Classic Poem

Liriope (faire Nymphe, of Thetis borne)
The god Cephissus lov'd; and having long
In vaine her maidenly denialls boarne,
Forc'd her at last his silver streames among.
'Tweene them a buoye was got, faire as the Morne,
And (if truth were in grave Tiresia's toung)
Immortall as his Sire; might he know never,
But live a stranger to himselfe for ever.

No sooner from his birth-day had the Sun
After three Lusters, inhis carre of light
Three yearely rounds more through the Zodiack run,
When this bright-visadg'd buoye ( Narcissus hight)
Was growne to that supreme perfection
Of beauty' and grace, combinde to breed delight,
As no degree, no sexe, no age are free,
But all perforce of him enamour'd be.

The winning features of his face were such,
As the best beauties seem'd to his, but bad;
Sweet, soft, and fresh to looke upon, and touch,
The tender hue was of the lovely lad;
Widdowes desir'd, and married wives as much,
And ev'ry maid a longing for him had;
No harte so chaste, and free from amo'rous fire,
But he could tainte, and kindle with desire.

Yet his proude hawty minde had in disdaine
What ever beauty came within his sight;
Nor car'de the choycest Virgins love to gaine,
Whereto by kinde, Nature doth man invite;
Nor yet of riper women sought to' obtaine
The us' de allay of the blouds appetite;
But only lov'de, ador'de, and deifi'de
Himselfe, dispizing all the worlde beside.

One day, that lovely browe, those lively eyes,
That ruby lip, that alabaster chinne
And crimson cheeke of his, a Nymphe espyes,
A Nymphe that never doth to speake beginne,
But readily to such as speake, replies;
Though all' her words lame and imperfect been,
While in her mouthe confounding all the rest,
Her last worde only comes out perfectest.

This Nymphe which then, and still we Eccho name,
That answers others speeche, but speakes to none,
Was not as now, a meere voice peec'd, and lame,
But forme and substance had of flesh and bone;
When to her toung that imperfection came
To vente but halfe wordes, and them not her owne,
Through a disdaine shee in the breste did raise
Of Juno , jelious of her husbands wayes.

Ere which a voyce shee had, so sweete to th' eare,
With a discourse so smooth, and full of pleasure,
As it a heaven was her wordes to heare,
Wordes which the heavyest grievance and displeasure
Could mitigate, and easyer make to beare,
(Of sweete and sage so equall was their measure;)
For still shee kept them by discretion good,
Within the seemely bounds of womanhood.

Farre was this faire maydes faire toungs glory spred,
Winning the minds of all men, by the swaye
Of her imperious eloquution ledd,
Wherewith a thousand brabbles every daye
Among the Nymphes, Silvans, and shepherds bredd
Shee easily atton'de; but Heav'ns queene (aye
Frying in a jelious fire) refte her of the' honour
Of her smooth speech, for the shrewd turnes 't had done her.

Juno , that ever had a jelious head,
(Her husband did so ofte her bed abuse)
Meaning t' have stolne upon him, where i' bed
Shee thought he tooke the pleasure he did use,
This Nymphe to' avverte (by good advizement ledd)
The mischiefe that such errors ofte ensues,
Would with smooth storyes entertayne his queene,
Till he had time to get away unseene.

Having bin ofte beguild with this deceipt,
Juno at length th' ayme of her speech perceiv'd,
And sayd, You shall (Nymphe) with your suttle bayte
Catch me no more, or I am much deceiv'd;
Your fluent toung shall have a medcine straite,
That by' it I may be never after griev'd;
When you have fewer words to speake, wee'll see
How you can make your wonted sporte with me.

And what she threatned, quickly took effect;
For, from that time she could speake plaine no more,
Nor but repeate (such was her toungs defect)
Peeces of words that had bin spoke before.
This Nymphe, the buoy whom so much beauty deckt
No sooner view'd, but love assayled sore
Her brest; she prooves to him her thoughts to breake
In words, but cannot first begin to speake.

Amaz'd as mute she stands, loth to be seene,
And to a thicket by, anon she hyes;
Thence, (where he layd was on a flowry greene,)
Convayes about him her attentive eyes
In many' a fearefull glance, the boughs betweene,
Then, how to' aproach him neerer, doth devize;
Still with new fuell feeding her desire,
Till all her brest falls of a burning fire.

While thus th' inkindled maide viewes him unseene,
And neither yet, a word to other spake,
He heares a noise among the bushes greene
That unawares her foote did (tripping) make,
And lookes if any had about him been,
But sees not her that languisht for his sake.
Heare I not one? quoth he; One, sayes the mayde:
Framing a troth from the last word he sayd.

Much at this voyce began the lad to muze,
But whence it yssue'd could not yet devize;
And as men oft on such occasion use,
Now heere now there he throwes his earnest eyes;
Then once againe he thus his speech renewes,
May not I see thee? she, I see thee, cryes;
He turnes, and looks this way, and that againe;
She feares and hides her, and he looks in vaine.

Still more and more amaz'd he growes, and goes
Searching each place about him busily,
But nothing finds: then cryes come hither; those
Words she returnes, and cryes come hither; he
Sayes heere I am, do thou thy selfe disclose,
For as I heare, faine would I know thee. She
Replyes I know thee: so she did; for none
Ere came so neere her harte as he had done.

He addes (desirous to heare out the rest)
If then thou know'st me, come and let's imbrace;
And let's imbrace, shee soone replyes: that blest
And soveraigne worde inforc'd her from the place
Where she was hidd, and from her mayden brest
Chasing her feare, she' appeares before the face
Of the faire buoy, whose words assur'd her cleerely,
She should imbrace him whom she lov'd so dearely.

Her necke to wreathe with his, she faire enclin'd,
Her armes to meete his armes, extended be;
But he that was quite of another minde,
Sayes, Do not thinke I love thee; readily
I love thee, she replyes, rudely unkinde
He addes, nor ever will I love thee. Shee
Still sayes, I love thee, as she said before;
He held his peace, and she could speake no more.

She hides her shaming eyes. The froward lad
Pusheth her from him, and then from her flies.
She ynly raves, well nigh with sorrow mad
To' have woo'd him so, that doth her love despize;
And if by such a toung as erst she had,
But halfe the griefe that in her bosome lyes
Were utt' red, she might moove with her laments
The heav'ns, the Earth, and all the Elements.

Her pale sick lookes the woefull witnesse beare
Of her hartes agonye, and bitter teene;
Her flesh she batters, martyrs her faire haire,
And, shaming ere to be of any seene,
Hides her in some wilde wood or cave, and there
Answers perhaps if she have question'd been;
And more and more increaseth ev'ry day
Loves flame in her, and meltes her life away.

That flame eftsoone gan all her body blast;
Th' humor and bloud resolv'd into grosse aire;
The flesh to ashes in a moment past,
That was so sleeke to feele, and look'd so faire,
The bones and voice only remain'd at last;
But soone the bones to hard stones turned are;
All that of her now lives is th' empty sound
That from the caves doth to our eares rebound.

Beside this Nymphe, not the most faire Napæa
Or Hamadriad that was ever borne,
Could moove Narcissus ; no not Cytherea
Or wise Minerva could his fancy turne.
'Mong the neglected troope, a Nymphe to' Astræa
For justice prayes, and vengiance on the scorne
Of this disdainefull youth, that doth despize
Not nymphes alone, but heav'nly deities.

O thou (she cryes) whose all-impartiall hand
The balance of heav'ns Equity sustaines,
Do on this hawty head that doth withstand
Nature, and heav'n, and all the world disdaines,
Due justice; ô let some avengeing brande
Teach him by's owne to pitty others paines,
And graunt he may himselfe approove the grieves
He hath to thousands giv'n, and daily gives.

The just Petition that this Nymphe prefer'd,
Which she with rayning eyes repeated oft,
The Poures immortall had no sooner heard,
But they Ramnusia summond from alofte,
Whose sad doome was (and was not long defer'd)
That love should render his hard boosome soft;
But such a love, and of so strange a nature,
As nere before possessed human creature.

Within a shady grove (under a hill)
That opes into a medow faire, and wide,
Whose ample face a thousand py'ed floures fill,
And many' an odorous herbe, and plant beside,
Rizeth a fountaine fresh and coole; for still
The wood of one, and of the other side
The shady shoulders, of the hill defende it,
That the warme midday sun cannot offende it.

The water of this well is ever cleare,
And of that wonderfull transparency,
That his deepe bottome seemes to rise, and neere
Offer it selfe to the behoulders eye,
The hot Sun burnes the ground, and ev'ry where
Shepherd and sheep to the coole shadowes fly;
When love, (to' avenge himselfe) to this Found guideth
This lovely buoy in whom no love abideth.

Scalt with the Sun, and weary with the chace,
He seekes to rest himselfe, and quench his thirst,
And glad of having found so fit a place,
Layes by his bow and quiver from him first,
Then, his impatient drouth away to chace,
Inclines him to the flattring Fount. Accurst
For ever may that trech' erous mirhor be
Wherein he hapt his own faire shade to see.

While ore the Fountaines face his faire face lyes,
And greedy lips the cooling liquor draw,
A greater heate doth in his brest arise,
Caus'd by the shade he in the water saw.
Love finding soone whereon he fixt-his-eyes,
Gan to the head his goulden arrow draw,
And all his hart with the vaine love infected
Of what the liquid-christall glasse reflected.

The beautious image that he sees so cleerely,
And his owne shadow in the fountaine makes;
Not for a shadow immateriall meerely,
But for a body palpable, the takes;
Each part apart, then altogether neerely
Viewes, and growes thirstier as his thirst he slakes;
His eye his owne eye sees, and loves the sight,
While with it selfe it doth it selfe delight.

He' extolls the lip, admires the cheeke, where he
The red and white so aptly mingled findes;
His either eye a starre he deemes to be;
The shining haire that the brow faire imbindes,
He calls a sun-beame, 'tis so bright to see;
And his affection so his reason blindes,
As all this faire for which all eyes adore him,
He still imputes to what he sees before him.

Long gazing with this earnest admiration,
(Which well his ev'ry gesture testifies,)
The shadow seemes copartner in his passion,
And in the same unrest to sympathize;
His owne each motion in the selfe same fashon
Appearing manifestly to his eyes;
The same expression that he gives his paine,
The same the shadow renders him againe.

Transported with the silly vaine desire
That the deceiptfull shadow breedes in him,
With his inkindled lips he presses nigher
To kisse the lips that on the water swimme;
Those lips, as if they did his lips require,
Arize with equall hast to the well's brimme;
But his abused lips their purpose misse,
And only the deluding water kisse.

The water (troubled) doth the shade deface
With many' a wrinkle, he for feare to looze it,
Extends with loving hast over the place
His greedy armes, of either side to' incloze it;
But they (beguild) only vaine ayre imbrace;
He frowning lookes againe; that frownes, he wooes it
Againe with smiles. Ah dire and cruell law
Of thy owne frowne (poore buoy) to stand in awe.

Yll-fated wretch, alas what dost thou see
That in thy brest this mutiny awakes?
Perceiv'st thou not that what enamors thee
Is but the shadow thy owne body makes?
And of how strange, and silly' a quality
The passion is wherewith thy bosome akes,
That fondly flatters thee, 'tis still without thee,
When what thou seek' st, thou ever bear' st about thee?

So neere about thee, as thou needst not feare
But while thou tarriest heere, 'twill tarry too;
And when thou weary art of staying heere,
Twill go along with thee where ere thou goe:
I see thine eyes blubbred with many' a teare,
And weary'ed, yet not satisfy'd with woe;
Thou mourn'dst at first, to' allay and ease thy paine,
And now thou mourn' st to see that mourne againe.

The teares the shadow shedds, doth this accurst
Fonde lover for a firme assurance take,
That what he loves, feeles no lesse amorous thirste,
And in compassion sorrowes for his sake.
He opes his armes to' imbrace it at first;
The Shade consents, and doth like gesture make:
He nothing gripes; but turnes, and rudely teares
His haire, and drownes his rosy cheekes in teares.

Desire of food, nor want of sleepe can free
His thought from prosequuting still the woe
His tirrannizing Passion breedes, whence he
Becomes a despe'rate prays to his lov'd foe;
Th' enamourd eyes will nere avverted be
From their owne splendor, that enthralls him so,
As (spight of any reason can instruct him)
They sure will to a speedy death conduct him.

He rises up at length, and standing by,
Pointes to the Founte, as author of the wrong
His hart receiv'd through his unwary eye;
Then these sad accents the leav'd woods among
Sighes from his brests impatient agony;
Yee woods to whome these wailing words belong,
(For you alredy have beheld in parte)
The wretched plight of my afflicted harte.)

Yee woods, whose browes to heav'n, and feete to hell
Through th' ayre and ample earth extended be,
That have so long held your faire right so well
Against th' uncivile winters injury,
And many' a love-sick wight have sure heard tell
The story of his sadd captivity
Mong your dumb shades, O tell mee' if ever brest
I' have heard with such a love as mine, possest.

What harte ere such a darknesse found to' infould it,
To love a false and fleeting thing so deare,
Which when I thinke within my armes I hould it,
Is fled from me, and I am nere the neere;
I finde my error; somewhat does withhould it,
And my delusion plainely doth appeare;
Yet can I nere the more avverte my minde
From seeking still what I shall never finde.

But see this woe that doth all woe surmount,
What is it barres, what is it hinders me?
Is' t either foming sea, or craggy mount,
Strong gate, or thick wall rear'd to' eternity?
Alas 'tis but a narrow shallow fount
That's interpos'd tweene my desires and me,
Where what I seeke, appeares, & would come to me,
Did not the jelious waters hould it fro' me.

For I my head no sooner downwards hould,
With will to' impresse those ruby lips with mine,
But with like will (redyer then can be tould)
It smiles, and doth the beautious head encline.
O thou faire fabrick of celestiall mould
Come forth, and let our lips and bosomes joine;
Leave that unfriendly fountaine, and come hether.
And sporte we in this flowry mede together.

Aymee I call, but none will answer me,
Come yet at last, if but to let me know
Since I am young, lovely, and faire to see,
Why thou dost hide thy selfe, and shunne me so;
Looke in my face, and view the harmony
The various floures make that there freshly grow,
And tell me then, wherfore thou dost abhorre
That, that a thousand hartes do languish for.

I know (wretch that I am) I know thee now:
Th' art my owne shadow meerely; 'tis the shine
That falls upon the waters christall brow
From this bright face, and beautious limbs of mine,
And nothing else; I finde, alas I know
'Tis I and only I for which I pine;
At my own eyes alone (unhappy elfe)
I light the fire wherein I burne my selfe.

I know that I am it, and it is I
That both the loved am, and lover too;
But to allay my feav'rous malady
Alas what shall I say, what shall I doe?
Shall I my selfe, to wooe my selfe, apply,
Or stay perhaps till other do mee wooe?
Aymee, wealth makes me poore; accursed blessing
To pine in want, with over-much possessing.

Ah could I this flesh-frame asunder parte
And take a body from this body free;
And (having what I love so well, aparte,)
Devide my love betweene them equally,
So as they both, one interloving harte
Possest; I might perhaps contented be:
But ô alas it never may be done
To make that two, that Nature made but one.

Under the combrous weight my soule doth beare,
Wanting the meane it selfe to satisfy,
I fainte, and feele my death approaching neere;
And more I grieve a thousand fold to dye,
That in my ruine, that that is more deare
Then life to mee, must fall as well as I;
Deaths face were not so soure to looke upon,
Might that sweete face survive when I were gone.

He weepes, and to the water turnes againe,
Where he the weeping fain'd Narcissus viewes;
And ev'ry teare which the false faire eyes raine,
Th' impatience of his barefull woe renewes;
He strives to touch the lov'd cause of his paine,
Troubling the waters that his eyes abuse;
Then chafes, and cryes if I may neither feele
Nor heare, at least let mee behould thee still.

He raves impatient of his harts unreste,
His garment' teares, martyrs his haire and rendes it,
Then with his each bent fist, his inn' ocent brest
Beats, but the weede he weares somewhat defends it;
He findes it, and (himselfe more to moleste)
Remooves the garment, and starknak'd offends it
With many' a churlish blow, and so betakes him
Wholly to' s woe, as one whose sence forsakes him.

The battr'ed ivory brest shewes to the view
Like halfe-ripe grapes, apples, halfe red, or roses
Strew'd on some lilly banke, that (blowing nue)
The virgin-leaves to the warme Sun disclozes;
And such, as though chang'd from the former hue,
Yet nought at all of his first beauty loozes,
But seemes (though sore perhaps, and akeing more)
As faire, or fairer then it was before.

He stoopes againe to take an other sight
Of the belov'd occasion of his woe;
The water shewes him soone the evill plight
The flesh was in had boarne so many' a blow;
He mournes to see't; and stody'ing how he might
Heale, and appeaze what he had injur'd so,
His armes (though well he knowes the labour vaine)
He needes will plunge into the fount againe.

The water mooves, he mournes, the Shadow flyes;
He lets it settle, and then lookes againe.
And now the fatall fire wherein he fryes,
His Sence consumes, through too much sence of paine;
So th' ore, that in a melting furnace lyes,
Growes warme, then hot; nor long doth so remaine,
But meltes, (the fire tyring upon't the whiles)
And fusible, 'as the liquid water boiles.

The white, and faire vermilion faded be
That late imbellisht and adorn'd him so;
His eye the faint lidd covers heavily;
Each limbe growes slack and powrelesse. Ecco although
He loath'd and us'd her so disdainefully
Hath still acompany'de him in his woe,
And ever would repeate, and answer make
Well as she could, to whatsoere he spake.

What sound his handes (beating each other) made,
Or when his bosome felt their battery,
She the like sound returnes. He to the Shade
Languishing cryes, Behould for thee I dye:
For thee I dye, answers th' inamour'd maide,
Remembring her owne cruell destiny.
At length he sadly sighes farwell, and dyes.
Farewell sayes Eccho , and no more replyes.

His ghost is to the shades infernall gon,
And (carry'ng still his error with him) there
Lookes him in those pale streames of Acheron ,
And wooes, & winnes himselfe, and ne're the neere,
The Nymphes and hamadryads ev'ry one
With the sad Nayads who his sisters were,
With shriekes & cryes which they to heav'n inforce,
Strew their faire shorne haires on the bloudlesse corse.

Ecco , (that grieves no lesse then th' other do)
Confounds her lamentation lowd with theirs;
And would her tresses teare, and her flesh too,
Had she them still; but as she may, she beares
Her part in ev'ry sound of griefe, and woe,
That from beat hand, or wayling voice she heares.
If any (weeping) cry, aymee he's gone,
She sayes the same, and multiplies the moane.

His fun'erall pile rounded with tapers bright,
The wayling Nymphes prepare without delay;
But the dead corse is vanisht from their sight;
And in the place where the pale carcasse lay,
A flowre with yallow seed, and leaves milke white
Appeares; a fairer flowre Aprill nor May
Yeelds; for it keeps much of his beauty still.
Some call't a Lilly, some a Daffadill.