The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
to find something that pities me; and that all things of comfort and
pleasure do not fly away from me. But if the violence of your spring
command you to haste away, to pay your duties to your great prince,
the sea, yet carry with you those few words, and let the uttermost
ends of the world know them. A love more clear than yourselves,
dedicated to a love, I fear, more cold than yourselves, with the
clearness lays a night of sorrow upon me, and with the coldness
inflames a world of fire within me.” With that she took a willow
stick, and wrote in a sandy bank those few verses.
Over those brooks trusting to ease mine eyes,
(Mine eyes even great in labour with their tears)
I laid my face; my face ev’n wherein lies
Clusters of clouds, which no sun ever clears,
In watery glass my watery eyes I see;
Sorrows ill eas’d, where sorrows painted be.
My thoughts imprison’d in my secret woes,
With flamy breath do issue oft in sound,
The sound of this strange air no sooner goes,
But that it does with Echoes’ force rebound;
And make me hear the plaints I would refrain:
Thus outwards helps my inward grief maintain.
{212}
Now in this sand I would discharge my mind,
And cast from me part of my burd’nous cares:
But in the sand my tales foretold I find,
And see therein how well the writer fares.
Since, stream, air, sand, mine eyes and ears conspire:
What hope to quench, where each thing blows the fire?
And as soon as she had written them, a new swarm of thoughts stinging
her mind, she was ready with her feet to give the new-born letters
both death and burial. But Philoclea, whose delight of hearing and
seeing was before a stay from interrupting her, gave herself to be
seen unto her, with such a lightening beauty upon Zelmane, that
neither she could look on, nor would look off. At last Philoclea,
having a little mused how to cut the thread even between her own
hopeless affection and her father’s unbridled hope, with eyes, cheeks,
and lips, whereof each sang their part to make up the harmony of
bashfulness, began to say, “My father, to whom I owe myself;” and
therefore when Zelmane (making a womanish habit to be the armour of
her boldness, giving up her life to the lips of Philoclea, and taking
it again by the sweetness of those kisses) humbly besought her to keep
her speech for a while within the paradise of her mind. For well she
knew her father’s errand, who should soon receive a sufficient answer.
But now she demanded leave not to lose this long sought-for commodity
of time, to ease her heart thus far, that if in her agonies her
destiny was to be condemned by Philoclea’s mouth; at least Philoclea
might know, whom she had condemned. Philoclea easily yielded to grant
her own desire, and so making the green bank the situation, and the
river the prospect of the most beautiful buildings of nature, Zelmane
doubting how to begin, though her thoughts already had run to the end,
with a mind fearing the unworthiness of every word that should be
presented to her ears, at length brought it forth in this manner.
“Most beloved lady, the incomparable excellencies of yourself, waited
on by the greatness of your estate, and the importance of the thing
whereon my life consisted, doth require both many ceremonies before
the beginning, and many circumstances in the uttering my speech, both
bold and fearful. But the small opportunity of envious occasion, by
the malicious eye hateful love doth cast upon me, and the extreme bent
of my affection, which will either break out in words, or break my
heart, compel me not only to embrace the smallest time, but to pass by
the respects due unto you, in respect of your poor caitiff’s life, who
is now, or never to be preserved. I do therefore vow unto you,
hereafter never more to omit all dutiful form, do you only now
vouchsafe to hear the matter {213} of a mind most perplexed, if ever
the sound of love have come to your ears, or if ever you have
understood what force it hath had to conquer the strongest hearts and
change the most settled estates, receive here an example of those
strange tragedies; one, that in himself containeth the particularities
of all those misfortunes, and from henceforth believe that such a
thing may be, since you shall see it is. You shall see, I say, a
living image, and a present story of what love can do when he is bent
to ruin.
“But alas! whither goest thou my tongue? or how doth my heart consent
to adventure the revealing his nearest touching secret? but peace
fear, thou comest too late, when already the harm is taken. Therefore
I say again, O only princess attend here a miserable miracle of
affection. Behold here before your eyes Pyrocles, prince of Macedon,
whom you only have brought to this game of fortune, and unused
Metamorphosis, whom you only have made neglect his country, forget his
father, and lastly forsake to be Pyrocles: the same Pyrocles who, you
heard, was betrayed by being put in a ship, which being burned,
Pyrocles was drowned. O most true presage! for these traitors, my
eyes, putting me into a ship of desire, which daily burneth, those
eyes, I say, which betrayed me, will never leave till they have
drowned me. But be not, be not, most excellent lady, you that nature
hath made to be the load-star of comfort, be not the rock of
shipwreck: you whom virtue hath made the princess of felicity, be not
the minister of ruin: you whom my choice hath made the goddess of my
safety. O let not, let not, from you be poured upon me destruction;
your fair face hath many tokens in it of amazement at my words: think
then what his amazement is, from whence they come, since no words can
carry with them the life of the inward feeling, I desire that my
desire may be weighed in the balances of honour, and let virtue hold
them. For if the highest love in no base person may aspire to grace,
then may I hope your beauty will not be without pity, if otherwise you
be, alas! but let it not be so resolved, yet shall not my death be
comfortless, receiving it by your sentence.”
The joy which wrought into Pygmalion’s mind, while he found his
beloved image was softer and warmer in his folded arms, till at length
it accomplished his gladness with a perfect woman’s shape, still
beautified with the former perfections, was even such, as by each
degree of Zelmane’s words creepingly entered into Philoclea, till her
pleasure was fully made up with the manifesting of his being, which
was such as in hope did overcome hope. Yet doubt would fain have
played his part in her mind and called in question, how she should be
assured that Zelmane was Pyrocles. But love straight stood up and
deposed that a lie could not come from the mouth of Zelmane. Besides,
a certain spark of honour, which rose {214} in her well-disposed mind,
made her fear to be alone with him, with whom alone she desired to be,
withal the other contradictions growing in those minds, which neither
absolutely climb the rock of virtue, nor freely sink into the sea of
vanity, but that spark soon gave place, or at least gave no more light
in her mind than a candle doth in the sun’s presence. But even sick
with a surfeit of joy, and fearful of she knew not what, as he that
newly finds huge treasures, doubts whether he sleep or no; or like a
fearful deer, which then looks most about when he comes to the best
feed, with a shrugging kind of tremor through all her principal parts,
she gave those affectionate words for answer.
“Alas! how painful a thing it is to a divided mind to make a
well-joined answer? how hard it is to bring inward shame to outward
confession? and what handsomeness, trow you, can be observed in that
speech which is made one knows not to whom? Shall I say, ‘O Zelmane’?
alas! your words be against it. Shall I say ‘Prince Pyrocles’? wretch
that I am, your show is manifest against it. But this, this I may well
say; if I had continued as I ought, Philoclea, you had either never
been, or ever been Zelmane: you had either never attempted this
change, set on with hope, or never discovered it, stopped with
despair. But I fear me, my behaviour ill governed, gave you the first
comfort: I fear me, my affection ill hid, hath given you this last
assurance: I fear indeed, the weakness of my government before, made
you think such a mask would be grateful unto me; and my weaker
government since makes you pull off the visor. What should I do then?
shall I seek far-fetched inventions? shall I labour to lay marble
colours over my ruinous thoughts? or rather, though the pureness of my
virgin mind be stained, let me keep the true simplicity of my word.
True it is, alas! too true it is, O Zelmane, for so I love to call
thee, since in that name my love first began, and in the shade of that
name my love shall best lie hidden, that even while so thou wert, what
eye bewitched me I know not, my passions were fitter to desire than to
be desired. Shall I say then, I am sorry, or that my love must be
turned to hate, since thou art turned to Pyrocles? How may that well
be? since when thou wert Zelmane, the despair thou mightest not be
thus did most torment me. Thou hast then the victory, use it with
virtue. Thy virtue won me; with virtue preserve me. Dost thou love me?
keep me then still worthy to be loved.”
Then held she her tongue, and cast down a self-accusing look, finding
that in herself she had, as it were, shot out of the bow of her
affection, a more quick opening of her mind than she minded to have
done. But Pyrocles so carried up with joy that he did not envy the
god’s felicity, presented her with some jewels of right princely
value, as some little tokens of his love and quality: and {215} withal
showed her letters from his father King Euarchus, unto him, which even
in the sea had amongst his jewels been preserved. But little needed
those proofs to one, who would have fallen out with herself rather
than make any contrary conjectures to Zelmane’s speeches; so that with
such embracements, as it seemed their souls desired to meet, and their
hearts to kiss as their mouths did, they passed the promise of
marriage, which fain Pyrocles would have sealed with the chief arms of
his desire, but Philoclea commanded the contrary.
And then at Philoclea’s entreaty, who was willing to purloin all
occasions of remaining with Zelmane, she told her the story of her
life, from the time of their departing from Erona; for the rest she
had already understood of her sister. “For,” said she, “I have
understood how you first, in the company of your noble cousin
Musidorus, parted from Thessalia, and of divers adventures, which with
no more danger than glory you passed through, till your coming to the
succour of the queen Erona; and the end of that war, you might
perceive by myself, I had understood of prince Plangus. But what since
was the course of your doings, until you came, after so many
victories, to make a conquest of poor me, that I know not; the fame
thereof having rather showed it by pieces, than delivered any full
form of it. Therefore, dear Pyrocles, for what can my ears be so
sweetly fed with, as to hear you of you, be liberal unto me of those
things which have made you indeed precious to the world; and now doubt
not to tell of your perils, for since I have you here out of them,
even the remembrance of them is pleasant.”
Pyrocles easily perceived she was content with kindness to put off
occasion of further kindness, wherein love showed himself a cowardly
boy that durst not attend for fear of offending. But rather love
proved himself valiant, that durst with the sword of reverent duty
gain-stand the force of so many enraged desires. But so it was, that
though he knew this discourse was to entertain him from a more
straight parley, yet he durst not but kiss his rod, and gladly make