IV. ODE XI. To Phyllis.
Come, Phyllis, gentle Phyllis! prithee come, I have a glass of rich old wine at home, And in my garden curious flowers do grow, That languish to adorn thy brow. The ivy and the yellow crowfoot there With verdant chaplets wait to braid thy hair; With silver goblets all my house does shine, And vervain round my altar twine, On which the best of all my flock shall bleed; Come, and observe with what officious speed 10 Each lad and lass of all my house attends Till to my roof the smoke ascends. If thou wouldst know why thou must be my guest, I tell thee 'tis to celebrate a Feast, The Ides of April, which have ever been Devoted to the Cyprian Queen. A day more sacred, and more fit for mirth Than that which gave me (worthless mortal) birth: For on that day Maecenas first saw light, Born for our wonder and delight. 20 My Phyllis, since thy years come on apace, Substitute me in Telephus his place, He's now employ'd by one more rich, more fair, And proudly does her shackles wear. Remember what became of Phaeton; Remember what befell Bellerophon; That by ambition from his Father's throne, And this, by Pegasus thrown down. Content thyself with what is fit for thee, Happy that couple that in years agree! 30 Shun others, and accept my parity, And I will end my loves with thee. Thou art the last whom I intend to court, Come then; and (to prepare thee for the sport) Learn prick-song, and my merry odes rehearse: Many a care is charm'd by verse.
EPODE III. To Maecenas.
In time to come, if such a crime should be As Parricide, (foul villany!) A clove of garlic would revenge that evil; (Rare dish for ploughmen, or the Devil!) Accursed root! how does it jounce and claw! It works like ratsbane in my maw. What witch contriv'd this strat'gem for my breath! Poison'd at once, and stunk to death; With this vile juice Medea sure did 'noint Jason, her love, in every joint; 10 When untam'd bulls in yokes he led along, This made his manhood smell so strong: This gave her dragon venom to his sting, And set the hag upon the wing. I burn, I parch, as dry as dust I am, Such drought on Puglia never came. Alcides could not bear so much as I, He oft was wet, but never dry. Maecenas! do but taste of your own treat, And what you gave your poet, eat; 20 Then go to bed, and court your mistress there, She'll never kiss you I dare swear.
[III. 5 'Jounce', a word worth restoring, is the same as Shakespeare's 'jaunce' and as 'jaunt'. It seems to be still provincial, especially in East Anglia (Flatman had property there), and is equivalent to 'jolt', 'bob up and down', 'wamble in the innerds'.]
EPODE VI.
Against Cassius Severus, a rerevileful and wanton Poet.
Thou village-cur! why dost thou bark at me? A wolf might come, and go, for thee. At me thou open'st wide, and think'st that I Will bark with thee for company. I'm of another kind, and bravely dare (Like th' mastiff) watch my flock with care: Dare hunt through snow, and seize that savage beast That might my darling folds molest: Thou (only in the noise thou mak'st) robust Leav'st off the chase; leap'st at a crust, 10 But have a care! for if I vent my spleen, I (for a shift) can make thee grin: I'll make thee (if iambics once I sing) To die, like Bupalus, in a string. When any man insults o'er me, shall I Put finger in mine eye and cry?
EPODE X. Against Maevius, a Poet.
And art thou shipp'd, friend Doggerel!--get thee gone, Thou pest of Helicon. Now for an hurricane to bang thy sides, Curst wood, in which he rides! An east-wind tear thy cables, crack thy oars, While every billow roars. With such a wind let all the Ocean swell As wafted Noll to Hell: No friendly star o'er all the Sea appear While thou be'st there; 10 Nor kinder destiny there mayst thou meet Than the proud Grecian Fleet, When Pallas did their Admiral destroy Return'd from ruin'd Troy. Methinks I see the mariners faint, and thee Look somewhat scurvily: Thou call'st on Jove, as if great Jove had time To mind thy Grub-street Rhyme, When the proud waves their heads to Heav'n do rear Himself scarce free from fear: 20 Well! If the Gods should thy wreck'd carcase share To beasts or fowls of th' air, I'll sacrifice to them, that they may know I can be civil too.
[X. 7 The great storm of September 2, 1658, the day before Cromwell's death.]
[Line: 18 Marvell in 1678, and Otway in The Atheist, 1684, first mentioned the vicus infaustus which humour (or the want of it) renamed 'Milton' Street, from the proximity of Bunhill Fields.]
EPODE XI. To Pettius his Chamber-fellow.
Ah, Pettius! I have done with Poetry, I've parted with my liberty For Cupid's slavery. Cupid, that peevish God, has singled out Me, from among the rhyming rout, For boys and girls to flout: December now has thrice stript every tree, Since bright Inachia's tyranny Has laid its chains on me. Now fie upon me! all about the town 10 My Miss I treated up and down, I for a squire was known. Lord, what a whelp was I! to pule and whine, To sigh, to sob, and to repine! For thy sake, Mistress mine! Thou didst my verse, and thou my Muse despise, My want debas'd me in thine eyes. Thou wealth, not wit, didst prize. Fuddled with wine and love my secrets flew, Stretch'd on those racks, I told thee true 20 What did myself undo. Well!--plague me not too much, imperious dame, Lest I blaspheme thy charming name, And quench my former flame. I can give others place, and see thee die Damn'd with their prodigality, If I set on't, so stout am I. Thou know'st, my friend, thus have I often said, When, by her sorceries misled, Thou bad'st me home to bed: 30 Ev'n then my practice gave my tongue the lie, I could not her curst house pass by: I fear'd, but could not fly. Since that, for young Lyciscus I'm grown mad; Inachia such a face ne'er had, It is a lovely lad. From his embraces I shall ne'er get free, Nor friends' advice, nor infamy Can disentangle me: Yet if some brighter object I should spy, 40 That might perhaps debauch my eye, And shake my constancy.
EPODE XV. To his Sweetheart Neaera.
It was a lovely melancholy night; The Moon, and every star shone bright; When thou didst swear thou wouldst to me be true, And do as I would have thee do: False woman! round my neck thy arms did twine, Inseparable as the elm and vine: Then didst thou swear thy passion should endure To me alone sincere and pure, Till sheep and wolves should quit their enmity, And not a wave disturb the sea. 10 Treacherous Neaera! I have been too kind, But Flaccus can draw off, thou'lt find; He can that face (as thou dost him) forswear, And find (it may be) one as fair: And let me tell thee, when my fury's mov'd, I hate devoutly, as I lov'd. But thou, blest gamester, whosoe'er thou be That proudly dost my drudgery, Didst thou abound in numerous flocks, and land, Wert heir to all Pactolus' sand; 20 Though in thy brain thou bor'st Pythagoras, And carried'st Nereus in thy face, She'd pick another up, and shab thee off, And then 'twill be my turn to laugh.
[XV. 23 'Shab off' seems to be still provincially used both in the intransitive sense 'sneak off' and in the transitive as here 'bundle off.']
EPODE XVII. To Canidia.
I yield, Canidia, to thy art, Take pity on a penitent heart: By Proserpine, Queen of the Night, And by Diana's glimmering light, By the mysterious volumes all, That can the stars from Heaven call; By all that's sacred I implore Thou to my wits wouldst me restore. The brave Achilles did forgive King Telephus, and let him live, 10 Though in the field the King appear'd, And war with Mysian bands prepar'd. When on the ground dead Hector lay, Expos'd, to birds and beasts a prey; The Trojan Dames in pity gave Hector an honourable grave. Ulysses's mariners were turn'd to swine, Transform'd by Circe's charms divine; Yet Circe did their doom revoke, And straight the grunting mortals spoke: 20 Each in his pristine shape appears, Fearless of dogs to lug their ears. Oh! do not my affliction scorn! Enough in conscience I have borne! My youth and fresh complexion's gone, Dwindled away to skin and bone. My hair is powd'red by thy care, And all my minutes busy are. Day Night, and Night the Day does chase, Yet have not I a breathing space! 30 Wretch that I am! I now believe, No pow'r can from thy charms reprieve: Now I confess thy magic can Reach head and heart, and unman man. What wouldst thou have me say? what more? O Seas! O Earth! I scorch all o'er! Hercules himself ne'er burnt like me, Nor th' flaming Mount in Sicily: O cease thy spells, lest I be soon Calcin'd into a pumice-stone! 40 When wilt th' ha' done? What must I pay? But name the sum, and I obey: Say: Wilt thou for my ransom take An hecatomb? or shall I make A bawdy song t'advance thy trade, Or court thee with a serenade? Wouldst thou to Heav'n, and be a star? I'll hire thee Cassiopeia's Chair. Castor, to Helen a true friend, Struck her defaming poet blind; 50 Yet he, good-natur'd gentleman, Gave the blind bard his eyes again. Since this, and much more thou canst do, O rid me of my madness too! From noble ancestors thy race, No vulgar blood purples thy face: Thou searchest not the graves of th' poor, But necromancy dost abhor: Gen'rous thy breast, and pure thy hands, Whose fruitful womb shall people lands, 60 And ere thy childbed-linen's clean, Thou shall be up and to't again.
Canidia's Answer.
Go--hang thyself:--I will not hear, The rocks as soon shall lend an ear To naked mariners that be Left to the mercy of the Sea. Marry come up!--Shall thy bold pride The mysteries of the Gods deride? Presumptuous fool! commit a rape On my repute, and think to 'scape! Make me a town-talk? Well! ere thou die Cupid shall vengeance take; or I. 10 Go, get some ratsbane!--'twill not do, Nay, drink some aqua-fortis too: No witch shall take thy life away; Who dares say, Go, when I bid Stay? No!--I'll prolong thy loathed breath, And make thee wish in vain for death. In vain does Tantalus espy Fruits, he may taste but with his eye. In vain does poor Prometheus groan, And Sisyphus stop his rolling stone: 20 Long may they sigh, long may they cry, But not control their destiny. And thou in vain from some high wall Or on thy naked sword mayst fall, In vain (to terminate thy woes) Thy hands shall knit the fatal noose: For on thy shoulders then I'll ride, And make the Earth shake with my pride. Think'st thou that I, who when I please Can kill by waxen images, 30 Can force the Moon down from her sphere, And make departed ghosts appear, And mix love-potions!--thinks thy vanity, I cannot deal with such a worm as thee?
FINIS.
POEMS NOT INCLUDED IN THE EDITIONS OF 1682 AND 1686.
The sources from which these miscellaneous poems are taken are noted separately. Two, at the time of going to press, have not been printed--the Song 'Oh no, oh no!' (p. 414) and the Paraphrase of the 27th Chapter of Job (p. 420).
There is evidence that Flatman contemplated one more Pindaric, but perhaps it was not written, and certainly not printed. The subject was to be Admiral Myngs. The Familiar Letters of Love, Gallantry, and Several Occasions, 1718, vol. i, pp. 249 foll., include a letter of consolation to Flatman's 'Honoured Master', in which he writes, after some preliminary comments: 'Not to hold you any longer in suspense, my Noble, my Generous Friend, the Glory of the Sea, the Astonishment of all the World, is dead. When I have told you this, you cannot be ignorant of the Person I mean; he has a Name too big to be concealed from any body that ever heard of Wonder on the Deep, or understands what 'tis to be brave, to be valiant, to be loyal, to be kind and honourable, more than all this is too little to describe Sir Christopher Myngs. Guess, my Dearest Master, the Disturbance so irreparable a Loss must create in one often honour'd with his Conversation, and many Ways oblig'd by him. We have nothing left of him now but poor sorrowful Syl. Taylour, that other Half of his Soul, who is now resolv'd for Retirement, and will run no more Hazards at Sea. Many more Things I might misemploy you with, but this great load must be first removed, which, I think, will not be, till I have vented my Grief in a Pindarique, and done the last Office of Kindness for the Dead. If I can make my Sorrows any thing legible, expect to bear a Part in them.' The letter is dated from London on June 15, 1666.
Another lost poem--doubtless a Pindaric--on the theme of London is thus referred to in an autograph letter to Sancroft written from St. Catharine Hall, Cambridge, on May 13, 1667 (Tanner MS. xlv, fol. 188):
'When I was last with you you were pleasd to take away from me a paper of imperfect Verses, the first desseign wherof was to comply with your injunction in saying something on that subject, whose beuty (it may be) had it continued in that flourishing condition 'twas in at the time of the imposition of yo^{r} commaunds, might haue heightned my thoughts as much as it's ruin has now dejected them; or to speak in my owne way, The Coppy had bin much livelier if th' Originall hadnt bin so much defaced; and he must be a better Architect then I that can reare a structure any thing magnificent in so bare an Ichnography. Thus much S^{r} to let you know how much I am beholding to yo^{r} forgetfulness in returning my Ode, wherby you haue cover'd many imperfections, & kept me from being any longer angry with my self for not finishing what had better never bin begun.'
One poem, sometimes assigned to Flatman has not been reprinted here--A Panegyric to his Renowned Majesty, Charles the Second, King of Great Britain, &c., a folio sheet issued in 1660, with the initials 'T. F.', and beginning 'Return, return, strange prodigy of fate!' Flatman, if it had been his, would not have failed to reprint it in his own Poems. Similarly with an anonymous poem on the coronation of James II--To the King, a Congratulatory Poem, printed for R. Bentley in 1685--which Mr. W. C. Hazlitt in his Collections and Notes, ii, p. 694, ascribes to Flatman. It begins:
Dread Sir, since it has pleas'd the Pow'rs above To take the other Object of our love.
This has a faint verbal resemblance to the opening of Flatman's genuine poem on James (see p. 394), and the misattribution may be due to this.
Upon a Chine of Beef.
I.
A chine of beef, God save us all, Far larger than the butcher's stall, And sturdier than the City-wall.
II.
For this held out until the foe, By dint of blade and potent blow, Fell in pell mell; that did not so.
III.
With stomachs sharper than their knives, They laid about them for their lives; Well, Eastcheap men, beware your wives.
IV.
Enragèd weapons storm it round, 10 Each seeking for a gaping wound, That in its gravy it seems drown'd.
V.
Magnanimous flesh, that didst not fall At first assault, or second maul, But a third time defied'st them all!
VI.
What strength can fate's decree revoke? It was ordain'd thou shouldst be broke; Alas! time fells the sturdy oak.
VII.
What goodly monuments still appear, What spondyl-bulwarks are there there, 20 What palisaded ribs are here!
VIII.
This bold monument death defies, Inscribèd thus, 'To mirth here lies A trophy and a sacrifice'.
[Upon a Chine of Beef.] Of doubtful authenticity. The Horatian adaptation on pp. 356-9 perhaps confirms it, and we may note the oath (of Flatman's own coinage) at l. 138 of that poem, 'By sturdy Chine of Beef, and mighty Jove'. The text is taken from the anonymous version in Wit's Interpreter, 1655, collected by John Cotgrave: it appears on pp. 268-9 of the Love-Songs, Epigrams, &c. An inferior text in Wit and Mirth. An Antidote to Melancholy, 3rd edition, 1682, p. 102, is headed 'On a Chine of Beef. By Mr. Tho. Flatman.' If genuine, this is therefore an early effort; it might be an undergraduate flight, like the parody on Austin.
The chief variants in Wit and Mirth are:--
Line: 2 'Far longer'.
Line: 10 'storm'd'.
Line: 12 'seem'd'.
Line: 18 'Alas, in time the sturdy oak'.
Line: 19 'What goodly mince did appear'.
Line: 22 'stern Death'.]
On the Death of the Eminently Ennobled Charles Capell, Esq.;
Who, after he had honour'd Winton College with his Education, and accomplisht himself with a voyage into France, died of the small-pox at London last Christmas, 1656.
Shower down your ponderous tears, whoe'er you be Dare write, or read, a Capell's elegy; Spangle his hearse with pearls, such as were born 'Twixt the blear'd eyelids of an o'ercast morn; And (but 'tis vain t'expostulate with Death Or vilify the Fates with frustrate breath) Pose Destiny with why's--why such a sun Should set before his noontide stage were run? Why this fair volume should be bound so fast In wooden covers, clasp'd-up in such haste? 10 Was Nature fond of its large character And those divine impressions graven there? Did she, lest we should spoil't (to waive that sin), 'Cause 'twas the best edition, call it in? Or would our vaunting Isle, that saints should see Th' utmost of all our prodigality, Fearing some detriment by long delay, Send Heav'n a new-year's-gift before the day? No: th' empyrean Philomels could sing, Without his voice, no carols to their King. 20 England's Metropolis (for 'twas in thee He died) we re-baptize thee Calvary, The Charnel-house of Gallantry; henceforth We brand thy front with--Golgotha of Worth. Had he been swallow'd in that courteous deep He travell'd o'er, he had been lull'd asleep In th' amorous Sea-nymphs' stately arms at ease; His great name would imposthumate the seas, That, when the waves should swell and tempests rise (Strong waters challenging the dastard skies), 30 Poor shipwrackt mariners, remembering him, Should court his asterism, and cease to swim; Abjure the Fatal Brothers' glow-worm fires, And dart at him their languishing desires. Had France intomb'd him (what our land forbids) Nature had rear'd him stately pyramids The lofty Alps, where it had been most meet Their harmless snow should be his winding-sheet; That alablaster-coverture might be An emblem of his native purity: 40 Had he fal'n there, it had been true perchance, Wickham's Third College might be found in France. But he return'd from thence, curb'd Neptune's pride, And, to our fame and grief, came home, and died. Thus, when the Heav'n has wheel'd its daily race About our earth, at night its glorious face Is pox'd with stars, yet Heaven admits no blot, And every pimple there's a beauty-spot. Short-liv'd disease, that canst be cured and gone By one sweet morning's resurrection! 50 Adieu, great sir, whose total he that will Describe in folio needs a cherub's quill. Zealous posterity your tomb shall stir, Hoard up your dust, rifle your sepulchre, And (as the Turks did Scanderbeg's of old) Shall wear your bones in amulets of gold. --But my blasphemous pen profanes his glory; I'll say but this to all his tragic story: Were not the world well-nigh its funeral I'd ne'er believe so bright a star could fall. 60
THO. FLATMAN, Fellow of New College.
[_On the Death, &c.] From Affectuum Decidua, or Due Expressions In honour of the truly noble Charles Capell, Esq. (Son to the right honourable Arthur, Lord Capell, Baron of Hadham), deceased on Christmas Day 1656. Quis desiderio sit pudor, aut modus Tam Chari Capitis?--Oxford, Printed Anno Dom. 1656._]
On the Picture of the Author, Mr. Sanderson.
Let others style this page a chronicle; Others Art's mystery; let a third sort dwell Upon the curious neat artifice, and swear The sun ne'er saw a shadow half so rare. He outsays all who lets you understand The head is Sanderson's, Fathern's the hand.
THO. FLATMAN, Inn. Temp. Lond.
[On the Picture, &c.] This and the following poem are taken from William Sanderson's Graphice. Or, The Use of the Pen and Pensil, Or, the most Excellent Art of Painting. 1658. With portrait by Souse, engraved by Faithorne.]
On the noble Art of Painting.
Strike a bold stroke, my Muse, and let me see Thou fear'st no colours in thy poetry, For pictures are dumb poems; they that write Best poems do but paint in black and white. The pencil's amulets forbid to die, And vest us with a fair eternity. What think ye of the gods, to whose huge name The pagans bow'd their humble knees? Whence came Their immortalities but from a shade, But from those portraitures the painter made? 10 They saddled Jove's fierce eagle like a colt And made him grasp in 's fist a thunderbolt. Painters did all: Jove had, at their command, Spurr'd a jackdaw and held a switch in 's hand. The demigods, and all their glories, be Apelles' debtors, for their deity. Oh how the catholics cross themselves and throng Around a crucifix, when all along That's but a picture! How the spruce trim lass Doats on a picture in the looking-glass! 20 And how ineffable's the peasant's joy When he has drawn his picture in his boy! Bright angels condescend to share a part And borrow glorious plumes from our rare art. Kings triumph in our sackcloth, monarchs bear Reverence t' our canvass 'bove the robes they wear. Great fortunes, large estates, for all their noise, Are nothing in the world but painted toys. Th' Egyptian hieroglyphics pictures be, And painting taught them all their A.B.C. 30 The Presbyterian, th' Independent too, All would a colour have for what they do. And who so just that does not sometimes try To turn pure painter and deceive the eye? Our honest sleight of hand prevails with all; Hence springs an emulation general. Mark how the pretty female-artists try To shame poor Nature with an Indian dye. Mark how the snail with 's grave majestic pace Paints earth's green waistcoat with a silver lace. 40 But--since all rhythms are dark, and seldom go Without the Sun--the Sun's a painter too; Heaven's famed Vandyke, the Sun, he paints--'tis clear-- Twelve signs throughout the zodiac every year: 'Tis he, that at the spicy spring's gay birth Makes pencils of his beams and paints the Earth; He limns the rainbow when it struts so proud Upon the dusky surface of a cloud; He daubs the Moors, and, when they sweat with toil, 'Tis then he paints them all at length in oil; 50 The blushing fruits, the gloss of flowers so pure, Owe their varieties to his miniature. Yet, what's the Sun? each thing, where'er we go, Would be a Rubens, or an Angelo; Gaze up, some winter night, and you'll confess Heaven's a large gallery of images. Then stoop down to the Earth, wonder, and scan The Master-piece of th' whole creation, Man: Man, that exact original in each limb, And Woman, that fair copy drawn from him. 60 Whate'er we see 's one bracelet, whose each bead Is cemented and hangs by painting's thread. Thus, like the soul o' th' world, our subtle art Insinuates itself through every part. Strange rarity! which canst the body save From the coarse usage in a sullen grave, Yet never make it mummy! Strange, that hand, That spans and circumscribes the sea and land-- That draws from death to th' life, without a spell, As Orpheus did Eurydice from hell. 70 But all my lines are rude, and all such praise Dead-colour'd nonsense. Painters scorn slight bays. Let the great art commend itself, and then You'll praise the pencil and deride the pen.
T. FLATMAN, lately Fellow of New Coll. Oxon; now Inn. Temp. Lond.
On Mistress S. W., who cured my hand by a plaster applied to the knife which hurt me.
Wounded and weary of my life, I to my fair one sent my knife; The point had pierced my hand as far As foe would foe in open war. Cruel, but yet compassionate, she Spread plasters for my enemy; She hugg'd the wretch had done me harm, And in her bosom kept it warm, When suddenly I found the cure was done, The pain and all the anguish gone, 10 Those nerves which stiff and tender were Now very free and active are: Not help'd by any power above, But a true miracle of Love.
Henceforth, physicians, burn your bills, Prescribe no more uncertain pills: She can at distance vanquish pain, She makes the grave to gape in vain: 'Mongst all the arts that saving be None so sublime as sympathy. 20 Oh could it help a wounded breast, I'd send my soul to have it dress'd. Yet, rather, let herself apply The sovereign med'cine to her eye: There lurks the weapon wounds me deep, There, that which stabs me in my sleep; For still I feel, within, a mortall smart, The salve that heal'd my hand can't cure my heart.
October 19, 1661.
[On Mistress S. W.] The above was printed in Notes and Queries for September 25, 1869; it was contributed by Mr. F. W. Cosens from a manuscript in his possession, Miscellanies by Tho. Flatman, ex Interiori Templo, Londini, Nov. 9, 1661. These poems are autograph. This poem is in the Firth MS., which clearly is a transcript of the preceding. See p. 278.]
Song.
I.
Oh no, oh no! it cannot be that I So long condemn'd to die Should fool myself with hopes of a reprieve From her that read my destiny; She with her basilisk eyes denounc'd my doom. Why then should I in vain presume, In vain, fond man, to live My disappointments poorly to survive?
II.
Oh no, oh no! I know the worst on't now, My sentence pass'd I know, 10 And I no further expectations have My wither'd hopes again should grow. Yet 'tis a satisfaction to be sure I feel the worst I can endure. Oh that she yet would save By her miraculous kindness from the grave.
[Oh no, &c.] From the Firth MS., which dates the poem 1671, and notes that it was set by Roger Hill.]
Epitaph on his eldest Son, Thomas, 1682.
Whoe'er thou art, that look'st upon, And read'st what lies beneath this stone; What Beauty, Goodness, Innocence, In a sad hour was snatch'd from hence. What reason canst thou have to prize The dearest object of thine eyes? Believe this, mortal, what thou valuest most, And set'st thy soul upon, is soonest lost.
[Epitaph on his Son.] From Strype's Stow, 1720. Book III, p. 266. describing the monuments on the north wall of St. Bride's, Fleet Street. Strype adds, 'These Verses are almost worn out and gone, and therefore I have preserved them here; being undoubtedly the easy natural Strain of the Poet, the Father'.
This Epitaph is in Hackett, A Collection of Epitaphs, 1757, ii. 31, introduced thus--
'St. Bride's, London. Here lies the Body of Thomas Flatman, eldest son of Thomas Flatman, and Hannah his wife, who resigned his beloved soul the 28th of December 1682.'
Strype records that the boy was ten years old. The pastoral elegy on p. 375 in all probability refers to the same child, though the date of his death is there given as January 28, 1682/3. Aubrey records (in Aubrey MS. 7, fol. 8 verso) that Flatman himself was buried in the same grave.]
Lines to John Northleigh.
Though we that write in rhyme (it is confess'd) Are wont to praise them most that need it least, So far from doing what we had design'd That we become impertinently kind; Though I'm convinced of this, and right well know I can add nothing to your Book, or You: Yet am I forced th' old beaten road to go And tell my friend what wonders he has done, Where loyal labours could oblige a Crown-- A Crown asserted by the hand of heaven, 10 By which triumphant laurels now are given; And may they never, never blasted be By any Boanerges of Democracy. Compassionate friend! whose arguments do prove The force of reason and the power of love; Taught by your generous and good-natured pen, The salvage beasts may once more turn to men, Be reconciled to the ill-treated Throne, And shun those rocks their fellows split upon: Your call to th' unconverted may do more 20 Than Orpheus' charms did in the woods before, Convince the stubborn, and th' unwary lead By benign arts those blessed steps to tread In which our glorious Master led the way To realms of peace and everlasting day.
Farewell, dear friend! and for this once excuse The last efforts of an expiring Muse.
THOMAS FLATMAN.
[Lines to John Northleigh] From _The Triumph of our Monarchy, Over the Plots and Principles of our Rebels and Republicans, Being Remarks on their most eminent Libels_. _By John Northleigh_, 1685; the lines are headed 'To my worthy Friend, J. Northleigh, Esq., Author of this Book and the Parallel'. Dryden also contributed a poem.]
Lines to Archbishop Sancroft.
My Lord When I Your unsought Glories view'd, And prest (a meane Spectator in the Croud;) Where every Ey, with sparkling Joy did gaze, All hearts brimmfull of Blessing, & of Praise; Extatick with the mighty Theme I went, And something, some great thing to Write, I meant: This, sure, said I, must set me all on fire, This must my dull, unhallow'd Muse inspire: I try'd in wary words my Verse to dress, And throng'd my thoughts with awfull Images; 10 For the bold Work, Materialls I desseign'd High as Your Station, Humble as Your Minde: Alas! in vaine! my owne Confusion Strait tumbled th' ill-attempted Babel downe. Much I desir'd to tell in artfull Rhymes, Your Magnanimity through the worst of Times How, like a Rock, amidst the Sea, You stood, Surrounded with a foaming Popular-Floud; In that black Night, how You still kept Your way, When all despair'd the dawning of This Day: 20 With what true Christian Stoicisme, You durst Owne The slighted Miter, and abandon'd Crowne; As Cato for the baffled Side declar'd, Tho' all the Gods, the Conquering Cause preferr'd. Next, I would have describ'd the Happy Place Of Your soft minutes in a sweet Recess; Where all things were in Your Possession, All You need Wish, for You were all Your Owne[.] Here Emperours, & Kings, receiv'd at last The noblest Guerdon for their labours past: 30 Less splendid were those daies, but more secure, Their last & best were gloriously Obscure. O those gay Vallies! o those lofty Hills! Those silent Rivers! & those murmuring Rills! The melancholy Grove! & peacefull Shade! For Ease, & Angells-Conversation made! The Morning's Breath! the sight o' th' rising Sun, When he starts forth, his Giant-Race to runn! Faine wou'd I have said, what cannot be express't But in the sentiments of a wellpleas'd Breast. 40 And now (my Lord!) on Your triumphant Day, What can Your poor unlettred Beadsman say? Who know's that Praise, at the Poëtique rate, Swell's to a Vice, & must deserve Your hate. When Heav'n vouchsafe's a Miracle to mankinde, Silence, & Wonder best express our minde.
Durst I Presume, or could Despaire (my Lord!) I would add Here, for my owne self, one word, That I might be (whome the World frown's uppon) An Atome in the beams of Your bright Sun, 50 Almost Invisible; but still shin'd-uppon.
My Lord Your Grace's most obedient Servant, & poore Kinsman. THOMAS FLATMAN.
[Lines to Archbishop Sancroft.] Exactly reproduced from the poet's autograph in Tanner MS. 306, of the Bodleian, where it appears in a group of Sancroft papers at folio 380, and is endorsed on the outer leaf--'These For his Grace, my Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, with my humblest Duty.'
The poem must have been written in the last year of Flatman's life, and have reference to the trial of the Seven Bishops. With l. 50, 'An Atome in the beams of Your bright Sun', compare the Pindaric On the Death of Charles II, l. 37, 'We atoms in his beams might sport and play' (p. 392).]
On the Death of His Grace, James, Duke of Ormond: A Pindaric Ode.
I.
Had not the deathless name of OSSORY Pow'r to preserve, as well as to create, And over-rule the dullness of my fate, A pen so meanly qualified as mine Might well this mighty task decline, Too ponderous for feeble Me, Me so obscure, my glorious theme so bright, Where all is overpow'ring light Which never can submit to night. But sense of deepest gratitude should control 10 All the despondencies of a trembling soul And force a modest confidence to inspire The coldest breast with an uncommon fire. Since then, for aught we know, The separated happy spirits above Sometimes regard our pious love, And are not much disturb'd at what we kindly do. Let ORMOND'S gentle ghost look down Full of kind compassion, And pity what my duty prompts me to. 20 Fain would I pay my tribute ever due To his immortal memory: But what immortal methods to pursue Is understood by very few; The noblest bard that ever wore the bays Would here fall short in sorrow, and in praise.
II.
Our stock of tears would soon exhausted be Were every eye a sea, And grief would swell to prodigality; Th' irreparable loss, if duly weigh'd, 30 Would make posterity afraid, For ORMOND in his radiant course has done What did amaze, what durst abide the sun, And struck with terror all the envious lookers on: Whether with ecstasy we think upon His goodly person or his matchless mind, Where shall the most inquisitive mortal find A more accomplish'd hero left behind? As he were sent from heaven, design'dly great, To dote on still, but not presume to imitate, 40 Or whether with regret we cast an eye On his unbounded liberality, His unaffected piety, Or more than human magnanimity (Virtues inimitable all), The joyful beadsman and the Church will tell The story, scarce hereafter credible, And call his life one long-continued miracle.
III.
Say, all you younger sons of Honour, say, You that in peace appear so brisk and gay, 50 Is it a little thing to forfeit all At Loyalty's tremendous call, And stand with resolution in defence Of a despised calamitous Prince, To fight against our stars, and to defy The last efforts of prosperous villainy, And--when the hurricane of the state grew high-- To brave the thunder and the lightning scorn, The beauteous fabric into pieces torn, Imprisonment and exile to disdain 60 For a neglected Sovereign; Still to espouse a crazy, tottering crown? This, mighty ORMOND, was thy own, This glory thou deserv'dst to have, This bravery thou hast carried with thee to thy grave. Let other lesser Great ones live, to try Thy arduous paths to fame; Let them bid fair for immortality, And to procure an everlasting name; And may thy sacred ashes smile to see 70 Their vain, their frivolous attempts to rival Mighty Thee.
IV.
O noble, fortunate old Man! Though thou hadst still lived on To Nestor's centuries, thou hadst died too soon; Too soon alas! for heav'n could never be Or weary or ashamed to find fresh toils for thee: What wiser head, or braver arm than thine Could heav'n contrive to manage heav'n's design! And what Herculean labour is too hard For such a mind, so well prepared, 80 Ever above the prospect of Regard, And that unfashionable thing, Reward! Many have been thy gloomy days, Yet ever happy hast thou been; In every state thou merit'dst praise, And thou hast never wanted it within. All after fourscore years is grief and pain; Those honourably pass'd, thou didst resign Thy empire over every heart; From thine this sceptre never shall depart, 90 But the succession evermore remain: 'Twas time for thee to die, and let a second ORMOND reign.
V.
How shall I mention thy lamented death, Thy only blemish--thy mortality! For 'tis too much disparagement for thee To be involved in common destiny And like inglorious men give up thy precious breath. A fiery chariot should have snatch'd thee hence, And all the host of heav'n convened to see Th' assumption of a godlike Prince 100 Into th' ineffable society: Half-way at least part of th' immaculate train With palms should have attended thee, Thy harbingers to the triumphant hierarchy, Then big with wonder mounted up again. What can the tongues of men or angels say, What Boanerges ne'er so loud, If they would speak of thy prodigious day, Of which an emperor's history would be proud Farewell, dead Prince--oh might it not be said, 110 Though a desirable euthanasy Prepared the way for deifying thee, ORMOND like other men must die, For he with a fatigue of victory oppress'd Laid himself only down to rest.
FINIS.
[On the Death of James, Duke of Ormond.] Printed in folio, 1688, with the title, On the Death of the Right Honorable the Duke of Ormond: a Pindaric Ode. In Letters from the Dead to the Living, 1702, vol. ii, pp. 24-5, Flatman, with his pipe in his mouth, is introduced complaining that this ode has been vamped up for the death of King William.]
Job, Chapter xxvii. Paraphrased.
VERSE 8.
Poor Hypocrite (though ne'er so rich), when God shall call His double, his dissembling soul, how small, How beggarly his biggest hopes will show! Riches command no further than below.
VERSE 9.
When griefs like waves o'er one another roll And overwhelm his quite-dejected soul, When he lies groaning on a restless bed, With a sad bleeding heart, and aching head Brimfull of anguish and repeated pain, He weeps and frames his parch'd lips to complain, 10 Breathes up to heaven a very earnest prayer-- Scarce dare he hope, yet dares he not despair-- But all his supplications mount in vain, God will not hear, nor answer him again.
VERSE 10.
How can he turn religious, and adore That God he so devoutly mock'd before?
VERSE 11.
I will the depths of Providence reveal; Th' Almighty's methods will I not conceal.
VERSE 12.
Yet why should I suggest what your own heart, Were it not vain, might, better far, impart? 20
VERSE 13.
On th' wicked's head this heavy fate shall come, And this shall be from God th' oppressor's doom.
VERSE 14.
His sons, though more and lovelier they are Than their decrepit father's silver hair, Strong as the sons of Anak, bright and brave, Shall shroud their pride in an untimely grave; His daughters, though more beauteous every one Than the seraphic spouse of Solomon, A sisterhood as numerous and bright As are the glorious stars that gild the night,-- 30 A bloody cloud their glories shall eclipse; Death shuts their killing eyes, their charming lips. Though like a golden harvest they appear, And every one a full, a laden ear, Like olive plants amidst their friends be grown, The sword shall reap, the sword shall hew them down. The sword and eager famine shall devour All they enjoy in one unhappy hour.
VERSE 15.
His progeny shall unlamented die, Buried in black oblivion shall they lie, 40 Unpitied to the dust they shall return, Nor shall one pious tear bedew their urn.
VERSE 16.
If he have silver plentiful as dust, Gold pure as that of Ophir, both shall rust
VERSE 17.
Let him have caskets whose each orient gem Vies with the walls o' th' new Jerusalem, Raiment more gorgeous than the lily's hue When every snowy fold is pearl'd with dew, He's but the just man's steward all the while; The just shall wear the raiment, part the spoil. 50
VERSE 18.
The house he builds, like that o' th' moth, shall be Too weak against the wind's least battery; Or, if it stand the brunt of wind and rain, 'Twill stagger at a thund'ring hurricane; As tents, it may remove from land to land, But on a solid basis cannot stand.
VERSE 19.
The rich man shall depart, but not in peace; When he lies down, his horror shall increase Just when he's ripe for vengeance and heaven's frown Death, ah too irksome Death, shall shake him down. 60 Gather'd he shall not be by that kind hand Which plucks the righteous to blest Canaan's land: He opes his lids and surfeiteth his eyes With gazing over all his vanities, Till some ill chance o' th' sudden dims his sight And leaves him lost in an eternal night.
VERSES 20, 21.
As mighty waters shall his terrors roar; He's stolen away and shall be seen no more, Hurried from his belovèd home, and tost By th' East wind, fierce as that drown'd Pharaoh's host. 70
VERSE 22.
Jehovah, from whose hand he fain would flee, Shall add more sting to his calamity:
VERSE 23.
And where his glass has but few sands to run, His tragicomic life now almost done, At the last act his deadliest shame shall be To find an hissing for a Plaudite.
[Job.] The text is taken from the Firth MS. The ingenious paraphrase of the last verse--'Men shall clap their hands at him, and shall hiss him out of his place'--echoes The Review, ll. 33-5 (p. 302).]
* * *
* * * * *
Le hore di recreatione:
OR,
THE PLEASANT HISTORIE OF Albino and Bellama.
Discovering the severall changes of Fortune, in +CUPIDS+ journey to +HYMENS+ joyes.
To which is annexed Il Insonio Insonadado, or a sleeping-waking Dreame, vindicating the divine breath of Poesie from the tongue-lashes of some Cynical Poet-quippers, and Stoicall Philo-prosers
By N. W. Master in Arts, of Queenes Colledge in Cambridge.
---- Semel in anno Apollo.
Ergo, _Nè mea metra tibi Musâ composta jocosâ, Delibata priùs quàm sint contempta relinquas_,
LONDON, Printed by J.D. for C.G. and are to be sold at the Princes Armes in Pauls churchyard. 1638.
INTRODUCTION TO NATHANIEL WHITING.
In the case of most of the constituents of these volumes, there was little need of 'deliberating and pondering' like the excellent Sir Thomas Bertram, when he had to settle such weighty questions as whether his niece should or should not go out to dinner, and if so whether she should walk or drive. But it was not quite the same in regard to Albino and Bellama. The first claim of entrants here--rarity and novelty to the general, it has without question: for the book (though it seems to have been issued in two forms, or at least with two title-pages) is very uncommon, and the author has escaped the wide-encroaching net of the D.N.B. Nor could I allow this to be balanced by the dull, clumsy, philistine, hackneyed ribaldry of the nunnery scenes in the middle, or by a page of sheer nastiness at the end, which is a sort of concentration of Herrick's foulest epigrams. These things will happen: and they can be skipped. It gave one more serious pause that 'N. W.' seldom[1] displays anything like the poetry which far more than compensates for much milder blots in Leoline and Sydanis, and that his book is written in a singular jargon almost as much out of the common way as the wildest freaks of Benlowes, but without their excuse of furor poeticus. What turned the scale in his favour, after more than one reading, was the increasing conviction that the book, in spite or perhaps to some extent because of its defects, is a really valuable document for the history of English Literature from the special point of view which was marked out in the General Introduction. It is noteworthy as a member, graceless and slatternly, but still a member, of that class of Heroic Poem which it has been one of my main objects to bring before the student. It is still more noteworthy in connexion with the history of English fiction as presenting a special variety of that kind. It was not till, for the purposes of this collection, and by the kindness of Professor Firth, who lent me his copy, I read the volume (I knew it before only by name and from the Censura Literaria) that a gap in my mind's atlas of that fiction was filled in satisfactorily.
I said, in speaking of Leoline and Sydanis, that we must take not merely the Heroic but the Mock-Heroic poem into consideration as origins for our English examples; and this is very much more the case with Albino and Bellama. Whiting almost parades his knowledge of Italian; and I should think, from some of the worst as well as the oddest parts of his poem, that he had pushed his researches as far as Macaronic. In fact you must go beyond Folengo--to Tifi Odassi and Fossa Cremonese[2]--to supply a 'further' to his excursions, into the unsavoury now and then. But turning willingly enough from this, it will be evident to any instructed reader--and his perlusive panegyrists point it out--that his purpose is largely satiric. Indeed, his uncouth lingo[3] has a close connexion with that of Marston and the other early Elizabethan satirists forty years before him: while he gives one odd reminders, at the same time, of the prose pamphlet which was contemporary with these very satirists, and was actually written by some of them. Now all these links are links with the history of the Novel backwards; and there are others forward. Change the romance apparatus into that of common life, of which our examples are French and Spanish rather than Italian, and you will get out of parts of Albino and Bellama something by no means unlike the singular farrago which goes under the name of The English Rogue. Besides convincing the author that prose is much better for such work than verse (which Head himself saw[4]), present him with more wits, better taste, and a more advanced state of society and manners, and you will probably find him some way on the road which leads, however far away, and after whatever rise, over the hills beyond his dirty marsh, to Tom Jones itself. While, to make a less 'kangaroo' transition in quality though a farther one in time, much smaller alteration would make Albino and Bellama into very fair Mrs. Radcliffe.
The curious addition Il Insonio Insonadado or 'Waking-Dream Undreamt' (whether the title is invented or borrowed, some one with greater knowledge of Spanish than I possess must decide) may supply some greater interest than Whiting's escapade in the Heroic Romance. It is not continuously paged with the rest of the volume, but merely 'signatured' H, H2, &c. as far as a (misprinted) 5. On the whole, however, it is much less carelessly put to press than Albino and Bellama, and it is also (in parts at least) much more soberly written. The opening does not promise much, except an example of the loose, would-be satirical academic commonplaces of the time; but it afterwards takes on some critical substance, and if I had read it (as I had not yet) twenty years ago I should have given it a small corner in an otherwise very scantily occupied chapter of my History of Criticism. Whether the personages introduced before the Heavenly Court aim at individuals it would be very hard to say: but the certification of the poetess[5] might have some interest. 'Tenth Muses', as was said in relation to Anne King (v. sup., p. 210), were not unknown, and Katharine Philips was alive, though as yet but a child. But women had, before her, made little figure in English literature. The evidences of popular taste are not quite worthless, and while the absence of Ben Jonson is noteworthy, the presence of Drummond is almost equally so, as well as the mention of that 'testiness' which certainly does appear in the poet of Hawthornden. But the chief critical utterance is the quatrain, solid and judicial if not very poetical, on Donne.
Of Whiting himself I have been able to find out very little.[6] He was of Queens' College, Cambridge; Brydges erroneously says 'King's', having misread the misprinted 'Regnalis' of James Bernard's commendatory poem. And he must have settled down twenty years later sufficiently to print in 1659, according to Hazlitt, The Saint's Triangle of Duties, Deliverances, and Dangers. The first edition of Albino and Bellama appeared in 1637, with the title Le hore di recreatione: Or, The Pleasant Historie of Albino and Bellama.... By N. W., Master of Arts, of Queenes Colledge in Cambridge. The British Museum also has a copy with an engraved frontispiece as well, adding to which is annexed il insonio insonodado or the vindication of Poesye. These title-pages are also dated 1638, and the engraved title-page was also issued in 1639.
In 1633 the birth of the Duke of York was commemorated at Cambridge in Ducis Eboracensis Fasciae a Musis Cantabrigiensibus raptim contextae. 'N. Whyting, Coll. Regin. Art. Baccal.' contributes two copies of verse, Latin and Greek, both markedly royalist in tone.
It was not, however, for some time after I had been working on Whiting that I found considerable new light thrown on him by his prose work, which is in the British Museum, under his name, though Albino and Bellama is not. The title of it is abbreviated by Hazlitt, and is in the original very long, beginning with the Hebrew [Hebrew: el ... bayit ... Eil (to [the] house [of] God)] Old Jacob's Altar newly repaired; or The Saints' Triangle of Dangers, Deliverances and Duties. It is a solid little quarto of some 260 pages, dedicated to Sir William Fleetwood, Sir George Fleetwood, 'Baron of Swonholm in Sweadland', and 'his Excellency Charles Lord Fleetwood'. Whiting was now 'Minister' of Aldwinckle (All Saints, as the registers show[7]) by the patronage of Sir William, to whom he refers as his 'ancient' and 'affectionate Mecaenas' in his Cambridge days. He is certainly by this time a full-blown Puritan. He uses that word itself frequently, and with pride; refers to 'my reverend grandfather', minister of Elton, Northants, who was apparently a 'pilgrim father'; speaks of the time when 'the Episcopal monopoly lasted', and eulogizes 'the faithful Peters to whom is committed the Word of Reconciliation' (Reconciliation à la Peters is good!); but also calls Herbert 'divine' and quotes St. Anselm, though of course without the 'Saint'. Allowing for its standpoint the book is not virulent, and is a respectable piece of hortatory divinity on its own side. Besides, the thought that in a few months 'the Episcopal monopoly' came back again, and that 'the faithful Peters' received the deferred pay for his various 'commissions', mitigates judgement not a little; while, to crown all, the contrast with Albino and Bellama is irresistibly comic. Perhaps, indeed, some of the ribaldry of the convent scenes in the verse may be due to the Puritanism which is so distinct in the prose. But it would be an odd Saint who could construct himself a 'triangle' of any kind of sanctities or pious experiences out of Whiting's romance. And this, which is so characteristic of the time, and yet not so uncharacteristic of all times, adds to my satisfaction in presenting Mr. Nathaniel Whiting with some little more detail than even Brydges has given. (It may be added that he was deprived of the living at the Restoration. Edward Price succeeded him on February 20, 1662-3. According to a brief notice in Notes and Queries,[8] he then migrated to the village of Cranford, near Kettering, and got together a congregation there. There is no trace of him in the registers of either of the Cranford churches.[9] The same authority states that he died childless and was a benefactor of the free school of Aldwinckle, of which he was master during the period of his incumbency.)
[Footnote 1: I had written 'nowhere', but hastily. The opening has not a little which convicts the haste, and I have noted other passages infra.]
[Footnote 2: These oddities of the fifteenth century, with others, were conveniently republished, in Maccheronee di Cinque Poète Italiani (Milan: D li, 1864).]
[Footnote 3: He would almost be worth republishing for this alone, and I say this despite the trouble it has given me. Those who are curious in rare words and autoschediastic forms ought to prize Whiting highly.]
[Footnote 4: As an instance here, take the incident where the false Phaeliche, coming to the nunnery, sees the masons mending the breaches that Rivelezzo's cannon had made. It is a mere touch, awkward and only half intelligible in the verse. Less than two centuries later Scott would have given a lively page and a half of prose description of the scene, with dialogue thrown in. On the other hand, in prose, the extravagances of the phrase and the incoherences of the story would have had a better chance of being mended.]
[Footnote 5: 'Marget' is used in Albino and Bellama as a generic name. But Whiting's irritable and restless fancy may have put together 'Mag-pie' and Persius's poetris pica.]
[Footnote 6: By the great kindness of the Rev. J. H. Gray, Tutor and Dean of Queens' College, assisted by the President of that Society and by the Registrar of the University of Cambridge, I am enabled to give more than I had found in any book. Nathaniel Whiting (who seems also to have spelt his name 'Whiteinge' and 'Whitinge') matriculated as Pensioner on March 30, 1629; proceeded B.A. 1631 and M.A. in 1635. He had been entered at his college on July 1, 1628, and his tutor's name was Stubbins. In the College accounts from September 1630, and for four years onwards, Whiting appears as a Scholar, receiving in the respective years 12s. 6d.; 16s. 3d.; 19s. 7d.; and 15s. 10d. The first payment seems to have been for part of the year only: but in no year does he come anywhere near the full income of a Scholar; which, Mr. Gray tells me, seems to have been £2. There appears to be no subsequent mention of him in the College records either as Scholar or Fellow.]
[Footnote 7: Canon Hodgson, Rector of Aldwincle, kindly allowed Mr. Simpson to examine the registers. The date of Whiting's institution is March 20, 1652, but already in 1650, on May 4, he signs the accounts as 'Minister'.]
[Footnote 8: By C. H. and T. Cooper, in the third series, vol. v, p. 420.]
[Footnote 9: The Rev. C. R. Thursfield kindly allowed Mr. Simpson to examine the registers.]
CONTENTS
Page Introduction 424
Commendatory Poems 428 To the right honourable, right worthy, and truly ennobled hero, John, Lord Lovelace, Baron of Hurley, N.W. S.P.O. 428
To the Reader 429
To the right virtuous and equally beautiful, S^{ra} Inconstanza Bellarizza 431
The Author's Apology 432
The Author to his Book 433
To his loving friend the Author 435
To the Reader 436
To his loving kinsman the Author 436
Amico suo carissimo N. W. huius Poematis authori Collegii Reg[i]nalis Canta. in artibus magistro 437
In Authorem, amicissimum suum, Encomiasticon 437
To his Friend, a Panegyric upon his lovers, Albino and Bellama 438
THE PLEASING HISTORY OF ALBINO AND BELLAMA 439
To those worthy Heroes of our Age, whose noble Breasts are wet and water'd with the dew of Helicon 539
Il Insonio Insonnadado 540
To the right honourable, right worthy, and truly ennobled hero, John, Lord Lovelace, Baron of Hurley, N.W. S.P.O.
The law-enactors, whilst time fear'd the rod, Feign'd in their laws the presence of a god, Whose awful nod and wisdom grave should be As hand and signet unto their decree; And such commanding awe that sacred name Struck in the vulgar breasts, it teen'd a flame Of love and duty to their pious hests. Thus Rhadamanthus in his laws invests Him whom profaner times styl'd heaven's king. Minos and others strike the selfsame string. 10 The moral's mine: for, in this quirking season, When pride and envy steer the helm of reason, It is, has with press-taskers been, in use To press the issue of their prose and muse Under the ensigns of some worthy peer, Whose very name unsatire can a jeer, And lock detraction up in beds of clay, To sleep their suns as rearmice do the day. Then do they bravely march, with honour arm'd, Which, as the gods the people, charmeth charm'd. 20 On this known privilege feet I these lines, In which, though dimmer than your native, shines Your worth, enfired by my kneèd quill, Which claims the scale not of deserts, but will, In your acceptance and the world's surmise. Then, cynics, bark, and, critics, beam your eyes! My quill's no pencil to emblazon forth Your stainless honour and your matchless worth. As dust-born flies, which 'bout the candle play, Glide through its arch, encircle, fan, survey, 30 Wink at the presence of day's beamy blaze, Purr on the glass, or on herb-pillows laze, Just so my downy muse in distichs dare Feet the perfection of a silkless fair, Pumex each part so trimly that her foe Swears her cheeks roses and her bosom snow; Nay, has strew'd flowers of desertless praise T'adorn the tomb of good sir Worthy Crayse. Under this (ah me!) stone is laid (alas!) A man--a knight--the best that ever was. 40 His prowess war, his wisdom state did prove, His kindness kindred, and the world his love; But when she should with her weak feathers soar To court a star, or with her feeble oar Strike such a sea of worth, ride honour's ring, She dares not touch or snaffle, sail, or wing. Only as he which limn'd those tears and sighs Which Iphigenia's death from hearts and eyes Of kindred drew, but o'er her father's brow (Telling the world he mourn'd without an how) 50 He drew a veil spake sorrow in excess, So with a ---- ---- must my muse express Your sacred worth, concluding it to be Too high for any bard, if not, for me. Beside, the world of late has nicknam'd praise, Calls it an elbow-claw and scraping bays. Then pardon, sir, this dearth, and judge the why Is your worth soar'd above Parnasse's eye. Let not your slights or nescio's (though most just) Condemn my muse to be enseil'd with dust, 60 Nor let presumption hoist to your embrace. But rather let your honour bate its place And stoop unto my measures, since the name Of patron awes oft times the breath of fame; And by this honour shall you e'er engage The knee, hand, duty, air, and thriving age
Of your honour's ever humbly devoted, N. W.
[Title. S. P. O.] = it may be just desirable to say, Salutem plurimam optat. The object of the wish was, I suppose, the second Lord Lovelace. The better known third, prominent at the Revolution and also a John, was born in the same year with this poem.]
[Line: 6 'teen'd' or 'tined' = 'kindled', as in 'tinder'. The forms 'tened' and 'tind' also exist, and Il Insonio, l. 368, has 're-teined'.]
[Line: 21 'feet', orig. 'fate', seems at first to equal 'foot', i.e. I 'base', 'establish'. But cf. l. 34 and Albino, 3558, which give it the sense of 'metre', 'versify'.]
[Line: 23 my kneèd quill]--paying homage, as if on bent knee.]
[Line: 32 The verb to 'laze', revived in late nineteenth century as slang, is as old as Robert Greene's Alphonsus.]
[Line: 35 'Pumex' = pumice. Greene used this Latin form as a noun.
part] misprinted 'parr' in orig.]
[Line: 47 Orig., 'limb'd', a lax seventeenth-century spelling.]
[Line: 48 'Iphigenia' will scan with the proper pronunciation. But, as all students of literature have always known, though some editors of it seem to have thought it an esoteric discovery, classical names were very loosely accented, not merely by men of whose education we know nothing, like Shakespeare, but by University wits like Spenser and Dryden.]
[Line: 60 enseil'd] Same as 'ens_ea_led', 'stamped', 'marked', or perhaps 'closed up'.]
[Line: 66 age] 'agre' in orig. must be wrong.]
To the Reader.
Courteous Reader--for to such I write-- With native candour view this chequer'd white, Be truly candid to a candidate Whom importunings force to antedate The travails of his quill, and, like a grape Ere ripened, press it. Yet if I escape The censure of these times, this critic age, My muse (like parrots) in a wire cage Shall not do penance; but I'll not promise it, 'Cause 't doth too much o' th' lips of greatness sit. 10 And 'tis a fault for me to sympathize, I bring no antic mask in strange disguise, No sharp invective, nor no comic mirth Which may to laughter give an easy birth. Though 'tis in use with them that seek to please These humorous times (it being a disease Half epidemical to keep a phrase Or fancy at stave's end; nought merits praise Unless with quibbles every staff does end-- Conceited jests which unto lightness tend) 20 Though every page swells with ingenuous plots, Yet, cry our carps, the authors are but sots. An elbow-pillow or a motley coat With them are now the chiefest men of note. But I nor am, nor hope that name to gain Of pantomimic: yet did nature deign The optic-glass of humours to descry Each man's rank humour only by the eye, I would have tun'd my muse, that every page Might swell with humours suiting to this age; 30 This leaf should talk of love and that of state, This of alarums, that of wonders prate, This of knights errant, of enchantment that, This to the itching ears of novels chat. But ... since my starv'd Fortunes missed that, I have drawn A picture shadowed o'er with double lawn, Lest some quick Lyncist with a piercing eye, Should the young footsteps of a truth espy, Yet something, I confess, was born of late Which makes me age it with an ancient date, 40 But let no antic-hunter post to Stow, To trace out truth upon his even snow. Annals are dumb of such and such a lord, Nor of our amorous pair speak half a word, Monastic writs do not Bellama limn, Nor abbey-rolls do teem a line of him, This story has no sires (as 'tis the use) But weak invention and a feeble muse. These are the parents that abortive birth Give to this embryon of desired mirth, 50 Which in the author's name does humbly crave A charitable censure or a grave. The purest-bolted flour that is has bran, Venus her naeve, Helen her stain, nor can I think these lines are censure-free, impal'd By th' muses and 'gainst envy's javelins mail'd. Yet where the faults but whisper, use thy pen With the quod non vis of the heathen men; And, if the crimes do in loud echoes speak, Thy sponge; but not with lashing satires break 60 That sacred bond of friendship, for 't may be I may hereafter do as much for thee. Nor do thou think to trample on my muse; Nor in thy lofty third-air braves accuse My breast of faintness, or the ballad-whine. For know my heart is full as big as thine, And as pure fire heats my octavo bulk As the grand-folio, or the Reamish hulk, If but oppos'd with envy, but unless I truly am what these few words express. 70 Thy ready friend, N. W.
[Line: 22 'carp' for 'carp_er_' seems to be much rarer than for 'carp_ing_'. Cf. In Insonio, 218.]
[Line: 41 Stow] The famous antiquary had been dead long enough (since 1605) to 'become a name'.]
[Line: 55 'impal'd', orig. 'impalde', is clearly 'paled-in', 'palisaded',' fortified'.]
[Line: 64 third-air] = 'third hand', or what?]
[Line: 68 Reamish] 'N. W.'s' Protestantism would naturally have a fling at anything connected with Rheims.]
To the right virtuous and equally beautiful, S^{ra} Inconstanza Bellarizza.
Fairest, When, by much gazing on those glittering beams Which (if unmask'd) from day's bright henchman streams, The Rascians eyes do gain the curse of years, The loadstone's swarfy hue their tapers clears. When unicorns have gluts or surfeits ta'en By browsing liquorice, they to regain Their stomachs and a cure crash bitter grass. I leave the application: 'tis a glass Wherein the dimmest eye may plainly see What's due to me from you, to you from me. 10 But--I'll only tell the world that for your sake, My willing muse this task did undertake At hours of recreation, when a thought Of your choice worth this and this fancy brought. Some to the bar will call the truth hereof, Some wonder why, some pass it by, some scoff. Because, in this full harvest of your sex, I 'mongst such thousands glean your name t'annex Unto, and usher in, these wanton verses, Some will be apt to think my pen rehearses 20 Love passions 'twixt yourself and some choice he (The world I know will not suspect 'tis me) And that I age it lest quick eyes should see. But in this thought I'm silent; thoughts are free. Indeed your worth doth just proportion hold With this high worth which of Bellama's told. And well my knowledge can inform my pen To raise a spite in women, love in men. And if the Fates befriend me that my thread Outmeasures yours (your worth asleep, not dead, 30 For such worth cannot die) I then will say You equall'd her and was--(but, truth, away). If these dull melancholy, grief, or sleep, From any prone thereto at distance keep; Let unto you their tribute thanks be paid For my invention by your worth was ray'd, My fancy rais'd, enliv'ned, and inspir'd, That my quick muse my agile hand has tir'd, Nay, more, methinks I might unchidden call You subject-object of this poem all; 40 And all in this acknowledgement may trim You pros'd this poem but 'twas vers'd by him Who styles himself your servant, N. W.
[To S^{ra} Inconstanza Bellarizza.] Who she was is a question much less answerable than 'Whose Song the Sirens sang?']
[Line: 3 seq. '_Un_natural History' was getting past its greatest vogue, and only eight years later Pseudodoxia Epidemica was to deal it blows all the more deadly because not unsympathetic. But it was still popular, and a grand set-off to many poetic 'Rascians'. Whiting is here pilfering from Greene's Pandosto; a passage in the dedication runs, 'The Rascians (right honourable) when by long gazing against the sun, they become half-blind, recover their sights by looking at the black load-stone. Unicorns, being glutted, by browsing on roots of liquorice, sharpen their stomachs with crashing bitter grass'.]
[Line: 4 'swarfy' = swarthy.]
[Line: 7 That 'bitter' would be grateful to others besides unicorns after a surfeit of liquorice may be easily admitted. 'Crash' for 'crush' or 'crunch' in this sense is good.]
[Line: 11 The book is badly printed--in hardly any of my texts have I had to alter more trivial misspellings. Here intelligent 'setting' would of course have made 'But' a separate line or fragment of line.]
[Line: 23 age it] = 'throw it back in date'.]
[Line: 42 Not bad for 'You gave the subject' &c.]
The Author's Apology.
Some rigid stoic will (I doubt not) shoot A quipping censure at this wanton fruit, And say I better might have us'd my talents Than t' humour ladies and perfumèd gallants. Know such that pamphlets, writ in metre, measure As much invention, judgement, wit, as pleasure. All learning's not lock'd up in si's and tum's. Roses, pinks, violets, as well as gums, Some native fragour have to equal civet. 10 Minerva does not all her treasures rivet Into the screws of obs and sols: but we Are sea-born birds, and as our pedigree Came sailing o'er from Normandy and Troy, So we must have our pretty ermine joy. One part Italian and of French the other; Stout Belgia be her sire, and Spain her mother. So our apparel is so strange and antic That our great grandsires sure would call us frantic. And, should they see us on our knees for blessing, They'd skew aside as frighted at our dressing. 20 We pack so many nations up that we Wear Spain in waist, and France below the knee. Thus are our backs affected and indeed Our brains do travail with the selfsame meed. We're Chaldees, Hebrews, Latins, Greeks, and yet But few pure Englishmen are lapped in jet. We scorn our mother language and had rather Say Pater noster twice than once Our Father. This makes our pulpits linsey-woolsey stut When buskined stages in stiff satin strut. 30 Nay clowns can say, 'This parson knows enough', But that his language does his knowledge blough. Is it not time to polish then our Welsh When hinds and peasants such invectives belch? Then English bravely study: 'tis no shame For grave divines to win an English fame. I've heard a worthy man, approv'd for learning, Say that in plays and rhymes we may be earning Both wit and knowledge: and that Sidney-prose Outmusics Tully, if it 'scape the rose. 40 Then purg'd from gall (ingenuous friends) peruse, And though you chide the author, spare the muse. N. W.
[The Authors Apology.] 9 'Frag_our_' for 'frag_rance_' is rare, and of course wrong--all the more so because it is right for 'crash'. But it had somehow got into Italian before it came thence into English.]
[Line: 11 This wonderful Whitingism is, I suppose, to be interpreted 'screws' ('scrues' in original), 'stamps for minting'; obs and sols, oboli and solidi.]
[Line: 14 ermine] = 'parti-coloured'.]
[Line: 20 'Skew', orig. 'scue', is vivid for the great grand-paternal revulsion.]
[Line: 22 'N. W.' is not likely to have been ignorant of W. S.]
[Lines: 24-8 Browne, with a curious self-irony, had not long before said the same thing in Religio Medici.]
[Line: 32 blough] = 'hood-wink', 'muffle', as in Blount. Cf. Albino, l. 309.]
[Line: 40 the nose] The nasus aduncus.]
The Author to his Book.
Go gall-less infant of my teeming quill. Not yet bedew'd in Syracusa's rill, And like a forward plover gadd'st abroad, Ere shell-free or before full age has strow'd On thy smooth back a coat of feathers, To arm thee 'gainst the force of weathers, Doom'd to the censure of all ages, Ere mail'd against the youngest rages. Perchance some nobles will thee view. Smile at thee, on thee, like thee new, 10 But when white age has wrinkled thee, Will slight thy measures, laugh at me. At first view called pretty, And perchance styled witty, By some ladies, until thou Wearest furrows on thy brow. Some plumed gallants may Unclasp thy leaves and say, Th'art mirthful, but ere long Give place unto a song. 20 Some courteous scholar, Purg'd from all choler, May like, but at last, Say thou spoil'st his taste. First, lawyers will Commend thy skill, Last, throw thy wit With Trinit's writ. Chamber-she's On their knee 30 will thee praise, and thy bays. At first, till thirst of new death you, then all men shall Flee thee 40 Bee me.
This is thy doom, I by prophetic spirit Presage will be the guerdon of my merit: Yet be no burr, no trencher-fly, nor hound, To fawn on them whose tongues thy measures wound. Nor beg those niggards' eyes, who grudge to see A watch unwinded in perusing thee. And if state-scratchers do condemn thy jests, For ruffling satins, and bespangled vests, 50 Tell them they're cozen'd and in vain they puff, Thou neither aim'st at half-ell band or ruff: And if thy lines perchance some ermines gash, 'Tis not thy fault, 'twas no intended lash. Thy pencil limns Don Fuco's portraiture, And only dost his native worth immure Within these tilic rinds: nor is thy rage Against the Cowlists of this youngest age. Thy rhymes cry Pax to all, nor dost thou scatter Abuses on their shrines, their saints, or water, 60 And if some civil satire lash thee back, Because he reads my title, sees my black, Answer i' th' poet's phrase, and tell them more, My tale of years had scarce outsummed a score When my young fancy these light measures meant The press: but Fate since cancell'd that intent. Nor claim'd the Church as then a greater part In me than others, bate my title Art-- But now the scene is changed? confess'd it is. Must we abjure all youth, born, bury this? 70 Such closet death's desertless, in this glass Read not what now I am but then I was: In this reflection may the gravest see How true we suit--I this, and this with me. These thorns pick'd out whose venom might have bred A gangrene in thy reader, struck thee dead. Thou mayst perhaps invited be to court, And have a brace of smiles t' approve thy sport. Those whose grave wisdoms wise do them entitle (Whose learned nods loud ignorance can stifle), 80 Some of time's numbers on thy lines will scatter, If not call'd from thee by some higher matter. Laugh out a rubber, like, and say 'tis good For pleasure, youth, and leisure, wholesome food. Some jigging silk-canary, newly bloomed, When he is crispèd, bathèd, oiled, perfumed (Which till the second chime will scarce be done), Upon thy feet will make his crystals run, Commend the author, vow him service ever, But from such things his genius him deliver! 90 Some sleekèd Nymphs of country, city, court Will, next their dogs and monkeys, like thy sport: Smile, and admire, and, wearied, will (perhaps) Lay thee to sleep encurtained in their laps. Oh, happy thou! who would not wish to be (To gain such dainty lodging) such, or thee? Say, to please them, the poet undertook To make thee, from a sheet, thrive to a book, And if he has to beauty giv'n a gem, He challengeth a deck of thanks from them: 100 And if some winning creature smile on thee She shall his L. and his Bellama be. Betwixt eleven and one some pro and con Will snatch a fancy from thee and put on A glove or ring of thine to court his lass, 'Twixt term and term when they are turn'd to grass. Some Titius will lay by his wax and books, And nim a phrase to bait his amorous hooks. But stay, I shall be chid, methinks I hear A censure spread its wings to reach my ear, 110 Tell me I am conceited: then no more, Go take thy chance, I turn thee out o' th' door.
Mart. ad lib. suum. Epig. 4
Aetherias lascive cupis volitare per auras, I, fuge, sed poteras tutior esse domi.
Mart. lib. 4.
Si vis auribus Aulicis probari, Exhortor moneoque te, libelle, Ut docto placeas Apollinari. Nam si pectore te tenebit ore, Nec ronchos metues maligniorum. Nec scombris tunicas dabis molestas. Et cum carmina floridis Camoenis, Litesque gloriam canas poetum Non est pollicem capitis veraris.
[The Author to his Book.] Most of this wedge-shaped address is clear enough. But the reader must fit his own sense to 'Bee me' (ll. 41-2). Whiting's fantastic wit was quite Habakkukian in its possibilities.]
[Line: 53 'ermines' here = 'peers or other persons of distinction'.]
[Line: 57 'tilic[k]' = 'linden', from the use of lime-tree bark for paper.]
[Line: 58 Cowlists] Nothing to do (as I at first thought) with Cowley's early vogue, but one of Whiting's coinages, and frequently repeated infra, for 'monk'. Cf. l. 1945.]
[Lines: 79-80 entitle--stifle] One of those assonances which we have seen frequently in Marmion, and which were among the rather too numerous licences of mid-seventeenth century prosody.]
[Line: 88 'crystals' = eyes.]
[Line: 100 deck] = 'pack' as with cards.]
[Line: 102 Whether 'L.' stands merely for 'Love', or whether the 'Signora Inconstanza' &c. bore the initial, or what else it means, one cannot say. Let us hope that Whiting's 'L.' wore better than Sterne's.]
[Line: Mart. Lib. 4] This epigram, the 86th of the Book, is partly compressed, and the three final lines are different from those of the usual texts, which run:
Si damnaverit, ad salariorum Curras scrinia protinus licebit, Inversa pueris arande charta.
But I suppose Whiting did not choose to use evil words.]
To his loving friend the Author.
To laud thy muse, or thee to crown with praise, Is but to light my tapers to the rays Of gold-locked Ph[oe]bus: since the scheme Of fabled truth, thy waking seeming dream, Thy ever-living-loving fame in arts-- Of arts, to us in whole and part imparts. In arts, thy judgement, phrase, invention, Of arts, thy poet's vindication. In mourning elegies I admired thy skill, In mirthful lays we now admire thy quill. 10 Let Albine, Bellame, by thee live in fame; Riv'lezzo, Beldame Pazza, live in shame. Lash on and slash the vice of shavèd crowns In thy Bardino, nuns, and sylvan clowns. Give virtue beauty, beauty desert and praise, And that thy monument of brass shall raise.
[To his Loving Friend.] This anonymous commendator has dropped (hardly by intention) a foot in his third line.]
To the Reader.
Reader take heed, complain not of the sting, Lest others of thy galled sores do sing. No faulty person, party, here is meant, Only the vice o' th' age and place is shent. He that expounds it of himself doth show Some guilty fault or vice from him doth flow. If touch'd to th' quick, conceal and them amend, So 'gainst thee shall all scourging satires end.
WILLIAM PURIFEY, Rector Ecclesiae de Markefield.
[To the Reader.] 'William Purifey' at this date has an uncomfortable resemblance to William Purefoy (1580-1659) the regicide, who escaped meet guerdon by dying just before the Restoration. But he was a layman and a Member of Parliament.]
To his loving kinsman the Author.
When first I view'd the travails of thy quill, I lik'd, approv'd, admir'd thy nimble skill In sudden raptures, fancies, judgement, phrase, Invention, quickness, life, detraction, praise-- So that I favour'd their conceit which feign'd The soul to be an harmony, and reign'd Amongst the senses with accounts and measures, All which thy lofty poesy entreasures, That quaintest warblers cannot with delight Outworth the poet in his lyric height. As those which with quick eyes where judgement sits, Thy vindication of poetic wits Do read, may see, whose swelling metres teach All aliens such high English that to reach Is harder than to like or belch forth scandals. Witness thy journey, Somnus, Morpheus, sandals, The orbs, gods, muses, critics, accusation, The poet's names, employments, vindication, These silencèd my pen, it dared no more; Till, voic'd by thy Bellame again, her store Of suitors, one approv'd by friends, not her: Rivelezzo's wrath (wherein most parents err), Her grief, encloist'ring, entertainment high, Albino's heart and hers met in their eye, Their whisp'ring dalliance, Piazzella's care, Bardino's falsehood, their affections rare, Her disencloist'ring, and his nunning plot, The nuns' thick bellies, his repentant grot. His freedom, flight, encount'ring with his saint, His conjuration, prodigies, and plaint, The shepherd lout, Bellama's second quest, His ghosting, coming from th' Elysian rest, Their parles, his dis-enghosting, her denials, His rage, her kindness, both their loves and trials, Conrad's immuring, Piazzella's fury, His freedom, Foppo and his monkish jury, The lovers' ale-house cheer, bed, coarse apparel, The monks' strict quest, their finding, mirth, and quarrel, Their scape, fear, raddle, kinsman, and at length Their nuptial tede, when malice lost its strength. How thou hast shown (dear coz) thy art in arts, Let them express who brag of abler parts Than I, which have a bigger part in thee, Thy love, and blood, till being cease to be.
JOHN WHITING, Master of Arts, Clare Hall, Camb.
Amico suo carissimo N. W. huius Poematis authori Collegii Reg[i]nalis Canta. in artibus magistro.
Pan petat Arcadiam: Druides effundite cantus, Et iuvenes flores spargite, Bardus adest. Tu qui struxisti memoranda trophaea poesi, Dicere multa tibi nescio, nolo nihil. Vota, preces, calamus, cor, carmen, singula, laudes Ultro perdignas, concelebrare student. An decus, ingenium, tua laus, tua facta, peribunt? Dignum laude virum musa perire vetat. Corpore defuncto te candida musa sequetur Admiratur opus, primitiasque tuas. 10 Fata, precor, faustae plectant tua stamina vitae Ut scribas opera plurima digna tua.
JACOBUS BERNARD sacrosanctae & individuae Trinitatis Collegii in artibus magister.
In Authorem, amicissimum suum, Encomiasticon.
The privilege that pen and paper find 'Mongst men falls short, reflecting to the mind. Virtue herself no other worth displays Than cank'red censure leaves behind, as rays. But mental cabonets are they that yield No forfeiture to batt'ring critics' shield. If thoughts might character deserts, I dare Challenge my pencil for the largest share. But when the vultures of our age must gnaw, I'll cease for modesty, and say, 'tis law. 10 It's safer far to fail of debt than t' be Soaring in terms that badge of flattery. I hate the name, and therefore freely give My verdict thus as may have power to live 'Gainst calumny. If wit and learning may Pass with applause, the author hath the day. Crown'd be those brows with everlasting bays, Whose worth a pattern is to future days. 'Tis not a poem dropp'd from strength of grape. That's debtor to the wine's inspiring sap, 20 He to himself alone. Cease urging, earth, The father well deserve[s] so fair a birth. And, if a witness may be lawful, then I'll undertake 't shall fear no vote of men. But wherein Art is bold itself to glory Is that which crowns the verge of Whiting's story.
JO. ROSSE.
[In Authorem.] 5 cabonets] Sic in orig. It is a possible form of 'cabinets' (for we have 'cabon'), but in which particular sense of that word the reader must judge. That of a 'locked up', 'jealously guarded' receptacle might do.]
[Line: 22 'Deserve' in orig. John Rosse, though less eccentric in phrase, is rather more obscure in sense than even his amicissimus.]
To his Friend, a Panegyric upon his lovers, Albino and Bellama.
Though I have vow'd a silence, and as yet Resolvèd not to travel out in jet, Chiefly in print, yet your intending press Makes me my thoughts with courage, language, dress. With smooth-strain'd metre, that the world may know My strict engagements, and how much I owe To you your worth, which may command a line From him which swears 'gainst all but what's divine. The highness of your style, the quickness, life, Will in judicious readers raise a strife, 10 (More than the ball amongst th' engoddess'd three) Which gains the best, but all are best by me, Matchless in my conceit: add then to these The neatness of your plots, and swear a please To the grim stoic and the satir'd brow Forceth delight, through strictness, neatness, vow, Grow abler still in fancy, imp thy quill, Write anything, if something, fear not ill, If poesy be thus revenged by thy dream, How will it flourish when 'ts thy morning theme? 20 Sleeping or waking, let us have thy quill, And sleep and vigils shall admire thy skill.
I. PICKERING.
[To his Friend.] The extraordinary badness of the orthography in the original may be judged from its form for panegyric--'Panagericke', which is, of course, mere ignorant setting from dictation, with no 'reading' to correct.]
[Line: 11 Does 'engoddessed' occur elsewhere? If not, I think I. Pickering should score for it, though it does not apply very well to three actual goddesses.]
Imprimatur. Sa. Baker. June 22, 1637.
[Imprimatur.] Samuel Baker, Fellow of Christ's, Prebendary of St. Paul's, and Canon of Windsor and Canterbury, who was deprived of his preferments in the Rebellion, and seems not to have lived quite long enough to recover them. The reverse of the imprimatur leaf bears, in Professor Firth's copy, the inscription 'Ro^{t} Tebbutt His Book 1779'--a date at which the Carolines were not usually appreciated, though their turn was coming.]
THE PLEASING HISTORY OF ALBINO AND BELLAMA
When British Isles--begirt with moist'ned sand, Neptune's blue palace, and the Triton's walk-- Albania hight, her name who first did land Of all the sisters, or from rocks of chalk; From sad oppression had unyok'd their necks, And paid obedience unto Adell's becks,
Then, in those halcyon days of peace and joy, A virtuous lady, most transcendent creature, Fairer than her whose beauty cinder'd Troy-- Grace deck'd her mind, her mind grace['d] her feature; 10 So that each part made Helen out of date, And every grace a goddess could create.
Virtue and beauty both in her did strive Which should in worth and grace surpass the other, Nor age of consistency, both did thrive Till this Dian' out-ray'd that Cupid's mother. Nay men, by beams of her clear beauty, might Scale Titan's chariot, and out-ray his light.
'Mongst Nature's precious things we find a gem, Blushèd and purpled o'er with amethysts, 20 Which fiery carbuncles with sparkles hem, And which the em'ralds purest vert entwists, Meeting so well that lapidaries wist 'Twas em'rald, carbuncle, and amethyst.
So in this precious pair, pure Agathite, Aurora's purpling blush was clearly seen, Saba's bright rose, and Leda's swan-like white,-- The true proportion of Adonis' queen-- Blended so well, that in this curious frame Aurora, Saba, Leda, Venus came. 30
And as the honey-making waxen-thigh'd Inhabitants of Hybla's fragrant vales, Whom only Nature's dim instinct does guide, Choose their commander with their tuneful hails, Pay homage, honour him, and fear his frowns, With same observance as the people crowns,--
So, by the same instinct, the blushing rose Vèil'd bonnet to her cheeks admirèd red, The lilies to her bosom, brow, and nose, The Phoenix stripp'd herself to crown her head, 40 The chirping choristers with willing choice Sat silent to admire her warbling voice.
Perfum'd Arabia with her spice and gums Paid homage to the odours of her lips; To her with fawning postures, licks, and hums The yellow lion and the tiger skips; Fire dares not scorch her face, nor winter chill her, And death himself looked pale when called to kill her.
The amorous Sun, if she walk'd out by day, Would rein his jennets to behold her face; 50 And, wrapt in admiration, by his stay Had rather melt the orbs than mend his pace; And if the middle air in walls of jet Enjail'd his beams, he thawèd into wet.
If in the reign of silent night abroad She rang'd, the Empress of the lowest sphere, Amazed at her perfections, left her road, And rang'd about where she appeared t' appear; Nay, mourned in darkness if denied her sight, As when day's henchman does deny her light. 60
The curlèd tapers of the firmament Did cease to twink, but gazed with fixèd eyes, In their own orb refusing to be pent, And strove to leap upon the lower skies; Nay, did o' th' second air like comets hang, To dart their crisps at beauty's only spang.
The sea-born planet poppèd out her lamp, And t' see herself outshin'd by her, did rage; The marching war-god did remove his camp, With [this] fair lady curtain-war to wage; 70 Hermes by Jove being of an errand sent Stay'd on her face, in her embraces pent.
Dull-agèd Saturn (on whose sullen brow Ne'er dwelt a smile since Jove usurp'd his crown) To gaze on her his weighty head did bow, And with a smile unplaited every frown: Nay, Jove himself descended from his chair To take a full survey of this--this fair.
And more, her winning looks dispersed such charms, All eyes commanding and all hearts surprising, 80 That Venus bade her son provide him arms, Fearing his setting by this bright star's rising: For, though men say Love's eyes are more than dim, Yet her fair beauty did enlighten him.
But with entreaties he had beat the air, And on the tawny moor his waters cast, For having pow'r to conquer, being fair, Sh'ad pow'r not to be conquer'd, being chaste; So that his amorous sleights and wingèd arrow Could not have oped her breast or pierced her marrow. 90
This Phoenix was Bellama called (a word Well suiting her deserts), she daughter was And heir-apparent to a wealthy lord, Who had more acres than an acre grass: He loved his lands, and hugged his minted treasure, Yet his Bellama was his soul of pleasure.
His place of residence was in a chase Chequered with thick-grown thorns and sturdy oaks, Wherein majestic stags and bucks did pace That scorned the hounds, and dared the barbèd strokes; 100 'Twas called Rivelount, not distant far From Starley, of that shire the metro-star.
The neighbouring swains were palled with coaches' thunder, And loud curvettings of their foaming steeds, Whose ironed hoofs did crash the rocks in sunder; Happy was he, who (sheathed in costly weeds) Could win admission to this happy place, Where Nature's wealth was locked up in a face.
Each glance she sent the object did engem, And he that won a smile possessed a mine; 110 A hair was prizèd at a diadem, A ribbon made the[m] tread the ecliptic line; A ring outface a thunder, but a kiss Was the elixir, heart, and soul of bliss.
Some of their lands, some of their valours spoke, Some, of their falcons and their merry bells; Some read the price of such a suit and cloak, And one of hounds and running horses tells; All speak of something, yet but few with wit, All aimed at wise, yet few could purchase it. 120
Some spake in oaths, as if they thought the earth Was peopled o'er with faithless infidels; Another swore, because he feared a dearth Of other language, yet in oaths excels: All swear enough, and he that did it least Might be grand swearer at Ven-Bacchus feast.
Others there were that could not bigly prate, Who did their evidences bring with them; One brought his halls to plead, one his estate, This brought a watch to court, and that a gem; 130 One brought a large descent [in] white and black, Which [he] derivèd from old Pergam's sack.
One brought a reverent sire, whom he called father, To be the tongue of his reservèd son; Others with much expense of wax did gather Some printed rimes to speak when they were gone: All had their speakers which unclasped their graces, Yet their court-language dwelt on plaits and places.
One of these suitors was approved to be A match whose thousands equi-balanced hers; 140 The parents oft would say, 'This shall be he,' The mother then a bill of love prefers: But still Bellama faults, and vows that gold Shall never force her love to have and hold.
The testy father, with a furrowed brow, Comes to Bellama with demanding why? Says 'Mine own girl, thou must be rulèd now, Each knee pays duty to Don Fuco's eye: And age well knows bean-manors, lands, and treasures Do cement lovers' hearts, and enjoy their pleasures. 150
Thou must not, wench, be coy. Alas! we find Beauty as easily bought when money bids (Though 't be i' th' nonsuch of the female kind), As horse or cow, the lamb, or frisking kids: If he be rich we bear his witless brags, A wealthy fool's more worth than witty rags.'
Bellama, with a look fraught with disdain, (Though hatred did not make her anger bold) Says 'Sir, I'm sorry you do entertain Such high conceits of folly hemmed with gold: 160 Think you no marriage good if equal lands Be not matchmakers and do join their hands?
Don Fuco has ten thousand pounds a year, With weighty titles would o'erload a mule, A piece of arras finely wrought and dear; But does he square his life to virtue's rule? With vice as wealth, to countless sums he thrives, But is, in virtue, full as poor as wives.
He knows to steer an horse and hollo hounds, But not to guide his actions, less his tongue; 170 He speaks in state, but ev'ry sentence sounds Of comic fragments or some tavern song. And shall I him, hail'd by unworthy pelf, Take to rule me, who cannot rule himself?
Shall I see other female vessels thrive With mine own nectar, and they fee'd with money, Whilst I like careful bee do keep my hive, And work the comb for them to suck the honey? No, I'll no sharers have in my delight, I'll have it one and only, else good night. 180
'Tis a fine thing to see a satin paint That fears to lose her beauty in a press, That only cares to be precisely quaint, And spends a twelvemonth's pleasure on a dress: To see this stroke his honour, and he clip her, Span ev'ry part, and unresisted lip her.
But I do not in a rank humour rail 'Gainst sober purples, and discreeter robes, Nor lock up virtues in the paper-jail With ink-horns, pens, spheres, globes, and Albo-globes. 190 Religion on my heart does love enneal To those bright tapers of our commonweal.
Yet where, instead of state, proud looks do dwell, Where wit and wisdom are unlocked with oaths, Courtship and comeliness are in the shell, And honour only sits upon the clothes. Pardon, if unto such I plait my brow, And steer my thought unto a virgin-vow.'
'Fie,' says the father, 'you're a foolish girl 'Gainst ermines with that height'ned spleen to rail; 200 Dost think there's vice and folly in an earl? Then virtue sure does penance in the jail. To kiss and sport with us is held no sin If that our dalliance do not pass the skin.
Perchance 'tis not a point of state to have Too large a stock of wisdom in this age, The epithet to greatness is not grave; Those that the Muses in their cells encage, Let them speak oil and civet; but we are lords, Can speak by signs, and not expressed by words. 210
Wherefore do we to Sable give the room, And greater numbers far of Adel's stamps Than to our steward or our lady's groom; 'Cause with reproofs he our choice pleasures damps? No, 'cause in dedications he should name us, And by some witty pamphlet make us famous.
Our moral virtues are no guiding rule To high nobility, or looking-glass, No more than t' earth the ne plus ultra's Thule, As 'fore America was found, it was. 220 'Tis fit for those whose bosom-friends are lice, To know the pain, not sweet delights, of vice.
Dost see yon tender webs Arachne spins, Through which with ease the lusty bumbles break, But to the feeble gnats that mesh their gins? So those sage precepts, which our Sophies speak, Fetter the passions of each worthless slave; But over us no sovereign awe they have.'
'My lord, the name of father strikes,' quoth she, 'An awful dread, and makes my ear obey; 230 Yet slip my duty down unto the knee, And in my silent thoughts check, chide, and say, "Can they that taste forbidden waters thrive?" My chaste demeanour I will ne'er survive.
T' avoid the doom of--therefore I'll make choice Of one whose virtue outs all love to vice, Not those sleek skins which am'rous are in voice, Lip-love which, as soon born, dies in a trice. Our loves reciprocal shall be still dust, Which into exile packs unlawful lust.' 240
As they discours'd Don Fuco entered in, With stately garbs befitting such a one, His body shellèd in a satin skin Of azure dye, bestarred with topaz stone, A milk-white beaver, with an ostrich plume, His very rowels spake a loud perfume.
Having composed his hingèd looks, he glanced With piercing eyes upon her curious face, And, steeping sighs in tears and sweat, advanced Himself to plead with courtly garb and grace. 250 But Fucus, led by most mimetic apes, Could not depinge Don Fuco's antic shapes.
Such were the postures of his hands and eye, That had he treasured up his mirthful tones, They were ingredients for a comedy, Would into laughter change a widow's groans: And since that time (Bellama smiled so then) Love in her dimpled cheeks has found a den.
'Madam,' says he, 'be pleased to trutinate And wisely weigh your servant's graceful voice; 260 Give due attendance to the airs of state; I have engraven you Don Fuco's choice. Give free assent, and let the scornful "No!" Be quite expungèd from the criss-cross-row.
Alas, I'm not beholding unto letters, Wherewith our rabbis stuff their swelling books. I have a way of complimenting better, To win thy love with comely garbs and looks. And, if these fail, the name of countess will Speak with a power above the Sidney-skill. 270
I hate long-winded sentences, which do Unbreath a man, and hazard much his bellows, Or pocket-flashes which instruct to woo-- The only virtues of some inkhorn fellows-- I scorn their troths, indods, their ifs or ands, Or their O Lord, sir, when their wit's o' th' sands.
A fluent rascal that can speak in oil, And clothe his words with silken eloquence, I know may give a virgin strength the foil. But a blunt earl that scarcely speaks in sense, 280 Whom thousands honour with the cap and leg, Beats down a fortress like a roaring Meg.
He needs no Roscian language, but does send His velvet-coated herald to proclaim The noble titles which his worth attend: For honour is th' ambitious lady's aim. Feature and spicèd words but lead the van, Honour the front, the noble is the man.'
'My lord,' says she, 'your valour I approve, That with three selves thus warranteth your suit, 290 With self-conceit, self-confidence, self-love: Such trees will bear your lordship glorious fruit, It well befits your greatness not to think There can denials dwell in air or ink.
Your trencher-cloaks, and your recognizance, Your coat of arms with noble ermines dight, Your russian satin, with the cut of France, Your talking rowels, and your feath'red white, Are batt'ring rams and guns that speak in thunder, To crack a breast, and split a heart in sunder. 300
But my mind is Diana's chastest seat, O'er which the breath of greatness hath no power; The quiver-bearing boy sounds a retreat, And Jove avails not with his yellow shower, The vestal fire outshines blind Cupid's flame Which oft's eclipsed with sorrow damped with shame.
And, troth, my lord, had I but wit enough T' assist your lordship in your nuptial tede, Your lordship should not play at blind man's blough (Else heavens should renounce their Ganymede): 310 For they that purblind are may plainly see You grossly hoodwinked are in courting me.
The faults of state I cannot virtues name, And bear myself upon the wings of pride, Nor light my taper at another's flame, Or use the art at beauty's eventide. I brook not dalliance, or the Venus kiss, That way of am'rousness, or that, or this.
I cannot seal a welcome with an oath To those whose absence I had rather have; 320 Nor venture hundreds at that paper-sloth Of mistress Is'bel and the Pennell-knave. I know no masking postures, nor with grace Can tread the brawls, or true coranto pace.
I cannot at the feast of riot sit, When sea, land, air, are served up in plate; Nor like Tripherus with a carving wit Read precepts this and this to dissecate. Nor in dear murrhine, chargèd to the brim, Health it about until our mullets swim. 330
I do not love to have my husband be Discreet by proxies, by his chaplains wise; Nor do I like the too much cringing knee, Whose formal bends his black conceits disguise. Those fawning sharks I cannot call to table, Which into ermines change your lordship's sable
To have my usher press his master's saddle, In my opinion cannot pass for good; I do not love to have my pillow addle, Meanwhile my woman lets your lordship blood. 340 I am no Androgyne, nor do delight To diet pages, or your Catamite.'
'Madam, what passion does untune your mind? What fiend' (says he) 'in you thus rails on greatness? Who viceth honour, lies, and he is blind That says court-satins are not trimmed with neatness. Speak then in balms, forget the peevish why, And to the "Wilt thou have this"--Answer "Ay".'
'No, no,' says she, 'yet might I know your saint, If my endeavours can advantage you, 350 With your endowments I would her acquaint, And limn your rare perfections in her view: In this one act I may myself approve More loving, than in entertaining love.
I'll say with what dexterity you can Run o'er the postures of the court-salute, How trimly you can kiss a lady's fan, And neatly manage an embroid'red suit; How finely Spanish leg-shells you can plait, And tune your rowels at the court retrait. 360
I might say you are witty, if't be true That jests and jingles are in brotherhood, I'll speak your skill in hawks, at flight, in mew, And at all hunting ceremonies good; How gracefully you wave your gallant plumes, And deeply are engaged to deep perfumes.
How kind you are unto our chamber-shes, How to our marmosets and trencher-pages, How oily-fingered unto supple knees, How fain to th' music of our wire cages. 370 How quaintly you supply the usher's room, How sweetly you can act the privy-groom.
Much more in blazoning your matchless worth, And counting all your specials, might I say-- But nature ne'er a second did bring forth, Which to such known perfections can say nay. I'll cease to praise them, lest my praises make Your veins of pride with self-conceit to ache.
I will perform what I have promis'd, sir, Please you t' impart your lady to my maid, 380 I see my words your liver-wort does stir Into your face, which in your channels strayed. No more of trouble then, my lord, adieu; This courteous door divorceth me and you.'
Away flings she, and leaves my lord alone, More pensive than a widow which bedews Her husband's corpse with tears, a woman's moan, Or than the Lupa of diseasèd stews; So that who saw his jigging head would swear Wisdom nor wit did ne'er inhabit there. 390
Don Rivelezzo sent a smiling glance, That they might his consent read in his eye; But seeing Fuco in a stupid trance, He was possessed with equal frenesy. The mother came to th' rescue, and wellnigh Sent her own wit to bear theirs company.
Fain would he tell the cause of his disasters, And eagerly her parents strove to know it, Yet, strangely, them this passion overmasters, That neither they could ask, nor he could show it; 400 As though an Incubus with vap'rous throngs Enclasped their bosoms and unvoiced their tongues.
At length Don Fuco cried, 'Bellama cruel, What evil planet revelled at thy birth, Or what incensèd god provided fuel To make me feel hell's torture upon earth? Was there no way to punish me for sin But by a maid? No, there our woes begin.
When I with admiration view'd her face, I boldly durst give any tongue the lie 410 That dared to say, with such supernal grace, There dwelt one atom of this tyranny. But--if that virgin's hieroglyphics be Of love and mildness, take them all for me.
I'll make a casement with this steely blade In my full breast, through which my soul shall peep, And make my heart in sanguine liquor wade, And entrails all in juice of liver steep. Nay, straightway give hell's ferryman his pay For wafting me o'er black Cocytus' Bay. 420
Or unto Proserpine I'll post a sprite, To fetch m' a cup of moist oblivion, Wherewith the Fairy Queen exilèd quite Fury from her stout knight and Oberon, That I not only may forget disgrace, But quite forget I ever saw her face.'
'Let not', says Rivelez, 'a peevish girl Hang fetters on your heart, untune your soul: Dwells there not courage with a worthy earl, Blind Cupids bow and quiver to control? 430 My lord, take heed, the squinting boy works treason, By passions to divest your soul of reason.
He by his sly insinuations oft A good opinion in the heart doth win: The most obdurate are by him made soft And homage pay to Love their sovereign sin, Fires in, nor hurts, the flint; but Cupid can With flames to cinders waste the flinty man.
A wily fisherman hath store of baits, Wherewith for amorists he wisely angles, 440 With glitt'ring pomp he for th' ambitious waits, The greedy carl with silver twists entangles; The silk-lascivious with a wanton eye, The austere stoic with a modest "fie!"
The studious Templant he with Ergo calls, The grave precisian with a matron grace, The virtuous mind with virtue he enthrals, A landed heir with a blushed-lily face. For Epicurean love he wisely trolls With spiced rarities and frothing bowls. 450
The cross-adorers he with crossing catches, Yet strange it is that crossing should join hands. But, to Sir Love-all, all are equal matches, Grace, beauty, feature, honour, virtue, lands. This has a dainty hand; that, lip, or eye, This chaste, that seeming, that will not deny.
None are love-free, unless uncapable Of those choice blessings Venus' sole son proffers, None, whom age, fortune, nature, does enable, With peevish noes neglecteth Hymen's offers. 460 All are inclined to love, and all must bow, If Cupid's arrow do but write "Love thou".
Invest your noble thoughts with courage, Don, Let reason, maugre love, triumphant ride, Millions of ladies breath in Albion, Have more rose-lilies, and less store of pride. I'll warrant, though Bellama now say "no", She'll find, ere long, denial was her foe.'
'Ha!' quoth Don Fuco, with a far-fetched sigh, Which all that time was drenched o'er-head in grief, 470 'Am I to black Cocytus yet drawn nigh? Where are th' Elysian shades, thou tott'red thief? Call Rhadamanthus forth, justice I'll have, Or in his breast my steel shall dig a grave.
Call forth the Furies with their snaky hairs, Pale-cheeked Erynnis and her sister hags, Tell Nemesis I'll fetch her down the stairs, And try what truth dwells in her wrathful brags. Dispoison vipers, toads, and crawling adders, And with their venom stretch her spacious bladders. 480
Bid Cerberus belch, from his triple jaws, A barking thunder which the earth may shake: I'll fetch the Dragon's and the Scorpion's paws From the full zodiac, her face to rake. Come forth, Demagoras, thy cunning try, To mask all beauty with a leprosy.
We will no more our lily-stems transplant, And set our roses on their cheeks and lips; Their fairness shall not hence surpass the ante, Their crimson dye the brick or writhled hips. 490 Beauty shall be exiled, despite shall end her, Or else we'll change her to another gender.
The Thracian harper was a silly ass, That for his wife passed through the Stygian stench, The clubman's foolery did his surpass, That spun and carded for a Lydian wench. The Greeks were fools that for a light-skirt strumpet Chang'd the still viol to a loud-mouth'd trumpet.
Jove's blacksmith was no privy counsellor, To marry Venus for the forehead flag; 500 The jolly huntsman sure did something err To see a goddess, and become a stag. Jove was no golden show'r: sure 'twas a gull, Nor e'er transform'd himself into a bull.'
'Peace, good my lord,' Don Rivelezzo says, 'What uncouth passion doth your soul entrance? Your words are like the Bacchanalian lays, Wherewith the priests their god of wine enhance. What, man! though this fond she from you did start, Another 'll say, "My lord, with all my heart." 510
Observe the practice of doves masculine, Which woo their females, with "I come to woo", Not in a fit of woman cry and whine, Straight to another haste, if she says no. If to one face our stock of love we ope, We pinion Cupid's wings, and fetter hope.
Bellama slights, what then? shall we conclude, All women will deny you their assent? A strange induction: call all ladies lewd, 'Cause Flora and some few to Venice went? 520 Amongst a thousand maids, there's scarcely two, As coy Bellama now hath done, will do.
Wherefore created were those glorious lights, Which in the azure firmament appear? Why was day's charioteer with lustre dight? Only to gild with rays his proper sphere? No, to lend brightness to the borrowing lamps, And clear the earth from night's obscuring damps.
Why has Dame Nature so much brightness lent To diamonds, topazes, and other gems? 530 Only t' enrich themselves? no, to augment The glory of our rings and diadems. The ostrich for himself wears not his plumes, Nor for 's own nose the civet cat perfumes.
So, on our sprucest ladies, matchless graces Were not bestowèd to delight themselves. Pandora was not treasured up in faces, To bring content unto possessing elves. But 'cause our heroes should the comfort find Of winning beauty and a willing mind. 540
The maid of Babylon, I know, was fair, And rich in all the lineaments of beauty; Yet was she kind, which did not them impair, But showed to Nature's hests her forward duty. For Nature's bounty best requited is, By yielding free assent to Hymen's bliss.
The Queen of Carthage dear respects bestowed Upon the straggling prince of ruined Troy. Choice love unto Leander Hero showed: The Cyprian goddess wooed her sappy boy. 550 All fraught with pity; but that peevish girl, 'Bout whose sleek waist hell's vipers wind and twirl.
Nor such examples wants our latest age, Of virgin lovers these to parallel, Who, every way, those former equipage, With whom records and modern pamphlets swell. Then courage, Don, fear not to find a face That hath more pity, and more lovely grace.'
'Much ease' (quoth Fuco) 'to my lovesick heart, My lord, is by your sage advisement brought. 560 For I supposed th' Idalian younker's dart Had fest'red so, no easement could be bought, I on her looked through such a pleasing glass, As though that sex in her contracted was.
I thought t' have sent my physic-doctor forth Unto his herbal, to address my ill; T' ask Æsculapius for some earth-born worth, Which might accomplish my intended will. But that 'tis said Apollo once complained No herb to cure love's fevers could be gained. 570
Whilst an opinion of her matchless grace Scorchèd my bosom with affection's gleams, Mine eyes ne'er straggled to another face, Nor could I bathe my thoughts in Lethe's streams. But now I'll sound retrait; reclaim my mind, Not catch a falling star, nor grasp the wind.'
This said, with sparkling sack he wash'd the lane, Which to the limbeck of his body leads-- Health to Bellama, and a health again, Till, where his feet his wingèd beaver treads, 580 So well he took his sack without a toast. That, 'stead of kissing her, he kiss'd the post.
Dispassioned quite, as in a breathless calm, Don Rivelezzo bids Don Fuco 'dieu; But hooted loudly, like a shrill-toned shawm, When his swift steed took farewell of his view. Accursing Fate, and railing on his daughter, Which might beget in Heraclitus laughter.
'Have I', says he, 'such Crassian heaps of gold, Condemned to sleep in iron-ribbèd chests? 590
Did I delight in vestments coarse and old, Wherein Anthropophages have dug them nests? Nay, wish'd there were no tavern-juice, or sports, Or change of fashions, but in princes' courts?
Have I sat brooding o'er my treasured plate, And summed the surplusage of each year's rent, Confined my spendings to a weekly rate, Enjoined a penance when th' allowance spent? And when an earl tuned every grace to win her, She slights his vows: nor gales nor gold can pin her! 600
But since she slights my matches, I will match her: She shall of peevishness the harvest reap. Since this Don's matchless fortunes could not catch her: I shall ere long make her affections cheap. Her love shall stoop to court a common farm, A lordship then shall scorn to fold an arm.'
'My lord,' her mother, Lady Arda, said, 'A parent's ire ought not to force assent. Wealth, blent with vice, can ne'er disheart a maid To whom bless'd virtue is the choice content. 610 There's other things do maid's affections stir, Beside a manor, and a "please you sir".'
'Madam' (quoth he), 'in vain you do excuse Your daughter's folly with your friendly air, The next I offer she shall not refuse. Sirrah, go harness straight my wheeling chair, I'll try if less content and pleasure dwells In princes' courts than in monastic cells.'
When he was coached, the Lady Arda went To fair Bellam', bedewed with streaming tears: 620 'The gods', said she, 'have ravelled thy content, Sorrows uncomfort will thy virgin years: For unto Darwey does thy father haste, Where he will vow thee everlasting chaste.'
'Madam,' says she, 'I feed on naught but gall, Aloes and rue, 'cause of my father's wrath. Th' occasion though of his displeasure shall With bays, instead of cypress, strew my path. When virtue seals the contract, welcome Hymen, But till that, ever shall my heart deny men.' 630
Thus sate they parling. Lady Arda urged, Producing reasons to enforce assent. Bellama answered, begged, excused, and purged Herself from blame, by urging love, content. But urging and excusing, let them sit, And see the father champing on the bit;
Who, coming to the cage of virgin-pride, Knocked at the wicket with the iron crow, To whose small neck white fillets ne'er were tied. Which in more ancient days did childbed show. 640 He rapped so hard, the sound did fright the air, Yet still none came: none was not locked in prayer.
At length the janitor, of stature large, With crozier-staff, girt in a hair-cloth frock, Whose meagre looks did call for Charon's barge, And all whose body was a sapless stock, Came, and with churlish voice demanded who With such shrill ho's rejoiced their civil croe.
'Friend,' says my lord, 'my errand wings my speed, Speaks high importance with the prioress; 650 Thou, in these angel-looks, my haste mayst read; Help me to th' presence of the abbatess.' The porter's heart soon stepp'd into his eye, Tuning his language to a quick reply.
'My lord,' says he, 'obedience is my duty, Whilst your commands speak in so high a tone. Yet, lest your smooth-chinn'd youths lay siege to beauty, Your lordship, spite of state, must walk alone. I am an eunuch; else in vain I vow'd, I had mistook my pillow in a crowd.' 660
Him he conducted to the kitchen, where Store of anatomies employed was; Some did the candlesticks, some lavers clear, Some scourèd pewter, some reburnished brass, Don asks the cause; the porter him acquaints, 'Twas 'gainst a feast of high account, All Saints.
Within the hall a younger sort of girls, Yet coarse enough, did brush vermilion looks. Some crosses rubbed, some, ropes of praying pearls; Some dusted vestments, some, their gilded books. 670 Some kneaded wafers: and his effige stamped, Whose purple streams the dragon's sulphurs damped.
All at Don Rivelezzo were amazed, And, looking, one rubbed off a nose of wax, A second razed a cheek; another gazed And plucked from Kath' her periwig of flax. One blinded Serrat, and did rend her silk; One broke the cruse, and spilt the virgin-milk.
Don passed through these into an inner room, Where was another rank of virgin-fry, 680 Some weaving arras on the nimble loom, And intertwisting gold with tapestry, With silk of Naples twisted in small ropes; Some did the cowls embroider, some the copes.
At last he came into an upper place, Climbing thereto by richly gilded stairs, Where sate another troop, of nobler race, On quilted cushions, and in ivory chairs. About the centre, in a robe of state, The matron Vesta of the virgins sate. 690
These were employed about far nobler things, For some of sainted hair did bracelets twine; Others strung beads to stint the knees of kings; Some trimmed with costly gems the Lady's shrine. One tuned the music, and a witty other Footed an Ave to the Virgin-mother.
The grave old matron, crawling from her throne Of Indian teeth, arched o'er with cloth of gold, Upon her aged knees with zealous tone Says, 'Heaven's messenger, what is't you would?' 700 Th' amazed lord with wonder quarrelled long, Ere he could unvoice his silenced tongue.
'Madam,' says he, 'why pay you reverence? Why are you guilty of th' adoring sin? 'Tis a delusion of your weak'ned sense, I am no Cherub, Pow'r, nor Seraphin. The heralds style me Rivelezzo's Don, Your friend and servant, with a cap and con--'
'My lord,' quoth she, 'excuse my fond mistake, For o'er my sight I wear a duskish glass. 710 My zeal in pious actions sure did make Me give you more respects than civil was. But take your seat; and if my power or skill Can crown your wishes, be you sure I will.'
'Madam,' says he, 'I have a scornful lass Whom nature has enriched with special grace, To whose perfections her reflecting glass Is parasite, adds pride unto her face: So that, though earldoms court her, her disdains Nonsuits their service, and her brow unplains. 720
Into your number of chaste-zealous shes, Entrance unto this girl vouchsafe, I pray, Unto your order. I the constant fees Of gold and acres, and of vows will pay. Since she Don slighted, I have vowed to see How long she'll honour the religious knee.'
Quoth she, 'Those virgins which my hallowed roof Does canopy, my prudence does protect. I make blind love and folly stand aloof, And all love's paper-plots I do detect. 730 Great ones have oft assayed, but yet my care Has buried their entreaties in the air.
With godly precepts I enrich their minds, And make them (which is rare) at eighteen good. I 'dmit no roisters; only maids and hinds To do them service, and prepare us food. Please you to send your daughter, she shall be Crowned with delights of most transcendent glee.'
'Heavens', says Don, 'crown your ensuing days With all delights which wait your holy orders, 740 May the sad cypress and the bridal bays Ne'er sprig nor blossom in your quiet borders. I'll plume my swift endeavours: I'll make haste T' invest Bellama with your habits chaste.'
When Don's farewell had ceased to move the air, Says Piazzella to her virgin train, 'We, with th' enjoyment of this lady fair, Shall stuff our carcanets with mickle gain. We'll frolic it, and taste the choicest pleasures, Nor shall our joys be listed in with measures. 750
The credulous world we gull with silver shrines, Our grave behaviours and retired lives, When we in naked truth are libertines, And taste the pillow joys of sprightful wives, When through the vault our lusty shavelings pace, All the choice measures of delight to chase.'
Thus leave them with their hair-lack crowns, And see Rivelezzo now arrived at home, Who by that time had plained his brow from frowns, And all becalmed with sugarèd words doth come: 760 Then tells his lady he had found a tow'r, Would guard Bellama from Jove's yellow show'r.
Servants are posted to the old Exchange, Others to sellers of the silkworm's spoils, Some to brisk Proteuses, smirk tailors, range, Some to the stationers, some haste for oils. One carves the image of a martyred saint, Another breathes a soul with gold or paint.
None must be idle till, in marshalled ranks, All things be ord'red for this virgin-vow. 770 Farewell ye spongy teats and puff'd-paste flanks, Bellama's bridal tede is lighted now. Her husband is Virginity, yet look, Her beads for rings, for songs she'll change her book.
The coach is harnessèd, 'Bellama come', The father says, 'hence with that dew of grief; Give not a sad adieu unto our home, But in thy thoughts let comfort rule as chief.' She craved a blessing on her globe-like joints; Then coachèd thither where her sire appoints. 780
As the sweet-voicèd Philomele does sit I' th' pikèd eglantine, with sorrow dressed, 'Cause some rude sylvan in a raging fit Snatched her faint chickens from their downy nest. So did the lady Arda, dight with mourning, Deplore Bellama's loss with her returning.
As when sly Reynald in his widenèd jaws Is seizing on the nimbly-frisking lamb, Or when the tiger, with his sharp'ned paws, Hath caught the infant of the becking dam: 790 And then the shepherd's care prevents the sharks, One loudly howls, the other hoarsely barks.
So, semblably, when as the waiting crew Saw the departing of their golden age, One gives Bellama, with eye-dew, adieu, Another's grief unlocked the frenzy cage. Some tore their hair, some rent their should'ring bands, Some thwacked their breasts, and wrung their oily hands.
But all in vain, their Indian mine was gone, Their minting house deprivèd of the stamp, 800 Their costly gems were changed to pebble stone, Their hemisphere forsaken by their lamp: Saturn's exiled, Jove awes this massy ball, And now the iron age ungoldeth all.
The wand'ring wheels, bestud with iron knobs, Posted Bellama to the virgin-tower, Which freed her from the noise of servile throbs; Is entertainèd like a goddy power, Led by the seeming saints unto the place Where sate Pazzella with a matron grace. 810
If Rivelezzo's presence frighted them, Much more they at Bellama were amaz'd; They called her Phoenix, beauty's only gem, And all with fixèd tapers on her gazed: Some had a mean, some curious were before, But her first sight showed self-conceit the door.
For as when Tithon's bride breaks out afar, And through th' expanse spreads forth her youngest light, She, by degrees, pops out each twinkling star, And dims at length the mistress of the night-- 820 As winter chapel-clerks, when prayers are done, Dis-light each flazing wax or tallow sun.
So, when Bellama brightly did appear, With morning rays in the monastic hall, She veiled each face that movèd in that sphere, And further, by degrees unfacèd all. Nay, at the last, the mistress of the train Looked like pale Phoebe in her dark'ned wain.
And as day's prince, light lustre's archi-beam, Lends to the moon her silver midnight rays; 830 As from the ocean wat'ry current stream Though ev'ry cadent to that Chaos strays; As to a room befogged with mists of night Th' incensèd weeks do lend a midday light;
So to each brow Bellama's brow gives white; To ev'ry cheek Bellama's cheek gave roses; To ev'ry eye Bellama's eye gave sight; To ev'ry breath Bellama's breath gave posies; To ev'ry part Bellama's part gave grace; To ev'ry face Bellama gave a face. 840
Some called her goddess of the Cyprian isle; Some said Troy's ruin was untombed again; Some her the self-enamoured boy did style; Some said the boat-boy did delude their train. One named her thus, one said she was another, But all confessed sh' exceeded Cupid's mother.
The aged patroness with palsied lips Mutt'red a welcome to her lovely guest; But at that time the moon was in eclipse, Which with enfeebling fears did them arrest. 850 Some shrilly screamed; some brazen pans did clang, To ease her travail and abate her pang.
And when the monthly-hornèd queen had got Her face again with silver glitter rayed, Save only what the dragon's tail does spot, On their pale lilies blushing claret strayed. Then did the aged voice repeat again, 'Welcome, fair lady, to my maiden-train.'
Her instauration was somewhat strange. Led by nine vestals (for th' odd number was 860 Highly esteemèd in their sacred range, As by the poet in his quaffing glass), Each of her jointed lilies one did hold, Save only that which waits the wedding gold.
Adorned with vestures, white as bleachèd snow, A cypress mantle over which was cast, So lightly hung 'twould not abide a blow, A milk-white ribbon locked unto her waist, Graced with a crucifix: her slender wrists With praying beads were wreathed on sable twists. 870
Grave Piazella ushered her along, Bravely attended with her choicest nuns, Without drum, trumpet, or an armèd throng, Or champing coursers, or the wide-mouthed guns. Each held religion in some holy right, With holy water which the devils fright.
Into the place of holy worship they Ent'red where gaudy superstition was, Saints, altars, store of crucifixes gay, Whose stately worths my weak expression pass. 880 Scarce was there known a canonizèd saint Which carving did not there beget, or paint.
With strong devotion all the virgins prayed At the direction of the praying bead, Their Ave-Maries, Santo, Salve's said, Invoking ev'ry saint to intercede. Piezza then, Bellama kneeling down, Did wreathe her temple with the virgin-crown.
These rites performed, behind an iron grate Appearèd breathing cowls and walking copes, 890 Whose writhèd looks their births did antedate And change the ciphers girdled in with ropes. Their hair had purchas'd wings and flew away. So did their brains, as some did whisp'ring say.
Unto this monast'ry in gloomy shades, From Crostfull Priory these shavelings pace, Distant from hence not two Italian stades. Earth's bloodless womb was wimbled all the space. Under the craggy rocks and champian did A roadway lie, from vulgar prying hid. 900
This darksome path they usually did tread To traffic with their she-sequest'red zeal, With whom for curtain-dalliance oft they plead. But their success my muse dares not en-neale. These loving sportings are not faults: the sin Is when our walls keep not the scandal in.
Amongst the holy men that hither came, To join their issue with the sisterhood, A votary, Albino call'd by name, Not Fortune's white-boy, yet of abbey-blood. 910 His great-grandfather, some few ages since, Of Glastonbury primate was, and prince.
His stature did not reach the tip-toe height, Nor with the long-necked cranes did conflicts wage, Something complete by nature not by sleight, Some twenty circled snakes summed up his age; Discreet as tiroes are, had store of wit, In that he knew to use, and husband it.
By civil carriage, and his modest look, He gained the love of his lord Priorist, 920 He bowlèd, coursèd, angled in the brook, His pleasure was his joy and pleasures list. Oft would he rove (had his content a dearth) Through th' hollow belly of th' unbowelled earth.
Sometimes permitted, sometimes by command From his Lord Prior to the holy mother. Conveying voices, or the paper-hand Oft-times alone, scarce sorted with another. The matron did with courteous eye respect him; Knowing no ill of him, did not suspect him. 930
She oft would praise his monkship to her train, Calling his breast blest virtue's choice's shrine; And vowed she seldom saw such beauty reign Upon a face that's purely masculine. And 'twas not common at his years to find So neat a person with so pure a mind.
He'd freedom of discourse, not privacy, Jests, sporting, laughter, and lip-dalliance; Oft on Bellama would he fix his eye, And she to him would answer glance for glance. 940 They gazed so long and oft, till they did tie Their hearts together only by the eye.
Love's fever, at the casements of the soul Ent'ring, inflamèd every secret part, That passion now his reason doth control, And with the gyves of love enchains his heart: And walking with Bardino, seeking pleasures, He did Bellama sing in lofty measures.
To his companion in praise of Bellama.
Dost see yon tow'ring hills, yon spreading trees, Which wrap their lofty heads in clouds? Dost see 950 Yon house of little worth, and lesser height? Dost think a jewel of ten thousand weight Can dwell within that sooty carcanet? Dost think the gaudy sun each night does set And riseth from yon roof? Dost think the moon, With double horn and glitt'ring tapers, soon Will issue thence? Didst ever see an eye Which checked the beams of awful majesty? Dost think an earth-born beauty can be found, Which darts forth lustre from the sullen ground-- 960 To kiss the glorious skies? Or canst thou think The queen of beauty dwells in such a chink? Dost think? 'tis poor, why do I question so? Thou dar'st confirm all this by oath, I know, Since my Bellama's there, all life, all breath, Whose presence can enlive the soul of death, Despite of sickly Nature: she is all fair And truly meriteth Bellezza's chair. All those fair treasures, which dispersèd lie 'Twixt poles and parallels, pay to her eye, 970 And with her span contracted in her meet As radiant, red, white, smooth, soft, rich, and sweet, She is the world's epitome and soul, And with her inch of earth outworths the whole. She's beauty's archi-fount: as riv'lets small Borrow from greater currents, and they all Pay tribute to the ocean, just so The dimmer shafts of wingèd Cupid's bow Borrow from brighter, [and] the brightest pay Homage unto Bellama--beauty's day. 980 I tell thee there's not one small worth of hers But loudly says that foppish Nature errs In other beauties: nor is this all, for why? Her thoughts pluck stars, and dark th' imperial sky. Virtue and beauty both: why, 'tis as rare As frosts in June or comets in the air, As crows in Africk, Æolus want puffs, Or she-precisians want Geneva ruffs. Yet my Bellam', alone and one, unites The beauteous colours, noble red and whites, 990 With heaven's issue, Virtue: dar'st then deny, If not divine, her half a deity? Tip Cynthia's horns with wonder, wind aloud, And mount the saddle of a wingèd cloud, Then circle earth, and see if thou canst find Half such a feature with so rare a mind. I know when thou return'st thou'lt say with me, Bellama's beauty is a A per se.
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Thus he to rocks and bushes did discover The secret flames which scorched his heated breast: 1000 Though he as yet was not a vocal lover, But shrouded his close love in smiles and jest. Yet Fortune oftentimes does Venus grace. He got lip-freedom in an eyeless place.
For there a Turk's Elysium was the stage Whereon the virgins acted parts of mirth, Which Nature did with nobler gifts engage, And deckèd more than other parts of earth: And Bellam's breath was such a powerful thing, It here did keep an everlasting spring. 1010
The angry puffings of congealing East And sturdy North, cold Winter's stoutest roisters, Durst ne'er of curled locks the trees divest, Nor e'er were heard to whistle in their cloisters. Such vernal blasts came from Bellama's mouth Kept here Favonius, and the dropping South.
And if sharp frosts did, in her absence, steal Into this place, and glaz'd the tattling streams, Then into crystal would the springs congeal, And ev'ry flower was rayed with silver beams. 1020 Yet if Bellama did but glance her eye, The crystal and the silver thence did fly.
Nay, strange it was to hear the purling wet, The saucy frost with angry murmurs chide, And with its constant jars and strugglings fret, Then thaw to tears, and on the Venice slide. Yet oft Bellama would call in her rays, To view the silver purls and crystal ways.
Into this garden once Albino got; Yet ah! but once, and met his sovereign fair, 1030 Hoping their hearts should tie the Gordian knot He fanned her beauty with such courting air. For, though he was a monk, love did instruct him, And to Love's palace Fortune did conduct him.
He oftentimes with trembling thumb would press Her dancing vein, way to her heart to find, Whilst conscious she her looks with red would dress, Fearing her pulse was traitor to her mind. For 'tis entruthed by some that by this vein We may the knowledge of affections gain. 1040
Such knowledge gained he by her pulse's touch, Which leapt to meet, not chide, his busy thumbs, That he desired a kiss; and found it such Whose sweetness far outsweet[en]s Hybla's combs: Then cried, 'Give for each lip a cherry sweet, And then a third, in which they two may meet.'
Such quick'ning heat was from those kisses lent, That thawed his voice and did unfreeze his tongue, Packed thence despair, exilèd discontent, And made him vent what was concealèd long. 1050 For though desire and love each minute bid him. Yet fear, his habit, and her beauty, chid him.
'Madam,' quoth he, 'vouchsafe a courteous ear Unto my words, sent from an amorous heart. Which hath long time been wracked with hope and fear, Grisly despair, and Cupid's awful dart, And till this time (restrained by black disasters) Could ne'er apply lip-love or vowel-plasters.
Be pleased to know (yet sure you needs must know it) A beauty so divine must needs divine, 1060 Though I should want heart, hand, or voice to show it, When first your beauty in mine eyes did shine, They slipped into my breast, and told my heart The god of love by them had sent a dart.
My heart made quick reply (if hearts have voice) You ever have such faithful servants been, That what you like, I'll freely call my choice: For beauty, brought by you, does fires teen. Carry this message back, tell her 'tis best That hers should heat my bosom, I her breast.' 1070
'Peace, peace.' quoth she, 'speak not a work of love, For fear my anger scorns and folly writes. Eagles love eagles, and the dove the dove. Hawks brook not buzzards: or the pheasant kites. Equals love equals: but unequal flame Is teened with folly, and expires with shame.'
'True, quoth he,' likeness does the heart incline; Greatness loves greatness without farther search, Yet crawling ivies lofty elms entwine, And gall-less turtles with the eagles perch. 1080 I baulk your greatness: for as good, not great, I homage pay, and loves alarums beat.
Those airy titles which ambition swell, And puff like bladders [are] like bladders burst, The worldling's goddess, which in chests does dwell, Is gnawn with rust, and makes the chesters curst. Honour is tied unto the prince's eye And wealth to Fortune's mutability.
I have not wealth (nor do I want), what then? Must Hymen stoop unto the nods of gold? 1090 Must I vail bonnet unto ermine men? And virtue by the herald be controlled? No, love does blaze the noblest arms: and she That can maintain herself in love, can me.'
'Stay, stay.' quoth she, 'you will be out of wind. Methinks the voice of greatness speaks delight. Our poets only then feign Cupid blind, When children of the sun do dote on night, Or folly, mounted on Icarian wings, Courts queens' affections and does gaze on kings.' 1100
'No,' says Albino, ''tis the contrary. Love never is more purblind than when earth Joins house to house, and pedigrees do tie Scutcheons to scutcheons in pure virtue's dearth. For regal flames blest goodness only teens, And virtue ought to court the love of queens.
We all are born for public good: 'tis vain With torchlight to embellish Titan's rays, Or cast our stock of water in the main, Such love from laws of love and nature strays. 1110 But those that Fortune hath enriched with goods Should dam up nature's wants, by mixing bloods.
Was I the Caesar of the Roman stems, (Once only darling to the King of skies), Did both the Indies pay me tribute-gems, I'd not unite a double majesty. For being no distinction in degree, She would assume that honour due to me.
She'd chide me sooner than I durst check her, And (as the proverb) quarrel for the breeches. 1120 On some choice mean that honour I'd confer Should sue with humble 'Sirs', and low beseeches. Thus was she tied to payment of respects, I licensed with state-love to mix neglects.
Where beauty does indite, and virtues seal, Greatness is not required to set his hand: Though greatness here may virtue's acts repeal, Yet virtue's acts in Cupid's courts must stand. Then where I find grace, feature, virtues, dwell, I've greatness, wealth, and honour--toll the bell! 1130
Then with kind airs, life of my wishes, speak, Bid honour know his distance, wealth depart, And let the day of true contentment break From thy clear lips, to cheer my misted heart. O, with one circle let my arms enfold The soul of honour and the heart of gold.'
'Sir,' quoth Bellama, 'wealth is not my aim, Nor does the gales of honour heave my soul, I higher prize an action than a name, And value more a pamphlet than a roll. 1140 Where I with comeliness find virtue mixed, My love, eyes, thoughts, are on that object fixed.
I speak not much of love, lest you presume; And speak a little, lest you should despair. I would not have my words your hopes deplume, Nor feather them to reach the highest air. I sum up all in this, whenas I say, I will not with disdains thy service pay.'
Oh happy words! oh more than sacred breath! Albino, live! Bellama says thou must. 1150 Confront dire Fate, and challenge meagre Death: 'Tis not in them to moulder thee to dust. Yet be advised, let not proud folly in, The conquest is as great to hold as win.
Our anchorist with all the words that joy, Hearting a lover, was acquainted with, Accosts his saint, rewards the wingèd boy, And congees to the queen of heat and pith. Smilèd and glanced, paid thanks, desired a kiss; And prayed time give an age unto his bliss. 1160
But when day's lamp had wan the western clime, And wrapt his head in sea-green Thetis' lap, Our lover must observe the chanting time And bids his saint adieu. Oh hard mishap! Oh, 'tis a hell to think what hellish pain True lovers by unkind divorcement gain!
Yet, by that time the hoary-headed sire Had summed twelve sixty minutes, he again Returned t' his lady, when bright Titan's fire Was newly risen from the brackish main: 1170 And, common greetings passed amidst their pleasures, He in his lady's hands these lines entreasures.
Upon Bellama's walking in the garden, and with him.
My teeming fancy strives, choice fair, to chain Eternity to time, that ne'er shall wane; And make those garden-minutes see the sun Entombed in darkness, and the earth unspun Ere they expire, that all succeeding times May know and tell the subject of these rhymes. Assist me, Flora, that I may with grace Worthy its honour, shadow forth that place 1180 Of spreading trees, sweet herbs, and fragrant flowers, Enriched with pleasing walks and shady bowers. Each twig, with amorous touch, embraced his mate, Like Bacchus' sacred tree his propping state; Or ivy, elm, that neither sun nor wind To his retirèd conclaves passage find. Within whose walls a half-night's darkness dwells, Which satyrs' growing palaces excels, Or anchorets' secluding hermitage. Here, like a common theatre or stage, 1190 Each spicèd child of earth, in summer robe And Iris' mantle, opes his closèd globe, Knows his appearing cue, and freely plays O' th' wished-for presence of your quick'ning rays. Such perfect vivifying influence Dwells in your looks, Light's chariot driven hence, That your sole presence can create a spring, From winter's frozen bands can loose each thing, From earth's entombing sepulchre can raise Each sleeping flow'r, to chant forth Maia's praise. 1200 This made amazement seize my mind to view Half-agèd winter bid so soon adieu To this Elysium of the pagans' joy. And Chloris, with her new-brush'd clothes so coy Before, and hardly to be won, come forth Crowned with the glory of her springing worth, To court our eyes, nay more, the bare-faced earth Covered with carpets green, befringèd round With smiling rosy trees, with glorious store Of daisies, suckles, cowslips, studded o'er. 1210 Like hunting vests of satonisco green, Embossed with gems by fawns and wood-nymphs' queen, Worn when the tushèd boar, bear, panting hart Th' unkennel, rouse, disfrank with nimble art. And, lest your spotless souls should suffer ill, Air's fleeting tuns crystalline streams distil, To wash the grassy-tufted tapestry Which whistling winds, with murm'rings, haste to dry. And ev'ry tender branch whereon you tread To make your tracing, pacing, moves its head. 1220 Alcinous' orchard, or that precious root Which bore old Atlas' daughters golden fruit; Th' Idalian mount where Cytherea strayed, Or that where Ceres' luckless daughter played Whenas the king of shades surprisèd her. Nor may the Roman's pride with this confer, For here all Maia's treasures are united Which do, which shall, or senses e'er delighted, Yet summered by your eye each flower does bud, Blossoms, sprouts, opens, blooms, and chews the cud. 1230 Your presence hearts them all. O be as kind As unto them to me; shoot through my rind. Shine through my heart with one, one smiling ray! So shall it open, blossom, sprout as they-- Spiced with the choicest sweets e'er Venus had, In all the postures of true service clad, Trimmed with the beauties of the richest spring. All fertile too, all store of fruit shall bring: This, choice affection; that, chaste loyalty; This, vows; that, service; and that, constancy, 1240 Made up into a nosegay, circled in With twists of love, which youth and virtue spin. Then, breath and ray, make and accept the posy And seal a contract 'twixt the lily and rosy.
* * * * *
Enspherèd thus with virgins, oft he would Tell pretty tales, fraught with conceited mirth, Discourse of foreign states sometimes unfold, (A sudden jest may give to laughter birth.) Thus to beguile the time, he oft would do, And unsuspected did his lady woo. 1250
Then privately sometimes with her would walk Along a pavèd way, where lofty trees Bore only witness of their am'rous talk, Plaiting their branchèd pride that none might see. And, lest quick envy should their dalliance spy, Themselves about the trees the brambles tie.
Here in soft whispers did he court her love, And strove by oath their loves to ratify. 'Madam,' says he, 'this reason may you move, That day and malice have too many eyes 1260 When my lips are sealed, and I attempt in vain To send the children of my teeming brain.
Not half so vigilant the dragon was, Which Colchos' treasure watch'd, as is your dame; So that they must through Argus headpiece pass Which seek here to enkindle Cupid's flame. I know your jealous matron does discover How my faint heart about your breast does hover.'
'Sir,' says Bellama, 'there is no such haste. Time will appoint our loves some fitter seasons, 1270 My father must ungirdle first my waist, Love will not be repelled by force, but reasons: And more, you know it is in vain to strive, Here's no escaping this monastic hive.
When as the third day's sun, three hours or more, Our zenith has behind him left, hither Return, and I will meet thee; not before'. 'My thoughts', quoth he, 'do in your absence wither, Pinched with the sharpest blasts cold winter breathes, But your, your looks, my heart with blossoms wreathes. 1280
That foolish glass, which measures time with sand, Enough of gravel has to meet a year. With lesser trouble I could Hermes' wand, Than the sad torture of your absence, bear: Change then those hours to minutes, days to day; If you say't shall be so time must obey.'
'Alas,' quoth she, 'my faith is not so strong, To think reality with language dwells, Nor can I think you count those minutes long When you're employèd with your beads and bells. 1290 Yet t' has the face of truth: I'll therefore try If time will pay such duty to mine eye.'
'These words have lent my body a new soul, And shot', quoth he, 'a fire through every vein; Doubt not your voice time's circle can control, And make the sun his hasty jennets rein. Nay more, methinks m' enlight'ned eyes discover 'Bout you the gods with veilèd bonnets hover.
I'm half-persuaded 'twas not blasphemy For me to say your nod can ravel Fate; 1300 Thaw into chaos this firm globe of dry; Beckon the planets; and their tow'rs unslate. Methinks I see the sun nailed to his sky, Unnath his car, and throw his whipstaff by.'
'Peace, peace,' quoth she, 'Albino! thou dost rave, Why dwells such language on thy wretching tongue? Wilt thou just vengeance force to dig thy grave? Think'st thou stern Fate will suffer such a wrong? Pinion thy words; let them not soar so high, Lest they should gash the clouds and ope the sky 1310
We must not play with sharps, nor kiss the flame, Dally with heaven, or upbraid the gods, Lest their just anger make their powers tame Such saucy scandals with their plagues and rods. Then wing no more Bellama's name, but let The pearl be callèd pearl, the jet but jet.
Go home in clouds, lest Envy see thy face; And come not till those minutes task the watch.' 'Madam,' says he, 'I'll bid them mend their pace. 'Tis just with lovers every hair to catch 1320 That dights occasion's brow, change date for date, Entrench sometimes upon the rights of Fate.
Yet your command shall stand, I'll not transgress, But watch the hand until it joint the hour, And all my paths with gloomy shades will dress, That undiscovered I may win this bow'r. May all the blessings which a lover's voice Breathes on his lady wait on you, my choice.'
Here did they meet to rivet fast their heart, Where not a breath their private joys disturb; 1330 They thought no eye a saucy ray durst dart, Or any voice had power their loves to curb. So credulous are lovers, and so fain To their conjectures would conclusum's chain.
But this bright sun of joy eclipsèd was, And pitchy clouds their glorious sky did smutch: Then Venus' joys were like to Venice glass, Poor glass-like toys that perish with a touch. A guardian's anger, or a parent's frown, Nips love's fresh blossoms and a wish uncrown. 1340
The jealous matron, from her tow'ring loft, O'erlooked th' ambitious trees which hemmed them in; O'erheard their vows, their sighs, and language soft; And saw how Cupid leapt from skin to skin, The traffic of their lips, and how thin balms Did glue and cement fast their melting palms.
When she perceived the progress of their love, Religious care empanelled straight a jury Of thoughts and plots, this stranger to remove, Soothèd with profit, and enflamed with fury, 1350 Ush'ring her language with a threat'ning frown, She asked her business with that shavèd crown.
Why was that sickly voice whose feeble gales Can raise no echoes, hand- and elbow-chat, Eye-dialogue's discourse, and wanton tales, That way of am'rousness and this, and that? 'Speak truth, Bellama, has thy heart, as voice, Decreed that youthful monk thine only choice?'
Bellama, startled at this sudden news, Yet did her answers all consist of noes; 1360 But yet, alas! her blood observed the cues, And called by guilt, her lily banks o'erflows: So that, though she with settled vows denied, Yet to the eye her blushes guilty cried.
When as the matron's busy eyes had read Love on her cheeks in bloody letters writ, She asked her why blind folly thus had led Her reason 'gainst religion, state, or wit? Or, if she needs must love, why did she scowl Upon state-satins, and embrace a cowl? 1370
Bellama to excuses tuned her air, Framing pretences for her amorous faith, But yet, alas! such was Pazzella's care, From her excuses she withheld her faith. And, with a voice shrill and as fierce as thunder, Sware she would knap their silly loves in sunder.
Those scarlet gowns which doom offenders' death, Or the proscriptions of the Roman state, Had not the tithe of that affrighting breath, Although they weak'ned hell and threat'ned Fate, 1380 As had these words which feeble love did shiver, Snap his weak strings, and crack his emptied quiver.
But, all this while, Albino sate with pleasure, And on his trencher joy and mirth attend; Nor to delight will he allow a measure, As at one sitting he his stock would spend. Nay, if he slept, he dreamed of naught but rings, Gloves, fans, masks, monkeys, and such pretty things.
And when the time of his approach approached, His eye did travel with the dial's hand, 1390 Then started up to see Don Phoebus coached, Bade him make haste and at that minute stand, That this blest day may count more moments' flight Than could the stout Alcides' genial night.
But oft we see before a sudden dash, The sun salutes the earth with hottest gleams: So here, before misfortune's harshest lash, Joy on Albino shot his choicest beams; That every thought was crownèd with a star, And rid with Venus in her silver car. 1400
Rose out o' th' vault with love and hope adust, And in conceit fed on his future sweet, Thinking what most may please, not what's most just. And with what phrase he should his lady greet: Vowing, in this full heat of lust and pride, To try how fast Bellama's girdle's tied.
But as our alchemists do study much, Spend all their wits and wealth to find that stone Which baser metals doth engold with touch, (As he which once did awe the Phrygian throne) 1410 And when they long have dreamèd of a mass, Their silver's turned to tin, their gold to brass.
Just so our amorist, stuffed full with hope, Came to this walk for his expected treasure, The crystal casements of his soul did ope To let in th' object of his joy and pleasure: But when he thought t' have found his lovely lass, His love was lady-smocks, his lady grass.
He searched with stricter care each bush and bow'r, Than did the fairy king and Hob his man; 1420 Throwing his eyes into each branchèd tow'r, And midst the sharp'ned pikes of brambles ran. Pricked forward with desire, enraged with spite, And venteth here what love and hate indite.
Upon his Bellama using and forsaking the Walk.
When, walking, I sent forth my watchful eyes To fetch in objects, like Bellona's spies, Along this swelling way which chequered was With smooth-faced pebbles, not with pikèd grass, Bellama paced, whose only pacing set Upon the pavèd walk a coronet 1430 Of Flora's pride--carnations, tulips, lilies, Pansies, pinks, roses, daffadowndillies. Nay more, methought, I saw the rubbish way Sapphires, pearls, rubies, onyx-stones, outray. The very channel, proud of her blest weight, Swelled up with pride unto the ridge's height, To kiss her feet, and made the way an alley. With this choice fair mine eyes (ah!) once did dally, Nature's epitome, whose curious brow Was like a smoothèd mount of bleachèd snow, 1440 At whose clear foot Nature divine did place Two diamonds, which did enlighten all her face. So that 'twas like those orbs wherein do stray The planet-lamps, or Cupid's sucking way; And from these gems such silver rays were sent Which hatchèd o'er her light accoutrement. So that dull fancies would have thought she had In cambric, holland, or pure lawn, been clad. Nay, I at first thought it had Cynthia bin Deck'd in her brother's sunshine ermelin. 1450 She shot such glorious beams: but now, alas! She's gone, she's fled, and lo! the mourning grass Is hayed already, and th' ungemmed stone At feathers catch to fly where she is gone. The branchèd beech, the oak, and tow'ring ash, Bend both their brows and boughs my face to lash. The angry thorns my hands, though armèd, scratch, And testy brambles at my vestures catch (Which was before the curse of human sin, But now, by her, outsmelled the eglantine), 1460 I, wonder-strucken, asked a holy thistle, Which with his sharp'ned pikes began to bristle, (But know at first 'twas but an homely weed, Her presence made it holy, not its seed) Why all with ireful looks thus threat'ned me? 'It is supposed, Bellama fair,' quoth he, 'The goddess of this walk was forced by you To this benighted path to bid adieu.' 'Alas!' quoth I (meanwhile the thistle paus'd), 'Their wrath is undeserved, I never caused 1470 By any ill demeans that saint to leave This place, and widow every branch and greave. Unto your testates I myself refer, How choicely I have ever honoured her, Have paid my tribute-compliments, and gave Respects as much as due, or she, would have. But people (worse than those that people stews) Whose only joy consists in telling news, Or Pazzell' else with her envenomed lips, Your glory and my comfort do eclipse, 1480 'Tis them they ought to chide, for only they Compel her to forsake this gloomy way. Yet spite of all disasters, fate, and hell, Albino's heart shall with Bellama dwell: And though chill winter nip both you and me, We shall, ere long, our suns and summers see.'
* * * * *
This said, he straight forsook his silent grove, Trimming his looks which passion did untrim, And hastes to find the object of his love. But such an eye the matron cast on him, 1490 That fury on her looks did seem to dwell, And envy to her face transplanted hell.
Heartless Albino with much pain did view How on her looks madness and anger ranged, And on Bellam' he private glances threw To bring him word if that she stood unchanged, If she continued square, despite of them, Whose jealous eyes did all their actions hem.
Bellama knew the language of his eye, But could not give respect to Cupid's law, 1500 For Piazella to her eyes did tie A constant watch, which kept her eyes in awe: That she was forced to peep within her veil, For there the matron did her eyes enjail.
The ragged crew, which are enwrapt in chains Through grates, more freedom have of sight than she, Which in them both produced such griefs and pains Too sharp and loud to be expressed by me. Albino now does judge his absence better, And chose a proxy to present a letter. 1510
One of his order (deemed a trusty friend Endeared to him by favours, oath, and vow), Was his Talthibius, ordained to send To her whose beauty makes stiff Atlas bow. The monk embraced the office, and did swear, By all our scarlet oaths, faith, truth, and care.
Albino now to every Santo prays, And for success his hands with zeal does rear, Courting his lady in some Irish lays, And robbed his finger of its golden sphere. 1520 En-nealed I live in hope, and sure grief's waves, If anchorless, had been t'is wishes graves.
To mee's faire Metres, Vandebrad Isile of te fine towne of Vaschester.
Ick predee metres be not coy, But intertaune mee's love vit joy: For me be not a snottee boy.
Vat tough me russell not in silke, And keep mee's servaunts vit capes ilke, Yet me be not a sop of milke.
Vat tough me vil not stautly stret, And ilke de Peacock poudely jet; 1530 Yet me be vary pruce and neat.
Vat tough me vil not lye vit pimpes, And pend me's coyne on light-teale shrimpes, Yet me can hug, busse prettee nymphes.
Vat tough me ha ne Hauke ne Hound, And vil not suare begot, idzound, Yet faith mee's frolique, plumpe and sound.
Vat tough me cannot Maudam say, And vit ty Fan an Monkee play, Yet me con flatter vel as thay. 1540
Vat tough me connot honour tee Vit titles laudee C or D, Yet tou sault a good Metress bee.
Vat tough, vat tough, Ick say, vat tough, Ick say, udsnigs, in feck I trough, Yet Ick drive not te Caurt and Plough.
Then pretee, pretee, buxome faire, Let me not launguish in despaire, But say me's sutes all gaunted are.
Let ne mee's Irish borrell speach, 1550 In tyne affection mauke o breach, For me con better say so teach.
And me can be as blyth and free As auny push or saunten hee, Ten say, and ved, and bed vit me.
Tyne faytfull friend and good servaune, Patrick Applous, te fine, te bave, te gallaun Irish-mon.
Upon the Ring sent to his Bellama.
Cupid oft-times disdains to dwell In lofty palace, but does shell Himself in straw-thatched roof, and choose For novel a September rose Before a diamond to present, 1560 Or time in silver ceilings pent; Great gifts enforce, but small ones woo, And forced respects will never do. He questions his own worth that fears To whisper in his mistress' ears With smallest gifts, since true worth hates A boon which for him loudly prates, And female worths may justly slight Those that but with gilt swords dare fight. These make me send this little ring 1570 (An emblem of a greater thing), Tis bruised--hence representeth true My heart, bruised, bent, and bowed for you. Anatomists conclude by art A vein is stretchèd to the heart Fro' th' smallest finger of the left; From vein and finger comes this gift: Hence merits better, since we find Many send presents, few their mind.
Upon the Posy I live in hope.
'Tis hope that makes me live, and when 1580 My hope's transferred to other men, Divorced from me, health cannot give A strength to make my rent heart live. A rented heart 'tis truly called, For love of virtues you enthralled, Tenant at will to you, and pays Large rents of sighs each hour and days. But to what number they amount, Puzzles arithmetic to count. Then, courteous landlady, be please 1590 To seal my heart a lifelong lease. Else ev'ry slight and frown of yours Will turn your tenant out of doors. Yet hope persuades me not to doubt My heart shall not be turnèd out. For you have promisèd to come And live with it, or exchange home; So I be landlord unto thine, And you be landlady to mine. Say 'Aye' to this, and only Fate 1600 Shall change the tenor of our state.
* * * * *
Bardino from the coven posts with speed Unto Albino's only polar star, Loaden with blessings, and beware take heed As the great grandame's son prepared for war, Or as a widow's son, whose only joy Hangs on the nuptials of her lusty boy.
Like as a pilot to some floating keel When as the bustlers from old Æol's cave On Neptune's furrowed back make it to reel, 1610 And at his death shoot billow after wave: So tossed in seas of grief Albino tied His love's choice pinnace to Bardino's guide.
But Bishop-Guts, tun-bellied, all-paunched friar, In sight of Lesbia's tow'rs, split his fair galley, Proved a dissembling and perfidious liar; From his foul breast deceit and hate did sally. The seeds of every sin in him did bud, Nothing did wither but this one thing, Good.
For to win credit with the Lady-mother, 1620 And raise a liking of himself in her, He proved a traitor to his abbey-brother, With abbotess in private does confer, And unto her imparts his amorous news, She, not Bellam', his vowèd service views.
But to Albino he returned with faith (Yet 'twas an oath), 'I importuned thy saint, Pressed her t' unlock thy secrets: but she saith "What purblind folly does thy heart attaint? Thou know'st what offers I refused, and thou'll 1630 Confine my love unto a starvèd cowl!"
'Away flings she, and leaves me disconsolate, Nor after deigned to me a wonted look: Now is Albino pinched with cruel Fate. Which is the better, Cupid, or thy book? Hadst viewed her beauty with a scornful eye Thou hadst not tasted of her pride and fie.
Hapless Albin', and hapless so much more Because Albin', rest quiet with thy lot; If Nilus overflow his sandy floor, 1640 Above twelve cubits, it procures a rot. When at too high a pitch affections tow'r, Fate with misfortunes oft their hopes doth sour.
Wound not the harmless air with mournful hoots, Steer not 'gainst Volga's stream thy feeble keel, Be not like him who 'gainst a whirlwind shoots, Or like the cockatrice in pecking steel; For acts, 'gainst Nature wrought, despite do gain, And love o'erlooking Fortune, reaps disdain.'
But let us see what strange effect this news 1650 Writes in his breast (disaster's fatal book), What stronger plot his working fancy brews If's lofty thoughts be at this answer shook-- Alas! they are, so weak a thing is man, Crash'd into atoms with a slighting fan.
His blood retires unto his throbbing heart, His wannèd cheeks with lawn were overspread, An aspen-trembling loos'ned every part, His spirits fainted and his vitals fled, And his quick heart with such strong motions beated 1660 That it, though chilled with fear, his body heated.
Ent'ring his chamber, strewèd o'er with rue, He leaned his head upon his swelling pillow, And, sighing, cried 'Bellama! is this true? Must I be doomèd to the barren willow? I thought, exempted from my pedant's art, I should no more have felt the willow's smart.
Thy eyes spake love: and every glance you sent Writ on my heart, "Albino is approv'd"; Whensoe'er my eyes unto thy feature went, 1670 And met with thine, they brought me word "You lov'd", Then can Bellama not Bellama be? She may Bellama be, but not to me.
Blest heavens! how have men deserved your ire, That made you frame this curse, this thing called Woman, So comely and so useful, giving fire To sear us men and yet disdain to know man? Why on their faces have you placed such charms, To make us court with sighs the worst of harms.'
Pandora's box of woes was openèd then, 1680 When first they took in hand to make a woman, And all the Furies joined to torture men; Yet women first were rare, but now grown common, And mischiefs high, when once they common grow Entomb great states, and commons overthrow.
Thou Love (what should I call thee?) dost entice, Nay check'st rebellion in the awful gods; Women thy weapons are, of such high price, That beat with them they humbly kiss the rods. No life, no joy, no sweet, without a lass; 1690 And yet no sweet nor joy since woman was.
Our eyes do ne'er mistake the day for night, Nor can the pale-hewed pinks for roses pass, But when on women's colours they do light. Then (bribed) they look as through a painted glass, So that what women are we never see But what we wish and fancy them to be.
'Mongst thousand virgins which do suck this air, I never knew but one, but one--one good; Whom I supposèd full as good as fair, 1700 And she was making e'er Deucalion's flood: But she--alas! what should I say?--but she Is woe to man, a woman unto me.'
Thus in his height'ned fury he condemns Both Fate and Fortune, honour, wealth, and worth, Raileth on virgins and their beauteous gems, And curseth Nature that did bring her forth, But, above all, his sharp incensèd muse In wrathful odes Don Cupid does accuse.
An invective against Cupid.
Thou Love, if thou wilt suffer this, be blind, 1710 Deaf, dumb, and stupid, and unwisely kind More unto slights than merits, and reward Respects and negligence with same regard. If satins difference and maids adorn Than Nature has with beauty, more with scorn, That they must fligger, scoff, deride, and jeer, Appoint their servants certain hours t' appear, Afford by number kisses, sights by tale, Command a certain distance, and impale Love's game from taste or touch, and, if at all 1720 Men do transgress, steep all their words in gall, Check but the least presumption, and with frowns Strike as much terror unto us as crowns-- Love, if thou'lt suffer this, and wink at them, Make us esteem a pebble for a gem, Stoop, cringe, adore, sue, flatter, and admire, And in our bosoms teen'st thy amorous fire-- May all the haggish Furies soundly lash And with their snaky whips thy sinews gash! May all the tortures Hell encloseth fall 1730 On thee, if not enough, and more than all. But we--we men, will be no more thy slaves And women's too: we'll pack unto our graves: And in our silent beds of earth will court The slender-waisted worms, and with them sport, Dally, hug, toy, and vow their wimbling buss Is full as sweet as women's was to us. Enwalled with dust we'll lie: till Nature shall Perceive thy malice, Cupid, and her fall, And woo's, with sighs and tears in loving guise, 1740 For a replantage of the world, to rise, Then shall our wills ungod thee and thy mother, And Cupids be ourselves one to another. Then in thy temples shall no voice be heard, But screech-owls, dors, and daws; no altar reared Whereon to sacrifice true lovers' hearts, Scalded with sighs, and gallèd with thy darts. For we ourselves ourselves will temples call, And make our bosoms altars, whereon shall From fourteen to fourscore the females fairs 1750 Burn frankincense of love with sighs and prayers: And change the custom so that maidens then Shall court, admire, adore, and woo us men.
* * * * *
This said, he strove t' unbillow all with slumbers, But th' more he strove to rest less rest he takes. His watchful thoughts each tattling minute numbers, Bellama's wakening beauty him awakes. And having purchased sleep, though they were dim, Bellama's beauty darted rays at him.
Then, starting up her substance fair to catch, 1760 He lost the shadow, and did rave again: 'Can grovelling brambles lofty cedars scratch? Or waddling ducks o'ertop the tow'ring crane? Yet virtues, imped with person, reach a sky, And to an higher pitch than Fortune fly.
There is a tree (as our historians write), Alpina hight, of fair and glorious glee, With branches fine and glorious blossoms dight But never tasted by the witty bee, Fearing death lodgeth there; and this he fears 1770 'Cause to the eye so glorious it appears.
Not much unlike to these our women are, Whom Nature has in dainty colours dressed; And of our women likest are the fair, For with much beauty virtues seldom rest. Would Jove all women I had judged to be Alpina-like, or, if not all, yet she!
The queen of beauty strumpet was to Mars, Officious bawd unto lascivious Jove, A patroness of those that ride in cars, 1780 And in her court nor virtue reigns nor love: But lust and vanity, with wily trains, That he repentance buys which beauty gains.
Sh'as many trulls, like Menelaus' wife, And she such light-skirt things for chaste ones sells; With whom dissembling and deceits are rife, Smiles, tears, sighs, looks, with such enchanting spells. If they but bend their brows and shoot out frowns, They crack a sceptre and distemple crowns.
Yet stay: but by the sour we know not sweet, 1790 White's silver hue adjoined to black shines best, How should we know our hands but by our feet? Health's only prized when sickness doth arrest. This principle, perhaps, Bellama holds: Summer is known by winter's chilling colds.
Perchance Bellama did not breath that woe, Which by Bardino was conveyed to me, Nor dwelt upon her lips that scornful "No": 'Twas only forgèd by her dame and he. But--why should suspicion steal into my breast? 1800 Suspect a friend, deceit with friendship rest?
No: Phaeton, base son to Day's bright blaze, Daring his chariot, felt Jove's thunder fire. Astronomers, whilst on the stars they gaze, Oft-times do sink into the dirty mire. Only the eagle, without purblind damps, Can fix his eyes upon the prince of lamps.
The son of Daedalus soared up so high, That Phoebus plucked his waxen jointed wings, It was her pride checked my ambitious eye. 1810 True love, to hatred changed by slights, has stings. I'll write invectives: no! I'll only try What virtue dwells in slighting poesie.'
To his Bellama slighting him.
I'll bore the heavens, pierce the clouds a vein, Make them full torrents weep of brackish rain, To second my laments; methinks the sun, Knowing my clue is ravelled and undone, That my Bellama slights, should, vexed, resign T' his sister's chariot his ecliptic line. Bid Phoebe run horn-mad, and loudly cry, 1820 Froth, howl, as in a fit of lunacy, Nay, throw a poison on Endymion's lips, Threaten to drown the world, the sun eclipse. Keep the stars order still? or can they stir And not digress? Know they how not to err? Sure, no: I saw bright Paphos snuff her lamp, Yet vowed to quench it with eternal damp, Hurl all away, if that her servant's love Be had in no regard, and awful Jove Hurry along the milky way to find 1830 That sniffling deity, that wingèd blind-- And vowed to clip his wings as short as monks Their stubbed beards more short than panèd trunks, Unless he shot a dart with more than speed, To make Bellama's heart affections bleed. Bold ocean foams with spite, his neb-tides roar, His billows top and top-mast high do soar. Nature herself is sullen, keeps her bed, And will not rise so much as dress her head: Regardless of the seasons, will not see 1840 Loud winds deplume the bush and tow'ring tree. The ploughman furrows earth, sows seed i' th' tides, But nature weeps for me, his pains derides. Copernicus his tenet's verified, The massy globe does 'bout its centre ride. All things disranked, nothing observes its state, Change time and tide, or post or antedate. But thou, Bellam', art deaf to me and blind, Steel'st thine affections, flint'st thy hardenèd mind, And strik'st fire thence t' inflame my tinder heart, 1850 Thou oil'st the flame, but I endure the smart. How oft have I, when others' eyes have slept, Like sentinels to armies, watchings kept! And when the thought o' th' saints' thrice blissful home Which (ah! too seldom) 'mongst my thoughts did come, Then, spite of goodness, blessed E was lost And you the haven of me tempest-tost. Have I made envious art admire thy worth, Touched the Ela of praise t' emblazon 't forth? Bid sleep goodnight, quiet and rest adieu, 1860 Made myself no self to entitle you? And, after this sad purgatory, must My hopes be laid i' th' dust for want of dust? Then know, Bellama, since thou aim'st at wealth Where Fortune has bestowed her largest dealth, That wealth may puff a clod of earth like leaven, But virtuous want alone ensouleth heaven. Know more, I scorned thy fortune: 'twas thyself I courted, not thy slight-adored pelf, And had not mortals' curse blessed thee, and I 1870 Had swelled with honour and nobility, My love, once fixed on virtue, parents' hate In both might shake, but ne'er evert love's state. I aim at virtue's bliss, and if I find The heart and bosom good, I slight the rind. But since, Bellama, thou regard'st not me, I scorn to cringe, adore, and flatter thee. For he that rules his thoughts has a nobler soul Than he that awes the world from pole to pole. Thus, fair, adieu! with love these measures scan, 1880 And know my love was but a fit of man.
* * * * *
We'll leave Albino in this frantic mood, And view Bellama, pargèd o'er with fear, Asking a member of her sisterhood (For love and virtues unto her most dear), Amongst their sportings, and their chaste delights, Wherefore Albino did refrain their sights.
Barraba (her the font those letters gave) Said, 'I presume I rightly guess the cause'. Bellama urged (thanks to the purblind knave), 1890 'Twas thus', quoth she--yet made a two day's pause. At length, with importunings overcome, She told her why Albino kept at home.
'Bardino did deceive his trust', quoth she, 'Told all, yet sung another song to him: His love came lapped in paper unto thee, He with quaint words did his affections limn, Vowed service: but Bardino (ah the shame!) Unclasped his secrets to our jealous dame.'
'Am I an infidel? or dare I tie', 1900 Quoth fair Bellama 'unto this belief? Shall just revenge in my soft bosom die? And shall I melt my heart with secret grief? I'll scold with him.' Says chaste Barraba, 'No, For by that others will your wishes know.'
What she should do (plung'd in this depth of woe) Bellama knew not, nor durst counsel ask: More dangers wait her, if she send or go, Than if she underwent Alcides' task. Distracted were her thoughts in silence tied, 1910 Till love and honour buzzled, then she cried,
'Ah! false Bardino, shame of holy orders! Whither, ah! whither didst thou send thy troth? To be grand factor in the frozen borders For them whose decks do make old ocean froth? And truthless thou, locked in this gloomy cell, Plott'st baseness to enlarge the crown of hell.
Unjust Bardin', unworthy of a cope, Or (whose employments holy) other vest, Didst [thou], oh didst thy conscience scour with soap, 1920 And washed all faith from off thy glazèd breast? And, faithless, thou esteemest less of vow Than clownish whistlers which do steer the plough.
Where didst encage thine eyes? durst thou behold (Acting this crime) the castle of the stars? How stopp'st thine ears? didst hear the heavens scold, And chide in wind and thunder threat'ning wars? Durst touch the hallowed water, spittle, salt, The cross or pax, and yet attempt this fault?
Those sacred bagnios, wherein pagans wash 1930 Their sullied limbs for their mosquea's door, The pottage-penance and repentant lash, Their hair-cloth shirt, skin-shoes, and thousand more; Th' arch-vicar's pardon, and the purging flame Can ne'er absolve thy crime or clear thy fame.
Pack then from human eyes, and shroud thy sin, Under the curtains of eternal night; Perfidiousness does make thee near of kin To hell's black fiends, with robes of horror dight. Pack, pack, begone, the ferryman does stay 1940 To waft thy paunch o'er th' Acherontic bay.
But peace, Bellama, dost thou think it fit To value at so mean a price thy pearl? Applaud thyself, count it a point of wit To take a cowlist and refuse an earl. The world shall be uncentred, ere 't be said Beauty takes lodging in an humble maid.
What then? shall every fashion fashion me, As in religion by the church's eye, So by the world's must I in loving see? 1950 No, I the world's supremacy deny. Hence with those loves which profit only measures, I hate that heart which only shoots at treasures.
The Cyprian goddess is not fed with ploughs, Nor Cupid's arrow guided is with acres. Vulcan permitted was to shake the boughs, But Mars suck'd in the sweets without partakers. Youth, youth pursues; for with autumnal looks Cupid does seldom bait his eighteen hooks.
Who in pleuretic passions does deny 1960 To open veins, to shut death out o' th' doors? Who will not in sharp fevers Galen try, To weaken humours, and unstop the pores? The quickest eye does want the quick'ning sun, And to the sea the drilling cadents run.
Who, when Sir Cupid enters at the eye, With pride and coy disdain shuts comfort forth? I'll make ambition stoop now, love, says I, And satin thoughts shall veil to tammy worth: By lovely maids the lovely lovèd are, 1970 And by the fair most favoured are the fair.'
Thus did she rage, her resolution love; Which spite of all disasters she will harbour, Hoping blest fate will so propitious prove, T' enclose her monk and her in Cupid's arbour: But leave her surfeiting with hope, and view When to monastic vows she'll bid adieu.
Till Cynthia twice twelve times repairèd had Her silver horns, she was encloistered here: When some kind planet moved her loving dad 1980 To fetch her thence his frosted age to cheer, Hence, virgin vow, away black vestments hurled, Bellama's born again into the world.
He with his lady mounted on his jen- Net to the nunnery with haste does ride, Accompanied with troops of harnessed men And vowed a siege if Piazzell' denied, To batter down the holy walls with guns, And fright the hag with all her simp'ring nuns.
He in an ambush placed his iron crew, 1990 Bade them prepare when as the trump did call, Dismounting then the janitor him knew And led the lordly couple through the hall, Parlours, and chambers, to the conclave where The pious nuns their branchèd lilies rear.
Bellama craved a blessing, they it gave; Then Rivelezzo he did softly ask If the monastic roof should be her grave? If now she grievèd for Don Fuco's task? If, after two years' bondage, now she would 2000 Answer more kindly to the voice of gold?
'My lord,' quoth she, with humble knee and voice. 'I am not tired with my nicer vow, Nor hate I Hymen, might my eyes make choice, Ask when I'll marry, and I'll answer now.' 'A man', quoth he, 'for face and virtue choose, And on mine honour I will not refuse.'
Pazzella fearing that their whisp'ring would Presage no good unto her huffing waste, Broke off their parle; and Rivelezzo told 2010 That his fair daughter zealous was and chaste: And that her mind no evil did attaint, 'She almost has attained to be a saint.
Such high-prized comforts, joys, rewards, and glory Our happy walls enseal and curtain in, That we alone survive: all praise and story Are called hell's tortures and the whips of sin. The local motion of our soul's in heaven, We hate blind Turkism and the Jewish leaven.'
'Madam,' quoth Don, 'you need no advocate, 2020 Since you yourself can plead your cause so well; But that my sex does interdict this state, What your words might effect I cannot tell. But sure it does unscrew a virgin's heart, To hear of love, and never feel his dart.'
'Madam, forsooth,' quoth Lady Arda, 'I Ne'er found such comfort i' th' innupted life, Nor think the blessings of virginity Can equal the contentments of a wife. My voice should not assent unto her vow 2030 To wreath with willow sprigs her melting brow.'
Quoth Piazzella, 'I am grievèd sore To hear such scandals thrown upon our vow, To hear Diana, whom all ought t' adore And her chaste votaries depravèd now. I know not what contents attend a wife But sure they equal not th' innupted life.
Again, your honours you do much impeach To force your daughter from this happy state; 'Twixt her and happiness you make a breach, 2040 And pull upon your heads a cursèd fate. Heavens unbuckle will their clouds of rain, Death or diseases, if you part our train.
The body's better than the sheathing skin, And ought with greater care to be maintained; The guest is far more worthy than the inn, And ought with greater study to be trained. The soul mounts heaven, when earth's agèd womb The skeleton (her issue) does entomb.'
'Away with arguments, in vain you plead; 2050 Our vow', quoth they, 'locked not her girdle ever.' 'I', quoth Pazzella, 'do abjure the tede: Hymen shall ne'er my holy orders sever. But spite of all the tricks the world does nurse, I'll keep my virgins from the bridal curse.'
Without demurs, Don Rivelezzo then With shrill-voiced trumpet made an echo speak; Straight was the house environèd with men, Which with their leaden globes an entrance break. The air was frighted with the powder-thunder, 2060 The bellowing noise did split the rocks in sunder.
Affrighted thus, the matron bid them gang, And to Bellama gave a sad adieu; Yet in her heart she griped with Envy's fang, And o'er her looks a veil of sorrow drew. The joyful parents, having got their daughter, Gave a farewell unto the house with laughter.
Leaving the coach and cloister, we'll take part With poor Albino in his woe and grief, Who, seeing Fortune his designs did thwart, 2070 And Neptune's grandchild brought him no relief, Did think to win her presence in disguise: He that but one way tries is hardly wise.
He plotted to invest himself with robe Might speak him nobly born, and gallant heir To some vast measures of this wealthy globe, Seated aloft in honour's oval chair-- Procure him then some store of lacèd capes To wait on him with servile garbs and shapes.
Pretending to be one o'th' Spanish court, 2080 Giving strange accents to our modern speech, And hither came his wand'ring mind to sport, But that he faces lacked to tune each breach. Besides he knew the matron's care was such, She love untwisted in the eye or touch.
Then a new project did he get on's brain, And sheared the downy moss from his smooth chin, Intending to be one o' th' virgin-train, Like Jupiter, husked in a female skin: But that he feared religion could not bridle 2090 His active heat 'twixt linen to be idle.
He thought his breaking voice would him betray (Unless he said he ever had a cold), He feared the curtsey and the female play, Or that his face would make him seem too old. But above all he fear'd he should not lock His legs within the compass of a smock.
In costly vestures he would be arrayed Of high descent, and fearing lest his sire Would force him to an hated pillow, strayed 2100 With them to teen the holy vestal fire. He would be nobly born, not out of pride, But to be sheeted by Bellama's side.
He had no treasure, but would promise fair, That, settled there, he should be fed in state, Hoping to win the porter with kind air, That with Bellama he might thread the gate. He all would venture: and upon this plot Would place his fortunes, and the Gordian knot.
In such accoutrement he veilèd was, 2110 That to himself Albino was not known. He lookèd for Albino's face i' th' glass; But nothing of himself t' himself was shown. Each way a maid, enriched with special grace, As though he had unflow'r'd Adonis' face.
He styl'd himself Felice, only child, To him who at that time was Folco's duke; And was so like to her whom he was styled That she could scarcely say 'twas not her look. For what's of Issa and her picture writ 2120 Was found in them, they tasked the poet's wit.
Unto this virgin-cage she fast did pace, And, knocking at the gate, the porter came, Who, seeing riches on her back and face, With humble voice desired to know her name. 'My name (good friend),' quoth she, 'Felice is, I come to taste your choice monastic bliss.'
'Madam,' Avaro said, 'our rubbish stone With cement join'd shall precious straight be made, In that they shall ensphere so fair an one.' 2130 Felice, smiling at the porter, said, 'Hath time with iron jaws eat out this part Which now these masons do repair by art?'
And truth it was, Felice, Folco's heir, Flying the disaster of an hated tede, Couched in disguises at a cottage bare (But how? when? where? task not my amorous lede). So that Pazzella's faith writ on her brow The noble treasures of Felice's vow.
'Not time it was, but an unhappy hour' 2140 The porter said 'we had a virtuous fair, Daughter unto a man of mighty power, So like yourself I think you sisters are,' (How largely flatt'ry has dispersed its song That it does oil and smooth a porter's tongue!)
'Bellama hight by her uncourteous sire, Fetched hence, who, when my lady did deny, Begirt our holy walls with sulphur-fire, And summoned harnessed men which close did lie. They with their leaden worlds at us did play 2150 And frighted (as you see) these stones away.'
Felice, knowing that her adamant, Th' impulsive cause of this her virgin-vow, Was vanished thence, and gleams of joy did want And wanning sorrow revelled on her brow. Scarce could she speak and every jointing trembled, Yet feared the porter, and her fear dissembled.
Pazzella and the virgins her esteemed, Seeing her feature and unequalled grace, Before they knew his parentage or deemed 2160 He was descended from high Folco's race. But, knowing that, their joys did swell so high, That grief for sorrow slinked aside to cry.
But ere the next day's sun to let out day Night's ebon box unlocked, she did not brook To hear their private whispers, talk, and pray, Erect the host, and kiss a gilded book. For, her, Bellama has possessèd solely, So that their water could not make her holy.
Instead of 'Virgin-mother' she would say, 2170 'My dearest lady, hear my sad complaint.' Nor to she-saints would she devoutly pray, 'Cause none but her Bellama was a saint. Unto Lorretta, as Bellam', she swears: And calls their holy water but her tears.
She wond'red oft how her Bellama did Two years continue in this hated cell; And in her thoughts she oftentimes her chid, For dwelling where but formal good does dwell, Since in her absence she could scarce abide 2180 To sojourn here a double eventide.
Her brains acquainted was no whit with sloth, But plotted how she might escape that jail: And to this end she vowed her virgin-oath Should for her quick returning put in bail; She thought her breach of virgin-oath no sin Because she only wore the formal skin.
She missed, in ransacking her cabinet, A precious jewel, far exceeding rare, Which on her brow the lady duchess set, 2190 As a true pledge of her indulgent care: Far richer than that pearl which Egypt's queen Quaffed to her Mark, dissolved in liquor keen.
But for all this a curious fit of man Did force her, for assay, to enter in To see if fasting did their rosies wan, Or folly led not in the Paphian sin, Thinking her wit could manumise her straight From that lank cloister by some nimble sleight.
This she pretended to have lost as she 2200 (Fainted with fears, and with her travels tired) In the cool shade of a well-hairèd tree Threw water on her joints with labour fired. For heavens parch the air with hotter rays When with his flaming tongue the dogstar bays.
'Madam,' quoth she, with feignèd tears and sigh, 'Grant me your licence to go seek my gem, The place of my reposure is but nigh'; Swore by those fires that did enlighten them, By her virginity and virgin-vow, 2210 Return ere time could pace a triple now.
Quoth Piazella, 'I will send a maid To seek your jewel out with studied care, Direct her to the shade wherein you stayed, For you forbidden are the common air. Our gardens, beautified with Maya's glee, Your farthest journey must and ought to be.'
She urged again, but all in vain she asked; The prioress remembered still the earl, And feared Felice his departure masked, 2220 Under pretence of seeking for a pearl. And more suspicious thoughts unto her came 'Cause she so often kissed Bellama's name.
She, seeing that this plot did want a stamp, To make it current pass like lawful coins, Feared her departure from this lanky camp, And vowed to try the virgin's skill at foins. Yet, ere she would attempt that amorous play, She would attempt escapes some other way.
She viewed the casements, and did boldly wrench, 2230 With courage masculine, the squarèd bars: But they did scorn the vigour of a wench, Like sturdy oaks which slight the windy jars. Nay more, deep waters did begirt them round, That from the glass he could not see the ground.
Then on the porter did she kindly smile, And by full tale gave free respects to him; Thinking to gull Avaro by this wile, Joinèd with language oiled, perfumed, and trim, Quoth she, 'Thy trust, and skill I must employ 2240 And for thy pains thou shalt have treasures, boy.'
The greedy porter, like a goshawk, seized With griping talons on this pheasant cock, 'Madam', says he, 'my skill is not diseased, Nor dwells dissembling with the honest frock. Disclose your secrets, and be sure if man Can do you service, then Avaro can.'
Felice then, as prologue to her suit, Gave him a purse full fraught with pseudo-gold; Told him her bounty brought no worser fruit 2250 If in th' achievement he'd be true and bold. 'Thou must, some evening, let me pass the gates And straggle half a mile to gather dates.'
'Madam, I'll do 't: it is a small request, Since you do merit better at my hand. If fortune be propitious to my best. You on the common shore this night I'll land My hands have eyes and only what they see Will they believe--give me my minted fee.'
Felice then plucked out a silken purse, 2260 Great, and as musical as th' other was, Pretending it was stuffed with metal curse, When 't only was with circled ragges of glass; Which purposely she did with di'monds cut, To gull the porter's hopes and fill his gut.
'Heavens augment your store, madam,' quoth he, 'I'll wait for you at the middle age of night; Come to my lodge and softly call for me.' This handsome cheat Felice did delight. To cozen the deceivers is no fraud, 2270 To use a pimp, and cheat a rusty bawd.
She scarcely knew what letters spellèd grief, For all her thoughts with regal crowns were wreathed, Yet 'mongst them all Bellama ruled as chief. At time of rest her body she unsheathed, And housed within the linen walls her limbs, Till night and sleep did their quick tapers dim.
Avaro (when day's sister's misty fog Had poppèd out Apollo's searching eye, And gen'ral silence human tongues did clog 2280 Locking all senses up with lethargy) Stepp'd to his purses, and began to think How he should order his belovèd chink.
He'd hang his lodge with arras weaved with gold That his successor there might sleep in state, Or else if some revenues would be sold He'd give them Darwey, bought at any rate That all the nuns with prayers and holy names Might fetch his soul from out the purging flames.
'I'll mend highways, or hospitals repair, 2290 Else build a college, and endow 't with mines.' Thus did he build his castles in the air For all's not cash that jingles, gold that shines; His glassy coin [must] leap out of the mint Ere on his brow the stamp did current print.
Thus was he gull'd, as once a king of France Paid a French monsieur for a prancing steed-- Gave him a purse whose richness did enhance Th' enclosèd gem, supposed a noble meed, But when for golden mountains he did gape, 2300 He oped the purse, and only found a rape.
'Oh! what full anger redded o'er his looks! What tides of rage and fury swelled his spleen! He curseth her with candles, bells, and books; And vowed ere long on her to wreak his teen. 'Ah me!' quoth he, 'such brittle things are lasses Which one poor letter changeth unto glasses.'
Felice, now perceiving all was quiet, Hearing no noise, unless a belly-blast Which might proceed from an unwholesome diet, 2310 Tied her apparel on with nimble haste, And, coming to the lodge, with knuckle knock She strove to summon out the lazy frock.
But the grim Tartar was so soundly lulled, Without a dram of opium, steeped in ale-- Tirèd with vexing that he was so gulled-- That all Felice's rappings naught avail; Till, vexèd with demurs she knock'd so loud, It raised a thunder like a breaking cloud.
Just at that moment did Pazzell' awake 2320 From an affrighting dream, wherein she saw A dreadful lion her Felice take, And tear her body with his sharp'ned paw; And hearing this shrill noise, fear said 'twas true, Danger did threaten her monastic crew.
Her frosted limbs she heavèd out of bed, And shelled her body in her night-apparel, Arming her hands with pistols stuffed with lead, Which anger firing, with the air did quarrel, And, groping in the dark, her foot did slip, 2330 Which out o' th' barrels made the bullets skip.
Felice, at that thunder-clap amazed, With haste retired from the porter's cell, And meeting her, on one another gazed. The porter, starting up, did ring the bell, The virgins shrieked, which all made murmurs shrill Like Irish hubbubs in pursuit of ill.
When reason somewhat had becalmed their rage, The abbotess Felice sharply checked. 'Madam,' says she, 'I only came t' assuage 2340 Intestine heats which all my body decked In scarlet dye; and being much appalled, With frisking fairies, I the porter called.'
'Go, go, you are a wanton girl,' quoth she, 'That fain would tempt my porter unto folly.' 'Madam,' Felice said, 'you injure me. Sure, if lascivious I had been so jolly, I might have met with many men more able, Before I did invest myself with sable.'
'Oh madam! madam!' mad Avaro cried, 2350 'Why do you think she could o'ercome your frock? I ne'er did yield, yet have been often tried; My courage hath withstood a greater shock. Yet sure she would--she would have passed the gates; The reason why, forsooth, to gather dates.
I am afraid your dukedom-girl does long Not for the porter, he is out of date; But for an oily cavalier that 's strong, May teach her virginship a mother's fate. Madam, look well; see if you miss no glass, 2360 I'm sure with brittle coin she gulled an ass.'
Then told the story: Piazzella fretted, 'This is the jewel which you would have sought When in all haste from hence you would have jetted! What your intendments were my wisdom thought, I'll have no gadders, and t' allay your heat I have a diet will prevent a sweat.'
In a retired room she locked her up, Devoid of lustful mates with her to play; Allowed her pulse, and juice of clouds to sup, 2370 And bade her scores of Ave Maries say. Three artificial days she lodgèd there, Where every day to her did seem a year.
When she had paid this penance for her crime (Which in her judgement was accounted bad), She was again amongst the virgins prime, On promise that she would not henceforth gad. Yet still she plotted, but where'er she went, The angry destines thwarted her intent.
Then, from Bellam' since walls did her encell, 2380 She thought t' employ her talent to the best. One of the virgins had some vogliarell, And earnestly desir'd with her to rest. Who ere the morn did Piacinto sing, And wore her blushes on her rubied ring.
Next night she chose another, then another; Her curious palate so to novels stood, That every one had hope to be a mother, And near of kin, united in one blood. But yet, alas! this pleasure lasted not: 2390 Their virgin-girdles could not keep their knot.
Not many fortnights after they had took These physic-potions from their doctor's reins, One told her folly by her meagre look, Another had more blue than on her veins, Others were qualmish, and another longs: All spake their pleasures, yet all held their tongues.
One long'd for citrons, and another grapes, That grew on Alps' steep height, others for peaches; One strangely did desire the tails of apes 2400 Steepèd in juice of myrtles, holms, and beeches. Some palates must be fed with implumed quails, And nothing must approach this tongue but rails.
Some longed for crayfish, shrimps, cods, plaice, and oysters; One for a lemon that doth grow on thorns; Another longeth for some blood of roisters, Spiced with the scrapings of pale Cynthia's horns; One on the bosom of the matron skips, And spite of her full nose did gnaw her lips;
One bade them fill an orc of Bacchus water, 2410 Her thirsty soul she said would drain a tun; One from her window bids a poor translator Cut her a cantle of the gaudy sun; But above all I like that witty girl, Which longed to feed upon a glorrah earl.
The jealous matron with suspicious eye Did read their common ill in every face; Espied the breach of their virginity, And feared a plantage with an infant race. Yet still suppressed her knowledge, till at last 2420 Their heaving bellies kissed their thick'ned waist.
She then, with friendly summonings, did call The grave lord abbot and his smooth-chin race; Who, coachèd, came unto the virgin-hall, But all the rabble through the vault did pace. Arrivèd here, she cookèd dainty cates To please the abbot and his tempo-pates.
So called a council 'bout her quondam maids-- Each one admiring who durst be so bold, Since none had entrance, nor the virgins strayed, 2430 And for the porter he was known too cold. The prior feared lest one of his square caps Should guilty be of those upheaving laps.
It was decreed that they all should be Shrived, being sejoinèd from each other's ken; But, ere that time, the teemers did decree What answer to return the shriving men. Felice did instruct them to deny That she gave birth unto their pregnancy.
But they should say, and to that saying seal, 2440 With strong asseverations that 'Into Our fast-locked room a youthful blade did steal, And with the best of wooing did us woo. Our cases are the same with Merlin's mother: We think our lover was his father's brother.
'Twas one man's act, or, clothed with human shape, He was angelical; and this we thought Because there was no semblance of a rape. We gave him our assent as soon as sought. We judged unmaiding better in the dark 2450 Than, Daphne-like, an husking o'er with bark.'
The shrivers to their lords return with smiles, And on their looks a joy ovall chhriots' had, [*]2453 Said they confessèd them with zeal and wiles, And by a plain narration knew the dad-- One of those ever-youthfuls came from heaven, And in the virgins' wombs did lay a leaven.
The abbot at this news did much rejoice, Since with a kind aspect the Virgin Lady, Viewing this nunn'ry, did ordain this choice, 2460 And for the issue did appoint this daddy. They shall be prophets, priests of high renown, And virgins which shall keep their bellies down.
Provide them childbed linen, mantles, swaddles, Rockers and nurses, all officious shes, With rattles, corals, little cars, and cradles, And give them beads to wait upon their knees. Rome's high arch-vicar shall a testate be To the first-born whom Nature makes a he.
Take pens, and smooth-strain anthems write in bays, 2470 Make new orisons unto all the saints, And to Lucina chant invoking lays, To move her pity these young mothers' plaints; Say her fair temple need not fear the flame, Whilst here she wins her an eternal fame.
Felice smiled to see their studied care, To foster whom she at her pleasure got. But Piazzella, starting from her chair, Callèd Felice to survey her knot, And finding it as at the first 'twas tied, 2480 'How 'scapèd you this goddy sire?' she cried.
'Madam,' quoth he--Felice, 'I confess I was a party in those spruce delights; But Nature curseth some with barrenness, As (I have heard) Albertus Magnus writes. So that though my desires were full as big, I was not heavèd with that curtain jig!
Reason fortasse's on her words did stamp, Which did entruth them (though they were but squibs). This done, the prior did remove his camp, 2490 And all the friars, with hemp-girdled ribs, All great with expectation, and as fain Would be delivered as the full-flanked train.
They sung canzones ere the sun could rise, And Ave-Maries out of number said, Lucina wond'red at this strange disguise, That nuns and monks to her devoutly prayed. All beads were rattled, and all saints invoked, Some squealed, some tenored, and some hoarsely croaked.
With this conceit, Felice frolic grew, 2500 And sported bravely in the silent hours. Her bed-mates call'd her Angel; yet none knew That 'twas Albino which had cropped their flowers. But, though they revelled in the night, the day Threw hailstorms on their lust to chill their play.
Yet had their pleasure not a grandsire life, For tattling slumbers did their joys untone. 'You vowed, Felice, I should be your wife,' Says Cloe, 'ere you loosed my virgin-zone, But ah!' so waked, and feared her vocal slumber 2510 Would from her eyelids force a Trent and Humber.
Says Phill', 'Felice, had I known at first You only wore the name of Folco's daughter, I would have suff'red an untamèd thirst Ere lust had brought mine honour unto slaughter, But oh----' and, starting up, she feared her dream Would ere 'twas long obscure joy's mirthful gleam.
'Well, well,' says Floris, ''tis an happy change To loose mine honour for an angel-mate, But angels will not house in such a grange: 2520 This is the offspring of Felice's pate. But ah----' so sighed, and sighing causèd fears Lest her plump rosies should be ploughed with tears.
Yet, you must know, the virgins did not use To blab their private actions in a dream, But that the cunning matron did infuse Some atoms of the Quiris into cream; And, ere they were enclosed in Somnus' arms, She drenched their fancies in these liquid charms.
Then, with unsealèd eyes, she made her ears 2530 Keep privy watch to intercept their talk: Yet would have washed her knowledge out with tears, And wished it written in her mind with chalk. One while she thanked the God of slumber, then, Her curses threw him down to Pluto's den.
But when Aurora, in her tissue vest, Mantled with blushes, rose from Tithon's side, And through a casement of th' adorèd east Sent Phosphorus to usher in her pride-- Ere Phoebus our horizon did array 2540 With silver glitter of the blooming day--
She snatched her termers from the sweet embrace, And golden fetters of death's elder brother, Bidding them hence those deading slumbers chase T' implore the favour of the Virgin-mother. They starting up with more than common speed, Each shelled her body in her modest weed.
So called to chapel those whose pregnant wombs The angel's pills had heaved above their waists, Like to a surfeit ta'en of Hybla's combs, 2550 When we are too indulgent to our tastes. But left Felice out to cut or sew, Or to embroider with the lanky crew.
Which made a sudden faintness loose each part, And every joint was like an aspen leaf; Her rosy twins retired to her heart, Her looks were coloured like a sunburnt sheaf, As the stiff bristles of an aged boar Were her smooth locks, which o'er her cheeks she wore
And juster cause had none than she to fear, 2560 For as from quiet slumber she awoke She heard the ptisick pick Pazzella's ear That she had knowledge of what Floris spoke. And now she doubted all would come to th' scanning Their longing, swelling and their sudden wanning.
The virgins wondered at Felice's change, To see her eyes fix'd in a white-limed wall; Each feared herself, and each conceived 'twas strange Lest the disease was epidemical:-- That Merlin's uncle changed Felice's hue, 2570 And streaked their temples with a purple blue.
But leave her sighing with these sterile dames, We'll crowd into the house of sacred vows Where consciousness, begetting female shames, Spread scarlet carpets on their cheeks and brows. They looked, and blushed, and glanced on one another: Each cursed the minute which did dub her mother.
The holy brethren, through the mouldy pipe, At that same time did unexpected come, To know if th' goddy issue yet was ripe 2580 To give adieu unto their skin-sealed home. But viewing still their wombs, with zealous hands, They prayed Lucina to untie their bands.
Their chantings dead, the abbotess began; 'Brethren, you see what sad misfortune haps Unto my virgins by the oil of man, Witness the heaving of their spongy paps. We of an angel dreamed, but if he was He shall hereafter for an evil pass.
'I made their slumbers vocal, so they told 2590 'Twas Folco's duke's supposèd daughter's work. Larved with that name, it seems some roister bold Them to unvirgin cunningly did lurk. But since 'tis so, the proverb shall stand good, Tart sauces must be mixed with luscious food.
I knew him to be wanton, and to chill The raging heat of his unbridled lust, I doomed him three days' penance, judged an ill Would make him sapless as the summer's dust. But since that failed, days shall be chang'd to years, 2600 Minutes to months, till paid his tribute tears.
I'll try if grief will drain his melting reins, And hang a crutch upon his able back; If sorrow will unblood his swelling veins And make his sinews, shrunk with famine, crack. I'll make a purgatory, where with hunger, Frost, flame, and snow, I'll tame my virgin-monger.
I'll give command a dungeon shall be made, To whose close womb the sun shall never pry, Nor Cynthia dare to peep: for gloomy shade 2610 Like cloudy night shall purblind every eye: Bare measure four-foot broad; and for that height 'T shall make him by constraint, not court, lie slight.
A bedstead hewn out of the craggy rock, Not arched with cedar wainscot, knobbed with gold; His bed no shrinker, but a sturdy flock, Swans shall not be deplumed his limbs t'infold. Nor curtained with the travails of the loom Of poor Arachne, ere she had her doom.
I will not spend the ransom of a crown 2620 For curious dainties to delight his taste. I'll fetch no fowls from off the Parthian down, Or Phaenicopter for luxurious waste. I will no mullet from Corsica take, Oysters from Circe's or the Lucrine lake.
I will allow him pottage, thicked with bran, Of barley-meal a choenix every day, A sovereign diet for a frolic man That is affected with the Paphian play. And lest his stomach should too chol'ric grow, 2630 I will afford him some congealed snow.'
The bald-pate crew this penance well approved, And, in a trice, all things she ready got. So well she stirred her stumps (as it behoved) She being hatcher of this starving plot. This done, with friendly words and courteous air, She called Felice to her house of prayer.
'It suits not with your greatness, madam fair, Being sole daughter to so great a man, To lodge with those which your inferiors are, 2640 As much as is an inch unto a span, And I'm afraid the Duke will fume and swear, Should but your lodging step into his ear.'
'Madam,' quoth she, 'you harbour needless fears. Goodness, not greatness, differenceth maids. My father's no tobacconist; and swears In point of honour like our scarlet blades. And, by my faith, it more contenteth me To sheet with maidens though of mean degree.
I am surchargèd with the black-hued choler, 2650 Which strikes my fancy with most ugly shapes. I durst not rest a-darkness for a dolour, Without a pillow-friend to scare those apes: Let Cloe with conceits my spirits wing, Or melancholy will my requiem sing.'
'You shall,' says she, 'have Sesamoidesse. For all entreats are of too dull a print.
We must respect your father's worthiness, His honour must your love and passions stint, And your own worth must highly be regarded, 2660 How shall I else expect to be rewarded?'
Then did she take her by the tender hand, And led her to her grot in princely state. She feared not much, nor did her will withstand, Judging divorcement was her harshest fate; But when she saw the entrance was so narrow A sudden fear did eat up all her marrow.
Pazzella, viewing her supposèd lass, Repented her of her intended ills; But injuries engraven are on brass, 2670 And women's jointures are to have their wills. And lest remorse should chill her angry mood, Fuel was added by the brotherhood.
'Then,' says she, 'madam, you behold the cage Which I preparèd for your honour's good, Where you may spend the autumn of your age. Till age and winter have congealed your blood. You may retire to ease: for envy can Nor dares to say you're not an able man.
When twice ten circled snakes are crawled away, 2680 You shall enjoy companions masculine, To give instructions in that youthful play Is fed with Ceres and the god of wine. And, if my virgins shall hereafter be Lascivious given, I will send for thee.'
Into this coven was Felice thrust, With bars and locks the entrance sealèd fast, Now must he pay a dear rate for his lust, His curtain-vezzo, and the coral taste. Sure his repentance will be full as dear 2690 As the philosopher's non tanti were.
Ah, foppish monk! did not Bellama's 'no' Give thee a warning-piece presaging danger, But thou must headlong rush upon thy woe? Happy's that man which is to lust a stranger! If this of dalliance is the constant fee, Let them d----dally that do list, for me.
Here, when the barking star his sceptre waved, When in our clime we feel an Ethiope's heat, An undervault the subtil matron paved, 2700 With fire and flame to force a constant sweat, That, as from flowers hot limbecks water 'still, So by this stove from him sweat-currents drill.
Then, for the winter season she provided A melting cloud full fraught with feath'red rain (Whose curious art the air-borne clouds derided), Which through some oillet holes might passage gain. His cabin should have been, like Alps' cold height, Mantled and strewèd o'er with winter's white.
And 'twas so dark, I cannot see to write. 2710 Nay, at a nonplus it all pencils sets. 'Twas hell's epitome, the cage of night, Walled in with pitch and roofed o'er with jets. The lynx at midday here would wish for day, And cats without a torch must grope their way.
But leave him labyrinthed and thus distressed, And see Bellama, and examine how She brooks the absence of her bosom-guest, If discontent does revel on her brow. It does: for why, she dreams and never sleeps, 2720 She feeds and fats not, laughs, but ever weeps.
'Disaster hangs upon Albino gyves,' Says she, 'else Envy keeps him prisoner, Or a new bull does interdict them wives, So seals the lips of my petitioner. Else the smirk knave is so devout in pray'r, He has no time to kiss the common air.
But does he love? or is 't a fit of mirth, Which, like to children's fancies, soon expire Ere language or employment give them birth, 2730 Flashing affections, aged like thunder-fire? His eyes shot Cupids at my yielding heart, But his firm breast repelled my feeble dart.
Perchance he judged my forwardness to love, By too much court'sy, and my frequent glances. So thought in jest my willingness to prove, Not with that sober passion which entrances; But with lip-love, which to the heart ne'er sinks, And paper-vows which take their birth from inks.
But stay: does greatness use to be denied? 2740 Beauty and bravery command a grant. Yet might my looks and carriage plumed with pride His humble and untow'ring spirit daunt. Daunt? no: his soul's a temper most divine, Dares soar aloft to kiss the sun's near shine.
Then love he does: but must this action, woo, Be tied by patent only unto men? Some unfrequented paths of love I'll go, And in some riddles court him by my pen. Yet first to th' abbey I'll dispatch a post, 2750 To make inquiry where my monk doth host.'
The merchant is not with desires so big, When as he ploughs the sea for Indian mines; With slower steps the sons of Bacchus trig To sack-shops for the French and Spanish wines; Than she to Tagus bids her servant go To Croftfull Abbey where her wishes grow.
Gone is the messenger: but small success Waits on his travels, for he back returns With, 'Madam, where Albino's none can guess. 2760 They think his ashes are enclosed in urns. For time, say they, has counted fortnights many, Since his choice feature object was to any.'
This answer shot an hailstorm at her heart, Whose sudden chillness jellied all her blood, Sh' applièd Holco to unscrew the dart, But her assayments brought her little good. For, but Albino, none can cure her ill, Not physic potions, or the druggard's skill.
'Ah me! has Fate my dear Albino ta'en? 2770 Then farewell music, and you sprucing trade; Either my tears shall body him again, Or send my ghost to wait upon his shade. For she is judged a light unconstant lover, Whose flame the ashes of neglect can cover.'
Have you beheld how, when the moors and marsh Belch vapours to blemish bright Titan's eye, They with his rays wage conflicts long and harsh, Confining them unto their proper sky (Bribèd perchance by envious night to wrap 2780 Day and his champion in his sooty lap).
So that to us appears nor sun nor day, And only faith persuades us there is both, Till day and sun call in each straggling ray, And force a passage, spite of fume and froth: Yet then the day but newly seems to dawn, And o'er the sun a veil of cypress drawn.
Just so diseasing sorrow, armed with tears, Sighs, and black melancholy veiled her face; So that no ray of loveliness appears, 2790 And only faith persuades us she has grace. Her eyes retired, her double blush was wanned, Her locks dissevered, and her lilies tanned.
And as, in her which arted looks does wear, Men look for nature's steps, and cannot trace her; Since she, by nature nothing less than fair, Hath purchased from the shops such worth to grace her; Though foul, now fair and sleek, though age did plough And made long furrows in her cheek and brow.
So knowledge here was in a maze: the eye, 2800 That knew Bellama, did Bellama seek, And, looking on her, nothing could descry Spake her Bellama, or in eye or cheek. To love's harsh laws she gave such constant duty, Sh'ad only left an anagram of beauty.
She threw herself upon her couch of ease, And marshalled all her thoughts in just arrays; This brought small comfort, that did hardly please, And in that thought despair the sceptre sways. Yet thought she not death could a period set, 2810 Unless he did some strange advantage get.
'He's young and lusty: every vein does swell With aqua-vitae, coral juice of life; His skill in magic else can frame a spell To distance meagre death and Atrop's knife. Yet love gives birth to fear: I'll send to search The lion's flinty bed, and vulture's perch.
I and my woman will attend the quest, Veiled in disguises of some country lasses; No state-distinction, for my humble breast 2820 Shall leave all pride with silks, perfumes, and glasses; And, if with non inventus we return, I'll Venus' witchcraft hate and Cupid spurn.'
When as the sovereign of the day had drawn A veil of brightness o'er the twinkling lamps, And threw on Cynthia's brow a double lawn, Clearing the welkin from benighting damps, They in the habits of a milking maid (All but skin-linen) did their beauties shade.
And in these coarse attires they hasted out 2830 To seek Albino through each wood and plain, Whom we will leave to pace the world about And see Felice, wet with eye-lid rain, Whose bondage was the greater, since despair Blasted all hopes which promised her the air.
The brazen bull, strappado, or the rack, The faggot-torture, and the piked barrell, Balanced with his, degrees of sorrow lack: 'Tis with a bulrush to decide a quarrel. The famine wherewithal the Thracian knight 2840 Was sent to Pluto wants a little weight.
He that stole fire fro' th' chariot of the Sun, Whose liver's vulture-gnawn at Caucasus; He that the counsels of the gods unspun, Like wanton's eyes, stone-rolling Sisyphus; Hold best proportion with these sharp'ned woes, Which stern misfortune on Felice throws.
She, that was glutted with most curious cates, Had every pleasure to content her lust, Who had command o'er Fortune and the Fates, 2850 Now sups up pulse and gnaws a fleecèd crust. She that had many girls is now alone, And of so many cannot compass one.
Had I a fancy steeped in sorrow's brine, Invention witty in the threnes of woe; Could sad experience dictate every line, A dearth of words would to my muse say 'No'. I may as well go fathom all the spheres As measure her disasters, count her tears.
Oft on remembrance of that harmless bliss, 2860 Which (copèd) she enjoyed, her thoughts would feed, Oft on Bellama's beauty, touch and kiss, Till strucken dead with thought of present need. Then would she raise her thoughts, and hope for day, And starting up from silence boldly say:
'Despite of Envy's vipers, tricks, and wiles, My cradle-playmate, Mirth, I'll ne'er forsake, But taste Sardinian herbs shall raise up smiles, Though I was wafting o'er the Stygian lake. Tortures shall ne'er unman me; but I'll be 2870 Albino, Malice, 'spite of her and thee.
Delays ofttimes, from time's secluded parts, Bring help to helpless not expecting aid; Some of the gods will pity these my smarts, Not suffer them to whet the sexton's spade. Or if the gods--'midst flames then scorpion-like I'll gore my breast, and fall on mine own pike.
Yet had I suff'red for a courteous one, These woes should ne'er had power t' have raised a sorrow But when mine eyes did in my breast enthrone 2880 Her--her of whom hell cruelty may borrow. This is the height of woe, death, and diseases, Nay, hell itself to this comparèd pleases.
Yet stay, say Neptune's palace shall be land, And this firm ball of earth a liquid brack; Say the North Pole with Phoebus shall be tanned, And to the South the lilies shall be black. Say this, and more, before thou dare to say Bellama is Màboun' or Mà bellà.'
No more of this: we'll for her freedom plot. 2890 A pious monk, perceiving well her smart, With diligence assayed to purge each spot With holy cruse from her diviner part. But still her answer was--nor man, nor lover, Nor she the virgin's ankles did discover.
'Alas! my brother I am not a male, But a weak sience of the weaker sex. The ladies spake the truth (might truth prevail) But me with torture Piazell' doth vex; 'Cause, at my entrance, I did promise fair; 2900 Yet 't proves court-language, merely, purely, air.
But all this time she would not licence deign That I three yards behind should leave the gates, And fumèd when I would have left her train, T' have sought a jewel, and to gather dates. So that the Duke my father ne'er had ken Of my encloist'ring in this hate-light den.
But, 'gainst it now resolving, I intend To turn the stream of his munificence On you, dear brother, if you'll be my friend, 2910 And plot how I may be delivered hence. Lend your endeavours: and I'll lend my wit, Vow faithfulness, and I will warrant it.
I'll woo my father for his free assent, If to your barren cowl you'll bid farewell, That Hymen's rites may perfect our content, By joyful echoes of the marriage bell. 'Cause you in person do resemble him Whom 'mongst all men I only judgèd trim.'
The monk gave ear unto her winning prate 2920 And gazèd on her beauty masculine, Whose feature might delude a wiser pate, Assisted only by a tallow-shine. (For by an unctious salve she kept her chin From the hair-mantle of an agèd skin.)
'Madam', says he, 'I judge your language true, And to your vows I dare my credence lace: Your virgin-blushes innocence do show, And modesty is printed on your face. Faith, truth, and honesty reside with me: 2930 My best endeavours shall your servants be.'
'Well,' says Felice, 'I have now decreed (Since Phoebus has forsook our hemisphere), To sheath my body in your holy weed, Then through the private walk my course will steer. So from your holy walls I'll take my flight, Or by permission, or in silent night.
And when I am arrived at Folco's towers, My father shall your matchless kindness know, Who, I am sure, will summon all his powers 2940 To fetch thee from this house of flame and snow: And who with much contentment will not brook Some three days' penance to be made a duke?
For, by inheritance, the dukedom's mine When death unbody shall my father's soul. Since no heir-male's descended from our line, The Salic law cannot my right control. And, to assure thee that I'm only thine, I swear by all the powers that are divine.'
Then did she circle with ensphering arm 2950 Conrado's neck and amorously him lipp'd, Which did the amorist so strongly charm That he with haste out of his vestments skipped, And bade Felice change: for in good deed He should full well become her virgin weed.
Felice undressed, and dressed, and having made Herself a monk, put on Conrado's face, And some few minutes with her monkship played, Then gave a farewell to that hated place. But ere her quick dispatch could post her thence 2960 Her beauty shot a fire through every sense.
Fear now exiled the confidence he tied, Forced by affection, to Felice's words, Revoked his promise now,--all aid denied; And, with majestic looks and gesture's lords His flaming lust dissolved his pious snow, And now his loud desires will have no 'No'.
But vows to disenclothe her and to break Her virgin-seal despite of force or smiles, Till Folco strove and made his noddle leak 2970 Sardonic liquor to new-paint the tiles, So hasted out, and to the matron gave The iron porter of Conrado's grave.
Imping his haste, he threads the vaulted lane, Not wounded by his soles this many a day, Like those which, when arraigned, a pardon gain Dare neither at the jail nor gallows stay. And coming to the postern gate he knocked, Which at devotion time was always locked.
But when the last Amen had silenced prayer, 2980 The porter to Albino entrance gave; Who straight was brought unto the judgement chair, Where, furred with state, did sit the abbot grave. Who said, 'Conrade, why was your stay so long? You missed the manna of the evensong.'
Pseudo-Conrado answered him, 'My lord, I found Felice so oppressed with grief, That charity commanded me t'afford By learning, prayers, and anthems, some relief. And truly on my faith I am persuaded 2990 A virgin-lady with these weeds is shaded.
I, moved to pity by her streaming tears,-- Her sighing gales, loud threnes, and sad laments, Won by her beauty, and her tender years, Have promised aid, confirmed by your assents, And in all haste will tell her father's grace What clouds of woe bemist Felice's face.
She promised me when as her freedom's sealed, When she shall re-enjoy the glorious light, When the sad sentence of her woe's repealed 3000 She will be mine in spite of envy's might. Nay more, she from the dukedom will extract Some lordships to perform a pious act.'
Forthwith, a synod of the holy men Was called to broach the wisdom of their pates. The questions were proposed--"Who? What? and When? The 'who', is Folco's daughter; 'what', estates; The 'when', so soon as she, by Folco's powers, Shall shell her body in proud Gurby's towers.
This answer smelt of profit, and did gain 3010 The abbot's liking, and his griping crew. Says he, 'Conrado, true content does reign And triumph in our thoughts: we yield to you. Success wait on thy voice: for to thy care Our wishes, hopes, desires, entrusted are.'
'Fear not,' quoth he, 'my faith dares warrant all. All things are real as my words are true. Myself will pace unto fair Gurby hall, And with emphatic language plead and sue: So that old Folco's lungs shall crack with laughter 3020 To hear me chat the travails of his daughter.
First she, mistrusting that she should be forc'd, By his proud nod, unto a hated pillow, From folly, Folco, folk, herself divorced, To twist, for scornèd maids, some wreaths of willow. How zealously she prayed, and looked demurely! She is, in thought and word, a virgin surely.
But the conceit is this--Who bridles laughter, That virgins holy, pure, and nuns to boot, Should thicken with the pills of Folco's daughter, 3030 Sing lullabies, and to Lucina hoot? T' increase the wonder then, and imp his pleasures, To Folco I'll present these waggish measures.'
Behold, admire, and some contentment gather From nuns that teem, manned by a virgin-father.
Wonder and admiration cease to gaze On flashing meteors, stars, and comets' blaze. Let not Vitruvius or th' Ichonian beast, Putzol or Etna slide into your breast. Ope not your ears unto those cracks of thunder, 3040 Whose cannon-echoes split the orbs in sunder. Lend not your audience to those fond reports Of Ob'ron, Mabell, and their fairy sports, Nor tie your credence to the poet's pen Which writes the noble acts of warlike men, Of monsters, mooncalves, merry games, and masks, Atlas' stiff shoulders, and Alcides' tasks. Amazement flies these babbles, and does pin Faith, eyes, and thoughts, unto this curtain-sin; That a pure virgin should unvirgin others, 3050 And, though a virgin, yet make many mothers; Make them heave up, be qualmish, pale, and cry 'A midwife (ho!) a midwife: else we die.' It is an Afric crow, a sable swan, To have a vestal puffèd up with man: But that so many nuns unmaidened are B' a nun without a man is more than rare. The Sybil's virgin is not worth a rush, And Merlin's mother may with envy blush. These, though they soared above the pitch of reason, 3060 Yet crossed not nature's order, course, or season. For women teemed as women, but a woman As man, makes virgins teem, and yet is no man. This--this is object unto fame and wonder, Then make each clime with this Mirandum thunder.
About this time night summoned them to rest, And each repairèd to his sturdy bed. Albino's fears his hopes and joys suppressed; But, in the rest, content struck sorrow dead. They slept until the bright enlight'ned air, 3070 With silver glitter, called them up to prayer.
But our Albin' took earlier leave of sleep, And sheathed his body in his monkish vests; Knocked at his lodge, which did the entrance keep, Who that he could not wake himself protests: 'Thou art some fury, hag, or Hob I trow, That boldly at my lodge dost thunder so.'
Albino says, 'What frenzy damps thy reason? Arise, my haste commands a frequent rap.' 'Begone,' quoth he, 'entreats are out of season. 3080 Worshipful Hob, I'll have another nap. 'Tis not mine hour to rise until I hear The clapper sound a surge in mine ear.'
When our young monk had many minutes spent, And could not Foppo from his pillow rear, About that time light's charioteer had sent Day's trusty harbinger his orb to clear. He searched the walls, and trafficked with the lock; But all in vain, he must implore the frock.
The chapel-clerk, as constant to his hour 3090 As is day's herald which at breaking crows, Seeing Aurora did his windows scour And leapt into his chamber, straight arose: Making the shrill-toned bell in echoes speak, 'Awake and rise to prayer, the day does break.'
Foppo was at that time in Morpheus' court, Where he with apparitions was affrighted; The scene was changed, then came a dainty sport, Whose sudden neatness every sense delighted; Then dreamt Albine, their renegado monk 3100 Was knocking at his lodge, the other Nunc.
Then dreamt he saw a table richly spread With all the dainties riot ever felt; All birds of warrant which in woods are bred, With salmon, mullet, turbot, trout, and smelt: The princely-pacing deer, entombed in paste, Embalmed with spices to delight the taste.
A sparkling wine, drawn newly from the cheek Of some chaste fair which blushes coloured red, With brisk canary and enlivening Greek, 3110 Poetic sherry which can sharpen lead-- This ravish'd Foppo with a taste content, Till to his ear the bell an errand sent.
When, starting up, he deemed the bell did call His able stomach to a founder's feast, And with all speed was swogging to the hall, But that Albino stayed him by the crest, And lew-warm claret from his hogshead drew To make his stomach give the deer adieu.
Quoth he, 'Thou son of Somnus, drowsy slave! 3120 Why didst thou not at my loud summons rise? But in a fit of lunacy did rave As though thy wit had ta'en some new disguise? I'll be your Hob, your hag: and, though I'm loath, Will now chastise thee for thy feignèd sloth.'
But whilst his passion took a breathing space, The wak'ned porter from his fists did creep, Fixèd his goggles on his youthful face, And then rememb'red his prophetic sleep. Tells him he's not Conrado; for he knows 3130 That brow, those cheeks, lips, eyes, Albino owes.
'And though your wrath should grind me unto powder, Without a warrant, I will ope no gate.' This answer made Albino's anger louder, And vowed a passage, bought at any rate. So leapt upon the slave with nimble strength, And measured on the earth his ugly length.
Albino hastes to th' postern; having got The keys, but 'mongst so many much was puzzled To find the right; Foppo meanwhile did trot 3140 Unto some chambers where the shavelings nuzzled, And them with outcries raisèd to surprise Albino, larvèd in Conrado's guise.
Like penancers with linen on their backs, The baldpates ran to seize upon their prey; But yet their haste a semi-moment lacks: Albino through the gate had found a way. And, snatching out the keys, did them encage, Raising a bulwark to withstand their rage.
Then thanked his stars that thus delivered him 3150 From dangers which did threaten naught but death. For he by th' verge of Mare mort did swim, And did expect his latest gale to breath. Nay, these late troubles had him so dishearted That every shadow 'lmost the union parted.
You, whose disasters some proportion hold, Help my weak fancy to express his fears; Teach me my rhymes in cypress to enfold, From thwarted lovers borrow me some tears; Fetch me some groans from the ascending thief; 3160 And from the Inquisition fetch me grief.
Without demurs, Albino left the wicket, Fearing the monks should bribe the faithless lock, And steered his course unto a well-grown thicket, Whose lofty hill was armed with many a rock. He envies sculls that wait on spit and oven, And vows ne'er more to see that hated coven.
Have you beheld the stately-pacing stag, Flying the echoes of some deep-mouthed hounds? How first his brow does wear a ferny flag, 3170 And with curvettings beats the quaking ground; Telling the fawns and wood-nymphs that he scorns The hounds, horse, huntsmen, and their warbling horns.
But when he is embossed in blood and sweat, When travail on his swiftness fetters hangs, He then is frighted with the shrill recheat, And fears a pinking with the yellers' fangs. Seeks ev'rywhere for shelter, and dares rush Malèd with fear, into the sharpest bush.
So fared it with Albino: whilst he had 3180 Fate at a beck, commanded Fortune's wheel, Was callèd by his Donnes, active lad, He thought his joys were wallèd in with steel, Slighted misfortune, envy set at naught, And, braving malice, dared in every thought.
But when his tow'ring heart was taught to know Humiliation, and self-confidence Was strucken dead with famine, flame, and snow; Although his genial stars had freed him thence, He fears the monkish rabble, and he shrouds 3190 Himself in caves, encurtained round with clouds.
In his dark house he heard a feeble voice, Breathed from the corals of some weak'ned maid. At first concealment was his better choice, Till pity set an edge upon his blade. Then guided by the cry, he saw a roister Did in his arms perforce a nymph encloister.
Yet, seeing home-spun russet, stopped his pace; Saying, 'By this what honour shall I gain?' But in his eye so curious was her face, 3200 Though masked and blubbered o'er with brackish rain, That he forthwith unsheathed his trusty Turk, Called forth that blood which in his veins did lurk.
So, stepping forward, cries, 'Injurious slave, Unto what baseness does thy folly tempt her?' Who answered him, 'Fond fool, thy foolish brave From my decreèd end shall not exempt her. Befriend me, Queen of Cyprus! and in spite Of force or fortune, I'll have my delight.'
'Desist,' Albino says, 'or else I vow, 3210 By all those tapers which enrich the night, I'll make pale death strew cypress on thy brow. And to th' infernal shades thy soul will fright. Cease from thy brutish rape, or else prepare Thy cursed lungs to draw the Stygian air.'
Quoth the rude Sylvan, 'I am past that age Which with bugbears the foppish nurse does fright. Hence, curtain-squire, smock-groom, and urine-page! I'll have no testates unto my delight. Pack hence with speed, or by Actaeon's head, 3220 My weighty falchion shall pronounce thee dead.'
'Well,' says Albino, 'since thou'lt not desist, Prove the adventures of a bloody duel. One of our threads fell Atrop's shall untwist, For to my rage kind pity lendeth fuel. To free a virgin from thy gripping paws I judge well pleasing unto nature's laws.'
They clasp'd their helms, and buckled to their fight, 'Twixt whom no umpire was but meagre death. The woodwards green with Tyrian dye was dight 3230 Who now desires a minute's space to breath. Albino gave the truce, yet but to breath; His valour scorned to crowd into the sheath.
Then did his nimble sleight and courage show, Feigning a stroke, but pointed at his breast, Which oped a door whereat his spirits flew, And wellnigh set his fainting soul at rest. With that th' enfeebled Sylvan weakly cries 'Hold, hold thy hand! or else Sylvanus dies.'
'Dost call for mercy,' says Albino, 'now? 3240 And all thy thoughts erstwhile triumphant rid? I seek not murder, may I save my vow. That I should joy in blood my stars forbid. I am content the virgin's voice shall seal Thy death, or pardon, if thou make appeal.'
'Fair virgin,' quoth Sylvanus, 'pity is The only grace that gives a virgin price. Remission crowns a heart with greater bliss, Than to hang iron on weak nature's vice. The rays of your bright beauty urged desire; 3250 Your feature kindled lust, love blowed the fire.'
The virgin answered, 'I did never suck The tiger's dugs, the lioness, and bear, Nor from a reeking breast an heart did pluck. Never will I in blood with vulture's share. But, since submission speaks from voice and knee, Kind pity thins the fault, and pardons thee.'
Then to Albino says, 'Heroic youth, May all the blessings which attend on man Felicitate thy life; and to buy truth 3260 To words, I dare do more than virgins can. But, above all, I wish may nature's pride, Lilies and roses, intertwine thy bride.
But yet alas! to recompense by airs So large a bounty and so free is poor. Yet why may not a spotless virgin's prayers, Wing'd with desire, unclasp high heaven's door? Accept of this, and if the Fates befriend me, These blessings which I wished for shall attend thee.'
'Nature's sole wonder, beauty's only gem,' 3270 Quoth he, 'my valour and my feeble arms (If your perfections had not strenght'ned them) Could not have freed you from intended harms. Ascribe the honour to your matchless face. My courage merits not the meanest place.
Yet had I swum through seas of steaming blood, And passed through nitre flames that belch forth lead, Had all the Furies armed with vipers stood, T' have stopped my passage or pronounced me dead-- I would have thrown the die my fortune tried, 3280 T' have bought you freedom though in crimson dyed.
For, when mine eyes sent forth the farthest glance, To fetch th' idea of your beauty in, That very sight my senses did entrance, And make my thoughts excuse Sylvanus' sin. For sure your quick'ning rays can melt a snow On which the winds of age and sorrow blow.
But why do I upon the Ela raise Thy noble worth, and yet intend to woo? Since beauty oft displays her plumes at praise, 3290 Then by this doing I myself undo. But where I virtues find, refined as gold, Despair shall never make affections cold.
Be pleasèd then to think the god of Love With gilded arrow has transfixed my heart, And let my purple breast your pity move. With balsam of regard allay my smart, Send thy quick eyes into my breast to see, What tortures prick my heart to purchase thee.'
'Sir, I am grieved,' quoth she, 'you are allied 3300 To him whose quiver crowns a lover's wish. Else at a twelve-score distance might y' have spied You cast your net to mesh a simple fish. Your worth and feature does entitle you To Cytherea with her silver hue.
When I, alas! am but an homely maid, Born to a spindle and to serve a plough. To milk my spongy-teated cows I strayed, Which here amongst these tender hazels low. My starvèd fortunes cannot think of love, 3310 Nor does my envy wound the billing dove.'
This answer silencèd Albino's hopes, Which spake as loud as though they kissed the sheets; He in his thoughts commends the quiet copes Which taste no sour in hunting after sweets. 'Alcides' life,' quoth he, 'compared to mine, Is trouble-free, spiced with contents divine.
Fair maid, what hatred frosteth your desires? What steams of envy choke bright Venus' lamp? Give some kind fuel to maintain my fires, 3320 A frown of yours will all my vitals damp. Oil o'er my writhled heart, or let me know From what black heads these bitter cadents flow.'
'Your favours, sir, have such commanding power, That 'tis unjust your wishes to deny, Accursed with all black tempests be that hour In which my heart gave credit to mine eye. Else would I not have been so much averse T' a mind so noble and a feature terse.
But now alas! myself myself am not, 3330 For heartless I my heart have giv'n away: An abbey-brother has that treasure got, Albino hight--he's Phoebus of my day. Your habit speaks you a monk, sir, if you can Tell me where I may find that (ah me) man.
Be pleased,' quoth she, 'to tell me where I may, Or go myself, or else a servant send.' 'Fair maid,' quoth he, 'it is a gloomy way Leads to the bed of your benighted friend. His ashes are in Darwey Abbey laid, 3340 But his faint ghost walks i' th' Elysian shade.'
'But is he dead?' says she, and loudly shrieked, Which waked Narcissus' hate to second her, Her rosies dewed with melting crystal reeked, And sorrow did her trembling heart inter. Symptoms of sad deplorings ne'er were known, Which were not in her sharp lamentings shown.
'Choice maid,' quoth he, 'do not destroy your rosies, And blast your beauty with such scalding sighs. In nature's garden there are choicer posies, 3350 More comely features, and more agile thighs. What though Albino's dead? another may Be trulier termed the Phoebus of your day.'
'Oh, do not stain,' says she, 'his spotless name! Within his bosom every virtue ranged. Equals to him dull nature cannot frame, Though she should labour till herself be changed: It is a shame to ask more favours yet: Grant me this one, because my sun is set.
My pity saved, when as your fury had 3360 The rough-pawed Sylvan mincèd with your skene. Oh, with same courage let your mind be clad, With your sharp scimitar my liver dreane. Why should I be a liver, since he's dead Who was my hope, my health, my heart, my head'.
'How am I chang'd!' quoth he, 'my heart does beat The fainting summons of the Child of Sin. My knees do quarrel, and a chilling sweat Cold as the dew of winter oils my skin. Fear snatcheth from my roseate banks their blood, 3370 And drowns my liver in a sanguine flood.
'Tis strange a naked breast of bleachèd snow, And crystal mounts enriched with coral heads, (On which the purple violets do grow) Should dare mine arm, and strike my courage dead. My steel a breast of iron has unhinged. And knees of brass have to my fury cringed.
Had some vast Gog or he whom Tellus brought-- One got by Fury or Gradivus' mate-- Who, but with monsters, ne'er conversed with ought, 3380 Dared with a look, mine arm had weak'ned Fate. But, at this feeble voice my blood does start, And into pity melts my swelling heart.
Then name no more those words: for they at once Do both unedge my valour and my steel. Too safely do your virtues keep the sconce. My steadiest thoughts, struck with these letters, reel. My sacrilegious hand shall never stain Virtue's sole temple, and the grace's fane.
Dry up those furrowing cadents. Will you give 3390 Your lovely self in marriage unto him, If I shall say Albino yours does live, And in your view his comely portrait limn? Say, aye, to this: and I will try my skill, To make him pace along yon craggy hill.'
''Tis the countenance which my wishes crave, Naught half so sweet,' says she, 'as Hymen's tedes.' Albino then the haired earth did shave, And hedged two circles in with ropes of beads; Then, quart'ring them, did take the virgin's hand, 3400 And bade her with unshaken courage stand.
'Thou must not be surpris'd with shivering fear, Though Cerberus, the janitor of Hell, Though seven-headed Hydra, panther, bear, The lion, tiger, or the dragon yell; Although a monster spits forth flashing powder, Though clouds and winds strive which should bellow louder.'
This said, with cruse of holy water he Besprinkled o'er himself, besprinkled her, And zealously did cross: the same did she, 3410 Like a devout Romezzo conjurer. This done: 'Fair maid,' quoth he, 'if Fates befriend me, The servant of your beauty shall attend thee.'
Then 'gan [he] to invoke, or seem t' invoke, With uncouth language the infernal crew-- 'Vitz, Allafoun, Trallasht with elfish poke, Trollox and Chimchish, with your grisly hue, Gnarzell and Phrizoll which in Styx do wade, Lê portè Albino from the Stygian shade.'
When from his lips these words had ta'en their flight, 3420 A shuffling whirl-puff roared amongst the trees, Th' affrighted leaves took flight, the grass looked white, The quaking poplars fell upon their knees. Jove's sacred tree stood cringing unto it, And bowed his head, else 'twas in sunder split.
Then, from a breaking cloud, a sheet of fire Encircled them, and dashed against an oak, Ush'ring a thunder, whose untamed ire Like dreadful tyrants naught but terror spoke. And as unwilling to depart from them 3430 His ireful cracks the trembling grove did hem.
These, suddenly succeeding so the first, And at that instant when he feigned a spell, Did make Albino judge himself accursed, Thinking his voice unhinged the gates of hell. Bellama's rosies wore as white as snow, As though the Phyma did upon them blow.
And justly, for though these but common were, Yet at that time when faintness kept the wicket, Which at each shadow oped the gate to fear, 3440 In that dark place, that unfrequented thicket-- I blame not though her courage had been colder, And in art magic wish Albino bolder.
But when the storm was passed, his courage got The conquest of his fear, made his quick eyes Stand sentinel t' advantage more his plot: And, looking from the mountain, he espies A man descending, as he told the maid, Which the loud tempest of his fears allayed.
Then says, 'Behold the object of your hope'. 3450 Away springs she from off that gloomy place, Posts to the hill, forsakes her magic cope. Meanwhile Albino doffs Conrado's face, And set upon his looks Albino's dye; So, imped with love, unto the mount did fly.
Where he espied Bellama rove about Crying, 'Albino, dost thou fly from me?' The man was but a silly shepherd lout That climbed the hill his fleecy train to see. And when his eyes had healthed his wealthy flocks, 3460 Trudged to his cote, walled in with sturdy rocks.
Albin', encount'ring her, says, 'Lovely maid, Was 't your small voice that did Albino call?' ''Twas I, poor I', the fainting virgin said, 'Why was I forced from Rhadamanthus' hall?' 'Who was 't, quoth he, 'that, with commanding air, Snatch'd me forth' arms of Proserpina fair?'
'It was a courteous monk,' quoth she, 'whom I Humbly entreated to deliver thee.' 'Alas! sweet maid,' quoth he, 'Fates do deny 3470 Freedom from thence, nor can I pay the fee. 'Fee!' says she, 'fear not: if an earldom can Purchase thy freedom, I will give it, man.'
'Thou canst not ransom one from Pluto's jail, Shouldst thou lay down the gaudy triple crown; With steely-hearted Fate naught can prevail, On whose harsh brow there ever dwells a frown. Speak fair, thy business: for I must begone, Grim Charon waits for me at Acheron.'
'Ah me,' quoth she, 'and is it truth I hear? 3480 Then, dear Albino, I will wait on thee.' 'You're like to find', quoth he, 'but homely cheer, If in my diet you partake with me.' 'Famine's a favour unto me,' says she, 'Bridewell a bride-house, if I live with thee.
But, prithee, what is Rhadamanthus fell, And she whom thou didst Proserpina call?' 'Sweetest,' quoth he, 'he is the judge of hell, That dooms us tortures, or does us enthral. For, if our innocence do plead for us, 3490 We're led t' Elysium from dark Erebus.
That other was the Thracian harper-mate, Whom Pluto forced unto his gloomy house, His devilship with smiles to recreate, Full bowls of his nepenthe to carouse.' 'I'm glad I know', quoth she, 'for jealous fears Unto my heart did travel from my ears.'
'Why, lovely maid, did ever I behold Before this time', quoth he, 'your comely face?' 'How! dear Albino, must you now be told 3500 Who your Bellama is? 'tis high disgrace. Sure you of Lethe's streams have deeply drank, Which doth the powers of your mind disrank.'
'Ha!' quoth Albino, 'can my dullness think That homely russets my Bellama veil? I deeply of oblivion sure did drink, Did I not know her from a milking pail. Peace, pretty fair, do not my saints profane, Her beauty has not such coarse lodging ta'en.'
'Well,' quoth Bellama, 'will you me discard, 3510 When for your sake I've run through all disasters? Must slights and nescios now be my reward? Will you make ulcers, and apply no plasters? Clothed in this coarse array, I roved abroad To find the place of thy secure abode.'
'Sweet,' says Albino, 'let not anger dress Thy stainless lilies in distraction's dye. Let ignorance plead pardon, for I guess Some other beauties may "Albino" cry. Might now a ghost permitted be to kiss, 3520 My lips should suck from thine a cherry-bliss.'
'Why,' says Bellama, 'has a ghost no lips? Is there no pleasure dwells in spirits' veins? This "might a ghost" does all my joys eclipse, For now I have my labour for my pains. Pray, what was Merlin's father? is 't not said Spirits have power a damsel to unmaid?'
These words, proceeding from Bellama's lips, Did make Albino myrrhine juice carouse, To raise an active heat, which nimbly skips 3530 In every vein like fays in Ob'ron's house. But when he was no ghost, and hoped to merit Love for love, he found her of another spirit.
'Away, fond monk!' quoth she, 'dost think that I Into a sea of grief will wade with thee? And drown my fortunes? make an earldom die? Dost think humility resides with me? Canst think I'll choose a pebble, slight a pearl, Marry a threadbare cowl and scorn an earl?
What door to thy presumption did I ope? 3540 What symptoms of affections did I show? What actions gainful birth unto thy hope? Or from what vow did thy assurance grow? Cease then, for I take it in high disdain, To thy coarse worth my smallest ray to chain.'
'Disdain?' quoth young Albino. 'Can this be The voice of my Bellame? Is there such odds? If not in birth, in worth I equal thee, Although my muse shot love into the gods. Disdain's a pitch too high for maids to reach, 3550 Scarce will the queen of pride such doctrine teach.
Presumption too? does he deserve that brand, Who dallies with consent, invited to 't? What firmer seal than language, lip, and hand? What better warrant than desired to do 't? Say, he is saucy that, with crusted fists, Paws a court-silk, and melts her balmy wrists.
Who feeted that enigma, whose kind air Spake me the only high in thy esteem? Was I not bosomed more than parents, fair? 3560 Did not thine own voice that saint-secret seem? Who bribed your full face-gazings? and what she Judged none praise, lip, deserving of but me?
Did not you in mysterious postures woo me? And 'gainst Bardino levied all your spite? Nay, by Barraba sent invitements to me? And dubbed me by your knot the Red-rose Knight? Did not your wish glue feathers on your feet To thread a casement when I paced the street?
And after these, ah! thousand more, and nearer 3570 Seals of thy love, must slights unseal your lips? A puny mistress-hunter well may fear her, When pride at high noon can my sun eclipse. Fury! lend me thy poison, Rage! thy breath, That I, by pride doomed, may doom beauty death.
You pale-faced shadows of the gloomy isles, Fill up my gall, and lend me all your pow'rs, To torture women who, enriched with wiles, From their moist eyes send forth dissembling show'rs. Would Jove the mount had barren been of stones 3580 Whereof old Pyrrha fram'd the female bones!
Would Sea's daughter, that same queen of faces, Her alabaster box would deign to me, Once Phao's ferry pay that gave such graces, Which till that time the sun did never see. That I not only might, as others are, Be counted comely, but o' th' fairest fair.
Then would I sleight those formal tricks of love, Those sighs, tears, vows, complaints, and folded arms; Caps, cringes, oaths, and compliments to move 3590 Th' affections of a girl expecting charms. For wealth, wit, wisdom, eloquence, and greatness Are less inducements unto love than neatness.'
'How now? Albino, is your doublet grown Too straight', says she, 'that you do puff and swell? Peace! peace! let not your choler thus be shown.' 'A thing impossible', says he, 'you tell. In vain we call for peace, and calmness praise, When love and hate intestine wars do raise.
Women have double pupils, so they can 3600 Kill like the basilisk but with a glance. Their very praise does blast and wither man, Like frost and winter, or his soul entrance. They're all like Glaucus' wife, whose filthy charms Won poor Ulysses to her lustful arms.
They're Holgoy, Africans, and fiends they are-- Words know not what they are, they're hell to me--, Would Jove I had the Heliostrophio fair, To touch all maids, or, if not all, yet thee: Or had been born under the Scorpion's head, 3610 With amulets t' have struck thy beauty dead.
Ah! faithless Polupists, that thus can change Into an hundred thousand shapes your minds! Phoebe to you is constant; tides do range, Yet back return; more settled are the winds-- Mere Pompholyx which with each breath does stray. Your loves catch feathers too, and fly away.
Sometimes a fit of sullens seals your jaws, In contemplation big (of Jove knows what), And then again, as if your tongues made laws, 3620 You weary time with your eternal chat. Ah Mantuan! [Mantuan!] thy pen is not a liar, Although thy habit says thou wert a friar.
Erstwhile a sober nun Bellama was, Then a Lucretia, at another gale I know not what, a straggling country lass, A quinque-lettered, 'haps, which set to sale, Now, none more willing unto love than she, And now more further off from love or me.
Yet call that hasty language back a while. 3630 Bellama is not such, she's Cupid's dart; Teach me, great Jove, to make Bellama smile, And with one ray sun her Albino's heart. Thou purblind boy! teach me to gain Bellama:' Straight Echo's voice returned him answer, 'Ama.'
'Thanks, gentle Echo, might thy voice divine Speak truth in this, that love commandeth love. I would through every mood and tense decline Amo, and saint thee too, my joy, my dove! Nay, thou shouldst be whate'er fond babblers prate, 3640 Albino's goddess, though Narcissus' hate.
Oh! would to Jove I were in courteous France, Or else that happy place in France with me, That with more tongues thou mightst make ama dance Within these silent woods from tree to tree. Or would thou hadst imperial power from Jove, In the imperious mood to bid her love.'
Quoth she, 'Unworthy of a conquest's he That for a cannon's roar his ensigns veils: Unworthy of a rose or rosy glee 3650 Is he, whose courage at her javelins fails: They're feeble amorists that for a "fie!" Run from their colours, and in silence lie.
'Tis our prerogative to have entreat With every phrase that flatt'ry does enhance, To win our loves, though every stroke they beat, Our hearts beat Cupid's march, tune Venus' dance. In their desires they never yet did perish Which feed our humours, and our passions cherish.
To prove the truth of thy affections, I 3660 Shot forth that language, headed with disdain. My heart is thine which, till death close mine eye With steely thumb, thy bosom shall retain. Caesar's proud nod shall not command that bliss Whose sweets are promised by this melting kiss.'
'Ha!' quoth Albino, 'dare I trust mine ears With this blest air? And am I sure I wake? Or is 't a dream which wakeneth into tears? 'Tis truth: then crawl hence, Furies, toad, and snake! The earth her mines, sea vomit shall their pearl, 3670 Ere I leave her, who for me left an earl.'
Then sate they dallying in a shady bow'r, Where maples, ash, and thorn did them embrace: Whilst her enliv'ning breath produced each flow'r In curious knots to damask o'er the place. Oh! who would not his soul and substance tenter, To be circumference to such a centre?
Now have our amorists attained the height Of true content; and sate like billing doves. She tells her quest, he his monastic flight, 3680 Whilst both recount their passions, fears, and loves, Till Titans hasting to moist Thetis' arms Bade them provide against his sister's harms.
Then, joining heart and hand with easy pace, They travelled to a pague adjoining near Where in a straw-thatched roof (an homely place For such a pair) they entertainèd were, And what fine cates old Kath'rine could afford, Was served in state unto an aged board.
Their table with rich damask cloths was spread, 3690 Whose every twist outvied the double cable, The napkins diaper, of equal thread, The mourning trenchers clothèd were in sable. A curious salt cut out o' th' boulder stone-- And for their plate--sincerely there was none.
The dropsied host like to a sew'r did strut, To marshal every dish; and first did bring A spacious bowl, to scour the narrow gut, Of nut brown ale, a liquor for a king. And says, 'My Bona Roba, drink this bowl, 3700 'Twill clear thy throat, and cheer thy drooping soul.'
Next came the mumping hostess and set down A lusty dish of milk--sky-coloured blue, Crumbed with the ludgets of the lusty brown, Which two months since was piping hot and new; 'Yet 'tis', says she, 'as savoury in good law As wheaten trash which crams the ladies' maw.'
This good old crone was troubled so with wind, Her coats did dance to th' music of her belly. Next came a barley dumpling whose harsh rind 3710 Was oilèd o'er with a fine tallow jelly Brought by a mincing Marget, passing trim, Whose juicy nose did make the pudding swim.
Next came some glotrah (which the ploughman flanks Joined with a pudding on a holy day) Brought by a jetting dame, on whom in ranks And discipline of state whole troops did stray Of--I forbear to say, lest these rude feet With queasy dames and lady readers meet.
Last, a tough cheese must lock the stomach's door, 3720 Milked from a cow that fed on naught but burrs, Had lain five winters on [a] spongy floor, To gain an harness and a coat of furs; So neatly peopled too, 'twas judg'd a court, Such herds of gentles did about it sport.
Qualmish Bellama could not eat a bit, 'Cause luscious meats a surfeit soon provoke. Albino vent'red but was fain to spit, Lest those harsh viands should his monkship choke. And whilst he hawkèd, and Bellama laugh'd, 3730 The trumping hostess stole a thumping draught.
'Are you so dainty-toothèd,' quoth mine host, 'That country victuals will not down with you? You shall be fed with custards, pies, and roast. Cannot your chops a boneless pudding chew? I trow far worser is than this your fare, Unless you kitchen-sculls and lick-spits are.'
'Ma' gep ma' faw,' the crabbèd hostess said, 'Let 'em e'en fast if they'll not eat their soul. Is not my daughter Maudge as fine a maid? 3740 And yet by mack you see she trolls the bowl. I've dressed a supper sure has pleasèd those, Had wider purses far, and better clothes.'
'Pray, mother, 'gainst the young mon do not rage,' Says full-lipped Madge, 'for he must be your son. We are alike in face, of equal age; Then ho! the match is soon concluded on. Kuss me, my honest Dick, for we this night With crickle crackle will the goblins fright.'
'Mass,' says mine host, 'I like the fellow well. 3750 To suckle bairns I'll give him tidy mull, And my brown mare as sound as any bell, With ten good shear-hogs to afford him wool, And, if they please me, after me they shall Sell nappy yale within this trusty wall.'
'Feck,' says mine hostess, 'they shall have a bed With good strong sheets to pig together in, A brazen pot, a kettle, and a lead, Platters, bowls, pails, and an old kilderkin. And if they please m' a brace of wheels to spin 3760 Mantles and clouts to wrap their bantlings in.'
Our lovers at this pretty talk did smile, Then says Albino 'Here is no such haste, I like: but yet we'll respite it a while, Thou shall be, duck, some three nights longer chaste. I'll man my sister at day's next attiring, Then back and give my Maudge a curtain spring.'
When as his yielding had appeased the billows Of their loud passions, and their meat digested, Night's middle age invited to their pillows, 3770 But tell I dare not how the lovers rested, Whether co-sheeting was allowed as fit, Monastic vows dispensing well with it.
But this I say, there was but one guest-room, Hanged with a pentice cloth spoke age enough; The spiders here had one continued loom: Here rats and mice did play at blind man's blough. Their bed had many tasters, but no tester, Their bedding ushered in thin-sided Easter.
Repentant mattress for chastising Lent, 3780 Stout as a face of steel, which ne'er will yield; Their sheets were tenants, weekly payed rent, The pillow was with juice of noddles steeled, And therefore fit to bolster any sin. Their coverlet was of a bullock's skin.
Their urine vessel was of Ticknall make, Whose inside was with unshorn vellet clad. Their bedstead floated in a springing lake Where frogs and newts their rendezvouses had. This was their guest-bed, and there was no other, 3790 Think you Bellama then lodged with her brother?
No: such pure virtues saint Bellama's breast, And such clear sparks of honour heat his soul, That such a thought would stain her virgin crest, And blur the sacreds of Albino's roll. Then die, black thoughts! Bellama's chaste denials Repelled all charms of love and Venice-trials.
Nay, he ne'er tempted, nor attempted once To scale the fortress of her virgin-tower, For her chaste noes and vows did guard the sconce, 3800 That 'twas impregnable, not forced by power. And, though he did ensphere her naked waist, Yet durst my faith and oath conclude her chaste.
This longing on Albino worked so strong, That, when the god of slumbers did entreat Him to his court, into his thoughts did throng His house of penance, hunger, cold and sweat. So powerful was his dream entruthed with fear, That his strong faith concluded he was there.
And in some sort he was, for when the East 3810 Was purpled with the blushes of the morn, When his benumbèd senses were released By the shrill sound of Gallus' bugle horn-- He heard a sound of words, and looking out, He saw a legion of the monkish rout.
For you must know that, when Albino's wit Had won him freedom, and Conrado thrall, The jealous matron somewhat fearèd it, And the next morning did 'Conrado' call, Who (brooking ill his lodging) struck with fear, 3820 Made answer to the matron's question, 'Here'.
So, when her eyes suspicion truth had made, She asked Conrado how that came to pass, Quoth he, 'Credulity my fear o'erswayed, I was deluded with the dukedom lass. She promised me a dukedom for my pains, And I, poor I, thought it sufficient gains!'
'Ha!' quoth the matron, 'could thy falsehood serve Thus to dishonour me, and all my train? His penalty is thine; till every nerve 3830 Shrink up with famine, thou shalt here remain. Time will not measure years ere thou wilt say, A dukedom for thy penance is no pay.'
'Madam,' quoth he, 'my senses were bewitchèd With that pure white which dwelt upon her brow; I scratched and pinched, but still my humours itchèd, I stood upright, but still my heart did bow. Who would not twice ten minutes in a brook Chin-high and thirsty stand, to be a duke?'
Quoth she, 'I see that folly oversways, 3840 And Venus sovereign is of every sect. To beauty every order homage pays, Whilst only age and blackness gain neglect. I 'xcuse thy frailty--haste unto thy dell-- The sentence of Felice's flight repell.'
Conrado thanked her, and away did pack (As one reprievèd from the gallow tree Still fearing that stern justice plucked him back) Lest, Janus-like, her face should changèd be. For well he knew the monthly hornèd queen 3850 No oft'ner fills her orb than she her spleen.
He Nature blamed, he could no faster run; But, coming to the gate, the porter oped, Who, much appalled to see a youthful nun, Says, 'Mistress, do you travel to be coped? Give me my fee: for sure, a plump-cheeked lass Shall not the porter's lodge unkissèd pass.'
He could not quiet his impatient lust Till he had shown the ensigns of his habit; His parèd crown, with Venus' rays adust, 3860 Then left the mongrel his supposèd rabbit, And slinked away from his monastic veil, Just like a dog that newly burnt his tail.
When he had cast his woman, and put on The habit of his order, he made haste Unto his lord, told him Felice's gone, And that his conscience did conclude her chaste. 'She Folco's large endowments must inherit, And promised me to recompense my merit.'
The prior, smiling at his folly, checked 3870 Him for Apella's faith, and said his lass Was young Albino in nun-vestments decked. '(If that our porter had his double glass), And since thy coming cleareth every doubt, Harness yourselves to seek the younker out.'
As the attendants of an hunting prince, Intending to disfrank an o'ergrown boar, View the impressions of his feet, which, since Last eve, were printed on the sandy shore, Beating each bush, and in each cabin searching 3880 To find his frank, and not the pheasants perching.
And as when Reynald, with his wily plot, Into the squadron of the geese is crept, And grandsire Gander on his back has got, Th' affrighted geese, like them which watch-tow'rs kept, With shrill-toned gabblings wake the slumb'ring towns, By Phoebe's candle to go seek the downs--
Some arm themselves with spits, one with a ladle, Some snatch up pickforks, one a bill or knife. The ambling nurse runs out and leaves the cradle, 3890 And the awed midwife flies the teeming wife; Old grandsire greybeard his tuff bilbo gets, And grandame Grissel with her distaff jets.
Just so our hair-lack monks pursued their quest, Searched for his view, and threaded every grove With bells, beads, books, and holy water blest, And armed with envy's whips about did rove, Their runagado Reynald to surprise, And came to Stean ere the sun could rise.
Which sight unspirited Albino quite, 3900 That his invention could not teem a plot; For in his looks his fear was writ in white, And to his heart his frighted blood did trot. Yet, calling courage to appear o' th' stage, He sheathed his body in his woven cage.
Then hasting to the host, bade him awake, Desired his counsel and assisting hand, Says now his life and safety lay at stake. For, at his door, a troop of shavelings stand. 'I am their errand: I must bid adieu 3910 To lovely Maudge, mine hostess, and to you.'
'Ho!' quoth mine host, and rubbed his gummy eyes, 'What says my son? Must thou be whirled away? I warrant, boy, my club shall still their cries, When 'bout their costards I shall make it play. I'll dye their stark-nak'd crowns with their own blood, Then let 'em come if that they think it good.'
'Good Sickerlin,' says Maudge, 'ere they shall have My honey-sweeten Dick, I'll scratch and bite, With scalding water I'll their noddles shave; 3920 Then buss me Dick, thy Maudge will for thee fight.' 'Thanks,' quoth he, 'duck, but yet it cannot be That thy endeavours should advantage me.
But yet methinks I see some comfort dawn: Yon tinker's budget strengthens every joint. Send me some clothes by time's harsh grinders gnawn, And I will be a tinker in each point. My sister must have rags; and be my trull. Thus veiled and clothed we will the shavelings gull.'
Accoutred in these robes of state, he made 3930 His face and hands in sooty vestures mourn. Then waked Bellama, who was sore afraid To see a tinker, and away does turn. But grasping only air she shrilly cried, 'Art fled, Albino, from thy sweetheart's side?'
Which words, so shrilly spoke, made Echo babble; Who, winged with envy, out o' th' window flies, Carries 'Albino' to the monkish rabble, They, hearing that, Perduers made their eyes And, swelled with rage, against the door did knock, 3940 Whose aged breast could not endure the shock.
This stroke Albino's heart did almost break, Yet bids Bellama sheath her body in These homely rags, which only safety speak. 'Care not for coarseness, so they hide the skin, And at this tinker's habit do not wonder, 'Tis but the curtain thy Albino's under.'
'What tipsied fellows at my door do beat Thus early,' quoth mine host, 'is this your manners? What? must mine hostess wait upon th' entreat 3950 Of tailors, cobblers, carpenters, and tanners? If drinking be your errand, where ye got Your last night's fuddling-cap, this morning trot.'
Impatient they did make the door unhinge, Which gave an entrance to enraged Bardino. He to the reverend host did lowly cringe, Told him his errand was to seek Albino. And as they did his homely cottage hem, Albino's name came leaping unto them.
'Ho!' quoth mine host, 'unto mine house there came, 3960 Last night for lodging, a stout tinker knave, Who now is ticking with his ragged dame. Go, if with him ye any business have; But who Albino is I cannot tell. Here's no sike mon does penance in my cell.'
Into the arras-ceilèd parlour then, The copesters went, in every corner snooked, The tinker's visage none of them did ken, But for Albino on Albino looked. Well might he cozen them, whenas his saint 3970 Knew not his face under that mask of paint.
Then as they searchèd every place by chance Conrado did his monkish vestments own He lent Felice at their affiance. The host, perceiving that the clothes were known, Said, 'Yesterday, about the after three, A fellow came and pawned those clothes to me.'
They asked Bellama then why she did call Upon Albino. 'Why, forsooth,' said she, 'I was a servant once in Darwey Hall, 3980 Where that young monk I oftentimes did see; Who oft in private would disport with me, And promised that I should his sweeting be.
But, by misfortune being turned away, This jovial tinker took me unto wife, So, as this morn by his warm side I lay, I of Albino dreamed--my joy, my life.' 'He's not thy mon,' quoth Maudge; 'thou li'st, base drab': 'Peace, housewife,' says mine host, 'you tattling blab.'
Thus had the scene been changed, had not the sire 3990 Suppressed her babblings with a check and grin. The monks, well satisfied, gang to the fire To taste the juice of Kate's old kilderkin. The tinker and mine host would always cry, 'Fill, hostess, fill! the monks are still a-dry.'
Canzone.
Drink full ones, tinker, methinks the monks are dry, Drink healths, mine host, the monks do fear a thirst. Are the monks thirsty? the monks will quickly try If they or the tinker want a pillow first. Else will we jig and hay unto the black pot's sound, 4000 Till to that music the house shall dance the round.
Then fill a dozen, hostess, we'll have a merry cup, And make the tinker forfeit his budget and his brass. 'Faith,' says the tinker, 'I'll make your monkships sup Till ye sing requiems in reading of the mass.' Then fill a gallon, hostess, we'll health it all about, Till all complain o' th' headache, the falling, or the gout.
Come on, dropping shavelings, let's see you count your beads, I am half afraid you'll stutter in the mass. Gramercy, lovely pots, and nimble Ganymedes, 4010 That brought more water than what holy was. Well, saucy tinker, well, pray finger you your brass, And let the monks alone, 'lone, they'll finger well the mass.
Pray, Gaffer Cowlists, why are ye so bald To cool your pia maters in a sweat? Or did the water your wise noddles scald, Which your devotions and hot zeal did heat? Or are ye given unto Venus play? I am afraid there went the hair away.
But base Bardino did this mirth eclipse 4020 (In his monastic life Albino's friend), Viewing the travail of his hand, his lips, He, by a secret mark, Albino kenned. For, by some strange mishap, was set a brand, An azure spot upon his abler hand.
Says he, 'Methinks you are too frolic, tinker, Your mirth I fear presageth your disgrace, You must no longer be mine hostess' skinker, For you will say, unless y' have brazed your face-- That you both see and do Albino know: 4030 If you deny 't, I have your hand to show.
During the time that you were cowled and coped, On your right hand there dwelt a cerule mark, Which ne'er would off, although 'twas often soaped.' 'Well,' quoth mine host, 'but pray your worship, hark, May not two men be like? may there not be The selfsame spot of him, and you, and me?'
This could not yet appease Bardino's hate, Still teeming mischief, and with envy big; So, starting up, he fumed, and loud did prate, 4040 And snatchèd off Albino's periwig. Now 'gainst two witnesses he could not stand, Whenas his head bore witness with his hand.
Albino excused, it was by nature so, Saying no razor e'er did touch his skull. 'No,' says Bardino, 'it again does grow; Thou canst not with this fop my wisdom gull. Keep him, my brethren, and meanwhile I will Fetch the watch-beggar and his rusty bill.'
Bellama did meanwhile what language can, 4050 With oilèd words and pity-pleading tears, Beseeching these to free her weddèd man. But to her voice they cottoned had their ears, Until an Angel did appear unto them, And with his goldy looks and music woo them.
Then did they yield to let them go away, And they meantime would feign a deading sleep. They for a second licence would not stay, But hasting out along the ditches creep. And as they went a raddle-man they meet, 4060 Whom with kind airs and highway phrase they greet.
And, greeting past, Albino did require To change apparel with him, and his trade, Giving him cash to hasten his desire. 'With all my heart,' the raddle-younker said (Ne'er questioning the cause); 'yet, by the mass, My dames will say I am a podging ass.'
Thus changed they clothes and budgets: then with lead On the new tinker's hand Albino made A mark like his, to gull his envious bead. 4070 With raddle-crimson then, fit for his trade, He clothed his face, and gave Bellama some, So trudged away, for fear the monk should come.
Have you beheld a hound in sudden fright, Whom powder feared, or else the staff did beat, How oft he turns, and looks, yet keeps on flight? So they, with glancing eyes, would oft retreat, Yet movèd forward still as in a ship The pilots backward look, yet forward skip.
But our new tinker, swellèd with content, 4080 Fearing no colours, to the town did pass, Crying, as he along the hamlet went, 'Ha y' any need ho! of a tinker's brass?' Bardino now returned in a chafe, And ask'd the tinker's name, who answer'd, 'Rafe.'
'Where dwell'st thou?' 'Anywhere?' 'How long Hast tink'ring used?' 'I cannot tell.' Then 'bout the tinker all the monks did throng, Whilst he, poor fellow, thought h' had been in hell. For till that day he never saw such creatures, 4090 And what they were he knew not by their features.
Bardino fearèd this was but a gull, And says, 'Good fellow, let me see thy hand.' 'I'm not asham'd to show 't, by cock and bull.' Bardino, viewing 't well, espied the brand, And says, 'Sir youth, before you cozened me: But now in sooth I will be meet with thee.'
'Devil or friar, whatsoe'er thou art, What taunting language dost thou give to me? Ha!' quoth the tinker. Quoth Bardino, 'Smart 4100 Shall give a comment of my words to thee.' 'Smart?' quoth the tinker. 'Swig for Smart and you: I bid defiance unto all thy crew.
Talk not to me of Smart: for if you prate This knotty staff shall bastinado you. I'll set a scarlet cap upon thy pate, And lace thy shoulders with a purple blue.' 'Peace, honest tinker,' say the other monks. 'Aye! I will peace it, if I catch the hunks.'
But let the monks and tinker take their chances. 4110 We'll view the travels of our raddle-man, With faint Bellam', whom every fear entrances, And every trance does make her roses wan. Thus far their loves have tragi-comic been, Thwarted by Fate and the unconstant Queen.
But every planet with kind aspect now Views their long-travelled loves; and Venus' boy Smiles on their wishes with auspicious brow. Now a full harvest must they have of joy, Though sowed with black disasters, dangers, fears, 4120 Dispair, hope, doubtings, sad complaints, and tears.
For aged Starley's tow'rs (that fatal stage Where Danes did act their juries once in blood, When bellowing cannons belchèd out their rage) Within the kenning of our lovers stood. And the well-tunèd bells did loud proclaim Joy to the lovers in great Hymen's name.
A near ally Albino in this town (By order a devout Carthusian) had, Whose voice he hoped with joy their loves should crown. 4130 But he, a slave in raddle vestures clad And a ragged Marget seeing, started back, Bidding his knaveship to some other pack.
He would have no commerce with such as he, He had no ewes whose backs did want his raddle, And if he over-saucy needs would be, With a good bat he would his gaskins swaddle. 'The Provost Marshal else, if this does fail, Shall show you lodging in the whipstock jail.'
This language sounded in Bellama's ears 4140 Like the sad voice of death, yet fear no slaughter. To joy straight changed shall be this scene of tears, And stead of grief the child of pleasure, laughter. My promise stands unshaked: for this short anger Brings not their loves nor safeties unto danger.
'Sir,' quoth Albino, 'there was once a time When you esteemed those wingèd minutes sainted You spent with me (when Fortune was in prime), For you and I have better been acquainted; Though some disasters and stern Fate have made 4150 Me take this homely garb and homelier trade.
Some blood which in your azure channels glide Dwells in my veins: I am Albino hight, And lest you think this smells too much of pride, View this triangle on my able right.' That sight unto rejoicings beat alarms, His kinsman then ensphered him in his arms.
So led them both under his archèd roof, Breathing kind welcomes from his courteous lips; Excus'd his ignorance and sharp reproof, 4160 Asked what misfortune did his worth eclipse. Demanding how coy Fortune dealt with him, And who she was that was so passing trim?
'Unless high heavens do forbid the bane, This maid shall be my bride, though homely dressed; Clothes oftentimes the purest beauty stain, And Venus most unclothed is clothèd best. Under this roof of rags Bellama dwells, Fraught with diviner worth than nature spells.'
'Hymen enrich your wishes with content, 4170 As benign heaven has enriched your face With nature's glory, beauty's orient,' Says the Carthusian with a comely grace; 'Thrice welcome! welcome! for your lovely grace Will add a lustre to my homely place.'
'Sir, my endeavours shall be wholly spent Henceforth,' quoth she, 'to recompense your air.' 'This is no time, forsooth, to compliment, Prithee adjourn thy words of courtship, fair, For till our hands be joined as well as hearts 4180 I fear', quoth he, 'supplanting Envy's darts.
Good cousin, ere the next day's sun be rolled Th' Apogaeum, our meridian point, Favour our wishes with the "have and hold". Tie us so fast fate may not us disjoint. For Envy, like a snake, does crawl about, And winds her tail in where she holes her snout.
Omit no nuptial rites; with holy oil Let her anoint the posts, with virgin hand To Janus consecrate the wether's spoil, 4190 And to those gods which for our households stand, Procure horn torches to be borne along, And cry "Thalassus!" with a bridal song.
Provide me store of nuts to throw about With a full hand unto the gaping boys, That from the tumults of the struggling rout All voices may be damped that speak not joys. Over us two let the same Flamine fall, And let the wheaten cake consummate all.
Nor will we manumiss these robes of state, 4200 Within whose walls blest safety only dwells. Lest our known faces, and apparel, prate In louder echoes than the marriage bells. Then say, fair lady, truth I do not jeer, Will you be wedded to a scarleteer?'
Quoth she, with blushes carpeting her cheek, 'And is that question, prithee, yet to ask? Your worth does merit the unequalled Greek, Without nun-penance or Alcides' task. Then [I] pray you (in truth it is no gull) 4210 Will you be married to a tinker's trull?'
Thus sleep and mirth did cut the night: and ere The sovereignty was ta'en from Cynthia's horn, When at East's casement newly did appear The orient brightness of the rising morn, Albino rose, and to the church did haste T' un-nun Bellama and ungird her waist.
When the Carthusian's voice had crowned their amours With an assurance of Thalassian joys, The air was thinnèd with the joyful clamours 4220 (Not of state-satins) but of grammar boys; And our fresh sponsants in that height of mirth To every pleasure gave an easy birth.
Now are they landed on the isle of bliss, Where every joy courts their desires with pleasure; Envy did then her snaky train dismiss, For their espousals did all sweet entreasure. Dead grief bequeathed her stings to thorn and thistle. Nor durst a sigh within those borders whistle.
Then, as sea-merchants when their reeling galley, 4230 Drunk with salt Neptune, hazardeth their breaths, To calm bold tempest and the Triton's valley, Hack on the quiet shore their brackèd sheaths, So did our amorists, half wrack'd with eye-men, Devote their raddle vests to Love and Hymen.
Some marrow-lancing eye perchance may quarrel, 'Cause with the bridal torch my muse expires; And in loud jeers his tow'ring voice apparel, Taxing the faintness of my metric fires, Because my lines tread not the common path 4240 Of fortune, issue, and appeasing wrath.
Perhaps I dare not lengthen out my story With those events succeeding time begot, Lest some disaster should eclipse their glory, And the pure ermines of their pleasures spot. For having screwed them into firm embraces, I will not waken hate or rouse disgraces.
Yet beauty (know) when virtue shines upon her, And virtues (know) [when] skin-perfections gloss 'em, Awe Fortune's wrath, and challenge heaven's honour. 4250 Hell cannot cancel them, nor Envy dross 'em. Love! if to me the same content thou'lt yield, I'll limn thy mother on Minerva's shield.
Notes: The Pleasing History of Albino and Bellama
[Line: 6 In which of the various fancy Bruts 'Adell' occurs I am not at the moment certain. Brydges, I suppose, deceived by Don Fuco, &c., oddly 'places the scene in Spain'.]
[Line: 15 age of consistency] = 'grow tired of existing together'--a Whitingism almost Brownist in character.]
[Line: 25 'Agathite'] 'Agath' is a form of 'agate': is 'agathite' a coinage suggested by the blending of colours in the agate?]
[Line: 27 Saba] The Queen of Sheba.]
[Line: 50 rein] Orig. 'veine'. But it must, as the little Errata paragraph at the end admits, be 'rein'. All this may be extravagant, but it is poetry.]
[Line: 61 'The curlèd tapers of the firmament' is not exactly contemptible, I fancy.]
[Line: 66 Whiting must certainly have known his Shakespeare. 'Crisp' appears there nowhere as a noun, but its use here must almost certainly have been suggested by the 'crisp heaven' of Timon, iv. iii. 183. 'Spang' is Baconian, and not uncommon.]
[Line: 70 Orig. has 'Lady Curtain' and no 'this'--a state of things which led me quite wrong at first.]
[Line: 126 Ven-Bacchus] Venus-Bacchus?]
[Lines: 131-2 I have ventured to suggest 'mendings' for these exceedingly gappy lines.]
[Line: 148 knee] This is the correction in the errata of 'tener'.]
[Line: 149 bean-manors] = Manors held at a bean instead of a peppercorn? Or misprint for 'bea_u_-manors'? This latter, for 'Beaumanor' is a known name, and Beaumanoir a better, would be quite like Whiting. My friend Sir Frederick Pollock, to whom I appealed after a question whether 'bene' in a legal sense was possible, decided that the phrase could have no technical meaning either as 'bean' or 'bene', but suggested 'rents'. This makes excellent sense, but is not, perhaps, on that account more likely here.]
[Line: 211 Sable] Any black-coated man of letters.]
[Line: 212 Adel's stamps] I suppose, the coin of the realm.]
[Line: 219 A Master of Arts ought to have known better than to make 'Thule' mono-syllabic, though the general public used to pronounce it so in reference to a once popular book of the late Mr. William Black's.]
[Line: 259 trutinate] = 'balance'. Don Fuco also had apparently enjoyed the advantages of a classical education.]
[Line: 275 'Indod' like 'adad', and many other forms of corrupted evasion of the Third Commandment.]
[Lines: 290-1 Tennyson is known to have been no inconsiderable reader, but he can hardly have known this parody--by anticipation--of a famous line in [OE]none.]
[Line: 295 trencher-cloaks] cut short? '_Re_cognizance' is again, if not exactly Shakespearian, not far off.]
[Line: 309 Here 'blough' is certainly in the sense of 'muffle', and therefore gives a light on the use supra (Author's Apology, l. 5).]
[Line: 322 Why this fling at Skelton's exceedingly pretty verses to Isabel Pennel I do not in the least know.]
[Line: 327 Tripherus] See Juvenal, Sat. xi. 137.]
[Line: 394 Orig. 'phrentezy'.]
[Line: 418 entrails] Orig. 'intrals'. Not a very common form, but justified by the Low Latin intralia.]
[Lines: 421-4 There is a reference to Drayton's Nymphidia, where Oberon and Pigwiggen drink from a 'bottell' of 'Lethe spring', and forget their quarrel. For a further reference to this poem, see l. 1420.]
[Line: 465 'breath'. A seventeenth-century form.]
[Line: 489 I have kept 'ante' because I do not know whether it is for 'aunt' or 'ant'. Neither seems to give much sense.]
[Line: 500 There is certainly a long s in original, and 'sore-head' is intelligible, but 'forehead' would go better with 'flag'.]
[Line: 537 Whiting, for all his extravagance, triviality, and so forth, has occasionally an odd gift of phrase. 'Pandora was not treasured up in faces' is an instance.]
[Line: 538 possessing elves] = 'The actual possessors'.]
[Line: 541 The maid] Thisbe, I suppose, though there is nothing to separate her from other maids that 'sat in Babylon'.]
[Line: 551 peevish girl] Scylla.]
[Lines: 569-70 See Ovid Met. I. 523.]
[Line: 591 coarse] Orig. 'course', as so often.]
[Line: 600 'gales' = rents, or royalties, in reference to the earl's land.]
[Line: 639 Orig. 'phillits'.]
[Line: 648 I have left 'croe' because I do not know whether it stands for 'crew' or (as above) 'crow' = 'knocker'.]
[Line: 651 angel-looks] = 'those of a messenger'.]
[Line: 668 'vermilion looks' suggests Dryden's 'church vermilion', but that would have no sense in the context.]
[Line: 677 Serrat] Our Lady of Montserrat? Why St. Katherine should have a specially flaxen wig is another of the posers occurring so constantly. But after all why should she not?]
[Line: 748 The author, from several signs, must have written this odd poem in no small haste. But he must indeed have been in a hurry when, as would here seem, he confounded 'casket' and 'carcanet'. Cf. l. 953.]
[Line: 757 Some word like 'talking' is wanted here.]
[Line: 748 The author, from several signs, must have written this odd poem in no small haste. But he must indeed have been in a hurry when, as would here seem, he confounded 'casket' and 'carcanet'. Cf. l. 953.]
[Line: 757 Some word like 'talking' is wanted here.]
[Line: 822 I suppose 'flazing' (the original) is only a misprint for 'flaring'; but with Whiting you can never be quite sure.]
[Line: 829 Orig. 'archy-'.]
[Line: 834 Orig. 'weekes', as in Spenser, F. Q. ii. x. 30, 2.]
[Line: 844 'boat-boy'? Phaon who is mentioned ll. 3582 foll., and whose later stage of beauty might entitle him to complete his quintet with his 'fare' Venus, Helen, and Narcissus.]
[Line: 862 'the poet'. Horace in Odes, III. xix. 11-15.]
[Line: 904 en-neale] Whiting has used this word before, l. 191, but less oddly. It seems here to mean 'portray indelibly', 'preserve as in mosaic or enamel'. Cf. l. 1521.]
[Line: 918 Butler, as Brydges noticed, must surely have seen this.]
[Line: 920 That 'Prior' is usual and sufficient did not matter to Whiting: he wanted three syllables and an easy rhyme, so he made what he wanted.]
[Line: 953 This line settles the question (v. sup., l. 748) as to Whiting's confusion of 'casket' and 'carcanet'. It is even possible to guess at the cause--the original French carcan, 'a prisoner's chain', 'prison' suggesting 'place of confinement'.]
[Line: 975 'Archy-' in original as before. The use of the French corresponding form 'archi-' instead of the English 'arch-' is probably not accidental.]
[Line: 987 The sharp change here from the straightforward 'frosts' &c. to this ellipse of 'as [that] he [should] want' is noticeable.]
[Lines: 989-90 Another Dryden suggestion. The improvement in
O daughter of the Rose, whose cheeks unite The differing titles of the red and white,
is of course immense. But Cambridge poets have always had a laudable habit of reading each other, and Albino and Bellama was not such a very old poem when Dryden went up.]
[Line: 998 Original, ridiculously enough, 'a A perc_ee_'! I think Whiting's is the worst printed book of the scores, if not hundreds, I have read for this collection.]
[Line: 1004 It is delightful to think how the persons who were shortly to hold Cleveland for a greatest living poet must have enjoyed this metaphysical translation of 'He kissed her when nobody was looking'!]
[Line: 1027 'Venice' for 'glass'--'ice'. As I have said, you may do almost anything you like to Whiting in the way of interpretation.]
[Line: 1058 So, again, I suppose 'vowel-plasters' means 'vocal pleadings', but I should not dare to be certain.]
[Line: 1068 'Teen', as more than once annotated, = 'light'; so eight lines lower.]
[Line: 1081 Of the numerous shades of the word 'baulk', 'parry' or 'foil' comes nearest here]
[Line: 1084 are] 'or' in the original.]
[Line: 1086 'Chester'] = 'he who chests'--and why not?]
[Line: 1112 The metaphors as well as the bloods are something mixed: but again, why not?]
[Line: 1130 Although 'toll' was never (and then less than now) confined to funerals Whiting had better have used another word.]
[Line: 1155 'Anchorist', is at any rate better than 'Priorist'. Fuller used it later.]
[Line: 1172 If Bellama, who indeed seems to have been an outspoken young lady, had regarded manners in regard to her love as little as Agamemnon in regard to his wife, she might have told him that his verses were rather long.]
[Line: 1211 satonisco]? Form of 'satin', unknown elsewhere.]
[Line: 1214 'frank', again Shakespearian, is of course proper to the boar only; but Whiting did not regard invidious distinctions.]
[Line: 1244 There is, of course, not the slightest justification for 'rosy', but our poet was supra not merely grammaticam but vocabularium and everything else.]
[Line: 1271 An odd and rather awkward metaphor.]
[Line: 1294 Orig. 'quoth she'--but, of course, Albino is the speaker.]
[Line: 1306 Does 'wretch_ing_' occur elsewhere? 'Wretch' as a verb is quoted, but only as Scots, and only in the sense of 'be miserly'. Whiting, though not muddle-headed, was so feather-headed in the use of words that one must take into account the possibility of '_r_etching', i.e. 'vomiting blasphemy', and can hardly neglect as _im_possible a careless confusion with 'wretch_less_, = 'reckless'.]
[Line: 1340 The poet changes number from 'nips' to 'uncrown' with his usual lightness of heart.]
[Line: 1376 Cf. Ps. xlvi. 9, 'Knappeth the spear in sunder'.]
[Lines: 1420-4 This is a reference to Drayton's Nymphidia, where Hob searches for the Fairy Queen, who has gone off with Pigwiggen (cf. ll. 421-4).--It will he observed that, as in the case of Kingsley's hero, 'the party is taken ill with a poem' on every provocation.]
[Line: 1432 We want 'Daffa-down_a_-dillies'.]
[Line: 1442 An Alexandrine: not as yet common in the piece.]
[Line: 1450 'ermelin', with its equivalents, is rather the commoner form in all mediaeval languages.]
[Line: 1461 Carduus benedictus]
[Line: 1519 Why 'Irish' who can say? The only sensible remark which presents itself on this piece of nonsense (I have not, of course, attempted to alter the gibberish in any way) is that dialect seems to have been increasing its hold on popular fancy off the stage, as well as in Brome's Northern Lass, &c. on it.]
[Line: 1521 Here 'en-nealed' throws its light backward on the use supra (l. 904) as simply 'enamelled'.]
[Line: 1539 vit] 'vil' in original.]
[Line: 1558 Orig. 'choyce'; but this must be one of the innumerable misprints which the Errata paragraph treats so cavalierly.]
[Line: 1559 For novel] = 'as a novelty'?]
[Line: 1561 Orig. '_s_eiling'--the s being common (though, of course, wrong) earlier as well as at this time.]
[Line: 1569 Orig. 'guilt'.]
[Line: 1602 'coven' in this sense should be 'covent', but Whiting affects the form: see 2686, 3167.]
[Line: 1615 A sufficiently mysterious line.]
[Line: 1645 Orig. 'Volgo's'.]
[Line: 1714 Query, 'If satin's difference can maids adorn'.]
[Line: 1716 'fligger' has a certain dialectic sense of 'flutter', and as its congener 'flicker' has one of 'snigger', 'jeer', it probably has that here.]
[Line: 1745 dors] = 'bumblebees'--somewhat unworthily yoked.]
[Line: 1750 The extraordinary double plural of 'females fairs' (orig. 'fair_e_s') would seem impossible in any other author. Perhaps 'female', but the rhyme requires 'fairs'.]
[Line: 1784 'Sh'as'] A no doubt unintentional compelling of the apostrophe to do double duty.]
[Line: 1844 Whiting was apparently more fashionable in his astronomy than Bacon or Browne.]
[Line: 1863 The slang use of 'dust' is found in Wilkins's Miseries of Enforced Marriage. 1607, 'Come, down with your dust'. One would be disposed to think it a parallel to 'dross', &c.--terms contemptuous of money, but generally employed by those who have not got it.]
[Line: 1865 dealth] I suppose this is another of Whiting's many inventions. Cf. Il Insonio, 347.]
[Line: 1873 Orig. 'everts', which must be wrong.]
[Line: 1882 Orig. 'phrentick'. This middle form between 'fren_e_tic' and 'fr_a_ntic' is M. E. (for instance, in Langland), but is not, I think, common later.]
[Line: 1883 pargèd] This is one of Whiting's redeeming vividnesses. The verb is, of course, the same as 'parget'--'to plaster or distemper'. Cf. Il Insonio, 73.]
[Line: 1911 Whether 'buzzled' is 'bustled' or 'buzzed' I am not sure. Cf. Il Insonio, 107. 'He buzzles like a bustard in a wind'.]
[Line: 1930 Orig. 'Bagno's'.]
[Line: 1931 for] Not quite impossible, but unlikely. 'Fore'?]
[Line: 1945 'cowlist' may raise a doubt as to the passage supra, The Author to his Book, l. 58.]
[Line: 1959 I suppose 'eighteen hooks' means hooks to catch persons eighteen years old. But for cautions against being too sure Whiting is sovereign.]
[Line: 1965 'drilling' for 'trickling' we had before.]
[Line: 1969 'tamm[e]y's (as in original). Still a word for coarse cloth.]
[Line: 1984 Once more, if 'jen-net' is superfluous and you cannot think of any rhyme but 'Bennet' why not overrun?]
[Line: 1995 b_l_anched?] 'Lilies' equalling 'cheeks'? But I would not dictate to Whiting.]
[Line: 2009 huffing waste] 'Pretentious prodigality', as Bellama was a rich pensioner.]
[Line: 2027 'innupted' is better and better. According to that lofty view of the genuine writer which insists that he shall never be at a loss for a word to fit matter and form at once, Whiting should stand very high.]
[Line: 2048 Orig. 'ear_r_hs'.]
[Line: 2071 Neptune's grandchild] Cupid; but the affiliation is irregular.]
[Line: 2083 The only meaning I can think of for this marvellous phrase is, 'He could get the various dresses, but he could not change his own face to suit and give voice to them'.]
[Line: 2116 Felice] Orig. 'Phæliche' throughout.]
[Line: 2120 Issa] v. Martial, i. 110, on the pet dog of Publius:
Hanc ne lux rapiat suprema totam, Picta Publius exprimit tabella, In qua tam similem videbis Issam, Ut sit tam similis sibi nec ipsa, &c. &c.
]
[Line: 2137 lede] = 'speech', 'tale'. Whether Whiting got this from Chaucer's 'ledene' one cannot say; but he seems to have been a man of some reading.]
[Line: 2150 worlds] Play on 'globes'?]
[Line: 2154 'And' would make the next line and a half refer to Bellama, which does not seem likely.]
[Line: 2174 'Lorrett_a_ is, all things considered, a rather unfortunate feminizing of Lorett_o_ to denote Our Lady thereof.]
[Lines: 2188-93 Is this one of the 'misplaced staves' so very coolly left to the reader's discovery in the Errata-note? (v. inf., p. 551). It looks as if it ought to come after its present successor.]
[Line: 2196 'rosies', another coinage, of which Whiting was fond: see ll. 2523, 3344, 3348, 3436.]
[Line: 2220 his] Not that the Prioress thought him masculine as yet.]
[Line: 2226 camp] Orig. 'came'--from the rhyme an obvious misprint, but why 'lanky'? Because of mortifications? Cf. 2199 'lankcloister' and 2553 'lanky crew'.]
[Line: 2301 rape] Probably for 'rap', 'valueless coin'.]
[Line: 2382 vogliarell[a] 'Little wish', 'fancy'.]
[Line: 2404 crayfish] Orig. 'creevish' is nearer to écrevisse and the M. E. crevis than the more modern forms.]
[Line: 2410 orc] 'vessel as big as a whale'. Orig. 'Orke'.]
[Line: 2415 'glorrah'. Evidently the same word as 'glotrah' in l. 3714, and apparently some kind of food capable of being made into a 'shape'.]
[Line: 2427 tempo-pates. Query, pates as bald as Father Time's.]
[Line: 2453 [*] The first part of this 'pie' is pretty clearly 'jovial', but the rest is mere guesswork. Perhaps 'a jovial charect'.]
[Line: 2527 Quiris?]
[Line: 2552 sew] 'sue' in orig.]
[Line: 2562 'ptisick' = 'phthisic' would be intelligible in another context, but not here.]
[Line: 2592 Larv'd] = 'masked'.]
[Line: 2613 In the original, 'by constraint, not, court, lye sleight'. The punishment fits the crime he had committed in the nuns' narrow beds.]
[Line: 2652 a-darkness] Like 'a-bed', &c.]
[Line: 2656 'Sesamoidesse'. From the Greek [Greek: sêsamoeides], a kind of reseda, the medical use of which is noted in Hippocrates; Strabo also refers to it as a charm in vogue to reduce tumours.]
[Line: 2686 'Coven', as before.]
[Line: 2689 'vezzo'] Cf. 'vogliarell'.]
[Line: 2721 'Not' carried on to 'laughs'.]
[Line: 2754 trig] To 'trot', 'run'. Apparently Lancashire and Yorkshire dialect to this day.]
[Line: 2833 'eye-lid rain' may be tears, or a misprint for 'eye-let'; v. sup., l. 795.]
[Line: 2851 fleecèd] = 'mouldy'.]
[Line: 2861 copèd]? = 'encountered', 'met with'. Cf 3855.]
[Line: 2862 Orig. 'Of on'.]
[Line: 2889 Orig. 'Mà boun'.']
[Line: 2897 sience] = 'scion'.]
[Line: 2924 salve] Where did she get it?]
[Line: 2970 Folco] ? Albino-Felice rather.]
[Line: 2971 Sardonic, an adjective formed from 'sardonyx'?]
[Line: 2993 threnes] = 'wailings'--Graece.]
[Line: 3038 'Vitruvius' for 'Vesuvius' is going pretty far, but can be caught up. 'Ichonian' eludes me.]
[Line: 3043 Here Whiting seems to present one of his characteristic retorts to criticism: 'If you say Mab for Mabel, why may I not say Mabel for Mab?']
[Line: 3101 'the other Nunc'] We say 'the other day', and 'just now'. Why not 'the other minute', and so 'the other now'?]
[Line: 3116 swogging] Palsgrave, in a passage which I owe to the late Professor Skeat, 'I swag as a fat person's belly swaggeth as he goeth', might almost have been annotating this passage. Cf. also, of course, 'swagger'. As for the o, 'Maggie' and 'Moggie', 'flap' and 'flop', and a hundred other pairs, occur.]
[Line: 3118 We had 'claret' thus used in Benlowes, vol. 1, p. 358 (l. 202).]
[Line: 3143 larvèd] As before, l. 2592.]
[Line: 3152 Is this found elsewhere?]
[Line: 3155 The union of body and soul.]
[Line: 3158 Orig. 'rithmes'.]
[Line: 3160 'Ascending' &c. 'the ladder'.]
[Line: 3170 'Ferny flag' is not so bad for the tossed antlers.]
[Line: 3179 Malèd] Is this for 'mailed'? = 'armoured by fear against the briars'?]
[Line: 3182 Donnes] Donne? 'ladies'?]
[Line: 3202 Where again he got a trusty or untrusty Turkish or other blade 'you shall tell me', as Prince Seithenin says. But it is doubtless 'necessary to the action'.]
[Line: 3208 Orig. 'Cypresse', which is quite another thing, unless he meant Libitina.]
[Line: 3210 Orig., which I quote merely to show the extraordinary ill-printing of the book, '_o_lse'!]
[Line: 3228 Was a 'helm' part of the dress which a monk suddenly flying from his cloister would have 'at temp. of tale'?]
[Line: 3230 Orig. 'wooddards'.]
[Line: 3264 airs] = 'breaths' = 'words'?]
[Line: 3277 Orig. 'led'.]
[Line: 3329 terse] I do not remember a similarly concrete application of 'terse' as 'elegant', 'well-modelled and outlined'. But, as has been so frequently asked, 'Why not?' Indeed, the plumber's 'wiped' for a 'shaped' joint, though certainly not so intended, is a translation of it.]
[Line: 3343 Narcissus' hate] = Echo.]
[Lines: 3344, 3348 Orig., as before, '_rosy_es'.]
[Line: 3354 not] Orig. '_h_ot'!]
[Line: 3363 'Dreane' is, of course, 'drain'. There is a form drenian (though it is not the only one) in A.S. Cf. p. 539, l. 2.]
[Line: 3367 Rather a fine line, and 'the Child of Sin', though of course not original, is interesting before Milton for Death.]
[Line: 3374 This looks at first like a most remarkable super-painting of the lily. But the violets are the veins.]
[Line: 3396 Orig. ''Tis th' countenance': but Whiting is rarely, if ever, rough to this extent, and his printer might do anything.]
[Line: 3437 Phyma] Whiting, or his printer, must surely have confused [Greek: phyma], 'a malignant growth', 'tumour', with [Greek: physa], 'a fiery blast'.]
[Line: 3442 had] Orig. 'ha_b_'. So in l. 3437 'u_g_on' and in l. 3444 'whe_o_'. There was apparently no correction of the press at all.]
[Line: 3460 healthed] = 'seen that they were in health'.]
[Line: 3467 forth'] So orig. Of course Whiting may have written 'for_th_ th''.]
[Lines: 3493-7 Some confusion here between Proserpine and Eurydice.]
[Line: 3533 This scene has a Robin-and-Makyne character, which might have been made very good and is actually not quite bad.]
[Line: 3558 feeted] = 'put into metre'.]
[Line: 3581 Orig. 'f_t_am'd'.]
[Line: 3582 seq. The story of Aphrodite and her gift to Phao is vulgate, but the goddess's alias is not Greek to me. In the atrocious printing of the original it might be either 'Sea's' or (more nearly) 'Se_d_'s'. The latter is a clear vox nihili, and as, I suppose, even Nathaniel Whiting in the height of his pranks would not make 'Se-a' a dissyllable, I suppose also that he wrote 'the Sea's' and the printer dropped the article.]
[Line: 3604 Circe is rather loosely called Glaucus' wife.]
[Line: 3606 Who was or were Holgoy?]
[Line: 3608 'Helio_tro_pion' rather--the Moonstone, much used in magic.]
[Line: 3612 Polupists] = 'pluralists'.]
[Line: 3616 Pompholyx is a 'bubble', thence a 'blister', and thence again a sort of eczema. But whether it became a name for one of the 'Fauna of Fancy' I do not find.]
[Line: 3617 'Your loves catch feathers.' In the original, 'Your loves with catch-feathers'; the 'with' seems to have been taken over from the preceding line.]
[Line: 3622 Mantuan] There is a similar reference in _Il Insonio_, ll. 365-6.]
[Line: 3627 'Quinque literae' is said to be used of Hebrew roots. But whether anybody preceded Whiting's restless and fantastic ingenuity in making a half English half Latin femina quinque literarum to match the homo trium I do not know. The word itself is obvious enough.]
[Line: 3676 'Tenter' = stretch on tenter-hooks, rack.]
[Line: 3685 pague] Lat. pagus, anglicized and transferred from 'district' to 'village'.]
[Line: 3704 'Lugget' is said to be still dialectic for 'a small load of corn', and there are numerous senses of 'lug' meaning 'protuberances'. So I suppose 'ludgets' are knobs or lumps of bread. But to tell the truth the description of this meal requires nearly as strong a stomach to read as the meal itself to eat, and I shall say little more of it. Naughtiness is sometimes (though by no means so necessarily as appears to some authors and critics) amusing: nastiness never is. I shall therefore take the liberty of not annotating for a page or two.]
[Line: 3796 This line would be a good text for a discourse on the type of writing. 'Blur the holier entries of Albino's page with the recording Angel' is its equivalent, and there have been times when that would have been approved as '_w_ery pretty'. But 'roule' in orig. may be a misprint for 'soule'.]
[Line: 3797 'Venice' and 'Venus' have been played upon before by the writer: they are probably, but not quite necessarily, interchanged here by the printer. It may perhaps be noted that in the original the printer, weary of mere misspelling and misprinting, has taken to mispaging. The text goes on straight, but the pages after 129 are numbered 26, 12, 132, 133, 130, 131, 136, 137, 134, 135, 140, 141, and so on.]
[Lines: 3806-7 It is odd what good lines and phrases this poetaster can sometimes turn out.
Into his thoughts did throng His house of penance, hunger, cold, and sweat,
is worthy the most undoubted poet.]
[Line: 3844 'dell' is not unlike Whiting, but, of course, 'cell' suggests itself.]
[Line: 3845 'repell' = repeal.]
[Line: 3871 Apella] Credat Iudaeus.]
[Line: 3874 Not 'saw double' but 'had the use of his eyes'.]
[Line: 3892 Orig. 'tuffe'. Was Whiting reminiscent of _The Nun's Priest's Tale_ here?]
[Line: 3939 Perduer] Apparently 'a soldier who goes on a forlorn hope'.]
[made their eyes] = 'stared as hard as they could'. Whiting himself certainly 'makes his words perduers' in this sense.]
[Line: 3948 Orig. 'tispyde'.]
[Line: 3967 'Copester' (orig. 'coapster') here, and 'coped' ('coap't') in l. 4032, have nothing to do with the amorous sense in which the word has been formerly used. The signification is simply 'wearing a cope'.
The 'Canzone' appears to aim at a sort of 'The Queen was in the parlour' measure:
Drink full ones tinker | methinks the monks are dry;
though the lines, as they always do in such cases, occasionally simulate regular decasyllables.]
[Line: 4047 fop] Same as 'fob' = 'put off with a false or trumped-up excuse'.]
[Line: 4054 Angel] The old pun on the coin.]
[Line: 4060 raddle-man] A hawker of coarse red paint.]
[Line: 4067 'podging', though it has various more definite senses, appears to be still dialectically used for 'stupid'.]
[Line: 4102 I do not find any of the recognized senses of 'swig' (orig. 'swigge') that fits this very well as = 'a fig', or something coarser. But it may well be coined.]
[Line: 4122 If anybody asks where Starley is it will be sufficient to answer that it is where the Danes used cannons. But 'act their juries' (if right) is one of those at first sight mad phrases of our author's which really have, if little method, some meaning.]
[Line: 4152 glide] Plural by the common attraction to 'channels'.]
[Line: 4177 'air' (orig. 'ayre') is, I suppose, as before = 'breath' = 'words'.]
[Line: 4188 Albino's remarkably catholic conglomeration of classical and Christian wedding-rites might, in a more modern writer, be a satire on Renaissance habits. In him it is only a survival of them.]
[Lines: 4230-6 In this stanza Whiting gives a final flourish of his wondrous diction. I feel sure he must have leant back in his chair and looked lovingly at
Hack on the quiet shore their brackèd sheaths,
and I should not presume to be too certain as to the exact meaning of 'half-wrack'd with eye-men', though I think I know. The insouciance with which he shuffles off the not impertinent question 'How did a somewhat "arbitrary gent" like Don Rivelezzo take this sort of thing?' is also rather charming.]
* * * * *
TO THOSE WORTHY HEROES OF OUR Age, whose noble Breasts are wet and wat'red with the dew of Helicon, N.W. wisheth ever- flourishing Laurels.
You noble laureates, whose able quills In framing odes, do drean the sacred rills Of Aganippe dry, within whose breasts The sire of Æsculapius safely rests; And all the Muses' temple, deign your rays To cheer the measures of an infant bayes, Spread forth the banners of your worths to shield His younger Muse, unable yet to wield Arms 'gainst the monsters of this critic age, Envy, detraction, and Saturnine rage. 10 I to myself assume not double worth, Or that my teeming fancy can bring forth Words to make wonder stand amazed, do try To vindicate the breath of poesy. In such a thought I'm silent, but because I've heard invectives belched from the jaws Of nil-scientes, whose audacious brags Have raised a thunder like a shoal of dags T' affright endeavours. In writing, which if my weak studies hit 20 Of any fancy speaking worth or wit, If I have snatchèd any fainting Muse From the black jaws of envy and abuse, Shooting a soul into her, and new breath, Maugre those tongues that doomèd her to death-- Echo forth thanks unto coy Daphne's lover (About whose fane the sacred Nine do hover) Whose kindness smiled on my uncrushed designs; And locked a muse in my unworthy lines, Able to blunt the darts of envy, pare 30 The sharpest-hoofèd satyr, and with air Shrill as the voice of thunder, chide those galls That belch forth scandals and invective bawls. Nay, he, befriending me above my merit, Unseen of any heaved my wingèd spirit T' a higher court than the Star chamber is, Where souls may surfeit with immortal bliss; And taught my fancy, in those quiet slumbers, What, waking, I have folded up in numbers; To tell the brood of critics that there are 40 Some few, or if not some, yet one, that dare (Backèd by your thrice-sacred worths) expose These lines and letters to the ken of prose.
The humble admirer of your muses N.W.
[To those Worthy 2 drean] v. sup., l. 3363.]
[Line: 6 'an infant bayes' is rather curious. But cf. 'youthful bays', l. 122 infra.]
Il Insonio Insonnadado.
When (in the silent age of sable night) The silver way with Phoebe's glimm'ring light And her attendants was adorned, and when Fast slumbers scaled the eyes of drowsy men, I ent'red Morpheus' Court, that iv'ry port Whereat benighted fancies pass that sort With real good, Sleep was the janitor Who let me in, without one crumb of ore, Into the spacious hall, whose darksome floor With downy beds and quilts was pavèd o'er, 10 Instead of marble stones. Here nuzzled both The hated spawn of idleness and sloth, Icilone and Phantaso, the one Wrapt in a mantle, set with stars and stones, Chequered with flow'rs, and trimmed with antic shapes, Playing with children, feathers, flies, and apes, Blowing up spittle bladders, and the other Stretched on the bosom of his quiet mother, Folded in furs and feathers, would not stir To earn a penny, or to 'please you, sir,' 20 With cap and curtsey. Wond'ring much, to me The wingèd post came with an embassy. I, frighted with his strange apparel, shrunk Away, and closely into feathers sunk. He, smiling, said, 'Let not my strange arraying, Kind youth, beget amazement or dismaying. I'll show thee where in marshalled order stray Whole troops of laureates ensphered with bay'; Then spread his wingèd sails, and caught my hair, Without a sense of motion through the air 30 Conducting me, through where the salamander (If faith b' historical) does breath and wander. Then through those glorious orbs, enriched with gems, The palaces of seven diadems. Then through the firmament where glitt'ring spangs Like blazing topazes in crystal hangs. Three storeys higher was the Galupin Where Jove was frolic with his goddy kin; Hither was I uplifted, then mine eye Besprinkled was by nimble Mercury 40 With liquor which with strength did me endue T' abide the presence of th' immortal crew. The whisp'ring vaults I openèd of my brain, The counsels of the gods to entertain, And, fearing memory, with short-lived chalk (Wanting the tongue of paper) writ their talk. The patron of Parnassus and the Nine, To Jove presented and the rest divine Their suits, with comely grace and majesty. But Phoebus was the orator: 'Lo! I 50 Thy daughters undertook to patronize, Great Emperor of the crystal-spangled skies! And shield their measures from the sullen rage Of envious ignorance, this critic age. (For none inveigh against poetic measures But those that never had Pandora's treasures) Yet such a shoal of ignorants I find, 'Tis thought the greater part o' th' world is blind; That, maugre all my scourges, in the dark Against the Muses they will snarl and bark. 60 Let wingèd-sandalled Hermes post to call And summon them unto thy judgement hall, That you may know their rage is want of brains.' Hermes took post, and brought the silly trains. Jove waved his sceptre and commanded hush. Then calls a gaudy piece of empty plush, And asked what he could say 'gainst Poetry: 'Ha! ha!' quoth he, and fleered with blinking eye, 'I have a mistress' (then begins a tale Which made Jove call for some nectarean ale 70 To arm his ears 'gainst nonsense, and his side 'Gainst laughter's fury) 'has too much of pride. She's fair as is a wall new-parged with lime, She's wise enough; for age, she's in her prime. I vow her service, but she slights me, why? Marry, I have no vein in Poesy, But what I take on trust o' th' second hand. She jeers and says, "This cannot well be scanned; This has a foot too little, that too much; This is a borrowed line"--"she knows 't by th' touch; 80 Tells me the double Indies shall not gain Her love without the smirk poetic vein. Despairing, I against the Muses rail, And wished my hands had crusted been with flail. Then should not I have needed proxy-verse, T' have won a milkmaid, neither coy nor terse. "Tush," say I, "Madam, this same ragged crew Of rhyming dizzards are not worthy you. Plato exiled them from his commonweal. Their tongues will flatter, and their fingers steal. 90 Mere sycophants that, for a trencher-bit, Will swear y' have beauty mixed with purest wit. And if you anger them, will in a rage Unsay 't and rail 'gainst you, your sex, and age." Hundred invectives more I often use Against the Poet and his strumpet muse. But I protest 'tis to dissuade my lady: For had I wit, Phoebus should be my daddy. Then, sacred sisters! I implore your bays Make me a bard, and I'll descant your praise.' 100 'No,' quoth the Muses, 'Helicon ne'er brooks T' have servants which do wear such simple looks.' So sent him packing with a flea in 's ear. Apollo called another to appear, A feeble brain, that at a gen'ral dye Had got the sable hue of infamy. He buzzles like a bustard in a wind, And with his aio's strikes the vulgar blind, In whom, if we believe Pythagoras, I think the soul of Battus housèd was. 110 He is demanded why he thus does bawl 'Gainst soaring wits, not worms that earthly crawl? Clothing his face with impudence, his looks With pride, and with high self-conceit (his books, So are his words, he speaks in print) 'Why? why? Have I not cause t' exclaim on Poesy? I'm a divine, not a fond prattling poet. I am a preacher, I would have you know it.' 'Peace! arrogant,' says Hermes, 'else I'll drive Thee quick into the black infernal hive. 120 There was a time when thou admir'dst with praise Each sprig of laurel, slip of youthful bays. But Envy's master now: or th' cause of it Is, thou ne'er hop'st t' attain that height of wit. But say the truth (yet truth will scarce abide thee) Are there not some that jeer and do deride thee In lofty measures, and thou wanting skill To vindicate thy credit by thy quill? Dost scold?' Quoth he, 'I do acknowledge it. I blamed the Muses, 'cause I wanted wit; 130 And darted scandals at Apollo's lyre. Yet pardon, mighty Æsculapius' sire, And ye blest goddesses, my grand offence, And on your altars I'll burn frankincense, Nay, build rich trophies unto Poetry.' ''Tis good to see a convert mind: stand by.' Apollo said. Says Vulcan, 'By the mass, I have espied a plump-cheek'd bonny lass. She is a wrig, I warrant. Where's my wife? Oh! 'tis a hell to live a coupled life.' 140 Thus did the Blacksmith mutter, till Apollo Cited the damsel with a gentle holloa. Up comes the Marget with a mincing pace, A city-stride, court-garb, and smirking face, So curtsied to the gods, yet 'twas but short. Then says Apollo (meaning to make sport) 'What occupation use you, art, or trade? Are you a virgin?' 'Yes, a chambermaid Forsooth I am, I have my virgin seal. To honest Vulcan I dare make m'appeal: 150 He'll pawn his head, had I kept Venus' room, Mars had not dubbed him with Actaeon's doom.' 'A merry wench, in faith!' says Jove, 'yet stay. To serious parle let's fall from wanton play. You are accused as one that does condemn And boldly scoff the laurel diadem.' 'I once', quoth she, 'admired them all, until I found my praise returned but traffic ill. for when I praised, they praisèd me again: So I had only praises for my pain. 160 Then wittily I oftentimes would flout, And say, the poets' was a needy rout; Of all professions sure it was the worst, Just like the cockatrice i' th' shell accurst, With many more; yet though our tongues did jar, Our quarrel ended in a lippy war. We kissed to friendship, like the nurse and child,' And there she stopped, whereat the heavens smiled. Then came a servingman, a blunt old knave, That dared Parnassus with a saucy brave. 170 'In youth,' says he, 'I rhymed and framèd notes To Pan's choice music and the shepherds' throats: And many a lusty bowl of cream have got For Kate's three brace of rhymes, which was, God wot, But once removed from prose, and, for a song, The iron-hoofèd Hobs 'bout me did throng. But now old age my wit and fancy nips, I gall the Muses with satyric quips; Yet might I with the eagle cast my bill, And gain my youth, I would regain my skill.' 180 This done, the pursuivant Apollo posts T' Elysium, to call the poets' ghosts, That paid th' infernal ferryman his fee. There saw I Homer, but he saw not me; Lascivious Ovid, and Virgilius grave, Satyric Juvenal, and Martial brave, Splay-footed Plautus, limping Ennius, Propertius, Horace, and Boethius. Amongst the moderns came the Fairy Queen, Old Geoffrey, Sidney, Drayton, Randolph, Greene, 190 The double Beaumont, [ ] Drummond, Browne-- Each had his chaplet, and his ivy crown. 'How rested ye amidst those gloomy shades?' Says Jupiter, 'See ye not other trades, Learnings, and sciences, have constant springs, Summers and autumns without winterings? They'll have no hailstorms, fleezy rain, nor frost, A pregnant-witted bard did silence break. Homer 'twas not, he could not see to speak. 200 Virgil it was not, he had got a wrench: Nor B. nor M., for they had got a wench. Ennius was lame, and much did fear his shins; Horace was busy with the kilderkins, Ovid employed with his belovèd flea, Old Geoffrey's language was not fit for plea. Drayton on 's brains a new Moon-calf was getting, And testy Drummond could not speak for fretting. I knew the Roscian's feature, not his name; Yet 'tis engraven on the shawm of Fame. 210 With settled grace he boldly did advance: 'Father of gods! King of the large expanse! We oft have heard proud Envy belching forth Fogs, mists, and fumes, t' eclipse the metric worth, And know the teeming world did never nurse So great a mischief as the critic curse. Our souls one minute have not rested quiet Since carps, we know, was Ignoramus' diet. If Wisdom's fetial call to the sand We have revenge; our standish is at hand, 220 That rights our wrongs: but 'gainst Don Silly's rails The fist is heaved, for paper naught avails. We sate in counsel, did intend to sue With a petition to this noble crew; The substance this, that ye would either give Wit and discretion unto all that live, Or make them idiots, deprived of reason. Else, but to speak, let it be counted treason. But we appeal, great gods, 'tis now my theme-- To clear from mud pure Aganippa's stream, 230 Assist, Pierides, maintain your fires With greater care than can the Vestals theirs; 'Tis merely loss of time, and paper both By refutation to chastise their sloth. Then I the juice of Helicon will sup Not in nutshell, but Colocassian cup, Shall make my fancy catch at naught but gems, And wreathe the Muses' brows with diadems. Methinks this draught such virtue does infuse As if in every sense there dwelt a muse, 240 A spirit of valour to ungod great war, Should he but send a ram, but to the bar; Who knows not Vaticinium does imply In equal measures verse and prophecy, An inspiration, a celestial touch? Such is the poet's raptures, prophet's such. Vates, a bard, and him that does presage; Vaticinor, possessed with either rage. Poema is a book, in numbers framed, Fast cémented with sense, by working named, 250 To which the choicest orator stands bare. Poesis does, in a sublimer air, Things human and divine expose to view. The first philosophy that Fame e'er knew Was honoured with the name of Poetry, Enriched with rules of pure morality, Reading instructions unto heathen men. With more contentment than the Stoic's pen. The ancients unto poets only gave The epithets of wise, divine, and grave; 260 Because their metres taught the world to know To whom they did their holy worship owe. The Greek is free, and kinder in her praise Which she bestows upon poetic lays. She calls all that which takes not essence by A matter pre-existent, poesy. So makes the world a poem: and by this The great creator a great poet is. Nay more, that language on the Nine bestows (As ev'ry callent of that idiom knows) 270 In her etymologues, an higher grace, Calls them [Greek: paideutas], and whose measures trace The steps of Nature, human and divine, The abstruse mysteries of both untwine, Unlock the exta of each science, art, By cunning search; again, not as a part, Nor a grand column only, but entreasures The soul of learning in the poet's measures. All other arts (which use and learning gave) Precepts and rules as sure foundations have, 280 Whenas the poet's pen alone 's inspired, With high enthusiasms by heaven fired, Ennius them holy calls; and Plato says Furies divine are in the poet's lays. Nor wanted he himself the poet's wit; He Dithyrambos and love passions writ. The Regal Prophet was a true-born poet, As to the life his well-tuned metres show it; Composed to music by that holy man, Ere Hopkins and Sternhold knew how to scan. 290 Hence, chicken-augurs, with your crooked staves, Whose rash conjectures crown and dig us graves. A lofty fancy, steepèd in the fount Of Pegasus, an higher pitch can mount. Sibylline oracles did speak in verse; Their scattered leaves in measures did rehearse The mysteries of man's redemption by The incarnation of a deity. Grave Maro, I remember, in an ode (An eclogue) treads the same prophetic road. 300 Those famous Druides, renowned of late, Treated at large o' th' soul's immortal state. Man's spirit does not to the gloomy shade Of Erebus, o'er black Cocytus, wade. Death sets no period, is the lesser part Of human life; for the same breath does dart Vigour to every sinew in the bulk. Man lives as freely in another hulk. Who readeth Ovid's Metamorphosin, And thinks not Moses' soul was sheathèd in 310 His body by a transmigration? He from the chaos tells the world's plantation. Maro accords, and gives the world a soul Which does this well-compacted lump control; And by illumination he discovered How then the spirit o'er the water hovered. Th' inspirèd pen of old Pythagoras By Naso's guide relates how in this mass All things do alter shape, yet soon Dame Nature Of one form lost informs another feature. 320 No substance 's nothingèd in this large globe, But 'gainst some feast puts on a newer robe. The earth, resolved to water, rarefies Into pure air; the thinner water flies; The purer air assumes a scorching heat. They, back returning, orderly retreat: Those subtle sparks converted are to breath, The spissy air, being doomed unto death, Turns into sea, earth's made a thick'ned water. Thus wily Nature is a strange translator. 330 (My lady readers I refer to Sandys, But the grave learnèd unto Ovid's hands.) Nor Seneca divine wants prophesies. Near to the death of time, an age shall rise In which says he, the ocean shall untie The wat'ry bands of things and to the eye Of Tiphys, a new world appear Unheard before by the most itching ear, In glory matching this. Then Thule no more Shall be th' earth's ne plus ultra bound or door, 340 Our eights i' th' hundred would large heaps of treasures Set in their wills to buy Zorastus' measures. Mass-priests for dirges then would lose their fee; These would the surest de profundis be. Shopsters and gallants to his house would hop More than t' exchanges or canary-shop. And poets brisk would have a larger dealth, Than holy confessors of dead men's wealth. I might be infinite, should I but show For what grave arts the world to poets owe. 350 Apelles had not been without Parnasse, The pencil's worth had only dwelt on glass, Or dusty tablets, guided by those apes, In imitation of some antic shapes. Venus a portrait had, Pygmalion missed That speechless female which he hugged and kissed. Had not th' enlivening breath of poetry T' a higher pitch reared up dull fantasy. How quickly worthy acts of famous men Died in the wane of our poetic pen! 360 How rudely by the monks (which only had The key of learning) were their actions clad! King Ethelbert's closed in his Polyander, To Christ for church buildings he's gone without meander. Such stuff the tombs of Bede and Petrarch have, The razor from all monky pates did shave Wit with their hair, except in Mantuan. Re-teined by Vida and Politian, And many others was this glorious sun, Which glitter shall till earth's last thread be spun. 370 We raise shall obelisks by Apollo's breath, Which owe no homage to the rage of death. By pen Honterus creatures limned to life, Better than could the cynic with his knife. Pliny comparèd unto him did err; He was a chemic and cosmographer. How bravely does the Scottish bard depinge The planets' order and the spheric hinge! Brave Petrarch, latined by our learned clerk, Lights us a lamp to guide us in this dark. 380 And critic age says that stout Alexander, (Whose warlike steps o'er all this globe did wander) Fixing on brave Pelides' tomb his eye, Rapt with a noble envy loud did cry, 'Happy, O happy thou! whole actions still Live, being enbreathed by the immortal quill Of worthy Homer!' nay, when his sword had gained Those wealthy realms o'er which Darius reigned, He 'mongst his treasures found a casket fair, So set with gold and gems it rayed the air, 390 And called in day despite of clouds or nights-- Yet the best use (as grave Patricius writes) This cabinet could serve to, was t' entomb Homer's choice Iliads in his glorious womb. Of Zoarastus now some wonders hear, And barrel his disciples in thine ear, Whose rhymes could charm foul Cerber's bawling tongue, And pick hell's lock with his enchanting song; From Stygian shade conducting whom they listed, And whom they pleased with hellish fogs bemisted. 400 Oh golden metres, rhymes outworthing gold, At what high prices would they now be sold If they were extant! friend for friend would sell Lordships, books, banners, to redeem from hell. How many ages has those Greeks survived (Than all their predecessors longer lived), Which showed their noble worths at Ilium's grave? Yet thrice Nestorean age them Homer gave. How bravely Lucan tells succeeding ages The seven-hillèd city's bloody rages! 410 Moist clouds long since have washed the purpled grass, Yet red as ever 'tis in Lucan's glass. To Carthage' Queen the wand'ring Trojan prince Pretended love, but dead it is long since, And dust are they; yet Virgil's lofty verse Makes him speak wars, she love, from under th' hearse. Long since did Hellespont gulp in Leander, When he presumed on naked breast to wander. Hero's watch-candle's out; they vanished quite. Yet Ovid says all was but yesternight. 420 A great while since the cheating miller stole The scholars' meal by a quadruple toll: They gave him th' hornbook, taught his daughter Greek, Yet look in Chaucer--done the other week. Ir'n-sinewed Talus with his steely flail Long since i' th' right of justice did prevail Under the sceptre of the Fairy Queen: Yet Spenser's lofty measures makes it green. Donne was a poet and a grave divine, Highly esteemèd for the sacred Nine 430 That aftertimes shall say whilst there's a sun 'This verse, this sermon, was composed by Dun'. What by heroic acts to man accrues, When grisly Charon for his waftage sues, If his great grandchild, and his grandchild's son, May not the honours, which his sword hath won, Read, graved on paper by a poet's pen, When marble monuments are dust, and when Time has eat off his paint and lettered gold; For verse alone keeps honour out o' th' mould? 440 The press successively gives birth to verse, Shall steely tombs outlive the buckram hearse? To other things the same proportion hold Pure rhymes which lofty volumes do enfold. Autumnal frosts would nip the double rose, If cherish'd only by the breath of prose. Beauty of beauty's not the smallest part Which is bestowèd by our liberal art. Orpheus, Arion, and the scraping crew, To wire and parchèd guts may bid adieu, 450 Or audience beg; were 't not for sprightful bays, Which to the strings composeth merry lays. But with the Muses I'm so fall'n in love That I forget thy presence, mighty Jove! And through the spacious universe do walk: But this shall set a period to my talk.' Jove stretch'd his sceptre then, with frolic grace, And joy triumphèd on the heaven's face. The orbs made music, and the planets danced: The Muses' glory was by all enhanced. 460 Jove then intended for to ratify Decrees in the behoof of poesy, Giving the bards his hand to kiss; and made Chaplets of laurel which should never fade. But Vulcan, to Gradive placed in oppose, Was nodding fast and bellowing through the nose. His armèd brow fell down; and lighting right His antlers did the marching god unsight. Mars fumed, the gods laughed out, the spheres did shake, At which shrill noise I starting did awake, 470 And looking up (East having oped his doors) Amazèd I beheld a troop of scores, And wond'ring, thought they'd been ale-debts, but found I them had chalkèd in my dreaming swound. I trow not the decree: 'twas Vulcan's fault-- Yet dreams are seldom sound, like him they halt. Take this: and, if I can so happy be, I'll write, in my next slumbers, the decree.
[Line: Il Insonio Insonnadado] 13 The names taken from the well-known passage of Ovid, Met. xi. 640 seq.]
[Line: 37 Galupin?]
[Line: 38 goddy kin. Read perhaps 'goddykin', on the analogy of 'mannikin', and interpret of Ganymede. On the other hand Whiting affects there adjectives in -y: see the examples quoted, Albino, l. 808, where 'goddy' actually occurs.]
[Line: 76 Orig. 'da_v_e'. 'Have' seems more likely, but therefore perhaps less Whitingish, than 'dare'.]
[Line: 86 terse] 'polished'. Cf. Albino, 3329.]
[Line: 88 Orig. 'rithming'. This generally = 'rhyming' but may = 'rhythming'.]
[Line: 108 aio's] = Latin 'I say it'. For similar plurals, cf. conclusum's in Albino, 1334, and fortasse's, 2488.]
[Line: 191 double Beaumont] Francis and Sir John. The mention of Drummond is interesting, for I do not remember many.]
[Line: 198 I do not remember many 'plays' on that consonance of 'rime' and 'rhyme' which is a main argument for not confusing the spelling. In previous line orig. 'fleezie'.]
[Line: 202 I suppose 'M.' is Martial: which of the B.'s (it is surely not Boethius?) the other letter libels I know not.]
[Line: 205 Ovid] The allusion is to the spurious De Pulice printed in the early editions of Ovid.]
[Line: 209 If people read Whiting I suppose somebody would say that this 'Roscian' must be Shakespeare.]
[Line: 218 Ruggles's almost famous play had been written a quarter of a century and performed before the King more than twenty years earlier, but it had only been printed in 1630.]
[Line: 219 'fetial' (orig. 'fæcial') = the priest-herald-ambassador who delivered the ultimatum of war or proclaimed peace. 'Sand' = arena.]
[Line: 236 Colocassian] = made of the great leaves of the Egyptian water-lily.]
[Line: 249 Here we get into the old critical commonplaces of the Italians as to Poema, Poesis, &c.]
[Line: 270 callent] = 'knower'. Whether Whitings invention I know not: he might in the context have been directly thinking of Pliny's 'vaticinandi callentes'.]
[Line: 275 exta = 'entrails', not merely as 'inwards' 'secrets', but as possessing indications for haruspices.]
[Line: 290 Hopkins and Sternhold: cf. sup., King, p. 228.]
[Line: 331 Orig. has simply 'sands' (the proper pronunciation) with a small s. Sandys's Ovid was extremely popular.]
[Line: 337 Orig. 'Typhis'. Tethys? as in the passage of Seneca's Medea, to which Whiting refers ('Tethys novos deteget orbes'). But Tiphys, the helmsman of the Argonauts, and watcher of the seas, may be meant: cf. the prominence given to him in Virgil's 4th Eclogue, 'Alter erit tum Tiphys'.]
[Line: 342 Zorastus] Spelt 'Zoarastus' in l. 395. The reference is to the reputed oracles of Zoroaster, printed in Magia Philosophica, hoc est Francisci Patricii Summi Philosophi Zoroaster & eius 320 Oracula Chaldaica, Hamburg, 1593. Patrizzi, whose Della Poetica (Ferrara, 1586) ranks high in Renaissance criticism, is named at l. 392.]
[Line: 363 Polyander]?]
[Line: 364 Whether this overflowing line is a flirt of Whiting's heels or a slip of pen or press may be doubtful.]
[Line: 368 Re-teined. Cf. the dedication to Albino, l. 6.]
[Line: 373 Honterus] Author of Cosmographiae Rudimenta, 1534, several revisions or re-issues of which appeared in the sixteenth century.]
[Lines: 373-393 These lines are full of allusions which I cannot exactly interpret. In fact the whole poem, evidently suggested in style by Marston, Tourneur, and others, is a sort of mystification.]
[Line: 432 Orig. 'Dun'. One of the commonest spellings, and apparently the usual pronunciation.]
FINIS.
Gentle Reader, beare with some faults, which through the obscuritie of the copie, and the absence of the Authour have escaped; as page 3. line 24. for veyne read reyne. p. 3. l. 6. for enjoyed read enjayld. p. 6. l. 10. for tener read knee. p. 12. l. 24 for Satamit read Catamite. Two staves there are misplaced, to the reforming whereof the sence will direct thee: what other errours thou findest, let thy pen amend, excusing the presse, and un-staining the Author.
[These corrections have been made in the text.]
[Footnote: Errata notes] The sublime coolness of this has been noted. The poet or his reader, less conscientious than the present editor, decided at p. 12 that it was not tanti. As a matter of fact 'Satamit' was already corrected in the copy used.]
ERRATA. VOL. II
Page 237. Psalm 141. l. 22 for severed read severe l. 23 for not read no l. 31 for arresse read accesse Page 238. Chorus. l. 42 for When read Whom Constancy. l. 21 for rain read ruin Page 239. (first) Song. l. 14 for blow read blew l. 27 for you read your (second) Song. l. 26 for soon read seen l. 30 for those read these Page 240. Lines. l. 7 for needs read weeds l. 22 for instant read distant l. 6 for field read fields Page 241. Psalm 137. l. 8 for captive read captived Page 242. Ballet. l. 29 for eye read eyes l. 41 for Those moods read These woods l. 63 for wood read woods Page 243. Song. l. 14 for then read there Epistle. l. 39 for life read less Page 245. Quatrains[2]. l. 4 for side read Tide l. 9 for flee; MS. fly Page 246. Epistle. l. 30 for captur'd read captiv'd Page 247. Hymn. l. 10 for Life read less Farewell. l. 27 for Disraye read Disease Page 248. Sir F. Carew. l. 8 for fought read sought Page 260. l. 34 for soon read seen Page 261. Sonnet. l. 5 for sure read free l. 11 for pride read prize l. 25 for grate read grace l. 27 for fate read face
Madam, 'tis true is printed in Jonson's Underwoods (1640, p. 247), where it opens Fair Friend, 'tis true, and follows A New-Year's Gift sung to King Charles, 1635. Godolphin's Commendatory Poem to Sandys's Paraphrase of the Divine Poems, 1648, was accidentally omitted from this collection: but as it is easily accessible, it has not been thought necessary to reprint it among these Errata.
VOL. III
Page 431, note, l. 6 from bottom, for 'hateful' read 'grateful'.
Printed in England at the Oxford University Press
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note
Tables of Contents have been added to two of the books, where they were only present in the initial List of Contents.
In the original, the Commendatory Poems were printed in two columns, and the line numbers were placed convenient to the length of line, occasionally 29, 41, etc. Since all the poems are now in single column format, the line numbers in the Commendatory Poems have been restored to the usual 30, 40, etc.
At the time of the Caroline Period, England still followed the Julian calendar (after Julius Caesar, 44 B.C.), and celebrated New Year's Day on March 25th (Annunciation Day). Most Catholic countries accepted the Gregorian calendar (after Pope Gregory XIII) from some time after 1582 (the Catholic countries of France, Spain, Portugal, and Italy in 1582, Belgium, the Netherlands, and Switzerland within a year or two, Hungary in 1587, and Scotland in 1600), and celebrated New Year's Day on January 1st. England finally changed to the Gregorian calendar in 1752.
This is the reason for the double dates in the early months of the years in some of the Notes. There is a reference on page 415 to 28th December, 1682, followed by a reference to January 28th, 1682/3. (1682 in England; 1683 in Scotland). Only after March 25th (Julian New Years Day) was the year the same in the two countries. The Julian calendar was known as 'Old Style', and the Gregorian calendar as 'New Style' (N.S.).
= = indicated bold text; _ _ indicates italic text; + + indicates spaced text; ^{} indicates a superscript.
Errata (only obvious Printers' Errors have been corrected):
Page 68: [Footnote: 'fellnw' corrected to (2nd) 'fellow'. "... this on Strafford's fellow worker and fellow victim...."
Page 76: [Line: 20 'publisbed' corrected to 'published'. "whose minutes have been published in modern times".
Page 109: 'topô' should be 'typô'. May be a printer's error, or Saintsbury's or Stanley's original: retained.
"Pantachothen en heni topô poll' eidê pherôn,"
Page 226: [Line: 64 'Witb]' corrected to 'With'
Page 256: [Sidenote: 'flunnt' corrected to 'fluunt'. "--Sparguntur in omnes, In te mista fluunt--Claudian."
Page 259, Sidenote: Ganguin. l. 6.]
The historian's name is usually given as Gaguin nowadays, but formerly Guaguin was usual.
Page 301: 'freind' (sic) has been retained. There were no enforced spelling 'rules' at this time.
"Entered in the Stationers' Register on December 17, 1673, as 'A poem or copy intituled the Review, To the Reverend my honored freind Dr. Wm. Sancroft, Deane of St. Paules, A Pindarique Ode'."
Page 361: Stanza number I. missing. Added for consistency.
Page 384: Missing Stanza number 'II'. Present in the Latin version.
Page 431: 'hateful' corrected to 'grateful' as per the errata on page 562.
"[Line: 7 That 'bitter' would be grateful to others besides unicorns after a surfeit of liquorice may be easily admitted."
Page 433: 'tbee' corrected to 'thee'. "Smile at thee, on thee, like thee new,"
Page 497: Possible Printer's error, mentioned, but not corrected, by Saintsbury:
"The shrivers to their lords return with smiles, And on their looks a joy ovall chhriots had,"
could be:
"The shrivers to their lords return with smiles, And on their looks a joviall charact' had,"
(See Note, Line 2453).
Page 528: 'contiued' corrected to 'continued'. "The spiders here had one continued loom:"
Page 539 (Note): 'tbe' corrected to 'the'; 'balf; corrected to 'half'.
"and I should not presume to be too certain as to the exact meaning of 'half-wrack'd with eye-men',"