The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia
with a dissenting consent got up, and went to their swords but
happened, each on his enemies; where Argalus finding his foe’s {356}
sword garnished in blood, his heart rose with the same sword to
revenge it, and on that blade to ally their bloods together. But his
mind was evil waited on by his lamed force, so that he received still
more and more wounds, which made all his armour seem to blush, that it
had defended his master no better. But Amphialus perceiving it, and
weighing the small hatefulness of their quarrel with the worthiness of
the knight, desired him to take pity of himself. But Argalus, the more
repining, the more he found himself in disadvantage, filling his veins
with spite instead of blood, and making courage arise against
faintness (like a candle, which a little before it goes out, gives
then the greatest blaze) so did he unite all his force, that casting
away the little remnant of his shield, and taking his sword in both
hands, he struck such a notable blow, that he cleft his shield,
armour, and arm almost to the bone.
But then Amphialus forgot all ceremonies, and with cruel blows made
more of his best blood succeed the rest: till his hand being stayed by
his ear, his ear filled with a pitiful cry, the cry guided his sight
to an excellent fair lady, who came running as fast as she could, and
yet because she could not so fast as she would, she sent her
lamentable voice before her: and being come, and being known to them
both to be the beautiful Parthenia, who had that night dreamed she saw
her husband in such estate as she then found him, which made her make
such haste thither, they both marvelled. But Parthenia ran between
them, fear of love making her forget the fear of nature, and then fell
down at their feet, determining so to part them, till she could get
breath to sigh out her doleful speeches: and when her breath, which
running had spent, and dismayedness made slow to return, had by sobs
gotten into her sorrow-closed breast, for a while she could say
nothing, but, “O wretched eyes of mine, O wailful sight, O day of
darkness!” At length turning her eyes, wherein sorrow swam, to
Amphialus, “My Lord,” said she, “it is said you love; in the power of
that love, I beseech you to leave off this combat, as ever your heart
may find comfort in his affection, even for her sake, I crave it: or
if you be mortally determined, be so pitiful unto me, as first to kill
me, that I might not see the death of Argalus.” Amphialus was about to
have answered, when Argalus, vexed with his fortune, but most vexed
that she should see him in that fortune; “Ah Parthenia,” said he,
“never until now unwelcome unto me, do you come to get my life by
request? and cannot Argalus live but by request? is that a life?” With
that he went aside, for fear of hurting her, and would have began the
combat afresh. But Amphialus not only conjured by that which held the
monarchy of his mind, but even in his noble heart melting with
compassion at {357} so passionate a sight, desired him to withhold his
hands, for that he should strike one who sought his favour, and would
not make resistance. A notable example of the wonderful effects of
virtue, where the conqueror sought for friendship of the conquered,
and the conquered would not pardon the conqueror: both indeed being of
that mind to love each other for accepting, but not for giving mercy,
and neither affected to outlive a dishonour: so that Argalus, not so
much striving with Amphialus, for if he had him in the like sort, in
like sort he would have dealt with him, as labouring against his own
power, which he chiefly despised, set himself forward, stretching his
strength to the uttermost. But the fire of that strife, blown with his
inward rage, boiled out his blood in such abundance that he was driven
to rest himself upon the pommel of his sword: and then each thing
beginning to turn round in the dance of death before his eyes, his
sight both dazzled and dimmed, till, thinking to sit down, he fell in
a swoon. Parthenia and Amphialus both hastily went unto him: Amphialus
took off his helmet, and Parthenia laid his head in her lap, tearing
off her linen sleeves and partlet to serve about his wounds: to bind
which she took off her hair-lace, and would have cut off her fair hair
herself, but that the squires and judges came in with fitter things
for that purpose: while she bewailed herself with so lamentable
sweetness, as was enough to have taught sorrow to the gladdest
thoughts, and have engraved it in the minds of hardest metal.
“O Parthenia, no more Parthenia,” said she, “what art thou? what seest
thou? how is thy bliss in a moment fallen? how wert thou even now
before all ladies the example of perfect happiness, and now the gazing
stock of endless misery? O God, what hath been my desert, to be thus
punished? Or if such had been my desert, why was I not myself
punished? O wandering life, to what wilderness wouldst thou lead me.
But sorrow, I hope thou art sharp enough to save my labour from other
remedies. Argalus, Argalus, I will follow thee, I will follow thee.”
But with that Argalus came out of his swoon, and lifting up his
languishing eyes, which a painful rest and iron sleep did seek to lock
up, seeing her in whom, even dying, he lived, and himself seated in so
beloved a place, it seemed a little cheerful blood came up to his
cheeks, like a burning coal, almost dead, if some breath a little
revive it: and forcing up, the best he could, his feeble voice, “My
dear, my better half,” said he, “I find I must now leave thee: and by
that sweet hand, and fair eyes of thine I swear that death brings
nothing with it to grieve me but that I must leave thee, and cannot
remain to answer part of thy infinite deserts with being some comfort
unto thee. But since so it pleaseth Him, {358} whose wisdom and
goodness guideth all, put thy confidence in Him, and one day we shall
blessedly meet again, never to depart: meanwhile live happily, dear
Parthenia, and I persuade myself, it will increase the blessedness of
my soul so to see thee. Love well the remembrance of thy loving, and
truly loving Argalus: and let not,” with that word he sighed, “this
disgrace of mine make thee one day think thou hadst an unworthy
husband.” They could scarcely understand the last words: for death
began to seize himself of his heart, neither could Parthenia make
answer, so full was her breast of anguish. But while the other sought
to stanch his remediless wounds, she with her kisses made him happy:
for his last breath was delivered into her mouth.
But when indeed she found his ghost was gone, then sorrow lost the wit
of utterance, and grew rageful, and mad, so that she tore her
beautiful face, and rent her hair, as though they could serve for
nothing, since Argalus was gone; till Amphialus (so moved with pity of
that sight as that he honoured his adversary’s death with tears)
caused her, with the help of her women that came with her, partly by
force to be conveyed into the boat, with the dead body of Argalus,
from which she would not depart. And being come on the other side,
there she was received by Basilius himself, with all the funeral pomp
of military discipline, trailing all their ensigns upon the ground,
making their warlike instruments sound doleful notes, and Basilius
with comfort in his mouth and woe in his face, sought to persuade some
ease into Parthenia’s mind: but all was as easeful to her, as the
handling of sore wounds: all the honour done, being to her but the
triumph of her ruin, she finding no comfort but in desperate yielding
to sorrow: and rather determined to hate herself if ever she would
find ease thereof. And well might she hear as she passed through the
camp the great praises spoken of her husband, which were all records
of her loss. But the more excellent he was, being indeed counted
second to none in all Greece, the more did the breath of those praises
bear up the wings of Amphialus’s fame: to whom yet such was his case,
that trophy upon trophy, still did but build up the monument of his
thraldom; he ever finding himself in such favour of Philoclea that she
was most absent when he was present with her; and ever sorriest when
he had best success: which would have made him renounce all comfort,
but that his mother with diversity of devices kept up his heart.
But while he allayed thus his outward glory with inward discomfort, he
was like to have been overtaken with a notable treason, the beginning
whereof (though merely ridiculous) had like to have brought forth to
him a weeping effect.
Among other that attended Basilius in this expedition, Dametas {359}
was one; whether to be present with him, or absent from Miso, once,
certain it was without any mind to make his sword cursed by any widow.
Now being in the camp, while each talk seemed injurious, which did not
acknowledge some duty to the fame of Amphialus, it fell out sometimes
in communication, that as the speech of heaven doth often beget the
mention of hell, so the admirable prowess of Amphialus (by a contrary)
brought forth the remembrance of the cowardice of Clinias: insomuch,
as it grew almost to a proverb, “As very a coward as Clinias;”
describing him in such sort, that in the end Dametas began to think
with himself that if he made a challenge unto him he would never
answer it; and that then he should greatly increase the favourable
conceit of Basilius. This fancy of his he uttered to a young gentleman
that waited upon Philanax, in whose friendship he had especial
confidence, because he haunted his company, laughing often merrily at
his speeches, and not a little extolling the goodly dotes of Mopsa.
The young gentleman as glad as if he had found a hare sitting, egged
him on, breaking the matter with Philanax, and then, for fear the
humour should quail in him, wrote a challenge himself for Dametas, and
brought it to him. But when Dametas read it, putting his head on his
shoulder, and somewhat smiling, he said, it was pretty indeed, but
that it had not a lofty style enough; and so, would needs indite it in
this sort.
O Clinias, thou Clinias, the wickedest worm that ever went upon two
legs; the very fritter of fraud, and seething pot of iniquity: I
Dametas, chief governor of all the royal cattle, and also of Pamela
(whom thy master most perniciously hath suggested out of my dominion)
do defy thee in a mortal affray from the bodkin to the pike upward:
Which if thou dost presume to take in hand, I will, out of that
superfluous body of thine, make thy soul to be evacuated.
The young gentleman seemed dumb-stricken with admiration, and
presently took upon him to be the bearer thereof, while the heat of
the fit lasted; and having gotten leave of Basilius (everybody helping
on to ease his mind, overcharged with melancholy) he went into the
town, according to the manner before time used, and, in the presence
of Amphialus, delivered this letter to Clinias; desiring to have an
answer, which might be fit for his reputation. Clinias opened it, read
it, and, in the reading, his blood, not daring to be in so dangerous a
place, went out of his face, and hid itself more inwardly: and his
very words, as if they were afraid of blows, came very slowly out of
his mouth: but, as well as his panting breath would utter it, he bade
him tell the lout that sent him, that he disdained to have anything to
do with him. But Amphialus, perceiving the matter, took him aside, and
very {360} earnestly dealt with him, not to shame himself; Amphialus
only desirous to bring it to pass, to make some sport to Philoclea:
but, not being able to persuade him, Amphialus licensed the gentleman,
telling him that by next morning he should have an answer.
The young gentleman, sorry he had sped no better, returned to Dametas,