The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
Of Barley-break among the six befell,
Pas Colma match’d, yet angry with his fault,
The other end Geron with guard:
I think you think Strephon bent thitherward.
Nous counsell’d Strephon Geron to pursue,
For he was old, and easy would be caught:
But he drew her as love his fancy drew,
And so to take the gem Urania sought,
While Geron old came safe to Cosma true,
Though him to meet at all she stirred nought.
For Pas, whether it were for fear or love,
Mov’d not himself, nor suffer’d her to move.
So they three did together idly stay,
While dear Uran, whose course was Pas to meet,
(He staying thus) was fain abroad to stray
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With larger round, to shun the following feet.
Strephon, whose eyes on her back parts did play,
With love drawn on so fast with pace unmeet,
Drew dainty Nous, that she not able so
To run, brake forth his hands, and let him go,
He single thus hop’d soon with her to be,
Who nothing earthly, but of fire and air,
Though with soft legs did run as fast as he.
He thrice reach’d, thrice deceiv’d, when her to bear
He hopes, with dainty turns she doth him flee.
So on the Downs we see, near Wilton fair,
A hasten’d hare from greedy greyhound go,
And past all hope his chaps to frustrate so.
But this strange race more strange conceits did yield;
Who victor seem’d, was to his ruin brought:
Who seem’d o’erthrown was mistress of the field:
She fled, and took; he followed and was caught.
She have I heard to pierce pursuing shield,
By parents train’d the Tartars wild are taught,
With shafts shot out from their back-turned bow.
But ah! her darts did far more deeply go.
As Venus’s bird, the white, swift, lovely Dove,
(O happy Doves that are compar’d to her!)
Doth on her wings her utmost swiftness prove,
Finding the gripe of Falcon fierce not furr:
So did Uran: the nar, the swifter move,
(Yet beauty still as fast as she did stir)
’Till with long race dear she was breathless brought,
And then the Phoenix feared to be caught.
Among the rest that there did take delight
To see the sports of double shining day:
And did the tribute of their wond’ring sight
To nature’s heir, the fair Urania pay,
I told you Claius was the hapless wight,
Who earnest found what they accounted play.
He did not there do homage of his eyes,
But on his eyes his heart did sacrifice.
With gazing looks, short sighs, unsettled feet,
He stood, but turn’d, as Gyrosol, to sun:
His fancies still did her in half-way meet,
His soul did fly as she was seen to run.
In sum, proud Boreas never ruled fleet
(Who Neptune’s web on danger’s distaff spun)
With greater power, than she did make them wend
Each way, as she that ages praise, did bend.
’Till ’spying well, she well nigh weary was,
And surely taught by his love-open eye,
His eye, that ev’n did mark her trodden grass,
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That she would fain the catch of Strephon fly,
Giving his reason passport for to pass
Whither it would, so it would let him die;
He that before shunn’d her, to shun such harms:
Now runs, and takes her in his clipping arms.
For with pretence from Strephon her to guard,
He met her full, but full of warefulness,
Within bow’d-bosom well for her prepar’d,
When Strephon cursing his own backwardness,
Came to her back, and so with double ward
Imprison’d her who both them did possess
As heart-bound slaves: and happy then embrace
Virtue’s proof, fortune’s victor, beauty’s place.
Her race did not her beauty’s beams augment,
For, they were ever in the best degree,
But yet a setting forth it someway lent,
As rubies lustre when they rubbed be.
The dainty dew on face and body went
As on sweet flowers, when morning’s drops we see.
Her breath then short, seem’d loth from home to pass,
Which more it mov’d, the more it sweeter was.
Happy, O happy! if they so might bide
To see their eyes, with how true humbleness,
They looked down to triumph over pride:
With how sweet sauce she blam’d their sauciness,
To feel the panting heart, which through her side,
Did beat their hands, which durst so near to press,
To see, to feel, to hear, to taste, to know
More, than besides her, all the earth could show.
But never did Medea’s golden weed
On Creon’s child his poison sooner throw,
Than those delights through all their sinews breed,
A creeping serpent like of mortal woe,
’Till she broke from their arms (although indeed
Going from them, from them she could not go)
And fare-welling the flock, did homeward wend,
And so that even the Barley-break did end.
It ended, but the other woe began,
Began at least to be conceiv’d as woe,
For then wise Claius found no absence can
Help him who can no more her sight forego.
He found man’s virtue is but part of man,
And part must follow where whole man doth go.
He found that reason’s self now reasons found
To fasten knots, which fancy first had bound.
So doth he yield, so takes he on his yoke,
Not knowing who did draw with him therein;
Strephon, poor youth, because he saw no smoke,
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Did not conceive what fire he had within:
But after this to greater rage it broke,
’Till of his life it did full conquest win,
First killing mirth, then banishing all rest,
Filling his eyes with tears, with sighs his breast,
Then sports grow pains, all talking tedious:
On thoughts he feeds, his looks their figure change,
The day seems long, but night is odious,
No sleeps, but dreams; no dreams, but visions strange,
’Till finding still his evil increasing thus,
One day he with his flock abroad did range:
And coming where he hop’d to be alone,
Thus on a hillock set, he made his moan:
“Alas! what weights are these that load my heart!
I am as dull as winter-starved sheep,
Tir’d as a jade in over-laden cart,
Yet thoughts do fly, though I can scarcely creep.
All visions seem, at every bush I start:
Drowsy am I, and yet can rarely sleep.
Sure I bewitched am, it is even that,
Late near a cross, I met an ugly cat.
For, but by charms, how fall these things on me,
That from those eyes, where heav’nly apples been,
Those eyes, which nothing like themselves can see,
Of fair Urania, fairer than a green,
Proudly bedeck’d in April’s livery,
A shot unheard gave me a wound unseen;
He was invincible that hurt me so,
And none invisible, but spirits can go.
When I see her, my sinews shake for fear,
And yet, dear soul, I know she hurteth none:
Amid my flock with woe my voice I tear,
And, but bewitch’d, who to his flock would moan?
Her cherry lips, milk hands, and golden hair
I still do see, though I be still alone.
Now make me think that there is not a fiend,
Who hid in angel’s shape my life would end.
The sports wherein I wonted to do well,
Come she, and sweet the air with open breast,
Then so I fail, when most I would do well,
That at my so amaz’d my fellows jest:
Sometimes to her news of myself to tell
I go about, but then is all my best
Wry words, and stammering, or else doltish dumb;
Say then, can this but of enchantment come?
Nay each thing is bewitched to know my case:
The Nightingales for woe their songs refrain:
In river as I look’d my pining face,
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As pin’d a face as mine I saw again,
The courteous mountains griev’d at my disgrace
Their snowy hair tear off in melting pain.
And now the dropping trees do weep for me,
And now fair evenings blush my shame to see.
But you my pipe whilom my chief delight,
’Till strange delight, delight to nothing wear,
And you my flock, care of my careful sight,
While I was I, and so had cause to care:
And thou my dog, whose truth and valiant might
Made wolves, not inward wolves, my ewes to spare.
Go you not from your master in his woe,
Let it suffice that he himself forego.
For though like wax this magic makes me waste,
Or like a lamb, whose Dam away is set,
(Stolen from her young by Thieves’ unchosing haste)
He treble baa’s for help, but none can get,
Though thus, and worse, though now I am at last,
Of all the games that here ere now I met,
Do you remember still you once were mine,
’Till mine eyes had their curse from blessed eye.
Be you with me while I unheard do cry,
While I do score my losses on the wind,
While I in heart my will write ere I die.
In which, by will, my will and wits I bind,
Still to be hers, about her aye to fly.
As this same sprite about my fancies blind
Doth daily haunt, but so, that mine become
As much more loving, as less cumbersome.
Alas! a cloud hath overcast mine eyes:
And yet I see her shine amid the cloud.
Alas! of ghosts I hear the ghastly cries:
Yet there, meseems, I hear her singing loud.
This song she sings in most commanding wise:
‘Come shepherd’s boy, let now thy heart be bow’d
To make itself to my least look a slave:
Leave sleep, leave all, I will no piecing have.’
I will, I will, alas, alas, I will:
Wilt thou have more? more have, if more I be.
Away ragg’d rams, care I what murrain kill?
Our shrieking pipe, made of some witched tree:
Go bawling cur, thy hungry maw go fill
On your foul flock, belonging not to me.”
With that his dog he henc’d, his flock he curs’d,
With that, yet kissed first, his pipe he burst.
This said, this done, he rose, even tir’d with rest,
With heart as careful, as with careless grace,
With shrinking legs, but with a swelling breast,
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With eyes which threat’ned they would drown his face.
Fearing the worst, not knowing what were best,
And giving to his sight a wand’ring race,
He saw behind a bush where Claius sat:
His well-known friend, but yet his unknown mate.
Claius the wretch, who lately yielden was
To bear the bonds which time nor wit could break,
(With blushing soul at sight of judgment’s glass,
While guilty thoughts accus’d his reason weak)
This morn alone to lovely walk did pass,
Within himself of her dear self to speak,
’Till Strephon’s plaining voice him nearer drew,
Where by his words his self-like case he knew.
For hearing him so oft with words of woe
Urania name, whose force he knew so well,
He quickly knew what witchcraft gave the blow,
Which made his Strephon think himself in hell.
Which when he did in perfect image show
To his own wit, thought upon thought, did swell,
Breeding huge storms within his inward part,
Which thus breath’d out, with earth-quake of his heart.
As Lamon would have proceeded, Basilius knowing, by the wasting of the
torches that the night also was far wasted, and withal remembering
Zelmane’s hurt, asked her whether she thought it not better to reserve
the complaint of Claius till another day. Which she, perceiving the
song had already worn out much time, and not knowing when Lamon would
end, being even now stepping over to a new matter, though much
delighted with what was spoken, willingly agreed unto. And so of all
sides they went to recommend themselves to the elder brother of death.
[End of Book I]
ARCADIA
BOOK II
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In these pastoral times a great number of days were sent to follow
their flying predecessors, while the cup of poison (which was deeply
tasted of the noble company) had left no sinew of theirs without
mortally searching into it; yet never manifesting his venomous work,
till once, that the night (parting away angry that she could distil no
more sleep into the eyes of lovers) had no sooner given place to the
breaking out of the morning light, and the sun bestowed his beams upon
the tops of the mountains, but that the woeful Gynecia, to whom rest
was no ease, had left her loathed lodging, and gotten herself into the