Ovid's heroical epistles Englished by W.S.

OVID'S EPISTLES. LIB. I.

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The Argument of the first Epistle.

WHen the Grecians went with a great Army to Troy, to revenge the rape of Helena. Vlysses the son of L••••rtes and Anticlea, took such delight in his young wife Penelope, that he counterfeited him∣self

mad, thereby ••o enjoy her, and absent himself from the wars. But Palamedes discovering his purpose, he was compelled to go with the rest in the Trojan vo••age. VVhere he ••ought many brave com∣bats, and after the destruction of Troy, which had been ten years be∣sieged, intending to return to his own Countrey, he took ship with other Grecian Princes, but through Minerva's displeasure, they were scattered and divided by such a violent tempest, that Vlysses wandred ten years more before he returned. So that his wife Penelope, having lived chastly in his absence, and not knowing what hindred his com∣ing home, writes this Epistle unto him, wherein she perswades him by many reasons to return to his own Country.

PENELOPE to ULYSSES.

MY dear Vlysses, thy Penelope Doth send this Letter to complain of thee, VVho dost so long from me unkindly stay: VVrite nothing back, but come thy self away. For Troy now level with the ground is laid, VVhich was envy'd by every Grecian maid; Yet neither Troy, nor Priams wealth could be ••orth half so much, as thy good company. O! I could wish that Paris had been drown'd, When his ship was to Lacedemon bound. Then had not I lain cold in bed alone, Nor yet complain'd that time runs slowly on; Nor yet to pass away the winters night Had I sat spinning then by candle light, Fore-casting in what dangers thou mightst be, And such as were not like to trouble thee, Thinking on perils more than ever were, For love is alwayes full of careful fear. The Trojans now, thought I, do thee assail. At Hectors name my cheeks with fear grew pale: And when I heard Antilochus was slam, By Hector then my fears renew'd again.

And hearing how that Patroclus clad In Achilles armour, such ill fortune had, That Hector slew him in that false disguise, The sad report drew tears out of mine eyes. Or when I of ••Ilepolem••s did hear, Who with his blood bedew'd Sarpedons spear, Tlepolemus death doth then my cares renew, And I began straight way to think of you. And lastly, if I heard abroad by fame, That any of the Grecian side were slain, My heart for fear of thee was far more cold Than any Ice, when such bad news was told. But the just Gods to us more kind do prove, And more indulgent to our chaster love. For stately Troy is unto ashes burn'd; But my Vlysses lives, though not return'd, The Grecian Captains are come home again, The Altars do with joyful ncense flame; And all the Barbarous spoils which they did take, Unto our Country gods they consecrate. The love of wives is to their husbands shown By gifts, which for their safe returning home, Unto the Gods with grateful minds they b••••ng, While their husbands songs of Troy's destruct••on sing, Old men, and trembling maids do both desire, To hear the tale of Troy, which they admire, And wives do hearken with a kind of joy To their husbands talking of the siege of Troy. And some now do upon their table draw, The picture of those fierce wars which they saw: And with a little wine before pour'd down, Can lively paint the model of Troy town. Here Simo••s ••loud, here's the Sigean land, And here did Priams lofty Palace stand.

Here did Achi••les pitch his glittering tents, And here Vlysses kept his regiments. Here in this place did valiant Hector fall, Whose body was drag'd round about the wall Of Troy, to shew the enemies despite: Putting the framing Horses in a fright. For whatsoever in those wars was done, Old Nestor did relate unto thy son, Whom I had sent forth to enquire of thee, And he did bring home all this news to me: Bringing me tydings how Dolon by name, And Rhesus by thy sword at once were slain. While the one of them in his dead sleep was kill'd, And the others blood by treachery was spill'd, And thou amongst thy other bold attempts By night didst set upon the Thracian Tents. Slaying so many men; how couldst thou be So adventurous if thou hadst remembred me; And of thy other victories I did hear, My heart did burn within my brest for fear, But what although thy valour did confound Troy; and did race the walls unto the ground▪ Shall I, as if Troy were besieg'd, still be A widow wanting thy sweet company▪ That Troy doth stand I only find alone, Others rejoyce that it is overthrown. Whose fruitful fields the conquering Grecians now, Do with the Trojan Oxen daily plough. For now ripe corn doth grow where Troy once stood, And all the ground is fat with Trojan blood. The crooked plough doth graze as it goes by Upon mens bones, which there half buried lie; So that they plough up bones as well as land, And grass doth grow where houses once did stand.

Yet having wasted Troy, thou keep'st away, Nor do I know what moveth thee to stay, Nor can by any means learn in what part Of all the world (thou most unkindest) art. If any ship unto our shore doth come, Then to enquire of thee I straight do run; And to the ship-master a Letter give, To deliver unto thee if thou dost live: Charging if that it be his chance to see Vlysses, he should give it unto thee. I sent to Pylos, where Nestor did reign, But I from Pylos heard no news again: I sent unto the Spartans, who could tell No tidings of thee, or whe••e thou didst dwell, O would that Troy were standing now again, For whose destruction I did pray in vain! If thou wert at the wars, I should know where Thou wert, and of thy safety stand in fear. And other women might with me complain, Because their Husbands came not home again. To grieved minds this may some comfort be, To have companions in adversity. I know not what to fear, yet all things fear; My cares and sorrows never greater were. Thinking what dangers by sea and land may Enforce thee 'gainst thy will from me to stay. While thus my fond affection doth excuse thee, Perhaps thou in requital dost abuse me. For I do fear thy fancy loves to rove, And that thou hast some sweet-heart thou dost love In forrain Countries; nay, and it may be That thou dost wooe her by disgracing me, Telling her that thy Wif's a Country Ione, That knoweth only how to spin at home.

But of my hard belief I do repent, I hope thou art not willingly absent. My father Icarus would not have me stay A widow still; but chideth my delay: But let him chide, Penel••pe will be A constant wife Vlysses unto thee. But though I do by fair entreaty still Prevail so much that I do change his will, Or alter it, so that he••s not enclin'd To use a Fathers power to force my mind; The Du••••chians, and the Samians come to wooe me, And the Z••••yn••h••an•• often come unto me; And of forreign suiters such a wanton crue Do haunt me, that I know not what to do. Who in thy Palace do most freely raign, Wasting those goods, which thou before didst gain. P••sandrus, Polybus, and Medon too, Eurymachus, and Antinous come to wooe Me, and in thy absence do, consume and eat That estate thou didst gain by blood and sweat: Poor Irus and Melanthius that doth seed His sheep, are suiters too, and hope to speed. And all thy houshold here doth but consist Of three, that are too weak for to resist; Namely ••••aerte••, who is spent and done, Thy wife, and young cl••mach••s thy Son, VVhom I had almost lost, while that he went, To the City Pyl••s without our consent. And when the ••ates our time of death assign, May his hand close up both thy eyes and mine; Our Oxe-herd, Swine-herd, and our old Nurse, are All of one mind, and do make the same prayer: And how can old Laertes power restrain Those wanton Saiters which at home do raign.

Telemachus in time will grow more strong, His Father now should keep him from all wrong. I have no strength to drive these Suiters hence, Then come thou home, and be thy own defence. Think on thy son to whom thou shouldst impart Instruction, that may season his young heart. Think on Laertes, come and close his eyes, VVho in his old age even bed-rid lyes. And think on me, for when thou wentst from home, Full young was I, but now an old wife grown.

The Argument of the second Epistle.

DEmophoon, the son of Theseus and Phaedra, returning home from the Trojan wars, was driven by a tempest into Thrace, where Phyllis the daughter of Lycurgus and C••ustumena, being then Queen of Thrace, gave him courteous entertainment, both at board and bed; but when he had staid a while with her, as soon as he heard that M••ne∣••••hous was dead, who had expulst his Father Theseus out of the Ci∣ty of Athens, And assumed the government to himself, he being de∣sirous to regain his Kingdom, desired leave of Phyllis to go and

settle his affairs, promising her within one moneth to return again: and so having made ready his ships, he sails to Athens, and ta••ries there. Whereupon after four moneths were past, Phyllis writes this Epistle, perswading him to be faithful unto her, and to remember her kindness, and his own promise, which if he neglects to do, she threatens to kill her self, and so revenge the violation of her Maiden chastity.

PHYLLIS to DEMOPHOON.

PHyllis that did so kindly entertain Thee, O Demophoon, must of thee complain: Before the Moons sharp horns were once grown round, Thou didst promise to land on the Thracian ground; But now four Moons are chang'd, four moneths are past, And yet thy ship is not return'd at last: If thou dost count the time, which we that are In love do strictly reckon with great care; Thou having broke thy promise needs must say, That my complaint comes not before the day. My fears were slow, for we do slowly give Credence to those things we would not believe. Which made me for thy sake even falsly fain, That the North-wind drove back thy sails again, Sometimes I fear'd lest that in Hebrus sound Thy ship might in those shallow waves be drown'd, Oft I besought the gods for thy return, And on their Altars did sweet incense burn. When the wind stood fair, I said unto my self, Sure he will come now if he be in health. My faithful love was witty to invent Something that might still hinder thy intent. But yet thou stayest, nor can thy promise move Thee to return, nor yet our former love. But I perceive, Demophoon, by thy stay, One wind did drive thy ship and faith away.

Thy Ship returns not, which makes me complain, That all thy faithful promises were vain. VVhat have I done? Alas I rashly lov'd thee! And yet this fault to pity might have mov'd thee. I entertain'd thee, this was all my fault, Yet this offence might have been kindness thought. VVhere is thy faith, thy hand which thou didst give me, And oaths thou sworest to make me believe thee? Swearing by Hymen that thou wouldst not tarry, But come again and thy poor Phyllis marry. And by the rugged Sea hast often swore, VVhich thou both hast and wilt sail often o're▪ And by Neptune thy great Uncle, who with ease Can calm the raging of the angry seas: By Iuno who in marriages delights: And by torch-bearing Ceres mystick rites. Should all these Gods revenge thy perjuries, VVhich are high treasons to their Majesties; And should all punish thee with one consent, Thou couldst not sure indure their punishment. To rig and mend thy Ships I care did take, And in requital thou didst me forsake, I gave thee opportunity to run Away, 'tis I that have my self undone. I did believe thy fair and gentle words, Of which the falsest heart most store affords, And because thou didst come of a good descent, I did believe thou hadst a good intent. I did believe thy tears: and hadst thou taught Thy tears to be as false as was thy thought? O yes, thy tears would slow with cunning Art, VVhen thou didst bid them to disguise thy heart. Thy vows and promises I did believe, And any of those shows might me deceive.

Nor am I griev'd because I entertain'd thee, Such kindness shew'd to thee could not have sham'd me. But I repent, because to add more height Unto thy entertainment, I one night Did suffer thee to come into my Bed, Where thou didst rob me of my Maiden-head▪ Would I had dy'd before that fatal night Wherein I yeilded thee so much delight. For if I had not thus my self betray'd, Then Phyllis might have liv'd and dy'd a Maid. But I did hope that thou more constant wert, "That hope is just which springeth from desert. For I did know I had deserv'd thy love, Which made me hope that thou would'st faithful prove. It is no glory to deceive a Maid, Since she deserveth pity that's betray'd By her kind heart, and hath too soon believ'd, For thus poor Phyllis was by thee deceiv'd, And instead of other praises may they say, That this was he that did a Maid betray; When thy statue shall be in the City plac'd With thy fathers, which is with high titles grac'd, VVhen they shall read how valiant Theseus slew Those cruel thieves, and also did subdue The Minotaure, and did the Theb••n•••• tame, And Centaures that by him were also slain: And lastly, when th' Inscription shall relate How he went to Hell and knockt at Pl••to's gate; This title shall ye on thy statue read, "This man deceiv'd his love, and from her sled. In this thy Father thou dost imitate, That he fair Ariadne did forsake; VVhat he alone excused as a sin, That act thou only do'st admire in him;

Shewing thy self in this to be his son, That thou like him, hast a young maid undon. But she is happily to Ba••chus married, And in his Charriot, drawn with Tigers, carried: The Thracians do my marriage bed contemn, Because I lov'd a stranger more then them: And some perhaps will say in my disgrace, Let her go to Athens, that most learned place; Since she so kind hath to a stranger been, The warlike Thracians will have a new Queen. The end doth prove the action, but yet may ••e want success, that thinketh so, I say: That measures actions not from the intent, But counts them good, that have a good event. For if Demophoon would again return, Then they would honour me whom now they scorn. "Unfortunate actions do our credit stain, I am faulty, because thou do'st not come again. Methinks I see, how when thou leftst our Court, Thy ship being ready to forsake our Port; Thy loving arms about my neck were spred, Making my lips with tedious kisses red. I wept, and when thou saw'st those tears of mine, Thou also wept'st and mingled'st them with thine. And then thou seem'dst, with a treacherous mind Sorry because thou hadst so fair a wind. And at the last, when thou must needs depart, Then said'st farewell fair Phyllis my Sweet-heart. For when one moneth is come unto an end, Look for Demophoon thy faithful friend. ••hy should I look for thy return in vain, Who hadst no purpose to return again; Yet I▪le look for thy coming back how ever, For it is better to come late, than never.

But I do fear thou hast a new Sweet-heart, One that doth alienate from me thy heart, That thou forgotten Phyll••s do'st not know Wo's me, if Phyllis be forgotten so; Who did Demophoon kindly entertain, When forc'd by storms he to our Harbour came? Whose necessities with treasure I supply'd, And gave him many royal gifts beside. My Kingdom unto thee I did submit, Thinking a woman could not govern it▪ Even all those goodly Lands I offered thee, 'Twixt Haemeus and the shady Rhodope. Besides, thou didst my Virgin Zone untie; And violate my chaste Virginity. And at our marriage the fatal Owle Did sing, while mad Tisiphone did howle: Alecto with her snaky hair was there; The Candles did like funeral-lights appear. Ost sadly to some rock I go, whose height May make me to see far at sea out-right. If it be day, or if the Stars do shine, I look still how the wind stands at that time, If a far off a ship I chance to see, I straight do hope that it thy ship may be. And then in hast upon the sands I run So far, that I unto the Sea-waves come. But when I have at length my error found, Amongst my maids I fall down in a swound; There is a hollow Bay bent like a bow, Whose rocky sides into the sea far go; To cast my self from hence is my intent, Since to deceive me thou art falsly bent. For when thou seest my body like a wrack Cast on thy shore, I know thou wilt look back

On the sad sight, and though thy heart could be More hard than Adamant, thou wilt pity me. Sometimes I could drink poyson, or afford To stab my tender brest with a sharp sword, Or put a halter 'bout my neck, which oft Thou hast embraced with thy arms more soft. For Ile revenge my loss of Chastity, Though I am doubtful yet what death to die. And to declare my death from thee did come, These lines shall be engrav'd upon my tomb. Phyllis that did Demophoon entertain, Was by his unkindness, and her own hand slain.

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The Argument of the third Epistle.

THe Grecians being arrived at Ph••ygia, began to take the Cities near Troy, especially those opposite to the Ile Lesbos. ••chilles the Son of Peleus and Thetis, invaded both the Cilicians with Thebans▪ and Lyrnessa besieged and took the Town Chyrness••••s, and brought away two fair Virgins, Astinoe, the Daughter of Chryses, called af∣terward by their Fathers names. Chryses, he bestows on Prince Aga∣memnon, but keeps Bris••is to himself. But Agam••mnon being com∣manded

by the Oracle to restore Chryses to her Father, took Briseis from Achilles: VVho taking it as an indignity, absents himself from the wars: no entreaty can prevail to make him fight against Troy. Agamemnon sends him Briseis again with gifts, he sleights them both. Briseis thereupon in this Epistle complains of his too violent anger, entreats him to sight against the Trojans, to accept Agamemnons offer, and receive her again.

BRISEIS to ACHILLES.

THis Letter Bris••is unto thee doth send, Which I perhaps in Greek have rudely pen'd. My tears did make those blots which thou dost see, And yet these weeping blots may speak for me. If a Captive may with modesty complain Of thee, my Lord, do not my sute disdain. Unto Agamemnon thou didst me resign, And yet alas this was no fault of thine! When that Euribates and Talthibins came To fetch me, whom thou durst not then detain. They wondred that thou couldst so soon deliver Me to the Kings use, if thou lov'dst me ever. Thou mightst have seemed loath for to depart, And have bestow'd one kiss on thy Sweet-heart. But yet I wept a pace, my hair I tore, As if I were a Captive made once more. I often thought to steal away to thee, But then I fear'd the Trojan enemy: Lest being surpriz'd by them in my attempt, They should to Pria••s daughters me present. But thou wilt say thou couldst not me detain; But yet thou mightst have fetcht me back again. Patroclus then did speak thus in my ear; Why dost thou weep? thou shalt not stay long there. Nay, thou wilt not receive me now again, And much less fetch her whom thou dost disdain,

Ajax and Phoenix both did come to thee, Thy friend and cozen by consanguinity. And Ulysses, who with gifts and prayers did wooe thee, To receive thy Briseis when they brought me to thee. And for a present twenty basons brought, With seven three-footed tables carv'd and wrought: To these ten Talents of gold added were, And twelve brave Steeds that were train'd up to war, And many Captive maids, who with one look Could take the Conquerers that had them took: And a fair Virgin that thy wife might be; But sure thou needst no other wise but me. From Agamemnon wouldst thou me redeem, That to receive these gifts so nice dost seem? Achilles, how have I mov'd thy neglect? Why dost thou now unkindly me reject? "Or is its fortunes custome still to frown "On those, who by misfortune are cast down? I saw thee when thou didst Lyrnessus take, And of thy Briseis didst a captive make. I saw how many of my kindred were Slain by thy valiant hand, and did lye there Planting for life, till their fresh wounds had bled So much, that all the earth was painted red. Yet when I lost those friends, I got another; Thou art my Lord, my Husband, and my Brother. And by thy Mother Queen of the salt Flood Thou sworest all should turn unto my good, Binding thy self with promises, that I Should be most happy in captivity. But now both me, and those gifts which are sent thee, Thou dost refuse, for neither can content thee. And I hear to morrow by the break of day, Thou meanest to take ship and sayl away.

When I did hear the news, my heart did fail, And presently my bloodless cheeks grew pale, But wilt thou go from me my Dear, & leave me? Unto whose custody wilt thou bequeath me? May I be laid into the earths cold bed; Or may the flaming thunder strike me dead; Ere I behold the ship, cutting her way Th••ough the green waves while I am lest to stay: If thou intendest to return again, Take me along, who no great burthen am; I'le follow thee and serve thee all my life As a poor Captive, not as thy dear wife. I can inure my hands to labour hard; And I can be content to spin or card. One of the fairest Maids that Greece ere bred Shall be thy wife, and warm thy nuptial-bed; My humble thoughts do not so high aspire, To be thy servant is all I desire. I'le sit and spin untill my task be done: And untill all my Flax to thred be spun. Yet suffer not thy wife, I pray, to chide me, Because I love thee, she will not abide me. And do not suffer her to tear my hair; Think how of Briseis thou didst once take care; Nay though thou suffer her my hair to tear, Do not despise me, this is all my fear. What wouldst thou have? Agamemnon doth repent; And Greece for wronging thee is penitent. Subdue thy self, and now let him that hath Conquer'd so many, conquer his own wrath: Why dost thou let the coward Hector wast And spoyl the Grecians? take thou arms at last. Achilles take thy arms, but first me take: Then crush those fellows, and force them to quake.

For my sake thou wert angry and offended, For me thy wrath began, in me let it be ended, It's no disgrace unto my suit to yeild, Octines did go unto the field Perswaded by his wife, though he laid by His arms, and to aid his Country did deny, She did perswade her valiant husband straight, But my words have, alas! no power, nor waight, I dare not call my self thy wife, for I Have lived with thee in Captivity; Though my Lord hath often call'd his handmaid Unto his bed, and I have him obey'd, I do remember that a captive Maid Did call me Mistress unto whom I said, Lay not the waight of scorn on misery, That title suits not with Captivity. For by my fathers ashes I do swear, Of whom a reverend memory I bear; By my three brothers souls, whose blood was spill'd For their Country, and in its defence were kill'd: By my lips, and by those soft lips of thine Which we did often times together joyn; And by thy sword I swear, since I went from thee, That Agamemnon never lay with me. But for thy honesty thou dar'st not swear, If I should put thee to thy oath, I fear. The Grecians think with sorrow thou art pin'd, But thou hast musick to refresh thy mind; While thy Sweet-heart doth clasp thee in her arms, Making her moistned kisses powerful charms To stay thee there, which makes thee loath to fight; Love and sweet musick, yeild thee more delight. It is the safer course in bed being laid, To sport thy self with some young fearful Maid;

Or when with those joyes thou art tyr'd too much, To give thy Thracian Lyre a gentle touch; Then to hold Buckler or sharp-pointed Spear, Or on thy head a waighty Helmet wear; Y••t in brave actions thou didst once delight, And to win glory only thou wouldst fight. Didst thou love war till I was captive made? And is thy Valour since that time decay'd? The gods forbid, I hope to see thy Spear Wound valiant Hector, who doth no man fear. Let the Grecians send me to my Lord to plead Their cause with kisses, I can intercede More powerfully than Phoenix or Vlysses, There is a sweeter eloquence in kisses. If I incircle thee within mine arms, My close embraces are like powerful charms; My naked breasts being in thy view laid open, Will soon perswade thee, though no word be spoken. If thou wert like the sea, void of compassion, My silent tears would move commiseration. As thou desirest thy fathers length of dayes, Or to see Pyrrbus crown'd with wreaths of Bayes. Achill••s take thy Briseis once again; Have pity on that grief which I sustain. If thy love be turn'd to hate, yet do not flout me, Kill me out-right, who cannot live without thee Nay, thou dost kill me, for my strength doth fade, My beauty and fresh colour is decay'd. Yet I do hope thou wilt thy Briseis take, And this hope makes me live, even for thy sake. But if my hopes of thee do sail, then I To meet my brother and husband will dye. Yet when others shall perchance read my sad story, To kill a woman will yeild thee no glory.

Yet let no other kill me, thy weapon can Kill me assoon as any other man. Let thy sword give me such a wound, that I May bleed with pleasure, and so bleeding die. Let thy sword send me to Elysian rest, Which might have wounded Hectors valiant brest. But let me live if thou art pleased so, Thy love doth ask what thou grant'st to thy foe, And rather kill thy Trojan foes than I Express thy valour on thy enemy. And whether thou intend'st to go or stay, Command me as my Lord to come away.

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The Argument of the fourth Epistle.

THeseus the son of Aegens having slain the Minotaure, brought away by ship Ariadna daughter to Minos and Pasiphae, to whom for helping him in killing the Minotaure, he had promised marriage, and her sister Ph••dra. But admonished by Bacchus, he leaves Ariadna in the Isle Nax••s or Chios, and marries Phaedra, who in Theseus ab∣sence falls in love with her son in Law Hippolytus, Theseus son by Hippolito an Am••zon. He being a Bachelour, and much addicted to

hunting, she having no opportunity to speak to him, discovers he love by this Epistle; wherein cunningly wooing and perswading him to love her, and lest it might seem dishonesty in a mother to solicit her son in law, she begins with an Insinuation.

PHAEDRA to HIPPOLYTUS.

PH••edra unto Hippolytus sends health, Which unless thou giv'st me, I must want my self: Yet read it, for a Letter cannot fright thee, There may be something in it may delight thee, For these dumb Messengers sent out of hand, Do carry secrets both by sea and land. The foe will read a letter, though it be Sent to him from his utter enemy. Thrice I began my mind to thee to break, Thrice I grew dumb, so that I could not speak, There is a kind of modesty in love, Which hindereth those that honest suits do move. And love hath given command that every lover Should write that which he blusheth to discover. Then to contemn loves power it is not safe, Who over all the gods dominion hath. 'Tis dangerous to resist the power of love, Who ruleth over all the gods above. Love bid me write, I followed his direction, Who told me that my lines should win affection. O! since I love thee, may my love again Raise in thy brest another mutual flame. That love ••hich hath been a long time delay'd, At last grows violent, and must be obey'd: I feel a fire, a fire within my heart, And the blind wound of love doth rage and smart. As tender Heyfers cannot brook the yoak, Nor the wild Colt, that is not backt nor broak,

Endure the bridle, so loves yoak I find Is heavy to an unexperienc'd mind. When 'tis their art, and they can easily do it, That from their youth have been train'd up unto it; She that hath let her time run out at wast, Her love is violence when she loves at last, The forbidden fruits of love I keep for thee, In tasting them let us both guilty be. It is some happiness to pluck and cull Fruit from a tree, Whose boughs with fruit are full; Or from the bush to gather the first Rose; I am the tree and bush where loves fruit grows: Yet hitherto my fame was never blotted; But for white chastity I have been noted; And I am glad that I my love have plac'd On one by whom I cannot be disgrac'd. Adultery in her is a base fact, That with some base fellow doth commit the act. But should Iuno grant me her Iupiter, In love I would Hippolytus prefer. And since I lov'd thee, I do now embrace Those sports which thou ••ost love; to hunt and chase Wilde savage beasts, for I would gladly be A Huntress to enjoy thy company. And now like thee, no Goddess I do know, But chast Diana with her bended bow. I love the woods, and take delight to set The toyles, and chase the Deer into the net. And I do take delight to hoop and hollow, And cheer the dogs, while they the chase do follow. To cast a dart I now am cunning grown. Sometimes upon the grass I lye along, Sometimes for pleasure I a Chariot drive, Reyning the horse that with the bridle strive.

Sometime like those mad Bacchie I do run, Who pipe when they to the Idian hill do come; Or like those that have seen the horned fawns, And Dryads lightly tripping o're the lawns. In such a frantick fit they say I am, When love torm••nts me with his raging flame; And this same love of mine perhaps may be By fate entail'd upon one family, For it is given to us in love to fall; And Venus takes a tribute of us all. For first, great Iupiter did rarely gull Europa with the false shape of a Bull. My mother Pasiphae in a Cow of wood The leaping of a lustful Bull withstood. My sister likewise to false Theseus gave A Clew of silk, and so his life did save, Who through the winding labyrinth was led By the direction of this slender thred. And now like Mino's stock, even I Love as the rest did, in extremity. It fortunes that our love thus cross should be, Thy father lov'd my sister, I love thee. Thus Theseus and Hippolytus his son Do glory that their love hath overcome Two sisters, but I would we had remain'd At home, when we came to thy fathers land. For then especially thy presence mov'd me, And from that time I ever since have lov'd thee. My eye convey'd unto my heart delight, To like of thee, for thou wert cloth'd in white. A flowry garland did thy soft hair crown, And thy complexion was a lovely brown. Which some for a stern visage had mis••ook; But Phaedra thought thou hadst a manly look.

For young-men should not be like women drest, A careless dressing, doth become them best; Thy ste••nness, and loose flowing of thy hair, And dusty countenance most graceful were. While thy curveting Steed did bound and fling, I admir'd to see thee ride him in the ring; If with thy strong arm thou didst toss the pike, Thy nimble strength I did approve and like. Or, if thou took'st thy Javelin in thy hand, Me thought thou didst in comely posture stand, For all thy actions yeilded me delight, And did appear most graceful in my sight. Of the woods wildness do not then partake, Nor suffer me to perish for thy sake. For why shouldst thou in hunting spend thy leasure? And no delight on Venus sweeter pleasure? There's nothing can endure without due rest, By which our wearied bodies are refresht. And thou might'st imitate thy Diana's bow, Which if too of••en bended, weak will grow. Cephalus was a Woodman, man of great fame, And many wild beasts by his hand were slain, Yet with Aurora he did fall in love, Her blushing beauty did his fancy move: While from her aged husbands bed she rose, And wisely to young Cephalus straight goes. Venus and young Ado••••s oft would lie Together on the grass most wantonly. And underneath some tree in the hot weather, They would ••e kissing in the shade together. Atal••nta did O••••ides fancy move, And gave her wilde beasts skins to shew his love, And therefore why may'st thou not fancy me, ••ah without love the woods unpleasant be,

For I will follow thee o're the rocky cliff, And never fear the boars sharp fanged teeth; Two seas the narrow Illhmus do oppose, The raging waves on both sides of it flows. Together thee and I will gove••n here The Kingdom, than my Country far more dear: My husband Theseus hath long absent been, He's with his friend Perithous it doth seem. Theseus (unless we will the truth deny) Doth love Perithous more then thee or I. 'Tis his unkindness that he stayes so long, But he hath done us both far greater wrong. With his great Club he did my brother shy, And left my sister to wild beasts a prey. Thy mother was a warlike Amazon, Deserving favour for thy sake her son: Yet cruel Theseus kill'd her with his sword, Who did to him so brave a son afford; Nor would he marry her; for he did aim That as a bastard thou shouldst never raign; And many children he on me begot, Whose untimely death not I but he did plot; Would I had died in labour, ere that I Had wrong'd thee by a second Progeny. Why shouldst thou reverence thy fathers bed, Which he doth shun, and now away is fled? If a mother be to love her son enclin'd, Why should vain names fright thy couragious mind Such strict preciseness former times became, When good old Saturn on the earth did raign. But Saturn's dead, his laws are cancell'd now; Iove rules, then follow what Iove doth allow; For Iove all sort of pleasure doth permit, Sister may marry if they think it fit,

With their own brothers, Venus bonds doth tye The knot more close of consanguinity. Besides, who can our stoln joyes discover? With a fair outside we our fault may colour: If our embraces were discern'd by some, They would say that mother surely loves her son. Thou need'st not come by night, no doors are bar'd And shut on me, thy passage is not hard. One house as it did once, may us contain, Thou oft hast kist me, and shalt kiss again, Thou shalt be safe with me, nay, wert thou seen Within my bed, such faults have smother'd been. Then come with speed to ease my troubled mind, And may love alwayes prove to thee more kind, Thus I most humbly do entreat and sue, Pride and great words become not those that woo••. Thus I most humbly beg of thee alone, Alas! my pride and my great words are gone: To my desi••es long time I would not yeild; But yet at last affection won the field. And as a Captive at thy royal feet Thy mother begs; Love knows not what is meet. Shame hath forsook his Colours in my cheek It is confest, yet grant that love I seek. Though Minos be my father. who keeps under His power the seas, and that darteth thunder Be my Grand-father; and he be a kin To me, that hath his forehead circled in With many a clear beam, a sharp pointed ray, And drives the purple Chariot of the day, Love makes a servant of Nobility. Then for my Ancestors even pity me. Nay Cree••, Ioves Island, shall my Dowry be, And all my Court (Hippolytus) shall serve thee.

My mother softned a Buls stern breast, And wilt thou be more cruel then a beast? For love-sake love me, who have thus complain'd, So may'st thou love and never be disdain'd: So may the Queen of Forests help thee still, So may the Woods yeild game for thee to kill. May Fawns and Satyres help thee every where, So may'st thou wound the Boar with thy sharp spear. So may the Nymphs give thee water to slake Thy burning thirst, though thou do Maidens hate. Tears with my prayers I mingle, read my prayers, And imagine that you do behold my tears.

[illustration]

The Argument of the first Epistle.

HEcuba Daughter to Cisseus, and wise to Priam being with child, dreamt that she was delivered of a flaming Fire-brand, that let all T••oy on fire. Priam troubled in mind, consults With the Oracle, receives answer, that his son should be the destruction of his Country, and therefore as soon as he was born, commands his death. But his Mother Hecuba sends her son Paris secretly to the Kings shep∣herds. They-keep him, till being grown a Young man, he fancied

the Nymph Oenone, and marryed her. But when Ju••o, Pallas, and Venus contended about the golden Apple, which had this inscription, DETUR PULCHRIORI, Let it be given to the fairest▪ Jupiter made Paris their Judge. To whom Juno promised a Kingdom, Pallas Wisdom, Venus Pleasure, and the fairest of Women; but he gave sentence for Venus. Afterward being known by his Father, and received into favour, he failed to Sparta, whence he took ••elen wife to Menelaus, and brought her to Troy. Oenone hearing thereof, com∣plains in this Epistle of his unfaithfulness; perswading him to feud back Helen to Greece, and receive her again.

OENONE to PARIS.

UNto my Paris, for though thou art not mine, Thou art my Paris, because I am thine, A Nymph doth send from the Idaean Hill These following words, which do this paper ••ill. Read it, if that thy new wife will permit, My letter is not in a strange hand writ. Oenone through the Phrygian woods well known, Complains of wrong, that thou to her hast done, What god hath us'd his power to cross our love? What fault of mine hath made thee faithless prove? With deserv'd sufferings I could be content; But not with undeserved punishment. What I deserve, most patient I could bear, But undeserv'd punishments heavy are. Thou wert not then of such great dignity, When a young Nymph did first marry thee; Though now forsooth, thou Priam's son art prov'd, Thou wert a servant first, when first we lov'd: And while our sheep did graze, we both have laid Under some tree together in the shade; Whose boughs like a green Canopie were spred, While the soft grass did yeild us a green bed: And when the dew did fall, we often lay In a poor Cottage, upon straw or hay.

I shew'd thee both, what Lawns and Forrests were Likely to yeild much store of game, and where The wilde beasts did in secret caves abide, And their young ones in the hollow Rocks did hide. To set thy Toyles with thee I oft have gone, After the Hounds I o're the hills have run. My name on every Beech-tree I do finde. Thou hadst engrav'd Oenone on their rinde, And as the body of the tree doth, so The letters of my name do greater grow. Close by a River (I remember it) These lines are on an Alder fairly writ; And may the Alder flourish still and spread, Because these lines may on the bark be read; When Paris doth to Oenone false become, Xanthus unto his spring doth backward run, Xanthus run back, thy course now backward take, For Paris doth his Oenone forsake. That day did unto me most fatal prove; That day began the winter of thy love, When Venus, Iuno, and fair Pallas came Naked before thee, and did not disdain To chuse thee for their Judge, when thou had'st told The story to me, my faint heart grew cold, Of the experienc'd I did counsel take, They did resolve me, thou wouldst me forsake. For thou didst build new ships without delay, And didst send forth a Fleet to sea straightway. Yet thou didst weep at thy departure hence; Do not deny it, it was no offence: For by my love thy credit is not stain'd, But of loving Helen thou mayst be asham'd, Thou wept'st, and also at that very time Thou saw'st me weep, my tears dropping with thine.

And as the Vine about the Elme doth winde, So thy arms were about my neck entwinde. When thou complaind'st because the winds cross were, The Sailers laught, because the wind stood fair. Thou didst kiss me oft, when thou didst depart, And thou wert loth to say, Farewel, Sweet-heart▪ At last, a gentle gale of wind did blow, So that thy ship from land did slowly go. I looking after thee, long time did stand Weeping, and shedding tears on the dry sand. And to the green Nereides I did pray, Thy voyage might be speedy without stay: For me it was too speedy, since that I Sustain the loss of thy false love thereby. To Thessaly my Prayers have brought thee safe, And for a Whore my prayer prevailed hath. There is a Mountain that to sea doth look, Which beating of the foaming waves can brook: From hence when I beheld thy ship was coming▪ Into the sea I presently was running; But standing still, at length I might discern A purple flag, which waved on the stern; Then whether it were thy ship I did doubt, Because such colours thou didst not put out. But when thy ship to shoar did neerer stand, And a fair gale did bring it close to land, A womans face I straightway did behold, Which made my heart to tremble, and wax cold. And while I stood doating there, I might espie Thy sweet heart, that did on thy bosome lie. O then I wept, my breast I strook, and beat And tore my cheeks▪ that with my tears were wet; Filling the Mountain Ida with my cries; And there I did bewail my miseries.

May ••elena at last so weep, so grieve, When thou dost falsly her forsake and leave: And may she that this wrong to me doth offer, Be wrong'd in the like kind, and like wrong suffer. When thou wert poor, and led'st a Shepheards life, None but Oenone was thy loving wife. Tis not thy wealth, nor state that I admire; Nor to be Priams daughter do I desire. Yet Priam, nor his Hecuba, need disdain Me for their daughter since I worthy am. I am fit to be a Princess, to command, A royal Scepter would become my hand, Despise me not, because that I with thee Have lain under some shady Beechen-tree. For I am fitter for thy Royal bed, When it with purple Quilts is covered. Lastly, my love is safest, since for me No wars shall follow, nor no Fleet shall be Sent forth; but if thou Helena do take, She shall by force of arms be fetched back. Blood is the portion which thou shalt obtain, If thou dost marry with this stately Dame. Ask Hector and Deiphobus, if she Should not unto the Greeks restored be; Ask Priam, and Antenor wise and grave, Who by their age much deep experience have, For to performe a beauteous rape before Thy Country, must be bad and base all o're; Since to defend a bad cause is a shame, Her Husband shall just wars 'gainst thee maintain, Nor think that Helena faithful will become, Who was so quickly woo'd, so quickly won. As Menelaus grieves, because that she Hath with a stranger, by adultery

Wrong'd the chaste rites of the Nuptial bed, And let a stranger so adhorn his head: So thou wilt then confess, no art, or cost, Can purchase honesty, that once is lost. She that is bad once, will in bad persever, And being bad once will be bad for ever. As she loves thee, so she before did love M••nelaus, unto whom she false did prove. Thou might'st have been more faithful unto me, As thy brother was to fair Andromache. But thou art lighter than dry leaves, which be By every wanton wind blown off the tree: Or like the waving corn, which every whiff Of wind doth bend, untill it grow more stiff. Thy Cousen once (for I remember't well) With dishevell'd hair did thus my fate foretell; What dost thou Oenone? why do'st thou sow The barren sands? Or why do'st thou thus go About to plough the shoar? it is in vain; Such fruitless tillage can yeild thee no gain. A Gre••ian Maid is coming that shall be Fatal unto thy Country, and to thee. And may the ship be drown'd in the salt stood, Whose sad arrival shall cost so much blood. When she had said thus, straight my flaxen hair Began to heave, and stand upright for fear. Alas, thou wert too true a Prophetess, For she is come, and doth my place possess! Yet she is but a fair adulteress, Who with a strangers love was so soon took; And for his sake her Country hath forsook. Besides, one Theseus (though I know not whom) Brought her out of the Country long agon. And canst thou think an amarous young-man Would send her a pure Virgin back again?

If thou wouldst know how I these truths discry, It is my love, love doth in all things pry. If thou call'st her fault a rape, yet that name May seem to hide her fault, but not her shame. Since she so often from her Country went, 'Twas not by violence, but by her consent. Though by deceit thou me instructed hast, Yet Oeno••e still remaineth chast. I hid me in the woods, while the wanton rout Of nimble Satyres sought to find me out: And horned Fawnes with wreaths of sharp Pine crown'd Over the Mountain Ida sought me round. For great Apollo that protecteth Troy, The spoyles of my virginity did enjoy, By force against my will; for which disgrace I tore my guiltless hair, and scratcht my face; Yet neither precious stones could me entice, Not gold; for I set on my self no price. She that hath wit, and ingenuity, Seemeth for gifts to sell virginity, Apollo thought me worthy to impart To me the skill of Physick, and his Art: The vertue of all Herbs he did reveale To me, and shew'd what Herbs have power to heal. Yet wo's me, that no powerful Herb is found, That can recure loves inward bleeding wound. Since great Apollo who did first invent The art of Physick, yet for my sake went And kept Admetus Oxen; for the slame Of my love turn'd him to a Shepherd Swain: Though Apollo's art, nor Herbs, cannot relieve me; Yet thou can'st help me and some comfort give me; Thou can'st, O then have pity on a Maid: For me the Grecians shall not thee invade.

As from my blooming years, and childish time I have been, so let me still remain thine:

Oenone.

[illustration]

The Argument of the sixth Epistle.

THe O••acle had told Pelias the son of Neptune, that he should be near his death, when, as he was sacrificing to his Father, one should come to him with one foot naked, and bare. As he was performing

his yearly sacrifice, Jason son to Aeson, and his Nephew having left one of his shoos sticking in the mud of the River Anaurus, hasting to the sacrifice, meets with him on foot naked. Pelias remembring the Oracle, perswades Jason to go to Colchos to fetch the golden Fleece, hoping his destruction by the impossibility of the attempt. But coura∣gious Jason willingly undertook the Voyage, and so accompanyed with many Grecian Nobles, he set forth in the ship Argo from Pega∣sus a Haven of Thessaly, and sailed to the Isle Lemnos: where when the Women consented to kill all the Men on one night, Hypsiphile who had only preserved her father Thoas alive, then reigned, and at board and bed kindly entertained Jason. But after two years, the time and importunity of his company urging him to proceed in his intended at∣tempt he leaves Hypsiphile with childe, and sails to Colchos; where by Medea's art having charmed the Dragon fast asleep, and overcome the fierce Buls, he brought away the golden Fleece and Medea. Hypsi∣phile being grieved that Medea was preferred before her, in this Epistle gratulates Jasons return, rails on Medeas cruelty and witchcraft, to make her contemptible; and lastly, curses both Jason and Medea.

HYPSIPHILE to JASON.

TO Thessaly thou art return'd again, Rich in the golden Fleece, which thou didst gain. I am glad thou'rt well, yet it were better If I had heard of thy health by thy Letter. It may be that the wind did not stand fair, That to my Kingdom thou couldst not repair; And yet although contrary winds stood cross, To venture a letter had been no loss. Hyp••••phile had deserv'd thy salutations, Sent in a Letter of kind commendations. I heard not by thy letters, but by fame, That thou didst Mars his sacred Oxen tame; And how the Dragons teeth being sow'd, did bring Forth armed men, which from the earth did spring, In whose blood thou didst not thy hand imbrew, For those sons of earth one another slew.

And from the watchful Dragon, while he slept, Thou took'st the golden Fleece which he had kept. VVhat sudden joy had I conceiv'd at it, If thou this joyful news to me hadst writ! Of thy unkindness why do I complain? I fear thou dost my former love disdain. A barbarous Enchauntress thou hast brought, And her more worthy of thy love hast thought; Love soon believes; yet I wish, I may be Censur'd for rashness in accusing thee. From Thessaly a stranger came of late; And as soon as he was come to my gate, I askt him how my Jason did, and staid Looking down to the ground, no answer made. Straightway into a passion I did break, Tearing my garments, and thus I did speak; Tell me if that my Iason live, that I, If he be dead, may follow him and die. He lives, sayes he: and yet through loving fear I scarce believ'd him, though that he did swear. But when my doubtful mind his words believ'd, I askt what valiant deeds thou hadst atchiev'd? And he related the whole story how Thou mad'st the brazen-footed Oxen plough, How from the Dragons teeth on the earth sowd, A harvest of brave armed souldiers growd; VVhich earth-sprung men did straightway fall at jars, And slew each other in their civil wars: And that thou kildst the Dragon: when I heard These deeds of thine, again I grew affeard; Again I asked him, if Iason did live, His word•• through fear, I hardly could believe; Yet by the carriage of his speech I found, That thy unkindness had given me a wound.

VVhere are thy promises? those marriage bands, VVhich once did joyn our loving hearts and hands? Or where is Hymens torch that burnt so bright! Fitter to have been a sad funeral light. I was no whore; Iuno and Hymen too At our glad Nuptials themselves did show. Not Iuno, nor Hymen, when we did marry, But Erinnys did the fatal torches carry. The Thessalians and Minyans strangers were To me; and why did Typhis put in here His Ship? Here is no wealthy Ram doth bear A golden fleece upon his back, nor here Doth old Aeto's fair lofty Palace stand. This Lemnia is a little small Island; I had resolv'd (but fate did it withstand) To drive thee from hence with a Feminine band. Though Lemnian women had their husbands kill'd, I thought twas pity thy blood should be spill'd. Thy first sight in me such a liking bred, Then I entertained thee at boord and bed. And thou two Summers with me stayd'st here, And while two winters also passed were. And the third year, when thou didst sail away, VVith weeping tears unto me thou didst say, Hypsiphile, though I am forc'd to go And leave thee here, yet I would have thee know, That till I do return again, I'le be Alwayes a faithful Husband unto thee. And may that prosper which is in thy womb, To make me a glad Parent when I come; Then down thy face thy cunning tears did fall, The ••••st for grief thou couldst not speak at all. Of all thy company thou wentst last of all Aboord the ship which thou didst Argo call:

Away it flies, when once the hollow sail VVas driven forward with a lusty gale; And while thy ship the blew waves passed o're, I lookt unto the sea, thou to the shore. And then unto my Turret I did go, VVhile tears did down my cheeks and bosome flow: I looked through my tears and they did seem, As if they watry perspectives had been: For thorow them me thought that I could view Things farther off than I was wont to do. Then I made vows, and I did chastly pray, For thy return which vows I now should pay. But shall I pay vows for Medea's good? Love mixt with anger doth enrage my blood. Because I have lost Iason that doth live, Shall I Sacrifices on th' Altar give? I must confess I alwayes was afraid Lest thou shouldst marry some young Grecian Maid. I fear'd the Grecian Maids; but thou hast brought A barbarous Harlot of whom I ne're thought: She cannot please thee with her beauteous look, VVith her charms and skill in herbs thou art took. For from the Sphear she can call down the Moon, And hide in clouds the Horses of the Sun; She can make Rivers stay their has••y course, And make green woods and stones remove by force. Unto the graves with loosen'd hair she comes, And out of the warm ashes gathers bones. VVhen she would bewitch another, she doth ••rame In wax his p••cture, and t'increase his pain In the heart of it small needles doth stick, VVhich maketh his own heart to ake and prick. And by her cursed charms she can force love, VVhich beauty and fair vertue ought to move.

How canst thou then embrace her with delight? Or sleep securely by her in the night? But as she did with charms the Dragon quell, And Bulls, so she hath charm'd thee with a Spell; Besides of glory she will have a share, Out of those deeds by thee performed were. And some of Pelias side will think each deed Of thine, did from the force of charms proceed; And that though Iason sailed unto Greece, Medea brought away the golden Fleece. Thy father and thy mother both are wroth, That thou shouldst bring a wife out of the North. A husband for her may at home be found, Or else where Tanais doth Scythia bound. But Iason is more fickle than the wind, And in his words no constancy I find. As thou went'st forth, why didst not come again? Coming and going I thy wife remain. If Nobility of birth can thee content, King Thoas is my father by descent; Bacchus my Uncle is, whose wifes crown shines VVith stars enlightning all the lesser signes. And faithful Lemnos shall my Dowry be, VVhich thou might'st have, if that thou would'st have me. Iason for my delivery may be glad Of that sweet burthen which by him I had; For Lucina unto me so kind hath been, That I two children unto thee did bring. They are most like to thee in outward show, Yet they their fathers falshood do not know: These young Embassadours I to thee had s••nt, But their step mother h••ndered my intent; I feared fierce Medea, whose hands be Ready to act all kind of villany.

She that her brothers limbs could piece-meal tear, Would she have pity on my children dear? And yet her charms have madly blinded thee, To prefer her before Hypsiphile. She was an adultress when first she knew thee; I by chast marriage was given to thee. She betray'd her father, I sav'd mine from death; She forsook Colchos, but me Lemnos hath. And though her dowry be her wickedness, From me she got my Husband nevertheless. Iason, I blame the Lemnian womens act, Yet wronged sorrow thrust us on each fact. Tell me, suppose c••oss winds by chance had droven Thee, and thy company into my Haven; If with my children I had come to meet thee, With curses might not I most justly greet thee? How couldst thou look upon my babes or me? What death deserv'st thou for thy treachery? To preserve thee it had my mercy been, And sure I had, though thou unworthy seem. And with the harlots blood I would not fail, To fill my cheeks, which her charms have made pale. Medea to Medea I would be, And furiously revenge my injury. If great Iupiter will my prayer receive, Like to Hypsiphile, so may she grieve. And since she like a Succubus me wrongs, May she know what unto my grief belongs. And as I am of my husband bereft, May she be a widow with two children left; As to her b••other, and her father she Was cruell, may she to her husband be. And may she wander, o're earth, sea, and ayre A hatred murdress, hopeless, poor, and bare.

Having lost my Husband thus I pray beside, May he live accursed with his wicked Bride.

[illustration]

The Argument of the seventh Epistle.

AFter the destruction of Troy, Aeneas the son of Anchises and Venus, taking his Penates or houshold gods with him, goes to sea with twenty ships. Through tempestuous weather at sea, he is driven to Lybia where Dido (as Virgil hath fained) Daughter to Belus, and

wife to Sichaus Hercules Priest, leaving Tyre, for the cruel avarice of her brother Pigmalion, who had unawares kill'd her husband for his wealth, and built the new City Carthage: she most magnificently en∣tertained Aeneas and his companions, loved him, and enjoyed him but when Mercury admonisht him to depart for Italy, which country the Oracle had promised him: Dido, having in vain endeavoured by en∣treaty to divert him from his purpose, and stay his journey, being sick to death, writes unto him, accusing him as the cause of her death.

DIDO to AENEAS.

AS the Swan by Maeanders fords doth lie In the moist weeds, and sings before she die: So I not hoping to perswade thy stay, Since one that will not hear me I do pray. Having lost my credit and virginity, To lose a few words a small loss will be; For thy poor Dido thou mean'st to forsake, And unto sea wilt a new voyage make. Aeneas, thou wilt needs depart from me, To finde strange Kingdoms out in Italy. Thou car'st not for new Carthage, or my Land, Whose Scepter I have given into thy hand. Thou shun'st my Country which might be thy own, And seek'st a Country unto thee unknown; Which if thou findest out, thou canst not gain; For who will suffer a stranger to raign? Thou seekest another Dido whom in love Thou may'st deceive and false unto her prove; Or when like unto Carthage canst thou build A City, that doth store of people yeild? If all things happen to thee prosperously, Where wilt thou find so kind a wife as I? Like a wax taper I burn with desire, Or like sweet incense in the funeral fire;

And still I wish, Aeneas would but stay, Aeneas I do think on night and day. He careless of my love, and gifts doth seem, Had I been wise, I had not car'd for him. Yet I cannot hate Aeneas, although he Doth plot some unkind dealing against me. Of thy unfaithfulness I do complain, Having complain'd, I love thee more again. Spare me, O Venus, since thou art his mother; Help me, O Cupid, since thou art his brother; Soften his heart, that he may milder prove, And be a souldier in the tents of love. And since to love him I think it no shame, O may he love me with a mutual flame! Thou art some false Aeneas I do find, Thou do'st not bear thy mothers gentle mind. Stones, Rocks, and Oakes are hard like to thy brest, More merciless than any salvage beast, Or than the seas, which winds do now incense, Yet with contrary winds thou wouldest go hence: Winter to stay thy journey hence assayes, Look how the Eastern winds the waves do raise! Then to the winds let me beholding be, Though for thy stay, I had rather owe to thee. But I see rugged seas, and blustring wind More just and gentle are, than thy false mind, To untimely death I would not have thee come, (Although deserv'd) while thou from mē dost run. Is thy life so cheap, or hatred such at most, That thou wilt leave me, though thy life it cost? The winds, and waves, their fury will appease, When Tri••on drives his blew steeds o're the seas. Would thy affections would change with the wind! They will, if thou bear'st not a cruel mind.

Had'st thou not known the Seas, what wouldst thou do? Since having try'd it, thou wilt trust it too. Though to weigh Anchor the smooth sea perswade thee; Yet in the Ocean dangers may invade thee. The sea doth favour no unfaithful men, But for unfaithfulness doth punish them. Specially such as do their sweet-hearts wrong, Since naked Venus from the green sea sprung. I take care for him, that would me forsake, And am afraid the sea should thee ship-wrack. Live, for bad fame is worse then death can be, When the world shall say that thou hast kill'd me. Suppose a storm at sea should thee assail; Would not thy courage then begin to quail? Thy false oaths then would come into my mind, And Dido whom thou killd'st by being unkind, My bloody shape would hideously appear Before thy eyes, with loose long-spreading hair▪ Then thou wouldst say, this thundring storm is sent Justly, for my deserved punishment. Untill thou maist go safely, do but stay; It would comfort me, if thou wouldst delay Thy voyage; spare Ascanius thy son, Though I by thee to untimely death do come. What have Ascanius, or those gods deserv'd Drowning, which were by thee from fire preserv'd? But though thou bragd'st to me; yet I do fear, Thy gods and father thou didst never bear Upon thy shoulders, through the flaming fire; But I am jealous that thou wert a lyer; For I am not the first, whom thou didst wrong, Or first deceive with thy alluring tongue. Ascanius mother too by thee was left, And thy unkindness her of life bereft.

Thou told'st me so much, which I now believe, And the sad story made my heart to grieve; And that the gods do hate thee it appears, VVho hadst wander'd by Sea and Land seven years; Droven by storms I did thee entertain, And gave thee all, ere I scarce knew thy name; And would that I had only been content To have entertain'd thee, and no further went. For I should happy be if Fame would die, And never tell how I with thee did lie. That day was fatal, when a showre us drave To meet together in a silent Cave. Me thought I heard the Nymphs begin to howle, The Furies at that present time, did scowle. Now thou dost punish me for Sichaeus sake, To whom my faith I then did violate. And sure my ghost will even blush for shame, VVhen after death we two do meet again. Sichaeus Statue in a sacred place Stands cover'd with leaves, and a woollen case: From whence me thought a hollow voice did say, And sometimes call Elisa Come away. I come, and yet the fault that I have done Is the cause that I am so slow to come. Pardon me, since that no base fellow wrought My ruine, and this may excuse my fault. Since he from Venus and Anchises came, I hop••d that he faithful would remain. And though I err'd, I had a good intent; Of his falshood, not my error I repent; But as at first, so now at last I find, "That fortune still doth prove to me unkind, My brother at the sacred Altar kill'd My husband, and his blood for wealth he spill'd,

And after like a banisht creature I From my own Country was enforc'd to fly. Scaping my brother, strangers here receiv'd me, And bought this land which I would have giv'n thee: And built this City, compassing it withall, Even round about with a defensive wall. Then sudden wars did me straightway invade, Before that I the City gates had made: And many suiters did of me approve, Who all did come to wooe, and win my love. Now to Iarbas I yeild me up at leasure, Since thou hast obtain'd of me thy own pleasure. My brother in my blood desires to stain His hand, by whom my husband first was slain. Aeneas, do not thou presume to touch The Altars of those gods, who would too much By thy presumptuous prayers be profan'd, "Lift not unto the gods an impure hand; For if to worship them thou shouldst aspire, They would be sorry that they scap'd the fire. And that I am with Child too it may be, And that the fruits of love now grow in me. And as thou hast the mother first undone, So to untim••ly death my babe shall come. So that Ascanius his unborn brother Shall die, like an unripe fruit in his mother. But Mercury for staying here hath chid thee, I would he had for coming too forbid thee. And I do with the Trojans had ne're found, Nor landed on the Carthaginian ground. Tost with contrary winds, thou hast long time Soug••t that land which Apollo did assign. To return to Troy thou wouldst not take such pain, If Hector liv'd, and Troy did stand again,

Thou seek not Simoeis, but swift Tybris River, And shalt be a stranger when thou comest thither; Which thou shalt not discover, nor behold, Untill perhaps thou art in years grown old. But rather take this Kingdom, and the wealth Of Pigmalion, as a dowry to my self. Let ancient Troy in Carthage now remain, Take thou the Royal Scepter and here raign. If thou, or else thy young son Iulus are, Desiro••s to get honour by the war; Here thou shalt find a foe to overcome, For sometimes the red colours and the drum Do banish peace, therefore I intreate of thee As thou lov'st thy Countries gods, and company, Spare me; I beg it by thy brothers darts, Young Cupid that doth wound all mortal hearts. So may thy Trojans still victorious be, And Troys destruction end thy misery. So may Ascanius in his youth be blest, So may Anchises bones still softly rest. Though I offer thee my self, do not reject me; What is my fault, but that I do affect thee? I am not come of the Mycenian blood, By friends, or father, thou art not withstood. Or if to call me wife thou do'st disdain, Call me thy Hostess, I will take that name. Or with any other name thou shalt assign, I am content, so Dido may be thine. I know the seas, that beat the Affrick shoar, At certain seasons may be passed o're; When the wind stands fair, thou wilt sail away, Now thy ships in the weedy heaven stay. The time of thy departure let me know, Ile not stay thee, if thou desir'st to go.

But yet thy company desire some rest, To rig, and trim thy torn ships were best. O! if I have deserved any way Of thee, I beg of thee a while to stay, Untill the sea grow calme, and till my love By use of time more temperate do prove, That I may learn, by length of time to be Valiant, in suffering of adversity. If not, to kill my self is my intent, If to be cruel to me thou art bent. For I do wish, thou couldst behold or see, In what sad posture I do write to thee. One hand to write unto thee doth afford, The other hand doth hold thy Trojan sword: And down my cheeks the trickling tears do slide On the sword, which shal with my blood be dy'd. It was thy fatal gift, and it may be To send me to my grave, thou gav'st it me; And though this first do wound my outward part, Yet cruel love long since did wound my heart. O sister Anna, thou that counselld'st me To yeeld to love, shalt now my funeral see. On th'urne, to which my ashes they commit, Elisa wife to Sichaeus shall be writ. And these two verses shall engraven be Upon the marble that doth cover me; Aeneas did to me my death afford, For Dido kill'd her self with his own sword.

[illustration]

The Argument of the eighth Epistle.

HErmion•• the daughter of M••nelaus and Helena, was by Tyndarus her Grandfather by the mothers side, to whom Menelaus had com∣mitted the government of his house, while he went to Troy, betroa∣thed to Oristes, the son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra. Her fa∣th••r Menelaus not knowing thereof, had betroathed her to Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles, who at last returned from the Trojan wars,

stole away Hermione. But she ha••ing Pyrrhus, and loving Orestes, ad∣monishes him by this Letter, that she might be easily taken from Pyrrhus; and she obtained her desire. For Orestes being freed from his madness, for murdering Aegysthus and his mother, he slew Pyrrhus in Apollo's Temple, and took her again.

HERMIONE to ORESTES.

HErmione writes to him that was of late Her husband, now anothers wife by fate. Pyrrhus, Achilles stout son takes delight To keep me from thee against law and right. I did strive with him, but my force did fail, A womans strength could not 'gainst him prevail. Pyrrhus, quoth I, what dost thou do? ere long, My Lord on thee will surely revenge this wrong. But of Orestes name he would not hear, But drag'd me home even by my loosen'd hair. Should the barbarous foe Lacedemon take, He could but thus of me a captive make. And conquering Greece us'd not Andromache, When they set fire of Troy, as he us'd me. But Orestes if th'art toucht with this despight, Then fetch me back again, I am thy right. To fetch thy stollen cattel thou wilt go, Why then to fetch thy wife art thou so slow? By thy father why dost not example take? VVho by a just war did his wife fetch back. Had he led in his Court an idle life, Thy mother then had been young Paris wife. If thou do come, thou needst not to provide A fleet, or store of Souldiers beside; Yet so I might be fetched back again, A husband for his wife may war maintain.

And Atreus was Uncle unto either, So that thou art my husband and my brother. O! husband then, and brother, help thou me, For these two names implore some help of thee. My grand-father Tyndarus, grave in his life, Deliver'd me unto thee as thy wife. My father unto Pyrrhus promis'd me, But my grand-father would dispose of me. When I marry'd thee, I did to none belong, If Pyrrhus marry me, he doth thee wrong. My father will let us love, and enjoy, For he was wounded by the winged boy, And will permit us to love one another, In the like sort as he did love my mother. As he my mothers husband was, thou art My husband, Pyrrhus playeth Paris part. Though he boast deeds were by his father done, Thy father by his actions fame hath won. Achilles did for a common souldier stand, But Agamemnon Captains did command. Pelops, and his father thy Ancestors were, Thou art but five descents from Iupiter. Nor didst thou courage want, though thou didst kill Thy father; and his precious blood didst spill; Would thy valour had been happilier employ'd, Though he were unwillingly by thee destroy'd. For thou Aegystus kill'dst unluckily, And didst fulfill thy hapless fate thereby. When Achilles urgeth this one fault of thine, And before me doth make it a great crime: My blushing colour, and my heart doth rise, And my old love revives, and glowing lies Within my brest, if that Orestes be By any one accused to Hermione.

For then I have no strength in any part, As if a sword were thrust into my heart, I weep, and then my tears my anger show Which like two Rivers down my bosome flow. Plenty of tears I only have, which rise, Wetting my cheeks from the springs of my eyes. And this sad fate, which happens unto me, Hath been the fortune of our family. I need not tell how Iupiter became, To deceive us, a fair and milk-white Swan. Ho•• Hippodamia in a strangers Chariot, Over the Hellespont was swiftly carried. My mother Hellen, in Paris took delight, For whom the Grecians ten whole years did fight. My Grandfather, my Sister and each brother Began to weep, for the loss of my mother; And Leda did her earnest prayers prefer Unto the gods, and to her Iupiter; While I did tear my hair and to her cry'd, Mother, must I without you here abide? And lest that I should not be thought to be Of Peleus most unhappy progeny; My mother being with Paris gone away, I unto Pyrrhus was soon made a prey. If Achilles had escap'd Apollo's bow, He would have then condemn'd his son, I know. He knew by Brise•• loss, which he could not brook, That from their husbands wives should not be took, Why are the gods thus cruel unto me! What sad star rul'd at my Nativity? For in my younger years I was berest Of my mother and was of my father left, Who went unto the wars, yet ne'retheless Although they liv'd, yet I was Parentless,

Nor could delight my mother, as you see Children will do, with stammering flattery; Nor round about her neck my weak armes clap, While she would fondly set me on her lap. Nor did she teach me how to dress my head, Nor did she bring me to my marriage bed. For when she did return (truth Ile not smother) I did not know her then to be my mother. I knew that she was Helen by her beauty, She knew not me when as I did my duty. 'Mongst all these miseries I most happy am, That Orestes for my husband I did gain. Yet he, alas, shall from me taken be, Unless he do fight for himself and me: Pyrrhus hath took me, and doth me enjoy, This is all I got by the fall of Troy. Yet while the Sun with his bright rayes doth shine, My sorrows are more gentle all that time. But when at night with grief I go to bed, And on my pillow rest my weary head; The tears, when I should entertain soft sleep, Spring in my eyes, and I begin to weep; And from my husbands side as far off lye, As if he were to me an enemy. Sometimes through grief forgetting where I am, I have toucht some part of Pyrrhus, and again I have pluckt back my hand; for I did grutch, That I his body with my hand should touch. Such was my hatred, that I did esteem My hands by touching him, had polluted been. And it doth often chance that I do call Pyrrhus, Orestes, and it doth befall I love my error, as a sigh of luck, When I have thy name, for his name mistook,

By Iupiter, from whom our house did rise, VVho ruleth both the Sea, the Land, and skies, I pray, by thy Fathers, and thy Uncles bones, VVhich do rest underneath their marble stones, That I may presently resign my life, Or else may be once more Orestes wife.

[illustration]

The Argument of the ninth Epistle.

JVpiter having joyned three nights in one, begot Hercules on Ale∣mena, in the shape of her husband Amphytrio; Eurystheus King of the Mycenians, by Junoes subtilty perswades him to attempt difficult labours, so to endanger his life. Yet he by strength and policy, al∣wayes got the victory; and to obtain Deianira for his Wife, Achelous a River of Aetolia, after many changes of shapes, he overthrew in

the figure of a Bull; yet though he overcame many Monsters, he was overcome by love. For Eurythus, King of Oechalia denying him his daughter Iole, formerly promised unto him, he took his City, s••ew Eurythus and obtained Iole, with whose love he was so blinded, that at her command he layd by his Lyons Skin and Club, and put•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 on Womens cloaths, sat and spun amongst her Maids; and was a•• subject to Iole, as he had been to Omphale Queen of Lydia, on whom he begot Lamus. His wife Deianira Daughter of Oenus King of Calydon, understanding of his base and servile dotage, writes to him, and sayes before him his former worthy acts, that this present disgrace by com∣parison with them, might appear more to the life. But as she was writing she understood of Hercules suffering, by the shirt she had sent him dipt in the blood of the Centaure Nessus, to retain him from wan∣dring affection (sor so had Nessus perswaded her, whom in passing over the River Evenus, Hercules flew with a poyson'd arrow) being much grieved hereat, she clears her self that she did not thereby intend his destruction, but the regaining of his love, and concludes with a T••a∣gical resolution.

DEIANIRA to HERCULES.

I Am glad thou Occhalia hast won, For husbands honour doth the wife become. But I am sorry that a Captives beauteous look Should take the conquerer, that hath her took. When Fame the sad report at first did bring To the Greek Cities on her nimble wing; Me thought this action was not of the colour Of those brave deeds, which shew thy glory fuller; Whom Iuno, nor her labours ever broke, Iole made him yeild unto her yoke. Euryslheus is glad, and Iupiters wife, To see this action blot thy fair spent life: Nor can I think three nights were joyn'd in one At thy begetting or conception. Venus is worse then Iuno thy step-dame, For by oppressing thee she rais'd thy fame.

But Venus makes thee basely think it meet, To put thy humble neck beneath her feet. The world, inviron'd round with the blew seas, Was setled by thy conquering hand in peace, By which both sea and land enjoy sweet rest, Thy fame is spread abroad from East to West. Hercules strength, and Atl••ss'es were even, Fos Hercules and Atlas bore up heaven. But if with lust thy former deeds thou stain, Thy glory turneth to thy great shame. In thy Cradle thou wert like unto thy father, When thou didst strangle two Snakes joyn'd together. Thy child-hood and thy man hood I do see, But far unlike, and far most different be. Thy beginning was far better than thy end, The last act of thy life doth most offend. Wild beasts, and chemies thou couldst overcome, But love the victory over thee hath won. Some think I am well married, because I am Wife to great Hercules; that very name Is happiness; besides my father-in law Is Iove, whose thunder keeps the world in awe. But I am over-matched with thee now, Unequal Oxen aukwardly do plough. Thy honour like a burthen I do carry, "She's fitly matc••t, that doth her equal marry. For Hercules is abs••nt from me still, While he fierce monsters and wild beasts doth kill, Thus widowed, I offer sacrifice, Lest thou shouldst be slain by thy enemies. Me thinks I see how thou dost take delight, With Serpents, Boars, and Lyons still to fight: Strange visions in my sleep to me appear, And my dreams oft put me in fear.

Sometimes I do believe the common fame, Sometimes I hope, sometimes I fear again, My mother is from home, and doth complain, Because her beauty did a god enflame. Amphytrio thy own father is from home, And little Hillus also thy young son. I only do perceive Eurystheus hath Made thee a sacrifice to Iuno's wrath. To perform labours he did thee perswade, Which done, the goddess wrath is not allay'd. And to encrease my grief thou dost approve A captive maid, who is become thy love. I will not mention how thou didst dally VVith Auge in the sweet Parthenian valley. Or how the Nymph Ormenes was defil'd, And wantonly by thee was got with child: Nor will I urge it as a fault, not I, Thou didst with Thespius fifty daughters lye. That which grieves me was thy adultery, VVhich thou committedst with thy Omphale, And on her didst beget a bastard son, To whom I must a mother-in-law become. The winding River which they call Maeander, VVho in his turning banks about doth wander, Hath seen when Hercules a fine chain wore On those shoulders which heavens weight once bore. Didst thou not blush to wear a golden twist? Or bracelet made of pearl about thy wrist? Or that a golden bracelet should contain Thy brawny armes which had so stoutly slain The Nemean Lion, whose rough shaggy hide Thou didst wear on thy shoulder and left side? Nay besides this thou didst descend to wear A Coif, or Kerchiffe on thy stubborn hair.

It were more sit thy Temples had been crown'd, With victorious wreaths, than with a fillet bound. Yet as if thou wert some young girle, thou hast Worn Omphale's girdle round about thy wast. Thou thought'st not of fiery Diomede as then, Who fed his horses with the flesh of men. Had Bustris seen thee drest thus, he would be Asham'd that he had been o'recome by thee. Anteus may knock off his bolts, and chain, And set his neck at liberty again. For what captive is there with patience can Suffer under such an effeminate man? Besides, amongst the Grecian Maids ('tis said) That thou didst sit, and spin, and wert afraid, Lest thy mistress Omphale, when she espi'd thee, Idle by chance, should frown on thee, and chide thee. And thy victorious hands did not then scorn To spin, which once such labours did perform. For thou didst draw the thred with thy huge thumb, And gav'st account at night what thou hast spun. Sometimes as thou sat'st spinning, thou hast broke With boyslerous handling, both thy wheel and rock: And like a poor unhappy wretch, 'tis said, That of thy mistress thou wert so afraid, That if she chid thee, thou wouldst trembling stand, For fear of swadling with a Holly wand; And to win favour, thou wouldst often tell Of thy labours, which thou ought'st to conceal: Discoursing unto her how thou hadst won Much honour, by those deeds which thou hadst done; How in thy childhood thou didst boldly tear The Hydra's speckled jawes, which hideous were; How thou didst kill the Erimambean Boar, Which on the ground lay weltring in his goar.

And then of Diomedes didst relate, Who nail'd the heads of men upon his gate, Fatting his pamper'd Horses with their flesh, Untill thou didst his cruelty suppress; And how thou hadst the monster Cacus stain, That kept his flocks upon the hills of Spain; And of three-headed Cerberus thou didst tell, Who by his snaky hair thou drag'dst from hell: And how the Hydra by thy hand was slain, Whose heads being lopt off would grow forth again. And of Anteus, whom thou crusht to death Between thy arms, and didst squeeze out his breath, And how the Centaures thou subdu'st by force That were half men, and half like to a Horse. When thou wert in soft silken robes arrai'd, To tell these stories wert not thou dismai'd? Didst thou think whil'st thou didst thy labours tell, That a womans habit did become thee well? While Omphale hath took thy Lyons skin Away from thee, and drest her self therein, To boast now of thy valour it is vain, For Omphale in thy stead playes the man: For she in valour doth exceed thee far, Since she hath conquered the conquerour; And by subjecting thee, she now hath won The glory, which did unto thee belong. O shame to think! the skin which thou didst rea•• Off the Lyons ribs, thy Omphale doth wear; Thou art deceiv'd, 'tis not the Lyons spoil; Thou foil'dst the Lyon, she thy self doth foil; And she that only knoweth how to spin, To wear thy weapons also doth begin. She takes the conquering Club into her hand, And afterwards before her glass will stand,

Viewing her self, to see what she hath done, If that her husbands weapons her become. I could not believe, when I heard it said, The sad report unto my heart convei'd Much grief; but now my wretched eyes beheld The Harlot Iole, that thy courage quell'd. Such are my wrongs, that I must need reveal My grief and sorrow I cannot conceal. Thou broughtst her through the City in despight, Because I should behold the hated sight; Not like a Captive, with her hair unbound, And a dejected look fixt on the ground; But of rich cloth of gold her garments were, Such as thy self in Ph••ygia did wear She in her passage graciously did look On the people as if she had Hercules took; As if her father liv'd and did command Oechalia, which was raised by thy hand. Deianira it may be thou wilt forsake, And of thy former whore a wife wilt make; So that Hymen shall both joyn the heart and hands Of Hercules and Iole in his bands. When in my mind these passages I behold, My hands and limbs with fear grow stiff and cold. In me thou formerly didst take delight, And for my sake two several times didst fight; Plucking off Achelous horn, who after Did hide his head in his own muddy water. And Nessus was slain by the poison'd head Of thy arrow, whose blood dy'd the River red. But O alas! I heard abroad by same, Thou art tormented with much grief and pain, By the shirt dipt in his blood, which I sent thee, But yet indeed no harm at all I meant thee.

If it be so, then what am I become? What is it that my furious love hath done? O Deianira straight resolve to die, So end at once thy grief and misery. Shall this same poison••d shirt tear off his skin? And wilt thou live that hath the causer bin Of all his torment? No, though not my life, My death shall shew that I was Hercules wife. And, Meleager, I will shew thereby My self thy sister, I'm resolv'd to die. O unhappy fate! Oe••••us royal throne (My Father who is very aged grown) Agri••is hath, Tydeus in forraign land Doth wander still, and in the fatal brand Meleag••r perish'd, and my mother kill'd Her self, and with her hand her own blood spill'd. Then why doth D••ianira doubt to die? And so conclude this wicked Tragedy? Yet this one suit to thee I only move; And beg this of thee for our former love; That thou wouldst not believe, or think I meant To procure thy death, by that gift I sent. For when the cruel Centaure bleeding lay With thy arrow in his brest, he then did say, This blood, if thou the vertue of it prove, Will cause affection, and procure true love. But now his treachery I have understood; For I dipt a shirt into his poison'd blood; And sent it, which hath caus'd thy misery; O Deianira straight resolve to die. Farewell my Father, George too farewell, Farewell my brother and Country where I dwell. And I do bid farewell to the day-light, Of which my eyes shall never more have sight.

Farewell to Hyllus my young little son, Farewell my husband; Death, I come, I come.

[illustration]

The Argument of the tenth Epistle.

MInos the son of Jupiter and Europa, because the Athenians ha•• treacherously slain his son Androg••us, enforced them by a sharp warr to send him every year as a tribute, seven young Men, and as

many young Virgins to be devoured by the Minataure, which by Da∣dalus Art Pasiphas had by a Bull, while her husband Minos was at the Athenian wars. The lot falling on Thes••us, he was sent amongst the rest; but Ariadne instructed him how to kill the Minataure, and return again out of the Labyrinth, as Catullus saith,

Errabunda r••gens tenui vestigia filo. Guiding his steps, which she led, By a Clew of slender thred.

Afterward Theseus departing from Creete with Ariadne and Phadra, he arriv'd at the Isle Nanos, where Bacchus admonished him to leave Ariadne, and he accordingly lef•• her when she was fast asleep: As∣soon as she awaked, she writ this Letter, complaining of Theseus cruelty and ingratitude, and in a pitiful manner intreats him to come back again, and take her into his ship.

ARIADNE to THESEUS.

I Have found all kindes of beasts much more milde And gentle than thy self, who hast beguil'd My trust: for it had been more safe for me, To have believ'd a salvage beast, than thee. This letter, Theseus, from thence doth come, Where thou didst leave me, and away didst run; When I was fast asleep, then thou didst leave me, Watching that opportunity to deceive me: It was at that time when the heavens strew Upon the earth their sweet and pearly dew. And the first waking birds did now begin, In the cool boughs to tune their notes and sing: I being half asleep and half awake, Yet so much knowledge had, that for thy sake, With my hand I felt about thy warm place, Thinking indeed my Theseus to embrace: I felt about the bed, but he was gone, I felt about again, but there was none. Then with my wretched hand I strook my breast, And tore my loosen'd hair, that was undrest.

The Moon shin'd bright so that I looked o're To the sea-ward, but saw nothing but the shore; Now here, and there confusedly I ran, The heavy sand did my swift feet detain: At last •• called Theseus on the shore; The hollow Rocks thy Name did back restore; The eccho call'd as many times as I, And seem'd to help me in my misery. There was a Mountain topt with some few bushes, Under whose rocky sides the Sea still rushes: On it I clamber'd up, love gave me strength, Whence I could see far unto sea at length: From hence (for I the winds did cruel find) Disc••rn'd a ship that sail'd with the North wind; I saw it, or I thought I did behold I••, which did make my heart half dead, and cold: Yet sorrow would not suffer me to lie Long in this Trance, but comming out of't I Cry'd out, O Theseus! whither dost thou run? Return, O Theseus, and to me back come. Turn back thy ship again for to take me, Thou wantest one yet of thy company. Thus did I cry, and strike my breast betwixt, While blows and words were both together mixt. Though thou could'st not hear me, yet I did stand Spreading my armes abroad upon the land, That thou might see me; and a white flag hung To make thee see me, who from me did'st run. Thy ship at last did sail quite out of my sight, And then the tears ran down my cheeks outright. For how could my sad eyes but chuse to weep, After thy sails out of my sight did sl••p? Abroad I wander'd with loose flowing hair, Like women that by Bacchus enraged are.

Sometimes I looking unto sea would sit On a stone, as void as the stone of wit: Then to the bed I walkt, where he had lain, Which never should receive us more again; And it a pleasure unto me did seem, To touch the warm place where thy limbs had been: And in the very place I down would lye, With weeping tears, and thus begin to cry: Sweet bed, we both have lain on thee together, As two lay down, two should have risen together. But I on this forsaken Isle am left, Of men and all humanity bereft. The sea encompasseth this Island round, No ship or Pilot from this Isle is bound. Suppose I could a ship and wind command, I dare not sail back to my Fathers land. Though my ship through the smooth sea did glide on, And winds stood fair, I am banisht from home, And from Creet, that a hundred Cities had, Where Iove was nursed when he was a lad. I betrai'd my Father by that plot I fram'd, And Country, where he long uprightly reignd. And lest thou in the Labyrinth hadst dy'd, Gave thee a Clue of thred thy steps to guide. By those past dangers thou didst swear to me, That thou, while I did live would'st constant be. I live, and find thee false, if't may be said She lives, that by a false man is betray'd Would thy Club had kill'd me, as't did my brother, Then in my death thou all my wrongs might'st smother. Now I conceive what I must suffer here, And what I may endure, doth urge my fear. A thousand shapes of death methinks I see, The fear or death is worse then death can be,

Now lest some Wolfe should come, I am in fear, Who with his greedy teeth my limbs should tear: Perhaps this land doth yellow Lyons breed, And cruel Tygers from this Isle proceed. Perhaps great sea-calves on the shore abide, Or else the sword may pierce my tender side. Or like a Captive I may be enchain'd, And unto servile labour be constrain'd; Whose Father Minos was, and whose Mother Was Phoeb••s daughter, which I need not smother. And that which rather should remember'd be, That I was once betrothed unto thee. If I look to the shore, the land or sea, The sea and land do seem to threaten me. If to heaven, to the gods I dare not pray, But I am left unto the wild beasts a prey. The men that here inhabit I distrust, Being deceiv'd by thee my fears are just. I wish now that Androgeus did live, Whose death occasion of that tax did give. I wish, O Theseus, thy Club had not slain The monster, half a beast, and half a man. Would I had not given thee a Clew of thred, By which thy steps in coming back were led. I wonder not thou got'st the victory, Or that th••s Cret•••• beast was slain by thee. Thou hadst an iron breast, which was so arm'd, So that thou couldst not by his hornes be harm'd. Sure an obdurate Adamant was i'nt, And Theseus was all o're as hard as flint. O cruel sleep! why did I slumbering lye? Would I had slept unto eternity. O cruel winds! why did ye stand so fair, As if ye did desire to breed my care?

O cruel hand of thine! which hath slain me, And my poor brother by infidelity. My sleep, the wind, and thou, did all conspire, And to betray a maid did all desire. Now at my death my mother shall not weep, Nor close mine eyes up in eternal sleep. My hapless ghost shall wander in the ayre, To embalme my body no friend shall care. Sea-Vultures shall upon my carcass light, For I shall have at all no funeral Rite. But unto Athens when thou art come home, Then thou sitting upon thy royal Throne, Shalt tell how thou the Minotaure didst slay, Out of the Labyrinth ••••nding the right way; And tell amongst thy acts, how thou hast left Me on this Island, of all help bereft. Aegeus, nor yet Aethra cannot be Thy Parents, Rocks were Parents unto thee. If from thy ships decks thou hadst spied me, My sad looks unto pity had mov'd thee Think now thou seest me standing on a Rock, Whose chalky sides the beating waves do mock. See how my hair is o're my shoulders spread, My garments wet with tears, that I have shed. And how my body trembling too and fro, Like shaking corne, which the North wind doth bl••w; Or like some miss-shap'd Letter I do stand, That hath been written by a trembling hand. To urge my merit I dare not presume, "No thanks are due to service that is done. Yet there's no reason thou shouldst punish me With death, because from death I saved thee.

To thee my hands I heave up and do spread, Which with beating my breast are wearied. I entreat thee by my hair, which I do spread, And by my tears for thy unkindness shed, Turn back thy ship. O Theseus, for my sake; Though I am dead, my carcass with thee take▪

[illustration]

The Argument of the eleventh Epistle.

MAcareus and Canace, the son and daughter of Aeolus, King of the winds, did love one another, & thinking to colour over their incestuous fault with natural affection. Canace brought forth a son, and sending it out of the Court to be nu••st abroad, the unhappy infant ••ryed, and so discovered it self to his Grandfather, who incensed with his childrens wickedness, commanded the innocent infant to

be cast forth unto Dogges•• and by one of his guard sent a sword to Canace, as a silent remembrance of her desert, wherewith she killed her self, Yet before her death, she declares by this Epistle to Ma∣careus, who was fled into the Temple of Apollo, her own misfortune: entreating him to gather up the childes bones, and lay them with hers in the same Urne or funeral Pitcher.

CANACE to MACAREUS.

IF blotted Letters may be understood, Receive this Letter blotted with my blood. My right hand holds a pen, my left a sword, My p••per lyes before me on the boord. Thus Canace doth to her brother write, This posture yields my father much delight: Who I do wish would a spectator be, As he is Author of my Tragedy. Who fiercer then winds blowing from the East, With dry cheeks would behold my wounded breast. For since to rule the winds he hath commission, He's of his subjects cruel disposition. Over the Northern, and South winds he reignes; The wings of th' East and West winds he restrains. And yet although the winds he doth command, His sudden anger he cannot withstand. The Kingdom of the winds he can restrain, "But over his own vices cannot raign. For what although my Ancestors have been Unto the gods and Iupiter akin? Now in my fearful hand I hold a sword, That fatal gift, which must my death afford. O Macar••us, would that I had dy'd, Before we were in close embraces ty'd. More then a sister ought▪ I did affect thee, More then a brother ought thou didst respect me.

For I did feel, how Cupid with his dart (Of whom I oft had heard) did wound my heart. My colour straightway did wax green and pale, My stomack to my meat began to fail. I could not sleep, the night did seem a year, I often sigh'd, when no body did hear. Yet why I sighed, I no cause could shew; I lov'd, and yet what love was did not know. My old Nurse found out how my pulse did move, And she first told me that I was in love: But when I blushed with a down-cast look, Which silent signes she for confession took. But now the burthen of my swelling womb Grew heavy, being to full ripeness come. What herbs and medicines did not she, and I Use, to enforce abortive delivery, Conceal'd from thee? Yet Art could not prevail, The quickned child grew strong, our Art did fail. And now nine Moons were fully gone and past, The tenth in her bright Chariot made great hast. I know not whence my sudden gripes did grow: Nor what pains belong'd to childbirth did know: I cry'd out, but my Nurse my words did stay, And stopt my mouth, as I there crying lay. What shall I do? gripes force me to complain; But my Nurse, and fear of crying-out restrain. So that I did suppress my groans, and cryes, And drunk the tears that flow'd down from my eyes. While thus Lucina did deny her aid, Fearing my fault in death should be betray'd. Thou by my side most lovingly didst lye, Tearing thy hair to see my misery; And with kind words thy sister thou didst cherish, Praying that two might not at one time perish.

And thou didst put me still in hope of life, Saying dear sister thou shalt be my wife. These words reviv'd me, when I was half dead, So that I presently was brought to bed. Thou didst rejoyce, but fear did me afright, To hide it from my father Aeolus sight. The careful Nurse the new born childe did hide In Olive boughs, with swadling vine leaves ty'd: And so a solemn sacrifice did fain; The people and my father believ'd the same. Being near the gate, the child that straight did cry, To his grandfather was betray'd thereby; Aeolus tearing forth the child, discries Their cunning and pretended sacrifice. As the sea trembles when light winds do blow, Or as an Aspen leaf shakes to and fro, Even so my pale and trembling limbs did make The bed whereon I lay begin to shake. He comes to me, my fault he doth proclaim, And he could scarce from striking me contain. I could do nothing else but blush, and weep, My tongue ty'd up with fear did silent keep. He commanded my s••n should be straightway Cast forth, and made to beasts and birds a prey. And then it cry'd, so that you would have thought, His crying had his Grandfather besought To pity him: what grief it was to me, Dear brother, you may guess, when I did see, When •• saw my ch••lde ca••ried to the Wood, To feed the mountain Wolves, that live by blood. When thus my child unto the woods was sent, My father out of my bed-chamber went. Then I did beat my tender breast at last, And tore my cheeks, his sentence being past.

When straightway one of my Fathers Guard came in, And with a sad look did this message bring; Aeolus sends this sword, and doth desire Thee use it, as thy merit doth require. His will (quoth I) be done, I'le use his sword, My Fathers gift shall my sad death afford. O Father, shall this sword the portion be, And dowry which you mean to give to me? O Hymen put out thy deceived light, And nimbly now betake thy self to fight: Ye Furies bring your smoaky Torches all, To light the wood at my sad funeral. O sisters, may you far more happ'ly marry Than I, that by my own fault did miscarry. Yet what could be my new-born babes offence, Which might his Grandfather so much incense? Of death, alas, he could not worthy be: For my offence, he's punished for me. O Son! thou breed'st thy mother much annoy, No sooner bred, but beasts do thee destroy. O Son the pledge of my unhappy love, One day thy day of birth and death doth prove. I had not time t'imbalme thee with my tears, Nor in thy funeral fire to throw thy hairs; To give thee one cold kiss I had no power, For the wild greedy beasts did thee devoure. But I sweet child, will straightway die with thee, I will not long a childless Parent be. And thou, O brother, since it is in vain For me to hope to see thee once again; Gather the small remainder, which the wild And salvage beast have left of thy young child. And with his mothers bones, let them have room, Within one ••••ne, or in one narrow Tomb.

Weep at my funeral; who can reprove thee, For shewing love to her that once did love thee? And here at last I do entreat thee still, To perform thy unhappy sisters will; For I will kill my self without delay, And so my fathers hard command obey.

[illustration]

The Argument of the twelfth Epistle.

JAson being a lusly comely young man: assoon as he arrived at Colchos, Medea the Daughter of Aeta King of Colchos, and Hecate, fancied and entertained him; and upon promise of marriage, instru∣cted him how he should obtain the beauty he desired. Having gotten the golden Fleece, he fled away with Medea. Her father Aeta pursuing after them, she tears in pieces her brother Absy••tus limbs, whom she

had taken with her, thereby to stay her father while he gathered up his Sons bones. And so at length safely arriving in Thessaly, Iason renewed his Father Aesons age, by Medeas help, who also made Pe∣lias Daughters kill their Father. For pretending that she would make him young, as she had done Aeson, she perswaded his Daughters, with a knife to let out all his old black blood, that she might infuse new fresh blood instead thereof. His Daughters having done so, Pelias straightway dyed; Iason hereupon, or for some other cause, repudiates Medea, and marries Creusa the daughter of Creon King of Corinth; Medea herewith enraged Writes to Iason, expostulating with him of his ingra∣titude, and threatens speedy revenge, unless he receive her again.

MEDEA to JASON.

AT that time Queen of Corinth I did raign, When thou didst seek by my art help to gain. I wish my thred of life, which then was ••pun By the three sisters, had been cut and done; Then might Medea have dy'd innocent; My life since then hath been a punishment. Woe's me that ere the lusty youth of Greece Sail'd hither, for to fetch the golden Fleece. Would Colchos never had their Argos seen, Would the Grecians ne're on our shoar had been: Why was I with thy lovely brown hair took? Or with thy tempting tongue and comely look? Or at least when thy ship came to our shore, Bringing thy self, with gallants many more, I might have let thee run and found a death By those fiery Oxen with their flaming breath▪ I might have suffer'd thee to sow that seed, Whence armed men did spring up and proceed, That the sower might by his own tillage die, When each ear of co••••e did prove an enemy.

They had preven••ed then thy tre••chery, And kept me both from grie' and misery. To upbraid thy ingratitude pleases me, In this alone I can triumph o're thee. For when thy ship arrived at the shore Of Colch••s, where it n••re had been before. O then Med••a was beloved there Of thee, as thy new wife's b••loved here. My father was as rich as hers, he raign'd O're Corinth, which 'twixt two Seas is contain'd. My father possess'd all the Land which lay Between Pon••us and snowy ••cythi••. My father did thy Grecians entertain, Affording lodging to thee and thy train, I saw thee then, then did of thee enquire, And then thy love did s••t my heart on fire, I saw thee, and that sight to love did turn, While my heart did like a great Taper burn. Thy beauty drew me to my destin'd fate, And thy fair eyes my eyes did captivate Which thou percevid'st, for who can love conceale? Whose glowing flame doth it own selfe reveale My father then commanded thee to yoak Those Oxen that were to the plough ne're broak For they were Mars his Oxen, whose horns wer•• Sharp, and their breath did like a flame appear. They had brasse hoo••••, and nostrils arm'd with brass, Blackt with the breath that through them did passe. And thou wert bid to sow in the large field That seed which did an armed ••eo ••e yield. VVhich sprung up, would assail thee straight again; Thou for thy harvest such a cr••p shouldst gain And thy last labour was to charm a sleep The Dragon, that the golden ••eece did keep.

When Aeet••s said thus, you all st••aight rose, And every one much discontentment showes. So that you did your purple seats forsake, And then the Table they away did take. Grea•• Creens daughter thou didst now contemn, And C••••••sas dowry could not help thee then. Sadly thou didst depart, and discontent, yet my weeping eyes on thee still were bent, And as thou w••ntst away this one word sell, In a so••t murmure from my tongue; Farewell. And when I went to bed. I never slept, Wounded with love, all nigh•• I griev'd and wept. The fie••ce Bulls were alwa••es before my eyes. And the Armed m••n which from the earth did rise; And then the watchfull Dragon did affright My senses, and was still before my sight. Thus love, and fear, my breast at once did trouble, My love of thee did make my fear to double. At last it chanced that early in the morning, My loving sister came and found me mourning, And lying on my face, with all my hair Loose spread, the pillow wet with many a tear, She and two sisters more did me invade, With fair entreaties, fo•• to help and aid Iason, and his Thes••alians, who did want My assistance, I in love their suit did grant. There is a wood so dark with thick-leav'd trees, That the bright Sun but seldome through it sees: There doth a Chappel of Diana's stand, VVhose golden statue there was rudely fram'd. I know not whether this place is by thee Forgotten, as thou hast forgotten me. VVe being thither come, thou then didst break Thy mind to me, and thus beganst to speak.

My life and fortunes are at thy command, My life and death are both within thy hand. you may let me perish if so be you will, But 'tis more noble to preserve then kill. Then by my present sorrows I entreat, Which you can ease, if you the word would speak. By thy kindred, and uncle Phoebus, who Sees all things that on earth we mortals do. By Diana's triple-sace, and sacred rites, And Gods wherein this Nation delights. O Virgin have some pity at this time On me, and make me so for ever thine. And though I cannot hope the gods should be So kind and favourable unto mee; yet if you would be p••eased now to take A T••essalian, and him a husband make. Then I do promise, I will faithfull be, And vow, that I will marry none but thee. Let Iuno be a witnesse to my vow, And Di••na in whose Temp••e we are now. Thou took'st me by the hand, those words of thine A maidens fancy did straight way in••••ine. For such thy langu••ge was, as soon did move My honest heart to entertain thy love. By thy deceitfull tears I was betrayed, For they had ••ower to betray a Maid. So that the ••ulls, whose breath like flames did smoa•••• I taught thee how to tame, and how to yoak. And thou did'st sow the Dragons teeth for seed, Whence armed ••••n did spring up and proceed. I, that did give thee those securing ••••arms, Grew pale to see those new-s••••ung men in armes. When straight those earth-bred brethren there in ••••ght, Did s••ay each other in a bloody fight▪

The watchful Dragon now the earth did sweep, While he upon his scaly breast did creep. Where was the Dowry of thy royal wife? Or King of Corinth? could they save thy life? No it was I, that now am thus rejected, And as a poor Enchantresse disrespected. I charm••d the Dragons flaming eyes asleep, That thou mightst get the Fleece which he did keep. My Father I betray'd and I forsook, My Countrey, and with thee a voyage took. Though my life a sad banishment should be, I was content to wander still with thee. Thou of my Maiden-head didst me deceive. Who my Mother and my Sister both did leave. Yet I ••e••t not my Brother; at that name, Me thinks my pen stands still for very shame; I fear to write that, which I di•• not fear To do, 'twas I that did in peeces tear, Thy scattered ••imbs, and when I had done so, Guilty of thy blood, unto Sea did go. And would the gods had drownd us in the sea, Thou for decei••, I for ••redulity. I wou'd out ship, as it along had past, Our joyned bodies on some rock and dasht. Or b••eaking Scyll•• had devou••ed us then, S••ylla should punish such ungrateful men. I wi••h C••arybdi•• had then pleased been, With his round whirling waves to suck us in. But thou in safety art to Thess••ly come, Offering th•• go'den-••leece which thou hast won, Unto the gods. What should I mention Pe••ias Daughters, whose intention I wrong'd and made their virgin hand•• to kill Their aged Father and his blood to spill?

Though othes blame me, thou must praise me needs, Since from my love of thee my guilt proceeds. yet thou hast cast me off now ne re the le••••e, O I want words, that may my grief expresse! When thou didst bid me go, I did obey Thy cruel doom, and forthwith went away With my two Children, forth along went I, And love, which always bears me company. But when I did of thy late marriage hear, Where Hymens Torches burnt bright and clear; And that new musick, with new marriage ••ongs Proclaim'd your wedding, and thy unkind wrongs; I fear, d, and yet could not the news beleeve, yet a sad coldness to my breast did cleave. But when I heard them to Hymen cry, The more they cry'd, more was my misery. My servants wept, and yet they hid their tears, To bring this sad news to me each one fears. And I do wish I had not known it still, But yet my mind did prophesie some ill. When my young Son, desirous for to see Some novelty, as children use to be, Standing at the door, did begin to cry, Come Mother, see my Father passing by: My father Iason, who in pomp doth ride In's Charriot, with his new married Bride; Then I did beat my breast, my clothes I rent, To tear my cheeks, my fing••rs then were bent. My mind did urge me to revenge my wrong, And thrust my selfe among the Bridall throng. And having snatcht thy garland from thy head, My arms about thy middle to have spread; And took possession of that at that time, And to the people cry'd aloud, He's mine.

Father rejoyce, Colchians now be glad, My brothers ghost hath these infernals had, For now I am ••orsaken, left, and crost, My Country, House, and kingdome I have lost: Nay, I have ••ost my Husband too, and he Was a kingdome of contentment unto me. I that both D••agons, and wild Bulls could tame, Yet by one ••••n am conquered again. I that could quench hot fire with learned charmes, Can't quen•••• the fire of love which my breast warmes My charmes and Art, and Potions do deceive me And Ae••ates witchcrafts: cannot now releive me. Me thinks that I do hate the dayes for light, And sorrow makes me lye awake all night, And seldome is my miserable brest With any quiet gentle sleep refresht. I made the Dragon ••••st a••leep to fall, But Art hath on my self no power at all. A whore embraces him, whom I preserv'd▪ She reaps the fruit of that, which I de••erv'd, And perhaps, whil'st thou striv••st to please the eare O•• thy Bride, who thy boasting tales doth here With admiration, thou dost then disgrace, Either my behaviour, or homely face. While out of foolish pride she laughs at me, And doth rejoyce at my de••ormity. Let her laugh and lye down upon her quilt, She shall weep, when she hath my anger felt. M••dea will by sword, or poyson be Revenged on her hated enemy. But if ••nto my prayers thou would'st attend, Unto entreaties I would now descend. I will a suppliant become to thee E••en at thy ••ee••, as thou hast been to me.

If thou wilt not pity me, for my own sake, Yet on my children some compassion take, Their step-mother will most unkindly use them, Nay, and perha••s most cruelly abuse them. For they too much, alas, resemble thee, In them thy living picture I can see. And since they are of thee a living Type, When I behold them, I am weeping ••ipe. I intreat thee by the gods and ••••e Sun My Uncle, and by that which I have done For thy sake, and by my two Children dear, Which the pledges of our t••ue affection were; Return to my bed, who left all for thee, Be constant as thou didst promise to me. Against fierce Bulls thy aid I do not seek, Or to charm the watchfull Dragon fast asleep. Thee I desire, whom I deserved have, By Children hade by thee, thee I do crave. If thou desirst a Dowry, I did yeild A Dowry which was told out in the field, Which I did make thee pl••ugh, while thou didst stay Only to bear the Golden Fleece away. My Dowry was the Golden Ram, which had This Golden Fleece, and was so richly clad. This was my Dowry, and should I aske thee To restore it back, thou wouldst deny it me. My Dowry was the preserving thy selfe, Can Creons Daughter bring thee so much wealth? That thou dost live and hast another Bride, It was my gift, else thou hadst surely dy'd And it was I, that gave thee life to be Thus thanklesse, and ungrateful unto me. I will revenge—yet what doth it pertain Unto revenge, if I my wrath proclaim?

And tell what punishments on you shall light? "The closest anger doth most deadly strike. I will follow as my rage doth le••d me on. Though I repent the a••t when it is done. For I repent that I should e're preserve A man that doth so ill of me deserve. The winged God hath seen from the bl••w skie My wrongs, my sorrows, and my injury. And with a rage he hath inspir d my heart To plot, and act e're long some Tragick part.

[illustration]

The Argument of the thirteenth Epistle.

PRotesilaus the Sonne of Iphyclus sayling, as Homer reports with forty ships to Troy, was shut up with the rest of the Grecians, in Aulo a Haven of Boeotia, which when his Wife Laodami••, the Daughter of Acas••us and Laodathea understood, she dearly loving her Husband, and being troubled much with dreams' w••it this Epistle unto him: and admonished him to remember the Oracle, and abstain from the

warres. For the Or••cle had given this answer to the Greci••ns, that h•• shoul•• peri••h, that first went a ••hore, and set foot upo•• th•• Troj••n ground: B••t couragio••s Protes••la••i was the ••irst that landed and was slain by Hector.

LAODAMIA to PROTESILAUS.

LAodam••a doth to thee send health, Wishing that she might come to thee her self. I hear that tho•• in Aulus art wind-bound, Would I had of the winds such favour found, To resist thy going hence, and hinder it, Then for the Sea to grow rough it was fit. Then I had kissd thee oftener, and at large Had spoken more and given thee thy charge. But when the wind stood fair, thou couldst not stay, For it did drive thy swelling sails away. Thy Mariners had what they did require, It was not I, that did this wind desire. The wind that for the Mariners stood fair, Stood crosse for thee, and I, that lovers were. And me from Protesilaus did divide while we were both in sweet embraces ty'd. My broken words short of my meaning fell, I scarce had time to speak this word, farewell. For the North wind thy h••llovv sailes did stretch, And from me did Protesilaus fetch. I lookt as long as I thy ship could see, And I did send a long look after thee. When thou wert out of sight, yet I could see Thy ship, and to behold it pleased me: But when both thee, and thy swift sailing ship, Out of my sight did both together slip. A sudden darkness in my eyes I found, And presently I fell down in a swound.

So that my mother and old Acastus too, Although much diligence they both did show, Could ••etch me back to life, although at last, Cold water they into my ••ace did cast. T••eir needless love was thus express'd, but I Am sorry that they did not let me dye: For when my senses did return again, My love returned too with a new flame; And chast affection could not spare my breast; 'Those who do love, must never hope to rest. Now I took no delight to dress my hair, Nor to wear rich apparel took I care. And as those women Bacchus hath inspir'd With a touch of his Viny staffe, and fir'd Their bosomes, that they run now here, now there; Such did I in my furious rage appear, The talkin wives of Phylace did come To comfort me, and thus their speech begun. L••od••••ia courage take, put on Such royal robes as may your birth become. Alas! shall I in purple robes delight, While that my Husband at Troy's wall doth fight▪ Shall I my hair in curious manner dre••se, While a weighty Helmet doth his hair presse? Shall I in new apparel gay appear, While my Lord doth a Coat of Armour wear? While thou art at the wars, like one forlorne In careles••e habit I at home will mourn O Paris, thou that wast born to destroy With thy fresh beauty the old City Troy▪ As thou wert a wonton guest, mayst thou be A coward, and a milk sop enemy. Would Helena had not unto thee seem'd So fair, nor she thy beauty so esteem'd.

O Menelaus, thou with earnest strife Dost labour to regain again thy wife. Woe's me, I fear thy sad revenge will make Many eyes weep, and many ••earts to ake. The gods from all ill fortune us defend, That my returning Husband may commend His arms to Iu••i••u••: but when I muse Or think upon the wa••s, I cannot chuse But weep, and down my cheeks the tears do run, Like snow when it is me ted by the Sun. When of Iliu•• or Te••••••o; I hear, Those names do put me in a sudden fear. When of Si••••ois and Xanthus I have heard. Or Id••, these strange names makes me afeard▪ Nor had Paris stole Helen, if at length He meant to resigne her, he knew his strength, For she did come in royal robes of Gold, Adorn'd with Jewels, glorious to behold. And with a warlike ••••e••t to Troy she came, The Trojans shew'd their great strength by her train. And as Hele•• was f••tched by this Fleet, So I fear it should with the Gr••cians meet. There is one Hect••r of whom I do hear, A valiant man, and him I greatly fear. For Paris said that He••••o•• should affright the Grecians, and begin the bloudy fight. If I be she whom thou dost love most dear, Take heed of Hector, him I onely fear. His name doth fill my thought with much unrest, And is engrav'd upon my troubled breast. And as thou shunnest hi••, so also shun Others, for many H••••••o••s thither come. And as oft as thou dost prepare to fight, Say to thy selfe the•••• words which I do write:

Laodamia charg,d me care to take, And keep my se••fe from danger for her sake. If the Grecians rase T••o•• unto the ground, May'st thou come from the fiege with ne're a wound. Let Menelaus with the Tro••ans fight, And take from Paris Helena, his right. And when he chargeth on the enemy, Let his good cause give him the victory It behov'd Menelaus with stout blows To fetch his wife f••om the insulting foes; But thy case unto his is far unlike, And therefore I do wish thee so to fight, That when the wars are done thou mayst return, And in my loving bosome lie full warm. You Troians I intreat you to spare one Of all those enemies against you come; For every drop of b'ood that doth proceed From his veins, from my veins doth also bleed. Protesilaus no strong blows can strike With his dra••n sword, nor stand the Push of Pike; Let Menelaus fight whom rage doth move, Let others fight, set Protesilaus love. For I must needs confesse I had a mind To have call'd him back, but no strength could find, For my tongue stop'd, before the words were spoken, And my speech broke off, which was but a bad token. And at the threshold of thy fathers gate Thy foot did stumble, and did trip thereat, Which hath been always counted for a signe, Whereby we may of some ill luck divine. Which when I did behold I was afraid, And thus unto my selfe in secret said: I hope the stumbling of his foo•• shall be, A signe, my Husband shall return to me.

These things unto thee I do now relate, That I thy courage may thereby abate. And I do wish, that I at last may find, The fears are vain, which now molest my mind. Besides the Oracles say, he who shall Land first upon the Trojan ground, shall fal First by the sword unhappy sure is she, That by the wars shall the first widow be. Heaven defend thee, that thou may'st not shew Thy valour, lest thy valour I do rue. Let thy ship be the last to shore doth stand, Let thy ship be the last doth come to land. Of all that goes on shore be thou the last, Vnto thy Fathers land thou dost not hast. But when thou commest back, then do not fail To use thy Oates, and clap on all thy sail. Then make thou hast to come out of thy ship, And on the welcome shore most nimbly skip. When Phoebus lyeth hid or s••ines most bright, I think upon thee both by day and night. yet more on thee by night than day, for night Is the sweet time, that yeildeth Mai••s delight. For then they lye within their Sweet-hearts arm, Who with their close embraces keep them warm; VVhile in my widows bed I lye at pleasure, VVanting true joy, I think on former leasure And then a d••eam doth yeild me some delight, Sometimes again my dreams do me affright. Me-thinks I see thee with a visage pale. Telling to me a sad and mournful tale. Then waking out of my black dream, I rise, And ••or thy safety offer sacrisice VVith Frankincense, which I with tears b••dew, So that in burning, it doth brighter sh••w.

As when we pour oyle to a dying flame, It doth begin to rise, and blaze again. O when will that most happy season come? That I shall embrace thee at coming home, VVith such a sweet excesse of joy, till I Languish with pleasure, and embracing dye. VVhen wilt thou tell me, when we are a bed, How ma••y thou in war hast conquered? And in the midd'st of thy sweet story leave, To kisse me, and a kisse from me receive; VVhile that a kisse is the full point to stay Thy speech, refreshed by this sweet delay. But when I think of Troy, the seas and wind, Then fear doth drive all hope out of my mind. And I do fear, because thy ships are s••ag'd By winds, as if to slay thee they assay'd VVho will sayl with crosse wind to his own land? Tho•• from thy Country sail'st, when winds withstand. N••ptune will not permit you ••or to come Unto his ••ity, and therefore come home. Spare going (Grecians) the winds do ••orbid, And some divine power in the wind is hid, By these warres you seek only to regain An adulteresse, O tu••n your ships again. But why should I recall thee back thus now Let calm winds smooth again the Seas rough brow I envy now the Trojan Dames, who shall VVith grief behold their husbands funeral. On her husbands head the new married Bride Shall put a Helmet, and when she hath ty'd His arn our close unto him, and doth mak•• Him ready, she a kisse from him shall take: Such duti••ul imployment is a blisse, Her service is rewarded with a kisse.

And being arm'd comp••eatly, then at large She may give to him a most loving charge: Charging him as he tendreth her love, To return, and offer his arms to Iove. And he obeying her command will be Care••ull to fig••t abroad more warily. And when he cometh home, she will unlace His ••elmet, and him in her arms imbrace. To me in absence, fear doth sorrow bring, And I conceive t••e worst of every thing. yet while that thou unto the wars art gone, I have thy P••cture made in wax at home. And fondly unto it I often talk, And do emb••ace it, as by it I walk. Thy shape in it so lively doth appear, Could it speak, it Prot••silaus were. On it I look, and oft••n it behold, And for thy sake do in my arms enfold; And to ••hy Picture often I complain, As if thy Picture could reply again. By ••hee in whom my Soul alone delights, By our tr••e love, and equal marriage rites And by thy life which I do wish you may B••ing back, although t••y ••air be turned gray? I vow if thou pleasest to send to me, I will obey, and straig••t way come to thee, For whether thou do•••• chance to live or die, In life or death j••le bear thee company. Of my Letter this shall the conclusion be, Take care o•• thy se••f if t••ou car'st for me.

[illustration]

The Argument of the fourteenth Epistle.

DAnaus the Sonne of Belus, had by severall Wives fifty Daughters unto whom his brother Aegyptus desired to marry his fifty Sonnes, but Danus having been informed by the Oraclé, that he should dye by the hands of a Sonne in Law, to avoid that' danger he takes ship, and sayles to Argos, Aegyptus being angry because he had despised his offer, sent his Sonnes with an Army to besiege him

charging them not to return until they had slain Danaus, or mat∣ryed his Daughters. He enforced by siege yeeldeth up his Daugh∣ters, where with the Sword which their father had given them, ac∣cording tr his command, at night when the young men warm'd with wine and jollity were fallen fast asleep, every one killed her hus∣band, except Hyper••••éstra onely, who out of Compassion spred and preserved her husband Linus, whom Eusebius call'd Linceus advising him to return to his father Aegyptus and discovered the conspiracy. ••ut her Father Danaus perceiving that all his Daugh∣ters had executed his will with bloody obedience, excepting Hyper••∣nestra, he commanded her to be kept in Prison. Whereupon in this Epistle shee entreats her Vncle and Husband Linus, whom she had prefer••ed, either to help her, and free her from her Captivity or 〈◊〉〈◊〉 she dye to see her honourably buried. But at last Linus killed D••∣nus: and set her at liberty.

HYPERMNESTRA to LINUS.

Hypermnestra sends to thee who dost remain Of many brothers by their own Wives slain. I fo•• thy sake am in close prison pent, And for saving thee do endure punishment. I am guilty because I did spare thy bloud, "A pros••erous wickednesse is counted good, yet I repent not, since that I had rather Keep my father from bloud, than please my father. Though my father in that sacred fire may, Burn me, which we toucht on our wedding day, Or with tho'e Torches he may burn my face, Wh'ch on our wedding-day did b••ightly blaze. Or although he do kill me with that sword, Because to kill thee I could not afford. He shall not make me say, that I repent Of a good work, it is not my intent I am griev'd for my sisters cruel fact, "For sad repentance follows a bad act.

The sad remembrance of that bloudy night, Makes my heart and hand tremble while I write. My husband could not by my hand have dy'd Which shakes, while I this murder would describe, yet I will try, it was about twilight, Which endeth day, and doth begin the night, When as we fifty sisters were brought all, With royal s••ate into the Cast••e hall. VVhereas Egyptus, without dread or fear, Received us for his Daughters who arriv'd were. The flaming Tapers shin'd like starrs in Heaven, And sweet incense unto the fire was given. The common people did on Hymen cry, But from this ••ata••l marriage he did flie, And Iuno did from her own City run, Fair Argos that she might this wedding shun, And now the young mens drunken heads were bound About with flowers, and with Garlands crown'd. The Bridemen with great joy, dreading no danger, Did bring them to their fatall Brida••l chamber, And laid their heavy bodies on the bed, On which they were like funeral hearses spread They being now with wine and sleep opprest, And all the City quiet and at rest, Me thought the groans of dying men I heard, And so it was whereat I grew afeard So that my warm bloud and my colour fled, And left my body cold upon the bed, As soft and gentle western wines do make The Corn to move and Aspi••e leaves to shake So I trembled, while thou laidst at that time Entranc'd with drinking sleep-pro••uring wine. Thinking to obey my fathers sad command I sate up, and took the sword in my hand;

The truth I speak, three times I rais'd the sword To strike, and yet ••o strike my hand abhor'd My fat••e••s c••mmand did my courage whet; So that his sword, unto thy throat I set, But fear and love would ••ot let me proceed, My chaste hand would not act that tragick deed Then ost my hair I tore the flaxen wealth, And softly thus did reason with thy sel••e: Hyperma••stra, thou hast a cruell father, Therefore obey his commands the rather, Take courage, and obey thy fathers will, And boldly with the rest thy Husband kill. yet since I am a young maid, my hands be Unfit to act a bloody Tragedy. yet imitate thy sisters now again: VVho have by this time a l••t••eir husbands slain: yet i•• this •• and a murther could commit, To stain it with my own blood it were fit. D•• they d••s••rve death, because they possesse Our fa••her's ki••gdo••? which yet ne'rethelesse, Some strangers might from him away have carried, As dowries given them wh••n we were married. Though they deserve death, what shall we do lesse, If we commit this deed of wickednesse? Maids do not love a sword, or kil••ing tool, My fingers fitter are to spin soft wooll, Having thus complain'••, my tears began to ri••e. And dr••pped on thy body from my eyes. And while thy arms abo•••• me thou didst out, Thy hand though with the sword hadst almost put. And left my father should surprize and take thee, With these words I did suddenly awake thee. Rise L••nus who dost now alone survive, Of all thy brethren none are left a••ive:

Make hast, I say, be••ake thy selfe to flight, Make haste, or else thou wilt be slain to night, Awak'd f••om sleep, thou didst amazed stand, To see the glittering sword shine in my hand; And I did wish thee for to fly away By night and save thy selfe, while I did stay. In the morning when ••anaus came to view His sons, which his most bloudy daughters slew He saw them laid in deaths eternal slumber, Yet one was wanting to make up the number: And angry, that so little blood was spill'd, Because I my Husband had not kill'd; My father without any love or care, Drag'd me along even by my flaxen hair. And straight way did command I should be cast Int•• prison, this was my reward at last. For Iuno still on us doth bend her brow, Since Iuno still on us doth bend her brow, Since I•• was transform'd into a Cow. yet punishment enough by her was born, When Iuno did her to a Cow transform. When she that was so fair could not in height Of pleasure yield great Iupiter delight, On the bank of the River Inachus now, She stood, cloth'd in the shape of a white Cow. While in her fathers stream both clear and cold, The shadow of her horns she did behold; And low'd aloud, when she to speak assai'd. Her shape and voice did make her both a••raid Why dost thou fly from thy own selfe alas, Or admire thy shape in that watry glasse? Thus she that was great Iupiters chief Lasfe, Is enforc••d to feed on dry leaves and grasse. Thou drink'st spring-water, and art in amaze VVhen on thy shadow tho•• dost look and gaze.

And of those spreading horns which thou dost bear Upon thy head, thou seem'st to stand in fear And she whose beauty Iupiter did wound, Now lyeth every night on the bare ground, O're hills and rivers thou abroad dost stray, O're seas and countries thou dost find thy way. And yet O Io thou canst not escape, Or changing places, change thy outward shape. Thy selfe doth always bear thee company; Where Nilus seven streams to the sea run, There she unto her former shape did come But why should I such ancient tales relate; I have cause to complain of my own fate. My Father and my Uncle do wage war, And we out of our kingdom banisht are; And he our royal Scepter now doth sway, VVhile miserable we like pilgrims stray: Of fifty brethren thou alone art left, For their deaths, and my sisters I have wept. My sisters and my brothers both slain were, For whose sakes, I can't chuse but shed a tear. And because thou in safety dost survive To be tormented I am kept alive. VVhat punishment shall they expect that be Guilty; when they for goodness condemn me And I must die, because I would not spill My brothers bloud, and cruelly him kill. If therefore thou respectest me thy wife. Or lovest me, because I sav'd thy life; Help me, or if I die, I thee desire, To lay my body on the funeral fire. E••balm my boness with thy moist tears, aed then S••e that thou carefully do bury them.

And let this Epitaph be engraved on My Sepulcher, or on my Marble-stone, "Hype••••uestra here underneath doth lye, "That was i••l rewarded for her piety. "For she most like unto a faithful wife, "Did lose her own to save her husbands life. My trembling hand is tired with the weight Of Chaines, or else I would more largely write.

[illustration]

The Argument of the fifteenth Epistle.

PAris, otherwise called Alexander, sayling to Lacedemon to fetch Helena, which Venus had promised him, was honourably received by Menelaus, but Menelaus and Menos kindred going to Greece, to di∣vide Acreus his wealth, left Paris at home, charging his wife to use him with as much respect as himself. But Paris improving the op∣portunity, began to wooe and court Holena to gain her love. In

this Epistle he artificially discovers his affection, and with amourous boasting iudeavours to insinuate into her affection. And because he knew that women love to hear their birth and beauty praised, Paris endeavours by flattery to gain her favour, urging her praises, and stri∣ving to disgrace her husband. And at last perswades her to go with him to Troy where he would keep her by force.

PARIS to HELENA.

PAris sweet Helen, wisheth health to thee, That health which you can onely give to me. Shall I speak, or need no: I my flame reveale? you know I love you, nor can I conceal My love which I could wish might hidden be, Till time did give the opportunity, VVithout all fear most freely to discover, My selfe to be your faithful constant Lover. But yet who can the fire of love conceal? Which by its own light doth it selfe reveal. yet if thou look'st that I my grief should name, Then know I love thee, these lines shew my flame. And I intreat you to have pity on me, Because my present sufferings proceed from thee. VVith a frowning countenance read not the rest, But such as may become thy beauty best. Thy receipt of thy Letters joyeth me, And cherish hope that I at last shall be Receiv'd into thy favour which I wish, That Venus may her promise keep in this. For Loves fair Mother first perswaded me, To take this journey, in hope to gain thee; And lest thou shouldst through ignorance offend, By divine appointment I came to this end. Venus perswaded me to undertake This journey, which she would propitious make.

For since that Venus promis'd me, that you Should be my wife, I challenge it as due. For her perswasions made me to take ship From Troy, and unto Lacedemon ship. And she did make the wind most fair to stand, She that's sprung from the se•• might it command And as she smooth'd the sea, and ca'm'd the wind, So may she make thy breast most soft and kind. I did not find love here, I broug••t t••e flame, VVith me, and to obtain thy love I came. By wandring storms I was not hither drove My ship was guided hither by true love. Nor came I hither like a merchant man, I have wealth enough, the gods it maintain. Nor yet the Grecian Cities here to view, For richer in my kingdom I can shew. 'Tis thee I aske, 'Tis thee I onely crave, VVhom Venus promis'd me that I should have. I askt thee of her when I did not know the, She promis••d that she would on me bestow thee, For of thy beauty I had heard by fame, Before mine eye had e're beheld the same. yet 'tis no wonder, if that Cup••••s Bow, VVith feathered arrows makes me cry Amo: Since by unchanged fates it's so ordain'd, Then do not thou their hidden will withstand. And that you may beleeve it is my fate, Receive the truth, which I will here relate. When that my mother was with child, And daily did expect delivery, She dream't, for in her dream it so did seem, That of a fire brand she had deliver'd been. She rises, and to P••••am doth unfold Her dream, which he unto his Prophets told.

Who straight foretold that Paris should dest••oy, And like a kindled brand set fire on Troy. But I do think they rather might divine, That brand did signifie this love of mi••e. And though I like a Shepherds son was bred, My shape▪ and spirit soon discovered That I had not been born the son of e'arth, But that I claim'd Nobility by birth. In the Troy valleys there's a place, Which many trees with a co••d shade do grace. Wherein no Sheep do feed nor any Oxe. Nor Goats, that love to climb upon high Rocks. Here looking towards Troy, and to the Sea, I stood and lean'd my selfe against a tree. The truth I tell, me thought the earth then shook, As if oppressed with some heavy foot, And presently swift Mercury from the skies, Descended down and stood before mine eies, And therefore what I saw I may unfold, The God had in his hand a rod of Gold. And three goddesses, Venu••, Iuno, Pallas, Did set their tender feet udon the grasse Th••n cold amazement stiffned my long hair, But winged Mercurie bid me not to fear. "Thou art, says he, c••osen to judge and end "The matter, 'twixt these goddesses, who contend "About their beauty, say they, which▪ shall be "Accounted the most beautiful of three This message I from Iupite•• do bring, VVhich having said, he from the earth did spring, And through the air did a quick passage make, And by his words I did more courrge take. So that my mind more fortified grew, And dreadlesse I each one of them did view,

Who unto me so beautifull did appear, I could not judge which of them fairest were, yet one of them my fancy did approve, Her beauty shew'd she was the Queen of Love, But they con••ending which should fa••••est be, Did all with most ••ich gifts solicite me. Iuno did fairly promise I should be, A mighty Monarch, P••••los promis'd me Learning so that a doubt did now arise, Whether I would chuse to be g••ea or wise. But Venus smiling then, Paris, says she, Those gifts of theirs but glorious t••oubles be I'le give thee Helena thou shalt hereafter In thy arms imbrace Le•••••• fair daughter. Thus both her gift, and beauty conquer'd me, So that to her I gave the victory. And afterward my fate so kind was grown, That now to be the Kings son I was known, At my insta••ment all the Courts did joy, Kept in a yearly festival in Troy And as I lov'd I was belov'd of many, But for thy sake I would not match with any. Kings and ••ukes daughters did of me approve, And fairest Nymphs with me did fall in love, yet all of them were but despis••d of me, After I had this hope of marrying thee. Day and n••ght in my mind I thee did keep, And thinking on thee I should fall asl••ep How comely would thy presence sure have been Whose beauty wounded me a though unseen; I was en••••amed with a strange desire, Burning when I was absent from the fire. My hopes I could no longer now contain, But to sea put forth, my wish to obtain;

And now the losty Phrygian Pines I fell'd, And ••••ees for building ships most fitting held. The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of Garga••u••, and Ida did yield, Gre•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of trees, wherewith I ships did build. I bu••lt ••heir decks, and lined the ships side With planks of Oak, which might a storm abide; And did rig, and tackle them beside. With ropes, and sayles which to the yards were ty'd, And I did set on the stern of the ship, The Image of those Gods which did it keep, And on my own ship I did make them paint Venus and Cupid tha•• it might not want Her safe protection, who had promis'd me, By her assistance I should marry thee. Soon as my fleet was builded thus and fram'd, To sea I presantly resolv'd to stand My father and Mother, when I did require Their leave to go, would not gran my desire, Or licence me, and therefore to have staid My intended journey, both of them astai'd. My Sister Cassan••ra with loosned hair, When as my Ships even weighing anchor were, Said, whither goest thou; thou shalt bring again, By crossing the seas, a destroying flame The truth she said; for I have found a fire, Love hath enflam'd my soft breast with desire, A fair wind from the Port my sails did drive, And I in Helena Countrey did arrive, Where thy Husband did me much kindnesse show: And sure the gods decreed it should be so. He shew'd me all that worthy was of sight In Lacedemon to breed me delight. But there was nothing that my fancy took, But onely thee and thy sweet beauteous ••ook:

For when I saw thee I was even amaz'd. My heart was wounded while on thee I gaz'd, For I remember Venus was like thee, When she would have her beauty judg'd by me. And if thou hadst contended with her, I Had surely given thee the victory. For the report of thee ••abroad was blown, Thy beauty was in every Country known. For through all Nations where the Sun doth rise, Thy beauty onely bear away the prize. Beleeve me, fame did not report so much As thou deserv••st, thy beauty seemeth such, That T••es••s did not thy love disdain, And to steal thee away did think't no shame? When su••ting to the Lacedemonian fashion, Thou didst sport with the young men of thy Nation, In steal••ng thee I like his just desire, But ••ow he could restore thee I admire. For such a beauteous prey had sure deserv'd, To have been kept and constantly preserv'd. For before thou shouldst been took from my bed. Before I would loose thee, I would loose my head. ••las, could I have ceer so forgone thee. O while I liv••d have let thee been took f••om me? Yet if I must restore thee needs at last, I would have ye•• presum'd to touch, and ••ast The gold••n apples of thy Virgin tree? And n••t send thee back with Virginity, Or if that I had spar'd thy Virgin treasures I would have ••i••ed some other pleasures. Then g••ant thy love to Paris, who will be, While I live most constant unto thee. I will be constant to your own desire, My love and life shall both at once expire.

Before great kingdoms I preserved thee, Which royall Iuno promis'd unto me. And learning, Pallas gift, I did refuse, And to enjoy thy sweet selfe I did chuse. When Lun••, Venus, and fair Pa••la•• too, Their naked bodies unto me did shew; And in the Idean valleys did not grudge, In case of beauty to make me their Judge, yet I do not repent of my election, My mind is constant to my first affection. I beseech thee let not my hope prove vain, Who spar'd no labour in hope thee to gain. Beneath your selfe you need not to decline, your bi••th is noble, so is also mine, So that if we do match, you cannot fail Beneath your birth, or be di••grac'd at all. For if you search into my pedigree, Iove and Al••ctra are of kin to me, And my father Priam doth the Scepter sway, Of the great'st kingdom in all Asia Many Cities and sait Houses thou shal see, And Temples suiting ••he gods Majestie. Thou shalt ••ee Troy, with Towers encompass'd round, Whose walls Ap••llo Harpe at first did found. Besides there are such store of people there, The Land the peop••e cannot hardly bear, Great troops of Trojans Matrons thou shalt meet And store of Troi••n wives in every street. The poverty of G••eece thou wilt then pity, When thou seest one house as rich as a City. yet Sp••••ta I cannot contemn with scorn, Because thou in that happy Land wert born. But S••a••ta is poor, and cannot afford thee Dressings, which with thy beauty may agree.

That face of thine ought not to be content With some common, but a curious ornament, And it is fit, thou shouldst the old lay by, And every day wear some fresh rarity. When the habit of the Trojans you do see, You may think womens habits richer be. Then Hele-grant me love not disdain, A Trojan, who thy favour would obtain, He was a Troian from our blood descended, Who with this Heavenly office was befriended. To fill I••ve Cup, and with water allay The strength of his Nectar and Ambrosia. A Troian in Aurora took delight, Who doth begin the day, conclude the night Anc••i••es was descended to from Troy, Whom the Queen of Love desired to enjoy, And did descend in the Id••an Vally, In amorous ways to sport with him and dally I am a ••roian too, and if in truth, You should compare my beauty and my youth With Menelaus; I suppose that he, S••ould not in your choice be preser'd to me, By ma••ching with me, thou shalt not be kin To such as bloudy At••••us hath bin, Who with the flesh of men his Horses fed, From which sight the Suns frighted Horses fled. My Grandfather did not his Brother kill, As M••nelaus Grandfather, who did spill Myrti••••s blood, who being murder'd so, He into the Myrtoan-sea did throw. Nor yet our great Grandfather catcheth a••ter, (Like unto Tantalus in the Stygian water) Apples and water, which are both so nigh His ••ips, and yet from his touch'd lips do flie,

yet if from them thou hast desc••nded been, Iove would me wish to be to thee a kin. yet unworthy Menelaus takes delight In thee, and doth enjoy thee every night: I scarcely can behold thee at the Table, And there to look on thee I am not a••le: For at that very time I observe and find Many things, that do much offend my mind. For when the banquet is brought in then I Do wish my room unto my enemy. For it doth grieve me when I do behold, How with his armes he doth thy neck infold. And I could blush, when he before my face Doth thy small wast so clownishly embrace. And it did break my hear•• when I did see, How he would cast his furred gown over thee. And when that he would give thee kisses soft, I put the cup before my eyes full oft. His close imbr••ces I did never brooke, For I beheld them with a dwon cast looke. My meat, as if within thy mouth it grew, I most u••willingly did seem to chew. And I sigh'd often which when thou did'st see, Thou oftentimes would'st smile, and laugh at me. Then I would strive to quench my flame with wine, But love through drunkennesse most cleare doth shine. When I look'd away, lest I more should see, Thy beauty made me look again on thee. It greived me to look on my disgrace, But greiv••d me more not to look on thy face; And I d•••• strive my passion for to hide, But oh, dessembled love is soonest spy'd. I do not flatter thee, thou do••st perceive That I did love thee, nor could I deceive:

Thou discern'st my love, which I wish may be Known to thy selfe alone, and none but thee. When tears did spring, I turn'd away my head, Lest Men••laus should aske why I them shed. How o••t have I told fained tales of love? Hoping I might thereby your favour move, Under a fained name hoping to move you, But it was I indeed did truly love you. And that I might my mind more freely speak, A wanton drunkennesse I would counterfeit I remember once thy bosom open lay, And to my view thy white breasts did betray; Thy fair breasts which were far more white in show, Than purest milk, or the new fallen Snow; Or whiter than that Swans fair downy feather, When Iupiter and Leda lay together. When I beheld them, I was so amaz'd, My Ring fell from my finger as I gaz'd. When thou kissed'st thy Daughter, I Would not miss To take thy kisse off With another kisse. And sometimes I some ancient song Would sing, Of those that heretofore had Lovers been. Sometimes by secret signs my love was shown, And by a nod or wink I made it known. Then to Clynihino and Eth••a I did shew. My grief, and both of them began to wooe. Thy waiti••g maids who when I had begun They both did leave me before I had done. And I do wish the gods had been so bent, To have made thee prize of a Turnament. That he that got the victory might bear thee Out of the field, and he that won thee wear thee▪ As Hippom••nes fair Atalanta won. Who all her former suiters had out-run.

Thou in the Ph••ygian Cities shalt be seen, Like Hippodamia brought in like a Queen By Pelops, and as stout A••cides brake Achelous horns for Deianira's sake; So by some valient adventure, I Would win thee by some act of ••ivalry. But now I can but beg of thy sweet beauty, And at thy feet prostrate my self in duty. O thou that art thy brothers onely glory, To whom even J••ve himself could not be sorry To be a husband, if so be yon were Not by birth descended from Jupiter. Either I will return to Troy with thee, Or here in thy Laconia buried be. Loves arrow hath so wounded my soft breast, That it unto the very bone hath peire'd. My sister truly propheci••d of me, That with loves ar••ow I should wounded be. Then since (sweet H••l••••) 'tis ordain••d by fate, That I should love thee, pity my estate Do not contemn my love, but my ••u••t heare, So may the gods attend unto thy prayer. If thou wilt let me lye with thee to night, More I could say that should breed thy delight. To wrong thy husband so, art thou asham'd; Or that thy marriage bed should be so stain'd? O Helen; thou a country con••cience hast; "Dost thou imagine to be fair and chast? Either change thy b••auty o•• more loving be, "For beauty is a foe to Chastity. Venus doth love Loves ••••ol en fruit to gather. And Jupiter scapes did make him t••y father. Then how can'st thou be chast, if thou take after Jupiter and Leda? Thou art thei daughter.

May'st thou be ch••st when thou to Troy art brought, And for thy rape may I be held in fault. Let's not offend, and after mend our life, When as Venus promised, thou art my wife. Beside••, thy husbands actions do commend The same to thee, who that he might be-friend His guest, absents himself, to give us leasure, And opportunity to enjoy pleasure. To go to Cre••te he thought it time most fit, O he's a Man of a honourable wit; Which at his departure was well exprest, When he bid thee use well his Trojan guest. Thy absent husbands will thou dost neglect, Thou tak'st no care of me, nor me affect, Being so senselesse, thinkest thou that he Can prize thy beauty or else value thee? He cannot, for if he had known the danger; He had not bid thee be kind to a stranger. Although my words nor love cannot move thee Let us improve this opportunity. Then thy husband our selves shall shew more folly, If we loose time through bashfull melancholly; To be thy paramour he offer'd me, Make use then of his weak simplicity. For thou dost lye alone, and so do I, '••were better if we did together lye. Let us injoy our selves, for I do say, "Midnights sport yeilds more pleasure than the day, Then thou shalt have fair promises of me, And I will bind my selfe to marry thee. For I do vow, if that thou canst beleive me, For one nights lodging i••le a Kingdome give thee: And if thou can••st but so belei••ing be, Unto my Kingdome thou shalt go with me.

That thou followed'st me it shall not be thought, For I alone will bear the blame, and fault. As Thes••us did, my actions shall be such, And his example may thee neerely touch. For Theseus did carry thee away, Castor and Pollux so did also stray. And I will be the fourth my love's as ample To thee, and I will follow their example. My Trojan Fleet for thee doth ready stay, And when you please, we soon may sail away. Thou in Troy City shalt live as a Queen, Ador'd as if thou had'st some goddesse been. And wheresoever thou dost please to be, The people shall offer sacrifice to thee. Thy kindred, and the Trojans shall present Gifts unto thee, with humble complement. I cannot here describe thy happinesse, Far above that my Letter doth express. Let not the fear of Wars thy thoughts amaze, Or that all Greece will straight great forces raise To fetch thee back; who have they fetcht again? Beleive me, those fears are but fond, and vaine. The Thracians Orythia took away, Yet no wars after troub'ed Thracia. I••son from Colchos brought away Medea, And yet no wars did wast Thessalia. Phaedra and Ariadne stollen were By Theseus, yet Minos made no warre. "Dangers may seem far greater than they are, "And fear may be without all ground of fear. Suppose too (if you please) wars should ensue, yet I by force their forces could subdue. My Country can to yours yeild equal forces, For it hath store of men and store of horses.

Nor can your husband Menela•• shew More valiant courage, than Paris can do. For when I was but a young stripling, I Did rescue our flocks from the Enemy; VVho did intend to drive away them al••, VVhereon they did me Alexander call. And of Ilio••eus, and Deiphobus I, VVhen I was young did get the victory. And as in single combate I plaid my part, So with my bow I could hit any mark. And I know M••n••lau was not su••h A forward youth, nor could he do so much. Besides, Hect••r's my Brother, who may stand In account of Souldiers, for a whole band My strength, and forces are unknown to thee, Nor knowest thou what a husband I shall be. And therefore, either no wars shall ensue, Or Trojan forces shall the Greek•• subdue. Yet I could be ••ontent ••or such a wife "To fight: there's credit in a noble strife. Besides if al the world should fight for thee, Thou shalt be famous to posterity: Sweet Hele•• then consent to go with me, what I have promis'd shall performed be.

[illustration]

The Argument of the sixteenth Epistle.

HElena having read Paris his Epistle; in her answer seems at first offended, and chides him, and for modesties sake objects against his perswasions, proving them idle, but so that she rather gives, then takes away encouragement from him to proceed in his suit, thereby shewing a womans crafty wit, according to that of Ovid, in his Art of Love:

〈…〉〈…〉 tri••tis, Quae{que} rogat, ne se sollicitare velis, Quod rogat illatimet! quod non rogat optat ut i••stes, In sequere, &c.

At first pehaps her Letter will be sowre, And on thy hop••s her paper seem to lowre; In which she will conjure thee to be mute, And charge thee to forbear thy hated suit. Tush, what she most forwarnes, she most desires, In frosty woods are hid the hottest fires.

At last she seems to consent to Paris desire, advising him as a more safe and honest course, not to write his desire, but impart his mind to her waiting-maids Clymene and Athra, he dealing with them, so farre prevailed, that he brought both Helena and them to Troy.

HELENA'S Answer to PARIS.

SInce thy wanton ••etter did my eyes infect When I did read it, why should I neglect To answer it? Since to answer it can be No breach of chastity at all in me. What b••ldnesse was it in thee, thus to break All Lawes of hospitatlity and to speak Thus by your Letter therby for to move My affection and solicite me for love. Didst thou on purpose saile into our Port? That thou might'st wooe me, and with fair words court, And had not we power to avoid this danger? And shut our Palace ga••e against a stra••ger? Who dost requite our love with injury? Didst thou come as a gue••••, or enemy? I know my just complaint will seem to thee, To proceed from rudenesse, and rustic••ty,

Let me seem rude, so I preserve my ••ame, And keep my honour free from spot or slain. Although my countenance be not sad or sowre, Though with bent brows I do not sit and lowre: yet I have kept my clear fame without spot, No man hath in my Tables found a blot. So that I wonder whence thy encouragement Proceedeth, that thou shouldest my love attempt: Because once Theseus stole me as a prey, Shall I the Second time be stolne away? It had been my fault had I given consent, But being stolne against my will I went. And yet he gathered not my Virgin slower, He us'd no violence, though I was in his power: Some kisses onely he did striving gain, But no more kindnesse could from me obtain. Such is thy wantonnesse, thou wouldst not be Like him content alone with kissing me. He brought me back untoucht, his modesty Seem'd to excuse his former injury; And plainly it appear'd, that the young man For stealing me grew penetent again. But Paris comes when Theseus is fallen off, That Helen may be still the worlds scoffe. yet with a Lover who can be offended? If thy love prove true as thou hast pretended? This I do doubt, although I do not feare, My beauty can command love any where. But because women should not soon believe men, For men with flattering words do oft deceive them. Though other Wives offend, and that a fair one Is seldome chast, yet I will be that rare one. Because thou think my mother did offend, By her example you think me to bend.

My Mother was deceiv'd; Iove to her came In the shape of a milk-white feathered Swan. If I offend 'tis not my ignorance, For no mistake can shaddow my offence. And yet her error may be happy thought, For to offend with greatness is no fault. But I should not be happy, if I erre, Since I should not offend with Iupiter. Of royal kindred thou dost boast to me, But Io••e'•• the fountain of Nobility. Nay though from Jupiter thy self doth spring, And P••lops, and Atreus be to thee a kin; Jupiter's my Father, who himself did cover With a Swans feathers, and deceiv'd my Mother. Go reckon now thy Pedegree of thy Nation, And talk of Pri••m and La••med••••. Whom I do reverence, yet thou shalt be Remov'd from Jupiter to the fifth degree; And I but one; and albeit that Troy Be a great, land, such is this we enjoy. Though it for wealth, and store of men excell, The land is barbourous, where thou do'st dwell. yet thy Letter promises such gifts to me, That goddesses might therewith ••empted be. But if I may with modesty thus speak, Thy self, and not thy gifts may fancy take. For either I'le keep my integrity, Or for thy love, not gifts I'le go with thee. Though I despise them nor, if e're I take Those gifts, it shall be for the givers sake. For when thy gifts have no power to mo••e me, I do esteem this more t••at thou do'st love me And that thou shoul'dst a painfull voyage take Through the rough Seas, and all even for thy sake.

And I do mark thy carriage at the Table, Although I to dissemble it am able. Sometimes thou wantonly wilt on me glance, And put me almost out of countenance, Sometimes thou ••gh••st and then the cup do'st take, And to drink where I did drink, do'st pleasure take. And so sometimes with thy fingers, or a wink, Thou closely wou••d••st expresse what thou didst think. And I confesse I have blush't many times, Fo•• fear my husband should discern thy signes. And oftentimes unto my self I said, If he were shamless he would be dismaid. And on the Table thou hast many a time Fashon'd and drawn forth with a little wine Those letters, wh••ch my name did plainly show, And underneath them thou hast writ, Amo. I look't on it, but seem'd not to beleive thee, But now this word Amo doth also give me. By these allurments thou my heart might'st bend: If that I would have yeilded to offend. I must confess thou ha•••• a beauteous face Might win a Maid to yeild to thy embrace. Let some one rather honestly enjoy thee, Then that a strangers love should so destroy me. To resist the power of beauty learn by me, Vertue abstains from things which pleasing be. By how many young men have I wooed been? That beauty Paris sees others have seen. Thou art more bold, but they as much did see, Nor hast more courage, but less modesty. I would thy ship had then arrived here, When a thousand youths for my love Suiters were. For before a thousand I had preferr'd thee, Nay even my husband must have pardon'd me.

But thou hast stai'd too long, and hast so trifle'd That all my Virgin joyes are gon and rifled. Thou wert too flow, therefore suppress thy flame. What thou defir'st another doth obtaine. Though to have been thy Wife I do wish still, Mene••a•••• enjoyes me, not 'gainst my will. Cease with fair words to mollify my breast, If you love me let it be so exprest Let me live as fortune hath allotted me, Do not seek to corrupt my chastity. But Venus promis'd thee in the Idean wood, When three nak'd goddesses before thee stood: One promised a Kingdome unto thee, T'other that thou in wars should'st prosperous be. But Venu••, who was the third in this strife, Did promise Helena should be thy wife. I scarce believe the goddesses would be In a case of beauty judg'd so by thee. Were the first true, the latter part is sain'd, That she gave thee me, for Judgement obtain'd. I do not think my beauty such that she Could think to bribe thy judgement by that fee. I am content that men may beauty prize, That beauty V••n••s praises, she envies. Ther's no assurance in a strangers love, As they do wander, so their love doth rove. And when you hope to find most constancy, Their love doth coole, and they away do flye. Wi••nesse Ariadne and Hipsiphile, Who••e lawlesse ove procur'd their misery. And it is said, thou did'st Oenon wrong, Forsaking her, whom thou had••st lov'd so long. This by thy self cannot denyed be, For know I took care to enquire of thee.

Besides if thou had'st a desire to prove Constant in thy affection and true love; yet thou would••st be compell••d at ••••••st to sail, And with thy Trojans thou away would'st saile. For if the wished night appointed were, Thou would'st be gone, if that the wind stood fair. And when our pleasures grew unto the height, Thou would'st be gone, if that the wind stood right: So by a fair wind I shou••d be bereft Of joyes even in the midst imperfect left. Or as thou perswad'st shall I follow thee To Troy, and so great Priams Daughter be. yet I do not so much contemn swift fame, That I would stick disgrace upon thy name. What would Priam, and his Wife think of me With's Daughters, and thy brothers which may be? W••at m••ght Sparta, and Greece of Helen say? Or what might Troy report, and Asia? And how canst thou hope I should faithfull prove? And not to others, as to thee g••ant love So that if a st••angers ship do arrive here, It will procure in thee a jealous fear. And in thy rage call me adulteresse, When thou art guilty of my wickednesse. Thou that didst cause my fault wilt me upbraid, O may I fi••st into my g••ave be laid; But I shall have Troys wealth, go rich and brave, And more then thou canst promise I shall have. Tissue, and Cloth of gold they shall present me, And store of gold shall for a gift be sent me. yet pardon me, those gifts cannot inflame me, I know not how thy Land would entertain me, If in the Trojan Land I should wrong'd be, How could my brother, or father help me?

False Jason with fair promi••es beguild Med••a, Who afterward exil'd. Her Father Eetes was not there, to whom, When she was scorn'd by Ja••on, she might come. Nor her Mother Ipsea to whom she Might return, nor her sister Chal••io••e. I fear not this, was not Me••ea afraid. "For those who mean best, soonest are be••rai'd, Ships in the harbour do in safety ride. But are tost at Sea, and do storms abi••e. And that same fire-brand too affrighteth me, Of which thy mother dremt, and thought that she Had been deliver••d: and besides too I Do fear Cass••ndra's dismall prophesie? Who did foretell, as truth did her inspire, The Greekes should wast the City T••oy with fire. And besides, as faire Venus favours thee, Because thy judgment gave her the victory; I fear the other goddesses do grudge At thee, because thou did'st against them judge. And I do know that wars may follow after, Our fatall love shall be reveng'd with slaughter. Yet to allow her praise I am content, Why should I question that which she hath meant? yet for my ••ow belief be not thou griev'd. For such good matters hardly are beleiv'd. First I am glad that Ven••s did regard me, Secondly, that with me she did reward thee. And that Helen, when you of her beauty heard, Was before Pallas and Iuno's gifts preferr'd. Am I both Wisdom, and Kingdom to thee? S••nce thou ••ov'st me, should I no kindnesse shew thee? I••me not so cruell, yet cannot incline To love him who I fear cannot be mine.

For suppose I to Sea would go with thee, To steal hence I have no opportunity. In love's thef••s I am ignorant and rude, Heavens knows my husband I did ne're delude: And in a Letter thus my mind to shew, Is a task, I before did never do. They are happy that do use it every day, To offend it is hard to f••nd the way. A kind of painfull fear restraineth me, And how they look on us me-thinks I see. Of the grumbling people I am much affraid, For Aethra told me long since what they said. But take no notice, nor dost thou desist, I know you can di••emble if you list Then sport and spare not, but let us be wary, "And if not chast, let us at least be c••ary. For though that Menelaus absent be, I must di••creetly use my liberty. For though he is on earnest businesse gone, And for this journey had occasion; I took occasion thus my love to show, Make hast to return, Sweet heart, if you go. And he straightway to recompence my wish Of his return gave me a joyful kisse. Charging me that my care should be exprest In looking to his house, and Troj••n guest. I smil'd, and to him could say naught at all, I striv'd, to refrain laughing with, I shall. So with a prosperious wind he sail'd to C••eet, Yet to do, what thou dost list, is not meet. I'me kept in his absence with guard most strong, "Do'st thou not know the hands of Kings are long? Besides, thou wrong'st us both in praising me, For when he hears it he will jealous be.

The fame of beauty maketh me suspected, I would I had the same of it negle••••ed Though to leave us together he thought fit, To my own keeping he did me commit "He knew there could no better guardian be, "To keep me chast than my own honesty. He fear'd my beauty, but my chastity Did take away that idle jealousie. To make use of time thou advisest me, Since his absence gives opportunity. I must confess I have a good mind to it, But am yet unresolv'd, and fear to do it. Be••ides you know my husband is from home, And you without a wife do lie alone; The nights are long and while we sit together In one house, we may talk unto each other. And woe is me! when we are both alone, I know thou hast a fair alluring tongue Thus every circumstance seemes to invite me, And nothing but a bashfull fear doth fright me. Since perswasions do no good, leave that course And make me leave this bashfullnesse by force. Such force would seem a welcome injury, And I would fain be thus compell'd by thee. yet let me rather my new love restrain, A li••tle wat••r quenc••es a young flame. Did not ••he stout inhabitants of Thessalia F••ght with the Centaures for Hippod••mia? And dost thou not think Menelaus hath, And Tyndarus as violent a wrath? A though of valour thou do'st boast to me, Thy words and amorous face doth not agree. Thou art not fit for M••rs, nor for the field, But for V••nus combats, which do pleasures yeild.

Let valient hardy men of wars approve, But Paris follow thou the wars of love. Let Hector fight for thee, whom thou dost pra••se, The gentle wars of love shall give thee bayes. And in these wars 'tis wisdom for to fight, And any Maid that's wise will take delight. Not upon idle points of modesty ••••and, I may perhaps in time give thee my hand. But it is your desire, that you and I Should meet, I know what you do mean thereby. Thus far this guilty Letter hath reveal'd A piece of my mind the rest is conceal'd. By Clymena and Aethra we may further Make known our minds, more fully to each other▪ For these two Maidens in such matters be Companions, and Counsellers to me.

[illustration]

The A••gument of the sev••nte••nth Epistle.

THe Sea of Hellespont being seven furlongs over, and as Pli••y wit∣nesseth dividing Europe from Asia, had on the one side Sectos in Eu∣rope where Hero lived, and Abydo•• in Asia where L••and••r dwelled, being two opposite Cities. Leander of Ab••do•• being deeply in love with Hero of Se••tos, did use to swim by night unto her over the Helle∣spont▪ but being hindred by the tempestuous roughnesse of the Sea,

after seven dayes were past, he sent this Letter to his sweet heart Hero, by an adventerous ship mast••r that put ••ort•• to Sea in the storm Wherein he sheweth first that his love is firm, and constant. Af∣terward he complaineth that the roughnesse of the Sea should hinder him from swiming to her. Lastly, he promiseth her that he will ••••••t••re to come, and expose himself to the dangers of the Sea. rather than to want the sight of her, or h•••• sweet company. Whence M••rtial thus of him signifieth.

C••m 〈…〉〈…〉 a••da•• Leander amore••, Et fissus tumidujam premeretur aqui••; Sie miser Instantes affatus dicitar ••ndas; Parcite dum propero, m••rg••••e dum recto.

While bo•••• Leander to his Sweet heart 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ And swelling waves did beat his weary limbs. To the billowes that beats him so, 'Tis said that thus he ••pake; Spare me while I to Hero go, Drown me where I come back.

LEANDER to HERO

THy love Leander wisheth thee all hea••th, (Hero) which I had rather being my self▪ For if the rough Seas had more calmer been, From Abydos to Sestos I would swim. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the fates smile upon our love then, I Do know, thou wilt read my lines willingly. This paper-messenger may welcome be, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thou had'st rather have my company. But the fates frown, and will not suffer me, (As I was us'd) to swim unto thee. The skie is black, the seas are rough, alas, ••o that no ship or Barke from home dare passe. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 one bold Ship-master went from our Haven▪ To whom this present Letter I have given.

And had come with him, but the ••••ydi••us stay'd Upon their watch-towers, while the Anchor way'd▪ For presently they would have me descri'd, And discern'd our love, which we seek to hide. Forth with this Letter I did write, and so I said unto it, happy Letter go; This is thy happiness, thou must understand, That H••ro shall receive thee with her hand. And perhaps thou shalt kisse her rosy lips, While with her teeth the Seal she open rips. Having spoken these words, then my right hand after Did write these words upon this silent Paper. But I do wish, that my right hand might be Not us'd in writing, but to swim to thee: It is more fit to swim yet I can write My mind with ease and happily indite, Seven nights are past which seem to me a year Since first the Seas with stormes inraged were. These nights seem'd long to me, I could not sleep, To think the Sea should stil his roughnesse keep. Those Torches which on thy Tower burning be I saw, or else I thought that I did see. Thric••e I put off my cloaths, and did begin Three times to make tryal if I could swim. But swelling seas did my desire oppose, Whose rising billowes o're my face o'rt flowes. But Bor••as, who art the fiercest wind, Why thus to crosse me, do••st thou bend thy mind? Thou dost not storm against the Seas but me. Hadst thou not been in love what woulst thou be? Though thou art cold, ye•• once thou d••d'st approve Ori••••••, who did warm thy heart with love. And would'st ••ave vexed, if with Orithya fair Thy passage had been hindred through the air.

O spare me then, and calm thy blustring wind, Even so may••t thou from Aro••us favour find. But I perceive he murmers at my prayer, And still the seas are rough and stormy are, I wish that Daedalus would give w••ngs to m•• Th••ough the Icar••••n seas not far off be, Where Icaru•• did fall when he did proffer To fly too high, let me the same chance suffer While flying hrough the air to thee I come, As through the wa••er I have often swom. But since both wind, and seas deny to me My passage, think how I fi••••t came to thee. It was at ••hat time when night doth begin, (Th' remembrance of past pleasures, pleasure bring) When I who was Amans, which we translate A Lover stole out of my Fathers Gate, And having put off all my cloaths straightway, My arms through the moi•••• seas cut their way, The Moon did yeild a glimmering light to me, Which all the way did bear me company. I looking on her, said, some ••avour have Towards me, and think upon the Latmian Cave. O favour me! for thy End••m••••ns sake, Prosper this stollen journey which I take. A mortals love made thee come from thy Spheare, And she I love is like a goddess fair. For none unlesse that she a goddess be, Can be so vertuous, and so fair as she. Nay none but Venus, or thy self can be So fair, view her, if you'l not credit me: For as thy silver beams do shin more br••ght Than lesser streams, which yeild a dimmer light: Even so of all fair ones she is rarest, And Cynthia cannot doubt but she's the fairest.

When I th••se words, or else the like had said, My passage through the Sea by night I made. The Moon•• bright beams were in t••e water seen, And 'twas as light as if it day had been. No noise nor voice unto my ears did come, But the murmur•• of the water when I swom. Only the A••cyons for lov'd ••eyx sake, Seemed by night a sweet complaint to make. But when my Arms to grow tyr'd did Begin Vnto the top of the waves I did spring. But when I saw thy Torch O then quoth I, Where that fire blazeth, my fair love doth lye. For that same shore, said I, doth her contain, Who is my goddesse, my fire and my flame. These words to my Arms did such strength restore, Me thought the Sea grew ca••mer then before▪ The coldnesse of the waves, I seem'd to scorn, For love did keep my amorous heart still warm. The neerer I came to the shore, I find The greater courage and mo••e strength of mind. But when I could by thee discern'd be, Thou gav'st me courage by looking on me. T••en to please thee, my Mistriss I begin To spread my arms abroad, and strongly swim. Thy Nurse from leap••ng down could scarce stay thee▪ This without flattery I did also see, And though she did restrain thee, thou didst come Down to the sho••e and to the wav••s didst run. And to imbrace and kisse me didst begin, "••he gods to get such kisses sure would swim. And thy own garments thou wouldst put on me, Drying my hair which had been wet at Sea. What past besides, the Tower, and we do know. And Torch, which through the sea my way did show.

The joyes of that night we no more can count Then d••ops of water in the Hellespont. And because we had so little time for pleasure, We us'd our time, and did not wast our leasure. But when Aurora rose from Ti••bons bed, And the morning star shew'd his glistering head, Th••n we did kisse in hast, and kisse again, And that the night was past we did complain. When thy Nurse did me of the ••ime in••o••m, Then from thy Tower, I to the shore return. With tears we parted, and then I beg'n, Back through the Hellespont again to ••wim. And while I swom, I shou••d look back on thee, As far as I could the (sweet Hero) see. And if you will believe me, when I do come Hither unto thee, then me thought I swom. But when from thee again I return••d back, I seem'd like one that had suffer'd ship wrack, To my home I went unwillingly again, My City 'gainst my will doth me contain. Alas! why should we be by seas disjoyn'd? Since that love hath united us in mind Since we bear such affection to each other, Why should not we in one land dwell together? In Sest••s, or Abydos dwell with me, T••y countrey pleaseth mee, as mine doth thee. VVhy should the rough seas thus perplex our minds? VVhy should we be parted by cruel winds? The Dolphins with our love acquainted grow. The fish by often swiming doth me know. And through the water I have worn a path, Like to those wheel-ruts which a high way hath, I complain that I to such shifts was put. But now the winds that passage have up shut.

The Hellespont is rough, the waves go high. So that ships scarce in Ha••bour safe do lye. And I believe the sea her name fi••st found From the Virgin Helle, who was in't drown'd. This sea shall by her death infamous be, Her name do••h shew her guilt, though she spare me▪ I envy Iason, who did saile to Gre••c••, And fetch away from thence the golden Fleece. In his ship call'd the Ram, yet I desire No ship of his, this is all I require; That the waters of the Hellespont would be So gentle to permit me swim to thee. I want no art to swim, give leave to me. And both the ship and Pilot I will be. I will not sail by the great or lesser beare, For by such common stars love cannot steare. Let o••hers on Andromedes star look, Or ••adnes Crown to Heaven took; Nor yet Calist•••• stars which do shine e'ear In the Polar Circle, which they call the Beare. These stars wh••c•• by the gods were stellifi••d, In my doubtfull passage shall not be my g••ide But I have a more brighter star than thes••, My love wil guid me through the darkest seas, Oft when my arms g••ew tyr'd with weariness, That they cannot cut their wayes t••rough the se••s, When I do tell them, that to quit their pain, They should imbrace hee, they would then again, To enjoy their prize, with such a fresh strength swim, Like a swift Horse that doth to ru•• begin. Thou art my star and I will folow thee, Rather then all those stars in Heaven be. Thou, thou art far more worthy for to shine A star in Heaven, yet stay on ear••h thy time.

Or if thou wilt needs go, then shew to me The way to Heaven, that I may follow thee, Thou a••t here yet I the way to thee can't find, The roughness of the seas perplex my mind. What though the Ocean do not us two par••? This narrow Sea keeps me from thee sweet-heart. If I should in some distant Countrey be, It would cut off all hope of seeing thee. But now I am inflam'd with more desire, And burn the more the nearer to the fire. And though the thing I wish for absent be, yet I do ••ope for that I cannot see. That which I love I almost seem to touch, Which makes me weep to think my hopes are such, I catch at Apples which from me do fl•• Like ••ant••lus; or the stream which glides by. Shall I then n••ve•• be possest of thee, Untill the winds and sea so pleased be? When wind and water fickle be, shall I Upon the vvind and water still relie? Shall I be hindred by the raging seas? The Goats, Boote, or the Plejades? If I have any courage, thou shalt see, Love shall embolden me to swim to thee▪ And if I promise, I will come awa••, And perform promise wit••out all delay. If seas continue still their raging anger, I'le try to swim to thee in despight of danger; Either my bold attempt shall ••appy prove, Or death shall give an end unto my love. Yet do I wish my bo••y may be driven, Like to a wrack to thy beloved haven. Then thou wilt weep on it, and say 'was I Was the occasion, that this man did dye

I know when thou hast in my L••tter sound This word of death, thou wilt hate the sad sound. Fear not; but that the sea may now inclin•• To calmnesse, joyn your prayers I pray with mine. If it were calm untill I did swim thither, Arriv'd again let it be blustring weather, In the Ha••bour of thy Castle I'le abide, And in thy chamber at safe Anchor ride. Let blustring Bo••••as strongly there inclose me, I delight ••o stay there though he oppose me. For then I will be woa••y, and most slack To venture to return, or to swim back. On the deaf billowes i'le not rail in vain, Nor on the rough and raging sea complain. The winds and thy embraces should keep me Wind-bound, and love-bound, still to stay with thee. Yet soon as the sea permits i'le begin To use my armes, and unto thee i'le swim. And ••e thou carefull to put sorth a light Vpon thy turrer, to direct my sight. Vntill then let my Letter lodge this night With thee, as Ha••binger of my delight. Which though it go before me, I do pray, That I may ••ollo•• it without delay.

[illustration]

The Argument of the eighteenth Epistle.

HEre having received Leanders Letter answereth it with many e••∣pressions of a mutual affection, and invites him to ha••ten his com∣ming, that she might injoy his company: sometimes accusing his slacknesse, thereby to she•• the ••incerity and integrity of her own love, sometimes inve••ghing against the Sea: sometimes fearing lest be loved some other; then recanting that suspition ascribing it

to the custome of Lovers who are apt to suspition. L••stly, sh••e perswade•• h••m not to expose him••elf to the mercy of the S•••• untill it grow calm.

HERO to LEANDER

THat health Lean••er which thou sent'st in word, Come and more real••y to me afford. For our joyes are deferred by thy stay, And my love growes impatient of delay. Our love is equal, but I am the weaker, For men are o•• a stout and stronger nature. Maids have a tender body and so••t mind, If thou do stay, I shall with grief be p••n'd. You m••n cans••end the tedious time and leasure, In hunting or some other countrey pleasure. Or sometimes you can go unto the Court, Or in riding, or, tilting take your sport. you often Hawk, and Angle many a time, And spend some hou••s in drinking of rich wine. But unto me love doth a torment prove, I have no busine••s here to do, but love. Thou onely art a pleasure unto me, I love thee more than can believed be. For either with my Nurse I talk of thee, Wondring what stayeth thy comming unto me, Or looking to the Sea, sometimes I chide The sea, 'cause it doth still so rough abide. or when I see the sea is calmer grown, I think that when thou mai'st thou wilt not come. While I complain, sad tears spring in my eyes, Which with a trembling hand my old Nurse dryes. Then I do look if any print rema••n. of thy foot-steeps, which the sands yet retain.

And oftentimes I enquire if any be Bound to Abydos, so to write to thee. And I do kisse thy clothes thou didst leave here When thou didst swim the Hellespont without fear▪ When day is done and the more friendly night With spang'ed stars hath put the day to flight. Then I set out a light for a land-mark Upon my Tower, to guid thee in the dark. And then sometimes with spinning I assay, To pass the time which runs so slow away. And that I may the tedious hours beguile, I talk of my L••••nder all the while. And to my ••urse I speak thus, dost not thou Think that my joy and love is coming now; Or think'st thou that his friends watch him, that he Is hindred so from coming unto me? Dost thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 think that he even now begins To put off his cloaths, and annoint his limbs▪ yes sayes my old Nur••e, who did strive to keep Time with her head while she did nodding sleep. And senselesse of all love, car'd not though I Did want thy kisses, and sweet company. Then I should say to her a little after, Now I do think ••e's in swiming through the water. And having drawn my threed forth I would say, Now I do think he is in the middle way. Then I look'd forth, and fea••fully d••d pray The w'nd would favour thee upon the way; Sometimes I listned unto every voice; Thinking thou wert come, if I heard a noise. Thus I would spend most of the night, till sleep Upon my weary eyes by stealth did creep. And sometimes thou sleep'st with me in my dre••m, And art come, though ••o come thou dost not m••an.

And now methinks that in my dream I see Thee swmming, now thou art imbracing me. And now to cloath thy wet limbes I do strive; And in my warm bosome do thee revive. And other things I dream of which must be Concealed at this time for modesty. For that which in the doing p••eas'd us well, yet being done it is a sh••me to tell. But woe is me, these pleasures are soon done, For when thy dream doth vanish, thou are gone. O let us at the length more firmly meet. That our joyes may be real and mo••e sweet. VVhy have I lain so many nights from thee? And why do•••• thou delay to swim to me? Though the Seas yet for swiming unfit are, yet yester night the winds more calmer were? And why didst thou then fear to come to me▪ VVhy didst not use that oppor••unity Though you have another season, yet at least Because this was the first this was the best. The ficle sea doth quickly change her face, But thou canst swim it in a little space, And suppose winds and storms should keep thee here, VVhile I imbrace thee, thou needst nothing fear: Then I would have the winds blow high enough, And I would pray the seas might still be rough. But why dost thou the winds and Seas now fear, VVhich formerly by thee despised were? For I remember thou didst swim to me, VVhen the Seas were as rough as now they be: VVhen I did wish thee not so rash to be, Lest thy rashness should make me weep ••or thee. But where is all thy courage now become? Who through the Hellespont hast often swom.

Yet do not thou such rash adventures make But when the sea is calm thy journey take. If thou dost love me still, as thou dost write, And that our flame of love burns clear and bright: I fear not winds so much that crosse my mind As that thy love should prove sicle as wind. Or that thou think'st me unworthy to enter Such dangers, and for my sake to adventure. And sometimes I am very much afraid, Lest thou of Abydos scorn'st a Sest••n maid. But it would g••••eve me more then all the rest, If thou shouldst love another Sweet-heart best; Or if some Harlots armes should thee Embrace, While that her new love doth the old displace. O may I dye before that I do see My self in such a manner wrong'd by thee. yet do I not write this, becau••e that I From thee, or fame, have cause of jealousie. yet still I fear (who can securely love?) For absence doth often suspition move. Those lovers are happy that present are, And know when to be Jealous, when not to fear. We vainly fear, and slight true injuries, And nourish in our breast fond jealousies O would st thou come, or else would I might find No woman hinders thee but the fierce wind. Which when I know, believe me I shall die VVith gri••f to think upon thy injury For if that thou h••dst a desire to send Me to my grave, thou might'st before offend. But thou wilt not offend, my fears are vain, I know the winters stormes do thee detain. VVoe's me! the billowes do go rough and high, And obscure clouds do darken all the sky.

Or Helles Mother makes the sea waves weep, While they her Daughters obsequies do keep. Or Iun•• her step mot••er now doth please, Chang'd to a goddesse, ••hu•• to vex the seas. This ••ea unto young maids u••kind doth prove; It drowned Hell•• and doth c••osse my love. If Neptune his own love had call d to mind, Our love had not been c••ost so by the wnd. It is no fable that thou didst approve Of fair Amy••nons, and her didst love. Alcyone, and Ceyce th Sweet hearts were, And M••dusa before she had snaky hair. Laodice and Celaeno Plejades, And many I have read of besides these. O N••ptun•• thou these Sweet-hearts had'st in store, As Poets do report, and many more. Since thou so oft the forc•• of love didst prove▪ Why still from comm••ng dost thou stay my love? Spare us, let stormes rage in the Ocean wide, The Sea dot•• two parts of the world divide. For thee to tosse great ships it is most meet, Or express thy rage in scattering a Fleet. To distu••b these seas can no glory be, Or to hinder a young man would swim to me. For know Leande•• nobly is descended, Not from Vlysses ill of thee befriended. Preserve us both, for while that he doth swim; "He's in the water, but my life's in him. But now my candle (by whose watchful light As it stood by me, I these lines did write) began to sparkle at that very time, Which he did take to be a happy signe. And my Nurse put wine to it, to maintain The Lamp••, and cherish the reviving flame.

Sayes she, here will be strangers I do think To morrow and with these words she doth drink. Leander come, and let our number be Increas'd, for I do love thy company. Leander unto thy own love return, For why should I still lye alone, and mourn? Thou hast no cause thus fearfull still to be, Venus will calm the sea, and favour thee. Sometimes to wade through the sea I begin, But this sea hath to women fatall bin. For Iason over it in safety came, But a woman give to these seas their name. If thou fear'st thou should'st want strength to performe This double labour; to come, and return: Let us in the midst of the sea both meet, And with a kisse each other kindly greet. Then to our Cityes both return again, This would some comfort be, though it were vain. I would that we had no regard of Fame, Which makes us love in secret, nor of shame. "For love and fearfullnesse do ill agree; That perswades to pleasure, this to modesty. When that young Iason did to Colchos come, He bore away Medea with him soon. Soon as Pa••is to Lacedemon came, He straight returned with his prey again. Thou com'st to me, but leavest me behind, And swim'st when ships can scarce a passage find. But my Lean••er have a care hereafter, Not only to despise, but fear the water. Strong ships unto the sea are made a scorn, Think st thou thy armes can more than Oars perform? The Mariners (L••ander) fear to swim▪ Till they are forc'd, when they have ship-wrackt bin.

VVo's me, I pe••swade 'gainst that I require, Let not my words discourage thee I desire. VVith thy arms (wim through the seas, which being done, Embrace me with those ••rms when thou art come. But as oft as I to the blew seas look, My heart is with a sudden cold fear strook. And I am troubled with my last nights dream, Though I sacrific••d 'gainst that it did mean About morning, when the Candle sleepy grew And win••'d, when dreams most usually are true; Out of my crowsie fingers sell my thread, And on my pillow I did rest my head When in my dream I thought that I had seen A Dolphin, that on the rough waves did swim. VVhich the waves cast up on the shore, and left Upon the boiling sands, of life be••est. I know not what this might presage, or mean, Stay till the Sea be calm, slight not my dream; If thou wilt not spare thy self, spare t••ou me, My life and happiness consists in thee. I hope the rough seas will grow calm, then stay And through the calm seas cut thy gentle way. And till then, since thou can'st not swim, nor come, Let this Letter make the time not seem long.

[illustration]

The Argument of the nineteenth Epistle.

AContius going to Diana's sacrifice, which were celebrated by Virgins in Delos, the chiefest I stand of all the Cycledes in the Aegean sea, fell in love with Cyd••••pe a noble Maid: but he in regard of the inequality of his birth, not da••ing to solicite her love, did cunningly write on a fair Apple these two verses.

Iuro ti••i sane per mystica sacra Diana, Me tibi ven••u••am comitem, spon••am{que} ••uturam.

By Diana's sacred rites I sw••ar to thee, Thy loving Confort and Wife I will be.

And so he cast the Apple at the Maids feet; who ignorant of his cunning, reading it at unawars, she promi••ed that she would be wife to 〈◊〉〈◊〉. For it wa•• a law, that was spoken before the gods in the ••emp••e of Diana should be ••atified. So that Acontius endea∣vo••rs in this E••stle to perswade her, that Diana had insl••cted sicknesse on her, because she had violated her promise made in the goddesses presenc••. And to allure her to his d••stres, his Exordium endeavours to make her c••n••ident to read without any suspition of deceit, like the former. Afterward he strives to make her husband contemptible in her sight, perswading her that he was the cause of all her sicknesse.

ACONTIUS to CYDIPPE.

BE not af••raid, since that thou shalt not swear, ••s thou didst before to thy Lover, here; For thou didst swear enough at that same time, VVhen thou didst p••omise that thou wouldst be mine. R••ad it; and so may the sic••ness leave thee, And p••ins, wh••ch also are a pain to me. For why shou'd t••y ingenuous cheeks be spred, As in 〈◊〉〈◊〉, ••emple with blushing red. Since to perform thy prom••se I do move thee, And not loosely but as a husband love thee. For i•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 words 'thou would•• but call to mind, VVhic•• I did write upon the Apples rinde; And cast, before thee, being read by thee, In ••eading it ••h••u didst promise to me, Even ••hat which I do now of thee desi••e, My words and faith do not at onc•• expire.

When Diana depriv'd thee first of health, I fear'd it; Virgin think upon thy self. And now I fear the same, for now at length The flame o•• love in me ha••h gotten strength. My strong affection doth ••ne••ease, and grow, Encourag'd by that hope which you did shew. Thou gav'st me hope, from thee it did proceed, Diana is a witness to thy deed. For thou didst swear by Diana's majesty, Acom•••••• I do mean to marry thee. And to these words which from thy mouth then went, Diana bow'd in token of consent. If thou dost urge, thou we••t de••eiv'd by me, The deceit came from love, my love f••om thee. Seeking thereby to thee to be united, That should win favour, wherewith thou art frighted. I'me not so crafty by nature or use, Thy beauty doth this craftinesse infuse. Ingenious love, and not my art first joyn'd Those words which thee to me did firmly bind. For love this cunning trick to me disclos'd And words of marriage into lines compos'd. yet let this Act of mine deceitfull prove, If it be deceit to get what we love. And now I write, for favour I intrear, Complain of this, if this be a cecei••. If loving thee, an injury I do thee, Though thou forbid me, I will love and woe thee. Some have by force their Sweet-hearts away brought, To write a Letter, shall it be a fault? Since that a Letter a new knot doth tye Of that promis'd love between thee and I. Though thou art coy to me, yet I shall make thee More kind, and I do know that I shall t••ke thee.

For albeit thou scape out of this net, Thou shalt not scape all those which love can set. And if that gentle means, and art do fail, Then force against thy coinesle shall prevail. I do not hold that Paris was in fault, or those who their desires by force have sought. And so will I: although that death should be His sad reward, that ventures to steal thee. Wert thou lesse fair, my suit would be more cold, But now thy beauteous face doth make me bold. My flame of love proceeds from thy fair eyes, Which do out shine the bright stars in the skies. And from thy white neck, which thy brown hair graces, And from thy armes fit onely for imbraces. Thy modest countenance also taketh me Where silent beauties sweetly placed be. Thy feet like ivory are so pure and white, That Thetis, I suppose, hath not the like. I were happy, if I might praise the rest, Thy parts summ'd up together would be best. It is no wonder since thou art so fair, If by thy own words I did thee insnare. For if thou should'st confess thy self to be Taken by my deceit and treachery; Let me bea•• the envy of it, and blame, So that I may the fruits of love obtain. Achilles did by force fair Bris••••s take, yet she lov'd him, and would not him forsake. F••nd fault with what thou wilt and angry be, So that in danger I may enjoy thee. I that have mov'd your anger, will appease you, And if you give me leave, I'le strive to please you. For I will stand before you, and there weep, VVhile my tears with my words due time shall keep

And like some servant that correction fears, I hold my hands up, and beg with my tears. Assume your right, I'me a ••••ave to your b••auty, Be you my Mistriss, and teach me my duty. Although that you should stri••e me, and should tear In an imperious manner my long hair. I'le suffer all, and onely affraid be, Left you should hurt your ••and with striking me. Thou needst not ••etter me with iron chains, "He serveth willingly whom love constrains. When thou hast satisfyed thy wrath on me, Thou wilt then say; how pat••ent is he? And noting my patience say, since I see That he can serve so well, he shall serve me. I know thou dost condemn me in absence, And my good cause doth want a just defence. That only which I on the Apple writ Is my offence, yet love ndited it. Besi••es Dia••a should not mocked be, Keep thy promise with her, though not with me. She sa•• the blush, ••hen as thou art deceiv'd. And she did hea•• those words which thou didst read. And who can be more violent than sh••, To those that do prophane her Maj••sty. Who more angry than Al••h•••• with her son, M••re ••e••ce then was the Boar of Calydon. She made ••cteon•• hounds their Master hunt, As he with them to chase wild beasts was wont She did N••••b•• to a stone transforme Which in Bythinia stands, and seems to mourn. Cyd••pp••, I dare not speak truth to thee, Let my admonishment seem false to be. yet I must speak, her wrath inflicts on thee This sicknesse, when that thou should'st marri'd be.

From perjury shee'd have thee keep thy self "By sicknesse she would bring thy mind to health. And when to break thy vow thou wouldst begin, She keeps thee from committing of that sin. Then do not thou Di•••••• more incense, She may be brought to remit thy offence, That so thy feaver may not quite destroy Thy beauty sav'd, that I may it enjoy. Preserve that beauty, which my love fi••st bred, Where snowy whitenesse shaddoweth the re••, May those would cro••••e our love, endure that pain, VVhich I while thou art sick do now sustain. I would not have thee sick, nor married be, I know not which of the••e would most grieve me. Som••times it grie••eth me, that I should grieve thee, And that I did so cunningly deceive thee. For my mistris's ••erjury, O punish me, ye gods; fro•• punishment let her be free. And sometimes I occasion take to go By the door, that I may know how you do. And in a secret ma••ner enquiring keep Of your maid, how you cat, and take your sleep. I would I h••d been a Physitian bred, To feel thy pulse, and sit upon thy bed. And wo is me, that I must absent be▪ While that my rival is perhaps with th••e. He holds thy hand, and sits on thy beds side, Who is by all the gods, and me envy'd. And while that he t••y beating pulse doth try, Thy white arm he doth often touch thereby. He handles thee, and then perhaps a kisse, Rewards his service with to•• great a blis••e. Who hath permitted thee to reap my crop? And take away the fruits of all my hope?

Her self, and Kisses thou must understand Are mine by promise, then take off thy hand. Take of•• thy hand, for she my own sh••ll be, Unlesse thou wilt commit adultery. Some other Maiden chuse that yet is free, For of her tenemen I must Land-lord be. Thou may'st believe our covenants if not m••, To shew they're firm let her read them to thee, Therefore thou hast no right, I say to thee, Vnto her marriage bed, 'tis kept for me. Though her Father to thee dip her assign, Yet thy right cannot be so good as mine. Her Fathes did betroth her unto thee, But she her self did give her self to me. He promis'd before men she should be thine, She promis'd before Diana she would be mine. He breaks his word, she violates her oath, And dost thou dote which is the worst of both? Lastly consider, what the event may be, For he's in health, but sick in bed is she. In our contentions too much ods there are, Thy hope is not like mine, nor yet thy fear. Thy love is not so dangerous but I If I should suffer a repulse must dye. Perhaps that hereafter thou wilt approve her, But it is I that now do clearly love her. Therefore in justice, that same love of thine Vnto my love all title should resign. Since for thy love he unjustly doth contend, Cydippe why do I this Letter send? Diana for his sake doth thee afflict, Forbid him then thy house, if thou hast wit. And for his sake this sicknesse light on thee, May he that causeth it, so punish'd be.

For if thou wilt his fained love reject, And not love whom the goddesse doth not respect. Thou shalt then presently regain thy health, When thou art well, I shall be well my self. Fear not sweet Maid, thou shalt have thy health now; If to the goddesse thou wilt keep thy vow. "The heavenly powers our sacrifices scorne, "Unless we faithfully our vowes perform Yet some do lancing suffer for healths sake, And some for health do bitter potions take. But if thou keep thy self from perjury', Thou shalt preserve thy heal••h, thy saith, and me. Thy former fa••••t may yet a pardon find, Through ignorance, or fo••getfulnesse of mind. Thy si••kne••••e and my words admonish thee, "For know the gods cannot deceiv'd be. Yet should••st thou scape this sickness, being a Maid, Being ma••ried, thou wilt need Di••n••'s aid. Having heard thy promise she will aske thee If I the father of thy burthen be. If thou do••st vow, yet she will not believe, If t••ou swear'st she knows 'tis but to deceive. For thee, not for thy self this care I take, And my mind is thus trouble•• for thy sake. Let not ••hy Pa••en••s for thy s••ckne••••e w••ep; Or why dost thou in ••gnorance them keep? Though to thy Mother thou dost all relate, Cy••i••••••, thou need'st not to blush thereat. Tell her ••ow I did first behold thy eyes, While thou did'st to Diana sac••ifice And at the first side if thou ma••ked'st me, I stood and gaz'd with fixed eyes on thee. And while I wondring stood m•• cloak oft fell From my shoulder, which passion seem'd to tell,

And after that an Apple I did fit, VVherein most cunningly these words I writ. VVhich in Diana's pres••nce read by thee, Thou didst bind thy self then to marry me. That she the Tenour of the words may know, As thou read'st them once, read them to her so. Then she will say forthwith, pray marry me Him, whom the goddess hath allotted thee. Since that Diana is pleas'd, chuse no other, For the goddess will be to thee a mother. And tell he•• if she aske thee, who I am, The goddess choice can be to thee no shame. In ••aea where Corycian Nymphs have, In Parnassus hill an old famous Cave. I was born, and (it birth be not contemn'd) From no base Parantage I did descend. I have wealth, and my life from spot is free, And there is none whom I love more than thee. Had'st thou not swo••n, yet thou need'st must like Such a husband, and I such a wife would seek. Diana in a dream bid me to write These lines, and waking love bid me indite. And ••s loves arrow now hath wo••nded me, Take heed Diana's arrow wound not thee. At once have pity on me, and thy sel••, At once thou mayst restore us both to health; Which if thou g••ant, when the Trumpets procla••m, Diana's solemn sacra••ice again, I'le offer a golden Apple and on it These two verses shall be most fairly w••it. Ac••ntius th••s Apple offer'd to testi••y. The gods the words writ in't did ratify. Lest a longer Letter try t••ee being weake. I have but one word more to write, or speak.

And in the usuall way as all can tell I will conclude my letter here; Farewell.

[illustration]

The Argument of the twentieth Epistle.

WHen Cydippe understood that offended Diana had inflicted this Feaver on her, she condescended to Acontius desire against her parents will, rather than to endure the torment of her sicknesse. First

s••e answers, that she durst not ••ead his Epistle aloud, lest he should be deceived with the fallacy of an oath, as she was in reading the lines writ on the Apple. Then amplifying the deceit of that Apple, she ••ovies against Acontius.

CYDIPPE to ACONTIUS.

IN silence I thy Letter read, for fear Lest unawares I by the gods should swear. I think, again thou would'st have cosened me, But that I have promised my self to thee. I read it, lest if I unkind should seem, Diana should have more offended been. Though to Diana I do incense offer, yet she defends that wrong which thou didst proffer. And if I may give credit unto thee, For thy sake ••he with sickness visits me. Vnto H••ppolytus she was not so kind, For at her hand more favour thou dost find. A Virgin of a Virgin should take care, Altho••gh I have not long to live I fear. I am sick, yet the causes of my grief, Physicians know not, nor can yeild releif. How sick am I, while I these lines do writ▪ I sc••rce can 〈◊〉〈◊〉 within my bed upwright. I fear lest any but my Nurse should find. That we by Letters do exchange our mind. To visitants, while she the dore doth keep, (To give me time to write) she sayes I sleep. When this colour the matter cannot hide, Lest by sleeping too long truth be discri'd. If some ••ome, who to deny 'tis unfitting, She gives me then a famed sign by spitting. Then I break off, and lest it should be spy'd, In my trembling bosome the Letter hide.

When they are gone, then I do write again, Thus in the midst of pains, I take great pain, Which did'st thou deserve, I could undertake, Then thou deserv'st, I'le do more for thy sake. For thy sake, I this sicknesse do sustain, And for thy imposture thus punisht am, And thus my beauty which did please thy sight, Hath hurt thy self, by yeilding thee delight. If I had appear'd deformed unto thee▪ No sickness had procur'd my misery. Praise is my ruin, and while you both woe me 'Tis my own beauty that doth thus undo me. And while both will not yield, both will be mine, you hinder his desire, he hinders thine. I am like a ship the wind drives amain To Sea, but st••ong tides drive it back again. My marriage day which my Parents would see Is at hand, but a feaver troubleth me. And while the thought of martiage doth me mock, Death even at my door begins to knock. Which though I am not guilty makes me fear, So••e of the gods with me offended are. Some think my sickness hath but cau••ual been, Or the Gods would not have me marry him. And that thou may'st no: think fame doth detect thee, For poisoning of my self they do suspect me, The cause is hide, but yet my grief lies open, you do contend, but I with grief am broken. Tell me and do not unkindly reject me What is thy hate, if thy love doth afflict me? If s••ch thy love be, love thy enemy, But I intreat thee that thou would'st spare me. What hope to obtain my love canst thou cherish, When thou do'st let me by a feaver perish?

If to Diana thou do'st pray in vain Why do'st thou ••oast what thou canst not obtain? Either thou canst not Diana pacifie; If thou canst, but are unmindfull of me, I would that I ••ad Delos never known, At least, at that time had not to it gone. My ship unhappily did sail that day, And through the blew seas cut her fatal way. Unluckily out of my house I did slip, When I did go aboard my fainted ship. Twice the winds ••o our sailes contrary were, yet now I think on't the winds did stand fair; It was a fair wind that did drive me back, That my unhappy journey I might slack. Would it had been contrary to my mind, But tis folly to complain 'gainst the wind. For famous Delos I desire to see, Me thought my ship sail'd slowly under me. I••••id the Oars because that they did fail, And we thought they put out too little sail. Having pass'd Tenos, and Andros, the white Cliffes of fair Delos came within my sight. And to the Is••e I said, why do'st me shun? Do'st still store in the Sea, 'las thou hast done! I landed when the Sun had run his course, And began to unyoak his purple horse. Next day when in the East they harnes'd were, My mother bid me combe and dress my hair. She gave me Rings, my hair with gold she drest, And put on me apparell of the best. To the gods of t••e Island we did dispense, Our gui••ts, and offered yellow frankinsence. And while my Mother bedewing with bloud The smoaking Altar, sacraficing stood;

My ca••efull Nurse led me another way, While she, and I through sacred places stray. We walk about while we admired there The gifts of Kings, and Images there were. We admir'd Apollos Altar, and the tree That help'd Lat••na in child- delivery. And all that had in Delos famous been, We saw, and more than yet hath mention'd been. And here Acontius thou dost cast a look On me, conceiving I might be soon took. I return'd to Diana's Temple that hath Fair steps, and what place ought to be more safe Thou threw'st an Apple for me with this verse, Which I was ready again to rehearse; My Nurse took't up, and wondring, wished me To read it, so I read thy treachery. When to this word of marriage I came, I felt that both my cheeks did blush for shame. And when my eyes had serv'd thy turn to read These lines, I looked down, and hung my head. But ye•• what glory hast thou got the••eby▪ To deceive a Maid is no victory. I stood not with my Axe and bucler there, As P••ath••silea did at Troy appear. No gold belt from me thou did'st bear away, Like that was taken f••om Hy••poll••ta Then why should'st thou rejoyce to ••ave betray'd By thy deceitful w••rds a harmlesse Maid? An Apple deceiv'd A••alanta and Cy••ippe: Thou shalt another Hippo••enes be But if that wanton Boy did thee enflame, VVhose quiver (thou saist) doth Loves shasts contain; VVhy did'st thou not in honest sort come to me? And not strive to deceive me, but to woe me.

Why did'st thou not by words thy worth express, To gain my love, while thou didst love professe; Why didst thou seek to compell, not perswade My love? by promises on thy part made. What doth my former oath now profit thee? Though I call'd Diana it to testifie. It is the mind that swears but my tongue went, And swore this oath without my minds consent. "An oath should be took with a knowing mind, "Therefore a rash oath hath no power to bind. If willingly I promis'd unto thee Marriage, thou might'st then seek it now of me. But if those words I un••wars did speak, Thou stand'st on words that are but vain and weak. I did not swear, therefore thou canst not be, By reading those words, a husband unto me. If such false oa••hs to bind effectual were, To grow rich in short time thou need'st not fear. For all the Kings in the world may resigne Their right unto thee by reading a line, Thou art greater then Diana believe me, If in thy words so great a power there be. yet though my oath, and thy love here I flight▪ And have strongly pleaded, my case is right. yet I confesse I fear Diana's wrath, Who now I doubt thus me afflicted hath. For as often, as I do intend to marry, I do fall sick, and so am sorc'd to tarry. Thrice Hymen now unto my bed-side came, And finding me sick, he went back again. And with his tired hand he scarce could light His Torch, or make it to burn clear, and bright. Sometimes with powders he perfumes his hair, While he his yellow saffron robe doth weare.

But when unto my chamber he doth come, And beholds rears, and weeping he is gone. He pluck's the Garland from his shineing hair, And tears the flowers in it placed were. Such mourning doth with him so ill agree, That his blushing cheeks red as his robe be. VVhile a hot feaver now tormenteth me, So that I think the bed-cloaths heavy be. I see my parents for me weep and rage, Who am now nearer death then marriage. O D••an••! that dost wear thy painted quiv••r. Help me now by Apolle's skill thy brot••er. Since he can cure the sick, then why should I To thy disgrace, without thy he••p nere dye? VVh••n thou d••dst bathe thy self I ne're mistaked Like rash Act••on who beheld thee naked. On thy altars I have often sacrific'd, T••y mother was not by my mother despis'd. This only was my fault, that I had read A perjur'd verse, and ••as ••••••reby deceiv'd. T••erefore Ac••••t us for my sake now bring To Diana's alter thy own offering If that the goddesse be offended with me, Then to be thine, why doth the hinder me? For if that she do take away my life, Thou canst not hope that I should be thy wi••e. He that should be my Husband, doth not stand By my bed, and lift me up with his hand. He sits indeed on my beds side, but he Attempts no action of immodesty. And knows not what to think of me at all, When w••thout cause teers from my eyes do fall. He seldome doth a kisse to me impart, And with a fearfull voyce cals me Sweet-heart.

I wonder my disdain he hath not spy'd, For when he comes I turn on my left fide. I will not speak, but sleep I counterfeit, And pu••l my hand back, when he would take it. Then does he fetch a deep sigh, because I Am offended with him, he knows not why. VVhen as in truth, if I should speak my mind, (Cause in ••y sufferings thou dost pleasure find) Thou dost deserve our ange••, who didst set Thy cunning toyl••••, to catch me in thy net, Why dost thou write thou would'st ••ain visit me? Since in thy absence thou hast wounded me. Why thou art call'd Acontius, I have found, Cause like an arrow thou far off dost wound. That wound is not yet healed which no dar••, But these words I read, gave unto my heart. Why should'st thou come and here behold me lie The wretched Trophy of thy victory? For now my bloudlesse colour doth quite fail▪ And I am like t••y Apple wan and pale. My white cheeks are not lightly stain'd with red, Like spored marble newly polished. But like the colour of a silver Cup, When with cold water it is filled up. ••f thou sawest me, I should not seem the same, As when by Art thou sought'st my love to gain. My promise thou wouldst willingly remit, And aske the goddesse to be freed from it. And thou wilt send me then another line, That I may swe••r that I shall ne're be th••••e. Yet prethe•• come, since thou desir'st the same, And see if thou canst know me now again. Though (Acontiu••) thy breast like Iron be, Thou would'st pray the goddesse to pardon me.

yet I would have thee know, we askt Appollo, To regain health what course I ought to follow. And as fame doth repo••••, he answered, I Was punish'd for my infidelity. And thus the gods in Oracle answer'd me, Who to thy desires favourable be. Whence comes it, but because these cunning Letters In the Apple writ make the gods thy debtors? Since thou dost rule the gods, thou must rule me, And therefore willingly I yield to thee. I told my mother how I had betray'd My self to thee, at which she was dismay'd. you must contrive the rest; for I have done Already, I fear, more then doth become A Virgin, since in this Letter you see, I freely do unfold my mind to thee. Now my weak joynt•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 weary of enditing, And my sick hand is tired wi••h long writing. So hoping that we shall together meet, My Letter with a farewell doth thee greet.

[illustration]

The Argument of the one and twentieth Epistle.

PHaon being sometimes a ••oatman•• Venus came unto him, and de∣sired to be carried over the water gratis, which he did, not knowing her to be a goddesse, whereupon she gave him a box of oyntment, wherewith anoynting himself, he became so beautiful, that all the women in the Isle Lesbes were in love with him, and especially Sap∣pho did impatiently affect him. But when Phaon went to Sicily.

Sappho out of the heat of her love, and feare of his disdain, despe∣rately resolved to throw her self into the Sea▪ from Lucas a Prom••u∣torie of Spire. B••t yet unconstant to her first resolve, ••he endeavours by this Epistle to recal him back, and gain his love of which she formerly despaired, and to win him to a dislike of his present estate and manner of life. Lastly, she useth all Arguments that might move him to pity. And in this Epistle Ovid hath most lively exprest the soft and amorous affections of love.

SAPHO to PHAON.

SOon as thou do'st behold my studious hand, ••hence the Letter comes do'st thou understand? Or unlesse in it thou S••ph••es name read, Do'st thou not know from whence it doth proceed? Thou may'st wonder why I in this verse vvrite Since I in Lyrick numbers do delight. The weeping Elegy will fitting prove To sute unto our sad, and mournfull lo••e. But in light Lyrick verses there appears No doleful harmony, that mry su••e tears. For as a feild of corn on fire, whose flame The Eastern wind do••h blow up, and maintain, Doth burn apace, being fanned by the wind, Even so the flame of love doth fire my mind. Though Pha••n live near Aet••a far from me, My flames of love hotter than E••na be. So that ve••se•• to my harpe I cannot set, "A quiet mind doth verses best beget. The Dryad's do not help me at this time, Nor Lesbian, nor Pierian Muses nine. I hate, Amythone, and Cyd••us white, And Athis is not pleasant in m•• sight. And many others that were ••ov'd of me, But now I have plac'd all my love on thee.

Thy youthfull years to pleasure do invite, Thy tempting beauty ha••h betra••'d my sight. Take a quiver, and thou wi••t App••l•••• be; Take Horns, and Bacch••s will be like to thee. P••oe••us lov'd Daphne, B••cchus, Aria••n••, Yet in the Lyrick verse no knowledge had she. But the Muses dictate unto me smooth rhymes. So that the world knows my name and lin••s. Nor hath Aceus for the harp more praise, Though he by higher subjects gets his Bayes. "If nature beauty unto me deny, "My wit the want o•• be••uty doth supp'y. Though low of stature yet my fame is tall, And high, for through the world 'tis known to all. Though for my beauty I have no renown, P••rs••us lov'd Cep••e••a, that was brown. White Doves do often pair with spoted Doves, And the g••een Parret the black Turtle loves. If thou wilt have a love as fair as thee, Thou must have none, for none ••o fair can be▪ yet once my face did fair to thee appear, And that my speec•• became me, thou didst swear. And thou would'st kisse me while that I did sing, (For Lovers do remember every th••ng) My kisses, and each part thou didst approve, But specialy when I did write of love; Then I did please thee with my wanton strain, With witty words, and with my amorous vain▪ But now the Maids of S••cily do please thee, Would I might L••sb••s change for Sic••ly. But take heed Me••••ensian ••ow you do Receive this wanderer least you do it rue. Least by his ••••attering tongue you be b••trai'd, What he says to you, he hath to me said.

O Venus help me now in my distresse, Fair goddesse, favour now thy Poetesse. Will fortune alwayes be to me unkind? And will she never change her froward mind? For I knew sorrow soon, even when that I Was six years old, my father first did dye. The love of a whore my brothero're-came, On whom he spent his wealth, and lost his fame. Being grown poor then unto Sea he went, To get by piracy what he had spent. And because I did blame his courses, he My honest counsell scorn'd, and hate•• me. And as if these griefes we••e to light for me, you know that I have faulty been with thee. And of thee at last I must make complaint, Because that I thy company do want. In thy absence I do not dress my hair, Nor on my fingers any rings do wear. A poor and homely weed I do assume, Arabian myrrhe doth not my hair perfume. Though I did dresse my self for to please thee, yet in thy absence why should I dresse me▪ Nature hath given me a hart so soft, Tha•• love doth with his arrow wound it oft. For I am still in love, and I do see, That I must alwayes thus in love still be. The fatall sisters at my birth decreed To spin my life forth with an amorous thred. Or else my studies are the cause of it, Thalia hath given me a wanton wit. Nor can it in love seem so strange a case, That I'should love thy young effeminate face. Lest Aurora should love thee I was affraid, And so she had but Ceph••••us her staid.

If Phoebe should behold thee, she e're long Would love thee more then her E••d••m••on. And beauteous Venus long ago had carried T••ee unto heaven in her Ivory Chariot, But that the goddesse wi••ely did foresee, That Ma•••• himself would fall in love with thee. Such was thy beauty, and thy comely grace, For in thy youth thou hadst a Virgins face Return to me, thou sweetest flower of beauty, For to love thee, I know it is my duty. I do not here intreat thee to love me, But that thou wouldst permit me to love thee, And while I write, I weep even for thy sake, And all those blots thou see'st, my tears did make. Though thou resolvest to go, yet modesty Might have enforced thee, to take leave of me. At thy departure thou didst not kisse me, I fear'd that I should forsaken be. I had no pledges of thy love, for I Have nothing of thine but thy injury. This only charge I would have g••ven to thee, That thou wouldst not be unmindfull of me. I swear unto thee, by ••his love of mine, And by my goddesses the muses nine. When they did tell me that thou hadst took ship, A long time I could neither speak, nor weep. My heart grew cold, my silent grief was dumb, Wanting both tears to vent it self, and tongue, But when my sorrows I more lively felt, I tore my hair my tears began to melt. So that to weep I presently begun, Like Mothers at the burial of a son. My brother laught, and while that he did walk And strut by me, he thus began to ta••k.

Alas; why does my loving sister grieve, Thou hast no cause, thy Da••g••ter is alive. Thus love and shame together ill agree, For I had put off now al•• modesty. And in such manner I abroad did rove, That the people thereby discerned my love. O Ph••••n, I do dream of thee always, Dreams makes the night more pleas••nt than the days. Dreams make thee present though thou absent art, But they weak shadows of true joyes impart. Sometimes I t••ink that thou embracest me, And ••ometimes I think ••ha•• I ••mbrace thee. That thou dost kisse me, then I do believe, With such kisses as thou dost use to give. And sometimes in my dream to thee I speak, As if my tongue and senses were awa••e. I cannot tell ••he ••est with modesty, For methinks I enjoy thy campany. But when the sun doth ri••e and break the day, I am sad, because my dreams passe away. I'me angry that my fancy is no stronger. And that my pleasant dream should last no longer. Then to the woods and caves I straight way hie. Wherein I enjoy'd thy sweet company As if the woods and caves wou••d comfort me, Since they witnesses of our pleasure be. Like one w••re mad, or enchanted I ••••ye, W••ile my hair doth o're my shoulders loose lie. Methinks the mossie caves do seem as fair, As those which built of costly Marble are. I love the vvood, under whose leavie shade, VVe oftentimes have both together laid. But the vvood seems upleasant unto me, As if it mourned for thy company.

And I have often gone unto that place, Where we have lain together in the grasse; And laid me down again, and with the showers Of tears have watered the smiling flowers. The leavelesse trees to mourn do begin, And all the sweet ••irds have left off to sing. Only the Nightingale with mournfull song, In sadest notes bewailes her former wrong, She laments those sad wrongs she did sustain; Of thy forsaking me I do complain. If she sung not, nor I complain'd of thee, The wood more silent than the night would be▪ There is a Fountain that••s as clear as glasse, So that some thought a deity in it was; O're which a great tree doth extend his boughs, And soft green grasse even round about it growes. I being weary, by chance I lay down here, And a Nayad which did to me appear, Standing before me thus to speak began, Because thou lov'st, and are not lov'd again? To Leucas go, if that thou wilt have case, A pro••ontory that o're-looks the Seas. Hence Deucalign for Pyrrh•• love Did throw himself down, and as it did prove, He had no hurt, but being d••enched in These seas, his love to cool did straight begin. The vertue in this place remains, make hast, And from this rock thy self down quicly cast. Thus having said, she vanisht and my fears Increast, my eyes did over-flow with tears. Fair N••mph I promise thee that I will go, Enrag'd with love unto that rock you show Perhaps the light air in her armes will bear me, I can't be worse, than why should da••ger fear me?

O love! with thy wings let me be sustain'd, Lest for my death Leuc••dian seas be blam'd. Then unto Phoebus I'le my Harpe resign, And underneath it write this double line; Sappho O Phoebus offers unto thee, Her Harp, which thou lovest, and was lov'd by me. If Phaon to return to me would please, What need I go to the Actaean Seas? Thou canst •••• me more good, thee I will follow, Thy beauty is such thou art my Apollo. Or canst thou harder then a hard Rock be, And to die in my misery suffer me? It were far better sure that I should join, In close embraces, my fair brest with thine; That breast, O Phaon, which thou didst oft praise, And which did seem so witty many wayes. Now I would fain be eloquent, but while I strive to write in a more elegant stile; My art doth fail, for grief my wit hath spent? So that my letter is not eloquent. My former vein of writing verse is done, My jocund Harp is now grown mute and dumb. ye L••sbian Nymphs t••at marriage do desire, ye Nymphs so called from the Lesbyan Lyre. ye L••sbian Nymphs whose love advanc'd by same, Come not to hear my Harp, or Lyrick strai••. For that sweet vein I had in former time, My P••aon took away who is not mine. If you send him back, I should regain it, He is my Genious that doth give me wit. But why with prayers seek I to perswade? Can his heard hart with prayers be soft made? No, it doth grow more stiffe, and I do find That all my words are but like empty wind.

But I do wish the winds would bring thee back: Why to return again, art thou so slack? I have long lookt for thee, then come away, VVhy dost thou thus torment me with delay? VVeigh but thy Anchor, Ven••s will befrie••d thee VVith a good voyage, and a fair wind lend thee, Cupid to steer thy ship too will not fail, And he will put out, and take in each sail, But if thou forsake Lesbian Sappho, I Have not deserv'd of thee such cruelty; And by this Letter I would have thee know, That I my self into the Sea will throw.