Virtues History, Canto 8 – Conclusion
CANT. 8.
Pirino with the Lady doe addres,
To see fayre Bellamyes sad funerall,
Her louelove is tolde, and how all comfortles,
For Amians sake in wo her heart doth fall:
Where blacke eclipsing of his radiant light,
Maskt her sweet soule in sorrowes drery night.
O VVho could giuegive me Eagle soaring wings,
Or plumes of vapours to ascend on hye:
VVhichWhich Sol exhaled to the heauen brings,
That I might see the true diuinity,
Or view the Angel-thoughts, whose musick sings
VntoUnto heau'ns maker sweetest harmony:
There onelyonly could my thoughts the thought approue
Of thought-surpassing and diuinest louelove.
Which like Arion in the floting waues,
Can chaunt the Dolphins with his charming sounds,
And bindes al base affections as slaues,
VVhichWhich with celestiall beautie it confounds,
Sweet-saluing balme which wounds dispayred saues,
VVhose kingdome cannot suffer earthly bounds:
The cinosure of all our ioyes it is,
VVhichWhich leades vsus through a world of happly blisse.
VVhichWhich this faire Lady fully doth possesse,
Raught with the thought of her deceased Knight,
And euer keepes her soule in heauinesse:
Like to the Moone that must obscure her light,
VVhen as the Sunne his beautie doth represse,
Of whom she borrowes beames of all delight:
VVhichWhich buried in the sad Sepulchrall ground,
Downe to the earth her captiue thoughts hath bound.
Which when Pirino saw (whose words of ioy
Still wooed sorrow to forsake her brest)
Knowing her Knights deare sight wrought this annoy,
Did counsell her to leaue this idle rest,
VVhichWhich still with musing thoughts did her accloy,
And trauell forth where neuer should molest
Her quiet thoughts the spectacle of death,
VVhose saddest sight the soule disquieteth.
She loth to leaue that where her treasure lay,
VVhere she had buried thoughts of all delight,
Determines neuer to depart away:
But so Pirino sues by day and night,
That now she'le wander till a certaine day,
Though sorie to remoue from out his sight:
VVhose tombe containd with him her dearest hart,
VVith whom in graue she left her better part.
The Sunne appeareth in his bright aray,
Of firy beames and golden-wreathed gowne,
Meaning to cheare her with so fayre a day,
Now hauing banisht mistie vapours downe,
VVhen forth they ride now setled in their way,
Flying the place whence all her woe was growne:
But though vntounto the farthest Indes thou flie,
Swifter then winde will sorrow after hie.
They had not gone as farre as Scithian bow
Darts forth an arrow with his bended string.
Before they see where an old man doth goe
As fast as dried bones his seete can bring:
Who ouertaking him whom age made slow,
Enquired whither he was trauailing:
But deepest cares that raigned in his thought,
Had silence and black melancholy brought.
At last they rouzd him from his musing dreame,
VVhen of a Ladies death he gan a tale,
VVhile downe his cheekes doth raine a pearling streame,
From out the clowdes of wrack and weary bale:
And this is Algiger that doth exclaime
Against our life, that still in woe doth fall:
VVho like the luckles owle these many yeares,
Neuer but at some funerall appeares.
And Bellamy was she whom vgly death
Hath couerd with the graues vntimely shade,
Her now in dusky bloome he manteleth,
That with her beames the world astonisht made,
And on her corps his colours he displayeth,
VVhose colours in too soone a haruest fade:
The weeds doe grow and worser things suruiue,
VVhile as the good are thought too long aliue.
Pirino like to Dadals winged sonne,
That from great heau'n fell to the lowest flood,
To sinke in sorrowes drery gulfe begun,
And in his face doth care depaint in blood,
The victorie he ouer him hath wonne,
Senceles with too much sence of griefe he stood:
Vntill thus brake the cloudes into a showre,
VVhichWhich forth with drery teares he thus did powre.
O cursed earth goe maske thee from the light,
VVhose light is quenched that did make the day,
And let the spring no more with greene bedight,
Adorned be with birds or Musick lay,
For she in whose sweete face spring still did write
Her chiefest glory, now in sad decay,
Hideth the heauenly lampe of louely grace,
And shadoweth from the earth her starrie face.
Her tresses like the flakie beames of morne,
Sheueld along vponupon her snowie backe,
That did the golden Tagus colour scorne,
And dangling made behinde a goodly tracke,
Those which hauehave many harts in triumph borne,
And in loues sea hauehave driuen them to wracke:
These lye embraced of the basest ground,
VVhose curly traines hauehave many louers bound.
Thus forth he driues his passion with his plaint,
VVhen they agree to see her funerall,
VVhere we will leaue them wearied and faint:
Pricking toward her wofull buriall,
VVhile I full deepely greeud will striue to paint,
The story of this ladies wofull fall,
And when my teares shall stop their weeping spring,
I will plaine forth the tale I cannot sing.
When at the Dukes long time those thirtie Knights,
Lay for to try who could obtaine the prize,
Where with continuall showes and pleasant sights,
They woo'd the deare attention of her eyes:
One Knight there was whom she aboue all wights
Most dearely lou'd, whose image deepely lyes,
Sealed below vponupon her softned hart,
From which his pressure neuer can depart.
Within the blessed heauen of her thought,
His comely face, the onelyonly starre doth shine,
Whose beautie to her soule amazement brought,
That then her selfe a wight was more diuine,
Like Cinthia when on Latmus top she spide
The sleeping shepheard lately dreaming ly'ne:
She is amazed at so great a grace,
And with sweete Mel-dewes doth anoint her face.
No winde but Amian her ship doth blow,
Filling with pleasing breath fayre beauties sayles,
In which to happy Iles she meanes to go;
He beares the rule, and he so much preuailes,
That now she doth not sticke to let him know,
How his most gratefull suite with her auailes:
Who though with those sweete wordes in louelove he was,
Yet scarse for kisses could he let them passe.
She grants the garden where delight doth ly,
Which with chaste marriage they will seale anon:
And now she brings him roses by and by,
From which he wished neuer to hauehave gone,
So sweete an ayre vntounto his smell doth fly,
That would with pleasure quite hauehave ouerflowne,
Drenching olde aged bones in youthfull dew,
And make the hoary man his dayes renew.
Like Hibla fields, where though Bees still doe suck
The hony of delight and rauishing,
Yet in this fertile field remaine to pluck
Heauenly posies, deeply solacing
Distressed mindes which sharpe misfortune strook,
And in thoughts winter doth vpreare the spring,
Whose verdant head shall neuer languish downe,
But stand adorned with a flowry crowne.
VVhichWhich when the lothed wooers quickly found,
They did enuy the happie chance he gate,
And ten of them in mightie challenge bound
His valiant heart to answer their debate,
VVho now thus setled on so sure a ground,
Scorned the easie shafts of fruitles hate,
And sent them answer that next rising day,
He would controle what enuy durst to say.
But still fayre Bellamy doth him intreat,
To shun the dangers of the bloody fight,
And doth his breast with sighs and gronings beat,
Enchasing with fayre pearle her clowded sight,
VVhichWhich drooping downe her richest eyes beget,
And to his louing bosome take their flight,
VVhen watering the plants that louelove doth sow,
They quickly made sweet lowly pitty grow.
But he that had his vowed promise past,
VVith kisses still her opned lips doth stay:
She opneth still, he still his lets doth cast,
Sweet lets, which let him in where beautie lay,
That doubt it was whether she spoke so fast,
Because more kisses of him gaine she may:
Or kisses seeming for to stop the dore,
Still kist, because they would hauehave kisses more.
Thus in this golden chaine of purest louelove
They past the euening, when with rustie coach
The Rauen-hud night her dusky traine vphoue,
And grifly darknes doth on earth encroach,
The weary Sunne his wagon doth remoue,
Seeing the vgly night so neere approach,
That from the furnace of her sooty throte,
Forth foggy vapours and black smoke vpshote.
Still Bellamy vnluckie chance doth feare,
VVarned with fatall noyse of nightly foule:
Now doth she seeme sweet Amians voyce to heare,
Yeelding the lowly present of his soule
VntoUnto his maker, when her heart doth reare
A swelling sigh his fortune to condole,
The mournfull presage of some euill hap,
As lightning flames before a thunder-clap.
Thus in sad thought the silent night is spent,
VVhen Phoebus gan vpreare his firy crest,
And had the easterne heauen with flames ybrent,
VVhen streight doth Amian leaue his quiet rest,
And armed to the place appoynted went,
VVhere nine strong Knights that enmitie profest,
He with his speare dismounted to the ground,
VVhere with disgrace an humble seate they found.
Like to a loftie ranke of Cedar trees,
VVhen Aeolus is kindled deepe with rage,
And with a whirlwing vp from earth he frees
Their riuen rootes, now layd in equipage
VVith baser shrubs, while to the heauen flees
The roring noyse, ypent in iron cage
Of tumbling vapours that doe scoure the ayre,
Inuested highly in a clowdy chayre.
Now Bellamies good heart for ioy doth dance,
Driuing forth stormes of sorrow and of care,
VVhen the tenth Knight his speare did high aduance,
That ouer al his armour Cypres ware,
Shadowing with clowdes of griefe his countenance,
VVho now towards the Knight his palfrey bare:
VVhere meeting with a hideous shiuering stroke,
Their yelding speares in sprinkled dust they broke.
On foote they try what thus on horse doth faile,
Each other driuing with a deadly blow,
And with their weapons kisse the splitted maile,
Which riuen, gushing blood in streames doth throw,
While now or neuer meaning to preuaile,
Sir Amian droue vntounto his riuall foe,
And with his sword his intrals doth vnclose,
Whose soule vp fled his earthly bowels doth lose.
Viewing the sword wherewith his riuall fought,
That on it written had his fathers name,
Whom with a charme from vnknowne land he brought,
He cuest himselfe with much vnworthie blame,
That he this wofull Tragedie had wrought:
For well he knew his brother was the fame,
Whom with his wretched might he thus had slaine,
To whom his father gaue that hurtfull gaine.
Now horror ringeth in his grieued soule,
And guilt of thought that he his brother flew,
VVhere fearfull fight his rest doth deepe controle:
Wherefore vntounto his palfrey he withdrew,
And doth to none his inward griefe vnrole,
But to the woods all solitarie flew,
Banishing any thought of pleasing mirth,
Or any ioy which lighteth on the earth.
In leauy shadowes and in bushie brakes,
He with the wood-doue grones for pinching woe:
Sometimes in hand his cursed sword he takes,
But streight his sword he from his hand doth throw,
Now in a bush a hollow nest he makes,
From whence he swares his feete shall neuer goe:
Each little glimse of light his soule doth shun,
And in despayre to headlong death doth run.
But how fayre Bellamy doth rue his case,
Plaining and seeking him that her forgat,
Is deeply grauen in her parched face,
Which doth not lighten as it did of late,
Earth-brightning beames of neuer-matched grace:
But frowning with the force of angrie fate,
Downe drooping doth she close her folded eyes,
Drowning themselues in their owne Nectaries.
And eueryevery where to seeke him out she sends,
Whom neuer shall againe her eyes behold:
Wherefore despayring now her thoughts she bends,
Fixt on th'ldea of his heauenly mold,
And to her minde that only food she lends,
While from her body rest she doth withhold,
And still her beautie doth consuming pine,
Wasting those torches which are so diuine.
Like as the sweetest Querister of Night,
VVhen rau'ning fowle berest her of her young,
VVhile Phoebe sends from high her clowdy light,
VntoUnto the Moone in chanting tunes she sung,
That rauishing the trauailer with delight,
Made him bewaile the birds disproferd wrong:
So doth each eye lament this wofull plaint,
VVhichWhich beautie makes while she in woe doth faint.
But O my pen transforme thy swanny face,
And in eternall streames my inck shall weepe:
Driue madly downe thy coach in tumbly pace,
O thou which heauens mightie lights dost keepe,
That neuer beames may brighten any place,
Since she in neuer-ending dreame doth sleepe:
O Bellamy that now vntimely dyes,
And in sad tombe deaths cruell triumph lyes.
The fearfull thought of her deare loued Knight,
Eats on her heart consuming vitall heat,
That taking in the world not lest delight,
She with her hands that softest breast doth beat,
And vexeth still with griefe her wofull spright,
VVho weary of so much vneasie seat,
To heauen on her snowy pineons fled,
VVherein Ioues breast she layes her quiet head.
Now came the Knights that dwelt remoued farre,
To see the buriall of this Angel wight:
The Sunne arose with his low drooping carre,
To see (though grieu'd to see) that wofull sight:
And Pirin with the dame ariued are,
And Cypribel her tombe forsaketh quight,
Prepar'd all to doe honour to her graue,
The latest honour now her corps could hauehave.
Where with such rites as louelove and wit deuise,
VVhichWhich might renew a storie to expresse,
She was entombed in most glorious wise,
Accompanide with number numberlesse,
VVhile fountaines ouerflow the Dukes sad eyes,
That now for lack of teares to weepe doe cease:
Faine would he in her armes his death-bed see,
That in two heauens he and his soule might bee.
But enuious fates resist his louing will,
VVho doe command his soule here to remaine,
VVhere with lamenting noyse she plaineth still,
Yet neuer can her plaints bring back againe
That soule, which mounted on Olympus hill,
In sacred spirits and the Muses traine,
Singing soule-pleasing tunes her dayes doth spend,
VVhose musick and whose dayes hauehave neuer end.
And now ye heauens, if euer Musick straine
Issued from a concord-mouing spheare,
Then in a dolefull language helpe to plaine,
And mourning part in sorrowes consort beare:
For neuer shall you hauehave like cause againe,
For neuer may the like on earth appeare:
And for her death ring out a dolefull knell,
VVhile dewy teares at eueryevery stroke distill.
And ye fayre Ladies in a pilgrimage,
Attiring blushing white in mourning black,
Vntill the world shall end his endles age,
Goe to her tombe, and plaine her beauties wrack,
Raught from the earth by deaths vnsatiate rage:
And though your teares can neuer bring her back,
Kissing her tombe, to Libitina pray
The earth may easie on her bosome lay.
VVhere with the parbreake of vnclowded hell,
Night wraps in ruggy black the ayres darke face,
Still vomiting fro her defiled Cell,
The shadowy fumes that mought the light disgrace,
VVhile scriching Owles their fearfull stories tell,
Hoarsly complaining in that gloomy place,
Groning with hollow notes their dismall song,
VVhile trembling tunes to guiltie hearts they rung.
The wolues about that haples place doe cry,
And howling weepe for her that lieth slaine:
Sometimes in hollow fearfull harmony
The Harpyes doe a dumpish consort straine:
Sometimes it seemes they see some passing by,
That on a beere a carkasse doe sustaine,
VVhile meager Death with hels vnchained hags,
VponUpon her graue display their pitchie flags.
The Conclusion of all.
THese hauehave I sent vntounto the Muses hearse,
Whose daies of honour now hauehave found an end,
To spread therewith this my latest verse,
Whom the vnworthie world too much offend.
Nor yet because some change-affecting braine
Debas'th the Muses and their sacred hill:
Fault I my selfe as hauing writ in vaine,
Know he I only louelove the Musicke skill.
But whether he delight in feates of armes,
Or prouder vaunt the glorie of his race,
Know he I feare not Martiall alarmes,
Nor yeeld a step his friendship to embrace,
Though now in shade I whisper to the winde,
And plaine the Muses can no harbour finde.
FINIS.
End of the text · Francis Rous, Virtues History (1598)