The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
Thus, thus the minds which over all do climb,
When they by years’ experience get best graces,
Must finish then by death’s detested crime.
{574}
We last short while, and build long lasting places:
Ah let us all against foul nature cry:
We nature’s works do help, she us defaces;
For how can nature unto this reply:
That she her child, I say, her best child killeth?
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.
Alas methinks my weakened voice but spilleth
The vehement course of his just lamentation:
Methinks, my sound no place with sorrow filleth.
I know not I, but once in detestation
I have myself, and all what life containeth,
Since death on virtue’s fort hath made invasion
One word of woe another after traineth:
Nor do I care how rude by my invention,
So it be seen what sorrow in me reigneth.
O elements, by whose, men say, contention,
Our bodies be in living power maintained,
Was this man’s death the fruit of your dissention?
O physic’s power, which some say, hath restrained
Approach of death, alas, thou helpest meagrely,
When once one is for Atropos distrained,
Great be physicians’ brags, but aid is beggarly,
When rooted moisture fails or groweth dry,
They leave off all, and say, death comes too eagerly.
They are but words therefore that men do buy
Of any, since god Aesculapius ceased,
Your doleful tunes sweet Muses now apply.
Justice, justice is now, alas, oppressed:
Bountifulness hath made his last conclusion:
Goodness for best attire in dust is dressed.
Shepherds bewail your uttermost confusion;
And see by this picture to you presented,
Death is our home, life is but a delusion,
For see, alas, who is from you absented,
Absented? nay I say for ever banished
For such as were to die for him contented?
Out of her sight in turn of hand is vanished
Shepherd of shepherds, whose well settled order
Private with wealth, public with quiet garnished
While he did live, far, far was all disorder,
Example more prevailing than direction,
Far was home-strife, and far was foe from border,
His life a law, his look a full correction:
As in his health we healthful were preserved,
So in his sickness grew our sure infection.
His death our death. But ah, my muse hath swerved,
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For such deep plaint as should such woes descry,
Which he of us for ever hath deserved.
The style of heavy heart can never fly
So high, as should make such a pain notorious:
Cease Muse therefore: thy dart O death apply,
And farewell prince, whom goodness hath made glorious.
Many were ready to have followed this course, but the day was so
wasted, that only this rhyming Sestine delivered by one of great
account among them, could obtain favour to be heard.
Farewell, O sun, Arcadia’s clearest light:
Farewell, O pearl, the poor man’s plenteous treasure.
Farewell, O golden staff, the weak man’s might:
Farewell, O joy, the joyful’s only pleasure.
Wisdom, farewell, the skill-less man’s direction:
Farewell with thee, farewell all our affection.
For what place now is left for our affection,
Now that of purest lamp is quench’d the light.
Which to our darkened minds was best direction?
Now that the mine is lost of all our treasure?
Now death hath swallowed up our worldly pleasure,
We orphans made, void of all public might?
Orphans indeed, depriv’d of father’s might:
For he our father was in all affection,
In our well-doing placing all his pleasure,
Still studying how to us to be a light.
As well he was in peace a safest treasure:
In war his wit and word was our direction.
Whence, whence, alas, shall we seek our direction?
When that we fear our hateful neighbours’ might,
Who long have gap’d to get Arcadian’s treasure.
Shall we now find a guide of such affection,
Who for our sakes will think all travel light,
And make his pain to keep us safe, his pleasure?
No, no, for ever gone is all our pleasure;
For ever wand’ring from all good direction;
For ever blinded of our clearest light;
For ever lamed of our sured might;
For ever banish’d from well-plac’d affection;
For ever robb’d of all our royal treasure.
Let tears for him therefore be all our treasure,
And in our wailing naming him our pleasure:
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Let hating of ourselves be our affection,
And unto death bend still our thoughts’ direction:
Let us against ourselves employ our might,
And putting out our eyes seek we our light.
Farewell our light, farewell our spoiled treasure:
Farewell our might, farewell our daunted pleasure:
Farewell direction, farewell all affection.
The night began to cast her dark canopy over them, and they, even
weary with their woes, bended homewards, hoping by sleep, forgetting
themselves, to ease their present dolours, when they were met with a
troop of twenty horse, the chief of which asking them for the king,
and understanding the hard news, thereupon stayed among them expecting
the return of a messenger, whom with speed he dispatched to Philanax.
[End of Book IV]
ARCADIA
BOOK V
{577}
The dangerous division of men’s minds, the ruinous renting of all
estates, had now brought Arcadia to feel the pangs of uttermost peril,
such convulsions never coming, but that the life of that government
draws near his necessary period, when to the honest and wise Philanax,
equally distracted between desire of his master’s revenge and care of
the estate’s establishment, there came, unlooked for, a Macedonian
gentleman, who in short, but pithy manner, delivered unto him, that
the renowned Euarchus, King of Macedon, purposing to have visited his
old friend and confederate the King Basilius, was now come within half
a mile of the lodges, where having understood by certain shepherds the
sudden death of their prince, had sent unto him, of whose authority
and faith he had good knowledge, desiring him to advertise him in what
security he might rest there for that night, where willingly he would,
if safely he might, help to celebrate the funeral of his ancient
companion and ally; adding he need not doubt, since he had brought but
twenty in his company, he would be so unwise as to enter into any
forcible attempt with so small force. Philanax having entertained the
gentleman, as well as in the midst of so many tumults he could,
pausing a while with himself, considering how it should not only be
unjust and against the law of nations, not well to receive a prince
whom goodwill had brought among them, but, in respect of the greatness
of his might, very dangerous to give him any cause of due offence;
remembering withal the excellent trials of his equity, which made him
more famous than his victories, he thought he might be the fittest
instrument to redress the ruins they were in, since his goodness put
him without suspicion, and his greatness beyond envy. Yet weighing
with himself how hard many heads were to be bridled, and that in this
monstrous confusion such mischief might be attempted, of which {578}
late repentance should after be but a simple remedy, he judged best
first to know how the people’s minds would sway to this determination.
Therefore desiring the gentleman to return to the King his master, and
to beseech him, though with his pains, to stay for an hour or two,
where he was, till he had set things in better order to receive him,
he himself went first to the noblemen, then to Kalander, and the
principal Mantineans, who were most opposite unto him, desiring them,
that as the night had most blessedly staid them from entering into
civil blood, so they would be content in the night to assemble the
people together to hear some news which he was to deliver unto them.
There is nothing more desirous of novelties than a man that fears his
present fortune. Therefore they, whom mutual diffidence made doubtful
of their utter destruction, were quickly persuaded to hear of any new
matter, which might alter at least, if not help the nature of their
fear. Namely, the chiefest men, who as they had most to lose, so were
most jealous of their own case, and were already grown as weary to be
followers of Timautus’s ambition, as before they were enviers of
Philanax’s worthiness. As for Kalander and Sympathus as in the one a
virtuous friendship had made him seek to advance, in the other a
natural commiseration had made him willing to protect the excellent,
though unfortunate prisoners, so were they not against this
convocation. For having nothing but just desires in them, they did not
mistrust the justifying of them. Only Timautus laboured to have
withdrawn them from this assembly, saying it was time to stop their
ears from the ambitious charms of Philanax. Let them first deliver
Gynecia, and her daughters, which were fit persons to hear, and then
they might begin to speak. That this was but Philanax’s cunning, to
link broil upon broil, because he might avoid the answering of his
trespasses, which as he had long intended, so had he prepared coloured
speeches to disguise them. But as his words expressed rather a
violence of rancour than any just ground of accusation, so pierced
they no further than to some partial ear, the multitude yielding good
attention to what Philanax would propose unto them. Who, like a man
whose best building was a well-framed conscience, neither with
plausible words, nor fawning countenance, but even with the grave
behaviour of a wise father, whom nothing but love makes to chide, thus
said unto them.
“I have,” said he, “a great matter to deliver unto you, and thereout
am I to make a greater demand of you: but truly such hath this late
proceeding been of yours that I know not what is to be demanded of
you. Methinks I may have reason to require of you, as men are wont
among pirates, that the life of him that never hurt you, may be safe.
Methinks I am not without {579} appearance of cause, as if you were
Cyclopes or Cannibals, to desire that our prince’s body, which hath
thirty years maintained us in a flourishing peace, be not torn in
pieces, or devoured among you, but may be suffered to yield itself,
which never was defiled with any of your bloods, to the natural rest
of the earth. Methinks, not as to Arcadians renowned for your faith to
prince, and love of country, but as to sworn enemies of this sweet
soil. I am to desire you, that at least, if you will have strangers to
your princes, yet you will not deliver the seigniory of this goodly
kingdom to your noble king’s murderers. Lastly, I have reason, as if I
had to speak to madmen, to desire you to be good to yourselves: for
before God, what either barbarous violence or unnatural folly, hath
not this day had his seat in your minds, and left his footsteps in
your actions? but in troth I love you too well to stand long
displaying your faults: I would you yourselves did forget them, so you
did not fall again into them. For my part, I had much rather be an
orator of your praises. But now, if you will suffer attentive
judgment, and not forejudging passion, to be the weigher of my words,
I will deliver unto you what a blessed mean the gods have sent unto
you, if you list to embrace it. I think there is none among you so
young, either in years, or understanding, but hath heard the true fame
of that just prince Euarchus, King of Macedon. A prince with whom our
late master did ever hold most perfect alliance. He, even he, is this
day come, having but twenty horse with him, within two miles of this
place, hoping to have found the virtuous Basilius alive, but now
willing to do honour to his death. Surely, surely the heavenly powers
have in so full a time bestowed him on us to unite our divisions. For
my part therefore I wish, that since among ourselves we cannot agree
in so manifold partialities, we do put the ordering of all these