Chapter 6

Great Gouernour of (wheele-resembling) Heauen, commaund thy vnder Princes to mayntaine, Those heau[=e]ly parts which to my loue th'aue giuen, ô let her ne're feele death, or deaths fell paine. And first vpon thy Sister lay thy mace, Bid her maintayne my Loues maiestick grace.

Inioyne the strange-borne mother-lesse _Mynerua_, and her to whom the fomie Sea was Mother, Still to vphold their giftes in my _Gyneura_: let wit and beautie lyue vnited with her; With sweete mouth'd _Pytho_ I may not suspence, Great Goddesse; still increase her eloquence.

Thou musicall _Apollo_ gau'st her hand, and thou her feete (great Sun-Gods deerest loue) To such your rare-knowne gyfts all gracious stand; and now at last this doe I craue great _Ioue_, That when they dye (perhaps they dye aboue) Thou wilt bequeath these gyfts vnto my Loue.

On euery neighbour Tree, on euery stone (hee durst not far range from his secure Caue) VVould he cut out the cause of all his moane, and curiouslie with greatest skill ingraue: There needed no _Leontius_, his Art, Griefe carueth deepest, if it come from th'hart.

VVhen some stone would not impression take hee straight compares it to his Mistris hart, But stay, (quoth he) my working teares shall make thee penetrable with the least skil'd art. Oh had my teares such force to pierce her mind, These sorrowes I should loose, and new ioyes find.

Thou euer-memorable stone (quoth hee) tell those whom fate or fortune heere shall lead, How deerely I haue lou'd the cruel'st shee that euer Nature or the world hath bred. Tell them her hate, and her disdaine was causelesse, Oh, leaue not out to tell how I was guiltlesse.

Whereat, the very stone would seeme to weepe, whose wrinkled face wold be besmeard with tears O man what ere thou be, thy sorrowes keepe vnto thy selfe, quoth hee; ile heare no cares. Tell them that care not, tell _Gyneura_ of thee, We stones are ruthfull, & thy plaints haue pierc'd mee.

VVith this, hee seekes a russet-coated Tree, & straight disclothes him of his long-worne weed And whilest hee thus disroabes him busilie, hee felt his halfe-dead hart a fresh to bleed. Greeuing that hee should vse such crueltie, To turne him naked to his foe, windes furie.

But now vncas'ed, hee gins to carue his cares, his passions, his constant-lyuing Loue, When (loe) there gushes out cleere sap like teares which to get forth from pryson mainly stroue, Since pitty dwells (quoth hee) in trees and stone, Them will I loue; _Gyneura_, thou hast none.

Yet needs I must confesse thou once didst loue mee, thy loue was hotter then _Nimphæum_ hill, But now wh[=e] time affords me, means to proue thee, thy loue then _Caucase_ is more cold and chill, And in thy cold, like Aethiopyan hue, Thou art not to be chang'd from false to true.

O looke (faire Loue) as in the springing Plant one branch intwines and growes within another, So growe my griefes; which makes my hart to pant when thicke-fetcht sighes my vitall breath doth smother, I spoild my cruelty am adiudg'd to death, Thus all alone to yield my lyuing breath.

Thou hast the fayrest face that e're was seene, but in thy breast (that Alablaster Rocke) Thou hast a fouler hart; disdaine hath beene accounted blacker then the Chimnies stocke. O purifie thy soule my dearest Loue, Dislodge thy hate, and thy disdaine remoue.

But all in vaine I speake vnto the wind, then should they carry these my plaints vnto her, Mee thinks thou still shouldst beare a gentle mind, (deere-louing _Zephire_) pray, intreate, & woo her; Tell her twere pittie I should dye alone, Here in these woods wher non can heare me mone.

But tis no matter, shee is pittylesse like the Scycilian stone that more tis beate Doth waxe the harder; stones are not so ruthlesse, which smallest drops doe pierce though nere so great: If Seas of teares would weare into her hart, I had ere this beene eased of my smart.

Thus in these speeches would _Diego_ sit bathing his siluer cheekes with trickling teares, VVhich (often running downe) at last found fit channells to send them to their standing meares, VVho at his feete (before his feete there stood A poole of teares) receau'd the smaller flood.

Ne're had the world a truer louing hart, _Abydos_ cease to speake of constant loue, Por sure (thou Sygnior _Dom Diego_) art the onely man that e're hates force did proue; Thy changelesse loue hath close inrol'd thy name, In steele-leau'd booke of euer-lyuing fame.

That wide-mouth'd time wc swallows good desarts shall shut his iawes, & ne're deuoure thy name, Thou shalt be crown'd with bayes by louing harts, and dwell in Temple of eternall Fame; There, is a sacred place reseru'd for thee, There, thou shalt liue with perpetuitie.

So long liu'd poore _Diego_ in this case that at the length hee waxed somwhat bold, To search the woods where hee might safely chase, (necessitie, thy force cannot be told) The fearefull Hare, the Connie, and the Kid, Time made him knowe the places where they bid.

This young-year'd Hermit, one day mong the rest as hee was busilie prouiding meate, VVhich was with Natures cunning almost drest, dri'd with the Sunne new readie to be eate, Inrag'd vpon a suddaine throwes away His hard-got foode; and thus began to say.

O cruell starres, Step-mothers of my good, & you, you ruthlesse Fates what meane you thus, So greedely to thirst for my harts blood, why ioy you so in vnuniting vs? Great powres infuse some pitty in her hart That thus hath causelesse caus'd in me this smart.

I ne're was wont to vse such Cookerie, to drudge & toile wh[=e] pesants take their pleasure, My noble birth scornes base-borne slauerie, this easelesse lyfe hath neither end nor measure; Thou great _Sosipolis_ looke vpon my state, Be of these nere-hard griefes compassionate.

I feele my long-thought life begin to melt as doth the snowe gainst midday heate of Sunne, (Faire loue) thy rigour I haue too much felt, oh, at the last with crueltie haue done, If teares thy stonie hart could mollifie, My brinish springs should floe eternallie.

Sweet loue, behold those pale cheekes washt in woe that so my teares may as a mirror be, Thine owne faire shaddowe liuely for to shoe, and portraite forth thy Angel-hued beautie. _Narcissus_-lyke then shouldst thou my face kisse, More honny sweete, then _Venus_ gaue _Adonis_.

Feare not _Gyneura_, faire _Narcissus_ hap; thy necke, thy breast, thy hand is Lilly-white, They all are Lillies tane from _Floraes_ lap; ne're be thou chang'd vnlesse to loue from spite, Oh that thou wer't but then transformed so, My Sommers blisse, would change my winters woe.

If thou did'st knowe in what a loathsome place, I spend my dayes sad and disconsolate, VVhat foggie Stigian mists hang o re my face, thou would'st exile this thy conceaued hate; This Hemisphere is darke, for _Sol_ him shroudes, My sighes doe so conglomerate the cloudes.

I tolde thee, I, (thou cruell too seuere) when hate first gan to rise how I was guiltlesse, Thine eares were deaffe, ye wouldst not harken ere thy hart was hardned, rockie, pittilesse. Oh had mine eyes been blind wh[=e] first they view'd thee, Would God I had been tonglesse wh[=e] I sew'd thee.

But thou wast then as readie to receaue as I to craue; ô great inconstancie, O twas that fatall houre did so bereaue my blisfull soule of all tranquillitie: Thou then didst burne in loue, now froz'd in hate, Yet pittie mee, sweete mercy ne're comes late.

Looke as the crazen tops of armelesse Trees or latest down-fall of some aged building, Doe tell thee of the North-windes boistrous furies, and how that _Eolus_ lately hath beene stirring; So in my thin-cheekt face thou well maist see, The furious storme of thy black crueltie.

But thou inexorable art, ne're to be wone, though Lyons, Bears, & Tigers haue been tam'd, Thy wood borne rigour neuer will be done, which thinks for this thou euer shalt be fam'd; True, so thou shalt, but fam'd in infamie, Is worse then lyuing in obscuritie.

If thou didst knowe howe greeuous tis to me to lyue in this vnhabited aboade, Where none (but sorrowe) keepes me companie, I know thou wouldst thy harts hate then vnload, Oh, I did ne're deserue this miserie, For to denie the truth were heresie.

I tell thee (Loue) when secret-tongued night puts on her mistie sable-coloured vayle, My wrangling woes, within them selues do fight, they murder hope, which makes their Captaine wayle, And wailing so, can neuer take his rest, That keepes such vnrul'd Souldiers in his brest.

So when the cleere nights-faults-disclosing day peepes forth her purple head, from out the East, These woes (my Souldiers) crie out for their pay, (and if deni'd) they stab mee, with vnrest; My teares are pay, but all my teares are dride Therefore I must their fatall blowes abide.

In these laments did _Dom Diego_ liue long time; till at the last by pourefull fate, A wandring Huntsman ignorance did driue vnto the place whence hee return'd but late; Who viewing well the print of humaine steps Directly followed them, and for ioy leaps.

At last hee came vnto _Diegoes_ Caue in which he sawe a sauadge man (hee thought) Who much did looke like the _Danubyan_ slaue, such deep-worn furrows in his face were wrought, _Diego_ much abashed at this sight Came running forth, him in his armes to plight.

For glad hee was (God knowes) to see a man, who (wretch) in two yeres space did ne're see any Such gladnes, ioy, such mirth, such triumph can not be set downe, suppose them to be many. But see, long had they not confer'd together, When (happie time) each one did know the other.

VVith that _Diego_ shewes him all his loue, his pennance, her first loue, & now her hate, But hee requested him hence to remoue, and at his house the rest hee should dilate, Which hee deni'd, onely hee now doth write By this his friend, vnto his harts delight.

Deere Loue (quoth he) when shall I home returne, wh[=e] will the coales of hate be quencht with loue, VVhich now in raging flames my hart do burne, oh, when wilt thou this thy disdaine remoue; Aske of this bearer, be inquisitiue, And hee will tell thee in what case I liue.

Inquire of her, whose Hawke hath caus'd this woe, if for that fauour euer I did loue her, And shee will curse mee that did vse her so, and shee will tell thee how I lou'd another; Twas thee _Gyneura_, twas thy fairest selfe, I hel'd thee as a Pearle, her drossie pelfe.

Then, when thou hast found out the naked truth, thinke of thy _Diego_, and his hard hap, Let it procure in thee some mouing ruth, that thus hast causelesse cast him from thy lap: Fare-well my deere, I hope this shall suffize, To ad a period to thy cruelties.

The Messenger to spurre forth her desires, and hasten her vnto his well-lou'd friend, Tells her, how hee lyes languishing in fires of burning griefes, which neuer will haue end: Bids her to flye to him with wings of zeale, And thus _Diegoes_ paines hee doth reueale.

Oh Adamantick-minded Mayde (quoth hee) why linger you in this ambiguous thought, Open thine eyes, no longer blinded bee, those wounding lookes, thy Louer, deere hath bought. Vnbolt thy harts strong gate of hardest steele, O let him nowe the warmth of pittie feele.

Oh let him now the warmth of pittie feele, that long hath knockt cold-staruen at thy dore; Wanting loues foode hee here & there doth reele lyke to a storme-tost Ship that's far from shore. Feede him with loue that long hath fed on cares, Be Anchor to his soule that swims in teares.

_Gyneura_, let him harbour in thy hart rig and amend his trouble-beaten face, O calme thy hate, whose winds haue rais'd his smart see him not perrish in this wofull case. And for in Sea-salt teares hee long hath liu'd, Let him by thy fresh water be relieu'd.

Oh, shall I tell thee how I found him there, his house wherein hee liu'd (if lyue hee did, Or rather spend his time in dying feare) was built within the ground, all darksom hid. From _Phoebus_ light, so vgly, hell-lyke Caue, In all the world againe you cannot haue.

All made of rug'd hard-fauour'd stones, whose churlish lookes afford the eye no pleasure, In whose concauity winds breath'd horce grones, to which sad musicke Sorrow daunc'd a measure. O'regrowne it was with mighty shadefull Trees, VVhere poore _Diego_ Sun nor Moone nere sees.

To this black place repaired euery morne, The fayre _Oreades_ pitty-moued gerles, Bringing the poore _Diego_ so forlorne, Mosse to dry vp his teares, those liquid pearles: Full loath they were to loose such christall springs, Therfore this Spunge-like Mosse each of th[=e] brings.

Here dry (say they) thou loue-forsaken man, those glassy Conduits, which do neuer cease On this soft-feeling weede; and if you can, we all intreate, your griefes you would appease, Else wilt thou make vs pine in griefe-full woe, That nere knewe care, or loue, or friend, or foe.

Straight (like a shooting Commet in the ayre) away depart these sorrow-peirced maydes, Leauing _Diego_ in a deepe dispaire, who now, his fortune, now his fate vp-braides. O heauens (quoth he) how happy are these trees, That know not loue, nor feele his miseries.

Melts not thy hart (_Gyneura_) at his cares? are not thy bright transparent eyes yet blinde VVith monstrous diluge of o'reflowing teares? remaines there yet disdaines within thy mind? Disgorge thy hate, O hate him not that loues thee, Maids are more milde th[=e] men, yet pitty moues me.

Breake, breake in peeces that delicious chest, whiter then snow on Hyperboreall hyll, Chase out disdaine, depriue him of his rest, murder and mangle him that rules thy will. Be it nere sayd that faire _Gyneuraes_ beauty, Was ouer-peiz'd by causelesse cruelty.

Cruell to him that merrits curtesie, loathed of thee that doth deserue all loue, Basely reiected, scorn'd most churlishly, that honors thee aboue the Saints aboue. True loue is pricelesse, rare, and therefore deere, VVe feast not royall Kings with homely cheere.

Too long it were to tell thee all his merits, for in delay consists his long-lookt death, Post-hast of thine must now reuiue his spirits, or shortly he will gaspe his latest breath; Speake faire _Gyneura_, speake as I desire, Or let thy vaine-breath'd speeches back retyre.

Looke, as a man late taken from a trance, standes gazing heere and there in sencelesse wise, Not able of himselfe his head t'aduance, but standeth like a stone in death-like guise, So lookt _Gyneura_, hanging downe her head, Shaming that folly her so much had led.

Repentant sorrow would not let her speake, the burning flames of griefe did dry her teares, Yet at the last, words out of prison breake, that long'd to vtter her harts inward cares: And stealingly there glides with heauy pace A Riuolet of Pearle along her face.

O cease (quoth she) to wound me any more, with oft repeating of my cruelties, Thou of thy teares (kind man) hast shed great store, when I (vnkinder mayde) scarce wet mine eyes. O let me now bewaile him once for all, Twas none but I that causd his causelesse thrall.

Eternall _Ioue_, rayne showers of vengeance on me, plague me for this blacke deed of wrongful hate, Be blind mine eyes, they shall not looke vpon thee _Diego_, till thou be compassionate: And when thou doost forgiue what I haue done, Then shall they shine like shortest-shaded sunne.

O slacke thy swift-pac'd gallop winged Tyme, turne backe, and register this my disdaine; Bid Poets sing my hate in ruthfull ryme, and pen sad Iliads of _Diegoes_ paine: Let them be writ in plain-seene lines of glasse, To shew how louing he, I, cruell was.

Hereat shee pausd, tell me sweet sir quoth shee, how I might see my deere-embosom'd friend, That now (if what is past may pardned be) vnto his griefes I may impose an end; Where-with they both agreed, that the next day, They would eniourney them without more stay.

Long were they not, Desire still goes on Ice, and nere can stay tell that he hath his wish, Mens willing mindes each thing doth soone intice, to hast to yt which they would faine accomplish. But that they came (as hauing a good guide) Vnto the place where they _Diego_ spide.

Sacred _Pymplæides_ endip my quill within the holy waters of your spring, Infuze into my braine some of your skill, that ioyfully of these I now may sing: These Louers now twixt whom late dwelt annoy, Swymming in seas of ouer-whelming ioy.

But, pardon mee you Dames of Helycon, for thus inuoking your diuinest ayde, Which was by me (vnworthy) call'd vpon, at your rare knowledge I am much dismaide; My barren-witted braines are all too base, To be your sacred learnings resting place.

Thus, of themselues, in pleasures extasie, these Louers now embrace them in theyr armes, Speechlesse they are, eye counterfixt on eye, like two that are coniur'd by magique charmes. So close their armes were twin'd, so neer they came As if both man and woman were one frame.

In th'end, (as doth a Current lately stayd, rush mainly forth his long-imprisoned flood) So brake out words; and thus _Dyego_ sayd, what my _Gyneura_? O my harts chiefe good, Ist possible that thou thy selfe should'st daigne In seeing me to take so wondrous paine.

Oh, speake not of my paine (my deerest loue) all paine is pleasure that I take for thee, Thou that so loyall and so true doost proue, might scorne mee now, so credulous to be: Then sweet _Diego_, let vs now returne, And banish all things that might make vs mourne.

Twere infinite to tell of their great gladnes, theyr amorous greetings, & their soules delight, _Diego_ now had exil'd griefe and sadnes, rauisht with ioy whilst he enioyde her sight. Let it suffise, they homeward now retire, Which suddaine chance both men & maids admire.

_Gyneura_ now delights but in his presence, shee cannot once endure him from her sight, His loue-ful face is now her soules sole essence, and on his face shee dotes both day and night. She nere did once disdaine him halfe so much, As now she honors him, loues force is such.

_Diego_ now wrapt in a world of pleasure, imparadiz'd in hauing his desire, Floting in Seas of ioy aboue all measure, sought means to mittigate loues burning fire, VVho walking with his loue alone one day, Discharg'd his minde, and thus began to say.

O faire _Gyneura_, how long wil't be ere safron-robed _Hymen_ doe vnite vs? My soule doth long that happy howre to see. O let the angry Fates no longer spight vs, Lingring delays will teare my greeued hart, Let me no longer feele so painefull smart.

_Gyneura_, which desir'd it as her life, tells him that paine shall shortly haue a cure, Shortly quoth she, Ile be thy married wife, ty'de in those chaynes which euer wil endure, Be patient then, and thou shalt plainly see, In working it, how forward I will be.

And so she was; no time dyd she mispend, wherein shee gets not things in readines, That might to _Hymens_ rites full fitly tend, or once conduce to such theyr happines, All things prepar'd, these Louers now are chayned In marriage bands, in which they long remained.

These, whilst they liu'd, did liue in all content, contending who should loue each other most, To w^c pure loue, proude Fame her eares down lent, and through the world, of it doth highly boast. O happy he to whom loue comes at last, That will restore what hate before did wast. { Then (deerest loue) _Gyneuryze_ at the last, } { And I shall soone forget what ere is past. }

And now farewel, when I shal fare but ill, flourish & ioy, wh[=e] I shal droope and languish, All plentious good awaite vpon thy will, wh[=e] extreame want shal bring my soule deaths anguish. Forced by thee (thou mercy-wanting mayd) must I abandon this my natiue soyle, Hoping my sorrowes heate will be allayd by absence, tyme, necessity or toyle. So, nowe adiew; the winds call my depart. Thy beauties excellence, my rudest quill Shall neuer-more vnto the world impart, so that it know thy hate, I haue my will; And when thou hear'st that I for thee shall perrish, Be sorrowfull. And henceforth true loue cherrish.

FINIS.

_Poco senno basta a chi Fortuna suona._

MIRRHA _THE_ Mother of Adonis: _OR, Lustes Prodegies_.

By William Barksted.

_Horrace. Nansicetur enim pretium, nomenque Poeta._

_Whereunto are added certaine Eglogs._

_By_ L.M.

LONDON

_Printed by_ E.A. _for_ Iohn Bache, and are to be sold at his shop in the Popes-head Palace, nere the Royall Exchange. 1607.

To his belooued; the Author.

_Praise where so er't be found, if it be due, Shall no vaine cullour neede to set it foorth: Why should I idely then extoll the worth, Which heere (dere friend) I finde belong to you. And if I er'd, full well the learned knewe, How wide, amisse my mark I taken had, Since they distinguish can the good from bad. And through the varnish well discerne the hewe Be glad therefore, this makes for you, and knowe, When wiser Readers, heere shall fixe their sight, For vertues sake, they will doe vertue right. So shalt thou not (Friend) vnrewarded goe, Then boldly on, good fortune to thy Muse, Should all condemne, thou canst as well excuse_.

I.W.

_To his Louing friend and_ Kinsman: W.B.

Thamis _nere heard a Song equall to this, Although the Swan that ow'd this present quill Sung to that Eccho, her owne Epitaph As proude to die, and render up her wing To Venus Swan, who doth more pleasing sing, Produce thy worke & tell the powerfull tale. Of naked Cupid, and his mothers will My selfe I doe confine from_ Helicon, _As loath to see the other Muses nine, So imodestlie eye shoot, and gaze uppon Their new borne enuie: this tenth Muse of thine, Which in my selfe I doe in thee admire, As_ Aesops _Satire the refulgent fire, Which may me burn, (I mean with amorous flame In reading, as the kissing that did him_. _And happie Mirrha that he rips thy shame, Since he so queintly doth expresse thy sin, Many would write, but see mens workes so rare, That of their owne they instantly dispaire._

Robert Glouer.

_To his esteemed friend._ W.B.

_Not for our friendship, or for hope of gaine Doth my pen run so swiftly in thy praise: Court-seruile flatterie I doe disdaine, "Enuie like Treason, stil it selfe betraies. This worke Detractions sting, doth disinherit: He that giues thee all praise, giues but thy merrit._

Lewes Machin.

To his respected friend. W.B.