Classic Poem

THE Argument .

Philarete, with his three friends,
Here his hunting story ends.
King Alexis, with much ruth,
Wails the banished shepherd's youth:
But he slighteth Fortune's stings,
And in spite of thraldom sings.

P HILARETE , C UDDY , A LEXIS , W ILLY .

Philarete.

S O , now I see y'are shepherds of your word:
Thus were you wont to promise, and to do.

Cuddy.

More than our promise is, we can afford:
We come ourselves, and bring another, too —
Alexis, whom thou know'st well is no foe;
Who loves thee much; and I do know that he
Would fain a hearer of thy Hunting be.

Philarete.

Alexis! you are welcome; for you know
You cannot be but welcome where I am:
You ever were a friend of mine in show,
And I have found you are indeed the same:
Upon my first restraint you hither came,
And proffered me more tokens of your love
Than it were fit my small deserts should prove.

Alexis.

'Tis still your use to underprize your merit.
Be not so coy to take my proffered love:
'Twill neither unbeseem your worth nor spirit.
To offer court'sy doth thy friend behove;
And which are so, this is a place to prove.
Then once again I say, if cause there be,
First make a trial, if thou please, of me.

Philarete.

Thanks, good Alexis, sit down by me here;
I have a task, these shepherds know, to do;
A tale already told this morn well near,
With which I very fain would forward go,
And am as willing thou should'st hear it too;
But thou canst never understand this last,
Till I have also told thee what is past.

Willy.

It shall not need, for I so much presumed
I on your mutual friendships might be bold,
That I a freedom to myself assumed,
To make him know what is already told.
If I have done amiss then you may scold.
But in my telling I prevised this;
He knew not whose, nor to what end it is.

Philarete.

Well, now he may; for here my tale goes on.
My eager dogs and I to wood are gone;
Where, beating through the coverts, every hound
A several game had in a moment found.
I rated them; but they pursued their prey,
And as it fell, by hap, took all one way.
Then I began with quicker speed to follow,
And teased them on with a more cheerful halloo;
That soon we passed many weary miles,
Tracing the subtle game through all their wiles.
These doubled, those re-doubled on the scent,
Still keeping in full chase where'er they went,
Up hills, down cliffs, through bogs, and over plains,
Stretching their music to the highest strains;
That when some thicket hid them from mine eye,
My ear was ravished with their melody.
Nor crossed we only ditches, hedges, furrows,
But hamlets, tithings, parishes, and boroughs:
They followed wheresoe'er the game did go,
Through kitchen, parlour, hall, and chamber too;
And as they passed the city and the court,
My prince looked out, and deigned to view my sport;
Which then, although I suffer for it now,
If some say true, he liking did allow;
And so much, had I had but the wit to stay,
I might myself perhaps have heard him say.
But I, that time, as much as any daring,
More for my pleasure than my safety caring,
Seeing fresh game from every covert rise,
Crossing by thousands still before their eyes,
After I rushed, and following close my hounds,
Some beasts I found lie dead, some full of wounds,
Among the willows scarce with strength to move.
One I found here, another there, whom Love
Had griped to death: and, in the self same state,
Lay one devoured by Envy, one by Hate.
Lust had bit some, but I soon passed beside them;
Their festered wounds so stunk, none could abide them.
Choler hurt divers, but Revenge killed more
Fear frighted all behind him and before.
Despair drove on a huge and mighty heap,
Forcing some down from rocks and hills to leap,
Some into water, some into the fire,
So on themselves he made them wreak his ire.
But I remember, as I passed that way,
Where the great King and Prince of Shepherds lay,
About the walls were hid some, once more known.
That my fell cur Ambition had o'erthrown,
Many I heard, pursued by Pity cry,
And oft I saw my bloodhound, Cruelty,
Eating her passage even to the heart,
Whither once gotten she is loath to part.
All plied it well, and made so loud a cry,
'Twas heard beyond the shores of Brittany.
Some rated them, some stormed, some liked the game,
Some thought me worthy praise, some worthy blame;
But I, not fearing the one, mis-'steeming the other,
Both in shrill balloos and loud yearnings smother.
Yea, the strong-mettled, and my long-breathed crew,
Seeing the game increasing in their view,
Grew the more frolic, and the course's length
Gave better breath, and added to their strength.
Which Jove perceiving, for Jove heard their cries
Rumbling amongst the spheres' concavities,
He marked their course and courages increase,
Saving, " 'Twere pity such a chase should cease; "
And therewith swore their mouths should never waste,
But hunt as long's mortality did last,
Soon did they feel the power of his great gift,
And I began to find their pace more swift.
I followed, and I rated, but in vain
Strived to o'ertake or take them up again:
They never stayed since, nor nights nor days,
But to and fro still run a thousand ways;
Yea, often to this place where now I lie,
They'll wheel about to cheer me with their cry;
And one day in good time will vengeance take
On some offenders for their master's sake.
For know, my friends, my freedom in this sort
For them I lose, and making myself sport.

Willy.

Why, was there any harm at all in this?

Philarete.

No, Willy; and I hope yet none there is.

Willy.

How comes it, then?

Philarete.

Note, and I'll tell thee how!
Thou knowest that Truth and Innocency now,
If placed with meanness, suffer more despite
Than Villainies accompanied with might.
But thus it fell: While that my bounds pursued
Their noisome prey, and every field lay strewed
With monsters, hurt and slain, upon a beast,
More subtle and more noisome than the rest,
My lean-flanked bitch, called Envy, happed to light,
And, as her wont is, did so surely bite,
That though she left behind small outward smart,
The wounds were deep, and rankled to the heart.
This, joining to some other that of late
Were very eagerly pursued by Hate,
To fit their purpose, having taken leisure,
Did thus conspire to work me a displeasure.
For imitation, far surpassing apes,
They laid aside their fox and wolfish shapes,
And shrouded in the skins of harmless sheep,
Into byeways and open paths did creep;
Where they, as hardly drawing breath, did lie,
Showing their wounds to every passer-by,
To make them think that they were sheep so foiled,
And by my dogs in their late hunting spoiled.
Beside, some other that envied my game,
And for their pastime kept such monsters tame,
As you do know there's many for their pleasure
Keep foxes, bears, and wolves, as some great treasure;
Yea, many get their living by them too,
And so did store of these I speak of do;
Who, seeing that my kennel had affrighted
Or hurt some vermin wherein they delighted,
And finding their own power by much too weak
Their malice on my innocence to wreak,
Swoln with the deepest rancour of despite,
Some of our greatest shepherds' folds by night
They closely entered; and there having stained
Their hands in villainy, of me they 'plained,
Affirming, without shame or honesty,
I and my dogs had done it purposely.
Whereat they stormed, and called me to a trial,
Where innocence prevails not, nor denial.
But for that cause, here in this place I lie,
Where none so merry as my dogs and I.

Cuddy.

Believe it, here's a tale will suiten well
For shepherds in another age to tell.

Willy.

And thou shalt be remembered with delight,
By this, hereafter, many a winter's night;
For of this sport another age will ring;
Yea, nymphs that are unborn thereof shall sing;
And not a beauty on our greens shall play,
That hath not heard of this thy hunting-day.

Philarete.

It may be so; for if that gentle swain,
Who once by Tavy, on the western plain,
Would make the song, such life his verse can give,
Then I do know my name might ever live.

Alexis.

But tell me; are our plains and nymphs forgot,
And canst thou frolic in thy trouble be?

Philarete.

Can I, Alexis! sayest thou? Can I not,
That am resolved to scorn more misery?

Alexis.

Oh, but that youth's yet green, and young blood hot;
And liberty must needs be sweet to thee;
But now most sweet, whilst every bushy vale,
And grove, and hill, rings of the nightingale.

Methinks, when thou rememberest those sweet lays
Which thou wouldst lead thy shepherdess to hear,
Each evening-tide among the leafy sprays,
The thought of that should make thy freedom dear;
For now, whilst every nymph on holidays
Sports with some jolly lad, and maketh cheer,
Thine sighs for thee, and mewed up from resort,
Will neither play herself, nor see their sport.

Those shepherds that were many a morning wont
Unto their boys to leave the tender herd,
And bear thee company when thou didst hunt;
Methinks the sport thou hast so gladly shared
Among those swains should make thee think upon't;
For't seems all vain, now, that was once endeared.
It cannot be, since I could make relation
How for less cause thou hast been deep in passion.

Philarete.

'Tis true, my tender heart was ever yet
Too capable of such conceits as these:
I never saw that object but from it
The passions of my love I could increase.
Those things which move not other men a whit,
I can and do make use of, if I please:
When I am sad, to sadness I apply
Each bird, and tree, and flower that I pass by.

So, when I will be merry, I as well
Something for mirth from everything can draw,
From misery, from prisons, nay, from hell;
And as when to my mind grief gives a flaw,
Best comforts do but make my woes more fell:
So when I'm bent to mirth, from Mischief's paw
(Though seized upon me) I would something cull,
That, spite of care, should make my joys more full.

I feel those wants, Alexis, thou dost name,
Which spite of youth's affections I sustain;
Or else, for what is't I have gotten fame,
And am more known than many an elder swain,
If such desires I had not learned to fame,
Since many pipe much better on this plain?
But tune your reeds, and I will in a song
Express my care, and how I take this wrong.

Sonnet.

I THAT erst-while the world's sweet air did draw,
Graced by the fairest ever mortal saw;
Now closely pent with walls of ruthless stone,
Consume my days and nights, and all alone.

When I was wont to sing of shepherds' loves,
My walks were fields and downs, and hills and groves;
But now, alas! so strict is my hard doom,
Fields, downs, hills, groves and all's but one poor room.

Each morn, as soon as daylight did appear,
With nature's music birds would charm mine ear;
Which now, instead of their melodious strains,
Hears rattling shackles, gyves, and bolts, and chains.

But, though that all the world's delight forsake me,
I have a Muse, and she shall music make me;
Whose airy notes, in spite of closest cages,
Shall give content to me and atter-ages.

Nor do I pass for all this outward ill,
My heart's the same, and undejected still;
And, which is more than some in freedom win,
I have true rest, and peace, and joy within.

And then my mind, that spite of prison's free,
Whene'er she pleases, anywhere can be:
She's in an hour in France, Rome, Turkey, Spain;
In earth, in hell, in heaven, and here again.

Yet there's another comfort in my woe:
My cause is spread, and all the world may know
My fault's no more but speaking truth and reason;
No debt, nor theft, nor murder, rape, nor treason.

Nor shall my foes, with all their might and power,
Wipe out their shame, nor yet this fame of our;
Which when they find, they shall my fate envy,
Till they grow lean, and sick, and mad, and die.

Then, though my body here in prison rot,
And my wrong'd Satires seem awhile forgot;
Yet when both fame and life hath left those men,
My verse and I'll revive, and live again.

So thus enclosed, I bear Affliction's load,
But with more true content than some abroad;
For whilst their thoughts do feel my Scourge's sting,
In bonds I'll leap, and dance, and laugh, and sing.

Alexis.

Why now I see thou droop'st not with thy care,
Neither exclaim'st thou on thy hunting-day;
But dost, with unchanged resolution, bear
The heavy burthen of exile away.
All that did truly know thee, did conceive
Thy actions with thy spirit still agreed:
Their good conceit thou dost no whit bereave,
But showest that thou'rt still thyself indeed.
If that thy mind to baseness now descends,
Thou'lt injure Virtue, and deceive thy friends

Willy.

Alexis, he will injure Virtue much,
But more his friends, and most of all himself,
If on that common bar his mind but touch,
It wrecks his fame upon disgrace's shelf;
Whereas, if thou steer on that happy course,
Which in thy just adventure is begun,
No thwarting tide nor adverse blast shall force
Thy bark without the channel's bounds to run.
Thou art the same thou wert, for aught I see,
When thou didst freely on the mountains hunt:
In nothing changed yet, unless it be
More merrily disposed than thou wert wont.
Still keep thee thus, so others well shall know,
Virtue can give content in midst of woe;
And see, though mightiness with frowns doth threat,
That, to be innocent, is to be great.
Thrive and farewell!

Alexis.

In this thy trouble flourish.

Cuddy.

While those that wish thee ill, fret, pine, and perish.