| FROM off a hill whose concave womb re-worded | |
| A plaintful story from a sistering vale, | |
| My spirits to attend this double voice accorded, | |
| And down I laid to list the sad-tun’d tale; | |
| Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale, | 5 |
| Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain, | |
| Storming her world with sorrow’s wind and rain. | |
| Upon her head a platted hive of straw, | |
| Which fortified her visage from the sun, | |
| Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw | 10 |
| The carcass of a beauty spent and done: | |
| Time had not scythed all that youth begun, | |
| Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven’s fell rage, | |
| Some beauty peep’d through lattice of sear’d age. | |
| Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, | 15 |
| Which on it had conceited characters, | |
| Laundering the silken figures in the brine | |
| That season’d woe had pelleted in tears, | |
| And often reading what content it bears; | |
| As often shrieking undistinguish’d woe | 20 |
| In clamours of all size, both high and low. | |
| Sometimes her levell’d eyes their carriage ride, | |
| As they did battery to the spheres intend; | |
| Sometime diverted, their poor balls are tied | |
| To the orbed earth; sometimes they do extend | 25 |
| Their view right on; anon their gazes lend | |
| To every place at once, and nowhere fix’d, | |
| The mind and sight distractedly commix’d. | |
| Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat, | |
| Proclaim’d in her a careless hand of pride; | 30 |
| For some, untuck’d, descended her sheav’d hat, | |
| Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside; | |
| Some in her threaden fillet still did bide, | |
| And true to bondage would not break from thence | |
| Though slackly braided in loose negligence. | 35 |
| A thousand favours from a maund she drew | |
| Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet, | |
| Which one by one she in a river threw, | |
| Upon whose weeping margent she was set; | |
| Like usury, applying wet to wet, | 40 |
| Or monarch’s hands that let not bounty fall | |
| Where want cries some, but where excess begs all. | |
| Of folded schedules had she many a one, | |
| Which she perus’d, sigh’d, tore, and gave the flood; | |
| Crack’d many a ring of posied gold and bone, | 45 |
| Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud; | |
| Found yet more letters sadly penn’d in blood, | |
| With sleided silk feat and affectedly | |
| Enswath’d, and seal’d to curious secrecy. | |
| These often bath’d she in her fluxive eyes, | 50 |
| And often kiss’d, and often ’gan to tear; | |
| Cried ‘O false blood! thou register of lies, | |
| What unapproved witness dost thou bear; | |
| Ink would have seem’d more black and damned here.’ | |
| This said, in top of rage the lines she rents, | 55 |
| Big discontent so breaking their contents. | |
| A reverend man that graz’d his cattle nigh— | |
| Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew | |
| Of court, of city, and had let go by | |
| The swiftest hours, observed as they flew— | 60 |
| Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew; | |
| And, privileg’d by age, desires to know | |
| In brief the grounds and motives of her woe. | |
| So slides he down upon his grained bat, | |
| And comely-distant sits he by her side; | 65 |
| When he again desires her, being sat, | |
| Her grievance with his hearing to divide: | |
| If that from him there may be aught applied | |
| Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, | |
| ’Tis promis’d in the charity of age. | 70 |
| ‘Father,’ she says, ‘though in me you behold | |
| The injury of many a blasting hour, | |
| Let it not tell your judgment I am old; | |
| Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power: | |
| I might as yet have been a spreading flower, | 75 |
| Fresh to myself, If I had self-applied | |
| Love to myself and to no love beside. | |
| ‘But, woe is me! too early I attended | |
| A youthful suit, it was to gain my grace, | |
| Of one by nature’s outwards so commended, | 80 |
| That maidens’ eyes stuck over all his face. | |
| Love lack’d a dwelling, and made him her place; | |
| And when in his fair parts she did abide, | |
| She was new lodg’d and newly deified. | |
| ‘His browny locks did hang in crooked curls, | 85 |
| And every light occasion of the wind | |
| Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. | |
| What ’s sweet to do, to do will aptly find: | |
| Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind, | |
| For on his visage was in little drawn | 90 |
| What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn. | |
| ‘Small show of man was yet upon his chin; | |
| His phoenix down began but to appear | |
| Like unshorn velvet on that termless skin | |
| Whose bare out-bragg’d the web it seem’d to wear; | 95 |
| Yet show’d his visage by that cost more dear, | |
| And nice affections wavering stood in doubt | |
| If best were as it was, or best without. | |
| ‘His qualities were beauteous as his form, | |
| For maiden-tongu’d he was, and thereof free; | 100 |
| Yet, if men mov’d him, was he such a storm | |
| As oft ’twixt May and April is to see, | |
| When winds breathe sweet, untidy though they be. | |
| His rudeness so with his authoriz’d youth | |
| Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. | 105 |
| ‘Well could he ride, and often men would say | |
| “That horse his mettle from his rider takes: | |
| Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, | |
| What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!” | |
| And controversy hence a question takes, | 110 |
| Whether the horse by him became his deed, | |
| Or he his manage by the well-doing steed. | |
| ‘But quickly on this side the verdict went: | |
| His real habitude gave life and grace | |
| To appertainings and to ornament, | 115 |
| Accomplish’d in himself, not in his case: | |
| All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, | |
| Came for additions; yet their purpos’d trim | |
| Piec’d not his grace, but were all grac’d by him. | |
| ‘So on the tip of his subduing tongue | 120 |
| All kinds of arguments and question deep, | |
| All replication prompt, and reason strong, | |
| For his advantage still did wake and sleep: | |
| To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep, | |
| He had the dialect and different skill, | 125 |
| Catching all passions in his craft of will: | |
| ‘That he did in the general bosom reign | |
| Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted, | |
| To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain | |
| In personal duty, following where he haunted: | 130 |
| Consents bewitch’d, ere he desire, have granted; | |
| And dialogu’d for him what he would say, | |
| Ask’d their own wills, and made their wills obey. | |
| ‘Many there were that did his picture get, | |
| To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind; | 135 |
| Like fools that in the imagination set | |
| The goodly objects which abroad they find | |
| Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign’d; | |
| And labouring in more pleasures to bestow them | |
| Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them. | 140 |
| ‘So many have, that never touch’d his hand, | |
| Sweetly suppos’d them mistress of his heart. | |
| My woeful self, that did in freedom stand, | |
| And was my own fee-simple, not in part, | |
| What with his art in youth, and youth in art, | 145 |
| Threw my affections in his charmed power, | |
| Reserv’d the stalk and gave him all my flower. | |
| ‘Yet did I not, as some my equals did, | |
| Demand of him, nor being desired yielded; | |
| Finding myself in honour so forbid, | 150 |
| With safest distance I mine honour shielded. | |
| Experience for me many bulwarks builded | |
| Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain’d the foil | |
| Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. | |
| ‘But, ah! who ever shunn’d by precedent | 155 |
| The destin’d ill she must herself assay? | |
| Or forc’d examples, ’gainst her own content, | |
| To put the by-pass’d perils in her way? | |
| Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay; | |
| For when we rage, advice is often seen | 160 |
| By blunting us to make our wits more keen. | |
| ‘Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood, | |
| That we must curb it upon others’ proof; | |
| To be forbid the sweets that seem so good, | |
| For fear of harms that preach in our behoof. | 165 |
| O appetite! from judgment stand aloof; | |
| The one a palate hath that needs will taste, | |
| Though Reason weep, and cry “It is thy last.” | |
| ‘For further I could say “This man ’s untrue,” | |
| And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; | 170 |
| Heard where his plants in others’ orchards grew, | |
| Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling; | |
| Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling; | |
| Thought characters and words merely but art, | |
| And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. | 175 |
| ‘And long upon these terms I held my city, | |
| Till thus he ’gan besiege me: “Gentle maid, | |
| Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity, | |
| And be not of my holy vows afraid: | |
| That ’s to ye sworn to none was ever said; | 180 |
| For feasts of love I have been call’d unto, | |
| Till now did ne’er invite, nor never woo. | |
| ‘“All my offences that abroad you see | |
| Are errors of the blood, none of the mind; | |
| Love made them not: with acture they may be, | 185 |
| Where neither party is nor true nor kind: | |
| They sought their shame that so their shame did find, | |
| And so much less of shame in me remains, | |
| By how much of me their reproach contains. | |
| ‘“Among the many that mine eyes have seen, | 190 |
| Not one whose flame my heart so much as warm’d, | |
| Or my affection put to the smallest teen, | |
| Or any of my leisures ever charm’d: | |
| Harm have I done to them, but ne’er was harm’d; | |
| Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free, | 195 |
| And reign’d, commanding in his monarchy. | |
| ‘“Look here, what tributes wounded fancies sent me, | |
| Of paled pearls and rubies red as blood; | |
| Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me | |
| Of grief and blushes, aptly understood | 200 |
| In bloodless white and the encrimson’d mood; | |
| Effects of terror and dear modesty, | |
| Encamp’d in hearts, but fighting outwardly. | |
| ‘“And, lo! behold these talents of their hair, | |
| With twisted metal amorously impleach’d, | 205 |
| I have receiv’d from many a several fair, | |
| Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech’d, | |
| With the annexions of fair gems enrich’d, | |
| And deep-brain’d sonnets, that did amplify | |
| Each stone’s dear nature, worth, and quality. | 210 |
| ‘“The diamond; why, ’twas beautiful and hard, | |
| Whereto his invis’d properties did tend; | |
| The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard | |
| Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend; | |
| The heaven-hu’d sapphire and the opal blend | 215 |
| With objects manifold: each several stone, | |
| With wit well blazon’d, smil’d or made some moan. | |
| ‘“Lo! all these trophies of affections hot, | |
| Of pensiv’d and subdu’d desires the tender, | |
| Nature hath charg’d me that I hoard them not, | 220 |
| But yield them up where I myself must render, | |
| That is, to you, my origin and ender; | |
| For these, of force, must your oblations be, | |
| Since I their altar, you enpatron me. | |
| ‘“O! then, advance of yours that phraseless hand, | 225 |
| Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise; | |
| Take all these similes to your own command, | |
| Hallow’d with sighs that burning lungs did raise; | |
| What me your minister, for you obeys, | |
| Works under you; and to your audit comes | 230 |
| Their distract parcels in combined sums. | |
| ‘“Lo! this device was sent me from a nun, | |
| Or sister sanctified, of holiest note; | |
| Which late her noble suit in court did shun, | |
| Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote; | 235 |
| For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, | |
| But kept cold distance, and did thence remove, | |
| To spend her living in eternal love. | |
| ‘“But, O my sweet! what labour is ’t to leave | |
| The thing we have not, mastering what not strives, | 240 |
| Playing the place which did no form receive, | |
| Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves? | |
| She that her fame so to herself contrives, | |
| The scars of battle ’scapeth by the flight, | |
| And makes her absence valiant, not her might. | 245 |
| ‘“O! pardon me, in that my boast is true; | |
| The accident which brought me to her eye | |
| Upon the moment did her force subdue, | |
| And now she would the caged cloister fly; | |
| Religious love put out Religion’s eye: | 250 |
| Not to be tempted, would she be immur’d, | |
| And now, to tempt, all liberty procur’d. | |
| ‘“How mighty then you are, O! hear me tell: | |
| The broken bosoms that to me belong | |
| Have emptied all their fountains in my well, | 255 |
| And mine I pour your ocean all among: | |
| I strong o’er them, and you o’er me being strong, | |
| Must for your victory us all congest, | |
| As compound love to physic your cold breast. | |
| ‘“My parts had power to charm a sacred nun, | 260 |
| Who, disciplin’d, ay, dieted in grace, | |
| Believ’d her eyes when they to assail begun, | |
| All vows and consecrations giving place. | |
| O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space, | |
| In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine, | 265 |
| For thou art all, and all things else are thine. | |
| ‘“When thou impressest, what are precepts worth | |
| Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame, | |
| How coldly those impediments stand forth | |
| Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame! | 270 |
| Love’s arms are peace, ’gainst rule, ’gainst sense, ’gainst shame, | |
| And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears, | |
| The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears. | |
| ‘“Now all these hearts that do on mine depend, | |
| Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine; | 275 |
| And supplicant their sighs to you extend, | |
| To leave the battery that you make ’gainst mine, | |
| Lending soft audience to my sweet design, | |
| And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath | |
| That shall prefer and undertake my troth.” | 280 |
| ‘This said, his watery eyes he did dismount, | |
| Whose sights till then were levell’d on my face; | |
| Each cheek a river running from a fount | |
| With brinish current downward flow’d apace. | |
| O! how the channel to the stream gave grace; | 285 |
| Who glaz’d with crystal gate the glowing roses | |
| That flame through water which their hue encloses. | |
| ‘O father! what a hell of witchcraft lies | |
| In the small orb of one particular tear, | |
| But with the inundation of the eyes | 290 |
| What rocky heart to water will not wear? | |
| What breast so cold that is not warmed here? | |
| O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath, | |
| Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath. | |
| ‘For, lo! his passion, but an art of craft, | 295 |
| Even there resolv’d my reason into tears; | |
| There my white stole of chastity I daff’d, | |
| Shook off my sober guards and civil fears; | |
| Appear to him, as he to me appears, | |
| All melting; though our drops this difference bore, | 300 |
| His poison’d me, and mine did him restore. | |
| ‘In him a plenitude of subtle matter, | |
| Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives, | |
| Of burning blushes, or of weeping water, | |
| Or swounding paleness; and he takes and leaves, | 305 |
| In either’s aptness, as it best deceives, | |
| To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes, | |
| Or to turn white and swound at tragic shows: | |
| ‘That not a heart which in his level came | |
| Could ’scape the hail of his all-hurting aim, | 310 |
| Showing fair nature is both kind and tame; | |
| And, veil’d in them, did win whom he would maim: | |
| Against the thing he sought he would exclaim; | |
| When he most burn’d in heart-wish’d luxury, | |
| He preach’d pure maid, and prais’d cold chastity. | 315 |
| ‘Thus merely with the garment of a Grace | |
| The naked and concealed fiend he cover’d; | |
| That the unexperient gave the tempter place, | |
| Which like a cherubin above them hover’d. | |
| Who, young and simple, would not be so lover’d? | 320 |
| Ay me! I fell; and yet do question make | |
| What I should do again for such a sake. | |
| ‘O! that infected moisture of his eye, | |
| O! that false fire which in his cheek so glow’d, | |
| O! that forc’d thunder from his heart did fly, | 325 |
| O! that sad breath his spongy lungs bestow’d, | |
| O! all that borrow’d motion seeming ow’d, | |
| Would yet again betray the fore-betray’d, | |
| And new pervert a reconciled maid.’ |