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Up with the
jolly bird of light
Who sounds his third retreat to
night;
Faire Amarantha from her bed
Ashamed
starts, and rises red
As the carnation-mantled morne,
Who now the blushing robe doth spurne,
And puts on
angry gray, whilst she,
The envy of a deity,
Arayes her limbes, too rich indeed
To be inshrin'd in
such a weed;
Yet lovely 'twas and strait, but fit;
Not made for her, but she to it:
By nature it sate
close and free,
As the just bark unto the tree:
Unlike Love's martyrs of the towne,
All day
imprison'd in a gown,
Who, rackt in silke 'stead of a
dresse,
Are cloathed in a frame or presse,
And
with that liberty and room,
The dead expatiate in a
tombe.
No cabinets with curious washes,
Bladders
and perfumed plashes;
No venome-temper'd water's
here,
Mercury is banished this sphere:
Her payle's
all this, in which wet glasse
She both doth cleanse
and view her face.
Far hence, all Iberian smells,
Hot amulets, Pomander spells,
Fragrant gales, cool
ay'r, the fresh
And naturall odour of her flesh,
Proclaim her sweet from th' wombe as morne.
Those
colour'd things were made, not borne.
Which, fixt
within their narrow straits,
Do looke like their own
counterfeyts.
So like the Provance rose she walkt,
Flowerd with blush, with verdure stalkt;
Th'
officious wind her loose hayre curles,
The dewe her
happy linnen purles,
But wets a tresse, which
instantly
Sol with a crisping beame doth dry.
Into
the garden is she come,
Love and delight's Elisium;
If ever earth show'd all her store,
View her
discolourd budding floore;
Here her glad eye she
largely feedes,
And stands 'mongst them, as they 'mong
weeds;
The flowers in their best aray
As to their
queen their tribute pay,
And freely to her lap
proscribe
A daughter out of ev'ry tribe.
Thus as
she moves, they all bequeath
At once the incense of
their breath.
The noble Heliotropian
Now turnes to
her, and knowes no sun.
And as her glorious face doth
vary,
So opens loyall golden Mary
Who, if but
glanced from her sight,
Straight shuts again, as it
were night.
The violet (else lost ith' heap)
Doth
spread fresh purple for each step,
With whose
humility possest,
Sh' inthrones the Poore Girle in
her breast:
The July-flow'r that hereto thriv'd,
Knowing her self no longer-liv'd,
But for one look of
her upheaves,
Then 'stead of teares straight sheds
her leaves.
Now the rich robed Tulip who,
Clad all
in tissue close, doth woe
Her (sweet to th' eye but
smelling sower),
She gathers to adorn her bower.
But the proud Hony-suckle spreads
Like a pavilion her
heads,
Contemnes the wanting commonalty,
That but
to two ends usefull be,
And to her lips thus aptly
plac't,
With smell and hue presents her tast.
So
all their due obedience pay,
Each thronging to be in
her way:
Faire Amarantha with her eye
Thanks those
that live, which else would dye:
The rest, in silken
fetters bound,
By crowning her are crown and crown'd.
And now the sun doth higher rise,
Our Flora to the
meadow hies:
The poore distressed heifers low,
And
as sh' approacheth gently bow,
Begging her charitable
leasure
To strip them of their milkie treasure.
Out of the yeomanry oth' heard,
With grave aspect,
and feet prepar'd,
A rev'rend lady-cow drawes neare,
Bids Amarantha welcome here;
And from her privy purse
lets fall
A pearle or two, which seeme[s] to call
This adorn'd adored fayry
To the banquet of her dayry.
Soft Amarantha weeps to see
'Mongst men such
inhumanitie,
That those, who do receive in hay,
And pay in silver twice a day,
Should by their cruell
barb'rous theft
Be both of that and life bereft.
But 'tis decreed, when ere this dies,
That she shall
fall a sacrifice
Unto the gods, since those, that
trace
Her stemme, show 'tis a god-like race,
Descending in an even line
From heifers and from
steeres divine,
Making the honour'd extract full
In Io and Europa's bull.
She was the largest
goodliest beast,
That ever mead or altar blest;
Round [w]as her udder, and more white
Then is the
Milkie Way in night;
Her full broad eye did sparkle
fire;
Her breath was sweet as kind desire,
And in
her beauteous crescent shone,
Bright as the
argent-horned moone.
But see! this whiteness is
obscure,
Cynthia spotted, she impure;
Her body
writheld, and her eyes
Departing lights at obsequies:
Her lowing hot to the fresh gale,
Her breath perfumes
the field withall;
To those two suns that ever shine,
To those plump parts she doth inshrine,
To th'
hovering snow of either hand,
That love and cruelty
command.
After the breakfast on her teat,
She
takes her leave oth' mournfull neat
Who, by her
toucht, now prizeth her life,
Worthy alone the
hollowed knife.
Into the neighbring wood she's gone,
Whose roofe defies the tell-tale Sunne,
And locks out
ev'ry prying beame;
Close by the lips of a cleare
streame,
She sits and entertaines her eye
With the
moist chrystall and the frye
With burnisht-silver
mal'd, whose oares
Amazed still make to the shoares;
What need she other bait or charm,
What hook or
angle, but her arm?
The happy captive, gladly ta'n,
Sues ever to be slave in vaine,
Who instantly (confirm'd
in's feares)
Hasts to his element of teares.
From
hence her various windings roave
To a well-orderd
stately grove;
This is the pallace of the wood
And
court oth' Royall Oake, where stood
The whole
nobility: the Pine,
Strait Ash, tall Firre, and
wanton Vine;
The proper Cedar, and the rest.
Here
she her deeper senses blest;
Admires great Nature in
this pile,
Floor'd with greene-velvet Camomile,
Garnisht with gems of unset fruit,
Supply'd still
with a self recruit;
Her bosom wrought with pretty
eyes
Of never-planted Strawberries;
Where th'
winged musick of the ayre
Do richly feast, and for
their fare,
Each evening in a silent shade,
Bestow
a gratefull serenade.
Thus ev'n tyerd with delight,
Sated in soul and appetite;
Full of the purple Plumme
and Peare,
The golden Apple, with the faire
Grape
that mirth fain would have taught her,
And nuts,
which squirrells cracking brought her;
She softly
layes her weary limbs,
Whilst gentle slumber now
beginnes
To draw the curtaines of her eye;
When
straight awakend with a crie
And bitter groan, again
reposes,
Again a deep sigh interposes.
And now she
heares a trembling voyce:
Ah! can there ought on
earth rejoyce!
Why weares she this gay livery,
Not
black as her dark entrails be?
Can trees be green,
and to the ay'r
Thus prostitute their flowing hayr?
Why do they sprout, not witherd dy?
Must each thing
live, save wretched I?
Can dayes triumph in blew and
red,
When both their light and life is fled?
Fly
Joy on wings of Popinjayes
To courts of fools, where
as your playes
Dye laught at and forgot; whilst all
That's good mourns at this funerall.
Weep, all ye
Graces, and you sweet
Quire, that at the hill
inspir'd meet:
Love, put thy tapers out, that we
And th' world may seem as blind as thee;
And be,
since she is lost (ah wound!)
Not Heav'n it self by
any found.
Now as a prisoner new cast,
Who sleepes
in chaines that night, his last,
Next morn is wak't
with a repreeve,
And from his trance, not dream bid
live,
Wonders (his sence not having scope)
Who
speaks, his friend or his false hope.
So Amarantha
heard, but feare
Dares not yet trust her tempting
care;
And as againe her arms oth' ground
Spread
pillows for her head, a sound
More dismall makes a
swift divorce,
And starts her thus:----Rage, rapine,
force!
Ye blew-flam'd daughters oth' abysse,
Bring
all your snakes, here let them hisse;
Let not a leaf
its freshnesse keep;
Blast all their roots, and as
you creepe,
And leave behind your deadly slime,
Poyson the budding branch in's prime:
Wast the proud
bowers of this grove,
That fiends may dwell in it,
and move
As in their proper hell, whilst she
Above
laments this tragedy:
Yet pities not our fate; oh
faire
Vow-breaker, now betroth'd to th' ay'r!
Why
by those lawes did we not die,
As live but one,
Lucasta! why----
As he Lucasta nam'd, a groan
Strangles the fainting passing tone;
But as she
heard, Lucasta smiles,
Posses her round; she's slipt
mean whiles
Behind the blind of a thick bush,
When, each word temp'ring with a blush,
She gently
thus bespake; Sad swaine,
If mates in woe do ease our
pain,
Here's one full of that antick grief,
Which
stifled would for ever live,
But told, expires; pray
then, reveale
(To show our wound is half to heale),
What mortall nymph or deity
Bewail you thus? Who ere
you be,
The shepheard sigh't, my woes I crave
Smotherd in me, me in my grave;
Yet be in show or
truth a saint,
Or fiend, breath anthemes, heare my
plaint,
For her and thy breath's symphony,
Which
now makes full the harmony
Above, and to whose voice
the spheres
Listen, and call her musick theirs;
This was I blest on earth with, so
As Druids amorous
did grow,
Jealous of both: for as one day
This
star, as yet but set in clay,
By an imbracing river
lay,
They steept her in the hollowed brooke,
Which
from her humane nature tooke,
And straight to heaven
with winged feare,
Thus, ravisht with her, ravish
her.
The nymph reply'd: This holy rape
Became the
gods, whose obscure shape
They cloth'd with light,
whilst ill you grieve
Your better life should ever
live,
And weep that she, to whom you wish
What
heav'n could give, has all its blisse.
Calling her
angell here, yet be
Sad at this true divinity:
She's for the altar, not the skies,
Whom first you
crowne, then sacrifice.
Fond man thus to a precipice
Aspires, till at the top his eyes
Have lost the
safety of the plain,
Then begs of Fate the vales
againe.
The now confounded shepheard cries:
Ye
all-confounding destines!
How did you make that voice
so sweet
Without that glorious form to it?
Thou
sacred spirit of my deare,
Where e're thou hoverst
o're us, hear!
Imbark thee in the lawrell tree,
And a new Phebus follows thee,
Who, 'stead of all his
burning rayes,
Will strive to catch thee with his
layes;
Or, if within the Orient Vine,
Thou art
both deity and wine;
But if thou takest the mirtle
grove,
That Paphos is, thou, Queene of Love,
And
I, thy swain who (else) must die,
By no beasts, but
thy cruelty:
But you are rougher than the winde.
Are souls on earth then heav'n more kind?
Imprisoned
in mortality
Lucasta would have answered me.
Lucasta, Amarantha said,
Is she that virgin-star? a
maid,
Except her prouder livery,
In beauty poore,
and cheap as I;
Whose glory like a meteor shone,
Or aery apparition,
Admir'd a while, but slighted
known.
Fierce, as the chafed lyon hies,
He rowses
him, and to her flies,
Thinking to answer with his
speare----
Now, as in warre intestine where,
Ith'
mist of a black battell, each
Layes at his next, then
makes a breach
Through th' entrayles of another, whom
He sees nor knows whence he did come,
Guided alone by
rage and th' drumme,
But stripping and impatient
wild,
He finds too soon his onely child.
So our
expiring desp'rate lover
Far'd when, amaz'd, he did
discover
Lucasta in this nymph; his sinne
Darts
the accursed javelin
'Gainst his own breast, which
she puts by
With a soft lip and gentle eye,
Then
closes with him on the ground
And now her smiles have
heal'd his wound.
Alexis too again is found;
But
not untill those heavy crimes
She hath kis'd off a
thousand times,
Who not contented with this pain,
Doth threaten to offend again.
And now they gaze, and
sigh, and weep,
Whilst each cheek doth the other's
steep,
Whilst tongues, as exorcis'd, are calm;
Onely the rhet'rick of the palm
Prevailing pleads,
untill at last
They[re] chain'd in one another fast.
Lucasta to him doth relate
Her various chance and
diffring fate:
How chac'd by Hydraphil, and tract
The num'rous foe to Philanact,
Who whilst they for
the same things fight,
As Bards decrees and Druids
rite,
For safeguard of their proper joyes
And
shepheards freedome, each destroyes
The glory of this
Sicilie;
Since seeking thus the remedie,
They
fancy (building on false ground)
The means must them
and it confound,
Yet are resolved to stand or fall,
And win a little, or lose all.
From this sad storm of
fire and blood
She fled to this yet living wood;
Where she 'mongst savage beasts doth find
Her self
more safe then humane kind.
Then she relates, how
Caelia--
The lady--here strippes her array,
And
girdles her in home-spunne bayes
Then makes her
conversant in layes
Of birds, and swaines more
innocent,
That kenne not guile [n]or courtship ment.
Now walks she to her bow'r to dine
Under a shade of
Eglantine,
Upon a dish of Natures cheere
Which
both grew, drest and serv'd up there:
That done, she
feasts her smell with po'ses
Pluckt from the damask
cloath of Roses.
Which there continually doth stay,
And onely frost can take away;
Then wagers which hath
most content
Her eye, eare, hand, her gust or sent.
Intranc't Alexis sees and heares,
As walking above
all the spheres:
Knows and adores this, and is wilde,
Untill with her he live thus milde.
So that, which to
his thoughts he meant
For losse of her a punishment,
His armes hung up and his sword broke,
His ensignes
folded, he betook
Himself unto the humble crook.
And for a full reward of all,
She now doth him her
shepheard call,
And in a see of flow'rs install:
Then gives her faith immediately,
Which he returns
religiously;
Both vowing in her peacefull cave
To
make their bridall-bed and grave.
But the true joy
this pair conceiv'd,
Each from the other first
bereav'd,
And then found, after such alarmes,
Fast-pinion'd in each other's armes,
Ye panting
virgins, that do meet
Your loves within their winding
sheet,
Breathing and constant still ev'n there;
Or
souls their bodies in yon' sphere,
Or angels, men
return'd from hell
And separated mindes--can tell.
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