The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia

by Philip Sidney

A neighbour mine not long ago there was,

But nameless he, for blameless he shall be,

That married had a trick and bonny lass,

As in a summer day a man might see:

But he himself a foul unhandsome groom,

And far unfit to hold so good a room.

Now whether moved with self-unworthiness,

Or with her beauty fit to make a prey;

Fell jealousy did so his brain oppress,

That if he absent were but half a day,

He guessed the worst (you wot what is the worst)

And in himself new doubting causes nurst.

While thus he feared the silly innocent,

Who yet was good, because she knew none ill,

Unto his house a jolly shepherd went,

To whom our prince did bear a great good will;

Because in wrestling, and in a pastoral,

He far did pass the rest of shepherds all.

And therefore he a courtier was be-named,

And as a courtier was with cheer received

(For they have tongues to make a poor man blamed,

If he to them his duty misconceived)

And for this courtier should well like his table,

The good man bade his wife be serviceable.

And so she was, and all with good intent;

But few days past when she good manner used;

But that her husband thought her service bent

To such an end as he might be abased.

Yet like a coward fearing stranger’s pride,

He made the simple wench his wrath abide;

With chumpish looks, hard words, and secret nips,

Grumbling at her when she his kindness sought.

Asking her how she tasted courtier’s lips,

He forced her to think that which she never thought.

In fine, he made her guess, there was some sweet,

In that which he so fear’d that she should meet.

When once this entered was in woman’s heart,

And that it had inflamed a new desire,

There rested then to play a woman’s part;

Fuel to seek, and not to quench the fire,

But (for his jealous eye she well did find)

She studied cunning how the same to blind.

And thus she did. One day to him she came,

And, though against his will, on him she leaned:

And out gan cry, “Ah well away for shame,

If you help not, our wedlock will be stained.”

The good man starting, asked what her did move?

She sigh’d and said, “The bad guest sought her love.”

He little looking that she should complain

Of that, whereto he fear’d she was inclin’d:

Bussing her oft, and in his heart full fain,

He did demand what remedy to find,

How they might get that guest from them to wend,

And yet the prince that lov’d him not offend.

“Husband,” quoth she, “go to him by and by,

And tell him you do find I do him love:

And therefore pray him that of courtesy

He will absent himself, lest he should move

A young girl’s heart, to that were shame for both

Whereto you know his honest heart were loath.

“Thus shall you show that him you do not doubt,

And as for me, sweet husband, I must bear;”

Glad was the man when he heard her out,

And did the same, although with mickle fear.

For fear he did, lest he the young man might

In choler put, with whom he would not fight.

The courtly shepherd much aghast at this,

Not seeing erst such token in the wife,

Though full of scorn, would not his duty miss,

Knowing that ill become a household strife,

Did go his way, but sojourn’d near thereby,

That yet the ground thereof he might espy.

The wife thus having settled husband’s brain,

Who would have sworn his spouse Diana was,

Watched when she a further point might gain,

Which little time did fitly bring to pass.

For to the court her man was called by name;

Whither he needs must go for fear of blame.

Three days before that he must sure depart,

She written had, but in a hand disguised,

A letter such, which might from either part,

Seem to proceed, so well it was devised.

She seal’d it first, then she the sealing brake,

And to her jealous husband did it take.

With weeping eyes (her eyes she taught to weep)

She told him that the courtier had it sent:

“Alas,” quoth she, “thus woman’s shame doth creep.”

The good man read on both sides the content,

It title had, “Unto my only love”:

Subscription was, “Yours most, if you will prove.”

Th’ epistle self such kind of words it had;

“My sweetest joy, the comfort of my sprite,

So may thy flocks increase thy dear heart glad,

So may each thing e’en as thou wishest light,

As thou wilt deign to read, and gently read

This mourning ink in which my heart doth bleed.

“Long have I lov’d, alas thou worthy art,

Long have I lov’d, alas love craveth love,

Long have I lov’d thyself, alas my heart

Doth break, now tongue unto thy name doth move;

And think not that thy answer answer is,

But that it is my doom of bale or bliss.

“The jealous wretch must now to court be gone;

Ne can he fail, for prince hath for him sent:

Now is the time we may be here alone,

And give a long desire a sweet content.

Thus shall you both reward a lover true,

And eke revenge his wrong suspecting you.”

And this was all, and this the husband read

With chafe enough, till she him pacified:

Desiring that no grief in him be bred,

Now that he had her words so truly tried:

But that he would to him the letter show,

That with his fault be might her goodness know.

That straight was done with many a boist’rous threat,

That to the king he would his sin declare;

But now the courtier gan to smell the feat,

And with some words which showed little care:

He stayed until the good man was departed,

Then gave he him the blow which never smarted.

Thus may you see the jealous wretch was made

The pander of the thing he most did fear.

Take heed therefore, how you ensue that trade,

Lest the same marks of jealousy you bear.

For sure, no jealousy can that prevent,

Whereto two parties once be full content.

“Behold,” said Pas, “a whole dicker of wit: he had picked out such a tale with intention to keep a husband from jealousy, which was enough to make a sanctified husband jealous, to see subtilities so much in the feminine gender. But,” said he, “I will strike Nico dead, with the wise words that shall flow out of my gorge.” And without further entreaty thus sang:

Who doth desire that chaste his wife should be,

First be he true, for truth doth truth deserve:

Then such be he, as she his worth may see,

And one man still credit with her preserve.

Not toying kind, nor causelessly unkind,

Not stirring thoughts, nor yet denying right,

Not spying faults, nor in plain errors blind,

Never hard hand, nor ever reins too light.

As far from want, as far from vain expense

(The one doth force, the latter doth entice)

Allow good company, but keep from thence

All filthy mouths that glory in their vice.

This done, thou hast no more, but leave the rest,

To virtue, fortune, time and woman’s breast.

“Well concluded,” said Nico, “when he hath done all, he leaves the matter to his wife’s discretion. Now whensoever thou marriest, let her discretion deck thy head with Actaeon’s ornament.” Pas was so angry with his wish, being indeed towards marriage, that they might perchance have fallen to buffets, but that Dicus desired Philisides, who as a stranger sat among them, revolving in his mind all the tempests of evil fortune he had passed, that he would do so much grace to the company, as to sing one of his country songs. Philisides, knowing it no good manners to be squeamish of his coming, having put himself into their company, without further study began to utter that, wherewith his thoughts were then, as always, most busied: and to show what a stranger he was to himself, spoke of himself, as of a third person in this sort:

The lad Philisides

Lay by a river’s side.

In flow’ry field a gladder eye to please;

His pipe was at his foot,

His lambs were him beside,

A widow turtle near on bared root

Sat wailing without boot.

Each thing both sweet and sad

Did draw his boiling brain

To think, and think with pain

Of Mira’s beams, eclips’d by absence bad,

And thus, with eyes made dim

With tears, he said, or sorrow said for him:

“O earth, once answer give,

So may thy stately grace

By north, or south still rich adorned live,

So Mira long may be

On thy then blessed face

Whose foot doth set a heav’n on cursed thee,

I ask, now answer me:

If th’ author of thy bliss,

Phoebus, that shepherd high,

Do turn from thee his eye,

Doth not thyself, when he long absent is,

Like rogue, all ragged go,

And pine away with daily wasting woe?

Tell me you wanton brook,

So may your sliding race

Shun loathed loving banks with cunning crook:

So in you ever new

Mira may look her face,

And make you fair with shadow of her hue:

So when to pay your due

To mother sea you come,

She chid you not for stay,

Nor beat you for your play,

Tell me if your diverted springs become

Absented quite from you,

Are you not dried? can you yourselves renew?

Tell me you flowers fair,

Cowslip and columbine,

So may you make this wholesome spring-time air

With you embraced lie,

And lately thence untwine:

But with dewdrops engender children high:

So may you never die,

But pull’d by Mira’s hand,

Dress bosom hers, or head.

Or scatter on her bed,

Tell me, if husband spring-time leave your land,

When he from you is sent,

Whither not you, languish’d with discontent?

Tell me, my silly pipe,

So may thee still betide,

A cleanly cloth thy moistness for to wipe:

So may the cherries red

Of Mira’s lips divide

Their sugared selves to kiss thy happy head:

So may her ears be led

Her ears where music lives,

To hear and not despise

Thy lyric-liring cries;

Tell, if that breath, which thee thy sounding gives.

Be absent far from thee,

Absent alone canst thou then piping be?

Tell me my lamb of gold,

So may’st thou long abide

The day well fed, the night in faithful fold:

So grow thy wool of note,

In time that richly dy’d

It may be part of Mira’s petticoat,

Tell me, if wolves the throat

Have caught of thy dear dam,

Or she from thee be stay’d,

Or thou from her be stray’d,

Canst thou poor lamb, become another’s lamb?

Or rather till you die,

Still for thy dam, with baa-waymenting cry?

Tell me, O turtle true,

So may no fortune breed

To make thee nor thy better-loved rue:

So may thy blessings swarm,

That Mira may thee feed

With hand and mouth; with laps and breaks keep warm:

Tell me of greedy arm,

Do fondly take away

With traitor lime the one

The other left alone:

Tell me poor wretch, parted from wretched prey

Disdain not you the green,

Wailing till death, shun you not to be seen?

Earth, brook, flow’rs, pipe, lamb, dove,

Say all and I with them,

‘Absence is death or worse, to them that love.’

So I unlucky lad

Whom hills from her do hem,

What fits me now but tears, and sighings sad?

O fortune too too bad,

I rather would my sheep

Th’adst killed with a stroke,

Burnt Caban, lost my cloak,

Then want one hour those eyes which my joys keep.

Oh! what doth wailing win?

Speech without end had better not begin.

My song climb thou the wind,

Which Holland sweet now gently sendeth in,

That on his wings the level thou may’st find

To hit, but kissing hit

Her ears the weights of wit.

If thou know not for whom thy master dies,

These marks shall make thee wise:

She is the herdess fair that shines in dark,

And gives her kids no food, but willow’s bark.”

This said, at length he ended.

His oft sigh-broken ditty,

Then raise, but raise no legs with faintness bended,

With skin in sorrow died,

With face the plot of pity,

With thoughts, which thoughts their own tormentors tried.

He rose, and straight espied

His ram, who to recover

The ewe another loved,

With him proud battle proved.

He envied such a death in sight of lover,

And always westward eyeing,

More envied Phoebus for his western flying.

The whole company would gladly have taken this occasion of requesting Philisides in plainer sort to discover unto them his estate. Which he willing to prevent, as knowing the relation thereof more fit for funerals than the time of a marriage, began to sing this song he had learned before he had ever subjected his thoughts to acknowledge no master, but a mistress.

As I my little flock on Ister bank

(A little flock; but well my pipe they couth)

Did piping lead, the sun already sank

Beyond our world, and ere I got my booth,

Each thing with mantle black the night doth sooth;

Saving the glow-worm which would courteous be

Of that small light oft watching shepherds see.

The welkin had full niggardly enclosed

In coffer of dim clouds his silver groats,

Ycleped stars; each thing to rest disposed,

The caves, were full, the mountains void of goats

The bird’s eye clos’d; closed their chirping notes.

As for the nightingale, wood music’s king:

It August was, he deign’d not then to sing.

Amid my sheep, though I saw naught to fear,

Yet (for I nothing saw) I feared sore;

Then found I which thing is a charge to bear,

As for my sheep I dreaded mickle more

Than ever for myself since I was bore.

I sat me down: for see to go he could.

And sang unto my sheep lest stray they should.

The song I sang old Lanquet had me taught,

Lanquet, the shepherd best swift Ister knew,

For clerkly read, and hating what is naught,

For faithful heart, clean hands, and mouth as true:

With sweet skill my skilless youth he drew,

To have a feeling taste of him that fits

Beyond the heaven, far more beyond your wits.

He said the music best thilk power pleased

Was jump concord between our wit and will;

Where highest notes to godliness are raised,

And lowest sink not down to jot of ill:

With old true tales he wont mine ears to fill.

How shepherds did of yore, how now they thrive,

Spoiling their flock, or while ’twixt them they strive.

He liked me, but pitied lustful youth:

His good strong staff my slipp’ry years upbore:

He still hop’d well because I loved truth:

Till forc’d to part with heart and eyes e’en sore,

To worthy Corydon he gave me o’er,

But thus in oak’s true shade recounted be,

Which now in night’s deep shade sheep heard of me.

Such manner time there was (what time I not)

When all this earth, this dam or mould of ours

Was only won’d with such as beasts begot:

Unknown as then were they that builded towers:

The cattle wild, or tame, in nature’s bowers

Might freely roam, or rest, as seemed them:

Man was not man their dwellings in to hem.

The beasts had sure some beastly policy:

For nothing can endure where order n’is.

For once the lion by the lamb did lie,

The fearful hind the leopard did kiss.

Hurtless was tiger’s paw, and serpent’s hiss.

This think I well the beasts with courage clad,

Like senators a harmless empire had.

At which whether the others did repine,

For envy harb’reth most in feeblest hearts

Or that they all to changing did incline,

As e’en in beasts their dams leave changing parts

The multitude to Jove a suit imparts,

With neighing, blaying, braying, and barking,

Roaring and howling for to have a king.

A king, in language theirs they said they would:

(For then their language was a perfect speech)

The birds likewise with chirps, and puing could

Cackling, and chatt’ring that of Jove beseech.

Only the owl still warn’d them not to seech

So hastily that which they would repent;

But saw they would, and he to deserts went.

Jove wisely said (for wisdom wisely says)

O beasts, take heed what you of me desire.

Rulers will think all things made them to please,

And soon forget the swink due to their hire:

But since you will, part of my heav’nly fire,

I will you lend; the rest yourselves must give,

That it both seen and felt may with you live.

Full glad they were, and took the naked spright,

Which straight the earth clothed in his clay:

The lion heart; the ounce gave active might;

The horse, good shape; the sparrow, lust to play;

Nightingale, voice, enticing songs to say.

Elephant gave a perfect memory:

And parrot, ready tongue, that to apply.

The fox gave craft; the dog gave flattery:

Ass patience; the mole, a working thought;

Eagle, high look; wolf, secret cruelty:

Monkey, sweet breath; the cow, her fair eyes brought;

The ermine, whitest skin, spotted with nought;

The sheep, mild seeming face; climbing, the bear.

The stag did give the harm eschewing fear.

The hare, her sleights; the cat, his melancholy;

Ant, industry; and coney, skill to build;

Cranes, order; storks, to be appearing holy;

Chameleon, ease to change; duck, ease to yield:

Crocodile, tears, which might be falsely spill’d:

Ape, great thing gave, though he did mowing stand,

The instrument of instruments, the hand.

Each other beast likewise his present brings:

And but thy dread their prince they ought should want,

They all consented were to give him wings:

And aye more awe towards him for to plant,

To their own work this privilege they grant,

That from thenceforth to all eternity,

No beast should freely speak, but only he.

Thus man was made; thus man their lord became:

Who at the first, wanting, or biding pride,

He did to beasts’ best use his cunning frame

With water drink, herbs meat, and naked hide.

And fellow like let his dominion slide;

Not in his sayings, saying “I,” but “we”;

As if he meant his lordship common be.

But when his seat so rooted he had found,

That they now skill’d not how from him to wend;

Then gain in guiltless earth full many a wound,

Iron to seek, which ’gainst itself should bend,

To tear the bowels, that good corn should send,

But yet the common dam none did bemoan;

Because, though hurt, they never heard her groan.

Then ’gan the factions in the beasts to breed;

Where helping weaker sort, the nobler beasts

(As tigers, leopards, bears, and lions’ seed)

Disdain’d with this, in deserts sought their rests:

Where famine ravin taught their hungry chests,

That craftily he forc’d them to do ill,

Which being done, he afterwards would kill.

For murders done, which never erst was seen,

By those great beasts, as for the weaker’s good,

He chose themselves his guarders for to been.

’Gainst those of might, of whom in fear they stood,

As horse, and dog, not great, but gentle blood:

Blithe were the common cattle of the field,

Tho’ when they saw their foe’n of greatness kill’d.

But they or spent, or made of slender might,

Then quickly did the meaner cattle find,

The great beams gone, the house on shoulder’s light:

For by and by the horse fair bits did bind:

The dog was in a collar taught his kind.

As for the gentle birds like case might rue,

When falcon they, and goss-hawk saw in mew.

Worst fell to smallest birds, and meanest herd,

Whom now his own, full like his own he used.

Yet first but wool, or feathers off he tear’d:

And when they were well us’d to be abused:

For hungry teeth their flesh with teeth he bruised:

At length for glutton taste he did them kill:

At last for sport their silly lives did spill.

But yet, O man, rage not beyond thy need:

Deem it not glory to swell in tyranny.

Thou art of blood, joy not to see things bleed:

Thou fearest death: think they are loth to die.

A plaint of guiltless hurt doth pierce the sky.

And you poor beasts in patience bide your hell,

Or know your strengths, and then you shall do well.

Thus did I sing and pipe eight sullen hours

To sheep, whom love, not knowledge, made to hear,

Now fancy’s fits, now fortune’s baleful flowers:

But then I homeward call’d my lambkins dear;

For to my dimmed eyes began to appear

The night grown old, her black head waxen grey,

Sure shepherd’s sign, that morn should soon fetch day.

According to the nature of divers ears, divers judgments soon followed: some praising his voice, others his words fit to frame a pastoral style, others the strangeness of the tale, and scanning what he should mean by it. But old Geron, who had borne him a grudge ever since in one of their eclogues he had taken him up over-bitterly, took hold of this occasion to make his revenge, and said, he never saw a thing worse proportioned, than to bring in a tale of he knew not what beasts at such a sport-meeting, when rather some song of love, or matter for joyful melody was to be brought forth. “But,” said he, “this is the right conceit of young men, who think then they speak wiseliest, when they cannot understand themselves.” But little did the melancholic shepherd regard either his dispraises, or the other’s praises, who had set the foundation of his honour there, where he was most despised. And therefore he returning again to the train of his desolate pensiveness, Geron invited Histor to answer him in eclogue-wise; who indeed having been long in love with the fair Kala, and now by Lalus over-gone, was grown into a detestation of marriage. But thus it was.

GERON and HISTOR

GERON

In faith, good Histor, long is your delay,

From holy marriage, sweet and surest mean:

Our foolish lust in honest rules to stay,

I pray you do to Lalus’ sample lean:

Thou seest how frisk, and jolly now he is,

That last day seem’d, he could not chew a bean.

Believe me man, there is no greater bliss,

Than is the quiet joy of loving wife:

Which whoso wants, half of himself doth miss.

Friend without change, playfellow without strife,

Food without fullness, counsel without pride,

Is this sweet doubling of our single life.

HISTOR

No doubt, to whom so good chance did betide,

As for to find a pasture strewed with gold,

He were a fool if there he did not bide.

Who would not have a Phoenix if he could:

The humming wasp if it had not a sting,

Before all flies the wasp accept I would;

But this bad world, few golden fields doth bring;

Phoenix but one, of crows we millions have.

The wasp seems gay, but is a cumbrous thing.

If many Kala’s our Arcadia gave,

Lalus’ example I would soon ensue,

And think, I did myself from sorrow save.

But of such wives we find a slender crew;

Shrewdness so stirs, pride so puffs up the heart,

They seldom ponder what to them is due.

With meagre looks, as if they still did smart

Puling or whimpering, or else scolding flat,

Make home more pain than following of the cart.

Either dull silence, or eternal chat;

Still contrary to what her husband says;

If he do praise the dog, she likes the cat.

Austere she is, when he would honest plays;

And gamesome then, when he thinks on his sheep,

She bids him go, and yet from journey stays,

She war doth ever with his kinsfolk keep,

And makes them fremb’d, who friends by nature are,

Envying shallow toys with malice deep.

And if forsooth there come some new found ware,

The little coin his sweating brows have got,

Must go for that if for her lowers he care:

Or else; Nay faith, mine is the luckiest lot,

That ever fell to honest woman yet:

No wife but I hath such a man, god wot:

Such is their speech, who be of sober wit:

But, who do let their tongues show well their rage,

Lord, what bywords they speak, what spite they spit?

The house is made a very loathsome cage,

Wherein the bird doth never sing, but cry.

With such a will as nothing can assuage.

Dearly their servants do their wages buy,

Revil’d for each small fault, sometimes for none:

They better live that in a jail do lie

Let other fouler sports away be blown,

For I seek not their shame, but still methinks

A better life it is to live alone.

GERON

Who for such fickle fear from virtue shrinks,

Shall in his life embrace no worthy thing:

No mortal man the cup of surety drinks.

The heav’ns do not good haps in handfuls bring,

But let us pick our good from out much bad:

That still our little world may know his king.

But certainly so long we may be glad,

While that we do what nature doth require,

And for th’ event we never ought be sad.

Man oft is plagu’d with air, is burnt with fire,

In water drown’d, in earth his burial is:

And shall we not therefore their use desire?

Nature above all things requireth this,

That we our kind do labour to maintain:

Which drawn-out line doth hold all human bliss.

Thy father justly may of thee complain

If thou do not repay his deeds for thee,

In granting unto him a grandsire’s gain.

Thy Commonwealth may rightly grieved be,

Which must by this immortal be preserved,

If thus thou murder thy posterity.

His very being he hath not deserved,

Who for a self-conceit will that forbear,

Whereby that being, aye must be, conserved.

And God forbid women such cattle were

As you paint them: but well in you I find,

No man doth speak aright who speaks in fear,

Who only sees the ill is worse than blind.

These fifty winters married have I been;

And yet find no such faults in womankind.

I have a wife worthy to be a queen,

So well she can command, and yet obey:

In ruling of a house so well she’s seen.

And yet in all this time betwixt us twa,

We wear our double yoke of such content,

That never passed foul word, I dare well say:

But these are your love toys, which still are spent

In lawless games, and love not as you should,

But with much study learn late to repent.

How well last day before our prince you could

Blind Cupid’s works with wonder testify?

Yet now the root of him abase you would.

Go to, go to, and Cupid now apply,

To that where thou thy Cupid may’st avow,

And thou shalt find in women virtues lie,

Sweet supple minds which soon to wisdom bow

Where they by wisdom’s rule directed are,

And are not forc’d fond thraldom to allow.

As we to get are fram’d, so they to spare:

We made for pain, our pains they made to cherish:

We care abroad, and they of home have care,

O Histor, seek within thyself to flourish:

Thy house by thee must live, or else be gone:

And then who shall the name of Histor nourish?

Riches of children pass a prince’s throne;

Which touch the father’s heart with secret joy,

When without shame he saith, “These be mine own.”

Marry therefore, for marriage will destroy

Those passions which to youthful head do climb,

Mothers and nurses of all vain annoy.

HISTOR

Perchance I will, but now methinks it time

To go unto the bride, and use this day,

To speak with her while freely speak we may.

He spoke these words with such affection, as a curious eye might easily have perceived he liked Thyrsis’ fortune better than he loved his person. But then indeed did all arise, and went to the women, where spending all the day, and good part of the night in dancing, carolling and wassailing; lastly, they left Thyrsis, where he long desired to be left, and with many unfeigned thanks returned every man to his home. But some of them having to cross the way of the two lodges, might see a lady making doleful lamentation over a body which seemed dead unto them. But methinks Dametas cries unto me, if I come not the sooner to comfort him, he will leave off his golden work, that hath already cost him so much labour and longing.