bedew'd with sweat. 
One could not know him : — by this time the heat 
AVas well-nigh slak'd, and Sol's unwearied team 
Hies to refresh them in the briny stream. 
The stranger ey'd her earnestly, and she 

As earnestly desir'd that she might see 250 

His perfect visage. — To the river side 
She toles him on ; still he Thealma eyed, 
But not a word he spake, which she desir'd : 
The more he look'd, the more his heart was fir'd. 
Down both together sate, and while he wash'd, 
She dress'd his wound which the boar lately gash'd ; 
And having wip'd, he kiss'd her for her care, 
Whenas a blush begot 'twixt joy and fear 
Made her seem what he took her for — his love ; 
And this invention he had to prove, 260 

Whether she was Clarinda, aye or no : 
For so his mistress hight. — ' Did not you know 
The Prince Anaxus ? ' — Now Thealma knew 
Not whether it were best speak false or true. 
She knew he was Anaxus, and her brother. 
And from a child she took him for no other ; 
Yet knew she not what danger might ensue, 

226-7 th' — Dy'd] S. prints 'the,' removing an awful example of apostrophation, and 

' died,' which is clearly wrong. 

252 toles] This, the same word as ' toll,' means to ' draw on,' ' entice,' ' allure.' 
257 having wip'd] The most indulgent critic of the syntax of the period must admit 

that this is unlucky. 

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jfohn Chalkhill 



If she disclos'd herself : her telling true 

Perhaps might work her ruin, and a lie 

Might rend her from his heart, worse than to die. 270 

But she, being unwilling to be known, 

Answer'd his quere with this question : 

' Did not you know Thealma ? ' — At the name 

Amaz'd he started ; ' What then, lovely dame ? 

Suppose I did ? would I could say I do ' ; 

With that he wept, she fell a melting too, 

And with a flood of tears she thanks her brother: 

No danger can a true affection smother. 

He wipes her eyes, she weeps again afresh, 

And sheds more tears t' enrich her thankfulness, 280 

Sorrow had tied up both their tongues so fast, 

Love found no vent, but through their eyes ; at last, 

Anaxus blushing at his childish tears, 

Rous'd up himself, and the sad virgin cheers. 

' And knew you that Thealma, sweet ? ' said he : 

'I did,' replied Thealma, 'I am she: — 

Look well upon me ; — sorrow 's not so unkind 

So to transform me, but your eye may find 

A sister's stamp upon me,' — 'Lovely maid, 

How fain I would believe thee,' the youth said, 290 

' But she was long since drown'd : in the proud deep, 

She and her bold Clearchus sweetly sleep. 

In those soft beds of darkness ; and in dreams 

Embrace each other, spite of churlish streams.' 

The very name Clearchus chill'd her veins. 

And like an unmov'd statue she remains, 

Pale as Death's self, till with a warm love-kiss, • 

He thaw'd her icy coldness ; such power is 

In the sweet touch of love. — ' Sweet soul,' said he, 

'Be comforted, the sorrow 'longs to me. 300 

Why should the sad relation of a woe 

You have no interest in, make you grieve so ? ' 

' No interest,' said she, ' yes, Anaxus, know 

I am a greater sharer in 't than you. 

Have you forgot your sister ? I am she, 

The helpless poor Thealma, and to me 

Belongs the sorrow ; you but grieve in vain 

If't be for her, since she is found again.' 

' Are you not then Clarinda? ' said the youth, 

'Twere cruelty to mock me with untruth : 310 

Your speech is hers, and in your looks I read 

Her lovely character : sweet virgin, lead 

Me from this labyrinth of doubts, whate'er 

You are, there is in you so much of her 

That I both love and honour you.' — 'Fair sir,' 



(380) 



272 quere] S. ' query,' which seems a pit3'. 



Thealma and Clearchus 

Answer'd Thealma, smiling, 'why of her 

Make you so strict inquiry ? is your eye 

So dazzled with her beauty, that poor I 

Must lose the name of sister? — say you love her, 

Can your love make you cease to be a brother?' 320 

Whereat from forth her bosom, next the heart, 

She pluck'd a little tablet, whereon Art 

Had wrought her skill ; and opening it, said she, 

' Do you not know this picture ? let that be 

The witness of the truth which I have told.' 

With that Anaxus could no longer hold, 

But falling on her neck, with joy he kiss'd her. 

Saying, 'Thanks, Heaven, liv'st thou then, my dear sister 

My lov'd Thealma ! wert not thou cast away ? 

What happy hand hath sav'd thee ? ' — But the day 330 

Was then far spent ; 'twas time to think on home, 

And her Caretta, all amaz'd, was come. 

And waited her commands : the fiery sun 

Went blushing down at the short race he run ; 

The marigold shuts up her golden flowers, 

And the sweet song-birds hied unto their bowers. 

Night-swaying Morpheus clothes the east in black, 

And Cynthia following her brother's track 

With new and brighter rays, her self adorns. 

Lighting the starry tapers at her horns. 340 

Homeward Anaxus and Thealma wend, 

Where we must leave them for a while, to end 

The story of their sorrows. — 

Night being come, 
A time when all repair unto some home. 
Save the poor fisherman, that still abides 
Out-watching care in tending on the tides. 
Rhotus was yet at sea, and as his ketch 
Tack'd to and fro, the scanty wind to snatch. 
He spied a frigate, and as night gave leave 
Through Cynthia's brightness he might well perceive 350 

It was of Lemnos ; and as it drew near. 
From the becalmed bark he well might hear 
A voice that hail'd him ; asking whence he was ? 
He answer'd, from Arcadia. In that place 
Were many little islands, call'd of old 
Rtipillas, from the many rocks they hold, 
A most frequented place for fish ; in vain 
They trimm'd their flagging sails to stem the main. 
But scarce a breath of wind was stirring, when 
The master hail'd the fisherman again : 360 

And letting fall an anchor, beckon'd him 
To come aboard. Rhotus delay'd no time, 

356 Riipillas] These Greek islands with a Latin name are quite Chamberlaynian. 
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yohn Chalkhill 



But makes unto the ship ; he soon got thither, 

Using his oars to outdo the weather. 

His ketch he hooks unto the frigate's stern, 

And up the ship he chmbs ; he might discern 

At his first entry such a sad aspect 

In all the passengers, he might collect 

Out of their looks, that some misfortune had 

Lately befall'n them, they were all so sad. 370 

One 'mongst the rest there was, a grave old man, 

(To whom they all stood bare) that thus began : 

' Welcome, kind friend, nay sit. What bark ? with fish ? 

Canst thou afford for Lemnian coin a dish ? ' 

' Yes, master, that I can, a good dish too ; 

And as they like you, pay me ; I will go 

And fetch them straight.' He did so, and was paid 

To his content : the fish were ready made, 

And down they sate, the better sort and worse 

Far'd all alike, it was their constant course ; 380 

Four to a mess ; and to augment their fare, 

The second courses good discourses were. 

Amongst their various talk, the grave old lord 

(For so he was) that hail'd the ketch aboard. 

Thus question'd Rhotus : — 'Honest fisher, tell 

What news affords Arcadia ; thou knowest well : 

Who rules that free-born state, under what laws. 

Or civil government remain they ? what 's the cause 

Of their late falling out ? ' Rhotus replies. 

And as he spake the tears stood in his eyes : 390 

' As well as grief will let me, worthy sir. 

Though I shall prove but a bad chronicler 

Of state affairs, yet with your gentle leave 

ril tell you all I know ; nor will I weave 

Any untruths in my discourse, or raise, 

By flattering mine own countrymen, a praise 

Their worth ne'er merited ; what I shall tell 

Is nothing but the truth ; then mark me well.' 

Then quiet silence shut up their discourse. 
Scarce was a whisper heard, — 'such a strange force 400 

Hath novelty ; it makes us swift to hear. 
And to the speaker chains the greedy ear.' 
'Arcadia was of old,' said he, 'a state 
Subject to none but their own laws and fate : 
Superior there was none, but what old age 
And hoary hairs had rais'd ; the wise and sage, 



364 oars] The disyllabic value is worthy of note. 
377 straight] Orig., as so often, 'strait.* 
388 Note the Alexandrine. 

400-2. The quotes are orig. S. , with so me justification on the principle noted on lines 
121-3, changes to italics. 

(382) 



Theahna and Clearchus 

Whose gravity, when they are rich in years, ' 

Begat a civil reverence more than fears 

In the well-manner'd people ; at that day 

All was in common, every man bare sway 410 

O'er his own family ; the jars that rose 

Were soon appeas'd by such grave men as those : 

This mine and thine, that we so cavil for. 

Was then not heard of; he that was most poor 

Was rich in his content, and liv'd as free 

As they whose flocks were greatest, nor did he 

Envy his great abundance, nor the other 

Disdain the low condition of his brother, 

But lent him from his store to mend his state. 

And with his love he quits him, thanks his fate, 420 

And taught by his example, seeks out such 

As want his help, that they may do as much. 

Their laws, e'en from their childhood, rich and poor 

Had written in their hearts by conning o'er 

The legacies of good old men, whose memories 

Outlive their monuments, the grave advice 

They left behind in writing : — this was that 

That made Arcadia then so blest a state, 

Their wholesome laws had link'd them so in one. 

They liv'd in peace and sweet communion. 430 

Peace brought forth plenty, plenty bred content. 

And that crown'd all their pains with merriment. 

They had no foe, secure they liv'd in tents, 

All was their own they had, they paid no rents ; 

Their sheep found clothing, earth provided food. 

And labour drest them as their wills thought good ; 

On unbought delicates their hunger fed, 

And for their drink the swelling clusters bled : 

The valleys rang with their delicious strains. 

And Pleasure revell'd on those happy plains. 440 

Content and Labour gave them length of days. 

And Peace serv'd in delight a thousand ways. 

The golden age before Deucalion's flood 

Was not more happy, nor the folk more good. 

But Time, that eats the children he begets. 

And is less satisfied the more he eats. 

Led on by Fate that terminates all things, 

Ruin'd our state by sending of us kings : 

Ambition (Sin's first-born), the bane of state. 

Stole into men, pufifing them up with hate 450 

And emulous desires; love waxed cold. 

And into iron froze the age of gold. 

The law's contempt made cruelty step in, 

420-1 I have altered the punctuation here to bring out what seems to me to be the 
sense, i. e. that ' he ' is the beneficiary and that ' quits ' = ' requites.' 
425 Alexandrine again. 

(383) 



yohn Chalkhill 



And 'stead of curbing, animated sin ; 

The rich man tramples on the poor man's back, 

Raising his fortunes by his brother's wrack. 

The wronged poor necessity 'gan teach 

To live by rapine, stealing from the rich. 

The temples, which devotion had erected 

In honour of the gods, were now neglected ; 460 

No altar smokes with sacrificed beasts, 

No incense offer'd, no love-strength'ning feasts. 

Men's greedy avarice made gods of clay, 

Their gold and silver:— field to field they lay, 

And house to house ; no matter how 'twas got, 

The hands of justice they regarded not. 

Like a distemper'd body fever-shaken, 

When with combustion every limb is taken : 

The head wants ease, the heavy eyes want sleep, 

The beating pulse no just proportion keep ; 470 

The tongue talks idly, reason cannot rule it, 

And the heart fires the air drawn in to cool it. 

The palate relisheth no meat, the ear 's 

But ill affected with the sweets it hears. 

The hands deny their aid to help him up. 

And fall, as to his lips they lift the cup. 

The legs and feet disjointed, and useless. 

Shrinking beneath the burthen of the flesh. 

Such was Arcadia then, till Clitus reign'd, 

The first and best of kings that e'er obtain'd 480 

Th' Arcadian sceptre : he piec'd up the state, 

And made it somewhat like to fortunate. 

He dying without issue on the sudden, 

Heav'n nipp'd their growing glory in the budding : 

They choose Philemon, one of Clitus' race, 

To sway the sceptre, a brave youth he was, 

As wise as valiant. Had he been as chaste, 

Arcadia had been happy ; but his lust 

Levell'd Arcadia's glory with the dust. 

There was a noble shepherd, Stremon hight, 490 

As good as great, whose virtues had of right 

Better deserv'd a crown, had severe fate 

But pleas'd to smile so then upon our state. 

He had one only daughter, young and fair, 

Most richly qualitied, and which was rare, 

454 animated sin] In orig. there is no comma : and it was only after imagining 
and considering one or two more far-fetched interpretations for this phrase, as it 
stood, that I received from the reader, with gratitude and some shame, this obvious 
emendation. 

470 pulse] The plural, in this sense, is not uninteresting. 

477 useless] The combined wrench of accent and forcing of rhyme may be 
noteworthy. ' Guess,' by the way, appears (I think) in Scott, or in the Shepherd's talk 
in the Nodes, as 'guesh,' which is wanted itifm, 1. 649. 

(384) 



Thealma a7id Clearchus 

In the same looser age divinely chaste; 

Though sued to by no mean ones, yet at last 

Her father match'd her to a shepherd's son, 

Equal in birth and fortune ; such a one 

As merited the double dower she brought, 50& 

Both of her wealth and virtue : heav'n had wrought 

Their minds so both alike : — his noble sire 

Was Clitus named, to whose Thracian lyre 

The shepherds wont to tune their pipes, and frame 

Their curious madrigals. The virgin's name 

Was Castabella, Clitus his brave son 

Lysander hight. The nuptials being done, 

To which the king came willingly a guess, 

Each one repair'd unto their business, 

The charge of their own flocks; the nobler sort 510 

Accompanied the king unto the court : 

The meaner rout of shepherds and their swains. 

With hook and scrip went jogging to the plains. 

Scarce had the sun (that then at Cancer in'd) 

Twice measured the earth, when Love struck blind 

The lustful king, whose amorous desires 

Grew into lawless passions, and strange fires. 

That none but Castabella would serve turn 

To quench his flames, though she had made them burn. 

He had the choice of many fair ones too, 520 

And well descended : kings need not to woo ; 

The very name will bring a nun to bed, 

Ambition values not a maidenhead ; 

But he likes none, none but the new-wed wife 

Must be the umpire to decide the strife. 

He casts about to get what he desir'd. 

The more he plots, the more his heart is fir'd ; 

He knew her chaste and virtuous, no weak bars 

T' oppose the strongest soldier in Love's wars. 

He knew her father powerful, well-beloved, 530 

Both for his wisdom and good deeds approved, 

Among the giddy rout ; — as for his son, 

His own demerit spake him such a one 

As durst revenge ; nor could he want for friends 

To second his attempts in noble ends. 

Still the king burns, and still his working brain 

Plots and displots, thinks and unthinks again. 

At length his will resolv'd him in this sort, 

508 And here, as not unfrequently, 'guest' becomes 'guess.' The 5 sound may 
have overpowered its companions in both cases perhaps, so that ' flesh ' supra 
became ' fle^s.' 

514 in'd] This, which is orig., S. altered to ' inn'd.' But the other is worth keeping 
because it probably exemplifies that superstition of the eye-rhyme which Spenser did 
not often allow to offend the ear. With the alteration, Spenser's 'friend and, 
acquaintant ' would here offend both ear and eye. 

II. ( .=585 ) C C 



yohn Chalkhill 



Stremon and Clitus both were yet at court, 

Busied in state affairs ; Lysander he 540 

Was where a husband lately wed should be, 

At home a-weaning of his wife's desires, 

From her old sire, to warm her at his fires. 

As hapless hap would have it, it fell out 

That at that time a rude uncivil rout 

Of outlaw'd mutineers had gather'd head 

Upon .the frontiers, as their fury led, 

Burning and spoiling all ; the council sit 

Advising to suppress them ; 'twas thought fit 

Some strength should go against them. All this made 550 

For the king's purpose. Then a care was had 

Who should conduct those forces : some were nam'd, 

The choice one likes is by another blam'd. 

Philemon gives them line enough, for he 

Had 'fore projected who the man should be ; 

Yet held his peace, 'twas not his cue as yet 

To speak his mind ; at length they do entreat 

That he would name the man : the king did so, 

Lysander was the man, he nam'd to go : 

His judgement was agreed on ; th' two old men, 560 

Stremon and Clitus, thought them honour'd when 

They heard him name Lysander, and with glad ears 

Welcome his killing favour without fears. 

He makes him captain of his strongest fort. 

Thus wolf-like he did welcome him to court. 

The days were set for his dispatch ; mean space 

He takes his leave of his wife's chaste embrace : 

It little boots her love to weep him back. 

Nor stood it with his honour to be slack 

In such a noble enterprise ; — he went 570 

Arm'd with strong hopes, and the king's blandishment. 

No sooner was he gone, but the sly king. 

Rid of his chiefest fears, began to sing 

A requiem to his thoughts : th' affairs of state 

He left unto his nobles to debate; 

And minds his sport, the hunting of the hare, 

The fox and wolf, this took up all his care. 

Upon a day, as in a tedious chase. 

He lost his train that did out-ride his race ; 

Or rather of set purpose slack'd his course, 580 

Intending to excuse it on his horse. 

He stole to Stremon's lodge, the day was spent, 

The fittest time to act his foul intent. 

He knocks at Stremon's lodge, but no man hears, 

All were abed, and sleep had charm'd their ears : 

562 Lysander, and with] This is a franker trisyllabic foot than usual, and it is almost 
odd that the ' apostrophation '-maniacs did not print it ' Lysand'r.' 

579 The whirligig of time has affected the meaning of this line curiously. 

(386) 



Thealma a7id Clearchus 

He knocks again ; with that he heard a groan, 

Pow'rful enough t' have turn'd a cruel one 

From his bad purpose. " Who 's within ? " said he, 

"If you be good folks, rise and pity me." 

But none replied : — another groan he hears, 590 

And cruel Fortune drew him by the ears 

To what he wish'd for. Castabella yet 

Was not in bed ; sorrow denied to let 

Her moist eyes sleep, for her increasing fears 

Conspir'd to keep them open, with her tears. 

A little from the lodge, on the descent 

Of the small hill it stood on, a way bent 

Unto an orchard thick with trees beset ; 

Through which there ran a crystal rivelet, 

Whose purling streams that wrangled with the stones, 600 

In trembling accents, echo'd back her groans. 

Here in an arbour Castabella sate. 

Full of sad thoughts, and most disconsolate ; 

The door was ope, and in Philemon steals, 

But in a bush a while himself conceals. 

Till he the voice might more distinctly hear, 

And better be resolv'd that she was there ; 

And so he did : Fortune his bawd became, 

And led him on to lust. — The fearless dame, 

After a deep-fetch'd sigh, thus faintly spake, 610 

" O my Lysander, why would'st thou not take 

Me along with thee ? " then a flood of tears 

Clos'd up her lips ; when this had reach'd his ears, 

Like a fell wolf he rush'd upon his prey, 

Stopping her cries with kisses : weep she may. 

And lift her hands to heaven, but in vain, 

It was too late for help t'undo again 

What he had done. Her honour, more to her 

Than was her life, the cruel murderer 

Had robb'd her of, and glories in his prize : 620 

It is no news for lust to tyrannize. 

He thank'd his fortune that did so prevent 

His first design by shortening his intent. 

The black deed done, the ravisher hies thence, 

Leaving his shame to murder innocence: 

He had his wish, and that which gilt his sin, 

He knew suspicion could not suspect him. 

Report, the blab-tongue of those tell-tale times, 

That rather magnifies than lessens crimes, 

Slept when this act was done : such thoughts as these 630 

Sear'd up his conscience with a carelessness. 

599 crystal rivelet] S. has inserted an unnecessary and unoriginal h in ' crystal ' and 
has altered 'rivf'let,' a form worth keeping, to 'rivMlet.' 
626-7 Another loose rhyme. 

( 387 ) C C 2 



yohn Chalkhill 



Poor Castabella having now lost all 

That she thought worth the losing, would not call 

For help to be a witness of her shame : 

It was too late, nor did she know his name 

That had undone her : cruel thoughts arise, 

And wanting other vent, break through her eyes. 

Shame prompts [her] to despair and let out life ; 

Revenge advised her to conceal her grief: 

Fear checks revenge, and Honour chides her fear, 640 

Within her breast such mutinous thoughts there were 

She could resolve on nothing : day then breaks, 

And shame in blushes rose upon her cheeks. ' 

With that she spies a ring lie at her feet, 

She took it up, and glad she was to see 't. 

By this she thought, if Fate so pitied her, 

In time she might find out the ravisher. 

Revenge then whispers in her ear afresh, 

Be bold ; she look 'd upon 't, but could not guess 

Whose it might be ; yet she remember'd well 650 

She'd seen 't before, but where she could not tell. 

With that she threw it from her in disdain. 

Yet thought wrought so she took it up again ; 

And looking better on 't, within the ring 

She spied the name and motto of the king : 

Whereat she starts; — "O ye blest powers!" said she, 

"Thanks for this happy strange discovery." 

She wrapp'd it up, and to the lodge she went 

To study some revenge ; 'twas her intent 

By some device to 'tice Philemon thither, 660 

And there to end his life and hers together. 

But that was cross'd, Lysander back returns 

Crown'd with a noble victory, — and horns 

That he ne'er dream'd of: to his wife he goes, 

And finds her weeping : no content she shows 

At his safe coming back ; but speaks in tears : 

He lov'd too well to harbour jealous fears. 

He wip'd her eyes, and kiss'd her to invite 

A gentle welcome from her if he might : 

But 'twould not be; he ask'd her why she wept, 670 

And who had wrong'd her; still she silence kept. 

And turns away : then he began to doubt 

All was not well ; to find the matter out 

He tries all means ; and first with mild entreats 

He woos her to disclose it : then with threats 

He seeks to wring it from her. Much ado 

She told him the sad story of her woe. 

The ring confirm'd the truth of her report : 

And he believ'd her.^ — Straight he hies to court 

649 guess] Here ' guesh ' itself {y. supra, 1. 477) is neededi 
676 ' Much ado ' as an. adverb is noteworth}'. 

(388) 



Theahna and Clearchus 

T' acquaint his fathers with it. All three vow 680 

To be reveng'd, but first they study how. 

Well, to be brief, they muster up their friends, 

xA.nd now Philemon 'gan to guess their ends, 

And counter-works t' oppose them, gathers strength, 

And boldly goes to meet them ; at the length 

They battle join. Philemon put to flight, 

And many thousands butcher'd in the fight ; 

'Mongst whom old Stremon fell, whose noble spirit 

Outdid his age, and by his brave merit 

Did gain himself so glorious a name, 690 

Arcadia to this day adores the same. 

Lysander's wrongs spurr'd on his swift pursuit 

After Philemon, when a sudden shout 

Amongst his soldiers caus'd him sound retreat, 

Fearing some mutiny — all in a sweat 

A messenger ran tow'rd him, crying out, 

" Return, my lord, the cunning wolf 's found out, 

Philemon 's slain, and you proclaimed king " : 

With that again the echoing valleys ring. 

The foe, it seems, had wheel'd about a mere 700 

In policy to set upon the rear 

Of bold Lysander's troops ; they fac'd about 

And met his charge ; when a brave youth stepp'd out 

And singles forth the king : they used no words, 

The cause was to be pleaded with their swords. 

Which anger whet : no blow was giv'n in vain, 

Now they retire, and then come on again ; 

Like two wild boars for mastery they strive, 

And many wounds on either side they give: 

Then grappling both together, both fell down, 710 

Fainting for want of blood ; when with a frown 

As killing as his sword the brave youth gave 

His foe a wound that sent him to his grave. 

"Take that, thou murderer of my honour's name," 

Said the brave youth, or rather the brave dame; 

For so it prov'd : yet her disguise was such, 

The sharpest eye could not discern so much, 

Until Lysander came : his piercing eye 

Soon found who 'twas, he knew her presently ; 

'Twas Castabella, his unhappy wife, 7 20 

Who losing honour, would not keep her life ; 

But thrusts herself into the midst of danger 

To seek out death, and would have died a stranger 

686 Philemon put] The omission of 'was' before ' put' is not so much an isolated 
carelessness as characteristic of the odd shorthand breathlessness of the piece. 

689 It is by no means certain that the apparently missing syllable here is not due to 
that system of w//srhyming which is frequent in Wyatt and not unknown down 
to Spenser. 

700 mere] Orig. ' meer.' 

(389) 



yohn Chalkhill 



' '•■'• ■ Unto Lysander's knowledge, had not he 

Inform'd the world it could be none but she 

That durst win honour so. The noble dame 

Was not quite dead whenas Lysander came, 

Who stooping down to kiss her, with his tears 

T 'embalm her for a grave, herself she rears, 

And meeting his embrace ; " Welcome," said she, 730 

" Welcome, Lysander ; since I have seen thee, 

I dare Death's worst " ; then sinking down she died, 

The honour of her sex : — all means were tried 

To call back life, but medicines came late. 

Her blood was spent, and she subscribes to fate. 

Lysander was about to sacrifice 

Himself t' appease th' incensed destinies ; 

And had not one stepp'd in and held his hand, 

He'd done the deed, and so undone the land. 

Peace was proclaim'd to all that would submit 740 

On the foe's side : the soldiers dig a pit 

And tumble in Philemon ; none there were, 

Or friend or foe, that seem'd to shed a tear 

To deck his hearse withal. Thus his base lust 

Untimely laid his glory in the dust; 

But Castabella she outliv'd her shame. 

And shepherd swains still carol out her fame. 

She needs no poet's pen to mount it high, 

Lysander wept her out an elegy. 

Her obsequies once o'er, the king was crown'd, 750 

And war's loud noise with peals of joy was drown'd : 

Janus's temple was shut up, and Peace 

Usher'd in Plenty by their flocks' increase ; 

But long it lasted not, Philemon's friends 

Soon gather'd head again. Lysander sends 

Some force against them, but with bad success, 

The foe prevails, and scales their hardiness. 

Lysander goes in person and is slain, 

Philemon's friends then make a king again ; 

A hot-spur'd youth, hight Hylas, such a one 760 

As pride had fitted for commotion. 

About that time, in a tempestuous night, 
A ship that by misfortune chanc'd to light 
Upon the rocks that are upon our coast. 
Was split to pieces, all the lading lost, 
And all the passengers, save a young man 
That Fortune rescued from the ocean. 
When day was broke, and I put out to sea, 
To fish out a poor living : by the lea 

As I was coasting, I might well espy 770 

The carcass of a ship : — my man and I 

757 scales] sic in orig., with the long f. It may be nothing more than ' seals/ 
'■puts force into.' 

( 390 ) ■ ■ • • 



Thealma and CIea?xhus 

Made straightway tow'rd it, and with wind and oar 

^Ve quickly reach'd it, 'twas not far from shore, 

About some half a league ; we view'd the wrack. 

But found no people in 't, when looking back, 

Upon a shelving rock, a man we spied, 

As we thought, dead, and cast up by the tide : 

But by good hap he was not, yet wellnigh 

Starv'd with the cold, and the sea's cruelty. 

We thaw'd him into life again, but he, 780 

As if he rehsh'd not our charity, 

Seem'd to be angry ; and had we not been, 

The youth had leap'd into the sea again. 

Perforce we brought him home, where with warm potions 

We thaw'd his numbed joints into their motions, 

And chiding his despair, with good advice 

I warm'd his hopes that else had froze to ice. 

A braver youth mine eye ne'er look'd upon, 

Nor of a sweeter disposition.' 

Old Cleon could no longer silence keep, 790 

But ask'd his name, and as he ask'd did weep. 

' Was he your friend ? ' quoth Rhotus, ' he 's alive. 

Knew you as much as I, you would not grieve. 

He calls himself Alexis, now our king. 

And long may we enjoy his governing : 

But he forgets who sav'd his life ; great men 

Seldom remember to look down again. 

There was a time when I'd have scorn'd to crave 

A thanks from any, till a churlish wave 

Wash'd off my friends and thrust me from the court, 800 

To dwell with labour ; but I thank them for 't. 

Content dwells not at court ; but I have done, 

And if you please, my lord, I will go on 

Where I left off a while : — Hylas being king, 

Puff'd up with pride, by often conquering. 

He fell to riot, king and people both 

Laid arms aside to fall in love with sloth. 

Tlie downs were unfrequented, shepherd swains 

Were very rarely seen to haunt the plains. 

The plough lay still, the earth manuring needs, 810 

And 'stead of corn brought forth a crop of weeds. 

No courts of justice kept, no law observ'd. 

No hand to punish such as ill deserv'd : 

Their will was then their law ; who durst resist, 

Hylas connives, and all did what they list. 

Lysander's friends were scatter'd here and there, 

And liv'd obscurely circled in with fear. 

Some tiird the ground, whilst others fed their flocks, 

Under the covert of some hanging rocks. 

Others fell'd wood, and some dye weavy yarn 829 

The women spun ; thus all were forc'd to earn 

( 391 ) 



yohn Chalkhill 



'J'heir bread by sweaty labour : 'mongst the many, 

I and some others fish'd to get a penny. 

And had I but my daughter, which I lost 

In the foe's hot pursuit (for without boast, 

She was a good one), I should think me blest, 

Nor would I change my calling with the best. 

She was my only comfort ; but she 's dead, 

Or, which is worse, I fear me ravished. 

But I digress too much : — upon a day 830 

When Care's triumphs gave us leave to play, 

We all assembled on a spacious green. 

To tell old tales, and choose our Summer's queen. 

Thither Alexis, my late shipwreck'd guest. 

At my entreaty came, and 'mongst the rest, 

In their disports made one ; no exercise 

Did come amiss to him ; for all he tries. 

And won the prize in all : the graver sort 

That minded more their safety than their sport, 

'Gan to bethink them on their former state, 840 

And on their country's factions ruminate. 

They had intelligence how matters went 

In Hylas' court, whose people's minds were bent 

To nought but idleness ; that fruitful sin 

That never bears a child that 's not a twin. 

They heard they had unmann'd themselves by ease. 

And how security like a disease 

Spread o'er their dwellings, how their profus'd hand 

Squander'd away the plenty of the land : 

How civil discords sprang up ev'ry hour, S50 

And quench'd themselves in blood ; how the law's power 

Was wholly slighted. Justice made a jeer. 

And sins unheard-of practis'd without fear. 

The state was sick at heart, and now or never 

Was time to cure it : all consult together, 

How to recover what they lost of late. 

Their liberty and means ; long they debate 

About the matter : all resolve to fight, 

And by the law of arms to plead their right. 

But now they want a head, and whom to trust 860 

They could not well resolve on, choose they must 

One of necessity : — the civil wars 

Had scarce left any that durst trade for scars. 

The flower of youth was gone, save four or five 

Were left to keep Arcadia's fame alive; 

Yet all too young to govern, all about 

They view the youth, to single some one out. 



831 Care's] This seems to be made = ' Ca-ers' met. gmt. 

848 profus'd] This for ' profuse ' is noteworthy— the participial form of profusus 
kept in the adjectival sense. 

( 392 ) 



Thealma and Clearchus 

By this time they had crown'd Alexis' brow 

With wreaths of bays, and all the youth allow 

Of him a victor ; many odes they sing S70 

In praise of him ; then to the bower they bring 

Their noble champion, whereas they were wont ; 

They lead him to a little turfy mount 

Erected for that purpose, where all might 

Both hear and see the victor with delight. 

He had a man-like look, and sparkling eye, 

A front whereon sate such a majesty 

As awed all his beholders ; his long hair, 

After the Grecian fashion, without care 

Hung loosely on his shoulders, black as jet, 880 

And shining with his oily honour'd sweat ; 

His body straight, and well-proportion'd, tall, 

Well-limb'd, well-set, long-arm'd ;— one hardly shall 

Among a thousand find one in all points 

So well compact, and sinew'd in his joints. 

But that which crown'd the rest, he had a tongue 

Whose sweetness toal'd unwillingness along. 

And drew attention from the dullest ear, 

His words so oily smooth and winning were.' 

Rhotus was going on when day appear'd, S90 

And with its light the cloudy welkin clear'd. 
They heard the milkmaids halloo home their kine. 
And to their troughs knock in their straggling swine. 
The birds 'gan sing, the calves and lambkins bleat, 
Wanting the milky breakfast of a teat. 
With that he brake off his discourse, intending 
Some fitter time to give his story ending. 
Some household bus'ness call'd his care ashore, 
And Cleon thought on what concern'd him more. 
His men weigh anchor, and with Rhotus sail 900 

Toward the land ; they had so strong a gale, 
They quickly reach'd the port where Rhotus dwelt, 
Who with old Cleon with fair words so dealt, 
He won him to his cell ; where as his guest 
We'll leave him, earnest to hear out the rest. 

By this time had Anaxus ta'en his leave 
Of his kind sister, that afresh can grieve 
For his departure; she entreats in vain, 
And spends her tears to wash him back again. 
But 'twould not be; he leaves her to her woes, 910 

And in the search of his Clarinda goes. 
He scarce had travell'd two days' journey thence, 
When hieing to a shade, for his defence 
'Gainst the Sun's scorching heat, who then began 
T' approach the point of the meridian : 

887 toal'd] This ( = ' drew ') we had above (1. 252) as ' toled.' 

893 their troughs] S. ' the,' to avoid repetition of ' their,' I suppose. 

( 393 ) 



yohn Chalkhill 



Within a little silent grove hard by, 
Upon a small ascent, he might espy 
A stately chapel, richly gilt without, 
Beset with shady sycamores about : 

And ever and anon he might well hear 920- 

A sound of music steal in at his ear 
As the wind gave it being : — so sweet an air 
Would strike a syren mute and ravish her. 
He sees no creature that might cause the same, 
But he was sure that from the grove it came. 
And to the grove he goes to satisfy 
The curiosity of ear and eye. 
• Thorough the thick-leav'd boughs he makes a way, 

Nor could the scratching brambles make him stay : 
But on he rushes, and climbs up the hill, 930 

Thorough a glade he saw and heard his fill. 
A hundred virgins there he might espy 
Prostrate before a marble deity, 
Which, by its portraiture, appear'd to be 
The image of Diana : — ^on their knee 
They tender'd their devotions : with sweet airs, 
Off ring the incense of their praise and prayers. 
Their garments all alike ; beneath their paps 
Buckled together with a silver claps, 

And 'cross their snowy silken robes, they wore 940 

An azure scarf, with stars embroider'd o'er. 
Their hair in curious tresses was knit up, 
Crown'd with a silver crescent on the top. 
A silver bow their left hand held, their right, 
For their defence, held a sharp-headed flight 
Drawn from their broid'red quiver, neatly tied 
In silken cords, and fasten'd to their side. 
Under their vestments, something short before, 
White buskins, lac'd with ribbanding, they wore. 
It was a catching sight for a young eye, 950 

That Love had fir'd before : — he might espy 
One, whom the rest had sphere-like circled round, 
Whose head was with a golden chaplet crown'd. 
He could not see her face, only his ear 
Was blest with the sweet words that came from her. 
He was about removing ; when a crew 
Of lawless thieves their horny trumpets blew, 
And from behind the temple unawares 
Rush'd in upon them, busy at their prayers. 
The virgins to their weak resistance fly, 960 

And made a show as if they meant to try 

939 claps] This word, like its companion 'vulgarisms' ' hapse,' 'wapse,' 'graps,' 
and even 'crips,' which as a Latin word hardly deserves it, has ample M.E. 
justification. 

945 flight] For ' arrow,' not uncommon. 

( 394 ) 



Theahna and Clearchus 

The mastery by opposing; but, poor souls, 

They soon gave back, and ran away in shoals. 

Yet some were taken, such as scorn of fear 

Had left behind to fortify the rear. 

'Mongst whom their queen was one, a braver maid 

Anaxus ne'er beheld; she sued and pray'd 

For life, to those that had no pity left. 

Unless in murdering those they had bereft 

Of honour. — This incens'd Anaxus' rage, 970 

And in he rush'd, unlook'd-for on that stage : 

Then out his sword he draws, and dealt such blows 

That struck amazement in his numerous foes. 

Twenty to one there were, too great an odds, 

Had not his cause drawn succour from the gods. 

The first he coped w-ith was their captain, whom 

His sword sent headless to seek out a tomb. 

This cowarded the valour of the rest, 

A second drops to make the worms a feast : 

A third and fourth soon follow'd, six he slew, 980 

And so dismay'd the fearful residue, 

That down the hill they fled ; he after hies. 

And fells another villain, as he flies. 

To the thick wood he chas'd them, 'twas in vain 

To follow further ; — up the hill again 

Weary Anaxus climbs, in hope to find 

The rescued virgins he had left behind. 

But all were gone ; fear lent them wings, and they 

Fled to their home affrighted any way. 

They durst not stay to hazard the event 990 

Of such a doubtful combat; yet they lent 

Him many a pray'r to bring on good success, 

And thank'd him for his noble hardiness 

That freed them from the danger they were in, 

And met the shock himself. The virgin queen 

Full little dreamt, what champion Love had brought 

To rescue her bright honour ; had she thought 

It had Anaxus been, she would have shared 

In the adventure howsoe'er she fared ; 

But Fate was not so pleased. The youth was sad 1000 

To see all gone: the many wounds he had 

Griev'd him not so, as that he did not know 

Her for whose sake he had adventur'd so. 

Yet was he glad whoe'er she was, that he 

Had come so luckily to set them free 

From such a certain thraldom. Night drew on 

983 fells] S. ' fell.' 

995 himself] Not strictly grammatical, but good enough. 

1002 not so] Here 'tis not so good. The poet says that Anaxus was not prevented 
by his wounds from knowing who she was : i. e. that he did know. It is clear from 
(and necessary to) what follows that he did not. 

( 395 ) 



yohn Chalkhill 



And his wounds smarted : no chirurgebn 
Was near at hand to bind them up, and pour 
His balmy medicines into his sore : 

And surely he had died, but that his heart loio 

Was yet too stout to yield for want of art. 
Looking about, upon a small ascent 
He spied an old thatch'd house, all to berent 
And eaten out by time, and the foul weather, 
Or rather seem'd a piece of ruin ; thither 
Anaxus faintly hies, and in the way 
He meets with old Sylvanus, who they say 
Had skill in augury, and could foretell 
Th' event of things : he came then from his cell 
To gather a few herbs and roots — the cates 1020 

He fed upon, Anaxus him entreats 
To bind his wounds up, and with care t' apply 
Unto his sores some wholesome remedy. 
A trim old man he was, though age had plough'd 
. :- Up many wrinkles in his brow, and bow'd 

His body somewhat tow'rd the earth; his hairs 

Like the snow's woolly flakes made white with cares, 

The thorns that now and then pluck'd off the down 

And wore away for baldness to a crown : 

His broad kemb'd beard hung down near to his waist, 1030 

The only comely ornament that grac'd 

His reverend old age, — his feet were bare 

But for his leathern sandals, which he ware 

To keep them clean from galling, which compell'd 

Him use a staff to help him to the field. 

He durst not trust, his legs, they fail'd him then. 

And he was almost grown a child again : 

Yet sound in judgement, not impair'd in mind, 

For age had rather the soul's parts refin'd 

Than any way infirm'd ; his wit no less 1040 

Than 'twas in youth, his memory as fresh ; 

He fail'd in nothing but his earthly part. 

They tended to its centre ; yet his heart 

Was still the same, and beat as lustily : 

For, as it first took life, it would last die. 

Upon the youth with greedy eye he gaz'd. 

And on his staff himself a little rais'd; 

When with a tear or two, with pity press'd 

From his dry springs, he welcomes his request. 

He needs not much entreaty to do good, 1050 

1043 They tended] i. e. ' retreated to the citadel,' ' made their last stand.' ' They ' 
has no direct antecedent : in the careless way of the time the author seems to have 
remembered that he had written 'soul's parts' earlier, and forgotten 'earthly part' 
which had just dropped from his pen. Or he may have actually written * parts ' here 
and struck the s out when ' heart' required it without troubling himself about ' they.' 
The insouciance of these Carolines is delightful. 

( 396 ) 



Thealma ai^d Cleafxhus 

But having wash'd his wounds and stanch'd the blood, 

He pours in oily balsam ; fits his clothes, 

And with soft tents he stops their gaping mouths ; 

Then binds them up, and with a cheerful look 

Welcomes his thankful patient, whom he took 

Home with him to his cell ; whose poor outside 

Promis'd as mean a lodging ; pomp and pride 

(Those peacocks of the time) ne'er roosted there. 

Content and lowliness the inmates were. 

It was not so contemptible within, 1060 

There was some show of beauty that had been 

Made much of in old time, but now wellnigh 

Worn out with envious time ; a curious eye 

Might see some relics of a piece of art 

That Psyche made, when Love first fir'd her heart. 

It was the story of her thoughts, which she 

Curiously wrought in lively imag'ry ; 

Among the rest, the thought of Jealousy 

Time left untouch'd, to grace antiquity. 

It was decipher'd by a timorous dame, 1070 

Wrapp'd in a yellow mantle lin'd with flame : 

Her looks were pale, contracted with a frown, 

Her eyes suspicious, wand'ring up and down ; 

Behind her, Fear attended big with child. 

Able to fright Presumption, if she smil'd. 

After her flew a sigh, between two springs 

Of briny water; on her dove-like wings 

She bore a letter seal'd with a half-moon, 

And superscrib'd, This frotn suspiciofi. 

More than this, churlish Time had left no thing loSo 

To show the piece was Psyche's broidering. 

Hither Sylvanus brings him, and with cates, 

Such as our wants may buy at easy rates. 

He feasts his guest; hunger and sweet content 

Sucks from coarse fare a courtly nourishment. 

When they had supp'd, they talk an hour or two, 

And each the other questions how things go. 

Sylvanus ask'd him how he came so hurt, 

Anaxus tells him ; and this sad report 

Spins out a long discourse : — the youth inquir'd 1090 

What maids they were he rescued, why so tir'd : 

What saint it was they worshipp'd, whence the thieves. 

And who that virgin was, that he conceives 

Was queen and sovereign lady of the rest? 

Sylvanus willing to content his guest, 

1052 fits his clothes] Unless 'clothes' is here used for 'clouts,' which the rhyme 
suggests and which would easily mean ' rag-bandages,' I do not know what 
this means. 

1063 time] Observe the careless clash with the same word in the same place of the 
line before. This is not so delightful, but it is equally characteristic. 

( 397 ) 



yohn Chalkhill 



After a little pause, in a grave tone, 

Thus courteously replied ; quoth he, * My son, 

To tell a sad relation will, I fear^ 

Prove but unseasonable ; a young ear 

Will relish it but harshly; yet since you uoo 

Desire so much to hear it, I shall do 

My best to answer your desires in all 

That truth hath warranted authentical. 

You are not such a stranger to the state, 

But you have heard of Hylas, who of late, 

Back'd by some fugitives, with a strong hand. 

Wrested the crown and sceptre of this land 

From the true owner ; this same Hylas when 

He had what his ambition aim'd at ; then 

When he grew wearied with conquering mo 

His native countrymen, and as a king 

Sate himself down to taste what Fate had dress'd, 

And serv'd up to him at a plenteous feast ; 

When the loud clangours of these civil broils 

Were laid aside, and each man view'd the spoils 

He had unjustly gotten, and in peace 

Securely dwelt with idleness and ease — 

Those moths that fret and eat into a state, 

Until they render it the scorn of Fate ; 

Hylas, pufTd up with pride, and self-conceit 1120 

Of his own valour that had made him great. 

In riot and lasciviousness he spends 

His precious hours, and through the kingdom sends 

His pand'ring parasites to seek out game. 

To quench th' unmaster'd fury of his flame. 

His agents were so cunning, many a maid 

Were to their honour's loss subtly betrayed, 

With gifts and golden promises of that 

Which womanish ambition levell'd at. 

Greatness and honour; but they miss'd their aim, 1130 

Their hopeful harvest prov'd a crop of shame. 

Amongst the many beauties that his spies 

Mark'd out, to offer up a sacrifice 

Unto his lust, the beauteous Florimel 

Was one, whose virtue had no parallel : 

She is old Memnon's daughter, who of late 

Was banish'd from his country, and by fate 

Driven upon our coast, and as I guess 

He was of Lemnos, fam'd for healthfulness. 

Under this borrow'd name (for so it was, 1140 

Or else my art doth fail me) he did pass 

Unknown to any ; in a shepherd's weed 

He shrouds his honour, now content to feed 

1124 game] S., obviously by oversight, ' gar'w.' 
( 398 ) 



runs 



The aim a and Clearchus 

A flock of sheep, that had fed men before, 
// is no tuonder to see goodness poor. 
It was his daughter that the kistful king, 
Beast-Hke, neigh'd after ; still his flatt'rers sing 
Odes of her praise, to heighten his desires. 
To swim to pleasure through a hell of fires. 
The tempting baits were laid, the nets were spread, 1150 

And gilded o'er to catch a maidenhead ; 
But all in vain, Eugenia would not bite, 
Nor sell her honour for a base delight. 
He speaks in letters a dumb eloquence 
That takes the heart before it reach the sense ; 
But they were slighted, letters that speak sin 
Virtue sends back in scorn : he writes again. 
And is again repuls'd, he comes himself, 
And desp'rately casts anchor on the shelf 

Of his own power and greatness, toles her on 1160 

To come aboard to her destruction : 
But she was deaf unto his syren charms, 
Made wisely wary by another's harms. 
Her strong repulses were like oil to fires, 
Strength'ning th' increasing heat of his desires. 
With mild entreats he woos her, and doth swear 
How that his love's intendments noble were ; 
And if she'd love him, he protests and vows 
To make her queen of all the state he owes. 
But she was fix'd, and her resolves so strong, 1170 

She vow'd to meet with death, rather than wrong 
Him unto whom her maiden faith was plight ; 
And he 's no mean one, if my aim hits right. 
When Hylas saw no cunning would prevail 
To make her his, his angry looks wax'd pale. 
His heart call'd home the blood to feed revenge, 
That there sate plotting to work out his ends. 
At length it hatch'd this mischief; Memnon 's bid 
To chide his daughter's coyness ; so he did, 
And she became the bolder, chid his checks, 1180 

And answer'd his injunctions with neglects. 
Whereat the king enrag'd, laid hands upon her, 
And was a-dragging her to her dishonour. 
When Memnon's servants, at their mistress' cry, 
Rush'd in and rescued her, — 'twas time to fly, 
■ Hylas had else met with a just reward 
For his foul lust : he had a slender guard, 
And durst not stand the hazard : Memnon's men 
Would have pursued, but they came off" again 
At Memnon's call: the woful Florimel 1190 

(For so her name was) on the pavement fell, 

1176-7 revenge — ends] As bad a rhyme as most: though 'checks' and 'neglects' 
ns it hard in more than place of line. 

( 399 ) 



yohn Chalkhill 



Waiting the stroke of death; hfe was about 
To leave her, had not Memnon found her out.' 

Anaxus all this while gave heedful ear 
To what he spake, and lent him many a tear — 
To point out the full stops of his discourse ; 
But that he calls her Florimel, the force 
Of his strong passions had persuaded him 
It had been his Clarinda (as in time 

The story makes her). — 'Spare thy tears, my son,' 1200 

Said old Sylvanus ; so his tale went on. 
' These are but sad beginnings of events 
Spun out to Sorrow's height ; the foul intents 
Of Hylas being frustrate, and his fires 
Wanting no fuel to increase desires ; 
He lays a snare to catch his maiden prize 
By murdering her old father ; and his spies 
Were sent to find his haunt out : Memnon, he 
Of old experienced in court policy, 

Wisely forecasts th' event, and studies how 12 10 

He might prevent his mischiefs, ere they grow 
Too ripe and near at hand to be put by. 
By all the art and strength he had ; — to die, 
For him that now was old, he nothing cared, 
Death at no time finds goodness unprepared. 
But how he might secure his Florimel, 
That thought most troubled him ; he knew full well 
She was the white was aimed at ; were she sure, 
He made but slight of what he might endure. 
He was but yet a stranger to those friends 1220 

That his true worth had gain'd him, yet intends 
To try some one of them ; anon his fears 
And jealous doubts call back those former cares. 
He thinks on many ways for her defence; 
But, except heav'n, finds none save innocence. 
Memnon at last resolves next day to send her 
To Vesta's cloister, and there to commend her 
Unto the virgin goddess's protection, 
And to that purpose gave her such direction, 
As fitted her to be a vestal nun, 1230 

And time seem'd tedious till the deed was done. 
The fatal night, before that wish'd-for day. 
When Florimel was to be pack'd away, 
Hylas besets the house with armed men. 
Loath that his lust should be deceived again. 
At midnight they brake in, Memnon arose, 
And e'er he call'd his servants, in he goes 
Into his daughter's chamber, and besmears 
Her breast and hands with blood ; the rest her fears 

1200 The story] It is certainly good of the author to ' show a light ': for ' the story '' 
wanted it ! 

( 400 ) 



Thealma a7id Clearchiis 

Counsel her to; each hand took up a knife 1240 

T' oppose her foe, or let out her own life 

If need should be, to save her honour'd name 

From Lust's black sullies, and ne'er dying shame. 

Memnon then calls his servants, they arise, 

And wanting light, they make their hands their eyes. 

Like seamen in a storm, about they go, 

At their wits' end, not knowing what to do ; 

Down a back stairs they hurried to the hall, 

Where the most noise was ; in they venture all, 

And all were suddenly surpris'd ; in vain, 1250 

Poor men, they struggle to get loose again. 

A very word was punish'd with a wound. 

Here might they see their aged master bound, 

And though too weak to make resistance, found 

Wounded almost to death ; his hoary hairs 

Now near half worn away with age and cares, 

Torn from his head and beard; he scorn'd to cry, 

Or beg for mercy from their cruelty. 

He far'd the worse because he would not tell 

What was become of his fair Florimel ; 1260 

She heard not this, though she set ope her ears 

To listen to the whispers of her fears. 

Sure had she heard how her good father far'd, 

Her very cries would have the doors unbarr'd, 

To let her out to plead his innocence ; 

But he had lock'd her up in a close room, 

Free from suspicion, and 't had been her tomb. 

Had not the Fates prevented ; search was made 

In every corner, and great care was had, 

Lest she should 'scape; but yet they miss'd the lass; 1270 

They sought her everywhere but where she was. 

Under the bed there was a trap-door made. 

That open'd to a room where Memnon laid 

The treasure and the jewels which he brought 

From Lemnos with him : — round about they sought, 

Under and o'er the bed ; in chests they pry, 

And in each hole where scarce a cat might lie; 

But could not find the cunning contriv'd door 

That open'd bed and all : then down they tore 

The painted hangings, and survey the walls, 1280 

Yet found no by-way out. — Then Hylas calls 

To know if they had found her ; they reply, 

She was not there: then with a wrathful eye. 

Looking on Memnon ; — " Doting fool," said he, 

1245 hands] This is Benlowesian beyond our present author's wont. 

1254 found] This has to be joined somchoiu with ' might,' if with anything. It is 
rather a capital example of the syntax of this period. You take the two unimpeachable 
sentences, ' Here they might see their master ' and ' Here they found their master,' 
and clap them together just as they will go. 

11. ( 401 ) D d 



yoh?! Chalkhill 



" Wilt thou not tell me where she is : if she 

Be in this house conceal'd, I have a way 

Shall find her out ; if thou hast mind to pray 

Be speedy, thou hast not an hour to live : 

I'll teach thee what it is for to deceive 

Him that would honour thee." — " Would shame me rather," 

Answer'd old Memnon, "and undo a father, 1291 

By shaming of his daughter ; lustful king, 

Call you this honour ? death 's not such a thing 

As can fright Memnon ; he and I have met 

Up to the knees in blood, and honourd sweat. 

Where his scythe mow'd down legions ; he and I 

Are well acquainted, 'tis no news to die." 

"Dost thou so brave it?" Hylas said, "I'll try 

What temper you are made on by and by. 

Set fire upon the house, — since you love death 1300 

I'll teach you a new way to let out breath." 

This word struck Memnon mute, not that he fear'd 

Death in what shape soever he appear'd ; 

But that his daughter, whom as yet his care 

Had kept from ravishing, should with him share 

In such a bitter potion ; this was that 

Which more than death afflicted him, that Fate 

Should now exact a double sacrifice. 

And prove more cruel than his enemies. 

This struck him to the heart, — the house was fired, 13 10 

And his sad busy thoughts were well-nigh tired 

With studying what to do : whenas a post 

That had out-rid report, brought news the coast 

Shined full of fired beacons, how his lords, 

Instead of sleep, betook themselves to swords ; 

How that the foe was near, and meant ere day 

To make his court and treasury their prey ; 

How that the soldiers were at their wits' end 

For th' absence of their king, and did intend, 

Unless he did prevent them suddenly, 1320 

To choose a new one. — Hylas fearfully 

Did entertain this news, calls back his men, 

And through by-paths he steals to court again. 

Leaving the house on fire ; the thatch was wet, 

And burnt but slowly : Memnon's servants get 

Their master loose, and with their teeth unties , 

The bloody cords that binds the sacrifice, 

That Fate was pleas'd to spare; they quench the fire, 

Whilst he runs to his daughter; both admire 

Their little hop'd-for wond'rous preservation, 1330 

Praising their gods with fervent adoration. 

Next day he shifts his Florimel aw^ay 

Unto the vestal cloister, there to stay 

1326 untiesl Apparent false concord, as so often. 

( 402 ) 



Theabna a?id Clearchus 

Till he heard how things went, and what success 

Befell the wars ; his men themselves address, 

At his command to wait upon the ars, 

To purchase freedom, or by death, or scars. 

Memnon himself keeps home, attended on 

But by a stubbed boy ; his daughter gone, 

His fears 'gan lessen : — Hylas was o'erthrown, 1340 

And bold Alexis' conquest gain'd a crown : 

And worthily he wears it ; with his reign 

Desired Peace stept on the stage again. 

The laws were executed, justice done, 

And civil order stayed confusion. 

Sloth and her sister Ease were banished, 

And all must labour now to get their bread : 

Yet Peace is not so settled, but we find 

Some work for swords ; the foe hath left behind 

Some gleanings of his greater strength, that still 1350 

Commit great outrages, that rob and kill 

All that they meet with, ravishing chaste maids 

Both of their life and honour ; some such lads 

Were they that set upon the virgin crew. 

That were redeem'd so worthily by you. 

A hundred virgins monthly do frequent 

Diana's temple, where with pure intent 

They tender their devotions : one is chose 

By lot to be their queen, to whom each owes 

Her best respect, and for this month I guess 1360 

Their queen was Florimel, now votaress." 

Sylvanus here brake off; 'twas late, and sleep, 

Like lead, hung on their eyelids, Heav'n them keep. 

We'll leave them to their rest awhile, and tell 

\\'hat to Thealma in this space befell. 

Anaxus had no sooner ta'en his leave 
Of his glad sister, making her believe 
That he would shortly visit her, when she 
Led forth her flock to field more joyfully 
Than she was wont to do; those rosy stains 1370 

That nature wont to lend her from her veins. 
Began t' appear upon her cheeks, and raise 
Her sickly beauty to contend for praise. 
She trick'd herself in all her best attire, 
As if she meant this day t' invite Desire 
To fall in love with her : her loose hair 
Hung on her shoulders, sporting with the air : 

1339 stubbed] Nerissa was 'a scrubbed boj-,' the metaphor being in both cases 
from trees. 

1370 seq. The following picture of Thealma is a fair test-passage, whereby anybody 
may determine whether he likes poetry of this kind or no. It is not consummate, even 
of its own kind — if it were the test would not be fair. But it has a •quaint attractive 
kind of grace ' of its own. 

( 4-3 ) D d 2 



yohn Chalkhill 



Her brow a coronet of rose-buds crown'd, 

With loving woodbine's sweet embraces bound. 

Two globe-like pearls were pendant to her ears, 1380 

And on her breast a costly gem she wears, 

An adamant, in fashion like a heart, 

Whereon Love sat a-plucking out a dart, 

With this same motto graven round about 

On a gold border : Sooner in thaft out. 

This gem Clearchus gave her, when, unknown. 

At tilt his valour won her for his own. 

Instead of bracelets on her wrists, she wore 

A pair of golden shackles, chain'd before 

Unto a silver ring enamel'd blue, 1390 

Whereon in golden letters to the view 

This motto was presented : Bound yet free. 

And in a true-love's knot a T. and C. 

Buckled it fast together; her silk gown 

Of grassy green, in equal plaits hung down 

Unto the earth : and as she went the flowers, 

Which she had broider'd on it at spare hours. 

Were wrought so to the life, they seem'd to grow 

In a green field, and as the wind did blow. 

Sometimes a lily, then a rose takes place, 1400 

And blushing seems to hide it in the grass : 

And here and there gold oaes 'mong pearls she strew. 

That seem'd like shining glow-worms in the dew. 

Her sleeves were tinsel, wrought with leaves of green, 

In equal distance, spangeled between. 

And shadowed over with a thin lawn cloud. 

Through which her workmanship more graceful show'd. 

A silken scrip and shepherd's crook she had. 

The badge of her profession ; and thus clad, 

Thealma leads her milky drove to field, 1410 

Proud of so brave a guide : had you beheld 

With what a majesty she trod the ground. 

How sweet she smil'd, and angrily she frown'd, 

You would have thought it had Minerva been, 

Come from high Jove to dwell on earth again. 

The reason why she made herself thus fine 

Was a sweet dream she had ; some power divine 

Had whisper'd to her soul Clearchus liv'd. 

And that he was a king for whom she griev'd : 

She thought she saw old Hymen in Love's bands, 1420 

Tie with devotion both their hearts and hands. 

1402 oaes] S. oddly enough prints ontes, and (less oddly") italicizes. I suppose the 
a (introduced probably to prevent the diphthong pronunciation a) led him astray. But 
it is surprising that so good an Elizabethan should not have remembered Shakespeare's 
' oes and eyes of light ' and Bacon's ' oes or spangs.' This last, with ' spangeled ' below, 
is a particularly close parallel. (' Strew' as pret. of the form ' straw.') 

1417 power] S. 'poor.' 

( 4C4 ) 



Thealma and Clearchiis 

She was a-dreaming farther, when her maid 

Told her the sun was up : she, well apaid 

With what her greedy thoughts had tasted on, 

Quickly got up; and hurried with her dream, 

Thus tricks herself, having a mind to seem 

What she would be, but was not; strong conceit 

So wrought upon her; those that are born great 

Have higher thoughts than the low-minded clown, 

He seldom dreams himself into a crown. 1430 

Caretta, modest girl, she thought it strange, 

And wonder'd greatly at so sudden change ; 

But durst not be so bold to ask the cause. 

Obedience had prescrib'd her knowledge laws, 

And she would not transgress them ; yet it made 

Her call to mind what garments once she had. 

And when her father liv'd, how brave she went. 

But, humble-minded wench, she was content. 

She knew the vanity of pomp and pride, 

Which if not pluck'd off, must be laid aside 144° 

One day ; and to speak truth, she had a mind 

So deck'd with rich endowments, that it shin'd 

In all her actions ; howsoe'er she goes. 

Few maids have such an inside to their clothes. 

Yet her dame's love had trick'd her up so brave, 

As she thought fit to make her maid, and gave 

Her such habiliments to set her forth, 

As rather grac'd than stain'd her mistress' worth. 

They made her ne'er the prouder, she was still 

As ready and obedient to her will. 1450 

Thus to the field Thealma and her maid 

Cheerfully went; and in a friendly shade 

They sat them down to work ; the wench had brought, 

As her dame bid, her lute ; and as she wrought, 

Thealma play'd and sang this cheerful air, 

As if she then would bid adieu to care. 

I 

Fly hence, Despair, and heart-benumbing Fears, 

Presume no more to fright 

Me from my quiet rest : 
My budding hopes have wip'd away my tears 1460 

And fiU'd me with delight. 

To cure my wounded breast. 

II 

Mount up, sad thoughts, that whilom humbly stray 'd 
Upon the lowly plain. 
And fed on nought but grief. 

T444 clothes] The pronunciation ' does ' is probably tiralt. 

1457 seq. These lines should of course be compared with the two angling songs. 

(405 ) 



yohn Chalkhill 



My angry fate with me is well apaid, 
And smiles on me again, 
To give my heart relief. 

Ill 
Rejoice, poor heart, forget these wounding woes 

That robb'd thee of thy peace, 1470 

And drown'd thee in despair ; 
Still thy strong passions with a sweet repose 

To give my soul some ease, 

And rid me of my care. 

My thoughts presage, by Fortune's frown, 
I shall climb up unto a crown. 

She had not ended her delicious lay, 

When Cleon and old Rhotus, who that day 

Were journeying to court, by chance drew near. 

As she was singing, and t' enrich their ear 1480 

They made a stand behind the hedge, to hear 

Her sweet soul-melting accents, that so won 

Their best attention, that when she had done, 

The voice had ravish'd so the good old men, 

They wish'd in vain she would begin again ; 

And now they long to see what goddess 'twas 

That own'd so sweet a voice, and with such grace 

Chid her sad woes away. — The cause that drew 

Rhotus to court was this ; after a view 

Made by the victor — king of all his peers, 1490 

And well-deserving men, that force or fears 

Had banish'd from their own, and Peace begun 

To smile upon Arcadia ; to shun 

The future cavils that his subjects might 

Make to recover their usurped right: 

He made inquiry what each man possess'd 

During Lysander's reign, to re-invest 

Them in their honour'd places, and such lands 

As tyranny had wrung out of their hands. 

And minding now to gratify his friends, 1500 

Like a good prince, he for old Rhotus sends ; 

As he to whom he ow'd his life, and all 

The honour he had rose to ; — at his call 

Old Rhotus quickly comes, leaving his trade 

To an old servant whom long custom had 

Wedded to that vocation ; so that he 

Aim'd at no higher honour than to be 

A master fisher. Cleon, who of late, 

As you have heard, came from the Lemnian state 

In search of one whose name he yet kept close, 1510 

With Rhotus, his kind host, to court he goes, 

And with him his son Dorus : in the way. 

As you have heard, Thealma made them stay, 

(406) 



Theabna and Clearchiis 

And not contented to content their ear 

With her sweet music, tow'rd her they drew near; 

And wond'ring at her bravery and her beauty, 

They thought to greet her with a common duty 

Would ill become them : humbly on their knee 

They tender'd their respect, and, prince-like, she 

Thank'd them with nods: her high thoughts still aspire 1520 

And their low lootings lift them a step higher. 

Old Cleon eyed her with such curious heed. 

He thought she might be, what she prov'd indeed, 

Thealma : — her rich gems confirmd the same. 

For some he knew, yet durst not ask her name. 

Caretta viewing Rhotus (loving wench) 

As if instinct had taught her confidence, 

Runs from her mistress, contradicts all fears, 

And asks him blessing, speaking in her tears. 

'Lives then Caretta?' said he. — 'Yes,' quoth she, 1530 

' I am Caretta, if you'll father me.' 

'Then heaven hath heard my prayers, or thine rather. 

It is thy goodness makes me still a father.' 

A thousand times he kiss'd the girl, whilst she 

Receives them as his blessings on her knee. 

At length he took her up, and to her dame 

With thanks return'd her : saying, ' If a blame 

Be due unto your handmaid's fond neglect 

To do you service, let your frown reflect 

On her poor father. She, as children use, 1540 

Is overjoy'd to find the thing they lose.' 

'There needs no such apology, kind sir,' 

Answer'd Thealma, 'duty bindeth her 

More strictly to th' obedience of a father, 

Than of a mistress : I commend her rather 

For tendering what she owed so willingly j 

Believ't I love her for it ; she and I 

Have drank sufificiently of Sorrow's cup. 

And were content sometimes to dine and sup 

With the sad story of our woes ; poor cates 1550 

To feed on ; yet we bought them at dear rates : 

Many a tear they cost us: — you are blest 

In finding of a daughter, and the best 

(Though you may think I flatter) that e'er liv'd 

To glad a father; as with her I griev'd 

For his supposed loss, so being found 

I cannot but rejoice with her ; the wound 

Which you have cur'd in her, gives ease to mine, 

And I find comfort in her medicine. 

I had a father, but I lost him too, 1560 

1516 bravery] The dress described above. 

1521 lootings] ' Loutings,' 'bows.' them] The thoughts, not the travellers. 

(407 ) 



yohn Chalkhill - 

And wilfully ; my girl, so didst not thou ; 

Nor can I hope to find him, but in wrath 

I lost his love in keeping of my faith.' 

She would have spoken more, but sighs and tears 

Brake from their prison to revive her fears. 

Cleon, although he knew her by her speech, 

And by some jewels which she wore, too rich 

For any shepherdess to wear, forbare 

To interrupt her; he so lov'd to hear 

Her speak, whom he so oft had heard was drown'd, 1570 

And still, good man, he kneel'd upon the ground, 

And wept for joy. — 'Why do you kneel?' quoth she, 

'Am I a saint? what do you see in me 

To merit such respects? pray rise, 'tis I 

That owe a reverence to such gravity, 

That kneeling better would become; I know 

No worth in me to worl you down so low.' 

'Yes, gracious madam, what I pay is due 

To none, for aught I know, so much as you : 

Is not your name Thealma ? hath your eye 1580 

Ne'er seen this face at Lemnos? I can spy, 

Ev'n through the clouds of grief, the stamp of him 

That once I call'd my sovereign ; age and time 

Hath brought him to his grave, that bed of dust, 

Where when our night is come, sleep we all must. 

Yet in despite of Death his honour'd name 

Lives, and will ever in the vote of Fame. 

Death works but on corruption, things divine, 

Cleans'd from the dross about them, brighter shine: 

So doth his virtues. What was earth is gone, 1590 

His heavenly part is left to crown his son, 

If I could find him.' You may well conceive 

At his sad tale what cause she had to grieve; 

Reply she could not, but in sighs and tears, 

Yet to his killing language lent her ears : 

And had not grief enforc'd him make a pause 

She had been silent still ; she had most cause 

To wail her father's loss. 'Oh, unkind Fate,' 

Replied Thealma ; ' it is now too late 

To wish I'd not offended; cruel Love, 1600 

To force me to offend, and not to prove 

So kind to let him live to punish her. 

Whose fault, I fear me, was his murderer. 

O, my Clearchus, 'twas through thee I fell 

From a child's duty; yet I do not well 

To blame thee for it, sweetly may'st thou sleep, 

Thou and thy faults lie buried in the deep, 

1560-3 The curiously loose rhyming of the poem is well exemplified in these two 
couplets. 

1577 worl] Worth keeping for ' whirl,' or more probably ' hurl.' 

( 408 ) 



Theabna and Clemxhiis 

And I'll not rake them up : ye partial powers, 

To number out to me so many hours, 

And punish him so soon; why do I live? 1610 

Can there be hope that spirits can forgive ? ' 

'Yes, gracious madam, his departing soul 

Seal'd up your pardon with a prayer t' enroll 

Amongst his honoured acts, left you a blessing, 

And call'd it love, which you do style transgressing, 

Left you a dowry worthy a lov'd child, 

With whom he willingly was reconcil'd. 

Take comfort, then ; kings are but men, and they 

As well as poor men must return to clay.' 

With that she op'd the flood-gates of her eyes, 1620 

And offer'd up a wealthy sacrifice 

Of thankful tears, to expiate her crimes, 

And drown their memory, lest after-times 

Might blab them to the world. Rhotus gave ear 

To all that past, and lent her many a tear : 

The alms that sweet compassion bestows 

On a poor heart that wants to cure its woes. 

Caretta melted too, though she had found 

What her poor mistress griev'd at ; all drank round 

Of the same briny cup. Rhotus at last 1630 

'Gan thus to comfort her : — ' Madam, though haste 

To obey my sovereign's commands would fit 

The duty of a subject better ; yet 

I will incur the hazard of his frown 

To do you service ; glory and renown, 

The mark the noble spirits still aim at 

To crown their virtues, did so animate 

Alexis, our new sovereign, once my guest, 

(And glad he was to be so) that his breast. 

Full of high thoughts, could relish no content 1640 

In a poor cottage. One day as he went 

With me unto our annual games, where he 

Puts in for one to try the mastery. 

And from them all came off a victor, so 

That all admir'd him ; on him they bestow 

The wreath of conquest ; at that time this state 

Was govern'd by a tyrant, one that Fate 

Thrust in to scourge the people's wickedness, 

That had abus'd the blessing of their peace. 

As he abus'd his honour, which he gain'd 1650 

By cruel usurpation : for he reign'd 

More like a beast than man ; Fortune at length 

Grew weary of him too ; weak'ning his strength 

By wantoning his people, without law 

Or exercise to keep their minds in awe. 

1635-7 Not uninteresting to compare with 'The last infirmity of noble minds.' 
( 409 ) 



jfohn Chalkhill 



Which the exil'd nobihty perceiving, 

Took heart again, some new strong hope conceiving 

Through th' enemies' neglect, to regain that 

Which formerly they lost ; so it pleas'd Fate 

To change the scene: most of the noble youth 1660 

The former war consum'd, and to speak truth, 

Unless some few old men, there was left none 

Worthy to be a leader ; all was gone. 

Wherefore when they had seen what he could do, 

And by that guess'd, what he durst undergo, 

(If they were put to 't) they Alexis chose 

To lead their warlike troops against their foes. 

His valour spake him noble, and 's behaviour 

Was such as won upon the people's favour ; 

His speech so powerful, that the hearer thought 1670 

All his entreats commands : so much it wrought 

Upon their awful minds : this new-come stranger 

They chose to be their shield 'twixt them and danger; 

And he deceived not th' expectation 

They fix'd upon him : Hylas was o'erthrown, 

And he returned in triumph. Joy was now 

Arcadia's theme ; and all oblations vow 

To their protector Mars : to 'quite him then. 

They chose him king, the wonderment of men. 

'Twas much, yet what they gave was not their own, 1680 

They ow'd him for it ; what they gave he won, 

And won it bravely. When this youth I found 

Hanging upon the craggy rock, half drown'd, 

I little dream'd that he should mount so high 

As to a crown ; yet such a majesty 

Shin'd on his look sometimes, as show'd a mind 

Too great to be to a low state confin'd : 

Though while he lived with me, such sullen clouds 

Of grief hung on his brow, and such sad floods. 

Rather than briny tears, stream'd from his eyes 1690 

As made him seem a man of miseries. 

And often as he was alone I heard him 

Sigh out Thealma ; I as often cheer'd him. 

May not this be the man you grieve for so? 

Your name's Thealma, and for aught I know, 

He may not be Alexis ; perhaps fear 

Borrow'd that nickname, to conceal him here. 

Take comfort, madam, on my life 'tis he, 

If my conjecture fail me not ; then be 

Not so dejected till the truth be tried.' — ■ 1700 

' And that shall be my charge,' Cleon replied ; 

1656-63 The Biblical critic (see Introduction) would certainly point to the curious 
coincidence of these lines with the state of things between Cromwell's death and the 
Restoration, when P//«;-o«;z/a'« was finished. 

1672 awful] This, the least common meaning of the word, is perhaps the most correct. 

( 410) 



Thealma and Clearchus 

'Thanks, noble Rhotus, this discovery 

Binds me to thee for ever : thou and I 

Will to the court ; could I Anaxus find 

My work were ended ; if Fate prove so kind, 

I hope a comical event shall crown 

These tragical beginnings ; do not drown 

Your hopes (sweet madam) that I so would fain 

Live to your comfort, when we meet again, 

Which will be speedily; the news we bring, 1710 

I trust, shall be Clearchus is a king.' 

' Most noble Cleon, thanks, may it prpve so/ 

Answer'd Thealma ; ' yet before you go. 

Take this same jewel, this Clearchus gave me, 

When first I did consent that he should have me : 

And if he still do love, as is a doubt, 

For he ne'er hath a power to work love out, 

By this you shall discover who he is. 

If Fortune have assign'd me such a bliss 

As once more to be his, she makes amends 1720 

For all my sorrow ; but if she intends 

Still to afflict me, I can suffer still, 

And tire her cruelty, though 't be to kill : 

I have a patience that she cannot wrong 

With all her flatteries ; a heart too strong 

To shake at such a weak artillery. 

As is her frowns : no, Cleon, I dare die. 

And could I meet death nobly I would so, 

Rather than be her scorn, and take up woe 

At interest to enrich her power, that grows 1730 

Greater by grieving at our overthrows. 

No, Cleon, I can be as well content 

With my poor cot, this woolly regiment, 

As with a palace ; or to govern men ; 

And I can queen it when time serves again. 

Go, and my hopes go with you ; if stern Fate 

Bid you return witli news to mend my state, 

I'll welcome it with thanks ; if not, I know 

The worst on't, Cleon ; I am now as low 

As she can throw me.' — Thus resolv'd they leave her, 1740 

And to the court the two lords wend together. 

Leaving young Dorus, Cleon's son, behind, 

To wait upon Thealma ; Love was kind 

In that to fair Caretta, that till now 

Ne'er felt what passion meant, yet knew not how 

To vent it but with blushes ; modest shame 

Forbade it yet to grow into a flame. 

1706-7 comical — tragical] The rt'/5//-;Z<»//o« of the meaning of ' tragi-comedy ' between 
its parts is interesting. In the strictest and truest sense the event would not ot 
course be ' comical.' 

1717 Rather obscure. 

(4U) 



yoh7i Chalkhill 

Love works by time, and time will make her bolder ; 

Talk warms desire, when absence makes it colder. 

Home now Thealma wends 'twixt hope and fear; 1750 

Sometimes she smiles ; anon she drops a tear 

That stole along her cheeks, and falling down 

Into a pearl, it freezeth with her frown. 

The sun was set before she reach'd the fold, 

And sparkling Vesper Night's approach has told. 

She left the lovers to enfold her sheep, 

And in she went resolv'd to sup with sleep. 

If thought would give her leave : unto her rest 

We leave her for awhile.— Sylvanus' guest 

You know we lately left under his cure, 1760 

And now it is high time, my Muse to lure 

From her too tedious weary flight, and tell 

What to Anaxus that brave youth befell. 

Let's pause awhile,— she'll make the better flight. 

The following lines shall feed your appetite. 

Bright Cynthia twice her silver horns had chang'd, 
And through the zodiac's twelve signs had rang'd. 
Before Anaxus' wounds were throughly well; 
In the meanwhile Sylvanus 'gan to tell 

Him of his future fortune; for he knew 1770 

From what sad cause his mind's distemper grew. 
He had ylearnt, as you have heard, while-ere, 
The art of wise soothsaying, and could clear 
The doubts that puzzle the strong working brain 
And make the intricat'st anigmas plain : 
His younger years in Egypt's schools he spent, 
From whence he suck'd this knowledge; not content 
With what the common sciences could teach, 
Those were too shallow springs for his deep reach. 
That aim'd at Learning's utmost : that hid skill 1780 

That out-doth nature, hence he suck'd his fill 
Of divine knowledge : 'twas not all inspir'd. 
It cost some pains that made him so admir'd ; 
He told him what he was, what country air 
He first drew in, what his intendments were; 
How 'twas for love, he left his native soil 
To tread upon Arcadia, and with toil 
Sought what he must not have, a lovely dame ; 
But art went not so far to tell her name. 
Heav'n, that doth control art, would not reveal it 1790 

Or if it did, he wisely did conceal it. 
He told him of his father's death, and that 
The state had lately sent for him, whereat 
Anaxus starting;— 'Stay, old man,' quoth he, 
' I'll hear no more ! thy cruel augury 

1760 cure] S. ' care '—an obvious and obviously caused oversight. 

1775 anigma] This form, which S. changes to ' enigma,' seems worth keeping. 

( 412 ) 



Theabria a?id Clearchus 

Wounds me at heart ; can thy art cure that wound, 

Sylvanus? No, — no medicine is found 

In human skill to cure that tender part : 

When the soul 's pain'd, it finds no help of Art.' 

'Yet, sir,' said he, 'art may have power to ease, 1800 

Though not to cure, the sick soul's maladies : 

And though my sadder news distaste your ear, 

'Tis such as I must tell, and you must hear. 

I know you 're sent for, strict inquiry 's made 

Through all Arcadia for you ; plots are laid 

(By some that wish not well unto the state) 

How to deprive you of a crown ; but Fate 

Is pleas'd not so to have it, and by me 

Chalks out a way for you to sovereignty. 

I say again, she whom you love, though true, 1810 

And spotless-constant, must not marry you. 

One you call sister, to divide the strife. 

Fate hath decreed, must be your queen and wife. 

Hie to th' Arcadian court, what there you hear 

Perhaps may trouble you ; but do not fear, 

All shall be well at length, the bless'd event 

Shall crown your wishes with a sweet content. 

Inquire no farther, I must tell no more, 

Here Fate sets limits, to my art: — before 

You have gone half a league, under a beech, 1820 

You'll find your man inquiring of a witch 

What is become of you ? the beldame 's sly. 

And will allure by her strange subtlety 

The strongest faith to error; have a care 

She tempt you not to fall in love with air. 

She'll show you wonders ; you shall see and hear 

That which shall rarely please both eye and ear. 

But be not won to wantonness, but shun 

All her enticements : credit not, my son, 

That what you see is real; — Son, be wise, 1S30 

And set a watch before thy ears and eyes. 

She loves thee not, and will work all she can 

To give thy crown unto another man. 

But fear not, there's a power above her skill 

Will have it otherwise, do what she will. 

But Fate thinks fit to try thy constancy. 

Then arm thyself against her sorcery. 

Take this same herb, and if thy strength begin 

To fail at any time, and lean to sin, 

Smell to't, and wipe thine eyes therewith, that shall 1S40 

Quicken thy duller sight to dislike all, 

1810-13 Here we come, as far as we ever do come, to the ' knot ' of the poem as it 
was intended to be. 

1820 beech] The rhyme as 'bitch ' was perhaps suggested by 'britch' for 'breech.' 
And it seems to have some dialectic justification. 

( 413 ) 



yo/m Chalkhill 



And reinforce thy reason to oppose 

All her temptations, and fantastic shows. 

Farewell, Anaxus, hie to court, my son, 

Or I'll be there before thee ! ' — Twas high noon, 

A\'hen after many thanks to his kind host, 

Anaxus took his leave, and quickly lost 

The way he was directed ; on he went 

As his Fate led him, full of hardiment. 

Down in a gloomy valley, thick with shade, 1850 

Which two aspiring hanging rocks had made 

That shut out day, and barr'd the glorious sun 

From prying into th' actions there done ; 

Set full of box, and cypress, poplar, yew, 

And hateful elder that in thickets grew, 

Amongst whose boughs the screech-owl and night-crow 

Sadly recount their prophecies of woe, 

Where leather-winged bats, that hate the light, 

Fan the thick air, more sooty than the night. 

The ground o'ergrown with weeds, and bushy shrubs, i860 

Where milky hedgehogs nurse their prickly cubs : 

And here and there a mandrake grows, that strikes 

The hearers dead with their loud fatal shrieks ; 

Under whose spreading leaves the ugly toad. 

The adder, and the snake make their abode. 

Here dwelt Orandra, so the witch was hight, 

And thither had she toal'd him by a sleight : 

She knew Anaxus was to go to court, 

And, envying virtue, she made it her sport 

To hinder him, sending her airy spies 1S70 

Forth with delusions to entrap his eyes, 

And captivate his ear with various tones. 

Sometimes of joy, and otherwhiles of moans : 

Sometimes he hears delicious sweet lays 

Wrought with such curious descant as would raise 

Attention in a stone : — anon a groan 

Reacheth his ear, as if it came from one 

That crav'd his help; and by and by he spies 

A beauteous virgin with such catching eyes 

As would have fir'd a hermit's chill desires 1880 

Into a flame ; his greedy eye admires 

The more than human beauty of her face, 

And much ado he had to shun the grace : 

Conceit had shap'd her out so like his love, 

1855 hateful] The elder is well known for a fairy-tree, but most of the traditions 
give it a prophylactic rather than a ' hateful ' power. However, Spenser has ' bitter 
elder-branches sore ' in Shepherd^s Kalender (November), and Chalkhill may have 
followed his ' friend and acquaintant.' Or he may have drunk elder-wine, which is 
a distinctly terrible liquor. 

1867 toal'd] As before, 11. 252 and 887. It should perhaps have been said that Prof. 
Wright in the Dialect Dictionary prefers ' toll ' as the standard form. 

(414) 



Theabna and Clearchics 

That he was once about in vain to prove. 

Whether 'twas his Clarinda, yea or no, 

But he bethought him of his herb, and so 

The shadow vanish'd, — many a weary step 

It led the prince, that pace with it still kept, 

Until it brought him by a hellish power iSqo 

Unto the entrance of Orandra's bower, 

Where underneath an elder-tree he spied 

His man Pandevius, pale and hollow-eyed, 

Inquiring of the cunning witch what fate 

Betid his master ; they were newly sate 

When his approach disturb'd them ; up she rose, 

And tow'rd Anaxus (envious hag) she goes ; 

Pandevius she had charm'd into a maze, 

And struck him mute, all he could do was gaze. 

He call'd him by his name, but all in vain, 1900 

Echo returns Pandevius back again ; 

Which made him wonder, when a sudden fear 

Shook all his joints ; she, cunning hag, drew near, 

And smelling to his herb, he recollects 

His wand'ring spirits, and with anger checks 

His coward fears; resolv'd now to outdare 

The worst of dangers, whatsoe'er they were ; 

He eyed her o'er and o'er, and still his eye 

Found some addition to deformity. 

An old decrepid hag she was, grown white 1910 

With frosty age, and wither'd with despite 

And self-consuming hate ; in furs yclad, 

And on her head a thrummy cap she had. 

Her knotty locks, like to Alectos snakes, 

Hang down about her shoulders, which she shakes 

Into disorder ; on her furrowed brow 

One might perceive Time had been long at plough. 

Her eyes like candle-snuffs by age sunk quite 

Into their sockets, yet like cat's-eyes, bright : 

And in the darkest night like fire they shin'd, 1929 

The ever open windows of her mind. 

Her swarthy cheeks. Time, that all things consumes. 

Had hollowed flat unto her toothless gums; 

Her hairy brows did meet above her nose, 

That like an eagle's beak so crooked grows, 

It well nigh kiss'd her chin ; thick brist'led hair 

Grew on her upper lip, and here and there 

A rugged wart with grisly hairs behung : 

Her breasts shrunk up, her nails and fingers long. 

Her left leant on a staff, in her right hand 1930 

She always carried her enchanting wand. 



1893 The proper names here, as usual in this class of Romance, are partly classical, 
rtly rococo. But this hybrid — Pandevius, 'utterly truant' — looks as if it were 

(415) 



yohn Chalkhill 



Splay-footed, beyond nature, every part 

So patternless deform'd, 'twould puzzle Art 

To make her counterfeit ; only her tongue, 

Nature had that most exquisitely strung. 

Her oily language came so smoothly from her, 

And her quaint action did so well become her, 

Her winning rhetoric met with no trips, 

But chain'd the dull'st attention to her lips. 

With greediness he heard, and though he strove 1940 

To shake her off, the more her words did move. 

She woo'd him to her cell, call'd him her son, 

And with fair promises she quickly won 

Him to her beck ; or rather he to try 

What she could do, did willingly comply 

With her request ; into her cell he goes. 

And with his herb he rubs his eyes and nose. 

His man stood like an image still, and stared 

As if some fearful prodigy had scared 

Life from its earthly mansion; but she soon 1950 

Unloos'd the charms, and after them he run. 

Her cell was hewn out of the marble rock. 

By more than human Art ; she need not knock, 

The door stood always open, large and wide, 

Grown o'er with woolly moss on either side, 

And interwove with Ivy's flattering twines. 

Through which the carbuncle and diamond shines ; 

Not set by Art, but there by Nature sown 

At the World's birth, so star-like bright they shone. 

They serv'd instead of tapers to give light i960 

To the dark entry, where perpetual night. 

Friend to black deeds, and sire of ignorance, 

Shuts out all knowledge ; lest her eye by chance 

Might bring to light her follies : in they went, 

The ground was strew'd with flowers, whose sweet scent 

Mix'd with the choice perfumes from India brought, 

Intoxicates his brain, and quickly caught 

His credulous sense ; the walls were gilt, and set 

With precious stones, and all the roof was fret 

With a gold vine, whose straggling branches spread 1970 

All o'er the arch ; the swelling grapes were red \ 

This Art had made of rubies cluster'd so. 

To the quick'st eye they more than seem'd to grow^; 

About the walls lascivious pictures hung. 

Such as were of loose Ovid sometimes sung. 

On either side a crew of dwarfish elves 

Held waxen tapers, taller than themselves : 

Yet so well shap'd unto their little stature, 

So angel-like in face, so sweet in feature. 

Their rich attire so diff'ring ; yet so well 1980 

Becoming her that wore it, none could tell 

(416) 



Thealma a?id Clearchus 

Which was the fairest, which the handsomest deck'd, 
Or which of them Desire would soon'st affect. 
After a low salute they all 'gan sing, 
And circle in the stranger in a ring. 
Orandra to her charms was stepp'd aside, 
Leaving her guest half-won and wanton-eyed. 
He had forgot his herb : cunning delight 
Had so bewitch'd his ears, and blear'd his sight, 
And captivated all his senses so, 1990 

That he was not himself; nor did he know 
What place he was in, or how he came there, 
But greedily he feeds his eye and ear 
With what would ruin him ; but that kind Fate, 
That contradicts all power subordinate, 
Prevented Art's intents ; a silly fly 
(As there were many) light into his eye, 
And forc'd a tear to drown herself, when he 
Impatient that he could not so well see, 

Lifts up his hand wherein the herb he held, 2000 

To wipe away the moisture that distill'd 
From his still smarting eye ; he smelt the scent 
Of the strong herb, and so incontinent 
Recovered his stray wit : his eyes were clear'd. 
And now he lik'd not what he saw or heard. 
This knew Orandra well ; and plots anew 
How to entrap him : next unto his view 
She represents a banquet, usher'd in 
By such a shape, as she was sure would win 
His appetite to taste ; so like she was 2010 

To his Clarinda, both in shape and face. 
So voic'd, so habited, of the same gait 
And comely gesture ; on her brow in state 
Sate such a princely majesty, as he 
Had noted in Clarinda ; save that she 
Had a more wanton eye, that here and there 
Roll'd up and down, not settling anywhere. 
Down on the ground she falls his hand to kiss. 
And with her tears bedews it; cold as ice 
He felt her lips, that yet inflam'd him so, 2020 

That he was all on fire the truth to know. 
Whether she was the same she did appear. 
Or whether some fantastic form it were. 
Fashioned in his imagination 
By his still working thoughts ; so fix'd upon 
His lov'd Clarinda, that his fancy strove, 
Even with her shadow, to express his love. 
He took her up, and was about to 'quite 
Her tears with kisses, when to clear his sight 
He wipes his eyes, and with his herb of grace 2030 

Smooths his rough lip to kiss with greater grace, 
n. (4^7) EC 



yohn Chalkhill 



So the herb's virtue Stole into his brain, 

And kept him off; hardly did he refrain 

From sucking in destruction from her lip : 

Sin's cup will poison at the smallest sip. 

She weeps, and wooes again with subtleness. 

And with a frown she chides his backwardness. 

' Have you so soon, sweet prince, (said she,) forgot 

Your own belov'd Clarinda? are you not 

The same you were, that you so slightly set 2040 

By her that once you made the cabinet 

Of your choice counsel ? hath my constant heart 

(As Innocence unspotted) no desert, 

To keep me yours ? or hath some worthier love 

Stole your affections ? what is it should move 

You to dislike so soon? must I still taste 

No other dish but sorrow ? when we last 

Emptied our souls into each other's breast 

It was not so, Anaxus, or at least 

I thought you meant what then you promis'd me ' : 2050 

With that she wept afresh. — 'Are you then she?' 

Answer'd Anaxus, ' doth Clarinda live ? ' 

Just thus she spake, how fain would I believe ! 

With that she seem'd to fall into a swound. 

And stooping down to raise her from the ground. 

That he must use both hands to make more haste, 

He puts his herb into his mouth, whose taste 

Soon chang'd his mind : he lifts her but in vain ; 

His hands fell off, and she fell down again. 

With that she lent him such a frown as would 2060 

Have kill'd a common lover, and made cold 

Ev'n lust itself : '. Orandra fumes and frets. 

And stamping, bites the lip to see her nets 

So long a-catching souls : once more she looks 

Into the secrets of her hellish books. 

She bares her breast, and gives her spirits suck, 

And drinks a cup in hope of better luck. 

Anaxus still the airy shadow ey'd. 

Which he thought dead, conceit the truth belied. 

This cunning failing, out she drew a knife, 2070 

And as if she had meant to let out life, 

In passion aim'd it at her breast, and said, 

' Farewell, Anaxus ' ; but her hand he staid. 

And from her wrung her knife : ' Art thou,' said he, 

' Clarinda then ? ' and kiss'd her : ' can it be 

That fate so loves Anaxus ? ' Still with tears 

She answer'd him, and more divine appears. 

His herb was now forgot, lust had stol'n in 

With a loose kiss, and tempted him to sin. 

A bed was near, and she seem'd sick and faint : 2080 

(Women to Cupid's sport need no constraint) 

( 418 ) 



'Thealma a7td Ciea?xhtis 

Down on the bed she threw herself, and turn'd 

Her blushing beauty from him ; still he burn'd, 

And with intreaties her seeming coyness woo'd 

To meet with his embraces, and bestow'd 

Volleys of kisses on her icy cheek, 

That wrangled with their fire : she would not speak, 

But sigh'd and sobb'd, that bellows of desire 

Into a flame had quickly blown his fire. 

Now did Orandra laugh within her sleeve, 2090 

Thinking all was cock-sure, one might perceive 

Ev'n in that wither'd hag, an amorous look, 

'Twas for herself she train'd them to her hook. 

Softly she steals unto the bed, and peeps 

Betwixt the curtains, nearer then she creeps. 

And to her spirit whispers her command : 

With that the spirit seem'd to kiss his hand. 

Which stew'd him into sweat ; a cloth he wants 

To wipe his face, and his inflam'd heart pants 

Beyond its usual temper for some air, 2100 

To cool the passions that lay boiling there. 

Out of his bosom, where his nosegay was, 

He draws a napkin, so it came to pass 

In plucking of it out, the nosegay fell 

Upon her face; when with a countenance fell. 

She started from him, curs'd him, and with threats 

Leap'd from the bed : Orandra stamps and frets, 

And bit her lip ; she knew the cause full well 

Why her charms fail'd her, but yet could not tell 

With all her art, how she might get from him 2 no 

That sovereign herb ; for touch it she durst not, 

And at this time Anaxus had forgot 

The virtue of it, as in a maze he lay 

At her soon starting from him. — ' Cast away,' 

Said she, ' that stinking nosegay ' : with that he 

Bethinks of it ; but it was well that she 

Put him ■ in mind on't ; it had else been lost, 

He little knew how much that nosegay cost. 

He seeks for't, finds it, smells to't, and by it 

Turns out his lust, and reassumes his wit. 2120 

' No, hag,' said he, ' if this do vex thee so, 

I'll make thee glad to smell to't ere I go.' 

With that he leaps unto her, cursing ripe, 

And with his herb the witch's face did wipe. 

Whereat she fell to earth, the lights went out, 

And darkness hung the chamber round about. 

A hellish yelling noise was eachwhere heard, 

2084 intreaties] S., alarmed, I suppose, at the metrical licence, changes to ' entreats.' 
Real trisyllabic feet are certainly not common in the poem, but we need not turn them 
out when they appear. 

2098 he] S. ' she,' which is clearly wrong. 

( 419 ) E e 2 



yohn Chalkhill 



Sounds that would make e'en Valour's self afear'd ; 

A stifling scent of brimstone he might smell, 

Such as the damned souls suck in in hell. ^130 

He kept his powerful herb still at his nose, 

And tow'rd the entry of the room he goes. 

For though 'twas more than midnight dark, yet he 

Found the way out again. Orandra she 

Threw curses after him, and he might hear 

Her often say, ' I'll fit you for this gear. ' 

At the cave's mouth he found his careless man, 

Wrapp'd in the witch's charms ; do what he can 

He could not wake him, such sweet lullabies 

Pleasure sang to him, till he rubb'd his eyes 2140 

With this rare herb ; then starting up he leaps 

For joy to see his master, that accepts 

His love with thanks ; from thence they make no haste. 

Yet where they were they knew not ; at the last 

They came into a plain, where a small brook 

Did snake-like creep with many a winding nook, 

And by it here and there a shepherd's cot 

Was lowly built. To one of them they got 

T' inquire the way to court : now night drew on, 

It was a good old man they lighted on, 2150 

Hight Eubolus, of no mean parentage. 

But courtly educated, wise and sage, 

Able to teach, yet willing to enrich 

His knowledge with discourses, smooth in speech. 

Yet not of many words ; he entertains 

Them with desire, nor spares for any pains 

To amplify a welcome : — with their host 

Awhile we leave them. — 

Now my Muse must post 
Unto Alexis' court ; lend me, I pray, 
Your gentle aid to guide her on the way. 2160 

Alexis, after many civil broils 
Against his rebel subjects, rich in spoils. 
Being settled in his throne in restful peace. 
The laws establish'd (and his people's ease 
Proclaim'd) he 'gan to call into his mind 
The fore-past times, and soon his thoughts did find 
Matter to work on : — First, Thealma now 
Came to his remembrance, where, and when, and how 
He won and lost her; this sad thought did so 
Afflict his mind, that he was soon brought low 2170 

Into so deep a melancholy, that 
He minded nothing else : nor car'd he what 
Became of state affairs, and though a king. 
With pleasure he enjoy'd not anything. 
His sleep goes from him, meats and drinks he loathes. 
And to his sadder thoughts he suits his clothes. 

( 430 ) 



Thealma aiid Clea7xhus 

Mirth seemed a disease, good counsel, folly. 

Unless it serv'd to humour melancholy. 

All his delight, if one may call 't delight, 

Was to find turtles, that both day and night at 80 

Mourn'd up and down his chamber, and with groans 

His heart consented to their hollow moans ; 

Then with his tears, the briny drink they drank, 

He would bedew them : while his love to thank. 

They nestle in his bosom, where, poor birds. 

With piteous mournful tones, instead of words. 

They seem'd to moan their master : thus did he 

Spend his sad hours ; and what the cause might be 

His nobles could not guess, nor would he tell ; 

For turtle-like he lov'd his griefs too well 3190 

To let them leave his breast ; he kept them in. 

And inwardly they spake to none but him. 

Thus was it with him more than half a year. 

Till a new bus'ness had set ope his ear 

To entertain advice : — the first that brake 

The matter to him, or that durst to speak 

Unto the king, was bold Anaxocles, 

One that bent all his study for the peace 

And safety of his country ; the right hand 

Of the Arcadian state, to whose command 3200 

AV'as given the city's citadel : a place 

Of chiefest trust, and this the bus'ness was. 

'I'he rebels, as you heard, being driven hence, 

Despairing e'er to expiate their offence 

By a too late submission, fled to sea 

In such poor barks as they could get, where they 

Roam'd up and down which way the winds did please 

Without or chart or compass : the rough seas 

Enrag'd with such a load of wickedness. 

Grew big with billows, great was their distress; 221a 

Yet was their courage greater ; desperate men 

Grow valianter with suffering : in their ken 

Was a small island ; thitherward they steer 

Their weather-beaten barks, each plies his gear ; 

Some row, some pump, some trim the ragged sails. 

All were employ'd, and industry prevails. 

They reach the land at length, their food grew scant. 

And now they purvey to supply their want. 

The island was but small, yet full of fruits, 

That sprang by nature, as potato roots, 2220 

Rice, figs, and almonds, with a many more : 

Till now unpeopled ; on this happy shore 

With joy they bring their barks, of which the best 

'i'hey rig anew, with tackling from the rest. 

Some six or seven they serviceable made. 

They stand not long to study where to trade : 

(421) 



yohii Chalkhill 



Revenge prompts that unto them ; piracy 

Was the first thing they thought on, and their eye 

Was chiefly on the Arcadian shore, that lay 

But three leagues off: their theft is not by day 2230 

So much as night, unless some straggling ship 

Lights in their trap by chance : closely they kee[j 

Themselves in rocky creeks, till sun be down 

And all abed, — then steal they to some town 

Or scatt'ring village ; which they fire, and take 

What spoils they find, then to their ship they make. 

And none knew who did harm them ; many a night 

Had they us'd this free-booting ; many a fright 

And great heart's-grieving loss the unarm'd poor 

Were nightly put to ; and to cure the sore 2240 

The old man rous'd the king Alexis, chid 

His needless sorrow : told him that he did 

Not like a man, much less like one whose health 

Strengthens the sinews of a commonwealth. 

He lays his people's grievances before him 

And told him how with tears they did implore him 

To right their wrongs : — at first Alexis frown'd. 

And in an angry cloud his looks were drown'd : 

A sign of rain or thunder ; 'twas but rain. 

Some few drops fell, and the sun shone again. 2250 

Alexis rising, thanks his prudent care, 

And as his father lov'd him ; all prepare 

T' un-nest these pirates : ships were ready made. 

And some land-forces ; as well to invade, 

As for defence : the pirates now were strong, 

By discontents that to their party throng. 

Not so much friend to the late tyrant king, 

As thirsting after novelty, the thing 

That tickles the rude vulgar : one strong hold 

The cunning foe had gain'd, and grew so bold 22601, 

To dare all opposition ; night and day 

They spoil the country, make weak towns their prey ; 

And those that will not join with them they kill. 

Not sparing sex, nor age, proud of their ill 

By their rich booties : against these the king 

Makes both by sea and land. It was now Spring, 

And Flora had embroider'd all the meads 

With sweet variety; forth the king leads 

A chosen troop of horse, with some few foot, 

But those experienc'd men, that would stand to't, 2270 

If any need were; to the sea he sends 

Anaxocles, and to his care commends 

His marine forces ; he was bold and wise. 

And had been custom'd to the seaman's guise. 

He gave it out that he was bound for Thrace 

To fetch a princely lady thence, that was 

{422) 



Thealma and Clearchus 

To be th' Arcadian queen, which made the foe 

The more secure and careless : forth they go 

Assur'd of victory, and prosperous gales, 

As Fate would have't, had quickly fill'd their sails: i2So 

The pirates' rendezvous was soon discover'd 

By scouting pinnaces, that closely hover'd 

Under the lee of a high promontory, 

That stretch'd into the sea : and now day's glory 

Night's sable curtains had eclips'd, the time 

When robbers use to perpetrate a crime. 

The pirates steal aboard, and by good hap, 

Without suspect, they fell into the trap 

Anaxocles had laid ; for wisely, he 

Divides his fleet in squadrons, which might be 2290 

Ready on all sides : every squadron had 

Four ships well mann'd, that where'er the foe made 

He might be met with ; one kept near the shore. 

Two kept at sea, the other squadron bore 

Up tow'rd the isle, yet with a wheeling course. 

Not so far distant, but the whole fleet's force 

Might quickly be united if need were. 

Between these come the pirates without fear. 

Making tow'rds th' Arcadian shore, where soon 

Th' Arcadians met them ; now the fight begun, 2300 

And it was hot, the foe was three to one, 

And some big ships : Anaxocles alone 

Gave the first onset. Cynthia then shone bright. 

And now the foe perceives with whom they fight, 

And they fought stoutly, scorning that so few 

Should hold them tack so long : then nearer drew 

The two side squadrons, and were within shot 

Before they spied them : now the fight grew hot : 

Despair put valour to the angry foe, 

And bravely they stand to't, give many a blow. 2310 

Three ships of theirs were sunk at last, and then 

They seek to fly unto their isle again ; 

When the fourth squadron met them, and afresh 

Set on them, half o'ercome with weariness ; 

Yet yield they would not, but still fought it out ; 

By this the other ships were come about. 

And hemm'd them in ; where, seeing no hope left, 

Whom what the sword did not ex'cute for theft, 

Leap'd in the sea and drown'd them ; that small force 

They'd left within the isle fared rather worse 232c 

Than better ; all were put to the sword. 

And their nest fird ; much booty brought aboard, 

2306 tack] To ' hold tack ' for ' to hold out ' is used by Milton. 

2321 Either we must read ' unto.' or accept the semi-colon as a ' pause-half-foot,' or, 
which is perhaps best, acknowledge a mere negligence. The frank octosyllable three 
lines lower is in favour of this last. 

( 4^3 ) 



yoh?i Chalkhill 



With store of corn, and much 'munition 

For war; thus glad of what was done 

The fleet with joy returns. The Hke success 

Alexis had by land, at unawares 

Surprising their chief fort : some lucky stars 

Lending their helpful influence that night, 

Yet for the time it was a bloody fight. 

At length the fainting foe gave back, and fled 2330 

Out of a postern-gate with fear half dead, 

And thinking in the port to meet their fleet. 

They meet with death ; an ambush did them greet 

With such a furious shock, that all were slain. 

Only some straggling cowards did remain, 

That hid themselves in bushes, which next day 

The soldiers found, and made their lives a prey 

Unto their killing anger. — Home the king 

Returns in triumph, whilst Pan's priests do sing 

Harmonious odes in honour of that day, 2340 

And dainty nymphs with flowers strew'd the way. 

Among the which he spied a beauteous maid, 

Of a majestic count'nance, and array'd 

After so new a manner, that his eye 

Imp'd with delight upon her, and to try 

Whether her mind did answer to her face, 

He call'd her to him, when with modest grace 

She fearless came, and humbly on her knee 

Wish'd a long life unto his majesty. 

He ask'd her name ; — she answer'd, Florimel ; 2350 

And blushing, made her beauty to excel, 

That all the thoughts of his Thealma now 

Were hush'd and smothered; — upon her brow 

Sate such an awful majesty, that he 

^\''as conquer'd ere oppos'd ; 'twas strange to see 

How strangely he was alter'd : — still she kneels, 

And still his heart burns with the fire it feels. 

At last the victor, prisoner caught with love, 

Lights from his chariot, and begins to prove 

The sweetness of the bait that took his heart, 2360 

And with a kiss uprears her : yet Love's dart 

Fir'd not her breast to welcome his aff"ection. 

Only hot sunny beams with their reflection 

A little warm'd her ; — then he questions who 

Her parents were, and why apparell'd so. 

Where was her dwelling, in what country born? 

And would have kiss'd her, when 'twixt fear and scorn 

She put him from her ; ' My dread lord,' said she, 

' My birth is not ignoble, nor was he 

That I call father, tl\ough in some disgrace, 2370 

2345 Imp'd] ' Fixed,' ' fastened itself.' an extension of the sense of grafting.' 
( 424 ) 



Theahjta and Cleajxhiis 

Worthy his unjust exile : what he was, 

And where I first breath'd air, pardon, dread king, 

I dare not, must not tell you : none shall wring 

That secret from me : what I am, you see, 

Or by my habit you may guess to be 

Diana's votaress : the cause, great sir. 

That prompts me to this boldness to appear 

Before your majesty, was what I owe, 

And ever shall, unto your valour : know, 

(For you may have forgot it) I am she 2380 

Who with my good old father you set free, 

Some two years since, from bloody-minded men 

That would have kill'd my honour, had not then 

Your timely aid stepp'd in to rescue me, 

And snatch'd my bleeding father, dear to me 

As was mine honour, even from the jaw of death. 

And given us both a longer stock of breath. 

'Twas this, great king, that drew me with this train. 

From our devotion to review again 

My honour's best preserver, and to pay 2390 

The debt of thanks I owe you : many a day 

I've wish'd for such a time, and heav'n at last 

Hath made me happy in it.'— Day was now 

Well nigh spent, and cattle 'gan to low 

Homewards t' unlade their milky bags, when she 

Her speech had ended ; every one might see 

Love sit in triumph on Alexis" brow. 

Firing the captive conqueror, and now 

He 'gins to court her, and Love tipp'd his tongue 

With winning rhetoric ; her hand he wrung, 2400 

And would again have kiss'd her; but the maid 

With a coy blush, 'twixt angry and afraid. 

Flung from the king, and with her virgin train, 

Fled swift as roes unto their bower again. 

Alexis would have follow'd, but he knew 

What eyes were on him, and himself withdrew 

Lito his chariot, and to courtward went 

With all his nobles, hiding his intent 

Under the veil of pleasant light discourse, 

^Vhich some mark'd well enough ; — that night perforce 2410 

They all were glad within the open plain 

To pitch their tents, where many a shepherd swain 

Upon their pipes troll'd out their evening lays 

In various accents, emulous of praise. 

It was a dainty pleasure for to hear 

How the sweet nightingales their throats did tear, 

Envying their skill, or taken with delight. 

As I think rather, that the still-born night 

2389 review again] Cf, for the pleonasm • to courtward,' infya, 1. 2407. 
(425) 



yolwi Chalkhill 



Afforded such co-partners of their woes. 

And at a close from the pure streams that flows 2420 

Out of the rocky caverns, not far off, 

Echo repHed aloud, and seem'd to scoff 

At their sweet-sounding airs : this did so take 

Love-sick Alexis, willingly awake, 

That he did wish 't had been a week to-day 

T' have heard them still ; but Time for none will stay. 

The wearied shepherds at their usual hour 

Put up their pipes, and in their straw-thatch'd bower 

Slept out the rest of night : the king likewise, 

Tir'd with a weary march, shut in his eyes 2430 

Within their leaden fold, all hush'd and still ; 

Thus for awhile we leave him, till my quill. 

Weary and blunted with so long a story, 

Rest to be sharpen'd, and then she is for ye. 

No sooner welcome day, with glimmering light. 
Began to chase away the shades of night. 
But Echo wakens, rous'd by the shepherd swains. 
And back reverberates their louder strains. 
The airy choir had tun'd their slender throats, 
And fill'd the bushy groves with their sweet notes; 2440 

The flocks were soon unfolded, and the lambs 
Kneel for a breakfast to their milky dams. 
And now Aurora blushing greets the world, 
And o'er her face a curled mantle hurl'd, 
Foretelling a fair day ; the soldiers now 
Began to bustle ; some their trumpets blow, 
Some beat their drums, that all the camp throughout 
With sounds of war they drill the soldiers out. 
The nobles soon were hors'd, expecting still 
Their king's approach, but he had slept but ill, 2450 

And was but then arising, heavy-ey'd. 
And cloudy-look'd, and something ill beside. 
But he did cunningly dissemble it 
Before his nobles : all that they could get 
From him was, that a dream he had that night 
Did much disturb him ; yet seem'd he make slight 
Of what so troubled him ; — but up, he cheers 
His soldiers with his presence, and appears 
As hearty as his troubled thoughts gave leave. 
So that, except his groans, none could perceive 2460 

Much alteration in him : — toward court 
The army marches, and swift-wing'd report 
Had soon divulg'd their coming ; by the way 
He meets old Memnon, who, as you heard say, 
Was sire to Florimel, good man, he then 
Was going to his daughter : when his men, 
Then in the army, in his passing by 
Tender'd their duty to him lovingly. 

( 426 ) 



Thealma and Clearchiis 

He bids them welcome home; the king drew near, 

And question'd who that poor man was, and where 2^70 

His dwelHng was ; and why those soldiers show'd 

Such reverence to him. ' 'Twas but what they ow'd,' 

Answer'd a stander-by ; ' he is their lord, 

And one that merits more than they afford, 

If worth were rightly valued, gracious sir. 

His name is Memnon, if one may believe 

His own report ; yet sure, as I conceive, 

He 's more than what he seems.' The army then 

Had made a stand, when Memnon and his men 

Were call'd before the king : the good old man 2480 

With tears, that joy brought forth, this wise began : 

' To welcome home Alexis, ever be 

Those sacred powers bless'd, that lets me see 

My sovereign's safe return : still may that power 

Strengthen your arm to conquer : heav'n still shower 

Its choicest blessings on my sovereign. 

My life's preserver: — welcome home again, 

I would my girl were here,' with that he wept, 

When from his chariot Alexis stepp'd 

And lovingly embrac'd him : he knew well 2490 

That this was Memnon, sire to Florimel ; 

And [call'd] to mind how he had set them free 

From more than cruel rebels ; glad was he 

So luckily to meet him : from his wrist 

He took a jewel : 'twas an Amethyst, 

Made like a heart with wings : — the motto this, 

Love gives me wings : and with a kiss 

He gave it to old Memnon : ' Bear,' said he, 

'This jewel to your child, and let me see 

Both you and her at court; fail not with speed 2500 

To let me see you there : old man, I need 

Thy grave advice ' ; all wonder'd at the deed, 

But chiefly Memnon. — ' Father,' said the king, 

' ril think upon your men : fail not to bring 

Your daughter with you.' — So his leave he takes, 

And ravish'd Memnon tow'rd his daughter makes. 

The army could not reach the court that night, 

But lay in open field, yet within sight 

Of Pallimando, where the court then lay. 

For greater state, Alexis the next day 25 to 

Purpos'd to enter it ; the townsmen they 

In the meantime prepare what cost they may, 

With shows and presents to bid welcome home 

Their victor king ; and amongst them were some 

Studied orations, and compos'd new lays 

2492 call'd] is my insertion. See infra. 

2497 S. ' . . . a ' for orig. as in text. This part of the poem seems to have been left 
very imperfect. See infra, 11. 2529-30. 



yoh?t Chalkhill 



In honour of their king : the oaks and bays 

\\'^ere woven into garlands for to crown 

Such as by valour had gain'd most renown. 

Scarce could the joyful people sleep that night, 

In expectation of the morrow's sight. 2520 

The morrow came, and in triumphant wise 

The king and soldiers enter : all men's eyes 

Were fix'd upon the king with such desire, 

As if they'd seen a god, while Music's choir 

Fill'd every corner with resounding lays, 

That spake the conquering Alexis' praise, 

Urown'd in the vulgar's louder acclamations ; 

'Twould ask an age to tell what preparations 

Were made to entertain him, and my Muse 

Grows somewhat weary : these triumphant shows 2530 

Continued long, yet seem'd to end too soon, 

The people wish'd 't had been a week to noon. 

By noon the king was hous'd, and order given 

To pay the soldiers ; now it grew tow'rd even, 

And all repair to rest, so I to mine, 

And leave them buried in sound sleep and wine. 

I'll tell you more hereafter ; friendship's laws 

Will not deny a friendly rest and pause. 

Vou heard some few leaves past Alexis had 
A dream that troubled him, and made him sad ; 2540 

Now being come home it 'gan revive afresh 
Within his memory, and much oppress 
The pensive king : Sylvanus, who you heard 
Was good at divinations, had steer'd 
His course, as Fate would have him, then to court, 
Belov'd and reverenc'd of the nobler sort, 
And sainted by the vulgar: — that that brought 
The old man thither, was, for that he thought 
To meet Anaxus there ; but he you heard 
Was otherwise employ'd : — the nobles cheer'd 2.^50 

Their love-sick king with the welcome report 
Of old Sylvanus coming to the court ; 
For he had heard great talk of him before, 
And now thought long to see him, and the more 
Because he hop'd to learn from his tried art. 
What his dream meant, that so disturb'd his heart. 
Sylvanus soon was sent for, and soon came. 
At his first greeting he began to blame 

2527 louder] S. ' loud.' 

2529-30 These repeated expressions of fatigue seem to show that even had the 
poem been finished it would not have been a long one. Spenser would have smiled at 
' so long a story' of, up to the words, not much over 2000 lines. But Chalkhill was 
evidently getting weary : for, besides these gasps, he repeats ' wish 't had been a week ' 
twice in a few pages (1. 2425 and 1. 2532). And the break at 1. 2538 looks like the 
end of a Book or Canto. 

(428) 



Thealma and Clear chus 

The amorous king for giving way to grief 
Upon so slight occasion, but relief 3560 

Was rather needful now than admonition, 
That came too late; his mind lack'd a physician, 
And healing comforts were to be applied 
Unto his wounds before they mortified. 
Sylvanus therefore wish'd him to disclose 
The troublous dream he had, and to repose 
His trust in that strong pow'r that only could 
Discover hidden secrets, and unfold 
The riddle of a dream, and that his skill 

Was but inspir'd by that Great Power, whose will 2570 

By weakest means is oftentimes made known. 
' Methought,' Alexis said, ' I was alone 
By the sea-side, noting the prouder waves, 
How mountain-like they swell, and with loud braves 
Threaten the bounden shore; when from the main 
I see a turtle rise, the wings and train 
Well nigh deplum'd, and making piteous moan, 
And by a mark I guess'd it was mine own, 
And flying tow'rd me ; suddenly a kite 

Swoopt at the bird, and in her feeble flight 2580 

Soon seiz'd upon her, crying, as I thought, 
To me for help:— no sooner was she caught, 
Whenas an eagle seeking after prey, 
■ Flew tow'rd the main land from the isles this way, 
And spying of the kite, the kingly fowl 
Seiz'd on her straight ; the turtle, pretty soul. 
Was by this means set free, and faintly gate 
Upon the eagle's back, ordain'd by Fate 
To be preserv'd : full glad was I to see 

Her so escape; but the eagle suddenly 2590 

Soaring aloft to seaward, took her flight, 
And in a moment both were out of sight, 
And left me betwixt joy and sorrow ; sad 
For the bird's flight, yet for her freedom glad. 
Then, to my thinking, I espied a swain 
Running affrighted tow'rd me o'er the plain. 
Upon his wrist methought a turtle sate. 
Not much unlike th' other mourning for 's mate : 
Only this difference was ; upon her head 

She had a tuft of feathers blue and red, 2600 

In fashion of a crown ; it did me good 

2559 The] S. and orig. 'Th',' one of the not uncommon instances where the 
' apostrophation ' mania actually spoils the verse. 

2569 that] Here 'since' or something of the sort must be supplied, on the security 
of • wish'd' above. 

2575 bounden] One would rather expect ' bound»«^.' 

2598 th'] S. ' the,' to avoid an ugly sound, I suppose, but making an almost 
impossible verse. This as it is is bad enough, though if ' for 's ' as well as ' th' ' were 
expanded there would be a very decent Alexandrine. 

( 429 ) 



yoh?t Chalkhill 



To see how proudly the poor turtle stood 

Pruning herself, as if she scorn'd her thrall ; 

If harmless doves can scorn that have no gall. 

I was so much in love with the poor bird, 

I wish'd it mine, methought the swain I heard 

Cry out for help to me : with that I spied 

A lion running after him glare-eyed, 

And full of rage ; fear made the swain let go 

The lovely turtle to escape his foe ; 3610 

The bird, no sooner loose, made to the beast, 

And in his curled locks plats out a nest. 

The beast not minding any other prey, 

Save what he had, ran bellowing away. 

As overjoy'd ; and as, methought, I strove 

To follow him, I wak'd, and all did prove 

But a deluding dream ; yet such a one 

As nightly troubles me to think upon. 

The powers above direct thee to unfold 

The myst'ry of it. ' — 'Twas no sooner told, 2620 

When old Sylvanus, with a cheerful smile, 

Answer'd the king in a familiar style. 

'You are in love, dread sovereign, and with two. 

One will not serve your turn : look what you do. 

You will go near to lose them both ; but Fate 

At length will give you one to be your mate : 

She that loves you, you must not love as wife, 

And she that loves another as her life 

Shall be th' Arcadian queen ; take comfort then. 

The two lost turtles you will find again. 2630 

Thus much my art doth tell me, more than this 

I dare not let you know : my counsel is, 

You would with patience note the working fates, 

That joy proves best that 's bought at dearest rates.' 

He would not name Anaxus, though he knew 

He should not make one in what was to ensue ; 

And would not hasten sorrow sooner on him, 

Than he himself would after pull upon him. 

The king was somewhat satisfied with what 

Sylvanus told him ; and subscrib'd to fate. 2640 

He puts on cheerful looks, and to his lords 

No little comfort by his health affords. 

He sits in council, and recalls those peers 

That liv'd conceal'd in exile many years, 

'Mongst whom was Rhotus, Memnon, and some others ; 

And though with cunning his desire he smothers. 

Yet did he not forget fair Florimel, 

Of whom my straggling Muse is now to tell. 

2608 ' Glare-eyed' is good and should be commoner. 

2612 plats] =;' plaits.' 

2648 straggling] Seldom has a poet been more justly self-critical. 

( 430 ) 



Theabna a7td Clearchus 

Memnon, you heard, was going to his child, 
When the king left him with a heart o'erfiU'd 2650 

With joy and hopes : some marks he had espied 
About Alexis, which so fortified 
His strong conjecture that he was the man 
He ever took him for, that he began 
With youthful cheerfulness to chide his age, 
That stole so soon upon him with presage, 
Sweet'ning his saucy sorrows that had sour'd 
Life's blessing to him ; — many tears he shower'd 
With thought of what had pass'd, and though not sure 
Alexis was his son, those thoughts did cure, 2660 

Or at the least-wise eas'd his troubled mind. 
The good old man no sooner saw his child. 
And bless'd her for her duty, when he smil'd 
At what he was to say, and glad she was 
To see her sire so cheerful. To let pass 
The long discourse between them : 'twas his will 
She should prepare for court, chiding her still 
For mentioning Anaxus ; nor did he 
Give her long time to think on what might be 
The cause that mov'd her father to such haste. 2670 

But by the way he had given her a taste 
Of what might follow : — three days were assign'd 
Her for to get things ready ; — 'twas his mind 
It should be so, and duty must obey : 
When fathers bid, 'tis sin to say them nay. 
Well then, he meant to send for her, till when 
He leaves her to her thoughts, and home again 
The joyful old man wends : — that very night, 
Before the day prefix'd, the fates, to spite 
Secure Alexis, sent Anaxus thither, 2680 

And brought his long-sought love and him together. 

You know we left him with old Eubolus, 
A wisely discreet man, and studious, 
In liberal arts well seen, and state affairs. 
Yet liv'd retir'd, to shun the weight of cares 
That greatness fondly sues for :— all that night 
Was spent in good discourse too long to write. 
He told the prince the story of the war, 
And pourtray'd out Alexis' character 

So to the life, that he was fir'd to see 2690 

The man he spake of, and disguised he 
Intended in his thoughts next day to prove 
The truth of what he heard : —but cruel Jove, 

2661-3 Mind— child- smil'd] One does not quite know whether to suspect a lost 
line or put up with an assonanced triplet here. C. would probably not have boggled 
at the latter. 

2685 liv'd] This anacoluthon — which indeed is hardly such, 'who was' being so 
easily understood before 'a wisely' — is common. 

(43x) 



jfo/m Chalkhill 



That loves to tyrannize for pleasure, stay'd 

His purposed journey, and unawares betray'd 

Anaxus to an ambush of sad woes. 

That set on him when he least dream'd of foes. 

Amongst the various discourse that pass'd 

Between these two, it fortuned at last 

Eubolus fell in talk of Florimel, 2700 

And of her father Memnon, who full well 

He knew to be a Lemnian ; howsoe'er 

He gave it out for otherwise, for fear 

Of double-ey'd suspicion. To the prince 

He set his virtues forth, and how long since 

He left his native soil ; the prince conceiv'd 

Good hope of what he aim'd at, and believ'd, 

By all conjectures, that this Memnon might 

Be banish'd Codrus, whom he meant to right, 

If ever he was king. Eubolus went on 2710 

In praises of him and of Florimel. 

'Friend,' quoth the prince Anaxus, 'canst thou tell 

Where this fair virgin is?' — 'Yes,' he replied, 

' I can and will, 'tis by yon river side, 

Where yonder tuft of trees stands,' — day then brake, 

And he might well discern it. — ' For love's sake,' 

Answer'd Anaxus, 'may one see this maid. 

That merits all these praises ! ' — ' Yes,' he said, 

' But through a grate ; no man must enter in 

Within the cloister — that they hold a sin. 2720 

Yet she hath hberty some time to go 

To see her father ; none but she hath so, 

Whatever the matter is ; unless when all, 

Arm'd with their bows, go to some festival 

Upon a noted holiday, and then 

This female army, out and home again, 

In comely order marcheth. — Th' other day 

It was my luck to see her, when this way 

The king came from the wars ; she with her train 

(For she seem'd captain) met him on this plain. 2730 

Her coming hither, as I heard her say, 

Was for her life's preserving to repay 

A debt of thanks she ow'd him : many words 

Did pass between them, and before the lords 

Most graciously he kiss'd her, and did woo 

Her for a longer stay ; but she in scorn. 

Or finding him too am'rous, blew her horn. 

To call her troops together; all like roes 

Ran swiftly tow'rd their cloister: — she is fair, 

2699 it] S. ' if.' 

2710 This line, as far as rhyme is concerned, is frankly 'in the air,' no triplet being 
here possible. The sense is not broken, and the line itself zf;7/ scan, but so harshly that 
the passage was probably unrevised. 

( 432 ) 



'Thealma and Clearchus 

And you know beauty is a tempting snare. 3740 

Hers is no common one; her very eye, 

That sparkled with a kind of majesty, 

Might, without wonder, captivate a king.' — 

But this is too too high a strain to sing. 

It was enough that Eubolus had said, 

If not too much, to him that throughly weigh'd 

Each circumstance : a kind of jealous fire 

Stole to his heart, and spurr'd on his desire 

To see and prove her;— taking pen and ink, 

He writ his mind, foreseeing (as I think) 2750 

She might not come alone unto the grate, 

And so could not so privately relate 

(If she should prove Clarinda) his intent. 

So for an hour in vain to sleep he went, 

But restless thoughts did keep him still awake, 

Still musing on the words the old man spake. 

AVell, sun being up, with thanks he takes his leave 

Of his kind host, that did not once perceive 

Him to be troubled : with such cunning he 

Dissembled what had mov'd him, — jealousy. 2760 

His man and he toward the cloister go. 
Casting in 's mind what he were best to do 
To win a sight of her : — his nimble brain 
Soon hatch'd a polity, that prov'd not vain. 
The cloister outward gate was newly ope, 
When he came there; and now 'twixt fear and hope 
He boldly enters the base-court, and knocks 
At th' inner gate, fast shut with divers locks : 
At length one came, the port'ress, as I guess, 
For she had many keys; her stranger dress 2770 

Much took Anaxus, who ne'er saw till then 
Women attir'd so prettily like men. 
In courteous wise she ask'd him what he would? 
' Fair dame,' said he, ' I have been often told 
By one (I make no question) whom you know, 
Old Memnon, (to whose tender care I owe 
For my good breeding) that within this place 
I have a kinswoman, that lately was 
Admitted for a holy sister here. 

My uncle Memnon's daughter: — once a year, 2780 

As duty binds me, I do visit him, 
And in my journey homeward at this time 
A kinsman's love prompted me to bestow 
A visit on my cousin ; who[m] I know 
Will not disdain to own me.' — 'Gentle sir,' 
Answer'd the man-like maid, ' is it to her 
You'd pay your loving tender?' — 'Yes,' said he, 

2744 Perhaps this were better included in the speech. 

2764 polity] Rather interesting now for ' policy ' : but of course common then. 

U. (433) Ff 



yoh?! Chalkhill 



'To Florimel, if in this place she be? 

And so my uncle told me.' — 'Yes,' replied 

The grave virago, ' she is here : yet, sir, 3790 

You must content yourself to speak with her 

Thorough this grate ; her father comes not in, 

And by our laws it is esteem'd a sin 

To interchange aught else, save words, with men.' 

' I ask no more,' the prince replied again. 

'That cannot be denied,' said she, 'stay here 

With patience awhile, and do not fear 

But you shall see her ' ;— so away she went. 

Leaving the glad Anaxus to invent 

Excuses for his boldness, if by hap aSoo 

She might not prove Clarinda, and entrap 

Him in a lie : — Clarinda came at last 

With all her train, who as along she pass'd 

Thorough the inward court, did make a lane, 

Op'ning their ranks, and closing them again 

As she went forward, with obsequious gesture, 

Doing their reverence. — Her upward vesture 

Was of blue silk, glistering with stars of gold. 

Girt to her waist by serpents, that enfold 

And wrap themselves together, so well wrought 2810 

And fashion'd to the life, one would have thought 

They had been real. Underneath she wore 

A coat of silver tinsel, short before. 

And fring'd about with gold : white buskins hide 

The naked of her leg ; they were loose tied 

With azure ribands, on whose knots were seen 

Most costly gems, fit only for a queen. 

Her hair bound up like to a coronet, 

^Vith diamonds, rubies, and rich sapphires set ; 

And on the top a silver crescent placed, 2820 

And all the lustre by such beauty graced. 

As her reflection made them seem more fair. 

One would have thought Diana's self were there. 

For in her hand a silver bow she held. 

And at her back there hung a quiver fiU'd 

With turtle-feathered arrows. — Thus attir'd, 

She makes toward Anaxus, who was fir'd 

To hear this goddess speak ; — when they came near. 

Both stared upon each other, as if fear 

Or wonder had surpris'd them ; for awhile 2830 

Neither could speak, — at length with a sweet smile, 

Graced with a comely blush, she thus began. 

' Good-morrow, cousin, are not you the man 

That I should speak with? I may be deceiv'd; 

Are not you kin to Memnon? — I believ'd 

2807 The author's fancy for dress-description is remarkable. A certain kind of 
critic would feel convinced that he was a woman. 

( 4.34 ) 



Thealma and Clearchus 

My maid that told me so ; — he is my father, — 

If you have aught to say to me.' — ' Fair soul,' 

Answer'd Anaxus, ' many doubts control 

My willingness to answer; pardon me, 

Divinest creature, if my answer be 2840 

Somewhat impertinent ; read here my mind, 

I am Anaxus, and I fain would find 

A chaste Clarinda here.' — She was about 

To call the port'ress to have let her out, 

But wisely she call'd back her thought, for fear 

Her virgin troop might see or overhear 

What pass'd between them ; doubts did rise 

\\'ithin her, whether she might trust her eyes. 

It was Anaxus' voice, she knew that well, 

But by his disguis'd look she could not tell 3850 

Whether 'twere he or no ; all that she said 

Was, ' I may prove Clarinda too ' ; and pray'd 

Him stay a little, till her short return 

Gave him a better welcome : — all her train 

Thought she had fetch'd some jewel for the swain ; 

And, as they were commanded, kept their station 

Till her return. The prince with expectation 

Feeds his faint hopes : she was not long from thence, 

And in a letter pleads her innocence, 

Which he mistrusted ; now she could not speak, jS6o 

But wept her thoughts, for fear her heart should break, 

And casting o'er a veil to hide her tears. 

She bid farewell, and leaves him to his fears. 

With that the gate was shut : Anaxus reads. 

And with judicious care each sentence heeds ; 

And now he knew 'twas she, whom he so long 

Had sought for ; now he thinks upon the wrong 

His rash mistrust had done her : 'twas her will, 

Whate'er he thought of her, to love him still : 

Nor could th' Arcadian crown tempt her to break 2S70 

Her promise with Anaxus : — now to seek 

For an excuse to gild o'er this offence. 

Yet this did somewhat cheer him, — two hours thence 

He was enjoin'd to come unto a bower. 

That overlook'd the wall ; — and at his hour 

Anaxus came;— there she had often spent 

One hour or two each day alone, to vent 

Her private griefs : — she came the sooner then 

To meet Anaxus, and to talk again 

With him, whom yet her fears misgave her, might 2880 

Be some disguised cheat. — At the first sight 

She frown'd upon him, and with angry look, 

A title that but ill became the book, 

2847 Octosyllabic. 
{ 435 ) F f 2 



yoh7i Chalkhill 



Wherein her milder thoughts were writ. 'Are you,' 

Said she, 'Anaxus? these loose lines do show 

Rather you are some counterfeit ; set on 

By some to tempt my honour. Here are none 

That love the world so well to sell her fame, 

Or violate her yet unspotted name, 

To meet a king's embraces, though a crown, 2890 

And that the richest, Fortune can stake down 

Should be the hire. — I tell thee, saucy swain, 

Whoever sent thee, I so much disdain 

To yield to what these looser lines import, 

That rather than I will be drawn to court, 

To be Alexis' whore ; nay, or his wife, 

I have a thousand ways to let out life. 

But why dost thou abuse Anaxus so 

To make him pander to my overthrow ? 

Know'st thou the man thou wrong'st ; — uncivil swain ! 2900 

Thou hast my answer, carry back disdain.' 

With that she was about to fling away 

When he recall'd her ; loath to go away, 

Whate'er she seem'd. — Before she'd turn'd about 

He pull'd off his false hair, and cured her doubt. 

' My dearest Florimel,' said he, and wept : 

' ]\Iy sweet Clarinda ; and hath Heav'n kept 

Thee yet alive to recompense my love? 

My yet unchang'd affection, that can move 

But in one sphere, in thee, and thee alone. 2910 

Forgive me, my Clarinda, what is done 

Was but to try thee, and when thou shalt know 

The reason why I did so, and what woe 

My love to thee hath made me willingly 

To undergo, thou wilt confess that I 

Deserve Clarinda's love.' — Poor Florimel 

Would fain have sooner answer'd ; but tears fell 

In such abundance, that her words were drown'd, 

E'en in their birth ; at length her passions found 

Some little vent to breathe out this reply. 2920 

' O, my Anaxus, if it be no sin 

To call you mine, methinks I now begin 

To breathe new life, for I am but your creature. 

Sorrow hath kill'd what I receiv'd from nature. 

Before I see you, though this piece of clay 

My body seem'd to move, until this day 

It did not truly live : my heart you had. 

And that you pleas'd to have it I was glad : 

Yet till you brought it home, the life I led. 

If it were any, was but nourished 2930 

2925 see] S. not unnaturally alters to ' saw,' noting the fact. But perhaps we ought 
to remember that the 5««sf-grammar is all right, for Clarinda sees him as she speaks. 
And they did not care overmuch lor book-grammar then. 

( 436 ) 



Thealma mid Clearchiis 

By th' warmth I had from yours, which I still cherish'd 

With some faint hopes, or else I quite had perish'd. 

But time steals on, and I have much to say ; 

Take it in brief, for I'd be loath my stay 

Above my usual hour, should breed suspect 

In my chaste sisterhood. — Blest powers ! direct 

Me what to do ; my soul 's in such a strait 

And labyrinth of doubts and fears, that wait 

Upon my weakness, that I know no way 

How to wade out : — to-morrow is the day, ag-jo 

Th' unwelcome day, when I must to the court. 

For what intent I know not. — To be short, 

I would not 'go, nor dare I here to stay, 

The king so wills it : yet should I obey. 

It may perhaps undo me ; besides this, 

My father so commands it, and it is 

A well-becoming duty in a child 

To stoop unto his will : yet to be styled. 

For doing what he bids me, a loose dame. 

And cause report to question my chaste fame ! 2950 

'Twere better disobey ; — a father's will 

Binds like a law in goodness, not in ill. 

I hope I sin not, that so ill conceive 

Of th' end I'm sent for; and, can I believe 

That honour 's aim'd at in 't ? Court favours shine 

Seldom on mean ones, but for some design. 

Are not these fears to startle weak-built woman, 

A virgin child of virtue, should she summon 

Her best and stout'st resolves ' ; — with that, in tears 

And sighs, she speaks the remnant of her fears, 2960 

And sinks beneath their weight. Anaxus soon 

Caught hold of her, pluck'd her to the grate, 

And with a kiss reviv'd her. — 'Twas now late. 

The cloister bell had summon'd all to bed. 

And she was missing, little more she said : 

' Save, help me, my Anaxus, keep the jewel 

My love once gave thee ' : — swift Time was so cruel 

He could not answer ; for her virgin train 

Flock'd to the lodge, and she must back again. 

She had enjoin'd him silence, and to speak 2970 

Anaxus durst not, though his heart should break : 

As it was more than full of care and grief 

For his Clarinda, thirsting for relief. 

And in his looks, one might have read his mind. 

How apt it was to afford it ; still she enjoin'd 

Him not to speak ; such was her wary fears 

To be discovered ; kisses mix'd with tears 

Was their best oratory : then they part, 

Yet turn again t' exchange each other's heart. 

2962 ' and pluck'd her ' ? ' pluck'd her nnlo ' ? 
(437) 



yohn Chalkhill 



Something was still forgot ; it is Love's use 2980 

In what chaste thoughts forbid, to find excuse. 

Her virgins knock, in vain she wipes her eyes, 

To hide her passions, that still higher rise. 

She whispers in his ear, ' Think on to-morrow ' ; 

They faintly bid farewell, both full of sorrow. 

The window shuts, and with a feigned cheer, 

Clarinda wends unto her cloister, where 

Awhile we'll leave her to discourse with Fear. 

Pensive Anaxus to the next town hies, 
To seek a lodging : rather to advise 299c 

And counsel with himself, what way he might 
Plot Florimel's escape : 'twas late at night. 
And all were drown'd in sleep, save restless lovers. 
At length, as chance would have it, he discovers 
A glimm'ring light, tow'rd it he makes, and knocks. 
And, with fair language, open picks the locks. 
He enters, and is welcome by his host. 
Where we will leave him, and return again 
Unto th' Arcadian court, to sing a strain 

Of short-liv'd joy, soon sour'd, by such a sorrow 3000 

As will drink all our tears : — and I would borrow 
Sometime to think on't, 'twill come at the last : 
Sorrows we dream not on, have sourest taste. 

Cleon and Rhotus, as you heard of late, 
\\'ere travelling to court, when (led by Fate) 
They met Thealma, who by them had sent 
A jewel to the king : — six days were spent 
Before they reach'd the court ; for Rhotus' sake 
Cleon was nobly welcom'd, means they make 
To do their message to the love-sick king, 3010 

And with Sylvanus found him communing. 
Sometimes he smil'd, another while he frown'd, 
Anon his paler cheeks with tears been drown'd ; 
And ever and anon he calls a groom. 
And frowning, ask'd if Memnon were not come ? 
One might perceive such changes in the king. 
As hath th' inconstant welkin in the Spring ; 
Now a fair day, anon a dropsy cloud 
Puts out the sun, and in a sable shroud 
The day seems buried ; when the clouds are o'er, 3020 

The glorious sun shines brighter than before : 
But long it lasts not ; so Alexis fared : 
His sun-like majesty was not impair'd 
So much by sorrow, but that now and then 
It would break forth into a smile again. 
At last Sylvanus leaves him for a space, 
And he was going to seek out a place 
To vent his griefs in private ; ere he went, 
He askd if one for Memnon was yet sent ? 

( 438 ) 



Thealma and Clearchus 

With that he spies old Rhotus, him he meets, 3030 

And Cleon with him ; both he kindly greets. 

They kneeling kiss his hand ; he bids them rise, 

And still Alexis noble Cleon eyes. 

'Whence are you, father,' said he, 'what's your name?* 

Cleon replied, ' From Lemnos, sir, I came, 

My name is Cleon ' ; — and full well the king 

Knew he was so, yet he kept close the thing. 

He list not let his nobles know so much, 

Whate'er the matter was : his grace was such 

To the old men, as rich in worth as years. 3040 

He leads them in, and welcomes them with tears. 

The thoughts of what had pass'd wrung from his eyes : 

And with the king, in tears, they sympathize. 

'O Rhotus,' said he, "twas thy charity 

That rais'd me to this greatness, else had I 

Fall'n lower than the grave, and in the womb 

Of the salt ocean wept me out a tomb. 

Thy timely help preserv'd me, so it pleas'd 

The all-disposing Fates.' — There the king ceas'd 

His sad discourse; he sighs and weeps afresh, 3050 

And wrings old Rhotus' hand in thankfulness. 

Sorrow had tongue-tied all, and now they speak 

Their minds in sighs and tears, nor could they check 

These embryos of passion : reason knows 

No way to counsel passion that o'erflows. 

Yet like to one that falls into a swoon. 

In whom we can discern no motion, 

No life, nor feeling, not a gasp of breath, 

(So like the body's faintings are to death) 

Yet little and by little life steals in, 3060 

At last he comes unto himself again. 

Life was but fled unto the heart for fear, 

And thronging in it, well-nigh stifles there. 

Till by its struggling, Fear that chill'd the heart. 

Meeting with warmth, is forc'd for to depart, 

And Life is loose again : — So Sorrow wrought 

Upon these three, that any would have thought 

Them weeping statues ; Reason at the length 

Struggling with passions recover'd strength. 

And forc'd a way for speech. — Rhotus was first 3070 

That brake this silence, there "s none better durst ; 

He knew his cause of sorrow, and was sure 

The gladsome news he brought had power to cure 

A death-struck heart; yet in his wisdom he 

Thought it not best, whate'er his strength might be 

To let in joy too soon ; too sudden joy, 

Instead of comforting, doth oft destroy : 

Experience had taught him, so 't might be ; 

Nor would old Rhotns venture 't, wherefore he 

(439 ) 



yo/in Chalkhill 



By some ambigual discourses thought 3080 

It best to let him know the news he brought. 

So, lowly bowing, Rhotus thus begins : 

' Dread sovereign, how ill it suits with kings 

(Whose ofifice 'tis to govern men) that they 

Should be their passions' laws ; self-reason may, 

Or should instruct you : pardon, gracious sir, 

My boldness ; virtue brooks no flatterer ; 

Nor dare I be so ; you have conquer'd men, 

And rul'd a kingdom ; shall your passions then 

Unking Alexis? — be yourself again, 3090 

And curb those home-bred rebel thoughts that have 

No power of themselves, but what you gave 

In suff' ring them so long : had you not nurs'd 

Those serpents in your bosom, but had crush'd 

Them in the egg, you then had had your health. 

He rules the best, that best can rule himself.' 

And here he paus'd. Alexis' willing ear 

Was chain'd to his discourse ; when with a tear. 

He sigh'd out this reply : — ' I know it well, 

I would I could do so ' ; — but tears 'gan swell, 3100 

Rais'd by a storm of sighs : he soon had done. 

Which Rhotus noting, boldly thus went on. 

' Most royal sir, be comforted ; I fear 

My rude reproofs affect not your soft ear. 

Which if they have I 'm sorry, gracious sir : 

I ask your pardon, if my judgement err. 

I came to cure your sorrows, not to add 

Unto their heavy weight that makes you sad.' 

' To cure me, Rhotus ? ' said Alexis, ' no ! 

Good man, thou canst not do't, didst thou but know 3110 

The sad cause whence they spring ? ' * Perhaps I do,' 

RepHed old Rhotus, 'and can name it too. 

If you'll with patience hear me : cheer up then, 

After these show'rs it may be fair again. 

As I remember, when the Heav'ns were pleased 

To make me your preserver, you my guest, 

(And happy was it that it fell out so) 

Amongst the many fierce assaults of woe. 

That then oppress'd your spirit, this was one : 

When you were private, as to be alone 3130 

You most affected, I have often heard 

You sigh out one Thealma : nor have spar'd 

To curse the Fates for her : what might she be, 

3080 ambigual] = ' ambiguous.' 

3105 Which if they have] S. notes, ' sic in orig. : but evidently erroneous.' Why ? 
The line before is more difficult ; for it seems as if it ought to go the other way, ' your 
soft ears affect not [do not like] my rude reproofs.' Then * which if they have ' would 
be hopeless. As it is, it looks as if we ought to read for ' affect not ' ' have wounded,' 
or something of that sort. 

( 440 ) 



Thealma and Clea7xhus 

And what's become of her? If I may be 

So bold to question it, tell us your grief, 

The heart's unlading hastens on relief: 

AVhen sorrows, pent up closely in the breast, 

Destroy unseen, and render such unrest 

To the soul's wearied faculties, that Art 

Despairs to cure them: — pluck up a good heart, 3130 

And cast out those corroding thoughts that will 

In time undo you, and untimely lay 

Your honour in the dust.' The speechless king 

Wept out an answer to his counselling ; 

For speak he could not, sighs and sobs so throng'd 

From his sad heart, they had him quite untongued. 

' Will it not be ? ' said Rhotus, ' then I see 

Alexis is unthankful ; not that he 

That once I took him for:— but, I have done. — 

When first I found you on the rock, as one 314° 

Left by stern Fate to ruin, well-nigh drown'd, 

And starv'd with cold, yet heaven found, 

E'en in that hopeless exigent, a way 

To raise you to a crown ; and will you pay 

Heav'n's providence with frowns? for aught you know, 

She that you sorrow for so much, may owe 

As much to heav'n as you do, and may live 

To make the joy complete, which you conceive 

111 your despairing thoughts impossible : 

I say, who knows but she may be as well 3150 

As you ; nay, better, more in health and free 

From headstrong passion ? ' — ' Can I hope to be 

So happy, Rhotus ? ' answer'd the sad king, 

' No, she is drown'd ; these eyes beheld her sink 

Beneath the mountain waves, and shall I think 

Their cruelty so merciful, to save 

Her, their ambition strove for to engrave?' 

'Why not?' replied old Cleon, who till then 

Had held his peace : ' the gods work not like men ; 

When Reason's self despairs, and help there's none, 3160 

Finding no ground for hope to anchor on ; 

Then is their time to work. This you have known. 

And heaven was pleas'd to mark you out for one 

It meant thus to preserve : 'tis for some end, 

(A good one too, I hope) and heav'n may send 

This happy seed-time such a joyful crop 

As will weigh down your sorrows ; kill not hope 

Before its time, and let it raise your spirit 

To bear your sorrows nobly : never fear it, 

Thealma lives:' 3170 

Atid here the author died, and I hope the reader ivill be sorry. 

3143 exigent] S. ' exigence.' 

( 441 ) 



yoh?! Chalkhill 



Coridon's Song 



Oh, the sweet contentment 
The countryman doth find. 

High trololHe loUie loe, 

High trololHe lee, 
That quiet cont-emplation 
Possesseth all my mind : 

Then care away. 

And wend along %vith me. 

For courts are full of flattery, 
As hath too oft been tried ; 

High trolollie lollie loe, 

High trolollie lee, 
The city full of wantonness. 
And both are full of pride. 

The?i care away, 

A fid 7vend along with me. 

But oh, the honest countryman 
Speaks truly from his heart, 

High trolollie lollie loe. 

High trolollie lee, 
His pride is in his tillage. 
His horses and his cart : 

Then care aivay, 

A?id wend along with me. 



Our clothing is good sheepskins. 
Grey russet for our wives, 

High trolollie lollie loe, 

High trolollie lee. 
'Tis warmth and not gay clothing 
That doth prolong our lives ; 30 

T/ie?i care away, 

And wend along ivith me. 



20 



The ploughman, though he labour 

hard. 
Yet on the holy-day. 

High trolollie lollie loe, 

High trolollie lee. 
No emperor so merrily 
Does pass his time away ; 

Then care away, 

And wend along tvith me. 40 

To recompense our tillage 
The heavens afford us show'rs ; 

High trolollie lollie loe, 

High trolollie lee. 
And for our sweet refreshments 
The earth affords us bowers : 

Then care away. 

And tvend along with me. 

The cuckoo and the nightingale 
Full merrily do sing, 50 

High trolollie lollie loe, 

High trolollie lee, 
And with their pleasant ?vundelayes. 
Bid welcome to the spring : 

Then care away, 

A nd wetid along tvith me. 

This is not half the happiness 
The countryman enjoys ; 

High trolollie lollie loe. 

High trolollie lee. 60 

Though others think they have as 

much 
Yet he that says so lies : 

Then come away, turn 

Country f>iafi zvith tne. 



Oh, the Brave Fisher's Life 



Oh, the brave fisher's life. 

It is the best of any, 

'Tis full of pleasure, void of strife. 

And 'tis belov'd of many : 

Other joys 

Are but toys, 

( 442 ) 



Only this 
Lawful is, 
For our skill 
Breeds no ill, 
But content and pleasure. 



10 



0//, the hj^ave fisher s life 



In a morning up we rise 
Ere Aurora's peeping, 
Drink a cup to wash our eyes, 
Leave the sluggard sleeping : 

Then we go 

To and fro. 

With our knacks 

At our backs, 

To such streams 20 

As the Thames, 
If we have the leisure. 

When we please to walk abroad 
For our recreation, 
In the fields is our abode. 
Full of delectation : 

Where in a brook 

With a hook. 

Or a lake 

Fish we take, 30 

There we sit 

For a bit, 
Till we fish entangle. 

We have gentles in a horn. 
We have paste and worms too. 
We can watch both night and morn, 
Suffer rain and storms too : 

None do here 

Use to swear, 



Oaths do fray 40 

Fish away. 
We sit still. 
Watch our quill, 
Fishers must not wrangle. 

If the sun's excessive heat 
Makes our bodies swelter. 
To an osier hedge we get 
For a friendly shelter, 

Where in a dike 

Perch or Pike, 50 

Roach or Dace 

We do chase. 

Bleak or Gudgeon 

Without grudging, 
We are still contented. 

Or we sometimes pass an hour 
Under a green willow. 
That defends us from a show'r. 
Making earth our pillow ; 

There we may 60 

Think and pray 

Before death 

Stops our breath : 

Other joys 

Are but toys 
And to be lamented. 



(443 ) 



TRIVIAL POEMS, 



AXD 



TRIOLETS. 



WRITTEN 



IN OBEDIENCE TO MRS TOMKIN^S COMMANDS, 



By PATRICK CAREY 



20th Aug. 1651. 




LONDON: 
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. 



1819. 



INTRODUCTION TO 
PATRICK CAREY 

As about our last constituent, so about this, there has been (though 
there need no longer be) a certain uncertainty. In 1819 Sir (then still Mr., 
though just on his promotion) Walter Scott published the book which 
is here reproduced, with the title also given. He had nine years previously, 
in the Edinbnrgh\A7inual Register, communicated specimens of it from the 
MS. which had been given to him by John Murray. All that he then 
knew about the author (and Scott, let it be remembered, while he knew a 
great deal about English history and literature, knew hardly any part better 
than the seventeenth century) is contained in the Preface, also reproduced 
infra. 

There were, however, other things that he might have known both 
concerning the MS. itself and concerning its probable author, and these 
latter would certainly have interested him. The Poems (or at least some of 
them) had been printed : and that (London 1771) in the year of his own 
birth. The MS. (or another?) was then in the possession of a certain Mr. 
Crump, though strangely enough the original Murray was the publisher, 
which looks very much as if the MSS. were identical. The book contained 
only nine of the poems which are noted below, and added some fancy titles, 
such as Seriae Nugae, &c. But this is mere bibliography, and has nothing 
to do with the identification of the poet. One of the public indications 
towards this it was possible for Scott to know, for it is contained in Evelyn's 
Diary, which Bray had just published. When Evelyn got to Rome in 
November 1644, among the English residents there to whom he had letters 
of recommendation was ' Mr. Patrick Gary, brother to our learned Lord 
Falkland, a witty young priest, who afterwards came over to our church.' 
But Scott clearly did not know this. 

Some years later, however, when, in circumstances more grievous, if not 
physically {v. inf.), yet to mind and fortune, he wrote Woodstock, his in- 
formation had evidently been increased. He not merely introduces ' Pat 
Carey ' in the mouth of the King (as ' Louis Kerneguy ') and quotes a verse 
of his, but makes Charles call him 'a younger brother of Lord Falkland's.' 
And in the note on this passage he refers to the previous edition, to his 
earlier ignorance of it, and to his increased knowledge about the author. 
But he does not say who gave him that knowledge, and I am not aware 
(447) 



Patrick Carey 



that any one has filled in the gap till this moment, when I am accidentally 
enabled to do so, and at the same time to complete the link between book 
and author. 

In the interval additions had been made which will be found fully 
abstracted in the D. N. B., chiefly from letters in the Clarendon corre- 
spondence. From these it appeared that, Carey's mother having become a 
Roman Catholic, he was sent to Rome for his education, was pensioned by 
Henrietta Maria, protected by Pope Urban \'III, and endowed with an 
abbacy, though he seems never to have taken orders. Later, in 1650, just 
before the date of the Poems, he became a monk at Douay, but did not find 
it agree with him, and supplicated Hyde for assistance, offering, it would 
seem, to exchange the cowl for the sword. But there information about 
him, as generally known, seems to have ceased, though I do not pretend to 
have looked up all the references in the Dictionary. 

It so happens, however, that my copy of the Trivial Poems, which has 
been used in the present reprint, had been originally presented by Scott 
to Sir Cuthbert Sharp[e], soldier, Collector of Customs, antiquary, and 
historian of Hartlepool. Sharpe was attracted by the genealogical puzzle, 
by the reference to ' Sir William of Wickham ^ ' {v. inf. p. 452), and as he says 
in a note, by the name of Victoria, ' very peculiar at that period^.' He set 
to work, and ' by laborious research in the British Museum,' ' and the help of 
the talisman ' Victoria,' unearthed Sir William Uvedale of Wickham, co. 
Southampton, who married Victoria Carey, second daughter of Henry, first 
Viscount Falkland and Deputy of Ireland, and so sister of the ' peace- 
ingeminating ' Lucius and of Patrick the abbe. Sharpe embodied all this 
in a printed pedigree, which he has inserted in the copy, and which, as it 
is of some interest, I have reproduced here. If correct, it of course 
establishes and explains at once our poet's identity, and his connexion with 
'Sir William of Wickham,' and removes all doubt about the matter. Its 
correctness I must leave to heralds and genealogists to discuss. Sir 
Cuthbert adds, ' It was sent to Sir AValter, but I got no reply as Sir W. was 
ill at the time, and it was perhaps laid aside and forgotten.' It will be 
remembered that immediately after the date of Scott's Preface (April i, 
1 819) came on his second violent attack of cramp in the stomach (after 
which Lockhart, riding out to Abbotsford, found his hair turned white), and 
which returned at intervals during almost the whole year. But as Lockhart 
says that the Carey Papers were not actually published till the autumn, it 
must have been one of the later attacks which deprived poor Sir Cuthbert 

* Wickham is almost exactly half-way between Bishop's Waltliam and Farnham. 
Warnford (see infra) is on the road from both these towns to Alton, about two miles 
from where it joins at Meon Stoke. 

^ A curious coincidence is that the person who was to make the name common, was 
born in this very year 1819. 

(448) 



Introduction 

of his immediate acknowledgement, though he got an indirect one later, as 
has been seen, in the Woodstock note. 

A further point of connexion between this pedigree and the Clarendon 
papers may be indicated before we turn to the proper subject of this Intro- 
duction, which is literature and not biography. It seems from the letters 
that one of Carey's reasons for not taking Orders was the infirm health of 
his nephew, the third Viscount, and the consequent possibility that he might 
be required to marry to preserve the family. After his reversion to the 
Anglican Church, there was no reason why he should not carry out this 
genial and laudable intention, irrespective of mere family policy. And the 
pedigree tells us that he did so, taking unto himself Susan Uvedale, niece 
of his sister's husband, and producing a son Edward. But it is his poetical 
production with which we ought to busy ourselves. 

And it is a very satisfactory one. Scott, as will be seen, has made no 
extravagant claims for his bantling ; but those which he makes can be solidly 
sustained, and even increased, by a critic who has not the least fancy for a 
debauch of superlatives. It is not only true that Carey can give a hand on 
one side to Lovelace and on another to Suckling for tender and for merry 
verse : he can in the other great division of Caroline poetry, the sacred, show 
things not unworthy of Herbert, if not even of Vaughan, though of course 
he never touches any of the four at their very best. It is unlucky that the 
book closes with his translation of the Dies Irae, which is singularly bad. 
If I were not a really conscientious editor I should have felt much tempted 
to suppress it. The Dies is quite untranslatable into English; even Herrick, 
when he wrote of the ' Isle of Dreams,' could not have done it, nor could 
IMiss Christina Rossetti. Nothing but Latin, and perhaps Spanish, can give 
the combination of weight, succinctness, and music. But turn to 

Whilst I beheld the neck o' th' dove 

and you will see what Carey could do in the sacred way. The last lines of 
the stanzas here, with their varied wording and yet similar form and gist, 
are really little triumphs of poetic expression. Several others, — ' By Am- 
bition raised high,' the fine ' Crux via Coeionan,' the Crashaw-like Cruci- 
fixus, the solemn Fallax et Instabiiis,—\\?ive. each of them its own 
charm, and all have the marvellous devotional music of the period, 
which has been so seldom recovered except by that princess of English 
poetesses who has just been mentioned. 

The selection of the triolet form for a religious piece may seem odd, but 
Carey had no doubt learnt it in France, and the triolet is really a very adapt- 
able thing, as the old French playwrights knew perfectly well when they 
made it a vehicle of conversation, not merely in farce but in solemn mystery 
and miracle. Carey's use of it did not escape remark when the elaborate 

"• ( 449 ) G g 



Patrick Ca7^ey 



forms of which it is one were revived, with no small success, by Enghsh poets 
some five and twenty or thirty years ago. But what I should have liked 
best would have been a criticism on it by Mr. Joseph Addison, who would 
have been delightfully divided between sympathy with the piety of the sub- 
stance, and sorrow for the ' false wit ' of the form. 

So few people, however, really like religious poetry (they are wrong, 
though they have the excuse of the intolerable and shameless badness of 
much of it) that it is probably by his secular pieces that Carey will have 
to stand or fall. I do not know that there is anything quite so good as the 
best of the ' Divines,' but there is plenty of good matter, and plenty of variety 
in its goodness. The political pieces keep temper fairly under sufficiently 
trying circumstances, and (as readers of the jRii?np Foevis must admit) are 
not too coarse for the time. They show, too, that growing education in the 
tricksier parts of poetic craft (such as the rhyme ' delinquent ' and ' drink 
went ') which is characteristic of the seventeenth century, and is also an 
important symptom of the ' grown-up ' condition of English prosody. The 
wholesome joviality of the ' Healths ' piece, which attracted Sir Walter, could 
not easily be improved in a kind now, alas ! dead since Peacock. The 
Catalogue of Mistresses may owe some royalty to Cowley, but is quite 
original in the handling. The pure craftsman's skill reappears in the 
various poems to intricate measures: and if there is no very consuming 
passion in the love-pieces, there is at least enough of sincerity and of 
' sweet attractive kind of grace.' And the whole book, with its varied, 
personal, actual touch, gives a not unsatisfactory contrast to the intensely, 
and to some tastes it may be excessively, literary tone of some of our other 
constituents. There is not the slightest /^^e about Carey : — he is strongly 
distinguished by this from such a person as John Hall, for instance. One 
can well understand how it was that he never published his Poems, and 
can even believe that he never wrote them with much thought of publication. 

One further contrast — an obvious one, no doubt — and we may leave him. 
It is impossible not to set the mental picture of this jovial, careless, and yet 
neither undevout nor heartless abbe, beside that of his interesting, but 
slightly irritating and certainly most ineffectual, brother. Anybody who 
chooses may call Patrick a ' coarser ' nature than Lucius. But if his desire 
to change cowl for sword had been granted ten years earlier than the time 
at which he expressed it, I venture to think that the King would have had 
a more useful soldier, and perhaps not a worse counsellor, than he had in 
Falkland. The clear healthy common-sense — fully capable of keeping 
house with Fancy and even Imagination, as well as with Piety — which this 
little bundle of poetry breathes, would have seen that there were better ways 
of getting Peace than by moping and moaning for it, and that to kill as 
many of the enemy as you could was a nearer duty than to get yourself killed 
( 450 ) 



hitroductioii 

by them. The defect of the seventeenth century quality, in Cavaher and 
Puritan ahke, in Milton just as in Falkland, though no doubt most in 
the Puritan, was a tendency to priggishness, disgustingly avenged by 
the base and brutal reaction of later years. From any such tendency 
* Pat ' Carey (it is Scott who is the foreshortener, and one may follow him 
with no impertinence) is delightfully free, and yet he can be as graceful 
and fanciful as any Metaphysical of them all, as pious as Herbert, and as 
jovial as Cotton. A pair with Milton's Elder and Younger Brother, and 
only a few years later than Cotnus ! ^ 

^ I have kept the spelling ' Car^'y,' though the Falkland branch of that widespread 
and worshipful house is more usually spelt ' Cary.' It will not do to press the date 
1651 too hard. As for the poems of 1771, they are : (i) The ' Triolets,' p. 472 ; (2) 
'The Extortioner's Epitaph,' p. 479 ; (3) Ciux via Coelorwn, p. 474, with a different 
Latin heading; (4) 'The Senses' ('Whilst I beheld'), p. 474; (5) Nugae Lusoriae 
(' Surely now I'm out of danger '), 457 ; (6) ' And can you think,' p. 460 ; (7 j ' Good 
people,' p. 462 ; (8) 'And now a fig,' p. 463 ; (9) ' The Act of Oblivion,' p. 465. 



(45O Gg2 



PED 



CAREY. 

Arms. — Argent, on a bend Sable, three roses of the first. 

Crest. — On a wreath, a Swan with wings elevated Argent, beaked 

Gules, membered Sable. 
Motto. — ' Commeje trouve.^ 



CAREY AN 



Thomas Carey, of Chilton: 
Foliot, Esq., ad son of 
Sir William Carey, of 
Cockington, in co. Devon. 
Knt. 



;Margaret, ad daughter and coheir of 
Sir Robert Spencer, of Spencer Combe, 
in CO. Devon, Knt. by Eleanor his wife, 
sister and coheir of Edmund Beaufort, 
Duke of Somerset. 



Sir John Carey,: 
of Flashy, Knt. 
eldest son and 
heir. 



:Joyce, daughter of Ed- 
ward, and sister of 
Sir Anthony Denny, 
Knt. relict of Wil- 
liam Walsingham, 
Esq. 



William Carey, = 
Esquire of 
the Body to 
Henry VIII, 
2d son. 



:Mary, daughter and co- 
heir of Thomas Bo- 
leyne. Earl of Wilt- 
shire and Ormond, 
sister to Queen Anne 
Boleyne. 



Thomas Care 

3d son. 
EdmondCare 

4th son. 



Sir Edward Carey,= 
Knt. Master of 
the Jewel House 
to Queen Eliza- 
beth and King 
James I. 



■Katharine, daughter of 
Sir Henry Knyvett, 
and relict of Lord 
Henry Pagett. 



Sir Henry Carey, Knt. son=^Anne, daughter 



and heir, created Lord 
Hunsdon, A° i Queen 
Elizabeth, K.G.. Captain 
of the Town of Berwick, 
1587 ; ob. 23 July, 1596, 
aet. 71. 



of Sir Thomas 
Morgan, Knt. 



Sir Henry Carey, Knt.= 
son and heir, cre- 
ated Lord Viscount 
Falkland, 10 Nov. 
1620, Lord Deputy 
of Ireland ; ob. in 
A° 1633. 



:Elizabeth, daughter 
and heir of Sir 
Laurence Tan- 
field, Knt. Chief 
Baron of the Ex- 
chequer. 



1 I 
Sir Robert Carey, Knt, 

created Earl of Mon- 
mouth ; and other 
issue. 



Sir Lucius Carey, Knt. 
eldest son and heir, 
succeeded as Vis- 
count Falkland, &c. 

Laurence Carey, 2d 

son. 
Edmond Carey, 3d son, 

ob. inf. 



I. 
3- 
4- 
5- 
6. 



I I I J I 
Catharine. 
Anne. 
Elizabeth. 
Lucy. 
Mary. 



Victoria, 2d daughter of=pSiR William Uvedai 



Henry Viscount Falk- 
land, Lord Deputy of 
Ireland, 2d wife : — re- 
married Bartholomew 
Price, of Wickham, 
Esq. 



of Wickham, c 
Southampton, Kj 
eldest son and heir. 



Patrick Carey,: 
son of Henry 
Viscount Falk- 
land, Lord 
Deputy of Ire- 
land. 



:Susan, daughter of 
Francis Uvedale, 
of Bishop's Walt- 
ham, Esq. and 
niece of Sir Wil- 
liam of Wick- 
ham. 



William 
Uvedale, 
son and 
heir, ob. 
S. P. 



Victoria, eldest dau. 
of Sir William, and 
coheir of her brother, 
married Sir Richard 
Corbett, of Long- 
nore, co. Salop, 
Bart. 



Elizabeth, 2d da 
coheir to her broth< 
married, ist, SirW 
Ham Berkeley, K 
who died S.P. ; 2nd 
Edward Howard, : 
cond Earl of Carlis 



Edward Carey, 
only son, 
1677. 



Anne, 

aet. II, 
1677. 



I I I 
Dowse, Elizabeth, 

and Elizabeth, 

ob. inf. 



GREE 



UVEDALE 



UVEDALE. 

Arms. — Argent, a cross mqline Gules. 

Crest. — A chapeau Azure, turned up Ermine. On 
the dexter side, an Ostrich Plume Ar- 
gent, and another on the sinister Gules. 

Motto. — ' Tani que je pitis.^ 

Sir William Uvedale, of Wickham, co.:::^Dorothy, dau. of 
Southampton, Knt., Treasurer of the Thomas Troys, 

Esq. remarried 
to Edmund, 
Lord Howard. 



King's Privy Chamber ; and in A" 5 
Henry VIH. one of the Justices to 
inquire of treasons in Salop. 



Mary, eldest daughter, 
married Sir John 
Delaval of Seaton 
Delaval, co. North- 
umberland, Knt. 



Margaret Carey, 
2d daughter. 



Arthur Uvedale,^ 
Esq. son and 
heir. 



:Anne, daughter 
of Edmond 
Hazlewood, 
of Northamp- 
tonshire. 



Catherine, only=Sir Francis Knollys, 
daughter. Knt. 



William Uvedale, =pEllen, daughter of 



L 



of Wickham, co. 
Southampton, 
Esq. son and 
heir. 



Sir John Gres- 
ham, Knt., Al- 
derman of Lon- 
don. 



3ir Edmond Carey, Knt.^Mary, daughter 
3d son ; mar. adly, Eli- and heir of 
zabeth, daughter and co- 
heir of John Neville, 
Lord Latimer, relict of 
Sir John Danvers, Knt. 



Sir William Uvedale, z;:Mary, eldest dau. 



Christopher 
Cocker, Esq. 



of Wickham, co. 
Southampton, and 
of Chelsham Court, 
CO. Surrey, Knt. ob. 
13 or 14 King 
James L 



of Sir Richard 
Norton, of Ro- 
therfield, and of 
East Tisted, co. 
Southampton, 
Knt. 



:Anne, daughter 
of Sir Ed- 
mond Carey, 
Knt. istwife. 



Sir Richard Uvedale, 
of Droxford, co. 
Southampton, Knt. 
2d son, ob. S. P. M. 



Francis Uvedale, of:=pAnne, daughter and 
Bishops Waltham, coheir of Christo 



CO. Southampton, 
Esq. 3d son. 



pher Hearst, of 
Winchester, B.D. 



William Uvedale, 
died S. P, 



William ist, and 

William 2d, sons 

died young. 



William Uvedale,=pElizabeth, dau. and 



of Horton, co. 
Dorset, living, 
set. 40, 1677. 



coheir of Giles 
Dowse, Esq. by 
Eliz. dau. and co- 
heir of Hampden 
Paulett, Esq. 



Richard Uvedale, 
2d surviving 
son. 



Victoria, 
aet. 4, 
1677. 



William Uvedale, eldest 
son, and heir apparent^ 
aet. 9, 1677. 



I I 
Francis, 

Edmund, 

ob. inf. 



Thomas Uvedale, 
3et. I. 



I 



Introduction 



[By Sir Walter Scott. — Ed.] 



Some specimens from the poems of 
Patrick Carey were published by the 
present possessor of the manuscript in 
the Edt7iburgh Annual Register for the 
year 1810. As they have attracted, 
from time to time, the notice of our 
poetical antiquaries, the Editor has 
been induced to place them beyond the 
chance of total olslivion, by the present 
very limited edition. His researches 
have enabled him to add nothing to 
what is stated in the Register^ of which 
the substance follows: — 

The reader is here introduced to a 
Bard of the seventeenth century, as 
staunch a cavalier, and nearly as good 
a poet, as the celebrated Colonel Love- 
lace, 

With whisker, band, and pantaloon. 
And ruff composed most duly. 

Of the poems of this forgotten 
writer, only one manuscript copy is 
known to exist. It was presented by 
Mr. John Murray, of Albemarle Street, 
to Mr. Walter Scott, the present pos- 
sessor, and it is from this single copy 
that we can extract anything concern- 
ing the author, Patrick Carey, who 
appears to have been a gentleman, 
a loyalist during the civil war, a lawyer, 
and a rigid High-Churchman, if not 
a Roman Catholic. The volume is 
a small duodecimo, written in a very 
neat hand, (the author's autograph,) is 
perfect, and in tolerable good order, 
though scribbled on the blank leaves, 
and stripped of its silver clasps and 
ornaments. It is divided into two 
parts. The first bears this title, — 



' Triviall Ballads, writt here in 
obedience toMRSTOMKlNScommands, 
by Fatr. Carey, 165 1 , August the 20th. ' 
The second part consists of hymns, 
original and translated, and other 
religious poems. It is separated from 
the first part, being written at the other 
end of the book, and has a different 
title-page, bearing the following text, 
placed above a helmet and a shield : — 
' I will Sing unto the Lord.' — Psalm 
xiii. verse 6. There is no crest on the 
helmet, or proper distinction of colour 
in the shield, which bears what heralds 
call a cross anchoree, or a cross moline, 
with a motto, Tant que je puis. Be- 
neath the motto is a rose, and the date, 
Warnefurd, 165 1. These particulars 
may possibly assist some English 
antiquary in discovering the family of 
Patrick Carey. These devotional pieces 
are ornamented with small emblemati- 
cal vignettes, very neatly drawn with 
a pen. 

It does not appear that Carey's 
poems were ever printed. They are 
of that light fugitive nature, which a 
man of quick apprehension and ready 
expression throws forth hastily on 
temporary subjects for the amusement 
of society. The proprietor of an unique 
manuscript is apt to over-rate its 
intrinsic merit ; and yet the Editor 
cannot help being of opinion, that 
Carey's playfulness, gaiety, and ease of 
expression, both in amatory verses and 
political satire, entitle him to rank 
considerably above the' mob of gentle- 
men who write with ease.' 

Abbotsford, April i, 181 9. 



( 454 ) 



BALLADES 



An Octave 
Madame, 

I blush, but must obey. You'll have it so ; 

And one such word of yours, stops all excuse : 

Yet (pray) be sure that you let others know 

How you, not pride, did me to this induce ; 

Else, when to any these harsh rimes you show, 

They'll suffer many a flout ; I, much abuse : 

Since 'tis acknowledg'd that they here have place, 
Not for their worth, but merely through your grace. 

PATR. CAREY. 



To the Tune — * Once I lov'd a Maiden Fair,' &c. 



Fair one ! if thus kind you be, 

Yet intend a slaughter, 

Faith, you'll lose your pains with 

me, 
Elsewhere seek hereafter : 
Though your looks be sharp, and 

quick, 
Think not (pray) to drill me ; 
Love, perchance, may make me 

sick, 
But will never kill me. * 

II 
Were my mistress ne'er so brown, j 
Yet, if kind, Fd prize her; jo I 



Who 's most fair, if she but frown, 
I shall soon despise her : 
I love kindness, and not face ; 
Who scorns me, I hate her : 
Courtesy gives much more grace, 
In my mind, than feature. 

Ill 
Red and white adorn the cheek 
Less by far, than smiling ; 
That 's the beauty I most seek, 
That charm 's most beguiling. 20 
Fair one ! now you know my mind 
See if th' humour take you ; 
I shall love you, whilst y' are kind ; 
When y' are not, forsake you. 



To the Tune — * I'll do by thee as ne'er was done ' 



' The Ermine is without all spot, 

And harmless is the dove ; 

The lamb is innocent, but not 

Like to my chastest love : 

So pure a flame did never shine 

From any breast before ; 

And (trust me) such an one as mine 

Thou'lt never meet with more. 

(455) 



II 
Hadst thou accepted of my heart, 
And us'd it well awhile ; 10 

Hadst thou but sweet'ned all its smart 
With one poor word, one smile ; 
Nay, hadst thou not, with angry scorn. 
Bid it thenceforth give o'er ; 
It would not then have thus forborne, 
'T had lov'd thee evermore. 



Patrick Carey 



III 



20 



But since thou didst my love requite 
With so much coy disdain, 
Pretending that thy honour might 
From thence receive some stain, 
My wronged heart (being innocent) 
Broke all the chains it wore ; 
And vow'd, to give thee full con 

tent. 
It ne'er would love thee more.' 



IV 



Thus to a cruel shepherdess 

A poor sad shepherd sung ; 

He wept (such grief could do no 

less), 
His pipe away he flung : 
Then rising, for her hand he strove, 
Kiss'd his last kiss, and swore 30 
That from that time, to her of love 
He'd never speak word more. 



To the Tune — ' I would give Twenty Pound,' &c. 



There's no woman, but I'm caught 
Whilstshe looks with kind eyes on me; 
If I love not then, the fault 
Is unjustly cast upon me : 
They are to be blam'd, not I, 
If with freedom still I hover ; 
Were I us'd but courteously 
I should soon become a lover. 

II 
Did I any one exclude 
For her dye, or for her feature, 10 
I should grant myself a rude 
Mannerless, hard-hearted creature : 



But since I except 'gainst none 
By whom I am not contemned, 
If I can't find such an one, 
Pray tell, who 's to be condemned ? 

Ill 
Not by frowns, but smiles, my heart, 
(I declare 't) is to be chained ; 
On fair terms with it I'll part. 
But by foul 'twill ne'er be gained : 20 
Take then other tasks in hand 
You, who lour, and scorn to crave 

it; 
But who 's kind shall it command, 
And for th' asking she shall have it. 



To the Tune of 'Bobbing Joan' 



I ne'er yet saw a lovely creature 
(Were she a widow, maid, or wife) 
But straight within my breast her 

feature 
Was painted, strangely to the life : 
If out of sight 
(Though ne'er so bright) 
I straightways lost her picture quite. 

II 
It still was mine, and others' wonder 
To see me court so eagerly ; 
Yet soon as absence did me sunder 
From those I lov'd, quite cur'd 

was I. II 

The reason was 
That my breast has 
Instead of heart, a looking-glass. 

(456) 



And 



III 
forms 



which lately 



were 



as those 

shined 
r th' glass, are easily defac'd ; 
Those beauties so, which 

enshrined 
Within my breast, are soon displac'd : 
Both seem as they 
Would ne'er away ; 20 

Yet last, but whilst the lookers stay. 

IV 

Then let no woman think that ever 

In absence I shall constant prove ; 

Till some occasion does us sever 

I can, as true as any, love : 

But when that we 

Once parted be, 

Troth, I shall court the next I see. 



Ballades 



To the Tune of ' Troy Town ' 



Fair beauties ! If I do confess 
Myself inconstant in my drink, 
You ought not to love me the less, 
I say but that which most men think : 
And (troth) there is less hurtful art 
In alight tongue, than a false heart. 

II 
Some use to swear that you will find 
Nothing but truth within their 

breasts ; 
Yet waver more than does the wind, 
When in a tempest least it rests ; lo 
Nought of my thoughts I say to 

you. 
But what you'll find to be most 
true. 

Ill 

More than I promise, I'll perform ; 
They give you oaths, but keep them 
not : 



You build i' th' air, whenas you form 
False hopes on vows long since for- 
got. 
Leave, leave them, then, and 

deal with me, 
So you will ne'er deceived be. 

IV 

Fairly beforehand I declare, 
That when I'm weary, I shall leave : 
Forewarned thus, you'll be aware, 21 
Whilst falser men would ye deceive : 

Besides, in this I nothing do 

But what I'd swear you will do too. 
v 
When of your love I weary grow. 
Before I change, I'll tell you on 't ; 
Do you the same when you are so, 
And give me time to think upon't; 

Elsewhere I soon shall place my 
heart, 

Then, kindly we'll shake hands, 
and part. 30 



To the Tune — ' But I fancy Lovely Nancy,' &c. 



Surely now I'm out of danger, 
And no more need fear my heart ; 
Who loves thus to be a ranger, 
Ne'er will fix in any part ; 
All the graces 
Of fair faces 

I have seen, and yet am free : 
I like many, but not any 
Shall subdue my libertee. 

II 
Annewas once thewordwhichmoved 
Most my heart, I'll it avow ; 1 1 

Twelve at least so call'd, I've loved, 
But I care not for them now : 
Yet if ever 
I endeavour 

For a mistress, that's her name ; 
These are fancies, 



But with Nancies 

Luckiest still hath been my flame. 

Ill 
With three Betties I was taken ; 
Yet no more, than whilst in sight 
One of them is now forsaken. 
And her sister has her right. 
T'other 's pretty, 
But (what pity !) 
In a castle she is penn'd : 
The third plenty 
Has for twenty, 
But she 's courted by my friend. 

IV 

Lucies there are two ; for beauty, 
Virtue, wit, beyond compare : 
Th' one's too high for love, 

duty 
I respect, but no more dare : 



20 



.^o 



m 



30 A certain class of critics would draw morals from ' shake hands and part' at the 
end here, and 'kiss and part' at the beginning of the great sonnet in Idea, as to 
the spirits of the times. 

9 libertee] I could not but keep this spelling. 

( 457 ) 



Patrick Carey 



As for t'other, 

Though a mother 

(As I take 't) to half a score ; 

Had she tarried 

To be married, 

She'd have had one suitor more. 

V 

I know two, and each a Mary, 40 

One 's the greatest of this land : 

Th' Oxford-vintner made me wary 

Least I should a-gazing stand. 

Though I like her, 

Most unlike her 

Is the second ; and I swear, 

Had her portion 

Some proportion 

With my wants, I'd marry there. 

VI 

Katherne has a lip that 's ruddy, 50 

Swelling so, it seems to pout 5 

How to kiss her I did study, 

But could never bring 't about. 

Beauteous Frances 

Loves romances. 

But (alas !) she 's now a wife ; 

She makes verses, 

And rehearses 

With great grace Primaleon's life. 

VII 

Doll has purest breasts much whiter 
Than their milk, but naked still; 61 



That 's the reason why I slight her. 

For I'd seen them to my fill. 

Jane is slender, 

But God send her 

Less opinion of her race ! 

Nell's so spotted 

That sh' has blotted 

Almost out, her little face. 

VIII 

Peg is blithe ; but O she tattles ; 70 

Nothing 's so demure as Ruth. 

Susan's head is full of rattles, 

Rachel preacheth well, in truth. 

Were not Tolly 

Melancholy, 

She hath parts I most could prize : 

Amorous Sophy 

Rears no trophy 

On my heart, with her grey eyes. 

IX 

Thus I still find somewhat wanting, 
Always full of ifs, or ands ; 81 

Where there 's beauty, money 's 

scanting ; 
Something still my choice withstands. 
'Tis my fortune, 
I'll importune 

With no my prayers my destiny : 
If I'm scorned, 
I'm not horned ; 
That 's some joy in misery. 



To the Tune of ' The Heahhs ' 



Come, faith, since I'm parting, and that God knows when 
The walls of sweet Wickham I shall see again ; 
Let 's e'en have a frolic, and drink like tall men. 
Till heads with healths go round. 

41 One's the greatest] Henrietta Maria, of course. She was ^see Introd.) a 
patroness of Carey's. 

42 The fate of the ' Oxford vintner' is still a m3'stery to me, though I have made 
many inquiries. 

50 Katherne] This also must be kept. The form is sometimes rhymed to ' pattern ' 
or ' slattern,' according to the circumstances. 

59 Primaleon] The first of the famous Pahnerin series of lihros de caballerias, and 
sometimes used for the whole as * Amadis ' is of the other. 

74 Tolly] What is this short for ? Victoria ? see Introd. 

80 ' Some want, some coldness,' W. Morris, The Hill of Venus (in a similar review). 

86 Sic in orig. If correct it must = ' with no prayers of mine.' The whole piece 
reminds one, of course, of Cowley, but has sufficient difference. 

2 Wickham] See Introd. 

(458) 



Ballades 



11 

And first to Sir William, I'll take't on my knee 
He well doth deserve that a brimmer it be : 
More brave entertainments none ere gave than he ; 
Then let his health go round. 

Ill 
Next to his chaste lady, who loves him alife ; 
And whilst we are drinking to so good a wife, lo 

The poor of the parish will pray for her life ; 
Be sure her health go round. 

IV 

And then to young Will, the heir of this place ; 
He'll make a brave man, you may see't in his face; 
I only could wish we had more of the race ; 
At least let his health go round. 

V 

To well-grac'd Victoria the next room we owe ; 
As virtuous she'll prove as her mother, I trow, 
And somewhat in housewifery more she will know ; 

O let her health go round ! 20 

VI 

To plump Bess, her sister, I drink down this cup : 
Birlackins (my masters) each man must take 't up ; 
'Tis foul play (I bar it) to simper and sup, 
When such a health goes round. 

VII 

And now helter-skelter to th' rest of the house. 
The most are good fellows, and love to carouse ; 
Who 's not, may go sneak-up ; he 's not worth a louse, 
That stops a health i' th' round. 

VIII 

To th' clerk, so he'll learn to drink in the morn ; 
To Heynous, that stares when he has quaft up his horn ; 30 
To Philip, by whom good ale ne'er was forlorn ; 
These lads can drink a round. 

IX 

John Chandler ! come on, here 's some warm beer for you ; 
A health to the man that this liquor did brew : 
Why, Hewet ! there 's for thee ; nay, take 't, 'tis thy due. 
But see that it go round. 

5 Sir William] His brother-in-law and his wife's uncle. 

9 lady] His sister Victoria. alife] 'As her life,' 'dearly.' Used by all the 
great dramatists. 

13 Will] His uncle's wish (see Pedigree) was not to be granted. 

17 Victoria] Afterwards Lady Corbett. 

21 Bess] Carey's enthusiasm for his niece seems to have been shared by younger 
men, for she became not merely Lady Berkeley but Countess of Carlisle. 

30 Heynous, &c.] Here we come to ' Henry Pimpernel and old John Naps of 
Greece.' 

( 459 ) 



Patrick Carey 



Hot Coles is on fire, and fain would be quench'd ; 
As well as his horses the groom must be drench'd ; 
Who's else? let him speak, if his thirst he'd have stench'd. 
Or have his health go round. 40 

XI 

And now to the women, who must not be coy. 
A glass, Mistress Gary, you know 's but a toy ; 
Come, come. Mistress Sculler, no pardonnez moy. 
It must, it must go round. 

XII 

Dame Nell, so you'll drink, we'll allow [you] a sop. 
Up with 't, Mary Smith ; in your draught never stop. 
Law ! there now, Nan German has left ne'er a drop, 
And so must all the round. 

XIII 

Jane, Joan, Goody Lee, great Meg, and the less, 
Ye must not be squeamish, but do as did Bess : 50 

How th' others are nam'd, if I could but guess, 
I'd call them to the round. 

XIV 

And now, for my farewell, I drink up this quart ; 
To you, lads and lasses, e'en with all my heart : 
May I find ye ever, as now when we part, 
Each health still going round. 



To the Tune — ' I'll tell thee, Dick, that I have been,' &c. 



And can you think that this trans- 
lation 
Will benefit at all our nation. 
Though fair be the pretence ? 
'Tis meet, you say, that in the land 
Each one our laws should understand, 
Since we are govern'd thence. 



II 
But tell me, pray, if ever you 
Read th' English of Watt Montague, 
Is 't not more hard than French ? 
And yet that will much easier be 10 
Than the strange gibb'ring mish- 
mash, we 
Shall henceforth hear at th' Bench. - 



Professor 



39 stench'd] This for 'stanch' is rather a Hberty, though dialectic. 
Wright's examples are all Northern. 

42 Mistress Gary] Patrick and Victoria (see Pedigree) had no less than four sisters, 
of whom this may be one. 

45 sop] In the ordinary sense ? — or = ' sup ' (cf. 1. 23"1, i. e. a ' sip ' — leaving a heel- 
tap? 

I See Scott's Note 11. The mixture of wit and common-sense in this piece is 
very agreeable : but I think Sir Walter is wrong in seeing [Roman] Catholicism in 
St. II seq. as a matter of necessity. Carey, we know (and he did not) was a Roman 
Catholic at one time : but the conversion to which Evelyn refers may have taken 
place. A very good ./^w^/o-Catholic (especially just after chipping the shell), in the 
triumphant orgy of ultra-Protestant sects, might question whether the translation of 
the Bible had not had its questionable side. 

8 See i. 325. Montague and Carey were rather similarly circumstanced. 

(460) 



Ballades 



III 

For from the laws whilst French we'd 

banish, 
We shall bring in Italian, Spanish, 
And forty nations more ; 
Who'll then peruse the text, must know 
Greek, Latin, Dutch, both High and 

Low, 
With Hebrew too, before. 

IV 

Because i' th' Greek there 's chang'd 

a letter, 
That they can understand it better, 
Fools only will pretend ; 21 

As he, who did himself persuade 
That he spoke Latin, cause he made 
In bus each word to end. 

V 

But had we English words enough. 
Yet ought we never to allow 
This turning of our laws : 
Much less t' admit that at the bar, 
The merchand, clown, or man of war, 
Should plead (forsooth) his cause. 30 

VI 

Words may be common, clear, and 

pure. 
Yet still the sense remain obscure, 
And we as wise, as when 
We should some long oration hear, 
Which in a new-found language were 
Ne'er heard by us till then. 

VII 

'Twas not the language, 'twas the 

matter 
(But that we love ourselves to flatter) 
That most times darkness brung : 
Some questions in philosophy, 40 
To puzzle scholars would go nigh, 
Though put in any tongue. 

VIII 

The shoemaker, beyond the shoe 
Must not presume to have to do, 
A painter said of old : 
He said aright ; for each man ought 
To meddle with the craft he 's taught. 
And be no farther bold. 



IX 

What th' anchor is, few ploughmen 

know; 
Sailors can't tell what means gee-ho ; 
Terms proper hath each trade : 51 
Nay, in our very sports, the bowler. 
The tennis-player, huntsman, fowler, 
New names for things have made. 

X 

So words i' th' laws are introduc'd 
Which common talk has never us'd ; 
And therefore sure there 's need 
That the gown'd tribe be set apart 
To learn by industry this art. 
And that none else may plead. 60 

XI 

Our Church still flourishing w' had 

seen 
If th' holy-writ had ever been 
Kept out of laymen's reach ; 
But, when 'twas English'd, men half- 
witted. 
Nay women too, would be permitted 
T' expound all texts, and preach. 

XII 

Then what confusion did arise ! 
Cobblers divines 'gan to despise, 
So that they could but spell : 
This ministers to scorn did bring ; 70 
Preaching was held an easy thing, 
Each one might do 't as well. 

XIII 

This gulf church-government did 

swallow ; 
And after will the civil follow, 
When laws translated are : 
For ev'ry man that lists, will prattle ; 
Pleading will be but twittle-twattle, 
And nought but noise at bar. 

XIV 

Then let 's e'en be content t' obey. 
And to believe what judges say. So 
Whilst for us, lawyers brawl : 
Though four or five be thence un- 
done, 
'Tis better have some justice done, 
Than to have none at all. 



29 merchand] The form seems worth keeping. 

39 brung] I like this : and it appears (see Dial. Diet.) to be genuinely Irish. 
Carey had some right to use it. 

(461) 



So 



Patrick Carey 



To the Tune — 'That we may row with my P. over 

y^ Ferry ' 

I 
Good people of England ! come hear me relate 
Some mysteries of our young purse-sucking state, 
Whereby ev'ry man may conceive out of's pate 
A reason for things here ordained of late. 

Heigh down, down, dei-ry deny down, 

Heigh down, down derry ! 

What e'er the state resolves, let iis he merry. 

II 
French claret was banish'd (as most do suppose) 
'Cause Noll would have nought here so red as his nose; 
Or else 'cause its crimson from thence first arose : 
T has took our wine from us, would 'twere in my hose. 

Heigh doivn, down, Sfc. 

Ill 
Since that, he most bravely himself did entrench, 
Beleaguer'd, and took (as he thought) a Scotch wench ; 
But by th' tott'ring of's toter, he has found she was French ; 
And therefore that tongue is now silenc'd at th' Bench. 

Heigh dotvn, down, 4^. 

IV 

His wrath 'gainst th' whole nation I cannot much blame, 
Since by 't was endanger'd a nose of such fame ; 
That 's England's great standard, and doth more inflame 
You people, than e'er did that at Nottingham. 

Heigh down, dotvn, SjC. 

v 
Noll ! e'en turn to Hebrew the laws of our land, 
For (howsoe'er) we never shall them understand ; 
But th' Act of forbidding French wines countermand, 
Oddsniggs else we'll piss out thy fuming firebrand. 

Heigh down, dow7t, derry derry down ! 

Heigh down, down derry ! 

Till claret be restored, let us drink sherry. 



10 



20 



To the Tune— 'Will, and Tom,' &c. 



l^ICK 

Jack 1 nay, prithee, come away. 
This is no time for sadness ; 
Pan's chief feast is kept to-day. 
Each shepherd shows his gladness 
AV'are to meet all on the green, 
To dance and sport together; 

what brav'ry will be seen ! 

1 hope 'twill prove fair weather. 

(462) 



II 
Look, I've got a new suit on ; 9 
Say, man ! how likest the colour ? 
Will't not take Nell's eyes anon? 
All greens than this are duller. 
Mark how trimm'd up is my hook, 
This ribbon was Nell's favour : 
Jack ! the wench has a sweet 

look, 
ril die but what I will have her. 



Ballades 



III 

JACK 

Dick, e'en go alone for me ; 
By Nell thou art expected : 
I no love have there to see, 
Of all I am rejected. 20 

At my rags each maid would flout, 
If seen with such a shiner ; 
No,' I'll ne'er set others out ; 
I'll stay till I am finer. 

IV 

Shall I go to sit alone, 

Scorn'd e'en by Meg o' th' dairy? 

Whilst proud Tom lies hugging 

Joan, 
And Robin kisses Mary? 
Shall I see my rival Will 
Receive kind looks from Betty ? 30 
Both of them I'd sooner kill : 
At thought on't, Lord, how fret I ! 

V 

'Cause he has a flock of sheep, 
And is an elder brother ; 
'Cause (poor hireling !) those I keep 
Belong unto another, 
I must lose what 's mine by right. 
And let the rich fool gain her : 
I'll at least keep out of sight. 
Since hopeless e'er t' obtain her. 40 

VI 
DICK 

Courage, man, thy case is not 
So bad as thou dost take it : 
Yet 'tis ill ; could I (God wot !), 
Much better would I make it. 



He is rich : thou, poor ; 'twere 

much 
Wert thou preferr'd by a woman ; 
Women, though, keep sometimes 

touch, 
But (sooth) 'tis not so common. 

VII 

ThoU; unto thy pipe can'st sing 
Love-songs of thine own making ; 
He, nor that, nor anything 51 

Knows how to do, that 's taking. 
She did love thee once, and swore 
Ne'er (through her fault) to lose 

thee ; 
If she keep her oath, before 
The richer, she will choose thee. 

VIII 
JACK 

Never, never, 'las ! such oaths 
Have force for but few hours ; 
If she lik'd once, now she loathes ; 
And smiles no more, but lowers. 60 
Scarce his suit had he applied, 
But she lov'd me no longer: 
Soon my faith she 'gan deride : 
For wealth, than faith, is stronger. 

IX 

Farewell, shepherd, then. Be gone ; 
The feast no stay here brooketh : 
Prithee, mark Bess there anon. 
If kind on Will she looketh. 
Who loves truly, loves to hear 
Tales, that increase his fire ; 70 
I, alas ! bad tidings fear, 
And yet for news inquire. 



To the Tune — ' But that ne'er troubles me, Boys,' &c. 



And now a fig for th' lower house ; 
The army I do set at nought : 
I care not for them both a louse ; 
For spent is my last groat, boys, 
For spent is my last groat. 



II 
Delinquent I'd not fear to be, 
Though 'gainst the cause and Noll 

I'd fought ; 
Since England 's nowa state most free, 
For who 's not worth a groat, boys, 
For who 's not worth a groat. 10 



22 shiner] This word has several dialect senses (see Dial. Did. , which would do : 
(i) a clever fellow (ironically), (2) a knave, (3) a sweetheart. Is it here ' one whose 
clothes are worn threadbare and shine' ? Or is Dick, with his fine clothes, the shiner? 

(463) 



Patrick Carey 



III 



I'll boldly talk, and do, as sure 
By pursuivants ne'er to be sought ; 
'Tis a protection most secure. 
Not to be worth a groat, boys, 
Not to be worth a groat. 

IV 

I should be soon let loose again 
By some mistake if I were caught ; 
For what can any hope to gain 
From one not worth a groat, boys, 
From one not worth a groat. 20 

V 

Nay, if some fool should me accuse, 
And I unto the bar were brought ; 
The judges audience would refuse, 
I being not worth a groat, boys, 
I being not worth a groat. 

VI 

Or if some raw one should be bent 
To make me in the air to vault, 
The rest would cry, he 's innocent. 



He is not worth a groat, boys, 

He is not worth a groat. 30 

VII 

Ye rich men, that so fear the state, 
This privilege is to be bought ; 
Purchase it then at any rate, 
Leave not yourselves a groat, boys, 
Leave not yourselves a groat. 

VIII 

The parliament which now does sit 
(That all may have it, as they ought) 
Intends to make them for it fit. 
And leave no man a groat, boys, 
And leave no man a groat. 40 

IX 

Who writ this song, would little care 
Although at th' end his name were 

wrought ; 
Committee-men their search may 

spare. 
For spent is his last groat, boys. 
For spent is his last groat. 



The Country Life. To a French tune 



I 

Fondlings ! keep to th' city, 

Ye shall have my pity ; 

But my envy, not : 

Since much larger measure 

Of true pleasure 

I'm sure 's in the country got. 

II 
Here 's no din, no hurry, 
None seeks here to curry 
Favour, by base means : 
Flatt'ry 's hence excluded; 10 

He 's secluded 

Who speaks aught, but what he 
means. 

Ill 
Though your talk, and weeds be 
Glittering, yet your deeds be 
Poor, we them despise : 
Silken are our actions, 
And our pactions. 
Though our coats and words be frize. 

(464) 



IV 

Here 's no lawyer brawling ; 

Rising poor, rich falling ; 20 

Each is what he was ; 

That we have, enjoying ; 

Not annoying 

Any good, another has. 

V 

There y' have ladies gaudy ; 

Dames, that can talk bawdy ; 

True, w' have none such here : 

Yet our girls love surely. 

And have purely 

Cheeks unpainted, souls most clear. 

VI 

Sweet, and fresh our air is ; 31 

Each brook cool, and fair is ; 
On the grass we tread : 
Foul 's your air, streets, water ; 
And thereafter 

Are the lives which there you 
lead. 



Ballades 



VII 

Not our time in drenching, 

Cramming, gaming, wenching, 

Here we cast away : 

Yet we too are jolly ; 40 

Melancholy 

Comes not near us, night nor day. 

VIII 

Scarce the morn is peeping 
But we straight leave sleeping, 
From our beds we rise : 
To the fields then hie we, 
And there ply we 
Wholesome, harmless exercise. 

IX 

Each comes back a winner ; 

Each brings home his dinner, 50 

Which was first his sport : 

And upon it feasting. 

Toying, jesting, 

W' envy not your cates at court. 

X 

Th' afternoons we lose not, 
Idleness we choose not, 



But are still employ'd : 

Dancers some, some bowlers, 

Some are fowlers, 

Some in angling most are joy'd. 60 

XI 

Th' evening homewards brings us, 

Whither hunger wings us \ 

Ready soon 's our food : 

Spare, light, sweet to th' palate, 

And a sallet 

To refresh our heated blood, 

XII 

Pleasantly then talking 

Forth we go a walking ; 

Thence return to rest : 

No sad dream encumbers 70 

Our sweet slumbers ; 

Innocence thus makes us blest. 

XIII 

Keep now, keep to th' city 

Fondlings ! y' have my pity, 

But my envy, not : 

Since much larger measure 

Of true pleasure 

You see 's in the country got. 



To the Tune — * And will you now to Peace incline,' &c. 



The parliament ('tis said) resolv'd, 
That, sometime ere they were 

dissolv'd, 
They'd pardon each delinquent : 
And that (all past scores to forget) 
Good store of Lethe they did get, 
And round about that drink went. 

II 
If so, 'tis hard. For th' have forgot 
All thought o'th'act, 'tis true, but not 
One crime that can be heard on : 
So that 'tis likely they'll constrain 10 
Malignants to compound again. 
In lieu o' th' nois'd out pardon. 

Ill 
This comes of hoping to sit still : 
By this we find, 'twas not good will, 
But fear, that caus'd their pity. 

64 palate] Orig. 'palleU.' 

28-30 Goldsmith'' s Hall was the head-quarters of the Committee for Compounding 
to save estates from sequestration. Haberdasher s Hall was used for the same or 

II. ( 465 ) H h 



How sweet, how fair, they spoke of 

late! 
What benefits both Church and State 
Should reap from each committee ! 

IV 

The country for its faith was prais'd ; 
No more the great tax should be 
rais'd ; 20 

Arrears should all be quitted : 
Our everlasting parliament 
Would now give up its government ; 
A new mould should be fitted. 

V 

Th' Act of Oblivion should come out. 
And we no longer held in doubt ; 
Religion should be stated : 
Goldsmith's, and Haberdasher's Hall, 
No longer should affright us all. 
Nor Drury House be hated. 30 



Patrick Carey 



VI 

F'ear made them promise this, and 

more, 
But now they think the storm is 

o'er, 
Not one word is observed : 
The soldier, full of discontent, 
To Ireland for 's arrears is sent ; 
The tax is still conserved. 

VII 

Th' Act of Oblivion 's laid aside ; 
Sects multiply and subdivide, 
'Gainst which no order 's taken : 
And for th' new representative, 40 
Faith (for my part) I'd e'en as live 
The thought on't were forsaken. 



VIII 

Th' except 'gainst this, th' except 

'gainst that ; 
They'll have us choose, but only what 
Shall square with their direction : 
They do so straightly wedge us in, 
That if we choose not them again, 
They'll make void our election. 

fX 

Cromwell ! a promise is a debt. 
Thou mad'st them say, they would 
forget, 50 

O make them now remember ! 
If they their privileges urge ; 
Once more this House of Office purge, 
And scour out every member. 



To a French Tune 



10 



Those he ever after bore : 

Since the Gods do wear them then. 

Why should they be scorn'd by men ? 

v 
'Cause great lords are crown'd, you 

guess 
That their heads no horns do bear ; 
Yet, although we see them less, 
Joan ! assure thyself, th' are there : 
Neither learning, strength, nor state 
Can secure us from that fate. 30 

VI 

For one branch the beggar has, 
Forty can the rich man show ; 
Whilst by madame often was 
Th' horner paid, to make them so : 
Cuckold then who fears to be. 
Merits not good company. 

VII 

From such honour, yet awhile 
I'll be kept, by my weak stead : 
But ere long, Joan, thou shalt smile, 
Seeing how my fair horns spread. 40 
For my comfort — cuckolds, Joan, 
I'll make thousands ; be but one. 

a closely connected purpose in 1650 (see Ludlow, ed. Firth, i. 258). Drnry House 
(at any rate, a little later : ibid. ii. 155) was the office for the sale of Royalists' lands. 
The three, in fact, represented successive stages of persecution for 'delinquents.' 
I owe the materials of this note to the Rev. W. Hunt's kindness. 

41 live] = ' lief.' 

3 Lilly] William L., the astrologer (1602-1681), was at the height of his reputation 
at this time. 

(466) 



Speak of somewhat else, I pray 
This year I'll not married be ; 
Lilly, Joan, foretells, they say. 
That horns plenty we shall see : 
This aspect of Capricorn, 
I'll let pass, for fear o' the horn. 

II 
Not that I pretend alone 
To go free, since 'tis i' th' text ; 
Cuckolds shall be every one, 
In this world, or in the next. 
I'd a while keep out o' th' herd ; 
That 's not lost, that is deferr'd. 

Ill 
I've not patience yet enough, 
All my jealousy 's not gone ; 
I'd stay, till my forehead tough 
Felt not, when that cap 's put on : 
Quietly then, with the rest, 
I shall bear the well-known crest. 

IV 

When Jove th' European rape 
Did commit, large horns he wore ; 20 
Though he reassum'd his shape, 



Ballades 



To a French Tune 



A griev'd Countess, that ere long 
Must leave off her sweet-nois'd title ; 
A griev'd Countess, that ere long 
'Mongst the crowd for place may 

throng ; 
In her hand that patent holding 
Which perforce she must bring in, 
Oft with moist eyes it beholding, 
Her complaint thus did begin. 

II 
' Cruel monsters ! do you know 
What a massacre y'have voted ? lo 
Cruel monsters ! do you know 
Th' harm you'll cause at one sad 

blow? 
Uukes, earls, marquises, how many ! 
'Las ! how many a lord and knight, 
Without pity shown to any, 
You'll cut off through bloody spight ! 



Ill 
Fond astrologers, away ! 
You that talk o' th' sun's thick 

darkness ; 
Fond astrologers, away ! 
Y'are mistaken in the day. 20 

Sure you calculate not duly, 
Th' ephemerides else skips ; 
On the twenty-fifth more truly 
Y' ought to place the great eclipse. 

IV 

Our dear-purchas'd honours then 
Will by foggy mists be clouded ; 
Our dear-purchas'd honours then 
Will (alas !) ne'er shine again. 
All my hopes are, that those vapours 
Which extinguish now our light, \o 
Will put out too th' ancient tapers ; 
Since I'm dark, would all were 
night ! ' 



To an Italian Tune 



Poor heart, retire ! 

Her looks deceive thee ; 

Soothe not thy desire 

With hopes she'll receive thee : 

Thyself never flatter ; 

Her smile was no call ; 

'Las ! there 's no such matter, 

She looks thus on all. 

Meant sh' aught by her smiling 

(poor heart, credit me) 
She'd frown on thy rivals ; she'd 

smile but on thee. to 

II 
Thy flames extinguish, 
No more them feeding : 
Learn, learn to distinguish 
'Twixt love and good breeding. 
Fair words are in fashion. 
Thou must not them mind ; 



She spoke not with passion, 

To all she 's as kind. 

Meant sh' aught by those fair words 

(poor heart, credit me) 
She'd speak that dear language to 

none but to thee. 20 

III 

Perhaps she granted 

Some few faint kisses ; 

But ever they wanted 

That which makes them blisses. 

A kiss has no savour. 

If love don't it own, 

I count it no favour 

'Less I kiss alone. 

No kindness obliges (poor heart, 

credit me) 
When t'others it 's granted, as well as 

to thee. 50 



17 Lilly (v. sup.) published his Annus Tenebrosus, with calculations of eclipses, in 

( 467 ) H h 2 



1652. 



Patrick Carey 



To an Italian Tune 



JT 



IS true. I am fetter'd, 
But therein take pleasure : 
My case is much better'd ; 
This chain is a treasure. 
My prison dehghts me ; 
'Tis freedom, that frights me ; 
I hate Hberty : 
I'll not be lamented, 
You'd all be contented 
To have such chains as I. 

II 
When (heretofore flying) 
My loves oft I quitted ; 
I then was a-trying, 
And now I'm fitted. 
I ne'er should have changed, 



lO 



If she (whilst I ranged) 
Had first struck mine eye 
As soon as I met her, 
Enchain me I let her : 
Ye'd all do, as I. 



Ill 



20 



Soft cords made of roses, 

Than mine would more gall me ; 

Her bright hair composes 

Those bonds which enthrall me. 

Now, when she has proved 

How much her I've loved, 

My hopes will soar high : 

Perchance, to retain me, 

Her arms will enchain me ; 

Then who'd not be I ? 30 



To a Spanish Tune, called ' Folias ' 



Cease t' exaggerate your anguish, 
Ye, who for the gout complain ! 
Lovers, that in absence languish, 
Only know, indeed, what 's pain. 



II 



If the choice were in my power, 
Sooner much the rack I'd choose, 
Than, for th' short space of an hour, 
My dear Stella's sight to lose. 



Ill 



Sometimes fear, sometimes desire, 
Seize (by cruel turns) my heart 
Now a frost, and then a fire 
('Las !) I feel in every part. 



10 



IV 

Horrid change of pains ! O leave me, 
With my death else end your spight ! 
Absence doth as much bereave me 
As death can, of her lov'd sight. 

v 
Thus (dear Stella) thy poor lover 
His unlucky fate bemoans; 
Whilst his parting soul does hover 
'Bout his lips : wing'd by sad groans. 

VI 

Yet thou may'st from death reprive 
him; 21 

Love such power to Stella gives : 
With thy sight thou canst revive him ; 
As thou wilt he dies, or lives. 



To the Italian Tune, called 'Girometta' 



O PERMIT that my sadness 
May redeem my offence ! 
Let not words, spoke in madness, 
Prejudice innocence ! 

( 468 ) 



II 



'Twas i' th' heighth of my passion, 
'Las ! I rav'd all the time : 
Not thy wrath, but compassion, 
I deserv'd by my crime. 



Ballades 



III 

Jealous fears, with their thickness, 
Had o'erclouded my brain : lo 

What I spoke in my sickness 
Ne'er remember again. 

IV 

Frantic men may talk treason, 
From all guilt they are free : 
Laws for such as want reason, 
No chastisement decree. 

V 

Sure no tyrant did ever 
Call that tongue to account, 



Which, in time of a fever, 
Tales of plots did recount. 



30 



VI 



Then since none can be heard on 
That e'er punished such faults, 
O refuse not my pardon 
To my past words, or thoughts ! 



VII 



Lo ! as soon as I'm cured, 
I repent, I recant : 
Make me, too, once assured 
That my grace has thy grant. 



To the Tune of — * To Parliament the Queen is gone,* &c. 



This April last a gentle swain 

Went early to the wood ; 

His business was, that he would fain 

His lot have understood. 

'Las ! poor man ! 

Sad and wan 

He was grown, for love of Nan ; 

'Twould him cheer. 

Could he hear 

The sweet nightingale's voice here : 

Wheresoe'er he went, i \ 

Still his ear he bent 

List'ning her to find. 

II 
His friend (it seems) was better 

luck'd. 
And heard one in the park ; 
Whereat by th' sleeve her t'other 

pluck'd, 
And cried, ' Hark ! there 's one ! 

hark ! ' 
Th' honest lad 
Was right glad, 

Thinking now good news t' have had : 
Whilst that he 21 

(Full of glee) 
Listing stood to ev'ry tree, 
Not the nightingall. 
But th' affrighting-all 
Ill-lov'd cuckoo sang 



III 

What tidings this may signify 

I leave to time to tell : 

But (if it were mine own case) I 

Should hope all would go well. 30 

As I guess. 

Faithfulness 

With the cuckoo may express : 

Mark your fill 

When you will, 

Him you'll find in one note still. 

Though men fear him all 

When they hear him call, 

'Tis a lucky bird. 

IV 

Then cheer up, James, and never 
set 40 

False comments on the text : 

If with th' one bird this year th' hast 
met, 

Thou'lt meet with t'other next. 

Do not droop ! 

Nan shall stoop 

To thy lure, though th' cuckoo 
whoop : 

The bird saith 

That thy faith 

Its reward now near-hand hath. 



Never think on't, man ! 
Come, let 's drink to Nan, 
She shall be thine own. 



53 



20 recount] Orig. ' raccount,' and C. may have meant directly to English ' raconter. 
(460) 



Patrick Carey 



To the Tune of 'I'll have my Love, or I'll have on[e]* 



Some praise the brown, and some 

the fair ; 
Some best like black, some flaxen 

hair: 
Some love the tall, and some the 

low ; 
Some choose, who 's quick ; and 

some, who 's slow. 
II 
If in all men one mind did dwell, 
Too many would lead apes in hell : 
But, that no maid her mate may lack, 
For every Joan there is a Jack. 

Ill 
Thus, I have mine own fancy too ; 
And vow, none but the poor to woo ; 
My love shall come (when e'er I 

wed) 1 1 

As naked to the church, as bed. 

IV 

The fair, the chaste, the wisest dame. 
Though nobly born, and of best 

fame, 
(By all the gods,) would ne'er enthrall 
My heart, if she were rich withall. 



I money count as great a fault, 

As poorness is 'mongst others 

thought : 
With thousand goods you'll find 

supplied 
The want of portion in a bride. 20 

VI 

There's no such gag, to still the loud ; 
There's no such curb, to rule the 

proud : 
It never fails to stint all strife ; 
It makes one master of his wife. 

VII 

Should I reveal each good effect, 
(Though poverty now bring neglect,) 
Suitors would throng about the poor, 
Ne'er knocking at the rich maid's 
door. 

VIII 

Then, lest that some should surfeits 

want, 
And others starve the while for 

want, ^-.o 

What rests (the rich not to offend,) 
I'll only tell to some choice friend. 



To the Tune of ' Phillida flouts me ' 



Ned ! she that likes thee now, 
Next week will leave thee ! 
Trust her not, though she vow 
Ne'er to deceive thee ; 
Just so to Tom she swore, 
Yet straight was ranging : 
Thus she'd serve forty more. 
Still she'll be changing. 
Last month I was the man ; 
See, if deny 't she can ; 
Else ask Frank, Joan, or Nan : 
Ned ! faith look to it. 



10 



II 

She'll praise thy voice, thy face ; 
She '11 say, th' art witty ; 
She'll too cry up thy race, 
Thy state she'll pity ; 
She'll sigh, and then accuse 
Fortune of blindness : 
This form she still doth use. 
When she'd show kindness. 
Thou'lt find (if thou but note) 
That t' all she sings one note ; 
I've learn'd her arts by rote : 
Ned ! faith look to it ! 



20 



30 starve] Orig. ' sterve,' 

II Frank] It should be remembered that this abbreviation stood for ' Frances " at 
least as often as for ' Franc/s.' 

(470) 



Ballades 



in 
With scorn, as now on me, 
(Less may'st thou care for 't !) 
Ere long she'll look on thee, 
Thyself prepare for 't. 
The next new face will cast 
Thine out of favour \ 



The winds change not so fast. 
As her thoughts waver : 
If them thou striv'st t' enchain, 
Thereby thou'lt only gain 
Thy labour for thy pain : 
Ned ! faith look to it ! 



30 



To the Tune of ' Francklin's is fled away ' 



Alas ! long since I knew 
What would betide ; 
My hopes ne'er yet spoke true, 
My fears ne'er lied : 
False tales to please my heart. 
Those tell ; those bring me smart. 
But still the truth th' impart. 
Ne'er flatt'ring me. 
II 
Yet I was apt to hear 
Good news though made : i o 

And still would chide my fear, 
When it gainsaid ; 
This made me entertain 
Thoughts which nowprove most vain, 
Believing what so fain 
Id have had true. 



Ill 
I fancied that thy mind 
Was fix'd on me ; 
But ('las !) my love I find 
Contemn'd by thee : 20 

'Cause Id not fear before 
(Fond man !) I must therefore 
Despair now evermore ; 
Sad is my chance. 

IV 

But since thy kindness had 

Part in my fault, 

I know thou wilt be sad 

To see me caught ; 

And, if thou'lt not allow 

Thy love, the next best now 30 

Is, that with pity thou 

Look on my grief. 



31 fast] Scott's text 'aft' : but this is an obvious and not unaccountable misprint. 
10 though made] This odd phrase seems to mean 'though feigned,' ' manufactured." 



(47O 



/ tvill sing unto the Lord. 



-Psalm xiii. vers. 6. 



TRIOLETS^ 



AVoRLDLY designs, fears, hopes, 
farewell ! 

Farewell all earthly joys and cares ! 

On nobler thoughts my soul shall 
dwell, 

^Vorldly designs, fears, hopes, fare- 
well ! 

At quiet, in my peaceful cell, 

I'll think on God, free from your 
snares ; 

Worldly designs, fears, hopes, fare- 
well ! 

Farewell all earthly joys and cares. 
II 

I'll seek my God's law to fulfil, 9 

Riches and power I'll set at nought ; 



Let others strive for them that will, 
I'll seek my God's law to fulfil : 
Lest sinful pleasures my soul kill, 
(By folly's vain delights first caught,) 
I'll seek my God's law to fulfil, 
Riches and power I'll set at nought. 

Ill 
Yes (my dear Lord!) I've found it so ; 
No joys but thine are purely sweet ; 
Other delights come mixt with woe. 
Yes (my dear Lord !) I've found 

it so. 20 

Pleasure at courts is but in show. 
With true content in cells we meet ; 
Yes (my dear Lord !) I've found 

it so. 
No joys but thine are purely sweet. 



O that I had wings like a dove, 

For then would I fly away, and be at rest. — Ps. Iv. vers. 6 -. 



By ambition raised high. 

Oft did I 

Seek (though bruis'd with falls) to fly. 

When I saw the pomp of kings 

Plac'd above, 

I did love 

To draw near, and wish'd for wings. 

II 
All these joys which caught my mind 
Now I find 

To be bubbles, full of wind : 10 

Glow-worms, only shining bright 
When that we 
Blinded be 
By dark folly's stupid night. 



Ill 
Looking up then I did go 
To and fro. 

When indeed they were below : 
For now that mine eyes see clear, 
Fair no more 

Small and poor, 20 

Far beneath me they appear. 

IV 

But a nobler light I spy. 

Much more high 

Than that sun which shines i' th' sky : 

Since it 's sight, all earthly things 

I detest ; 

There to rest, 

Give, O give me the dove's wings ! 

' This title (see Introd.), while proper enough for the opening piece, has no great 
appropriateness to the whole section. 

22 One can hardly help pointing out that C. had not found this lauded ' content in 
cells.' 

- Observe that he quotes the A.V. and not the Vulgate. 

I It is fair to observe that this piece is not mere copj'book morality, or 'sour grapes.' 
C, as a Pope's favourite, had ' drawn near the pomp of kings.' 

( 472 ) 



Ti^iolets 



Servire Deo Regnare est 

I 

Are these the things I sigh'd for so, before? 
For want of these, did I complain of Fate? 
It cannot be. Sure there was somewhat more 
That I saw then, and priz'd at a true rate ; 
Or a strange dullness had obscur'd my sight, 
And even rotten wood glitters i' th' night. 

11 
Mine eyes were dim, I could no nearer get ; 
This trash was with its most advantage plac'd : 
No marvel then, if all my thoughts were set 
On folly, since it seem'd so fairly grac'd. lo 

But now that I can see, and am got near, 
Ugly (as 'tis indeed) it doth appear. 

Ill 
Now, were I put on th' Erithrean sands, 
I would not stoop the choicest jew'ls to take : 
Should th' Indian bring me gold in fulfiU'd hands, 
I would refuse all offers he could make. 
Gems are but sparkling froth, natural glass ; 
Gold 's but gilt clay, or the best sort of brass. 

IV 

Long since (for all his monarchy) that bee 

Which rules in a large hive, I did despise: ao 

A mole-hill's chiefest ant I laugh'd to see, 

But any prince of men I much did prize. 

The world now seems to me no bigger then 

Mole-hill, or hive; ants, bees, no less than men. 

V 

Who wishes then for power, or plenty craves, 

O let him look down on them both from hence ! 

He'll see that kings in thrones, as well as graves. 

Are but poor worms, enslav'd to vilest sense : 

He'll find that none are poor who care for nought ; 

But they who having much, for more have sought. 30 

VI 

Come, poor deluded wretch ! climb up to me ; 
My naked hermitage will teach all this : 
'Twill teach thee too where truest riches be. 
And how to gain a never-fading bliss. 
'Twill make thee see that truly none do reign, 
But those who serve our common sovereign. 

9 marvel] Orig. 'mervayle.' 

23 then] The form, which is usual as usual, must be kept here for the rhj-me. 

36 sovereign] Orig. ' sovverayne.' 

(473) 



Patrick Carey 



The invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being 
understood by the things that are made. — Ep. toy*^ Rom. i. 20. 



Whilst I beheld the neck o' th' 

dove, 
I spied and read these words. 
' This pretty dye 
Which takes your eye. 
Is not at all the bird's. 
The dusky raven might 
Have with these colours pleas'd your 

sight. 
Had (rod but chose so to ordain 

above ; ' 
This label wore the dove. 

II 
Whilst I admir'd the nightingale, 10 
These notes she warbled o'er. 
' No melody 
Indeed have I, 
Admire me then no more : 
God has it in His choice 
To give the owl, or me, this voice ; 
'Tis He, 'tis He that makes me tell 

my tale ; ' 
This sang the nightingale. 

Ill 
I smelt and prais'd the fragrant rose, 
Blushing, thus answer'd she. -jo 

' The praise you gave, 
The scent I have, 
Do not belong to me ; 
This harmless odour, none 
But only God indeed does own ; 
To be His keepers, my poor leaves 

He chose ; ' 
And thus replied the rose. 



IV 

I took the honey from the bee. 

On th' bag these words were seen. 

' More sweet than this 30 

Perchance nought is. 

Yet gall it might have been : 

If God it should so please, 

He could still make it such with ease; 

And as well gall to honey change 

can He ; ' 
This learnt I of the bee. 

v 
I touch"d and lik'd the down o' th' 

swan ; 
But felt these words there writ. 
' Bristles, thorns, here 
I soon should bear, 40 

Did God ordain but it ; 
If my down to thy touch 
Seem soft and smooth, God made it 

such ; 
Give more, or take all this away, He 

can ; ' 
This was I taught by th' swan. 

VI 

All creatures, then, confess to God 
That th' owe Him all, but I. 
My senses find 
True, that my mind 
AVould still, oft does, deny. 50 

Hence, Pride ! out of my soul ! 
O'er it thou shalt no more control ; 
I'll learn this lesson, and escape the 

rod : 
I, too, have all from God. 



Crux via Coelorum 



Loudly the winds do blow. 
High do the sea-waves go ; 
Where is the sailor now, I'd know ? 
Amidst the billows (look) how he is 

tost, 
Yet hopes the shore t' obtain : 
In a small bark the ocean he has 

crosst : 

(474) 



All for a little gain. 

He fits his sails to th' wind. 

Then carelessly he sings ; 

The hope he has contents his 

mind, 10 

And comfort to him brings. 
Heaven for to gain then, shall I be 

less bold, 
Than is a sailor for a little gold ? 



Triolets 



II 



Whilst it doth rain, freeze, snow; 
Whilst coldest winds do blow, 
How clad does the poor captive go ? 
No furs has he to wrap his body 

in; 
Nay more, he cares for none, 
But scorns all weathers in his naked 

skin ; 
Fear makes him make no moan. 20 
He has upon his back 
The marks of many a wand ; 
Yet (after stripes) he is not slack 
To kiss his master's hand. 
And shall I then for love, repine to 

bear 
Less than a naked slave endures for 

fear? 

Ill 
The scars of many a blow 
Can the maim'd soldier show. 
Yet still unto the war does go. 
Fame makes him watch many a 

winter night, 30 

He sleeps oft on the ground ; 
With hunger, thirst, and foes he oft 

must fight, 
And all but for a sound. 
Whole long days must he march, 
When all his force is spent ; 
The scorching sun his skin doth 

parch. 
Yet is his heart content. 
Shall then for fame a soldier do all 

this, 
And I shrink, suff'ring less for 

heavenly bliss ? 



IV 



In a dark cave below 40 

The conqueror does throw 
His miserable vanquish'd foe. 
Deep is the dungeon where that 

wretch is cast, 
Thither day comes not nigh ; 
Dampish and nasty vapours do him 

blast. 
Yet still his heart is high. 
His prison is so strait 
He cannot move at will ; 
Huge chains oppress him with their 

weight. 
Yet has he courage still. jio 

And can I think I want my libertee, 
When in such thrall he keeps his 

mind so free? 

V 

It shall not be : No, no ; 

The sailor I'll outgo, 

The soldier, slave, and vanquish'd 

foe ; 
When others rage, I'll think how I 

am tost; 
The seaman in the main, 
The naked slave shall, i' th' most 

piercing frost, 
Make me bear any pain. 
The march I'll call to mind, 60 

AVhen weary, and get wings : 
Lest I should think myself confin'd 
The pris'ner freedom brings. 
Whene'er restraint, or grief, or fear, 

or cold. 
Tempt me, these thoughts will then 

my mind uphold. 



Man is born unto trouble. — Job, ch. v. vers. 7. 



Crucifixus 



CHRIST IN THE CRADLE 
I 

Look, how he shakes for cold ! 
How pale his lips are grown ! 
Wherein his limbs to fold 



pro Nobis 

Yet mantle has he none. 
His pretty feet and hands 
(Of late more pure and white 
Than is the snow 
That pains them so) 



5 hands] It is worth noting that the fifth Hne in each stanza is left unrhymed. The 
regularity, and the ease with which rhyme could have been supplied, prevent the 
assignment of this to chance or carelessness. 

7 snow] Scott ' show,' but it must be a misprint. 

(475) 



Patrick Carey 



Have lost their candour quite. 

His lips are blue jo 

(Where roses grew), 

He 's frozen ev'rywhere: 

All th' heat he has 

Joseph, alas ! 

Gives in a groan ; or Mary in a tear. 

CHRIST IN THE GARDEN 
II 

Look, how he glows for heat ! 
What flames come from his eyes ! 
'Tis blood that he does sweat, 
Blood his bright forehead dyes : 
See, see ! It trickles down : 20 

Look, how it showers amain ! 
Through every pore 
His blood runs o'er. 
And empty leaves each vein. 
His very heart 
Burns in each part ; 
A fire his breast doth sear : 
For all this flame. 
To cool the same 

He only breathes a sigh, and weeps 
a tear. 30 

CHRIST IN HIS PASSION 

III 
What bruises do I see ! 
What hideous stripes are those ! j 

Ex dolore 



Could any cruel be 
Enough, to give such blows ? 
Look, how they bind his arms 
And vex his soul with scorns, 
Upon his hair 
They make him wear 
A crown of piercing thorns. 
Through hands and feet 40 

Sharp nails they beat : 
And now the cross they rear : 
Many look on ; 
But only John 

Stands by to sigh, Mary to shed a 
tear. 

IV 

Why did he shake for cold ? 
Why did he glow for heat ? 
Dissolve that frost he could. 
He could call back that sweat. 49 
Those bruises, stripes, bonds, taunts, 
Those thorns, which thou didst see, 
Those nails, that cross. 
His own life's loss. 
Why, O why suffered he ? 
'Twas for thy sake. 
Thou, thou didst make 
Him all those torments bear : 
If then his love 
Do thy soul move. 
Sigh out a groan, weep down a 
melting tear. 60 

gaudiura. 



Fallax et Instabilis 

There is nothing new under the sun. — Eccl. i. v. 10. 



'Tis a Strange thing, this world. 
Nothing but change I see : 
And yet it is most true 
That in 't there 's nothing new. 
Though all seem new to me. 
The rich become oft poor. 
And heretofore 'twas so ; 
The poor man rich doth grow, 
And so 'twas heretofore : 



Nor is it a new thing to 

To have a subject made a king ; 
Or that a king should from his throne 

be hurl'd. 
'Tis a strange thing this world. 

II 
All things below do change, 
The sea in rest ne'er lies ; 
Ne'er lay in rest, nor will : 
The weather alters still. 



(476) 



9 candour] Lit. = 'whiteness.' 



Triolets 



20 



And ne'er did otherwise. 
Consum'd is many a town 
By fire ; how, none can tell : 
Plains up to mountains swell, 
While mountains do sink down. 
Yet ought we not t' admire 
The sea, the air, the earth, or fire : 
The sun does think nothing of all 

this strange ; 
Since all things here still change. 

Ill 
Let none then fix his heart 



But seek some object out. 

Whose change he ne'er may doubt ; 

There, let him place his joys. .^i 

Since that our souls are made 

For ever to endure ; 

Of chiefest grief w' are sure, 

If what we love must fade : 

For friends feel greatest pain 

When one must go, t' other remain. 

With what I love then, that I ne'er 

may part. 
On God I'll fix my heart. 



Upon such trifling toys ; 

Vide in omnibus vanitatem, et afflictionem animi, et nihil permanere sub 

sole. — Eccl. ii. v. ii.' 



Nulla Fides 



For God's sake mark that fly : 

See what a poor, weak, little thing it is. 

When thou hast mark'd, and scorn'd it, know that this, 

This little, poor, weak fly 

Has kill'd a pope ; can make an emp'ror die. 

II 
Behold yon spark of fire : 
How little hot ! how near to nothing 'tis ! 
When thou hast done despising, know that this, 
This contemn'd spark of fire. 
Has burn't whole towns ; can burn a world entire. 

Ill 
That crawling worm there see : 
Ponder how ugly, filthy, vile it is. 
When thou hast seen and loath'd it, know that this, 
This base worm thou dost see, 
Has quite devour'd thy parents ; 

IV 

Honour, the world, and man, 

What trifles are they ; since most true it is 

That this poor fly, this little spark, this 

So much abhorr'd worm, can 

Honour destroy ; burn worlds ; devour up man. 



lO 



shall eat thee. 



20 



30 doubt] In the sense of ' fear.' 

' Here we have A. V. at head, and Vulg. at foot : as a polite host distributes the 
graces between clerics. 

5 Did any particular fly kill any particular pope? [Some say 'Yes: Breakspear 
(Adrian IV), our only Enghsh pontiff.'] It does not need Patrick Carey or Jeremy 
Taylor to tell us that any might kill any. 

12 vile] Orig. * vild.' 

(477) 



Patrick Carey 



What use has he made of his soul 
Who (still on vices bent) 
Ne'er strove his passions to control ; 
But hum'ring them, his life has 

spent ? 
Pray tell me, if I can 
Call such a very thing as that is, 

man ? 
For since that just as sense has bid, 
And would not hear when reason chid. 
It do, or leave, it wrought, or ceast ; 
Or her commands regard the least ; 
It might have liv'd e'en as it did, 1 1 
And yet have been a beast. 

II 
Had it a lion been ; just so 
It would roar out, and fume : 
Were it a peacock ; it would go 
Just thus, admiring its own plume : 
Or if it were a goat ; 
Thus, only on base pleasures it 

would dote. 
More than this thing, the ravenous 



hog 



Accepit in vano animam 



Searches not, where his guts to fill : 
Nor at a stranger's hound, the dog 2 r 
O' th' house more snarl or envy 

will. 
Than this odd thing (though apt to 

cog) 
Repine at others still. 

Ill 
The crow, that hoards up all she 

finds ; 
The ant, that still takes pains ; 
Do nothing more, then he who 

minds 
But how to fill his bags with gains. 
The snail and sluggard be 
Within alike, tho' in shape they dis- 
agree. 30 
Call not that thing then, man ; even 
as 
I Thou wouldst not injure by the same 
I Man, who like God created was ; 
I God, who for man's sake, man 
j became : 

I But, since so much o' th' beast it has, 
I Call it by its own name, 
suam. — Psalm xxiii. vers. 4. 



Dirige vias meas Domine I 



Open thyself, and then look in : 
Consider what thou mightsthave bin. 
And what thou art now made by 

sin. 

II 
Asham'd o' th' state to which th' art 

brought. 
Detest, and grieve for each past 

fault ; 
Sigh, weep, and blush for each foul 

thought. 

Ill 
Fear, but despair not, and still 

love; 
Look humbly up to God above, 
And Him thou'lt soon to pity move. 
(478) 



IV 

Resolve on that which prudence 
shows ; I o 

Perform what thou dost well pro- 
pose; 

And keep i' th' way thou hast once 
chose. 

v 

Vice, and what looks like vicious, 
shun ; 

Let use make good acts eas'ly done : 

Have zeal, as when th' hadst first 
begun. 

VI 

Hope strongly, yet be humble still ; 
Thy good is God's ; what thine, is ill : 
Do thus, and thee affect He will. 



Triolets 



VII 

Pray, when with others ; when alone, 
To scorn, or praise, be as a stone : 20 
Forget thyself, and all, but One. 

VIII 

Remove what stands 'twixt God and 

thee. 
Use not thy fancy, Him to see : 
One with His will, make thy will 

be. 



IX 

Look purely on God when thou doest 

well ; 
But not on heaven ; much less on 

hell: 
Thou'lt get Him thus in thee to dwell. 

X 

Useless our Master we do serve ; 
Our labours no reward deserve ; 
Yet happy who these rules observe. 



Nobis natus in Pretium : Nobis datus in Prsemium 



Great God ! I had been nothing 

but for thee ; 
Thy all-creating power first made me 

be: 
And yet, no sooner had I got 
A being, but I straight forgot 
That thou (great God !) that thou 

hadst given it me. 
My being somewhat I did spend 
Only thy goodness to offend ; 
And, though chastis'd, yet ne'er 

would mend. 
II 
Christ ! but for thee, I had remained 

so ; 
Thou didst redeem me, though I 

were thy foe. 10 

And yet thou hadst no sooner spilt 
Thy blood, to wash away my guilt. 
But my ingratitude I straight did 

show. 
My chains thou kindly didst unloose ; 
My liberty I soon did lose ; 
And, to become a slave, did choose. 



Ill 
Blest Spirit ! once again my soul to 

tr>' 
Thou didst her cleanse, renew, and 

sanctify. 
Scarce was she purged by thy flame, 
But straight more horrid she became 
Than ere (blest Spirit !) thou didst 

her purify. 2 1 

All the three Persons now in vain 
Had tried a perverse soul to gain, 
Who was resolv'd on her own bane. 

IV 

Thus, though to save me, God strove 

ev'ry way, 
To punishment I did myself betray. 
I grieve for th' ill that I have done ; 
I weep to see myself undone ; 
But, in excuse, have not one word to 

say. 
Yes (God !) since thou didst me 

create, 30 

Then ransom, then sanctificate ; 
Save what th' hast bought at such a 

rate ! 



Exprimetur 

Who, without horror, can that house behold 
(Though ne'er so fair) which is with tombstones made ; 
Whose walls, fraught with inscriptions writ of old, 
Say still, ' Here underneath somebody "s laid.' 
Though such translated churchyards shine with gold, 
Yet they the builder's sacrilege upbraid ; 



Expnmcfur'] This must have had a special bearing 
(479) 



but what, who shall say ? 



Patrick Carey 



And the wrong'd ghosts, there haunting uncontroll'd, 
Follow each one his monumental shade. 

But they that by the poor man's downfall rise, 

Have sadder epitaphs carv'd on their chests : 

As, ' Here the widow, Here the orphan lies.' 

Who sees their wealth, their avarice detests ; 

Whilst th' injur'd for revenge urge heaven with cries; 

And, through its guilt, th' oppressor's mind ne'er rests. 



lO 



Dies Irse, Dies Ilia 



A DAY full of horror, must 
All this world dissolve to dust : 
Prophets say it ; w' are to trust. 

II 
What heart will be void of fear 
When our great judge shall appear 
Strictly each man's cause to hear ? 

Ill 
A shrill trumpet there will sound, 
All must rise from underground, 
And the Judge's throne surround. 

IV 

How astonish'd then will be lo 

Death and Nature, when they see 
From their laws each body free ? 

V 

A book where men's deeds are writ 
Shall be read ; the Judge to it 
Will th' eternal sentence fit. 

VI 

At his sitting, 'twill be vain 
To conceal a secret stain ; 
Nought unpunish'd shall remain. 

VII 

How shall I that day endure ? 
What friend shall I then procure, 20 
When the just are scarce secure ? 

VIII 

My request do not reject. 
Thou that savest thine elect ; 
God of mercy, me protect. 

IX 

Christ ! remember in that day, 
Fm thy sheep, tho' gone astray ! 
Leave me not to wolves a prey. 



X 



Weary, oft me sought thou hast ; 
For me, nail'd to the cross thou 

wast : 
Lose not all these pray'rs at last. 30 

XI 

Though my sins to vast sums mount, 
Yet thy mercies them surmount : 

ne'er call them to acount ! 

XII 

1 confess my guilt : th' art meek : 
Grant that pardon which I seek ! 
Lo, shame's blushes dye each cheek. 

XIII 

Mary, and the thief, scarce leave 
Sin, but thou dost them receive ; 
What hopes hence mayn't I con- 
ceive ? 

XIV 

True, my prayers deserve not aught ; 
By thy passion th' art besought : 41 
Keep me from the fiery vault ! 

XV 

'Mongst the sheep grant me a stand ; 
Drive me from the goats' curs'd 

band, 
Placing me on thy right hand. 

XVI 

This t' obtain, my knees I bend ; 
For this, all my prayers I send : 
Lord, take care of my last end ! 

XVII 

O ! that day '11 cause weeping eyes. 
When to judgement men shall 
rise ; 50 

my soul cries. 



'Gainst then, mercy 



30 prayVs] 'pains'? {^ labor"). Scott's text has 'th«s.' 
(480) 



Notes 



[By Sir Walter Scott. — Ed.] 



NOTE I. 

Balijvd to the Tune of ' The 
Healths.' 

Come, faith, since Pm parting, and 

that God knows when 
The walls of sweet Wickham I shall 

see again, &€. 

I am unable to point out the hospit- 
able mansion of Wickham here alluded 
to, or the good Knight to whom it 
belonged, though an editor, better 
skilled in English topography, might 
probably have discovered both. The 
ballad itself reminds us of the good old 
days, when 

It was great in the hall, 

When beards wagg'd all. — 

We shall ne'er see the like again ! — 

These were the times, when the aged 
blue-coated serving-man formed an 
attached and indivisible part of a great 
man's family, and shared in domestic 
festivities, rather as a familiar, though 
humble friend, than as a hired menial. 
The household of the Knight of Wick- 
ham seems to have been quite that of 
the ' Queen's old Courtier ' in the 
ballad ; and the special enumeration of 
all the domestics argues that Mr. Carey 
had not disdained a cup of sack in the 
buttery any more than in the oaken 
parlour. 

In truth, in these jovial days, when 
the company had a mind for an ex- 
traordinary frolic, beyond the measure 
of decorum suited to their rooms of 
entertainment, it was no unusual thing 
to descend to the cellar itself, where 
many a fair round was drunk, and 
where the serving-men were at least 
occasionally allowed to partake of their 
master's festivity. [See Introd.— Ed.] 

H. ( 481 ) I i 



NOTE II. 

Ballad to the Tune—' I'll tell 
THEE, Dick,' &c. 

And can you think that this translation 
Will benefit at all our nation. 
Though fair be the j)retence f 

On 25th October, 1650, the Rump- 
Parliament made a sweeping order, 
that all books of the laws be put into 
English ; and that all writs, process, 
and returns thereof, patents, commis- 
sions, indictments, and judgements, 
records, rules, and proceedings in 
courts of justice, shall be in the English 
tongue only, and not in Latin or 
French, or any other language than 
English. The policy of this order was 
to intimidate the lawyers, by threaten- 
ing not only to unveil, but to destroy 
the mysteries of their profession ; and 
to gratify the Independents, who, being 
as much above control by civil as by 
divine ordinances, had got it into their 
heads, that the common law was a 
badge of the Norman Conquest, under 
which idea Barebone's parliament 
aftenvards set seriously about its total 
abrogation. In November 1650, the 
subject was resumed, and underwent 
much discussion, in which Whitelocke 
took share. The question being put, 
it was unanimously carried, that the 
act should pass for turning the law- 
books, and the process and proceedings 
in the courts of justice, into English. — 
See Whitelocke's Memorials, folio, 
459, 460. — It is scarce necessary to say, 
that the act was never put into force. 

The poet ridicules, with some success, 
the absurdity of this innovation, which, 
like the translation of botanical classi- 
fications, could only tend to substitute 
a barbarous vernacular jargon of 



Patrick Carey 



dubious import, instead of the technical 
language of law-Latin and law-French, 
to which time and the course of 
practice had given an exact and dis- 
criminate meaning. 

Some passages in this ballad induce 
me to think Carey was bred to the law ; 
and the thirteenth stanza, in which he 
attacks the translation of the Bible 
into the vulgar tongue, seems to inti- 
mate that he may have been a Catholic. 
[See note in loc. — Ed.] 



NOTE III 

Ballad to the Tune of -' That 
we may row,' &c. 

Good people of England ! come hea7- 
me relate, &"€. 

An impost on French wine, in the 
year 1651, seems much to have afflicted 
the suffering Cavaliers, who were too 
apt to call in Bacchus as an auxiliary, in 
their hours of distress and dejection. 
Carey, in revenge, makes himself merry 
with Oliver Cromwell's large red nose, 
a feature in which Dryden has found 
subject of eulogy. [This last observa- 
tion is rather a ' large ' construction 
of the Stanzas.— Yjh^ 



NOTE IV 
Ballad to the Tune—' And will 

YE NOW to peace INCLINE.' 

The parlia7ne7it i^tis said) resolv\i, 
That, sometime ere they were dissolv'd, 
They'd pardon each delitiqrient. 

The Long Parliament, in the year 
165 1, to retrieve their decaying popu- 
larity, agitated at different times, and 
particularly on the i6th of September, 



the healing measure of an act of 
oblivion and general indemnity to all 
delinquents. It was not, however, 
finally passed until the 1st of 
March, 1652-3, and was then clog'd 
with too many exceptions to be of 
much use to the suffering Cavaliers. 
During the interval, while the act was 
in dependence, Carey seems to have 
written this ballad, in which he satirizes 
the delays which the Parliament attach- 
ed to the execution of this healing 
ordinance. It is generally known how 
well Cromwell's subsequent conduct 
conformed to the hint expressed in the 
last stanza. 



NOTE V 

Ballad to a French Tune. 

A griev'd Countess, that ere lo?ig 
Must leave off her sweet-noised title, S'c. 

The vote of the Long Parliament, 
declaring the House of Peers, in par- 
liament, useless and dangerous, was 
followed by an act abolishing the same. 
This utter destruction of the ancient 
constitution was, in some degree, 
retarded by Cromwell, who, when he 
had established a sort of royalty in his 
own person, next attempted to re-estab- 
lish a species of aristocracy, by sum- 
moning a House of Peers, a few of 
whom were persons of noble families, 
but by far the greater part soldiers of 
fortune, who had risen from the lowest 
rank. The old nobility would not 
deign to accept of a dignity which they 
were to share with such compeers, and 
so the projected aristocracy fell into 
utter contempt. 

The complaint of the ' Grieved 
Countess ' refers to the original abolition 
of rank and privileges of nobility. 



(483 ) 



POEMS 



2j W. H. 



cineri gkrid [era yenit. 






■T3^ 



'MJIMJL 



LO TSiVOli, 

Printed for Thom^ts Vrlng at the George 

in Fleetftreet, nttv Cliffords htne 

Qate, 1655. 



INTRODUCTION TO 
WILLIAM HAMMOND 

The author of the following Poems has more claims than one or two as 
respects admission to these volumes. In the first place his work, though 
containing nothing quite so good as some of his fellows here can offer, is of 
even merit and quite characteristic of the time. In the second, he is very 
rare, and even the reprint by Sir Egerton Brydges, which is fairly faithful to 
the original, and has been used here (after collation with it) as ' copy,' was 
printed to the number of only sixty (some say only forty). In the third 
(and it would be possible to add others, though I shall not do so), he 
illustrates the peculiarly seventeenth-century feature of poetical clannishness 
in his relations to Stanley and to Sandys. Except these relationships, and 
his bare position in his own family-tree, we really know nothing about him, 
though genealogy gives us a further link beforehand with a still greater 
poetical ' illustration ' — Shelley. 

Hammond appears to have had the poetical possibilities which were so 
astonishingly common in his generation, more than usually stirred into 
actuality by his connexion with poets. No small proportion of his poems is 
actually addressed to Stanley, not a little of the rest has reference to the 
death of the poet's sister's husband, Henry Sandys. Common as is — in 
fact or in pretence — the ' command to write verses,' one can hardly imagine 
it anywhere more necessary, while it has in many been worse justified, than 
in Hammond's. He, if ever there was one, is an ' occasional poet ' as well 
as a minor one. There are, of course, high-flying persons who would say 
that such a combination is, or ought to be, anathema. But their 
excommunication is of very little force or value. It is in the minor and 
occasional poets of a time that you can see best whether that time is or is 
not poetical. What the great ones say is not evidence : or is only evidence 
which has to be taken and qualified with such allowances for individuality 
that it is very nearly useless. With poets like Hammond the evidence 
requires no treatment, no smelting and sifting and doctoring of any kind 
whatsoever. In some times such a man could not have done such work ; 
in others he would have been extremely unlikely to do it ; in yet others the 
poetical quality, even at the mild strength in which it here presents itself, 
would have been 'flashier,' more irregular, less trustworthy. In the days when 
I used to review scores, if not hundreds of volumes of verse every year, how 
(485) 



William Hammond 

many pieces do I remember like ' Husbandry ' ? I shall not say how many, 
lest I should have to say how few. 

This other 'harvest of a quiet mind,' though well worth the garnering by 
and for those who can enjoy it, gives comparatively little opening for 
comment. Hammond is neither recondite, nor eccentric, nor risky. One 
of the best critical uses that can be made of him is to compare him with 
his namesake and relative, of the next century, James Hammond, whose 
Elegies will be duly found in Chalmers. Although this class of literary 
pairs is pretty numerous there is hardly a better one of the kind : for the 
positive and intrinsic poetic faculty of the two writers would not appear to 
have been so very different, and their subjects are sufficiently similar. 

The former Editor's Preface is in parts so piquant, and so characteristic 
of ' Chandos of Sudeley,' who with all his foibles, really did very great 
service to English literature, that I have thought it worth while to reprint 
its opening and closing portions in a note ^ 

' 'At the period of literature at which the present Reprint, limited to a very few 
copies, is offered to the public, it cannot be necessary, or less than impertinent, to 
apologize for the revival of scarce volumes of old poetry. At the same time an Editor 
whose zeal involves him in such an occupation will be much mistaken if he shall 
expect any praise, or even shall hope to escape illiberal censure or back-biting sneers 
for his toil and his pecuniary risk. If this Editor be one, who undertakes these things 
as a task, and not as an amusement ; if he wastes long labour and minute and painful 
attention on these trifles, he will probably magnify the importance of his subject, till 
he exposes it to the just ridicule of a severe judgment or correct taste ; if on the 
contrary he takes it up as a short relief from the fatigue of high and serious vocations ; 
if he seizes at intervals a few moments of doubtful and hurried leisure, to soothe his 
weary spirits with a dalliance among these recreations of his early attachment, his 
pages will probably exhibit some marks of inadvertence and haste, on which fools will 
fix with eagerness ; and over which stupid exactness will triumph. There are those, 
who think that what cannot be done perfectly, it were better to forbear. He who is 
deterred by this sentiment from acting, is selfish : and he, who thus judges of the acts 
of another, is neither candid, nor wise. 

' In the midst of anxious cares, occupied in the laborious discharge of public duties, 
urged by honour and zeal to the performance of numerous literary engagements, 
I struggle as I can, through all the added employments which an inextinguishable 
ardour induces me to impose on myself, with the expectation of leisure which never 
comes, and calmness of mind which never visits me : while a thankless set of readers, 
neither knowing, nor bound to regard if they knew, the difficulties of performance 
which render my labours so imperfect, seem only to seek out the omissions, or the 
oversights, which want of time has occasioned, 

. . . '"aut incuria fudit." 

'I call on no one, whose curiosity or taste it will not gratify, to purchase this little 
volume ! On the contrary, I protest against his purchase of it ! I seek not his praise : 
I scorn his censure, or his criticism : it is not for him that I have laboured ! . . . 

'The County of Kent has in former ages not been without its literary glory. In 
a preceding century it produced not only Sir Thomas Wyat, but those two illustrious 
examples of genius Lord Buckhurst and Sir Philip Sydney. At the aera of which I am 
writing, it was not adorned with equal splendor : but a laudable spirit of literature 
seems then to have prevailed among the gentilitial families, especially of the eastern 
part of the county. Hence sprung Sir John Finet and Sir John Mennes, not unknown 
for their wit as well to the nation as to the court in those times : while the families of 
Digges, Hawkins, Dering, Honywood, Harflete, Twysden. Sandys, Lovelace, Man- 
wood, Oxenden, Bargrave, Boys, Cowper. and Wyat, were all engaged in pursuits of 

( 486 ) 



Introduction 



genius, or of learning. The effects of example are so obvious, that it is easy to 
account for this honourable ambition having been so generally spread in a narrow 
neighbourhood, when once excited. It seems to have expired with that generation ; 
and I know not that it ever revived again. If I feel any regret at this, it is a mere 
matter of personal feeling, with which the reader has no concern ; and I have lived 
too long to embroil myself with neighbours, merely because our pursuits are uncon- 
genial and we have different estimates of distinction and importance. The race of 
Country Gentlemen is rapidly dwindling away, and I lament it with a keen anticipa- 
tion of the substantial evils which will follow their extinction : I will not therefore 
hint a word to their disadvantage, though they may not in all respects realize that 
pure and intellectual ambition, which a visionary fancy paints as drawing its food 
from groves and forests and all the enchantment of rural scenery. 

'I regret that I can give no other particulars of this Poet than those of his descent. 
The present heir of the family, whom I have consulted on this occasion, has no 
memorials of him among his papers : his name alone is recorded in the pedigree, 
without even the addition of a date, and his very existence would have been buried in 
the grave with "the tribe without a name," had he not himself preserved in these 
poems the few links by which he can be joined to his proper family and place. 

' I wish that these pieces had contained, like many others to which such things form 
the principal attraction, more notices of friends, relations, acquaintances, rivals, and 
others, with whom he had communication in the occurrences of life. In these pages 
we can trace little of his habits, or real sentiments. There are passages in them which 
approach to elegance, and even to poetry ; but they are almost always of a faint and 
minor cast : they betray rather the echo of some contemporary, than the vigour of 
original power ; but then they exhibit a mind highly cultivated, and well exercised in 
that style of composition, which the example of the day rendered most attractive.' 



(487) 



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(488) 



POEMS 



Commanded to write Verses 



Madam, 
Since your command inspires 
My willing heart with lyric fires, 
Though my composure owe its birth, 
Or to cold water, or dull earthy 
Wanting the active qualities 
That spritely fire and air com- 
prise ; 
Yet guided by that influence, 
I may with those defects dis- 
pense ; 
And raptures no less winning vent 
Than the fam'd Thracian instru- 
ment; lO 
What, though old sullen Saturn lie 
Brooding on my nativity ; 
So your bright eyes the clouds dis- 
pell, 
Which on my drooping fancy dwell ! 



But stay, what glass have we so 
bright, 
To do your matchless beauty right ? 
Nature but from her own disgrace 
Can add no lustre to that face ; 
Not from her patterns can we find 
A form to represent your mind. 20 
The figures which this world invest 
Are images, in which exprest 
Some truer essences appear, 
Which not to sight subjected are. 
So you, fair Celia, inwardly 
Dissemble well the Deity, 
And counterfeit in flesh and skin 
The fineness of a Cherubin : 
But, fair one, if you must put on 
The order's Institution, 30 

Admitted to this Hierarchy, 
A guardian angel be to me. 



The Walk 

Blest Walk ! that with your leavy arms embrace 

In small, what beauty the dilated face 

Of the whole world contains ! The violet. 

Bowing its humble head down at her feet. 

Pays homage for the livery of her veins : 

Roses and lilies, and what beauteous stains 

Nature adorns the Spring with, are but all 

Faint copies of this fair Original. 

She is a moving Paradise, doth view 

Your greens, not to refresh herself, but you. lo 

This path 's th' Ecliptic, heat prolific hence 

Is shed on you by her kind influence ; 

She is, alas ! too like the Sun, who grants 

That warmth to all, which in himself he wants. 

You thus oblig'd, this benefit return, 

Teach her by lectures visible to burn ; 

Tith. Commanded] Both ' request of friends ' and ' hunger ' have produced worse 
verses. 

30 Institution] Seems to be used here in the clerical sense = ' investiture.' 
2 dilated] Awkward, but intelligible enough. 

(489) 



Willia7n Hammond 



That she, when Zephyr moves each whisp'ring bough 
To kiss his neighbour, thence may learn t' allow 
The real seals of kindness, and be taught 
By twining woodbines what sweet joys are caught 
In such embraces. Thus, and thousand ways 
Told you by amorous Fairies, and the lays 
Of your fond guardian, waken her desires, 
Requiting your own warmth with equal fires. 



20 



Husbandry 



When I began my Love to sow, 
Because with Venus' doves I 
plow'd. 
Fool that I was, I did not know 
That frowns for furrows were 
allow'd. 

The broken heart to make clods 
torn 
By the sharp arrows of Disdain, 
Crumbled by pressing rolls of 
Scorn, 
Gives issue to the springing 
grain. 



Coyness shuts Love into a stove ; 

So frost-bound lands their own 
heat feed : 10 

Neglect sits brooding upon Love, 

As pregnant snow on winter-seed. 

The harvest is not till we two 
Shall into one contracted be ; 

Love's crop alone doth richer grow, 
Decreasing to identity. 

All other things not nourish'd are 

But by Assimilation : 
Love, in himself and diet spare, 

Grows fat by Contradiction. 20 



Mutual Love 

From our Loves, heat and light are taught to twine, 
In their bright nuptial bed of solar beams ; 

From our Loves, Thame and Isis learn to join, 
Losing themselves in one another's streams. 

And if Fate smile, the fire Love's emblem bears, 

If not, the water represents our tears. 

From our Loves all magnetic virtue grows, 

Steel to th' obdurate loadstone is inclin'd. 
From our Loves all the power of chymists flows. 

Earth by the Sun is into gold refin'd. 10 

And if Fate smile, this shall Love's arrows head. 
If not, in those is our hard fortune read. 

From our still springing Loves the youthful Bays 

Is in a robe of lasting verdure drest. 
From our firm Loves the Cypress learns to raise. 

Green in despight of storms, her deathless crest. 
And if Fate smile, with that our temples bound, 
If not, with this our hearses shall be crown'd. 

18 Assimilation — Contradiction] This rhyme on the mere ion is very ugly, and not 
so common as the frequent valuation of these two syllables might suggest. ' Upon ' 
and ' perfection ' {^v. inf. on opposite page) is much better. 

( 490 ) 



Go^ fickle Man^ and teach the Moo7i 



The Forsaken Maid 

Go, fickle Man, and teach the Moon to change, 
The winds to vary, the coy Bee to range : 
You that despise the conquest of a town, 
Render'd without resistance of one frown. 

Is this of easy faith the recompense? 
Is my prone love's too prodigal expense 
Rewarded with disdain? Did ever dart 
Rebound from such a penetrable heart? 

Diana, in the service of whose shrine, 
Myself to single life I will confine. 
Revenge thy Votaress; for unto thee 
The ruling ocean bends his azure knee. 

And since he loves upon rough seas to ride, 
Grant such an Adria, whose swelling tide, 
And stormy tongue, may his false vessel wrack. 
And make the cordage of his heart to crack. 



lO 



Another 



Know, falsest Man, as my love was 
Greater than thine, or thy desert. 
My scorn shall likewise thine sur- 
pass, 
And thus I tear thee from my 
heart. 

Thou art so far my love below. 
That than my anger thou art less ; 

I neither love nor quarrel now. 
But pity thy unworthiness. 



Go join, before thou think to wed. 
Thy heart and tongue in wed- 
lock's knot : lo 

Can peace be reaped from his bed, 
Who with himself accordeth not ? 

Go learn to weigh thy words upon 

The balance of reality. 
And having that perfection 

Attain'd, come then, and 111 scorn 
thee. 



J. c. 

Anagram. — ' I can be any lover.' 



See how the letters of thy name 
impart 
The very whispers of thy heart. 
This name came surely out of 
Adam's mint, 
It bears so well thy nature's print. 
AVoman materia prima doth present, 

Is to all forms indifferent. 
As pictures do at once with various 
eyes, 



Distinctly view all companies, 
With such a steadfast look, that each 
man would 9 

Swear they did only him behold. 
Thus run we in a wheel, where stead- 
fast ground 
To fix our footing is not found, 
Whilst woman's heart incliningly 
doth move. 
Like twigs to every sigh of Love. 



(491 ) 



8 from] B. wrongly ' for.' 



William Hamfnond 



She, who imparts her smiles to more 

than one, 

May many hke, but can love none. 

l"he force of all things in contraction 

lies. 

And Love thrives by monopolies. 



Those glasses that collect the scat- 

ter'd rays 19 

Into one point, a flame can raise : 

Straiten the object, you increase 

love's store ; 

So loving less, you love the more. 



De Melidoria 
E. JoH. Barclaii Poem. Lib. IL 



' Why languish I, ye Gods, alone ? 
Why only I ? when not one groan 
Afflicteth her for whom 1 die : 
You mighty powers of Love, oh why 
Doth Melidore despise your darts. 
And their effects too, bleeding 

hearts ? 
If thus, oh Gods, ye suffer her 
Unpunished, none will prefer 
Your altars ; such examples may 
Become the ruin of your sway.' 10 

With Venus and her mighty son 
Expostulating thus, I won 
This answer : ' Alas,' Cupid cries, 
' I hood-wink'd am ; my closbd eyes 
Bound with a fillet, that my bow 
Can none but roving shafts let go ; 
Hence 'tis that troops of violent 
Youth their misplaced loves resent ; 
That some love rashly ; some again 
Congealed are with cold disdain 



20 



Wouldst thou thy mistress, I inspire, 
And in her breast convey that fire 
Which nature suffers not to find 
Birth from thy tears? Do but un- 
bind 
My eyes, and I will take such aim, 
As she shall not escape my flame.' 

Thus spake the boy, my ready hand 
Prepared was to loose the band 28 
From his fair eyelids, that his sight 
Might to his dart give steady flight ; 
When my good Genius' prudent ear 
Whisper'd to my rash soul. Beware ! 
Ah, shameless boy, deceitful Love, 
I see thy plot : should I remove 
Those chains of darkness from thy 

eyes, 
Thou Melidore so much would prize, 
That straight my rival thou wouldst 

be, 
i\.nd warm her for thyself, not me. 



Delay 

Upon Advice to defer Love's Consummation 

Delay, whose parents Phlegm and Slumber are, 
Thinkst