"Safe then, and safest were my sillie sheepe,
Ne fear'd the Wolfe, ne fear'd the wildest beast,
All were I drown'd in carelesse quiet deepe:
My lovely Lionesse without beheast
So careful was for them, and for my good,
That when I waked, neither most nor least
I found miscarried or in plaine or wood.
"Oft did the Shepheards, which my hap did heare,
And oft their Lasses, which my luck envyde,
Daylie resort to me from farre and neare,
To see my Lyonesse, whose praises wyde
Were spred abroad; and when her worthinesse
Much greater than the rude report they tryde,
They her did praise, and my good fortune blesse.
"Long thus I joyed in my happinesse,
And well did hope my joy would have no end;
But oh! fond Man! that in worlds ficklenesse
Reposedst hope, or weenedst her thy frend
That glories most in mortall miseries,
And daylie doth her changefull counsels bend
To make new matter fit for Tragedies;
"For whilest I was thus without dread or dout,
A cruel Satyre with his murdrous dart,
Greedie of mischiefe, ranging all about,
Gave her the fatall wound of deadly smart,
And reft from me my sweete companion,
And reft from me my love, my life,
my hart:
My Lyonesse (ah, woe is me!) is gon!
"Out of the world thus was she reft away,
Out of the world, unworthy such a spoyle,
And borne to heaven, for heaven a fitter pray;
Much fitter then the Lyon, which with toyle
Alcides slew, and fixt in firmament;
Her now I seeke throughout this earthly soyle,
And seeking misse, and missing doe lament."
Therewith he gan afresh to waile and weepe,
That I for pittie of his heavie plight
Could not abstain mine eyes with teares to steepe;
But, when I saw the anguish of his spright
Some deale alaid, I him bespake againe;
"Certes, Alcyon, painfull is thy plight,
That it in me breeds almost equall paine.
"Yet doth not my dull wit well understand
The riddle of thy loved Lionesse ;
For rare it seemes in reason to be skand,
That man, who doth the whole worlds rule possesse,
Should to a beast his noble hart embase,
And be the vassall of his vassalesse ;
Therefore more plain areade this doubtfull case.'
Then sighing sore, “Daphne thou knew'st," quoth he,
"She now is dead;" ne more endur'd to say,
But fell to ground for great extremitie;
That I, beholding it, with deepe dismay
Was much apald; and, lightly him uprearing,
Revoked life, that would have fled away,
All were my selfe, through grief, in deadly drearing.
Then gan I him to comfort all my best,
And with milde counsaile strove to mitigate
The stormie passion of his troubled brest,
But he thereby was more empassionate;
As stubborne steed, that is with curb restrained,
Becomes more fierce and fervent in his gate;
And, breaking foorth at last, thus dearnely plained:
"What man henceforth that breatheth vitall aire
Will honour Heaven, or heavenly powers adore,
Which so unjustly doth their judgements share
Mongst earthly wights, as to afflict so sore
The innocent, as those which do transgresse,
And doe not spare the best or fairest, more
Than worst or foulest, but doe both oppresse?
"If this be right, why did they then create
The world so faire, sith fairenesse is neglected?
Or why be they themselves immaculate,
If purest things be not by them respected?
She faire,
she pure, most faire, most pure she was,
Yet was by them as thing impure rejected;
Yet she in purenesse heaven it self did pas.
"In purenesse and in all celestiall grace,
That men admire in goodly womankind,
She did excell, and seem'd of Angels race,
Living on earth like Angell new divinde,
Adorn'd with wisedome and with chastitie,
And all the dowries of a noble mind,
Which did her beautie much more beautifie.
"No age hath bred (since faire Astræa left
The sinfull world) more vertue in a wight;
And, when she parted hence, with her she reft
Great hope, and robd her race of bounty quight.
Well may the shepheard Lasses now lament;
For doubble losse by her hath on them light,
To loose both her and bounties ornament.
"Ne let Elisa, royall Shepheardesse,
The praises of my parted love envy,
For she hath praises in all plenteousnesse
Powr'd upon her, like showers of Castuly,
By her owne Shepheard, Colin, her own Shepheard,
That her with heavenly hymnes doth deifie,
Of rusticke Muse full hardly to be betterd.
"She is the Rose, the glory of the day,
And mine the Primrose in the lowly shade:
Mine, ah! not mine; amisse I mine did say:
Not mine, but his, which mine awhile her made;
Mine to be his, with him to live for ay.
O that so faire a flowre so soon should fade,
And through untimely tempest fall away!
"She fell away in her first ages spring,
Whilst yet her leafe was greene, and fresh her rinde,
And whilst her braunch faire blossomes foorth did bring,
She fell away against all course of kinde.
For age to dye is right, but youth is wrong;
She fell away like fruit blowne down with winde.
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make my undersong.
"What hart so stonie hard but that would weepe,
And poure forth fountaines of incessant teares?
What Timon but would let compassion creepe
Into his breast, and pierce his frosen eares?
In stead of teares, whose brackish bitter well
I wasted have, my heart-bloud dropping weares,
To think to ground how that faire blossome fell.
"Yet fell she not as one enforst to dye,
Ne dyde with dread and grudging discontent,
But as one toyld with travell downe doth lye,
So lay she downe, as if to sleepe she went,
And closde her eyes with carelesse quietnesse;
The whiles soft Death away her spirit hent,
And soule assoyld from sinfull fleshlinesse.
"Yet ere that life her lodging did forsake,
She, all resolv'd, and readie to remove,
Calling to me (ay me!) this wise bespake;
'Alcyon! ah, my first and latest love!
• Ah! why does my Alcyon weepe and mourne, 'And grieve my ghost, that ill mote him behove, 'As if to me had chaunst some evill tourne!
'I, since the messenger is come for mee, 'That summons soules unto the bridale feast Of his great Lord, must needs depart from thee,
'And straight obay his soveraine beheast;
Why should Alcyon then so sore lament
'That I from miserie shall be releast,
And freed from wretched long imprisonment
'Our daies are full of dolour and disease, 'Our life afflicted with incessant paine,
That nought on earth may lessen or appease;
Why then should I desire here to remaine?
'Or why should he, that loves me, sorrie bee
"For my deliverance, or at all complaine
My good to heare, and toward joyes to see?
'I goe, and long desired have to goe;
goe with gladnesse to my wished rest, 'Whereas no worlds sad care nor wasting woe May come, their happie quiet to molest; But Saints and Angels in celestiall thrones Eternally Him praise that hath them blest; 'There shall I be amongst those blessed ones.
'Yet, ere I goe, a pledge I leave with thee "Of the late love the which betwixt us past, 'My young Ambrosia; in lieu of mee, 'Love her; so shall our love for ever last. Thus, Deare! adieu, whom I expect ere long.'— "So having said, away she softly past:
Weepe, Shepheard! weepe, to make mine undersong.
"So oft as I record those piercing words,
Which yet are deepe engraven in my brest,
And those last deadly accents, which like swords
Did wound my heart, and rend my bleeding chest,
With those sweet sugred speeches doe compare,
The which my soul first conquerd and possest,
The first beginners of my endlesse care:
"And when those pallid cheekes and ashe hew,
In which sad Death his pourtraiture had writ,
And when those hollow eyes and deadly view,
On which the cloud of ghastly Night did sit,
I match with that sweete smile and chearful brow,
Which all the world subdued unto it,
How happie was I then, and wretched now!
|