The
Countess
of
Pembroke's Arcadia (1590). Book III.
Sir
Philip
Sidney.
Note on the e-text: this Renascence
Editions text was transcribed by Risa
Bear, November, 2003, from the Sommer facsimile of a British
Museum
copy of the Ponsonby edition of 1590. The text is in the public domain.
Content unique to this presentation is copyright © 2003 The
University
of Oregon. For nonprofit and educational uses only.
THE THIRD BOOKE
OF
THE COVNTESSE OF
PEMBROKES ARCADIA.
CHAP.
I.
Dorus-his 1 faire and 2 foule
weather in his loue. 3 His for-
lorne agonies. 4 His doubts to
write, 5 and Pamelaes
to reade, 6 his elegie.
His
last dayes daunger, hauing made Pamelaes loue discerne,
what a
losse it
should haue suffered, if Dorus
had bene destroyed, bredde such
tendernesse of kindnes in her toward him: that she coulde no longer
keepe Loue from looking through her eyes, and going forth in her words;
whom before as a close prisoner she had to her hart onely committed; so
as finding not only by his speeches & letters, but by the pitifull
oratio[n] of a languishing behauior, & the easily discyphered
character of a sorowful face, that Despair began nowe to threaten him
destruction, she grewe content both to pitie him, and let him see she
pityed him: as well by making her owne beautifull beames thawe away the
former icinesse of her behauiour, as by entertaining his discourses
(whensoeuer he did vse them) in the third person of Musidorus;
to so
farre a degree, that in the ende she said, that if she had bene the
Princesse, whom that disguised Prince had vertuously loued, she
would
haue requited his faith with faithfull affection: finding in her
hart, that nothing could so hardly loue as vertue: with many mo words
to the same sense of noble fauour, & chast plainnesse. Which when
at the first it made that expected blisse shine vpon Dorus; he
was like
one frozen with extremitie of colde, ouer-hastily brought to a great
fire, rather oppressed, then relieued with such a lightning of
felicitie. But after the strength of nature had made him able to feel
the sweetnesse of ioyfulnes, that again being a child of Passion, &
neuer acquainted with mediocrity, could not set bou[n]ds vpon his
happines, nor be co[n]tent to giue Desire a kingdome, but that it must
be
an vnlimited Monarchy. So that the ground he stood vpon being ouer-high
in happines, & slipperie through affection, he could not hold
himselfe fro[m] falling into such an error, which with sighs blew all
co[m]fort out of his brest, & washt away all cheerfulnes of his
cheere, with teares. For this fauour filling him with hope, Hope
encouraging his desire, & Desire considering nothing, but
oportunitie: one time (Mopsa being called away by her mother,
& he
left alone with Pamela) the sudden occasion called Loue, &
that
neuer staid to aske Reasons leaue; but made the too-much louing Dorus
take her in his armes, offering to kisse her, and, as it were, to
establish a trophee of his victorie.
But she, as if she had bin ready to drinke a wine of
excellent tast & colour, which suddenly she
perceiued had
poison in it, so did she put him away fro[m] her: loking first vnto
heauen, as amazed to find herselfe so beguiled in him; then laying the
cruel punishment vpon him of angry Loue, and lowring beautie, shewing
disdain, & a despising disdain, Away (said she) vnworthy man to
loue, or to be loued. Assure thy selfe, I hate my selfe for being so
deceiued; iudge then what I doo thee, for deceiuing me. Let me see thee
no more, the only fall of my iudgement, and staine of my conscience.
With that she called Mopsa, not staying for any answer (which
was no
other, but a flood of tears, which she semed not to mark (much lesse to
pity) & chid her for hauing so left her alone.
It was not an amazement, it was not a sorrow, but it
was euen a death, which then laid hold of
Dorus: which certainly
at
that instant would haue killed him, but that the feare to tary longer
in her presence (contrary to her com[m]andement) gaue him life to cary
himselfe away fro[m] her sight, and to run into the woods, where,
throwing
himselfe downe at the foot of a tree, he did not fall to lamentation
(for that proceeded of pitying) or grieuing for himselfe (which he did
no way) but to curses of his life, as one that detested himselfe. For
finding himselfe not onely vnhappy, but vnhappie after being falne from
all happinesse: and to be falne from all happines, not by any
misconceiuing, but by his own fault, and his fault to be done to no
other but to Pamela: he did not tender his owne estate, but
despised
it; greedily drawing into his minde, all conceipts which might more and
more torment him. And so remained he two dayes in the woods, disdaining
to giue his bodie food, or his mind comfort, louing in himselfe
nothing, but the loue of her. And indeed that loue onely straue with
the fury of his anguish, telling it, that if it destroyed Dorus,
it
should also destroy the image of her that liued in Dorus: and
when the
thought of that was crept in vnto him, it bega[n] to win of him some
co[m]passion to the shrine of the image, & to bewaile not for
himselfe
(who[m] he hated) but that so notable a loue should perish. The began
he
onely so farre to wish his owne good, as that Pamela might
pardon him
the fault, though not the punishment: & the vttermost height he
aspired vnto, was, that after his death, she might yet pittie his
error, and know that it proceeded of loue, and not of boldnesse.
That conceipt found such friendship in his
thoughts, that at last he yelded, since he was banished
her prese[n]ce, to
seeke some meanes by writing to shew his sorrow, & testifie his
repentance. Therfore getting him the necessarie instruments of writing,
he thought best to couterfaite his hand (fearing that as alreadie she
knew his, she would cast it away as soone as she saw it) and to put it
in vers, hoping, that would draw her on to read the more, chusing the
Elegiac as fittest for mourning. But pen did neuer more quakingly
performe his office; neuer was paper more double moistned with inke
& teares; neuer words more slowly maried together, & neuer the
Muses more tired, then now with changes & rechanges of his deuises:
fearing howe to ende, before he had resolued how to begin, mistrusting
ech word, condemning eche sentence. This word was not significant, that
word was too plain: this would not be co[n]ceiued; the other would be
il
conceiued. Here Sorow was not inough expressed; there he seemed too
much for his owne sake to be sory. This sentence rather shewed art,
then passion; that sentence rather foolishly passionate, then forcibly
mouing. At last, marring with mending, and putting out better, then he
left, he made an end of it; & being ended, & diuerse times
ready to teare it: till his reason assuring him, the more he studied,
the worse it grew, he folded it vp, deuoutly inuoking good acceptation
vnto it; and watching his time, when they were all gone one day to
dinner (sauing Mopsa) to the other lodge, stale vp into Pamelaes
chamber, and in her sta[n]dish (which first he kissed & and craued
of it a
safe and friendly keeping) left it there, to be seene at her next vsing
her hike (himselfe returning againe to be true prisoner to desperate
sorrow) leauing her standish vpon her beds head, to giue her the more
occasion to marke it: which also fell out.
For she finding it at her after noone-returne, in
another place then she left it, opened it. But when
she saw the letter,
her hart gaue her from whence it came. And therefore clapping it to
againe, she went away from it, as if it had bin a contagious garment of
an infected person: and yet was not long away, but that she wished she
had read it, though she were loth to reade it. Shall I (said she)
second his boldnesse so farre, as to reade his presumptuous letters?
And yet (said she) he sees me not to growe the bolder thereby: And how
can I tell, whether they be presumptuous? The paper came from him, and
therefore not worthie to be receyued; and yet the paper (she thought)
was not guiltie. At last, she concluded, it were not much amisse to
looke it ouer, that she might out of his wordes picke some further
quarrell against him. Then she opened it, and threwe it away, and tooke
it vp againe, till (ere she were aware) her eyes woulde needes reade
it, conteining this matter.
VNto a caitife wretch, whom long
affliction holdeth,
and now
fully beleeues helpe to be quite perished;
Grant yet, grant yet
a looke, to the last monume[n]t of his anguish,
O you (alas so I find) came of his onely ruine.
Dread not a whit (O goodly cruel) that pittie may enter
into thy hart by the sight of this Epistle I send:
And so refuse to behold of these strange wounds the recitall,
least it might th'allure home to thy selfe to
returne,
Vnto thy selfe I do means those graces dwell so within thee,
gratefulnes, sweetnes, holy loue, hartie regard)
Such thing cannot I seeke (Despairs hath giu'n me my answer
despaire most tragicall clause to a deadly request)
Such thing can[n]ot he hope, that knowes thy determinat
hardnes;
hard like a rich marble: hard, but a faire Diamond.
Can
those eyes that of eyes drownd in most harty flowing teares,
(teares and teares of a man) had no returne to
remorse;
Can those eyes not yeeld to the kind conceit of a sorow,
which inke onely relates, but ne laments, ne replies?
Ah, that, that I do I not conceiue {though that to my blisse were)
more then Nestors yeares, more then a Kings
diademe.
Ah, that, that I do not co[n]ceiue; to the heaue[n]
when a mouse climes
then may I hope t'atchieue grace of a heauenly
tiger.
But, but alas, like a man co[n]demn'd doth craue to be
heard speake
not that he hopes for amends of the desaster he
feeles,
But finding th' approch of death with an ougly relenting,
giues an adieu to the world, as to his onely
delight:
Right so my boiling hart, enflamde with fire of a faire eye,
bubling out doth breath signes of his hugie dolours:
Now that he fends to what end his life and loue be reserued,
and that he hence must part where to liue onely he
lou'd.
O faire, O fairest, are such thy triumphs to thy fairnesse?
can death beautie become? must be such a monument?
Must I be onely the marke, shall proue that Vertue is angrie?
shall proue that fiercenes can with a white doue
abide?
Shall to the world appeare that faith and loue be rewarded
with
mortall disdaine, bent to vnendly reuenge? Vnto
reuenge?
O sweete, on a wretch wilt thou be
reuenged?
shall such high Plannets ende to the losse of a war
me?
And to reuenge who[m] doo bend, would in that kind be
reuenged,
as th' offence was done, and goe beyond if he can.
All my offence was Loue: with Loue then must I be chastned,
and with more, by the lawes that to Reuenge doo
belong.
If that loue be a fault, more fault in you to be louely:
Loue neuer had me opprest, but that I saw to be
lou'd.
You be the cause that I lou'd: what Reason blameth a shadowe,
that with a body't goes? since by a body it is.
If that Loue you did hate, you should your beautie haue hidden:
you should those faire eyes haue with a veile
couered.
But foole, foole that I am, those eyes would shine fro[m] a dark caue.
what veiles then doo preuaile, but to a more
miracle?
Or those golden lockes, those lockes which lock me to bondage,
torne you should disperse vnto the blasts of a
winde.
But foole, foole that I am, tho I had but a hair of her head fou[n]d,
eu'n as I am, so I should vnto that haire be a
thrall.
Or with fair ha[n]ds-nailes (ô ha[n]d
which nailes me to this death)
you should haue your face (since Loue is ill)
blemished.
O wretch, what do I say? should that faire face be defaced?
should my too-much sight cause so true a Sunne to be
lost?
First let Cimmerian darknes be my one/' habitation:
first be mine eyes pulde out, first be my braine
perished;
Ere that I should consent to doo such excessiue a dammage
vnto the earth, by the hurt of this her heauenly
iewell.
O no: but such loue you say you could haue afoorded,
as might learne Temperance voyde of a rages euents.
O sweet simplicitie: from whence should Loue so be learned?
vnto Cupid that boy shall a Pedante be
found?
Well: but faultie I was: Reason to my Passion yeelded,
Passion vnto my rage, Rage to a hastie reuenge.
But whats this for a fault, for which such fault is abolisht,
such faith, so staineles, inuiolate, violent?
Shall I not? ô may I not thus yet refresh the remembrance,
what sweete ioyes I had once, and what a place I did
hold?
Shall I not once obiect, that you, you graunted a fauour
vnto the man, whom now such miseries you awarde?
Red your thoghts to the dear sweet words which the[n] to
me giu'n were:
think what a world is now, think who hath altred her
hart.
What? was I then worthie such good, now worthie such euill?
now fled, then cherished? then so nie, now so
remote?
Did not a rosed breath, from lips more rosie proceeding,
say, that I should well finde in what a care I was
had?
With much more: now what doo I finde, but Care to abhor me,
Care that I sinke in griefe, Care that I liue
banished?
And banished doo I liue, nor now will seeke a recou'rie,
since so she will, whose will is to me more then a
lawe.
If then a man in most ill case may giue you a farewell;
farewell, long farewell, all my woe, all my delight.
CHAP.
2.
l The young Ladies mette: 2 inuited to the countrie-wenches
sports, 3
goe thether, 4 there are taken, and thence car-
ted to Amphialus castle. 5 Their
entertainement there.
6 Cecropias auricular confession of
her proud cariage in
prosperitie, 7 and ambitious practises in
aduersitie. 8 Am-
phialus his affection in these actions.
Hat this would haue wrought in her, she
her selfe could not
tell: for, before her
Reason could moderate the
disputation
betwene Fauour & Faultines, her sister, and Miso, called
her downe
to entertaine Zelmane, who was come to visite the two sisters;
about
whom, as about two Poles, the Skie of Beautie was turned: while Gynecia
wearied her bed with her melancholic sicknes, and made Misos
shrewdnesse (who like a sprite, sette to keep a treasure, barde Zelmane
from any further conference) to be the Lieutenant of her iealousie:
Both she and her husband, driuing Zelmane to such a streit of
resolution, either of impossible graunting, or dangerous refusing, as
the best escape she had, was (as much as she coulde) to auoyde their
companie. So as, this day, being the fourth day after the vprore,
(Basilius being with his sicke wife, conferring vpon such
examinations,
as Philanax, and other of his noble-men had made of this late
seditio[n],
all touching Cecropia with veheme[n]t suspition of giuing
either flame or
fuell vnto it) Zelmane came with her bodie, to find her mind,
which was
gone long before her, & had gotten his seate in Philoclea:
who now
with a bashfull cheerefulnesse (as though she were ashamed, that she
could not choose but be glad) ioyned with her sister, in making much of
Zelmane.
And so as they sate deuising how to giue more
feathers to the winges of
Time, there came to the
lodge dore, sixe maides, all
in one liuerie of
skarlette petticotes, which were tuckt vp almoste to their knees, the
petticoates them selues beinge in many places garnished with leaues,
their legges naked, sauing that aboue the anckles they had little black
silke laces, vpon which did hang a few siluer belles: like which they
had a little aboue their elbowes, vpon their bare armes. Vpon their
haire they ware garlands of roses and gilliflowers; and the haire was
so drest, as that came againe aboue the garlandes; enterchaunging a
mutuall couering: so as it was doubtfull, whether the haire drest the
garlandes, or the garlandes drest the haire. Their breasts liberall to
the eye: the face of the formoste [of] them, in excellencie faire; and
of
the rest louely, if not beautifull: and beautifull would haue bene, if
they had not suffered greedy Phœbus, ouer-often, and harde, to
kisse
them. Their countenaunces full of a gracefull grauitie; so as the
gesture matcht with the apparrell, it might seem a wanton modestie, and
an entising sobernes. Each of them had an instrument of musick in their
hands, which consorting their wel-pleasing tunes, did charge each eare
with vnsensiblenes, that did not lende it selfe vnto them. The Musicke
entring alone into the lodge, the Ladies were all desirous to see from
whence so pleasant a guest was come: and therefore went out together;
where, before they coulde take the paines to doubt, much lesse to aske
the question of their qualitie, the fairest of them (with a gay, but
yet discreete demeanour) in this sort spake vnto them. Most excellent
Ladies, (whose excellencies haue power to make cities enuie these
woods, and solitarines to be accounted the sweetest companie) vouchsafe
our message your gracious hearing, which as it comes from Loue, so
comes it from louely persons. The maides of all this coast of Arcadia,
vnderstanding the often accesse that certaine shepheards of these
quarters, are allowed to haue in this forbidden place; and that their
rurall sports are not disdained of you, haue bene stird with emulation
to them, and affection to you, to bring forth some thing, which might
as well breede your contentment: and therefore hoping that the goodnes
of their intention, & the hurtlesnes of their sex shall excuse the
breach of the commandeme[n]t in coming to this place vnsent for, they
chose out vs, to inuite both your princely parents, & your selues,
to a place in the woods about half a mile hence: where they haue
prouided some such sports, as they trust your gratious acceptatio[n]s
will interpret to be deliteful. We haue bene at the other lodge, but
finding them there, busied in weightier affaires, our trust is, that
you yet will not denie the shining of your eies vpo[n] vs.
The Ladies stood in some double, whether they should
goe or not, lest Basilius might be angry
withall. But Miso
(that had
bene at none of the pastorals, and had a great desire to lead her old
senses abroad to some pleasure) told them plainely, they should nor
will, nor choose, but go thether, and make the honest countrie people
know, that they were not so squeamish as folkes thought of them. The
Ladies glad to be warranted by her authoritie; with a smiling
humblenesse obeied her: Pamela only casting a seeking looke,
whether
she could see Dorus (who poore wretch wandred halfe mad for
sorrow in
the woods, crying for pardon of her, who could not heare him) but
indeed was grieued for his absence, hauing giuen the wound to him
through her owne harte. But so the three Ladies & Miso went
with
those six Nymphes, conquering the length of the way with the force of
musique, leauing only Mopsa behind, who disgraced weeping with
her
countenaunce, because her mother would not suffer her to shewe her
newskoured face among them. But the place apointed (as they thought)
met them halfe in their way, so well were they pleased with the sweete
tunes and prettie conuersation of their inuiters. There founde they in
the midst of the thickest part of the wood, a litle square place, not
burdened with trees, but with a boord couered, & beautified with
the pleasantest fruites, that Sun-burnd Autumne could deliuer vnto
the[m].
The maids besought the Ladies to sit downe, and tast of the swelling
grapes, which seemed great with child of Bacchus: & of the
diuers
coloured plums, which gaue the eye a pleasant tast before they came to
the mouth. The Ladies would not shew to scorne their prouision, but
eat, and dranke a little of their coole wine, which seemed to laugh for
ioy to come to such lips.
But after the collation was ended,
and that they looked for the coming foorth of such deuises, as
were
prepared for them, there rusht out of the woods twentie armed men, who
round about enuironed them, & laying hold of Zelmane before
she
could draw her sword, and taking it from her, put hoods ouer the heads
of all fower, and so muffled, by force set them on horsebacke and
carried them away; the sisters in vaine crying for succour, while Zelmanes
harte was rent in peeces with rage of the iniurie,
and
disdaine of her fortune. But when they had caried them a foure or fiue
mile further, they lefte Miso with a gagge in her mouth, and
bound hande
and foote, so to take her fortune: and brought the three Ladies (by
that time that the Night seemed with her silence to conspire to their
treason) to a castle about ten mile of from the Lodges: where they were
fayne to take a boate whiche wayted for them. For the castle stood in
the midst of a great lake, vppon a high rocke, where partly by Arte,
but principallie by Nature, it was by all men esteemed impregnable.
But at the Castle gate their faces
were discouered, and there were mett with a great number of
torches,
after whome the sisters knewe their aunt in lawe, Cecropia. But
that
sight increased the deadly terrour of the Princesses, looking for
nothing but death, since they were in the power of the wicked Cecropia:
who yet came vnto them, making curtesie the outside of mischiefe, and
desiring them not to be discomforted: for they were in a place
dedicated to their seruice. Philoclea (with a looke where
Loue shined
through the miste of Feare) besought her to be good vnto them, hauing
neuer deserued euill of her. But Pamelas high harte disdayning
humblenesse to iniurie, Aunt, (said she) what you haue determined of vs
I pray you doo it speedily: for my part I looke for no seruice, where I
finde violence.
But Cecropia (using no more wordes with
them)
conueyed them all three to seuerall lodgings (Zelmanes harte so
swelling with spite, that she coulde not bring foorth a worde) and so
lefte them: first taking from them their kniues, because they should do
themselues no hurte, before she had determined of them: and then giuing
such order that they wanted nothing but libertie, & comfort, she
went to her sonne, who yet kept his bed, because of his wound he had
receiued of Zelmane, & told him, whom now he had in his
power. Amphialus was but euen then returned from far countries,
where he had
wonne immortall fame, both of courage & curtesie, when he met with
the Princesses, and was hurt by Zelmane, so as he was vtterly
ignorant
of all his mothers wicked deuises; to which he would neuer haue
consented, being (like a rose out of a brier) an excellent sonne of an
euill mother: and now when he heard of this, was as much amazed, as if
he had seen the Sunne fall to the earth. And therefore desired his
mother that she would tell him the whole discourse, how all these
matters had happened.
Sonne (said she) I will doo it willingly, and since
all is done for you, I will hide nothing from you.
And howsoeuer I
might be ashamed to tell it strangers, who would thinke it wickednesse,
yet what is done for your sake (how euill soeuer to others) to you is
vertue. To begin then euen with the beginning, this doting foole Basilius
that now raignes, hauing liued vnmarried till he
was nigh
threescore yeares old (and in all his speaches affirming, and in all
his dooings assuring, that he neuer would marrie) made all the eyes of
the country to be bent vpon your father, his onely brother (but then
younger by thirty yeares) as vpon the vndoubted successour: being
indeed a man worthy to raigne, thinking nothing enough for himselfe:
where this goose (you see) puts downe his head, before there be any
thing neere to touch him. So that he holding place and estimation as
heyre of Arcadia, obteyned me of my father the King of Argos,
his
brother helping to the conclusion, with protesting his bachelerly
intention: for else you may be sure the King of Argos, nor his
daughter
would haue suffered their Royall bloud to be stained with the base name
of subiection. So that I came into this countrie as apparant Princesse
therof, and accordingly was courted, and followed of all the Ladies of
this countrie. My porte and pompe did well become a King of Argos daughter:
in my presence their tongues were turned into eares, &
their eares were captiues vnto my tongue. Their eyes admired my
Maiestie, & happy was he or she, on whom I would suffer the beames
thereof to fall. Did I goe to church? it seemed the very Gods wayted
for me, their deuotions not being solemnized till I was ready. Did I
walke abroad to see any delight? Nay, my walking was the delight it
selfe: for to it was the concourse; one thrusting vpon another, who
might shewe him selfe most diligent and seruiceable towardes me: my
sleepes were inquired after, and my wakings neuer vnsaluted: the very
gate of my house full of principall persons, who were glad, if their
presents had receaued a gratefull acceptation. And in this felicitie
wert thou borne, the very earth submitting it selfe vnto thee to be
troden on as by his Prince; and to that passe had my husbandes vertue
(by my good helpe) within short time brought it, with a plot we laide,
as we should not haue needed to haue waited the tedious worke of a
naturall end of Basilius, when the heaue[n]s (I thinke enuying
my great
felicity) the[n] stopt thy fathers breath, whe[n] he breathed nothing
but
power and soueraigntie. Yet did not thy orphancie, or my widdowhood,
depriue vs of the delightfull prospect, which the hill of honour dooth
yeeld, while expectation of thy succession did bind dependencies vnto
us.
But before,
(my sonne) thou wert
come to the age to feele the sweetnesse of authoritie, this beast (whom
I can neuer name with patience) falsely and foolishly married this Gynecia,
then a young girle, and brought her to sit aboue me in al
feasts, to turne her shoulder to me-ward in all our solemnities. It is
certaine, it is not so great a spite to be surmounted by straungers, as
by ones owne allies. Thinke then what my minde was, since withall there
is no question: The fall is greater from the first to the second, then
from the second to the vndermost. The rage did swell
in my harte, so much the more as it was faine to be suppressed in
sile[n]ce, & disguised with
humblenes. But aboue al the rest, the griefe of
grieues was, whe[n] with these daughters (now thy prisoners) she cut of
al
hope of thy successio[n]. It was a tedious thing to
me; that my eies should looke lower then any bodies, that
(my selfe being by) anothers voice then mine, should be more
respected. But it was insupportable vnto me, to think
that not only I, but thou shouldst spend al thy time in such misery,
& that the Sun should see my eldest son lesse then a
Prince. And though I had ben a sainct I could not
choose, finding the chau[n]ge this chauge of fortune bred vnto me, for
now
fro[m] the multitude of followers, sile[n]ce grew to be at my gate,
&
abse[n]ce in my presence. The guesse of my mind could
preuaile more before, then now many of my earnest
requests. And thou (my deare sonne) by the fickle
multitude no more then any ordinary person (borne of the mud of the
people) regarded. But I (reme[m]bring that in all
miseries, weeping becomes fooles, and practize wise
folks) haue tried, diuers meanes to pull vs out of the mire
of subiectio[n]. And though many times Fortune failed
me, yet did I neuer faile my self. Wild
beasts I kept in a caue hard by the lodges, which I caused by night to
be fed in the place of their pastorals, I as then liuing in my house
hard by the place, and against the houre they were
to meete (hauing kept the beasts without meate)
then let them loose, knowing that they would seeke their food
there, and deuoure what they founde. But blind
Fortune hating sharpe-sighted inuentions, made them vnluckily to be
killed. After, I vsed my seruant Clinias to stir a
notable tumult of country people: but those louts
were too grosse instruments for delicate
conceits. Now lastly, finding Philanax-his
examinations grow daungerous, I thought to play double or quit; &
with a sleight I vsed of my fine-witted we[n]ch Artesia, with
other maids
of mine, would haue sent these good inheritrixes of Arcadia, to
haue
pleaded their cause before Pluto, but that ouer-fortunatly for
the[m], you
made me know the last day how vehemently this childish passion of loue
doth torment you.
Therfore I haue brought them
vnto you, yet wishing
rather hate the[n] loue in you. For Hate often begetteth
victory; Loue commonly is the instrument of
subiection. It is true, that I would also by the same
practise haue entrapped the parents, but my maids failed of it, not
daring to tary long about it. But this sufficeth, since (these being
taken away) you are the vndoubted inheritor, and Basilius will
not long ouer-liue this losse.
O mother (said Amphialus) speake
not of
doing them hurt, no more then to mine eies, or my
hart, or if I haue
any thing more deare then eyes, or hart vnto me. Let others finde what
sweetnesse they will in euer fearing, because they are euer feared: for
my part, I will thinke my selfe highly intitled, if I may be once by Philoclea
accepted for a seruant. Well (said Cecropia)
I would I had
borne you of my minde, as well as of my body: then should you not haue
suncke vnder base weakenesses. But since you haue tied your thoughts in
so wilfull a knot, it is happie I haue brought matters to such a passe,
as you may both enioy affection, and vppon that build your
soueraigntie. Alas (said Amphialus) my hart would faine yeeld
you
thanks for setting me in the way of felicitie, but that feare killes
them in me, before they are fully borne. For if Philoclea be
displeased, how can I be pleased? if she count it vnkindnes, shal I
giue tokens of kindnes? perchance she co[n]demnes me of this action,
and
shall I triumph? perchance she drownes nowe the beauties I loue with
sorrowful teares, and where is then my reioicing? You haue reason (said
Cecropia with a feined grauitie) I will therefore send her
away
presently, that her contentment may be recouered. No good mother (said Amphialus)
since she is here, I would not for my life
constraine
presence, but rather would I die then co[n]sent to absence. Prety
intricat
follies (said Cecropia) but get you vp, & see how you can
preuaile
with her, while I go to the other sister. For after we shal haue our
hands full to defend our selues, if Basilius hap to besiege vs.
But
remembring herself, she turned back, & asked him what he woulde
haue done with Zelmane, since nowe he might be reuenged of his
hurt.
Nothing
but honorably, answered Amphialus,
hauing deserued no other of
me, especially being (as I heare) greatly cherished of Philoclea.
And
therefore I could wish they were lodged together. O no (said Cecropia) company confirmes
resolutio[n]s, & lonelines
breeds a
werines of ones thoughts, and so a sooner consenting to reasonable
profers.
CHAP.
3.
1 Amphialus addressing him to Philoclea. 2 Her melan-
cholie habit. 3 His
humble sute. 4 Her pitifull answere:
5 and his compassionate replie. 6 Their
parting with cold
comfort.
Vt Amphialus (taking of his
mother Philocleas kniues, which I he kept
as a relique,
since she had worne them) gat
vp, and calling for his
richest apparell, nothing seemed sumptuous inough for his mistresses
eyes: and that which was costly, he feared were not daintie: and though
the inuention were delicat, he misdoubted the making. As carefull he
was too of the colour; lest if gay, he might seeme to glorie in his
iniury, and her wrong; if mourning, it might strike some euill presage
vnto her of her fortune. At length he tooke a garment more rich then
glaring, the ground being black veluet, richly embrodered with great
pearle, & precious stones, but they set so among certaine tuffes of
cypres, that the cypres was like blacke clowds, through which the
starrs might yeeld a darke luster. About his necke he ware a brode
& gorgeous coller; whereof the pieces enterchangeably answering;
the one was of Diamonds and pearle, set with a white enamell, so as by
the cunning of the workman it seemed like a shining ice, and the other
piece being of Rubies, and Opalles, had a fierie glistring, which he
thought pictured the two passions of Feare and Desire, wherein he was
enchayned. His hurt (not yet fully well) made him a little halt, but he
straue to giue the best grace he could vnto his halting.
And in that sort he went to Philocleas
chamber:
whome he found (because her chamber was
ouer-lightsome) sitting of
that side of her bedde which was from the windowe; which did cast such
a shadow vpon her, as a good Painter woulde bestowe vppon Venus,
when vnder the trees she bewayled the murther of Adonis: her
handes and
fingers (as it were) indented one within the other: her shoulder
leaning to her beds head, and ouer her head a scarfe, which did eclipse
almost halfe her eyes, which vnder it fixed their beames vpon the wall
by, with so steddie a maner, as if in that place they might well
chaunge, but not mende their obiect: and so remayned they a good while
after his comming in, he not daring to trouble her, nor she perceyuing
him, till that (a little varying her thoughts something quickening her
senses) she heard him as he happed to stirre his vpper garment: and
perceyuing him, rose vp, with a demeanure, where in the booke of
Beautie there was nothing to be read but Sorrow: for Kindnesse was
blotted out, and Anger was neuer there.
But Amphialus that had entrusted
his
memorie with long and forcible speeches, found it so
locked vp in
amazement, that he could pike nothing out of it, but the beseeching her
to take what was don in good part, and to assure herselfe there was
nothing but honour meant vnto her person. But she making no other
aunswere, but letting her handes fall one from the other, which before
were ioyned (with eyes something cast aside, and a silent sigh) gaue
him to vnderstande, that considering his dooings, she thought his
speech as full of incongruitie, as her aunswere would be voyde of
purpose: whereuppon he kneeling downe, and kissing her hande, (which
she suffered with a countenaunce witnessing captiuitie, but not
kindnesse) he besought her to haue pitie of him, whose loue went
beyonde the boundes of conceite, much more of vttering: that in her
handes the ballance of his life or death did stande; whereto the least
motion of hers woulde serue to determine, she being indeede the
mistresse of his life, and he her eternall slaue; and with true
vehemencie besought her that he might heare her speake, whereupon she
suffered her sweete breath to turne it selfe into these kind of words.
Alas cousin, (saide she) what shall my
tongue be able to doo, which is infourmed by the eares one
way, and by
the eyes another? You call for pittie, and vse crueltie; you say, you
loue me, and yet do the effectes of enmitie. You affirme your death is
in my handes, but you haue brought me to so neere a degree to death, as
when you will, you may lay death vpon me: so that while you say I am
mistresse of your life, I am not mistresse of mine owne. You entitle
your selfe my slaue, but I am sure I am yours. If then violence,
iniurie, terror, and depriuing of that which is more dear then life it
selfe, libertie, be fit orators for affection, you may expect that I
will be easily perswaded. But if the nearenesse of our kinred breede
any remorse in you, or there be any such thing in you, which you call
loue towarde me, then let not my fortune be disgraced with the name of
imprisonment: let not my hart waste it selfe by being vexed with
feeling euill, and fearing worse. Let not me be a cause of my parents
wofull destruction; but restore me to my selfe; and so doing I shall
account I haue receyued my selfe of you. And what I say for my selfe, I
say for my deare sister, and my friend Zelmane: for I desire no
wel
being, without they may be partakers. With that her teares rained downe
from her heauenly eyes, and seemed to water the sweet and beautifull
flowers of her face.
But Amphialus was like the poore woman, who
louing a tame
Doe she had, aboue all earthly
things, hauing long played
withall, and
made it feede at her hand and lappe, is constrained at length by famine
(all her flocke being spent, and she fallen into extreeme pouertie) to
kill the Deare, to sustaine her life. Manie a pitifull looke doth she
cast vpon it, and many a time doth she draw backe her hand before she
can giue the stroke. For euen so Amphialusby
a hunger-sterued
affection, was compelled to offer this iniurie, and yet the same
affection made him with a tormenting griefe, thinke vnkindnesse in
himselfe, that he could finde in his hart any way to restraine her
freedome. But at length, neither able to grant, nor denie, he thus
answered her. Deare ladie (said he) I will not say vnto you (how iustly
soeuer I may do it) that I am neither author, nor accessarie vnto this
your withholding. For since I do not redres it, I am as faulty as if I
had begun it. But this I protest vnto you (and this protestation of
mine, let the heauens heare, and if I lie, let them answer me with a
deadly thunderbolt) that in my soule I wish I had neuer seene the
light, or rather, that I had neuer had a father to beget such a child,
the that by my meanes those eyes should ouerflow their owne beauties,
then by my meanes the skie of your vertue should be ouerclowded with
sorrow. But woe is me, most excellent Ladie, I finde my selfe most
willing to obey you: neither truely doo mine eares receaue the least
word you speak, with any lesse reuerence, then as absolute, and
vnresistable commaundements. But alas, that Tyrant Loue, (which now
possesseth the holde of all my life and reason) will no way suffer it.
It is Loue, it is Loue, not I, which disobey you. What then shall I
say? but that I, who am redie to lie vnder your feete, to venture, nay
to
loose my life at your least commandement: I am not the staye of your
freedome, but Loue, Loue, which ties you in your owne knots. It is you
your selfe, that imprison your selfe: it is your beautie which makes
these castle-walles embrace you: it is your owne eyes, which reflect
vpon themselues this iniurie. Then is there no other remedie, but that
you some way vouchsafe to satisfie this Loues vehemencie; which (since
it grewe in your selfe) without question you shall finde it (far more
then I) tractable.
But with these wordes Philoclea fell to so
extreame a quaking, and her
liuely whitenesse did degenerate to so dead a palenesse, that Amphialus
feared some daungerous traunce: so that taking her hande, and feelinge
that it (which was woonte to be one of the chiefe firebrands of Cupid)
had all the sense of it wrapt vp in coldnes, he began humblie to
beseech her to put away all feare, and to assure herselfe vpon the vowe
he made thereof vnto God, and her selfe, that the vttermost forces he
would euer employ to conquere her affection, should be Desire, and
Desert. That promise brought Philoclea againe to her selfe, so
that
slowly lifting vp her eyes vpon him, with a countenaunce euer
courteous, but then languishing, she tolde him, that he should doo well
to do so, if indeede he had euer tasted what true loue was: for that
where now she did beare him good will, she should (if he tooke any
other way) hate, and abhor the very thought of him: offering him
withall, that though his mother had taken away her kniues, yet the
house of Death had so many doores, as she would easilie flie into it,
if euer she founde her honor endaungered.
Amphialus hauing the colde ashes of Care
cast vpon the coales of Desire, leauing some of his
mothers Gentlewomen
to waite vpon Philoclea, himselfe indeede a prisoner to his
prisoner,
and making all his authoritie to be but a footestoole to Humblenes,
went from her to his mother. To whom with words which Affection
endited, but Amazement vttered, he deliuered what had passed betwene
him and Philoclea: beseeching her to trie what her perswasions
could
doo with her, while he gaue order for all such things as were
necessarie against such forces, as he looked dayly Basilius
would bring
before his castle. His mother bade him quiette him selfe, for she
doubted not to take fitte times. But that the best way was, first to
let her owne Passion a little tire it selfe.
CHAP.
4.
1 Amphialus warlike preparations. 2 His iustification. 3
His
fortifications. 4 His Arte of men.
5 His Loue-passions, and
passionate
complaints.
O they calling Clinias, and some
other of their counsell, aduised vpon their present
affaires. First, he dispatched
priuat letters to al
those principall Lords and gentlemen of the country, who[m] he thought
ether alliance, or friendship to himselfe might drawe; with speciall
motions from the generall consideration of duetie: not omitting all
such, whom either youthfull age, or youth-like mindes did fill with
unlimited desires: besides such, whom any discontentment made hungry of
change, or an ouer-spended wante, made want a ciuill warre: to each
(according to the counsell of his mother) conforming himselfe after
their humors. To his friends, friendlines; to the ambitious, great
expectations; to the displeased, reuenge; to the greedie, spoyle:
wrapping their hopes with such cunning, as they rather seemed giuen
ouer vnto them as partakers: then promises sprong of necessitie. Then
sent he to his mothers brother, the King of Argos: but he was
as then
so ouer-laide with warre himselfe, as from thence he could attend small
succour.
But because
he knewe, how violently rumors doo blow the sailes of
popular iudgeme[n]ts, & how few there be, that can discerne
betweene
trueth and truthlikenes, betweene showes and substance; he caused a
iustification of this his action to be written, wherof were sowed
abroad many copies, which with some glosses of probabilitie, might hide
indeede the foulenes of his treason; and from true common-places, fetch
downe most false applications. For, beginning how much the duetie which
is owed to the countrie, goes beyond all other dueties, since in it
selfe it conteines them all, and that for the respect therof, not onely
all tender respects of kinred, or whatsoeuer other friendshippes, are
to be laide aside, but that euen long-helde opinions (rather builded
vpon a secreate of gouernement, then any grou[n]d of truthe) are to be
forsaken. He fell by degrees to shew, that since the ende whereto any
thing is directed, is euer to be of more noble reckning, then the thing
thereto directed: that therefore, the weale-publicke was
more to be regarded, then any person or magistrate that thereunto was
ordeined. The feeling consideration whereof, had moued him (though as
nere of kinne to Basilius as could be, yet) to set
principally
before his eyes, the good estate of so many thousands, ouer
whom Basilius raigned: rather then so to hoodwinke himselfe
with
affection, as to suffer the realme to runne to manifest
ruine. The care whereof, did kindly appertaine to
those, who being subalterne magistrates and officers of the crowne,
were to be employed as fro[m] the Prince, so for the people; and of all
other, especiallie himselfe, who being descended of the Royall race,
and next heire male, Nature had no soner opened his
eyes, but that the soyle whereupon they did looke,
was to looke for at his hands a continuall carefulnes: which as fro[m]
his
childhood he had euer caried; so now finding that his vncle had
not only giue ouer al care of gouernment, but had put it into the hands
of Philanax, (a man neither in birth comparable to many, nor
for his
corrupt, prowde, and partiall dealing, liked of any) but beside, had
set his daughters (in whom the whole estate, as next heires thereunto,
had no lesse interest the[n] himselfe) in so vnfit & il-guarded a
place, as it was not only da[n]gerous for their persons, but (if they
should be conueied to any forraine country) to the whole common-wealth
pernicious: that therfore he had brought them into this stro[n]g castle
of
his, which way, if it might seem strange, they were to consider, that
new necessities require new
remedies:
but there they should be
serued &
honored as belonged to their greatnes, vntil by the generall assembly
of the estates, it should be determined how they should to their best
(both priuate, and publique) advantage be matched; vowing all faith
& duty both to the father & children, neuer by him to be
violated. But if in the meane time, before the
estates could be asse[m]bled, he were assailed, he would the[n] for his
own
defence take armes: desiring all, that either tendred the dangerous
case of their country, or in their harts loued iustice, to defe[n]d him
in
this iust actio[n]. And if the Prince should commaund
them otherwise, yet to know, that therein he was no more to be
obeied, then if he should call for poison to hurt himself
withall: since all that was done, was done for his seruice, howsoeuer
he might (seduced by Philanax) interprete of it: he protesting,
that
what soeuer he should doo for his owne defence, should be against Philanax,
& no way against Basilius.
To this effect:, amplified with
arguments and
examples, and painted with rhetoricall colours, did he sow abroad many
discourses: which as they preuayled with some of more quicke then
sounde conceipte, to runne his fortune with him; so in many did it
breed a coolenesse, to deale violently against him, and a false-minded
neutralitie to expect the issue. But besides the waies he vsed to
weaken the aduerse partie, he omitted nothing for the strengthning of
his owne. The chiefe trust whereof (because he wanted men to keepe the
field) he reposed in the suretie of his castle; which at lest would
winne him much time, the mother of many mutations. To that therfore he
bent his outward & inward eyes, striuing to make Art striue with
Nature, to whether of them two that fortification should be most
beholding. The seat Nature bestowed, but Arte gaue the building: which
as his rocky hardnesse would not yeeld to vndermining force, so to ope
assaults he tooke counsell of skill, how to make all approches, if not
impossible, yet difficult; as well at the foot of the castle, as round
about the lake, to giue vnquiet lodgings to the[m], whom onely enmitie
would make neighbors. Then omitted he nothing of defence, as wel simple
defence, as that which did defend by offending, fitting instrume[n]ts
of
mischiefe to places, whence the mischiefe might be most liberally
bestowed. Nether was his smallest care for victuals, as wel for the
prouiding that which should suffice both in store & goodnesse, as
in well preseruing it, and wary distributing it, both in quantitie, and
qualitie; spending that first which would keepe lest.
But wherein he sharpned his
wits to the pearcingest
point, was touching his men (knowing them to be the weapon of weapons,
& master-spring (as it were) which makes all the rest to stir; and
that therefore in the Arte of man stood the quintessence, & ruling
skill of all prosperous gouernement, either peaceable, or military) he
chose in number as many as without pestring (and so daunger of
infection) his victuall would seem for two yeare to maintaine; all of
liable bodies, and some few of able mindes to direct, not seeking many
commaunders, but contenting himselfe, that the multitude should haue
obeying wills, euery one knowing whom he should commaund, and whom he
should obey, the place where, and the matter wherein; distributing
each office as neere as he could, to the disposition of the person that
should exercise it: knowing no loue, daunger, nor discipline can
sodainly alter an habite in nature. Therfore would he not employ the
stil ma[n] to a shifting practise, nor the liberall man to be a
dispenser
of his victuals, nor the kind-harted man to be a punisher: but would
exercise their vertues in sorts, where they might be profitable,
employing his chief care to know the all particularly, & throughly,
regarding also the co[n]stitutio[n] of their bodies; some being able
better
to abide watching, some hu[n]ger, some labour, making his benefit of
ech
hability, & not forcing beyond power. Time to euery thing by iust
proportio[n] he allotted, & as well in that, as in euery thing els,
no
small errour winckt at, lest greater should be animated. euen of vices
he made his profite, making the cowardly Clinias to haue care
of the
watch, which he knew his own feare would make him very wakefully
performe. And before the siege began, he himselfe caused rumors to be
sowed, and libels to be spread against himselfe, fuller of mallice,
then witty persuasion: partly, to knowe those that would be apt to
stumble at such motions, that he might cull them from the faithfuller
band; but principally, because in necessitie they should not know when
any such thing were in earnest attempted, whether it were, or not, of
his owne inuention. But euen then (before the enemies face came neere
to breed any terrour) did he exercise his men dayly in all their
charges, as if Daunger had presently presented his most hideous
presence: him selfe rather instructing by example, then precept; being
neither more sparing in trauaile, nor spe[n]ding in diet, then the
meanest
souldier: his hand and body disdaining no base matters, nor shrinking
from the heauy.
The onely ods was, that when
others tooke breath, he
sighed; and when others rested, he crost his armes. For Loue passing
thorow the pikes of Dau[n]ger, & tumbling it selfe in the dust of
Labour, yet still made him remember his sweete desire, and beautifull
image. Often when he had begun to commaund one, somewhat before halfe
the sentence were ended, his inward guest did so entertaine him, that
he would breake it of, and a prettie while after end it, when he had
(to the marvaile of the standers by) sent himself in to talke with his
own thoughts. Sometimes when his hand was lifted vp to some thing, as
if with the sight of Gorgons head he had bene sodainely turned
into a
stone, so would he there abide with his eyes planted, and handes
lifted, till at length, comming to the vse of himself, he would looke
about whether any had perceiued him; then would he accuse, and in
himselfe condemne all those wits, that durst affirme Idlenesse to be
the well-spring of Loue. O, would he say, al you that affect the title
of wisdome, by vngratefull scorning the ornaments of Nature, am I now
piping in a shaddow? or doo slouthfull feathers now enwrap me? Is not
hate before me, and doubte behinde me? is not daunger of the one side,
and shame of the other? And doo I not stande vpon paine, and trauaile,
and yet ouer all, my affection triumphes? The more I stirre about
urgent affaires, the more me thinks the very stirring breeds a breath
to blow the coales of my loue: the more I exercise my thoughts, the
more they encrease the appetite of my desires. O sweet Philoclea
(with
that he would cast vp his eies wherin some water did appeare, as if
they would wash themselues against they should see her) thy heauenly
face is my Astronomie; thy sweet vertue, my sweet Philosophie: let me
profile therein, and farewell all other cogitations. But alas, my mind
misgiues me, for your planets beare a contrarie aspect vnto me. Woe,
woe is me, they threaten my destruction: and whom doo they threaten
this destruction? euen him that loues them; and by what means will
they destroy, but by louing them? O deare (though killing) eyes, shall
death head his darte with the golde of Cupids arrowe? Shall
death take
his ayme from the rest of Beautie? O beloued (though hating) Philoclea,
how if thou beest mercifull, hath crueltie stolne into thee? Or how if
thou beest cruell, doth crueltie looke more mercifull then euer Mercie
did? Or alas, is it my destinie that makes Mercie cruell? Like an
euill vessell which turnes sweete licour to sowernes; so when thy grace
fals vpon me, my wretched constitution makes it become fiercenesse.
Thus would he exercise his eloquence, when she could not heare him, and
be dumbe-striken, when her presence gaue him fit occasion of speaking:
so that his witte could finde out no other refuge, but the comfort and
counsell of his mother, desiring her (whose thoughts were vnperplexed)
to vse for his sake the most preuailing manners of intercession.
CHAP.
5.
1 Suttle Cecropia visites sad Philoclea. 2 The
shamelesse
Aunt's shrewd
temptations to loue and mariage: The mo-
dest neeces maidenly resistance.
Ecropia seing her sonnes safetie
depende thereon, (though her
pride much
disdained the name of a
desire) tooke the charge vpon her,
not doubting the easie conquest of an vnexpert virgin, who had alreadie
with subtiltie and impudencie begun to vndermine a monarchy. Therfore,
waighing Philocleas resolutions by the counterpease of her own
youthful thoughts, which she then called to minde, she doubted not at
least to make Philoclea receiue the poyson distilled in sweete
liquour,
which she with little disguising had drunke vp thirstily. Therefore she
went softly to Philocleas chamber, & peeping through the
side of
the doore, then being a little open, she sawe Philoclea sitting
lowe vpon a cushion, in such a giuen-ouer manner, that one would haue
thought, silence, solitarinesse, and melancholic were come there, vnder
the ensigne of mishap, to conquere delight, and driue him from his
naturall seate of beautie: her teares came dropping downe like rainein
Sunshine, and she not taking heede to wipe the teares, they ranne downe
vpon her cheekes, and lips, as vpon cherries which the dropping tree
bedeweth. In the dressing of her haire and apparell, she might see
neither a careful arte, nor an arte of carelesnesse, but euen left to a
neglected chaunce, which yet coulde no more vnperfect her perfections,
then a Die anie way cast, could loose his squarenesse.
Cecropia (stirred with
no other pitie, but for her son) came in, and
haling kindnesse into her countenance, What ayles this sweete Ladie,
(said she) will you marre so good eyes with weeping? shall teares take
away the beautie of that complexion, which the women of Arcadia
wish
for, and the men long after? Fie of this peeuish sadnesse; in sooth
it is vntimely for your age. Looke vpon your owne bodie, and see
whether it deserue to pine away with sorrow: see whether you will haue
these hands (with that she tooke one of her hands and kissing it,
looked vppon it as if she were enamoured with it) fade from their
whitenesse, which makes one desire to touch them; & their
softnesse, which rebounds againe a desire to looke on them, and become
drie, leane and yellowe, and make euerie bodie woonder at the chaunge,
and say, that sure you had vsed some arte before, which nowe you had
left? for if the beauties had beene naturall, they woulde neuer so
soone haue beene blemished. Take a glasse, and see whether these tears
become your eies: although, I must co[n]fesse, those eies are able to
make
tears comely. Alas Madame (answered Philoclea) I know not
whether my
teares become mine eyes, but I am sure mine eies thus beteared, become
my fortune. Your fortune (saide Cecropia) if she could see to
attire
herselfe, would put on her best raiments. For I see, and I see it with
griefe, and (to tell you true) vnkindnes: you misconster euery thing,
that only for your sake is attempted. You thinke you are offended, and
are indeed defended: you esteeme your selfe a prisoner, and are in
truth a mistres: you feare hate, and shall find loue. And truely, I
had a thing to say to you, but it is no matter, since I find you are so
obstinatly melancholy, as that you woo his felowship: I will spare my
paines, and hold my peace: And so staied indeede, thinking Philoclea
would haue had a female inquisitiuenesse of the matter. But she, who
rather wished to vnknowe what she knewe, then to burden her hart with
more hopeles knowledge, only desired her to haue pity of her, and if
indeed she did meane her no hurt, then to grant her liberty: for else
the very griefe & feare, would proue her vnappointed executioners.
For that (said Cecropia)
beleue me vpo[n] the faith of a kings
daughter, you shall be free, so soone as your freedome may be free of
mortal da[n]ger, being brought hither for no other cause, but to
preuent
such mischiefes as you know not of. But if you thinke indeed to winne
me to haue care of you, euen as of mine owne daughter, then lend your
eares vnto me, & let not your mind arme it self with a wilfulnesse
to be flexible to nothing. But if I speake reason, let Reason haue his
due reward, persuasion. Then sweet neece (said she) I pray you
presuppose, that now, eue[n] in the midst of your agonies, which you
paint vnto your selfe most horrible, wishing with sighes, & praying
with
vowes. for a soone & safe deliuerie. Imagin neece (I say) that some
heauenly spirit should appeare vnto you, and bid you follow him through
the doore, that goes into the garden, assuring you, that you should
therby return to your deare mother, and what other delights
soeuer your mind esteemes delights: would you (sweet neece) would you
refuse to folow him, & say, that if he led you not through the
chiefe gate, you would not enioy your ouer-desired liberty? Would you
not drinke the wine you thirst for, without it were in such a glasse,
as you especially fancied? tel me (deare neece:) but I wil answer for
you, because I know your reason and will is such, as must needs
conclude, that such nicenesse can no more be in you, to disgrace such a
mind, then disgracefulnesse can haue any place in so faultles a beauty.
Your wisdom would assuredly determin, how the marke were hit, not
whether the bow were of Ewe or no, wherein you shot. If this be so, and
thus sure (my deare neece) it is, then (I pray you) imagin, that I am
that same good Angel, who grieuing in your griefe, and in truth not
able to suffer, that bitter sighs should be sent foorth with so sweete
a breath, am come to lead you, not only to your desired, and imagined
happines, but to a true and essentiall happines; not only to liberty,
but to libertie with commandement. The way I will shew you (which if it
be not the gate builded hitherto in your priuate choise, yet shall it
be a doore to bring you through a garden of pleasures, as sweet as this
life can bring foorth; nay rather, which makes this life to be a life:
(My son,) let it be no blemish to him that I name him my son, who was
your fathers own nephew: for you know I am no smal kings daughter,) my
sonne (I say) farre passing the neernesse of his kinred, with the
neernesse of good-will, and striuing to match your matchlesse beautie
with a matchlesse affection, doth by me present vnto you the full
enioying of your liberty, so as with this gift you wil accept a
greater, which is, this castell, with all the rest which you knowe he
hath, in honorable quantitie; and will confirme his gift, and your
receipt of both, with accepting him to be yours. I might say much both
for the person and the matter; but who will crie out the Sun shines? It
is so manifest a profit vnto you, as the meanest iudgement must
straight apprehend it: so farre is it from the sharpenesse of yours,
therof to be ignorant. Therfore (sweet neece) let your gratefulnes be
my intercession, & your gentlenesse my eloquence, and let me cary
comfort to a hart which greatly needs it. Philoclea looked
vpon her,
& cast downe her eie again. Aunt (said she) I would I could be so
much a mistres of my
owne mind, as to yeelde to my cousins vertuous request: for so I
construe of it. But my hart is already set (and staying a while on that
word, she brought foorth afterwards) to lead a virgins life to my
death: for such a vow I haue in my selfe deuoutly made. The heauens
preuent such a mischiefe (said Cecropia.) A vowe, quoth you?
no, no, my deere neece, Nature, when you were first borne, vowed you a
woma[n],
& as she made you child of a mother, so to do your best to be
mother of a child: she gaue you beautie to moue loue; she gaue you wit
to know loue; she gaue you an excelle[n]t body to reward loue: which
kind
of liberall rewarding is crowned with vnspeakable felicitie. For this,
as it bindeth the receiuer, so it makes happy the bestower: this doth
not impouerish, but enrich the giuer. O the sweet name of a mother: O
the co[m]fort of co[m]forts, to see your childre[n] grow vp, in who[m]
you are (as
it were) eternized: if you could conceiue what a hart-tickling ioy it
is to see your own litle ones, with awfull loue come running to your
lap, and like litle models of your selfe, still cary you about them,
you would thinke vnkindnes in your own thoughts, that euer they did
rebell against the mean vnto it. But percha[n]ce I set this blessednes
before your eies, as Captains do victorie before their souldiers, to
which they might come through many paines, grieues & dangers. No, I
am co[n]tent you shrinke from this my counsel, if the way to come vnto
it,
be not most of all pleasant. I know not (answered the sweet Philoclea,
fearing least silence would offend her sullennes) what contentment you
speake of: but I am sure the best you can make of it, (which is
mariage) is a burdenous yoke. Ah, deer neece (said Cecropia)
how much
you are deceiued? A yoke indeed we all beare, laid vpo[n] vs in our
creation, which by mariage is not increased, but thus farre eased, that
you haue a yoke-fellow to help to draw through the cloddy cumbers of
this world. O widow-nights, beare witnes with me of the difference. How
often alas do I embrace the orfan-side of my bed, which was wo[n]t to
be
imprinted by the body of my deare husband, & with teares
acknowledge, that I now enioy such a liberty as the banished ma[n]
hath;
who may, if he list, wa[n]der ouer the world, but is euer restrained
fro[m]
his most delightful home? that I haue now such a liberty as the
seele[y]
dou hath, which being first depriued of eies, is then by the falconer
cast off?
For beleue me, neece, beleue me, mans experie[n]ce is woma[n]s best
eie-sight. Haue you euer seene a pure Rosewater kept in a christal
glas; how fine it lokes, how sweet it smels, while that beautifull
glasse imprisons it? Breake the prison, and let the water take his
owne course, doth it not imbrace dust, and loose all his former
sweetenesse, and fairenesse? Truly so are we, if we haue not the stay,
rather then the restraint of Cristalline mariage. My hart meltes to
thinke of the sweete comfortes, I in that happie time receiued, when I
had neuer cause to care, but the care was doubled: whe[n] I neuer
reioiced, but that I saw my ioy shine in anothers eies. What shall I
say of the free delight, which the hart might embrace, without the
accusing of the inward conscience, or feare of outward shame? and is a
solitary life as good as this? then can one string make as good musicke
as a consort: the[n] can one colour set forth a beautie. But it may be,
the generall consideration of mariage dooth not so much mislike you, as
the applying of it to him. He is my sone, I must confesse, I see him
with a mothers eyes, which if they doo not much deceiue me, he is no
such one, ouer whom Contempt may make any iust chalenge. He is comely,
he is noble, he is rich; but that which in it selfe should carie all
comelinesse, nobilitie, and riches, he loues you; and he loues you, who
is beloued of others. Driue not away his affection (sweete Ladie) and
make no other Ladie hereafter proudly bragge, that she hath robbed you
of so faithfull and notable a seruant. Philoclea heard some
pieces of
her speches, no otherwise then one doth when a tedious pratler
co[m]bers
the hearing of a delightful musicke. For her thoughts had left her
eares in that captiuitie, and conueied themselues to behold (with such
eies as imagination could lend the[m]) the estate of her Zelmane:
for who
how wel she thought many of those sayings might haue ben vsed with a
farre more gratefull acceptation. Therefore listing not to dispute in a
matter whereof her selfe was resolute, and desired not to enforme the
other, she onely told her, that whilest she was so captiued, she could
not conceiue of any such persuasions (though neuer so reasonable) any
otherwise, then as constraints: and as constraints must needs eue[n] in
nature abhor the[m], which at her libertie, in their owne force of
reason,
might more preuaile with her: and so faine would haue returned the
strength of Cecropias perswasions, to haue procured freedome.
CHAP.
6.
1 Fresh motiues to
Philoclea. 2 Cecropias new fetch to at-
tempt Pamela.
3 Pamelas prayer, 4 and Sainct-like gra-
ces in it. 5 Her Auntes
fruiteles argumentes.
Vt neither her wittie wordes
in an enemie, nor those
wordes, made more then
eloquent with passing through
such lips, could
preuaile in Cecropia, no more then her perswasions coulde winne
Philoclea to disauowe her former vowe, or to leaue the
prisoner Zelmane, for the commaunding Amphialus. So
that both
sides being
desirous, and neither graunters, they brake of conference. Cecropiasucking
vp more and more spite out of her deniall, which yet for her
sonnes sake, she disguised with a visarde of kindnes, leauing no office
vnperfourmed, which might either witnes, or endeare her sonnes
affection. Whatsoeuer could be imagined likely to please her, was with
liberall diligence perfourmed: Musickes at her windowe, &
especially such Musickes, as might (with dolefull embassage) call the
mind to thinke of sorow, and thinke of it with sweetnes; with ditties
so sensiblie expressing Amphialus case, that euerie worde
seemed to be
but a diuersifying of the name of Amphialus. Daily presents, as
it were
oblations, to pacific an angrie Deitie, sent vnto her: wherein, if the
workmanship of the forme, had striuen with the sumptuousnes of the
matter, as much did the inuention in the application, contende to haue
the chiefe excellencie: for they were as so many stories of his
disgraces, & her perfections; where the richnes did inuite the
eyes, the fashion did entertaine the eyes, and the deuice did teach the
eyes the present miserie of the presenter himselfe, awefully
seruiceable: which was the more notable, as his authoritie was
manifest. And for the bondage wherein she liued, all meanes vsed to
make knowen, that if it were a bondage, it was a bondage onely knitte
in loue-knots. But in harte alreadie vnderstanding no language but one,
the Musicke wrought indeede a dolefulnes, but it was a dolefulnes to be
in his power: the dittie intended for Amphialus, she translated
to Zelmane:
the presents seemed so many tedious clogs of
a thralled obligation: and his seruice, the more diligent it was, the
more it did exprobrate (as she thought) vnto her, her vnworthie estate:
that euen he that did her seruice, had authentic of commanding her,
onely construing her seruitude in his own nature, esteeming it a right,
and a right bitter seruitude: so that all their shots (how well soeuer
leuelled) being carried awrie from the marke, by the storme of her
mislike, the Prince Amphialus affectionately languished, & Cecropia
spitefullie cunning, disdained at the barrennes of their successe.
Which willingly Cecropia
woulde
haue reuenged, but that she sawe, her hurte could not be diuided from
her sonnes mischiefe: wherefore, she bethought her self to attempt Pamela,
whose beautie being equall, she hoped, if she might
be woon,
that her sonnes thoughtes would rather rest on a beautifull
gratefulnes, then still be tormented with a disdaining beautie.
Wherfore, giuing new courage to her wicked inuentions, and vsing the
more industry, because she had mist in this, & taking euen precepts
of preuailing in Pamela, by her fayling in Philoclea,
she went to her
chamber, & (according to her own vngratious method of a subtile
proceeding) stood listning at the dore, because that out of the
circustance of her present behauiour, there might kindly arise a fitte
beginning of her intended discourse.
And so she might perceaue that Pamela
did walke vp and down, full of deep (though patient)
thoughts.
For her look and countenance was setled, her pace soft, and almost
still of one measure, without any passionate gesture, or violent
motion: till at length (as it were) awaking, & strengthning her
selfe, Well (said she) yet this is the best, & of this I am sure,
that how soeuer they wro[n]g me, they cannot ouermaster God. No darknes
blinds his eyes, no Iayle barres him out. To whome then else should I
flie, but to him for succoure? And therewith kneeling down, eue[n] in
the
same place where she stood, she thus said. O all-seeing Light, and
eternal Life of all things, to whom nothing is either so great, that it
may resist; or so small, that it is contemned: looke vpon my miserie
with thine eye of mercie, and let thine infinite power vouchsafe to
limite out some proportion of deliuerance vnto me, as to thee shall
seem most conuenient. Let not iniurie, ô Lord, triumphe ouer me,
and let my faultes by thy handes be corrected, and make not mine
vniuste enemie the minister of thy Iustice. But yet, my God, if in thy
wisdome, this be the aptest chastizement for my inexcusable follie; if
this low bondage be fittest for my ouer-hie desires; if the pride of my
not-inough humble harte, be thus to be broken, O Lord, I yeeld vnto thy
will, and ioyfully embrace what sorrow thou wilt haue me suffer. Onely
thus much let me craue of thee, (let my crauing, ô Lord, be
accepted of
thee, since euen that proceedes from thee) let me craue, euen by the
noblest title, which in my greatest affliction I may giue my selfe,
that I am thy creature, & by thy goodnes (which is thy self) that
thou wilt suffer some beame of thy Maiestie so to shine into my mind,
that it may still depende confidently vpon thee. Let calamitie be the
exercise, but not the ouerthrowe of my vertue: let their power
preuaile, but preuaile not to destruction: let my greatnes be their
praie: let my paine be the sweetnes of their reuenge: let them (if so
it seem good vnto thee) vexe me with more and more punishment. But,
ô
Lord, let neuer their wickednes haue such a hand, but that I may carie
a pure minde in a pure bodie. (And pausing a while) And ô most
gracious
Lord (said she) what euer become of me, preserue the vertuous Musidorus.
The other parte Cecropia
might well heare, but this latter prayer for Musidorus, her
hart helde it, as so iewel-like a treasure,
that it
would scarce trust her owne lippes withall. But this prayer, sent to
heauen, from so heauenly a creature, with such a feruent grace, as if
Deuotion had borowed her bodie, to make of it self a most beautifull
representation; with her eyes so lifted to the skie-ward, that one
would haue thought they had begunne to flie thetherward, to take their
place amo[n]g their felow stars; her naked hands raising vp their whole
length, & as it were kissing one another, as if the right had bene
the picture of Zeale, and the left, of Humblenesse,
which both vnited
themselues to make their suites more acceptable. Lastly, all her senses
being rather tokens then instruments of her inwarde motions, altogether
had so straunge a working power, that euen the harde-harted wickednesse
of Cecropia,
if it founde not a loue of that goodnes, yet it felt an
abashment at that goodnes; & if she had not a kindly remorse, yet
had she an yrksome accusation of her owne naughtines, so that she was
put fro[m] the biasse of her fore-intended lesson. For well she found
there was no way at that time to take that mind, but with some, at
lest, image of Vertue, and what the figure thereof was her hart knew
not.
Yet did she prodigally spende
her
uttermost eloquence, leauing no argument vnproued, which might with any
force inuade her excellent iudgement: the iustnes of the request being,
but for marriage; the worthinesse of the suiter: then her owne present
fortune, if she would not onely haue amendment, but felicitie: besides
falsely making her belieue, that her sister would thinke her selfe
happie, if now she might haue his loue which before she contemned: and
obliquely touching, what daunger it should be for her, if her sonne
should accept Philoclea in marriage, and so match the next
heire
apparant, she being in his powre: yet plentifully periuring, how
extreamely her sonne loued her, and excusing the little shewes he made
of it, with the dutifull respect he bare vnto her, & taking vpo[n]
her
selfe that she restrayned him, since she found she could set no limits
to his passions. And as she did to Philoclea, so did she to
her, with
the tribute of gifts, seeke to bring her minde into seruitude: and all
other meanes, that might either establish a beholdingnesse, or at the
lest awake a kindnes; doing it so, as by reason of their imprisonment,
one sister knew not how the other was wooed; but each might thinke,
that onely she was sought. But if Philoclea with sweete and
humble
dealing did auoid their assaults, she with the Maiestie of Vertue did
beate them of.
CHAP.
7.
1 An Allarme to the Amphialians.
2 Base cowardise in
Clinias; 3 braue
courage imaged in Amphialus.
4 His onset with the death of two
friendes his foes.
5 The horrour of Mars-his game. 6 Two
deaths taken
where they were not lookt for, the third
delayed where
it was expected.
Vt this day their speach was
the sooner broken of, by
reason that he, who stood
as watche vpon the top of the
keepe, did not
onely see a great dust arise (which the earth sent vp, as if it would
striue to haue clowdes as well as the aire) but
might spie sometimes, especially when the dust (wherein the naked winde
did apparaile it self) was caried aside fro[m] them, the shining of
armour, like flashing of lightning, wherwith the clowdes did seeme to
be with child; which the Sunne guilding with his beames, it gaue a
sight delightfull to any, but to them that were to abide the terrour.
But the watch gaue a quick Alarum to the souldiers within, whome
practise already hauing prepared, began each, with vnabashed hartes, or
at lest countenaunces, to looke to their charge, or obedience, which
was allotted vnto them.
Onely Clinias and Amphialus did
exceed the bounds of: mediocrity: the
one in his naturall
coldnesse of cowardise, the
other in heate of
courage. For Clinias (who was bold onely in busie whisperings,
and euen
in that whisperingnes rather indeed confident in his cunning, that it
should not be bewraied, then any way bolde, if euer it should be
bewrayed) now that the enemy gaue a dreadful aspect vnto the castle,
his eyes saw no terror, nor eare heard any martiall sounde, but that
they multiplied the hideousnesse of it to his mated minde. Before their
comming he had many times felt a dreadfull expectation, but yet his
minde (that was willing to ease it selfe of the burden of feare) did
somtimes feine vnto it selfe possibility of let; as the death of Basilius,
the discord of the nobility, & (when other
cause
fayled
him) the nature of chaunce serued as a cause vnto him: and sometimes
the hearing other men speake valiantly, and the quietnesse of his
vnassailed senses, would make himselfe beleue, that he durst do
something. But now, that present daunger did display it selfe vnto his
eye, & that a daungerous dooing must be the onely meane to
preue[n]t
the da[n]ger of suffering, one that had marked him would haue iudged,
that
his eies would haue run into him, & his soule out of him; so
vnkindly did either take a sent of danger. He thought the lake was too
shallow, & the walles too thin: he misdouted ech mans treason, and
coniectured euery possibilitie of misfortune, not onely fore-casting
likely perils, but such as all the planets together could scarce haue
conspired: & already began to arme him selfe, though it was
determined he should tarrie within doores; and while he armed himselfe,
imagined in what part of the vault he might hide himselfe if the
enimies wonne the castle. Desirous he was that euery body should do
valiantly, but
himselfe; and therefore was afraid to shew his feare, but for very
feare would haue hid his feare; lest it should disco[m]fort others: but
the more he sought to disguize it, the more the vnsutablenes of a weake
broke[n] voice to high braue wordes, and of a pale shaking countenance
to
a gesture of animating, did discouer him.
But quite contrarily Amphialus,
who before the enimies came was carefull, prouidently diligent, and not
somtimes without doubting of the issue; now the nearer danger approched
(like the light of a glow-worme) the lesse still it seemed: and now his
courage began to boile in choler, and with such impatience to desire to
powre out both vpo[n] the enimie, that he issued presently into
certaine
boates he had of purpose, and carying with him some choise men, went to
the fortresse he had vpo[n] the edge of the lake, which he thought
would
be the first thing, that the enimy would attempt; because it was a
passage, which co[m]manding all that side [of] that country, &
being
lost would stop victuall, or other supply, that might be brought into
the castle: & in that fortresse hauing some force of horsemen, he
issued out with two hundred horse, & fiue hu[n]dred footmen,
embushed
his footme[n] in the falling of a hill, which was ouershadowed with a
wood, he with his horsme[n] went a quarter of a mile further; aside
ha[n]d of
which he might perceaue the many troupes of the enimie, who came but to
take view where best to encampe themselues.
But as if the sight of the
enimie
had bene a Magnes stone to his courage he could not co[n]taine himself,
but shewing his face to the enimie, & his backe to his souldiers,
used that action, as his onely oration, both of denouncing warre to the
one, and persuading help of the other. Who faithfully folowing an
example of such authoritie, they made the earth to grone vnder their
furious burden, and the enimies to begin to be angry with the[m], whom
in
particular they knew not. Among whom there was a young man, youngest
brother to Philanax, whose face as yet did not bewray his sex,
with so
much as shew of haire; of a minde hauing no limits of hope, nor knowing
why to feare; full of iollitie in conuersation, and lately growne a
Louer. His name was Agenor,
of all that armie the most beautifull: who
hauing ridden in sportfull conuersatio[n] among the foremost, all armed
sauing that his beauer was vp, to haue his breath in more
freedome, seing Amphialus come a pretty way before his
co[m]pany, neither
staying the com[m]aundement of the captaine, nor recking whether his
face
were armed, or no, set spurs to his horse, & with youthfull brauery
casting his staffe about his head, put it then in his rest, as carefull
of comely carying it, as if the marke had ben but a ring, & the
lookers on Ladies. But Amphialus launce was already come to the
last of
his descending line, and began to make the full point of death against
the head of this young Gentleman, when Amphialus perceyuing
his youth
and beautie, Compassion so rebated the edge of Choller, that he spared
that faire nakednesse, and let his staffe fall to Agenors vamplat:
so
as both with braue breaking should hurtleslie haue perfourmed that
match, but that the pittilesse launce of Amphialus (angry with
being
broken) with an vnlucky counterbuffe full of vnsparing splinters,
lighted vpon that face farre fitter for the combats of Venus;
geuing
not onely a suddaine, but a fowle death, leauing scarsely any tokens of
his former beautie: but his ha[n]ds abandoning the reynes, and his
thighes
the saddle, he fell sidewarde from the horse. Which sight comming to Leontius,
a deere friende of his, who in vayne had
lamentably cried vnto him to stay, when he saw him beginne his careere,
it was harde to
say, whether pittie of the one, or reuenge of the other, helde as then
the soueraigntie in his passions. But while he directed his eye to his
friende, and his hande to his enimie, so wrongly-consorted a power
could not resist the ready minded force of Amphialus: who
perceyuing
his il-directed direction against him, so paide him his debt before it
was lent, that he also fell to the earth, onely happy that one place,
& one time, did finish both their loues and liues together.
But by this time there had bene
a furious meeting of either side:
where after the terrible salutation of warlike noyse, the shaking of
handes was with sharpe weapons: some launces according to the mettall
they mett, and skill of the guider, did staine themselues in bloud;
some flew vp in pieces, as if they would threaten heauen, because they
fayled on earth. But their office was quickly inherited, either by (the
Prince of weapons) the sworde, or by some heauy mase, or biting axe;
which hunting still the weakest chase, sought euer to light there,
where smallest resista[n]ce might worse preuent mischief. The
clashing of armour, and crushing of staues; the iustling of bodies, the
resounding of blowes, was the first part of that ill-agreeing musicke,
which was beautified with the griselinesse of wounds, the rising of
dust, the hideous falles, and grones of the dying. The verie horses
angrie in their maisters anger, with loue and obedience brought foorth
the effects of hate and resistance, and with minds of seruitude, did as
if they affected glorie. Some lay deade vnder their dead maisters,
whome vnknightly wounds had vniustly punished for a faithfull dutie.
Some lay vppon their Lordes by like accidents, and in death had the
honour to be borne by them, who in life they had borne. Some hauing
lost their commaunding burthens, ranne scattered about the field,
abashed with the madnesse of man-kinde. The earth it selfe (woont to be
a buriall of men) was nowe (as it were) buried with men: so was the
face thereof hidden with deade bodies, to whome Death had come masked
in diuerse manners. In one place lay disinherited heades, dispossessed
of their naturall seignories: in an other, whole bodies to see to, but
that their harts wont to be bound all ouer so close, were nowe with
deadly violence opened: in others, fowler deaths had ouglily displayed
their trayling guttes. There lay armes, whose fingers yet mooued, as if
they woulde feele for him that made them feele: and legges, which
contrarie to common nature, by being discharged of their burthen, were
growne heauier. But no sworde payed so large a tribute of soules to the
eternall Kingdome, as that of Amphialus, who like a Tigre, from
whome a
companie of Woolues did seeke to rauish a newe gotten pray; so he
(remembring they came to take away Philoclea) did labour to
make
valure, strength, hatred, and choller to answere the proportion of his
loue, which was infinit.
There died of his handes the
olde
knight Æschylus, who though by yeares might well haue
beene allowed to
use rather the exercise of wisedome, then of courage; yet hauing a
lustie bodie & a merrie hart, he euer tooke the summons of Time in
iest, or else it had so creepingly stollen vpon him, that he had heard
scarcely the noise of his feete, and therefore was as fresh in
apparell, and as forwarde in enterprises, as a farre yonger man: but
nothing made him bolder, then a certaine prophecie had beene tolde him,
that he shoulde die in the armes of his sonne, and
therefore feared the lesse the anne of an enemie. But nowe, when Amphialus
sworde was passed through his throate, he thought
himselfe
abused; but that before he died, his sonne, indeede, seeing his father
beginne to fall, helde him vp in his armes, till a pitilesse souldier
of the other side, with a mace brained him, making father and sonne
become twinnes in their neuer againe dying birth. As for Drialus,
Memnon, Nisus and Policrates; the first had
his eyes cut out so, as he
could not see to bid the neare following death welcome: the seconde had
met with the same Prophet that olde Æschylus had, and
hauing founde
manie of his speeches true, beleeued this to, that he should neuer be
killed, but by his owne companions: and therefore no man was more
valiant then he against an enemie, no man more suspicious of his
friends: so as he seemed to sleepe in securitie, when he went to a
battell, and to enter into a battaile, when he began to sleepe, such
guards he would set about his person; yet mistrusting the verie
guardes, that they would murther him. But nowe Amphialus helped
to
unriddle his doubts; for he ouerthrowing him from his horse, his owne
companions comming with a fresh supplie, pressed him to death. Nisus
grasping with Amphialus, was with a short dagger
slaine. And for Policrates, while he shunned as much as he
could, keeping onely his
place for feare of punishment, Amphialus with a memorable blowe
strake
of his head, where, with the conuulsions of death setting his spurres
to his horse, he gaue so braue a charge vpon the enemie, as it grewe a
prouerbe, that Policrates was onely valiant, after his head
was off.
But no man escaped so well his handes as Phebilus did: for he
hauing
long loued Philoclea, though for the meannesse of his estate he
neuer
durst reueale it, nowe knowing Amphialus, setting the edge of a
riuall vpon the sworde of an enemie, he helde strong fight with him.
But Amphialus had alreadie in the daungerousest places disarmed
him, and
was lifting vp his sworde to sende him away from him, when he thinking
indeede to die, O Philoclea (said he) yet this ioyes me, that I
die for
thy sake. The name of Philoclea first staied his sworde, and
when he
heard him out, though he abhorde him much worse then before, yet could
he not vouchsafe him the honour of dying for Philoclea, but
turned his
sword another way, doing him no hurt for ouer-much hatred. But what
good did that to poore Phebilus, if
escaping a valiant hand, he was slaine by a base souldiour, who seeing
him so disarmed, thrust him through?
CHAP.
8.
The Basilians reembattelled
1 first by Philanax, 2 then by the
blacke
Knight. 3 Ismenus slaine by Philanax. Phila-
nax captiued by Amphialus.
4 The blacke Knights ex-
ploits. 5 His encounter with Amphialus,
parted
by a
by-blow. 6 The Amphialians retrait,
and departure of
the blacke
Knight.
Hus with the well-followed valure of Amphialus
were the other
almost
ouerthrowne, when Philanax
(who was the marshal of the army)
came in, with newe force renuing the almost decayed courage of his
souldiers. For, crying to them (and asking them whether their backes or
their armes were better fighters) he himselfe thrust into the presse,
and making force and furie waite vppon discretion and gouernement, he
might seeme a braue Lion, who taught his yong Lionets, how in taking of
a pray, to ioine courage with cunning. The[n] Fortune (as if she had
made
chases inow of the one side of that blooddy Teniscourt) went of the
other side the line, making as many fall downe of Amphialus
followers,
as before had done of Philanax his; they loosing the ground, as
fast as
before they had woon it, only leauing them to keepe it, who had lost
themselues in keeping it. Then those that had killed, inherited the lot
of those that had bene killed; and cruel Death made the[m] lie quietly
togither, who most in their liues had sought to disquiet ech other; and
many of those first ouerthrowne, had the comfort to see the murtherers
ouerrun them to Charons ferrie.
Codrus, Ctesiphon,
and Milot lost
their liues vpon Philanax-his sword: but no bodies case was
more
pitied, then of a yong esquire of Amphialus, called Ismenus,
who neuer
abandoning his maister, and making his tender age aspire to actes of
the strongest manhoode, in this time that his side was put to the
worst, and that Amphialus-his valure was the onely stay of them
from
deliuering themselues ouer to a shamefull flight, he sawe
his masters horse killed vnder him. Whereupon, asking no aduise of
no thought, but of faithfulnes and courage, he presently lighted from
his owne horse, and with the helpe of some choise and faithfull
seruants, gat his master vp. But in the multitude that came of either
side, some to succour, some to saue Amphialus, he came vnder
the hande
of Philanax: and the youth perceyuing he was the man that did
most hurt
to his partie, (desirous eue[n] to change his life for glorie) strake
at
him, as he rode by him, and gaue him a hurt vpon the leg, that made Philanax
turn towards him; but seing him so yo[n]g, & of
a most louely
presence, he rather toke pity of him; meaning to make him prisoner,
& the[n] to giue him to his brother Agenor to be his
companion,
because they were not much vnlike, neither in yeeres, nor countenance.
But as he loked down vpon him with that thought, he spied wher his
brother lay dead, & his friend Leontius by him, eue[n]
almost vnder
the squiers feet. The[n] soroing not only his owne sorow, but the
past-co[m]fort sorow, which he fore-knew his mother would take, (who
with
many teares, & misgiuing sighs had suffred him to go with his elder
brother Philanax) blotted out all figures of pitie out of his
minde,
and putting foorth his horse (while Ismenus doubled two or
three more
valiant, then well set blowes) saying to himselfe, Let other mothers
bewaile an vntimely death as well as mine; he thrust him through. And
the boy fearce though beautiful; & beautifull, though dying, not
able to keepe his failing feete, fel downe to the earth, which he bit
for anger, repining at his Fortune, and as long as he could resisting
Death, which might seeme vnwilling to; so long he was in taking away
his yong struggling soule.
Philanax himselfe could
haue wished the blow vngiuen, when he saw him
fall like a faire apple, which some vncourteous bodie (breaking his
bowe) should throwe downe before it were ripe. But the case of his
brother made him forget both that, and himselfe: so as ouerhastily
pressing vppon the retiring enemies, he was (ere he was aware) further
engaged then his owne souldiers could relieue him; were being
ouerthrowne by Amphialus, Amphialus glad of him, kept
head aginst his
enemies while some of his men caried away Philanax.
But Philanax-his men as if with the losse of
Philanax
they; had lost
the fountaine of their valure,
had their courages
so dried
vp in feare; that they began to set honour at their backes, and
to vse the vertue of pacience in an vntimely time: when into the
presse comes (as hard as his horse, more afraied of the spurre, then
the sword could carie him) a Knight in armor as darke as blacknes
coulde make it, followed by none, and adorned by nothing; so far
without authoritie that he was without knowledge. But vertue quickly
made him knowne, and admiration bred him such authoritie, that though
they of whose side he came knew him not, yet they all knew it was fitte
to obey him: and while he was followed by the valiantest, he made way
for the vilest. For, taking part with the besiegers, he made the Amphialians
bloud serue for a caparison to his horse, and a decking to
his armour. His arme no oftner gaue blowes, then the blowes gaue
wounds, then the wounds gaue deathes: so terrible was his force, and
yet was his quicknes more forcible then his force, and his iudgement
more quick then his quicknes. For though the sword went faster then
eyesight could follow it, yet his owne iudgement went still before it.
There died of his hand, Sarpedon, Plistonax, Strophilus, and Hippolitus,
men of great proofe in warres, and who had that day
undertaken the guard of Amphialus. But while they sought to
saue him,
they lost the fortresses that Nature had placed them in. The[n] slew he
Megalus, who was a little before proude, to see himselfe
stained in the
bloud of his enemies: but when his owne bloud came to be married to
theirs, he then felt, that
Crueltie dooth neuer enioy a
good cheape glorie. After him sent he Palemon, who had that
daye vowed (with foolish brauerie) to be the
death of tenne: and nine already he had killed, and was carefull to
performe his (almost performed) vowe, when the Blacke Knight helpt him
to make vp the tenth himselfe.
And now the often-changing
Fortune began also to chaunge the hewe of the battailes. For at the
first, though it were terrible, yet Terror was deckt so brauelie with
rich furniture, guilte swords, shining armours, pleasant pensils, that
the eye with delight had scarce leasure to be afraide: But now all
uniuersally defiled with dust, bloud, broken armours, mangled bodies,
tooke away the maske, and sette foorth Horror in his owne horrible
manner. But neither could danger be dreadfull to Amphialus-his
undismayable courage, nor yet seeme ougly to him, whose truely-affected
minde, did still paint it ouer with the beautie of Philoclea.
And therefore he, rather enflamed then
troubled with the encrease of dangers, and glad to finde a woorthie
subiect to exercise his courage, sought out this newe Knight, whom he
might easilie finde: for he, like a wanton rich man, that throwes down
his neighbours houses, to make himselfe the better prospecte, so had
his sworde made him so spatious a roome, that Amphialus had
more cause
to wonder at the finding, then labour for the seeking: which, if it
stirred hate in him, to see how much harme he did to the one side, it
prouoked as much æmulation in him, to perceaue how much good he
did to
the other side. Therefore, they approaching one to the other, as in two
beautifull folkes, Loue naturally stirres a desire of ioyning, so in
their two courages Hate stirred a desire of triall. Then began there a
combatte betweene them, worthy to haue had more large listes, and more
quiet beholders: for with the spurre of Courage, and the bitte of
Respect, each so guided himselfe, that one might well see, the desire
to ouercome, made them not forget how to ouercome: in such time &
proportion they did employ their blowes, that none of Ceres seruaunts
coulde more cunningly place his flaile: while the lefte foote spurre
set forwarde his owne horse, the right sette backward the contrarie
horse, euen sometimes by the advauntage of the enemies legge, while the
lefte hande (like him that helde the Sterne) guyded the horses obedient
courage: All done in such order, that it might seeme, the minde was a
right Prince indeede, who sent wise and diligent Lieutenants into each
of those well gouerned partes. But the more they fought, the more they
desired to fight; and the more they smarted, the lesse they felte the
smarte: and now were like to make a quicke proofe, to whom Fortune or
Valour woulde seeme most friendly, when in comes an olde Gouernour of Amphialus;
alwayes a good Knight, and carefull of his
charge; who
giuing a sore wounde to the blacke Knights thigh, while he thought not
of him, with an other blowe slewe his horse vnder him. Amphialus
cried
to him, that he dishonoured him: You say well (answered the olde
Knight) to stande now like a priuate souldier, setting your credite
vpon particular fighting, while you may see Basilius with all
his
hoste, is getting betweene you and your towne.
He looked
that way, and found that true indeede, that the enemie was
beginning to encompasse him about, and stoppe his returne: and
therefore causing the retreite to be sounded, his
Gouernour ledde his men homewarde, while he kepte him selfe still
hindmoste, as if hee had stoode at the gate of a sluse, to lette the
streame goe, with such proportion, as shoulde seeme good vnto him: and
with so manfull discretion perfourmed it, that (though with losse of
many of his men) he returned in him selfe safe, and content, that his
enemies had felte, how sharpe the sworde coulde bite of Philocleas
Louer. The other partie being sorie for the losse of Philanax,
was yet
sorrier when the blacke Knight could not be found. For he hauing gotten
on a horse, whom his dying master had bequeathed to the world, finding
himselfe sore hurt, and not desirous to be knowen, had in the time of
the enemies retiring, retired away also: his thigh not bleeding bloud
so fast, as his harte bledde reuenge. But Basilius hauing
attempted in
vaine to barre the safe returne of Amphialus, encamped himselfe
as
strongly as he could, while he (to his grief) might heare the ioy was
made in the towne by his owne subiectes, that he had that day sped no
better. For Amphialus (being well beloued of that people) when
they
sawe him not vanquished, they esteemed him as victorious, his youth
setting a flourishing shew vpon his worthinesse, and his great
nobilitie ennobling his dangers.
CHAP.
9.
1 The Loue-diuining dreame
of Amphialus song to Philo-
clea. 2 Philanax his captiuitie,
and deaths-doome, 3 for
Philocleas sake turnde to life and libertie. 4 His
loyall ans-
were of his Lords intents. 5 Cecropias artes to perswade
the sisters.
Vt the first thing Amphialus
did, being returned, was to visite Philoclea, and first
presuming to cause his dreame to be song vnto her
(which he had seen the night before he fell in loue with her) making a
fine boy he had, accorde a prettie dolefulnes vnto
it. The song was this.
NOw was our heauenly vaulte depriued of
the light
With Sunnes depart: and now
the darkenes of the night
Did light those beamye stars which greater light did darke:
Now each thing that enioy'd that firie quickning sparke
(Which life is cald) were mou'd their spirits to repose,
And wanting vse of eyes their eyes began to close:
A silence sweet each where with one consent embraste
(A musique sweet to one in carefull musing plaste)
And mother Earth, now clad in mourning weeds, did breath
A dull desire to kisse the image of our death:
When I, disgraced wretch, not wretched then, did giue
My senses such reliefe, as they which quiet liue,
Whose braines broile not in woes, nor brests with beatings ake,
With natures praise are wont in safest home to take.
Far from my thoughts was ought, whereto their minds aspire,
Who vnder courtly pompes doo hatch a base desire.
Free all my powers were from those captiuing snares,
Which heau'nly purest gifts defile in muddy cares.
Ne could my soule it selfe accuse of such a faulte,
As tender conscience might with furious panges assaulte.
But like the feeble flower (whose stalke cannot sustaine
His weighty top) his top doth downeward drooping leane:
Or as the silly birde in well acquainted nest
Doth hide his head with cares but onely how to rest:
So I in simple course, and vnentangled minde
Did suffer drousie lids mine eyes then chare to blinde;
And laying downe my head, did natures rule obserue,
Which senses vp doth shut the senses to preserue.
They first their vse forgot, then fancies lost their force;
Till deadly sleepe at length possest my liuing coarse.
A liuing coarse I lay: but ah, my wakefull minde
(Which made of heau'nly stuffe no mortal chauge doth blind)
Flew vp with freer wings of fleshly bondage free;
And hauing plaste my thoughts, my thoughts thus placed me.
Me thought, nay sure I was, I was in fairest wood
Of Samothea lande; a lande, which whilom stood
An honour to the world, while Honour was their ende,
And while their line of yeares they did in vertue spende.
But there I was, and there my calmie thoughts I fedd
On Natures sweet repast, as healthfull senses ledd.
Her giftes my study was, her beauties were my sporte:
My worke her workes to know, her dwelling my resorte.
Those lampes of heau'nly fire to fixed motion bound,
The euer-turning spheares, the neuer-mouing ground;
What essence destinie hath; if fortune be or no;
Whence our immortall soules to mortall earth doo flowe:
What life it is, and how that all these liues doo gather.
With outward makers force, or like an inward father.
Such thoughts, me thought, I thought, and straind my single mind
Then void of neerer cares, the depth of things to find.
When lo with hugest noise (such noise a tower makes
When it blowne downe with winde a fall of ruine takes)
(Or such a noise it was, as highest thunders sende,
Or canons thunder-like, all shot togither, lende)
The Moone a sunder rent; whereout with sodaine fall
(More swift then falcons stoops to feeding Falconers call)
There came a chariot faire by doues and sparrowes guided:
Whose stormelike course staid not till hard by me it bided.
I wretch astonisht was, and thought the deathfull doome
Of heauen, of earth, of hell, of time and place was come.
But streight there issued forth two Ladies (Ladies sure
They seemd to me) on whom did waite a Virgin pure:
Straunge were the Ladies weeds; yet more vnfit then strange.
The first with cloth's tuckt vp as Nymphes in woods do range;
Tuckt vp euen with the knees, with bowe and arrowes prest:
Her right arme naked was, discouered was her brest.
But heauy was her pace, and such a meagre cheere,
As little hunting minde (God knowes) did there appeere.
The other had with arte (more then our women knowe,
As stuffe meant for the sale set out to glaring showe)
A wanton womans face, and with curld knots had twinde
Her haire, which by the helpe of painters cunning, shinde.
When I such guests did see come out of such a house,
The mountaines great with childe I thought brought foorth a mouse.
But walking forth, the first thus to the second saide,
Venus come on: said she, Diane you are obaide.
Those names abasht me much, whe[n] those great names I
hard:
Although their fame (me seemd) from truth had greatly iard.
As I thus musing stood, Diana cald to her
The waiting Nymphe, a Nyrnphe that did excell as farr
All things that earst I sawe, as orient pearles exceed,
That which their mother hight, or els their silly seed.
Indeed a perfect hewe, indeed a sweet consent
Of all those Graces giftes the heauens haue euer lent.
And so she was attirde, as one that did not prize
Too much her peerles parts, nor yet could them despise.
But cald, she came apace; a pace wherein did moue
The bande of beauties all, the little world of Loue.
And bending bumbled eyes (ô eyes the Sunne of sight)
She waited mistresse will: who thus disclosd her spright.
Sweet Mira mine (quoth she) the pleasure of my minde,
In whom of all my rules the perfect proofe I finde,
To onely thee thou seest we graunt this speciall grace
Vs to attend, in this most priuate time and place,
Be silent therefore now, and so be silent still
Of that thou seest: close vp in secrete knot thy will.
She answered was with looke, and well perform'd behest:
And Mira admirde: her shape sonke in my brest.
But thus with irefull eyes, and face that shooke with spite
Diana did begin. What mou'd me to inuite
Your presence (sister deare) first to my Moony spheare,
And hither now, vouchsafe to take with willing eare.
I know full well you know, what discord long hath raign'd
Betwixt vs two; how much that discord foule hath stain'd
Both our estates, while each the other did depraue,
Proofe speakes too much to vs that feeling triall haue.
Our names are quite forgot, our temples are defaced:
Our offrings spoil'd, our priest from priesthood are displaced
Is this the fruite of strife? those thousand churches hie,
Those thousand altars faire now in the dust to lie?
In mortall mindes our mindes but planets names preserue:
No knees once bowed, forsooth, for them they say we serue.
Are we their seruants growne? no doubt a noble staye:
Celestiall powers to wormes, Ioues children serue to claye.
But such they say we be: this praise our discord bred,
While we for mutuall spight a striuing passion fed.
But let vs wiser be; and what foule discorde brake,
So much more strong againe let fastest concorde make.
Our yeares doo it require: you see we both doo feele
The weakning worke of Times for euer-whirling wheele.
Although we be diuine, our grandsire Saturne is
With ages force decayed, yet once the heauen was his.
And now before we seeke by wise Apollos skill
Our young yeares to renew (for so he saith he will)
Let vs a perfect peace betweene vs two resolue:
Which lest the ruinous want of gouernment dissolue;
Let one the Princesse be, to her the other yeeld:
For vaine equalitie is but contentions field.
And let her haue the giftes that should in both remaine:
In her let beautie both, and chastnesse fully raigne.
So as if I preuaile, you giue your giftes to me:
If you, on you I lay what in my office be.
Now resteth onely this, which of vs two is she,
"To whom precedence shall of both accorded be.
For that (so that you like) hereby doth lie a youth
(She beckned vnto me) as yet of spotlesse truth,
Who may this doubt discerne: for better, witt, then lot
Becommeth vs: in vs fortune determines not.
This crowne of amber faire (an amber crowne she held)
To worthiest let him giue, when both he hath beheld:
And be it as he saith. Venus was glad to heare
Such proffer made, which she well showd with smiling cheere.
As though she were the same, as when by Paris doome
She had chiefe Goddesses in beautie ouercome.
And smirkly thus gan say. I neuer sought debate
Diana deare; my minde to loue and not to hate
Was euer apt: but you my pastimes did despise.
I neuer spited you, but thought you ouerwise.
Now kindnesse profred is, none kinder is then I:
And so most ready am this meane of peace to trie.
And let him be our iudge: the lad doth please me well.
Thus both did come to me, and both began to tell
(For both togither spake, each loth to be behinde)
That they by solemne oth their Deities would binde
To stand vnto my will: their will they made me know.
I that was first agast, when first I saw their showe:
Now bolder waxt, waxt prowde, that I such sway must beare:
For neere acquaintance dooth diminish reuerent feare.
And hauing bound them fast by Styx, they should obaye<
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