Certaine small poems lately printed with the tragedie of Philotas. Written by Samuel Daniel.

THE COMPLAINT of ROSAMOND.

OVT from the horror of Infernall deepes, My poore afflicted ghost coms heere to plaine it, Attended with my shame that neuer sleepes, The spot where-with my kinde & youth did staine it. My body found a graue where to containe it. A sheete could hide my face, but not my sin, For Fame findes neuer tombe t'inclose it in.

And which is worse, my soule is now denied, Her transport to the sweet Elisian rest, The ioyfull blisse for ghosts repurified, The euer-springing Gardens of the blest: Caron denies me waftage with the rest. And saies, my soule can neuer passe the Riuer, Till Louers sighes on earth shall it deliuer.

So shall I neuer passe; for how should I Procure this sacrifice amongst the liuing? Time hath long since worne out the memorie Both of my life, and liues vniust depriuing, Sorrow for me is dead for aye reuiuing: Rosamond hath little left her but her name, And that disgrac'd for time hath wrong'd the same.

No muse, suggests the pitty of my case, Each pen doth ouerpasse my iust complaint, Whilst others are preferd, though far more base: Shores wife is grac'd, and passes for a Saint; Her Legend iustifies her foule attaint, Her wel-told tale did such compassion find, That she is pass'd, and I am left behinde.

Which seene with griefe, my miserable ghost, (Whilome inuested in so faire a vaile, Which whilst it liu'd, was honored of the most, And being dead giues matter to bewaile,) Comes to solicite thee, (since others faile,) To take this taske, and in thy wofull song To forme my case, and regester my wrong.

Although I know thy iust lamenting Muse. Toyld in th'affliction of thine owne distresse, In others cares hath little time to vse, And therefore maist esteeme of mine the lesse: Yet as thy hopes attend happy redresse, Thy ioyes depending on a womans grace, So moue thy minde a wofull womans case.

DHLIA may hap to deigne to reade our story, And offer vp her sigh among the rest. Who••e merit would suffice for both our glory, Whereby thou might'st be grac'd and I be blest; That indulgence would profit me the best. Such power she hath by whom thy youth is led, To ioy the liuing, and to blesse the dead.

So I (through beauty) made the wofull'st wight, By beauty might haue comfort after death: That dying fairest, by the fairest might Find life aboue on earth, and rest beneath. She that can blesse vs with one happy breath, Giue comfort to thy Muse to do her best, That thereby thou mayst ioy, and I might rest

Thus said: forth with mou'd with a tender care, And pitty, (which my selfe could neuer find,) What she desir'd, my Muse deign'd to declare, And therefore, will'd her boldely tell her minde. And I (more willing) tooke this charge assign'd, Because her griefs were worthy to be knowne, And telling hers, might hap forget mine owne.

Then write (quoth she) the ruine of my youth, Report the downe-fall of my slip••y st••te, Of all my life reuaile the simple trueth, To teach to others what I learnt too late. Exemplifie my frailty, tell how Fate Keeps in eternall darke our fortunes hidden, And ere they come, to know them tis forbidden.

For Whilst the Sun-shine of my fortune lasted, I ioy'd the happiest warmth, the sweetest hea••e: That euer yet imper••ous beauty tasted, I had what glory euer flesh could get: But this faire morning had a shamefull set. Disgrace darkt honor, sinne did cloud my brow, As note the sequel, and Ile tell thee how.

The bloud I staind, was good and of the best, My b••th had honour, and my beauty fame: Nature and Fortune ioin'd to make me blest, Had •• had g••ace ••haue knowne to vse the same. My education shew'd from whence I came, And all concurd to make me happy furst, That so great hap might make me more accurst,

Happy liu'd I whilst parents eye did guide The indiscretion of my feeble wayes, And country home kept me from being eide, Where best vnknowne I spent my sweetest dayes: Till that my friends mine honor sough to raise To higher place, which greater credite yeeldes. Deeming such beauty was vnfit for feeldes.

From Country then to Court I was preferr'd, From calme to stormes, from shore into the deepes: There where I perish'd, where my youth first err'd, There where I lost the floure which honour keepes, There where the worser thriues, the better weepes; Ay me (poore wench) on that vnhappy shelfe, I grounded me, and cast away my selfe.

There whereas fraile and tender Beauty stands, With all assaulting powres inuironed; Hauing but prayers and weake feeble hands To hold their honors Fort vnvanquished; There where to stand, and be vnconquered, Is to b'aboue the nature of our kinde, That cannot long for pitty be vnkinde.

For thither com'd, when yeeres had arm'd my youth, With rarest proofe of beauty euer seene: When my reuiuing eye had learnt the truth, That it had power to make the winter greene, And floure affections whereas none had beene; Soone could I teach my brow to tyrannize, And make the world do homage to mine eies.

For age I saw, (though yeeres with cold conceit, Congeald their thoughts against a warme des••e,) Yet sigh their want, and looke at such a bait; I saw how youth was waxe before the fire; I saw by stealth, I fram'd my looke a lyre, Yet well perceiued, how Fortune made me then The enuy of my sexe, and wonder vnto men.

Looke how a Comet at the first appearing, Drawes all mens eyes with wonder to behold it: Or as the saddest tale at suddaine hearing, Makes silent listning vnto him that told it, So did my speech when Rubies did vnfold it: So did the blasing of my blush appeare, T'amaze the world, that holds such sights so deere.

Ah beauty Syren, saire enchaunting good, Sweete silent the torique of perswading eyes: Dombe eloquence, whose power doth moue the bloud More then the words, or wisdome of the wise: Still harmony, whose diapason lies Within a brow, the ••oy which passions moue. To rauish sence, and play a world in loue.

What might I then not do whose powre was such? What cannot women do that knowe their powre? What women knowes it not (I feare too much) How blisse or bale lyes in their laugh or lowre? Whilst they enioy their happy blooming flowre, Whilst nature deckes them in their best attires Of youth and beauty which the world admires.

Such one was I, my beauty was mine owne, No borrowed blush which bank-rot beau••les seeke: That new-found shame, a finne to vs vnknowne, Th'adulterate beauty of a falsed cheeke: Vilde staine to honour, and to women eeke, Seeing that time our f••ding must detect. Thus with defect to couer our defect.

Implety of times, Chastities aba••or, Falshood, wherein thy selfe thy selfe deniest: Treason to counterfet the seale of Nature, The stampe of heauen, impressed by the hiest. Disgrace vnto the world, to whom thou liest. Idoll vnto thy selfe, shame to the wise, And all that honour thee idolatrise.

Farre was that sinne from vs whose age was pure, When simple beauty was accounted best, The time when women had no other lure But modestie, pure cheekes, a vertuous brest. This was the pompe wherewith my youth was blest. These were the weapons which mine honour won. In all the conflicts which mine eyes begunne.

Which were not smale, I wrought on no mean•• oblect, A Crowne was at my feete, Scepters obeyd me, Whom Fortūe made my King, Loue made my subiect, Who did cōmaund the Land, most humbly praid me, Henry the second, that so highly weigh'd me. Found wel (by proofe) the priuiledge of beuty, That it had powre to counter-maund all duty.

For after all his victories in France, And all the triumphs of his honor wonne: Vnmatcht; by sword, was vanquisht by a glance. And hotter warres within his breast begunne. Warres, whom whole legions of desires drew on: Against all which, my chastity contends With force of honour, which my shame defends.

No armour might be found that could defend, Transpearcing raies of cristall poynted eyes: No stratagem, no reason could amend, No not his age; (yet olde men should be wise.) But shews deceiue, outward appearance lies. Let none for seeming so, thinke Saints of others, For all are men, and all haue suckt their mothers.

Who would haue thought a Mōarch would haue eues Obeyd his hand-maide of so meane estate: Vultu••e ••mbition feeding on his liuer, Age haui••g worne his pleasures out of date, But hap comes neuer, or it comes too late. For such a dainty which his youth found not, Vnto his feeble age did chaunce a lot.

Ah Fortune, neuer absolutely good, For that some crosse still counter-checks our luck: As heere behold th'incomparible blood, Of age and youth was that whereon we stuck: Whose lothing, we from natures brests do suck, As opposite to what our bloud requires, For equall age, doth equall like desires.

But mighty men, in highest honour sitting, Nought but applause and pleasure can behold: Sooth'd in their liking, carelesse what is fitting, May not be suffred once to thinke the'are old: Not trusting what they see, but what is told. Miserable fortune to forget so farre The state of flesh, and what our frailties are.

Yet must I needs excuse so great defect For drinking of the Lethe of mine eies, H'is forc'd forget himselfe, and all respect Of maiesty, whereon his state relies: And now of loues, and pleasures must deuise. For thus reuiu'd againe he serues and su'th, And seekes all meanes to vndermine my youth.

Which neuer by assault he could recouer, So well incamp'd in strength of chast desires: My cleane-arm'd thoughts repelld an vnchaste louer. The Crowne that could commaund what it requires, I lesser prizd then Chastities attires. Th'vnstayned vaile, which innocents adornes, Th'vngathred Rose, defended with the thrones.

And safe mine honour stoode, till that in truth, One of my sexe, of place, and nature bad, Was set in ambush to intrap my youth. One in the habite of our frailty clad, One who the liu'ry of like weaknesse had. A seeming Matron, yet a sinfull monster, As by her wordes the chaster sort may conster.

She set vpon me with the smoothest speech That Court and Age could cunningly deuise, Th'one authentique, made her fit to teach, The other learnd her how to subtelise. Both were enough to circumuent the wise. A document that well might teach the sage, That there's no trust in youth, nor hope in age.

Daughter (said she) behold thy happy chance, That hast the lot cast downe into thy lap. Whereby thou maist thy honor great aduance, Whilst thou (vnhappy) wilt not see thy hap: Such fond respect thy youth doth so inwrap, T'oppose thy selfe against thine owne good fortune, That poynts thee out, and seemes thee to importune.

Doost thou not see•• how that thy King (thy Ioue) Lightens forth glory on thy darke estate: And showres downe golde and treasure from aboue. Whilst thou doost shut thy lap against thy fate? Fie sondling fie, thou wilt repent too late The error of thy youth; that canst not see What is the fortune that doth follow thee.

Thou must not thinke thy flowre can alwaies florish, And that thy beautie will be still admired: But that those raies which all these flames do nourish, Cancel'd with Time, will haue their date expired, And men will scorne what now is so desired. Our frailties doome is written in the flowers, Which flourish now, and fade ere many howers.

Reade in my face the ruines of my youth, The wracke of yeeres vpon my aged brow; I haue beene faire (I must confesse the truth) And stood vpon as nice respects as thou; I lost my time, and I repent it now. But were I to begin my youth againe, I would redeeme the time I spent in vaine.

But thou hast yeeres, and priuiledge to vse them, Thy priuiledge doth beare Beauties great seale: Besides, the lawe of Nature doth excuse them, To whom thy youth may haue a iust appeale. Esteeme not Fame more then thou doost thy weale. Fame (wherof the world seems to make such choice) Is but an Eccho, and an idle voice,

Then why should this respect of honour bound vs, In th'imaginarie listes of reputation? Titles which cold seueritie hath found vs, Breath of the vulgar, foe to recreation: Ages opinion, Customes out-worne fashion, Pleasures plague, beauties scourge, hell to the faire, To leaue the sweete, for Castles in the aire.

Pleasure i•• felt, opinion but conceau'd, Honor, a thing without vs, not our owne: Whereof we see how many are bereau'd, Which should haue reap'd the glory they had sowne And many haue it, yet vnworthy, knowne. So breaches his blast this many-headed beast, Whereof the wisest haue esteemed least.

The subtile Citty-women, better learned, Esteeme them chast enough that best seeme so: Who though they sport, it shall not be discerned, Their face bewrayes not what their bodyes do; Tis warie walking that doth safeliest go. With shew of vertue, as the cunning knowes. Babes are beguild with sweets, & më with sho,

Then vse thy tallent youth shall be thy warrant, And let not honour from thy sports detract: Thou must not fondly thinke thy selfe transparent, That those who see thy face can iudge thy fact, Let her haue shame that cannot closely act. And seeme the chast, which is the chiefest arte, For what we seeme each see, none knows out hart.

The mighty, who can with such sinnes dispence, In steed of shame do honors great bestow: A worthy Author doth redeeme th'offence, And makes the scarlet sinne as white as snow, The Maiestie that doth descend so low, Is not defilde but pure remaines therein, And being sacred, sanctifies the sinne,

What, doost thou stand on this, that he is old? Thy beautie hath the more to worke vpon. Thy pleasures want shall be supplide with gold, Cold age dotes most when heate of youth is gone: Enticing words preuaile with such a one. Alluring shewes most deepe impression strikes For age is prone to credite what it likes.

Heere interrupt, she leaues me in a doubt, When loe began the combate in my blood, See'ing my weake youth inuiron'd round about, The ground vncertaine where my reasons stood; Small my defence to make my party good, Against such powers which were so surely laid, To ouerthrow a poore vnskilfull Maid.

Treason was in my bones, my selfe conspiring, To fell my selfe to lust, my soule to sin: Pure-blushing shame was euen vpon retiring, Leauing the sacred hold it glori'd in. Honor lay prost••ate for my flesh to win, When cleaner thoughts my weaknesse gan vpbray Against my selfe, and shame did force me say;

Ah Rosamond, what doth thy flesh prepare? Destruction to thy dayes, death to thy fame, Wilt thou betray that honour held with care, T'entombe with black reproch a spotted name? Leauing thy blush the colours of thy shame? Opening thy feete to sinne, thy soule to lust, Gracelesse to lay thy glory in the dust?

Nay, first let th'earth gape wide to swallow thee, And shut thee vp in bosome with her dead, Ere Serpent tempt thee taste forbidden Tree, Or feele the warmth of an vnlawfull bed; Suffring thy selfe by lust to be misled; So to disgrace thy selfe and g••ieue thine heires, That Cli••••ords race should scorne thee one of theirs.

Neuer wish longer to enioy the aire, Then that thou breath'st the breath of chastitie: Longer then thou preseru'st thy soule as faire As is thy face, free from impu••itie. Thy face, that makes th'admir'd in euery eye, Where Natures care such rarities inroule, Which vs'd amisse, may serue to damne thy soule.

But what? he is my King and may constraine me, Whether I yeelde or not, I liue diffamed. The world will thinke authori••ie did gaine me, I shall be iudg'd his Loue, and so be shamed. We see the faire condem'nd, that neuer gamed. And if I yeeld, tis honourable shame, If no••, I liue disgrac'd, yet thought the same.

What way is left thee then (vnhappy maide,) Whereby thy spotlesse foote, may wander out This dreadfull danger, which thou seest is laid, Wherein thy shame doth compasse thee about? Thy simple yeares cannot resolue this doubt. Thy youth can neuer guide thy foote so euen, But (in despite) some scandale will be giuen.

Thus stood I ballanc'd equally precize, Till my fraile flesh did weigh me downe to sin; Till world and pleasure made me partialize, And glittering pompe my vanitie did win, When to excuse my fault my lusts begin. And impious thoughts alledg'd this wanton clause, That though I sinn'd, my sinne had honest cause.

So well the golden balles cast downe before me, Could entertaine my course, hinder my way: Whereat my retchlesse youth stooping to store me, Lost me the gole, the glory, and the day. Pleasure had set my well school'd thoughts to play, And bade me vse the vertue of mine eies, For sweetly it fits the faire to wantonise.

Thus wrought to sin, soone was I traind from Court, T'a solitarie G••ange, there to attend The time the King should thither make resort, Where he Loues long desired worke should end. Thither he daily messages doth send, With costly Iewels (Orators of Loue,) Which (ah too well men know) do women moue.

The day before the night of my defeature, He greets me with a Casket richly wrought; So rare, that Arte did seeme to striue with Nature, T'expresse the cunning worke-mens curious thought•• The mysterie whereof I prying sought, And found engrauen on the lidde aboue, Amymone, how she with Neptune stroue.

Amymone, old Danaus fairest Daughter, As she was fetching water all alone At Lerna: whereas Neptune came and caught her, From whom she striu'd and strugled to be gone, Beating the ay••e with cries and piteous mone: But all in vaine, with him she's forc'd to go, Tis shame that men should vse poore maidens so.

There might I see described how she lay, At those proud feet, not satisfide with prayer: Wayling her heauy hap, cursing the day, In act so pitious to expresse despaire. And by how much more grieu'd, so much more faire. Her teares vpon her cheekes (poore carefull gerle,) Did seeme against the Sunne christall and pearle.

Whose pure cleere streams, (which lo so faire appears) Wrought hotter flames, (O miracle of loue.) That kindles fire in water, heate in teares, And makes neglected beauty mightier proue, Teaching afflicted eyes affects to moue; To shew that nothing ill becomes the faire, But crueltie, which yeelds vnto no prayer.

This hauing viewd, and therewith something moued, Figured I find within the other squares, Transformed Io, Ioues deerely loued, In her affliction how she strangely fares. Strangely distress'd (O beautie, borne to cares,) Turn'd to a Heiffer, kept with iealous eyes, Alwayes in danger of her hatefull spies.

These presidents presented to my view, Wherein the presage of my fall was showne, Might haue fore-warn'd me well what would ensue, And others harmes haue made me shun mine owne. But fate is not preuented, though foreknowne. For that must hap, decreed by heauenly powres, Who worke our fall, yet make the fault still ours.

Witnesse the world, wherein is nothing riser, Then miseries vnkend before they come: Who can the characters of chaunce decipher, Written in cloudes of our concealed dome? Which though perhaps haue beene reueald to some, Yet that so doubtfull, (as successe did proue them,) That mē must know they haue the heu'ns aboue ••••

I saw the sinne wherein my foot was entring, I saw how that dishonour did attend it, I saw the shame whereon my flesh was ventring, Yet had I not the vertue to defend it. So weake is sence when error hath condemn'd it. We see what's good, and thereto we consent, But yet we choose the worst, and soone repent.

And now I come to tell the worst of illnesse, Now drawes the date of mine affliction neere. Now when the darke had wrapt vp all in stilnesse, And dreadfull black had dispossess'd the cleere, Com'd was the night, (mother of sleepe and feare;) Who with her sable-mantle friendly couers, The sweet-stolne sports, of ioyfull meeting Louers.

When loe, I ioy'd my Louer, not my Loue, And felt the hand of lust most vndesired: Enforc'd th'vnprooued bitter sweet to proue, Which yeelds no mutuall pleasure when tis hired. Loue's not constrain'd, nor yet of due required. Iudge they who are vnfortunately wed, VVhat tis to come vnto a loathed bed.

But soone his age receiu'd his short contenting, And sleepe seald vp his languishing desires: VVhen he turnes to his rest, I to repenting, Into my selfe my waking thought retires: My nakednes had prou'd my sences liers. Now op'ned were mine eyes to looke therein, For first we taste the fruit, then see our sin.

Now did I find my selfe vnparadis'd, From those pure fields of my so cleane beginning: Now I perceiu'd how ill I was aduis'd, My flesh gan loathe the new-felt touch of sinning, Shame leaues vs by degrees, not at first winning. For nature checks a new offence with loathing, But vse of sinne doth make it seeme as nothing.

And vse of sinne did worke in me a boldnesse, And loue in him, incorporates such ze••le, That iealousie increas'd with ages coldnes, Fearing to loose the ioy of all his weale. Or doubting time his stealth might else reueale•• H'is driuen to deuise some subtill way, How he might safeliest keepe so rich a pray.

A stately Pallace he forthwith did build, Whose, intricate innumerable wayes, With such confused errors so beguild Th'vnguided entrers with vncertaine strayes•• And doubtfull turnings kept them in delayes, With bootlesse labour leading them about, Able to finde no way, nor in, nor out.

Within the closed bosome of which frame, That seru'd a Centre to that goodly Round: Were lodgings, with a Garden to the same, With sweetest flowers that eu'r adorn'd the ground. And all the pleasures that delight hath found, T'intertaine the sence of wanton eies, Fuel of loue, from whence lufts flame arise.

Heere I inclos'd from all the world asunder, The Mino aure of shame kept for disgrace, The Monster of misfortune th'ages wonder, Liu'd cloistred in so desolate a case: None but the King might come into the place, Wi••h certaine Maides that did attend my neede, And he himselfe came guided by a threed.

O ••ealousie, daughter of Hate and Loue, Most way ward issue of a gentle fire; Fostred with feares thy fathers ioyes t'improue, Mirth-marring Monster borne a subtile lier; Hatefull vnto thy selfe, flying thine owne desire: Feeding vpon suspect that doth renue thee, Happy were Louers if they neuer knew thee.

Thou hast a thousand gates thou enterest by, Condemning trembling passions to our hart: Hundred ey'd Argus, euer-waking Spie. Pale Hagge, infernall Fury, pleasures smart, Enuious Obseruer, prying in euery part: Suspicious, fearefull, gazing still about thee, O would to God that loue could be without thee.

Thou didst depriue (through false suggesting feare,) Him of content, and me of liberty: The onely good that women holde so deere, And turnst my freedome to captiuity, First made a prisoner ere an enemy. Enioynd the ransome of my bodyes shame, Which though I paide, could not redeeme the same,

What greater torment euer could haue beene, Then to inforce the faire to liue retir'd? For what is beautie if it be not seene? Or what is't to beseene, vnlesse admir'd? And though admir'd vnlesse in loue desir'd? Neuer were cheekes of Roses, lockes of Amber, Ordain'd to liue imprison'd in a Chamber.

Nature created Beauty for the view, (Like as the fire for heate, the Sunne for light:) The faire do hold this priuiledge as due By ancient Charter, to liue most in sight, And she that is debarr'd it, hath not right. In vaine our friends from this, do vs dehort, For Beauty will be where is most resort.

Witnes the fairest streetes that Thames doth visite, The wondrous concourse of the glitt'ring Faire: For what rare woman deckt with, beauty is it, That thither couets not to make repaire? The solitary Country may not stay her. Here is the centre of all Beautyes best, Excepting DELIA, left t'adorne the West.

Here doth the curious with iudiciall eies, Contemplate Beauty gloriously atri••ed. And heerein all our chiefest glory lies, To liue where we are prais'd and most desired. O how we ioy to see our selues admired, Whilst niggardly our fauours we discouer. We loue to be belou'd, yet scorne the Louer.

Yet would to God my foot had neuer mou'd From country safetie, from the fieldes of rest: To know the danger to be highly lou'd, And liue in pompe to braue among the best, Happy for me, better had I beene blest, If I vnluckily had neuer straide, But liu'd at home a happy country maide,

Whose vnaffected innocencie thinks No guilefull fraude, as doth the Courtly liuer: She's deck•• with truth, the Riuer where she drinks Doth serue her for her glasse, her councell giuer: She loues sincerely, and is loued euer. Her daies are peace, and so she ends her breath. (True life that knowes not what's to die till death.)

So should I neuer haue beene registred, In the blacke booke of the vnfortunate: Nor had my name enrold with Maids misled, Which bought their pleasures at so hie a rate. Nor had I taught (through my vnhappy fate,) This lesson (which my selfe learnt with expence) How most it hurts that most delights the sence:

Shame follows sinne, disgrace is duly giuen; Impiety will out, neuer so closely done; No walls can hide vs from the eye of heauen, For shame must end what wickednes begun; Forth breakes reproch when we least think thereon, And this is euer proper vnto Courts, That nothing can be done, but fame reports.

Fame doth explore what lies most secret hidden, Entring the closet of the Pallace dweller: Abroad reuealing what is most forbidden: Of t••uth and falshod both an equall teller. Tis not a guard can serue for to expell her. The sword of iustice cannot cut her wings, Nor stop her mouth from vtt'ring secret thinges.

And this our stealth she could not long conceale, From her whom such a forfeit most concerned: The wronged Queene, who could so closely deale, That she the whole of all our practise learned, And watcht a time when least it was descerned, In absence of the King, to wreake her wrong, With such reuenge as she desired long.

The Laberinth she entred by that threed. That seru'd a conduct to my absent Lord, Lest there by chance, reseru'd for such a deed, Where she surp••iz'd me whom she so abhord. Enrag'd with madnes, scarce she speakes a word, But flies with eager fury to my face, Offring me most vnwomanly disgrace.

Looke how a Tygresse that hath lost her whelpe, Runnes fiercely raging through the woods astray: And seeing her selfe depriu'd of hope or helpe, Doth furiously assault what's in her way, To satisfie her wrath, (not for a pray;) So fell she on me in outragious wise, As could Disdaine and Iealousie deuise.

And after all her vile reproches vsde, She forc'd me ••ake the poison shee had brought, To end the life that had her so abusde, And free her feares, and ease her iealous thought. No cruelty her wrath would leaue vnwrought, No spitefull act that to Reuenge is common; No beast being fiercer then a iealous woman.

Here take (saith she) thou impudent vncleane, Base gracelesse strumpet, take this next your heart; Your loue-sicke heart, that ouer charg'd hath beene With Pleasures surfeit, must be purg'd with Arte. This potion hath a power that will conuart To naught, those humors that oppresse you so. And (Gerle) Ile see you take it ere I go.

What stand you now amaz'd retire you backe? Tremble you (minion?) come dispatch with speed: There is no helpe, your Champion now you lack. And all these teares you shed will nothing steed: Those daynty fingers needs must do the deed. Take it or I will drench you els by force, And trifle not, left that I vse you worse.

Hauing this bloody doome from hellish breath, My wofull eyes on euery side I cast: Rigor about me, in my hand my death, Presenting me the horror of my last: All hope of pitty and of comfort past. No meanes, no power, no forces to contend, My trembling handes must giue my selfe my end.

Those hands that beauties ministers had been, They must giue death that me adorn'd of late, That mouth that newly gaue consent to sin, Must now receiue destruction in thereat, That body which my lust did violate, Must sacrifice it selfe t'appease the wrong. (So short is pleasure glory lasts not long.)

And she no sooner saw I had it taken, But foorth she rushes, (proud with victory,) And leaues m'alone, of all the world forsaken, Except of Death, which she had left with me. (Death and my selfe alone togither be.) To whom she did her full reuenge refer. Oh poore weake conquest both for him and her.

Then straight my conscience summons vp my sinne, T'appeare before me, in a hidious ••ace; Now doth the terrour of my soule beginne, When eu'ry corner of that hatefull place Dictates mine error, and reueals disgrace; Whilst I remaine opprest in euery part, Deoth in my body, horror at my hart.

Downe on my bed my loathsome selfe I cast, The bed that likewise giues in euidence Against my soule, and tels I was vnchast, Tels I was wanton, tels I followed sence, And therefore cast, by guilt of mine offence. Must heere the right of heauen needes satisfie, And where I wanton lay, must wretched die.

Heere I began to waile my hard mishap, My suddaine, strange vnlookt for misery. Accusing them that did my youth intrap, To giue me such a fall of infamy. And poore distressed Rosamond. (said I,) Is this thy glory got, to die forlorne In Dezarts, where no eare can heare thee mourn••

Nor any eye of pitty to behold The wofull end of thy sad tragedy; But that thy wrongs vnseene, thy tale vntold, Must heere in secret silence buried lie. And with thee, thine excuse togither die. Thy sin eeueal'd, but thy repentance hid, Thy shame aliue, but dead what thy death did.

Yet breath out to these walls the breath of mone, Tell th'aire thy plaints, since men thou canst not tell. And though thou perish desolate alone, Tell yet thy selfe, what thy selfe knowes too well: V••ter thy griefe where with thy soule doth swell. And let thy heart pitty thy hearts remorse. And be thy selfe the mourner and the corse.

Condole thee here, clad all in blacke dispaire, With silence onely, and a dying bed; Thou that of late, so flourishing, so faire, Didst glorious liue, admir'd and honoured: And now from friends, from succor hither led, Art made a spoyle to lust, to wrath, to death, And in disgrace, forc'd heere to yeeld thy breath.

Did Nature (for this good) ingeniate, To shew in thee the glory of her best; Framing thine eie the starre of thy ill fate. Making thy face the foe to spoile the rest? O Beauty, thou an enemie profest To Chastity and vs that loue thee most, Without theo how w'are loath'd, and with thee lost?

You, you that prowde with liberty and beautie, (And well may you be proude that you be so,) Glitter in Court, lou'd and obseru'd of duetie: Would God I might to you but ere I goe Speake what I feele•• to warne you by my woe, To keepe your feete in cleanly paths of shame, That no inticing may diuert the same.

See'ng how against your tender weaknes still, The strength of wit, of gold, and all is bent: And all th'assaults that euer might or skill, Can giue against a chaste and cleane intent: Ah let not greatnesse worke you to consent. The spot is foule, though by a Monarch made, Kings cannot priuiledge what God forbade.

Locke vp therefore the treasure of your loue, Vnder the surest keyes of feare and shame: And let no powers haue powre chaste thoughts to moue To make a lawlesse entry on your fame. Open to those the comfort of your flame, Whose equall loue shall march with equall pace, In those pure wayes that leade to no disgrace.

For see how many discontented beds, Our owne aspiring, or our Parents pride Haue caus'd, whilst that ambition vainely weds Wealth and not loue, honour and nought beside: Whilst married but to titles, we abide As wedded widowes, wanting what we haue, When shadowes cannot giue vs what we craue.

Or whilst we spend the freshest of our time, The sweet of youth in plotting in the ayre; Alas how oft we fall, hoping to clime; Or wither as vnprofitably faire, Whilst those decayes which are without repaire, Make vs neglected, scorned and reprou'd. (And O what are we, if we be not lou'd?)

Fasten therefore vpon occasions fit, Lest this, or that, or like disgrace as mine, Do ouer-take your youth to ruine it, And cloude with infamie your beauties shine: Seeing how many seeke to vndermine The treasurie that's vnpossest of any: And hard tis kept that is desir'd of many.

And flie (O flie) these Bed-brokers vncleane, (The monsters of our sexe, that make a pray Of their owne kinde, by an vnkindely meane; And euen (like Vipers) eating out a way Through th'wombe of their own shame, accursed they Liue by the death of Fame, the gaine of sin, The filth of lust, vncleannesse wallowes in.

As if t'were not enough that we, (poore we) Haue weakenesse, beautie, golde, and men our foes, But we must haue some of our selues to be Traitors vnto our selues, to ioyne with those? Such as our feeble forces doe disclose, And still betray our cause, our shame our youth, To lust, to folly, and to mens vntruth?

Hatefull confounders both of blood and lawes, Vilde Oraters of shame, that pleade delight: Vngracious Agents in a wicked cause, Factors for darkenesse, messengers of night, Serpents of guile, diuels, that do inuire The wanton taste of that forbidden tree, Whose fruit once pluckt, will shew how foule we be.

You in the habite of a graue aspect, (In credit by the trust of yeares, (can shoe The cunning wayes of lust, and can direct The faire and wily wantons how they goe, Hauing (youth lothsome selues) your youth spent so. And in vncleannes euer haue beene fed, By the reuenue of a wanton bed.

By you, haue beene the innocent betraid, The blushing fearefull, boldned vnto sin, The wife made subtile, subtile made the maide, The husband scorn'd, dishonoured the kin: Parents disgrac'd, children infamous been. Confus'd our race, and falsi-fied our blood, Whilst fathers sonnes possesse wrong Fathers good.

This, and much more, I would haue vttred then, A testament to be recorded still, Sign'd with my blood, subscrib'd with Conscience pen, To warne the faire and beautifull from ill. Though I could wish (by th'example of my will,) I had not left this note vnto the faire, But dyde intestate to haue had no heire.

But now, the poyson spread through all my vaines, Gan dispossesse my liuing sences quite: And nought respecting death, (the last of paines,) Plac'd his pale colours, (th'ensigne of his might,) Vpon his new-got spoile before his right; Thence chac'd my soule, setting my day ere noone, When I least thought my ioyes could end so soone.

And as conuaid t'vntimely funerals, My scarce cold corse not suffred longer stay, Behold, the King (by chance) returning, fals T'incounter with the same vpon the way, As he repair'd to see his deerest ioy. Not thinking such a meeting could haue beene, To see his Loue, and seeing beene vnseene,

Iudge those whom chāce depriues of sweetest treasure, What tis to lose a thing we hold so deere: The best delight, wherein our soule takes pleasure, The sweet of life, that penetrates so neere. What passions feeles that hart, inforc'd to beare The deepe impression of so strange a sight, That ouerwhelmes vs, or confounds vs quite?

Amaz'd he stands, nor voice nor body steares, Words had no passage, teares no issue found, For sorrow shut vp words, wrath kept in teares, Confus'd affects each other do confound: Oppress'd with griefe, his passions had no bound. Striuing to tell his woes, words would not come; For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dombe.

At length extreamity breakes out a way, Through which th'imprisned voice with tears attēded, Wailes out a sound that sorrows do bewray, With armes a-crosse, and eies to heauen bended, Vaporing our sighes that to the skies ascended. Sighes (the poore ease calamity affoords,) Which serue for speech when sorow wanteth words.

O heauens) quoth he,) why do mine eies behold The hatefull raies of this vnhappy sunne? Why haue I light to see my sinnes contrould, With blood of mine own shame thus vildly done? How can my sight endure to looke thereon? Why doth not blacke eternall darknesse hide, That from mine eyes, my hart cannot abide?

What saw my life, wherein my soule might ioy, What had my dayes, whom troubles still afflicted, But onely this, to counterpoize annoy? This ioy, this hope, which Death hath interdicted; This sweet, whose losse hath all distresse inflicted: This, that did season all my sowre of life, Vext still at home with broiles, abrode in strife:

Vext still at home with broiles, abroade in strife, Dissention in my blood, iarres in my bed: Distrust at boord, suspecting still my life, Spending the night in horror, dayes in dread: (Such life hath Tyrants, and this life I led.) These miseries go mask'd in glittering showes, Which wise men see, the vulgar littles knows.

Thus as these passions doe him ouerwhelme, He drawes him neere my body to behold it. And as the Vine married vnto the Elme With strict imbraces, so doth he infold it. And as he in his carefull armes doth hold it, Viewing the face that now euen death commends, On sencelesse lippes, millions of kisses spends.

Pitt••full mouth (saith he) that liuing gauest The sweetest comfort that my soule could wish: O be it lawfull now, that dead thou hauest, This sorrowing farewell of a dying kisle. And you faire eyes, containers of my blisse, Motiues of loue, borne to be matched neuer, Entomb'd in your sweet circles sleepe for euer.

Ah how me thinkes I see Death dallying seekes, To entertaine it selfe in Loues sweet place: Decayed Roses of discoloured cheekes, Doe yet retaine deerenotes of former grace: And vgly Death sits faire within her face; Sweete remnants resting of vermillian red, That Death it selfe doubts whether she be dead.

Wonder of beauty, oh receiue these plaints, These obsequies, the last that I shall make thee: For loe, my soule that now already faints, (That lou'd thee liuing, dead will not forsake thee,) Hastens her speedy course to ouer-take thee. I••e meete my death, and free my selfe thereby, For (ah) what can he doe that cannot die?

Yet ere I die, thus much my soule doth vow, Reuenge shall sweeten death with ease of minde: And I will cause posterity shall know, How fa••e thou wert aboue all woman kinde, And after-ages monuments shall finde Shewing thy beauties title, no•• thy name, Rose of the world that sweetned so the same.

This said, though more desirous yet to say, (For sorrow is vnwilling to giue ouer.) He doth represse what griefe would else bewray, Least he too much his passions should discouer. And yet respect scarce bridles such a Louer. So farre transported that he knew not whither, For Loue and Maiesty dwell ill together,

Then were my funerals not long deferred. But done with all the rites pompe could deuise, At Godstow, where my body was interred. And richly tomb'd in honourable wise, Where yet as now scarce any note descries Vnto these times, the memory of mee, Marble and Brasse so little lasting be.

For those walls which the credulous ••euout, And apt-beleeuing ignorant did found; With willing zeale, that neuer call'd in doubt, That Time their works should euer so confound, Lye like confused heapes as vnder ground. And what their ignorance esteem'd so holy•• Our wiser ages do account as follie.

And were it not thy fauourable lines Re-edified the wracke of my decaies, And that thy accents willingly assignes Some farther date, and giue meelonger dayes, Few in this age had knowne my Beautyes praise. But thus renew'd, my fame redeemes some time, Till other ages shall neglect thy rime.

Then when Confusion in her course shall bri••g Sad desolation on the times to come: When mirthlesse Thames shall haue no Swanne to sing, All musicke silent, & the Muses dombe: And yet euen then it must be knowne to some, That once they flourisht, though not cherisht so, And Thames had Swannes aswell as euer Po,

But heere an end, I may no longer stay. I must returne t'attend at Stygian flood: Yet ere I goe, this one word more I pray. Tell Delia, now her sight may do me good, And will her note the frailty of our blood. And if I passe vnto th••se happy bankes. Then she must haue her praise, thy pen her thankes.

So vanquisht she, and left me to returne To prosecute the tenor of my woes: Eternall matter for my Muse to mourne, But (yet) the world hath heard too much of those, My youth such errors must no more disclose. Ile hide the rest, and grieue for what hath beene, Who made me knowne must make me liue vnsee••

FINIS.