Delia and Rosamond augmented Cleopatra by Samuel Daniel.

THE COMPLAINT OF ROSAMOND.

OVT from the horror of Insernall deepes, My poore afflicted ghost comes heere to plaine it, Attended with my shame that neuer sleepes, The spot wher-with my kinde and 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 ghostes repurified, Th' euer-springing Gardens of the blest, Caron denies mee wastage with the rest. And sayes, 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 mee 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 pittie of my case, Each penne doth ouer-passe my iust complaint, VVhilst others are preferd, though farre 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 finde, That shee is pass'd, and I am left behind.

VVhich seene with griefe, my miserable ghost, (VVhilome inuested in so faire a vaile, VVhich whilst it liu'd, was honoured of the most, And being dead, giues matter to bewaile.) Comes to sollicite thee, (since others faile,) To take this taske, and in thy wofull song To forme my case, and register 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 mooue thy minde a wofull womans case.

DELIA may hap to deigne to reade our story, And offer vp her sigh among the rest, VVhose merrite would suffise for both our glory, VVhereby thou might'st be grac'd, and I be blest; That indulgence would profit me the best. Such power shee 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 fayrest, by the fairest might Find life aboue on earth, and rest beneath. Shee that can blesse vs with one happy breath. Giue comfort to thy Muse to doe her best, That thereby thou maist ioy, and I might rest.

Thus said: forth-with mou'd with a tender care, And pittie, (which my selfe could neuer finde,) VVhat shee desir'd, my Muse deign'd to declare, And therefore, will'd her boldly tell her mind. And I (more willing,) tooke this charge assignd, Because her griefes were worthy to be knowne, And telling hers might hap forget mine owne.

Then write (quoth shee) the tuine of my youth, Report the downe-fall of my slippry state, Of all my life reueale the simple truth, To teach to others what I learnt too late. Exemplifie my frailtie, tell how Fate Keepes 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 heate That euer yet imperious beautie tasted, I had what glorie euer flesh could get: But this faire morning had a shamefull set. Disgrace darkt honour, sinne did clowd my brow, As note the sequel, and Ile tell thee how.

The blood I staind, was good and of the best, My birth had honour, and my beautie fame: Nature and Fortune ioyn'd to make me blest, Had I had grace t'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.

Happie liu'd I, whilst Parents eye did guide, The indiscretion of my feeble waies, And Country home kept mee from being eyde, Where best vnknowne I spent my sweetest dayes; Till that my friends mine honour sought to raise, To higher place, which greater credite yeelds, Deeming such beauty was vnfit for seeldes.

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

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

For age I saw, (though yeeres with cold conceit, Congeald their thoughts against a warme desire,) Yet sigh their want, and looke at such a baite. I saw how youth was waxe before the fire. I saw by stealth, I fram'd my looke a lyre. Yet well perceiu'd, how Fortune made me then The enuie 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 faddest tale at suddaine hearing, Makes silent lishring vnto him that told it, So did my speech when Rubies did vnfold it. So did the blazing of my blush appeare, T'amaze the world, that holds such sights so deer.

Ah beauty Syred, faire enchaunting good, Sweet silent rethorique of perswading eyes: Dombe eloquēce, whose power doth moue the blood, More then the words, or wisedome of the wise; Still harmonie, whose diapason lies Within a brow, the key which passions moue, To rauish sence, and play a world in loue.

VVhat might I then not doe whose power was such? What cannot women doe that know their powre? VVhat 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 decks her w^t her proper faire Which cheeres the world, ioyes each sight, sweetens th'ayre.

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

Impietie of times, chastitles abator, Falshood, wherein thy selfe thy selfe deniest: Treason, to counterfeit the seale of Nature, The stampe of heauen, impressed by the hiest. Disgrace vnto the world, to whom thou lyest. Idoll vnto thy selfe, shame to the wise, And all that honour thee idolatrise.

Farre was that sinne from vs whose age was pure, VVhen simple beauty was accounted best, The time when women had no other lure But modestie, pure cheekes, a vertuous brest. Thys was the pompe wher-with my youth was blest. These were the weapons which mine honor wun In all the conflicts which mine eyes begun.

VVhich were not smal, I wrought on no meane obiect, A Crowne was at my feete, Scepters obeyde mee, Whō Fortune made my King, Loue made my subiect, Who did cōmaund the land, most humbly praid mee, HENRY the second, that so highly weigh'd mee, Found well (by proofe) the priuiledge of Beauty, That it had powre to counter-maund all duty.

For after all his victories in FRAVNCE, Tryumphing in the honour of his deedes: Vnmatch'd by sword, was vanquisht by a glaunce, And hotter warrs within his bosome breedes. VVarrs, whom whole Legions of desires feedes. Against all which, my chastitie opposes The field of honour, vertue neuer loses.

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

Who wold haue thought a Monarch would haue euer Obeyd his hand-mayde of so meane estate; Vultur ambition feeding on his lyuer, Age hauing 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'incompatible blood, Of age and youth was that whereon we stuck: VVhose lothing, we from natures brests doe suck, As opposite to what our blood 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 needes excuse so great defect, For drinking of the Lethe of mine eyes, H'is forc'd forget himselfe, and all respect Of maiestie, 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 chaste desires: My cleane-arm'd thoughts repell'd an vnchast louer. The Crowne that could commaund what it requires, I lesser priz'd then chastities attires. Th'vnstained vaile, which innocents adorns, Th'vngathred Rose, defended with the thornes.

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

Shee set vpon mee with the smoothest speech That Court and age could cunningly deuise: Th'one autentique, made her fit to teach, The other learnt her how to subtelise. Both were enough to circumuent the vvise. A document that well may teach the sage, That ther's no trust in youth, nor hope in age.

Daughter (said shee,) behold thy happy chaunce, That hast the lot cast downe into thy lap, VVhereby thou maist thy honor great aduaunce, Whilst thou (vnhappy) wilt not see thy hap: Such fond respect thy youth doth so inwrap, T'oppose thy selfe against thine own good fortune, That points thee out, & seemes thee to importune.

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

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

Reade in my face the ruines of my youth, The wrack of yeeres vpon my aged brow, I haue beene faire, (I must confesse the truth,) And stoode vpon as nyce 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 law 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 y^e world seems to make such choice,) Is but an Eccho, and an idle voyce.

Then why should this respect of honor bound vs, In th' imaginary lifts of reputation? Titles which cold seueritie hath found vs, Breath of the vulgar, foe to recreation: Melancholies opinion, Customes relation; Pleasures plague, beauties scourge, hell to the faire, To leaue the sweet, for Castles in the ayre.

Pleasure is felt, opinion but conceau'd, Honour, a thing without vs, not our owne: VVhereof we see how many are bereau'd, VVhich should haue reap'd the glory they had sowne. And many haue it, yet vnworthy, knowne. So breathes his blast thys many-headed beast, VVhereof 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 bewraies not what their bodies doe; Tis warie walking that dooth safeliest goe. With shew of vertue, as the cunning knowes, Babes are beguild with sweets, & men with showes.

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 knowes our hart.

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

VVhat, doost thou stand on this, that hee is olde? Thy beauty hath the more to worke vpon. Thy pleasures want shall be supply d 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 interupt, shee leaues mee in a doubt, VVhen loe began the combat in my blood, Seeing my youth inuirond round about, The ground vncertaine where my reasons stood; Small my defence to make my party good, Against such powers which were so surely layd, To ouer-throw a poore vnskilfull Mayd.

Treason was in my bones, my selfe conspiring, To sell my selfe to lust, my soule to sin: Pure-blushing shame was euen in retiring, Leauing the sacred hold it glori'd in. Honor lay prostrate for my flesh to win, When cleaner thoughts my weakenes gan vp bray, Against my selfe, and shame did force mee say;

Ah ROSAMOND, what dooth thy flesh prepare? Destruction to thy dayes, death to thy fame; Wilt thou betray that honor held with care, T'entombe with blacke 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 for bidden Tree, Or feele the warmth of an vnlawfull bed; Suffring thy selfe by lust to be misled; So to disgrace thy selfe and grieue thine heyres, That Cliffords race should scorne thee one of theirs.

Neuer wish longer to inioy the ayre, Then that thou breath'st the breath of chastitie: Longer then thou preseru'st thy soule as faire As is thy face, free from impuritie. 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? hee is my King, & may constraine mee, Whether I yeeld or not, I liue defamed. The world will thinke authority did gaine mee, I shall be iudg'd his Loue, and so be shamed. We see the faire condemn'd, that neuer gamed. And if I yeeld, tis honourable shame, If not, 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 daunger, which thou seest is layd, Wherein thy shame dooth compasse thee about? Thy simple yeeres cannot resolue this doubt. Thy youth can neuer guide thy foote so euen, But (in despight) 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 vanity 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 balls 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 wel-schoold thoughts to play, And bade me vse the vertue of mine eyes, For sweetly it fits the fayre to wantonise.

Thus wrought to sin, soone was I traind from Court, T'a solitarie Grange, 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, VVith costly Iewels (Orators of loue,) Which (ah too wel men know) doe women moue.

The day before the night of my defeature, Hee greets mee with a Casket ritchly wrought; So rare, that arte did seeme to striue with nature, T' expresse the cunning work-mans curious thought; The mistery whereof I prying sought. And found engrauen on the lidde aboue, Amymone, how shee with Neptune stroue.

Amymone, old Danans fairest Daughter, As shee was fetching water all alone At Lerna: whereas Neptune came and caught her, From whom shee striu'd and strugled to be gone, Beating the ayre with cryes and pittious mone. But all in vaine, with him sh' is forc'd to goe, Tis shame that men should vse poore maidens so.

There might I see described how shee lay, At those proude feete, not satis-fied with prayer: VVayling her heauie hap, cursing the day, In act so pittious to expresse dispatre. And by how much more grieu'd, so much more faire. Her teares vpon her cheekes (poore careful gerle,) Did seeme against the sunne christall and pearle.

Whose pure cleer streams, (which loe so faire appeares,) VVrought hotter flames, (ô miracle of loue,) That kindles fire in water, heate in teares, And makes neglected beautie mightier proue, Teaching afflicted eyes affects to moue; To shew that nothing ill becomes the faire, But cruelty, which yeelds vnto no prayer.

This hauing viewd, & therewith somthing moued, Figured I finde within the other squares, Trans-formed IO, IOVES deerely loued, In her affliction how shee strangely fares. Strangely distress'd, (ô beauty, borne to cares.) Turn'd to a Heiffer, kept with iealous eyes, Alwaies in danger of her hatefull spyes.

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 fore-knowne. For that must hap, decreed by heauenly powers, Who worke our fall, yet make the fault still ours.

Witnes the world, wherein is nothing rifer, Then miseries vnkend before they come: Who can the characters of chaunce discipher, Written in clowdes of our concealed dome? Which though perhaps haue been reueald to some, Yet that so doubtful, (as successe did proue them,) That men must know they haue y^e heauens aboue thē.

I saw the sinne wherein my foote was entring, I saw how that dishonour did attend it, I saw the shame whereon my flesh was ventring, Yet had I not the powre for 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 ilnes, Now drawes the date of myne affliction neere. Now when the darke had wrapt vp all in stilnes, 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 ioyd 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, What 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 lyers. Now opned were mine eyes to looke therein, For first we taste the fruite then see our sin.

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

And vse of sinne did worke in me a boldnes, And loue in him, incorporates such zeale, That iealosie increas'd with ages coldnes, Fearing to loose the ioy of all his weale. Or doubting time his stealth might els reueale, H' is driuen to deuise somesubtile way, How he might safeliest keepe so ritch a pray.

A stately Pallace hee forth-with did builde, VVhose intricate in numerable waies, VVith such confused errors so beguild Th'vnguided entrers with vncertaine straies, And doubtfull turnings kept them in delayes, With bootlesse labour leading them about, Able to find no way, nor in, nor out.

VVithin the closed bosome of which frame, That seru'd a Center to that goodly round: VVere 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'entertaine the sence of wanton eyes, Fuell of loue, from whence lusts flames arise.

Heere I enclos'd from all the world a sunder, The Minotaure of shame kept for disgrace, The Monster of Fortune, and the worlds wonder, Liu'd cloystred in so desolate a case: None but the King might come into the place. VVith certaine Maydes that did attend my need, And he himselfe came guided by a threed.

O Iealousie, daughter of Enuy'and Loue, Most way-ward issue of a gentle Syer; Fostred with feares, thy Fathers ioyes t'improue, Myrth-marring Monster, borne a subtile lyer; 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 eyed Argus, euer-waking Spie, Pale Hagge, infernall Furie, 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 mee of libertie: The onely good that women hold so deere, And turnst my freedome to captiuitie, First made a Frisoner, ere an enemy. Enioynd the raunsome of my bodies shame, Which though I paid, could not redeeme the same.

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

Nature created beauty for the view, (Like as the fire for heate, the Sunne for light:) The faire doe hold this priuiledge as due By auncient Charter, to lyue most in sight, And shee that is debarr'd it, hath not right. In vaine our friends (in this) vse their dehorting, For beauty will be where is most resorting.

Witnes the fairest streets that Thames doth visite, The wondrous concourse of the glittering Faire: For what rare women deckt with beauty is it, That thether couets not to make repayre? The solitary Country may not stay her. Heere is the center of all beauties best, Excepting DELIA, left t'adorne the West.

Heere doth the curious with iudiciall eyes, Contemplate beauty gloriously attired: And heerein all our chiefest glory lyes, 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 foote had neuer mou'd From Countrey safetie, from the fields of rest: To know the danger to be highly lou'd, And lyue in pompe to braue among the best, Happy for mee, better had I been blest; If I vnluckily had neuer straide, But liu'd at home a happy Country Maide.

VVhose vnaffected innocencie thinks No guilefull fraude, as doth the Courtly liuer: She's deckt with trueth, the Riuer where shee drinks Doth serue her for her glasse, her counsell 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 diecil death.)

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

Shame followes sinne, disgrace is duly giuen, Impietie will out, neuer so closely done: No walls can hide vs from the eye of heauen, For shame must end what wickednes begun; Foorth breakes reproch when we least thinke thereon. And this is euer propper vnto Courts, That nothing can be done, but Fame reports.

Fame doth explore what lyes most secrete hidden, Entring the closet of the Pallace dweller: Abroade reuealing what is most forbidden, Of truth and falshood 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 secrete things.

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

The Laberinth shee entred by that threed, That seru'd a conduct to my absent Lord, Left there by chaunce, reseru'd for such a deed, VVhere shee surpriz'd mee whom shee so abhord. Enrag'd with madnes, scarce shee speakes a word, But flyes with eager furie to my face, Offring mee most vnwomanly disgrace.

Looke how a Tygresse that hath lost her whelpe, Runns fiercely raging through the woods astray: And seeing her selfe depriu'd of hope or helpe, Furiously assaults what's in her way, To satis-fie her wrath, (not for a pray;) So fell shee on mee in outragious wise, As could disdaine and iealousie deuise.

And after all her vile reproches vs'd, Shee forst mee take the poyson shee had brought, To end the lyse that had her so abus'd, And free her feares, and case her iealous thought. No cruelty her wrath would leaue vnwrought, No spightfull act that to reuenge is common; (For no beast fiercer then a iealous woman.)

Heere take (saith shee) thou impudent vncleane, Base graceles strumpet, take this next your hart; Your loue-sick hart, that ouer-charg'd hath beene With pleasures surfeite, must be purg'd with arte. This potion hath a power, that will conuart To nought those humors that oppresse you so. And (Gerle,) Ile see you take it ere I goe.

What stand you now amaz'd, retire you back? 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 dainty fingers needes must doe the deed. Take it, or I will drench you els by force, And trifle not, least 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 mee the horror of my last; All hope of pitty and of comfort past. No meanes, no powre, no forces to contend, My trembling hands 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 nowe receiue destruction in thereat. That body which my lust did violate, Must sacrifize it selfe t'appease the wrong. (So short is pleasure, glory lasts not long.)

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

Then straight my Conscience summons vp my sin, T'appeare before me, in a hideous face; Now doth the terror of my soule begin, When eu'ry corner of that hatefull place Dectates mine error, and reueales disgrace; Whilst I remaine opprest in euery part, Death in my bodie, horror at my hart.

Downe on my bed my lothsome selfe I cast, The bed that likewise giues in euidence Against my soule, and tells I was vnchast, Tells I was wanton, tells I followed sence. And therefore cast, by guilt of mine offence, Must heere the right of heauen needes satis-fie. 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 gyue me such a fall of infamie. And poore distressed ROSAMOND, (said I,) Is this thy glory got, to die forlorne In Dezarts, where no eare can heare thee morne?

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

Yet breathe out to these walls the breath of mone, Tell th'ayre thy plaints, sith men thou canst not tell. And though thou perrish desolate alone, Tell yet thy selfe, what thy selfe knowes too well: Vtter thy griefe where with thy soule doth swell. And let thy hart, pitty thy harts remorse, And be thy selfe the mourner and the Corse.

Condole thee heere, clad all in black dispaire, With silence onely, and a dying bed; Thou that of late, so florishing, so fayre, Did glorious liue, admir'd and honored: And now from friends, from succour hether led, Art made a spoyle to lust, to wrath, to death, And in disgrace, forst heere to yeeld thy breath.

Did Nature (ô for thys) deliberate, To shew in thee the glory of her best; Framing thine eye the star of thy ill fate, And made thy face the foe to spoyle the rest? O Beautie, thou an enemy profest, To chastitie and vs that loue thee most, Without thee how w'are loath'd, & w^t thee lost?

O you that proude with liberty and beautie, (And ô may well be proude that you be so,) Glitter in Court, lou'd and obseru'd of dutie; O that I might to you but ere I goe Speake what I feele, to warne you by my woe, To keepe your feet in pure cleane pathes 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 greatnes worke you to consent. The spot is foule, though by a Monarch made, Kings cannot priuiledge a sinne forbade.

Lock vp therefore the treasure of your loue, Vnder the surest keyes of feare and shame: And let no powres haue powre chast thoughts to moue To make a lawlesse entry on your fame. Open to those the comfort of your flame, VVhose equall loue shal martch with equal pace, In those pure waies that leade to no disgrace.

For see how many discontented beds, Our owne aspyring, or our Parents pride Haue caus'd, whilst that ambition vainely weds Wealth and not loue, honor and nought beside: VVhilst married but to titles, we abide As wedded widdowes, 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 wee fall, hoping to clime. Or wither as vnprofitably faire, Whilst those decayes which are without repayre, Make vs neglected, scorned and reprou'd. (And ô what are we, if we be not lou'd?)

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

And flye, (ô flye,) these Bed-brokers vncleane, (The Monsters of our sexe,) that make a pray Of theyr owne kind, by an vnkindly meane; And euen (like Vipers,) eating out a way Thorow th wombe of their own shame, accursed they Lyue by the death of Fame, the gaine of sin, The filth of lust, vncleanes wallowes in.

O is it not enough that wee, (poore wee,) Haue weaknes, beauty gold, and men our foes, But we must haue some of our selues to bee Traytors 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 follie, and to mens vntruth?

Hatesull confounders both of blood and lawes, Vilde Orators of shame, that pleade delight: Vngracious Agents in a wicked cause, Factors for darknes, messengers of night, Serpents of guile, diuels, that doe inuite The wanton taste of that forbidden tree, vvhose fruit once pluckt, will shew how foule we be.

You in the habite of a graue aspect, (In credite by the trust of yeeres,) can shoe The cunning wayes of lust, and can direct The fayre and wilie wantons how to goe: Hauing (your lothsome selues) your youth spent so. And in vncleanes, euer haue beene fed, By the reuenue of a wanton bed.

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

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

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

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

Iudge those whō chance depriues of sweetest treasure, VVhat 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. VVhat passions feeles that hart, inforc'd to beare The deepe impression of so strange a sight? Tongue, pen, nor arte can neuer shew aright.

Amaz'd hee stands, nor voyce 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 doe confound: Oppress'd with griefe, his passions had no bound. Striuing to tell his woes, words would not come; For light cares speak, whē mighty griefs are dombe.

At length, extreamitie breakes out a way. Through W^c th'imprisoned voice with teares attended, VVailes out a sound that sorrowes doe bewray, VVith armes a-crosse, and eyes to heauen bended, Vaporing out sighes that to the skyes ascended. Sighes, (the poore ease calamitie affoords,) Which serue for speech whē sorrow wanteth words.

O heauens (quoth hee,) why doe mine eyes behold The hatefull rayes of this vnhappy sunne? Why haue I light to see my sinnes controld, With blood of mine own shame thus vildly done? How can my sight endure to looke thereon? VVhy doth not blacke eternall darknes hide, That from mine eyes, my hart cannot abide?

VVhat saw my life, wherein my soule might ioy, VVhat had my dayes, whom troubles stil 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 broyles, abroad in strise.

Vext still at home with broyles, abroad 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 goe mask'd in glittering showes, Which wise men see, the vulgar little knowes.

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

Pittifull mouth (saith hee) that lyuing gauest The sweetest comfort that my soule could wish: O be it lawfull now, that dead thou hauest, This sorrowing fare-well of a dying kisse. 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 thinks I see Death dallying seekes, To entertaine it selfe in Loues sweet place; Decayed Roses of discolloured checkes, Doe yet retaine deere notes of former grace: And vglie Death sits faire within her face; Sweet remnants resting of vermillion Red, That Death it selfe doubts whether shee be dead.

VVonder 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. Ile meet my death, and free my selfe thereby, For (ah) what can hee 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 posteritie shall know, How faire thou wert aboue all women kind. And after-ages Monuments shall find, Shewing thy beauties title, not 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,) Hee doth represse what griefe would els bewray, Least hee 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 Maiestie dwell ill together.

Then were my funeralls not long deferred, But done with all the rites pompe could deuise, At Godstow, where my body was interred, And ritchly tomb'd in honourable wise, Where yet as now scarce any note descties Vnto these times, the memory of mee, Marble and Brasse so 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 bee.

For those walls which the credulous deuout, And apt-belieuing ignorant did found: With willing zeale, that neuer call'd in doubt, That time theyr works should euer so confound, Lye like confused heapes as vnder-ground. And what theyr ignoraunce esteem'd so holy, The wiser ages doe account as follie.

And were it not thy fauourable lynes, Re-edified the wrack of my decayes, And that thy accents willingly assignes, Some farthar date, and giue me longer dayes, Few in this age had knowne my beauties prayse. But thus renewd, my fame redeemes some time, Till other ages shall neglect thy time.

Then when confusion in her course shall bring, Sad desolation on the times to come: When mirth-lesse Thames shal haue no Swan to sing, All Musique silent, and the Muses dombe. And yet euen then it must be knowne to some, That once they florisht, though not cherisht so, And Thames had Swannes as well as euer Po.

But heere an end, I may no longer stay thee, I must returne t'attend at Stigian flood: Yet ere I goe, this one word more I pray thee, Tell DELIA, nowe her sigh may doe mee good, And will her note the frailtie of our blood. And if I passe vnto those happy banks, Thē she must haue her prayse, thy pen her thanks.

So vanquisht shee, and left mee to returne, To prosecute the tenor of my woes: Eternall matter for my Muse to Mourne, But (ah) 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 known, must make me liue vnseene.

FINIS.