Mythomystes wherein a short suruay is taken of the nature and value of true poesy and depth of the ancients above our moderne poets. To which is annexed the tale of Narcissus briefly mythologized
Reynolds, Henry, fl. 1627-1632., Ovid, 43 B.C.-17 or 18 A.D. Metamorphoses.
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LIriope (faire Nymphe, of Thetis borne)
The god Cephissus lou'd; and hauing long
In vaine her maidenly denialls boarne,
Forc'd her at last his siluer streames among.
'Tweene them a buoye was got, faire as the Morne,
And (if truth were in graue Tiresia's toung)
Immortall as his Sire; might he know neuer,
But liue a stranger to himselfe for euer.
No sooner from his birth-day bad the Sun
After three Lusters, in his carre of light
Three yearely rounds more through the Zodiack run,
When this bright-visadg'd buoye (Narcissus hight)
Was growne to that supreme perfection
Of beauty and grace, combinde to breed delight,
As no degree, no sexe, no age are free,
But all perforce of him enamour'd be.
The winning features of his face were such,
As the best beauties seem'd to his, but bad;
Sweet, soft, and fresh to looke vpon, and touch,
The tender hue was of the louely lad;
Widdowes desir'd, and married wiues as much,
And eu'ry maid a longing for him had;
No harte so chaste, and free from amo'rous fire,
But he could tainte, and kindle with desire.
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Yet his proude hawty minde had in disdaine
What euer beauty came within his fight;
Nor car'de the choycest Virgins loue to gaine,
Whereto by kinde, Nature doth man inuite;
Nor yet of riper women sought to'obtaine
The vs'de allay of the blouds appetite;
But only lou'de, ador'de, and deifi'de
Himselfe, dispizing all the worlde beside.
One day, that louely browe, those liuely eyes,
That ruby lip, that alabaster chi•…e
And crimson cheeke of his, a Nymphe espyes,
A Nymphe that neuer doth to speake beginne,
But readily to such as speake, replies;
Though all her words lame and imperfect been,
While in her mouthe confounding all the rest,
Her last worde only comes out perfectest.
This Nymphe which then, and still we Eccho name,
That answers others speeche, but speakes to none,
Was not as now, a meere voice peec'd, and lame,
But forme and substance had of flesh and bone;
When to her toung that imperfection came
To vente but halfe wordes, and them not her owne,
Through a disdaine shee in the breste did raise
Of Iuno, ielious of her husbands wayes.
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Ere which a voyce shee had, so sweete to th' eare,
With a discourse so smooth, and full of pleasure,
As it a heauen was her wordes to heare,
Wordes which the heauyest grieuance and displeasure
Could mitigate, and easyer make to beare,
(Of sweete and sage so equall was their measure;)
For still shee kept them by discretion good,
Within the seemely bounds of womanhood.
Farre was this faire maydes faire toungs glory spred,
Winning the minds of all men, by the swaye
Of her imperious eloquution ledd,
Where with a thousand brabbles euery daye
Among the Nymphes, Siluans, and shepherds bredd
Shee easily atton'de; but Heau'ns queene (aye
Frying in a jelious fire) refte her of the' honour
Of her smooth speech, for the shrewd turnes 't had done her.
Iuno, that euer had a ielious head,
(Her husband did so ofte her bed abuse)
Meaning t'haue stolne vpon him, where i'bed
Shee thought he tooke the pleasure he did vse,
This Nymphe to' auuerte (by good aduizement ledd)
The mischiefe that such errors ofte ensues,
Would with smooth storyes entertayne his queene,
Till he had time to get away vnseene.
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Hauing bin oft beguild with this deceipt,
Iuno at length 〈◊〉 ayme of •…er speech perceiu'd,
And sayd, You shall (Nymphe) with your suttle bayte
Catch me no more, or I am much deceiu'd;
Your fluent toung shall haue a medcine straite,
That by' it I may be neuer after grieu'd;
When you haue fewer words to speake, wee'll see
How you can make your wonted sporte with me.
And what she threatned, quickly tooke effect;
For, from that time she could speake plaine no more,
Nor but repeate (such was her toungs defect)
Peeces of words that had bin spoke before.
This Nymphe, the buoy whom so much beauty deckt
No sooner view'd, but loue assayled sore
Her brest; she prooues to him her thoughts to breake
In words, but cannot first begin to speake.
Amaz'd as mute she slands, loth to be seene,
And to a thicket by, anon she hyes;
Thence, (where he layd was on a flowry greene,)
Conuayes about him her attentiue eyes
In many' a fearefull glance, the boughs betweene,
Then, how to' aproach him neerer, doth deuize;
S•…ill with new fuell feeding her desire,
Till all her brest falls of a burning fire.
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While thus th' inkindled maide viewes him vnseene,
And neither yet, a word to other spake,
He heares a noise among the bushes greene
That vnawares her foote did (tripping) make,
And lookes if any had about him been,
But sees not her that languisht for his sake.
Heare I not one? quoth he; One, sayes the mayde:
Framing a troth from the last word he sayd.
Much at this voyce began the lad to muze,
But whence it yssue'd could not yet deuize;
And as men oft on such occasion vse;
Now heere now there he throwes his earnest eyes;
Then once againe he thus his speech renewes,
May not I see thee? she, I see thee, cryes;
He turnes, and looks this way, and that againe;
She feares and hides her, and he looks in vaine.
Still more and more amaz'd he growes, and goes
Searching each place about him busily,
But nothing finds: then cryes come hither; those
Words she returnes, and cryes come hither; he
Sayes heere I am, do thou thy selfe disclose,
For as I heare, faine would I know thee. She
Replyes I know thee: so she did; for none
Ere came so neere her harte as he had done.
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He addes (desirous to heare out the rest)
If then thou know'st me, come and let's imbrace;
And let's imbrace, shee soone replyes: that blest
And soueraigne worde inforc'd her from the place
Where she was hidd, and from her mayden brest
Chasing her feare, she' appeares before the face
Of the faire buoy, whose words assur'd her cleerely,
She should imbrace him whom she lou'd so dearely.
Her neck to wreathe with his, she faire enclin'd,
Her armes to meete his armes, extended be;
But he that was quite of another minde,
Sayes, Do not thinke I loue thee; readily
I loue thee, she replyes, rudely vnkinde
He addes, nor euer will I loue thee. She
Still sayes, I loue thee, as she said before;
He held his peace, and she could speake no more.
She hides her shaming eyes, the froward lad
Pusheth her from him, and then from her flies.
She ynly raues, well nigh with sorrow mad
To' haue woo'd him so, that doth her loue despize;
And if by such a toung as erst she had,
But halfe the griefe that in her bosome lyes
Were vtt'red, she might mooue with her laments
The heau'ns, the Earth, and all the Elements.
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Her pale sick lookes the woefull witnesse beare
Of her hartes agonye, and bitter teene;
Her flesh she batters, martyrs her faire baire,
And, shaming ere to be of any seene,
Hides her in some wilde wood or caue, and there
Answers perhaps if she haue question'd been;
And more and more increaseth eu'ry day
Loues flame in her, and meltes her life away.
That flame eftsoone gan all her body blast;
Th'humor and bloud resolu'd into grosse aire;
The flesh to ashes in a moment past,
That was so sleeke to feele, and look'd so faire,
The bones and voice only remain'd at last;
But soone the bones to hard stones turned are;
All that of her now liues is th'empty sound
That from the caues doth to our eares rebound.
Beside this Nymphe, not the most faire Napaea
Or Hamadriad that was euer borne,
Could mooue Narcissus; no not Cytherea
Or wise Minerua could his fancy turne.
'Mong the neglected troope, a Nymphe to' Astraea
For iustice prayes, and vengiance on the scorne
Of this disdainefull youth, that doth despize
Not nymphes alone, but heau'nly deities.
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O thou (she cryes) whose all-impartiall hand
The balance of heau'ns Equity sustaines,
Do on this hawty head that doth withstand
Nature, and heau'n, and all the world disdaines,
Due justice; ô let some auengeing brande
Teach him by's owne to pitty others paines,
And graunt he may himselfe approoue the grieues
He hath to thousands giu'n, and daily giues.
The just Petition that this Nymphe prefer'd,
Which she with rayning eyes repeated oft,
The Poures immortall had no sooner heard,
But they Ramnusia summond from alofte,
Whose sad doome was (and was not long defer'd)
That loue should render his hard boosome soft;
But such a loue, and of so strange a nature,
As nere before possessed human creature.
Within a shady groue (vnder a hill)
That opes into a medow faire, and wide,
Whose ample face a thousand py'ed floures fill,
And many' an odorous herbe, and plant beside,
Rizeth a fountaine fresh and coole; for still
The wood of one, and of the other side
The shady shoulders, of the hill defende it,
That the warme midday sun cannot offende it.
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The water of this well is euer cleare,
And of that wonderfull transparency,
That his deepe bottome seemes to rise, and neere
Offer it selfe to the behoulders eye.
The hot Sun burnes the ground, and eu'ry where
Shepherd and sheep to the coole shadowes fly;
When loue, (to' auenge himselfe) to this Fount guideth
This louely buoy in whom no loue abideth.
Scalt with the Sun, and weary with the chace,
He seekes to rest himselfe, and quench his thirst,
And glad of hauing found so fit a place,
Layes by his bow and quiuer from him first,
Then, his impatient drouth away to chace,
Inclines him to the flattring Fount. accurst
For euer may that trech'erous mirbor be
Wherin he hapt his own faire shade to see.
While ore the Fountaines face his faire face lyes,
And greedy lips the cooling liquor draw,
A greater hea•…e doth in his brest arise,
Caus'd by the shade he in the water saw.
Loue finding soone whereon he fixt his eyes,
Gan to th•… head his goulden arrow draw,
And all his hart with the vaine loue infected
Of what the liquid-christall glasse reflected.
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The beautious image that he sees so cleerely,
And his owne shadow in the fountaine makes;
Not for a shadow immateriall meerely,
But for a body palpable, he takes;
Each part apart, then altogether neerely
Viewes, and growes thirstier as his thirst he slakes;
His eye his owne eye sees, and loues the sight,
While with it selfe it doth it selfe delight.
He' extolls the lip, admires the cheeke, where he
The red and white so aptly mingled findes;
His either eye a starre he deemes to be;
The shining haire that the brow faire imbindes,
He calls a sun-beame, 'tis so bright to see;
And his affection so his reason blindes,
As all this faire for which all eyes adore him,
He still imputes to what he sees before him.
Long gazing with this earnest admiration,
(Which well his eu'ry gesture testifies,)
The shadow seemes copartner in his passion,
And in the same vnrest to sympathize;
His owne cach motion in the selfe same fashon
Appearing manifestly to his eyes;
The same expression that he giues his paine,
The same the shadow renders him againe.
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Transported with the filly vaine desire
That the deceiptfull shadow breedes in him,
With his inkindled lips he presses nigher
To kisse the lips that on the water swimme;
Those lips, as if they did his lips require,
Arize with equall hast to the wells brimme;
But his abused lips their purpose misse,
And only the deluding water kisse.
The water (troubled) doth the shade deface
With many' a wrinkle, he for feare to looze it,
Extends with louing hast ouer the place
His greedy armes, of either side to' incloze it;
But they (beguild) only vaine ayre imbrace;
He frowing lookes againe; that frownes, he wooes it
Againe with smiles. ah dire and cruell law
Of thy owne frowne (poore buoy) to stand in awe.
Yll-fated wretch, alas what dost thou see
That in thy brest this mutiny awakes?
Perceiu'st thou not that what enamors thee
Is but the shadow thy owne body makes?
And of how strange, and filly a quality
The passion is wherewith thy bosome akes,
That fondly flatters thee, 'tis still without thee,
When what thou seek'st, thou euer bear'st about thee?
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So neere about thee, as thou needst not feare
But while thou tarriest heere, 'twill tarry too;
And when thou weary art of staying heere,
'Twill go along with thee where ere thou goe:
I see thine eyes blubbred with many'a teare,
And weary'ed, yet not satisfy'd with woe;
Thou mourn'dst at first, to' allay and ease thy paine,
And now thon mourn'st to see that mourne againe.
The teares the shadow shedds, doth this accurst
Fonde louer for a firme assurance take,
That what he loues, feeles no lesse amorous thirste,
And in compassion sorrowes for his sake.
He opes his armes to' imbrace it at first;
The Shade consents, and doth like gesture make:
He nothing gripes; but turnes, and rudely teares
His haire, and drownes his rosy cheekes in teares.
Desire of food, nor want of sleepe can free
His thought from prosequuting still the woe
His tirannizing Passion breedes, whence be
Becoms a despe'rate praye to his lou'dfoe;
Th' enamourd eyes will nere auuerted be
From their owne splendor, that enthralls him so,
As (spight of any reason can instruct him)
They sure will to a speedy death conduct him.
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He rises vp at length, and standing by,
Pointes to the Founte, as author of the wrong
His hart receiu'd through his vnwary eye;
Then these sad accents the leau'd woods among
Sighes from his brests impatient agony;
Yee woods to whome these wailing words belong,
(For you alredy haue beheld in parte
The wretched plight of my afflicted harte.)
Yee woods, whose browes to heau'n, and feete to hell
Through th' ayre and ample earth extended be,
That haue so long held your faire right so well
Against th' vnciuile winters injury,
And many' a loue-sick wight haue sure heard tell
The story of his sadd captiuity
'Mong your dumb shades, O tell mee' if euer brest
Y' haue heard with such a loue as mine, possest.
What harte ere such a darknesse found to' infould it,
To loue a false and fleeting thing so deare,
Which when I thinke within my armes I hould it,
Is fled from me, and I am nere the neere;
I finde my error; somewhat does withhould it,
And my delusion plainely doth appeare;
Yet can I nere the more auuerte my minde
From seeking still what I shall neuer finde.
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But see this woe that doth all woe surmount,
What is it barres, what is it hinders me?
Is't either foming sea, or craggy mount,
Strong gate, or thick wall rear'd to' eternity?
Alas 'tis but a narrow shallow fount
That's interpos'd tweene my desires and me,
Where what I seeke, appeares, & would come to me,
Did not the jelious waters bould it fro' me.
For I my head no sooner downwards hould,
With will to' impresse those ruby lips with mine,
But with like will (redyer then can be tould)
It smiles, and doth the beautious head encline.
O thou faire fabrick of celestiall mould
Come forth, and let our lips and bosomes joine;
Leaue that vnfriendly fountaine, and come hether,
And sporte we in this flowry mede together.
Aymee I call, but none will answer me.
Come yet at last, if but to let me know
Since I am young, louely, and faire to see,
Why thou dost hide thy selfe, and shunne me so;
Looke in my face, and view the harmony
The various floures make that there freshly grow,
And tell me then, wherfore thou dost abhorre
That, that a thousand hartes do languish for.
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I know (wretch that I am) I know thee now:
Th' art my owne shadow meerely; 'tis the shine
That falls vpon the waters christall brow
From this bright face, and beautious limbs of mine,
And nothing else; I finde, alas I know
'Tis I and only I for which I pine;
At my owne eyes alone (vnhappy elfe)
I light the fire wherein I burne my selfe.
I know that I am it, and it is I
That both the loued am, and louer too;
But to allay my feau'rous malady
Alas what shall I say, what shall I doe?
Shall I my selfe, to wooe my selfe, apply,
Or stay perhaps till other do mee wooe?
Aymee, wealth makes mee poore; accursed blessing
To pine in want, with ouer-much possessing.
Ah could I this flesh-frame asunder parte
And take a body from this body free;
And (hauing what I loue so well, aparte,)
Deuide my loue betweene them equally,
So as they both, one interlouing harte
Possest; I might perhaps contented be:
But ô alas it neuer may be done
To make that two, that Nature made but one.
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Under the combrous weight my soule doth beare,
Wanting the meane it selfe to satisfy,
I fainte, and feele my death aproaching neere;
And more I grieue a thousand fold to dye,
That in my ruine, that that is more deare
Then life to mee, must fall as well as I;
Deaths face were not so soure to looke vpon,
Might that sweete face suruiue when I were gone.
He weepes, and to the water turnes againe,
Where he the weeping fain'd Narcissus viewes;
And eu'ry teare which the false faire eyes raine,
Th' impatience of his balefull woe renewes;
He striues to touch the lou'd cause of his paine,
Troubling the waters that his eyes abuse;
Then chafes, and cryes if I may neither feele
Nor heare, at least let mee behould thee still.
He raues impatient of his harts vnreste,
His garment teares, martyrs his haire and rendes it:
Then with his each bent sist, his inn'ocent brest
Beats, but the weede he weares somewhat defends it;
He findes it, and (himselfe more to moleste)
Remooues the garment, and starknak'd offends it
With many' a churlish blow, and so betakes him
Wholly to 's woe, as one whose sence forsakes him.
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The battr'ed juory brest shewes to the view
Like halfe-ripe grapes, apples, halfe red, or roses
Strew'd on some lilly banke, that (blowing nue)
The virgin leaues to the warme Sun disclozes;
And such, as though chang'd from the former hue,
Yet nought at all of his first beauty loozes,
But seemes (though sore perhaps, and akeing more)
As faire, or fairer then it was before.
He stoopes againes to take an other sight
Of the belou'd occasion of his woe;
The water shewes him soone the euill plight
The flesh was in had boarne so many' a blow;
He mournes to see't; and stody'ing how he might
Heale, and appeaze what he had injur'd so,
His armes (though well he knowes the labour vaine)
He needes will plunge into the fount againe.
The water mooues, he mournes, the Shadow flyes;
He lets it settle, and then lookes againe.
And now the fatall fire wherein he fryes,
His Sence consumes, through too much sence of paine;
So th'ore, that in a melting furnace lyes,
Growes warme, then hot; nor long doth so remaine,
But meltes, (the fire tyring vpon't the whiles)
And fusible, 'as the liquid water boiles.
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The white, and faire vermilion faded be
That late imbellisht and adorn'd him so;
His eye the faint lidd couers heauily;
Each limbe growes slack and powrelesse. Ecco al∣though
He loath'd and vs'd her so disdainefully
Hath still accompany'de him in his woe,
And euer would repeate, and answer make
Well as she could, to whatsoere he spake.
What sound his hands (beating each other) made,
Or when his bosome felt their battery,
She the like sound returnes. he to the Shade
Languishing cryes, Behould for thee I dye:
For thee I dye, answers th'inamour'd maide,
Remembring her owne cruell destiny.
At length he sadly sighes farwell, and dyes.
Farewell sayes Eccho, and no more replyes.
His ghost is to the shades infernall gon,
And (carry'ng still his error with him) there
Lookes him in those pale streames of Acheron,
And wooes, & winnes himselfe, and ne're the neere.
The Nymphes and hamadryads eu'ry one
With the sad Nayads who his sisters were,
With shriekes & cryes which they to heau'n inforce,
Strew their faire shorne haires on the bloudlesse corse.
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Ecco, (that grieues no lesse then th' other do)
Confounds her lamentation lowd with theirs;
And would her tresses teare, and her flesh too,
Had she them still; but as she may, she beares
Her part in eu'ry sound of griefe, and woe,
That from beat hand, or wayling voice she heares.
If any (weeping) cry, aymee he's gone,
She sayes the same, and multiplies the moane.
His fun'erall pile rounded with tapers bright,
The wayling Nymphes prepare without delay;
But the dead corse is vanisht from their fight;
And in the place where the pale carcasse lay,
A flowre with yallow seed, and leaues milke white
Appeares; a fairer flowre Aprill nor May
Yeelds; for it keeps much of his beauty still.
Some call't a Lilly, some a Daffadill.
