Chapter 12

Now for a space she silent did remaine, And onely gazed wishly in his face: She could her teares no longer then restraine, But they ran trickling down her cheeks apace Her father kisses her, and bids her peace, And thought it tender-hearted shamefastnes.

He dry'd her cheekes, and said, my wench be stil, Thy yeares of right, a husband now doth claime Thou shalt not liue a maid by my good will, Nor longer shalt a wanton bed refraine, Then what, or who wilt haue? come tell me now. At length she did reply; one like to you.

He did allow the choyce, and praisd the same, And kist and clipt her for her louing speech, Not deeming that it tended to their shame, It pleasd her well, & wisht that he would seech A further suit; and then made this request, Let me live still with you, let wooers rest.

Your company I most of all affect, Continue but your loue, it shall suffice, These wrangling husbands why should I respect? Her father thus againe to her replies, Thy godlinesse (at which she blushed red) I like, but thou must tast a Bride-groomes bed.

Thou dost not know the pleasure it affords, Nor wanton motions that therein abound. It not consisteth all of pleasant words, More gamesome tricks are there stil to be fo[=u]d A minde so chaste as thine cannot conceiue What pleasing sports one shall therby receiue.

It is no dreame, nor passion of the minde, But a substantiall pleasure there doth dwell, The practike part of dreames therein we finde, Which who so doth omit, leades Apes in hell. Why dost thou blush? I know your case, belieue, Maids must say nay, yet take when men do giue.

And now the sable horses of the night, Haue drawne a mantle ore the siluer sky, And all the stars doe shew their borrowed light, Each breathing thing oprest with sleep doth ly Saue _Philomell_, that sings of _Terreus_ rape, And _Myrha_ plotting some incestious scape.

No rest at all she tooke within her bed, The flames of _Cupid_ burnt so in her brest, And many a fansie comes into her head, Which ouer-much her troubled soule opprest, She _doubts_, she _hopes_ th[=e] _feare_ doth make repaire, Sh'l now att[=e]pt, then _shame_ doth bring despaire.

Looke how you see a pleasant field of Corne Moue here & there by gentle-breathing wind, Now vp and downe, as waues in sea are borne: So doubtfull thoughts had motion in her mind: Now shee'l surcease, and now to him repaire Instable, like a feather in the aire.

O fye vpon this fowle incestious lust, That very Nature greatly doth abhorre, Some plague will fall vpon all such I trust, If in this world there can be any more. I hope this little world well free-ed is Of Giants, and such monstrous beasts as this.

So God preserue it, if it be his will, And let the Gospell euer flourish here, Yet I do feare we haue some yet as ill, The pleasing fooles do with their folly beare: In Paradice I see wee cannot live, But we shall finde some foule seducing _Eue_.

My tongue doth stagger to repeate her name, So foule a blot a Christian cannot brooke, Go seeke a glasse to see this filthy shame, Upon _Gods holy Bible_ daily looke: And there thou maist, as in a mirror see, No _Alkeron_ can yeeld the like to thee.

There sucke the _Nectar_ of his _Holy Word_, And begge thou pardon for thy foule abuse, For euery _Sore_ it can a _Salue_ afford. O _Atheist_! learne to make of it good use. Thou Christians blot, to leaue off further talke, Whilst thou hast light, endeuor there to walke.

And thou _Pænchaia_, rich in manys a thing, In _Custus_, _Cynamon_ and _Incense_ sweete, That out of trees aboundantly doth spring, Of _Ammonie_, and things for vses meete. Yet whilst thou yeeldest _Myrrh_, I wey thee not: For thereunto hath _Myrha_ giuen a blot.

No measure in her filthy loue she found: No ease, no rest, but death doth like her now. Resolu'd on this she gets vp from the ground, And mindes to hang her selfe, her loue to shew, And then the noose about her necke she drawes, And said, ô _Cynaras!_ thou art the onely cause.

Farewell therfor, a thousand times farewell, Deere _Cynaras_ thou mightst haue sau'd my life, And thinke then, this to me alone befell, Because I durst not loue thee as a wife. Farewell againe. Oh welcome gentle death! And then she went about to stop her breath.

A recompence fit for so foule a mind, But yet by chance her aged Nurse did lye Within a chamber that to hers adioyn'd, Who ouer-hearing this, to her did hye; And seeing her halfe murdered, so began To shrieke & screeme, & straight vnto her ran.

Who first did snatch her girdle from her necke, And powring teares vpon her plentuously, Did hold her in her aged armes, though weake, And kissing her did vrge the reason why She went about away herselfe to make, Or to her shame so base a course to take?

Quoth she, I pray thee tell the cause to me, Behold these empty dugs, and head all gray, These hands that pain haue took in rocking thee Let some, or all these, cause thee to bewray What cruel means haue broght thee in this case. At which the Lady turnd away her face.

O be not coy sweet! hide thou nought from me, I am thy Nurse, she said, and haue good skill In charms, & hearbs, & dreams, that powerful be, Of what thou wantst, Ile helpe thee to thy fill. Art thou in loue, or witcht by any wight? Il'e finde thee ease, or else will free the quite.

I haue bene wanton once as well as you, Now yet by age, am altogether dull, I haue beene loue-sicke, as you may be now, Of toyes and loue-trickes I was wondrous full, How strange so ere thy case do therefore stand, I can and will redresse it out of hand.

Thou art in _Loue_ (my sweet) I well espy, If so, no lacke shalt finde in me, I sweare, The Lady in her armes sob'd bitterly, The Nurse replyd, and sayd; Why do not feare, Thy father shall not know of this at all: At which she starts, and on her bed doth fall.

And frantickly she tumbles on her face, And said, get hence (good Nurse) I pre'thee go, Constraine me not to shew my wicked case. That case (quoth she) I pray thee let me know. Get hence, she answer'd, or enquire lesse, 'Tis wickednesse thou wouldst haue me c[=o]fesse.

'Tis such a thing, that if I want, I die, And being got, is nothing else but shame. The Nurse hereat did sigh most heauily, And on her knees besought to know the same, And holding vp her hands as she did kneele, Said; Madame, tell the priuie griefe you feele.

If you will not discouer this to me I will acquaint your father out of hand, How you had hang'd your selfe, wer't not for me; But if you tell, your trusty friend Il'e stand, And let your griefe of any nature be, It shall go hard, but Il'e finde remedy.

And if your case be ill, you need not feare The heauie load the wickednesse doth bring, I'le teach thee how most easily to beare, My age hath got experience in each thing. Tell me what 'tis that doth so neerely touch, One woman may perswade another much.

And now the Lady raisd her heauy head, Hanging vpon her Nurses bosome fast, As she did rise vp from her slothfull bed, Being prodigall, her christall teares to waste, Now she wold speak, & now her speech doth stay Th[=e] shame doth cause her turne her face away.

A franticke fury doth possesse her now, And then she drawes her garment ore her face, And wrings her hands, & to her Nurse doth vow For to acquaint her with her wretched case. And shedding brinish teares into her breast, Thus much her griefe to her at last exprest.

Oh happy is my mothers happy state! That hath a husband _Debonaire_ and faire, Vnhappy am I, most infortunate, At which he stopt, as one falne in dispaire. The Nurse soone found _Senecdoche_ in this, And what the whole meant by a perfect gesse.

Her aged bones did shake and tremble fast, Her hoary haire stood staring vp on end, From forth her eyes a heauy looke she cast, And many a sigh her heart distrest did send; And pausing long, not knowing what to say, At last her tongue her minde did thus bewray.

In this I hope, good Lady, you but iest, To try your Nurses now-decaying wit; So foule a fault is not within your breast, Then tell me true the occasion of this fit. The Lady frown'd, & stopt her speaking farther, And said get h[=e]ce, is't shame to loue our father?

I she reply'd, in such a filthy sort, It is not loue, but lust that you professe, Necessity with true loue cannot sort; Your loue contaminates, you must confesse. A daughters loue then to your father show, Some loue _good things_ but with _bad loue_, I know.

Or if your wanton flesh you cannot tame, Nor coole the burning of your hot desire, Then take some one that not augmets the shame And set apart to dote vpon your fire. It is most vile to stand in such a need, To make the actor baser then the deed.

Besides, his yeares can yeeld no such content, That blithsome wanton dames expect to haue, Herein your bargaine you will soone repent, Wh[=e] you shal find great want of that you craue: Are you so mad, o will you once beleeue Old men content to frolicke Dames can giue?

Take this example of me, from the Sky, Behold a shooting star from heauen fall Whose glimmering light you scarcely do espye But it is gone as nothing were at all; And so their sports being scarse begun doth leaue As in the aire concressions we perceiue.

Or as the bloomes vpon the Almond-tree, That vanish sooner the the mush-rums done: Or as the flies _Hæmere_ we do see, To leaue their breath their life being scarce begunne, Who thinks that tree whose roots decai'd by time Can yeeld like fruit to yong ones in their prime.

A rotten sticke more fit to burne then vse, I maruell what from age you do expect, Let my experience their defect accuse, And teach thee how thy equals to affect; When they should toy, iocund & sport with thee, Their gouts, coughs & cramps, wil hindrance be.

'Tis nor their fault, but incident to age, Which far more imperfections with it brings, As iealousie, suspicion, fury, rage, Dislike, disdaine, and other such like things, For can the fire, hot in nature, dwell With water cold, but they at length rebell.

Euen as in Summer one may aptly note, The fire and water in one cloud contain'd; And neither, yet, the mastery hauing got, Being opposits, their furie's not restrain'd, But do contend in strife and deadly warre, Til scolding Thunder do pronounce the iarre.

Choose from thy woers some peculiar one, Whose loue may fill the measure of thy hopes, And balonize thy wanton sports alone, Whose appetite with thy desire copes, Youth will be frolicke in a Maidens bed, Age is vnapt and heauy as the lead.

Youth hath his daliance and his kind embrace, Euen as the Elmes incircled with the Vine; Age loueth rest and quiet in this case, Saying, Oakes at such like Iuy gripes repine, Yuths pleasing weltun'd years sweet musick maks When for c[=o]sort loue strings it strains or slakes.

Yet chuse thou one whose tongue's not set on wheeles Who eats his words before he brings th[=e] forth That no _decorum_ in his talking feeles, Such are but buzards, blabs of little worth: And for complexion, heerein mee beleeue, The perfect sanguine sweet content doth giue.

The Phlegmaticke is like the water cold, The Cholericke wants sap, like fire dry, And Melancholy, as age, is dull and old, But in the Sanguin moist warme iuice doth lie, Whose beauty feeds the eye with sweete delight, The rest do rather feare then please the sight.

What pleasure can a sterne grim face affoord, A swarfie colour or rough shagged haire, Or Rauen blacke? beleeue me at a word, They are too blame that do despise the faire: They please the eye, prouoke dull appetite, Resemble Gods, and do the minde delight.

Cease chatting gentle nurse, the Lady said, Or frame thy Tale to sute more with the time, My choice is made, therein I neede no aide Which may be compast by some help of thine, It is too late of abstinence too preach, Wh[=e] one is drunk, & notes not what you teach.

I seeke him not for lust, as you do deeme, For if my mind were onely bent thereto, I could find other men I might esteeme, You know the store of Suters come to woe: But 'tis some kind of naturall instinct, Or deuine flame that cannot be extinct.

What I do seeke I know is wondrous vile, And haue a will for to withstand the same, Yet can those motions by no meanes exile, So seeketh lust to bring me vnto shame, Be it worse th[=e] nought to haue it flesh doth striue Helpe Nurse, else long I cannot liue.

And wish not to disswade me in this case, Nor giue me counsell to withdraw my minde It likes me well, I weigh not the disgrace, O teach me then to win him to be kind! Helpe me good Nurse in this my cruell state, All other meanes of comfort comes too late.

And since thou needs woldst vnderstand my sham Which I did grieue and blush to ope to thee, And had lear di'd then told thee of the same, Now be not slacke to lend thy helpe to me, Thou forst me for to open my disgrace, Then lend thy help to salue my wretched case.

You do not know good Nurse or haue forgot, What 'tis to loue, and cannot it obtaine, Of youths kind daliance age doth take no note, Forgetting it, and thinke all may abstaine: But tis not so, I to those thoughts reply, Then helpe me gentle Nurse, or else I die.

Liue still my sweete, quoth she, and do possesse, Yet name of (father) shame forc't her conceale And with a staggring speech the word represt, And all her helpe more amply to reueale, She made a vow, whereby herselfe she bound, To do the best that might in her be found.

The feasts of gentle _Ceres_ now began, Which yearely they obseru'd, and held it ill, For thrice three nights to lye with any man, The wiues in white, apparrelled were still, And vnto _Ceres_, first fruit of the field, (As garlands made of eares of corne) did yeeld.

The Queen amongst these women did frequent These Rites, and would be absent at that time. The Nurse then to accomplish her intent, And finding _Cynaras_ made blith with wine, The Syren most inchantingly did sing, And thus at last broke silence to the King.

Renowned King, but that your constant loue Restraines my tongue & holds my speeches in, A wanton question I would to thee moue? Speak on, quoth he, good Nurse thy speech begin, With _Bacchus_ feasts do wanton sports agree, I know thou wouldst no ill thing vnto me.

Then thus, quoth shee, there is a gallant Maide Of Princely birth and Noble high degree, Who at this time would be right well apaide To kisse thy hand, shee is so in loue with thee, Such diuine beauty in her face doth lurke, That Gods enuy at Nature for the worke.

Without offence vnto your Queene and Wife, Vnto this Lady, she is a homely cate, I loue your Queene, and honour her as life, And but admire the others happy state, That's made so faire that none can like her bee, Your Queene is kind, abuse her not for mee.

But if you saw her face, as I haue done, And view'd the rest of her proportion'd limbs, You would contemne my Mistres face too soone, Yet loue th[=e] both: it nought your honor dims, One as your wife, the next for beauties sake, So of them both a beauteous wife but make.

The glory of her haire is wonderous bright, Vpon her brows doth ebbe and flow content Her eies in motion do beget delight, Her cheekes a tincture to _Aurora_ lent Her teeths no pearle, her eyes no rubies are, But flesh and bone, more red and white by far.

No lisping tongue that fondrels count a grace, But doth to well tun'd harmony incline, A necke inferior nought vnto the face, And breath most apt for to be prest by thine, Now if the vtter view so glorious proue, Iudge how the hidden parts procure loue.

The King who all this while lent listening eare, Being wrapt in admiration of her speech, Now did begin more liuely to appeare And for to know one thing of her did seech, Saying, of what yeeres may this Lady be? Iust of sweete _Myrahs_ age, replied shee.

He said then, bring her to conferre with mee, That I may try if all be true you say. It is most true, as after you shall see, But said the Nurse, you now must let her stay, Perhaps shee'le blush, and be to coy by light, When she will yeeld more kindly in the night.

Such pretty Dames will hardly yeeld consent, For in their mouthes they alwaies carry nay, Yet if you giue, to take, they are content, And nere refuse, whatere their tongue doth say: For so they nature simple men abuse, When what they loue they most of all refuse.

If I do fable, put me vnto shame, In saying she resembles _Myrha_ much, For 'tis so much, as if it were the same; And when you seeke to gaine the loue of such Let my experience thus much you assure They Fawlcon-like stoop to a ganey lure.

And now you may, voide of suspected crime, Dally with her in your lasciuious bed, The sacred _Ceres_ feasts are at this time, And there your Queen is stil: this scarcely sed, Quoth _Cyneras_, bring her this night to mee, Whereto the Nurse replide, I do agree.

With hopefull newes the Nurse return'd againe, And cheer'd her chicke, & bad her not be sad, Her wished sute, she certaine should obtaine, The news wherof made _Myrha_ wondrous glad. Yet as she ioy'd, she was opprest with feare, Such discords of affections in her were.

Away slips time and hasteneth on the night, And now the Beare's seene run about the Pole Conducted forward by Boætes bright, The other stars about the axe-tree role: The Southerne images do shine as gold, Fit monuments for Hunters to behold.

At what time _Myrha_ wickedly proceedes And takes in hand to act her base desire, The shamefull lust with cursed hopes she feeds Which quickly sets her heart vpon a fire, And thereupon resolueth on her shame, And not one thought to contradict it came.

At which the Sunne his glorious face did hide, Each Planet pulleth in his golden head, The other stars out of the heauens glide And _Cynthia_ from her siluer Palace fled, The night is robbed of her wonted light, Each thing turn'd dark that formerly was bright.

Three times, by stumbling, _Myrha_ was fore-told Of bad successe, if she did not retire; Three times the Owles like lessons did vnfold, Whose dolefull note do foule mishap require; Yet she crept on, regarding not the same, The want of light alayed much the shame.

The Nurse doth lead her by her owne left hand, The right doth grope the dark and desart way, As silent as the night they now do stand To heare the night-crows scrik, & goblins play The lich-foule beats, and at the window cries, For to come in, to stay the enterprise.

O gentle Nurse, said _Myrha_ tell to me, What may these scremes & doleful scriks portend, The nurse reply'd, my child, no hurt to thee, They are but servants that on night attend, These goblins, lich-fouls, Owls, & night-crows to At murthers raile, with loue haue naught to do.

And then the Beldam leads the Lady on Through many roomes & other turning waies As in a laborinth they two had gone; And as they go, she to the Lady saies; Now cheere you vp, and get a iocund minde In thinking of the pleasures you shall finde.

At last shee brings her to the chamber dore Which softly she did ope, and led her in, The Lady fals to trembling more and more, Her very heart did to relent begin, The neerer to the wickednesse she went, The more to quake and shiuer shee was bent.

Looke how you see a blind man on the way Led by another through some desart place, Stagger and grope and at each trifle stay For feare least he should fall: euen in like case, The wretched nurse the fearefull Lady leads, Who shakes and starts at euery step she treads.

And now she doth her enterprise repent, And wish she might vnknowne returne againe, Vnto his bed the pawsing Nurse then went; And cal'd the King & told him thus much plaine Dread King awake, of pleasures take thy fill, This Ladie's thine, then vse her as you will.

The cursed father then his bowels takes Into his bed, ô filthy blob and staine, His daughter shiuers in his armes, and quakes, This being done, the nurse returnes againe And said, make much of her, to weepe forbeare None wold weepe for that which you now feare.

The King then cheeres his daughter, in his arme, Why dost thou weep? be still my sweete, be stil, Come clip thy loue I meane to do no harme, My Kingly bed with pleasures shall thee fill, And to hide all that idle heads may moue, Hence-forth I call thee daughter and not loue.

Come kisse thy father, gentle daughter then, _A_nd learne to sport thee in a wanton bed; Is this the tricks (she softly said) of men? And counterfeiting speech vnknowne, she said, A daughters name, me thinkes, doth not agree, Ist well with your owne child in loue to be?

The King, not deeming who lay by his side, Replies, what hurt deere Lady can it be? No ill I know by that meanes can betide, The loue more firme thereby we common see: It is not ill though men the same not craue, For we want daughters till a wife we haue.

She did reply, and said, why put the case That I were _Myrha_ for as men do say, My countenance resembleth much her face; Were't not offence, think you, with me to play? Misdeeming nought, againe, he doth reply; No more th[=e] 'tis with thee, sweet wench, to lie.

O would, quoth _Myrha_, you could likewise proue Whereby I might but know some reafon why, It were not ill to grant to you my loue, That loue should then alone to you apply; Were I your daughter I might well consent, Say halfe so much for me I am content.

The King replies, my sweete, my will is law, And may command my subiects when I will, Besides all this, you furthermore do know You must obey, I call you daughter still; Then talke no more, she said, I do agree Thy daughter and thy subiect yeelds to thee.

Oh! now the father his owne child doth take, And of his owne he doth his owne beget, Of his owne loines another child doth make, Repugnant to the Law that nature set; May ones owne seed to procreation moue? No sure, unlesse it doth a monster proue.

Their musicke is the scriking of the Ow'es, As if the fiends came for to sunder them, The rauing dogs affright them with their howles, As all the fiends came forth to iniure them; The stars behind the clouds, a great way hence, Like spies lie peeping to disclose the offence.

Their bed doth shake and quauer as they lie, As if it groan'd to beare the weight of sinne, The fatall night-crowes at their windowes flie, And cries out at the shame they do liue in: And that they may perceiue they heauens frown, The Poukes & Goblins pul the couerings down.

The pillow that her cursed head doth beare, Which is a castle of accursed ill, The weighty burthen of the same doth feare, And therefore shrinketh inwards from her stil: Whilst both the ends high swelling with disdaine Like angry foe-men raise themselues amaine.