Madam,
See what a change the spirit of your eyes
Hath wrought in us. Hence dull Saturn flies,
And we that were the ghost of woe and earth
Are all transform’d unto the soul of mirth.
O we are full of joy, no breast more light
But those who owe you theirs by nature’s right;
From whom vouchsafe this present,—’tis a work
Wherein strange miracles and wonders lurk.
For, know, that Lady whose ambition towers
Only to this, to be term’d worthy yours;
Whose forehead I could crown with clearest rays,
But that her praise is she abhors much praise;
Not long since thought she saw in slumb’ring trances
The Queen of Fairies and of moonlight dances
Come tripping in; and with a fairy kiss
She chastely touch’d her and straight gave her this
With this strange charge:—“This piece alone was made
For her in whom no graces e’er shall fade;
For her whose worth is such I dare aver
It fears not satire nor the flatterer;
For her who gave you first most gracing name,
Who loveth goodness for itself, not fame;
For her whom modest virtue doth enfold[612] so
That she had rather be much graced than told so;
For her for whom, had you the whole world’s breast
And of it all gave her sole interest,
You’d judge it slight.” This said, hence straight she flew,
And left it her who only vows it you.
Then whilst our breast with secret welcomes ring,
Vouchsafe acceptance of this offering.
Thus with a song Merimna presented her[613] honour with a very curious and rich waistcoat; which done, the Countess passed on to her chamber.
The Masque presented by four knights and four gentlemen at the right noble Earl of Huntingdon’s house of Ashby in honour of his Lady’s most worthy mother’s arrival, Alice Countess Dowager of Derby.
The form was thus:—
At the approach of the countesses into the great chamber the hoboys played until the room was marshalled; which once ordered, a traverse[614] slided away; presently a cloud was seen move up and down almost to the top of the great chamber, upon which Cynthia was discovered riding; her habit was blue satin, fairly embroidered with stars and clouds: who looking down and earnestly surveying the ladies, spake thus:—
Cynth. Are not we Cynthia? and shall earth display
Brighter than us and force untimely day?
What daring flames beam such illustrious light,
Enforcing darkness from the claim of night?
Up, Ariadne, thy clear beauty rouse,
Thou Northern Crown to lusty Bacchus’ spouse,
Let’s mix our glories to outblaze your flame;
To be outshone is Heaven’s and great hearts’ shame.
Look down; know’st them? See how their fronts rebate
Splendour like Jove and beauty worth our state!
Hath our bright brother, the fair Lord of days,
Into their eyes shed his us-dark’ning rays?
Or hath some daring spirit forgot Jove’s ire
And to grace them stol’n his celestial fire?
We are not Phœbe, this is not Heaven’s story;
Place gives not worth, but worth gives place his glory.
In the midst of this speech Ariadne rose from the bottom of the room, mounted upon a cloud which waved up until it came near Cynthia, where resting Ariadne spake thus:—
Ariad. Can our chaste queen, searching Apollo’s sister,
Not know those stars that in yon valley glister?
Is virtue strange to heaven? Can Cynthia
Not know the goodly-form’d Pasithea?
She who loves greatness to be greatly good,
Knowing fair’st worth from virtue springs, not blood;
Whose graceful just proportion is held such
That what may be judge[d] beauty must have touch
And proof from hers: yet this her least of grace
(Which is the most in most)—her beauty’s but the case
Of fairest mind: when Fortune gave her eyes,
Her worth made Fortune judge she once had eyes.
But see a piece that would strike envy blind,
Whose face would Furies tame, make monsters kind.
He gave her mighty praise and yet no other
But that in mind and form she’s like her mother:
Up, raisèd passion, and with pæans follow
Grace of the Muses, daughter of Apollo!