But love or hate, fare ill or well, I force not of thy fare;
My welcome, which thou dost pretend, shall prove a thank-
When Daphles heard him so unkind, she held herself ac
And little lacked of so well but that her heart did burst;
And where she read the churlish scroll, she fell into a swoon;
But, brought again, upon a bed herself she casteth down,
Not rising more: and so her love and life together end:
Or (if I so may guess) in death her soul did live his friend.
The queen interr'd, and obit kept (as she in charge did give), A knight was shipp'd to Calidon, where Doracles did live, To offer him, as her bequest, the Argive throne and crown. Not that we force or fear (quotli he) thy favour or thy frown We move this peace, or make thee prince; but Daphles
Who, loving more than thou could'st hate, nor liv'd nor died thy foe.
And is she dead (quoth Doracles) that lived to my wrong?
I gladly do accept the news, expected for of long.
The lord and legate were embark'd, and ship ran under sail,
Until the Argive strand the mariners did hail.
To Daphles, by adoption, there enthronized a king,
He divers years good fortune had successive in each thing, All friends, no foes, all wealth, no want, still peace and never
And what might seem an earthly heaven to Doracles was rife. A subject, but a nobleman, did richly feast the king,
And after meat presented him with many a sight and thing. There was a chamber, in the which, portrayed to the quick, The picture of Queen Daphles was; and deeply did it prick The king his conscience, and he thought her like did not remain:
So whom her person could not pierce, her picture now did pain.
A kissing Cupid, breathing love into her breast, did hide Her wand'ring eyes, whilst to her heart his hand a death
Non mærens morior, for the mott, enchased was beside.
Her courtesy and his contempt he calleth then to mind,
And of her beauty in himself he did a chaos find.
Recalling eke his late degree, and reck'ning his desert,
He could not think (or faintly thought), his love to stern
her heart;
And to the maker of the feast, did such his thoughts im
'And doubts your grace (the feaster said) if Daphles lov'd or no?
I wish (I hope I wish no harm) she had not loved so,
Or you more liked than you did, then she had lived yet:
To what her latest speech did tend I never shall forget.
Myself, with divers noblemen, whose tears bewray'd our care,
Was present, when her dying tongue of you did thus declare;
My hap (quoth she) is simply bad that cannot have, nor hope;
Was ever wretch (I wretch except) held to so scant a scope?
I see him rove at other marks, and I unmark'd to be:
I find my fault, but follow it,* while death doth follow me. Ah death (my lords), despair is death, and death must ransom bliss,
Such ransom pleaseth Doracles, and Daphles pliant is.
Not bootless then (since breathless straight) sweet love doth
flames contrive,
The which shall burn me up at once that now do burn alive.
Alas (then did she pause in tears), that Doracles were by,
To take it from his eyes, not ears, that I for him do die;
At least, perhaps, he would confess my love to be no lie.
* I find my fault, but follow it, &c.] Thus, Pope: I view my crime, but kindle at the view.
But (want-wit I) offensive sights to Doracles I crave;
Long live, dear heart, not minding me when I am laid in
And you (my lort is); by those same gods, whose sight I hope
I conjure that ye him invest your king when I am gone.
And only say I liv'd and died to him a lover true,
And that my part ing ghost did sound, sweet Doracles adieu.
A sigh concluding; such her words, she closed up her eye;
Not one of us, beholding it, that seemed not to die.
Thus to your grace I leave to guess how tragic Daphles died;
In love, my lord, yea loving you, that her of love denied.'
The picture, and this same discourse, afford sufficient woe
To him, that, mainned in his mind, did to his palace go.
There Doracles did set abroach a world of things forgot;
What mean'st thou, man? (ah frantic man) how art thou
(He said) to hate the substance then, and love the shadow now, Her painted board, whose amorous heart did break whilst I
And could'st thou, churlish wretch, contemn the love of such a queen?
O gods, I grant for such contempt I justly bide your teene.
Her only beauty (worthy Jove, that now on me hath power)
Was worthy of far worthier love, without a further dower.
But
gaze thou on her, senseless sign, whose self thou raad'st
And gazing perish; for thy life is debt to her decay.
Time going on, grief it grew on, of dolour sprung despair,
When Doracles to Daphles' tomb did secretly repair:
There (tears a preface to the rest) these only words he
Thy love was loss, for loss my life in recompense do take, Dear Daphles;' so a dagger's stab a tragedy did make. Albion's England, by W. Wagner, Chap. ix. Edit. 1602.
O FIERCE and furious God! whose harmfull heart
Rejoiceth most to shed the guiltless blood:
Whose heady will doth all the world subvert,
And doth envy the pleasant merry mood
Of our estate that erst in quiet stood;
Why dost thou thus our harmless town annoy,
Which mighty Bacchus governed in joy?
Father of war and death! that dost remove
With wrathful wreck from woeful mother's breast
The trusty pledges of her tender love;
So grant the gods, that for our final rest,
Dame Venus' pleasant looks may charm thee best,
Whereby when thou shall all amazed stand,
The sword may fall out of thy trembling hand.
And thou may'st prove some other way full well
The bloody prowess of thy mighty spear,
Wherewith thou raisest from the depths of hell
The wrathful sprites of all the furies there,
Who, when they wake, do wander every where,
And never rest to range about the coasts,
T' enrich their pit with spoils of damned ghosts.
And when thou hast our fields forsaken thus,
Let cruel Discord bear thee company,
Engirt with snakes, and serpents venomous,
E'en she, that can with red vermilion dye
The gladsome green, that flourish'd pleasantly, And make the greenly ground a drinking cup, the blood of murder'd bodies
Jocasta, by G. Gascoigne, Act II. Scene the last, from his Poems, 1577, 4to.
BLISSFUL Concord, bred in sacred breast
Of him that rules the restless-rolling sky,
That to the earth, for man's assured rest,
From height of heavens vouchsafest down to fly!
In thee alone the mighty power doth lie,
With sweet accord to keep the frowning stars,
And
every planet else, from hurtful wars.
In thee, in thee, such noble virtue bides,
As may command the mightiest gods to bend;
From thee alone such sugar'd friendship slides
As mortal wights can scarcely comprehend.
To greatest strife thou sett'st delightful end.
O holy Peace, by thee are only found
The passing joys that every where abound!
Thou, only thou, through thy celestial might,
Didst first of all the heavenly pole divide
From th' old confused heap, that Chaos hight:
|