MARTAGON

Dear friend Cynosbatus, if that the world Had been composed in a cubic form And not orbicular; or if this globe Were destined to be ought else then Fortune's ball, By alterations racket banded to and from; Then justly mightest thou wonder to behold My present state, so short of my precedent height. Nor does this monster, Change, bear sway alone, Over elements, men, beasts, and plants, But those celestial bodies that are framed Of purer constitutions, are compelled To be obedient to her awful doom. Rear up thy eyes unto the spangled cope, And there behold Jove's star-enchased belt, The glittering Zodiac wonderfully changed In a few thousand years: For those fixed stars, which Like a Diamond clear, Adorn the baldric of the Thunderer, Have wandered from their former stations. Witness the golden Ram who now is gone astray, And shouldered hath the Cretian Bull; and he Those twins of Jove so soar hath butted, That they have crushed the Crab, and thrust him quite Into the den of the Nemaean Lion. Thus by the change of these superior bodies, Strange alterations in the world are wrought, Great Empires maimed, & Kingdoms brought to nought. And that auspicious lamp, who freely lends His light to lesser fires, the prince of generation, Even Solemnizing himself, is five degrees declined, Since learned Ptolemy did take his height. But if Egyptian wizards we may trust, Who in Astrology wont to excel; By them 'tis told, that four times they have seen That glorious Charrioter flit from his place: Twice hath he rose (they say) where now he sets, And twice declined where he now does rise. If these Celestial powers, whose influence Commands terrestrial substances, Be object to mutation, then needs must Sublunar things, submit themselves to change. Then wonder not good friend Cynosbatus, To see my state and power diminished thus. But I prethe friend, satisfy me in one thing. There is a rumour spread through Thessaly, That your fair sister, Madame Eglantine, Shall be espoused to the Shepherd Rhodon, The prince of all the Swains that dwell on Hybla. A kin he is to that male spirited Dame, That stout Virago, that proud Shepherdess Called Violetta: who complains of wrongs Late suffered at my hands: And he's the man by whom she Hope's To be avenged on me, for this pretended injury; And had he matched your sister, sweet Eglantine, Then might I have had cause for to suspect Your love not to be found, since you accepted So great a so of mine, for your near friend. TO hinder the conjunction of those stars, We must try all our skill, Cynosbatus. The Serpent will be hatched, I shrewdly fear, Ever we the mischief can prevent, if thus We should delay to act our purposes: For late, a ccrtaine rumor, through my ear, Did strike me to the heart; when 'twas reported That Rhodon on Hymettus hill was seen; Where by Anthophotus, and his sister Iris, He was with such solemnity received, That all surmise there is a match intended Between the Shepherd Rhodon and fair Iris. Then let us set some Stratagem abroach, The Cords of their new amity to break. The tender twig may easily be broke, But who's so strong to bow the sturdy Oak. Our friends will say (if we procrastinate) That, Like the Trojans, we were wise too late. SInce that the gods will not my woe redress, Since men are altogether pitiless, You silent ghosts unto my plaints give ear; Give ear (I say, you ghosts) if ghosts can hear: And listen to my plaints that do excel The dolorous tune of ravished Philomel. Now let Ixion's wheel stand still a while, Let Danaus daughters now surcease their toil: Let Sisyphus rest on his restless stone, Let not the Apples fly from Plotas son; And let the full gorged Vulture cease to tear The growing liver of the ravisher; Let these behold my sorrows, and confess Their pains do far come short of my distress. Were I but Lady of more wealthy store Then ever the Sun beheld; or had I more Then Midas ever desired; I would (in brief) Give all to be delivered from this grief. Rocks of rich Indian pearl, shores paved with gems, Mountains of gold, and Empires Diadems, These would I give, yea, and my self to boot, My self and these prostrating at his foot, To enjoy him whom I so dearly love. Aye me, found love, that art a sweet Sour evil, A pleasant torture, a well-favoured devil. But why do I, weak wretch, prolong my grief? Why do I live, since death affords relief? Do thou (sweet poigniard) all my sorrows ease, That art a medicine for all grievances, Assist my hand, thou goddess of revenge, That on my self, I may my self avenge. Bold Hero do thy worst, what I have wone I never will partly withal till life be done. If that his actions with his words agree, I must expect a sudden storm. Thanks noble friend, then here lets join our hand In sign of most unseparable bans. In braving language he exceeded so, That Martagon never saw so bold a foe, Surcharged with swelling passion, he did vow To take a full revenge on me and you. These raging Lyons must, Cynosbatus, Be undermined by some egregious sleight; We must pitch some strong toil for these fierce Beasts, Where we may take them captive at our pleasure: For if we should assail them openly, Much peril then we might incur thereby. Then hear what I propound. Cynosbatus, Within a place nigh hand, resides A Beldame much renowned for sacred skill In magic mysteries. She with her awful Charms wonts to call forth All sorts of noisome Creatures that are bred In Sandy Libya, or cold Scythia, From whom she takes her choice of poison strong. The Herbs which grow on precipitious Erix, She with her bloody Sickle crops: And whatsoever poisonous weed springs on The craggy top of snowy Caucasus, That's sprinkled with the blood of wise Prometheus, She carefully selects; Those venoms which the warlike Medians, and The nimble Parthians, or Arabians rich, Use to anoint their deadly shafts withal. She does by Moonlight gather; Each Herb that in this fertile vernal season Puts forth its head from Opses pregnant bosom She searches for; whither the same be bred In the cold Forest of Hercynea, Or in the deserts of parched Africa, What flower soever does in his seed or root Strange causes of great mischief nourish, She never faileth to find out: Whither the same on banks of Tigris grows, Or on the sunburnt brink of warm Hydaspes, Whose golden channels paved with precious stones; Some of these herbs she does by twilight gather, At midnight some, and some at break of day. Nor is she ignorant how to apply The panting heart of the dull melancholy Owl, Or the breathing entrails cut from a living Cat. The proudest Swain that lives in Thessaly Is glad to be obsequious to her will; For in her power it is to cure or kill. Unto this reverend Sibyl let us go, And her advice request in this design; By her instructions let us our actions regulate, Providing for our own security: She can divine of all events, and tell Whither things shall succeed or ill or well. WIthin the precincts of this grove Poneria dwells, Here nightly she hath conventicles With her wise spirits; see how the trees are carved With Magical mysterious characters, See how the fiery fiends with their frequent resort have Scorched the leaves, and changed the Merry livery of the spring into a mournful hue. Behold the grass died with the swarthy gore Of some great sacrifice, that late was offered up To the infernal powers. Within a vault hewed from the stony bowels, Of you high precipicious rock she dwells. Cheer up (Cynosbatus) and come away, Let's to her Cell, and I'll show thee the way. Divinest Matron; god-inspired Sibyl Do this, and be what thou canst desire. Now deer Cynosbatus let us prepare To resist th'impression of our foes: Since that our powerful forces ready stand, To be obedient to our great command. SAge Dame, how fares thy grand design? Dost think thy plot will take? Nay gentle mother, be not so impatient. O happy news (divine Poneria) The en Sybil's were no more comparable to thee, Than and old Gentlewoman is to a young Chambermaid. Sweet Poneria, I am even in love with thee: Yea, I durst almost swear I should kiss thee, If thou hadst but three rotten teeth in thy head. Thy thanks, Poneria, shall be duly paid In eye bewitching talents; Wee'll rip the matrice of our grandam earth To see the place where riches are conceived; And from her pregnant womb we'll draw A golden age for thee to live in (Dear Poneria) Nay, it's the happiest morn. that e'r we two beheld Rhodon is dead; And is by this time, served up in a wooden dish, To feast the worms upon and earthen table; The purple bosomed rose whose glorious pride Disdained the beauty's of all other flowers, is cropped, Yea the ambitious bramble is quite withered, And now is laid in the contemned dust: Ponerias wit hath done this noble act. Thou art too ceremonious for a politician, And too superstitious: our duties it's to judge Of the effect as it concerns the state of our affairs, And not to look back on the means by which 'twas wrought. He is unfit to rule a Civil state That knows not how in some respects to favour Murder, or treason, or any other sin, Which that subtle animal, called man, Does openly protest against, for this end, That he may more freely act it in private, As his occasions shall invite him to't. But it's no disputing now; the deed is done, We are in a fair way to victory, Conquest, triumph, and renown; We have a fair beginning, and what's well begun, (If that the proverb speaks truth) is half done. LAdy Poneria, upon your commendation, We bestow a regiment upon this Gentleman. And I think no less, for th'are not good words That makes deserving soldiers, but good swords. 'Tis about a place, I'll pawn my life on't: Hear me Mounsier, I understand the business: Her request is granted. She when she please, may at my hands command A greater courtesy then this. On you I bestow a Captains place. I understand you are a man of real worth, And very sufficient for such and office. Bold friend, I prethe speak ingeniously, Does this defiance come from Rhodons mouth. Then tell him, I'm resolved to be a guest, More bold then welcome at his bloody feast. Dissembling witch: how hast thou beguiled us? Didst not thou with thy deep protestatio ̄ S force us To give strong credence to thy false relations, When thou affirm'dst that thou hadst poisoned Rhodon. Avant you hag, abominable sorceress, Here I do thee on pain of death enjoin, With that Impostor thy companion, Immediately to depart out of my Dominions. Since that our braving foe is now at hand, (Cynosbatus) we must not think of a retreat. Then let us meet our proud foe face to face, And with our swords and spears that right maintain, Which lately we by sword and spear did gain. What fury tempted thee unhappy Rhodon, In hostile manner thus to invade my confines. What I have done my sword shall justify. We do, because we must. 'Tis no oppression for to punish those, That have transgressed the Laws, as I suppose. And is your pride Virago still so high? That it does overtop your misery. Cann't sorrow strike thee dumb, can no disaster, The liberty of thy tongue overmaster. This will I do, When seas shall be drunk dry by Phœbus beams, And when the lesser stars shall drink the streams. This will I do, When of my life and freedom I am weary, Non minor est virtus quam quae rear partam tueri.