Part 15

Thou shalt (indeede) fore-tell of things to come; And truely, too; (for why my vowes are past) But heare the end of _Ioues_ eternall doome: Because thy promise did so little last, Although thou tell the truth, (this gift I giue thee) Yet for thy falsehood, no man shall beleeue thee.

And (for thy sake) this pennance I impose Vpon the remnant of all woman kinde, For that they be such truth professed foes; A constant woman shall be hard to finde: And that all flesh at my dread name may tremble, When they weep most, then shall they most dissemble.

This said _Apollo_ then: And since that time His words haue proved true as Oracles: Whose turning thoughtes ambitiously doe clime To heauens height; and world with lightnes fils: Whose sex are subject to inconstancie, As other creatures are to destinie.

Yet famous _Sabrine_ on thy banks doth rest The fairest Maide that euer world admired: Whose constant minde, with heauenly gifts possest Makes her rare selfe of all the world desired. In whose chaste thoughts no vanitie doth enter; So pure a minde _Endymions_ Love hath lent her.

Queene of my thoughts, but subiect of my verse, (Divine _Eliza_) pardon my defect: Whose artlesse pen so rudely doth reherse Thy beauties worth; (for want of due respect) Oh pardon thou the follies of my youth; Pardon my faith, my loue, my zeale, my truth.

But to _Cassandra_ now: who hauing heard The cruell sentence of the threatning voice; At length (too late) begins to waxe affeard, Lamenting much her vnrepentant choice: And seeing her hard hap without reliefe, She sheeds salt teares in token of her griefe.

Which when _Aurora_ saw, and saw t'was shee, Euen shee her selfe whose far-renowmed fame Made all the world to wonder at her beauty, It mou'd compassion in this ruthfull Dame: And thinking on her Sonnes sad destinie, With mournfull teares she beares her companie.

Great was the mone, which faire _Cassandra_ made: Greater the kindnesse, which _Aurora_ shew'd: Whose sorrow with the sunne began to fade, And her moist teares on th'earths green grasse bestow'd: Kissing the flowers with her siluer dew, Whose fading beautie, seem'd her case to rew.

Scarce was the lonely Easterne Queene departed, From stately _Ilion_ (whose proud-reared wals Seem'd to controule the cloudes, till _Vulcan_ darted Against their Tower his burning fier-bals) When sweet _Cassandra_ (leauing her soft bed) In seemely sort her selfe apparelled.

And hearing that her honourable Sire, (Old princely _Pryamus Troy's_ aged King) Was gone into _Ioues_ Temple, to conspire Against the _Greekes_, (whom he to war did bring) Shee, (like a Furie), in a bedlam rage, Runs gadding thither, his fell wrath t'assuage.

But not preuailing: truely she fore-tolde The fall of _Troy_ (with bold erected face:) They count her hare-brain'd, mad, and ouer-bold, To presse in presence in so graue a place: But in meane season _Paris_ he is gone, To bring destruction on faire _Ilion_.

What, ten-yeeres siedge by force could not subuert, That, two false traitors in one night destroi'd: Who richly guerdon'd for their bad desert, Was of _Æneas_ but small time inioi'd: Who, for concealement of _Achilles_ loue, Was banished; from _Ilion_ to remoue.

King _Pryam_ dead and all the Troians slaine; (His sonnes, his friends and deere confederates) And lots now cast for captiues that remaine, (Whom Death hath spared for more cruell fates) _Cassandra_ then to _Agamemnon_ fell, With whom a Lemman she disdain'd to dwell.

She, weepes; he, wooes; he would, but she would not: He, tell's his birth; shee, pleades virginitie: He saith, selfe-pride doth rarest beauty blot: (And with that word he kist her louingly:) Shee, yeeldingly resists; he faines to die: Shee, fall's for feare; he, on her feareleslie.

But this braue generall of all the _Greekes_, Was quickly foyled at a womans hands, For who so rashly such incounters seekes, Of hard mis-hap in danger euer stands: Onely chaste thoughts, vertuous abstinence, Gainst such sweet poyson is the sur'st defence.

But who can shun the force of beauties blow? Who is not rauisht with a lonely looke? Grac'd with a wanton eie, (the hearts dumb show) Such fish are taken with a siluer hooke: And when true loue cannot these pearles obtaine _Vnguentum Album_ is the only meane.

Farre be it from my thought (diuinest Maid) To haue relation to thy heauenly hew, (In whose sweete voice the Muses are imbaid) No pen can paint thy commendation due: Saue only that pen, which no pen can be, An Angels quill, to make a pen for thee.

But to returne to these vnhappie Louers, (Sleeping securely in each others armes) Whose sugred ioies nights sable mantle couers, Little regarding their ensuing harmes: Which afterward they iointlie both repented: "Fate is fore-seene, but neuer is preuented."

Which saying to be true, this lucklesse Dame Approued in the sequele of her story: Now waxing pale, now blushing red (for shame), She scales her lips with silence (womens glory) Till _Agamemnon_ vrging her replies, Thus of his death she truely prophecies.

The day shall come, (quoth she) O dismal daie! When thou by false _Ægistus_ shalt be slaine: Heere could she tell no more; but made a stay. (From further speech as willing to refraine:) Not knowing then, nor little did she thinke, That she with him of that same cup must drinke.

But what? (fond man) he laughs her skil to scorne, And iesteth at her diuination: Ah to what vnbeliefe are Princes borne? (The onely ouer-throw of many a Nation:) And so it did befall this lucklesse Prince, Whom all the world hath much lamented since.

Insteede of teares, he smileth at her tale: Insteede of griefe, he makes great shew of gladnes: But after blisse, there euer followes bale; And after mirth, there alwaies commeth sadnes: But gladnesse, blisse, and mirth had so possest him, That sadnes, bale, and griefe could not molest him.

Oh cruell _Parcæ_ (quoth _Cassandra_ then) Why are you _Parcæ_, yet not mou'd with praier? Oh small security of mortall men, That liue on earth, and breathe this vitall aire: When we laugh most, then are we next to sorrow; The Birds feede vs to-day, we them to-morrow.

But if the first did little moue his minde, Her later speeches lesse with him preuailed; Who beinge wholy to selfe-will inclinde, Deemes her weake braine with lunacy assailed: And still the more shee councels him to stay, The more he striueth to make haste away.

How on the Seas he scap'd stormes, rocks and sholes, (Seas that enuide the conquest he had wone, Gaping like hell to swallow Greekish soules,) I heere omit; onely suppose it done: His storm-tyrde Barke safely brings him to shore, His whole Fleete els, or suncke or lost before.

Lift vp thy head, thou ashie-cyndred _Troy_, See the commaunder of thy traitor foes, That made thy last nights woe, his first daies ioie, Now gins his night of ioy and daie of woes: His fall be thy delight, thine was his pride: As he thee then, so now thou him deride.

He and _Cassandra_ now are set on shore, Which he salutes with ioy, she greetes with teares, Currors are sent that poast to Court before, Whose tidings fill th'adultrous Queene with feares, Who with _Ægistus_ in a lust-staind bed, Her selfe, her King, her State dishonored.

She wakes the lecher with a loud-strain'd shrike, Loue-toies they leaue, now doth lament begin: He flie (quoth he) but she doth that mislike, Guilt vnto guilt, and sinne she ads to sinne: Shee meanes to kill (immodest loue to couer) A kingly husband, for a caytiue louer.

The peoples ioies, conceiued at his returne, Their thronging multitudes: their gladsome cries, Their gleeful hymnes, whiles piles of incense burne: Their publique shewes, kept at solemnities: We passe: and tell how King and Queene did meet, Where he with zeale, she him with guile did greet.

He (noble Lord) fearelesse of hidden treason, Sweetely salutes this weeping Crocodile: Excusing euery cause with instant reason That kept him from her sight so long a while: She, faintly pardons him; smiling by Art: (For life was in her lookes, death in her hart.)

For pledge that I am pleas'd receiue (quoth shee) This rich wrought robe, thy _Clytemnestras_ toile: Her ten yeeres worke this day shall honour thee, For ten yeeres war, and one daies glorious spoile: Whil'st thou contendedst there, I heere did this: Weare it my loue, my life, my ioy, my blisse.

Scarce had the Syren said what I haue write, But he (kind Prince) by her milde words misled, Receiu'd the robe, to trie if it were fit; (The robe) that had no issue for his head; Which, whilst he vainly hoped to haue found, _Ægistus_ pierst him with a mortal wound.

Oh how the _Troyan_ Damzell was amazed To see so fell and bloudy a Tragedie, Performed in one Act; she naught but gazed, Vpon the picture; whom shee dead did see, Before her face: whose body she emballms, With brennish teares, and sudden deadly qualms.

Faine would she haue fled backe on her swift horse But _Clytemnestra_ bad her be content, Her time was com'n: now bootelesse vsd she force, Against so many; whom this Tygresse sent To apprehend her: who (within one hower Brought backe againe) was lockt within a Tower.

Now is she ioylesse, friendlesse, and (in fine) Without all hope of further libertie: Insteed of cates, cold water was her wine, And _Agamemnons_ corps her meate must be, Or els she must for hunger starue (poore sole) What could she do but make great mone and dole.

So darke the dungeon was, wherein she was, That neither Sunne (by day) nor Mone (by night) Did shew themselues: and thus it came to passe. The Sunne denide to lend his glorious light To such a periur'd wight, or to be scene; (What neede she light, that ouer-light had bin?)

Now silent night drew on; when all things sleepe, Saue theeves, and cares; and now stil mid-night came: When sad _Cassandra_ did naught els but weepe; Oft calling on her _Agamemnons_ name. But seeing that the dead did not replie, Thus she begins to mourne, lament, and crie.

Oh cruell Fortune (mother of despaire,) Well art thou christen'd with a cruell name: Since thou regardest not the wise, or faire, But do'st bestow thy riches (to thy shame) On fooles and lowly swaines, that care not for thee: And yet I weepe, and yet thou do'st abhorre me.

Fie on ambition, fie on filthy pride, The roote of ill, the cause of all my woe: On whose fraile yce my youth first slipt aside: And falling downe, receiu'd a fatall blow. Ah who hath liu'd to see such miserie As I haue done, and yet I cannot die?

I liu'd (quoth she) to see _Troy_ set on fire: I liu'd to see, renowned _Hector_ slaine: I liu'd to see, the shame of my desire: And yet I liue, to feel my grieuous paine: Let all young maides example take by me, To keepe their oathes, and spotlesse chastity.

Happy are they, that neuer liu'd to know What 'tis to liue in this world happily: Happy are they which neuer yet felt woe: Happy are they, that die in infancie: Whose sins are cancell'd in their mothers wombe: Whose cradle is their graue, whose lap their tomb.

Here ended shee; and then her teares began, That (Chorus-like) at euery word downe rained. Which like a paire of christall fountaines ran, Along her lonely cheekes: with roses stained: Which as they wither still (for want of raine) Those siluer showers water them againe.

Now had the poore-mans clock (shrill chauntcleare) Twice giuen notice of the Mornes approach, (That then began in glorie to appeare, Drawne in her stately colour'd saffron-Coach) When shee (poore Lady) almost turn'd to teares, Began to teare and rend her golden haires.

Lie there (quoth shee) the workers of my woes You trifling toies, which my liues staine haue bin: You, by whose meanes our coines chiefly growes, Clothing the backe with pride, the soule with sin: Lie there (quoth shee) the causers of my care; This said, her robes she all in pieces tare.

Here-with, as weary of her wretched life, (Which shee inioy'd with small felicitie) She ends her fortune with a fatall knife; (First day of ioy, last day of miserie:) Then why is death accounted Nature's foe, Since death (indeed) is but the end of woe?

For as by death, her bodie was released From that strong prison made of lime and stone; Euen so by death her purest soule was eased, From bodies prison, and from endlesse mone: Where now shee walkes in sweete _Elysium_ (The place for wrongful Death and Martirdum.)

FINIS.

The Encomion of Lady Pecunia:

_OR_

The praise of Money.

_quærenda pecunia primum est, Virtus post nummos._ Horace.

By _Richard Barnfeild_, Graduate in _Oxford_.

LONDON,

Printed by G. S. for Iohn Iaggard, and are to be sold at his shoppe neere Temple-barre, at the Signe of the Hand and starre.

1598.

To the Gentlemen Readers.

Gentlemen, being incouraged through your gentle acceptance of my _Cynthia_, I haue once more aduentured on your Curtesies: hoping to finde you (as I haue done heretofore) friendly. Being determined to write of somthing, and yet not resolued of any thing, I considered with my selfe, if one should write of Loue (they will say) why, euery one writes of Loue: if of Vertue, why, who regards Vertue? To be short, I could thinke of nothing, but either it was common, or not at all in request. At length I bethought my selfe of a Subiect, both new (as hauing neuer beene written vpon before) and pleasing (as I thought) because Mans Nature (commonly) loues to heare that praised, with whose pressence, hee is most pleased.

_Erasmus_ (the glory of _Netherland_, and the refiner of the Latin Tongue) wrote a whole Booke, in _the prayse of Folly_. Then if so excellent a Scholler, writ in praise of Vanity, why may not I write in praise of that which is profitable? There are no two Countreys, where Gold is esteemed, lesse than in _India_, and more then in _England:_ the reason is, because the _Indians_ are barbarous, and our Nation ciuill.

I have giuen _Pecunia_ the title of a Woman, Both for the termination of the Word, and because (as Women are) shee is lov'd of men. The brauest Voyages in the World, haue beene made for Gold: for it, men haue venterd (by Sea) to the furthest parts of the Earth: In the Pursute whereof, _Englands Nestor_ and _Neptune_ (_Haukins_ and _Drake_) lost their liues. Vpon the Deathes of the which two, of the first I writ this:

_The Waters were his Winding sheete, the Sea was made his Toome; Yet for his fame the Ocean Sea, was not sufficient roome._

Of the latter this:

England _his hart; his Corps the Waters haue; And that which raysd his fame, became his grave._

The _Prætorians_ (after the death of _Pertinax_) in the election of a new Emperour, more esteemed the money of _Iulianus_, then either the vertue of _Seuerus_, or the Valour of _Pessennius_. Then of what great estimation and account, this Lady _Pecunia_, both hath beene in the Worlde, and is at this present, I leaue to your Iudgement. But what speake I so much of her praise in my Epistle, that haue commended her so at large in my Booke? To the reading wherof, (Gentlemen) I referre you.

[THE AUTHORS FIRST EPISTLE-DEDICATORY (1605).

[Collated with the Bridgwater House copy.]

Led by the swift report of winged Fame, With siluer trumpet, sounding forth your name To you I dedicate this merry Muse, And for my Patron, I your fauour chuse: She is a Lady, she must be respected: She is a Queene, she may not be neglected. This is the shadow, you the substance haue, Which substance now this shadow seems to craue.

RICHARD BARNFIELD.]

The prayse of Lady Pecunia.

I Sing not of _Angellica_ the faire, (For whom the Palladine of _Fraunce_ fell mad) Nor of sweet _Rosamond_, olde _Cliffords_ heire, (Whose death did make the second _Henry_ sad) But of the fairest Faire _Pecunia_, The famous Queene of rich _America_.

Goddesse of Golde, great Empresse of the Earth, O thou that canst doe all Thinges under Heauen: That doost conuert the saddest minde to Mirth; (Of whom the elder Age was quite bereauen) Of thee Ile sing, and in thy Prayse Ile write; You _golden Angels_ helpe me to indite.

You, you alone, can make my Muse to speake; And tell a golden Tale, with siluer Tongue: You onely can my pleasing silence breake; And adde some Musique, to a merry Songue: But amongst all the fiue, in Musicks Art, I would not sing the _Counter_-tenor part.

The Meane is best, and that I meane to keepe; So shall I keepe my selfe from That I meane: Lest with some Others, I be forc'd to weepe, And cry _Peccaui_, in a dolefull Scæne. But to the matter which I haue in hand, The Lady Regent, both by Sea and Land.

When _Saturne_ liu'd, and wore the Kingly Crowne, (And _Ioue_ was yet vnborne, but not vnbred) This Ladies fame was then of no renowne; (For Golde was then, no more esteem'd then Lead) Then Truth and Honesty were onely vs'd, Siluer and Golde were vtterly refus'd.

But when the Worlde grew wiser in Conceit, And saw how Men in manners did decline, How Charitie began to loose her heate, And One did at anothers good repine, Then did the Aged, first of all respect her; And vowd from thenceforth, neuer to reiect her.

Thus with the Worlde, her beauty did increase; And manie Suters had she to obtaine her: Some sought her in the Wars, and some in peace; But few of youthfull age, could euer game her: Or if they did, she soone was gone againe; And would with them, but little while remaine.

For why against the Nature of her Sexe, (That commonlie dispise the feeble Olde) Shee, loues olde men; but young men she reiects; Because to her, their Loue is quicklie colde: Olde men (like Husbands iealous of their Wiues) Lock her vp fast, and keepe her as their Liues.

The young man carelesse to maintaine his life, Neglects her Loue (as though he did abhor her) Like one that hardly doeth obtaine a wife, And when he hath her once, he cares not for her: Shee, seeing that the young man doeth despyse her, Leaues the franke heart, and flies vnto the Myser.

Hee intertaines her, with a ioyfull hart; And seemes to rue her vndeserued wrong: And from his Pressence, she shall neuer part; Or if shee doo, he thinkes her Absence long: And oftentimes he sends for her againe, Whose life without her, cannot long remaine.

And when he hath her, in his owne possession, He locks her in an iron-barred Chest, And doubting somewhat, of the like Transgression, He holds that iron-walled Prison best. And least some _rusty_ sicknesse should infect her, He often visits her, and doeth respect her.

As for the young man (subiect vnto sinne) No maruell though the Diuell doe distresse him; To tempt mans frailtie, which doth neuer linne, Who many times, hath not a _Crosse_ to blesse him: But how can hee incurre the Heauens Curse, That hath so many _Crosses_ in his Purse?

Hee needes not feare those wicked sprights, that waulke Vnder the Couerture of cole-blacke Night; For why the Diuell still, a _Crosse_ doeth baulke, Because on it, was hangd the Lorde of Light: But let not Mysers trust to _siluer Crosses_, Least in the End, their gaines be turnd to losses.

But what care they, so they may hoorde vp golde? Either for God, or Diuell, or Heauen, or Hell? So they may faire _Pecuniaes_ face behold; And euery Day, their Mounts of Money tell. What tho to count their Coyne, they neuer blin, Count they their Coyne, and counts not God their sin?

But what talke I of sinne, to Vsurers? Or looke for mendment, at a Mysers hand? _Pecunia_, hath so many followers, Bootlesse it is, her Power to with-stand. King _Couetise_, and _Warinesse_ his Wife, The Parents were, that first did giue her Life.

But now vnto her Praise I will proceede, Which is as ample, as the Worlde is wide: What great Contentment doth her Pressence breede In him, that can his wealth with Wysdome guide? She is the Soueraigne Queene, of all Delights: For her the Lawyer pleades; the Souldier fights.

For her, the Merchant venters on the Seas: For her, the Scholler studdies at his Booke: For her, the Vsurer (with greater ease) For sillie fishes, layes a siluer hooke: For her, the Townsman leaues the Countrey Village: For her, the Plowman giues himselte to Tillage.

For her, the Gentlemen doeth raise his rents: For her, the Seruingman attends his maister: For her, the curious head new toyes inuents: For her, to Sores, the Surgeon layes his plaister. In fine for her, each man in his Vocation, Applies himselfe, in euerie sev'rall Nation.

What can thy hart desire, but thou mayst haue it, If thou hast readie money to disburse? Then thanke thy Fortune, that so freely gaue it; For of all friends, the surest is thy purse. Friends may proue false, and leaue thee in thy need; But still thy Purse will bee thy friend indeed.

Admit thou come, into a place vnknowne; And no man knowes, of whence, or what thou art: If once thy faire _Pecunia_, shee be showne, Thou art esteem'd a man of great Desart: And placed at the Tables vpper ende; Not for thine owne sake, but thy faithfull frende.

But if you want your Ladies louely grace, And haue not wherewithall to pay your shot, Your Hostis pressently will step in Place, You are a Stranger (Sir) I know you not: By trusting Diuers, I am run in Det; Therefore of mee, nor meate nor Bed you get.

O who can then, expresse the worthie praise, Which faire _Pecunia_ iustly doeth desarue? That can the meanest man, to Honor raise; And feed the soule, that ready is to starue. Affection, which was wont to bee so pure, Against a golden Siege, may not endure.

Witnesse the trade of Mercenary sinne; (Or Occupation, if thou list to tearme it) Where faire _Pecunia_ must the suite beginne; (As common-tride Experience doeth confirme it) Not _Mercury_ himselfe, with siluer Tongue, Can so inchaunt, as can a golden Songue.

When nothing could subdue the _Phrygian Troy_, (That Citty through the world so much renowned) _Pecunia_ did her vtterly destroy: And left her fame, in darke Obliuion drowned. And many Citties since, no lesse in fame, For Loue of her, haue yeelded to their shame.