ENDYMION

I Find Eumenides in all things both variety to content, & sa tietie to glut, saving only in my affections, which are so stayed, and withal so stately, that I can neither satisfy my heart with love, nor mine eyes with wonder. My thoughts Eumenides are stitched to the stars, which being as high as I can see; thou mayest imagine how much higher they are then I can reach. My love is placed neither under the Moon nor above. No but settled, either to die, or possess the Moon herself. Eumenides the Moon. My thoughts have no veins, and yet unless they be let blood, I shall perish. Oh fair Cynthia, why do others term thee un constant, whom I have ever found unmoveable? Inium rious time, corrupt manners, unkind men, who finding a constancy not to be matched, in my sweet Mistress, have christened her with the name of wavering, waxing, and waning. Is she inconstant that keepeth a settled course, which since her first creation altereth not one minute in her moving? There is nothing thought more admirable, or commendable in the sea, then the ebbing and flowing, and shall the Moon, from whom the Sea takes this virtue, be accounted fickle for increasing, & decreasing? Flowers in their buds, are nothing worth till they be blown, nor blossoms accounted till they be ripe fruit, and shall we then say they be changeable, for that they grow from seeds to leaves, from leaves to buds, from buds to their perfection? then, why be not twigs that become trees, children that become men, and Morning's that grow to Evening's, termed wavering, for that they continue not at one stay? I but Cynthia, being in her fullness, decayeth, as not delighting in her greatest beauty, or withering when she should be most honou read. When malice cannot object any thing, folly will, making that a vice, which is the greatest virtue. What thing (my Mistress excepted) being in the pride of her beauty, & latter minute of her age, that waxes young again? Tell me Eumenides, what is he that having a Mistress of ripe years, & infinite virtues, great honours, and unspeakable beauty, but would wish that she might grow tender again? getting youth by years, and never decaying beauty, by time, whose fair face, ney there the Summer's blaze can scorch, nor Winter's blast chap, nor the numbering of years breed altering of colours. Such is my sweet Cynthia, whom time cannot touch, because she is divine, nor will offend because she is delicate. Oh Cynthia, if thou shouldst always conti nue at thy fullness, both Gods and men would conspire to ravish thee. But thou to abate the pride of our affec tions, dost detract from thy perfections, thinking it suf ficient, if once in a month we enjoy a glimpse of thy ma iestie, and then, to increase our griefs, thou dost de crease thy glemes, coming out of thy royal robes, wherewith thou dazelist our eyes, down into thy swath clouts, beguiling our eyes. And then Vain Eumenides, whose thoughts never grow higher the ̄ the crown of thy head. Why troublest thou me, having neither head to conceive the cause of my love, or a heart to receive the impressions? follow thou thine own Fortune's, which creep on the earth, & suf fer me to fly to mine, whose fallen though it be desperate, yet shall it come by daring. Farewell Oh Fair Cynthia, o unfortunate Endymion. Why was not thy birth as high as thy thoughts, or her beauty less then heavenly? or why are not thine honours as rare as her beauty? or thy Fortune's as great as thy deserts? Sweet Cynthia, how wouldst thou be plea said, how possessed? will labours (patient of all extremi ties) obtain thy love? There is no Mountain so steep that I will not climb, no monster so cruel that I will not tame, no Actium so desperate that I will not attempt. Desirest thou the passion of love, the sad and melan cholie moods of perplexed minds, the not to be ex pressed torments of racked thoughts? Behold my sad tears, my deep sighs, my hollow eyes, my broken sleeps, my heavy countenance. Wouldst thou have me vowed only to thy beauty and consume every minute of time in thy service, remember my solitary life, almost these seven years, whom have I entertai ned but mine own thoughts, and thy virtues? What company have I used but contemplation? Whom have I wondered at but thee? Nay whom have I not contem ned, for thee? Have I not crept to those on whom I might have trodden, only because thou didst shine up on them? Have not injuries been sweet to me, if thou vouchsafest I should bear them? Have I not spent my golden years in Hope's, waxing old with wishing, yet wishing nothing but thy love. With Tellus, fair Tellus, have I dissembled, using her but as a cloak for mine affections, that others seeing my mangled and disorde read mind, might think it were for one that loves me, not for Cynthia, whose perfection alloweth no compa nion, nor comparison. In the amid of these distempered thoughts of mine, thou art not only jealous of my truth, but careless, sum spicious, and secure: which strange humour makes my mind as desperate as thy conceits are doubtful. I am none of those Wolves that bark most, when thou shy nest brightest. But that fish, (thy fish Cynthia in the flood Aranis) which at thy waxing is as white as the driven snow, and at thy waining, as black as deepest darkness. I am that Endymion (sweet Cynthia) that have carried my thoughts in equal balance with my actions, being always as free from imagining ill, as enterpry sing; That Endymion, whose eyes never esteemed any thing fair, but thy face, whose tongue termed nothing rare but thy virtues, and whose heart imagined nothing miraculous, but thy government. Yea that Endymion, who diuorsing himself from the amiableness of all La die, the bravery of all Courts, the company of all men, hath chosen in a solitary Cell to live, only by feeding on thy favour, accounting in the world (but thy self) nothing excellent, nothing immortal; thus mayest thou see every vain sinew, muscle, and artery of my love, in which there is no flattery, nor deceit; error, nor art. But soft, here comes Tellus, I must turn my other face to her Like Janus, least she be as suspicious as Juno. Or else I live not Tellus. Not Tellus, unless I could make me a woman. No, but found in their sex, as common, as spots upon Doves, moles upon faces, Caterpillars upon sweet apples, cobwebs upon fair windows. I dare not tell. For if I should say you, then would you imagine my flattery to be extreme, if anon there, then would you think my love to be but indiffe rend. No more was Venus. No more then time is to standing still. No, but incomparable. No rest Endymion? still uncertain how to settle thy steps by day, or thy thoughts by night? thy truth is measured by thy fortune, and thou art judged unfaith full because thou art unhappy. I will see if I can beguile my self with sleep, & if no slumber will take hold in my eyes, yet will I embrace the golden thoughts in my head, and wish to melt by musing: that as Ebone, which no fire can scorch, is yet continued ̄ summed with sweet savours, so my heart which cannot be bent by the hardness of fortune, may be bruised by amorous desires, On yonder bank never grew any thing but Lunary, and hereafter I will never have any bed but that bank. Oh Endymion, Tellus was fair, but what avails Beauty without wisdom? Nay Endymion she was wise, but what avails wisdom without honour? She was honourable Endymion, belie her not, I but how obscure is honour without fortune? Was she not fortunate whom so many followed? Yes, yes, but base is fortune without Majesty: thy Majesty Cynthia all the world knoweth and wondereth at, but not one in the world that can imitate it or comprehend it. No more Endymion, sleep or die; Nay die for to sleep it is impossible, and yet I know not how it comes to pass, I feel such a heaviness both in mine eyes and heart, y to I am suddenly benumbed, yea in every iont: it may be weariness, for when did I rest? it may be deep melan choly, for when did I not sighs? Cynthia, I so, I say Cynthia. Oh heavens, whom do I behold, fair Cynthia, divine Cynthia? Endymion, What do I here? What, a grey beard? hollow eyes? withered body: decayed lymbes? and all in one night? Thy name I do remember by the sound, but thy favour I do not yet call to mind, only divine Cyn thia, to whom time, fortune, destiny, & death, are subject, I see and remember, and in all humility, I regard and re uerence. Am I that Endymion, who was wont in Court to lead my life, and in Justs, turneys, and arms to exer cise my youth? am I that Endymion? Ah sweet Eumenides, I now perceive thou art he, and that my self have the name of Endymion, but that this should be my body I doubt: for how could my curled locks be turned to grey hairs, and my strong body to a dying weakness, having waxed old, and not kowing it. Fair Cynthia I will rehearse what I have seen, humbly desiring, that when I exceed in length, you give me warning, that I may end: for to utter all I have to speak would be troublesome, although happily the strangeness may somewhat abate the to diousnesse. Me thought I saw a Lady passing fair, but very mischievous, who in the one hand carried a knife, with which she offered to cut my throat: and in the other a lookingglass, wherein seeing how ill anger became Ladies, she refrained from intended violence. She was accompanied with other Damsels, one of which with a stern countenance, & as it were with a settled ma lice engraved in her eyes, provoked her to execute miss chief: and other with visage sad and constant only in sorrow, with her arms crossed, and watery eyes, seemed to lament my fortune, but durst not offer to prevent the force. I started in my sleep, feeling my very veins to swell, and my sinews to stretch with fear, and such a cold sweat bedewed all my body, that death it self could not be so terrible, as the vision. After her immediately appeared and aged man, with a beard as white as snow, crying in his hand a book with three leaves, & speaking as I reme ̄ ber these words. Endymion, receive this book with three leaves, in which are contained counsels, policies, and pictures, and with that he offered me the book, which I rejected: where with moved with a disdainful pity, he rend the first leaf in a thousand shivers, the second time he offered it, which I refused also: at which bending his brows, and pitching his eyes fast to the ground, as though they were fixed to the earth, and not again to be removed: then suddenly casting them up to the heavens, he tore in a rage the second leaf, and offered the book only with one leaf. I know not whither fear to offend, or desire to know some strange thing, moved me: I took the book, and so the old man vanished. There I portraid to life, with a cold quaking in every joint. I beheld many wolves barking at thee Cynthia, who having ground their teeth to bite, did with striving bleed themselves to death. There might I see ingratitude with and hundred eyes, gazing for be nefites, and with a thousand teeth, gnawing on the bowels wherein she was bred. Treachery stood all clothed in white, with a smiling countenance, but both her hands bathed in blood. Envy with a pale and megar face, (whose body was so lean, that one might tell all her bones, and whose garment was so tottered, that it was easy to number every thread) stood shooting at stars, whose darts fell down again on her own face. There might I behold Drones, or Beetles, I know not how to term them creeping under the wings of a princely Eagle, who being carried into her nest, sought there to suck that vein, that would have killed the Eagle. I mused that things so base, should attempt a fact so barbam rous, or durst imagine a thing so bloody. And ma nigh other things Madame, the repetition whereof, may at your better leisure seem more pleasing: for. Bees surfette sometime with honey, and the Gods are glutted with harmony, and your highness may be dul led with delight. Eumenides, thy friendship is immortal, and not to be conceived, and thy good will Floscula, bet ter then I have deserved. But let us all wait on Cynthia: I marvel Semele speaks not a word. But how prospereth your love? I doubt not but your affection is old, and your appetite cold. I say Madam then the Gods send me a woe men hate. Madam, by mine own accuser. In all things Madame. Tellus does not speak false. Madame in all things, but in that she said I loved her, and swore to honour her. The time was Madam and is, and ever shall be that I honoured your highness above all the world, but to stretch it so far as to call it love, I never durst. There hath none pleased mine eye but Cynthia, none deligh ted mine ears but Cynthia, none possessed my heart but Cynthia. I have forsaken all other Fortune's to follow Cynthia, and here I stand ready to die if it please Cyn thia. Such a difference hath the Gods set between our states, that all must be duty, loyalty, and reverence, nothing (without it vouchsafe your highness) be termed love. My unspotted thoughts, my languishing body, my discontented life, let them obtain by princely fa vour that, which to challenge they must not presume, only wishing of impossibilities: with imagination of which, I will spend my spirits, and to my self that no creature may hear, softly call it love. And if any urge to utter what I whisper, then will I name it honour. From this sweet conte ̄ plation if I be not drinen, I shall live of all men the most content, taking more pleasure in mine a ged thoughts, then ever I did in my youthful actions. Your Highness hath blessed me, and your words have again restored my youth: me thinks I feel my joints strong, and these mouldy hairs to melted, & all by your virtue Cynthia, into whose hands the Balance that weigheth time & fortune, are committed. Tellus, Cynthia must command what she will. Good Floscula, to thee also am I in my former affections. Semele Madame. Silence Madame consents: that is most true. You know (fair Tellus) that the sweet re membrance of your love, is the only companion of my life, and thy presence, my paradise, so that I am not a lone when no body is with me, and in heaven it self when thou art with me. All but one. You know Tellus, that of the Gods we are forbidden to dispute, because their dieties come not within the compass of our reasons, and of Cynthia we are allowed not to talk but to wonder, because her for tues are not within the reach of our capacities. No more was Vesta. So shall the world. No Tellus, thou knowest that the stately Cedar, whose top reaches unto the clouds, never boweth his head to the shrubs that grow in the valley, nor Ivy that climeth up by the Elm, can ever get hold of the beams of the Sun; Cynthia I honour in all hu militie, whom none ought, or dare adventure to love, whose affections are immortal, & virtues infinite. Suf fer me therefore to gaze on the Moon, at whom, were it not for thy self, I would die with wondering. Endymion? I call to mind such a name.