Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

"When years first styl'd me twenty, I began
To sport with catching snares that Love had set:
Like birds that flutter round the gin till ta'en,
Or the poor fly caught in Arachne's net,

Even so I sported with her beauty's light,
Till I at last grew blind with too much sight.
"First it came stealing on me, whilst I thought
'Twas easy to repel it; but as fire,

Though but a spark, soon into flames is brought, So mine grew great, and quickly mounted higher; Which so have scorch'd my love-struck soul,

that 1

Still live in torment, yet each minute die."
"Who is it," said Philocrates, can move
With charming eyes such deep affection?
I may perhaps assist you in your love;
Two can effect more than yourself alone.

My counsel this thy errour may reclaim,
Or my salt tears quench thy destructive flame."
"Nay," said Philetus, "oft my eyes do flow
Like Nilus, when it scorns th' opposed shore;
Yet all the watery plenty I bestow,

Is to my flame an oil that feeds it more.

So fame reports o' th' Dodonéan spring,
That lightens all those which are put therein.
"But, being you desire to know her, she
Is call'd" (with that his eyes let fall a shower,
As if they fain would drown the memory
Of his life-keeper's name) "Constantia-" More
Grief would not let him utter; tears, the best
Expressers of true sorrow, spoke the rest.

To which his noble friend did thus reply:
"And was this all? Whate'er your grief would ease,
Though a far greater task, believe't, for thee
It should be soon done by Philocrates:

Think all your wish perform'd; but see,the day,
Tir'd with its heat, is hasting now away!"
Home from the silent woods Night bids them go :
But sad Philetus can no comfort find;
What in the day he fears of future woe,
At night in dreams, like truth, affrights his mind.
Why dost thou vex him, Love? Could'st thou but
Thou would'st thyself Philetus' rival be.
Philocrates, pitying his doleful moan,
And wounded with the sorrows of his friend,
Brings him to fair Constantia ; where alone
He might impart his love, and either end

[see,

His fruitless hopes, nipt by her coy disdain, Or, by her liking, his wisht joys attain. "Fairest," said he, "whom the bright Heavens do cover,

Do not these tears, these speaking tears, despise!
These heaving sighs of a submissive lover,
Thus struck to th' earth by your all-dazzling eyes!

And do not you contemn that ardent flame,
Which from yourself, your own fair beauty, came!
"Trust me, I long have hid my love; but now
Am fore'd to show't, such is my inward smart!
And you alone, fair saint! the means do know
To heal the wound of my consuming heart.

Then, since it only in your power doth lie
To kill or save, Oh! help, or else I die."
His gently cruel love did thus reply;
"I for your pain am grieved, and would do,
Without impeachment of my chastity
And honour, any thing might pleasure you.

But, if beyond those limits you demand,
I must not answer, sir, nor understand."
"Believe me, virtuous maiden! my desire
Is chaste and pious as thy virgin thought;
No flash of lust, 'tis no dishonest fire,
Which goes as soon as it was quickly brought;
But as thy beauty pure; which let not be
Eclipsed by disdain and cruelty!"

"Oh! how shall I reply?" she cry'd, "thou 'st
Thy eyes and speeches have my heart o'ercome,
My soul, and therefore take thy victory: [won
And if I should deny thee love, then I

Should be a tyrant to myself: that fire Which is kept close burns with the greatest ire. "Yet do not count my yielding lightness, now; Impute it rather to my ardent love; Thy pleasing carriage won me long ago, And pleading Beauty did myliking move; [might Thy eyes, which draw like loadstones with their The hardest hearts, won mine to leave me

quite."

"Oh! I am rapt above the reach," said he, "Of thought; my soul already feels the bliss [thee Of Heaven: when, sweet, my thoughts once tax but With any crime, may I lose all happiness

Is wish'd for: both your favour here, and dead, May the just gods pour vengeance on my head!" Whilst he was speaking this (behold their fate!) Constantia's father enter'd in the room, When glad Philetus, ignorant of his state, Kisses her cheeks, more red than setting Sun,

Or else the Morn, blushing through clouds of water To see ascending Sol congratulate her. Just as the guilty prisoner fearful stands, Reading his fatal Theta in the brows Of him who both his life and death commands, Ere from his mouth be the sad sentence knows: Such was his state to see her father come, Nor wish'd-for, nor expected, in the room. Th' enrag'd old man bids him no more to dare Such bold intrusion in that house, nor be At any time with his lov'd daughter there, Till he had given him such authority:

But to depart, since she her love did show him, Was living death, with lingering torments, to him. This being known to kind Philocrates, He chears his friend, bidding him banish fear, And by some letter his griev'd mind appease, And show her that which to her friendly ear Time gave no leave to tell: and thus his quill Declares to her the absent lover's will.

THE LETTER.

PHILETUS TO CONSTANTIA.

I TRUST, dear Soul, my absence cannot move
You to forget or doubt my ardent love:
For, were there any means to see you, I
Would run through death, and all the misery
Fate could inflict; that so the world might say,
In life and death I lov'd Constantia.

Then let not, dearest sweet, our absence part
Our loves, but each breast keep the other's heart;
Give warmth to one another, till there rise
From all our labours and our industries
The long-expected fruits: have patience, sweet!
There's no man whom the summer pleasures greet

Before he taste the winter; none can say,
Ere night was gone, he saw the rising day.

So, when we once have wasted Sorrow's night,
The Sun of Comfort then shall give us light.
PHILETUS.

his, when Constantia read, she thought her state Most happy, by Philetus' constancy And perfect love: she thanks her flattering fate, kisses the paper, till with kissing she

The welcome characters doth dull and stain : Then thus with ink and tears writes back again.

CONSTANTIA TO PHILETUS.

YOUR absence, sir, though it be long, yet
Neither forget nor doubt your constancy.
Nor need you fear that I should yield unto
Another, what to your true love is due.
My heart is yours; it is not in my claim,
Nor have I power to take it back again.
There's nought but death can part our souls; no
time,

Or angry friends, shall make my love decline:
But for the harvest of our hopes I'll stay,
Unless Death cut it, ere 'tis ripe, away.

CONSTANTIA.

Oh! how this letter seem'd to raise his pride!
Prouder was he of this than Photon,
When he did Phoebus' flaming chariot guide,
Unknowing of the danger was to come:

Prouder than Jason, when from Colchos he
Returned with the fleece's victory.

But ere the autumn, which fair Ceres crown'd,
Had paid the sweating plowman's greediest prayer,
And by the fall disrobed the gaudy ground
Of all those ornaments it us'd to wear;

Them kind Philocrates t' each other brought, Where they this means t' enjoy their freedom wrought.

"Sweet fair-one," said Philetus, since the time
Favours our wish, and does afford us leave
T' enjoy our loves; oh, let us not resign
This long'd-for favour, nor ourselves bereave
Of what we wish'd for, opportunity,

That may too soon the wings of Love out-fly!
"For when your father, as his custom is,
For pleasure doth pursue the timorous hare,
If you'll resort but thither, I'll not miss
To be in those woods ready for you, where

We may depart in safety, and no more
With dreams of pleasure only, heal our sore."
To this the happy lovers soon agree;
But, ere they part, Philetus begs to hear,
From her enchanting voice a melody,
One song to satisfy his longing ear:

She yields; and, singing added to desire,
The listening youth increas'd his amorous fire.

THE SONG.

TIME! fly with greater speed away,
Add feathers to thy wings,
Till thy haste in flying brings
That wish'd-for, and expected day.

Comfort's Sun we then shall see,

Though at first it darken'd be

With dangers; yet, those clouds but gone,
Our Day will put his lustre on.
Then, though Death's sad night appear,
And we in lonely silence rest;
Our ravish'd souls no more shall fear,
But with lasting day be blest.

And then no friends can part us more,
Nor no new death extend its power;
Thus there's nothing can dissever
Hearts which Love hath join'd together.
FEAR of being seen, Philetus homeward drove,
But ere they part she willingly doth give
(As faithful pledges of her constant love)
Many a soft kiss; then they each other leave,
Rapt up with secret joy that they have found
A way to heal the torment of their wound.
But, ere the Sun through many days had run,
Constantia's charming beauty had o'ercome
Guisardo's heart, and scorn'd affection won;
Her eyes soon conquer'd all they shone upon,
Shot through his wounded heart such hot de-
sire,

As nothing but her love could quench the fire.
In roofs which gold and Parian stone adorn
(Proud as the owner's mind) he did abound;
In fields so fertile for their yearly corn,

As might contend with scorch'd Calabria's ground;

But in his soul, that should contain the store
Of surest riches, he was base and poor,

Him was Constantia urg'd continually,

By her friends, to love: sometimes they did en

[blocks in formation]

threat.

But love too deep was seated in her heart,
To be worn-out by thought of any smart.
Soon did her father to the woods repair,
To seek for sport, and hunt the started game;
Guisardo and Philocrates were there,
With many friends too tedious here to name:
With them Constantia went, but not to find
The bear or wolf, but Love, all mild and
kind.

Being enter'd in the pathless woods, while they
Pursue their game, Philetus, who was late
Hid in a thicket, carries straight away
His love, and hastens his own hasty fate;

That came too soon upon him; and his sun
Was quite eclips'd before it fully shone.
Constantia miss'd, the hunters in amaze
Take each a several course, and by curst Fate
Guisardo runs, with a love-carried pace,
Tow'rds them, who little knew their woeful state:
Philetus, like bold Icarus, soaring high
To honours, found the depth of misery.
For when Guisardo sees his rival there,
Swelling with envious rage, he comes behind
Philetus, who such fortune did not fear,
And with his sword a way to s heart does find.
But, ere his spirits were possest of deat`,
In these few words he spent his latest breath:

kr

"O see, Constantia ! my short race is run;

See how my blood the thirsty ground doth dye;
But live thou happier than thy love hath done,
And when I'm dead, think sometime upon me!
More my short time permits me not to tell,
For now Death scizeth me; my dear, fare-
well!"

As soon as he had spoke these words, life fled
From his pierc'd body, whilst Constantia, she
Kisses his cheeks, that lose their lively red,
And become pale and wan; and now each eye,
Which was so bright, is like, when life was

done,

A star that's fall'n, or an eclipsed sun. Thither Philocrates was driven by Fate, And saw his friend lie bleeding on the earth; Near his pale corpse his weeping sister sate, Her eyes shed tears, her heart to sighs gave birth.

Philocrates, when he saw this, did cry,

[ocr errors]

Friend, I'll revenge, or bear thee company! "Just Jove hath sent me to revenge his fate; Nay, stay, Guisardo, think not Heaven in jest: "Tis vain to hope flight can secure thy state." Then thrust his sword into the villain's breast.

"Here," said Philocrates, "thy life I send A sacrifice, t' appease my slaughter'd friend." But, as he fell, "Take this reward," said he, "For thy new victory." With that he flung His darted rapier at his enemy, Which hit his head, and in his brain-pan hung. With that he falls, but, lifting up his eyes, "Farewell, Constantia !" that word said, he dies.

What shall she do? She to her brother runs,
His cold and lifeless body does embrace;
She calls to him that cannot hear her moans,
And with her kisses warms his clammy face.

[ocr errors]

My dear Philocrates!" she, weeping, cries, "Speak to thy sister!" but no voice replies. Then running to her love, with many a tear, Thus her mind's fervent passion she exprest; "O stay, blest soul, stay but a little here, And take me with you to a lasting rest.

Then to Elysium's mansions both shall fly, Be married there, and never more to die." But, seeing them both dead, she cry'd, "Ah me! Ah, my Philetus! for thy sake will I Make up a full and perfect tragedy:

Since 'twas for me, dear love, that thou didst die,

I'll follow thee, and not thy loss deplore;
These eyes, that saw thee kill'd, shall see no

more.

"It shall not sure be said that thou didst die,
And thy Constantia live when thou wast slain:
No, no, dear soul! I will not stay from thee;
That will reflect upon my valued fame."

Then piercing her sad breast, "I come!" she cries,

And Death for ever clos'd her weeping eyes.

Her soul being fled to its eternal rest,
Her father comes, and, seeing this, he falls
To th' earth, with grief too great to be exprest:
Whose doleful words my tired Muse me calls

To o'erpass; which I most gladly do, for fear
That I should toil too much the reader's car.

THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF PYRAMUS AND THISBE.

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL, MY VERY LOVING MASTER

MR. LAMBERT OSBOLSTON,

CHIEF SCHOOL-MASTER OF WESTMINSTER SCHOOL.

SIR,

My childish Muse is in her spring, and yet
Can only show some budding of her wit.

One frown upon her work, learn'd sir, from you,
Like some unkinder storm shot from your brow,
Would turn her spring to withering autumn's time,
And make her blossoms perish ere their prime.
But if you smile, if in your gracious eye
She an auspicious alpha can descry,
How soon will they grow fruit! how fresh appear!
That had such beams their infancy to chear!
Which being sprung to ripeness, expect then
The earliest offering of her grateful pen.
Your most dutiful scholar,

ABR. COWLEY.

PYRAMUS AND THISBE.
WHEN Babylon's high walls crected were
By mighty Ninus' wife, two houses join`d :
One Thisbe liv'd in, Pyramus the fair
In the other: Earth ne'er boasted such a pair!
The very senseless walls themselves combin'd,
And grew in one, just like their master's mind. -
Thisbe all other women did excel,

The queen of love less lovely was than she:
And Pyramus more sweet than tongue can tell;
Nature grew proud in framing them so well.

But Venus, envying they so fair should be,
Bids her son Cupid show his cruelty.

The all-subduing god his bow doth bend,
Whets and prepares his most remorseless dart,
Which he unseen unto their hearts did send,
And so was Love the cause of Beauty's end.
But could he see, he had not wrought their smart;
For pity sure would have o'ercome his heart.
Like as a bird, which in a net is ta'en,
By struggling more entangles in the gin;
So they, who in Love's labyrinth remain,
With striving never can a freedom gain.

The way to enter's broad; but, being in,
No art, no labour can an exit win.
These lovers, though their parents did reprove
Their fires, and watched their deeds with jealousy;
Though in these storms no comfort could remove
The various doubts and fears that cool hot love;

Though he nor her's, nor she his face could see,
Yet this could not abolish Love's decree;
For age had crack'd the wall which did them part;
This the unanimous couple soon did spy,
And here their inward sorrows did impart,
Unlading the sad burthen of their heart.

Though Love be blind, this shows he can descry
A way to lessen his own misery.

Oft to the friendly cranny they resort,
And feed themselves with the celestial air

Of odoriferous breath; no other sport
They could enjoy; yet think the time but short,
And wish that it again renewed were,
To suck each other's breath for ever there.
Sometimes they did exclaim against their fate,
And sometimes they accus'd imperial Jove;
Sometimes repent their flames; but all too late;
The arrow could not be recall'd: their state
Was first ordain'd by Jupiter above,
And Cupid had appointed they should love.
They curst the wall that did their kisses part,
And to the stones their mournful words they sent,
As if they saw the sorrow of their heart,

And by their tears could understand their smart:
But it was hard and knew not what they meant,
Nor with their sighs, alas! would it relent.
This in effect they said; "Curs'd Wall! O Why
Wilt thou our bodies sever, whose true love
Breaks thorough all thy flinty cruelty!
For both our souls so closely joined lie,

[ocr errors]

That nought but angry Death can them re

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

Abortive tears from their fair eyes out-flow'd,
And damm'd the lovely splendour of their sight,
Which seem'd like Titan, wh 1st 'some watery cloud
O'erspreads his face, and his bright beams doth
shroud;

Till Vesper chas'd away the conquer'd light,
And forced them (though loth) to bid good-
night.

But ere Aurora, usher to the day,
Began with welcome lustre to appear,
The lovers rise, and at that cranny they
Thus to each other their thoughts open lay,

With many a sigh and many a speaking tea;
Whose grief the pitying Morning blusht to hear.
"Dear love!" said Pyramus, "how long shall we,
Like fairest flowers not gather'd in their prime,
Waste precious youth, and let advantage flee,
Till we bewail (at last) our cruelty

Upon ourselves? for beauty, though it shine
Like day, will quickly find an evening-time.
"Therefore, sweet Thisbe, let us meet this night
At Ninus' tob, without the city wall,
Under the mulberry-tree, with berries white
Abounding, there t' enjoy our wish'd delight.

For mounting love, stopt in its course, doth fall,
And long'd-for, yet untasted, joy kills all.
"What though our cruel parents angry be?
What though our friends, alas! are too unkind,
Time, that now offers, quickly may deny,
And soon hold back fit opportunity.

Who lets slip Fortune, her shall never find;
Occasion, once pass'd by, is bald behind."
She soon agreed to that which he requir'd,
For little wooing needs, where both consent;
What he so long had pleaded, she desir'd:
Which Venus seeing, with blind Chance conspir'd,
And many a charining accent to her sent,
That she (at last) would frustrate their intent.
Thus Beauty is by Beauty's means undone,
Striving to close those eyes that make her bright;
Just like the Moon, which seeks t'e ipse the Sun,
Whence all her splendor, all her beams, do come:

So she, who fetcheth lustre from their sight,
Doth purpose to destroy their glorious light.
Unto the mulberry-tree fairThisbe came;
Where having rested long, at last she 'gan
Against her Pyramus for to exclaim,
Whilst various thoughts turmoil her troubled brain:
And, imitating thus the silver swan,

A little while before her death, she sang:

THE SONG.

COME, love! why stayest thou? the night
Will vanish ere we taste delight:

The Moon obscures herself from sight,
Thou absent, whose eyes give her light.

Come quickly, dear! be brief as Time,
Or we by Morn shall be o'erta'en;
Love's joy's thine own as well as inine;
Spend not therefore the time in vain.

HERE doubtful thoughts broke off her pleasant

song,

[fling

And for her lover's stay sent many a sigh;
Her Pyramus, she thought, did tarry long,
And that his absence did her too much wrong.
Then, betwixt longing hope and jealousy,
She fears, yet's loth to tax, his loyalty."
Sometimes she thinks that he hath her forsaken;
Sometimes, that danger hath befallen him:
She fears that he another love hath taken;
Which, being but imagin'd, soon doth waken
Numberless thoughts, which on her heart did
Fears, that her future fate too truly sing.
While she thus musing sat, ran from the wood
An angry lion to the crystal springs,
Near to that place; who coming from his food,
His chaps were all besmear'd with crimson blood :
Swifter thau thought, sweet Thisbe strait begins
To fly from him; fear gave her swallows' wings.
As she avoids the lion, her desire
Bids her to stay, lest Pyramus should come,
And be devour'd by the stern lion's ire,
So she for ever burn in unquench'd fire:

But fear expels all reasons; she doth run
Into a darksome cave, ne'er seen by sun.
With haste she let her looser mantle fall:
Which, when th' enraged lion did espy,
With bloody teeth he tore in pieces small;
While Thisbe ran, and look'd not back at all;
For, could the senseless beast her face descry,
It had not done her such an injury.
The night half wasted, Pyramus did come;
Who, seeing printed in the yielding sand
The lion's paw, and by the founta'n some
Of Thisbe's garment, sorrow struck him dumb;
Just like a marble statue did he stand,
Cut by some skilful graver's artful hand.
Recovering breath, at Fate he did exclaim,
Washing with tears the torn and bloody weed:
"I may," said he, "myself for her death blame;
Therefore my blood shall wash away that shame:
Since she is dead, whose beauty doth exceed
All that frail man can either hear or read."
This spoke, he drew his fatal sword, and said,
"Receive my crimson blood, as a due debt

Unto thy constant love, to which 'tis paid:
I strait will meet thee in the pleasant shade
Of cool Elysium; where we, being met,
Shall taste those joys that here we could not get."
Then through his breast thrusting his sword, life hies
From him, and he makes haste to seek his fair:
And as upon the colour'd ground he lies,
His blood had dropt upon the mulberries;

With which th' unspotted berries stained were,
And ever since with red they colour'd are.
At last fair Thisbe left the den, for fear
Of disappointing Pyramus, since she
Was bound by promise for to meet him there :
But when she saw the berries changed were

From white to black, she knew not certainly
It was the place where they agreed to be.
With what delight from the dark cave she came,
Thinking to tell how she escap'd the beast!
But, when she saw her Pyramus lie slain,
Ah! how perplex'd did her sad soul remain !

She tears her golden hair, and beats her breast,
And every sigu of raging grief exprest.

She blames all-powerful Jove; and strives to take
His bleeding body from the moisten'd ground.
She kisses his pale face, till she doth make
It red with kissing, and then seeks to wake

His parting soul with mournful words; his wound Washes with tears, that her sweet speech confound.

But afterwards, recovering breath, said she,
"Alas! what chance hath parted thee and I?
O tell what evil hath befall'n to thee,
That of thy death I may a partner be:

Tell Thisbe what hath caus'd this tragedy !"
He, hearing Thisbe's name, lifts up his eye;

And on his love he rais'd his dying head:
Where, striving long for breath, at last, said he,
"O Thisbe, I am hasting to the dead,
And cannot heal that wound my fear hath bred:
Farewell, sweet Thishe! we must parted be,
For angry Death will force me soon from thee."
Life did from him, he from his mistress, part,
Leaving his love to languish here in woe.
What shall she do? How shall she ease her heart?
Or with what language speak her inward smart?
Usurping passion reason doth o'erflow,

She vows that with her Pyramus she'll go :
Then takes the sword wherewith her love was slain, -
With Pyramus's crimson blood warm still;
And said, 'Oh stay, blest soul, awhile refrain,
That we may go together, and remain
In endless joys, and never fear the ill

[ocr errors]

Of grudging friends !"-Then she herself did kill. To tell what grief their parents did sustain, Were more than my rude quill can overcome; Much did they weep and grieve, but all in vain, For weeping calls not back the dead again.

Both in one grave were laid, when life was done; And these few words were writ upon the tomb:

EPITAPH.

UNDERNEATH this marble stone,
Lie two beauties join'd in one.
Two, whose loves deaths could not sever;
For both liv'd, both dy'd together.
Two, whose souls, being too divine
For earth, in their own sphere now shine.
Who have left their loves to fame,
And their earth to earth again.

« AnteriorContinuar »