Classic Poem

Perindus

Cuma! beare home our spoyles, and conquering weapons,
And trusse them on a wreath as our just trophie:
And when Cancrone [comes], returne to mee.
Thus: if but thus: yet thus my state is better,
While lesser cares do laugh and mocke the greater;
This change is best when changing I frequent,
Even now that moyst, now this drie element,
When with this scepter, setting on the Land,
The scalie footlesse people I command:
When riding on my wooden horse, I see
The Earth that never mooves, remoove from me.
And why my friend doth not this guise beseeme me?
In this I am not wretchlesse as you deeme me.
Ar. Not that I censure, but demande the cause,
Why being borne, and bred, in shepheards lawes;
You have our Hills, and Downes, and Groves forsaken,
And to these Sands, and Waves your selfe betaken.
Per. Shepheard or fisher, I am still the same,
I am a sea guest not for gaine, but game.
Ar. A gamesome life? thus with unarmed armes
To fight gainst windes, and winters sharpe alarmes,
And paddle in chill Neptuns Icie lappe?
But if in fishing any ple[as]ure be,
In Shepheards life there is much more say we.
Pet. Yet Fishers life with me doth mo[re] consort,
This sporting serves to moralize my sport:
Viewing the stormes, and troublesome waves; I finde
Some thing in nature rest-lesse as my minde:
Each captive fish tels me that in deaths snare,
My heart is not the onely prisoner.
Walke [I] along the shore — —
[ Ar. ] Oft there he walkes
Oft there with me or with the waves hee talkes.
Per. There in the tide I see fleete fortunes changing,
And state of man, weake state: that's never standing:
But rises still, or fals all as the maine,
That ebs to flow, or flowes to ebbe againe.
Yet fortune I accuse thee not for ra[n]ging,
Let others plaine, I never felt the[e] changing,
B[a]d wast thou at the first, and so art still,
Before I knew what's good, I knew the ill:
And since of all my goods thou first bereav'st me,
I neere expected good, thou neere deceivd'st me;
Therefore although [the] Oracle from whence
I late ariv'd, would feede vaine confidence;
Yet since so sure assurance thou doest give mee,
Still of the two fortune I must beleeve thee.
Ar. Vaine feare when th' Oracle doth promise good;
The heavens decrees by chance weere neere withstood.
You feare without a cause, oft cause-lesse fright,
Is th' onely cause that makes that on us light
Which most wee feare, ever a jealous eye
Makes enemies by fearing e[nm]ity.
Per. What fearefull tempest doe the waves foretell,
When seas without a storme to mountaynes swell.
Ar. Ill is invited when it is suspected
And griefe already come where he's expected.
Per. The greatest evills oft are where the[y] shew not,
I feare the more, because my feare I know not.
Musicke! how sad it sounds; my damped heart
Tells me in these sad straines I beare a part:
I wrong thee fate, or else thou now doest straine thee
W[ith] some unused wel[c]ome t' entertaine me.

Song.

Go go thy countries joy and jewell ,
The seas and rockes were ever cruell;
Men then may pitty thee in vaine,
But not helpe nor ease thy payne.
Take then these t[e]ares th[y] la[t]est due,
For ever now alasse adiew.
Olin. Glaucus ; to thee I frendlesse maide,
In these last gifts my vowes have payd:
These once Olindas , now are thine,
This net, and hooke, this rod, and line:
Thou knowst, why here my sports I give thee,
Hence came my joyes, and here they leave me.
Gla. Olinda , if that smiles were proofes of sorrow,
Sure I should thinke thee full of woe, and sadnesse,
But in so heaped griefe, when every eye
Yeilds tribute to so great a misery,
Thou only smilst, why every teare thou seest,
Is paid to thee — .
Olin . The lesse I need to pay:
Gl[au]cilla I cannot mourne, when I am married.
Gla. Married? now heaven defend me, if this be marriage.
So to be gript in pawes of such a monster,
And bedded in his bowells — —
Cos. Olinda I should weepe,
And spend the short'nd breath that fate affords me,
In cursing fate which makes my breath so short.
Olin. Peace peace my Cosma , thou wouldst have me mad
With reason!
Cos. No: reason is never sencelesse.
Olin. Thinkst thou me sencelesse friend?
Gla. Dost not thou prove it?
Olin. Why my Glaucilla I see thy drowned eyes,
I feele thy kinde imbracements, and which thou seest not,
Nor feelst, I feele and see, more mirth and joy
Spring in my heart, then if I now were leading
To the best bed that Sicely affords me.
Glaucilla if there were but fit occasion
That I might shew thee this tormented heart,
It would affright thee friend to heare me tell
How many deaths live in so narrow Hell.
Dicae. We stay too long; goe on: these idle teares
Quench not her griefe, but adde new kindled feares.
Olin. Dicaeus ; no feare within this brest is lying.
Who living dies, feares not to live by dying.

Ar. Saw you the troope which past along here?
Per. Yes.
Ar. Who is it ledde with such a mournfull show?
Per. My sister.
Ar. Who the faire Olinda ?
Per. Yes.
Ar. And doe you know the end and purpose?
Per. No.
Ar. Nothing but no and yes? fie fie Perindus !
Your too much passion shewes you want affection;
Your sister in such sort convey'd, and you
So carelesse of her griefe? it much misseemes you
Why learne you not the cause?
Per. Thou counsailst well,
Griefe weary of it selfe, all sence depriving,
Felt neyther sence, nor griefe, by overgrieving.
But see my Atyches : what different passions
Strive in his doubtfull face, pitty would weepe,
And danger faine would rocke high thoughts a sleepe,
Whiles resolution chides the daring [t]eare,
And courage makes poore feare afrade to feare.
Atych. Thou God that rulst the sunnes bright flaming cart
If thou my grand-sire art, as sure thou art
For in my breast I feele thy powe[r] divine,
Firing my soule, which tels mee I am thine:
Direct my hand and guide this poynted dart,
That it may peirce, and rive the monsters heart.
Per. Atyches .
Atych. Ah Perindus this lucklesse howre
Bids thee unwelcome fly and never more,
Never approach to view this deadly shore.
Per. Why whats the newes?
Atych. Thy sister the [ Olinda fayre] must die.
Ar. So must we all.
Atych. But none of all as she.
Per. Canst tell the cause and manner?
Atych. Yes; and till the sunne
Twixt noone and night his middle race shall runne,
The rites will not be finisht; 'tis briefly thus.
Thou knowst by Neptunes temple close the[re] growes
A sacred garden, where every flowe[r] blowe[s]:
Here blushing roses, there the Lillies white,
Here Hyacinth, and there Narcissus bright:
And underneath, the creeping violets show.:
That sweetnes oft delights to dwell below:
Vaulted above with thousand fragrant trees,
And under p[av']d with shamefast Strawberies,
Which creeping lowe doe sweetely blushing tell,
That fairest pleasantst fruits, doe humblest dwell.
Breifly a little Heaven on Earth it seemes:
Where every sweete and pleasure fully streames.
Ar. Fisher thou now describ'st some paradice,
Can any ill from so much good arise?
Atych. Henbane and roses in o[ne] garden growe,
Ah that from fruits so sweete, such gall should flowe!
Here faire Olinda, with her [N]ymphs arrives,
And time away, time to fast posting drives,
While [M]ago that deformed enchanter, ranging
Along these trees, his shape and habit changing
Seem'd then Glaucilla, such his sta[r]like eyes,
Such haire, such lipps, such cheekes, such rosie dies,
So like Glaucillas selfe that had shee spide him,
More would shee doubt her selfe, the more shee eyd him.
Ar. Can art forge nature with so true a lie?
Atych. The falsest coine is fairest to the eie,
Singling thy sister forth, they chance to see,
The sacred graft of that He[s]perian tree,
Whose golden apples much the eye delighting,
Would tempt the hands: the longing tast inviting:
And now the subtill witch spies fit occasion,
And with fi[n]e speech and oaths, and soft perswation,
So wor[k]s he[r] mind; that shee ([ah] little guessing,
What monster lay under that fain[e]d dressing)
Puls of th' unhappie fruit; straight downe shee falls,
And thrice a thundring voice Dicaeus calls;
The preist knew what the fearefull voice portended,
And faire Olinda halfe dead apprehended:
And to the temple beares her, there reserving
Till the third day with death payes her deserving.
So Neptune bids, that who shall touch the tree
With hands profane, shall by Malorcha die;
Malorcha bread in seas, yet seas do dread him,
As much more monstrous then the seas that bred him.
Per. Ah my Olinda who can pitty thee
That wouldst not pitty th' excellent Thalander?
'Tis just yee seas: well doth impartiall fate
With monstrous death punish thy monstrous hate.
[But] whither art thou now thus armed going?
Atych. Downe to the fatall rocke I goe to see
And act a part in this foule Tragedy.
Per. Why canst thou hope such losses to repayre?
Atych. Who nothing hopes yet nothing ought despaire.
Per. What 'tis impossible? ah cease to prove?
Atych. What ever was impossib[l]e to love?
Per. 'Tis certaine [death]; thou adst thy death to hers.
Atych. Unworthy love that life ['f]or[e] love prefers.
Per. What good canst do when thou canst not restore her?
Atych. To live with her or else to die before her.
Per. 'Tis fate that in this monster bids engrave her.
Atych. And 'tis my fate to die with her or save her.
Per. In vaine to fight against all conquering Jove .
Atych. But in my hand shall fight Jove conquering love.
Per. Atyches why shouldst thou thus betray thy selfe?
She [i]s my sister, and as deare to me
As ever was a sister to a brother:
Had fate felt any hope, my willing hand
Should be as prest to give her ayd as any.
Were not the fight gainst heaven I might adventure,
But here I needs must leave her, though a brother;
She never loved [th]ee.
Atych. I lov'd her ever.
Per. More shouldest thou hate her now.
Atych. Can Seas or Rivers stand, can Rocks remoove?
Could they? yet could I never cease to love:
Perindus , if now I see thee last, farewell:
Within thy breast all jo[y] and quiet dwell.
Adiew: Olinda now to thee I flye
For thee I liv'd, for thee i'le gladly die.

Per. Goe choycest spirit: the heavenly love regard thee,
And for thy love, with life, and love reward thee.

Ar. Perindus thou knowst how late was my arrivall,
And short abode in this your Sicely ,
And how delighted with these accidents
So strange and rare, I have decreed to make
Some longer stay, but since I saw this Atyches
His love more strong then death, a resolution
Beyond humanity, I much desir'd
To know him, what he is, and what his country
That breeds such minds: let me intreate you then
At large to give me all this [perfect] story.
Somewhat t'will eas[e] your griefe, just are his paines
That sorrow with more sorrow entertaines.

Per. It will be tedious, and my heavy minde
Fit words for such a tale can never finde:
Yet I'le unfold it all, that you may see
How beautious love showes [cloath'd] in [constancy]:
Who hath not heard of Glaucus [haplesse love]?
Whilst fairest Scylla baths, him love inspires;
At once herselfe she cooles and him she fires.
A sea god burnt in flames, and flames most please him,
Glaucus findes neither waves nor hearbes to ease him;
Cold were his [seas] more cold her coy disdaine:
Yet none of boeth could quench loves scorching flame:
Till Circe whom scornd love to madnes moves
Quenches at once her beautie and his loves.
There stands shee now a proofe of jealous spite
As full of horror now as then delight.
[ Ar. ] The fruite of jealousie is ever curst,
But when tis grafted in a crab tis worst.
Bad in a man, but monstrous in a woman,
And which the greater monster hard to know
Then jelous Circe, or loath'd Scylla now.
[ Per .] After when time had casd his greife for Scylla ,
Circe with charmes, and prayers and gifts had wone him,
Her love shee reapt in that high rocky frame,
Which ever since hath borne faire Circes name:
The Moone her fainting light 10 times had fed,
And 10 times more her globe had emptied:
When two fayre twins she brought, whose beauteous shine,
Did plainly prove their parents were divine.
The male Thalander , the female calld Glaucilla ,
And now to youth arriv'd so faire they are
That with them but themselves who may compare?
All else excelling; each as faire as other
Thus best compard the sister with the brother.
Ar. So lively to the eare thy speeches show them,
That I must halfe affect before I know them.
Per. Vaine words that thinke to blase so great perfection,
Their perfectnes more proves words imperfection.
But if these words some little sparkle[s] move,
How would their sight inflame thy soule with love?
Scarce did his haire betray his blooming yeares,
When with his budding youth his love appeares,
My selfe and sister equally he loves,
And as on those two poles heaven ever moves
So on us two his soule still fixt, still loving
Was ever constant, by his constant moving:
Yet never knew wee which was most respected,
Both equally and both he most affected.
In mee his worthy love with just reflexion,
Kindled an equall and a like affection,
But shee my sister most ungratefull maide,
With hate, ah hatefull vice, his love repaide.
Ar. Ce[as']t he not then to love? this sure wee hold
That love not backe reflected soone grows cold.
Per. No though all spite within her bosome sweld,
Spite of her spite his love her hate exceld;
At length to shew how much he was neglected,
His rivall ugly rivall shee affected:
Such rivall could I wish whose foule distortion,
Would make sceme excellent a meane proportion,
For Mago (thus his hated rivall's nam'd)
All blacke and foule, most strang[e] and ugly fram'd,
Begot by Saturne , on a sea-borne witch,
Resembling both, his haires like threeds of pitch,
Distorted feete, and eyes suncke in his head:
His face dead pale, and seem'd but mooving lead,
Yet worse within, for in his heart to dwell
His mothers furies [le]ave their darkest hell.
Yet when Thalander woo'd her, shee neglects him,
And when this monster flatterd shee respects him.
Ar. I[s't] possible? troth Sir but that I feare mee,
If I should speake, some women should ore: heare mee:
Meethinks I now could raile on all their kinds,
But who can sound the depth of womens minds?
Per. Shortly to come to th' height of all their wrong,
So could this Mago fill his smoothest tongue,
That shee Thalander banisht from her sight,
Never to see her more his sole delight:
And he to none his hidden greife i[m]parted,
But full of loving duty straight departed.
Leaving our groves in woods he grows a ranger,
To all but beasts and sencelesse trees a stranger.
Thus in a desert like his love forsaken
When nothing but cold death his flames could slacken
Atyches spyed him, but so griefe had pin'd him,
That when he saw him plaine, he could not find him.
And so had sorrow all his graces reft
That in him, of him nothing now was left
Onely his love; [which with] his latest breath
He power'd into his eares, so slept in death.
The rest when better leisure time affords:
This lucklesse day askes rather teares then words.

CHORUS.

Who neere saw death, may death commend,
Call it joyes Prologue troubles end:
The pleasing sleepe that quiet rockes him,
Where neither care; nor fancy mockes him.
But who in neerer space do[e] eye him,
Next to hell, as hell defye him:
No state, no age, no sexe can move him,
No beggars prey, no Kings reproove him:
In mid'st of mirth, and loves alarmes,
He puls the Bride from Bridegroomes arms:
The beaut[e]ous Virgin he contemnes,
The guilty with the just condemns.
All weare his cloth and none denyes,
Dres't in fresh colour'd liveries.
Kings lowe as beggars lie in graves,
Nobles as base, the free as slaves,
Bles't who on vertues life relying,
Dies to vice, thus lives by dying.
But fond that making life thy treasure,
Surfetst in joy, art drunke in pleasure.
Sweetes do make the sower more tart;
And pleasure sharp's deaths keenest dart.
Deaths thought is death to those that live,
In living joyes, and never grieve.
Happelesse that happie art and knowst no teares:
Who ever lives in pleasure, lives in feares.