Siluan. Epicaedium

This done in silent passage of the Night,
when stars shone fair & bright in Thetis sight,
The rural Wood-nimphes did their Odes display,
sabled with woes: which woes to take away,
They sung these verses, verses ominous,
Ore Thisbes hearse, and louely Pyramus.
Long may your fame 48 and glory heer remain,
honour'd by vs, and by each country Swaine.
Long may you liue renowned, for your loue
hath made perpetuall eccoes in this groue.
A thrice blest groue, blest graue for such blest Saints,
That in this flowry pale heere pitch their tents,
Wherein loues warre eternized for aye,
lost that by night, which was restor'd by day,
Smell sweet for euer, sweetest of all sweets:
you springing blossoms which the spring-time greets.
Send out your fragrant sauor and releeue,
our troubled springs which be adddress'd to grieue.
Let not your vernant bosome so retaine,
all comfort from the oat-pipe of a Swaine,
That no release of sorrow or distresse,
makes diminution of his wretchednesse.
What should we sing? no hymne of melody:
shall ere possesse our desert empery.
No tune of ioy, no pleasant straine of mirth,
shall yeeld contentment to Nereus birth.
For farre more faire, more beautious, Thysbe was
then any wood-Nimph, my Country Lasse.
49 Campaspe shee was faire, and was belou'd,
of potent Monarchs: her proportion mou'd,
Doting Apelles, loues effects to shew,
to that same picture which his Pencile drew.
Yet if Campase were enshrined heere,
no cause of loue would in her frame appeare.
More diuine feature was in Thysbes face,
a more delightfull smile more comely grace,
Then ere Apelles, though in skill most rare,
could make his picture any way compare.
Bring mirtle branches let vs couer them,
shrowding their corps with wreaths laid ouer them;
And euery time and tide, let's shed a teare,
ouer the sad memoriall of their Bere.
Well doe these odes of sorrow vs beseeme,
and better would they please Arcadias Queene,
Then if with feasts and triumphs we should spend,
our dismall houres, about a louers end.
Wee are not for Dianas cheerefull game,
though we (foretime) haue well approou'd the same.
No quiuer, nor no bow, will we receiue,
till wee haue spent our dirges on their graue,
Whose glorious loues, so well conioyn'd in one,
makes their two teares distill into one stone.
For euery drop of bloud which doth descend,
from Thisbes wound, flies to her louing friend:
And those same streames which issued out amaine,
from Pyramus make their recourse againe.
And ioyne with Thysbe, whose respectiue wound,
licks vp the blood was shed vpon the ground.
Eternall Trophies hung vpon your hearse,
made euerlasting, by our pensiue verse;
And let this marble which doth couer you,
her teares (each morne) with moistned drops renew,
Which in remorse, compassionate may spend,
some dewie drops to witnesse yor sad end.
You pretty gliding streames which run apace,
leaue off your course, and flow vnto this place,
That you may moisten this sad monument,
this desert herse with watry element.
And gratifie our loue, that loue you deare,
and wish entirely your sweet presence heere.
Leaue off to wash those cliues and ruggy caues,
and now repaire to monumentall graues,
To rinse all foule infection which did staine,
the corps deceas'd by your still streaming vaine.
Why doe you stay? why seeme you so hard harted,
to shed no teares, at constant loue departed?
If that our Queene should heare, as shee shall heare,
this your remorslesse hart would cost you deare.
Doe you not see how we in sable weeede,
to weepe amaine, haue heere repair'd with speed?
And in distresse enclos'd, full fraught with woe,
may aske of you what's cause you doe not soe?
See how ech sprig 50 sends out a pearled drop,
and when the prner seemes their height to crop,
They seeme to thanke him for it wishing death,
to decke these louers with a flowry wreath.
See how each bird resorts vnto their shrine,
as if it were vnto some power diuine:
And dedicates vnto their mournfull tombe
laies, which shal serue in after times to come.
They warble out their dolefull funeralls,
hauing forgot their forepast festiualls.
Their sad 51 aspects such sorrow doth affoord,
that we our selues their sorrows may record
Time yeelds no tune, nor tune obseru's no time,
time, tune, nor measure keep we ore this shrine,
We cannot descant, descant there is none,
to such as know no descant but to mone.
Like spouse-lost Turtles, do we flocke together,
and on each morn by time, consort we hither
To celebrate their deaths with memorie,
whose constant loues make them charactred be.
Nor will we cease, or make an nd of griefe,
till that their parents yeeld them some reliefe,
To consummate their wishes, and supply
their former hardnes by their clemency:
For in no time did euer children find,
parents more wilfull, to their loues vnkind.
Yet for that Fate hath done her worst of ill,
in that she did the bloud of louers spill.
And tyrannis'd in shewing of her force.
raging gainst loue, depriued of remorse:
Let Parents cease to hate, and make amends,
by solemne hests for their vntimely ends.
It is not fit that 52 death and enmity
should wage their battaile euer mutually.
For none I know, but when their foe is dead
they scorne base enuy in their brests to feede.
But let vs to our worke, and build vs bowres,
compos'd of fragrant blossomes, and of flowers,
Hard by this tombe, this herse, this desert graue,
where we may giue what constant loue doth craue,
An ode displaying passion: and relate,
the sad euent of loues vnhappy state.
Each nimph addresse her to her dolefull voice,
that we may charme the furies with our noise;
And draw their haplesse parents from their cell,
to heare the sadd Narration we shal tell
So shall our first mornes mone performed bee,
in honour of these louers constancy.