_LONDON_
Printed by _Nicholas Okes_ dwelling
neere _Holborne-bridge._
1613.
_To the Reader._
_Gentlemen, if your fancy will permit you to fauour this booke, I
shall be thankfull, if not, I can but repent at the charge of the
Impression, I meane but little gaine to my selfe, yet much pleasure to
you, if it were my owne wit, and you condemne it, I should be ashamed
of my publicke intrusion, but since it was the labour of a man
wel-deseruing, forbeare open reprehending, for, as I haue heard, 'twas
done for his pleasure, without any intent of an Impression; thus much I
excuse him that I know not, and commend that which deserueth well, if
I be partiall, I pray patience._
_The Scourge of Venus._
Whilst that the Sunne was climing vp in haste,
To view the world with his ambitious eye.
Faire _Myrha_; yet alas, more faire then chaste.
Did set her thoughts to descant wantonly;
Nay most inhumane, more then bad, or ill,
As in the sequell you may reade at will.
You that haue parents, or that parents be,
Depart a space, and giue not eare at all
To the foule tale that here shall vttered be:
Some filthy shame let on all other fall,
If possibly there can be any such,
From nature to degenerate so much.
O then with _Ouid_, I am wonderous glad
That this small world of ours is put so farre
From those that such incestious people had:
So rest thou still in glory as a starre.
That scorning thrusts from other nations quite,
And in thy vertues doth thy selfe delight.
And now faire _Myrha_ in her youthly blood
Doth on her father dote with fond desire.
Each foule occasion is accounted good,
That may increase her filthy lustfull fire.
And as this shamefull matter wanted grace,
So doubtfully she thus doth plead her case.
Why should not Gods this loue of mine permit?
Or be offended with me for the same?
It doth infringe their sacred lawes no whit,
Adding dishonour, or deseruing blame.
I will proceed, good reasons for to proue,
'Tis not vnlawfull to obtaine my loue.
In many countries I do certaine know,
The parents with their children married be,
Which they do most, their godlinesse to show,
Because their loues increast thereby they see.
Then shal this lucklesse plot of ground remaine,
Th'occasion that my loue I not obtaine?
Each night hath Nature set at liberty:
All things be c[=o]mon, for she naught restrains:
Then let the Daughter with the Father lye,
Like president with all things else remaines.
The Kid, the Heifer, and the birds we see,
Affect the same of whom they gotten be.
In happy case then such her creatures are,
That may do so, and yet do no offence,
They be more happy then is mankinde farre:
For they by some malicious base pretence
Haue made a curbe to hold that still in thrall
Which Nature would haue common vnto all.
But yet packe hence thou foule incestious loue,
What, wilt vpon thy only father dote?
I ought to loue him; yet as doth behoue,
Not that the world therby my shame may note.
O do resolue! the neerenesse of our kin,
Cuts off all hope thy wished suit to win.
Did _Cupid_ then ere shoot so yet before?
Can _Vulcan_ forge so foule an arrow now?
Or further: will dame _Venus_ euermore
Such cruelty vnto her seruants show?
No, no, I am deceiu'd; for now I see,
With poisoned snakes some fury wo[=u]ded thee.
How great (said she) o _Venus_ mayst thou be,
How was I rauished this present night,
In feeling of your pleasant sports in me?
I clipt a man in prime of his delight,
What liuely pleasures did I there conceiue?
No fault (alasse) but they too soone did leaue.
Would _Cynarus_ thou hadst some other name,
How fitly mightst thou haue a loue of me?
How nobly mightst thereby increase thy fame,
How quickly shouldst a son gaine vnto thee?
I would inforce dull earthly thoughts, to craue,
To kisse and clip, and other pastimes haue.
What meane my dreams? haue they effect at all?
May dreames a future chance to vs portend?
Let then to me such dreames more oft befall,
In dreames no present witnesse can offend.
In dreames we may as great a pleasure take,
As in some sort is found we being awake.
But yet avaunt, packe hence foule filthy fire,
Wring out some teares to quench this cursed flame
No otherwise the daughter-like require
Thy fathers loue, that blazons on thy shame.
Yet put the case he first did seeke to me;
No doubt I should to his request agree.
Why should it not then stand right so with him,
Since of one nature we participate?
What if with speech thou chance his loue to win
Then maist thou write, _No time is yet too late_.
What thou dost blush to speake, loue bids thee write
Belieue me they read more th[=e] we indite.
Resolu'd on this, with trembling hand she takes
The pen and paper, framing for to write,
Left h[=a]d holds way, whilst right the leter makes
Composing what she did in minde indite.
She writes, she doubts, she chageth this for that,
She likes, dislikes, & notes she knows not what.
She casts away, and doth begin anew,
Yet findes a want in that she framed last
She blots, & then againe that thing doth view,
And now the first more fits then all that's past.
Father she writes, yet shame did blot it out,
Then thus she writes, and casts away all doubt.
I know not what, sends to I know not whom
Such health that thou maist only giue to me,
Which if I want, my life cannot be long,
Euen that same health thy louer sends to thee.
I dare not tell thee who I am for shame,
Nor (out alasse) once let thee heare my name.
And if thou aske of me what I desire,
Or why so doubtfull I do write to thee,
Would namelesse I might tell what I require,
Till that my sweet were granted vnto me:
Which if to know, thou wouldst make further triall
A maiden asketh but a maids deniall.
In token of my wounded heart, I would
Within these blotted lines there might apeare
My colour pale, my body leane and cold,
My watery eyes, my sighes and heauy cheere,
Then mightst perceiue I were in loue with thee,
And how the flames of loue tormenteth me.
I call the Gods as witnesse to the same
Poore wretched wench, I stroue to flie the dart
And did my best that out-rage for to tame
Which _Cupid_ had alotted for my smart,
No wench bare more then did to me betide,
Which forc'd me shew the cause that I would hide.
Then mercy at thy gentle hands I craue,
In fearefull wise to thee I make my mone,
Thou onely maist thy louer spill or saue,
No enemy doth sue, but such a one
That is aly'd most sweetly vnto thee,
Yet in a neerer band would linked be.
My life is thine, and thou didst giue it me,
Then loue thy selfe and thou wilt me affect,
My beauty's much, and is deriu'd from thee,
Then all thy owne be carefull to respect.
O stop thy eares, and heare not _Myrha's_ name,
And shut thy eies wh[=e] thou dost read the same.
My youthfull yeares rash folly doth beseeme,
The skill of law to aged folkes belong,
And all is lawfull that we list, I deeme,
We take no notice of the right or wrong,
If it offend to take thy owne in't bed,
Let that offence be layd vpon my head.
Then set apart the dread of worldly shame,
And take the Gods, as presidents herein,
My pregnant wit shall shun all future blame,
Our pleasure scapes wel, hid with name of kin,
And you may clip and kisse, and play with me,
A daughters name me thinkes a cloke wil bee.
Haue mercy now, I haue my case exprest,
Which loue inforst my fearefull hand to write:
O grant thy daughter this her first request,
That is the occasion of her chiefe delight,
This Epitaph deserue thou not; I haue,
The cruel father tooke the life he gaue.
And though my lines are blotted euery where,
'Twas with my teares that fell ere it was dry,
And if my letters scribled do appeare,
Whereby you thinke some other wrot to try
Your mind: because my curious hand is mist,
A fearefull minde, doth bring a shaking fist.
And so these scrambled lines I do commend
Vnto your loue, be-blurred all with teares,
With feruent hope they shall no whit offend,
The minde is base, that stil continuall feares.
And note you which is the greater blot,
To get no childe or kill that you haue got.
Thus much this lustfull Lady writ in vaine,
And seald it closely with a precious stone,
A precious stone clos'd vp a filthy staine,
Her trusty seruant forth she cals anone,
And blushing bad him with a merry cheare,
He should this letter to her father beare.
This scarcely said, old _Cynaras_ did come,
And then she cast her letter quite aside.
Daughter (said he) you see the daily throng
Of suters that do seeke thee for their bride:
Here be their names _my wench_, th[=e] come & show
On which of them thou wilt thy selfe bestow.
Now for a space she silent did remaine,
And onely gazed wishly in his face:
She could her teares no longer then restraine,
But they ran trickling down her cheeks apace
Her father kisses her, and bids her peace,
And thought it tender-hearted shamefastnes.
He dry'd her cheekes, and said, my wench be stil,
Thy yeares of right, a husband now doth claime
Thou shalt not liue a maid by my good will,
Nor longer shalt a wanton bed refraine,
Then what, or who wilt haue? come tell me now.
At length she did reply; one like to you.
He did allow the choyce, and praisd the same,
And kist and clipt her for her louing speech,
Not deeming that it tended to their shame,
It pleasd her well, & wisht that he would seech
A further suit; and then made this request,
Let me live still with you, let wooers rest.
Your company I most of all affect,
Continue but your loue, it shall suffice,
These wrangling husbands why should I respect?
Her father thus againe to her replies,
Thy godlinesse (at which she blushed red)
I like, but thou must tast a Bride-groomes bed.
Thou dost not know the pleasure it affords,
Nor wanton motions that therein abound.
It not consisteth all of pleasant words,
More gamesome tricks are there stil to be fo[=u]d
A minde so chaste as thine cannot conceiue
What pleasing sports one shall therby receiue.
It is no dreame, nor passion of the minde,
But a substantiall pleasure there doth dwell,
The practike part of dreames therein we finde,
Which who so doth omit, leades Apes in hell.
Why dost thou blush? I know your case, belieue,
Maids must say nay, yet take when men do giue.
And now the sable horses of the night,
Haue drawne a mantle ore the siluer sky,
And all the stars doe shew their borrowed light,
Each breathing thing oprest with sleep doth ly
Saue _Philomell_, that sings of _Terreus_ rape,
And _Myrha_ plotting some incestious scape.
No rest at all she tooke within her bed,
The flames of _Cupid_ burnt so in her brest,
And many a fansie comes into her head,
Which ouer-much her troubled soule opprest,
She _doubts_, she _hopes_ th[=e] _feare_ doth make repaire,
Sh'l now att[=e]pt, then _shame_ doth bring despaire.
Looke how you see a pleasant field of Corne
Moue here & there by gentle-breathing wind,
Now vp and downe, as waues in sea are borne:
So doubtfull thoughts had motion in her mind:
Now shee'l surcease, and now to him repaire
Instable, like a feather in the aire.
O fye vpon this fowle incestious lust,
That very Nature greatly doth abhorre,
Some plague will fall vpon all such I trust,
If in this world there can be any more.
I hope this little world well free-ed is
Of Giants, and such monstrous beasts as this.
So God preserue it, if it be his will,
And let the Gospell euer flourish here,
Yet I do feare we haue some yet as ill,
The pleasing fooles do with their folly beare:
In Paradice I see wee cannot live,
But we shall finde some foule seducing _Eue_.
My tongue doth stagger to repeate her name,
So foule a blot a Christian cannot brooke,
Go seeke a glasse to see this filthy shame,
Upon _Gods holy Bible_ daily looke:
And there thou maist, as in a mirror see,
No _Alkeron_ can yeeld the like to thee.
There sucke the _Nectar_ of his _Holy Word_,
And begge thou pardon for thy foule abuse,
For euery _Sore_ it can a _Salue_ afford.
O _Atheist_! learne to make of it good use.
Thou Christians blot, to leaue off further talke,
Whilst thou hast light, endeuor there to walke.
And thou _Paenchaia_, rich in manys a thing,
In _Custus_, _Cynamon_ and _Incense_ sweete,
That out of trees aboundantly doth spring,
Of _Ammonie_, and things for vses meete.
Yet whilst thou yeeldest _Myrrh_, I wey thee not:
For thereunto hath _Myrha_ giuen a blot.
No measure in her filthy loue she found:
No ease, no rest, but death doth like her now.
Resolu'd on this she gets vp from the ground,
And mindes to hang her selfe, her loue to shew,
And then the noose about her necke she drawes,
And said, o _Cynaras!_ thou art the onely cause.
Farewell therfor, a thousand times farewell,
Deere _Cynaras_ thou mightst haue sau'd my life,
And thinke then, this to me alone befell,
Because I durst not loue thee as a wife.
Farewell againe. Oh welcome gentle death!
And then she went about to stop her breath.
A recompence fit for so foule a mind,
But yet by chance her aged Nurse did lye
Within a chamber that to hers adioyn'd,
Who ouer-hearing this, to her did hye;
And seeing her halfe murdered, so began
To shrieke & screeme, & straight vnto her ran.
Who first did snatch her girdle from her necke,
And powring teares vpon her plentuously,
Did hold her in her aged armes, though weake,
And kissing her did vrge the reason why
She went about away herselfe to make,
Or to her shame so base a course to take?
Quoth she, I pray thee tell the cause to me,
Behold these empty dugs, and head all gray,
These hands that pain haue took in rocking thee
Let some, or all these, cause thee to bewray
What cruel means haue broght thee in this case.
At which the Lady turnd away her face.
O be not coy sweet! hide thou nought from me,
I am thy Nurse, she said, and haue good skill
In charms, & hearbs, & dreams, that powerful be,
Of what thou wantst, Ile helpe thee to thy fill.
Art thou in loue, or witcht by any wight?
Il'e finde thee ease, or else will free the quite.
I haue bene wanton once as well as you,
Now yet by age, am altogether dull,
I haue beene loue-sicke, as you may be now,
Of toyes and loue-trickes I was wondrous full,
How strange so ere thy case do therefore stand,
I can and will redresse it out of hand.
Thou art in _Loue_ (my sweet) I well espy,
If so, no lacke shalt finde in me, I sweare,
The Lady in her armes sob'd bitterly,
The Nurse replyd, and sayd; Why do not feare,
Thy father shall not know of this at all:
At which she starts, and on her bed doth fall.
And frantickly she tumbles on her face,
And said, get hence (good Nurse) I pre'thee go,
Constraine me not to shew my wicked case.
That case (quoth she) I pray thee let me know.
Get hence, she answer'd, or enquire lesse,
'Tis wickednesse thou wouldst haue me c[=o]fesse.
'Tis such a thing, that if I want, I die,
And being got, is nothing else but shame.
The Nurse hereat did sigh most heauily,
And on her knees besought to know the same,
And holding vp her hands as she did kneele,
Said; Madame, tell the priuie griefe you feele.
If you will not discouer this to me
I will acquaint your father out of hand,
How you had hang'd your selfe, wer't not for me;
But if you tell, your trusty friend Il'e stand,
And let your griefe of any nature be,
It shall go hard, but Il'e finde remedy.
And if your case be ill, you need not feare
The heauie load the wickednesse doth bring,
I'le teach thee how most easily to beare,
My age hath got experience in each thing.
Tell me what 'tis that doth so neerely touch,
One woman may perswade another much.
And now the Lady raisd her heauy head,
Hanging vpon her Nurses bosome fast,
As she did rise vp from her slothfull bed,
Being prodigall, her christall teares to waste,
Now she wold speak, & now her speech doth stay
Th[=e] shame doth cause her turne her face away.
A franticke fury doth possesse her now,
And then she drawes her garment ore her face,
And wrings her hands, & to her Nurse doth vow
For to acquaint her with her wretched case.
And shedding brinish teares into her breast,
Thus much her griefe to her at last exprest.
Oh happy is my mothers happy state!
That hath a husband _Debonaire_ and faire,
Vnhappy am I, most infortunate,
At which he stopt, as one falne in dispaire.
The Nurse soone found _Senecdoche_ in this,
And what the whole meant by a perfect gesse.
Her aged bones did shake and tremble fast,
Her hoary haire stood staring vp on end,
From forth her eyes a heauy looke she cast,
And many a sigh her heart distrest did send;
And pausing long, not knowing what to say,
At last her tongue her minde did thus bewray.
In this I hope, good Lady, you but iest,
To try your Nurses now-decaying wit;
So foule a fault is not within your breast,
Then tell me true the occasion of this fit.
The Lady frown'd, & stopt her speaking farther,
And said get h[=e]ce, is't shame to loue our father?
I she reply'd, in such a filthy sort,
It is not loue, but lust that you professe,
Necessity with true loue cannot sort;
Your loue contaminates, you must confesse.
A daughters loue then to your father show,
Some loue _good things_ but with _bad loue_, I know.
Or if your wanton flesh you cannot tame,
Nor coole the burning of your hot desire,
Then take some one that not augmets the shame
And set apart to dote vpon your fire.
It is most vile to stand in such a need,
To make the actor baser then the deed.
Besides, his yeares can yeeld no such content,
That blithsome wanton dames expect to haue,
Herein your bargaine you will soone repent,
Wh[=e] you shal find great want of that you craue:
Are you so mad, o will you once beleeue
Old men content to frolicke Dames can giue?
Take this example of me, from the Sky,
Behold a shooting star from heauen fall
Whose glimmering light you scarcely do espye
But it is gone as nothing were at all;
And so their sports being scarse begun doth leaue
As in the aire concressions we perceiue.
Or as the bloomes vpon the Almond-tree,
That vanish sooner the the mush-rums done:
Or as the flies _Haemere_ we do see,
To leaue their breath their life being scarce begunne,
Who thinks that tree whose roots decai'd by time
Can yeeld like fruit to yong ones in their prime.
A rotten sticke more fit to burne then vse,
I maruell what from age you do expect,
Let my experience their defect accuse,
And teach thee how thy equals to affect;
When they should toy, iocund & sport with thee,
Their gouts, coughs & cramps, wil hindrance be.
'Tis nor their fault, but incident to age,
Which far more imperfections with it brings,
As iealousie, suspicion, fury, rage,
Dislike, disdaine, and other such like things,
For can the fire, hot in nature, dwell
With water cold, but they at length rebell.
Euen as in Summer one may aptly note,
The fire and water in one cloud contain'd;
And neither, yet, the mastery hauing got,
Being opposits, their furie's not restrain'd,
But do contend in strife and deadly warre,
Til scolding Thunder do pronounce the iarre.
Choose from thy woers some peculiar one,
Whose loue may fill the measure of thy hopes,
And balonize thy wanton sports alone,
Whose appetite with thy desire copes,
Youth will be frolicke in a Maidens bed,
Age is vnapt and heauy as the lead.
Youth hath his daliance and his kind embrace,
Euen as the Elmes incircled with the Vine;
Age loueth rest and quiet in this case,
Saying, Oakes at such like Iuy gripes repine,
Yuths pleasing weltun'd years sweet musick maks
When for c[=o]sort loue strings it strains or slakes.
Yet chuse thou one whose tongue's not set on wheeles
Who eats his words before he brings th[=e] forth
That no _decorum_ in his talking feeles,
Such are but buzards, blabs of little worth:
And for complexion, heerein mee beleeue,
The perfect sanguine sweet content doth giue.
The Phlegmaticke is like the water cold,
The Cholericke wants sap, like fire dry,
And Melancholy, as age, is dull and old,
But in the Sanguin moist warme iuice doth lie,
Whose beauty feeds the eye with sweete delight,
The rest do rather feare then please the sight.
What pleasure can a sterne grim face affoord,
A swarfie colour or rough shagged haire,
Or Rauen blacke? beleeue me at a word,
They are too blame that do despise the faire:
They please the eye, prouoke dull appetite,
Resemble Gods, and do the minde delight.
Cease chatting gentle nurse, the Lady said,
Or frame thy Tale to sute more with the time,
My choice is made, therein I neede no aide
Which may be compast by some help of thine,
It is too late of abstinence too preach,
Wh[=e] one is drunk, & notes not what you teach.
I seeke him not for lust, as you do deeme,
For if my mind were onely bent thereto,
I could find other men I might esteeme,
You know the store of Suters come to woe:
But 'tis some kind of naturall instinct,
Or deuine flame that cannot be extinct.
What I do seeke I know is wondrous vile,
And haue a will for to withstand the same,
Yet can those motions by no meanes exile,
So seeketh lust to bring me vnto shame,
Be it worse th[=e] nought to haue it flesh doth striue
Helpe Nurse, else long I cannot liue.
And wish not to disswade me in this case,
Nor giue me counsell to withdraw my minde
It likes me well, I weigh not the disgrace,
O teach me then to win him to be kind!
Helpe me good Nurse in this my cruell state,
All other meanes of comfort comes too late.
And since thou needs woldst vnderstand my sham
Which I did grieue and blush to ope to thee,
And had lear di'd then told thee of the same,
Now be not slacke to lend thy helpe to me,
Thou forst me for to open my disgrace,
Then lend thy help to salue my wretched case.
You do not know good Nurse or haue forgot,
What 'tis to loue, and cannot it obtaine,
Of youths kind daliance age doth take no note,
Forgetting it, and thinke all may abstaine:
But tis not so, I to those thoughts reply,
Then helpe me gentle Nurse, or else I die.
Liue still my sweete, quoth she, and do possesse,
Yet name of (father) shame forc't her conceale
And with a staggring speech the word represt,
And all her helpe more amply to reueale,
She made a vow, whereby herselfe she bound,
To do the best that might in her be found.
The feasts of gentle _Ceres_ now began,
Which yearely they obseru'd, and held it ill,
For thrice three nights to lye with any man,
The wiues in white, apparrelled were still,
And vnto _Ceres_, first fruit of the field,
(As garlands made of eares of corne) did yeeld.
The Queen amongst these women did frequent
These Rites, and would be absent at that time.
The Nurse then to accomplish her intent,
And finding _Cynaras_ made blith with wine,
The Syren most inchantingly did sing,
And thus at last broke silence to the King.
Renowned King, but that your constant loue
Restraines my tongue & holds my speeches in,
A wanton question I would to thee moue?
Speak on, quoth he, good Nurse thy speech begin,
With _Bacchus_ feasts do wanton sports agree,
I know thou wouldst no ill thing vnto me.
Then thus, quoth shee, there is a gallant Maide
Of Princely birth and Noble high degree,
Who at this time would be right well apaide
To kisse thy hand, shee is so in loue with thee,
Such diuine beauty in her face doth lurke,
That Gods enuy at Nature for the worke.
Without offence vnto your Queene and Wife,
Vnto this Lady, she is a homely cate,
I loue your Queene, and honour her as life,
And but admire the others happy state,
That's made so faire that none can like her bee,
Your Queene is kind, abuse her not for mee.
But if you saw her face, as I haue done,
And view'd the rest of her proportion'd limbs,
You would contemne my Mistres face too soone,
Yet loue th[=e] both: it nought your honor dims,
One as your wife, the next for beauties sake,
So of them both a beauteous wife but make.
The glory of her haire is wonderous bright,
Vpon her brows doth ebbe and flow content
Her eies in motion do beget delight,
Her cheekes a tincture to _Aurora_ lent
Her teeths no pearle, her eyes no rubies are,
But flesh and bone, more red and white by far.
No lisping tongue that fondrels count a grace,
But doth to well tun'd harmony incline,
A necke inferior nought vnto the face,
And breath most apt for to be prest by thine,
Now if the vtter view so glorious proue,
Iudge how the hidden parts procure loue.
The King who all this while lent listening eare,
Being wrapt in admiration of her speech,
Now did begin more liuely to appeare
And for to know one thing of her did seech,
Saying, of what yeeres may this Lady be?
Iust of sweete _Myrahs_ age, replied shee.
He said then, bring her to conferre with mee,
That I may try if all be true you say.
It is most true, as after you shall see,
But said the Nurse, you now must let her stay,
Perhaps shee'le blush, and be to coy by light,
When she will yeeld more kindly in the night.
Such pretty Dames will hardly yeeld consent,
For in their mouthes they alwaies carry nay,
Yet if you giue, to take, they are content,
And nere refuse, whatere their tongue doth say:
For so they nature simple men abuse,
When what they loue they most of all refuse.
If I do fable, put me vnto shame,
In saying she resembles _Myrha_ much,
For 'tis so much, as if it were the same;
And when you seeke to gaine the loue of such
Let my experience thus much you assure
They Fawlcon-like stoop to a ganey lure.
And now you may, voide of suspected crime,
Dally with her in your lasciuious bed,
The sacred _Ceres_ feasts are at this time,
And there your Queen is stil: this scarcely sed,
Quoth _Cyneras_, bring her this night to mee,
Whereto the Nurse replide, I do agree.
With hopefull newes the Nurse return'd againe,
And cheer'd her chicke, & bad her not be sad,
Her wished sute, she certaine should obtaine,
The news wherof made _Myrha_ wondrous glad.
Yet as she ioy'd, she was opprest with feare,
Such discords of affections in her were.
Away slips time and hasteneth on the night,
And now the Beare's seene run about the Pole
Conducted forward by Boaetes bright,
The other stars about the axe-tree role:
The Southerne images do shine as gold,
Fit monuments for Hunters to behold.
At what time _Myrha_ wickedly proceedes
And takes in hand to act her base desire,
The shamefull lust with cursed hopes she feeds
Which quickly sets her heart vpon a fire,
And thereupon resolueth on her shame,
And not one thought to contradict it came.
At which the Sunne his glorious face did hide,
Each Planet pulleth in his golden head,
The other stars out of the heauens glide
And _Cynthia_ from her siluer Palace fled,
The night is robbed of her wonted light,
Each thing turn'd dark that formerly was bright.
Three times, by stumbling, _Myrha_ was fore-told
Of bad successe, if she did not retire;
Three times the Owles like lessons did vnfold,
Whose dolefull note do foule mishap require;
Yet she crept on, regarding not the same,
The want of light alayed much the shame.
The Nurse doth lead her by her owne left hand,
The right doth grope the dark and desart way,
As silent as the night they now do stand
To heare the night-crows scrik, & goblins play
The lich-foule beats, and at the window cries,
For to come in, to stay the enterprise.
O gentle Nurse, said _Myrha_ tell to me,
What may these scremes & doleful scriks portend,
The nurse reply'd, my child, no hurt to thee,
They are but servants that on night attend,
These goblins, lich-fouls, Owls, & night-crows to
At murthers raile, with loue haue naught to do.
And then the Beldam leads the Lady on
Through many roomes & other turning waies
As in a laborinth they two had gone;
And as they go, she to the Lady saies;
Now cheere you vp, and get a iocund minde
In thinking of the pleasures you shall finde.
At last shee brings her to the chamber dore
Which softly she did ope, and led her in,
The Lady fals to trembling more and more,
Her very heart did to relent begin,
The neerer to the wickednesse she went,
The more to quake and shiuer shee was bent.
Looke how you see a blind man on the way
Led by another through some desart place,
Stagger and grope and at each trifle stay
For feare least he should fall: euen in like case,
The wretched nurse the fearefull Lady leads,
Who shakes and starts at euery step she treads.
And now she doth her enterprise repent,
And wish she might vnknowne returne againe,
Vnto his bed the pawsing Nurse then went;
And cal'd the King & told him thus much plaine
Dread King awake, of pleasures take thy fill,
This Ladie's thine, then vse her as you will.
The cursed father then his bowels takes
Into his bed, o filthy blob and staine,
His daughter shiuers in his armes, and quakes,
This being done, the nurse returnes againe
And said, make much of her, to weepe forbeare
None wold weepe for that which you now feare.
The King then cheeres his daughter, in his arme,
Why dost thou weep? be still my sweete, be stil,
Come clip thy loue I meane to do no harme,
My Kingly bed with pleasures shall thee fill,
And to hide all that idle heads may moue,
Hence-forth I call thee daughter and not loue.
Come kisse thy father, gentle daughter then,
_A_nd learne to sport thee in a wanton bed;
Is this the tricks (she softly said) of men?
And counterfeiting speech vnknowne, she said,
A daughters name, me thinkes, doth not agree,
Ist well with your owne child in loue to be?
The King, not deeming who lay by his side,
Replies, what hurt deere Lady can it be?
No ill I know by that meanes can betide,
The loue more firme thereby we common see:
It is not ill though men the same not craue,
For we want daughters till a wife we haue.
She did reply, and said, why put the case
That I were _Myrha_ for as men do say,
My countenance resembleth much her face;
Were't not offence, think you, with me to play?
Misdeeming nought, againe, he doth reply;
No more th[=e] 'tis with thee, sweet wench, to lie.
O would, quoth _Myrha_, you could likewise proue
Whereby I might but know some reafon why,
It were not ill to grant to you my loue,
That loue should then alone to you apply;
Were I your daughter I might well consent,
Say halfe so much for me I am content.
The King replies, my sweete, my will is law,
And may command my subiects when I will,
Besides all this, you furthermore do know
You must obey, I call you daughter still;
Then talke no more, she said, I do agree
Thy daughter and thy subiect yeelds to thee.
Oh! now the father his owne child doth take,
And of his owne he doth his owne beget,
Of his owne loines another child doth make,
Repugnant to the Law that nature set;
May ones owne seed to procreation moue?
No sure, unlesse it doth a monster proue.
Their musicke is the scriking of the Ow'es,
As if the fiends came for to sunder them,
The rauing dogs affright them with their howles,
As all the fiends came forth to iniure them;
The stars behind the clouds, a great way hence,
Like spies lie peeping to disclose the offence.
Their bed doth shake and quauer as they lie,
As if it groan'd to beare the weight of sinne,
The fatall night-crowes at their windowes flie,
And cries out at the shame they do liue in:
And that they may perceiue they heauens frown,
The Poukes & Goblins pul the couerings down.
The pillow that her cursed head doth beare,
Which is a castle of accursed ill,
The weighty burthen of the same doth feare,
And therefore shrinketh inwards from her stil:
Whilst both the ends high swelling with disdaine
Like angry foe-men raise themselues amaine.
The bed, more kind then they religious are,
Doth seeke to shroud their foule defiled act,
And therefore lets them fall into it farre
As in some vale for to conceale the fact:
Like bulwarkes rising to defend their names,
Or swelling mountains to obscure their shames.
O there they lie and glut themselues with sin,
A iocund sin that doth the flesh delight,
A filthy flesh that can reioyce herein,
A silly ioy that gainst the soule doth fight,
A fasting sport, a pleasure soone forgot,
That bringeth shame with an eternall blot.
Thrice happy now, had wicked _Myrha_ bene,
If some foule swelling _Eban_ cloud would fall,
For her to hide her selfe eternall in,
Or had the bed bene burnt with wilde fire all,
And thereby moult the heauens golden frame
That al things might haue ended with her shame.
And now reuenge, a souldier vnto lust,
Comes scouring in, as it had bene beguil'd
Accompanied with fame and foule distrust,
And with disgrace, blacke luxures basest child,
These threaten them and blaze abroad the fact,
And like to Trumpets thunder out the act.
Not many nights they spending in this sort,
But _Cyneras_ at length desir'd to know
Who 'twas affoorded him this pleasant sport,
And freely did the curtesy bestow:
And hauing done this taske vs'd euery night.
Forth he doth steale and goes to seek the light.
O hide thee _Myrha_, 'tis not time to sleepe,
A thunderbolt is leuel'd at thy head,
Vnlesse thy eies prepare them for to weepe,
With fire and sword thou art betrai'd in bed,
Awaken wench, the day of doome bewray,
And see the father his owne child betray.
And whither steales thou furious _Cynaras_?
Why seekes a light to open thy owne shame?
Who hop'st to finde in this accursed place?
Make not such hast to spy thy ignoble game,
Stay, stay thy feete, thou wilt repent to late,
Mischiefe itselfe comes in with speedy gate.
What, sleepst thou _Myrha_? why th[=e] sleep thou long
Or else awake and welcome in thy woes,
Another happy day will neuer come,
Pale misery thy pleasure ouer-goes;
Dreame sleeping, thou didst with thy father lie,
Or wake, and see him reuenge the villany.
Confound thy head, and all thy parts with feare,
And thinke the fiends incompasse thee about,
Striuing with burning tongs thy flesh to teare,
Pulling thy tongue and eies with tortures out;
O thinke with raizors they do flea thy skin,
_A_dding new tortures vnto euery sin.
Now comes the father, being fully bent
For to disclose his loue with his faire light,
Sleepe _Myrha_, thou hast time for to repent,
Arise in care, passe many a weary night;
Looke _Cyneras_, and spy disgrace too soone,
_Myrha_ awake, see what thy lust hath done.
Blush lustfull King, and see the end of lust,
Behold thy owne dishonour and disgrace,
Learne what it is to vse thy wife vniust,
And lay a Strumpet in her Princely place,
Sham follows th[=e] reu[=e]ge hangs o're their heads
That basely do defile their marriage bed.
It's like a tender flower nipt with frost,
It euer after hangs his drooping head,
And hath her wonted prime of glory lost,
Or like the cup that hath his _Nectar_ shed:
Cracke you the richest pointed Diamond,
And all his prise and glory's lost and gone.
Old _Cynaras_ his daughter knowing well,
For very anger could not speake a word,
But into most outragious fury fell,
And would have kil'd the Lady with a sword,
But nimbly she, by helpe of cloudy night,
Conueyes her selfe out of her fathers sight.
Most like a Lyon, ranging for a pray,
Each corner of the house he madly lookes,
No barre, or stop, doth hinder him, or stay,
He rifles chambers, beds, and secret nookes.
This Lyon seekes for her, the dart did throw,
And quietly lets all the other go.
By this the Lady's in the _Arabian_ fields,
And fearefully doth range about the same,
Which plenteously the bearing _Date-tree_ yeelds,
At length she also through _Paenchaia_ came,
Her fathers rage being something over-past,
At _Saba_ land she doth arriue at last.
The King not finding her, begins to fret,
And vex himselfe with anguish, care & griefe,
He scoulds with fortune, that this trap did set,
_A_nd chides the Fates for yeelding no reliefe:
Small sorrowes grew till they to greater came,
Like little sparkes increasing into flame.
Euen as a river swelling ore her bounds,
By daily falling of small drops of raine,
Likewise his care continually abounds,
By howerly thinking of his his fault againe,
Content were found soone in calamity,
The thought thereof raz'd out of memory.
Daughter, quoth he, with eyes full fraught with teares,
What hast thou done? o foule accursed child!
Why hast deceiu'd my aged blosom'd haires?
Why didst thy Princely Father so beguile?
_A_lasse! I erre, thou art no childe to me,
Nor longer Il'e thy louing father be.
Go seeke some hole eternall to lye in,
_A_nd neuermore behold the heauens light,
Thou hast disgraced all thy name and kin,
Then hide thee euerlasting from my sight,
Thou hast not onely brought vs both to shame,
But made thy father actor of the same.
How will thy mother thinke her selfe abus'd,
That hast made her a quot-queane shamefully,
Of filthy incest I do thee accuse,
That Lemmon-like didst with thy father lye,
Then hye to hell, haste to the Furies there,
When raging parets witnesse gainst thee beare.
Oh but the fault thy owne was most of all,
Poore _Myrha_ thou didst meane no hurt to me,
It wot: thou said'st (my selfe I witnesse call)
Twas ill with your owne childe in loue to be.
And vrg'd againe, what if she _Myrha_ were,
I basely said, there was no fault in her.
Then rent thy braines with terror of the deed,
Confused thoughts burst thine accursed breast,
As if thou did'st on deadly poyson feed,
And in _Elisium_ let thy soule nere rest,
Rore seas, quake earth, till you deuoure him
That hath defil'd his daughter with foule sin.
Yet she did know I was her father deere,
What meant she then to seeke me in such sort?
I did not know my daughter to be there,
And therefore wished her no kind of hurt.
She sin'd, and knew her father she abused,
I sin'd, uncertaine who it was I vsed.
By this the Sunne neere past the Zodiaque ore,
And thrice three signes had fully ouer-run,
Returning tow'rd the point he was before,
Ninty degrees wanting thereto to come,
He had the Cliptike and one quadre gone,
And in that space the child ripes in the womb.
When _Myrha_ weeping much her barne to beare,
Tired with wandring in the wood so long,
Weary of life beginneth for to feare
What shall hereafter on herselfe become.
Now she perceiues the folly lust did bring,
And may take time of penitence to sing.
Things done in haste, haue leasure to repent,
A hasty braine is neuer wanting woe,
Youth with _Decorum_ seldome is content,
Yong yeares and lust associat-like do goe,
Youth hath no wit till it be deerely bought,
And often times then it is good for nought.
Alasse! quoth _Myrha_, bursting out with cryes,
What shall I do that haue so vilely erred?
Let bellowing grones pierce vp into the skyes,
That all the Gods to pitty may be stirred,
O let some Trumpets voice from thee be driuen
To waken mighty _Iupiter_ in heauen.
You gentle Gods, that wonted were to heare
The suppliant praiers of distressed soules,
Now open wide your gracious listning eare,
That I may win some pitty with my houles.
O let it stand with your omnipotence,
For to remit the sorrowfuls offence.
I do confesse my wickednesse is much,
And there's no hope that I should fauour win.
Yet your still-pardoning clemency is such,
That vndeserued you forgiue our sin,
We run in errors every day most ill,
Yet you are apt to grant vs pardon still.
What haue I gain'd? my fathers foule disgrace,
My owne dishonor, and my friends disdaine;
What have I won? an imputation base,
My mothers curse, and a perpetuall staine,
I seldome see one mischiefe to arise,
But it brings others at her heeles likewise.
And since my fault into such height is driuen
That I deserue not in the earth to rest,
Nor haue a place amongst the starres in heauen,
You nightly powers grant me this request:
That neither with the dead nor liue I do remain,
_A_nd so no place in earth or heauen gaine.
To this her last request the Gods consent,
And so the ground her feet did couer ore,
Out from her toes the scrawling roots were sent
Which by her travell she had bruised sore.
These twining roots most plentuously abound,
Till they had fixt her body to the ground.
Where be the walks that thou wast wont to haue
The shady groues paued with Camomile?
The rosie bowers that heate of Sunne did saue,
And yeelded to thy sence a pleasant smile?
Where be the pleasant roomes thou solast's in.
Thou art dispoil'd thereof by thine owne sin.
Thou shalt no more within thy Chariot ride,
Gazing vpon the people kneeling downe.
No more will come to woe thee for a Bride,
Lust hath defil'd the tipe of thy renowne,
Those feet of thine, that to offence did lead,
Imprisoned are, and not allow'd to tread.
By this the growing tree so far had past,
That her faire bones to timber turned were:
Her marow did conuert to pyth at last,
And all her bloud the name of _Sap_ doth beare,
Her armes to bowes, her fingers branches be,
Her skin to bark, and so she made a tree.
Where is the face that did all faces staine,
But shrunke within a hard consolid barke?
No one will sue to kisse it once againe,
But must be hid perpetually in darke.
That snow-white-neck, that men desir'd to tuch,
Now they refuse to handle it as much.
Where are those eyes, those glassy eyes of thine,
That lent the glorious Sun his chiefest light?
Where is that Angels voyce, that voyce deuine,
Whose wel-tun'd t[=o]gue did al the gods delight?
What, are they gone? doth time thy glory rust?
No, they be spoiled with incestious lust.
Farewell thy armes, made kindly to embrace,
But now a bough for birds to pearch upon,
Farewell thy pretty fingers in like case,
The curious Lute ordain'd to quauer on.
Your wonted glory you shall see no more,
Your filthy lust hath thrust you out of dore.
Now with her shape she lost her sences quite.
For that and for her fault she weepeth still;
Which teares are held in honor, price, & might,
And daily do out of the tree distill,
And from the gummy barke doth issue _Myrrh_,
Which evermore shall beare the name of her.
At last the swelling wombe diuides the tree,
The infant seeking for some passage out,
No Nurse nor Mid-wife could the baby see,
The vse of speech his mother is without,
And could not therefore begge _Lucina's_ aid,
She might done well could she one prayer said.
And therefore sighes and grones most heauily,
Bending most humbly to the ground below.
Shedding from euery bow teares plenteously.
At length the Gods some fauour did bestow.
And so _Lucina_ laid her hand thereon,
And speaking words, receiu'd the words anon.
The watry _Nymphs_ this pretty child take,
And on soft smelling flowers laid him downe,
Of which a curious cradle they did make,
The hearbs perfumed were for more renowne.
The Nymphs this boy affected more and more,
And with his mothers teares stil washt him ore.
As yeares increase, so beauty doth likewise,
And is more faire tomorrow then to day,
His beauty more & more continuall doth arise,
That enuy did delight, in him bewray,
As _Venus_ fell in loue with him at last,
Who did reuenge his mothers lusting past.
_FINIS._
Transcriber's Notes:
Passages in italic font are indicated by _italic_.
Passages in bold font are indicated by =bold=.
Elongated "s" has been modernized.
The use of "VV" in place of "W" is intentional to represent the
appearance of the original text.
Letters printed in the original text with macrons are indicated by [=x].
The macrons are used to indicate missing letters, either "m" or "n".
Additional spacing after some of the quotes is intentional to indicate
both the end of a quotation and the beginning of a new paragraph as
presented in the original text.
Misprints corrected:
"Glancus" corrected to "Glaucus" (page XVII)
"he" corrected to "be" (page 102)
"Appollo" corrected to "Apollo" (page 134)
"haning" corrected to "hauing" (page 152)
Stanza number "85" corrected to "45" (page 187)
Stanza number "100" corrected to "102" (page 208)
"ber" corrected to "her" (page 212)
"hearr" corrected to "heart" (page 223)
Printing errors (such as unmatched quotation marks and parentheses,
inconsistent spelling, punctuation, and capitalization) have been
intentionally retained.