Part 24
Calls players "fools! The Fool, he judgeth wiseth, Will learn them action out of Chaucer's _Pander_, Proves of their poets bawds, even in the highest, Then drinks a health! and swears it is no slander." Puts off his clothes! his shirt he only wears! Much like mad HAMLET, thus, as Passion tears!
"Who calls me forth, from my distracted thought? O Cerberus! if thou? I prithee speak! Revenge, if thou? I was thy rival ought! In purple gores, I'll make the ghosts to reek! VITULLIA! O VITULLIA, be thou still! I'll have revenge, or harrow up my will!
"I'll fallow up the wrinkles of the earth! Go down to hell, and knock at PLUTO'S gate! I'll turn the hills to valleys! make a dearth Of virtuous honour to eternal Fate! I'll beat the winds, and make the tides keep back! Reign in the sea, that lovers have no wrack!
"Yes, tell the Earth, 'It is a murderer! Hath slain VITULLIA!' O VITULLIA'S dead! I'll count blind CUPID for a conjurer, And with wild horses will I rend his head! I, with a pickaxe, will pluck out his brains! Laugh at this boy! ease lovers of much pains!
"O then, I'll fly! I'll swim! yet stay, and then I'll ride the moon, and make the clouds my horse! Make me a ladder of the heads of men, Climb up to heaven! Yes, my tongue will force To gods and angels! O, I'll never end, Till for VITULLIA, all my cries I spend!
"Then I, like a Spirit of pure Innocence, I'll be all white! and yet behold I'll cry 'Revenge!' O lovers! this my sufference; Or else for love, for love, a soul must die! EURIALÆ! URANIA! ARTESIA! so!--" Heart rent in sunder, with these words of woe.
"But soft, here comes! Who comes? and not calls out Of rape and murder, love and villainy? Stay, wretched man! Who runs? doth never doubt It is thy soul! thy Saint! thy deity! Then call the birds to ring a mourning Knell, For mad DAIPHANTUS, who doth love so well!
"O sing a song, parted in parcels three, I'll bear the burden still of all your grief; Who is all Woe, can tune his misery To discontents; but not to his relief. O kiss her! kiss her! And yet do not do so! They bring some joy, but with short joys, long woe!
Upon his knees, "O goddesses behold A caitiff wretch bemoaning his mishap! If ever pity were hired without gold, Lament DAIPHANTUS, once in Fortune's lap! Lament DAIPHANTUS, whose good deeds now slumber! Lament a lover, whose woe no tongue can number!
"My woes--" There did he stay, fell to the ground, Rightly divided into blood and tears, As if those words had given a mortal wound, So lay he foaming, with the weight of cares. Who this had seen, and seeing had not wept, Their hearts were, sure, from crosses ever kept!
The Ladies all, who late from hunting came, Untimely came to view this Map of Sorrow. Surely all wept! and sooth it was no shame, For, from his grief, the world might truly borrow: As he lay speechless grovelling, all undressed; So they stood weeping, Silence was their best.
ISMENIO with these Ladies bare a part, And much bemoaned him, though he knew not why; But kind compassion struck him to the heart, To see him mad. Much better see one die! Thus walks ISMENIO, and yet oft did pause, At length, a writing made him know the cause.
He read, till words, like thunder, pierced his heart; He sighed, till Sorrow seemed itself to mourn; He wept till tears like ysacles [_icicles_] did part, He pitied so, that pity, hate did scorn. He read to sigh, and weep for pity's sake; The less he read, the less his heart did quake.
At length resolved, he up the writing takes And to the Ladies travails as with child; The birth was Love, such love as discord makes, The midwife Patience; thus in words full mild, He writ with tears that which with blood was writ; The more he read, the more they pitied it.
They look upon DAIPHANTUS, he not seeing: And wondered at him, but his sense was parted. They loved him much, though little was his being, And sought to cure him, though he was faint-hearted, ISMENIO thus, with speed resolves to ease him; By a sweet song, his sister should appease him!
ISMENIO was resolved he would be eased, And was resolved of no means but by Music, Which is so heavenly that it hath released The danger oft, not to be cured by physic. Her tongue and hand thus married together, Could not but please him, who so loved either.
But first before his madness were allayed, They offered incense at DIANA'S shrine, And much besought her, now to be apaid; Which was soon granted to these saints divine: Yet so, that mad DAIPHANTUS must agree Never to love, but live in chastity.
Thus they adjured him, by the gods on high, Never henceforth to shoot with CUPID'S quiver! Nor love to feign: for there's no remedy, If once relapsed, then was he mad for ever! Tortured DAIPHANTUS, now a sign did make; And kind ISMENIO this did undertake.
Then 'gan ARTESIA to play upon her lute, Whose voice sang sweetly, now a mourning ditty; LOVE her admired, though he that loved were mute, CUPID himself feared he should sue for pity. O wondrous virtue! Words spoken are but wind; But sung to Prick Song, they are joys divine!
I heard her sing, but still methought I dreamed. I heard her play, but I methought did sleep. The Day and Night, till now, were never weaned. VENUS and DIAN ravished, both did weep. They which each hated, now agreed to say This was the goddess both of night and day.
My heart and ears, so ravished with the voice I still forgot, what still I heard her sing: The tune, surely, of Sonnets, this was all the choice. Poets do keep it as a charming thing. What think you of the joys that DAIPHANTUS had, When for such music, I would still be mad!
The birds came chirping to the windows round, And so stood still, as if they ravished were; Beasts forth the forest came, brought with the sound; The lion laid him down as if in fear. The fishes in fresh rivers swam to shore; Yea, had not Nature stayed them, had done more.
This was a sight, whose eyes had never seen; This was a voice, such music ne'er was heard; This Paradise was it, where who had been, Might well have thought of hell, and not afeard. Sure, hell itself was heaven, in this sphere, Madmen, wild beasts, and all here tamèd were.
Like as a king, his chair of state ascendeth, Being newly made a god upon the earth, In state amounts, till step by step he endeth, Thinks it to heaven a true-ascending birth. So hies DAIPHANTUS, on his legs and feet, As if DAIPHANTUS now some god should meet.
He looks upon himself, not without wonder. He wonders at himself, what he might be. He laughs unto himself: thinks he's aslumber. He weeps unto himself, himself to see. And sure to hear and see what he had done Might make him swear but now the world begun.
Fully revived, at last ARTESIA ceased, When birds and beasts so hideous noise did make, That almost all turned fury, fear was the least; Yea, such a fear as forced them cry and quake; Till that DAIPHANTUS, more of reason had Than they which moaned him, lately being mad.
He with more joy than words could well declare, And with more words than his new tongue could tell, Did strive to speak (such was his love and care Thus to be thankful); but yet knew not well Whether his tongue (not tuned unto his heart), Or modest silence, would best act his part?
But speak he will! Then give attentive ear To hear him tell a woful lover's story! His hands and eyes to heaven up did he rear, Grief taught him speech, though he to speak were sorry. But whatsoever be a Lover's Passion, DAIPHANTUS speaks his, in a mourning fashion.
As o'er the mountains walks the wandering soul, Seeking for rest in his unresting spirit, So good DAIPHANTUS, thinking to enrol Himself in grace, by telling of Love's merit Was so distracted, how he should commend it, Where he began, he wished still to end it.
"EURIALÆ, my eyes are hers in right! URANIA, my tongue is as her due! ARTESIA, my ears to her I 'dite! My heart to each! and yet my heart to you, To you, VITULLIA! to you, and all the rest, Who once me cursed, now to make me blest!
"1 Beauty and 2 Wit, did 1 wound and 2 pierce my heart, 3 Music and 4 Favour, 3 gained and 4 kept it sure: Love led by Fancy to the 4 last I part, Love led by Reason to the 1 first is truer. 1 Beauty and 2 Wit first conquered, made me yield, 3 Music and 4 Favour rescued got the field.
"To 2 Wit and 1 Beauty, my first love I give! 3 Music and 4 Favours, my second love have gained! All made me mad, and all did me relieve, Though one recured me, when I was sustained. Thus, troth to say, to All I love did owe; Therefore to All my love I ever vow!"
Thus to the first 1 and 2, his right hand he did tender: His left hand to the 3 and 4; last most lovingly 4. His tongue kind thanks, first to the last did render, The whiles his looks were bent indifferently. Thus he salutes All: and to increase his blisses, From lip to lip, each Lady now he kisses.
ISMENIO in humble wise salutes he, With gracious language he returns his heart, His words so sweetly to his tongue now suits he, As what he speaks shew Learning with good Art. ISMENIO pleased DAIPHANTUS, DAIPHANTUS All; _When love gains love for love, this Love we call!_
URANIA now bethought what was protested By young ISMENIO at DIANA'S shrine, Conjured DAIPHANTUS that, no more he jested With Love or Fancy! for they were Divine: And if he did, that there they all would pray He still might live in love, both night and day!
This grieved him much (but folly 'twere to grieve!) His now obedience shewed his own free will. He swore "he would not love, in shew, achieve! But live a virgin, chaste and spotless still. Which said, such music suddenly delighted, As all were ravished, and yet all affrighted.
Here parted all, not without joy and sadness. Some wept, some smiled; a world it was to hear them! Both springs here met. Woe here was clothed with gladness. Heaven was their comfort. It alone did cheer them. DAIPHANTUS from these springs, some fruit did gather. Experience is an infant, though an ancient father!
"Sweet Lady! know the Soul looks through our eyesights! Content lives not in shews or beauty seeing! Peace, not from number, nor strength in high spirits! Joy dies with Virtue, yet lives in Virtue's being! Beauty is masked, where Virtue is not hidden! Man still desires that fruit, he's most forbidden!
"Jewels, for virtue, not for beauty prized! What's seldom seen breeds wonder, we admire it! King's lines are rare, and therefore well advised. Wise men, not often talk, Fools still desire it. Women are books! Kept close, they hold much treasure; Unclasped, sweet ills! Most woe lies hid in pleasure.
"Who studies Arts alike, can he prove Doctor? Who surfeits, hardly lives! drunkards recover! Whose will's his law, that conscience needs no Proctor! When men turn beasts, look there for brutish lovers! Those eyes are pore-blind, look equally on any Though't be a virtue to hinder one by many.
"Who gains by travel, lose Lordships for their Manors, Must TARQUIN ravish some? Hell on that glory! Whose life's in healths, death soonest gains those banners! Lust still is punished, though Treason write the story! A rolling eye, a globe, new worlds discover! Who still wheels round is but a damnèd lover.
"Doth Faith and Troth lie bathing? Is Lust, pleasure? Can commons be as sweet as land enclosed? Then virgin sin may well be counted pleasure! Where such lords rule, who lives not ill-disposed! True Love's a Phœnix, but One until it dies: Lust is a Cockatrice in all, but in her eyes."
Here did he end more blessed than his wishes. (Fame's at the high, when Love indites the Story) The private life brings with it heavenly blisses. Sweet Contemplation much increaseth glory. I'll leave him to the learning of Love's spell! "Better part friends, that follow fiends to hell!"
ISMENIO, with VITULLIA went together, Perhaps both wounded with blind CUPID'S dart; Yet durst they not relate their love to either, Love if once pitied, pierceth to the heart: But, sure, VITULLIA is so fair a mark, CUPID would court her, though but by the dark.
ARTESIA, she must go, the more She's grieved, To churlish STRYMON, her adopted Mate; CUPID, though blind, yet pitied and relieved This modest Lady with some happy fate. For what but Virtue, which doth all good nourish, Could brook her fortunes, much less love and cherish.
EURIALÆ, with good URANIA stayed, Where Virtue dwells, they only had their being; Beauty and Wit still fear, are not dismayed, For where they dwell, Love ever will be prying. These two were one. All good, each could impart. One was their fortune, and one was their heart.
Beauty and Virtue were true friends to either. Heaven is the sphere where all men seek for glory. Earth is the grave where sinners join together. Hell keeps the book, enrols each lustful story. Live as we will, Death makes, of all conclusion: Die then to live! or life is thy confusion.
Beauty and Wit in these, fed on Affection. Labour and Industry were their twins of life. Love and True Bounty were in their subjection, Their bodies, with their spirits, had no strife. Such were these two, as grace did them defend: Such are these two, as with these two I end.
FINIS.
_Non Amori sed Virtuti._
_The Passionate Man's Pilgrimage._
Supposed to be written by one at the point of death.
Give me my Scalop Shell of quiet, My Staff of faith to walk upon, My Scrip of joy, immortal diet! My Bottle of salvation, My Gown of glory, hope's true gage, And thus I'll take my Pilgrimage!
Blood must be my body's balmer, No other balm will there be given! Whilst my Soul, like a white Palmer, Travels to the land of heaven, Over the silver mountains, Where spring the nectar fountains: And there I'll kiss The bowl of bliss, And drink my eternal fill On every milken hill! My Soul will be a dry before; But, after it, will ne'er thirst more!
And by the happy blissful way, More peaceful pilgrims I shall see That have shook off their gowns of clay, And go apparelled fresh like me. I'll bring them first To slake their thirst, And then to taste those nectar suckets At the clear wells Where sweetness dwells, Drawn up by Saints in crystal buckets.
And when our bottles and all we, Are filled with immortality, Then the holy paths we'll travel, Strewed with rubies thick as gravel, Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors, High walls of coral, and pearl bowers.
From thence, to Heaven's bribeless Hall, Where no corrupted voices brawl. No conscience molten into gold; Nor forged accusers bought and sold. No cause deferred, nor vain spent journey; For there, CHRIST is the King's Attorney, Who pleads for all without degrees; And he hath angels, but no fees! When the grand twelve million Jury, Of our sins and sinful fury, 'Gainst our souls, black verdicts give: CHRIST pleads his death, and then we live! Be thou, my speaker, taintless Pleader! Unblotted Lawyer! true Proceeder! Thou movest salvation, even for alms! Not with a bribèd lawyer's palms.
And this is my eternal Plea, To Him that made heaven, earth, and sea; Seeing my flesh must die so soon, And want a head to dine next noon; Just at the stroke, when my veins start and spread, Set on my Soul, an everlasting head! Then am I ready, like a Palmer fit To tread those blest paths, which before I writ.
FINIS.
MICHAEL DRAYTON.
_Odes._
[1606, and 1619.]
_To the Reader._
Odes I have called these, the first of my few Poems; which how happy soever they prove, yet Criticism itself cannot say, That the name is wrongfully usurped. For (not to begin with Definitions, against the Rule of Oratory; nor _ab ovo_, against the Prescript of Poetry in a poetical argument: but somewhat only to season thy palate with a slight description) an Ode is known to have been properly a Song moduled to the ancient harp: and neither too short-breathed, as hastening to the end; nor composed of [the] longest verses, as unfit for the sudden turns and lofty tricks with which APOLLO used to menage it.
They are, as the Learned say, divers:
Some transcendently lofty; and far more high than the Epic, commonly called the Heroic, Poem--witness those of the inimitable PINDARUS consecrated to the glory and renown of such as returned in triumph from [the Games at] Olympus, Elis, Isthmus, or the like.
Others, among the Greeks, are amorous, soft, and made for chambers; as others for theatres: as were ANACREON'S, the very delicacies of the Grecian ERATO; which Muse seemed to have been the Minion of that Teian old man, which composed them.
Of a mixed kind were HORACE'S. And [we] may truly therefore call these mixed; whatsoever else are mine: little partaking of the high dialect of the first
Though we be _all_ to seek Of PINDAR, that great Greek,
nor altogether of ANACREON; the Arguments being amorous, moral, or what else the Muse pleaseth.
To write much in this kind neither know I how it will relish: nor, in so doing, can I but injuriously presuppose ignorance or sloth in thee; or draw censure upon myself for sinning against the decorum of a Preface, by reading a Lecture, where it is enough to sum the points. New they are, and the work of Playing Hours: but what other commendation is theirs, and whether inherent in the subject, must be thine to judge.
* * * * *
But to act the Go-Between of my Poems and thy applause, is neither my modesty nor confidence: that, oftener than once, have acknowledged thee, kind; and do not doubt hereafter to do somewhat in which I shall not fear thee, just. And would, at this time, also gladly let thee understand what I think, above the rest, of the last Ode of the number; or, if thou wilt, Ballad in my book. For both the great Master of Italian rymes PETRARCH, and our CHAUCER, and others of the Upper House of the Muses, have thought their Canzons honoured in the title of a _Ballad:_ which for that I labour to meet truly therein with the old English garb, I hope as ably to justify as the learned COLIN CLOUT his _Roundelay_.
Thus requesting thee, in thy better judgment, to correct such faults as have escaped in the printing; I bid thee farewell.
[M. DRAYTON.]
_ODES._
[1606.]
ODE I.
_To Himself, and the Harp._
And why not I, as he That's greatest, if as free, (In sundry strains that strive, Since there so many be), Th' old Lyric kind revive?
I will, yea; and I may: Who shall oppose my way? For what is he alone, That of himself can say, He's Heir of Helicon.
APOLLO and the Nine Forbid no man their shrine, That cometh with hands pure; Else, they be so divine, They will not him endure.
For they be such coy things; That they care not for Kings, And dare let them know it: Nor may he touch their Springs That is not born a Poet.
[Sidenote: PYRENÆUS, King of Phocis attempting to ravish the Muses.]
The Phocean it did prove, Whom when foul lust did move Those Maids, unchaste to make; Fell as with them he strove, His neck and justly brake.
That instrument ne'er heard, Struck by the skilful Bard, It strongly to awake; But it th' infernals scared, And made Olympus quake.
[Sidenote: I Samuel xvi.]
As those prophetic strings, Whose sounds with fiery wings Drave fiends from their abode; Touched by the best of Kings, That sang the holy Ode.
[Sidenote: ORPHEUS the Thracian Poet. _Caput, Hebre, lyramque excipis, &c._ OVID. _Metam._ xi.]
So his, which women slew: And it int' Hebrus threw; Such sounds yet forth it sent, The banks to weep that drew, As down the stream it went.
[Sidenote: MERCURY, inventor of the harp, as HORACE. Ode 10, Lib. I., _curvæque lyræ parentem_.]
That by the tortoise shell, To MAYA'S son it fell, The most thereof not doubt: But sure some Power did dwell In him who found it out.
[Sidenote: Thebes feigned to have been raised by music.]
The wildest of the field, And air, with rivers t' yield, Which moved; that sturdy glebes, And mossy oaks could wield, To raise the piles of Thebes.
And diversely though strung, So anciently We sung To it; that now scarce known, If first it did belong To Greece, or if our own.
[Sidenote: The ancient British Priests, so called of their abode in woods.]
The Druids embrued With gore, on altars rude With sacrifices crowned, In hollow woods bedewed, Adored the trembling sound.
[Sidenote: PINDAR, Prince of the Greek Lyrics, of whom HORACE, _PINDARUM quisquis studet, &c._ Ode 2, Lib. IV.]
Though we be _all_ to seek Of PINDAR, that great Greek, To finger it aright; The soul with power to strike: His hand retained such might.
[Sidenote: HORACE, first of the Romans in that kind.]
Or him that Rome did grace, Whose Airs we all embrace: That scarcely found his peer; Nor giveth PHŒBUS place, For strokes divinely clear.
[Sidenote: The Irish Harp.]
The Irish I admire, And still cleave to that Lyre As our Music's mother: And think, till I expire, APOLLO'S such another.
As Britons that so long Have held this antique Song; And let all our carpers Forbear their fame to wrong: Th'are right skilful harpers.
[Sidenote: SOOWTHERN, an English Lyric. [His _PANDORA_ was published in 1584.]]
SOOWTHERN, I long thee spare; Yet wish thee well to fare, Who me pleasedst greatly: As first, therefore more rare, Handling thy harp neatly.
To those that with despite Shall term these Numbers slight; Tell them, Their judgment's blind! Much erring from the right. It is a noble kind.
[Sidenote: An old English Rhymer.]
Nor is 't the Verse doth make, That giveth, or doth take: 'Tis possible to climb, To kindle, or to slake; Although in SKELTON'S rhyme.
ODE 2.
_To the New Year._
Rich statue double faced! With marble temples graced, To raise thy godhead higher; In flames where, altars shining, Before thy Priests divining, Do od'rous fumes expire.
Great JANUS, I thy pleasure, With all the Thespian treasure, Do seriously pursue: To th' passed year returning, As though the Old adjourning; Yet bringing in the New.
Thy ancient Vigils yearly, I have observèd clearly; Thy Feasts yet smoking be! Since all thy store abroad is; Give something to my goddess, As hath been used by thee!