FOOTNOTES:
[426] The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c. shews this narrative to have been penned before the civil wars: the strict observance of the sabbath was owing to the change of manners at that period.
[427] [coy, shy.]
[428] i.e. for stopping, and apprehending him at his father's.
VII.
THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD.
These beautiful stanzas were written by George Wither, of whom some account was given in the former part of this volume; see the song intitled, The Shepherd's Resolution, book ii. song xxi. In the first edition of this work only a small fragment of this sonnet was inserted. It was afterwards rendered more compleat and intire by the addition of five stanzas more, extracted from Wither's pastoral poem, intitled, The Mistress of Philarete, of which this song makes a part. It is now given still more correct and perfect by comparing it with another copy, printed by the author in his improved edition of The Shepherd's Hunting, 1620, 8vo.
[The Folio MS. (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. iii. p. 360) contains only the fifth and sixth stanzas slightly varied, which were printed in the first edition of the Reliques, with the title of The Aspiring Shepherd.]
Hence away, thou Syren, leave me,
Pish! unclaspe these wanton armes;
Sugred words can ne'er deceive me,
(Though thou prove a thousand charmes).
Fie, fie, forbeare; 5
No common snare
Can ever my affection chaine:
Thy painted baits,
And poore deceits,
Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 10
I'me no slave to such, as you be;
Neither shall that snowy brest,
Rowling eye, and lip of ruby
Ever robb me of my rest:
Goe, go display 15
Thy beautie's ray
To some more soone-enamour'd swaine;
Those common wiles
Of sighs and smiles
Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 20
I have elsewhere vowed a dutie;
Turne away thy tempting eye:
Shew not me a painted beautie;
These impostures I defie:
My spirit lothes 25
Where gawdy clothes
And fained othes may love obtaine:
I love her so,
Whose looke sweares No;
That all your labours will be vaine. 30
Can he prize the tainted posies,
Which on every brest are worne;
That may plucke the virgin roses
From their never-touched thorne?
I can goe rest 35
On her sweet brest,
That is the pride of Cynthia's traine:
Then stay thy tongue;
Thy mermaid song
Is all bestowed on me in vaine. 40
Hee's a foole, that basely dallies,
Where each peasant mates with him:
Shall I haunt the thronged vallies,
Whilst ther's noble hills to climbe?
No, no, though clownes 45
Are scar'd with frownes,
I know the best can but disdaine;
And those Ile prove:
So will thy love
Be all bestowed on me in vaine. 50
I doe scorne to vow a dutie,
Where each lustfull lad may wooe:
Give me her, whose sun-like beautie
Buzzards dare not soar unto:
Shee, shee it is 55
Affoords that blisse
For which I would refuse no paine:
But such as you,
Fond fooles, adieu;
You seeke to captive me in vaine. 60
Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me;
Seeke no more to worke my harmes:
Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,
Who am proofe against your charmes:
You labour may 65
To lead astray
The heart, that constant shall remaine:
And I the while
Will sit and smile
To see you spend your time in vaine. 70
VIII.
THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS OF JEALOUSY.
The subject of this ballad is taken from a folio collection of tragical stories, intitled, The theatre of God's judgments, by Dr. Beard and Dr. Taylor, 1642. Pt. ii. p. 89.—The text is given (with corrections) from two copies; one of them in black-letter in the Pepys collection. In this every stanza is accompanied with the following distich by way of burden:
"Oh jealousie! thou art nurst in hell:
Depart from hence, and therein dwell."
All tender hearts, that ake to hear
Of those that suffer wrong;
All you, that never shed a tear,
Give heed unto my song.
Fair Isabella's tragedy 5
My tale doth far exceed:
Alas! that so much cruelty
In female hearts should breed!
In Spain a lady liv'd of late,
Who was of high degree; 10
Whose wayward temper did create
Much woe and misery.
Strange jealousies so fill'd her head
With many a vain surmize,
She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed, 15
And did her love despise.
A gentlewoman passing fair
Did on this lady wait;
With bravest dames she might compare;
Her beauty was compleat. 20
Her lady cast a jealous eye
Upon this gentle maid;
And taxt her with disloyaltye;
And did her oft upbraid.
In silence still this maiden meek 25
Her bitter taunts would bear,
While oft adown her lovely cheek
Would steal the falling tear.
In vain in humble sort she strove
Her fury to disarm; 30
As well the meekness of the dove
The bloody hawke might charm.
Her lord of humour light and gay,
And innocent the while,
As oft as she came in his way, 35
Would on the damsell smile.
And oft before his lady's face,
As thinking her her friend,
He would the maiden's modest grace
And comeliness commend. 40
All which incens'd his lady so
She burnt with wrath extreame;
At length the fire that long did glow,
Burst forth into a flame.
For on a day it so befell, 45
When he was gone from home,
The lady all with rage did swell,
And to the damsell come.
And charging her with great offence,
And many a grievous fault; 50
She bade her servants drag her thence,
Into a dismal vault,
That lay beneath the common-shore:
A dungeon dark and deep:
Where they were wont, in days of yore, 55
Offenders great to keep.
There never light of chearful day
Dispers'd the hideous gloom;
But dank and noisome vapours play
Around the wretched room: 60
And adders, snakes, and toads therein,
As afterwards was known,
Long in this loathsome vault had bin,
And were to monsters grown.
Into this foul and fearful place, 65
The fair one innocent
Was cast, before her lady's face;
Her malice to content.
This maid no sooner enter'd is,
But strait, alas! she hears 70
The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss:
Then grievously she fears.
Soon from their holes the vipers creep,
And fiercely her assail:
Which makes the damsel sorely weep, 75
And her sad fate bewail.
With her fair hands she strives in vain
Her body to defend:
With shrieks and cries she doth complain,
But all is to no end. 80
A servant listning near the door,
Struck with her doleful noise,
Strait ran his lady to implore;
But she'll not hear his voice.
With bleeding heart he goes agen 85
To mark the maiden's groans;
And plainly hears, within the den,
How she herself bemoans.
Again he to his lady hies
With all the haste he may: 90
She into furious passion flies,
And orders him away.
Still back again does he return
To hear her tender cries;
The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn; 95
Which fill'd him with surprize.
In grief, and horror, and affright,
He listens at the walls;
But finding all was silent quite,
He to his lady calls. 100
Too sure, O lady, now quoth he,
Your cruelty hath sped;
Make hast, for shame, and come and see;
I fear the virgin's dead.
She starts to hear her sudden fate, 105
And does with torches run:
But all her haste was now too late,
For death his worst had done.
The door being open'd strait they found
The virgin stretch'd along: 110
Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round,
Which her to death had stung.
One round her legs, her thighs, her waist
Had twin'd his fatal wreath:
The other close her neck embrac'd, 115
And stopt her gentle breath.
The snakes, being from her body thrust,
Their bellies were so fill'd,
That with excess of blood they burst,
Thus with their prey were kill'd. 120
The wicked lady at this sight,
With horror strait ran mad;
So raving dy'd, as was most right,
'Cause she no pity had.
Let me advise you, ladies all, 125
Of jealousy beware:
It causeth many a one to fall,
And is the devil's snare.
⁂
IX.
JEALOUSY TYRANT OF THE MIND.
This Song is by Dryden, being inserted in his Tragi-Comedy of Love Triumphant, &c.—On account of the subject it is inserted here.
What state of life can be so blest,
As love that warms the gentle brest;
Two souls in one; the same desire
To grant the bliss, and to require?
If in this heaven a hell we find, 5
Tis all from thee,
O Jealousie!
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
All other ills, though sharp they prove,
Serve to refine and perfect love: 10
In absence, or unkind disdaine,
Sweet hope relieves the lovers paine:
But, oh, no cure but death we find
To sett us free
From jealousie, 15
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
False in thy glass all objects are,
Some sett too near, and some too far:
Thou art the fire of endless night,
The fire that burns, and gives no light. 20
All torments of the damn'd we find
In only thee,
O Jealousie;
Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.
X.
CONSTANT PENELOPE.
The ladies are indebted for the following notable documents to the Pepys collection, where the original is preserved in black-letter, and is intitled, A lookingglass for ladies, or a mirrour for married women. Tune Queen Dido, or Troy town.
When Greeks and Trojans fell at strife,
And lords in armour bright were seen;
When many a gallant lost his life
About fair Hellen, beauty's queen;
Ulysses, general so free, 5
Did leave his dear Penelope.
When she this wofull news did hear,
That he would to the warrs of Troy;
For grief she shed full many a tear,
At parting from her only joy; 10
Her ladies all about her came,
To comfort up this Grecian dame.
Ulysses, with a heavy heart,
Unto her then did mildly say,
The time is come that we must part; 15
My honour calls me hence away;
Yet in my absence, dearest, be
My constant wife, Penelope.
Let me no longer live, she sayd,
Then to my lord I true remain; 20
My honour shall not be betray'd
Until I see my love again;
For I will ever constant prove,
As is the loyal turtle-dove.
Thus did they part with heavy chear, 25
And to the ships his way he took;
Her tender eyes dropt many a tear;
Still casting many a longing look:
She saw him on the surges glide,
And unto Neptune thus she cry'd: 30
Thou god, whose power is in the deep,
And rulest in the ocean main,
My loving lord in safety keep
Till he return to me again:
That I his person may behold, 35
To me more precious far than gold.
Then straight the ships with nimble sails
Were all convey'd out of her sight:
Her cruel fate she then bewails,
Since she had lost her hearts delight. 40
Now shall my practice be, quoth she,
True vertue and humility.
My patience I will put in ure,[429]
My charity I will extend;
Since for my woe there is no cure, 45
The helpless now I will befriend:
The widow and the fatherless
I will relieve, when in distress.
Thus she continued year by year
In doing good to every one; 50
Her fame was noised every where,
To young and old the same was known,
That she no company would mind,
Who were to vanity inclin'd.
Mean while Ulysses fought for fame, 55
'Mongst Trojans hazarding his life:
Young gallants, hearing of her name,
Came flocking for to tempt his wife:
For she was lovely, young, and fair,
No lady might with her compare. 60
With costly gifts and jewels fine,
They did endeavour her to win;
With banquets and the choicest wine,
For to allure her unto sin:
Most persons were of high degree, 65
Who courted fair Penelope.
With modesty and comely grace,
Their wanton suits she did denye;
No tempting charms could e'er deface
Her dearest husband's memorye; 70
But constant she would still remain,
Hopeing to see him once again.
Her book her dayly comfort was,
And that she often did peruse;
She seldom looked in her glass; 75
Powder and paint she ne'er would use.
I wish all ladies were as free
From pride, as was Penelope.
She in her needle took delight,
And likewise in her spinning-wheel; 80
Her maids about her every night
Did use the distaff, and the reel:
The spiders, that on rafters twine,
Scarce spin a thread more soft and fine.
Sometimes she would bewail the loss 85
And absence of her dearest love:
Sometimes she thought the seas to cross,
Her fortune on the waves to prove.
I fear my lord is slain, quoth she,
He stays so from Penelope. 90
At length the ten years siege of Troy
Did end: in flames the city burn'd;
And to the Grecians was great joy,
To see the towers to ashes turn'd:
Then came Ulysses home to see 95
His constant, dear, Penelope.
O blame her not if she was glad,
When she her lord again had seen.
Thrice-welcome home, my dear, she said,
A long time absent thou hast been: 100
The wars shall never more deprive
Me of my lord whilst I'm alive.
Fair ladies all example take;
And hence a worthy lesson learn,
All youthful follies to forsake, 105
And vice from virtue to discern:
And let all women strive to be,
As constant as Penelope.