RHODON

Nay, good Acanthus, did love ere offend any? I tell thee (brazen Colosse) marble statue, Whose heart loves darts could never penetrate; Love is the Prince of all affections, And Like the element of fire transcends His brother's in activity and splendour. Now I hope you have railed your self out of breath, And therefore I may now have time to speak: Thus it's, deer friend Acanthus, I confess That once I loved the Lady Eglantine, Whose rare endowments both of art and nature, Well corresponding with high birth and fortune, Did moderately attract my sincere love, Which love conspiring with a strong desire, To see the Customs of some foreign Nations, And know the manners of people far remote, Made me to greet the Princely Dame With a personal visitation. Then my indulgent stars did me advice, For to suspend my suit: whose counsel I obeyed. But trust me, friend, thou Wertenberg too much mistaken, To think that love had scorched or singed so much The wings of reason; that I must needs fallen, And perish in the furnace of despair. Thou art a bade constructer of my thoughts, If that thou thinkest it's love which makes me sad: Yea, thou, ofttimes, dost take thy marks amiss, To think me sad; perhaps, when as my mind (Upraised above the sphere of terrene things) Is ravished with Celestial Contemplation; For earthly passion hath no power at all To work upon and elevated soul. Passion are stars to lower orbs confined; Scorching and earthly, not a heavenly mind. Yet am I not so much a Stoic, or a Stock, To plume the pinions of th'immortall soul, Who while she's Cloistered in this Cell of Clay, Moves with the wings of the affections: But lest she, Like to heedless Icarus, Should soar too high a pitch; or Like young Phaeton, Should shape her Course too low, Jove hath appointed Wise Virtue for to regulate her flight. Of these affections, love the Empress is; Who, while she stands submiss to reasons lore, Does keep the Fabric of the little world in frame. Love is the genial goddess, the Lucina Which does produce each honourable achievement, Which this true axiom evidently proves, Nobilitas sub amore jacet. Had not the spriteful flames of love, egged on That Thehan Kilcrow mighty Hercules, To brave adventures; he, perhaps, had died As much inglorious as did base Thersites. Had not the fair Andromache beheld, From Trojan Towers, Hector's valiant acts Among the Greeks, amid the Phrygian fields; The gallant Dams of Troy then might, perchance, Most justly have preferred Achilles far before him. 'Tis this heroical passion that incends The sparks of honour in each noble mind; Making dull sluggards study industry; And animating each unlearned head To toil in Arts and liberal Sciences, Even to the high degree of rare proficience. Then cease Acanthus with thy lawless tongue, True loves Condition to malign or wrong. Surcease these malapert invectives, friend, Cupid is armed with fire and arrows keen, To be avenc'd on those that shall him spleen. Wertenberg thou a mere spirit, then I confess, And think, this resolution might endure; But so long as thy soul wears robes of earth, Laced all with veins, that over a Crimson deep, Set forth and Azure bright; needs must thy heart Yield to the force of Cupid's golden dart. Thanks, good Anthophotus: To be the meanest servant of so sweet a saint, Is the full height and scope of my ambition. Dissemble not, admired Shepherdess; For thou art she, that art as far beyond That light piece of beauty, Hellen of Greece, In outward perfections; as she was short of thee in inward graces. Yea, had those fifty Kings that did for her Engage themselves in a long tedious war, Seen but the Model of thy rare beauty, Drawn by the hand of but a rude painter, Doubtless, they had their honours forfeited, And broke that sacred oath which they had taken. Their work in hand they had relinquished quite, And left the walls of wretched Troy untouched; For each attracted with thy beauty's splendour, No Seas nor perils would have left unpassed, To find thee in the furthest angle of the world. Pardon me, gentle Sir: this radiant star, My judgements feeble eyes did dazzle so, That I was forced to speak what passion did inform me. I am the man. How fares my sister? 'Tis true: but histories report that a Lion did, The suppliant Getulian virgin spare; Scorning to make so innocent a creature His pray or quarry. In actions of such consequence as this, We must not be too precipicious, Mature deliberation must conclude What shall be done in such a main design: The stately Steed that with a full career Attempts to mount the brow of the steep hill, Oft breaks his wind, ere he can reach the height. But the slow snail without or harm, or peril, In time ascends unto the mountains top, For that true love we owe to Thessaly, In which affection all we are engaged; We by a friendly treaty will endeavour To bring the usurper to a restitution. But if the Olive branch will do no good, Then let the scourge of war it self disclose; They that our friendship scorn, must be our foes. KNow Martagon, that as no dynasties can stand, No Empires long subsist, unless they be Supported by the Columns of true equity: So shall that government of thine decay, Since thy oppression makes the weak a pray. No more Acanthus: hear me Martagon: Wilt thou give Violetta what's her own? Wilt thou restore her right and endue possessions? And make a recompense for all oppressions, That happy peace with joy and plenty crowned, May in the fields of Thessaly be found? Tenacious Tyrant, in whose flinty heart Nor equity, nor justice ere had partly: Assure thy self thy guilty soul shall feel Revenges hand, armed with a scourge of steel. WEll, if I were but once rid of her service, If I ever served lovesick mistress again, I would feed all my life time on Agnus Castus, And give all the world leave to let me die a maid: I even spoiled a good mother wit With beating my head about these knick knacks, Which my mistress, Madam Eglantine Hath enjoined me to procure her, For now seduced by the old bawd Poneria, She thinks to recover her old sweetheart Rhodon. Here is a Catalogue as tedious as a Tailors bill, Of all the devices which I am commanded to provide, videlicet: Chains, coronets, pendans, bracelets and earrings, Pins, girdles, spangle's, embroideries, rings, Shadows, rebatos, ribbons, ruffs, cuffs and falls: Scarves, feathers, fans, masks, muffs, laces and calls; Thin tiffanies. copweb-lawne and farthingales, Sweet-bals, vails, wimples, glasses, crisping-pins; Pots, ointments, combs, with poking-sticks & bodkins; Coifs, gorgets, fringes, rolls, fillets and hair-laces; Silks, damasks, velvet, tinsels, cloth of gold, And tissue, with colours of a hundredth fold. But in her tires so new fangled is she, That which does with her humour now agree, To morrow she dislikes, now does she swear, That a lose body is the neatest wear; But ere and hour be gone, she will protest A strait gown graces her proportion best: Now calls she for a boisterous fardingall, Then to her hips she'll have her garments fallen: Now does she praise a sleeve that's long and wide, Yet by and by that fashion does deride: Sometime sh'applauds a pavement-sweeping train, And presently dispraiseth it again. Now she commends a shallow band so small, That it may seem scarce any band at all; But soon to a new fancy does she reel, And calls for one as big as a coach-wheel: She'll wear a flowery coronet to day, The symbol of her beauty's sad decay, To morrow she a waving plume will try, The emblem of all female lenity, Now in her hat, then in her hair she's dressed, For of all fashions she thinks change the best. SInce that the proud usurper Martagon Will not restore what he hath taken away By force and injury from Violetta, We are resolved to put on lawful arms, To suage the pride of that great Termagant; That of his prowess does so vainly vaunt. Therefore deer friends address your selves to show Your true and faithful fortitudes, for know And ignominious peace may not compare, With any joust and honourable war. Now fie upon that valour which depends On circumstance of time or place, 'Tis relative virtue, that Like glass is brittle, Whose force soon die and perfects very little, Your noble courages, endeared friends, A good event to our designs portends. WHat hour of night is't friend Acanthus? Sawest thou yond star that Northward fell. This seemed a glorious, and resplendent star, Yet was it but a gross ill tempered meteor. This meteor seemed as if it had been fixed In and orb for a perpetuity, Yet in a moment is it fallen, thou seest, And who regards this foolish and ignoble fire, Or looks upon the place from whence it fell. But if young Phaeton shall undertake To guide the Chariot of the great Apollo, And in that Actium shall miscarry, so That the whole universe shall be engaged To utter ruin and destruction, Then ought great Jove to have a special care For to preserve and keep the common good. And if he shall dismount the Chariotter, And with a deadly blow lay him along, The world then for his justice shall thank Jove, And Phaeton's foolhardiness reprove. Thou brightest star that shinest this night, Auspicious be thy influence to thy Rhodon. My dearest Iris, I am surcharged with joy To meet thee here. Since no immodest act is here intended, The time cannot be prejudicial To thy unstained modesty. I tell thee, I till now was never happy: All those delights which I ere saw before, Were but mere transitory dreams, Compared with that felicity which now I find. Since my good fortune and thy constant love Have joyed me once again with thy sweet presence, I bless my lot, and to the field will hasten, As ready to outface danger, as scorn death; And if I there find fortunate success, Of all my good I'll count thee patroness. (Fair one) verbal expression cannot show What I to thee for this great gift do owe: But till for all I full requital make, My constant love thou for a pledge shalt take. Since thou vouchsafest to be my kind Physician, For this time I will act a patients partly, And ere that sleep shall with his leaden keys Lock up the portals of my drowsy eyes, I'll taste of this most precious liquour: But lest the gealed moisture of the night Should prejudice thy health, (sweet Iris) Let me conduct thee homeward. But in my absence be assured of this, That Rhodons heart in thy possession is. Upon this shady bank with laurels crowned, The gentle Shepherd Rhodon dwells: His Cottage seated is upon a Crystal River, The sweetest stream that ever in valley crept. Two precious presents I to him must bear: The one from his true love, the beauteous Iris, And that's a gem of admirable virtue; The bounty of the Eastern mines could never bestow A Jewel of such worth as this, Which from the entrails of a Cock was ripped; For whosoever shall possess the same, Shall be invincible in fight. But his deer Sister, lovely Violetta, Commends to him this admirable plant, The noblest herb that ever in garden grew. For, setting many precious properties aside, It is the best and strongest antidote That Art or Nature ever made. No deadly poison can withstand its power, But is expulst by it with great facility. These noble gifts beseeming well Both the receivers and the givers qualities, I will deliver to the honoured Swain. This strange imposture hath amazed me so, That I am almost to a statue struck, Not knowing what to speak, or what to think. Then 'twas some hellish hag, that, in her shape, Gave me the venomous confection Which had undone me quite, if thou in time Hadst not applied thy precious antidote. But yet, me thinks, that heaven should not permit The subt'lest hellish power to counterfeit The feature of so beautiful and angel. Then I must pardon crave of gentle Iris, To whom I did ascribe this treacherous fact. My Iris is as clear as innocency it self; And since my treacherous foes have gone about, By wicked slights, to wrong so sweet a saint, And bring me also to a shameful end, I here enjoin you (honourable friends) Upon my sword to take a solemn oath, Never to lay down your joust and lawful arms, Until we be avenged to the full, For such unkindly and disloyal wrongs: True honour, that with dearest blood is sought, Is Like a precious gem that's cheaply bought. DEserving friends and fellow soldiers, Now arm your selves with Roman fortitude: First call to mind the justice of our cause, And then let each remember that true honour, Which must be valued above health and life: Consider also that we must contend, Against a tyrant and a mere usurper; A person guilty of no mean offences, Which must be justly punished by our swords. I neither know what your offencesare, nor yet yourselves. And are you the grand incendiary That have so many mischiefs wrought in Thessaly? Now I remember I have seen your elvish countenance, Nor have I altogether forgotten your reverend mate, Who with his personated gravity deludes the world, Being accounted a man of profound art. Acanthus, see them committed to safe custody, See you make them sure for starting. The apprehension of these wretches does presage Auspicious Fortune's to our actions; List, list, Anthophotus, our enemies are at hand, Their thundering drums warn us of their approach. We'll bid them nobly welcome then: this day will I Victorious be (I vow) or bravely die. Thy honoured resolution I commend, And take it for a sign of good success. For Violetta's sake I took up arms, Whom thou unjustly hast oppressed. Whence comes this most harmonious melody. Thanks for your precious gift, renowned Queen. Pray Jove we have good news, me thinks I saw A pallid horror settled in the face Of the sad Messenger: be't good or ill, We are resolved to see it, come what will. I Violetta much distressed By Martagon my mortal foe, Your succour humbly do request, To set me free frrm servile woe. Our flowers he hath trampled on, Our Gardens turned to thickets wild; Our fields and Meads he hath overrun, That we are forced to live exiled. We therefore do your aid implore, Us to our freedom to restore. 'Twas for no good, that the late shag haired Comet With his erected staring looks, did overlook Our frighted flocks, who all amazed poor wretches At such a horrid unexpected sighed, Ere Hesperus gan from the west to peep, Half empty, did retire unto their folds again: Nor were those idle fires which late we saw, Hang Like a flaming canopy above us, When we did walk the round about our folds, To keep the warwolfe from our Lambs by night. But is't possible that man should be so savage, To vent his rage upon a silly woman? 'Tis altogether wicked & unjust: (Acanthus) retire. For now me thinks I see a glimpse of Iris, Who promised to meet me here this night. Lo how the lustre of her beauty penetrates The en vyous clouds of these nocturnal shades. Me thinks the stars look very ruddy, As if they did portend tempestuous weather. Sweet Iris know that I esteem this hour of night, Since I enjoy thy sweet society, Above all the days that I ever hitherto beheld.