CHORUS

O high and puissant law writ, rather born Within loves mighty breast, Whose ever sweated and lovely loving force, Towards that good which we unseen suborn, Our hearts does pull and wills does wrest, And even nature's self to it does force; Not only our frail corpce Whose sense scarce sees is born and die again, As daily hours wax and wain. But even inward causes, hidden seeds That moves and governs our eternal deeds. If great with child the world do wondrous frame So many beauty's still: And if within as far as Sun does see To'th mighty Moon and stars Titanian fame A living spright does fill, With his male alew this same vast degree If thence men of spring be. The plants have life, and beasts both good and bade, Whither the earth be clad, With flowers, or nipped have her ill-feathered wing, It still comes from thine euersting spring. Nor this alone but that which Hope's of fire Sheds into mortal wights: From whence stars gentle now strait fierce are found Clad in good Fortune's or mishaps attire, From whence lifts frailest lights The hour of birth have, or of death the bound. That which makes rise or else pull down In their disturbed affects all humane will, And giving seems, or taking still. Fortune, to whom the world would this were given, All from thy sovereign bounty is deriven, O word inevitably true and sure If it thy meaning is Arcadia shall after so many woes Find out new rest and peace, new life procure. If the foretold on bliss Which the great Oracle did erst expose Of the fair fatal marriage rose Proceed from thee and in thy heavenly mind Her fixed place does find. If that same voice do not dissemble still, Who hinders then the working of thy will? See loves and pities foe, awayward swain, A proud and cruel youth, That comes from heaven, and yet with heaven contends. See then another Lover, (faithful in vain) Battering a hearts chased truth, Who with his flames perhaps thy will offends, The less that he attends, Pity to's pl ints: reward to his desert More strangely flames in faith his heart. Fatal this beauty is to him that it high prizeth, Being desteni to him that it despizeth. Thus in it self alas divided stands This heavenly power, And thus one fate another justles still, Yet neither conquered is, neither commands. False humane Hope's that tower And plant a siege to elemental hill, Rebellious unto heavens will: Arming poor thoughts Like giant fools again, Lovers and no Lovers vine. Who would have thought love and disdain blind things, Should mount above the sovereign starry wings. But thou that standest above both stars & fate, And with thy wit divine Great mover of the skies dost them restrain, Behold: we thee beseech our doubtful state With destiny combine. And father's loving zeal, love and disdain, Mix flame and frozen vain. Let them that shunned to love, now learn to love, Let not that other moan. Ah let not others blindest folly thus Thy gently promised pity take from us. But who does know? perhaps this same that seems And unavoidable mischievous estate, May prove right fortunate. How found a thing it is for mortal sighed To search into the Eternal suns high light. HOw I have searched alongst the rivers side, About the meadows, fountains, and the hills, To find thee out: which now I have, the gods be praised. Great was her fault and error sure, That did occasion all our teen: Who loves great laws holy and pure (Breaking her faith) did violate And thereby did illuminate The mortal rage of our immortal queen. That neither tears nor blood Of many harmless souls have done us good. So faith to every virtue root The ornament of every soul well born, In heaven hath surely set his foot, That worthily are faithless held in scorn. So nature truth would ever happy make, Even for the true almighty makers sake. Blind mortals you that have so deep desire To get and to possess A guilded carcase of a painted tire, That Like a naked shadow walks on still, Seeking her sepulchre by guess: What love, or rather found will, Hath witched your heart dead beauty to pursue? Rich treasures are loves follies found. The true And lively love is of the soul: All other subjects want what love requires, Therefore they not deserve these amorous desires. The soul because it only loves again, Is only worthy of this loving pain. It is a pretty thing to kiss The delicate vermilion Rose Of some fair cheek, they that have proved that bliss (Right happy Lovers) so will say. Yet those Will say again kisses are dead and vain, Where beauty kissed restores it not again. The strokes of two enamoured lips are those Where mouth on mouth loves sweetest vengeance shows. Those are true kisses where with equal wills We ever give and take again our fills. Kiss but a curious mouth, a dainty hand, A breast, a brow, or what you can demand, You will confess no partly in woman is, Save for sweet mouth that does deserve a kiss, By which two souls with lively spirits meet, Making live rubres kindly entergreet, So amongst themselves those sowly sprightful kisses Do enter-speak, and in a little sown Great things bewray, and sweetest secret blisses To others hidden, to themselves well known. Such joy, nay such sweet life does loving prove, Soul knit to soul by earthly knot of love. Kisses that kisses meet, do paint unmoved, Encounters of two hearts, loving beloved. Oh Spring, the gentle childhood of the year, Mother of flowers, fresh herbs, & fresh desires, Thou turnest again, but with thee do not turn The happy days of my delightful joys: Thou turnest, thou turnest, but with thee turnest nought else Save of the lose of my deer trusures lost, The miserable wretched memory. Thou art the same thou Wertenberg, so fresh, so fair, But I am not as I was wont to be, So deer to other eyes. O bitter sweets of love, Much worse t'is to lose you once possessed, Then never to have you enjoyed at all, Much Like the grief to change a happy state. The memory of any good that wasts, Consumes it self as th'other is consumed. But if my Hope's be not as is their use, Of brittle glass, or that my deep desire Make not my hope much greater then the truth, Here shall I see the sunbeam of mine eyes. Here if I be not mocked I shall her see Stay her quick feet at found of my lament. Here shall my greedy eyes after long fast Receive sweet food from her divinest look. Here will she turn her son'raigne lights on me, If not gentle, yet cruel will they be. If not the means to breed mine inward joy, So ierce, yet as I die to mine annoy. Oh happy day sighed for long time in vain, If after times so clouded with complaints Love thou dost grant me sighed of her fair eyes, I mean made bright as is the morning Sun, Hither Ergasto sent me, where he said Corisca and my beauteous Amarillo Would be together playing at blind man buff: Yet here see I none blind, save my blind will, That wandering seeks her sighed by other means But finds it not. Oh poison to my food, This long delay blindeth my heart with fear. My cruel destiny will never change. Each hour, each moment that a Lover stays Expecting his contentment, seems a world. But who does know? perhaps I stayed too long. And here Corisca hath attended me. Ay me! If this be true, then welcome death. BEhold the buff! HOw Puissant art thou Love, Nature's miracle, and the World's wonder? What savage nation, or what rustic heart Is it that of thy power feels no partly? But what Wit's so profound can pull asunder That powers strength? Who feels those flames thy fire lights at length, Immoderate and vain, Will say amortall spright thou sole dost reign And live, in the corporal and fleshly breast. But who feels after how a lover is Wakened to Ʋ ertue, and how all those flames Do tremble out at sighed of honest shames, ( Ʋ nbrid'led blustering lusts brought down to rest) Will call thee Spright of high immortal bliss, Having thy holy receptacle in the soul. Rare miracle of human: and divine aspects, (That blind) dost see, and Wisdom (mad) corrects, Of sense and understanding intellects, Of reason and desire confused affects. Such Empery hast thou on earth, And so the heavens above dost thou control: Yet (by your leave) a wonder much more rare, And more stupendious hath the world then you, For how you make all wonders yield and bow Is easily known. Your powers do berth, And being taken from virtue of a woman fair. Oh Woman gift of the high heavenly sky, Or rather his who did their spangled gown So gorgeous make unto our mortal eye: What hath it which a Woman's beauty push not down, In his vast brow a monstrous Cicloplike, It only one eye hath, Which to beholding gazers gives no light, But rather does with terror blindness, strike: If it do sighs or speak, t'is Like the wrath Of and enraged Lion that would fight: And not the skies alone but even poor fields, Are blasted with the flames his lightning wields. While thou with Lamps most sweet, And with and amorous angelicke light Of two Suns visible that never meet, Dost always the tempestuous troubled spright Of thy beholder quiet and delight: Found, motion, light, that beauty does assume, State, daintiness, and value, do aright Mix such a harmony in that far sighed, That skies themselves with vanity presume, If less then Paradise those skies do shine To Paragon with thee (thing most divine) Good reason hath that sovereign creature (named A Man) to whom all mortal things do how, If thee beholding, higher cause allow And yield to be. What though he rule and triumph truly famed, It is not for high powers more worth do see In him then is in thee, Either of sceptre or of victory: But for to make thee far more glorious stand, Because the Conqurour thou dost command: And S it must be, for men humanity Is subject still to Beauty's duty. Who will not trust this, but contrary says, Let him behold Mirtilloes wondrous faith: Yet Woman to thy worth this is a stain, Love is made love so hopelessly and vain. SO fixed was my heart and whole intent In bringing of this Dear unto the bow, That I forgotten had my dearest heir That brutish villain robbed me of: O how I grieved, With such a price to purchase mine escape: But was of force to get out of the hands Of that same senseless beast, who though he have Less heart then any Conny hath, yet might he do Me many injuries and many skornes. I always him despised: while he had blood In any of his veins (Like a Horseleech) I sucked him still. Now does it grieve him that I have given over to love him still; joust cause he had. If one could love a most unlovely Beast, Like herbs that erst were God for wholesome use, The juice drawn out, they rest unprofitable, And Like a stinking thing we them despise: So him, (when I had what so ere was good sucked out From him) how should I use, but throw the sapless trunk Unto the dunghill heap? Now will I see If Coridon be got close into the Cave. What news is this I see? Sleep I or do I wake? I am assured this Caves mouth erst was open, How close 'tis shut? How is this ancient Stone? Rolled down? was it and Earthquake since. Yet would I know if Coridon were there With Amarillis, then cared I little for the rest, Certain he's there, for 'tis a good while since Lisetta gave him word. Who knows the contrary? T'may be Mirtillo moved with disdain, Hath done this deed, he had he but my mind, Could only have performed this rare exploit. Well by the Mountains way will I go see, And learn the troth of all how it hath passed. LInco, I am assured thou knowest me not. Oh Sweet and golden age, when Milk Unto the tender World was meat: Whose Cradle was the harmless Wood, Their dearer parts whose grass Like silk, The Flocks untouched, did joy to eat: Nor feared the World the spoil of blood, The troublous thoughts that do no good Did not then make a cloudy veil To dim our suns eternal light: Now Reason being shut up quite, Clouds do our Wits skies over-hail: From whence it is strange lands we seek for ease, Ploughing with huge Oak trees the Ocean seas, This bootless superstutious voice, This subject profit less then vain, Of toys, of titles, and of sleight, Whom the mad World through worthless choice, Honour to name does not disdain, Did not with tyranny delight, To rule our minds, but to sustain Trouble for troth, and for the right To maintain say a firm decree Amongst us men of each degree, Desire to do well was of right: Care of true Honour, happy to be nam, Who what was lawful pleasure to us framed. Then in the pastures grony shade, Sweet Carroles and sharp Madrigal . Were flames unto deer lawful Love: There gentle Nymph's and Shepherds made Thoughts of their words, and in the dales Did Himen joys and kisses move, Far sweeter and of more behoove, True lovers only did enjoy Loves lively Roses and sweet Flowers, While Wily-craft found always showers, Showers of sharp will, and wills annoy: Were it in Woods or Caves for quiet rest, The name of Husband still was Like worser best. False wicked World, that courrest still With thy base mercenary name The souls chief good, and dost entice To nourish thought of newfound Will, With likelihoods again: Ʋ nbridling eum secret vice, Like to a Net laid by device Among Flowers and sweet spread , Thou cloathst vild thoughts in , Esteeming seeming goodness, deeds, By which the life with Art deceive: Nor dost thou care (this Honour is thy act) What theft it be, so Love may hide the fact. But thou great Honour, great by right, Frame famous spirits in our hearts, Thou true Lord of each Noble breast: Oh thou that rulest Kings of might, Once turn thee into that see our parts, Which wanting thee, cannot be blessed: Make the r from out their mortal rest, With mighty and with powerful stanges, Who by a base vnwarthy will Have left to work thy pleasure still, And left the worth of antiqur things: Let's hope our ills a truce will one day take. And let our Hope's not waver no nor shake: Let's hope the setting sun will rise again, And that the skies when they most aarke appear, Do draw (though covered) after wished clear. The place is ever good, where any thrives: And every place is native, to the wise. Oh Happy two, That plants have sowed, and reaped smiles. In many bitter grievous foils Have you imbellist your desires, Henceforth prepare your amorous fires, And bolden up your tender sprights, Unto your true sincere delights. You cannot have a sounder joy, There is no ill can you annoy. This is true joy, true pleasure, and true mirth, T'which virtue God, in patience gives birth. What voice of horror and of plaint hear we? This seems Ergasto, and t'is surely he. What wretched accident is this that does contain So many Misery's? Gow' Shepherds Gow'! Lets meet with him: Eternal heavenly powers, Will not your rage yet cease? Speak good Ergasto, What lamentable chance is this thou plainst? What's this? Ah speak more plain. Ay me, what's this. O rare! but wicked, valour of this female sex, O chastetie, how singular thou art, Scarce can a man say any woman's chased, Save she that never was tried; unhappy age: But courteous Shepherd, tell us how it was? What did you then? What's come of him? What shall he do? Why could you not? So shall we do, had we but once performed Our duty unto Silvio, eternal Gods In pity, not in fury, show your selves supreme. Why, is she dead?