HYDASPES

This is it I beg, And on my knees. The people of your Land, The Lycians, are through all the Nations That know their name, noted to have in use A vain and fruitless Superstition; So much more hateful, that it bears the show Of true Religion, and is nothing else But a self-pleasing bold lasciviousness. Many Ages before this, When every man God to himself a Trade, And was laborious in that chosen course, Hating and idle life, far worse then death: Some one that gave himself to wine and sloth, Which breed lascivious thoughts; And found himself conjoined For that by every painful man, To take his stain away, framed to himself A God, whom he pretended to obey, In being thus dishonest, for a name He called him Cupid. This created God, Men nature being ever credulous Of any vice that takes partly with his blood, Had ready followers enough: and since In every age they grew, especially Amongst your Subjects, who do yet remain Adorers of that drowsy Deity: Which drink invented: and the winged Boy, (For so they call him) has his sacrifices. These lose naked statutes through the Land, And in every Village, nay the palace Is not free from'em. This is my request, That these erected obscene Images May be plucked down and burned: and every man That offers to'em any sacrifice, may loose his life. Cleophila, what was he that went hence? I mean that handsome man, That something more then man I met at door. Come, he's some one You would preserve in private, but you want Cunning to do it, and my eyes are sharper Then yours, and can with one neglecting glance, See all the graces of a man. Who was't? That went hence now: I he. I think it he: how bravely he passed by: Is he not grown a goodly Gentleman? Oh blasphemy! he may perhaps to thee Appear deformed, for he is indeed Unlike a man: his shape and colours are Beyond the Art of Painting; he is Like Nothing that we have seen, yet does resemble Apollo, as I oft have fancied him, When rising from his bed he stirs himself, And shakes day from his hair. Cleophila, go send a page for him, And thou shalt see thy error, and repent. Alas what do I feel, my blood rebels, And I am one of those I used to scorn, My maiden-thoughts are fled against my self, I harbour Traitors in my Virginity, That from my childhood kept me company, Is heavier then I can endure to bear: Forgive me Cupid, for thou art a God, And I a wretched creature; I have sinned, But be thou merciful, and grant that yet I may enjoy what thou wilt have me, Love. Beshrew me then if I be merry; But I am content while thou art with me: Thou that art my Saint, By hope of whose mild favour I do live To tell thee so: I pray thee scorn me not; Alas, what can it add unto thy worth To triumph over me, that am a Maid? Without deceit, whose heart does guide her tongue, Drowned in my passion, yet I will take leave. To call it reason that I door on thee. What answer wilt thou give me? If it be jest, not to esteem my life, Compared with thee: If it be jest in me, To hang a thousand kisses in and hour Upon those lips, and take they off again: If it be jest for me to marry thee, And take obedience on me while I live: Then all I say is jest: For every partly of this, I swear by those That see my thoughts, I am resolved to do. And I beseech thee, by thine own white hand, (Which pardon me, that I am bold to kiss With so unworthy lips) that thou wilt swear To marry me, as I do here to thee, Before the face of heaven. I ask no more: but let me kiss that mouth That is so merciful, that is my will: Next, go with me before the King in hast, That is my will, where I will make our Peers Know, that thou art their better. Away, hold off thy hands: Strike her sweet Zoylous, for it is my will, Which thou hast sworn to do. In way of Marriage, it must be so. Your Oath is tied to heaven: as my love to him, Most Royal Sir, I am prepared, Nor shall my will exceed a Virgins bounds, What I request shall both at once bring Me a full content. He's there indeed. Now be thine own Judge; see thou worse then mad, Is he deformed? look upon those eyes, That let all pleasure out into the world, Unhappy that they cannot see themselves. Look on his hair, that Like so many beams, Streaking the East, shore light over half the world. Look on him all together, who is made As if two Nature's had contention About their skill, and one had brought forth him. Kill me or grant: wilt thou not speak at all? Sir, you have passed your word, Still be a prince, and hold you to it. Wonder not I press you, my life lies in your word, If you break that, you have broke my heart, I must ask Thats my shame, and your will must not deny me: Now for Heaven be not for sworn. Will not you speak? Is this your royal word? Do not pull perjury upon your soul. Sir, you are old, and near your punishment; re member. Then be no more my Father, but a plague, I am bound to pray against: be any sin May force me to despair, and hang my self, Be thy name never more remembered King But in example of a broken Faith, And cursed even to forgetfulness: May thy Land bring forth such Monsters as thy daughter is? I am weary of my rage. I pray forgive me, And let me have him, will you Noble Sir? Alas old man, Death hath more doors the ̄ one, And will meet him. Oh my heart! If I should ask all my life time, this is all still. Sir I am serious, I must have this worthy man with out inquiring why; and suddenly, and freely: Do not look for reason or obedience in my words: My Love admits no wisdom: Only hast, and hope hangs on my fury. Speak Sir, speak, but not as a Father, I am deaf and dull to counsel: my inflamed blood Hears nothing but my will, For Gods sake speak. Then this is my request: This Gent: Be not ashamed, Sir: You are worth a Kingdom. In way of marriage. Will not you speak Sir? Then make hast Tyrant, or I'll be for him; This is the way to Hell. Nothing else.