Classic Poem

O that thou wert no actor in this play,
My sweetest Cælia! or divorc'd away
From me in this: O Nature! I confess
I cannot look upon her heaviness
Without betraying that infirmity
Which at my birth thy hand bestow'd on me.
Would I had died when I receiv'd my birth!
Or known the grave before I knew the earth!
Heavens! I but one life did receive from you,
And must so short a loan be paid with two?
Cannot I die but like that brutish stem
Which have their best belov'd to die with them?
O let her live! some bless'd power hear my cry!
Let Cælia live and I contented die.
My Philocel (quoth she) neglect these throes!
Ask not for me, nor add not to my woes!
Can there be any life when thou art gone?
Nay, can there be but desolation?
Art thou so cruel as to wish my stay,
To wait a passage at an unknown day?
Or have me dwell within this vale of woe,
Excluded from those joys which thou shalt know?
Envy not me that bliss! I will assay it,
My love deserves it, and thou canst not stay it.
Justice! then take thy doom; for we intend,
Except both live, no life: one love, one end.
Thus with embraces and exhorting other:
With tear-dew'd kisses that had pow'r to smother
Their soft and ruddy lips close join'd with either,
That in their deaths their souls might meet together:
With prayers as hopeful as sincerely good,
Expecting death they on the cliff's edge stood,
And lastly were (by one oft forcing breath)
Thrown from the rock into the arms of death.
Fair Thetis, whose command the waves obey,
Loathing the loss of so much worth as they,
Was gone before their fall; and by her pow'r
The billows (merciless, us'd to devour,
And not to save,) she made to swell up high,
Even at the instant when the tragedy
Of those kind souls should end: so to receive them,
And keep what cruelty would fain bereave them.
Her hest was soon perform'd: and now they lay
Embracing on the surface of the sea,
Void of all sense; a spectacle so sad
That Thetis, nor no nymph which there she had,
Touch'd with their woes, could for a while refrain,
But from their heavenly eyes did sadly rain
Such show'rs of tears (so pow'rful, since divine)
That ever since the sea doth taste of brine.
With tears, thus to make good her first intent,
She both the lovers to her chariot hent:
Recalling life that had not clearly ta'en
Full leave of his or her more curious fane,
And with her praise sung by these thankful pair
Steer'd on her coursers, swift as fleeting air,
Towards her palace built beneath the seas,
Proud of her journey, but more proud of these.
By that time Night had newly spread her robe
Over our half-part of this massy globe,
She won that famous Isle which Jove did please
To honour with the holy Druidës;
And as the western side she stript along,
Heard, and so stay'd to hear, this heavy song:

O Heaven! what may I hope for in this cave?
A Grave.
But who to me this last of helps shall retch?
A Wretch.
Shall none be by pitying so sad a wight?
Yes: Night.
Small comfort can befall in heavy plight
To me, poor maid, in whose distresses be
Nor hope, nor help, nor one to pity me,
But a cold Grave, a Wretch, and darksome Night.

To dig that grave what fatal things appears?
Thy Tears.
What bell shall ring me to that bed of ease?
Rough Seas.
And who for mourners hath my Fate assign'd?
Each Wind.
Can any be debarr'd from such I find?
When to my last rites gods no other send
To make my grave, for knell, or mourning friend,
Than mine own Tears, rough Seas, and gusts of Wind.

Tears must my grave dig; but who bringeth those?
Thy woes.
What monument will Heaven my body spare?
The Air.
And what the epitaph when I am gone?
Oblivion.
Most miserable I, and like me none
Both dying, and in death, to whom is lent
Nor spade, nor epitaph, nor monument,
Excepting Woes, Air, and Oblivion.

The end of this gave life unto a groan,
As if her life and it had been but one;
Yet she as careless of reserving either,
If possible would leave them both together.
It was the fair Marina, almost spent
With grief and fear of future famishment.
For (hapless chance) but the last rosy morn
The willing redbreast, flying through a thorn,
Against a prickle gor'd his tender side,
And in an instant so, poor creature, died.
Thetis, much mov'd with those sad notes she heard,
Her freeing thence to Triton soon referr'd;
Who found the cave as soon as set on shore,
And by his strength removing from the door
A weighty stone, brought forth the fearful maid,
Which kindly led where his fair mistress stay'd,
Was entertain'd as well became her sort,
And with the rest steer'd on to Thetis' court,
For whose release from imminent decay
My Muse awhile will here keep holiday.