To his Friend, a Panegyric upon his lovers, Albino and Bellama.
Though I have vow'd a silence, and as yet
Resolvèd not to travel out in jet,
Chiefly in print, yet your intending press
Makes me my thoughts with courage, language, dress.
With smooth-strain'd metre, that the world may know
My strict engagements, and how much I owe
To you your worth, which may command a line
From him which swears 'gainst all but what's divine.
The highness of your style, the quickness, life,
10Will in judicious readers raise a strife,
(More than the ball amongst th' engoddess'd three)
Which gains the best, but all are best by me,
Matchless in my conceit: add then to these
The neatness of your plots, and swear a please
To the grim stoic and the satir'd brow
Forceth delight, through strictness, neatness, vow,
Grow abler still in fancy, imp thy quill,
Write anything, if something, fear not ill,
If poesy be thus revenged by thy dream,
20How will it flourish when 'ts thy morning theme?
Sleeping or waking, let us have thy quill,
And sleep and vigils shall admire thy skill.
I. Pickering.
To his Friend.] The extraordinary badness of the orthography in the original may be judged from its form for panegyric—'Panagericke', which is, of course, mere ignorant setting from dictation, with no 'reading' to correct.
11 Does 'engoddessed' occur elsewhere? If not, I think I. Pickering should score for it, though it does not apply very well to three actual goddesses.]
Imprimatur.
Sa. Baker.
June 22, 1637.
Imprimatur.] Samuel Baker, Fellow of Christ's, Prebendary of St. Paul's, and Canon of Windsor and Canterbury, who was deprived of his preferments in the Rebellion, and seems not to have lived quite long enough to recover them. The reverse of the imprimatur leaf bears, in Professor Firth's copy, the inscription 'Rot Tebbutt His Book 1779'—a date at which the Carolines were not usually appreciated, though their turn was coming.
THE PLEASING HISTORY OF ALBINO AND BELLAMA
When British Isles—begirt with moist'ned sand,
Neptune's blue palace, and the Triton's walk—
Albania hight, her name who first did land
Of all the sisters, or from rocks of chalk;
From sad oppression had unyok'd their necks,
And paid obedience unto Adell's becks,
Then, in those halcyon days of peace and joy,
A virtuous lady, most transcendent creature,
Fairer than her whose beauty cinder'd Troy—
[10]Grace deck'd her mind, her mind grace['d] her feature;
So that each part made Helen out of date,
And every grace a goddess could create.
Virtue and beauty both in her did strive
Which should in worth and grace surpass the other,
Nor age of consistency, both did thrive
Till this Dian' out-ray'd that Cupid's mother.
Nay men, by beams of her clear beauty, might
Scale Titan's chariot, and out-ray his light.
'Mongst Nature's precious things we find a gem,
20Blushèd and purpled o'er with amethysts,
Which fiery carbuncles with sparkles hem,
And which the em'ralds purest vert entwists,
Meeting so well that lapidaries wist
'Twas em'rald, carbuncle, and amethyst.
So in this precious pair, pure Agathite,
Aurora's purpling blush was clearly seen,
Saba's bright rose, and Leda's swan-like white,—
The true proportion of Adonis' queen—
Blended so well, that in this curious frame
30Aurora, Saba, Leda, Venus came.
And as the honey-making waxen-thigh'd
Inhabitants of Hybla's fragrant vales,
Whom only Nature's dim instinct does guide,
Choose their commander with their tuneful hails,
Pay homage, honour him, and fear his frowns,
With same observance as the people crowns,—
So, by the same instinct, the blushing rose
Vèil'd bonnet to her cheeks admirèd red,
The lilies to her bosom, brow, and nose,
40The Phoenix stripp'd herself to crown her head,
The chirping choristers with willing choice
Sat silent to admire her warbling voice.
Perfum'd Arabia with her spice and gums
Paid homage to the odours of her lips;
To her with fawning postures, licks, and hums
The yellow lion and the tiger skips;
Fire dares not scorch her face, nor winter chill her,
And death himself looked pale when called to kill her.
The amorous Sun, if she walk'd out by day,
50Would rein his jennets to behold her face;
And, wrapt in admiration, by his stay
Had rather melt the orbs than mend his pace;
And if the middle air in walls of jet
Enjail'd his beams, he thawèd into wet.
If in the reign of silent night abroad
She rang'd, the Empress of the lowest sphere,
Amazed at her perfections, left her road,
And rang'd about where she appeared t' appear;
Nay, mourned in darkness if denied her sight,
60As when day's henchman does deny her light.
The curlèd tapers of the firmament
Did cease to twink, but gazed with fixèd eyes,
In their own orb refusing to be pent,
And strove to leap upon the lower skies;
Nay, did o' th' second air like comets hang,
To dart their crisps at beauty's only spang.
The sea-born planet poppèd out her lamp,
And t' see herself outshin'd by her, did rage;
The marching war-god did remove his camp,
70With [this] fair lady curtain-war to wage;
Hermes by Jove being of an errand sent
Stay'd on her face, in her embraces pent.
Dull-agèd Saturn (on whose sullen brow
Ne'er dwelt a smile since Jove usurp'd his crown)
To gaze on her his weighty head did bow,
And with a smile unplaited every frown:
Nay, Jove himself descended from his chair
To take a full survey of this—this fair.
And more, her winning looks dispersed such charms,
80All eyes commanding and all hearts surprising,
That Venus bade her son provide him arms,
Fearing his setting by this bright star's rising:
For, though men say Love's eyes are more than dim,
Yet her fair beauty did enlighten him.
But with entreaties he had beat the air,
And on the tawny moor his waters cast,
For having pow'r to conquer, being fair,
Sh'ad pow'r not to be conquer'd, being chaste;
So that his amorous sleights and wingèd arrow
90Could not have oped her breast or pierced her marrow.
This Phoenix was Bellama called (a word
Well suiting her deserts), she daughter was
And heir-apparent to a wealthy lord,
Who had more acres than an acre grass:
He loved his lands, and hugged his minted treasure,
Yet his Bellama was his soul of pleasure.
His place of residence was in a chase
Chequered with thick-grown thorns and sturdy oaks,
Wherein majestic stags and bucks did pace
[100]That scorned the hounds, and dared the barbèd strokes;
'Twas called Rivelount, not distant far
From Starley, of that shire the metro-star.
The neighbouring swains were palled with coaches' thunder,
And loud curvettings of their foaming steeds,
Whose ironed hoofs did crash the rocks in sunder;
Happy was he, who (sheathed in costly weeds)
Could win admission to this happy place,
Where Nature's wealth was locked up in a face.
Each glance she sent the object did engem,
110And he that won a smile possessed a mine;
A hair was prizèd at a diadem,
A ribbon made the[m] tread the ecliptic line;
A ring outface a thunder, but a kiss
Was the elixir, heart, and soul of bliss.
Some of their lands, some of their valours spoke,
Some, of their falcons and their merry bells;
Some read the price of such a suit and cloak,
And one of hounds and running horses tells;
All speak of something, yet but few with wit,
120All aimed at wise, yet few could purchase it.
Some spake in oaths, as if they thought the earth
Was peopled o'er with faithless infidels;
Another swore, because he feared a dearth
Of other language, yet in oaths excels:
All swear enough, and he that did it least
Might be grand swearer at Ven-Bacchus feast.
Others there were that could not bigly prate,
Who did their evidences bring with them;
One brought his halls to plead, one his estate,
130This brought a watch to court, and that a gem;
One brought a large descent [in] white and black,
Which [he] derivèd from old Pergam's sack.
One brought a reverent sire, whom he called father,
To be the tongue of his reservèd son;
Others with much expense of wax did gather
Some printed rimes to speak when they were gone:
All had their speakers which unclasped their graces,
Yet their court-language dwelt on plaits and places.
One of these suitors was approved to be
140A match whose thousands equi-balanced hers;
The parents oft would say, 'This shall be he,'
The mother then a bill of love prefers:
But still Bellama faults, and vows that gold
Shall never force her love to have and hold.
The testy father, with a furrowed brow,
Comes to Bellama with demanding why?
Says 'Mine own girl, thou must be rulèd now,
Each knee pays duty to Don Fuco's eye:
And age well knows bean-manors, lands, and treasures
150Do cement lovers' hearts, and enjoy their pleasures.
Thou must not, wench, be coy. Alas! we find
Beauty as easily bought when money bids
(Though 't be i' th' nonsuch of the female kind),
As horse or cow, the lamb, or frisking kids:
If he be rich we bear his witless brags,
A wealthy fool's more worth than witty rags.'
Bellama, with a look fraught with disdain,
(Though hatred did not make her anger bold)
Says 'Sir, I'm sorry you do entertain
160Such high conceits of folly hemmed with gold:
Think you no marriage good if equal lands
Be not matchmakers and do join their hands?
Don Fuco has ten thousand pounds a year,
With weighty titles would o'erload a mule,
A piece of arras finely wrought and dear;
But does he square his life to virtue's rule?
With vice as wealth, to countless sums he thrives,
But is, in virtue, full as poor as wives.
He knows to steer an horse and hollo hounds,
170But not to guide his actions, less his tongue;
He speaks in state, but ev'ry sentence sounds
Of comic fragments or some tavern song.
And shall I him, hail'd by unworthy pelf,
Take to rule me, who cannot rule himself?
Shall I see other female vessels thrive
With mine own nectar, and they fee'd with money,
Whilst I like careful bee do keep my hive,
And work the comb for them to suck the honey?
No, I'll no sharers have in my delight,
180I'll have it one and only, else good night.
'Tis a fine thing to see a satin paint
That fears to lose her beauty in a press,
That only cares to be precisely quaint,
And spends a twelvemonth's pleasure on a dress:
To see this stroke his honour, and he clip her,
Span ev'ry part, and unresisted lip her.
But I do not in a rank humour rail
'Gainst sober purples, and discreeter robes,
Nor lock up virtues in the paper-jail
190With ink-horns, pens, spheres, globes, and Albo-globes.
Religion on my heart does love enneal
To those bright tapers of our commonweal.
Yet where, instead of state, proud looks do dwell,
Where wit and wisdom are unlocked with oaths,
Courtship and comeliness are in the shell,
And honour only sits upon the clothes.
Pardon, if unto such I plait my brow,
And steer my thought unto a virgin-vow.'
'Fie,' says the father, 'you're a foolish girl
[200]'Gainst ermines with that height'ned spleen to rail;
Dost think there's vice and folly in an earl?
Then virtue sure does penance in the jail.
To kiss and sport with us is held no sin
If that our dalliance do not pass the skin.
Perchance 'tis not a point of state to have
Too large a stock of wisdom in this age,
The epithet to greatness is not grave;
Those that the Muses in their cells encage,
Let them speak oil and civet; but we are lords,
210Can speak by signs, and not expressed by words.
Wherefore do we to Sable give the room,
And greater numbers far of Adel's stamps
Than to our steward or our lady's groom;
'Cause with reproofs he our choice pleasures damps?
No, 'cause in dedications he should name us,
And by some witty pamphlet make us famous.
Our moral virtues are no guiding rule
To high nobility, or looking-glass,
No more than t' earth the ne plus ultra's Thule,
220As 'fore America was found, it was.
'Tis fit for those whose bosom-friends are lice,
To know the pain, not sweet delights, of vice.
Dost see yon tender webs Arachne spins,
Through which with ease the lusty bumbles break,
But to the feeble gnats that mesh their gins?
So those sage precepts, which our Sophies speak,
Fetter the passions of each worthless slave;
But over us no sovereign awe they have.'
'My lord, the name of father strikes,' quoth she,
230'An awful dread, and makes my ear obey;
Yet slip my duty down unto the knee,
And in my silent thoughts check, chide, and say,
"Can they that taste forbidden waters thrive?"
My chaste demeanour I will ne'er survive.
T' avoid the doom of—therefore I'll make choice
Of one whose virtue outs all love to vice,
Not those sleek skins which am'rous are in voice,
Lip-love which, as soon born, dies in a trice.
Our loves reciprocal shall be still dust,
240Which into exile packs unlawful lust.'
As they discours'd Don Fuco entered in,
With stately garbs befitting such a one,
His body shellèd in a satin skin
Of azure dye, bestarred with topaz stone,
A milk-white beaver, with an ostrich plume,
His very rowels spake a loud perfume.
Having composed his hingèd looks, he glanced
With piercing eyes upon her curious face,
And, steeping sighs in tears and sweat, advanced
250Himself to plead with courtly garb and grace.
But Fucus, led by most mimetic apes,
Could not depinge Don Fuco's antic shapes.
Such were the postures of his hands and eye,
That had he treasured up his mirthful tones,
They were ingredients for a comedy,
Would into laughter change a widow's groans:
And since that time (Bellama smiled so then)
Love in her dimpled cheeks has found a den.
'Madam,' says he, 'be pleased to trutinate
260And wisely weigh your servant's graceful voice;
Give due attendance to the airs of state;
I have engraven you Don Fuco's choice.
Give free assent, and let the scornful "No!"
Be quite expungèd from the criss-cross-row.
Alas, I'm not beholding unto letters,
Wherewith our rabbis stuff their swelling books.
I have a way of complimenting better,
To win thy love with comely garbs and looks.
And, if these fail, the name of countess will
270Speak with a power above the Sidney-skill.
I hate long-winded sentences, which do
Unbreath a man, and hazard much his bellows,
Or pocket-flashes which instruct to woo—
The only virtues of some inkhorn fellows—
I scorn their troths, indods, their ifs or ands,
Or their O Lord, sir, when their wit's o' th' sands.
A fluent rascal that can speak in oil,
And clothe his words with silken eloquence,
I know may give a virgin strength the foil.
280But a blunt earl that scarcely speaks in sense,
Whom thousands honour with the cap and leg,
Beats down a fortress like a roaring Meg.
He needs no Roscian language, but does send
His velvet-coated herald to proclaim
The noble titles which his worth attend:
For honour is th' ambitious lady's aim.
Feature and spicèd words but lead the van,
Honour the front, the noble is the man.'
'My lord,' says she, 'your valour I approve,
290That with three selves thus warranteth your suit,
With self-conceit, self-confidence, self-love:
Such trees will bear your lordship glorious fruit,
It well befits your greatness not to think
There can denials dwell in air or ink.
Your trencher-cloaks, and your recognizance,
Your coat of arms with noble ermines dight,
Your russian satin, with the cut of France,
Your talking rowels, and your feath'red white,
Are batt'ring rams and guns that speak in thunder,
[300]To crack a breast, and split a heart in sunder.
But my mind is Diana's chastest seat,
O'er which the breath of greatness hath no power;
The quiver-bearing boy sounds a retreat,
And Jove avails not with his yellow shower,
The vestal fire outshines blind Cupid's flame
Which oft's eclipsed with sorrow damped with shame.
And, troth, my lord, had I but wit enough
T' assist your lordship in your nuptial tede,
Your lordship should not play at blind man's blough
310(Else heavens should renounce their Ganymede):
For they that purblind are may plainly see
You grossly hoodwinked are in courting me.
The faults of state I cannot virtues name,
And bear myself upon the wings of pride,
Nor light my taper at another's flame,
Or use the art at beauty's eventide.
I brook not dalliance, or the Venus kiss,
That way of am'rousness, or that, or this.
I cannot seal a welcome with an oath
320To those whose absence I had rather have;
Nor venture hundreds at that paper-sloth
Of mistress Is'bel and the Pennell-knave.
I know no masking postures, nor with grace
Can tread the brawls, or true coranto pace.
I cannot at the feast of riot sit,
When sea, land, air, are served up in plate;
Nor like Tripherus with a carving wit
Read precepts this and this to dissecate.
Nor in dear murrhine, chargèd to the brim,
330Health it about until our mullets swim.
I do not love to have my husband be
Discreet by proxies, by his chaplains wise;
Nor do I like the too much cringing knee,
Whose formal bends his black conceits disguise.
Those fawning sharks I cannot call to table,
Which into ermines change your lordship's sable
To have my usher press his master's saddle,
In my opinion cannot pass for good;
I do not love to have my pillow addle,
340Meanwhile my woman lets your lordship blood.
I am no Androgyne, nor do delight
To diet pages, or your Catamite.'
'Madam, what passion does untune your mind?
What fiend' (says he) 'in you thus rails on greatness?
Who viceth honour, lies, and he is blind
That says court-satins are not trimmed with neatness.
Speak then in balms, forget the peevish why,
And to the "Wilt thou have this"—Answer "Ay".'
'No, no,' says she, 'yet might I know your saint,
350If my endeavours can advantage you,
With your endowments I would her acquaint,
And limn your rare perfections in her view:
In this one act I may myself approve
More loving, than in entertaining love.
I'll say with what dexterity you can
Run o'er the postures of the court-salute,
How trimly you can kiss a lady's fan,
And neatly manage an embroid'red suit;
How finely Spanish leg-shells you can plait,
360And tune your rowels at the court retrait.
I might say you are witty, if't be true
That jests and jingles are in brotherhood,
I'll speak your skill in hawks, at flight, in mew,
And at all hunting ceremonies good;
How gracefully you wave your gallant plumes,
And deeply are engaged to deep perfumes.
How kind you are unto our chamber-shes,
How to our marmosets and trencher-pages,
How oily-fingered unto supple knees,
370How fain to th' music of our wire cages.
How quaintly you supply the usher's room,
How sweetly you can act the privy-groom.
Much more in blazoning your matchless worth,
And counting all your specials, might I say—
But nature ne'er a second did bring forth,
Which to such known perfections can say nay.
I'll cease to praise them, lest my praises make
Your veins of pride with self-conceit to ache.
I will perform what I have promis'd, sir,
380Please you t' impart your lady to my maid,
I see my words your liver-wort does stir
Into your face, which in your channels strayed.
No more of trouble then, my lord, adieu;
This courteous door divorceth me and you.'
Away flings she, and leaves my lord alone,
More pensive than a widow which bedews
Her husband's corpse with tears, a woman's moan,
Or than the Lupa of diseasèd stews;
So that who saw his jigging head would swear
390Wisdom nor wit did ne'er inhabit there.
Don Rivelezzo sent a smiling glance,
That they might his consent read in his eye;
But seeing Fuco in a stupid trance,
He was possessed with equal frenesy.
The mother came to th' rescue, and wellnigh
Sent her own wit to bear theirs company.
Fain would he tell the cause of his disasters,
And eagerly her parents strove to know it,
Yet, strangely, them this passion overmasters,
[400]That neither they could ask, nor he could show it;
As though an Incubus with vap'rous throngs
Enclasped their bosoms and unvoiced their tongues.
At length Don Fuco cried, 'Bellama cruel,
What evil planet revelled at thy birth,
Or what incensèd god provided fuel
To make me feel hell's torture upon earth?
Was there no way to punish me for sin
But by a maid? No, there our woes begin.
When I with admiration view'd her face,
410I boldly durst give any tongue the lie
That dared to say, with such supernal grace,
There dwelt one atom of this tyranny.
But—if that virgin's hieroglyphics be
Of love and mildness, take them all for me.
I'll make a casement with this steely blade
In my full breast, through which my soul shall peep,
And make my heart in sanguine liquor wade,
And entrails all in juice of liver steep.
Nay, straightway give hell's ferryman his pay
420For wafting me o'er black Cocytus' Bay.
Or unto Proserpine I'll post a sprite,
To fetch m' a cup of moist oblivion,
Wherewith the Fairy Queen exilèd quite
Fury from her stout knight and Oberon,
That I not only may forget disgrace,
But quite forget I ever saw her face.'
'Let not', says Rivelez, 'a peevish girl
Hang fetters on your heart, untune your soul:
Dwells there not courage with a worthy earl,
430Blind Cupids bow and quiver to control?
My lord, take heed, the squinting boy works treason,
By passions to divest your soul of reason.
He by his sly insinuations oft
A good opinion in the heart doth win:
The most obdurate are by him made soft
And homage pay to Love their sovereign sin,
Fires in, nor hurts, the flint; but Cupid can
With flames to cinders waste the flinty man.
A wily fisherman hath store of baits,
440Wherewith for amorists he wisely angles,
With glitt'ring pomp he for th' ambitious waits,
The greedy carl with silver twists entangles;
The silk-lascivious with a wanton eye,
The austere stoic with a modest "fie!"
The studious Templant he with Ergo calls,
The grave precisian with a matron grace,
The virtuous mind with virtue he enthrals,
A landed heir with a blushed-lily face.
For Epicurean love he wisely trolls
450With spiced rarities and frothing bowls.
The cross-adorers he with crossing catches,
Yet strange it is that crossing should join hands.
But, to Sir Love-all, all are equal matches,
Grace, beauty, feature, honour, virtue, lands.
This has a dainty hand; that, lip, or eye,
This chaste, that seeming, that will not deny.
None are love-free, unless uncapable
Of those choice blessings Venus' sole son proffers,
None, whom age, fortune, nature, does enable,
460With peevish noes neglecteth Hymen's offers.
All are inclined to love, and all must bow,
If Cupid's arrow do but write "Love thou".
Invest your noble thoughts with courage, Don,
Let reason, maugre love, triumphant ride,
Millions of ladies breath in Albion,
Have more rose-lilies, and less store of pride.
I'll warrant, though Bellama now say "no",
She'll find, ere long, denial was her foe.'
'Ha!' quoth Don Fuco, with a far-fetched sigh,
470Which all that time was drenched o'er-head in grief,
'Am I to black Cocytus yet drawn nigh?
Where are th' Elysian shades, thou tott'red thief?
Call Rhadamanthus forth, justice I'll have,
Or in his breast my steel shall dig a grave.
Call forth the Furies with their snaky hairs,
Pale-cheeked Erynnis and her sister hags,
Tell Nemesis I'll fetch her down the stairs,
And try what truth dwells in her wrathful brags.
Dispoison vipers, toads, and crawling adders,
480And with their venom stretch her spacious bladders.
Bid Cerberus belch, from his triple jaws,
A barking thunder which the earth may shake:
I'll fetch the Dragon's and the Scorpion's paws
From the full zodiac, her face to rake.
Come forth, Demagoras, thy cunning try,
To mask all beauty with a leprosy.
We will no more our lily-stems transplant,
And set our roses on their cheeks and lips;
Their fairness shall not hence surpass the ante,
490Their crimson dye the brick or writhled hips.
Beauty shall be exiled, despite shall end her,
Or else we'll change her to another gender.
The Thracian harper was a silly ass,
That for his wife passed through the Stygian stench,
The clubman's foolery did his surpass,
That spun and carded for a Lydian wench.
The Greeks were fools that for a light-skirt strumpet
Chang'd the still viol to a loud-mouth'd trumpet.
Jove's blacksmith was no privy counsellor,
[500]To marry Venus for the forehead flag;
The jolly huntsman sure did something err
To see a goddess, and become a stag.
Jove was no golden show'r: sure 'twas a gull,
Nor e'er transform'd himself into a bull.'
'Peace, good my lord,' Don Rivelezzo says,
'What uncouth passion doth your soul entrance?
Your words are like the Bacchanalian lays,
Wherewith the priests their god of wine enhance.
What, man! though this fond she from you did start,
510Another 'll say, "My lord, with all my heart."
Observe the practice of doves masculine,
Which woo their females, with "I come to woo",
Not in a fit of woman cry and whine,
Straight to another haste, if she says no.
If to one face our stock of love we ope,
We pinion Cupid's wings, and fetter hope.
Bellama slights, what then? shall we conclude,
All women will deny you their assent?
A strange induction: call all ladies lewd,
520'Cause Flora and some few to Venice went?
Amongst a thousand maids, there's scarcely two,
As coy Bellama now hath done, will do.
Wherefore created were those glorious lights,
Which in the azure firmament appear?
Why was day's charioteer with lustre dight?
Only to gild with rays his proper sphere?
No, to lend brightness to the borrowing lamps,
And clear the earth from night's obscuring damps.
Why has Dame Nature so much brightness lent
530To diamonds, topazes, and other gems?
Only t' enrich themselves? no, to augment
The glory of our rings and diadems.
The ostrich for himself wears not his plumes,
Nor for 's own nose the civet cat perfumes.
So, on our sprucest ladies, matchless graces
Were not bestowèd to delight themselves.
Pandora was not treasured up in faces,
To bring content unto possessing elves.
But 'cause our heroes should the comfort find
540Of winning beauty and a willing mind.
The maid of Babylon, I know, was fair,
And rich in all the lineaments of beauty;
Yet was she kind, which did not them impair,
But showed to Nature's hests her forward duty.
For Nature's bounty best requited is,
By yielding free assent to Hymen's bliss.
The Queen of Carthage dear respects bestowed
Upon the straggling prince of ruined Troy.
Choice love unto Leander Hero showed:
550The Cyprian goddess wooed her sappy boy.
All fraught with pity; but that peevish girl,
'Bout whose sleek waist hell's vipers wind and twirl.
Nor such examples wants our latest age,
Of virgin lovers these to parallel,
Who, every way, those former equipage,
With whom records and modern pamphlets swell.
Then courage, Don, fear not to find a face
That hath more pity, and more lovely grace.'
'Much ease' (quoth Fuco) 'to my lovesick heart,
560My lord, is by your sage advisement brought.
For I supposed th' Idalian younker's dart
Had fest'red so, no easement could be bought,
I on her looked through such a pleasing glass,
As though that sex in her contracted was.
I thought t' have sent my physic-doctor forth
Unto his herbal, to address my ill;
T' ask Æsculapius for some earth-born worth,
Which might accomplish my intended will.
But that 'tis said Apollo once complained
570No herb to cure love's fevers could be gained.
Whilst an opinion of her matchless grace
Scorchèd my bosom with affection's gleams,
Mine eyes ne'er straggled to another face,
Nor could I bathe my thoughts in Lethe's streams.
But now I'll sound retrait; reclaim my mind,
Not catch a falling star, nor grasp the wind.'
This said, with sparkling sack he wash'd the lane,
Which to the limbeck of his body leads—
Health to Bellama, and a health again,
580Till, where his feet his wingèd beaver treads,
So well he took his sack without a toast.
That, 'stead of kissing her, he kiss'd the post.
Dispassioned quite, as in a breathless calm,
Don Rivelezzo bids Don Fuco 'dieu;
But hooted loudly, like a shrill-toned shawm,
When his swift steed took farewell of his view.
Accursing Fate, and railing on his daughter,
Which might beget in Heraclitus laughter.
'Have I', says he, 'such Crassian heaps of gold,
590Condemned to sleep in iron-ribbèd chests?
Did I delight in vestments coarse and old,
Wherein Anthropophages have dug them nests?
Nay, wish'd there were no tavern-juice, or sports,
Or change of fashions, but in princes' courts?
Have I sat brooding o'er my treasured plate,
And summed the surplusage of each year's rent,
Confined my spendings to a weekly rate,
Enjoined a penance when th' allowance spent?
And when an earl tuned every grace to win her,
[600]She slights his vows: nor gales nor gold can pin her!
But since she slights my matches, I will match her:
She shall of peevishness the harvest reap.
Since this Don's matchless fortunes could not catch her:
I shall ere long make her affections cheap.
Her love shall stoop to court a common farm,
A lordship then shall scorn to fold an arm.'
'My lord,' her mother, Lady Arda, said,
'A parent's ire ought not to force assent.
Wealth, blent with vice, can ne'er disheart a maid
610To whom bless'd virtue is the choice content.
There's other things do maid's affections stir,
Beside a manor, and a "please you sir".'
'Madam' (quoth he), 'in vain you do excuse
Your daughter's folly with your friendly air,
The next I offer she shall not refuse.
Sirrah, go harness straight my wheeling chair,
I'll try if less content and pleasure dwells
In princes' courts than in monastic cells.'
When he was coached, the Lady Arda went
620To fair Bellam', bedewed with streaming tears:
'The gods', said she, 'have ravelled thy content,
Sorrows uncomfort will thy virgin years:
For unto Darwey does thy father haste,
Where he will vow thee everlasting chaste.'
'Madam,' says she, 'I feed on naught but gall,
Aloes and rue, 'cause of my father's wrath.
Th' occasion though of his displeasure shall
With bays, instead of cypress, strew my path.
When virtue seals the contract, welcome Hymen,
630But till that, ever shall my heart deny men.'
Thus sate they parling. Lady Arda urged,
Producing reasons to enforce assent.
Bellama answered, begged, excused, and purged
Herself from blame, by urging love, content.
But urging and excusing, let them sit,
And see the father champing on the bit;
Who, coming to the cage of virgin-pride,
Knocked at the wicket with the iron crow,
To whose small neck white fillets ne'er were tied.
640Which in more ancient days did childbed show.
He rapped so hard, the sound did fright the air,
Yet still none came: none was not locked in prayer.
At length the janitor, of stature large,
With crozier-staff, girt in a hair-cloth frock,
Whose meagre looks did call for Charon's barge,
And all whose body was a sapless stock,
Came, and with churlish voice demanded who
With such shrill ho's rejoiced their civil croe.
'Friend,' says my lord, 'my errand wings my speed,
650Speaks high importance with the prioress;
Thou, in these angel-looks, my haste mayst read;
Help me to th' presence of the abbatess.'
The porter's heart soon stepp'd into his eye,
Tuning his language to a quick reply.
'My lord,' says he, 'obedience is my duty,
Whilst your commands speak in so high a tone.
Yet, lest your smooth-chinn'd youths lay siege to beauty,
Your lordship, spite of state, must walk alone.
I am an eunuch; else in vain I vow'd,
660I had mistook my pillow in a crowd.'
Him he conducted to the kitchen, where
Store of anatomies employed was;
Some did the candlesticks, some lavers clear,
Some scourèd pewter, some reburnished brass,
Don asks the cause; the porter him acquaints,
'Twas 'gainst a feast of high account, All Saints.
Within the hall a younger sort of girls,
Yet coarse enough, did brush vermilion looks.
Some crosses rubbed, some, ropes of praying pearls;
670Some dusted vestments, some, their gilded books.
Some kneaded wafers: and his effige stamped,
Whose purple streams the dragon's sulphurs damped.
All at Don Rivelezzo were amazed,
And, looking, one rubbed off a nose of wax,
A second razed a cheek; another gazed
And plucked from Kath' her periwig of flax.
One blinded Serrat, and did rend her silk;
One broke the cruse, and spilt the virgin-milk.
Don passed through these into an inner room,
680Where was another rank of virgin-fry,
Some weaving arras on the nimble loom,
And intertwisting gold with tapestry,
With silk of Naples twisted in small ropes;
Some did the cowls embroider, some the copes.
At last he came into an upper place,
Climbing thereto by richly gilded stairs,
Where sate another troop, of nobler race,
On quilted cushions, and in ivory chairs.
About the centre, in a robe of state,
690The matron Vesta of the virgins sate.
These were employed about far nobler things,
For some of sainted hair did bracelets twine;
Others strung beads to stint the knees of kings;
Some trimmed with costly gems the Lady's shrine.
One tuned the music, and a witty other
Footed an Ave to the Virgin-mother.
The grave old matron, crawling from her throne
Of Indian teeth, arched o'er with cloth of gold,
Upon her aged knees with zealous tone
[700]Says, 'Heaven's messenger, what is't you would?'
Th' amazed lord with wonder quarrelled long,
Ere he could unvoice his silenced tongue.
'Madam,' says he, 'why pay you reverence?
Why are you guilty of th' adoring sin?
'Tis a delusion of your weak'ned sense,
I am no Cherub, Pow'r, nor Seraphin.
The heralds style me Rivelezzo's Don,
Your friend and servant, with a cap and con—'
'My lord,' quoth she, 'excuse my fond mistake,
710For o'er my sight I wear a duskish glass.
My zeal in pious actions sure did make
Me give you more respects than civil was.
But take your seat; and if my power or skill
Can crown your wishes, be you sure I will.'
'Madam,' says he, 'I have a scornful lass
Whom nature has enriched with special grace,
To whose perfections her reflecting glass
Is parasite, adds pride unto her face:
So that, though earldoms court her, her disdains
720Nonsuits their service, and her brow unplains.
Into your number of chaste-zealous shes,
Entrance unto this girl vouchsafe, I pray,
Unto your order. I the constant fees
Of gold and acres, and of vows will pay.
Since she Don slighted, I have vowed to see
How long she'll honour the religious knee.'
Quoth she, 'Those virgins which my hallowed roof
Does canopy, my prudence does protect.
I make blind love and folly stand aloof,
730And all love's paper-plots I do detect.
Great ones have oft assayed, but yet my care
Has buried their entreaties in the air.
With godly precepts I enrich their minds,
And make them (which is rare) at eighteen good.
I 'dmit no roisters; only maids and hinds
To do them service, and prepare us food.
Please you to send your daughter, she shall be
Crowned with delights of most transcendent glee.'
'Heavens', says Don, 'crown your ensuing days
740With all delights which wait your holy orders,
May the sad cypress and the bridal bays
Ne'er sprig nor blossom in your quiet borders.
I'll plume my swift endeavours: I'll make haste
T' invest Bellama with your habits chaste.'
When Don's farewell had ceased to move the air,
Says Piazzella to her virgin train,
'We, with th' enjoyment of this lady fair,
Shall stuff our carcanets with mickle gain.
We'll frolic it, and taste the choicest pleasures,
750Nor shall our joys be listed in with measures.
The credulous world we gull with silver shrines,
Our grave behaviours and retired lives,
When we in naked truth are libertines,
And taste the pillow joys of sprightful wives,
When through the vault our lusty shavelings pace,
All the choice measures of delight to chase.'
Thus leave them with their hair-lack crowns,
And see Rivelezzo now arrived at home,
Who by that time had plained his brow from frowns,
760And all becalmed with sugarèd words doth come:
Then tells his lady he had found a tow'r,
Would guard Bellama from Jove's yellow show'r.
Servants are posted to the old Exchange,
Others to sellers of the silkworm's spoils,
Some to brisk Proteuses, smirk tailors, range,
Some to the stationers, some haste for oils.
One carves the image of a martyred saint,
Another breathes a soul with gold or paint.
None must be idle till, in marshalled ranks,
770All things be ord'red for this virgin-vow.
Farewell ye spongy teats and puff'd-paste flanks,
Bellama's bridal tede is lighted now.
Her husband is Virginity, yet look,
Her beads for rings, for songs she'll change her book.
The coach is harnessèd, 'Bellama come',
The father says, 'hence with that dew of grief;
Give not a sad adieu unto our home,
But in thy thoughts let comfort rule as chief.'
She craved a blessing on her globe-like joints;
780Then coachèd thither where her sire appoints.
As the sweet-voicèd Philomele does sit
I' th' pikèd eglantine, with sorrow dressed,
'Cause some rude sylvan in a raging fit
Snatched her faint chickens from their downy nest.
So did the lady Arda, dight with mourning,
Deplore Bellama's loss with her returning.
As when sly Reynald in his widenèd jaws
Is seizing on the nimbly-frisking lamb,
Or when the tiger, with his sharp'ned paws,
790Hath caught the infant of the becking dam:
And then the shepherd's care prevents the sharks,
One loudly howls, the other hoarsely barks.
So, semblably, when as the waiting crew
Saw the departing of their golden age,
One gives Bellama, with eye-dew, adieu,
Another's grief unlocked the frenzy cage.
Some tore their hair, some rent their should'ring bands,
Some thwacked their breasts, and wrung their oily hands.
But all in vain, their Indian mine was gone,
[800]Their minting house deprivèd of the stamp,
Their costly gems were changed to pebble stone,
Their hemisphere forsaken by their lamp:
Saturn's exiled, Jove awes this massy ball,
And now the iron age ungoldeth all.
The wand'ring wheels, bestud with iron knobs,
Posted Bellama to the virgin-tower,
Which freed her from the noise of servile throbs;
Is entertainèd like a goddy power,
Led by the seeming saints unto the place
810Where sate Pazzella with a matron grace.
If Rivelezzo's presence frighted them,
Much more they at Bellama were amaz'd;
They called her Phoenix, beauty's only gem,
And all with fixèd tapers on her gazed:
Some had a mean, some curious were before,
But her first sight showed self-conceit the door.
For as when Tithon's bride breaks out afar,
And through th' expanse spreads forth her youngest light,
She, by degrees, pops out each twinkling star,
820And dims at length the mistress of the night—
As winter chapel-clerks, when prayers are done,
Dis-light each flazing wax or tallow sun.
So, when Bellama brightly did appear,
With morning rays in the monastic hall,
She veiled each face that movèd in that sphere,
And further, by degrees unfacèd all.
Nay, at the last, the mistress of the train
Looked like pale Phoebe in her dark'ned wain.
And as day's prince, light lustre's archi-beam,
830Lends to the moon her silver midnight rays;
As from the ocean wat'ry current stream
Though ev'ry cadent to that Chaos strays;
As to a room befogged with mists of night
Th' incensèd weeks do lend a midday light;
So to each brow Bellama's brow gives white;
To ev'ry cheek Bellama's cheek gave roses;
To ev'ry eye Bellama's eye gave sight;
To ev'ry breath Bellama's breath gave posies;
To ev'ry part Bellama's part gave grace;
840To ev'ry face Bellama gave a face.
Some called her goddess of the Cyprian isle;
Some said Troy's ruin was untombed again;
Some her the self-enamoured boy did style;
Some said the boat-boy did delude their train.
One named her thus, one said she was another,
But all confessed sh' exceeded Cupid's mother.
The aged patroness with palsied lips
Mutt'red a welcome to her lovely guest;
But at that time the moon was in eclipse,
850Which with enfeebling fears did them arrest.
Some shrilly screamed; some brazen pans did clang,
To ease her travail and abate her pang.
And when the monthly-hornèd queen had got
Her face again with silver glitter rayed,
Save only what the dragon's tail does spot,
On their pale lilies blushing claret strayed.
Then did the aged voice repeat again,
'Welcome, fair lady, to my maiden-train.'
Her instauration was somewhat strange.
860Led by nine vestals (for th' odd number was
Highly esteemèd in their sacred range,
As by the poet in his quaffing glass),
Each of her jointed lilies one did hold,
Save only that which waits the wedding gold.
Adorned with vestures, white as bleachèd snow,
A cypress mantle over which was cast,
So lightly hung 'twould not abide a blow,
A milk-white ribbon locked unto her waist,
Graced with a crucifix: her slender wrists
870With praying beads were wreathed on sable twists.
Grave Piazella ushered her along,
Bravely attended with her choicest nuns,
Without drum, trumpet, or an armèd throng,
Or champing coursers, or the wide-mouthed guns.
Each held religion in some holy right,
With holy water which the devils fright.
Into the place of holy worship they
Ent'red where gaudy superstition was,
Saints, altars, store of crucifixes gay,
880Whose stately worths my weak expression pass.
Scarce was there known a canonizèd saint
Which carving did not there beget, or paint.
With strong devotion all the virgins prayed
At the direction of the praying bead,
Their Ave-Maries, Santo, Salve's said,
Invoking ev'ry saint to intercede.
Piezza then, Bellama kneeling down,
Did wreathe her temple with the virgin-crown.
These rites performed, behind an iron grate
890Appearèd breathing cowls and walking copes,
Whose writhèd looks their births did antedate
And change the ciphers girdled in with ropes.
Their hair had purchas'd wings and flew away.
So did their brains, as some did whisp'ring say.
Unto this monast'ry in gloomy shades,
From Crostfull Priory these shavelings pace,
Distant from hence not two Italian stades.
Earth's bloodless womb was wimbled all the space.
Under the craggy rocks and champian did
[900]A roadway lie, from vulgar prying hid.
This darksome path they usually did tread
To traffic with their she-sequest'red zeal,
With whom for curtain-dalliance oft they plead.
But their success my muse dares not en-neale.
These loving sportings are not faults: the sin
Is when our walls keep not the scandal in.
Amongst the holy men that hither came,
To join their issue with the sisterhood,
A votary, Albino call'd by name,
910Not Fortune's white-boy, yet of abbey-blood.
His great-grandfather, some few ages since,
Of Glastonbury primate was, and prince.
His stature did not reach the tip-toe height,
Nor with the long-necked cranes did conflicts wage,
Something complete by nature not by sleight,
Some twenty circled snakes summed up his age;
Discreet as tiroes are, had store of wit,
In that he knew to use, and husband it.
By civil carriage, and his modest look,
920He gained the love of his lord Priorist,
He bowlèd, coursèd, angled in the brook,
His pleasure was his joy and pleasures list.
Oft would he rove (had his content a dearth)
Through th' hollow belly of th' unbowelled earth.
Sometimes permitted, sometimes by command
From his Lord Prior to the holy mother.
Conveying voices, or the paper-hand
Oft-times alone, scarce sorted with another.
The matron did with courteous eye respect him;
930Knowing no ill of him, did not suspect him.
She oft would praise his monkship to her train,
Calling his breast blest virtue's choice's shrine;
And vowed she seldom saw such beauty reign
Upon a face that's purely masculine.
And 'twas not common at his years to find
So neat a person with so pure a mind.
He'd freedom of discourse, not privacy,
Jests, sporting, laughter, and lip-dalliance;
Oft on Bellama would he fix his eye,
940And she to him would answer glance for glance.
They gazed so long and oft, till they did tie
Their hearts together only by the eye.
Love's fever, at the casements of the soul
Ent'ring, inflamèd every secret part,
That passion now his reason doth control,
And with the gyves of love enchains his heart:
And walking with Bardino, seeking pleasures,
He did Bellama sing in lofty measures.