Classic Poem

Actus Primus. Scen: Secunda. [ Am ]

At my laments I've heard the rocks, the waters
For pitty answer; and at my complaint
The leav'de boughes murmur, as they griev'd for me;
But never saw, nor ever hope to see
Pitty in the faire and cruell (shall I say
Woman or) tygar? for a woman shee
Denyes to be, in thus denying me
The pitty this my miserable state
Drawes from things sencelesse, and inanimate. Thir :

Lambes on the grasse, the Wolfe feedes on the Lambe;
Love (cruellest of things) with teares is fedd.
And though he ever feedes, is never full. Am

Alas alas, love hath bin with my teares
Long since full fedd, and now thirsts onely for
My bloud; and long it shall not be, ere he
And the faire Cruell drinke it with their eyes. Thi :

Ay me, what sayst thou' Aminta? Fye no more
Of this strange dotage; be of comfort man
And seeke some other; others thou mayest finde
As true, as this is cruell, and unkinde. Am:
Alas how weary'a worke were it for me
Other to seeke, that cannot finde my selfe;
And having lost my selfe, what can I gaine
With busie'st search that shall requite the paine? Thi:

Dispaire not yet, unhappy though thou bee
Shee may in time relent, and pitty thee:
Time makes the Tygar and the Lion tame. Am:

O but so long to hope and be delaid,
Is worse then death to one in miserie. Thi:

Perhaps thy suffrance shall not long endure;
For mayds so' inconstant ar of disposition,
That as th'ar soone at odds, th'ar as soone wonne;
Uncertaine as the leafe blowne with each winde,
And flexible as is the bladed grasse.
But gentle Shepherd, let me crave to know
More throughly thy loves hard condition;
For though I've often heard thee say thou lov'st,
Thou never tould'st me yet, who' twas thou lov'st;
And well it fitts the nearenesse of our lives,
And frendship, that such counsayls should be none
Betweene us two, but free to both, as one. Am:

Thirsis, I am content to ope to thee
What the woods, hills, and flouds ar privy to,
But no man knowes: so neere alas I finde
Th' approaching period of this loathed breath,
That reason 'tis I leave some one behinde,
That may relate th' occasion of my death,
And leave it written on some Beech-tree barke,
Neere where my bloudlesse carkasse shall be lay'd;
That as the cruell Faire shall passe along,
She may at pleasure spurne with her proud foote
The unhappy bones,
And smiling say: loe here, loe where he lyes;
The triumph and the trophey of mine eyes;
And (to encrease her fame,) rejoyce to see
In my sad ende her beauties victory
Knowne to the Nimphes, and Shepherds farr and neere,
Whom the report may thither guide: perhaps
(Ah hopes too high) shee may bestow a sigh,
And though too late, with some compassion rue
The losse of him dead, whom shee living slue,
And wish he liv'd againe. But I digresse. Thi:

On with thy story, for I long to heare't;
Perhaps to better ende then thou supposest. Am:

Being but a Lad, so young as yet scarse able
To reach the fruit from the low-hanging boughes
Of new growne trees; Inward I grew to be
With a young mayde, fullest of love and sweetnesse,
That ere display'd pure gold tresse to the winde;
Thou know'st her mother hight Cidippe; no?
Montano the rich Goteheard is her father:
Silvia, faire Silvia 'tis I meane, the glory
Of all these woods, and flame of every heart;
'Tis shee, 'tis shee I speake of; long alas
Liv'd I so neare her, and then lov'de of her,
As like two turtles each in other joy'de;
Neere our abodes, and neerer were our hearts;
Well did our yeares agree, better our thoughts;
Together wove we netts t'intrapp the fish
In flouds and sedgy fleetes; together sett
Pitfalls for birds; together the pye'd Buck
And flying Doe over the plaines we chac'de;
And in the quarry', as in the pleasure shar'de:
But as I made the beasts my pray, I found
My heart was lost, and made a pray to other.
By little' and little in my brest beganne
To spring, I know not from what hidden roote
(Like th'herbe that of it selfe is seene to growe)
A strange desire, and love still to be neere
And hourely drinke from the faire Silvias eyes
A sweetnesse past all thought, but it had still
(Me thought) a bitter farewell; oft I sigh'd,
Yet knew no cause I had to sigh; and so
Became betimes a lover, ere I knewe
What love meant; but alas I knewe too soone;
And in what sort, marke, and I'le tell thee. Thir:
Onn. Am:

All in the shade of a broad Beech-tree sitting,
Silvia, Phillis, and my selfe together;
A Bee, that all about the flowry mede
Had hunny gathred; flew to Phillis cheeke;
The rosie cheeke mistaking for a rose,
And there (belike) his little needle left:
Phillis cryes out, impatient of the paine
Of her sharp sting: but th'ever-lovely Silvia
Bad her be patient; Phillis (said shee) peace,
And with a word or two I'le heale thy hurt,
And take the sting, and soone the griefe away;
This secret erst the grave Aretia taught mee,
And her I gave (in recompence) the horne
Of Yvory tipt with gould I wont to were;
This said, the lips of her faire sweetest mouth
Upon th' offended cheeke shee laid; and straite,
(O strange effect) whether with the sound it were
Of her soft murmur'd verse of Magick powre,
Or rather (as I rather doe beleeve)
The vertue of her mouth,
That what it toucheth, cures, Phillis was cur'de;
And with the paine soone was the swelling gone.
I, that till then ne're dream't of more delight,
Then on the shine of her bright eyes to gaze,
And joy to heare her speake, (musique more sweete,
Then makes the murmur of a slow pac'de brooke,
When tis with thousand little pebbles crost;
Or the winde pratling 'mongst the wanton leaves)
Gan then, ev'n then to feele a new desire
Possesse me, of touching those deare lips with mine;
And growne more suttle then I was before,
(So love perhaps th' imagination whets,)
I found this new deceipt, whereby to' aspire
With greater ease to th'end of my desire;
I faynde my selfe stung on the nether lip,
In like sort with a Bee as Phillis was;
And in such manner gan to moane my selfe,
As th'helpe my tongue crav'd not, my lookes implored;
The harmlesse Silvia, pitying strait my case,
Offred her ready cure to my fayn'd hurt;
But th'unfayn'd wound I bleede of, deeper made,
And farre more deadly, when those corall twinnes
On mine shee layd. Nor do the greedy Bees
Gather from any flowre honey so sweete,
As I did from those freshest roses gather;
Though bashfull shame, and feare had taught to barre,
Hot kisses from desire to presse too farre,
T'imbathe themselves; and did their heate withholde
And kill, or made them slower and lesse bolde.
But while downe to my heart that sweetnesse glided,
Mixt with a secret poyson, such delight
I inly felt, that faigning still the griefe
Of the sting had not left me yet; so dealt,
That shee the charme repeated sundry times:
Since when till now, still more and more I finde,
For all her charme, she 'has left the sting behinde.
Whose paine ere since hath so increas'd upon me,
As my love-labouring breast could hold no longer,
But that upon a time, when divers Nymphes
And Shepherds of us in a ring were sitting,
Whilst the play was, each one should softly whisper
Some word in th'eare of her that next him sat;
Silvia (quoth I soft in her eare) for thee
I pine, and dye, unlesse thou pitty mee.
No sooner heard she this, but downe she hangs
The faire looke, whence I might perceive to breake
A suddaine and unwonted ruddinesse,
That seem'd to breathe forth anger mixt with shame;
Nor would shee' in other language answer mee,
Then such a troubled silence, as appear'd
Threatning and deadly; nor since then would ever
Willingly see, or heare me: Thrise the Sunne
His yearly course hath runne, thrise the greene fields
Hath the nak'd Sythman barb'd; and three times hath
The Winter rob'd the trees of their greene lockes;
That I have tryde all meanes I could, t'appease her,
And nought remaines, but that I dye to please her;
And gladly would I dye, were I but sure
'Twould either please, or but drawe pitty from her;
Each were a blessing to mee, though no doubt
Her pitty were of both the greater meede,
And worthyer recompense for all my love,
And for my death; yet I were loth to wish
Ought, that too rudely might those eyes molest,
Or do the least offence to that deare brest. Thi:

Did she but heare thus much from thee, beleev'st thou
It would not make her love, or pitty thee? Am:

I neither knowe, nor can I hope so much:
Shee flyes my speech, as th'Adder doth the charme. Thi:
Well be of comfort; my minde gives mee yet,
Wee'll finde a meane that she shall heare thee speak. Am:

'Twill come to nought; to begg such grace were vaine,
For mee to speake, where speech no grace will gaine. Thi:
For shame dispaire not thus. Ami:

Alas just cause
Bids mee dispaire; my cruell destinie
Was read by the grave Mopso long agon,
Mopso that knowes the hid language of birds,
And understands the force of herbes and founts. Thi:

What Mopso's this thou speak'st on? is't not he
That carryes honey in his supple tongue,
And friendly smiles for all he lookes upon,
But in his heart deceipt, and hidden beares
Under his coate a rasor? shame befall him;
The vilde unlucky doomes he lewdly sells
To silly fooles with that grave looke, and grace,
Ar farr from trueth; take't of my word, and triall.
I'le rather hope (and sure my hope will thrive)
That from this fellowes ydle auguryes
Much happyer fate will to thy love arise. Am:
If ought by proofe thou know'st of him, good swayne
Hyde it not from me? Thir:

Ile tell thee willingly.
When first my hap led mee to know these woods,
I knew this fellow, and esteemed him
As thou do'st; So it fortun'd once, I had
Desire and bus'nesse to go see that great
Wonder of Citties, at whose ancient feete
The broad-fam'd river runnes; and him I made
Acquainted with my purpose; he replyes,
And thus began to preach: My sonne beware
Now thou art going to that seate of fame,
Where those deceiptfull crafty Cittizens,
And evill minded Courtiers live, and wont
To scoffe at us, and hould in such a scorne
Our plaine distrustlesse homely carriage;
Be well adviz'd (my sonne) and presse not there
Where the frsh colour'd robes with gould ar wrought,
Gay plumes, and dayly-varied dressings shine;
But above all, beware accursed Fate,
Or thy youths jollity conduct thee not
Unto that magazine of restlesse chatt,
But flye that cursed and inchaunted place.
What place is that (quoth I?) 'tis there (said he)
Where dwell th'inchantresses that have the powre
And arte to make men, and their minds transparent;
And what so Diamonds seeme, and finest gold,
But glasse and copper ar; those silver chestes
That seeme full of rich treasor, ar no more
Then kennells full of filth, and cozen men;
The walles ar built too with that wondrous arte,
That they will speake, and answer them that speake;
Nor in halfe words, and such imperfect sounds,
As wont the Eccos that heere haunt our grounds,
But ev'ry word whole, and entyre repeating:
Nay more then this, the tables, chaires, and stooles,
Hangings, and all that to each roome belongs,
Have toung and voice, and never silent ar;
False lyes there, formde into the shape of babes,
Ar hopping all about; and be he dumbe
That enters there, findes straite a tongue to prate
And lye with; but there is yet worse then this,
May happen thee; thou mayst perhaps be turn'd
Into a beast, a tree, a floud, a flame,
Into a floud of teares, a fire of sighes.
All this he tould mee; and I forward went
To see the Cittie with this false beliefe;
And (as good happ would have it,) chaunc'd to passe
Along the place where stands that blessed dwelling,
Whence I might heare breath out such melody,
By Swans, and Nimphes, and heav'nly Syrens made,
With voyce so shrill, so sweet and full of pleasure,
That all amaz'd, I stay'd to gaze, and listen:
Before the doore there stood (mee seem'd) as guard
Of the faire showes within, a man in showe
And of proportion stout, and knightly hue;
Such as (for what he seem'd me) made me doubt
Whether for Armes he were, or counsaile fitter:
With a benigne, and milde, though grave aspect,
He highly-faire bespake, and led me in;
He great in place, mee poore and homely man:
But then, what did I see? what did I heare?
Celestiall goddesses, and lovely Nimphes,
New lights, new Orpheusses ; and others too
Unvayl'd unclouded, as the virgin-morne,
When silver dewes her golden rayes adorne.
There Phaebus shone, inlightning all about,
With all his sister Muses; among whom
Satt Elpine; at which sight, all in a trice
I felt my selfe growe greater then my selfe,
Full of new powre, full of new diety?
And sang of warres, and Knightly deedes in Armes,
Scorning the rurall Songs I wont to make;
And though I after did (for others pleasure)
Turne to these woods againe, yet I retaynde
Part of that Spirit; nor yet sounds my pipe
So lowly as before, but shriller farr.
And through the woods rings with a trumpets voyce.
Afterward Mopso heard me'! and with so vilde,
And sowre a count'nance greeted mee, that I
Became straite hoarce, and was a long time mute;
When all the Shepherds said, sure I had bin
Scar'd with the Wolfe; but Mopso was the Wolfe.
This I have tould thee, that thou mayst beleeve
How little this mans words deserve beliefe;
And out of doubt, th'hast the more cause to hope,
For that this fellow bids thee not to hope. Am:

I'me glad to heare this troth of him; but now
I leave my life, and my lives care to you. Thi:

Feare not 'tis all my care to cure thy paine;
Within this houre see thou be here againe.

Chorus.

O Happy Age of Gould, happy' houres;
Not for with milke the rivers ranne,
And hunny dropt from ev'ry tree;
Nor that the Earth bore fruits, and flowres,
Without the toyle or care of Man,
And Serpents were from poyson free;
Nor for th'Ayre (ever calme to see)
Had quite exil'de the lowring Night;
Whilst clad in an eternall Spring
(Now fiery hott, or else freezing)
The cheekes of heav'n smilde with cleare light;
Nor that the wandring Pine of yore
Brought neither warres, nor wares from forraine shore;
But therefore only happy Dayes,
Because that vaine and ydle name,
That couz'ning Idoll of unrest,
(Whom the madd vulgar first did raize,
And call'd it Honour , whence it came
To tyrannize or'e ev'ry brest,)
Was not then suffred to molest
Poore lovers hearts with new debate;
More happy they, by these his hard
And cruell lawes, were not debar'd
Their innate freedome; happy state;
The goulden lawes of Nature, they
Found in their brests; and then they did obey.
Amidd the silver streames and floures,
The winged Genii then would daunce,
Without their bowe, without their brande;
The Nymphes sate by their Paramours,
Whispring love-sports, and dalliance,
And joyning lips, and hand to hand;
The fairest Virgin in the land
Nor scorn'de, nor glor'yed to displaye
Her cheekes fresh roses to the eye,
Or ope her fair brests to the day,
(Which now adayes so vailed lye,)
But men and maydens spent free houres
In running Rivers, Lakes, or shady Bowres:
Thou Honour , thou didst first devize
To maske the face of Pleasure thus;
Barr water to the thirst of Love,
And lewdly didst instruct faire eyes
They should be nyce, and scrupulous,
And from the gazing world remoove
Their beauties; thy hands new netts wove
T'intrap the wilde curles, faire dispred
To th' open ayre; thou mad'st the sweet
Delights of Love seeme thus unmeete;
And (teaching how to looke, speake, tread,)
By thy ill lawes this ill hast left,
That what was first Loves gift, is now our theft.
Nor ought thy mighty working brings,
But more annoyes, and woe to us;
But thou (of Nature and of Love
The Lord, and scourge of mighty Kings,)
Why do'st thou shrowde thy greatnesse thus
In our poore cells? hence, and remoove
Thy powre; and it display above.
Disturbing great ones in their sleepe;
And let us meaner men alone
T' injoye againe, (when thou art gone)
And lawes of our Forefathers keepe.
Live we in love, for our lives houres
Hast on to death, that all at length devoures.
Love we while we may; the wayne
Of Heav'n can set, and rise againe;
But we (when once we looze this light)
Must yeeld us to a never ending Night.