Seven Minor Epics of the English Renaissance (1596-1624)

Chapter 9

Chapter 94,041 wordsPublic domain

When _Mahomet_ had man'd the wals, the towne surpriz'd Great grew the slaughter, bloudy waxt the fight, Like _Troy_, where all was fir'd, and all despis'd, But what stood gracious in the victors sight. Such was the wo of this great citty right: Here lay a Saint throwne downe, & here a Nun, Rude _Sarazens_ which no high God agnis'd, Made all alike our wofull course to run.

And in this deadly dealing of sterne death, And busie dole of euery Souldiers hand, Where swords were dul'd with robbing men of breath Whil'st rape with murder, stalk't about the land, And vengeance did performe her own command, and where 'twas counted sin to thinke amisse: There no man thought it ill to do all scath, O what doth warre respect of bale or blisse?

There stood an ancient Chappell next the Court, Where sacred Bishops said their morrow Masse. And sung sweet _Anthems_ with a loud report, To that eternall God-head, whose sonne was, Sequestred from the Trinity to passe, Vnder the burthen of the holy Crosse, For our redemption, whose death did retort, The sting of Sathan, and restor'd our losse.

Hither was got of silly maides some few, Whom happily no Souldier yet had seas'd, Tendring their spotlesse vows, in child-cold dew, Of virgin teares, to haue the heauens appeas'd But teares too late, must be too soone displeas'd, And hither, like a Tyger from the chase, Recking in bloudy thoughts, and bloudy shew, Came _Amurath_ himselfe to sacke the place.

In Armour clad, of watchet steele, full grim, Fring'd round about the sides, with twisted gold, Spotted with shining stars vnto the brim, Which seem'd to burn the spheare which did th[=e] hold: His bright sword drawn, of temper good and old, A full moone in a fable night he bore, On painted shield, which much adorned him, With this short Motto: _Neuer glorious more_.

And as a Diamond in the dark-dead night, Cannot but point at beames on euery side, Or as the shine of Cassiopæa bright, Which make the zodiacke, where it doth abide, Farre more then other planets to be ey'd: So did faire _Hirens_ eyes encounter his, And so her beames did terror strike his sight, As at the first it made e'm vale amisse.

O that faire beauty in distresse should fall, For so did she, the wonder of the east, At least, if it be wondrous faire at all, That staines the morning, in her purple nest, With guilt-downe curled Tresses, rosy drest, Reflecting in a cornet wise, admire, To euery eye whom vertue might appall. And Syren loue, inchant with amorous fire.

A thousand Bashawes, and a thousand more, Of _Ianizaries_, crying to the spoile, Come rushing in with him at euery dore, That had not Loue giuen Barbarisme the foile, The faire had beene dishonored in this while. But ô when beauty strikes vpon the heart: What musicke then to euery sence is bore, All thought resigning them, to beare apart.

For as amongst the rest, she kneel'd sad weeping, In tender passion by an altars side, And to a blessed Saint begins her creeping, He stood loue-wounded, what should her betide, Whilst she saw him turnd round, & well nie died. Let darknes shroud quoth she, my soule in night, Before my honor be in _Mahounds_ keeping, Prisoner to enuy, lust, and all vnright.

O, if thou beest a Souldier, lend thy sword, To ope the bosomes, where yet neuer lay, Ignoble Souldier, nor imperious Lord, Of all whom war hath grip'd into her sway, Onely remaine we few, let not this day, Begin with vs, who neuer did offend, Or else do all of vs one death afford, If not, kill me, who ne'r was Pagans friend.

But now (said _Mahomet_) thou shall be mine, Thine eies haue power to such a great mans hart, If then they worke on me to make me thine, Say thou art wrong'd? dishonor doth impart No loue, where he may force: but mine thou art, And shalt be only in thine own free choice, What makes me speake, makes me speak thus diuine Else could I threat thee with a conquerors voyce.

What you may do (said she) I do not know, But know you this, there is a thousand waies, To finde out night before my shamelesse brow, Shall meet that day in guilt of such misrayes. Oh how vniust art thou? the pagan sayes, To him which sues for a respecting eye, And no ignoble action doth allow, But honor, and thy faires to gratifie.

The effect of both is one (said she) both spils, And layes my shame o're mastred at thy feet, But greatnesse (said he) doth outface all ills, And maiesty (make sowre apparance sweete, Where other powers th[=e] greatnes doth cut meet? It doth indeed, said she, but we adore, More th[=e] a great Earth-monarch wh[=o] death kils, Mortall soules, thinke on th'immortall more.

Alas faire Christian Saint (said _Mahomet_) So yong, and full of gray hair'd purity, These are but shifts of Friers, tales farre fet. Dearest, I'le teach thee my diuinity, Our Mecha's is not hung with Imagery, To tell vs of a virgin-bearing-sonne, Our adoration to the Moone is set, That pardons all that in the darke is done.

O blinde religion, when I learne, said she) To hallow it, my body tombe my soule, And when I leaue the mid-day-sunne for thee, Blush Moone, the regent of the nether roule. What I hold deerest, that my life controule, And what I prize more precious then imagery, Heauens, grant the same my bane and ruine be, And where I liue, wish all my Tragedy.

A dreadfull curse replide the Saracen, But I will teach thee how to cousen it, An oath in loue may be vnsworne againe, _Ioue_ markes not louers oathes euery whit, Thou wilt repent beside, when riper wit Shall make thee know the magicke of thine eies, How faire thou art, and how esteem'd of men, Tis no religion that is too precise.

Nor is this all, though this might woo a Greeke, To wantonize with princely _Mahomet_, Much more by loues inuention could I speake, By which the coldest temper might be heate: But I must hence, a fitter time I'le set, To conquer thee, Bashawes these spare or spill, Saue _Mustapha_ this maid, since her we like, Conduct vnto our Tent, now warre he will.

She like _Cassandra_ thral'd and innocent, Wrang her white hands, & tore her golden haire, Hal'd by the Eunuchs to the Pagans Tent, Speechlesse, and spotlesse, vnpittied, not vnfaire, Whiles he to make all sure, did repaire, To euery Souldier throughout the field, And gaue in charge matters of consequence, As a good generall, and a Souldier should.

Then sent he forth _Polidamus_ to bid, The Drums & Trumpets sound that daies retreit, For in his soule their ratling noyse he chid: For startling _Cupid_, whose soft bosome streight, Had lodg'd him, & grew proud of such a freight. Beside the sword and fire had swept the streetes, And all did in the victors hands abide, Night likewise came, fit time for Loues stolne-sweets.

Thus tumbling in conceits, he stumbled home, In the darke couerture of shady night, Cal'd for a torch, the which his chamber groome, With more then speedy haste did present light: To bed he went, as heauy in his spright, As loue, that's full of anguish makes the minde: Faine would he sleepe away this martirdome, But loues eyes open, when all else are blinde.

What do you talke of sleepe? talke of the _Greeke_, For being laid, he now grew almost mad, What is she not as faire (quoth he) to like, As _Phedria_, whom in _Corinth_ once I had? With that he knock't his Eunuchs vp, and bad, One aske the _Grecian_ maide, what was her name, What she made there, & whom she came to see, And to what end into his Tent she came?

When he was gone, somewhat the fury staid, And beat more temperate in his liuer-vaine, Onely he could not choose but praise the maid, Whose eies fr[=o] his such _womanish_ drops did strain Did not thy face (sigh'd he) such faires containe, It could not be, my heart thou couldst distract, But all abstracts of rarities are laid, In thy faire cheekes so feelingly compact.

Thus made, what maiest thou not command, In mighty _Amuraths_ wide Empery? My tributary loue, and not my land, Shall pay it homage to thy proud bent eye, And they who most abhorre idolatry, Shall tender Catholicke conceites to thee, O arme not honor still for to withstand, And make a foyle of loue, which dwels in me.

By this time was the Carpet-page returned, And told the prince the _Greeke_ was _Hiren_ hight, But so she wept, & sigh'd, & grieu'd, & mourn'd, As I could get no more (said he to night, And weeps (said _Amurath_) my loue so bright, Hence villaine, borrow wings, flie like the winde, Her beauteous cheeks with hot tears wil be burnd Fetch her to me: ô loue too deafe, too blinde!

Then crossing both his armes athwart his breast, And sinking downe, he set a soule taught grone, And sigh'd, and beat his heart, since loue possest, And dwelt in it which was before his owne. How bitter is sweet loue, that loues alone, And is not sympathis'd, like to a man? Rich & full cram'd, with euery thing that's best, Yet lyes bed-sicke, whom nothing pleasure can.

Sometimes he would inuoke sweet Poets dead, In their own shapes, to court the _maid_ with words But then he fear'd least they her maidenhead Shold win fr[=o] him: th[=e] somtimes arms & swords, His old heroike thoughts, new roome affoords, And to the field he would: but then loue speakes, And tels him _Hiren_ comes vnto his bed, Which dasheth all, and all intendments breakes.

And lo indeed, the purple hangings drawne, In came faire _Hiren_ in her night attire, In a silke mantle, and a smocke of lawne, Her haire at length, the beams of sweete desire) Her breasts all naked, ô inchanting fire! And siluer buskins on her feet she wore, Though all the floore with Carpet-worke was strawn Yet were such feet too good to tread that floore.

Now _Mahomet_ bethinke thee what is best, Said she, compell me I will speake thy shame, And tell thy hatefull fact, at euery feast, Singers in balads shall berime thy name, And for dishonoring me spot thy faire fame: But if--: No more chast maid said _Mahomet_: Though in thy grant consists all ioy and rest, I will not force thee, till thou giue me it.

But say I languish, faint, and grow forlorne, Fall sicke, and mourne: nay, pine away for thee, Wouldst then for euer hold me yet in scorne? Forbid my hopes, the comfort that should be In hopes in doating hopes which tire on me: O be not as some women be, for fashion, Like sun-shine daies in clouds of raine stil borne, The more you'l loue, the more shall grow my passion.

And then he clasp'd her frosty hand in his, An orient pearle betwixt two mother shels, And seal'd thereon a hearty burning kisse, Kisses in loue, force more then charmes or spels, And in sweet language; hopes-desires foretels, Ah louely _Greeke_, what heart hast thou (quoth he) What art thou made of? fire dissolueth yee, Tygers relent, yet thoul't not pitty me.

Dwel'st thou on forme? I can confirme thee than, _Sibilla_ liues to tell she did repent. Let _Latmus_ speake what it of _Delia_ can, And it will eccho her loue-languishment. Chaste eyes somtimes reflect kind blandishment: Beside, thy foueraigne will thy subiect be, Once a great king, now a despised man, A vassall, and a slaue to Loue and thee.

Why dost thou weep? tis I shold drown mine eies And burst my heart with languor, and dispaire, I whom thy vnrelenting thoughts despise, I who can woo thee by no sute, nor prayer, Yet doating mad for thee, ô cruell faire, I sweare by this diuine white daizy-hand, The loue I beare thee, in my heart it lies, Whose searching fire, no reason can withstand.

Wilt thou be mine? here shalt thou liue with me, Free'd from oppression, and the Souldiers lust, Who if thou passe my Tent, will seize on thee, And they are rude, and what they will thou must. O do not to the common Kestrels trust, They are not as the Eagles noble kinde, But rough, and daring in all villany: Honor with me, with them scarce safety finde.

Honor and safety, both in true loue is, And _Mahomet_ is zealous, ô loue him: With him ioy euery thing that tasts of blisse, Pompe, honor, pleasure, shews, and pastimes trim, Care dwels not where he dwels, nor sorrow grim Onely till now, that he for _Hiren_ mournes: A Greeke whom he would bring to paradice, He ner'e took thought, but now he sighs & burns.

Wilt thou be his, on thee shall waite and tend, A traine of Nymphs, and Pages by thy side, With faunes, horse, coach, & musicke which shall lend The spheares new notes in their harmonies pride. When thou wilt walke, and publikly be ey'd, To bring thee in thy hie way, cloath'd with flowers Shall sent like _Tempe_ when the graces send, To meet each other in those fragrant bowers.

At home shall comick Masques, & night disports Conduct thee to thy pillow, and thy sheetes, And all those reuels which soft loue consorts, Shall entertaine thee with their sweetest sweets. And as the warlike God with _Venus_ meetes, And dallies with her in the Paphian groue, Shall _Mahomet_ in bed shew thee such sports, As none shall haue, but she which is his loue.

Againe: No more againe (saies she) great king, I know you can do much, and all this to, But tell me when we loose so deere a thing, Shame can we take pride in, in publike shew: Think you the adulterate owle, then wold not so? No, no, nor state, nor honor can repure, Dishonor'd sheet's, nor lend the owle daies wing Ignoble shame a King cannot recure.

Now say mine eies & cheeks are faire, what then? Why so are yours, yet do I dote on you? Beauty is blacke, defam'd by wicked men, And yet must euery beauty make men sue? Too good is worse then bad, you seeme too true Too easie, passionate, loue-sicke, and kinde, Then blame not me, that cannot so soone ren Your course: the fault is in your forward minde.

But say great prince, I had a wanton eye, Would you adde _Syrius_ to the sommer sunne? And whurle hote flaming fire where tow doth lie By which combustion all might be vndone? For loke how mightier greater Kings do run Amisse, the fault is more pernicious, And opens more to shame and obloquy, Then what we erre in, or is done by vs.

A Monarch, and a mighty Conquerour To doate, proues euery woman is his better, But I'le be true to thee (said he:) One houre (Said she;) but what for truth, when it is fitter We keepe our own, then haue a doubtful debter. But I will sweare, said he: So _Iason_ did, Replide faire _Hiren_, yet who faithlesse more, or more inconstant to his sworne loues bed?

Too many mirrors haue we to behold, Of mens inconstancy, and womens shame. How many margent notes can we vnfold, Mourning for virgins that haue bene too blame? And shall I then run headlong to the flame? I blush, but it is you should be ashamed, For know, if that you neuer haue beene told, "Vertue may be inforc'd, but not defamed.

Faire louely Prince, let warre your triumphs be, Go forward in the glittering course you run, The kingly Eagle strikes through _Atomie_, Those little moates that barre him from the Sun, Then let not both of vs be here vndone, You of your Conquest, I of Chastitie. And pardon my rude specch, for lo you see, I plead for life, and who's not loath to dye?

Death of my fame, which oft proues mortal death Witnesse the Prince-forc'd chaste _Lucretia_, Ere I like her be rap'd, ô reaue my breath, And gainst thy nature, take a yeelding pray, That will embrace death, before thee this day. If thou loue me, shew it in killing me, Thy sword had neuer yet a chaster sheath, Nor thou, nor _Mahound_ a worse enemy.

He heard nor this, nor ought of what she said, For all his senses now were turn'd to eyes, And with such fired gaze he view'd this maid, That sure I thinke not _Hermes_ mysteries, Nor all his _Caducean_ nouelties, That flow from him like a slye winding streame, (To which the Gods gladly their eares haue laid) Could once haue mou'd him from this waking dreame.

But sighes he sends out on this embassie, Liegers that dye ere they returne againe, Poore substitutes to coape with chastity. She knew the pleading of their Liege was vaine, And all his teares like to a Mel-dew raine, That falles vpon the floures, to defloure. Yet, for twas tedious, she did aske him why, Each sigh was o're him such a conquerour.

By heauen he swore, and made his Eunuch start, I sigh to coole Loues fire, then kist her hand: For know, thou wonder of the Easterne part, He need not counterfeite that can command: But by thy middle, _Cupids_ coniuring wand, I am all loue, and faire beleeue my vow, Sprung from a Souldier, now a louers heart, He sweares to loue, that neuer lou'd till now.

Not halfe so faire was _Hellen_, thy pre'cessor, On whom the firy brand of Troy did dote, For whom so many riuall kings to succour, Made many a mountaine pine on Symois floate, Whilst fame to this day, tels it with wide throat. _Hector_ fell wounded in that warlike stir, _Peleus_ did faint, _Aiax_ that lusty warriour, Then blame not me, that loue one far 'boue her.

Nature deuis'd her owne despaire in thee, Thine eye not to be match'd, but by the other, Doth beare the influence of my destiny. And where they stray, my soule must wander thither Beauty of beauty, mother of Loues mother. All parts he praises, coming to her lip, Currall beneath the waues, vermilion dye, And being so neere, he wold not ouerslip.

Now tyres the famish'd Eagle on his pray, Incorporating his rude lips in hers, Sucking her balmey breath soft as he may: Which did more vigor, through his brest disperse, Such kisses louers vse at first conuerse. All parts were to that center drawne I wis, Close as the dew-wormes at the breake of day, That his soule shew'd, as t'were a melting kisse.

Till breathles now, he breath'd into her loue, Who scorn'd to take possession by degrees, No law with her strange passion, will he proue, But hauing interest, scorn'd one inch to leese, _Cupid_, sheele set thee free withouten fees. But though his wings she well nie set on fire, And burn'd the shaft, that first her brest did moue, Yet _Cupid_ would be Lord of her desire.

Tis sayd, _Aurora_ blushes euery morne, For feare that _Titan_ should her fault espy, And blushes so did _Hirens_ cheekes adorne, Fearing least _Mahomet_ perceiu'd her eye. Louers are blind, and what could he espy. No, twas the hidden vertue of that kisse, That her chast lips were nere vs'd to beforne, That did vnframe her, and confirme her his.

Louers beleeue, lips are inchanted baites, After fifteene, who kisses a faire maide, Had need to haue friends trusty of the fates, For by my muse (I sweare) I am a afraid, Hee's Iourney-man already in Loues trade. A kiffe is porter to the caue of loue, Well see, and you may enter all the gates: "Women were made to take what they reproue.

A kisse is the first Tutor and instinct, The guider to the Paphian shrine and bowers. They who before ne're entred loues precinct, Kissing shall finde it, and his sundry powers. O how it moues this continent of aires, And makes our pulse more strong & hye to beat, Making vs know when lips are sweetly linck't, That to those Kickshawes 'longs more dainty meate.

And so indeed bewitched _Hiren_ knowes, The pressure of his lips was not in vaine, Seldome proue women friends vnto their foes, But when with ouer kindnesse they are tane, So weake professors do swalow their owne bane: Shew them the axe they'l suffer martyrdome, But if promotion to them you propose, And flattery, then to the lure they come.

Thus _Mahomet_ blinds her with _Cupids_ vaile, And this new conuertite building on hope, Loue makes folks hardy, alas the flesh is fraile, Dispences now a little with the Pope: And fr[=o] restrictions giues her heart more scope. O Liberty, Author of heresie. Why with such violent wing dost thou assaile, To hurry vertue to impiety.

No pardon will she now implore of _Rome_, Her selfe she pardons twenty times an houre, Nor yet an heretike her selfe doth doome, Since she hath _Mahomet_ within her power. O loue too sweet, in the digestion sower! Yet was he made, as nature had agreed, To match them both together from her wombe, And be a ioyfull grandam in their seed.

A face Nature intended for a maister peece, And louely as the maide (though a blacke pearle) Painters and women say, an _Eben_ fleece, Doth well beseeme the shoulders of an Earle: Blacke snares they were, that did entrap this girle Each haire like to a subtile serpent taught her, Of the forbidden fruit to taste a peece, Whil'st _Eue_ is stain'd againe here in her daughter.

His eyes were stuck like Comets in his head, As if they came to treate of nouelties, And bring the world and beautie into dread: That he must conquer chastest chastities. O who such tempting graces could despise, All voluntarie sinnes soules may refraine, But Natures selfe that of the flesh is bred, Such power she hath, that vice she will retaine.

Let me, faire Greeke, a little plead for thee, Like a vaine Orator, more for applause, And swolne commends, of those are standers by, Then profits sake, or goodnesse of the cause. If men that vpon holy vowes do pawse, Haue broke, alas, what shall I say of these, The last thing thought on by the Deitie, Natures step-children, rather her disease.

Maide, why commit you wilfull periurie? To you I speake that vowe a single life, I must confesse y'are mistresse of beauty: Which beautie with your oaths is still at strife. Then know of me, thou, widow, maide or wife, She that is faire and vowes still chast to stand, Shall find an opposite to constancie, Fooles Oracles last not, are writ in sand.

_The end of the first Tome._

TO THE PERFECTION OF Perfection, and wisedome of Womanhood, the intelligent, and worthily admired, Elizabeth Countesse of Darby, wife to the thrice-noble William Earle _of Darby_.

_VVhen as the skilfull Statuaries make, The image of some great & worthy one, They still, as they intend his forme to take, Forecast the Basis he shall rest vpon, Whose firme infixe thunders nor winds can shake, Nor Time, that Nature deeds to liue alone. So (worthiest Lady) may I proudly vaunt, (Being neuer guilty of that crime before) That to this Laye, which I so rudely chaunt, Your diuine selfe, which_ Dian _doth adore, As her maids her, I haue select to daunt Enuy: as violent as these nam'd before_.

_Uertue and beauty both with you enioy,_ Gorgon _and_ Hydra (_all but death_) _destroy._

Your honors from youth oblig'd,

Wil. Barksted.

The second Tome.

Long did this beautious martyr keep her faith, Thinking that _Mahomet_ was full of error: Treading that high coelestiall milkie path, Virginity, that did produce hels terror, Yet knowing loue in Princes turnes to wrath, She meanes to catch his fancies with her cunning: But so resistlesse is this Princes feruor, Though he imprison loue, still feares his cunning.